A/N - This imagine is based on the song 'Ghost' by Ella Henderson. I may end up continuing this at some point, but I'm not certain yet. I hope you all enjoy it.
When you were young you had hated living at Winterfell. It was cold, and dull, and it was one of the most boring places in the Seven Kingdoms. You had been taught all about the interesting parts of the world. Dorne with its exotic climate, and King's Landing with the dramatics of court life, and even the Iron Islands sounded like more fun than the North. You spent so long wishing to leave that you had been lost for words when you father had told you that you would be moving to the capital with him. You were excited, of course you were, but suddenly the doubt began to settle. You had no clue how to act amongst other men and women, only your family, and you were readying yourself the entire journey for the ultimate culture shock.
It hadn't been quite what you had been expecting. When you had imagined a life at court it had been dramatic and intriguing, but in reality it was just tiresome. It turns out that drama was only interesting when it was observed from a distance.
Even the prince seemed to stop fulfilling your expectations. At first he had seemed rather sweet, if a little arrogant, but on the road something in him had changed. You assumed it was to do with Arya and her butcher's boy. As it turned out, the prince didn't much enjoy being made to look foolish. Now, he seemed distant, as though he wanted nothing to do with you and your impending wedding.
It wasn't until his father's death that he became erratic. In fact, all of the capital seemed to change all of a sudden. The perfect, noble place seemed to grow tense, and claims of all sorts had begun to fly. And then your father had been arrested, and Septa Mordane had been killed, and Arya had disappeared. Everything was moving so fast that you couldn't quite figure out what was happening. Instead, you kept Sansa close and promised yourself that you would keep her safe, though you were unsure of how to do so.
You probably should have been ashamed that the Queen was the first person you had turned to. Soon, she would be your mother by law, and surely she would think to protect you and your sister. And she had, for a time, with the promise that you would write to Robb about your happiness and your continued betrothal. It was a betrayal to your father, you knew as much, but what else could you do? You had grown certain that you would die here if you did nothing. And so, you betrayed him.
*Time Skip*
"Your Grace," you started as Joffrey walked into the room. You almost tumbled to the ground as you got caught in your skirts in your attempt to curtsey for him. You had already grown to hate your future husband, but above all else was fear. To see what he had done to your father, in front of your own eyes, your sister's eyes, there was no doubt in your mind that he would be capable of far worse.
"Walk with me." It wasn't a request, it never was really, more of an order. He made those quite frequently now.
You nodded. "If that will please you, Your Grace." He didn't smile, but simply began walking, exiting the room in what could only be described as a brusque fashion. You hurried to follow, passing his guard as you managed to catch up with him. "Where will we be walking too?"
The smirk that came to his lips made you want to vomit, and the idea of someday having to share your bed with him made your stomach turn. "You'll see," he answered, not once turning to look you in the eye.
After that, you walked in silence, moving with him like a shadow, as if a single step out of time would lead to your demise. You almost collided with him when he stopped, his smile growing as he finally turned to look at you.
"Do you like your surprise?" he asked you, his pearly white teeth now fully on display for you. You realised quite suddenly that he had never seemed to happy to be in your presence, and then, within a moment, you recognised where you were.
If you were to look to your left, you would find your father's head, mounted on top of the wall. To the right, was your Septa's, displayed in the same fashion. For a moment, you struggled to find words, the sickness you had been feeling before beginning to rise in your throat.
"My Lady is speechless," he uttered, pride laced into his voice as he turned to look up at your father.
Your lip quivered as you stared at him in disbelief. How could he bring you here? How could he show you this with such sick pride? "You disgust me." The words escaped you before you had fully thought them through, drawing his eyes to you in an instant.
He raised his hand, as though to strike you, but at the last second thought better of his actions. "Ser Meryn, please show my Lady how to hold her tongue." The man stepped towards you, and the sound of the slap echoed off of the stone walls before the sting could set in. You stumbled slightly, but quickly righted yourself, staring at the men in front of you. "My mother tells me that a King should never strike his Lady," Joffrey uttered, his look of utter contempt fixed on you.
You lifted your hand to your lip, wiping at it slightly and seeing the blood staining your fingers. "I'm bleeding," you murmured softly, unable to look away from the colour spreading over your fingertips.
"We will be married soon," Joffrey continued, ignoring your own utterance, "and once you have bled I will put a son in you." His eyes finally took in the blood dripping down your chin, and shook his head. "Go back to your chambers and clean yourself up," he grumbled, before beginning to stalk away, "you look a mess."
*Time Skip*
Your wedding day was the happiest day of your life. You hadn't expected it to be. You had been dreading it from the moment a date had been set, desperately hoping for anything to stop it. But you hadn't been so lucky, or at least, you didn't think you had been.
The fake smile on your lips had managed to last through the ceremony, it had even lasted through your husband's favourite production, depicting your families murders. It had only faltered when he let out his first cough, though, of course, your worry for your husband's safety had been forced.
When he had collapsed to the ground with Cersei at his side, you had glanced over at Sansa, watching as she was led away by one of Joffrey's fools. You were quick to follow, gripping her hand as she hurried down the stone steps towards the beach and pulling her to a quick stop.
"Where are you going?" you whispered, tucking her tight against the wall and out of sight.
She paused for a moment, glancing up at you in shock, until a smile spread on her lips. "Home. Come with me."
"My husband lays dying and you ask me to run away with you and this random man? Are you insane?"
"He owes me," she started, gripping your hand tightly in hers. "Come with me," she repeated softly, "please."
You wanted to argue, perhaps to drag her back to the head table, and make her mourn with you even though you had nothing but hatred in your heart for your dead husband. "Where?"
"Winterfell."
You released a sudden sigh. You had known it would be too good to be true. "Winterfell is not under Stark rule anymore. Joffrey took great pleasure in reminding me as much."
"Well, we aren't going there yet," she told you, her eyes pleading with you, "we'll go to Aunt Lysa."
You don't know quite how she managed it, but she had led you to the boat after that, helping you to board in your wedding gown, and smiling once the man had rowed you away from the shore.
*Time Skip*
Aunt Lysa had been no help at all. You had known as much from the moment you had set eyes on her and Robyn. She held no love for you, nor your family, and you could have told Sansa and Petyr that before you had even reached her home.
And then you had begun riding for Winterfell, with the promise of safety in the home that had once belonged to your family. But this time, you knew better.
"I will not live there with them, and will never marry Ramsay Bolton," you had told Petyr firmly. "And Sansa shall not either."
Petyr had grown tired of your strong-willed nature a few days of travelling ago, but had stuck with it in the hopes that eventually you would give in. But apparently, you hadn't done so yet. "The Bolton's are an ally. They were your brother's allies. They got rid of the Greyjoy men when no one else would."
"And yet, Joffrey trusted them and awarded them the title of Warden of the North. Why would he do that if they were Robb's allies?"
Sansa looked rather confused at your words, her brow furrowing as she glanced over at Petyr. "I don't know, perhaps you should ask them when you see them."
"I will not be meeting them, Petyr, not until I have an army to take Winterfell from them by force."
"And where will you find an army?"
You allowed your eyebrow to quirk as you glanced over at Petyr, lips pursing together in some semblance of a smile. "Northmen aren't so quick to forget their loyalty, unlike some of you southerners."
Petyr looked rather peeved for a moment, and then a smile pulled at his lips. "What is your opinion on the matter, Sansa? Do you prefer war or peace?"
"I don't know."
"Come now," he pressed on, smiling sweetly at your sister, "it isn't a hard question. Peace or war?"
You almost snarled when you spoke next, drawing his attention back to you quickly. "Don't speak to her like she is a child."
"Y/N," Sansa muttered softly, "we should go to Jon."
A smile pulled at your lips, your hand reaching out to grip hers tightly. "You are brilliant," you started softly, quickly glancing over at Petyr. "Sansa and I will be going to Castle Black," you told him, "I'm sure the Bolton's will make you very comfortable until our arrival."
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