A few crows took flight as Ramsay neared the drawbridge. The sound of hooves clopping against the wooden planks made him nostalgic and he smiled as he rode up to the entrance, brimming with sweet memories from his past. His cocky, confident self was finally returning after a long, bitter timeout spent within the walls of the besieged hellhole that was Winterfell.
He found the gates closed. A flayed man banner hung from the castle wall, waving lazily at him in the gentle breeze. Everything seemed so peaceful and quiet that he for a fleeting moment suspected the castle had been abandoned. He looked around and spotted a guard standing on top of the wall, watching him. "Your Lord has returned! Open the gate!" he shouted at the top of his voice.
On the rampart the man remained motionless.
"Open the gate and hurry it up! I don´t have all day!". Despite his increasing irritation with the delay in obedience, Ramsay managed to remain tranquil, and instead of spewing threats at the sluggish subordinate, he merely rolled his eyes. "Off we go, man! Please and thank you!". He bowed sarcastically forward, a hand on his chest.
The guard turned from the wall and disappeared. Ramsay shifted in the saddle. His rear and thighs hurt from riding so extensively the last couple of days but he hadn´t noticed to what an extent until now. He has looking forward to a nice, warm bath, a proper meal and perhaps a shag with one of the maids to wash away any unpleasant memories of what had taken place during the brawl with the Stark soldiers. There had to be someone left inside the Dreadfort worth fucking still.
A few minutes passed. Were his men becoming daft? They all knew what he could do to them and would do, if they made him stand there for too long, waiting to be let inside his own gates. Ramsay looked up at the wall. Nobody was there. He was about to call out again when he heard someone on the other side of the gate removing the bar, followed by the clanking of heavy hinges as the entrance came open before him. He kicked the mare's sides and rode through, the gates closing behind him with a loud, deafening thump!
The courtyard was empty.
He whipped his head around to ask the guard where in the seven hells everybody was at, when suddenly his joyous smile faded and his body tensed up. Up close it became apparent to Ramsay that the guards who had opened the gate a mere moment ago were not his own men. By the looks of them, they were Ironborn; with their characteristic unkempt, scruffy looks, dressed in dark leather rags it seemed like they for some daft reason strived to give of the appearance of vagrants rather than soldiers. He had on more than one occasion become acquainted with the islanders, one time at Winterfell and the other at Moat Cailin when he had claimed them, and neither times spoke to his benefit in the current predicament. Ramsay sank down into the saddle, his jaw slacked open with disbelief at the inconceivable change in circumstance. A raspy, deep voice with a playful tone rang out from one of the balconies. "Welcome home...Lord Bolton."
He did not have time to think, let alone look at the man who had spoken, before the horse disappeared under him with an arrow piercing its heart. The steed landed on its side sending Ramsay tumbling along the ground and barely avoiding getting his leg caught under its weight. Before he could regain control of his body, he was grabbed by both arms and dragged to his feet where two men promptly stripped him of his weapons and other belongings. For once he had nothing to say derisively or otherwise. Ramsay struggled in the men's firm grips but only half-heartedly for he knew, he wasn't going anywhere.
The owner of the rough voice came strolling down the stairs from the balcony very slowly and confident, as if he had all the time in the world at his disposal. He was tall with a strong, sturdy build and looked to be decade or maybe two older than Ramsay. It was hard to tell with the Ironborn; the salt and wind of the sea made their faces appear weather-beaten and older than they were. On his head covered by thick, light-brown hair he wore a crown-like headpiece pieced together from driftwood. The man, a big smile on his bearded face and cheerfulness shining from his eyes, ambled towards him with open arms in a sarcastic gesture of greeting.
Ramsay felt a knot form in his stomach and his mouth went dry as if he had just swallowed a handful of salt. It was not the face of someone bidding him welcome home or granting him any kind of hospitality whatsoever. No, the face belonged to someone who was part mad, part something else. The leather rags and crown of twigs combined with the man's overly euphoric expression gave him the appearance of a raving lunatic, yet the sly glint in his eyes revealed that a cunning nature was present inside the mad chaos also. Ramsay recognized it very well - too well in fact. It reminded him of himself and that could not be a good thing at all.
The man halted in front of him and smiled down into his face revealing a set of perfect white teeth. A shark's grin, Ramsay thought, suddenly becoming conscious of the feeling of unease the man put in him. The Ironborn stood so close he could smell the salt and seaweed coming from his garments. "So you are the infamous bastard, huh? The one who gelded my nephew?" Sincere amusement shone from the depths of his dark-blue eyes. Ramsay gave him a fidgety stare but said nothing. Apparently not minding the lack of a reply the man continued on. "Well, I guess that I should thank you...making him a eunuch only made my claim to the Salt Throne that much stronger."
With that, he grabbed a handful of Ramsay's hair and pulled his head painfully backwards, forcing him to look up into his face. The smile was gone now, replaced by an angry sneer. "So thank you, Ramsay, that was very kind of you. I am Euron Greyjoy, Ruler of the Iron Islands" He stared into his captive's wide, bewildered eyes for a moment. "Poor boy," the King sighed and petted Ramsay's cheek with the back of his hand, "you really have no idea what you are in for."
NOTE and HEADS UP for the upcoming chapter: This is where the really, REALLY dark stuff takes off. In the next many chapters non-con and torture is the norm. If those kinds of subjects upsets you in any way or form, you really should read no further.