A/N: contains strong violence/elements of sexual violence.


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"The gods won't mind. They've spilled more blood than all of us combined."


"He came across the bodies on our way here."

Roose's cold eyes dart to Ramsay. "Half a dozen men? Your best hunters?"

"They obviously had help," Ramsay snaps.

"I didn't think Lady Sansa killed them all by herself," Roose sneers. His son falls silent, his arms folding across his chest, turning to scowl out of the window. "Thank you for this report, Lord Karstark."

"We know where she's going," says Ramsay. "Her brother's at Castle Black."

Karstark frowns. "Ned Stark's last surviving son?"

"Jon Snow's a bastard, not a Stark."

Ramsay tilts his head, lips pursed. "So was I, Father."

"Your hold on the North will never be secure as long as a Stark can walk through that door," Karstark points out.

Ramsay steps forward, thoughtfully. "Castle Black isn't defended on the southern side. And the few men left are barely men at all. Farm boys and thieves. With a small force, we could storm the castle, kill Jon Snow—"

"Murder the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?" Roose interrupts, incredulously. "You'd unite every house in the North against us."

Ramsay frowns, shrugging. "We don't need every house in the North. The Umbers, the Manderlys, and the Karstarks command more soldiers than all the other houses combined. With their support, none could challenge us."

Karstark nods in bitter agreement. "The Starks lost my house the day King Robb cut off my father's head," he snarls. "It's time for new blood in the North."

"Rose Stark is in our dungeons," Ramsay says. "She'll serve purpose, should we need leverage against those who resist us."

Roose pushes himself to his feet, stepping away from the table. "In the meantime, will you delight in beating her? Flaying her? Raping her?" Slowly, he approaches his son, his jaw set. "If you acquire a reputation as a mad dog, you'll be treated as a mad dog. Taken out back and slaughtered for pig feed."

Ramsay's eyes flash. Whatever response he had in mind disappears at the sound of approaching footsteps, coming down the hallway towards the hall. Maester Wolkan appears, a bright smile on his face. "My lords. Lady Walda has given birth. A boy. Red-cheeked and healthy."

Ramsay goes very, very still.

"My congratulations, Lord Bolton," Karstark says, rigidly.

A hint of a smile plays on Roose's lips, as he turns to look at his son. For a split second, the hollow silence becomes loaded and uncomfortable. Then, Ramsay steps forward and embraces him. "Congratulations, Father," he murmurs, patting him on the back. "I look forward to meeting my new brother."

Roose draws apart. He fixes Ramsay with a steady look, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You'll always be my firstborn."

Ramsay nods, solemnly. "Thank you for saying that. It means a great deal to me."

In the next second, there's the distinctive sound of steel cutting through flesh. Roose buckles as Ramsay digs the knife through his ribs, right into his heart. A strange, gargling sound erupts from his throat, and Lord Bolton falls to his knees, which crunch on the stone floor.

Ramsay staggers backwards, watching him collapse to the ground and take his last, short breath. Roose's dead, glassy eyes stare upwards at the ceiling, unseeing.


The bars clang open. Rose turns her head to see Ramsay entering the room, donning a fur cloak and a conflicted expression — one she's never seen before. "Was starting to think you weren't going to show," she murmurs.

"Oh, no." His smile looks forced. "I'd hate to miss our daily chat."

Rose squirms in her chair. The chains around her wrists had left purplish bruises in their wake, and the rope tying them to the arms of the chair press against them, painfully. She can still feel the dull throbbing of the thin, but deep, welt lines across her skin. They burn each time she moves.

She watches, scowling, as Ramsay removes his cloak and drops it on the table. He shoves on a pair of thick gloves and picks up an iron rod, crossing over to the fireplace. Rose watches in horror as he crouches down, sticking it into the flames. "Touch me with that thing, and I'll claw your eyes out," she hisses.

"Ah-ah." Ramsay doesn't even look at her. "You're addressing the Lord of Winterfell. Am I going to have to teach you a lesson in respect?"

Lord of Winterfell. Rose frowns, confused. "What have you done?" she whispers. Ramsay straightens into a standing position, twirling the rod in his hand. Their eyes lock, and she realises. "You killed him, didn't you? You killed your father."

Ramsay shrugs. "Categorically, yes." The grim, wet smile on his lips doesn't quite reach his eyes. "That's not the story I plan to tell. Frankly, I have larger concerns." He crouches down in front of her, searching her face. "Your sister and that hideous beast protecting her managed to outmanoeuvre my men. We recovered their bodies from the snow this morning."

Rose laughs, flatly. "What are you going to do? March up to Castle Black and root her out?"

Ramsay's eyes narrow. "Do you take me for a fool?" he exclaims. She nods before she can stop herself. He toys with the steaming rod in his hand, then, his eyes on her face, lightly trails the tip of it down her exposed thigh. It stings like nothing Rose has ever felt before. She hisses in pain, looking away when a jagged, red line appears on her porcelain skin. "Understand this. The longer my bride is kept from me, the longer you'll suffer."

He lifts the rod. Rose didn't realise she'd been holding her breath until her mouth opens in a gasp. "Go ahead," she pants, though fear twists her stomach into knots. "Better me than her."

Ramsay frowns, bemused. His hand trails over the glowing mark on her thigh. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're enjoying this as much as I am." Without warning, he shoves his hand up her shift and thrusts two fingers inside of her. Rose lets out a gasp of pain, shock clawing at her chest. She squirms against him, but he releases her almost immediately, with a dark chuckle. "Well, I've been wrong before."

He straightens up. Rose cannot help herself — frightened tears pool in her eyes and slide down her cheeks. She has to bite down on her lip to stop herself from sobbing out loud, but they rack her chest anyway.

"Something has been tugging at the back of my mind recently," Ramsay says, trying to be heard over her frantic weeping. "Your husband has stayed well out of the fray for a long, long time. Yet, somehow, he managed to nab a high-born girl with a good family name. Why did he marry you?"

Rose sniffles, the tears in her eyes making it difficult to see. "He's in love with me."

Ramsay tuts, shaking his head. He puts a finger under her chin and tilts it up. "What did we say about lying?"

"It's the truth," Rose protests, feebly. "He married me before bringing Sansa here, because he knew that I'd volunteer to take her place as your bride."

Ramsay peers at her, thinking. "Anything else?" he asks, quietly.

Rose closes her eyes. I can't tell him about the Knights of the Vale . . . he can never know the truth . . . she takes a deep, bracing breath, and shakes her head. Ramsay looks down at her, disbelieving. He stalks around her and his hands find the back of her shift. She flinches at the tearing sound as he rips the fabric, easily with his hands. Her skin prickles with goosebumps.

"Don't hold back, Lady Rose. I plan on making you scream loud enough for Jon Snow and all his little crows to hear."

With that, he pushes the rod into the flesh of her back.


A/N: Things are (inevitably!) getting worse for Rose. The good news is that Sansa is heading for Castle Black. Will she push Jon into helping him save Rose? Or, will someone else beat them to it?