Ramsay lay on his back, listening to the wind that swept through the Dreadfort like a horde of tortured ghosts, howling and whistling as it heralded the coming of a new day. Within a few hours it had died down to a sigh and was replaced by a brief moment of silence before the distant sound of Ironborn men going about their daily affairs in the courtyard, leaked through the cell's stonewalls and settled in his ears instead. Sleep had embraced him at one point during the night, but unfortunately it wasn't for very long, and once he had awoken from the brief respite there was no slipping back into her merciful arms. It seemed as though his body refused him an escape from the present moment, forcing his mind to take a share in the pain it had suffered from being brutalized times over in the past few weeks or...or had it been mere days since his capture? In the grisly nightmare he was living in time itself seemed to have frozen. He had lost track of it he realized, but what did it really matter what day or week or even year it was? Every moment spent counting the crevices in the cell-wall felt like just another grain from an endless pile of sand were being dropped into a gargantuan hourglass anyway.
His father's rotting corpse glaring at him as he was bent over the trophy room's table and violated had made Ramsay's very soul cringe in horror, but when the rough hand closed around his member and his eyes fell to the erection provoked by Euron's firm strokes, a ground pillar of his fundament had shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving him with nothing but a desperate wish to cease breathing. Had Roose been right? Had he really found pleasure in the perverted things the Salt King had done to him? The thought made warm spittle fill his mouth and Ramsay dry heaved un till his throat was sore from the exertion, as if he could somehow purge his mind of the memory by regurgitating it. Although his traitorous body had reacted to his enemy's touch, he had felt no release when he spilled his seed into Greyjoy's warm palm, only pain and horror…and shame. The shame had been the worst of it all.
Ramsay had not thought it possible to be subjected to more humiliation and pain than he had already been before Lorren had led him into the trophy room last night, where he found to his great dismay that it was. There seemed to be no end to the Kraken's ingenuity when it came to torturing his prisoner, and at this point Ramsay had tried everything he could think of to put an end to the abuse: from pathetically begging him, to fighting Greyjoy with what little strength he had left; even complying with some of the bastard's orders, hoping to archive a swift death rather than a cock up the arse. None of his strategies had proved effective and had left him filled to the brim with despair from the dawning comprehension that there might not be a way out of the pit of torment he was in at all. Recognizing the King's sadistic tendencies as a near reflection of his own nature, Ramsay knew that he had good cause to be afraid and feel despair of the future. Men with their common inclinations usually had an insatiable appetite when it came to inflicting pain onto others and therefore also strived to draw out the suffering of their victims for as long as they could (or until they had grown weary of their screams). Expecting any kind of leniency from his captor was beyond naive unless it somehow played out in Greyjoy's own favour to grant it, of course.
He recalled the previous night's interrogation and the answers the King had demanded of him. How many tunnels, Lord Bolton? What are the Stark's numbers? Which Houses remain defiant? It all added up to him planning an attack on Winterfell. Perhaps Euron merely wanted to plunder its riches, but most likely he was seeking to claim the castle in order to strengthen his position as King of not only the Iron Islands but of the North as well and thereby securing a legacy for himself that no other member of his House had ever achieved. The information concerning the Stark status had seemingly disappointed the King and perhaps even dissolved whatever plans he had towards Winterfell. In hindsight, Ramsay wished that he had fed him some lies instead, such as understating the Starks' numbers or pointing out weaknesses in the castle's defenses in order to manipulate the greedy bastard into pursuing his ambitions, but at the time of the questioning he had been too distracted by Roose's rotting eyes, too fearful of Euron's retribution to even contemplate a simple lie. Hopefully, his words hadn't entirely discouraged Greyjoy from proceeding with his plans, for if the Ironborn turned out to be foolish enough to try and overthrow the wolves in their own lair, all of Ramsay's problems would be resolved before long and without him having to lift a finger himself for it to happen.
House Greyjoy had on several historic occasions proved their ineffectiveness on land. Their inability to hold the castles and forts they conquered were laughable, and on top of all that embarrassing, strategic incompetence they never seemed to learn anything from their past mistakes either. The Starks on the other hand, had proven to be not half as thick as Ramsay had initially thought they were, and should Euron attempt an attack on Winterfell, the most strongly fortified castle in the North, it would without a shred of doubt end in the Ironborne's defeat. Oh, yes. Please do that. Scuttle towards your fucking demise, you pimple on a goat's arse. The Kraken would be put to the sword and so would Ramsay himself inevitably, but at this point in time death by beheading was a mercy and something he preferred to the alternative of being Euron's prisoner. His only hope was that Greyjoy would go first; that Ramsay would get to witness the fear so wonderfully carved into that hideous face as his head is forced upon the block, then hear the swish of Jon Snow's Valyrian steel carving through muscles, tendons and depraved bone, and the subsequent dull smack! of Euron's severed head hitting the ground. After relishing the smell of his enemy's blood in the surrounding air, Ramsay would probably skip like a happy ram to the block himself.
He heard the cell-door open with a squeak, followed by the sound of trudging feet. By now, Ramsay had learned to distinguish each guard from their footsteps alone so it came as no surprise when Grey Lorren's bronze-coloured mug appeared above him; his dark, weary eyes examining Ramsay's face. The guard's foot nudged him in the left kidney. "Get up!", the man ordered, but in tone less harsh than usual. Ramsay complied with his request, rising slowly to his hands and knees and bracing himself for the boot that would undoubtedly connect with his rear-end soon. To his great surprise the attack he had anticipated never came. Lorren, an otherwise agitated and resentful creature, seemed to have grown patient overnight and instead of a well-aimed arse-kick, Ramsay was granted the time it took for him to get to his feet by himself; a gesture which he actually felt a small amount of gratitude towards the guard for. How eerie it was that his circumstances had changed to such extremes that not being kicked was something to feel appreciative of.
As he rose from the floor, pain shot through his gut like a lightning bolt making him bend forward and clutch his stomach with a hiss. For a prolonged moment, he remained crouched over waiting for his strength to return before standing up straight, clenching his teeth as he did. Lorren's hand closed around his upper arm, and in an atmosphere of strained silence, Ramsay was led out of the dungeon and out into the hallway. On their way through the passage, they passed the hog-like (and impressively flatulent) guard, Owen, who sat leaned back in his chair, readying a pibe for his afternoon delight. The large man shot Ramsay a terse glance, shook his head once and exchanged a look with his cohort before returning his attention to stuffing the pipe with a sweet-scented tobacco. They know. The humiliation burned his cheeks. Ramsay quickly bowed his head, hoping that the two guards would not become privy to the unbearable shame their awareness of his defilement had caused him. In a purposeful, yet strangely considerate tempo, Lorren led him up the stairs and into the courtyard like he had done the night before.
The dusk had settled over the Dreadfort like a thick reddish-orange blanket. Limping his way across the yard, the frozen hardness of the ground made a sharp stab of pain race from the balls of Ramsay's feet and burn through his gut like soaring hot nails were being driven into him from multiple directions all at once. Some snow might have eased his suffering a little, but the wind had removed any trace of the padded layer the night before, leaving only the barren ground for him to hopple on. At least this time he was not blindfolded, which made him hopeful that there would not be a surprise of the same magnitude as the one he had been given the night before, awaiting him at whatever destination Lorren was leading him to. It all felt a bit gullible though, to contemplate such a thing as leniency from his tormentor; Greyjoy seemed to have something new and horrid up his sleeve every time they met, and deep down Ramsay knew that tonight would be no different even though he couldn't stop himself from hoping that it would. With his grip clamped tight on his prisoner's arm, Lorren ushered him towards the tower on the opposite side of the dungeon that housed the family dining hall.
At the far end of the great hall a fire burned low in the hearth, its warmth thawing Ramsay's frozen flesh as he and Lorren neared the thirty-foot long dining table situated in the middle of the room. At the end furthest from the entrance, the King of Salt and Rock sat leaned back in a chair with his legs resting on the table's surface and lips curled in his usual shudder-some smile. The King's head was bedecked with the wooden crown he had worn the first day they met, giving him the appearance of a mad beggar rather than the monarch he supposedly was. At the sight of his prisoner, Euron's eyes glistened brightly in the dim light and his grin grew so wide that Ramsay thought his face might split in two before him. Lorren led him to the opposite end of the table from the King where an abundance of food arranged on large silver trays and several jugs of wine had been placed covering much of the surface. Although there seemed to be enough food and drink for ten men, only two sets of tableware had been put out: one at Ramsay's end and one at the King's.
With a small nod, Greyjoy dismissed his subordinate who immediately turned on his heel and left the room, abandoning his prisoner who now stood alone next to the table, awaiting nervously to be told what to do next. As he passed him on the way out, Lorren shot Ramsay a quick glance. It was so fleeting and seemingly neutral, that most people would not speculate further about its meaning, however; the son of Roose Bolton was not most people and although Lorren probably never meant for his hidden emotions to become unveiled, Ramsay still caught on as easily as if the man had confided himself to him. It was a look of pity, and it made Ramsay's cheeks flame red with shame.
Greyjoy waited for the door to shut behind Lorren before he spoke. "Afternoon, Lord Bolton. How have you fared since last we spoke? Well enough, I hope. Apologies if my passionate conduct last night left you a little…tender," his white teeth flashed in a sadistic smile. Ramsay stood in silence, trying not to wince too much from the discomfort of having to stand with a gut that felt like it had been filled with burning rocks. Even though Euron knew very well that his prisoner was suffering immensely, he let him remain standing next to his seat for a couple more minutes, all the while drinking wine, watching with an amused expression as Ramsay shifted uncomfortably back and forth on his feet, before he finally decided to end the torture. "Don't just stand there like a stuffed owl! Sit!" Greyjoy gestured towards the chair next to Ramsay. With great strain, he limped over to the seat and eased his battered behind carefully down, giving off a small grunt as it connected with the wood.
A spoon and a goblet had been put out for him but no knife unfortunately. At this point he would have rammed a blade into his own throat without a moments hesitation, bleeding out before the dumb-struck King who would then have lost his probably only leverage in dealing with the Starks. A mere second of pain, a few squirts of blood, and death would claim him within half a minute if he was able to hit the main artery straight on like he had done with the wildling wench, the one who had abetted Rickon Stark in his escape from Winterfell, when he had killed her. There would be no more shame, no more suffering and most importantly: no more Euron Greyjoy. Yet as enticing as death seemed at this point, killing oneself with a spoon was too difficult a task even to a desperately suicidal man like Ramsay.
"I hope you brought an appetite". The Kraken let out a small groan of effort as he swung his feet off the table, then rose to his full, intimidating height and came strolling down the table's side towards Ramsay, now shifting nervously in his seat, increasingly alarmed by the whole setting that seemed more and more like another nightmarish attack in the works. On his way, the King grabbed a large plate with a silver cover from the table's surface, then carried it over to Ramsay, placing it in front of him. Taking great pleasure in the watery eyes his looming presence provoked in him, Euron leaned down further in order to relish his prisoner's discomfort up close.
By the gods...NO! He is going to serve me…it! The King was making good on the threat he had stated the night before; a precaution made to prevent himself from getting bit when Ramsay fell to his knees and offered to pleasure him with his mouth. Of course, their intimacy had never reached the point where sinking his teeth into the bastard's member had been relevant - a well-placed punch to Greyjoy's balls had made sure of that - yet Ramsay still suspected that the retribution for his actions were nowhere near over even though he had already suffered greatly for his little trick. The foul image of a man's shrivelled up, boiled member surrounded by steamed vegetables on a silver platter entered his mind, making him queasy and brought his stomach dangerously close to turning.
Ramsay's sat paralyzed neither blinking nor breathing, fearing that if he did inhale the air, the steam escaping from underneath the cover would fill his nose with the smell of his father's rotting flesh. For a second he contemplated throwing the plate at Euron, but knowing the King's twisted mind that sort of conduct would only lead to him having to eat the contents off of the floor instead. "I thought the two of us should have a little heart to heart before it's too late," Greyjoy had an evil twinkle in his eyes, "but you really should eat something first. You might need your strength in the next couple of hours or days...depending on how well you behave, of course." With a swift motion Euron lifted the cover, revealing the contents of the plate underneath it "Ta-daaaahhh!"
With teary eyes, Ramsay looked down at the plate expecting the worst sight imaginable, then let out an audible sigh of relief as he realized that it was merely a mushroom stew Euron had presented him with, a dish seemingly free of any disgusting human remains. The meal itself actually looked pretty good and probably would have smelled like it also, if it hadn't been for the Kraken's sharp body odour, offending his nose with its seaweed-smelling unpleasantness.
Witnessing his captive's sudden relief made Euron smile cruelly. "Oh, NO! You didn't actually think...!?" He put a finger under Ramsay's chin, lifting up his face to look him in the eye, "I told you that I wouldn't do such a thing unless you misbehave again...where is the trust? Do you consider me a man of no honour?" Ramsay shot him a sour glare but said nothing, his eyes were visibly conveying his thoughts instead. Burn in Hell. Chuckling loud, pleased with the terror he had inflicted, Euron turned on his heel and returned to his seat. "Eat up, boy!" he ordered and lifted his goblet of spiced wine in a toast.
Even though Ramsay had not had a meal since the day before last (and that stew had been wasted on the trophy room's floor), his appetite was still non-existent. If the sight of Greyjoy's face hadn't been enough to make him nauseous, the thought of being force fed his father's member had done the trick. Still, Ramsay knew that refusing to eat wasn't an option he had, so without any protest he picked up the spoon and started digging slowly into the stew, carefully inspecting and sniffing each spoon-full before he brought it to his lips and subsequently swallowed with great strain. Despite his so-called promise, the Kraken could very well have slipped some chunks of Roose into the stew, and for no other reason than his own perverted amusement.
Euron, a goblet in his hand, sat leaned back in his chair, watching in silence as his prisoner worked his way through the meal. With great difficulty, Ramsay swallowed the last few bites from the plate then slumped backwards with eyes closed, clutching his midsection hard in the hope that the food would stay down his unruly stomach and not come spraying out of his nose and mouth like a mushroom spouting geyser. He didn't want to be forced to consume his own upchuck, and that could very well be Euron's next bright idea to torture him with if he failed to hold it down.
Thankfully, the meal decided to settle in his stomach and Ramsay could feel a little of his strength returning from the nutrient-rich stew. He looked up, meeting the Kraken's eyes. "Good?" Greyjoy asked. His smile was bright and could even come across as friendly if one didn't know any better "Yes, my Lord," Ramsay let out a small cough "thank you, my Lord" His sudden meek conduct made the King chuckle "Such nice manners, you've developed, Lord Bolton. It pleases me that your lessons in humility have not been in vain." He gestured towards the pitcher next to Ramsay "why don't you have some wine?" After having filled his cup to the brim, Ramsay picked it up with trembling hands and drank the sweet liquid in large gulps. Wine, you beautiful whore; dull my senses, help me forget. Make me not care what happens tonight, please...
Euron sat studying Ramsay while slowly rotating the stem of his goblet between his fingers. It was not until the other man had emptied his cup and lowered it again, that he finally spoke. "Now, Ramsay…I would like to know what exactly you did to my dear nephew," Euron's smile was gone, his eyes now dark and glowering "and don't lie to me...that would disappoint me very much. Need I remind you what happens if you do that?" The deep, raspy voice had turned low and threatening, reminiscent of a large predator's growl just before it attacked.
The question made Ramsay's throat go dry and he went for the pitcher again, filling his goblet. His mind was racing as he brought the cup to his lips and drank slowly, buying himself some time to think up an answer less likely to result in him being mauled than the horrid truth would. Given the fact that the Kraken seemed to be pretty well-informed when it came to Ramsay's transgressions, he had expected to be confronted with his past treatment of Reek at one point or another...Theon! Remember? It's Theon,notReek! Still, the inquiry had taken him by surprise and sent a warning prickle down his spine. His heartbeat accelerated into a full gallop at the thought of the unbearable amount of pain he would be subjected to this time around, if he didn't provide his tormentor with the right answer. After all the Kraken had already put him through, and for no other reason than the sheer pleasure he got from administrating pain upon his victim, what would the man not do to him if it became clear that Ramsay had turned his nephew into an anxious, neutered dog?
But then...there was also a very good chance that Greyjoy knew of Theon's fate already, and that this whole scene was merely him setting up another game of cat and mouse for his depraved enjoyment. Gossip travelled fast and far in the North, and in the off-chance that the tale of Ramsay Bolton's smelly pet had not reached the King's ears yet, the soldiers holding the Dreadfort had most likely been subjected to torture when the Ironborn invaded, spilling all kinds of Bolton secrets before they were mercifully put to death. Given what Ramsay had already learned about his captor, the whole dinner-setting and subsequent questioning was just a kind of sick, twisted foreplay of his; one that would most likely lead to the same endgame no matter what Ramsay said or did to try and prevent it from happening.
Memories from the previous, grisly night popped into his mind, making him almost choke on a mouthful of wine. His father's condemning eye staring at him while Greyjoy fucked him savagely; the large hand that closed around his member, stroking him to release and left him with a sense of insufferable shame and confusion that never would nor could fade away again. The horrors, escalating steadily throughout the afternoon, had been brought on by Ramsay's defiance (or so Greyjoy had claimed it was); the fist to his balls and the many insults he had spewed at him. After the rape, Euron had whispered in his ear that things would get worse if he didn't start giving in to his commands, and even though being rebellious was very much a part of his nature, Ramsay did not care to find out what the Ironborn's definition of "worse" meant.
Doing the King's bidding might not save him from an assault but perhaps it could make it less brutal this time. Sadly enough, that was the only thing left for him to hope for, tonight or any other night, he remained alive in Euron's custody. Ramsay felt the muscles in his throat constrict, but fought it off and managed to swallow the wine he had in his mouth. "I…I…tortured him" the words came out in a stutter. Anxiously, Ramsay looked across the table at his captor. Did he just make a horrible, horrible mistake? The King's face seemed to be frozen in a serious, unyielding expression causing Ramsay's foot to start tapping rapidly against the floorboards.
The Kraken leaned forward in his seat, selecting a grape from the bunch on his plate. "Yes, yes...and what else?" he asked with casual indifference, seemingly unimpressed by Ramsay's arduous confession. He threw the grape in the air and caught it between his teeth. Ramsay squeezed his eyes shut, trying to build up the courage to speak the truth for once; a concept seldom-used when something was at stake for him. "I removed certain parts" he admitted, bowing his head and looking down at the table's surface avoiding the King's stare. "Like what, boy?" Greyjoy hissed, annoyed by his hesitation "what?" Ramsay inhaled deeply, but the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, leaving his brain without the means to conjure up any helpful lies. "His fingers and toes….", pause, "and…and...his…" he sank hard, "...his cock."
A deep, rumbling sound filled the dining hall. Ramsay looked up confused and saw that the King had laid his head back and was laughing so hard, the chair was rattling underneath his weight. With eyes shut, he was pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, like he had just heard the hilarity of a lifetime and it had caused his brain to hurt. The unnerving sound of Greyjoy's wheezing laughter seemed to go on for several minutes, before it finally died down into a giggle. Ramsay held his breath as Euron met his gaze, teary eyed from the apparent jest that were his gelded nephew. "It's no surprise, really…but it is still so fuckin' hilarious to hear you say it!"
With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the King put the goblet to his lips and took a swig of wine "Poor little Theon" he muttered to himself, then snorted scornfully. Unnerved by the man's outburst, Ramsay was eyeing him with caution, holding his breath and bracing himself for an attack. If there was one thing he had learned during his incarceration, it was that a smile could turn into a vicious bite in the blink of an eye, and even though Greyjoy seemed sincerely amused by Ramsay's actions at the moment it did not mean that an assault was not in the offing.
Euron had put the goblet down and leaned back in his seat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when suddenly his eyes widened in remembrance of the one thing he was most curious about. "So what did you do with his cock then? Feed it to your hounds?" With his mind racing to come up with a better answer than the one he had to give, Ramsay was staring at Euron, wide-eyed, frozen. A drop of sweat trailed from his hairline and down his temple. "What did you do, little Lord?!" The Kraken insisted in a low, threatening sneer. There was no choice but to confess. "Sent it to his father…". He paused "…and sister".
This time the King's raucous outburst of laughter made Ramsay wince. He sat in silent terror as Euron banged one fist on the table repeatedly, generating a loud, clattering noise as plates and silver clinked and rattled. The discomfort he had felt moments before when he confessed to gelding Theon had now paled in comparison. He shifted nervously in his seat, growing more and more anxious by the second as he watched his tormentor nearly keel over in his chair from the unintentional jest Ramsay had just made. Once the thought of Theon's cock in a box had been as amusing to himself as it clearly was to Euron, but those times were over now; joy was no longer a part of his life.
"Oh, seven hells…that was good." Snickering, the Salt King wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. "Well...the little shit probably had it coming. Ramsay Snow! Join me in a toast: To Theon Turncloak!" He leaned forward, his face forming a broad, fixed grin as he raised his goblet in a mock-salute, motioning for Ramsay to lift his also. "Former Prince, present cunt! HAZAR!". Ramsay put the cup to his lips and emptied its contents in a few big gulps. Euron drank heartedly also, and when he had taken his fill, he belched then sighed contentedly. A finger settled on his nose, stroking the neatly-curved bridge there.
He sat for some time, studying his prisoner as Ramsay refilled his cup for the third time and downed it with a determination that suggested he was in a rush to become drunk. "Very good, Ramsay...very good..." The King chuckled as Ramsay put down his cup with an audible clonk! then gave him a long, sour glare. The wine seemed to have worked its magic and evoked a small amount of defiance in him. Euron licked his lips. How amusing it would be to stomp that tiny fire out again. "Now, I need you to tell me about Sansa Stark…what did you do to her? I've heard so many curious things about your marriage but I don't know what is true and what is false. Please, do tell me."
Ramsay felt light-headed, a dazed state brought on by a combination of hasty intake of wine and the gut-wrenching fear the Kraken induced in him just by being in the same room. "Sansa-ah…" His wife's name came out as a croak, so he tried again. "Sansa...was my father's bright idea. He arranged the marriage between us to make the claim on Winterfell legit and to rally the Houses still loyal to the Stark name against the Lannisters...but as well you know, that didn't exactly work out as planned". Surprised by his own bitter admission of father and son's shared defeat, Ramsay closed his eyes for a moment to consider whether or not he should be confessing anything to the King at all. The wine seemed to be doing the talking for him, dulling his senses and the pain jabbing away at his gut, but most importantly it made him care less about what Euron Greyjoy could do to him. Ramsay decided that he longer cared what he confessed to, as long as the wine kept flowing his way and granted him the escape he so desperately craved.
"It is well-known throughout the Seven Kingdoms you were defeated at Winterfell by Sansa Stark... That must have been so embarrassing for you! Tell me, Lord Snow: how does one lose the most well-supplied castle in all the North to a handful of wildlings led by a little girl AND during the fuckin' winter?!" Euron's acidy words made Ramsay grind his teeth, but he remained tranquil and emptied his goblet for the fourth time instead of spewing back the many accumulated insults he itched for. A wicked smile formed on the King's face as he shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps you are just not cut out for war...perhaps your place was meant to be elsewhere." To top off the insult he sucked his teeth sarcastically.
"Perhaps you are right, my Lord" Ramsay snarled, filled his cup again and drank hard. "But why did she marry you, I wonder? Word has it she is a great beauty, a tall wench with fine teats. Such an odd coupling, you and her...like a weasel rutting away at a pure-bred horse, it just seems so bloody unnatural. I would have thought she could have done better than you" Euron paused to ponder over his own words, "so tell me why she didn't."
Ramsay's face flushed bright red, evidence that the King's words had hit their mark. With a sour grimace, he swallowed the remaining wine in his goblet. And you dare speak of unnatural things, you despicable creature. "Sansa had no choice but to marry me, really. The Lannisters wanted her head. Her aunt, Lysa Aryn of the Vale had died some time before, leaving Sansa without protection against her enemies. Meanwhile, Winterfell had been claimed by my father, rendering him the most powerful Lord in the North and her best hope of staying alive. So that is why she married me, Greyjoy... she was being pragmatic, that is all."
"A-ha. Pragmatic, you say?" Greyjoy contemplated the word for a moment, "and how did your love thrive? Was she good to you? Did your wife fulfil your needs by her own free will, or did you have to take her by force to get your little cock wet? I cannot imagine that a fine, noble bitch like that would touch you by her own accord". Ramsay felt the anger boil up inside, begging him to let it roam freely. His fingers closed around the goblet's stem, turning his knuckles white as he tightened his grip and pulled back his arm to throw it at the Kraken's smug face.
The sound of Euron's threatening voice halted his intended throw in mid-air. "If you fling that cup, Ramsay...that will conclude the evening for you, and not in a good way, trust me". For a few tense seconds, the two men shot daggers at each other before Ramsay finally gave in and slammed the goblet down on the table, hard. "What's it to you!? She was my wife and I had the right to take her wherever, whenever I so pleased!" Snarling at his captor, Ramsay lifted the pitcher to fill his cup, but this time his depth perception failed him terribly, resulting in most of the wine intended for his cup was splattered over the table's surface instead. "Arghhh!" Ramsay let out an annoyed groan, then proceeded to drink directly from the pitcher's spout.
"You had the right?" Euron, now staring him down sternly put the words in his mouth, tasting them. "How does that work? I've never had a wife, in the legal sense at least...", he paused, then tapped two fingers against his temple twice "Oh, I know! just like I can have my way with you wherever, whenever I wish...right?" His teeth bared in a grimace that made Ramsay's blood run cold. He put down the pitcher and averted his eyes. A long moment of silence passed between them before Euron spoke again. "Do you think she enjoyed it? Being with you, I mean" Ramsay shook his head reluctantly, keeping his eyes fixed on the woodgrain. "I don't think so either... well, in truth, I know she didn't". The King ran a finger across the beard on his upper-lip, thoughtfully caressing it "...and yet, even after all that you have done to her, to her family, Sansa still longs to be reunited with her dear husband...isn't that the sweetest thing? A raven arrived this morning bearing the Stark sigil and her greetings."
Stunned, Ramsay looked up with eyes darting back and forth, trying to comprehend the words that Euron had spoken. Had the King reached out to her? Or she to him? Ramsay swallowed the lump in his throat while struggling to regain a small amount of composure. "As I would love to see her again. I do miss her…so very much" he lied. "Worry not. You will get the chance to tell her yourself before long. The Starks will ride from Winterfell tomorrow; that makes for their arrival here in about three to four days time". Euron leaned forward in his seat. His smile had returned and it was as sly as it was cruel. "so you and I, still have a little time left to get to know one another better."
Ramsay's heart sank. Even though he knew that being handed over to the Starks was a better fate by far than remaining the madman's captive, the thought of Sansa seeing him in his broken state made him shudder. Perhaps she would even become privy to the full extent of his shame and bask in his humiliation before she killed him, like a fat, content cat enjoying the writhing of the doomed mouse beneath its paw. And yet...I'd rather see her face than yours when I die, Lord of Shit and Piss. At least with the Starks, death was a certain thing. He just prayed that Sansa would never find out what had happened to him in the dungeon of the dreadful place he had once called his home, for the notion of that soul-shattering humiliation seemed far worse to him than anything else, even death.
The King rose from his seat and walked over to Ramsay, who now sat staring into thin air trying to make sense of the latest shift in his circumstances. Resting his rear on the table next to Ramsay's dinner plate, Euron leaned forward and gave his prisoner a small smack across the face. "Here, Ramsay! Here!" He snapped his fingers also, pulling him the rest of the way out from whatever place he had disappeared to and regained his attention. "So! I plan to ask for Lady Stark's hand in marriage, and I'm offering you up as my dowry. That ought to sweeten the deal quite a bit, don't you think?" Ramsay, in loss of words, blinked up at him a few times.
"My niece and cock-less nephew have already made it across the narrow sea to the Queen beyond and plead their fealty to her. That was my fuckin' plan but they beat me to it, the cunts, so that leaves me…". Euron reached out his hand and let his index finger trail down Ramsay's cheek, feeling the stubble that had begun to dominate the lower half of his face. The rasping sound of fingernails on the coarse hairs filled Ramsay's ears and he flinched a little from the discomfort of Euron's caress "...with a second option: allying with the Starks." The finger was now brushing past his lips, toying with them and feeling their fullness. Ramsay wiped his face to the side, his nostrils flaring in disgust. He wanted to bite Greyjoy's finger off badly, but he also quite clearly recalled how he had tried to do that once already, and how it hadn't exactly worked out well for him that time.
"So you understand, Lord Bolton...you are in my way now. Lady Sansa needs a divorce, and as much as I´m going to miss your company, my appetite calls for something that the Dreadfort can not provide me" Roughly, Euron grabbed Ramsay's chin between his large fingers and thumb, forcing him to look straight into his narrowed eyes. "Besides...I am a very jealous man and I hate sharing." His voice had turned more chilling than the air outside "Since you´ve been so well-behaved and not lied to me once tonight, I am going to give you a choice: I can either bend you over this table and ram my cock up your ass again!..." With quivering lips, Ramsay blinked away a tear. "...or you can pleasure me with that sweet little mouth of yours, just like you offered to do last night."
Choking out a sob, the former Lord of the Dreadfort closed his eyes and deliberated what to do with the choice he had been given. His gut hurt so bad, he suspected his insides had gone from solid to liquefied by now and would soon come sliding out his arse if he wasn't granted a break from the King's brutal poundings. He couldn't live through one more of those assaults nor did he care to. There wasn't really a choice to be considered; somehow the disgusting notion of Euron's member in his mouth seemed like the lesser of two depraved evils. "I don´t know how to do that, my Lord. Please!" Euron brushed his thumb across Ramsay's soft lips again, then forced them apart a little by pressing against his front-teeth with his index-finger. "Open up! Come on!" he growled, but Ramsay kept his mouth clamped shut and was staring up at him teary-eyed and defiant instead. "I said: Open up, Ramsay...or I'll feed you my prick and split you in half afterwards!"
With reluctance he opened his mouth and Euron slipped his digit inside, making Ramsay gag at the salty taste and the thought of another man's body part in his mouth. "Now, close your lips around it and suck...and no teeth, boy, or you'll get to feel mine again", he hissed in pleasure "but do make some sounds...choke all you want; I like that." Stiffly, Ramsay began to suck on the finger, trying his best not to gag too much while doing it to avoid adding to the Kraken's perverted pleasure, but unfortunately that proved to be a near impossible task. "More" The King ordered and licked his lips, then went silent, watching as Ramsay's cheeks hollowed, attempting to create a small vacuum around the finger. The bastard's mouth was warm and moist, and when he put in the suction Euron could feel his cock begin to stir. "Use your tongue to swirl around it...and look at me...yes, very good...Mmmm". The request made Ramsay's skin crawl but he complied nevertheless, looking awkwardly up into his tormentor's eyes as he sucked and licked his digit. Tears started flowing from his eyes from the humiliation, but his evident discomfort only made Greyjoy enjoy it all the more. The King's eyes started to glaze over, his breathing turning rapid.
Ramsay looked down at the man's crotch and saw his erection straining against his breeches, threatening to break through the seams. No....Any second now, the King would grab him by the back of the neck and force him to his knees in front of him, then Ramsay would taste the salty, awful tinge of the King's member as it slid down the length of his tongue, invading his throat. Choking on his enemy's manhood, with its entire length raping his oesophagus, he would try to pull his head back and push against his tormentor's strong thighs with all his might, desperately struggling to breathe, to get away...but of course, he wouldn't be allowed to do that. Euron would snake a hand in his hair, holding him in place as he fucked his throat mercilessly and pulling Ramsay so close to him, his nose would be embedded in his pubic hair. His nostrils would flare angrily against the brown growth until his vision blurred, his face turn an angry red, and the last sound Ramsay would hear before loosing consciousness would be the Kraken's roar of pleasure...
Euron pulled his finger from Ramsay's mouth and gave him a smack on the cheek, snapping him out of his catatonic state. Pausing for a few moments to regain his breath, he took off his wooden crown placing it carefully on the table next to him, then got to his feet and placed himself behind Ramsay, leaning his stomach against the backrest of the chair. Ramsay felt his exhalation make the fine strands of hair on his head flutter like long grass in the wind. Euron's hand trailed down Ramsay's neck and pulled his doublet a little to the side to inspect the bite-marks he had so brutally inflicted on his back the night before. The soreness provoked a small hiss of pain as the King let his fingers glide over the landscape of his back, locating and groping the swollen wounds. "Hmm" Greyjoy muttered thoughtfully, then reached under his robes producing a small vial with a thick, reddish brown ointment inside. With a few careful strokes, Euron applied the salve on the wounds and returned the vial to his pocket. "There! Good as new!" He slapped Ramsay's shoulders and let his hands remain resting on top of them, tapping his fingers rapidly against the collarbone. "As much as I want to see you on your knees again, I do have something a little different in mind for you tonight."
As swift as a striking adder, Euron coiled his arm around his prisoner's throat and began to slowly squeeze his windpipe shut. Ramsay let out a surprised gasp before his air supply was cut off by the pressure on his gorge. Shiny, little swirly specs of light danced before his eyes, and the dining hall seemed to be narrowing. By pure instinct, his fingers searched for the forearm, leaving long, bloody trails from his nails down its length as he fought desperately for his life. Greyjoy was speaking while choking him, but the words reached his ears slurred, devoid of meaning. Ramsay's vision began to fade, and a few moments later his world had turned completely dark.