Splash!
The icy-cold water hit Ramsay like a hard slap, snatching his breath away. Startled, he gasped then spluttered a half cough, half choke as it trickled down his throat and hit his uvula. What th… Before he could finish his thought, another gush of water hit him full in the face, causing his body to jerk and a retching gasp burst from his throat. Driven more by instinct than a will to survive he tried to lift his hands to his face to shield it but found that he could not; that something was holding his arms suspended, stretched out in a V shape above his head, denying him movement.
Then, as sudden as the the flow of water had begun, it stopped.
He felt dizzy, slightly sick. Slowly he opened his eyes and lifted his head groggily, trying to regain his bearings in a room that felt like it had been caught up in a whirlwind. Despite his vertigo, it took him but a moment to realise he was back on the table again, splayed out horizontally on top of the Bolton cross from where the Kraken had suspended him earlier that evening. After a few more seconds of utter confusion, his light-headedness faded and his surroundings began to take form as blood started to flow back into his body from his brain where it had rushed to when he had been hanged upside down. Something moved to his right, something large and human-sized. He flinched as the figure stepped into his field of vision, then bent over him in order to inspect him up close.
"Hellooo" Euron was tapping his cheek with one hand, poking his eyelid with a finger. A salty taste stung his tongue, awakening in him the memory of the abuse he had suffered moments before when his tormentor had forced his cock down his throat. Disgusted, he turned his head to the side and spat hard, then retched and spat again, but still the taste persisted so he spat and gagged again and again until his mouth had gone dry, trying desperately to rid himself of not only the horrid flavour of his enemy's seed but of the very memory of its foul origin.
"Leave me be" he managed to croak through his swollen throat as Euron grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing Ramsay's face towards his own, then leaned in so close their noses nearly touched. "Tell me truly, boy… Did you enjoy the taste of my big cock?" Even though Ramsay's vision was blurred and unfocused from dizziness, he could still make out the smug look on the King's face. "There is plenty more where that came from, if you have the appetite for another serving." Euron snickered evilly and let a finger trail down along Ramsay's neck, feeling the smoothness of his shaved skin. "You do look a bit famished…"
His words were cut short as a mist of saliva hit him full in the face, causing him to scrunch his eyes closed. "Before I die, you will feel the sharpness of my blade, Squid." Ramsay hissed weakly into Euron's grimacing face. The words had leaped from his lips before he could restrain them, but now that they were spoken out loud he found he had no regrets "And I will take my time - that I can promise you."
Slowly the King opened his eyes again. Lifting a hand to his face he wiped off the salvia on his dublet's sleeve. For a brief moment, a look of slight puzzlement settled over his face only to be replaced by an expression reminiscent that of an angry thundercloud. With rage-filled eyes burning holes through his prisoner, Euron drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled again. His fingers closed tight around Ramsay's throat, then started to squeeze his windpipe shut; not enough to throttle him, but enough for Ramsay to start gasping for air and squirm weakly underneath his grip.
"So the Bolton Beast finally bares his teeth" Euron's voice had dropped to a low, throaty growl, his blue eyes stormy as they examined Ramsay from head to toe, "but it is all a guise, isn't it? Like a venom less adder showing its fangs, you have no bite that matters anymore, boy; you should have realized that by now" Incapable of uttering anything but a guttural sound in response, Ramsay thrashed his head around hoping the strong fingers around his neck would tighten their grip further, and crush the life out of him for good. Harder, you bastard. Harder. He glared his defiance at Euron, his lips curled in a sneer. Come 'on... Do it!
The silence hung for a moment as both men stared each other down before Ramsay stuck his chin up and broke it off; his eyes fluttering closed as his mind slowly began drifting towards unconsciousness. Seconds later he let out an involuntary gasp as Euron let go of his throat and settled his hand on top of his head, stroking his hair. "Stop pretending you have any pride left; I'm sure I fucked that out of you a long time ago, and If not - I soon will." the King's voice had turned teasing, but his eyes shot fire still "That insolent tongue of yours will get you nowhere but down on your knees."
With his face flushed from exertion and lungs heaving for air, Ramsay locked eyes with Euron once again. "You are a mad cunt, Greyjoy; not worthy of drinking my piss, let alone laying claim to any land outside those shit-stained rocks you call home," he chuckled weakly, his eyes glinting manically "and Sansa will never marry you, you fool! The Starks will laugh in your face, then put you down like a rapid d…". His words were interrupted as a coughing fit overcame him, making him feel as if his lungs had been covered in mud. "…d-dog." Stubbornly he forced the last word out through his tightened throat.
The King let out a loud snort. "Your wit is wasting away", he mocked, "forgive me, Lord Bolton, why I take no heed of words spoken by a man who moments ago was choking on my prick". His hand left Ramsay's hair and settled on his belt instead. Rattling the buckle a few times implying he was about to pull his cock out again, Euron leaned in close and dropped his voice to almost a whisper. "Perhaps I should put your mouth to better use than babbling insults at me."
Upon hearing his tormentor's threat, a new flash of anger coursed through Ramsay's veins. With what felt to himself like inhuman effort, he lifted his head from the cross, causing Euron to withdraw his face and back up a step so as to avoid butting heads with his captive or risk getting another dose of spittle spewed at him. "Go ahead" Ramsay hissed "what you put in my mouth, I will tear from your body. Why should I play this vile game of yours any longer? You have taken everything from me already!"
The desperation in his own voice sounded strange to his ears. How had it come to this? he wondered. How had he allowed himself to make such a fatal mistake as to fall into his enemy's clutch in the first place? To be corrupted by him? Less than a month ago he had been the Lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North and commander of thousands of men obeying his every whim without question or hesitation, sleeping each night next to a different wench of his choosing if that was his wish, and now here he was a few weeks later -but a shadow of his former self; a nervous wreck, raging at his tormentor one second, fearing his wrath the next.
He looked at Euron, who was staring back at him thoughtfully. Apparently, his words had given him pause. There was a long, frowning silence, before the King's grave expression was replaced by a venomous smile. "Sweet boy," he sighed deeply, then tilted his head upwards and sniffed the air "you reek. What will Lady Sansa not think of me, if I return you to her smelling like a hog's arse? It seems that a thorough cleanse is what you need - of body and mind." He paused. "Tomorrow, perhaps?" With those words, Euron turned on his heel and walked towards the door. As his fingers closed around the door's grip he turned to face Ramsay one last time; his unpleasant smile turning into a stern looking grimace as he did. "You should brace yourself for what's coming, Lord Bolton. You probably won't like it."
Ramsay lay listening to the sound of Euron's footsteps disappearing up the stairs, followed by the door to the outside coming open. Someone spoke briefly in a muffled voice and was answered by another, before the door closed again and a new set of footsteps, heavier and more sluggish than the King's, descended down the staircase towards him. Seconds later the bald guard, Hobbs, appeared in the doorway; a malignant smile curling his meaty lips as his eyes fell on Ramsay's soaked form splayed out on the cross before him.
"The captain wore you out, eh?" he grinned as he walked up to Ramsay, but the grin was lopsided, more like a sneering grimace. "Do not worry, bastard. I will treat you with kindness, if you hold your tongue and swallow this without struggle." He held out his hand. In his palm was something that looked like a piece of shriveled up parchment, brownish in color and around the size of a gold coin.
Before Ramsay had a chance to protest, the Ironborn had grabbed him around the jaw and forced it open. "Stay still!" Hobbs sneered as Ramsay began squirming in his clutch. Without further ceremony, he crammed the dried lump into his mouth then proceeded to clamp a hand down over his face, denying him air. A bitter taste of mould mixed with fungi overwhelmed Ramsay's tongue. He tried to spit the lump out again, but couldn't; Hobbs' hold on him was too strong and soon he had no other choice but to swallow the awful substance.
"What did you just feed me!?" he demanded to know when Hobbs finally loosened his grip on his jaw. Obviously it wasn't poison. It couldn't be; Greyjoy wouldn't dare kill him at this point, or… or would he? He had already been promised to the Starks, and if they wanted him dead by someone else's hand, his head would be on a pike by now, decorating the Dreadfort's walls. But… what if the poison was slow acting? What if Euron had decided that Ramsay knew too much, and he didn't want to risk his inclinations becoming known to his new allies? Was it not safer to simply let Ramsay turn up dead in his cell after he had been handed over to Jon Snow, than to risk him confessing to Euron's secret proclivities?
As much as he longed for death, Ramsay still hoped that his would be a painless one; from what he knew about poisons though, none of the slow ones granted that. It was supposedly quite painful dying like that, not that he had ever witnessed it - poisoning someone wasn't really a preference of his – but he had heard the tales of skin turning green, eyes bulging out of sockets and blood oozing from every orifice enough times to know that it was not a preferable end.
Hobbs chuckled, ignoring his question, then began loosening the restraints around Ramsay's wrist and ankles by tugging hard on the leather straps, causing them to gnaw painfully into his sore flesh. "Answer me, you simpleminded creature" Ramsay hissed into the guard's broad face. "ANSWER ME!"
Pain hit him like an explosion as Hobbs drove his fist down into his balls, leaving him gasping for air. Ramsay's mouth flew open and an otherworldly shriek filled the room. "Quit your yapping!" The guard loosened the last leather strap with a fast, violent pull "I don't want to hear another word slithering from that forked tongue of yours." Grabbing Ramsay by one bruised wrist, Hobbs pulled him off the table and onto his feet. "Move it!" He sneered and shoved Ramsay roughly toward the door.
They stepped into the open courtyard, scantily illuminated by a half-moon that stood high amongst the dark clouds. The northern wind had picked up, causing the well-bucket to squeak as it swung lazily back and forth on its hinges. With his jailer right at his heels, Ramsay limped across the yard towards the dungeon as fast as his bruised balls allowed. About half way to their destination, his ankle suddenly gave way, causing him to come to a full stop. "Forward, bastard" Hobbs shoved Ramsay in the back with such force it made his teeth rattle. Off balance, he stumbled forward until he lost his footing and fell to his knees, expelling an involuntary grunt of pain as they hit the frozen ground hard.
"Get up!" the guard ordered, and when Ramsay didn't move he placed a foot on his backside and shoved him forward causing him to fall flat on his stomach. "Did you not hear me? I said: GET UP!" Shaking with supressed anger, Ramsay slowly got up on his hands and knees. In an explosive fit of rage and using all the strength he could possibly muster, he lunged at the man aiming to drive his fist into his fat gut.
The attack failed as Hobbs swiftly, and with an elegance unlike such a seemingly graceless brute, took a step to the side out of reach of Ramsay's swing, then retaliated by hitting Ramsay backhand across the face, sending him falling to the ground once again. Ramsay cried out in pain as Hobs kicked him hard in the side. "Try that one more time and I'm gonna rip your lungs out through your arse." Another kick found the small of his back. "Do you understand, bastard?" With his face twisted up into a painful looking grimace, Ramsay nodded his head reluctantly. "Ye-yes" he stuttered, and shot the man a vengeful glare. Grabbing his prisoner by the scruff of the neck, Hobbs dragged him to his feet again, then pushed him forward in the direction of the dungeon.
Upon his arrival in the cell, fresh hay had been scattered across the floor and the waste-bucket had been emptied. Ramsay hardly made it beyond the threshold before his weak legs gave in and he collapsed onto the ground, gritting his teeth in pain and cupping himself. Closing the cell's door behind him, Hobbs muttered something unintelligible - most likely an insult of some kind but Ramsay no longer cared - before disappearing from sight, positioning himself somewhere in the shadows.
A foul taste reminding him of mussels gone bad crept up his throat. With his stomach churning and lips curled in disgust, he glanced around the cell. His eyes fell on the bucket standing near the bars farthest to his left. Water. The thought of it trickling down his throat left him queasy, but it was still better than having Greyjoy's taste lingering in his mouth all night. Carefully he tried to stand, but the pain shooting through his balls prevented it, and forced him to sit back down in the hay. Biting his lower lip, trying to ignore the pain and shame he felt from his pathetic condition, he crawled on all fours over to the bucket and glanced over its side, finding it empty.
Ramsay, drained of his voice and his strength, crumpled to the ground. "Guard…" he rasped weakly, then listened for a response. Nothing. He tried again, this time a little louder "Guard?..." A few seconds went by. Again, nothing. Then, a loud groan filled the dungeon, followed by the shuffling of feet as Hobbs got up and walked towards him. Coming to a halt in front of Ramsay, the large man sighed deeply. "WHAT?" he asked in annoyance and rolled his eyes. "More water" Ramsay croaked and pushed the bucket in his direction. Hobbs folded his arms across his chest. "Was that an order? Eh, bastard?" His face turned smug as he looked him up and down. "It looks to me like you had enough of that already."
Doing his best to avoid the guard's amused stare, Ramsay lowered his gaze to the ground and bit his lower lip fiercely. "Can I get some more water…" It was evident that to get what he wanted, he had no other choice but to swallow his pride "…please?" The pathetic plea left his lips in a hoarse whisper. "You want…water?" the guard repeated, and Ramsay could hear the smile in his voice. No doubt, Hobbs was enjoying himself immensely on his behalf, but what was there to do about it? He needed the water to wash away the unbearable shame he felt, and if procuring it involved humoring a feeble-minded beast who hated his guts so be it. "Please" Ramsay said once more, and felt his face flush. For a moment Hobbs remained standing in front of him, arms crossed and with that smug look on his face before he turned around and disappeared back into the shadows. A sound of water stirring filled the dungeon. Moments later Hobbs appeared again, this time with a deep ladle in his hand.
Holding the ladle between the bars in front of him with one hand, the guard motioned towards Ramsay with the other. "Come get it then". A feeling of hot shame flamed to Ramsay's cheeks as he crawled on his hands and knees towards it. Coming to a halt in front of the man he reached for the ladle, but the guard pulled his hand behind the bars, leaving it just beyond Ramsay's reach. "One more time. Let me hear you say it" Hobbs said and smiled wide, revealing a set of stained teeth.
Ramsay swallowed hard. "Please…may I have some water?" Hobbs' beady eyes stared down at him, his lips curled in a smile that expressed malignant contempt as well as amusement. "Fine" the guard finally said, and held the ladle out towards him one more time. Ramsay reached for it; his fingers almost touching the handle, when Hobbs pulled it back behind the bars and out of his reach yet again.
A loud, noisy snuffle echoed through the dungeon, as Hobbs hawked up a large glob of phlegm and spat it into the ladle, polluting the otherwise fresh, clear water. Stirring the snot around with a finger, he gestured towards Ramsay. "Hmm?" he asked and smiled even wider at the look of disgust and disappointment that now coated Ramsay's features. "Suit yourself" Hobbs emptied the ladle on the floor, then banged it against the bars with great force, causing Ramsay to jump back in alarm. "Don't interrupt me again, or I'll piss down you throat and make you swallow it!" Pointing the dipper at Ramsay as if it were a sword he was about to skewer him with, he then added "and don't try to fuckin´ hang yourself either. Not on my bloody watch!" Sending Ramsay one last dark glare promising slow, painful death, Hobbs turned from the bars and shuffled away.
Ramsay crawled into the corner and huddled there, gritting his teeth in silent fury. He felt exhausted and wanted to sleep, but Hobbs provocation had left his heart hammering away in his chest like the drums of war causing him to feel wide awake. After a few minutes, the room started to spin and his vision began to blur, so he laid down in the hay and hoped for it to pass. Perhaps it was poison Hobbs had feed him after all. If that was the case, it sure didn't feel like anything he imagined it to be. There was no pain except in his balls, and other than the nausea he had felt ever since the abuse had taken place, there was no indication that he had fallen ill either. Arranging himself in a fetal position, drawing his knees up to his chest, Ramsay closed his eyes and waited for whatever would take him first whether it be sleep or death.
Something moved in the darkness. Ramsay perked his ears and listened as the sound of shuffling feet filled the air. Assuming it was Hobbs or one of the other guards back to pester him some more, he didn't bother to look up. Closer. Closer the footsteps came. Then they stopped.
"M-Master?" A man's trembling voice called out. Ramsay got up on one elbow and looked out through the bars. A figure cowered outside the cell, its face hidden by the shadows. "Master…are you hurt?" The man asked, a faint quiver in his voice evidence of his ragged nerves. No…it couldn't be. "Who's there?" Ramsay called out, his voice cracking. Hesitantly the stranger moved from the shadows and into the light, and Ramsay saw his face, still oddly handsome though dirty and worn out; with sharply marked cheekbones and delicately cut thin lips. The hair on top of his head was an unruly bird's nest made from tousled, brown locks, and the putrid smell emanating from his dirty, shredded garments was like old sweat and fear had been mixed with piss and stale dogshit.
Ramsay swallowed and blinked his eyes in disbelief. It was Reek.