Chapter Text
Meryll was in a foul mood the next day. She had woken to discover that her moon blood had come. She had known she likely wouldn’t become pregnant after just one night with her husband, but she knew the promise of an heir would have eased Lord Bolton’s mind greatly. After Anna brought some cloths for Meryll’s smallclothes, Meryll went down to the great hall for breakfast to learn that Lord Bolton and Jorran had left for the day to hunt.
Meryll spent most of the day sulking. She wasn’t surprised that Lord Bolton hadn’t invited her along, but she wished he would have at least come to see her before he left. She hadn’t seen him since their encounter in the council room the morning prior. She had spent a lot of time thinking about that encounter, playing it over and over again in her mind, wondering if she should have reacted differently. While it was happening, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Thinking back, it was terribly exciting, but also terrifying.
It was almost dusk when she heard the shouts in the yard announcing Lord Bolton’s return. Meryll thought she’d go down to the yard and greet Lord Bolton, showing her husband what proper lords and ladies did when leaving the keep for an entire day. By the time she made it down to the yard, her lord was nowhere to be seen. After speaking to one of the stable boys, she was directed to the skinning shed. As she approached the shed, Jorran came out and greeted her, and then stepped back in the shed to let Lord Bolton know she was there.
When Lord Bolton exited the skinning shed, Meryll couldn’t help but admire her lord husband despite spending all day being angry with him. He looked especially fierce in his black chainmail, leather jerkin and fur mantle. She felt his gaze pass over her and she fervently hoped that her lord was as pleased with her appearance as she was with his. He tilted his head to the side, considering. “My lady, I have a few things to finish here yet and then you will dine with me in our private chambers. Go and wait for me.”
Meryll’s pulse quickened as she realized that he would probably want to do more than dine in his chambers. And then she remembered her moon blood. Lord Bolton was already turning to go back into the skinning shed. “My lord,” she said.
He turned. “What is it, Meryll?” he asked, sounding impatient. Meryll was suddenly embarrassed. She didn’t want to say anything in front of Jorran.
Lord Bolton noticed her glancing uncomfortably at Jorran. “Meryll, you can speak freely in front of Jorran.”
Meryll blushed. “My lord, my moon blood came this morning.”
Lord Bolton’s expression didn’t change. “And?”
“I thought you should know,” Meryll stammered. Lord Bolton disappeared into the shed without responding.
Meryll turned and hurried back into the keep. On her way up the stairs in the east tower, she ran straight into a serving girl she didn’t recognize. “My lady, I’m sorry! What’s the hurry? Is there anything I can help you with?”
Meryll had just been wishing she could ask one of her sisters for advice, so she was relieved to have a woman to talk to. “Lord Bolton has just returned from hunting,” she told the girl. “He asked me to dine with him in his chambers this evening. I… I wish to please him.”
The girl smiled warmly. “Come, Lady Bolton, let’s find you something to wear.” The serving girl introduced herself as Myranda and followed Meryll up to Lord Bolton’s chambers. Together, they went through Meryll’s new wardrobe and Myranda pulled out a diaphanous silk chemise that Meryll had never dared to even try on.
“My lady, you must wear this. Lord Bolton won’t be able to resist you.” Myranda helped Meryll out of her dress and into the silk chemise, and gave her an encouraging wink before leaving.
Meryll paced nervously, changing the cloth in her smallclothes three times while waiting. She wondered if Lord Bolton would still want to lie with her? Maybe he even liked the blood, she thought, shivering. It wasn’t just the disturbing thought that caused her to shiver. Her silk chemise was so thin and transparent that she may as well have been naked. Meryll stood in front of the hearth, trying to warm up.
The door opened then, and Lord Bolton entered, followed closely by Jorran. Meryll stilled where she stood by the hearth.
Lord Bolton glanced at her dismissively and announced he would take a bath before eating. He was heading towards the stairs down to the baths when he turned back. “And Meryll, what is that ridiculous thing you are wearing? You’ll catch your death in that. Jorran, find her one of my clean cloaks.”
Lord Bolton disappeared down the stairs and Meryll turned to Jorran wide-eyed. He was already pulling out a fur-lined cloak from Lord Bolton’s chest. Laughing, he threw it over Meryll’s shoulders. “I’ll let the kitchen know to send up Lord Bolton’s supper,” Jorran said, still grinning.
“Wait, Jorran!” Meryll cried. “Would Lord Bolton like it if I… assisted him in the baths?”
The smile left Jorran’s face. “No, my lady. I should have told you earlier. Roose is not to be disturbed when he is down in his private baths.”
After Jorran left, Meryll sat on the chair by the fire nervously and waited for Lord Bolton. A servant came in with an assortment of dishes as well as a packet of letters that had come by raven while Lord Bolton was away. Not long after, Lord Bolton came up the stairs.
He was dressed in his usual linens that he wore after his leeching. Meryll always thought he looked softer, somehow, after visiting the baths.
He walked over to the small dining table and Meryll followed behind. She realized then that there was only a single chair by the table. “My lord,” she said, “I will have a servant bring another chair.”
Lord Bolton shook his head and reached for a fur from the settee and placed it on the floor beside the dining table. “You will kneel here beside me, Meryll.” Meryll didn’t move. All she could think of was that Ramsay had ordered her to do the exact same thing. Lord Bolton was now seated in the chair. “Meryll,” he said, “I gave you a command.”
Tears filled Meryll’s eyes but she turned her head downward so her lord wouldn’t notice. Slowly, she lowered herself to her knees on the furs beside his chair. Meryll stared at her knees as she listened to her lord husband eat. She was so hungry and the food smelled wonderful.
Lord Bolton reached down and held a goblet to Meryll’s lips. “Drink, my lady,” he said softly. She took a few sips and then he took the goblet away. Next, he held out a small piece of meat to her. She used her teeth to delicately take the morsel from his fingers. Venison, she realized. She didn’t really enjoy venison but she chewed and swallowed anyway. He continued feeding her little morsels of food; choice cuts from his plate.
“You don’t like venison, Meryll?” he asked.
“It’s fine, my lord, everything is wonderful.”
Lord Bolton waited silently.
Meryll shifted on her knees. “I’m sorry, my lord, it’s not my favourite.”
He reached down and gently stroked her hair. “Thank you for being honest with me, Meryll. And what is your favourite? Sweets? Lemon cakes?”
“No, my lord,” she said, “I don’t really like sweets. My favourite would be… oh, perhaps pheasant.”
Her lord seemed to find that amusing. He continued stroking her hair as he opened his letters from the day. Once he was done, he turned to her again. “How are you feeling, Meryll? Maester Tybald says he is very pleased with your recovery.”
“I am well, my lord,” Meryll answered truthfully. “I don’t move as smoothly as I used to, but there is no pain.”
“There is still the matter of your punishment to deal with,” Lord Bolton said, in the same even voice that he used to ask her if she liked lemon cakes a moment before. He stood from his chair. “Go and wait for me by my chair by the fire.” Meryll did as she was told.
Lord Bolton pulled a leather flogger from his desk drawer and took his seat by the fire. “Undress, and come lie on my lap.”
With shaking hands, Meryll slowly undid the fastenings of her cloak and let it fall to the ground. Her lord’s eyes darkened as she pulled the silk chemise over her head. Meryll hesitated then, her hands at the waist of her smallclothes.
“You may leave them on, Meryll. Come here.” Lord Bolton’s voice was even and calm. Meryll felt her fear ebb away listening to his voice. “Face down,” he said, helping her lay across his lap, her legs hanging over one arm of the chair, her head turned to the side and resting on the other. Meryll shivered as Lord Bolton traced a single finger down her spine until he reached the waist of her smallclothes.
“Your moon blood came this morning?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Is the bleeding heavy?”
“No, my lord.”
Lord Bolton seemed satisfied with that, and eased down the waist of her smallclothes just enough to bare her bottom. “You do have a lovely ass, Meryll.”
Meryll blushed. “Um, thank you, my lord.”
He held the flogger so she could see it, the many thin leather strands dangling down from the black handle. “This is a flogger, Meryll,” he said. “Depending on how I use it, it can just tease and tickle you, or it can slice through your skin. You are being punished today, so it will hurt - I won’t lie to you about that. But I won’t break the skin. You will be sore tomorrow but probably not any longer than that. Why am I punishing you, Meryll?”
He let the flogger’s leather strands trail over Meryll’s backside while he waited for her response. The combination of excitement, fear and pleasure was heady and Meryll forgot what he had asked her. “Mmm. My lord?”
“Why are you being punished?”
“For challenging you in front of your men, my lord,” she said.
Lord Bolton pushed the hair off of her face and stroked her cheek approvingly. “You have not challenged me again in public since that night, and I am pleased with that. Because of that, I will reduce your sentence to ten lashes instead of twenty.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Meryll murmured.
The first lash of the flogger made Meryll gasp for breath. She hadn’t expected it to hurt that much. She was still registering the pain when the flogger came down hard again, bringing tears to her eyes. She closed her mouth tight to keep from crying out as the third, fourth and fifth lashes came in quick succession.
Lord Bolton paused then, massaging her ass with his hand. “Meryll, I told you that I only enjoy causing pain in two situations. Which is this?”
Meryll was sobbing. “I deserve it, my lord. I disrespected you.”
“Five more,” he said. Meryll couldn’t keep from crying out during the last five lashes. Her entire backside felt like it was on fire. Lord Bolton carefully pulled her smallclothes back up and she cried out again as the fabric brushed against her burning and sensitive skin.
“On your feet, Meryll,” he said, helping her up. She stood in front of him, tears still running down her face, and suddenly feeling exposed, she crossed her arms over her breasts. “No, Meryll,” he said quietly, “don’t hide from me now.” He sat back down in the chair and reached out to pull her closer to him.
Meryll had conflicting emotions as she was both angry with this man for hurting her but also wanted his comfort more than anything else. She climbed up on the chair on her knees, straddling his lap and facing him, and buried her head in the bend between his neck and shoulder. She stayed up on her knees, not wanting to sit back on her burning backside.
Lord Bolton’s hands slid up and down her back in long, smooth strokes and he spoke softly in her ear. “You took your punishment bravely, Meryll.” He held her until her shaking and sobbing quieted and then he reached down to tip her chin up so he could see her face. “Meryll, what is the other situation that causing pain brings me pleasure?”
Meryll could feel her pulse quicken at his words. “W-when it is desired, my lord,” she whispered, voice unsteady.
Lord Bolton leaned forward and ran his tongue down Meryll’s neck. She shivered as the cold air hit the wet trail he left leading to her shoulders. He trailed his open mouth over her shoulder and collarbone, nibbling and licking his way down to her breasts. Meryll moaned softly as he took a nipple in his mouth and suckled gently, and then harder. He slid a hand up her body to cup her other breast, kneading and massaging it until her rosy nipple stood as erect as the one in his mouth. He kissed his away across to the breast he had been cupping, and took that nipple between his teeth and tugged gently until she was breathless with excitement. He had moved his hand to her breast not occupied by his mouth and rolled her nipple between his fingers. Suddenly he pinched hard and twisted. Meryll cried out in protest but his hand was quickly replaced by his mouth, gently licking and soothing the sore nipple. She sighed softly at the pleasure.
Lord Bolton’s other hand had been stroking her back and he was now tracing his fingers just along the waist of her smallclothes. He moved his mouth back and forth between her breasts, alternating flicking his tongue over her sensitive nipples with suckling and biting until Meryll was crying out with pleasure. He reached down with the hand on her back and squeezed her tender ass cheek. A high-pitched whine escaped from Meryll. He kept his mouth busy at her breasts and grabbed her by the waist with both hands and pulled her down roughly. Meryll cried out in pain when her throbbing and sore backside made contact with his lap, but his mouth was doing such wonderful things, sending strands of pleasure shooting through her body until she no longer could tell the difference between pain and pleasure. Meryll threw her head back, awash in the sensations. She felt like it wasn’t enough and grinded her hips against him, trying to feel more somehow.
Lord Bolton slowed his touches, and traced kisses back up Meryll’s neck and over her face. His hands held her still, not letting her rub her body against his. He pulled her head back into the crook of his neck, stroking her hair and neck, until her breath started to slow and her heart didn’t pound quite so loud.
“Meryll, you did very well tonight,” he said, ceasing his stroking and holding her tight. Meryll felt a sense of bliss come over her at the approval of her lord. They stayed like that for a while longer, not speaking.
“Did Jorran explain to you why I go down to the baths?” he asked, breaking the quiet.
“The leeches?” she asked, lifting her head from his shoulder.
“Yes. Meryll, you’ve probably heard many tales about me. None of them are exactly true, but most tales start with a small kernel of truth. There is bad blood that runs through the veins of the Bolton men. It brings on certain… urges. Dark urges. When those urges come on, we say ‘the blood is rising’.” He paused to push a strand of hair out of Meryll’s eyes. “There are many things that can cause the blood to rise. Violence, lust, or other strong emotions. A hunt can also bring on the blood. So when I came into this room fresh from the hunt and you were wearing that slip of silk…”
Meryll shuddered, feeling once again like prey in the predators grasp.
“I meant what I said to you yesterday, Meryll,” Lord Bolton continued. “There are things I’d like to do to you…” his voice trailed off. He pulled her head back down to his shoulder and stroked her hair. “A reward for you. Three true or false statements.”
Meryll thought hard. She wished she had more time to prepare. She thought of what Lord Bolton had said about tales usually having a kernel of truth.
“You have a cloak made from human skins,” she said.
“False.”
“You are a vampyr and drink blood and never sleep.”
Lord Bolton scoffed. “False.”
Meryll was quiet for a time.
“Ramsay was conceived when you hanged the miller and raped his wife under his swaying body.”
She felt Lord Bolton go very still beneath her.
“True.”
He continued stroking her hair for a while longer and then gently pushed her off of him. “Off to bed with you,” he said, guiding her toward the settee. He stood.
“I’m feeling the need for another leeching.”