The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 1

Carlisle Umber

Opening my eyes, I survey the familiar surroundings of my room in Winterfell, the same one I used to occupy during my visits. Everything looks as it always did, yet it feels profoundly different. The rightful occupants of Winterfell are absent, and their absence haunts every corner.

I had lied to Robb and Aida, though I hadn't intended to. The plan was straightforward: spy on Bolton's bastard from afar, slipping in and out unnoticed. But once I saw Ramsay's cruelty firsthand, I realized a more direct approach was necessary. If Bran and Rickon were here, extracting them quick would require a more hands-on strategy.

However, it didn't take long to figure out that Bran and Rickon were not in Winterfell. Ramsay though pretends like they are stowed away in a cell somewhere, proving he doesn't trust me, which, admittedly, was wise on his part. I should leave now that I know the boys aren't here; returning to the Last Hearth would be the smart move. Yet, I feel a strange compulsion to stay. Ever since the news of the Red Wedding, guilt has gnawed at me. Winterfell is all I have left of The Starks it seems. Despite the torment of sharing space with that monster Ramsay Bolton, there's a bittersweet comfort in the familiar halls where we once ran wild.

Tears threaten to spill as I turn and grab the flask on my nightstand, gulping down the harsh liquid until it's empty. I've drowned myself in alcohol, numbing my emotions day after day. The whore sleeping beside me is a testament to the depths I've sunk to mask the pain. With a groan, I sit up, rubbing at my tired eyes and aching head.

The girl stirs, stretching languidly before draping her arms around my shoulders, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "My lord, you seem troubled. Perhaps I can help you forget," she suggests, her voice a purr.

I grab her wrist, shaking my head. "Get dressed. I'm hungry," I say curtly, rising from the bed.

She scoffs, sliding out of bed to gather her clothes. I turn back to the nightstand, finding a small pouch of gold. Handing it to her, I watch her eyes light up with greedy satisfaction.

As she leaves, I steel myself for another day of this charade. Every step I take in Winterfell, every word I exchange with Ramsay, is a step towards avenging Robb and Aida, a step towards reclaiming what was lost. This place may be a source of pain, but it's also a reminder of why I fight and why I must see this mission through to the end.

As I finish getting dressed, I make my way down to the Great Hall, where Ramsay Bolton's ever-present, malicious grin greets me. I force a smile onto my face as I approach and sit next to him to break my fast.

"The great Lord Carlisle Umber!" he exclaims with his usual mockery. "I thought you'd never get out of bed; that whore's noises could've been heard across the whole of Westeros."

"Yes, well," I respond, swallowing my distaste. "She had her uses. A distraction, nothing more."

Ramsay chuckles, his eyes glinting with sadistic delight. "You've adapted well to Winterfell's new regime, Carlisle. I'm almost impressed."

I force a laugh at this. "Adapt or die, as they say. I find your methods... educational."

Ramsay's expression sharpens, searching my face for any sign of deception. "And what have you learned, my lord?"

"That power comes in many forms," I reply smoothly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "And that you, Lord Bolton, wield it with unparalleled skill."

He leans back in his chair, satisfied for the moment. "Flattery will get you far," He says pointing at me with a piece of his chicken. He then snaps at one of the servants nearby "And what are you all waiting for get my friend here something to eat." He says.