RAMSAY

Ramsay Bolton let out a growl of frustration and shifted his scabbard to scratch at an itch on his thigh, thinking that these damned woods were the most annoying thing he and his small company of men had ever been forced to endure. But it was the only way to ensure they encroached upon Stannis's camps undetected, and so that was the way of things, but he wished he were back home.

With his wife. His Sansa. Ramsay sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger in frustration, as though he were on the verge of getting a splitting migraine. His headaches seemed to be increasing in frequency these days, thanks in no small part to his father's efforts to rid the North of Stannis Baratheon and his armies and in by doing so, practically burning their entire great lands to the ground for all of his efforts. Ramsay groaned and trudged forward. He and his men had been out here going on at least three hours, each on the last vestiges of their patience, propelling themselves forward on perhaps only three or four hours of good, solid sleep.

Traversing these damned woods alone would have been punishment enough, but to be responsible for an entire company of men, which in actuality only totaled to about five, well, it was only natural enough that Ramsay as their commanding leader would see it as an obligation to keep track of each and every one of his men. Though going on what had to be the fourth hour lost in these woods, it was becoming harder and harder for Ramsay to account for all five in his party.

His best and brightest, one of the archers Ser Aleyn, had a horrible habit of wandering off into places where he ought not, usually in search of food, and one of their archers, Ser Aleyn, had an even worse habit of scaling the trunks of trees in able to see from a high-above vantage point.

A useful skill in combat situations, but here in these woods where he was responsible for all of them, it fucking pissed Ramsay off to no end, annoying him. Ramsay stomped his foot in a moment of frustration and kicked aside a fallen tree branch that was in their path.

Ramsay glanced towards the trees' canopy as he heard the rustling of limbs above his head and he barely stifled his smile as the young archer, Aleyn, poked his head out of the wood and shot Ramsay a lopsided sort of smirk, albeit without ever showing his teeth. "No signs of wolves, sir."

Ramsay nodded. "I thought not. Father sends us out on these damned fool's errands nightly, risking our own lives, when we've not had a single Baratheon bastard traipse through these fucking woods. Father keeps us away from our wives, when I could be at home in the comfort of my own bed, nice, warm, and enjoying a good fucking. Seven hells," he growled through gritted teeth. "I just want to go home and lay with Lady Sansa. She's…warm," he admitted, not even realizing he'd spoken it out loud.

"Keep your wits about you, milord. We don't know what lays in wait for us ahead these woods," murmured Aleyn, a light pink blush speckling along his cheeks as he no doubt was having trouble ridding his mind of uncomfortable visual images of his commanding officer and Lady Sansa Stark.

Ramsay pursed his lips into a thin line, half tempted to remind the young archer who was barely older than Reek, and hardly looked old enough to shave the two day jaw stubble that he dared to classify as the beginnings of facial hair, just who exactly was in charge here. Instead, he settled for a curt nod. "Aye," he agreed. Ramsay chuckled as the archer disappeared back into the tree's canopy, shaking his head in disbelief.

The boy was just like Reek, climbing things he ought not and disappearing through his line of sight. Briefly, he wondered what the deformed little wretch would think of the archer if he were to introduce the pair of them to one another if they would get along. Ramsay frowned, craning his neck upwards towards the forest canopy, rolling his neck to crack it as he did so, scowling and furrowing his thick dark brows into a frown as he glanced about above their heads to keep track of Aleyn.

He shook his head softly to himself, wondering what exactly it could be about this damned forsaken forest that was causing himself and his men so much confusion? They prided themselves on their ability to keep a level head under stressful situations, such as combat when off fighting a war. They were soldiers. The air felt strange here. Suffocating, almost heavy, and not to mention even in the thick of winter, somehow fucking hot. So bloody hot. And the woodlands around them seemed ominously quiet. Ramsay paused, now that even the sound of his own footfalls was silent, all that could be heard was the susurration of the leaves in the gusty wind.

Looking up, Ramsay was momentarily transfixed by the myriad of fluttering colors in various hues of browns, that danced in the high boughs, making a living roof above them, one that was so thick it was impossible to tell where they were here.

He felt strangely calmed, almost hypnotized in a way, he supposed, but the longer Ramsay stared at the falling leaves, the more they looked like eyes staring back down at Ramsay and his men, and the boughs seemed to draw closer to himself and he could feel Aleyn come to stand beside his captain, and he heard his lieutenant's breath catch in his throat. The boughs felt like they were drawing closer, blocking the almost blindingly white moonlight, as if the damned leaves were forming a cage around them. "Come," growled Ramsay, grinding his teeth in anger. "The sooner we secure the perimeter, the sooner we can go home and lay with our wives. Or, I will, rather. You need yourself a girl, Aleyn."

His youngest and smartest lieutenant shot him a sheepish grin and mumbled some half-hearted excuse about why he had not found a woman yet worthy of his affections and love, or if he had, he kept silent about his love life, and Ramsay rolled his eyes as he watched the younger man's face blush a light pink, though Ramsay took pity on the kid and claimed it was merely the cold winter air. Ramsay swallowed past the lump in his throat as he stared angrily out into the swirling mist that crept its way at a petty pace, going deeper into the woods and creeping towards Ramsay and the rest of his company.

The familiar sight of the woods Ramsay patrolled on a nightly basis was made hazy by this sudden mist, and for a moment, Ramsay raised a hand to ensure he was still here. He was. This de-focused world was incredibly cold. Billions of icy vaporized drops blew down the dark-haired man's neck and up the legs of his breeches. It did not just slowly drain his body heat; it stole it the second it made contact. It swooped in and skirted around the tree boughs.

Ramsay stood in a pocket of it, but it only seemed like a pocket to the young Bolton lord. He knew that he too was swallowed, eradicated by this engulfing whiteness. It hurt his eyes. It was so…white. Staring at it made Ramsay feel like he was staring at himself, staring at nothing. His mind fought hard to drum up a thousand different descriptions to plaster across it. But there was nothing that could truly describe nothing. Each thought he had seemed quite loud and exposed, just like every movement Ramsay made in the encroaching silence that wrapped like the fog around him and Aleyn.

Maybe the fog was somehow in him, just as he was in it. The early evening fog loomed as far as he could see, it was almost tangible, shrouding everything in a thick white veil, the light barely managing to penetrate the haze. The sounds of birdsong and crickets and other insects and animals in these fucking damned cursed woods that should have been filling the air around him all seemed to have disappeared, even his footsteps had been swallowed by the greedy beast that was this stupid fog.

Just as Ramsay was about to start throwing things in anger as he allowed his mind to wonder if he and his company would ever make it out of these damned words, a strange, muffled, faint noise rent the otherwise silent night air and caused Ramsay's ears to perk up at the strange sound. It was a small sound, coming from Ramsay's left, so faint at first, Ramsay of the guard wasn't even quite sure he had heard the noise to begin with. Aleyn opened his mouth to speak, but at the urging of his superior, seeing Ramsay quietly raise a finger to his lips, silently communicating with his lieutenant to keep quiet, the younger, dark-haired soldier immediately clamped his mouth shut and gave a curt nod.

Ramsay was barely aware he was almost leaning forward in order to better hear the noise and would have stumbled on another damned tree root if Aleyn had shot out an arm to catch him. "Thanks," Ramsay grumbled, and immediately fell silent again as he strained to listen. Ah, there it was again!

There was certainly some activity going on this forest, however small, but it sounded much too faint to be a wolf. A squirrel, perhaps, for he could hear the rustling of leaves. Ramsay heard it again. It sounded like a strange sort of whimpering or crying. Ramsay narrowed his piercing blue eyes in suspicion and stared off into the distance, trying to see any indication that someone was nearby.

"Aleyn," Ramsay whispered in as quiet a voice as he could, "stay sharp. We're not alone. Be on your guard…"

His archer nodded, lips parted open slightly in shock, when a muffled little squeak interrupted his thoughts.

"H—hello?" Both Ramsay and Aleyn exchanged a shocked look. Reek, thought Ramsay, gritting his teeth in anger. Seven hells. What in the gods' names was he doing out here? "Please help me! I—I'm lost." Wherever the little fucking prick was, Reek sounded very faint, but audible enough for the two men to tell he was close by.

Ramsay's lips pursed into a thin line and his eyebrows shot so far up onto his forehead that they almost disappeared into his hairline. "Reek? Is that you?"

It seemed to take several minutes for the broken Greyjoy in question to find his voice. "Y—yes, M—Master. L—Lady Stark b—bade me come, i—in danger, milord," came Reek's soft whisper, which sounded more like a gasp. The kid sounded breathless, like he was running out of air.

Ramsay cringed visibly as he glanced around towards his left, where the sound of Reek's voice had originally come from, hoping to spot any sign of movement.

Ramsay had never heard Reek's voice sound so scared, and the wretch's words that Sansa was in danger chilled his blood, rendering it to ice in his veins, and he felt the color drain from his face. He hoped the boy hadn't been attacked. That was his job, after all. "Keep talking to us," he called out, his loud, deep voice reverberating through the forest grounds, instructing the boy as he quickened his pace, motioning with a curt wave of his arm for Aleyn to follow him. He wanted to feel relief that the sound he had heard was not, in fact, a wolf, but instead, Reek's tiny, panicked voice only made Ramsay worry even more.

What if his wife was back at Winterfell and was gravely injured, then what? "I've my archer, Aleyn, here with me. The two of us are going to find you and escort you out of here, Reek, and then you are going to tell me every fucking thing you know," Ramsay growled, curling his hand into a tight fist around the hilt of his dagger. "Hang on."

"Oh, thank the gods!" the young man's voice wept. Reek sounded like he had been crying and was on the verge of perhaps a mental breakdown, which made it that much more imperative that Ramsay and Aleyn reach the boy, and fast. Ramsay resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the boy's weakness. "I—I've been lost f—for quite a while." The kid's teeth chattered. Reek sounded like he was absolutely freezing.

"I think we're getting closer," Aleyn called out to Reek. "Keeping talking to us, Ramsay and I are following the sound of your voice. Talk to us, and we will find you, Theon."

The man's voice let out a strangled attempt at speech that manifested itself into a half-choked sob.

"I can't…"

"Yes, you can," Aleyn reassured the voice soothingly. "Keep talking to us." He glanced towards Ramsay; whose frown only deepened the closer they got. Ramsay could tell the archer was thinking the same thing he was.

That Sansa had been hurt, and she had sent Reek into the godswoods after Ramsay and his men in the hopes of trying to catch them before they left the godswoods. All the men heard as a reply were soft sobs. Whatever had happened to Reek had not been good, for the boy to be traipsing about this damned forest, and without any guide or escort.

"Where are you…Theon?" Ramsay asked gently, surprised at how fluidly the boy's real name rolled off his tongue, and the first time he'd used his true name instead of calling him Reek after all this time. Perhaps Sansa had changed him in more ways than one. "What do you see around you?" Wherever Reek was hiding, Ramsay supposed the boy sounded intelligent enough, and would be able to distinguish his location from the rest of the woods, even in Reek's panicked and distraught state of mind, but the men needed to keep the young man speaking in order to discern his location and follow the sound of his voice.

"Trees…" the young Greyjoy man wailed. Ramsay shook his head slightly, but he could tell he and Aleyn were getting close, but they could still not see any sign of him. "Can you still hear me?" he asked, her voice cracking and wavering.

"Yes," Aleyn answered steadily, his grip upon the hilt of his sword tightening, his fingers twitching as they neared closer towards the sound, which now included the occasional sob and sniffle, likely the boy was holding back tears.

Ramsay quickened his pace to a light jog just as soon as he could see a flash of blue and brown through the trees. Reek was resting against the trunk of an old oak tree, the bark of the tree likely digging into his back, quite possibly ruining his tattered clothes that he wore, though Ramsay of the guard had a feeling the kid was more concerned with other matters at the moment than the well-being of the state of his clothing.

Reek's knees were pulled up against his chest and his fingers were tightly clutching onto a small brown satchel as though his very livelihood depended on it, which for all Ramsay knew of this situation, it did, and if he had come bearing news of Lady Stark, then by the gods and the light of the seven, he was going to help them.

Before Ramsay could so much as make another move towards the shaken boy, his archer bolted forward and knelt at Theon's side, putting a tender softly on the boy's shaking shoulder, carefully assessing Theon's condition, not caring when the younger boy violently shirked back from Aleyn's touch. He saw Aleyn stiffen involuntarily, and Ramsay shook his head no, furrowing his brow in a frown.

Aleyn nodded, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he gingerly grabbed the broken man from the Iron Islands by his arm and gently pulled him to his feet, helping Theon to stand. "Are you injured?" he wondered. The lieutenant imagined the poor boy was simply scared. Neither of them knew how long Theon might have been wandering these damned cursed godswoods on his own out here.

This place had an eerie habit of turning the seconds into minutes, the minutes into hours almost unnaturally fast. Something about these woods had always felt cursed to Ramsay, like the forest had been tainted with black magic.

Theon standing before the two men for all they knew of the bastard could have been lost out here alone for hours, which would explain how panicked Theon appeared, his dark eyes darting wildly to the left and right, searching for a way out. The young man wrenched his arm out of Aleyn's grip, ignoring his offended look.

Theon mumbled a half-hearted apology and hastily bent the knee at Ramsay's feet. "F—forgive me, milord, b—but Lady Stark bade I find you. The—your—your lord father, he…wants her. Says he will burn her if she does not agree to m—marry him. A—and…" Theon bit his bottom lip in a slight pout. "There's something else. She…your wife is p—pregnant, milord. M—Maester Wolkan. We must go now. Save Lady Sansa. Save her…save her…" he whimpered.

Ramsay felt his blood in his veins now begin to thaw at Theon's words, though he could not help the shadow of doubt that crossed his features and he stifled a low growl from the back of his throat and without warning, wrapped a strong hand around the pale column of Theon Greyjoy's small throat. "You do not lie to me, Theon, I know when you are lying to me. Tell me the truth," Reek whisper hissed through clenched teeth. "Your words. Who did you hear them from? Are they true?"

"L—Lady Stark, milord." Theon choked, coughing, and gasping for air as he pitifully clawed at Ramsay's hand with both of his hands, struggling in vain to pry Ramsay Bolton off of him. "She told me." Ramsay paused, feeling his glacier eyes gloss over at Theon's words. His brain stuttered for a moment and his eyes took in more blinding winter light than expected, and every part of him went on pause while his thoughts processed Theon Greyjoy's revelations. Ramsay turned back to Theon, whose gaze immediately dropped to the snow-covered ground beneath their boots, too terrified to speak, and was about to say something, when he felt a searing, fiery pain in his right ribcage.

His lips parted open, the color drained from his face, rendering his features ashen and pallid, giving him a look of a walking corpse as Ser Aleyn's dagger in his hands met Ramsay's flesh, soft and pudgy, and made a satisfying squishing sound as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to make his victim scream. Ser Aleyn twisted the blade in his hands, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper into the Bastard of Bolton's side. He grinned as blood poured from Ramsay's mouth. "W—why?" he choked.

"Why not? Your father has promised me titles, lands, a castle of my own, whatever I want in exchange for your head on a pike," Aleyn responded coldly as he watched as the Bastard of Bolton's skin was tearing to shreds as he rotated the knife deep in Ramsay's ribcage, the sound of his muscles and nerves being gouged growing even louder. Then without warning, he jerked it out, and Ramsay's cry of pain was a brilliant sound, guttural chokes intermingled with an agonizing roar.

Aleyn smirked and pulled the blade out of his now deathly white victim. Ramsay sank to his knees, continuing to scream, convulsing, and trembling like a rabid animal, thick blood flowing freely from the gaping hole in his side. He didn't even care that the broken man from the Iron Islands rushed to his side and attempted to help his Master up. They wouldn't make it out of these damn woods alive.

Not with his wounds. The cascade of the Skinflayer's life source seemed like it was gushing out in the one direction, scarlet liquid staining the pristine white snow a thick garish red. He turned away as Ramsay's screams became quieter, Theon Greyjoy's pleas for the archer to show mercy nothing but a faint whisper, his words nothing but wind, the sweet tang of Ramsay Bolton's blood tingling in his nostrils. He smirked and turned back towards the Greyjoy boy of the Iron Islands, who'd stepped in front of his Master and had shakily risen to his feet, Ramsay Bolton's own dagger in his trembling hands.

"Y—you will not harm Master any further or Lady Stark, Ser Aleyn. I made a promise to Lady Sansa to protect her and lay down my own life if it comes to that, and I aim to keep that promise," he growled, and Aleyn was surprised to hear Theon's voice carry and grow louder through the winds of winter. "What hides behind your vicious lies are truths that failed to get to the light," he snarled, closing off the gap of space as Ser Aleyn took a step backward. "And the plain the truth of the matter is that you, Ser Aleyn, have met the end of the line. This is it. The end of the line, and like it or not, you must apologize to Master for all the trouble you've caused," Theon whisper hissed through gritted teeth. The broken man of the Iron Islands lifted his chin and jutted it out slightly defiantly to meet Ser Aleyn's eyes, and Aleyn threw back his head and laughed, and Theon let out a low growl.

"Do you know what I am, boy?" I am a person," the young archer confessed in a low tone when Theon did not immediately respond to his question, feeling his voice go dangerously quiet. "Or I was one once, a person, a being with scars and bruises all over my body, red trickly blood running down my sides. You, Bolton, made me this way," he snarled, glancing towards Ramsay, who looked like he was on the verge of passing out, fighting every step to stay awake. "The very picture of misery the minute I was born," he growled, baring his canines, and revealed his teeth to Theon, whose face blanched, but he did not avert his gaze.

He'd come all this way now; he couldn't very well lose his nerve.

Aleyn continued. "My people, the Wildings, said time could heal things. But I never healed, or even became better. I'm nothing more than a visionary with a dream," he growled, and he lifted his chin to meet Theon's gaze. "I don't care what you think of me as long as you obey me, boy. I know I have odd methods, but they work. I know what life should be like and I understand that many things and creatures are inferior to me. In my position it is simply mercy. I know if I don't save them with the wonders of death. they will die in the horror of life. Some people are born good and always fight off the bad. Some people are born bad and become good through great effort. Others are born in light and fall to darkness. And others are born in darkness and cannot see the light. Try as you might to believe otherwise, everyone fits into one of those categories. Which one are you? Are you good or bad? Light or dark? God or man? I know what I am. When I came of age, I realized the life ahead of me was one of anger, pain, and hatred. Of darkness. Did I want that? Yeah. I did. I grew up surrounded by fire and ash and poison and death. It was the only thing I knew, so of course I wanted it. I was never taught what love was. What kindness was. In fact, in my entire childhood I think I saw just one type of smile - a smile full of malice and cruel intent, from both my parents."

Theon felt his body start to tremble uncontrollably. He had not come here to find Master in these fucking woods just to Aleyn's sob story. White knuckled from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from his effort to remain silent, Theon's tense form exuded an animosity that was like acid—burning, slicing, and utterly potent. His face was white with suppressed rage, and he mentally snapped.

Legend says that for someone who was like Theon was, like Ramsay had been before Sansa, that their hearts died in their chest cavities long ago, and that was how they became killers and perhaps why. The witches of the northern isle, and those even as far as King's Landing said the emptiness was their madness.

That someone like Theon took a life over and over again, as if he thought that would allow him to possess a heart and soul again following the loss of his wife, yet it was never so.

To be healed, they said, someone pure had to love each of them, to reform their heart as if it was the finest of clay, then set it to beating with pure nature's essence.

So, until Theon, and to a lesser extent, Ramsay, could find such a being to forgive all that he had done wrong in life, to break the universal scales and set his soul free to begin anew, he'd kill. "But only one," he swore through gritted teeth, the cold steel of his blade came swiftly out of his tunic sleeve, where Theon had hidden it and buried the small weapon in Aleyn's stomach right to the hilt.

Theon looked at his stupid, surprised eyes and gave it a twist for good measure. He shoved Aleyn as he rolled to one side.

The older man groaned and gurgled as he bled out, his skin graying as the light and life force slowly left his eyes. "Now, then," growled Theon, spitting at the archer's feet and kneeling down in the snow, cupping the younger boy's chin in his hand and crinkling his nose in disgust. "I suppose, I could be cruel and torture you before you I kill you," Theon stated calmly, intertwining his fingers, and kneeling in the snow by Aleyn as he groveled and bled out on the forest floor at Theon Greyjoy's feet. "Considering what you did to Master just now, to Lady Stark by betraying her trust, there's no question in my mind that it would be appropriate. Master. However," Theon sighed, almost sounding bored, and Ramsay's eyes shot wide open.

For a split second, Theon Greyjoy sounded just like Ramsay had been, enjoying taking a life.

Theon hadn't noticed Ramsay's shock and continued speaking to Ser Aleyn. "Unfortunately, I'm not as vulgar as you. So, I think I'll just sit here and watch until you've taken your last miserable breath. Judging by your wounds, I'd say you have about five minutes at best. I dedicate these last few minutes of your miserable, wretched fucking pathetic life to Lady Stark and Ramsay Bolton. May they rule the North with an iron fist. Together. You will not win today. Go to hell, you piece of shit."

Aleyn struggled to say something, but the blood coating the back of his throat like a thick slime made it difficult for the archer to breathe.

True to his word, Theon's face was the last thing he saw before he died. Hell was nothing like Aleyn had imagined, but then he'd never felt such a pain in all his life, so, how could he?

Pain had been something for his victims and how he'd loved seeing it radiated from their eyes and their stretched wide mouths screaming into the empty fields. He had never believed in the gods, in the heavens or the seven hells, but idly he had wondered why this omnipotent being didn't stop him.

Perhaps this was a God of war, of pain and suffering, perhaps he was to be honored in the next life. He had liked that thought. On his death he was not given a choice of punishment, instead the gods had bestowed upon him perfect clarity- the ability to understand as a deity does the suffering inflicted on his victims, the pain of their loved ones and the pain of the gods.

He understood in that brilliant flash that the gods could only act through the willing heart and mind. Aleyn fell, begging for ignorance, amnesia, or a chance to right his wrongs but the gods were gone, underfoot was a grassy field, screams rent the air...

Satisfied that the man who had gravely injured Master was dead and had put Lady Sansa's life in danger by turning her over to Roose, Theon rose from the ground, draping one hand around Ramsay's back, slinging his arm over Theon's shoulder. "M—Master, you must help me," Theon stammered, his momentary brevity and resolve fleeing him as he glanced down at Ramsay's wounds.

"Walk for me. I—I can help you g—get back to Winterfell, b—but you are heavy, Master. I cannot do it on my own. Can you walk?" Theon asked nervously, biting his bottom lip in a slight pout. When Ramsay nodded, Theon Greyjoy exhaled a shaking sigh of relief and shook his head to clear it. Ramsay staggered forward a few steps with the help of Theon, but not before spitting at the corpse of Ser Aleyn as they neared the edge of the godswoods. Thank the gods their encampment hadn't gone far.

"Th—Theon," Ramsay rasped weakly, his voice sounding much softer than usual. Theon blinked and halted in his tracks, glancing sideways at Master out of the corner of his eyes. "Th…thank you."

Words left Theon. Master…saying thank you?! He gulped nervously, wondering if this was but another trap and an excuse for Master to hit him again and stared numbly into Master Bolton's bright blue eyes burning with anger, and his heart fell silent, knowing full well that he needed to say something—anything—to Ramsay, but…

But everything felt slow, like he was submerged underwater. His mind felt blank and his eyes wide as he stared at Ramsay in horror. His blue eyes desperately searched Theon's…waiting for his answer.

Theon searched his mind for something reasonable to say, grunting with the effort as he helped Ramsay to walk, groaning slightly under Ramsay's added bulky weight, but by the gods and damn him to a lake of hell fire in the seven hells, he had promised Lady Sansa he would return with him.

Theon could hear Ramsay exhale a shaking pained breath of relief as the edges of Winterfell came into their line of sight. They were almost back. Another mile or so, and they would be home.

Theon wracked his mind for something reasonable to say to Master, but to his surprise, his heart answered for him.

"You're welcome."