WARNING: NON-CON up ahead.
Ramsay stumbled into the cell, shoved forward by the same two guards who had restrained him during his face-to-face with Euron Greyjoy. They slammed the cell door behind them, leaving the dungeon, and Ramsay found himself alone in his new prison. He looked around the small, familiar confinement, dimly lit by torches placed sparingly along the wall. Like he remembered, there were no windows down here only bare rocks and metal bars. The air was damp, reminding him of the crypt at Winterfell, and apart from a few iron hoops mounted in the ceiling and on the walls the sole thing that occupied the space was the soiled hay scattered across the floor. At least they had not put him in irons and that was he supposed something to be grateful for.
He had held Reek captive in a similar place though the kennels had been much dirtier, filled with drooling beasts and dog-shit. His pet had been free to roam the castle but in reality it was only a larger cell with hardly more privilege attached than being locked up in the dungeons anyway. There was no escape no matter which confinement it was - or so Ramsay had thought at the time. He halfway expected Reek to suddenly appear on the other side of the bars staring submissively down at the ground, dirty and ripe as usual, but there was no Reek, and Ramsay made a mental note of never referring to Theon as such in front of the Ironborn men and most definitely not to the Kraken himself. Even though Euron Greyjoy seemed to embrace the fact that he had cut his nephew out of the line of succession, it probably would not go over well with any of the Islanders if it became clear to them what kind of an abomination he had turned their Prince into.
Not five minutes went by before the door opened and a silver-haired guard entered the dungeon. He walked up to the cell. "Take off your clothes," he ordered. The request took Ramsay aback. What is this now? The guard eyed him warningly. "No," Ramsay stated matter-of-factly. He would not be disgraced in such a manner. Stripping him down signified nothing but forthcoming humiliation and torture, and there was no reason to make it any easier on his captors if that was to be his destiny. "Take it off!" The guard repeated his command, this time with a growl. Ramsay sent him a look of utter resentment and spat on the floor. "No! You swine!", he sneered. "Have it your way", the Ironborn said through clenched teeth and called out for his cohorts. "Hobs! Owen! Get in here!" A moment later, two hard faced brutes appeared in the dungeon. The guard opened the cell door and all three of them went inside, making Ramsay back up against the wall as they closed in on him. "I will give you one more chance, bastard. The clothes! Now!"
"Go suck a horse's cock!" Ramsay hissed.
The men cornered him and while one grabbed Ramsay by the throat pinning him against the wall, the others proceeded to remove the layers of fabric from his body. He writhed, clawing at the hand on his neck but to no avail; the soldier had him in an iron grip and it did not take the others long to strip him down to his bare ass, exposing his flesh to the dank, chill air. As soon as the deed was done, the man holding him let go and all three Ironborn backed away from their heaving prisoner, eyes ablaze with fury. They closed the door to his cell and left the dungeon, taking off with his clothes. One of them called him a cunt on the way out and spat in his direction. Alone once again, Ramsay sat down in the dirty hay, pulled his legs up to the chest and rested his chin on crossed arms.
He knew the dungeon like the back of his own hand and there was no escaping from it unless he could somehow get out of the cell first. There was nothing left to do now but await the fate the Kraken decided should be bestowed upon him. He just hoped it would be quick and painless, although it probably wouldn´t be seeing as how he had tortured Theon and disposed of the Ironborn soldiers at Winterfell and Moat Cailin. Even though most of the islanders came off as crude simpletons, it was hard to imagine that they could have forgotten the atrocities that he had committed against their people. The offer the wolves had made him suddenly seemed quite appealing, considering what else might lay in store for him from this point on.
Ramsay sat for an hour dwelling on his current plight. By which method did the Ironborn dispose of their enemies? A hanging? Or perhaps they drowned them? The recent turn of events had rattled his perception of reality, and he was so pre-occupied with speculating about his own demise, he had not noticed a figure had slipped into the dungeon and now stood in front of his cell.
"Ahem." The man cleared his throat. Euron Greyjoy was grinning sinisterly down at him as ragged and insane looking as earlier, though this time without the ridiculous wooden crown. He grabbed the bars with both hands and squatted down to Ramsay's eye level, ogling him as if he was studying a newly acquired pet in a cage. "Aww. You look right at home here, little Lord." His taunting words were as pointed sticks jabbed into Ramsay's pride, and he contemplated for a second retaliating but thought better of it. Provoking someone you weren't familiar with and who held your life in their hands seemed ill-advised at the moment - even to Ramsay. Besides, this was a Greyjoy, not a Stark; members of the former House were not exactly known for neither their clemency nor forbearance towards their enemies so Ramsay had to thread as carefully as he could and try to get a feel of the man before making his move. Ramsay shifted uncomfortably on his rear end but remained quiet.
Greyjoy made a hissing sound between his teeth. "Sorry about the clothes. We can´t have you ending yourself before we've had our fun with you, now can we?" Euron stood up and opened the cell door, his frame nearly filling the entrance as he strolled through it in that same confident manner he had displayed in the courtyard earlier that day.
Our fun. Ramsay had heard stories about Euron Greyjoy from Reek though at that time the former prince of Pyke had only met his uncle once as a boy. Ramsay knew about the Kraken's conquests, lust for power and last but not least his apparent madness. He had scourged the oceans around Westeros and Essos on the "Silence", a ship crewed entirely by mutes whose tongues Greyjoy himself had removed for no other reason than, as Reek had put it: "he needed the silence, Master." He was presumed dead before he suddenly reappeared on Pyke shortly before Balon Greyjoy mysteriously fell to his death. Days after he managed to snatch the throne and title right from under Yara Greyjoy.
Ramsay wanted to know all about House Greyjoy, for at some point down the line when every rebellion in the North had been destroyed, he would turn to the Iron Islands conquering them also and thereby strengthening his position against the Lannisters. Every bit of information on an enemy could at one point deem crucial, so he listened with keen interest as Reek disclosed his uncle's savagery; Killing, raping and reaving his way through costal towns and villages all over the world. When hearing the stories, he had been amused, thinking that Greyjoy was a man after his own heart; at this moment, however, when actually being face-to-face with the man himself, the anecdotes of his lunacy no longer seemed as entertaining as they once had been.
The King came to a halt in front of Ramsay who was watching him cautiously from his place on the floor. Looking around the cell, he inspected the ceiling and walls. The shark's grin on his face seemed to have frozen in place, white teeth glimmering in the light of the flame. "Get up," he ordered, and with reluctance Ramsay stood up slowly, cursing under his breath. Even though he resented doing the man's bidding, the instinctive fear Greyjoy put in him made him comply nevertheless. Should it come to a physical altercation between the two, Ramsay knew that he would undoubtedly lose without a weapon of some sort. As tempting as it was to throw himself at his captor, trying his luck at bashing his skull in, an attack would have to wait for a more opportune moment than this one. "Good boy." Euron laid his hands on Ramsay´s shoulders, rough fingertips slithering over his collarbone and up along his neck. He stood taller than him by more than a foot and Ramsay could not help but cower a bit, naked and exposed as he were in front of the intimidating presence.
Euron's finger reached his face, trailing down his cheek before finally cupping Ramsay's chin in his large hand. Flinching at the odd caress, Ramsay had to fight the urge not to retract his face. He calmed himself and remained in place, staring hatefully into the man's eyes instead. Greyjoy's smile widened. "By the drowned God, it´s been so long since I have had the pleasure of a woman…I should have brought a salt wife with me to this cursed place." He sighed, gently brushing his thumb over Ramsay's lips. "Usually we never stay out of the sea too long for it to become a problem; you see, the land turns us soft and weak like my nephew." A wave of anxiety hit Ramsay, and he sneered into Euron's face trying to hide his dismay of the vile words he had spoken. Was his captor really making that kind of a threat? Or was it just drivel meant to startle him?
He´s playing a game with me, he would never dare such...such deviancy. Though tolerated some places in the South (at least to some extent), men laying down with other men was in general frowned upon or even made illegal by law in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It would be considered an outrageous perversion and completely unacceptable by their own people if a northern Lord had such tendencies and acted upon them. Ramsay figured the same code of conduct applied even to the uncivilized Ironborn scum. A flash of the encounter with the Stark men rushed through his mind then, making him want to curl up inside himself.
He had to remain proud and defiant even in the face of such a horrendous threat. If Greyjoy wanted anything from him, it would be information most likely concerning the Starks and Winterfell. The Ironborn were notoriously know as a greedy bunch of self-assured cunts, starting wars left and right they had no chance of winning. Perhaps, in their delusions of grandeur and now that the wolves were weakened in numbers, they had decided to make a move against the main seat of the North itself.
If it was not information Euron was seeking he could only be in it for the revenge, Ramsay figured. Or maybe he just wants to break a piece off me for the sheer pleasure of it. If any of the latter possibilities turned out to be relevant, he would have to irk the King into killing him; in a fit of rage preferably so that it would be swift. The best tools for riling someone up into a state of frenzy were fierce insults and intensive mind games, and it should not take much of an effort to provoke such condition; infuriating someone enough to act rashly were after all a specialty of his.
Winterfell was forfeit and now so was the Dreadfort. There was no longer any realistic possibility of him remaining alive for much longer or maintaining a dignified existence. His men were most likely either dead or had fled, and the remaining loyal lords would be forced to submit to House Stark once again. He was surrounded by enemies all wanting a piece of him to hang off their walls as a trophy; the last of the flaying men, Roose Bolton´s murdering bastard displayed as the ultimate sign of their victory. He had lost the great game he realized, but his own end was still his to fight for. First though, he would have to feel the Kraken out in order to find out where exactly he stood and what weakness he could use to his benefit. Everybody had shortcomings and the King would be no exception, Ramsay just had to figure out where to dig and how deep.
Although the less than subtle implication of Greyjoy's latent plans had startled Ramsay, he retorted without any visible discomfort of the looming threat. "If it is a wench you seek, there is a brothel just over the Weeping Water," Ramsay curled his lip in disdain, "I recommend the one called Mary. She looks like a dark haired Cersei Lannister or so I´ve been told...never laid eyes on the golden bitch."
When hearing Ramsay's proposal, the King smiled wide, seemingly amused by his words. "It is very kind of you to share your experiences from the local brothel, Ramsay." The raspy voice had turned honeyed all of a sudden, but Greyjoy made no further indication of revealing his intentions towards him. The King, still cupping Ramsay's chin, stared intensely into his face. The feeling of unease was drilling itself deeper and deeper into his marrow, and finally when Ramsay could not stand the unpleasant gaze any longer, he snapped, "what is it you want from me, Lord Greyjoy?!"
"What do you think I want, Lord Bolton?" Euron asked, narrowing one eye. "I think you desire knowledge of Winterfell in order to claim it." Absorbing his prisoner's words the Ironborn tilted his head implying slight curiosity "Go on..." He removed his hand from Ramsay's chin, resting it gently on his shoulder instead. "and that I can give you that insight, and you are right you know...I can help you take Winterfell." A confidence had crept into Ramsay's voice; now seemed like the perfect time to be bold, to present himself as the valuable asset he knew he was "I hate the Starks as much as you do, Lord Greyjoy, the bastards held your own nephew, your own blood, captive for yea…".
WHAP! The backhand made his head whip to the side. He looked up into Greyjoy's stern face with eyes ablaze. "So did you, boy, don´t think I have forgotten that. I may despise my family but they are mine to maim and kill, not yours." The King narrowed his eyes at him. "Try again". Then there can only be one outcome left, but I still get to choose the ending. Ramsay swallowed bitterly, fighting the urge to kick the man in the balls. "Gold, then…I don´t blame you. Gold is a fine thing, and one your people enjoy above all else so I´ve heard." The Kraken shrugged his shoulders. "True. Still not correct though."
It must be for revenge then...for Theon and the others. "You could sell me to the Starks. They would pay you a pretty coin to cut off my head themselves, or you could gain favour with them by trade and all could benefit...well, except for myself of course." He looked meekly down at the ground and drew in a deep breath. Even though the Starks would most surely execute him, a beheading was still a preferable end to the one the Ironborn would grant him. He had to convince Greyjoy of the benefits he could gain by returning him to Winterfell and Jon Snow´s merciful sword. "Oh, is that so? Gaining favour, you say?" Lifting his gaze from the floor Ramsay pulled a dejected face. "Indeed, my Lord. You could become a very rich ma..."
SMACK! Once again the hand connected with Ramsay's face, making his cheek burn and eyes water. "The drowned God needs neither favour nor gold. I pay the Iron price for everything I own." Greyjoy seized his face with one hand, his fingers tightening around the jaw bone. No longer able to control his rage, Ramsay roared into his captor's face. "Then I have nothing left to give you but my head! Take it and be done with it, you CUNT!" He started laughing like a madman. "You, vile squid! You think you frighten me? All I see before me is a bitch! A bitch, much the same as your rotten nephew only more hideous!"
Ramsay's laughter had faded into a triumphant snicker when he noticed that one of the Kraken's fingers had travelled too close to his mouth. Rapidly he caught the digit between his teeth, biting down as hard as he could. The taste of blood filled his mouth making him gag, but he kept tearing into the bone trying to bite through it. Without uttering a sound, Greyjoy calmly pried himself loose from Ramsay´s bite by grapping a hold of his jaw with his free hand, pressing down on the joints and forcing it open.
Stepping back a pace to get better lighting he inspected his finger then looked over at the Bolton bastard who now beamed, grey eyes glittering with amusement. Euron´s blood was colouring his teeth and running down his chin in thin red streaks. Ramsay spat out the blood and shredded tissue left in his mouth and sent the King a challenging stare. Greyjoy stood for a moment studying Ramsay's overt display of defiance, then a look of sincere delight replaced his stern expression. "And here I feared today was going to be just another boring day."
The Ironborn closed the distance between them in a flash. For such a large man, he moved with frightening speed and agility. His hand shot out, clasping around Ramsay's testicles then tightened the grip, making the smaller man gasp and bend forward in a futile attempt to protect himself. The hold was firm but Greyjoy had stopped squeezing short of causing any real pain or damage.
Ramsay trembled at the notion that at any moment Euron could either crush his privates or tear them straight off. Expecting the worst he looked up at him with startled eyes. "Now, now, Lord Bolton, is that really how you want to treat your host? With insults and aggravations?" He gave his balls a tight squeeze and Ramsay let out a yelp. "No, no! Forgive me! I..ahhh..spoke harshly when you have been nothing but kind to me, Lord Greyjoy." He was panting, heart pounding away in his chest. "Please...would you please remove your hand? I…I will be on my best behaviour from now on."
Euron's wicked smile had returned. He loosened his grip and stepped back a pace. Ramsay let out a relieved gasp, then cupped himself trying to prevent another attack. He had not seen that one coming. All the defiance and contempt he had planned to parade in front of the Kraken had left him the second the strong hand closed around his genitals.
From beneath his robes the King pulled out a piece of cordage a few feet in length. "Hold out your hands", he ordered. Frozen in place, Ramsay studied the rope tensely but made no indication of complying with the King's command. Greyjoy grabbed his wrists fiercely and fastened them together tightly using a fisherman's knot all the while looking his prisoner straight in the eye. "Now, lift them over you head," Euron instructed. Ramsay swallowed and hesitantly raised the bound hands above his head. "Very good." The King inserted the loose end of the rope through one of the iron hoops, hanging above on the wall. With a hard yank Ramsay was pulled upwards, stretching his body out to the point of almost having to tip-toe in order not to hang by his wrists alone. The twisted cords of hemp gnawed at his skin cutting into it, but he was so anxious at this point that he hardly heeded it. "Lord Greyjoy…what is happening?" he asked nervously, shifting on his feet. Silent, Euron tied the remaining rope to another hoop on the wall and inspected his handiwork making sure that the restraints were durable.
He took a step back and gave Ramsay a look over, the expression on his face told of slight disappointment. "You really are a little shit, aren´t you?", he shrugged his shoulders, "oh, well...I hope I won´t break you too soon." Greyjoy started disrobing, dropping his garments in a pile on the floor. "What is this?", Ramsay asked writhing in his restraints, eyes darting back and forth between the King and the growing pile of clothing on the ground.
"I´ve heard some interesting things about you from my men. They all seem to think that you are some kind of monster; a beast who enjoys flaying and burning people alive like you did with mine at Winterfell, and…ehh", Greyjoy paused and snapped his fingers twice, "the other one...what´s it called again?" "Moat Cailin," Ramsay whispered, his voice trembling. "Moat Cailin. Yes! that's it!" Greyjoy laughed gravelly as if he had recalled something amusing. The jeering sound made Ramsay flinch. "Yet, I do have a hard time believing that you could put fear into anyone, 'cause to me, you just look like a whimpering little bitch who makes my cock hard." Now bare and fully erect, Euron stood in front of Ramsay staring him down. A darkness had crept over his face. "So tell me, little monster...have you ever been fucked by a God?"
Fear hit Ramsay like a hammer to the face and he was no longer able to hide his terror. "Don´t do this! Just kill me and get it over with!" Euron stepped up close to him and Ramsay shuttered, letting out a whimper. "No, no, no! shh…shh." The King put a hand on top of Ramsay's head and stroked the soft, dark hair. "You should be honoured. Ordinarily, I don´t grant my guests such attention as I have shown you but you are special to me, Ramsay...I´ve never met anyone accused of being more vicious than myself," The King tapped Ramsay's forehead with a finger, "and I can´t very well allow that rumour to go around if I am to rule all of the Seven Kingdoms, now can I? It makes me look bad." Grabbing the back of his head, Euron drew Ramsay's face in close to his own. "Perhaps I should just kill you – surely it would be easier, but then your legacy would live on unscathed. Perhaps it would become even larger in death, making my problem the same." Placing his hands on Ramsay's waist, he spun him around facing the stone wall, the moist rocks scraping against his stomach and chest.
"Fortunately there are plenty of ways to dwindle a man's power without using a sword or a knife, as I'm sure you know all about, Lord Bolton." The King nestled his face into the curve of his prisoner's neck. The hot breath on his skin made Ramsay's muscles retract and goose-bumps break out all over his body. Euron's hands stroked down his flanks before placing them firmly on the narrow waist, grabbing a hold of tender flesh. The King looked down taking in the lean body before him. Ramsay's skin was soft and smooth, appearing ghostly pale in the flickering light, while his ass was full and generous, curving out from beneath a beautifully sculptured back.
Euron could feel the blood fill his cock and a wave of lust washing over him. Placing his member along the cleft of Ramsay's ass, he rubbed himself against his helpless victim. The body in front of him went rigid. Ramsay started sobbing. It was a pitiful sound but only resulted in Euron's cock throbbing wildly, his blood burning with a hunger he had seldom felt. "I wonder if I will be your first." He placed his thumb against Ramsay's opening and forced it inside by pushing against the tight muscle safekeeping his virtue. Ramsay gasped from the pain. "Arghhhh...no!" he cried out and jerked forward against the wall, trying to escape. "Apparently so", the King whispered and withdrew the finger from his insides, leaving behind a burning sensation.
His hands grabbed a hold of Ramsay's buttocks and pulled them apart, allowing him to position himself against the taut hole. Ramsay buckled ferociously in his restraints as he felt the head of Euron's cock pushing against his entrance. His wrists were bruised and swollen from pulling on the rope but he thrashed and squirmed desperately still, trying to fight off the invasion. With hands firmly placed on his prisoner's hips, Euron began pushing into him slowly, making small advances with each thrust. He could feel Ramsay clenching around his member trying to keep him out. It was velvety and very tight in there, almost painful for himself, but he was not going to make anything more comfortable for his victim by using spittle or any other sort of easement. He enjoyed the desperate squirming too much for that.
Soon Euron's face began to flush and his pace sped up as he kept pushing insistently. Ramsay was begging incoherently now, crying out every time he thrust himself against his entrance. Finally, Euron felt the head of his cock slip inside and Ramsay squealed out loud. He paused for a moment, enjoying the flesh quivering and muscles twitching around him. Pulled in close against his chest, Ramsay was heaving for breath in between his tormented cries. Without warning, Euron thrust violently into his guts to the very hilt. As he impaled his enemy, he could feel the flesh resisting him at first only to submit to the brutality of the invasion moments later and the blood vessels erupting like small volcanoes against his rock hard cock.
Ramsay's eyes bulged from his head, his mouth flew open and he let out a breathless gasp. Never in his life had he felt such savage, insufferable pain. He took one hiccupped, strangled breath and then he screamed. He screamed like he was dying. No words, just anguished, tortured sounds came out of his gaping mouth. There was no longer a thinking, scheming trickster present inside him only an animal fighting off death using nothing but pure instincts. Ramsay felt like his insides were being pulled from within and he jerked his body and cried out, but to no avail. The king was holding him firmly in place and slamming into his ass with such brutality, his body was lifted in the air with each violent thrust from his hips.
Relishing the feeling of the bastard's quivering body speared against the wall, a warm embrace of muscles and soft flesh tremoring around his cock sending waves of arousal through him, Euron was nearing his climax. A flush of heat rolled from his balls to his brain, his lower regions retracted rapidly, making his cock spasm. He sensed the smaller man becoming exhausted going limb against him, the hiccupped breath slowing down and sobs lessening as he had no more left of himself to give. Euron felt himself grow thicker, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. As the orgasm began to course through his body, he slammed Ramsay's ass down on his cock with full force and spilled his seed inside him with a roar.
Afterwards he exhaled and opened his eyes, looking at the back of the prisoner's head. Ramsay hung sniffling still impaled on his cock, hair dripping wet and his trembling body covered in sweat. As Euron pulled out, savouring the feel of warm tightness being replaced by the cool dungeon air, Ramsay let out a weak gasp. Knees giving in, he hung from the bound wrists with his head lolled back, breathing shallow and rapidly, seemingly drifting into unconsciousness. The King looked down at himself. Blood covered his prick and he smiled wickedly at the sight, then took a step back inspecting his newly acquired plaything and the damage done to it. Holding on to the hips he had bruised the flesh there, discoloration and swelling now tarnished the milky skin. He noticed the trickle of blood that ran down the other man's legs mixing with urine and semen and felt his cock stirring again.
Euron trailed a finger down Ramsay's spinal chord but stopped himself halfway. No. Grant him some respite. Don´t want to break him too soon…there are many hours of fun left in this one still. He picked up his clothing from the cold stone floor and paddled naked towards his chambers, whistling a cheerful tune.