~ 💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 60→1ch | 100→2ch | 200→5ch ⏰ Resets Monday! Thanks!
In the dungeon, Lynn's figure disappeared into the dark.
His final words hung in the empty corridor like a curse, echoing off the stone walls long after he was gone.
Every syllable carved into Ramsay like a blade.
"He said he's very disappointed."
"He thinks you're not worthy to be his son."
"He's preparing to have another one."
The smile on Ramsay's face froze. Then it shattered.
In those pale blue eyes, always so elegant, always so composed, something broke.
"Hah..."
A dry, hollow sound scraped out of his throat.
He lowered his head slowly, staring at the stone slab in front of him. At the "masterpiece" he was so proud of.
He had always believed that everything he did was to prove something to that man.
To prove that he, Ramsay Snow, bastard-born, was more Bolton than any Bolton who ever lived.
He had hunted men with his hounds, drinking in their terror like music.
He had wielded his flaying knife with surgeon's precision, composing their screams into something magnificent.
He thought Father would appreciate his art.
He thought Father would be proud of his talent.
He had imagined it countless times. When he laid Winterfell at Father's feet, when he broke the Stark girls into his most loyal hounds, that frozen, unchanging face would finally crack open , just a sliver , into something like approval.
He had dreamed of making Father smile at him. Of being seen.
And in the end, all he got was disappointment.
Not worthy.
Have another one.
The words drove into his skull like iron spikes, churning everything , his pride, his effort, his art , into filth.
Everything he had ever done. In that man's eyes, he was nothing but a clown who couldn't even get on stage. Begging for scraps of attention with his cheap little tricks.
And now the clown had flopped.
The master was bored.
The master was getting a new toy. More obedient. More amusing.
And he himself could only be thrown away.
"Heh... heheh..."
Ramsay's shoulders began to shake.
A low sound rose from his chest. It grew louder. Wilder.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA—!!!"
He snapped his head up.
That handsome face was unrecognizable now. The muscles twisted with rage and venom, contorting into something monstrous.
His pale blue eyes were shot through with red.
"You old bastard... you damned old bastard!!!"
"I've done everything for you. Everything. And you just throw me away?!"
"WHY?!!!"
Ramsay let out a sound that wasn't human. He seized the stone slab and hurled it at the wall.
"CRACK—!!!"
It exploded into fragments. The masterpiece became rubble.
"Have another one?!"
"You want to have another one?!"
"I'll find him! I'll dig him out of that woman's belly with my own hands!!"
"I'll flay him right in front of your eyes!!"
"I'll make decorations from his bones! I'll drink from his skull!!"
He raged like a beast in a cage, throwing himself against the stone walls and iron bars with his fists, with his head.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The impacts echoed through the dungeon. Blood ran down his forehead, mixing with the tears streaming down his face , tears wrung out by his own mad laughter , until he looked like something that had clawed its way up from hell.
"I'll kill you, Roose Bolton!"
"I'll make you my most perfect collection!!"
"You'll smile at me forever. Forever!!!"
The jailers outside stood frozen, faces drained of color, legs barely holding them up.
None of them had ever seen anything like this.
This wasn't a man anymore.
This was a devil who had lost his mind completely.
Ned Stark stood at the far end of the corridor, listening to the screaming and the impacts. His face had gone the color of ash. His stomach turned.
He looked at the man beside him, who had not reacted to any of it. Not a flicker, from beginning to end.
"A mad dog is most dangerous when it thinks it's a wolf."
Lynn seemed to read the question in Ned's eyes. He answered it without being asked, his tone as even as if he were commenting on the weather.
He turned to face Ned.
"The only way he loses his defenses is if he loses his mind completely. Let all that hatred for Roose Bolton eat through whatever reason he has left."
Ned was quiet.
He didn't know exactly what Lynn was planning. But there was clearly a purpose behind it. And dealing with a devil like Ramsay meant using a devil's methods.
"What about Miranda?"
Lynn asked.
"Ramsay's... accomplice."
"Locked in a storeroom on the west side of the castle." Ned's brow furrowed. "That woman is trouble. She hasn't said a single word since we took her, and she put two of my men in the infirmary. I had to have her tied up."
"Is that so?"
The corner of Lynn's mouth curved.
"I'll go have a word with her. Get some rest, my lord. I can handle this one alone."
...
Winterfell. The West Tower.
A storeroom full of clutter.
Better than the dungeon, at least. Dry. A narrow window let in a thin strip of daylight.
Miranda was bound to a chair with a rag stuffed in her mouth. Her leather armor, once decent enough, was torn and filthy. Her hair was plastered across her face in tangles. Dried blood at the corner of her mouth.
But her eyes were still the eyes of a she-wolf cornered and furious , wild with defiance, burning with it.
She watched the door without blinking. Anyone who came close got the full weight of that glare.
The door creaked open.
Lynn walked in unhurried, Roslin following behind him with a tray.
The moment Miranda saw him, her whole body went rigid. A low, threatening sound rose in her throat.
Like a hound coiling to strike.
Lynn ignored her. He dragged a stool over and sat down in front of her, completely at ease.
Roslin set the tray on a wooden crate beside him, then stepped back quietly, watching this woman who looked to be about her own age with open curiosity , and wariness.
Lynn picked up a piece of fresh bread from the tray and began tearing it apart, unhurried.
"Miranda."
"Daughter of the Dreadfort's kennel master."
"Ramsay Snow's most loyal hound."
His voice was soft.
Miranda didn't know what he was playing at. She kept glaring.
Lynn tossed a small piece of bread into his mouth and chewed slowly.
"You know, I just came from the dungeon."
"Ramsay asked me to bring you a message."
At the name, the ferocity in Miranda's eyes shifted. Something complicated moved through them , hope tangled with dread.
She strained against her bonds. The sounds in her throat grew louder.
Lynn glanced at Roslin.
Roslin stepped forward, hesitated, then reached out and pulled the rag free.
"Pah!"
Miranda spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the floor.
"You bastard! What have you done to Lord Ramsay?!"
Her voice was raw. But there was nothing weak in it.
"Oh, plenty of spirit." Lynn smiled. "Don't worry. Ramsay's doing well enough. He hasn't suffered too much." He paused. "He's even found time for his artistic pursuits. I'll say this for him — he's very dedicated."
"What do you want?!" Miranda's eyes locked onto him. "Kill me. You'll get nothing out of me. Nothing about the Dreadfort, nothing about Lord Ramsay."
"I know," Lynn said, nodding as if she'd said something reasonable. "Ramsay knows too."
"He said you're his sharpest dagger. His most obedient hound."
"He said only you truly understand the beauty of his art."
Something shifted on Miranda's face. Against her will, a trace of pride surfaced through all that hostility.
The pride of being seen by the one you love.
Lynn paused, as though searching his memory. His expression turned thoughtful. Amused.
"He also said..."
Miranda went still. That sick pride, that desperate anticipation , it was almost spilling out of her. She needed to hear it. What else had her Lord Ramsay said about her.
Lynn didn't continue. He tore off another small piece of bread, unhurried, and put it in his mouth. Chewed it slowly.
That deliberate patience made something claw at Miranda's chest.
"He also said..."
Lynn finally swallowed. He raised his eyes and let his gaze move across Miranda's face, flushed now with excitement she couldn't hide.
"If you can please me. Satisfy me."
"He's willing to offer your body in exchange for his life."
The world collapsed.
The pride on Miranda's face, the anticipation, the desperate wanting , it all froze. Then it cracked apart, piece by piece.
She stared at Lynn. For the first time, those fierce eyes held nothing but blankness. Disbelief.
She was sure she'd misheard.
"You... what did you say?"
"I said," Lynn replied, his face still wearing that soft, merciless smile. He repeated it word by word. "Your Lord Ramsay wants to trade your body for his life. He thinks what you have is enough to satisfy me."
"No... that's impossible!"
Miranda's whole body shook. Not from rage. From a cold that had nothing to do with temperature , something that crept up from her bones.
She shook her head frantically, hair whipping across her face.
"You're lying! You filthy bastard!"
"Lord Ramsay would never say that! Never!"
Her voice went shrill, like a wildcat with its tail caught underfoot.
"He loves me! I'm his only confidante! We belong together!"
"How could he , how could he treat me like — like goods!"
She screamed it. Trying to drown out the fear with noise, to choke the doubt before it could take root.
"Oh?" Lynn raised an eyebrow, performing surprise. "He loves you?"
"He loves you, so why has he never touched you? Why does he keep you like a pet?"
"He loves you, so he sends you to hunt down innocent farm girls. Has you watch him flay them alive, while you stand to the side and hand him the knife. Applaud the masterpiece."
"He loves you, so he turned you from a kennel master's daughter into a woman who takes pleasure in other people's suffering — just like him."
Each question landed like a blade.
Stripping away that pitiful, laughable love of hers until it bled.
Ramsay had never shown the slightest interest even when she offered herself to him. It was only when Sansa's name came up that his eyes ever lit with real hunger.
"Shut up! Shut your mouth!"
Miranda's eyes went red. Tears came, ugly and uncontrolled, soaked through with humiliation and rage.
"What do you know?! You know nothing!"
"That's our pleasure! It's a game between us!"
"Only me! Only I can share his joy, carry his pain!"
"I am his most loyal hound! I would do anything for him!"
"Is that so?"
Lynn's smile deepened. There was something almost like pity in it.
"But a hound is still a hound."
"When the master is in danger, sacrificing one hound to save himself , isn't that just how it works?"
"No! That's not how it is!"
Miranda threw herself against the ropes. They bit into her skin, deep enough to leave marks.
"Lord Ramsay would never abandon me! He needs me!"
"This is a lie. Your lie. You made it up to turn us against each other!"
The beast-light came back into her eyes.
She fixed her gaze on Lynn like she wanted to tear him open with it.
"I know him. I know him better than anyone alive."
"He's arrogant. He's cruel. He treats human life like it means nothing."
"But he is not a coward. He would never use a woman to beg for his life."
"He would rather die than bow to someone like you."
She said it like she was driving a stake into the ground. No room for doubt.
Lynn looked at her.
He went quiet.
He didn't argue. Didn't push. Just watched her.
And that silence was what did it. Miranda felt the certainty flood back in.
See. He has nothing to say.
She caught him in the lie.
Something like courage, something like pride, rose up from the bottom of her chest.
She lifted her chin and looked at him with something close to contempt.
"What? Nothing to say?"
"You thought a lie that clumsy would shake me?"
"You've underestimated me. And you've underestimated Lord Ramsay."
"I will always believe in him."
Lynn looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded, slowly.
"You're right."
"Seems like you won't be convinced until you see it for yourself."
"Fine. I'll give you exactly that."
"Let you lose hope completely."
➤ Next: Turning Against Each Other