Accept your fate. A voice like thin ice breaking echoed through his mind. It seemed as though a thousand years had passed since his father's ghost appeared in his dreams, bestowing its dark predictions for the grim future upon him. The Crow’s eye had been an insignificant speck in a vast sea of enemies then; an amusing anecdote roaming the southern seas and nothing more. Of no threat to Ramsay’s existence or dominion he had been unworthy of note, but that was then and this was now. Everything had changed the moment Euron Greyjoy had entered his life, bringing with him a world where only misery thrived, madness prevailed and men did things to other men they shouldn’t. Roose had not appeared before him since that day in the woods and Ramsay felt grateful for it for in his current condition nothing seemed more unbearable than the thought of his late father being a witness to his humiliation.
He lay huddled in a corner staring blankly into the stonewall ahead. The guards had given him a blanket to wrap himself in, presumably to keep him from catching disease, exposed as he was to the cold, moist air of the dungeon. At first he had refused to wear it, tossing it to the side and hoping to fall ill so that death would spare him from any further perversions Greyjoy might bestow upon him. At least by denying his captors the pleasure of ending his life themselves he could regain some control over his destiny, and besides: giving the bastards a small dose of defiance was really all there was left for him to hope for now. When the Ironborn had found the blanket tossed aside they had chained him to the wall with his arms above his head. Wrapped up in the woollen cocoon he sat for half a day, like a defenseless fly trapped in an itchy spiderweb before he finally gave in to their demands. In exchange for being released from his bonds he embraced the unwanted salvage without further resistance. A little freedom was in the end better than no freedom at all.
After the short-lived rebellion, a guard was present in the dungeon at all times to prevent Ramsay from hanging himself with the blanket. Usually they kept out of sight, though every now and then one of the men would randomly appear before the cell, checking to see if he had done anything that could be deemed as a disobedient act. The Ironborn seemed intent on keeping him alive, but for what purpose other than satisfying the King's sickening needs he did not know. They kept a close watch on his intake of food and water as well, making sure he didn't starve himself or dehydrate. Thrice a day they brought him meals and stood watch until he had consumed every single bite of the horrid fodder. Ramsay overturned the first couple of bowls he was given, spilling the grub on the dirty floor. Despite his intention to remain defiant, the hunger strike had come to an abrupt end as the silver haired man, who went by the name of Grey Lorren, came storming into the cell with an expression of pure, unbridled fury on his dark hued face. "Little shit! What did I bloody tell ya!?!"
Seizing Ramsay around the jaw with one hand, Lorren began stuffing stew into his mouth with the other, then proceeded to pinch his nose shut until he was forced to swallow the thick, spoiled mash. He coughed and spluttered through the fingers covering his mouth, tears coursing down his cheeks as the man relentlessly crammed food into his face. The involuntary feeding continued on one wretched mouthful at a time until the bowl was empty. When the deed was over and done, Grey Lorren grabbed him by the hair and dragged him over to the water-bucket, forcing his face over the rim of it. “Look at you now, flayer", the guard hissed, "do you like what you see?".
As Ramsay caught sight of his reflection in the water, a sense of discouragement filled his being. The change in his appearance was so overwhelming he hardly recognized the man staring back at him from the bucket. Defeat shone from his hollow eyes, grey lifeless orbits in a ghostly pale face. The hair was tousled and dirty, while a shadow of stubble covered his jaw adding to an overall tattered image. His old tidy self was gone now, replaced by some creature that resembled a scruffy, drowned rat. Grey Lorren held him in place for a good long while, making sure that Ramsay had time to take in every single aspect of his face before dunking his head underwater and pulling it back up. “Murdering bastard, you deserve everything that's coming to you!”, he sneered into his soaked face, then pushed him onto the floor. Ramsay crawled back into his corner and faced the wall once again.
There were three men taking turns guarding him. None of them made an effort to hide their resentment towards Ramsay, though Grey Lorren seemed to harbour more hatred than the other two combined. He was clearly the one in charge and also the brightest of the lot which wasn't saying much. Besides him there were Hobbs, a large toad-like creature and an equally sized brute named Owen. Both men had been born without the burden of intellect, and was hardly able to speak and take a piss at the same time. They rarely spoke to him except to give orders or uttering the occasional taunt, yet Ramsay did not mind their reticence at all. In fact, silence was the one thing he came close to appreciate in the hell that now made up his life. Hobbs would stay out of sight most of the time, breathing heavily from his place somewhere in the dungeon. Every half hour or so, he would shuffle over to the cell to see if Ramsay was still alive then return to his post, wheezing and grunting like an overfed boar. The other guard, Owen, stayed in the shadows as well, silent and concealed. Were it not for the odd fart that rung out every now and then Ramsay might have thought he occupied the space by himself.
It had been two days since Greyjoy had been to the dungeons, and although it was a relief not to see his ghastly face or be the subject of his lust, Ramsay could not let go of the anxiety the man had put in him. Every few hours when the guards rotated he woke with a jolt, as the clanging of metal hinges announced someone was either entering or leaving the room. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum and the cell began spinning before his eyes when he imagined the footsteps descending down the stairs belonged to the Reaper, back to take one more greedy bite out of his shredded soul. His body had healed a little, but he still felt a throb in his gut every time he shifted himself into a new position on the ground. There were traces of blood in the bucket when he relieved himself, an atrocious reminder of the rapes and the likely irreparable damage done to his insides. He doubted that neither his body nor spirit could endure another attack. His colon would surely burst, killing him in the most disgraced manner imaginable or he would go mad from the torment itself. Even though he had accepted days ago that he was going to die, Ramsay could not think of a more horrible fate than being molested to death, except of course to remain alive and then being molested ad infinitum.
He had almost drifted off to sleep when Lorren kicked a boot hard against the bars, making Ramsay jerk in surprise. He opened the cell door and stepped inside, carrying a fresh bucket of water and the old set of clothing they had so brutally stripped him off a few days earlier. When life had been worth living. “Get yourself cleaned and put that on”, he ordered, dropping the clothes next to Ramsay. The Ironborn stood back scowling at him as he picked up a soaked cloth from the bucket. Turning his back on the man's uncomfortable stare he began scrubbing his body and face free from dirt, then proceeded to put on the garments. "Faster boy!", Loren said impatiently and kicked him hard in the ass, making Ramsay give of a loud yelp of pain.
A few moments later he was fully clothed, feeling slightly less vulnerable than in his naked state. Ramsay adjusted his doublet and turned towards the guard. Suddenly, his brain fired off a warning signal and a drop of angsty sweat trickled down his temple. Was this it? Am I going to die today? Why else would the Ironborn clean him up and put him back in his clothes if not to lead him to trial and ultimately his death. Although he longed for release, he still felt a growing sense of unease, contemplating the horrendous method of execution Greyjoy had come up with. If only it were the chopping block or the rope he would welcome death like a long lost friend, with arms wide open and a bittersweet smile on his face. It would be a good end, quick and painless, but deep down he knew that neither of those options were avaliable to him. Most likely his departure from the world would involve lots of screams and tears and begging. So much begging.
"You have to wear this", Lorren pulled a piece of black cloth from his back pocket, “hold still”. With the blindfold stretched out between his hands, he approached Ramsay slowly and deeply focused as if cornering a rabbit trying to evade capture. "Why?", the prospect of being blindfolded made Ramsay even more nervous and he took a step backwards. "I don ́t understand, wh...", his sentence was cut off, as a hand smacked him hard across the face. "You don ́t need to understand, bastard!", the Ironborn sneered in a low voice, "just do as you are told, and hold fucking still!". Spinning him around, Lorren tied the cloth tightly over his eyes, blocking out all light. "Let ́s go", he growled. Grabbing his prisoner by the upper arm he dragged him forth, out of the dungeon and into the hallway.
Their footsteps echoed through the hollow corridor like un-rhythmic drumbeats. Ramsay limped hurriedly along striving to keep up with Lorren, the rough-mannered guard seemingly indifferent to the fact that his prisoner was injured and blind as a bat. The air became cooler and less stale as they neared the staircase, making goose bumps spread across his already cold sweating skin. He had no idea where they were going and could not stop himself from fearing the worst. A gruesome death or another soul-shattering rape...maybe it would be both, but in which order? He shuddered at the thought and tried to clear his mind of the nasty images now taking form in it.
With a firm grip on his arm, the older man dragged him up the stairs. He stumbled on the first step and hit his knee against the stone, hard enough to make him wince. "Get up!", the Ironborn ordered, dragging Ramsay along without slowing down his pace. At the top of the stairs they stopped. Then came the sound of rustling keys. As the door to the outside world opened with a slight squeak Ramsay felt a cool breeze caressing his skin. Locked up in the cell for days he had inhaled nothing but foul, moist air making him feel as if he were slowly drowning with each strained breath. He haltered and breathed in deeply, savoring the moment. A few soft flakes of snow landed gently on his face, soaking into the skin as it absorbed his warmth. Tears filled his eyes behind the blindfold. No matter how it all ends...let it happen swiftly. Fingers dug into his flesh, and with a hard yank he was pulled forward. "Move it, bastard! Your Lord awaits”
The powdered snow beneath his boots creaked with each tottering step. He could sense they were moving across the courtyard in an eastern direction away from the gates. "Where are you taking me?", he asked, voice slightly trembling. Lorren, unresponsive to the question cleared his throat and picked up the pace. A few minutes later they came to a halt again and another door opened. The guard led him through and shut the door behind them. A hollow echo resonated downwards, disclosing they were about to descend into a cellar. He caught a whiff of something rancid arising from the depths, a faint but unmistakable smell of rot and ammonia. No, not...not that.
The steps were moist and slippery. At one point Ramsay almost lost his footing and would surely have stumbled down the staircase were it not for the guard's firm grip on his arm. At the bottom of the stairs they took a left down a narrow corridor leaving any further speculations of their final destination pointless. The prospect of what awaited him in the room the guard was leading him to, caused Ramsay's legs to feel gelatinized and made it even harder for him to move with a shred of dignity. The crouched over, faltering walk he was reduced to reminded him of a wounded dog or... or Reek. He straightened his back a little and put on the bravest face he could muster. They reached the end of the hallway where a door swung open before them with a loud groan; to Ramsay it sounded as if the song of the rusty hinges foretold of his impending doom.
A hostile shove in the back made him tumble headfirst into the room, issuing a startled grunt. Before landing flat on his stomach, Ramsay managed to get his hands up in front of his face, saving nose and teeth from being shattered against the floorboards. "You damned cunt", he mumbled under his breath as Lorren's hand closed around his upper arm, pulling him back on his feet. Ramsay was led across the room where he was then pushed hard onto a chair. As his sore ass connected with the wood he grimaced, letting out a hiss of pain. “Thank you, Lorren", Greyjoy's coarse voice sounded far to close to his ear. "Captain". The guard turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him with a dull thunk! Footsteps faded away up the staircase, an eerie silence settling over the chamber instead.
The trophy room had been his family's sanctuary for hundreds of years, a free space where the Lords could bask in memories of past feats and conquered enemies. It was the pride of his kin and a sight unlike any other hall within the castle to behold. In each of the four corners stood a Bolton cross from where countless screams of anguish and despair had been extracted through generations by Ramsay and his forbearers. A collection of hides from more than a hundred men and a few women adorned the walls like macabre ornaments. Only the most prestigious of their kills had earned a spot in the hall, Lords, rebellion leaders or the like, yet the crown of the collection were three former northern Kings; Starks who had been handed over to his kin for either their treason or disloyalty towards the Targaryen regime.
Though rumors of the room's existence and its gruesome contents still thrived in the North, only a handful of living men knew of its exact location within the Dreadfort. Before Eddard Stark became Warden of the North, the Boltons had benefitted quite well from tales of their brutality. It kept their tenant farmers humble and their rivals from moving in on their turf. As it had not surprisingly proved true, the fear alone of feeling the knife was a highly effective weapon against men contemplating a rebellion. Unfortunately, Lord Stark had not approved of the rumors being whispered far and wide about halls filled with human skins and Roose had felt it necessary to put a pin in as much of the gossip concerning their collection of horrors as he possibly could.
Ramsay inhaled deeply but regretted it instantly as a heavy, revolting odour hit his nose, making him retch. What in the seven hells is that stench? Something had surely died and begun to rot not far away from him. He lifted his hand to remove the blindfold. “No, no, leave it on. We don ́t want to spoil the surprise, do we?”, the King chortled, "It will be glorious, I promise you". Shink! Shink! Shink! Behind Ramsay, the unmistakeable sound of a knife blade grinded against butcher's steel rang out. By the Gods, not that. Anything but that. His fingers tightened around the arm rest making the wood creak.
Shink! Shink! Shink! The noise finally ceased. Ramsay held his breath, calming himself as best he could. A gasp escaped his lips as cold steel was pressed against the back of his neck. "I've missed you terribly", a jaunty voice above him purred, "all those lonely nights spent apart has proved such a trial for me”. He felt the blade trailing down his spine, grazing each vertebra with its tip. “I wonder...did you miss me as well?" Ramsay remained silent, struggling to keep the panic that had crept into his very marrow from taking control. The King removed the blade from Ramsay’s back. "Well, that just hurts my feelings! And after all I have done for you; clothed you, fed you...kept you alive, even though I ought not have done so".
He leaned forward, bringing his face close to his captive's neck. With one deep intake of breath he inhaled his scent, making Ramsay shiver in disgust. "My men want you dead, you know", Greyjoy's whisper tickled his ear, "sooner rather than later and in a way that is, ehh...how should I put this without unsettling you?", he sighed, then clicked his tongue in false compassion, "Excruciatingly. Fuckin'. Painful". A chill ran down Ramsay's spine and he squirmed in his seat. The tip of the knife scraped lightly against his cheek, circling the skin without breaking it. "Unfortunately, I'm no good with a blade; skinned a couple of deer in my life, but it turned out messy every time. Maybe you can give me some advice, huh? Let me in on the family secret?", Ramsay winched as the knife grazed the skin behind his ear, drawing a little blood. "Oh no, would you look at that? How clumsy of me"
A wave of dizziness swept over him, clouding his mind. The unoriginality of the Islanders revenge could almost have been deemed an insult if it were not so damned horrifying. Though Ramsay had expected them to come up with something gruesome he had not contemplated it would involve using his own methods against him. The prospect of being skinned alive made his heart pound in his chest, and his throat felt tight allowing him only short, shallow breaths. This is all wrong! This is not the way it is supposed to end! NO, you damned bastard! Abruptly, his thoughts were swept away and the tremors subsided.A primitive mechanism in his brain sparked to life, eliciting a defensive response to the threat against his life. Through his veins coursed a flush of heat, making muscles tense up and his teeth grind against each other. The savage, furious beast he knew all to well came crawling out its cave from deep within, teeth sharp and bared, ready to kill. If my life is to end, I will die fighting this cursed cunt till my last drawn breath. The fear he had felt but a moment ago seemed to have receded concurrent with his rage rising. Greyjoy might kill him for it, but he was going to die anyhow no matter the amount of begging he did or how many of the man’s depraved demands he agreed to. At the moment he was free from restraints but might not remain so for much longer. No matter what move he ended up making had to be made soon. It might be his last chance to kick Greyjoy's perfect teeth through the back of his skull, and he wasn’t about to let an opportunity like that pass him by. Having nothing left to loose, Ramsay prepared himself for a fight to the death. Lifting a hand to his face, he snatched off the blindfold, “You fuckin’ deviant bastard!”, he snarled, “Suck cock in hel...”
"Aaaahhh!!", Ramsay cried out in surprise and drew himself rearwards, hitting his head against the backrest with great force. The rage that had nearly driven him to a suicidal attack dissolved as quickly as it had arisen. His eyes became wide with terror and his jaw slacked open as he fought to comprehend the scene unfolding before him. On the opposite side of a small dining table his father had been placed in a chair, slumped against the backrest. Blackish-green splotches painted with red streaks like veins in morbid marble covered the visible parts of the corpse. The decay had been decelerated from him being buried in frozen ground for the past few months, but Roose was evidently still far along in the putrefaction process. Thankfully, he was half-way frozen which meant that he had been dug up recently, and that the stench exuding from his rotting flesh was not as foul as it potentially could have been.
He felt the Kraken's breath hot on his ear. "Surprise!", he whispered teasingly, "say hello to your father, Ramsay". Fingers caressed the back of his neck, another hand stroked the tussled strands of his hair. All coherent thought had left Ramsay's mind and he starred dumbfounded at his dead Sire, hardly taking heed of Euron's awkward touch. Although his father's ghost had rattled him quite a bit when appearing uninvited in his dream, seeing his actual corpse seated before him made former feelings of dismay fade away in comparison. “Come on! don ́t be rude, sweetheart! Say hello”, Greyjoy chuckled, “he won ́t bite...will you, Lord Bolton?”. The corpse remained slouched in its seat, jaw hanging slack, the cloudy eyes staring at nothing. Wrapping his arms around his captive's neck, the King let out a sigh. "What a reunion, huh? Such joy it brings me to see you two together again. Sure, ol' Roose here is not much of a talker, but we got along fine regardless...in the end silence suits most men", he gave Ramsay’s shoulders a tight squeeze then slapped them hard making him jump in his seat, “Now! I do have a few questions for you and you really should consider answering them truthfully. If you do not...I might just take offence”
Euron strolled around the dining table and sat down in a chair next to the cadaver, seemingly not to mind neither its presence nor stench. Leaning back in the seat, his teeth flashed bright in a sly smile. He looked from Ramsay to the dead man by his side, then back again. "You know? I don ́t really see the resemblance...are you sure that, err...", Ramsay swallowed and blinked a few times. "...I mean do you even know if you are his son? Your mother could have been a whore, willing to jump on top any cock in Westeros for a loaf of bread...”, a touch of malice had crept into Greyjoy's otherwise chipper voice as he searched his captive’s face intently to find out whether or not there were any truth to his vile words. Bowing his head, Ramsay averted his inquiring gaze, "you didn’t know your mother, did you Ramsay?" The King said, relishing his discomfort. Sitting for a long while in silence watching Ramsay staring into the floorboards he finally ceased his cruel endeavour. “Alright, fine fine...no more of that”
He motioned towards the hides that hung from the wall covering every stone of the wide surface. "This is magnificent by the way...you flayers sure do know how to make a room cosy", he looked around, admiring the trophies. “Rumour has it a few Starks hangs from these walls, is that true?". Ramsay nodded his head reluctantly, which made the Lord Reaper burst into laughter. "By the old gods themselves, Lord Bolton! What a fine collection indeed! It ́s good there are still some cunts around worth the piss of conserving!". Do something, boy! Protect your damn honour! Hesitantly, he looked up at the cadaver. Its dead eyes was glaring at him from across the table, sending his heartbeat into a frenzy. Ramsay quickly lowered his gaze again. Go away Father. Just...go away.
After his premature demise, Roose had been brought back to the Dreadfort for burial. It had not mattered to Ramsay where the body was laid to rest or even if it was buried at all, but being the new Lord Bolton called for certain appearances to be kept so he decided to give his predecessor a traditional deposit despite of. Had the northern nobles known he was the one who had disposed of his father it would be harder, if not impossible to convince them to join his ranks. He had to honor the tradition of burying dead Lords within the homestead so as to not raise suspicion toward his sudden rise to power and the methods that got him there. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but now that Roose sat before him staring him down with his cloudy, condemning eyes, Ramsay wished strongly he had just burned the body instead.
"Perhaps I should start a collection of my own now that I am Lord of this heap of dung. It seems only fitting, does it not?" The King sought eye contact, but Ramsay kept staring at the floor avoiding him. "Ramsay, look at me!", he ordered, receiving no response. Reaching within his ropes, Greyjoy produced the long, thin-bladed knife he had scraped against Ramsay’s spine earlier and slammed it down on the table, making his prisoner jump in his seat and regain his attention. “This conversation is started to get a little one sided but that is fine, I understand; you are baffled by my generosity". His facial expression had turned deadpan. "Since you do seem a little distracted today, I ́ll get straight to it. A thought has been nagging at me lately and I can no longer stand the suspense...how did you escape Winterfell?”
Was there any reason to lie at this point? Anything to gain by it? The rotting corpse proved a major distraction, making it near impossible for him to conjure up any clever schemes or tricks even if he wanted to. Perhaps it was a better strategy to simply tell the truth rather than get caught lying and having to face the consequences for it. He decided to play along at least for a while. "Through an underground tunnel leading to the forest beyond. After that I travelled by foot" One of the monster's eyes gave a discrete twitch. "Aha. And how many of these tunnels are there?" They do want to take Winterfell after all the greedy bastards. How splendid! It will surely end in your demise, Squid, and the world will be rid off its vilest piece of filth. Who could have known telling the truth had its advantages? Greyjoy seemed so bent on dismantling his own rule, that Ramsay almost laughed out loud from the absurdness of his overconfident plan. Yet, as imbecilic as it were it had opened the door for him to negotiate some terms of his own; the King wanted information from him and he sure as hell wasn’t giving it up for free.
"Are you going to kill me?", he gave the Kraken a somber look, "’cause if you are, just get on with it! Your little games are becoming such a bore". Euron ran a finger across his upper lip, stroking his beard. "How many tunnels, Lord Bolton?", he repeated, unaffected by the impudent remarks, "mind you, it is in your best interest to provide me with an answer" Ramsay looked from the King to his father, the sight made the bile rise in his throat. “What is the point of me telling you anything, if I am to end up like him?” he nodded towards the corpse, “you need to give me something in return" Calmly, Greyjoy picked up the knife from the table, testing the blade's sharpness against his thumb. “And why have you even bothered digging him up? His stench is worse than your own!”. Although Ramsay knew he was taking a highly dangerous risk provoking the monster, he simply could not endure the tension he felt from his uncertain fate for much longer. If he was successful in riling his enemy up into a murder frenzy the blade might find its way to his jugular and the nightmare would be over.With Ramsay eyeing his every move, the Salt King rose slowly from the table. Clutching the knife in his hand, he walked over to the corpse and positioned himself behind it, resting his arms nonchalantly on the top rail of the chair. “Did you know, you talk in your sleep?”, Euron gave him a mischievous smile, “oh yes, quite the chatterer you are. After the stories my men told me of your nightly confessions, I just had to hear them for myself and you didn ́t disappoint! Such interesting things you revealed about yourself, your family..." The thought of the monster watching him while he slept made Ramsay’s stomach turn, "...I almost shed a tear when you cried about missing your father", Euron tapped the flat side of the knife twice against Roose's scalp giving off dull clunking noises, "so I merely wanted to bring you two back together again. It was a gift, you see? You should say thank you, Ramsay"
His soldiers were all dead then. Not that it mattered. He would never be able to shake off the memories of the rapes, and even if his men had been able to rescue him from the King’s clutch his life would still be over. The shame of what had occurred in the dungeon would be too much for him to bear. "Just so you know, I don ́t blame you. Family can be like a shit infested wound begging to be cleansed. No one knows that better than I", Euron flashed his unsettling smile again, the grin of a prehistoric creature, nothing but sharp teeth and foul intent. “But I digress...answer me, please; how many tunnels are there at Winterfell?”
"I'll answer your questions if you let me go" The large man threw his head back and a great bellow of laughter filled the room. "Aaah, that ́s rich!!! Would you like to make any other demands while you’re at it, hmh?" Standing behind the chair Greyjoy leaned forward over the corpse awaiting a reply with keen interest, his laughter had faded into a small chuckle. "Then at least grant me a quick death." Ramsay swallowed the lump in his throat, "all that I know about Winterfell, the Starks and the other northern Houses I will share with you, if you slit my throat afterwards...that way we both get what we want" Euron rolled his eyes. "Not getting through to you, am I? Either you tell me everything...or I will make you regret, you didn ́t". He clenched the knife handle tightly, the metal glimmering in the torchlight. Pulling forth the last shred of courage left within him, Ramsay turned his face away. "Got nothing for you then. So go ahead...make me regret it!"
“As the Lord commands!”. Promptly, Euron stabbed the knife into the dead man ́s eye, pulling it from its socket with a wet, squishyPLOP! Thick, green goo came pouring out of the hole spilling down over Roose’s cheek. Bending forward Ramsay threw up his supper, undigested chunks of stew landing on the floor and his boots. Greyjoy came strolling towards him with the eye skewered on the knife, holding it as casually as if it were a candied apple on a stick. He rested his rear on the table in front of Ramsay looking down at him with a serious mien. "Let ́s try this again, shall we? How many tunnels are there? And don ́t waste any more of my time or I ́ll feed you this!". He waved the knife in front of his face. The punctured glob oozed a fluid that ran down the blade, thick and sticky like foul-smelling resin. "Aaahh!!!" Covering his mouth with his palm, Ramsay retched. "No, don ́t! There is only the one!" His words came out muffled between the fingers.
"Good boy. I knew you’d come around! And so onto my next question! How many men remain loyal to the Starks?” Ramsay sat paralyzed, staring at the pierced eyeball, convinced that a grey iris beneath the layer of white cornea were glaring back at him, conveying its disapproval of his cowardice. "I...I dunno!" he stammered. "Guess!", Greyjoy sneered and drew the knife so close to his face, the rotting glob touched his cheek. Ramsay gave off a howl of disgust. Staring at Euron with huge, wet eyes he began babbling. "Around a thousand...but...but...maybe more...maybe double that...I dunno...if my men have joined them...please! Get it away! GET THAT THING AWAY!"
Retracting the knife, Greyjoy considered the numbers. “Hmmm...that is a lot” he muttered and bit down on his lower lip while studying his prisoner. “Are there any nobles unwilling to bend the knee to House Stark?" Ramsay felt a globule of decomposing fluid run down his cheek. He wiped frantically at it with his sleeve, gagging at the same time. "Karstark, Manderlay, perhaps ". The Kraken sighed deeply, clearly disappointed by the news. "And what are their numbers?" Zero, most likely...but I'm not telling you that. "A few hundred if I am to guess" Euron gave him a long hard stare then dragged the blade along his sleeve, causing the punctured eye to drop to the ground“ If you are lying to me, I’ll find out soon enough and then his crumbling cock”, he waved the knife at the one-eyed cadaver, “will be your last meal, understand? So last chance little Lord...do you have anything to confess?”
Shaking his head, Ramsay swallowed bitterly. “I told you everything, I swear it. There is nothing more” Greyjoy's hand settled on top of his head, tussling the hair. "Good, you have done so good! See? If you just bow to my wishes I won ́t have to hurt you. Do not want to cause you more pain than necessary”. Lying swine. If only their roles had been reversed. In his mind's eye, Ramsay pictured the Reaper's hide hanging from the walls of the chamber, a sea creature curiosity added to the collection of mainland nobles. He would have made him a masterpiece, perfecting the peeling and conservation of the skin, then suspending it from a place where he could enjoy the sight of it every single day. How he would have made him scream. Oh yes. The monster would have screamed.
Standing up straight, Euron nearly blocked out the light from the torches behind his imposing frame. Ramsay glared up at him with hatred burning in his eyes, his nose flaring with each strained breath. Greyjoy's crotch was uncomfortably close to his face and he wanted nothing more than to drive his fist into the man ́s balls, crushing them like snake eggs under a boot heel. Won't make it far but maybe it will be worth it. The King's hand trailed down and gave his cock a squeeze through his breeches. "Let ́s play a little game", he smiled, locking eyes with Ramsay, "you like games, do you not?".
Sauntering around the table Euron placed himself behind Roose. With a quick brutal thrust downwards he stabbed the knife into the dead man’s skull, piercing the bone. “The rules are very simple: seize it and it’s yours.” he motioned towards the knife, handle sticking out from on top off the head like a candle from a candlestick. “Of course, you have to get past me first”. Euron licked his lips in anticipation, his face now lit with impish glee. He folded his hands on his stomach patiently awaiting his opponents move. With his mind racing, Ramsay remained seated for a prolonged moment in silence, trying desperately to figure out how to approach this new and very dangerous challenge he had been faced with. Acquiring the knife and stabbing it into Greyjoy's diseased brain was preferable, but he would settle with slicing his own throat if the main objective should fail. He shot his dead father a fleeting glance and swallowed hard.
Arising slowly from his seat, Ramsay felt the King's sly, predatory eyes follow his every move. Ramsay limped over to the table’s end, approaching the man submissively with his gaze fixed on the floor. "What’s the point? I wouldn't stand a chance against you...and I don ́t want to take a beating for an already lost cause", his voice sounded uneven, faltering, "so I have a proposition instead...one that will prove beneficial for us both under the circumstances". Lifting his head, Ramsay met a pair of blue eyes, brimming with annoyance. “Negotiating again are we?", Euron scoffed, "tell me: what could you possibly have to offer that I could not simply take from you by force?”, He drew his face in close and growled, “nothing is what. You have nothing!”. A hard shove in his chest made Ramsay take a step backwards and almost loose his footing in the process. Euron spread his arms wide, urging him to charge. "Com’on! let's play!".
Ramsay closed his eyes, then sank to his knees in front of the King. Looking back up again, he saw Greyjoy's expression had turned into one of slight intrigue at the sight of his capitulation. “All I have to give is this. You could force it upon me, sure...Still, some things are better without coercion, wouldn’t you agree, my Lord?” The Kraken sucked his teeth, “Well, well, Snow. Aren't you a dirty little whore? I would not have expected such lewd behavior from such a prestigious man”. Inhaling deeply, he made an inward hissing sound, then reached down brushing a thumb over Ramsay’s lips. “As tempting as your offer is, how could I possibly trust you not to bite me, hmh? You seem to be quite fond of it as I recall. Perhaps, I should remove all your teeth first just to make sure no accidents are to happen”. A single tear escaped Ramsay's eye and trailed down his cheek. "Nothing as drastic is needed. I only beg, that my father...", he nodded slightly towards the mangled corpse, "...he should not suffer such desecration any longer. I will do anything you say if you will but promise to bury him". His impossibly wide eyes locked with Euron's and he whispered in a frail voice, "and please don ́t violate me again...please don ́t. I will be good to you".
Flashing a row of pearly white teeth, Greyjoy weighed his words. A familiar tingle travelled from his balls, up the spine and to the back of his head making the blood rush to his loins. His cock twitched at the sight of his enemy submissively kneeling before him. He rested his hand on top of the younger man’s head and gave him a hard threatening stare. “If I feel teeth...even for a second, I will peel your hide like a grape then fuck whatever is left of you. After that my men will have a go...now, do you doubt my words?” Ramsay bowed his head. “No, Sire. I do not doubt you”. Greyjoy trailed his fingers down Ramsay’s cheek before retracting the hand to untie his leather belt and pulling out his already hard prick “Show me how sincere you are, Lord Bolton...we might have a deal if you please me just right”
In a flash, Ramsay had balled up his fist, and with all the strength he could muster, smashed it directly into Greyjoy's exposed testicles. The large man doubled over letting out a furious roar of pain. His hand shot out, grasping for Ramsay who dodged him easily then sprang swiftly to his feet, lunging for the knife wedged in his father's skull. Gripping the handle with both hands, he pulled and twisted desperately, trying to wrench the blade free but it wouldn’t budge. No! For fuck ́s sake!Finally, the knife came free in his hand, giving off a wet squishy sound like a soaked sponge dropped on the floor as it detached itself from bone and mushy brains.
The body fell forward; head and torso hitting the table top with a dull clonk, its rotting tissue seeping from the gaping hole and into the wood grain. Ramsay barely had time to register that something was moving towards him with great speed before he felt a body slamming into his, sending the knife flying out of his hand and landing several feet away. As he was thrust violently backwards, his hip hit the edge of the table making him twirl in the air then plummet to the ground. The very instant his body connected with the floor he was up again, scrambling onto his hands and knees and scurried under the table, instinctively searching for a cover from his captor's wrath that no doubt would be upon him soon.
His heart was pounding against his ribcage, as he looked out from between chair and table legs at the King's boots less than ten feet away from him. “That was a devious little trick, Lord Bolton... very devious indeed", a small amount of perplexity had crept into Euron's enraged tone, "you're going to pay for that, you little shit" Ramsay watched in wariness as the boots travelled over to first pick up the knife, then began circling the table like a predator searching for the right angle to pounce on its prey. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, ignoring the gagging smell coming from just above his head. There were nowhere for him to run. No other choice than to remain waiting for whatever would happen next.
Strong fingers closed around the scruff of his neck, yanking him out from beneath his cover and onto his feet. He looked up into a pair of narrowed eyes, blazing with fury. Placing his hands on Ramsay's shoulders, Greyjoy breathed heavily through his nose a few times, calming himself down so that he would not throttle his prisoner to death in a fit of rage. He was seldom tricked by anyone, man or woman, and most surely had never been done over by a bastard whelp who had barely entered manhood. The Bolton bastard had turned out to be less timid and willing to submit than Euron had expected him to be at this point, and now he had even flashed his teeth at him. As much as he liked a good struggle, he did not care for such surprises and that was exactly what Ramsay had given him: a big fucking surprise, right in the balls.
"You disappoint me, Ramsay. What an insolent little tease you are", he hissed through clenched teeth, "is that any way to thank me for reuniting you with your Sire?". The hands on Ramsay’s shoulders felt as though they each weighed a thousand pounds and he began trembling beneath their pressure. He had failed his chance of ending the nightmare whether it be by killing Greyjoy or himself. Another opportunity to do so would most likely not arise again.
The prospect of his impending punishment was tearing his mind apart as it searched desperately for a way to lessen the blow. Should he fight, risking more damage to himself? Or should he comply and gain some favor, thereby making the King less likely to brutalize him? If there was no way out of the predicament and not even death was an option, what was there to do? Which ever path he chose to go down could turn out to be the wrong one, causing him to face some deeply regretful consequences. Then again, there might not exist such a thing as a right choice. The King was obviously a lunatic, a neither predictive nor logical man, so there was really no way of telling how he would react either way.
"I don ́t want to hurt you, but it is as if you want me to", Greyjoy made a disappointed exhalation, "why do you make me do such things?" Ramsay's face twisted in a grimace, trying to choke back a sob stuck in his throat. The last ounce of his defiance was stated in a weak whisper "you are boring me again, you dim-witted oaf. Do what you must and spare me your tedious threats" Greyjoy let out a sigh, then settled his hand on the leather strap around Ramsay’s waist. Slowly, he started untying it with a series of rough tugs. Ramsay looked away in disgust, breathing rapidly through his nose as he felt his breeches loosen. The monster revelled in his discomfort, a wicked smile forming on his broad face. “Just remember you brought this on yourself”.
Grabbing a hold of Ramsay’s shoulders, the King bent him roughly over the table and held him in place with a hand on his neck. Less than three feet away, Roose lay slumped over facing them. The thick, rotting substance spilling out of the eye-socket and out from the hole in his skull. Ramsay could make out the pupil of the remaining eye, and he tried turning his head away but couldn’t. Euron tightened his grip, pressing the side of his face against the wood. “What do you think your Sire would say if he could still speak?”, his breeches were pulled down over his ass, a gust of cold air brushed over his exposed skin “do you think he would be proud?” He closed his eyes, trying to escape. A heavy pressure was on his ribcage as Greyjoy leaned over, resting his weight on his back. A wisp of warm breath on his neck, made him squirm and give off a weak whimper. Utterly helpless he lay pinned beneath Euron's body, making him lightheaded from the lack of air his crushed lungs could no longer provide his brain. A large hand closed around his skull as fingers pulled his eyelids upwards, forcing him to look straight ahead at the corpse. He tried shutting them again but couldn't. You can ́t see this, father. Don ́t look at me, I beg you.
Something hard pushed against his ass. He struggled not to cry, yet a muffled squeal escaped him as Greyjoy rammed his full length mercilessly inside him, making the table rattle from the shear ferocity of his thrust. Without the slightest concern for his victim’s still healing body, the King began pounding away at his ass. Ramsay’s face was scraping against the wooden surface and his groin hit the edge of the table with each forward push of Euron’s hips. “Do you see, Lord Bolton?”, his violator sneered between short, rapid pants, “do you see your heir take my cock like a bitch in heat?” The dead man’s head shook to the beat of the rattling table. “Stop! Stop!” Ramsay gasped, but the monster kept stabbing into his shredded bowels unaffected by his pleas. Instead his mouth closed around the smooth skin on Ramsay’s shoulder and he bit down hard, drawing an agonized shriek from the man as he broke the surface of his hide. “Since you enjoy biting so much, I thought I'd return the favour”. Euron's mouth curled into a bloodied smile. He bit down once more this time on the back of Ramsay's neck, evoking yet another scream. Then again, again and again, making his prisoner cry out miserably with each savage attack of his teeth.
Ramsay felt his soul come apart, ripped to pieces by humiliation and the trauma forced upon his body and mind. You are not my son you weak, disgusting mongrel, Roose whispered with contempt, no real man would allow himself to be corrupted so. Perhaps, it is because you like it...deep down you must like it. The devastating words made a numbness spread through Ramsay's being and suddenly he felt nothing at all. The Krakens heavy breathing faded in his ears as he stepped out of his body, and floated to the ceiling of the chamber, lifted there gently by invisible hands. Looking down he saw Greyjoy abusing his shell left behind, with sweat running down his face, his teeth clenched from the strain of fucking the tight ass with such complete ferocity it made his own cock sore.
Euron saw the bastard staring off into space and realized he was trying to shut him out. He pulled his cock out from the swollen hole, then grabbed the semi-conscious man around the torso and lifted him of the table. Dragging the limp body a few steps backwards, he sat down in a chair and drew his victim onto his lap so that his back was against his chest. Greyjoy positioned himself against the sphincter, and with a firm grip on the narrow waist he pulled Ramsay down on his rock-hard member in a slow, but steady pace until he could feel warm flesh against his stomach and thighs. The man snapped out of his catatonic state with a jolt and a squeal as he was skewered onto the prick, feeling the full length and girth burying itself deep in his guts. While holding his plaything firmly by the hips, Euron began bouncing his ass up and down, moaning out loud from the pleasure he attained by Ramsay wiggling wildly in his lap. In his mind, a wicked thought sprung to life.A hand crept around Ramsay’s waist and closed around his cock, stroking it once. Instantly, the bastard’s body went rigid. “No, no, no, no”, he whimpered, “what are you doing!?!”. The despair in his voice made Euron feel on the verge of exploding. Holding the smaller man restrained with an arm around his chest, he began jerking off his cock, applying long, slow strokes to the shaft. “I know, you want this...admit it”, he whispered as his hand began to stroke faster.
A tingle in his lower region made Ramsay look down. His prick had gone hard in Greyjoy’s palm. “NO!” he screamed in terror and fought wildly to lift himself off the King, but the grip around his torso only tightened further, making it impossible for him to escape the monster skewering him. Euron picked up his pace, the thrusts of his hips turned short and savage. His hand jerked Ramsay’s cock at an equally ferocious speed, every now and then giving it a quick squeeze. Ramsay felt his body betray him as his cock grew larger and his back arched against the man behind him. Having no strength left to endure it any longer he surrendered to his shameful climax, letting out a muffled whimper as his seed poured out of his cock in short, angry bursts, landing on his rapist's hand, running down and in between his fingers like a thick, spilled cream.
The muscles in his gut twitched and his ass clenched down on Euron’s prick, making him gasp and his eyes roll back in his head from shear ecstasy. With a loud roar echoing through the hall, the King exploded inside Ramsay sending a gush of semen into his bowels. Exhausted, Ramsay slumped back against Greyjoy’s chest trembling and sobbing. The Reaper lifted his hand sticky with semen, and gestured towards the corpse on the other side of the table. “Would you look at that, Lord Bolton! I told you he ́d like it”. The monster chuckled, a diabolic joyous sound that made the last of Ramsay’s defences crumble to dust. He began sobbing pitifully into his hands, his body protesting wildly with each flexing of his muscles.
With his last strength he tried to lift himself off Greyjoy’s lap. Strong hands closed around his waist and held him in place, denying him the freedom to move. “You made a mistake today...defying me”, a voice sounded close to his ear “maybe you don ́t think that things can get worse, but I promise you they can and they will, if you don’t start behaving”. Ramsay chocked back a sob. “so will you start doing as instructed?” When Ramsay did not answer he thrust his hips violently upwards, reminding his victim of what remained inside him and could easily stir back to life, hurting him all over again.
A gasp escaped Ramsay’s lips as a jolt of pain shot up through his sore body. “please no more... I’ll behave” his voice had turned frail and weak, the sound of defeat, “could you please...remove it now”. Greyjoy placed his hands on Ramsay's hips and lifted him upwards, the bloodied prick sliding out of his ass. He collapsed on Euron's lap, too exhausted to stand let alone put up a fight. “See? When you obey you get a reward and when you don ́t...well, you get this”, a hand reached around his waist and gave his cock a hard squeeze. "I..I..unde...stand...I understand", he stammered, his voice and body trembling from the trauma. "Good boy!". Greyjoy slapped his ass and lifted Ramsay off him, sending him into a near forward fall as his knees buckled from the sudden pressure of his own weight.
Putting away his member, Euron pulled up his breeches and tightened his belt, then turned to Ramsay and began fixing his clothing as well. Looking down, he discovered the semen coating his hand. "Hmm", he growled lightly and wiped his fingers off on Ramsay's shoulder. Ramsay stood paralyzed, eyes blinking away a steam of tears, allowing the man to readjust his garb as if he was a mere child without the ability to do so himself.
As he had near finished the task, Euron tugged gently on his doublet then looked into Ramsay's eyes with a serious mien. "Don't worry about him", he nodded towards the mangled body slumped over the dining table, "he's going into the ground soon enough, starting to stink up the place anyway. But if..." Euron placed a finger on the bridge of Ramsay's nose, tapping it once and making him blink in surprise, "...IF you try that little trick one more time...all three of us will meet up again and I'll make good on my promise of feeding you his rotting prick". Ramsay nodded his head slightly and looked down at the ground. Euron stared at the top of his head for a long while making sure he understood the threat fully, then turned on his heel and strolled towards the door. Flinging it open he yelled up the staircase, a playful tone coating his voice "Lorren! yer black bastard! Get down here and fetch his Lordship. We’re done for today!"