It takes him a minute to piece it together. He knows the bastard — literally, the bastard — as Ramsay Snow. Knows of Roose Bolton, and of his historically unsavory offspring. They must've naturalized him at some point after Sandor ran from the Blackwater. Must've lifted him up high enough to earn the status of marrying a Stark, and he can't imagine how in the fuck that happened.
Something about all that stinks like day-old fish, there's something wrong and rotten about it. He can't put his finger on it, but he doesn't like it.
Good, he thinks, that she's widowed. Good that she's a Stark again. Good that she's in her family home, and Queen in the Fucking North. All that's going to be something for him to think on for some time yet.
He brings his goblet of mead to his lips, and stalls the question by downing nearly half of it in one go. Exhales as he sets it back down, and busies his hands with filling both their cups before he answers.
"I found your sister. Watched over her. Took her North, or tried to. By the time we found your mother and your brother, their blood was flowing thicker than the wedding wine. So I tried taking her to the Vale instead, only we got there days after your aunt died. Last thing I remember is some giant bloody bitch showing up trying to get her fucking paws on your sister, and getting dueled off a cliff. Thought I'd died there. Thought that was the end of it, for me. Until those old fuckers pulled me through the portal here. That was two months ago."
no subject
It takes him a minute to piece it together. He knows the bastard — literally, the bastard — as Ramsay Snow. Knows of Roose Bolton, and of his historically unsavory offspring. They must've naturalized him at some point after Sandor ran from the Blackwater. Must've lifted him up high enough to earn the status of marrying a Stark, and he can't imagine how in the fuck that happened.
Something about all that stinks like day-old fish, there's something wrong and rotten about it. He can't put his finger on it, but he doesn't like it.
Good, he thinks, that she's widowed. Good that she's a Stark again. Good that she's in her family home, and Queen in the Fucking North. All that's going to be something for him to think on for some time yet.
He brings his goblet of mead to his lips, and stalls the question by downing nearly half of it in one go. Exhales as he sets it back down, and busies his hands with filling both their cups before he answers.
"I found your sister. Watched over her. Took her North, or tried to. By the time we found your mother and your brother, their blood was flowing thicker than the wedding wine. So I tried taking her to the Vale instead, only we got there days after your aunt died. Last thing I remember is some giant bloody bitch showing up trying to get her fucking paws on your sister, and getting dueled off a cliff. Thought I'd died there. Thought that was the end of it, for me. Until those old fuckers pulled me through the portal here. That was two months ago."