Chapter Text
After Roose stormed out, Meryll lay in bed awake, cursing her big mouth and wondering if he would come back. She finally drifted off, sleeping fitfully and woke in the morning feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. Meryll crawled out of bed, wrapping herself tight in her pilfered cloak.
Out in the study, she could see Roose’s feet hanging over the armrest of the settee. Gods, had he really slept there the entire time he was wed to Walda? Meryll quietly walked around the settee, picked up the linen blanket that had been thrown on the floor and carefully tucked it around her sleeping husband.
Meryll was walking to the wardrobe to dress when Roose spoke. “Meryll, I’d like you to attend my council meeting this morning after your training.” Meryll felt a jolt of excitement at the invitation. After dressing in her leathers, she practically skipped down to the training yard.
Jorran finally let them use swords after the warm-up. He led the recruits through many drills and then set them loose to spar with each other. Meryll sparred with Jorran and was pleased that he didn’t beat her quite as quickly as the last time they sparred.
Meryll made it through the baths in record time and had Anna help her into a dress of midnight blue heavy winter silks. She knew Roose would notice the off-the-shoulder neckline, especially after Anna finished pinning her hair up. Meryll declined when Anna offered a fur stole but she accepted the flayed man brooch that she had worn during yuletide and pinned it over her left breast.
By the time Meryll entered the council chambers, she was the last to arrive. Roger and Rickard Ryswell sat on one end of the table and Ser Beron and Steelshanks, the masters-at-arms for House Dustin and House Bolton respectively, sat on the other side. Barbrey sat on one of the short ends of the table, Meryll took the chair at the opposite end. Roose was pacing, holding a letter in one hand.
“I received a raven from Mors Umber this morning,” Roose said. “He has bent the knee to Stannis, however, his brother, Hother, has not.” Roose turned to Meryll and explained. “They are joint castellans of Last Hearth while the Greatjon is captive at the Twins.”
“Are both brothers garrisoned at Last Hearth?” Roger asked.
“No,” Roose answered. “Mors and his men are at Deepwood Motte with Stannis. Stannis took the keep back from the Ironborn two days ago and is now gathering the mountain clans. Hother has been holding Last Hearth, however he arrived at the Dreadfort late last night. I will meet with him in the afternoon. Mors wrote to implore me to negotiate with Stannis. He suggests that I should swear fealty to Stannis, let him have Winterfell to launch his southern campaign, and in return I would keep my title as Warden of the North. An interesting idea, no?”
Meryll frowned. Although Roose had his usual impenetrable expression on his face, Meryll sensed he was quite on edge and fired up. She looked around the table. Roose’s advisors were quiet, and other than Barbrey, they all looked slightly uncomfortable.
“Lady Bolton disagrees,” Roose observed. Meryll squirmed. It was her first day. Couldn’t she just sit and listen?
“You may speak freely,” Roose said impatiently.
“This idea clearly came directly from Mors. There’s not a chance Stannis would be so stupid to consider such an agreement,” Meryll said.
“And why is that?” Roose pressed her.
“Stannis knows that if he takes Winterfell back and and either kills or takes you captive, he will have the undying loyalty of all the North,” Meryll said, swallowing hard. It was the truth, but not a pleasant truth.
Roose crossed his arms. “Thank you, Lady Bolton,” he said, glaring at his advisors. “Is Lady Bolton the only one at this table with any sense? I suspect not. You are here to advise me. You do me no purpose if you sit here too weak-kneed to say what you think for fear of displeasing me.”
Roger and Rickard stared at the table, while Ser Beron and Steelshanks exchanged glances. Lady Barbrey caught Meryll’s eye and gave her a small smile. By the time Meryll thought to react, Barbrey had already looked away.
“There is no escaping the battle ahead of us,” Roose concluded.
“Once you have crushed Stannis Baratheon, the loyalty of your bannermen will be secured,” Barbrey assured him.
Roose didn’t react. “Are there any other new issues?”
“Lord Bolton,” Steelshanks said, looking at the pile of parchment in front of him. “We are still receiving reports of infighting between the Freys and Manderleys stationed in Winterfell. At this rate, we will have a war in Winterfell before Stannis ever reaches the walls.”
“Why not send the Manderley forces after Stannis in the field?” Meryll asked. “They can assault Stannis’ army through raids and skirmishes, demoralizing the men before they reach Winterfell. It will get our forces out of Winterfell for a while, anyway.”
“That’s not a terrible idea,” Roose conceded.
“Faint praise, Lady Bolton,” Steelshanks whispered to Meryll.
“Anything else?” Roose asked.
Roger started talking about some new siege weapon he had heard about and Meryll could see Roose’s patience waning. Roose’s gaze landed on each of his advisors in turn, moving on to the next as if he found them all lacking.
Meryll tilted her head to one side, and then to the other, gently stretching her neck. Once she was sure she had Roose’s attention, she reached her hand back to give her neck a little rub, and closed her eyes for good measure. Meryll thought moaning out loud might be a little much. As it was, she could feel the heat of Roose’s gaze on her. She opened her eyes and blinked innocently at Roose. It said something about how preoccupied he was that he was just noticing her bare shoulders now.
Barbrey was observing this exchange with an odd expression on her face that Meryll could not decipher.
Roose interrupted Roger and ended the meeting. As Meryll was leaving the council chambers, Roose cut her off at the door. “Meryll, you must be starving. You wouldn’t have eaten breakfast. I’ll have something sent up to the study for us,” he said, taking her arm.
“No, my lord. I’d rather eat in the Great Hall so Steelshanks can fill me in on everything I’ve missed,” Meryll told Roose, pulling away from him. Annoyance flickered over his face but was gone as fast as it came.
“Of course, as you wish.”
Over the midday meal, Steelshanks showed Meryll the reports on Stannis Baratheon’s army, as well as estimates on how many men he would gain from the mountain clans and House Glover. Roose was able to answer her questions on the forces stationed at Winterfell. Barbrey added details on diplomacy and house relations.
“Meryll, I’d like you to sit with me in the audience chamber when I meet with Hother Umber,” Roose said as they were finishing up their meal. Barbrey opened her mouth to protest but then held her tongue. Meryll was almost disappointed that Barbrey was being so nice.
“Do you trust him?” Meryll asked.
“Roose doesn’t trust anyone,” Barbrey said wearily.
“It helps our cause that the rightful lord of Last Hearth, the Greatjon, is being held captive by your grandfather, Meryll,” Roose said. “But these Umbers; they may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning.”
As Meryll and Roose made their way above the Great Hall to the audience chamber, Roose handed Meryll parchment, quill and ink. “I’d prefer you just listen at this meeting. If you have something to tell me, you can just write it on this parchment. If Hother asks, we’ll just tell him you are documenting our meeting.”
The audience chamber was not a large room. There was a raised dais on one end with a heavy wooden table, the Bolton high seat, and a less ornate chair beside it. Roose took his seat and motioned for Meryll to sit beside him.
Galwin escorted Lord Hother into the audience chamber. Hother ‘Whoresbane’ Umber was an old man, gaunt-faced, with a long white beard. He approached the dais and knelt. “I, Hother Umber, Castellan of House Umber of Last Hearth swear my fealty and my loyalty to the House Bolton to serve you with my honor. My sword is yours, in victory and defeat, this day until my last day. This, I swear by the old gods and the new.”
Roose did not stand to accept Hother’s oath. “You, Hother, are here swearing your fealty, while your brother, Mors, has just bent the knee to Stannis. What am I to do with that?”
Hother remained kneeling, which could not have been comfortable for a man of his age. “I can only speak for myself and my men at Last Hearth, Lord Bolton. I have no control over who my brother and his men swear fealty to.”
Roose stood. “Very well. I accept your vow.” Visibly relieved, Hother stood.
Roose asked Hother several questions about his force at Last Hearth. Meryll started scratching her quill on the parchment while they spoke. Once Roose had heard enough of Hother’s army, he glanced over to look at Meryll’s parchment. She had drawn a nude picture of Hother in caricature: a narrow head with drooping jowls, nose and ears sprouting prominent whiskers, a long white beard covering his man parts, and a big, round belly hanging over skinny legs with knobby knees.
Meryll received a very subtle version of the “Roose does not approve” look; so subtle, in fact, that Hother never noticed.
“One other thing, my lord,” Hother was saying. “Mors and I have sworn to each other that Umber will not fight Umber. I am hopeful that you will find some other way that my house can serve House Bolton.”
Meryll wrote across the top of the parchment:
MOAT CAILIN
“Fair enough, Lord Hother,” Roose said. “I have a small contingent of men holding Moat Cailin right now. Their numbers are suitable for defense, but I will need more men to restore the holdfast and reinforce the walls. I would be greatly pleased if you could send 100 men.” After Hother agreed, Roose dismissed him.
Roose stood and pocketed Meryll’s drawing of Hother. “Thank you, Meryll,” he said. “I’ll be in my study if you need anything.”
Meryll stared after him, confused. She missed the Roose that dragged her around the keep and kicked in doors and threw her on beds. He was being so courteous.
Meryll walked down to the yard. Several of the new recruits were practicing their archery skills. Meryll was able to give them tips to improve their shooting: small adjustments in stance or how they were holding the bow, how to use their breath in rhythm with the shot, and minute adjustments to the placement of their quiver. After she had spent time coaching each of the recruits, it was nearly supper time.
Jorran caught up with her on the way to the Great Hall. “How about tomorrow morning, you take half the recruits and work on archery skills while I work on sword and shield with the rest?”
Meryll hugged him. “I’d love to!”
At supper, Meryll spent time listening to Roger talk about his family. He had three daughters, Rhianna, Rina and Ruth, and the stories he told of them made Meryll ache for her sisters. “My Ruth wants nothing to do with dolls,” Roger told her. “She only wants to play with swords. I should send her to the Dreadfort for a visit – she’d be thrilled to meet you.”
Meryll beamed and put her hand on Roger’s. “Your girls would be welcome here any time. I would very much enjoy having other ladies here at the Dreadfort. Back at the Twins, I longed to have time away from my family, but now that my wish has been granted, I miss them terribly. It does get lonely here sometimes.”
“We’ll arrange a visit as soon as things calm down,” Roger promised her. Meryll released his hand. Roose had been watching her, but his expression was unreadable. He turned to say something to Ser Beron.
After supper, Roger and Rickard talked Meryll into playing a game of dice. They kept a tally of each player’s winnings on a piece of parchment, and when Roose stood to leave, he peered down at the markings under their names. “I hope you haven’t emptied my coffers, Meryll,” he commented.
“She’s won two of Roger’s prize hunting hounds!” Rickard said, laughing.
Roose trailed his fingers along the exposed skin of Meryll’s back and shoulders. “You’ll join me upstairs soon, my lady?” he asked.
“I won’t be much longer, my lord,” she promised. And she fully intended to go to bed soon after. But then they started drinking wine and betting bags of potatoes. After winning 200 pounds of potatoes for the Dreadfort, Meryll stumbled back to the east tower.
Roose was sound asleep already.
The thought of trying to get her dress off by herself in her inebriated state was just too much, so Meryll crawled into bed, dress and all, and promptly passed out.
Roose was gone when Meryll woke up the next morning, but Ser Barri was happily curled up on the bed beside her. Meryll briefly considered skipping Jorran’s training session due to her pounding headache but then remembered he had asked her to work with the recruits on archery skills.
Anna was waiting for Meryll in the study. “Rough night, my lady?” she asked, laughing as she loosened Meryll’s laces and helped her out of her gown. Apparently, nothing was secret at the Dreadfort. By the time Meryll made it down to the yard, all the recruits were aware that Lady Bolton had been up half the night drinking and dicing. They entertained themselves by talking in loud voices and coming up behind her and banging their swords on their shields.
After bathing, Meryll pulled out a new vial of oils that she had mixed in Maester Tybald’s alchemy lab. She had been experimenting with combining different scents and had found one she particularly enjoyed. Meryll applied a dab of oil to each of her pulse points, plus a few other spots for good measure. As she made her way back up the stairs to the study, she heard Roose enter the chambers. Meryll paused on the stairs and pulled her shift off and entered the study naked as her nameday.
She froze when she realized Roose wasn’t alone. Roose was sitting at his desk, talking quietly to Jorran. Meryll hesitated for only an instant before sauntering over to Roose’s desk.
Roose cocked his head to one side, giving her a once over. “My lady,” he greeted her.
“My lord,” she said, hopping on to the desk. Jorran grinned.
“Jorran was just telling me that you trained the recruits this morning,” Roose said, standing. He walked over to a trunk by the wall and retrieved one of his tunics.
“I’d like you to choose fifty of the most promising archers and train them exclusively,” Roose continued, placing the tunic over her head unceremoniously before sitting down again.
“Really?” Meryll asked, pulling the tunic on the rest of the way.
“Yes, really,” Roose said dryly. “If that’s settled, then you are both dismissed.”
After Jorran left, Meryll went to the wardrobe and pulled out a dress. She swapped the tunic with the dress and then paused. “My lord? Can you help me with my laces?”
Roose didn’t answer but she heard him push his chair back and walk toward her. Then his hands were tugging the laces, pulling the dress tight across her back. His movements stilled and he leaned in closer. “Are you wearing perfume?” he asked, sniffing.
“Yes, my lord. I made it myself,” she said.
Roose buried his nose between her neck and right shoulder. “What’s in it?” he asked.
“Fennel, lime and patchouli. And then I topped it off with Arbour Gold.”
“Northern ladies don’t wear perfume, Meryll. Only whores,” Roose said, his breath warm on her neck.
Meryll bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Should I go wash it off?”
“No.”
Roose moved to the other side of her neck, nuzzling her ear and inhaling deeply. “Where else did you apply this perfume?” he asked, loosening the laces he had just finished tightening and tugging the dress down.
Meryll’s mouth curved into a smile. “You’ll have to find out, my lord.”
All too short of a time later, Roose was back working at his desk, and Meryll was lying on the bed, unsatisfied but deliciously sore. She probably shouldn’t have told him that his sniffing made him sound like a truffle hog. He had promptly flipped her over, given her a sound spanking, and fucked her senseless. Still, she did love getting a reaction out of him.
Meryll heard a knock at the study door. She wrapped Roose’s cloak around her and left the bedchamber.
“Our supply lines were ambushed last night,” Jorran reported to Roose. Roose swore and stood from his chair.
“There is no way bandits just randomly stumbled on our supply transports,” Roose said. “How is this possible? I didn’t even send word to Winterfell to let them know I was sending supplies.”
Jorran knew Roose well enough to know he should just keep quiet while Roose worked through the problem himself.
Roose paced in front of the hearth, mind racing.
He turned back to Jorran. “I want the rookery monitored. Post only your most trusted men at the doors. No messages in or out without Tybald reviewing them first. And I will personally review any letters concerning military matters or anything else that Tybald deems suspicious.”
Jorran nodded and left.