Once Barbrey Dustin received word from her sister that Ned Stark's daughter was almost at the Dreadfort, she set off immediately, impatient to meet the girl in person. She heard Sansa Stark was a beauty – a southron beauty. That would not do at all. Her dearest (and only) nephew deserved a strong Northern wife, not a half-Stark, half-Tully bride.

When she readied herself for a speedy journey to the Dreadfort, she left in the company of two of her three brothers, Rickard and Roose. Barbrey felt more than able to ride to her sister's home on her own, but by chance, her father wanted an alliance with White Harbour and sent Rickard and Roose to negotiate terms. It is about time Father finds allies, Barbrey had thought when White Harbour was in sight. He had found no interest in alliance-making for years, since her own hasty marriage in fact. No doubt after Brandon Stark had died, her father realised there was no hope in a Ryswell becoming the Lady of Winterfell.

"You should consider remarrying, dear Sister," Rickard encouraged, spurring his red destrier towards Barbrey's palfrey. "Who knows? Perhaps if negotiations go well, both you and our little brother will wed Manderlys. Roose to one of Lord Wyman Manderly's granddaughters and you to Lord Manderly's younger son Ser Wendel. Good matches eh?"

"I will never remarry," said Barbrey a little sharper than she intended.

Rickard arched an eyebrow. "I was not aware you loved your late husband so much, dear Sister."

"Enough with the 'dear sister' nonsense Rickard. It does not suit you. That trip to the Riverlands seemed to be more a mistake now I think of it. You know quite as well as I do that I will lose Barrowton if I remarry. There are no more Dustins by blood left – what do you think will happen to Barrowton?"

"Lord Stark will decide who to grant Barrowton to."

Barbrey sniffed, her lips tightening. "No doubt to one of his younger sons." She shuddered. "Or that bastard of his. I would rather be torn to shreds by wildlings than see Barrowton given to Ned Stark's bastard."

"You should curb your tongue, Sister. Not everyone here loathes the Starks as much as you do. What is it with your hatred towards them? You once had a small infatuation with Ned Stark's elder brother did you not?" He laughed. "Ah, I recall those days." He snickered as she glared at him. "Do you think our father will like a plump Manderly good-daughter? I fear our stores will deplete twice as quickly once Roose marries a Manderly girl."

They rode closer to White Harbour and the first thing Barbrey noticed were a ring of thick walls. One of the guards saw them and shouted, "Open the gates!" to the other guards standing nearby. Barbrey and her two brothers rode in. To her surprise, White Harbour was clean and well-ordered, not the dirty, disorganised harbour city she expected it to be. Apparently the harbour itself was divided into two: the inner and outer harbours. One of the White Harbour guards led Barbrey and her two brothers towards another war, this one a mile long, about thirty feet with towers every hundred yards, located on the jetty that separated the inner and outer harbours.

The smell of fish and the sea rose as they headed closer to the jetty. Common folk shuffled here and there, carrying baskets of seafood. Stalls popped up on the jetty and fishermen yelled their catches of the day. Whitefish, mussels, crabs and claims, herrings, winkles, salmon, lobster and lampreys being some.

"I hope the wedding feast will not consist fully of fish," young Roose remarked quietly. Barbrey suppressed a snort. She herself didn't fancy seafood as much as meat. Thankfully she only planned to rest at White Harbour for half a day before resuming her journey to the Dreadfort. She glanced at her youngest brother. He was more a Bolton than a Ryswell. Then again, her brother served as page in the Dreadfort to his namesake for a few years after Bethany married Roose Bolton. It still struck Barbrey as odd that her youngest brother disliked riding. What could have made a Ryswell hate riding horses? Barbrey often wondered. She guessed it was Lord Bolton flaying a horse in front of her brother.

It did not take long before Barbrey, Rickard and Roose reached the hill. Atop it was New Castle, the seat of House Manderly. The proud and pale castle's shadow loomed over the city's thick walls, House Manderly's merman sigil flying from its towers. An impressive castle. Barbrey dismounted her horse and handed the reins to the waiting stable boy. She pulled off her leather black riding gloves and with her brothers, followed the same White Harbour guard into New Castle.

"Lord Manderly will receive you in the Merman's Court," he informed them. "I have been assigned to show you the way my lords, my lady. If you will follow me my lords and my lady." He led the three of them through the courtyard and to the double doors protected by two men garbed in blue-green woolly cloaks and with silver tridents in hand instead of spears. They automatically opened the doors; to Barbrey, it felt like she stood in the great hall of a southron castle.

The walls, floor and ceiling were all made of wooden planks notched cleverly together and decorated with all the creatures of the sea. The floor was decorated with a dozen or more painted crabs and clams and starfish, half-hidden amongst twisting black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors. On the walls adorned painted pale sharks prowling painted blue-green depths, octopods and eels slithering between grey rocks and sunken ships. A few shoals of codfish and herring swam between the tall, arched windows and higher, closer to where the old fishing nets were drooping down from the rafters, the surface of the sea was depicted. To the right, a war galley rested serenely against the rising sun and to the left, a battered old cog raced before a storm, her sails in rags. Across Barbrey was a dais that held not only the large cushioned throne, but the enormous Lord of White Harbour who sat on it.

Almost sixty years old according to Barbrey's father, Lord Wyman had a large belly and fingers the size of sausages. Rickard stepped forward. "Lord Manderly," he said politely. "I am honoured you have agreed to meet us."

"My lords! Lady Dustin!" the fat lord's voice boomed. "I am honoured to house you at New Castle as my guests! For how long will you stay?"

"My brother Roose and I will stay until negotiations between House Manderly and House Ryswell are complete," Rickard responded. "I'm afraid my sister, Lady Dustin, will not remain with us for long. She is expected at the Dreadfort and will stay under your roof for no more than a day."

Wyman Manderly nodded slowly. "Stay for the feast, Lady Dustin," he insisted jovially. "Have you tried fish cakes before, Lady Dustin?"

"No my lord," Barbrey admitted.

"You should my lady! They are delicious!" He turned to the massive, bald man with a walrus moustache to his left. "Wylis! Tell Lady Dustin that our famous fish cakes are the most delicious fish cakes in all of Westeros!"

Wylis Manderly, Lord Wyman's heir, stated quietly. "My lady, my father spoke the truth about our fish cakes. Our fish cakes are the most delicious fish cakes in all of Westeros." It was astonishing how soft and formal the Manderly heir was in comparison to his father.

Barbrey forced herself to smile. "Perhaps another time, my lord. I may pay you a visit on my…my return journey."

"Excellent!" Lord Manderly rubbed his plump hands together. "The prospect of uniting our houses, eh? I do not believe Houses Manderly and Ryswell had the honour of allying with each other in the past." The dais shook slightly as he rose and lumbered down the small steps. "Now, we will eat and drink, Manderlys and Ryswells together," he declared. "When you are content and well-rested, we will discuss uniting our houses in further details. Lady Dustin, I must insist for you to sample our delectable fish cakes."

Barbrey felt an odd sense of relief as the familiar sight of the Dreadfort's high walls and triangular merlons rose into view. Ever since her husband Willam died, she found herself spending more and more time at the Dreadfort…until Domeric was sent to be her page at Barrowton. She loved her Bolton nephew as if he was her own son; she gifted him with fine horses almost every year and when he left to squire for Lord Redfort, she sent him books from the Barrowton library when she learnt he enjoyed reading about history.

She scowled when she remembered she was here to inspect her future niece-by-marriage. Ned Stark's marriage to Catelyn Tully was a terrible mistake – what was clearer than the product of their marriage, Lady Sansa Stark? Barbrey rarely visited Winterfell and in the rare occasion she did, she was not impressed at Lord Stark's littler of children. The majority of them could pass off as Tullys; only one, Ned Stark's younger daughter, physically resembled a Stark of old. When she saw the septa, she was horrified. When were Northern maidens raised by septas? She and Bethany most certainly never had one.

Before Barbrey went to greet her sister and good-brother, she caught sight of her beloved nephew…and his flaming, red-haired betrothed. Her smile vanished almost instantly. Sansa Stark was indeed a beauty; the Rose of the North to some people even. She was too pretty for a Northern highborn maiden. All the knights would fight for her hand, Barbrey thought as Domeric greeted her happily. If she was not betrothed to Domeric, she would have the chance to be betrothed to one of the Baratheon princes. Oh, the south would love that…Barbrey had wondered why Lord Stark suddenly decided to affiance his elder daughter to a Bolton after years of uneasy peace between the two houses. Was he afraid Roose Bolton would try and wrest control of the North from him? If he believed that, he was a fool. Then again, Domeric having a Stark wife could be useful…

After a short conversation with Domeric and Lady Sansa, the latter more quiet than a field mouse, Barbrey finally made her way to her sister's chambers. As she expected, Bethany was softly humming to herself as she sewed. She was never an animated person, not even when they were children.

"Bethany," said Barbrey, entering the room. "I see you are sewing another sigil tapestry. House Stark is it not? An odd choice."

"Odd?" Bethany looked at her strangely. "Why is odd, Sister?"

"Well, you are not related to the Starks. That flayed man tapestry is the House of your husband, the horse head is our father's and that one there is mine."

Bethany tapped the unfinished grey direwolf. "Lady Sansa is a wolf…and she'll be my good-daughter."

Barbrey snorted. "Lady Sansa is more like a mouse, Sister."

"A mouse?" Bethany seemed surprised. "Sister…Lady Sansa is a wolf…a little wolf." She stabbed the tapestry with her needle. "Soon this wolf tapestry will be on my wall. It will be complete…"

"Sister, the tapestries look lovely, but why are you in such a rush? There is at least a month or two until Lady Sansa flowers. I'm certain you will finish this um, beautiful tapestry before their wedding."

"It is not the wedding I am aiming to complete this by, Barbrey. I had a dream the other night…a terrible dream. It was before Lady Sansa's arrival. I was sitting on this very chair Barbrey, sewing this very tapestry. That was when I heard…the crackling flames. I looked out the window and the courtyard was aflame. I cried out for help and ran out to my son's room. I found him on his bed, asleep…or so I thought. I shook him but he wouldn't wake, Barbrey. He was dead! I then fell to my knees and wept, but then I heard someone laughing. I looked up and cried out in fear. Standing at the door with a knife in hand was the ugliest man I had ever seen! His skin was pink and blotchy, his nose broad and his hair long and dry and dark. His smile…" Bethany shuddered. "I still see it now. He slowly walked up to me…he grabbed me by my hair and whispered, 'the Dreadfort is mine. Your line is finished. I am the new lord now.' His hands were around my throat…and then I woke up." She shuddered again.

"Have you told your husband?"

"Yes. He dismissed it as naught but a nightmare." Bethany jabbed the tapestry in her lap a second time. "Naught but a nightmare…" she repeated eerily. "It was more than a nightmare…"

"Are you…ill, Sister?" said Barbrey carefully. "You look paler than usual."

"It is often cold here in the Dreadfort, Sister. So…so cold. Even with a crackling fire in the hearth, it is still cold…" She drew the furs closer to her. Barbrey could not help but frown. It was still summer – a rather warm summer compared to a number of previous Northern summers. Bethany rose and rolled up the tapestry, putting it in her sewing basket. "We have a sewing period with the little wolf…" Bethany informed her. "She is expecting us."

A sewing session with Lady Sansa Stark? Barbrey's brown eyes glinted. What better time than to interrogate her? She had more than a dozen questions to ask the Lady Sansa and without Domeric there to defend her…

"How exciting," Barbrey said with a rather sly smile, "and where will the Lady Sansa be expecting us?"

"The sewing room of course." The Dreadfort had a sewing room? "I recalled it from the tour Roose gave me when we were wed," Bethany explained. "When the Boltons were still the Red Kings, there were many of them. So many Bolton girls and wives that when the men went off to war, they would huddle in one chamber and sew together. Some have said that they sewed cloaks for the men made from the skins of their enemies," she added with a ghostly grin.

"I…I see. Why um, why is it called the sewing room?"

Bethany laughed. "Oh dear sister! I call it the sewing room! The maesters have named it the Cloak Chamber or something." She lowered her voice. "No one but the servants have set foot in that room. When I first came here, I always wanted to sew in the sewing room. My good-mother was long dead and my husband had no sisters or female Bolton cousins. Now that my future good-daughter is here, I can finally sew in that room as all my predecessors have done. I'm so glad you're here too, Sister. The more the merrier eh?" Dreaminess appeared in her eyes. "It will not be long before I have granddaughters to sew with…"

Barbrey glanced at her uneasily. Bethany's…obsession with having a dozen or so grandchildren was becoming slightly unnerving. Bethany was quite fortunate in having Domeric; Barbrey never had the joy of being a mother. She hardened at the thought of it. Brandon Stark, though a ward of her late husband's father, had spent most of his time endlessly riding in the Rills, thus becoming a familiar sight and presence to Barbrey. He was kind and charming while a bold rider. Barbrey would always enjoy watching him ride. One night, after drinking a little too much with her brothers, he took her maidenhead. Barbrey believed it would lead to a match between her and Brandon…it did not.

"Where is Roose?" said Barbrey, hoping to change the subject.

"Somewhere…he might have gone hunting even. Over the years, Roose had ah, developed a fondness for hunting in the woods."

"Not for riding?"

"Roose would never enjoy riding as much as Domeric. He thinks it a necessity while Domeric loves riding as much as we do."

"Our brother Roose has no interest in riding. Odd for a Ryswell."

"indeed," Bethany agreed. "Come, Lady Sansa is waiting for us. It will be rude if we show up late to a sewing session with the little wolf…"

"Quite." She followed Bethany out of her chambers, through two corridors and stopped in front of a door that looked identical to every other door there. A smile slowly appeared on Barbrey's face when she noticed Lady Sansa lingering nearby with her own sewing basket, doubt in her darting blue eyes.

"Little wolf…" Bethany beamed at her. "I am delighted you have come…"

"Domeric told me we are to sew together," Lady Sansa said nervously. Barbrey caught a glimpse of Sansa's slim white fingers shaking like a leaf when she spoke. Too much feeble southron blood. It would be good to eradicate it quickly.

"We will indeed…my lord husband had mentioned that as you are still a young girl, you must continue your education…which includes sewing. Maester Tybald will instruct you in history, numbers and most of your lessons while we will sew together for an hour or so every day. Would that not be exciting, little wolf? We'll sew together every day…" Barbrey bit her lip as Lady Sansa flinched. For the first time since she met the girl, she felt the tiniest spot of pity towards her. Bethany was not mad, but she…she had her rather delirious moments. Sadly they were a tad bit more common now than before.

Bethany's slightly glazed brown eyes remained fixed on the 'little wolf' as she pushed open the door. The sewing room was unusually round; a large window at one side and a vast wardrobe at the other. Around the room were a circle of plain chairs with no decoration or cushions. Barbrey glanced around. The only sign of embellishment in the entire chamber was the now-faded flayed man banner that hung on the wall opposite the huge window.

"How lovely," Barbrey commented with a hint of cynicism. "Does it get a little warm in this room, Sister?"

"I do not know," answered Bethany absently. "I suppose we will find out when the sunrays shine through the window. The sun hardly appears," she added. "It is afraid of the Dreadfort, or so Roose says." Before Barbrey could frown, Bethany gestured for her to sit down beside her. "Little wolf…" Bethany called. "Come and sit over here. Now that is a good girl…"

Like a terrified little mouse, Lady Sansa obeyed.

"Lady Sansa," said Barbrey as lightly as she could manage. "It must be exciting for you to part from your family. Are you eager to be Domeric's wife?"

"Quite eager Lady Dustin," replied Lady Sansa like the trained wolf she was. "I cannot wait to be Domeric's wife."

"Was your father more willing to part from you than your mother?"

"I…I do not know, Lady Dustin."

"Of course. You are still a young girl are you not? Have you bled yet?"

"Bled?"

"Flowered. Become a woman. I am certain you know as well as I do that you're unable to marry Domeric until you have flowered and become a woman." It was cruel, but she enjoyed watching Lord Stark's daughter hesitate so often. The poor girl could not make up her mind!

"What are you sewing, little wolf?" breathed Bethany.

"A tapestry Lady Bolton," said Lady Sansa, relief shining in her blue eyes. "I've decided to sew a tapestry of House Bolton's and House Stark's sigils as a symbol of friendship between the two houses and my betrothal with Domeric. If it turns out well, I plan to sew another one and send it to my parents. Once I finish one of the tapestries, I will begin sewing gowns again. Summer will soon disappear and winter will be here. I'm afraid I did not bring enough winter dresses and I found the Dreadfort colder than I thought."

"Winter is coming…little wolf…"

Lady Sansa Stark nodded, more confident than before. "Winter is coming," she affirmed so softly Barbrey almost missed it.

"Perhaps winter will be here sooner than you think," Barbrey remarked. "It'll be splendid if you have a winter wedding. You and Domeric must come and visit me at Barrowton after the wedding."

"We will, Lady Dustin. Domeric will desire it with enthusiasm."

Barbrey smiled to herself. She might not have any sons and daughters of her own, but Domeric would always hold a special place in her heart. She might not care much about his quiet, uncertain Stark wife, but perhaps one day she would leave Barrowton to one of their sons – if permitted of course. It is believed many Ladies of Dreadfort are kissed by insanity after years at the Dreadfort. It seemed to have already embraced poor Bethany; it might kiss the honourable Ned Stark's daughter one day. Barbrey's private smile widened.

She could not wait for that day.

I know I said I would upload a chapter 'in a week' which turned out to be a few weeks so my sincere apologies! I hope you enjoy reading the chapter :)