In the dungeons.
Lynn's figure disappeared into the darkness at the end of the corridor.
His final words echoed repeatedly in the empty passage like the most vicious of curses.
Every syllable was a sharp carving knife, gouging into Ramsay's heart.
"He said he is very disappointed."
"He thinks you are unfit to be his son."
"He is preparing... to make another one."
The smile on Ramsay's face froze inch by inch, then cracked.
Something shattered in those pale blue eyes that always held an air of elegance and calm.
"Ha..."
A dry sound squeezed out of his throat.
He slowly lowered his head, staring at the stone slab in front of him, at the "masterpiece" he had taken such pride in.
He had always thought that everything he did was to prove himself to that man.
To prove that he, Ramsay Snow, bastard though he was, was more of a Bolton than any trueborn Bolton!
He hunted men with hounds, treating their fear as the sweetest music.
He used his flaying knife with precision, peeling the skin from his enemies, turning their screams into a grand symphony.
He thought his father would appreciate his "art."
He thought his father would be proud of his "talent."
He had even fantasized countless times.
When he presented Winterfell to his father, when he turned the Stark girls into his most loyal hounds, that eternally frozen face of Roose Bolton would show a hint of... an approving smile.
He dreamed of his father's smile, his acknowledgment.
But in the end, all he got was "disappointment."
Unfit.
Make another one.
Those words stabbed into his brain, churning all his pride, all his efforts, all his "art" into a pile of filthy sludge.
Everything he did, in that man's eyes, was just the act of a lowly clown.
Using clumsy tricks to beg for pathetic attention.
And now, the clown had failed.
The master was bored.
The master was preparing to get a new, more obedient, more interesting toy.
And he was just being discarded...
"Heh... hehe..."
Ramsay's shoulders began to shake violently.
Low laughter rumbled from his chest, growing louder, more frantic.
"HAHAHAHAHA—!!!"
He jerked his head up.
The muscles on his handsome face twisted with extreme rage and malice, becoming grotesque!
His pale blue eyes were filled with blood!
"Old man... you damn old man!!!"
"I did so much for you, and you abandon me just like that!"
"Why?!!!"
Ramsay let out an inhuman roar, grabbed the stone slab, and smashed it against the wall!
CRASH—!!!
The slab shattered, his "masterpiece" turning into rubble.
"Make another one?!"
"You want to make another one?!"
"I will find him! I will dig him out of that woman's belly with my own hands!!"
"I will flay him right in front of you!!"
"I will use his bones for decoration! I will make his skull into your wine cup!!"
Ramsay screamed madly.
Like a beast trapped in a cage, he slammed his fists and head against the cold stone walls and iron bars.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Dull impacts echoed in the dungeon. Blood ran down his forehead.
Mixing with the tears of his crazed laughter, he looked like a demon crawled out of the Seven Hells!
"I will kill you! Roose Bolton!"
"I will make you my most perfect collectible!!"
"I will make you smile at me forever! FOREVER!!!"
Outside the cell, the jailers turned pale and weak-kneed listening to the insane roars and banging.
They had never heard anything so terrifying.
That wasn't a man anymore.
It was a devil gone completely mad.
Ned Stark stood at the end of the corridor, listening to the heart-rending screams. His face was iron-green, his stomach churning.
He turned to the young man beside him, who had remained calm throughout.
"A mad dog is most dangerous when it thinks it's a wolf."
Lynn seemed to understand the question in Ned's eyes and offered an explanation, his tone as casual as discussing the weather.
Lynn turned to Ned.
"Only when he goes completely mad, when all his reason is swallowed by hatred for Roose Bolton, will he lose all his defenses."
Ned fell silent.
Although he didn't know exactly what Lynn planned, there must be a deeper purpose.
Besides, dealing with such a devil required devilish methods.
"What about that Myranda?"
Lynn asked suddenly.
"Ramsay's... accomplice."
"Locked in a storage room in the west tower."
Ned frowned.
"That woman is troublesome too."
"Since her capture, she hasn't said a word. She even injured two guards watching her."
"I had to order her bound."
"Is that so?"
A strange smile curled on Lynn's lips.
"I'll go meet her."
"Lord Ned, go rest. I'll handle this alone."
...
Winterfell, West Tower.
A storage room piled with miscellaneous goods.
It was better than the dungeon, at least dry, with a narrow window letting in light.
Myranda was tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth.
The leather armor she wore, once decent, was now tattered.
Her hair was plastered to her face, a trace of blood at the corner of her mouth.
But her eyes still looked like those of an enraged she-wolf, full of ferocity and unruliness.
She stared dead at the door. Anyone approaching would be met with her most venomous glare.
Creak—
The wooden door opened.
Lynn walked in slowly, followed by Roslin carrying a tray.
Seeing Lynn, Myranda's body tensed instantly, a threatening growl rising in her throat.
Like a hound ready to bite!
Lynn ignored her, pulling up a stool to sit in front of her.
Roslin placed the tray on a crate beside Lynn, then retreated quietly to the side, curiously observing this woman who was about her age but filled with murderous hostility.
Lynn picked up a piece of freshly baked bread from the tray and tore it slowly.
"Myranda."
"Daughter of the Kennelmaster of the Dreadfort."
"Ramsay Snow's most loyal hound."
Lynn's voice was soft.
Myranda didn't know what game Lynn was playing, just kept glaring at him fiercely.
Lynn tossed a small piece of bread into his mouth, chewing slowly.
"You know, I just came from the dungeon."
"Ramsay asked me to give you a message."
Hearing the name "Ramsay," the ferocity in Myranda's eyes was instantly replaced by a complex mix of hope and worry.
She struggled, her muffled whimpers growing louder.
Lynn signaled Roslin with his eyes.
Roslin stepped forward, hesitated, then reached out and removed the gag from Myranda's mouth.
Spit!
Myranda spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at the floor.
"You bastard! What have you done to Lord Ramsay?!"
Her voice was hoarse but full of strength.
"Oh, very spirited."
"Relax, Ramsay is doing fine. He hasn't suffered much."
Lynn smiled.
"He even has time to work on his art. I must say, he's very dedicated."
"What do you want?!"
Myranda stared at Lynn.
"Kill me!"
"You won't get any information about the Dreadfort or Lord Ramsay from me!"
"I know."
Lynn nodded, an appreciative expression on his face.
"Ramsay knows too."
"He said you are his sharpest dagger, his most obedient hound."
"He said only you truly understand the beauty of his art."
These words made an involuntary trace of pride appear on Myranda's hostile face.
That was the highest honor, being recognized by the one she loved.
Lynn paused, seeming to recall something, a playful look crossing his face.
"He also said..."
Myranda held her breath, the sickly pride and expectation in her eyes almost overflowing.
She was desperate to know what other praise her Lord Ramsay had for her.
Lynn didn't continue immediately. Instead, he slowly tore off another piece of bread, tossed it into his mouth, and chewed methodically.
His unhurried manner made Myranda's heart itch with impatience.
"He also said..."
Lynn finally swallowed the bread, looked up, and swept his gaze over Myranda's slightly flushed face.
"If you can please me, make me satisfied."
"He is willing to trade your body for a chance at his life."
BOOM—!!!
Myranda's world collapsed instantly.
The pride, expectation, and fanaticism on her face froze, then shattered inch by inch.
She stared blankly at Lynn, disbelief appearing in her fierce eyes for the first time.
She thought she had heard wrong.
"What... what did you say?"
"I said,"
Lynn still wore that gentle yet cruel smile.
He repeated slowly, word by word.
"Your Lord Ramsay wants to trade your flesh for his life."
"He thinks your body is good enough to satisfy me."
"No... impossible!"
Myranda began to shake violently.
Not from anger, but from a bone-deep chill seeping from her marrow.
She shook her head wildly, her messy hair whipping her face.
"You're lying! You despicable bastard!"
"Lord Ramsay would never say that! Never!"
Her voice became shrill, like a stepped-on cat.
"He loves me! I am the only one who understands him! We are soulmates!"
"How could he... how could he treat me... like cargo!"
She screamed hysterically.
Trying to use noise to dispel the suffocating fear and doubt in her heart.
"Oh?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise.
"He loves you?"
"He loves you, so why doesn't he touch you, instead keeping you like a pet?"
"He loves you, so he makes you hunt innocent farm girls?"
"Makes you watch him flay them while you just hand him the knife and applaud his 'masterpiece'?"
"He loves you, so he turned you from a kennelmaster's daughter into a lunatic who enjoys torturing others just like him?"
Every question from Lynn stabbed into Myranda's heart.
Peeling back her pathetic and laughable "love" until it was bloody and raw.
Ramsay had no interest in her sexually, even when she threw herself at him.
Only when mentioning Sansa Stark did he show strong desire.
"Shut up! Shut up!"
Hit where it hurt, Myranda's eyes turned red.
Tears mixed with humiliation and anger gushed out uncontrollably.
"What do you know! You know nothing!"
"That is our fun! Our game!"
"Only I! Only I can share his joy and his pain!"
"I am his most loyal hound! I would do anything for him!"
"Is that so?"
Lynn's smile deepened.
It held a trace of pity.
"But a hound is just a hound."
"When the master is in danger, isn't it normal to sacrifice a hound to save himself?"
"No! It's not like that!"
Myranda struggled desperately.
The ropes binding her cut deep into her flesh with her violent movements.
"Lord Ramsay won't abandon me! He needs me!"
"This is your lie! A lie you made up to drive us apart!"
The beastly ferocity rekindled in her eyes.
She stared at Lynn as if trying to tear him apart with her gaze.
"I know him! I know him better than anyone in this world!"
"He is proud, cruel, and treats human life like grass!"
"But he is absolutely not a coward who would use a woman to beg for his life!"
"He would rather die than bow to someone like you!"
Her words were decisive, filled with unquestionable certainty.
Lynn looked at her and fell silent.
He didn't speak again, just watched her quietly.
His silence only strengthened Myranda's conviction.
See? He has nothing to say!
I saw through his lie!
An inexplicable courage and pride rose from the bottom of Myranda's heart.
She lifted her chin, looking at Lynn with near contempt.
"What? Did I hit a nerve?"
"You thought such a clumsy lie could shake me?"
"You underestimate me, and you underestimate Lord Ramsay!"
"I will always believe in him!"
Lynn looked at her and finally nodded slowly.
"You're right."
"It seems you won't give up until you see it with your own eyes."
"Fine. I will grant your wish."
"I'll make you give up completely."