Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 49 - Run!

"Rickon!"

               For the first time in six long years, I can hold my little brother in my arms again. The last time I saw him, he was a sweet and kind little boy, whom Old Nan's stories were enough to frighten. I still have no idea how he survived, but he must have faced far worse than our nurse's tales.

"Diana?" he whispers, in shock.

"It's me, little angel," I reply while inspecting him to make sure Ramsay hasn't abused him.

"But... How? Robin?"

               The latter, remaining on the threshold to keep watch, offers him a wide smile. If Jory acted like a father to us, Robin was like a brother. He might have even looked after Rickon more than I did.

"Hello, kid."

"Kid?" I repeat.

"He isn't so little anymore... Oh, you've grown so much..."

               Once more, I hold him tight against me. He is twelve now. In this exact moment, I have never hated Joffrey so much. He deprived me of my brothers and sisters, of watching them grow, of watching them live.

"He... He killed Shaggydog."

               Shaggydog, Arrow, and Ghost were the last three direwolves of the Stark children. Now, only two remain. This news breaks my heart. I dare not imagine the suffering that losing Arrow would represent.

"Diana... Ramsay is..."

"All of this will soon be over, I promise you."

"He did nothing but talk about you... He is obsessed. You shouldn't be here."

"We have to go," Robin tells me. "We're losing time."

               Without further delay, I grab my brother's hand and rush out of the dungeons. It was easy for us to enter; all of Winterfell was frozen in Ramsay's absence. But if the parley with Sansa and Jon didn't go as planned, he could already be back. We must redouble our caution.

               We slip through the corridors and cross the courtyard. Judging by the silence reigning there, Ramsay must still be with Jon and Sansa. The coast is clear. Once in the ruined tower, I reopen the passage. I practiced all night so as not to waste time when the moment came, and I must admit I am handling it well.

               I start by helping Rickon out and explain to him that if anything should happen to us, he only needs to head north to find Jon.

"Robin, your turn!" I call out, turning toward him.

               My eyes widen as he drops to his knees before me. His mouth opens wide, frozen in shock. The pain hasn't reached his brain yet. His attacker has already raised the alarm. I feel helpless, useless. I have no idea what I am supposed to do now. Robin cannot die; that was never part of the plan.

"NO!!!" I scream, my sword already drawn from its scabbard.

               Rickon pulls at my arm. We should flee. But I push my little brother back and scream at him to follow my instructions: run north as fast as possible and do not look back. Before I can even finish the sentence, a soldier impales himself on my sword. I rip open the stomach of the next one, and slit the throat of the third.

               While another fool meets his death upon my blade, I begin to scream out my grief. The Bolton soldiers fall as fast as the tears upon my cheeks. They form a stream that prevents me from seeing anything, save for the bright light of the flames escaping from my palms.