Marina's green eyes filled with tears as the truth picked apart her mentality, shattering the very beliefs she thought she understood. It had been them all along, everything that has lead to this moment was planned. Every word that slivered past the...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
RICKON STARK WAS USED TO THE BITTER STING OF THE COLD AIR.
True northerners thrived in the snow les' they freeze and die. But the cold he feels when Ramsey Bolton tugs his rope is new. It's unwelcoming, it's unnerving and uncomfortable.
When he found his place beside Ramsey's horse, he let his eyes sweep the silhouettes across the field. They're too far to make out any faces but he knows the houses that are fighting to bring him home.
"Now, Rickon, how about we play a little game?" Ramsey asks after a moment.
Rickon stiffens. He had heard of the Bolton's games. Though Ramsey never put his hands on the Stark, Rickon could hear the wails of men during said "games." The echos of his unwilling participants will forever be forged into his mind.
Rickon peels his eyes from the line of soldiers to look up at his captor. "What kind of game?"
Ramsey grins before sliding off the saddle of his horse. A random soldier grabbed the reins to pull it to the side while the Bolton born took his place in front of Rickon.
"We'll call it a refined version of tag for now." Ramsey replies, squatting down to the boy's level after roughly clapping his shoulder. "You see your brother's men? If you can run over there and touch a single one of them then you win."
Too easy. That's too easy and too good to be true. Apparently Rickon's face showed his skepticism.
"Don't make that face. There's really nothing else to it. I'll even give you a head start as a sign of good faith."
Ramsey unsheathes a small dagger and cuts the thick rope before standing to his full height. Rickon's finger immediately found the ring, spinning it nervously on his middle finger.
"So you're going to chase me all the way until you tag me? It's a bit unfair with your horse and all."
Ramsey laughs, a dark glint behind his eyes. "Chase you? I never said I'd chase you."
The confusion barely settled before a Bolton soldier stepped forward and gave Ramsey a bow with arrows. Rickon's whole body locked in place as a cold tremor runs down his spine.
"Now, remember the rules. No cheating." When Rickon didn't move immediately Ramsey's smirk dropped into a disappointed frown. "Your head start requires you to run."
"If I turn my back on you, you'll shoot me."
"I'll shoot you if you don't." The banter brings the smirk back to Ramsey lips. A smirk colder than the snow that feel around them. The nocked the arrow to the bowstring calmly. "60, 59, 58, 57."
On the other side of the field, Jon had moved forward a few steps to get a better look. His brother stood beside Ramsey, bound at his wrists but alive. They are speaking with each other and Jon can only imagine what threats the bastard exchanged. He could see Ramsey raise a knife into the air and Jon tensed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
