WELL FLAYED [Game Of Thrones: The Boltons]

5. The Hunters

Ramsay and the two Trigon brothers made their way to a secret underground tunnel in the forest that led back to the dungeons of Dreadfort.

With the morning light that passed through the crevices of the stonewalls, it made the place less eerie than it was during the night. However, last night's fog still clung to its surrounding like desperate puffy breaths.

They proceeded to walk toward its depths then were greeted by numerous old iron cells that lined each side of their way. Some were empty, some were occupied- either by convicted criminals or by unsuspecting poor villagers to be tortured in entertainment. Though, Ramsay did not pay any heed to them. He had his eyes on a particular someone.

An isolated cell from the very back was pried open. The lock and chains dropped on the ground, then footsteps began to enter behind its iron bars.

Yorr was there inside. He was at the very back where he leaned against a wall. He was kept inside that cell for almost one month, given little food and deprived of bath.

Dirt had clung to his skin and clothes, staining him all over. Flies buzzed around his head, making a nest on his tangerine curls which had grown longer down the nape of his neck. His limbs grew limp and thin that his bones became noticeable. And his will to get up from that little spot in the corner of the cell had faded just like the tears in his eyes.

His blank eyes were unmoving at the sight of the now rotten headless body of his father. His splattered blood had dried, it appeared dark brown in hue as if somebody had spread his shit on him. His skin broke out because of the popped blisters festered by fat juicy maggots. They ate away the scabs of his skin filled with putrid pus and had dug holes in his muscles inside- down to his bones.

As soon as Ramsay roamed around Yorr's cell, he smelled the atmosphere like sniffing on a lavender field. "Now that is the stench I miss."

With the nod of his head, it signaled Damos and Cornelius to snatch Yorr to his feet. He was weak and wobbly, that when they pulled him up, he was like a loopy vegetable.

Ramsay circled the tormented lad, then stopped in front of him to flash the cold harsh gray of his eyes. "Did you have a quality time with your father?"

"You..." Yorr clenched his fists; but he could not really do anything, so he burst out into tears. "You're a monster. You didn't give my father a proper burial. You let him rot in front of me! Curse you! May the gods curse you!"

Ramsay took his vehement condemnation like a jape. He laughed hard. Though once he regained his calm, his tone could cut stone. "I was born from a curse. It's my blessing from the wretched gods."

"I curse you then!" Yorr screamed, that his voice almost shook the stonewalls. "I curse you that you'd meet a gruesome death! Where your flesh will be gnawed and tore apart!"

WHACK!

Damos struck Yorr's face- silencing him. His blood from his beaten mouth spurt to the nearest wall when his head whipped to the right from the impact of Damos' fist.

"Ah-ah." Ramsay scolded, waving his index finger at Damos. "That is not right. Be nice to Yorr since he will be playing with us. But first..." Ramsay grabbed Yorr's locks. The boy whimpered in pain, but Ramsay only pulled it tighter. "I want this awful thing out of the way. It covers his pretty beaten face."

Damos yanked Yorr's tangerine hair, then with his slender dagger, he viscously snipped his curls. Strands after strands fell to the ground. Damos only stopped cutting when Yorr's head was fully shaved.

Blood trickled down his scalp from the small cuts that Damos made with his carelessness, and it stung. But pain was not new to Yorr anymore. He had been hurt both physically and emotionally; what else could be different.