Lord Manderly remembered her.

"Commander Lothbrok!" The man was even older and fatter than the last time she saw him. He could scarcely walk now, but still waddled to the very edge of the square to take her hands and kiss them.

"Lord Manderly," she said kindly. He'd been a gracious host last they'd seen each other, nearly twenty years ago.

He wheezed in laughter, "You haven't aged a day!"

He'd aged much, though he'd been old already when she met him. In kind, she responded, "Nor have you. I feel myself a young woman again come to your market to sell my ships and swords."

He nearly fell over gesturing to a ship down the line. "That is one of the very same you sold me! Sails beautifully, her sisters are out at sea now. They are our fastest ships. Three you gave me, and I named them: The Winged Woman, The Swift Sword, and that one there is Valkyrie. I do hope you haven't used these names for your ships!"

She smiled, "I have two-hundred my lord. I don't name them, I number them. I could never have come up with so many names— I'd have simply named them for gods and went down the line."

Lord Manderly laughed so hard he almost toppled into the water. "Come, come, you must rest before you ride for the Dreadfort." He gave a very obvious wink, as if this was some great secret. They hadn't even had to disclose the real plan to him, given Roose had sought the alliance first. It wasn't being hidden that she was up there at his summons.

He was a more gracious host this time, allowing them into his home. Melisandre would have liked it, but she remained back at the Wall, intent on finding her answer in the flames.

It brought back many memories for Brynhildr, being here. Being such a young commander and coming with her hopes of starting a business beyond their murders. Meeting the Northerners, seeing Westeros for the first time.

She hadn't known then what her life would become, two years later finding Viserys and Daenerys waiting in her hall. Even when she'd come to White Harbor before, she'd wanted to stop in King's Landing to meet the Targaryens and hadn't. She wondered if that would have changed anything.

She questioned even further what might've happened if Roose had succeeded in convincing her to marry him. What might've happened if Stannis came to Braavos and served as a Valkyrie. She wondered if they still would have become enemies to her family, if she'd be dealing with them as she had now. Stannis lived only because of Daenerys's mercy, nothing more. And Roose would die soon, that was assured.

At White Harbor, letters awaited them. The first confirmed from Varys which houses they could expect to defend Brynhildr if all went to plan– Houses Reed, Manderly, Glover, Hornwood, and Mormont would all throw their full support behind her if she killed Roose. While houses Frey and Karstark were a bit heavier on their alliance (as were houses Ryswell and Dustin), it was expected that Houses Umber, Cerwyn, and Tallhart were not too painfully committed so as to try and hurt her for seizing Winterfell. They'd likely react well to a show of strength, as the Storm Lords had.

A second letter informed her that Varys and Tyrion had arrived safely to Storm's End. Unfortunately for their cause, it meant they no longer had a spy within the Small Council. It mattered not. Tyrion had done himself (and them) the great favor of killing Tywin before his departure. That was one less and very important person to worry about. Cersei may have thought herself cunning, but she'd not even been able to stop Joffrey from taking Ned Stark's head in the first place. Brynhildr didn't feel threatened by her.

On the morrow, with Lord Manderly eager for them to return and feast again, they set out for the Dreadfort. Brynhildr had every single Valkyrie (even the men of the Golden Company) painted perfectly, fingertips having formed lines on their cheeks in a threatening smear like Valkyrie wings. They all wore their full armor, weapons completely visible as they rode.

Their horses sported some painted runes on their foreheads, to imbibe them all with strength as she tried to play her trick on a man who'd already betrayed his liege lord. The gods of these lands were not hers, nor were their curses and rules. They could do nothing to her, especially not if she did it all to avenge a Stark.

The Dreadfort rose ahead, a strong fortress with thick stone wall and massive towers, triangular merlons appearing to be sharp teeth. The portcullis was already raised as they rode into the main yard, filled with the bodies of flayed men hung from the inner ramparts. The older corpses had begun to rot, some bone visible beneath a fading red flesh.

Roose himself stood waiting, not all that different from when they were younger. At his side, his new wife, a short, large girl with watery blue eyes, three chins, a huge bosom, and blonde hair named Walda Frey. A bit to the side was a man that looked like Roose, most likely his son. He was an ugly young man, big-boned and slope-shouldered, skin pink and blotchy, nose broad and hair long, dark, and dry.

"Roose of House Bolton," announced a man that may have been a master-at-arms. "Lord of Winterfell and the Dreadfort, and Warden of the North. His wife, the Lady Walda."

At her side, one of her shield-maidens shouted in the Common Tongue, "Commander Brynhildr Ragnarsdottir of House Lothbrok. Queen Valkyrie. Bloody Brynhildr. The Demon of York. Brynhildr the Undead. The Pagan Nightmare. Killer of Kings, Queenslayer, Kingslayer, Queenmaker, Queen Mother to Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightfulruler of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. She is the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons, and her heir is the Dragon Prince, the Viking Dragon, Viserys the Red."

Brynhildr rode up as close as she could, forcing Roose's head to tilt up at her. Her eyes were beady behind the black paint, and perhaps she resembled a demon as she stared down at him– perhaps, without blue eyes, she'd look like an Other wishing to make him a dead man in her ranks. She offered him a wry smile before she dismounted. "I presume this conversation can be had now in broad daylight?" she quipped. "The Warden of the North might take kindly to it."

Her words would ring in his ears in the same way they'd spoken to one another near twenty years prior. His lips curled devilishly, "Indeed, he does. Welcome to the Dreadfort, Commander. I dare say your title is more formidable than mine."

"For now," she noted. "Yet, I come here to tell you how I might make you not a Warden of the North, but King in the North." She moved to stand in front of the boy, standing nearly half a foot above him. "You, boy, what are you called?"

"Ramsay Snow," he said simply, pale eyes wishing to stare into her soul. A pity for him that her soul was not his to behold.

She turned away from him as quickly as she'd turned towards, and knelt before Lady Walda, taking her hand. "My lady. Thank you for welcoming us to your new home."

Walda smiled shyly, voice fluttering as she said, "You are very kind, Commander."

Roose gestured to the hall behind him. "My bastard will show your shield-maidens to their chambers."

"Not necessary, my lord," said Brynhildr. "We come with horses, and so they will set up camp outside, if you'll do us the favor of keeping your gates open to us. I don't expect we'll stay very long. After all, our conversation can be had quickly... provided we are truly on the same page."

His eyes glinted with a hungry malice. "Come with me, then. Surely you must be hungry."

He led the way into the great hall, dim and smoky, with rows of torches grasped by skeletal human hands jutting from the walls. Long tables stood before a dais with a high table and his seat. A vaulted ceiling rose above, with wooden rafters turned black from smoke. Walda and Ramsay were dismissed behind her.

She sat with him at his table, eating comfortably as if not worried about poison. She didn't think he'd do it to her anyway, not when he stood to gain more by keeping her alive. "I see you have a wife now," said Brynhildr. "I hope she will give you many sons."

"She is not my first nor my second," said Roose. "My first wife died on the childbed after many stillborns, my second died of fever and gave me but one healthy boy after others we lost in the cradle. My young Domeric was a page at House Dustin and a squire at House Redfort. He died but two years ago after he visited Ramsay. The Maester blamed a bad belly, but I think my son poisoned him. So, I brought him to live at the Dreadfort."

Brynhildr raised her brows. "A wicked boy. Yet an ambitious one. You'll need to keep a close eye on him with your sons by Lady Walda. Unless, of course, you intend to legitimize him."

He raised a brow. "Legitimize him. I'd toyed with the idea, given a bastard sits the Iron Throne, but why did you think of it?"

"Because I've a bride for him if that's the case," said Brynhildr. "We'll get to that later." She leaned back in her chair. "I admit, I wasn't sure if I should come or not. You betrayed your liege lord. Slaughtered a man at a wedding. I'm told you dealt the final blow to Robb Stark. You sided with the Lannisters... why, then, did you want an alliance with me? You know my daughter has three dragons. Three who could roast you alive."

"Yet you did not bring them. You clearly were intrigued, otherwise I surmise I'd be burnt to a crisp by now."

She pursed her lips, as if this had taken much thought. "I have the Stormlands. I have Dragonstone. But that wretched Tyrell woman has continued to ignore my letters. Really, she'd rather marry her granddaughter to a bastard than to my fierce son. Let it be to her peril, then. I've no care for the Ironborn, nor do I need their fleet. The Riverlands were once tied to the North, now they are not... but given Lord Frey's reputation as being late to everything, I'd rather let him sit this one out, for I know he will not again rise for Tommen of all people. The Vale remains eager to keep out of conflict. So, I am left with one answer. The North."

Roose nodded slowly. "I remember seeing you fight. You fight like a Northerner. You would have done incredibly well here. You would have been less preoccupied as my wife."

"And yet I would have become grandmother to dragons."

"I hear you took to husband the Prince Oberyn. So much for not wishing to marry."

"I am not married to him, not by any septon. Only in my heart. And even so, I've another lover– a Captain of the Stormcrows. I am happy with them, I am free without the true bounds of marriage. They were not around constantly, and so I fortified my company and raised my children well. I'll see the Lannisters die screaming for what they did to my lover's sister and his children, for how they tore apart my children's family. I want that throne for my girl and nothing will stop me from it."

He spread his arms. "You have dragons. Why aren't you using them?"

She shrugged. "Aegon Targaryen had full grown beasts capable of blocking out the sun. He conquered and conquered and put everyone under his thumb. That is not what my girl wishes to do. She does not desire the burning of great hosts and children in their keeps. The dragons will be used when they need to be used and not a moment sooner. They are the first three of their kind in over a century. They were not raised by another dragon, never saw any examples of habits. My children have been teaching them everything themselves. They must be trained for battle having never seen it, having never witnessed another beast like them descending from the skies to burn men."

He mulled it over some more. "Your children, your children. You have only two? Queen Daenerys and Prince Viserys?"

She smiled sadly. "Yes. I told you once that I might've given you a bastard, but never a trueborn. Turns out, I could not hold even a bastard in my belly. My womb never kept a child for very long. Five babes I lost, and it has been seven years since seed last took root within me. I'm afraid you and I wouldn't have been happy together, my lord."

"Roose," he corrected. "You once called me that freely."

"You are a married man now. I called you Roose when we rode each other."

"I remember it." He pressed his elbows against the table. "I remember our time together in White Harbor. I remember trying the Blood Eagle afterwards and wondering what all happened to you. Words were flung around between Essos and Westeros, I heard of the children and the greatness of your company. Still, it did nothing to fill the empty you left when you refused to be my wife."

Brynhildr kept it simple, "We may yet revisit the idea once my children are grown and I've nothing else to do. Perhaps my lovers would be willing to add a third to our group." Oberyn might've told her to use any methods necessary, but she did not have any desire to sleep with Roose again, no matter how clearly he wanted them to end up in bed together. She'd not disrespect her lovers that way, nor would she disrespect Lady Walda.

Seeing her disinterest, he questioned instead, "Tell me more about the pride you have for my son. I know it cannot possibly be your daughter, for she is to be Queen and I wager she'll marry your son to sire more dragonriders."

Brynhildr cringed, "No, certainly not, to either of those. I have something far more valuable. The Stark girl."

He sat up straight. "Why?"

"Why not? I didn't think it fitting she should remain uselessly there in the capital. There were rumors of wedding her to Ser Loras, it did not happen. She was wed to Tyrion, yet servants from the Red Keep spread word that there was no bedding. The girl was going to waste there and even before your letter came, I wanted her in my grasp. I would have used her to broker a deal with Robb, who was foolishly ignoring my advice."

He bared his teeth, "He ignored my advice at every turn as well. Arrogant boy, that is what got him killed. Spitting in the face of the promise and wedding that Volantene girl, flaunting her about to Lord Walder. Why tell me this? Why offer Sansa for Ramsay?"

"Because I need the North," she reiterated. "I need your men added to our cause. You wanted this alliance in the first place because you knew you stood to gain more from it. You had to think about the long-term survival of your house and you know, truly, that even without this alliance, I can tell my daughter to turn the still-untrained dragons and burn every man in the kingdom. If she won't do it, her brother will. You knew mine was the winning side, otherwise you never would have sought me out. And, in adherence to my daughter's wishes, I need men to limit how much dragon fodder we make. Tell me, do you want to be King in the North and survive, or do you want to burn with the rest of them?"

She had him sold, she knew. "Sansa," he repeated. "Why to Ramsay?"

"Well, the Northern houses are not all on your side, surely. Even riding through White Harbor, no one was entirely thrilled that I claimed to be riding for the Dreadfort. But they did nothing to me, for they fear the dragons that will come for them if any harm comes to their grandmother. If you wed your legitimized boy to a Stark girl, his heirs will be Starks. They cannot contest you then. I don't care about the girl, I care about the North. Robb insulted me by ignoring advice from three seasoned battle commanders. Sound advice that would have saved him men and saved his head. If you hadn't betrayed him, someone else would have. Killing the Karstarks was the last straw, I knew it. I probably would have knifed him myself to stop it if I'd been at Riverrun."

With a final sigh, he decided, "Then it will be done. I will move my men to Winterfell and will use my favor with the Lannisters to legitimize Ramsay."

"Good," she replied. "Then I will go to Storm's End and return here with Sansa. We'll see them wed and you can leave your boy in charge of the North while you travel to Storm's End to sit my daughter's council. We've need of a Master of Coin– the title can change if you so wish. Doesn't matter to her. The point is, we need a man of your cunning to join us. Prince Oberyn is so, but he does not know Northern battle tactics as you do."

"Very well. Shall we sign a pact?"

"The Valkyries do things a little differently. How would you like to seal this in blood?"

He narrowed his eyes. "In blood?"

"I was never able to show you the Blood Eagle because I was a foreigner, and the Warden of the North was a man who wouldn't have taken kindly to it. You are Warden of the North now. You decide if you want me to do it with you or not."

That had captured his attention; he'd always liked her bloodlust. "How will it be done?"

"One sacrifice should be enough. We'll drink herbs to bring our gods into it and we will do our ritual there." She saw his lip twitch in suspicion as she mentioned drinking, "Don't worry, Roose, you don't have to drink anything. Only the sacrifice as well as myself and my chosen priestesses. You and your men need only watch and join us with your spirits. We will do our chants and bless us all with blood. It is part of the ritual that we gather the sacrifice's blood and all take a bit on the forehead."

That relaxed him; he would never see it coming. "I'll choose my man and we'll do it tonight."

She prepared the mixture of herbs for the man he chose, a Stark man who'd tried to flee the Red Wedding. He'd been next up to be flayed and displayed at the Dreadfort, but this would be much more fun for Roose

Brynhildr did not argue when Roose said that Walda would not be present for the ritual. It worked in her favor that way. The Bolton men were there, standing with Roose and Ramsay. They stood in a half- circle with torches in their hands, most of the Golden Company men and Valkyries guarding the Dreadfort while the chosen few privy to her plan were there, in the robes of priestesses.

"I state here that we form an alliance in blood!" shouted Brynhildr, a knife raised in the sky as their sacrifice lay tied down on a wooden bench. "The Boltons will be Kings in the North. They will answer to no one, forever an ally to House Targaryen. Roose, Warden of the North, do you accept to becoming King?"

He nodded firmly. "I accept." Ramsay watched closely as Brynhildr offered him the herbal chalice to give to their bound man. The man sobbed, the liquid forced down his throat— as much as he could handle.

The Valkyries began to chant, words in Brynhildr's language strung in song to curse the Boltons for what they'd done, to ask for peace for the fallen Starks, to give hope beneath Sansa's name— no one there knew what they were really saying.

Brynhildr guided Roose forward and with him, took turns ripping the man open in the Blood Eagle. The Bolton men watched hungrily, hearts surely beating fast with the ominous Valkyrie chant that must have sounded to them like a chant for death. Indeed it was, but not for their sacrifice.

Once the man was cut, they tied him upright. Brynhildr had her shield-maidens come with bowls, letting the dark tainted blood drip into them. The priestesses had the Boltons formed lines, and on each they smeared blood all over their faces— an 'X' on their foreheads and both cheeks for the symbol of House Bolton, a total of three for the three heads of the Targaryen dragon.

One by one they went, Brynhildr herself offering this blessing to Roose and Ramsay, then having Roose write the same sigils on her own face. He dared to let his finger run down the bridge of her nose to her lips, and he pushed his finger between them, to entice him, she dragged her tongue out to lick the blood off, which only brought forth in his eyes a blazing fire of want. She knew he'd try to find her in her chambers that night.

The Valkyries stopped their chant, passing a second chalice. "We welcome the gods here now!" said Brynhildr, lifting the chalice. "The Old Gods and the Norse gods, we invoke you now to bless our alliance. We offer our minds to you, fill us with your knowledge."

She drank first, a big gulp. The other Valkyries passed it around for themselves. Brynhildr led them in a dance, letting her body move wildly and pretending she'd entered a trance, a berserker come to life in the North. The Bolton men's hearts must've raced even more when the other priestesses joined her, shouting up animalistically and curling their figures around the torches, leaping over the Blood-Eagled corpse.

As predicted, Roose knocked on the door of her chamber before she'd gone to sleep. The rest of the Dreadfort had dozed off by now, save for the few guards that manned the open gates for the Valkyries, who were still awake and chatting amongst themselves.

Brynhildr opened the door slowly, raising a brow and stepping aside. She drew a deep breath, deciding she'd risk ending him before the others. He'd dug his own grave already.

"Take off your clothes," he demanded, much as she had when they first met. "I mean to put a child in you."

"And yet I've told you I'm practically barren," she said, sliding off her nightgown. "Oberyn and Daario could not do anything for me in seven years. And even before then, many of my Einherjar gave me their gifts in hope their sons or daughters would command after me. I bedded you many times—"

"But you drank tea," he said. "Surely, for a child would have hindered your progress at that time. And I never heard of you having another child, therefore you did not want mine. Now, you will carry my true heir. Let Ramsay marry Sansa. Let them have their Stark children. But I know of only one child worthy if being King in the North. The son I will plant in your belly."

Ever so arrogant— it's why she'd not come back for him. Pretending to be interested, she beckoned him to remove his clothes. "Well then, my King," she said, laying on the bed and spreading her legs. "Give me your heir to carry, and we will see if the gods favor us."

He tried to crawl onto her once he was bare, but she put her foot in his chest. "Not so soon," she said, pushing him downwards. "My people say a woman's body will not be ready to sow if the earth is not moist. You do not arouse me as you once did, my King. Put your tongue to work."

Amused and seeing it as a challenge, he dipped down and got to work. She threw her head back, the sensation pleasurable, and slowly moved her fingers into his hair, moving her legs onto his shoulders. She let him continue, making noises to keep his guard down until at last she was in the perfect position. She wrapped her legs tight around his head to choke him and spun herself sideways as hard as she could go.

A firm snap sounded, and his body fell, either dead or paralyzed. To make sense of the thump, she stepped off him and cried out in pleasure, shoving her body against the edge of the bed as if it'd rammed against the wall.

She moved his body into the bed and fetched her knife, stabbing once firmly into his heart. "Sansa told me that the North remembers," whispered Brynhildr, glaring down at his open eyes. "And Valkyries never forget. This is for King Robb, on behalf of Sansa, Jon, and their siblings."

She dressed quickly but continued to make noise as if Roose continued to bed her. She reached under the bed and drank a bit more from a small flask, a further antidote to her poison.

Oberyn had helped her test the theory on Storm's End before her departure. Give poisoned water to a host and kill them as soon as the poison had seeped into the blood. Take their blood and dab it on the skin of another, to seep into their body instead. A poison to make them drowsy, to kill them silently in their sleep.

She and her priestesses had drunk the antidote when they pretended to have visions, but the Bolton men were infected the moment they were blessed with blood. The berserking had kept them there long enough for it to absorb even if they washed their faces afterwards.

The castle was silent come morning. The Valkyries swept in with her to check that every single man was dead, and took to tending to Lady Walda and the remaining servants after sending ravens to Storm's End, the Wall, and the Northern houses from the Dreadfort.

"There man is alive, Commander," said one of her shield-maidens, dragging with her a boy covered in scabs and scars, dirty and unkempt. He must have once been handsome and confident, but now he cowered in front of Brynhildr as if expecting her to strike him. "He's not a servant. We found him in the kennels when we killed the dogs– furious beasts they were."

"What is your name, boy?" asked Brynhildr, seeing how he shook and stared down at his feet. When he didn't immediately answer, she pressed the subject again, "Your name, boy."

"Reek," he said quietly. "Name's Reek."

Brynhildr stared down at him, his black hair not like the sort the Baratheons had. It was familiar, and she wasn't sure why. What she was sure of was that this man had been tortured and he hadn't been present last night at the sacrifice. "Reek," she repeated. "Is that your real name?"

There was enough hesitation for her to think it wasn't, but he insisted. "The name's Reek."

"The Boltons are dead," she said. To her shield-maidens, she nodded, "Bring Roose and Ramsay."

They dragged towards Reek the corpses of both men, eyes wide open. Ramsay's throat had been slit to ensure he lay dead. "They're dead now," said Brynhildr. "None can harm you. We are going to Winterfell and we're going to wait there for Queen Sansa's arrival. You're going to come with us."

They rode hard to Winterfell and swept into the empty castle, devoid of ravens. They lay in wait there for Sansa to arrive, escorted by Valkyrie captains that would remain there for her protection until they'd ensured the threat was dealt with. Brynhildr declared herself Queen Regent until Sansa's arrival, at which point they would bend the knee to her or they'd find themselves burning beneath dragons the way they hadn't when Torrhen Stark knelt.

Fire and Blood would come for any who denied Sansa.