𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

꧁ CHAPTER III: ꧂
꧁ BESIDE THE DYING FIRE ꧂
300 AFTER CONQUEST

꧁ RAMSAY ꧂

Winterfell is mine, he knew. It's mine, mine, mine. But regardless of the fact that he held onto the castle, the household seat of his family's ancient rivals, physically, Ramsay knew better than to ever believe it would fully be his.

"B-B...Bas.."

The Lady Walda muttered, the Frey woman, the wife of his father, lied on the ground before him, in the dark spitting blood onto the floor at his boots. She had begged and pleaded for the unfortunate son she had given birth to. A boy who barely gave breath before it was taken from him. Winterfell is mine.

"Finish the sentence, Mother.."

Ramsay spoke with a deadly calm, his eyes not even looking upon her. He stared at nothing ahead of him, sitting down in a chair with his feet crossed in front of him.

"P-Please.."

"That's not what you were saying before, no. You wanted to say something. So say it."

"Bastard!"

Scoffing with amusement, Ramsay stood swiftly and brought his boot up and pressed it to her neck, and Lady Walda fought, kicked and scratched and punched, everything to try and break the force choking the very life from her. But it was no use. Finally, Ramsay let go, and stepped off, moving back to his chair and sat down with a smile.

"M-My boy.."

"Is dead."

He said.

"My father's remaining true-born son lives, well in fact, right in front of you. Winterfell is mine."

"I s-s..swear, Bastard.."

His smile was slowly fading as the woman spoke. Despite her fears, her gentle nature, the Frey woman was broken, and therefore had nothing left to care for. Nothing left truly to live for accept to see him die. That both amused and angered Ramsay deeply as she spit blood again, this time hitting his boot as he glared at the red stain now there.

"I-I know I cannot kill y-you... But..But mark m-my words... your day will come."

Silence filled the Winterfell dungeon, the lone torch on the wall flickering, the light glowing in his pale grey eyes as he stared at the woman on the ground. Her breath shown in the air like smoke, her fear evident, but as Ramsay knew already, the Frey was done, and did not care what he did anymore.

"Well.."

He found it surprising he was at a loss for words, and so, his hand wound around the hilt of his family's ancestral blade. The small thin Valyrian blade of his House's knife was suddenly drawn out, he stared at the grey waves that rippled through the steel. Walda Frey now stared at it too, but again, showed no fear, no care.

"We'll see about that."

"My Lord.."

Ramsay had stood, knocking the chair over as he was about to end the Frey right in front of him, done with his own games, her amusement finally wearing out, but he stopped when the Lord Umber entered the cell, a weary look on his face.