Bolton Rising Part 57 - Ramsay

The guards hadn't come to torture him today. Maybe they were finally getting tired of administering their useless tactics or they were freaked out by Ramsay's candid demeanor and willingness to embrace the pain and ask for more. He chuckled to himself in the darkness, white predatory teeth flashing at the surveillance cameras, ignoring the death metal music his Father's guards had been blasting into the holding cell for hours. Perhaps they think they can break me like some common terrorist… Bunch of amateurs. I will show them all true terror once I'm free. Ramsay smirked, picking at the dried blood upon his skin where their sharp blades had sliced into his flesh, seeking to make the Bastard of Bolton suffer for his attack upon their leader, Roose Bolton. Time and time again, their petty revenge was etched upon Ramsay's body, leaving him covered with bruises, welts and cuts, yet nothing broke the Bastard's mind. He never showed fear in response to any of their threats. He was a monster, something from a dark fairy tale, and was slowly creating a sense of dread and heightened anxiety throughout the whole military compound without ever leaving his cell.

Ramsay rose from his meager bed cot and paced around the plain cement cell, letting the coldness of the floor seep into his bare feet, not caring that his naked body was on display to whatever perverts were currently on guard duty, watching him no doubt with their fingers already hovering over a panic button. Ramsay could sense their fear so easily; the air filtering through the ventilation shaft reeked with the stench of their cold sweat. The Bastard of Bolton let his thoughts float away from his current predicament, and wondered when his Bastard Boys would attempt a break-in to free their leader. He hoped all of them were still alive, but instinct told him otherwise, and that only added fuel to the quiet rage Ramsay held contained inside, ready to explode once the opportunity was presented. His fallen brothers would be avenged with cold retribution and nothing less than blood and flesh upon his unforgiving flaying blade.

Then there was his pretty pet Arya… Had she been found and freed from the safe room? And if so, where was she now? Doing what? Maybe she had made her own attempt to freedom. Ramsay thought about this, feeling his blood boil hot like a bubbling cauldron at the mere suggestion of her betrayal. He breathed deeply in through his nose and exhaled out his mouth, letting the moment of blinding rage pass, relaxing clenched fingers. The girl perplexed him, stirring up his emotions like no other. Not even Melly or Reek had ever gotten so close to his dark soul, filling the empty void. Arya turned him inside out, making her dangerous, and now she was a liability others would use to hurt him. She's my own little bird. He laughed, shaking his head, thinking about all the times he found Petyr Baelish to be a foolish man for having such a weakness. But Ramsay would never dispose of Arya like he had done to so many others. The girl would be his forever, beyond the shackles of being a pet. Ramsay looked to the future, determined to bind Arya to him by marriage. I will enjoy calling her my wife and she will give me children. A legitimate son of my own. The Bastard of Bolton smiled smugly, returned to his bed cot and lay down, staring up at the blank ceiling.

Maybe even Gregor would come to my wedding. Fucking asshole, I would make you my best man… Do you even know what's happened to me? Ramsay sulked, feeling the edges of loneliness creeping in, missing the family he created out of nothing. I'll fucking flay your giant toes if you don't come rescue me! He issued the mental warning while closing his weary pale eyes, going over alternative options of escape if no one came to his aid.

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Meanwhile, hiking over rough forest terrain, a large camouflaged figure suddenly stopped on a high ridge and sneezed, muffling the sound with a large hand, and wondered who was talking about him. The Mountain crouched low, hiding in the thick bushes as a pair of twin military grade helicopters flew past, their search lights casting wide circles of illumination, patrolling the grounds of Roose Bolton's fortress and hidden bunker. Beyond the ridge was a wide expanse of open ground, covered in land mines ready to blow off anyone's limbs daring to risk the crossing. A high electrified fence was the next barrier, with guards and trained dogs making the rounds every few minutes, as well as efficient snipers posted in the high lookout towers. Gregor's dark eyes scanned everything, assessing and calculating the inherent risks, looking for any weakness he could exploit and he silently cursed his best friend Ramsay for getting dragged into this place. Escaping this hell-hole all those years ago was one thing; breaking back into it was going to be another matter all together.