Ramsay Bolton and The Night King !
Ramsay Bolton's heart pounded in his chest as he was dragged through the icy wasteland. The cold bit at his skin, and the relentless wind howled around him. He struggled against his captors, but their grip was ironclad. Fear gnawed at him, a fear he had rarely known in his life of cruelty and power.
The landscape around him was desolate, a stark contrast to the luxurious halls and warm hearths he once commanded. In the distance, he could see the imposing figure of the Night King standing silently, his icy blue eyes piercing the darkness.
Ramsay was thrown to his knees before the Night King. He looked up, trembling, his breath visible in the frigid air. The Night King remained still, his gaze unwavering.
"Please," Ramsay began, his voice shaking. "You don't understand. I did what I had to do. It was all for power, for survival. You must know what that's like."
The Night King's silence was deafening, his expression unreadable. Ramsay's desperation grew.
"I... I can be useful to you," Ramsay continued, his voice rising in pitch. "I know how to control people, how to instill fear. I can help you. Just spare my life."
Still, the Night King remained silent, his icy stare unyielding. Ramsay's fear turned to panic.
"I can change!" he pleaded, tears beginning to stream down his face. "I can be better. Just give me a chance, please. I don't want to die."
The Night King took a step forward, his presence even more imposing. Ramsay recoiled, falling onto his back in the snow, scrambling to get away.
"No, no, please!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "I'll do anything! Anything you want! Just don't kill me!"
The Night King raised his hand, and a chilling wind swept over Ramsay. He felt the cold seeping into his bones, numbing him, and with it came a realization. There would be no mercy, but perhaps not death either.
Ramsay's pleas turned to incoherent sobs as the cold overtook him. The Night King watched, his icy blue eyes unblinking. Instead of delivering a final blow, the Night King gestured to his White Walkers. They moved forward, binding Ramsay's wrists with chains of ice.
"You... you won't kill me?" Ramsay stammered, a flicker of hope mixed with terror in his eyes.
The Night King remained silent, but his actions spoke louder than words. Ramsay was lifted to his feet, the weight of the icy chains pulling at his every movement.
"You'll serve me," the Night King's silence seemed to convey. The coldness of his gaze promised a fate worse than death—eternal servitude.
Ramsay's spirit broke as the reality of his new existence sank in. He was no longer the sadistic lord of Winterfell, but a slave to the Night King, condemned to serve in the frozen wastelands of Sector 5, Jurisdiction 15. His life of cruelty and power had led him to this moment, and now he would spend eternity at the mercy of a master who knew no compassion, no mercy, and no warmth.
As Ramsay was led away into the icy darkness, the Night King turned back to his silent domain. The judgment had been made, and Ramsay Bolton's cries for mercy were swallowed by the unyielding cold.