Let me first begin by saying I am so so so so sorry this is late. I started a new job and things just got really hectic. This chapter ended up a lot longer than I had originally planned, mainly because I kept giving people pov's. I literally just finished this so it hasn't gone through it's normal editing process. But I figured since I had made everyone wait so long that I'd go a head a post it. Again, I'm sorry for the wait. I hope everyone has enjoyed the story. I've enjoyed writing. And I hope you like the chapter. I actually wrote this whole story based off of the closing scene. So, I've had this planned for quite some time.

Sorry for any grammatical errors, I'll try to work those out as I catch them. ENJOY!

Ryece walked down the empty stone hallway to his parents' bedchamber. The echo of his boots on the stone was the only sound that could be heard. It had been years since he had actually seen the inside of the room. He only ventured there now so that he could catch a glimpse of his mother. It had been days since the attack and she wasn't getting any better. The maester had treated the wound with ease. In truth the wound itself hadn't been that harmful. But the arrow had been poisoned, and he had no cure for it. He had said the best thing they could do for her was give her milk of the poppy and let her sleep. Or go ahead and end it. Father hadn't liked either of those answers. Ryece was honestly surprised he hadn't slashed the maester's throat right then and there. But instead, his father just reached down scoping up his mother and carried her off from the maester's tower to their rooms.

So now she suffered slowly. They all knew she was dying. Father just didn't want to admit it. He passed no guards or maids as he walked. Father had threatened them all from the hall. The only other person even near the hall was Heath, his mother's guard, who stood at the entrance. Surprisingly, getting by him unseen had not been difficult. Ryece shouldn't be here. He knew that. But this may be his last chance to ever see her. No one had seen Father in days. The only time he had left her side was when he went to look for Corren the day they were attacked. He was held up in the room with her. So, Ryece was going to have to be careful to not be seen.

As he came closer to the door, he walked slower making his footsteps quieter. Ever so slowly, he opened the door a few inches. Just a large enough gap for him to see through. As he leaned towards the opening, he felt a blast of heat. It felt as though the whole room was a sauna. The brazier in the middle of the room was burning higher than he'd ever seen one. And as he looked over he saw his mother in the bed under a pile of furs. It must have been the poison in her system, making her sick. She was shivering as though she were cold, even though it was hotter than Dorne in there. Her skin had gone ghostly pale and her eyes were barely opened.

His father was sitting in a chair by the bed, half slung over the side as he held her limp hand. He wasn't even fully dressed, whether that was from the heat or distress Ryece wasn't sure. He'd never seen his father treat her, or anyone for that matter, so gently. He was always so domineering, grabbing her when and where he pleased. Though Mother never seemed to mind. But now, Ryece watched as his Father treated her as if she were made of glass, ready to shatter at any moment. He was talking to her in a tone too low for him to hear, as he wiped the sweat from her brow. What words she could get out were barely above a whisper.

Lucyia shook heavily despite the pile of furs. She knew it had to be sweltering in their room. But she couldn't stop shaking. So cold. Like ice coursing through her veins. No amount of warmth could keep the cold at bay. She had told her husband as much when he lit the brazier. He'd simply told her to shut up and let him do as he wished. Though the cold was preferable to the intense pain that would rack her body when it left. Her head was heavy with a pressure building in the back. She was so sleepy. So tired. It was all she could do to focus on her husband's words. She just wanted to close her eyes…just for a moment. But every time she did she was shaken back awake.

"I was writing a letter to Walda…can you make sure it gets sent?" she asked turning her head towards the desk. She had no true concern for the letter. It was just harder to fall asleep while talking, no matter how labored her breathes may have seemed.

Ramsay huffed, rolling his eyes in the process. "You can send it in a few days."

Had she the energy, she would have laughed. She'd be lucky to make it through today. If you could call that luck. Ramsay was not a stupid man. He knew what was happening, but for some reason she couldn't understand he just refused to acknowledge it. Maybe this was easier for. And if that was the case she wasn't about to take that away from him.

She ran her fingers over the pendant of her necklace, her source of comfort in many situations over the years. Maybe it could be one for him too. She reached behind her neck in a clumsy fashion, trying to unclasp the chain. Ramsay raised an eye to her movements, confusion crossing his face. She just couldn't get her fingers to hold on long enough. She didn't even have enough energy to take off a necklace. But it made no matter, her hands were soon snatched away.

"Don't you fucking dare" he growled, realizing what she was trying to do. She had meant him no offense. All she wanted was to give him something, a reminder of happier times before she was gone.

But his anger seemed to fade away with an unnerving laugh as he ran his fingers down the chain. "You can't be rid of me that easy. Whether it's hell or another life, I'll find you. So keep it" he finished, letting the chain fall back into place.

And then they fell into a silence again. It wasn't comfortable; it was like the air was filled with nothing but tension. She watched as he fidgeted in his seat, his aggravation becoming ever more apparent. He never had been one for patience. As he finally settled himself, his arm propped on the arm of the chair and head resting in his hand, he broke the tension…with more tension.

"Why did you marry me?" He asked it so suddenly it took her a moment to understand what he had said. The way he had said it had sounded like more of an accusation then a question, though there was no malice. She found herself looking over her mess of a husband, unkept and sleep deprived, asking questions that sounded nothing like him. After all these years, why would he ask her that now? Why would he ask her that at all? Ramsay didn't care why something happened, so long as he got his way. Besides, he knew exactly why. Her father had arranged it for aid in the war.

"Because my family needed-" but he cut her off with a growl.

"No. The real reason." The real reason? There weren't too many reasons to begin with. It wasn't as though she had really had a choice at the time. Though she knew that wasn't completely true. Had she told her father she wanted nothing to do with it he would have relented. But she never did. In truth, she would have been more upset had her father called it off. Ramsay had awoken something in her that she longed not to put to sleep again.

"You made me feel alive" she finally answered.

He laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "How fitting than, that I get to see you die."

Die. He had finally said the words he had denied for days. As he slumped against the bed she saw his mask of anger and aggravation melt away. For days he had acted if this was nothing but an inconvenience to him. But that was just it. It was a hollow act with no real drive to make her believe it. Just a mummers farce he put on for himself.

He let out a long sigh, combing his hair back with his fingers. He kept his head down while finding and taking hold of her hand. "Love, I…" Love. He didn't call her that very often. Nor did he say I love you as much as most women wish for their husbands to do. But she never minded. She didn't need his words. In fact, she didn't want them. He was a liar. It was hard to trust most things that came out of his mouth. But she felt that he loved her, even though he rarely said it. If he said it often enough, she'd just assume he was lying.

With what strength she did have left, she laced her fingers through his. She could feel the slight tremor of his body. He lifted his head, looking her in the eyes once again. There was a helpless look in his. She had never seen him this vulnerable. For the first time, she was truly worried about what would happen after she died. She hadn't even thought he'd mourn her for long. Her thoughts had mainly gone to their children and how they would handle it. She wanted to stay here…to comfort him…but she was tired….so tired…..

Ryece watched with confusion at the scene in front of him. Father pinched the bridge of his nose as his shoulders slumped forward, shaking. It was hard to tell, but he was either crying or laughing. Ryece had made it to his 20th name day without ever seeing his father cry. So it had to be the latter, though that in itself was more disturbing. Whichever it was, it didn't last long. As he watched his father move to sit on the bed by mother he quickly moved away from the door and out of view. A feeling of guilt weighed heavily on his chest. He shouldn't have been here. Those were private moments that hadn't been meant for his eyes. He turned to make his exit when he saw Corren making his way down the hallway.

He started to run but quickly remembered where he was. Instead, he just hastily walked over to his younger brother, blocking his path. "What are you doing?" he loudly whispered. "You can't be here." Corren definitely didn't need to see anything past that door.

"But mama-" he started to plead. Ryece couldn't be mad at him. He had done the same thing. As he looked back at the puffy brown eyes staring at him, he couldn't help but wonder. How had Corren manage to keep this air of timid innocence? More importantly where had it come from to start with? Certainly not from father. Maybe mother, but he felt as though Corren should have outgrown that by now.

"Needs to rest", was the only reply he could think of. Lying and telling him she was okay wasn't going to get him anywhere. And he'd find out soon enough how wrong that was. "Come on" he said, taking Corren by the hand. "Let's find Mara"

He felt relieved when they came towards the end of the long hallway, no longer worried about the noises they made or if they'd be caught. What did it matter if they were seen at this point? As they turned the corner, he caught sight of Heath intently watching over the entrance. He hadn't looked that enthralled when he came by. As they walked passed him, the guard gave them a nod. It was then Ryece realized that Heath had let them pass. He had known they were there the whole time. Well so much for being sneaky.

He found Mara in the same place he always found her, in the courtyard shooting at targets. Though it seemed as if she had another purpose besides mere practice. Her bitter grumbling became more apparent the closer he got. For a moment he considered leaving her be. But it was usually best to curb Mara's anger in one way or another, lest she shoot at something else besides targets.

She released yet another arrow into what was already a full target. "I think it's dead" He said in attempt for a jape. The piercing look she sent told him she hadn't found it in the least bit funny.

"I'd prefer to be killing something else" She sneered. She'd been desperate to get into the cell for days. He'd mostly been able to stop her. That was their father's revenge. And gods help whoever took that from him.

"You know that's not our place."

She threw her head back in a sharp laugh. "You're always so damned worried about your 'place'. Keep that up and one day you'll find it's at the wrong end of a sword."

Ryece just sighed. Did she have to be so volatile? "You shot him out of the tree. Isn't that enough?"

"Why aren't you angry?" It was half a question, half an accusation.

But he was. He wanted nothing more than to slice the man's face off and sew it back on inside out. But he knew how to control himself. And most of the time so did Mara, though she had been known to lose her temper. She was very good at pretending, acting like the sweet shy woman most lords wanted to be around. She had a way of bending people to her will, so much so that sometimes Ryece wasn't entirely sure if he knew who his sister really was. It was times like this when she couldn't quite hold it together in front him that he realized how close they were.

"Killing him won't get us the information we need"

"He screamed The North Remembers. What else do we need? We kill him then kill all the bloody Starks."

"Just because he said that doesn't mean the Starks sent him"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Of course you'd think that. You just want to protect your precious little …" But her sentenced slowed and began to trail off until it was nothing but air. Her eyes had widened at something she had seen beyond Ryece's shoulder. The look of concern and shock that crossed her face was enough to make him turn around.

It was a sight he hadn't fully expected to see. Their Father. Now fully dressed, he strolled through the courtyard as if he didn't have a care in the world. Ryece caught Mara's eye and they both exchanged a knowing look. Mother was gone. As father got closer it was easier to notice the toll he had gone through in the past several days, whether he was going to act like it happened or not. The dark rims under his eyes told Ryece he hadn't slept in days, more than likely adding to his unhinged behavior.

Father grazed right past them, almost unware they were even there. It wasn't until Mara spoke that he even acknowledged them.

"Father, if you're going to the cells I can help."

"I think I'll manage" He answered without stopping. Ryece prayed then. He prayed Mara wasn't about to do what he thought she was. This wasn't the time.

In her anger she forgot herself. Tossing down her bow she almost shouted, "You have no right to deny me that! Let me down-" But her sentenced stopped abruptly when he turned to look at her. The disturbed smile that slowly formed across Father's face most have reminded her.

In an almost casual manner, her strolled back over until he was face to face with her. "I've no right?" he spoke in an almost laugh. He grabbed her roughly by the chin, fingers pinching into each side. "You'll find that I have every right." For the most part Ryece could tell Mara was steeling her face of emotion as the two of them held their staring match. Father had never hurt one of them. But nor did he make empty threats and the expression on his face was threatening far more than a slap on the wrist.

Finally, Father relented, releasing Mara from his grips. But not before leaving her with an actual threat.

"Learn to hold your tongue or I'll send you to a fucking Frey. As is my right" At the mentions of Frey Mara wrinkled her nose in disgust. Still unwed, Father had the right to marry Mara to whoever he wished. Knowing their father was good for his word, she kept quiet as he walked off without her.

Ryece stood next to his sister for a moment not knowing what to do. She stood still, hands clenched beside her and head turned away. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder when she unexpectedly turned, shrugging him off. She reached down, picking up her bow before she stormed off.

Mara stood next to her grandmother as they laid her mother in the ground. The expression the older woman wore was tight and drawn. Ryece had sent word to their mother's family soon after the attack. Grandmother and Uncle Braydon and Damien had arrived not long after. Uncle Braydon had been livid when none of them had been allowed to see her. Grandmother hadn't been pleased either. She just wasn't as vocal about it. She understood her uncle's distress. Father seemed to be making an already hard time that much more difficult. Arse.

Grandmother let out a long sigh, interrupting Mara's thoughts. "Well, I truly did not expect her to live this long."

Mara raised an eye to that. "What do you mean Grandmother?"

"I expected my daughter to die not long after Ryece's arrival. It would seem for all his perversions he cared enough to keep her alive this long." There was genuine surprise in the old woman's voice. Mara knew that her grandmother didn't hold her father in high esteem. Though she had never explicitly said such, Grandmother was not a practiced liar. Her distaste was written all over her face any time she was near Father. And sometimes, though not often, Mara found her grandmother giving her the same look. Whenever Grandmother visited she did her best to keep Mara away from Father, saying she was too much like him. Mara didn't see anything wrong with that.

Father stood not too far off from them, only a couple of feet ahead. He was in a dark mood. She could almost feel it radiating off of him. Even she knew to hold her tongue today of all days. It wasn't wise for her grandmother to begin speaking this way. Why had she chosen now of all times?

"Grandmother, father…" She started, cautiously, almost as if speaking to a child.

"I am an old woman. If your father wishes to kill me he may do so", she brushed off.

Offset by her grandmother's answer, Mara looked about the group of people surrounding them to distract herself. Working his way through, came Corren followed by Heath. Father had assigned him to her younger brother after mother….well. For a moment, Mara was confused on where Corren was intending to go. As she watched, it became obvious.

"Corren" she called loud enough to get his attention, but not harshly. He was attempting to get to Father. Right now that just wasn't a wise choice. He walked over, slipping his hand in hers as Heath went to stand behind them. He was silent as he kept his gaze set on the ground. The only sound that came from him was the occasional sniffle. His eyes were red, on the verge of tears. Mara could tell he was trying so hard to keep them in.

"It's okay to cry" she spoke softly, startling him. No one would blame a boy of ten for crying at his mother's funeral.

He looked up to her wide eyed as he asked, "Why aren't you crying?"

Because all her tears were gone. She had used them all up in anger and grief the night after Mother had died. It had been stupid and reckless. Thinking back on it now just made her mad. She couldn't believe how quickly she had managed to lose her composure. She was stronger than that. But still it had happened.

After Father had refused her vengeance, she was seething. Trying to keep up appearances, she went to the one place no one would be staring at her. The Godswoods. Just encase, she made sure no one was there. It was empty like she had expected. Finally, alone she didn't know what to do with herself. She prayed for a while…well she tried to. She had never been very good at it. Hours went by and the longer she sat there the angrier she got. At Father. At the archer. At the gods. And at this ridiculous heart tree staring back at her with its mocking eyes. So she cursed it, kicking it in the trunk. But its lack of response just fueled her anger. It was the middle of the night when Ryece found her screaming at the thrice damned tree, attempting to shot it full of arrows. He said nothing as he approached her, taking the bow from her hands. She didn't have the energy to resist. He pulled her into his arms then and it wasn't until her face was securely buried in his chest that she even realized she was crying.

"So I can watch after you" she answered her brother with a soft smile. Corren tried to give her one back, but his face broke out into a sob instead. She squeezed the hand she was holding and ran her other one through his hair in an attempt to sooth him.

"There's hope for you yet dear"

She tilted her head towards her grandmother to ask her what she could have meant by that, but the old woman was already focused on something else.

"I suppose we'll be attending two funerals today"

Mara followed her grandmother's gaze to see Uncle Braydon approaching Father.

Ramsay stared down at the ground for what felt like an eternity. Staring at his wife's lifeless body did him no good. She just laid there so still and close he could almost touch her. He was use to death. He'd lost count long ago of the amount of it he caused. But it was never like this. The bodies were usually so far gone that they didn't look like bodies. Didn't look like people. They weren't people to him. But this was his wife and the longer he looked the more he expected Lucyia to just sit up as though she'd been sleeping.

He didn't have time for this. There were plans to make. His friend in the cells required his attention as well. All this standing around wasn't doing him any good. At least the damned bells weren't ringing. They had rung after all their children were born. And they had rung when their youngest daughter Evelyne had died of a fever not long after birth. He was sick and damned tired of bells. So, he made sure this time that whoever did it would lose that ability should they even look in its direction.

This was taking far too long. He wanted to leave. He didn't like down time and standing around. With nothing to preoccupy it, his mind tended to wonder. And he didn't like where it went. There would be this heavy feeling in his chest, a pounding ache in his head, and a tight knot in his stomach. This had happened briefly after Evelyne died. But this was something far worse. No, it was easier to focus on battle plans and sharpening his flaying knife for further use.

It was then that he heard the heavy fall of boots beside him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Braydon standing at his side. Well, Lord Blackthorn in truth, since his predecessor had been dead near ten years now. Ramsay didn't bother to turn to face him. Arms crossed in front of him, Braydon seemed unwilling to move as well.

"I suppose you have a plan." He finally spoke. Ramsay could have laughed right then. In all the years he had known him Braydon had never once willing spoke to him. It was only after prodding from his mother, sister, or antagonizing from Ramsay that he ever even uttered a word to him.

Though it seemed now that Braydon was almost as angry as Ramsay himself. That must have been a good enough push for him.

"Aye." He said, his lip curling into a grin. It was then that he turned his head towards Braydon. "We kill them all"

Braydon returned the expression. "You'll need help for that."

Good. Now the real plans could begin and he could focus on something else besides…this.

Ramsay rolled his eyes in annoyance at the man behind the cell door.

"No…no please" he shirked away, bracing himself in the corner. He was younger than Ramsay. Late twenties maybe. He was surprised the man could even hold a bow given how scrawny he was. Though that may have been because Ramsay had ordered the guards not to give him any food until he could make it down here himself.

For days he had tortured the man, taking him to the brink of what a human body could withstand. Ramsay had withdrawn all the information he needed from him with in a day. Everything else was just payment due. The man, whose name was insignificant, was sent by the Karstarks. They were apparently very good at holding a grudge. They wanted to ignite a war between the Starks and Boltons. Which Ramsay had to admit was smart. Get rid of two enemies at once. And they would get their wish. He'd go after the Starks and every last one of their bannermen, right after wiping the Karstarks off of Westeros.

As for the poor bastard in front of him, well he'd chosen the wrong person to shoot and had paid for it dearly. The man could hardly stand, though that was no surprise seeing as Ramsay had taken several of his toes. He would have taken more but he didn't want to drag the sod, too much effort. He had taken some fingers as well and a couple of teeth. Not to mention that the man's right arm festered with burns. It had been an eventful few days.

"Now don't be like that" he mocked disappointment. "I've planned something just for you. You don't want to disappoint me do you?"

The man hung his head, a small whimper escaping, as he meekly came forward. "Good man. Onward then" Ramsay said in delight, clasping him on the shoulder as he led him from the cells.

The man stumbled up the steps as Ramsay pushed him, almost tripping several times before Ramsay let him fall against the hard stone. Picking him up roughly by the neck, they continued on this way until they reached the open air. Ramsay felt the man shiver as he caught a glimpse of the woods line.

"Oh don't worry yourself. I've no plans to hunt you." At that the man's face of panic switch to one of confusion but the man's shaking continued. Well, this wasn't going to be any fun if he passed out.

"Calm yourself. I merely wished to bring you here so you could help celebrate my wife."

The man just stared at him blankly now, unsure what to make of that. But at least the shaking had stopped for now. As Ramsay led the man further out he could hear the people further in the courtyard. The guards should be arranging things. The children had better not be late.

Just as the large pile of wood was coming into view, Ramsay wrapped his arm back around the man. "Let me tell you something about my wife. She had this strange fascination with fire."

At that the man tensed as he peered down at his own scorched arm. "And no, before you ask she did not worship the red god. Though she could have been a red priest for all her love of the wicked thing and beauty. Anyways…"

The man patiently stood there and listened as Ramsay told him of his wife's obsession. Though it wasn't as if he had given him any other choice. At least he had the decency to fake politeness. Ramsay's eyes scanned the small crowd, catching a glimpse of the children. Good, they'd want to see this.

"And that's why," he said with excitement, "we're having a bonfire." He looked for any expression on the man's face but found none. "What? Don't you like the idea?" he scrunched his nose in mock insult.

"I-I'm sure she'd love i-it, m-m'lord" he stuttered.

A cruel grinned formed on Ramsay's face then. "Yes, she would have. Too bad she's not here."

"m-mlord?" The man had caught the dangerous look in Ramsay's eye.

Ramsay handed him over to the nearest guard "You know what to do."

The closer the two got to the unlit bonfire the more the man struggled. He'd finally figured out his fate. Despite the man's size it had taken two of the guards to tie him to the post in the middle. And that's when he began screaming.

"m'lord please. I'll do anything." he begged as Ramsay picked up a torch.

"Oh good." He grinned. "Do me a favor and scream over the roar of the flames."

"nononono" he mumbled, struggling against his binding as Ramsay got closer.

"I didn't mean to I'm sorry" he whined. But he went ignored.

"It was an accident!" He screeched as Ramsay bent down to light the wood.

Ramsay stood, torch in hand, and raised an eyebrow to him. "An accident?"

The man seemed to let out a sigh of relief for gaining his attention. "Y-yes, m'lord. I never meant to hit her. I's supposed to shoot you."

"Ah well, why didn't you say so." The man gave him a nervous smile for just a moment before Ramsay continued. He stared the man straight in the eye as he dropped the torch on the kindling. The man's eyes grew wide with horror as he looked down at the flames that would soon engulf him. "It was an accident" Ramsay said callously, his demented grin saying otherwise, as he took a few steps back.

As the flames got closer the man alternated between begging and insult. "Please!-You're a monster! Help me- It's your fault your wife's dead!" And finally as the flames started to lick his feet, "No…I hope you all rot in hell!"

As the fire began to devour him, the man screamed as if his very breath would diminish the flames. It was actually quite humorous to watch. Ramsay hadn't felt this light in days and the higher the man's screams, the better he felt. The flames grew so high now that Ramsay could feel the heat against his face. There was almost a comfort in it. He was reminded of something Lucyia had told him many years ago, There's a beauty to it. To know something you need could so quickly destroy you.

As the man's body was becoming charred, burning away flesh and bone, the screams came to a sudden halt. The man was dead, but the fire continued on. And just like that the weight of everything came crashing back down on Ramsay, threatening to knock him to his knees. He thought he knew what those words meant. But it wasn't until now that he fully understood.

Lucyia was his fire and he had been burned.

"If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention"