Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4975357.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Roose_Bolton/Robb_Stark, Roose_Bolton/Walda_Frey
  Character:
      Roose_Bolton, Robb_Stark, Fat_Walda_Frey
  Additional Tags:
      Necrophilia, Torture, Murder, Murder_Kink, Obsessive-Compulsive_Disorder,
      Robbwind, Red_Wedding, Older_Man/Younger_Woman, Exciting_Heterosexuals
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-13 Words: 1979
****** Making the Best of It ******
by crookedneighbour
Summary
     Roose takes some time with Robb's corpse and his new little wife.
Roose’s eyes followed the trail of ginger hair that tapered down Robb’s chest
and stomach. The blood from his wounds had turned brown and crusted over,
leaving long dark marks down his sides. The stump of his neck was a bloody mess
from where the Freys had previously sewn on Grey Wind’s head. The whole thing
was like something Ramsay would have done, ostentatious and messy. Roose said
he’d be easier to bury detached and the Freys trusted his expertise. He had his
own reasons.
The first thing he’d done was reclaimed Robb’s head. His hair was still soft to
the touch and he had ruffled it gently as he held the head. He was still quite
pretty for a corpse. He had seen enough to know the difference. The two pieces
were placed across bloody linens, his head having rolled to the side. His eyes
had long since glazed over and his body had become rigid. Stranger’s Stiffness
is what the Southrons had called it. Roose called it a disappointment. He’d
hoped for a chance with him while his flesh was still pliant. He’d felt warm as
Roose drove his blade in, body pressed close. He’d had Southern blood after
all, hot and quick to spill.
But now, his body was cold and hard, his skin turning slightly translucent. His
veins were dark blue and his freckles stood out against the icy backdrop.
Alive, he'd worn the flush of exhaustion or rage nicely. It brought the blood
to his skin and made him a satisfying shade of pink. Robb had been very
satisfying to look at. During his leeching sessions he'd entertained a few
daydreams about the boy, how he'd look on all fours with a slit throat for one
(alternatively with his wrists bound behind his back and plopped across his
direwolf's tanned pelt, always gasping as he bled).
Roose considered his next move carefully. Though his wounds had congealed Roose
could easily force them open. The Twins hardly had he set up for him to
properly take Robb's skin and the Freys would insist on further dirtying his
trophy with their games. An angry tick fluttered from his fist up through his
wrist, and though he did not move it was as if his body were aware of the very
wrongness of it. He should have flayed the boy alive. The situation had not
allowed it, but it'd been a sweet end to their game. Young wolves had the
softest pelts after all. He wanted to posses him as his ancestors had. Ramsay
would likely drive their bloodline to the ground, but at least he'd hang
another Stark King's hide from the Dreadfort's walls. Even Ramsay and all the
Freys combined could not ruin that.
Roose removed his gloves and ran his hands down Robb's chest slowly. His collar
bones spanned across his chest, the tips of Roose's fingers following the
gentle curve of skin. The grip of death had made his nipples pert and more
brownish in tone than they were previously. When he thumbed over them they were
still fairly soft. He imagined the living by would have squirmed at such a
touch. Held at a knife he'd perhaps nick himself and whine as it happened.
Maybe he'd even like it. He'd been awfully close with Theon, and it'd be just
too fitting for the two boys. Plenty of things happened at war that men turned
an eye too.
Above his left nipple the flesh was still torn open from Roose's knife. Roose
prodded at it slowly. The flesh gave as he wormed his first two fingers in. The
outer pieces of his heart were still tough, but it felt slimy and cold. Roose
couldn't quite decide if the experience was pleasant or not, but the tight hard
feel of it had a curious edge that made him want to drive further in. Roose
gently rocked his fingers inside him. He was slick and each thrust tore the
viscera inside the boy wider. Roose felt his cock stir, but such things always
felt so distant to him. His own arousal was more of a vague thing that hung
over him. Robb's body was more present and immediate though, intermingling with
the moment of his death; spreading the wound in his chest wider and wider as
his eyes fluttered and body shook with panic. Roose swallowed as he fingered
him, and the lump in his throat felt sensitive. He'd wanted the boy all to
himself. To take him aside privately, his trusting boy of a king deep in his
cups. Wet repetitive noises rose as he worked in and out of the wound and Roose
let out a brief sigh at the noise. This was all the intimacy he was allowed.
His first two fingers could fit in up to his knuckles now and when he drew back
they were covered in Robb's blood. He'd trim some of the boy's curls as his
prize, something to twirl idly between his fingers as he cleansed his blood.
The flesh around his digits loosened a bit more. He slid out easily, the flesh
releasing then tightening on his re-entry. Rose's blood stirred. It was as if
his heartbeat had settled beloved his groin. Too much more of this would be
unwise. Roose made sure to savor his last exit. Blood trickled down his strong
fingers and across the palm and back of his hand. 
Robb's head was still turned away. He carefully cut one of the boy's ginger
locks and tucked it away. He'd wash the blood and keep it clean and soft.
Robb's blue eyes had lost their vibrance, and his mouth had been pulled open.
He'd had youthful lips. Kissing always seemed a revulsive act, but there were
surely other uses for them; Robb's pretty lips meeting Roose's hand as he knelt
below him.
His token secured, Roose found himself wanting little else. Anything else would
be a waste. He had a plump bride awaiting him after all.
Rose passed several Walders on the way, all of whom tried and failed to say
something clever regarding the blood on his hand. It was all rather
unremarkable.
Walda was seated on the edge of the bed, idly swinging her legs back and forth.
On seeing Roose she looked up immediately, a smile on her face.
"I was starting to worry you wouldn't come back," she said lightly. "That
perhaps you'd found one of my sisters you liked more." 
Though she spoke in a jovial tone, Roose suspected she truly meant the worry.
"To return either my dowry or my word would be unwise. Both would be idiotic,"
Roose replied. "Enough of that though. I have need of you."
Walda pursed her lips playfully then stood. She was short and round for her
age, her belly wider than either her hips or her breast. Her belly formed a
single roll above her groin and two more below her breasts. Her robes hung open
but the fuzzy patch of hair between her legs obfuscated the details of her sex.
Walda wrapped her arms around him as far as they went and pressed her body
against his. She paused and looked down a moment, feeling Roose's arousal
against her.
"Such a romantic lord I've wed," she sulked, leaning her head against his
chest. "I'm not like Ami though my sweet husband. My womb is still shy and my
thighs need coaxing."
Roose placed his clean hand in her hair, tussling her flat blond hair. They had
only took to bed a few time, but Walda met him there with enthusiasm as best
she could. She uncoiled her short arms and took to his belt with a small grin
across her face. As she tugged it off him her face quickly shifted to one of
vulnerability.
"I hope I please you," she murmured. "You've been very kind to wed me."
Roose had not married her out of kindness and he had made no attempt to hide
that. It was unclear what kindness she referred to, but he appreciated her
willingness to please.
After she finished undressing him Walda plopped back on the bed, looking up at
him with a grin. Her breasts hung down her chest, oblong and ample. Her areole
were a bright pink that suited her youth and were the smoothest part of her
flesh, laying atop her chest gave him a strange peace from his repetitive
thoughts.
Roose climbed atop her unspeaking, taking a breast in each hand, bloodied and
unbloodied alike. Wanda whined as he gently rilled her nipples between his
fingers. When her eyes fluttered open, she looked to his bloody hand.
"Roose..?" she asked curiously. He interrupted her with a pinch to her
bosoms, eliciting a squeal of delight from her. She was a lively little thing,
giggling from the tickle of his hands as he traced Robb's blood across her
belly. The feel of her flesh made him want to press inside her, not unlike he
had Robb's body. Rose stopped where her flesh turned to folds between her legs
and massaged her softly here, enjoying the silky feel of her pudgy thighs.
Mixed with Robb's blood, the wetness between her legs did not bother him as it
usually did. He imagined prodding his way inside Robb's chest as he still
lived, having whisked away his trusting boy king for a more private death. 
Walda moaned as his fingers worked closer to where she opened then back to the
sensitive peak where her sex began. Robb would have whimpered as well, begging
and struggling as Roose's fingers initially entered his chest. Walda clutched
at the sheets as Roose entered her, again rocking his fingers inside thick
chambers of flesh.
"You can go faster, if you like," she sighed, the phrase parsed out between
ragged breaths. Would Robb have offered himself that way? "Whatever you
like...."
Wanda's thighs trembled with excitement as he worked her, she'd grown slicker
to ready her body for him. Robb would have resisted, hot blood spilling down
his freckled torso. Perhaps that was a different kind of offering.
"Fill me, sweet husband, before my pleasure comes," she urged. Roose obliged
her and more truly himself. She was easier to fit inside this time. Whether it
was the blood or his technique remained to be seen. Perhaps it had affected her
as well.
With her young body against his he could faster put aside the slights of the
day. She would be sated in this and he could turn to his thoughts for pleasure.
His fingers would plunge deeper and deeper into Robb as his body tremors on the
border of life and death. Eventually his body would slump forward onto Roose's
and with a sigh he would be no more.
By the spasms within her and her repetition of his name Roose came to realize
Walda was in her climax. Now was when his seed would best take. He'd done
enough idling. He reminded himself of the lock of hair he'd taken. On returning
home he'd place it alongside the skins of dead Starks, his own reminder of
their victories. He imagined Robb beside him there, aghast and vulnerable. He'd
strip him of his clothes first, then perhaps his skin. If he were to only have
the boys flesh once, it'd be best to make every use of it. Find every way he
could to humiliate the boy, then put him out of misery. When he came inside
Walda, it was thinking of Robb begging for death.
 Walda hugged him close as he slowed his body. His limbs felt calm and heavy. 
"What now my love?" she hummed. "You were more rugged then before.... I daresay
I liked it."
Her face was flushed with both exhaustion and embarrasment.
"Call your brothers," Roose answered. "Robb Stark is to be buried."
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