Chapter Text
There were only a few moments in his life that Roose felt true fear. His father when he was a child would always reign first on that list. Fighting during the Rebellion struck a primal fear, fighting to the death for a cause many thought was noble. Truthfully, Roose just wanted to get rid of the Targaryens and their forced upon ruling and thought that Lyanna Stark could die for all he cared. That was not his problem.
Facing Lady Stark as she delicately sipped tea, knowing with a sharp whistle she could call shadows to her bidding, sent a certain admirable fear through him. Roose could respect those with power. And she certainly had it. A part of him lamented over how Eddard Stark, so noble and honorable, was the one to marry a woman with such dark magic, and not himself. The Bolton bloodline would have done well with her Tully fertility. It was a waste.
However, he could make the Bolton legacy great once more, if he was correct on the reason he was called to talk with Lady Stark.
“You are no idiot, Lord Bolton.” The woman commented lightly, sending him an appraising look as she set the cup down.
He only arched an eyebrow in response. Continuing on, she said, “So I'm sure you are aware that my daughter has been subtly courting your son.”
Truthfully, he had thought it was the other way around. But, he had suspected of something occurring between him and the princess. That or it was with the other girl, whom Roose had tried to suggest Domeric turn his gaze else where. Between a highborn lady and a princess, it would be logical to go for the higher ranking. Plus, the power the girl had would be beneficial to the continued Bolton blood line.
“You propose a betrothal between them.” He bluntly stated.
Lady Stark, tapped her finger a couple of times on the arm of her chair, never turning that sharp gaze from him. “Yes. Though, there is a condition that would come with it.”
He leant back in his chair, never taking his eyes off her. In every situation since he killed his father, Roose had always strove to hold the most power. To be the hunter, to be the predator in the midst of sheep. He had done his best to teach Domeric the same, though with a perhaps less heavy hand than his father did to him. Rarely was there a time he felt cornered since he was a child.
Something about Catelyn Stark's stare, the way her blue eyes seemed to bleed into a red depending on the lighting, had Roose knowing that he was not a predator in her presence. If to steal from other houses and their sigils, Roose was a Lannister lion, stalking his prey as the Targaryen dragon flew overhead, ready to strike if he attacked when he shouldn't.
He hated that feeling.
“What is the condition?” He demanded, growing too impatient to hide the unease.
She looked amused however, like he was a pup barking at a wolf. “Your son must marry Jeyne Poole as well, if you wish for him to marry my daughter.”
He blinked.
“What.”
Huffing, a smirk curling at her lips, Lady Stark took another sip of her damn tea. “My daughter and her best friend are deeply in love. Anyone with an eye for it could tell. And with how they are so attached at the hip, it would make sense for Sansa's husband to marry Jeyne as well. Twice the amount of legitimate children, if you think about it.”
“That,” Roose began slowly, “Is an old practise. One that the new religion had stomped out-”
She waved her hand with irritable dismiss, “Yes well, the Targaryens did it with their own siblings. At least we know that none of them are related. No deformities nor madness to come from their children. Besides, it's not like the god I worship would really care who marries who.”
“That god would be...?”
“The Stranger of course.” She replied near blithely. “They have an important role in the Whent bloodline. But that is off track.”
Moving away from his subtle probing for more information on her powers, Lady Stark forged on, uncaring of his frustration, “Jeyne would get the Lady Bolton title. I think that would be for the best. I love them both dearly, and I would never want Jeyne to feel inadequate or lesser. Sansa would keep her princess title, and your son would have two very powerful wives.”
“I could understand the princess,” Roose admitted, “But Lady Poole?”
“Don't underestimate her, Lord Bolton.” Lady Stark's voice cut sharply through the room, leveling him with a firm gaze, “Sansa's powers are certainly more noticeable and strong, but that does not make Jeyne weaker. And unlike how Domeric and Sansa would be unnerving to many, Jeyne is very good at putting people at ease. Something that would be necessary with some of the things I've heard going about your land.”
“What things?” He gritted out, glaring at her.
For a second, her eyes flickered over his shoulder, before drawing back to him. He withheld the urge to turn around, knowing that no one was there.
“That bastard of yours is certainly stirring up some trouble. Not enough for you to care about and step in. Which, shame on you, Lord Bolton.” The woman clicked her tongue, like he was a child she was scolding. “What is it that you say, 'A peaceful land, a quiet people'? You don't do that well. The people of your land are not peaceful. They're terrified. Why, their ghosts haunt your lands more than they do about the other Northern lands. In fact, there is a ghost who seems to have much to say about you.” A shiver ran down his spine as she asked with bland interest, “You truly demand to know of every common folk marriage?”
He knew exactly of whom she was speaking of, hands curling into fists as the woman stayed silent, watching his internal fuming. It would be a childish thing to turn around and see if the ghost was behind him, knowing it would only be present if the woman made it so. So he kept his head forward, glaring coldly as he replied, “Domeric will have two wives. But he must marry the princess first.”
Uncaring, Lady Stark struggled, “Fine by me. It would make sense with their differing ranks. He will marry Jeyne two days after he marries Sansa, but I do believe the three of them have been discussing a ceremony where all three are involved. So we will have to discuss further in the future when the girls are older.”
He arched a brow, but nodded in agreement. “Very well.” And uncaring of decorum in that moment, Roose stood up to take his leave. Only to freeze in his tracks at the ghost by the door, her face familiar despite never having known her name.
She glared silently at him. The hateful curl of her lips was exactly like Ramsay's.
Roose gave a brief glance over his shoulders at Lady Stark for an explanation, but she kept that distantly amused expression her face that irked him, silently observing. If he wasn't so determined to bring strength and power to his house, he would throw that marriage deal out the window. However, as this was most definitely just a scare tactic, Roose, glared back at the ghost.
“Hope you're happy with that little monster.” The ghost spat. “Be careful that he doesn't kill you like he did me.”
Keeping his face stone and unchanging, Roose strode forward, walking through the ghost and out the door. It was like jumping into a lake of pure ice.
Domeric hated the words of congratulations that followed him after the betrothals were announced. Some men even had to audacity to slap his back, as if he would rejoice over the suggestive - and sometimes down right disgusting - words they spoke of him having two wives in the future. If anything, it wasn't him having two wives, but the girls sharing in a husband. They were both frightening and magnificent, and he would have to wait until they were both sixteen before they would wed. Not a problem for him, as he was not interested in children.
However, it was talking to Robb that had been the issue, before it was officially announced. His father had stalked to his room, looking rankled in a way Domeric had only seen once, when Ramsay had nearly killed him. Concerned, Domeric had stood up, only to freeze at the look sent his way. “You will have to marry the Jeyne Poole girl in order to marry the princess.”
Slowly, Domeric had swallowed and nodded, “Yes, father. We had talked about it previously. Or, well.” He amended, “They cornered me and stated we would be marrying.”
His father scoffed, starting to pace around the room, “Don't be weak-willed for those witches. You are to be Lord Bolton, and a Bolton does not bow to the whims of their wives.”
He held back the irritation that rose in his throat, and instead had nodded. Sansa and Jeyne were terrifying in an awe-inspiring way. How could he not wish to worship them? Instead, he had announced, “I will be talking with the king, as I believe he would be amendable to hearing the news directly from me.”
And that was exactly what he did, hurrying out of the room and from his father as quick as possible. He knew Roose Bolton's views on the Starks, particularly their king, and did not want to hear all the cold words of his derision. Robb was a friend, and Domeric did not want to lose that.
When he found Robb, hold up in his solar, the young man turned his tired eyes up at him and blankly stated, “You want to be king, Domeric?”
Snorting, said man closed the door and strode closer, “Hells no. I've seen all that paper work and I have no interest in adding to my work load when I'm Lord Bolton.”
Slumping back in his chair, Robb crossed his arms, pouting, “Being king is stupid.”
Taking the seat across from the desk, Domeric wryly pointed out, “I know a few men who would disagree.”
“Power is over rated.”
Exhaling, amused, he decided now would be a good time to broach the intended topic of his reasoning being here. Robb was in a good mood, so hopefully he would stay that way. Taking a deep breath, Domeric met the other's eyes and stated, “I plan to court and marry your sister and Jeyne both.”
Slowly, Robb blinked. He stayed silent
Hands starting to sweat at the lack of response, Domeric began to ramble and explain, “It was not a sudden thing, I've admired them both since they returned from the capital. They've been kind and they don't flinch away at my house's reputation. Please understand, it was their idea-”
“Oh I have no doubt it was their idea.” Robb cut in. His expression was blank. Wincing, Domeric felt guilty at throwing the girls under the cart and amended, “I had no intention of pursuing them when I first talked to them. My father was insisting I try with your sister, but I did not feel comfortable, as I was growing to be quite taken by both-”
“Domeric.” Robb interrupted once more. Dragging his eyes back up from where they were watching his hands wring together, the older male noted a faint glint in his King's eyes. “I have but one question.”
Nodding quickly as a bead of sweat ran down his brow, he replied, “Anything, your majesty.”
“How long has Jeyne and Sansa been married?”
Bewildered, not having expected that question, Domeric blinked couple of times before answering with confusion, “Since they were four.”
“FOR FUCK SAKE!” Robb bellowed, standing up so fast his chair fell back with a loud crash, hands slamming onto his desk with a bang. Jumping up, terror beating in his throat, Domeric backed away, only to watch as the king stormed out of the room.
Dithering for a few seconds, baffled, he ran after the other man. Now, realising Robb wasn't angry at him, Domeric prayed he wasn't going to take it out on the girls. Regret flooding him, realising he revealed their secret, and hurried to fall beside the king on his rampage. “Your majesty,” He began with a faint plea in his voice, “Don't be mad-”
However, the other ignored him as he rounded a corner, and his eyes blazing eyes locked onto where Arya and Theon were talking in the hallway. “HOW DID YOU KNOW!?” Robb yelled once more, startling the two of them.
“Know what?” Arya asked, confused. “And why are you yelling?”
Domeric didn't want to call it flailing, because that wasn't very kingly, but Robb flailed his arms as he near screeched, “How did you know Sansa and Jeyne had married at four!? You were not even a year old!”
Theon threw his head back in a cackle as Arya crossed her arms, smug, “That's my secret to keep. Now, pay up.” And she held out her hand.
Nearly collapsing from relief, heart still thundering in his chest, Domeric slumped against the walls. “Gods, Robb. Don't scare me like that?”
Robb turned his way. “Huh? Oh,” And then waved his hand dismissively, “I knew you three would be marrying, thank you for telling me first however.”
If he hadn't promised his loyalty, Domeric would be trying to wring the younger one's throat by now. Watching the siblings, as Robb grumbled and withdrew a pouch of coin, Theon finally got his breath back to chuckle, “So we're expecting a wedding soon? For Dom, Sansa, and Jeyne of course, as the other two already did so.” Domeric warmed at Theon's nickname for him.
“And without even inviting their family.” Arya then clucked in disapproval, “How rude.”
The Starks were completely mad. Domeric didn't know if he was excited to marry into that – because there was no way it was the other way around – or if he was nervous.
Then, speak and they shall appear, his future wives came around the corner of the other side of the hall, arms linked and chatting lightly. They were stepping in unison, and Domeric was besotted by how they even braided their hair the same, colour coordinating their pink ribbons. It was Bolton Pink.
However, Robb noticed them, and pointed accusingly at them, “You married and had the gall to do so at four! I bet on you being eight!” He was whining now. The King of the North everyone.
Owlishly, the girls blinked, “You knew?”
Theon snorted as they walked closer, “We all knew.”
“All?” Jeyne echoed, frowning. Arya explained, “Not everyone, but we did. Bran thought something was going on, but not marriage. And Rickon is Rickon. He doesn't care.”
Humming thoughtfully, Sansa turned to the empty air next to her. After a pause, she flushed, “Father! If we were so obvious, you should have said something.”
The other Starks plus Theon perked up, heading towards the girls, and Domeric decided to take his leave. He got what he came for: approval. He would let them be and have their family moment.
It was amusing, how Sansa and Jeyne had thought themselves so clever, hiding their marriage, only for all of their family already knowing one way or another. Though Lady Stark hadn't said anything, Domeric knew that this union had not gone unnoticed from her. Ruffling his hair, huffing a laugh, Domeric hoped his future wives' exuberance would lighten the darkness and shadows that pervaded the Dreadfort.