The Snow Keep

"Hello sweet little deer..." Ramsay smiled as he opened the front door and let his former pet step inside the compound once again. "I was about ready to send my Bastard Boys out to get you. But they're drunk and rowdy and you would look like such a tasty meal to them." He smiled like the devil incarnate, dressed all in black with tight leather pants, a casual but fitted shirt and expensive leather boots. Those pale eyes roamed over Melly's attire from head to toe, taking note of every detail and giving a nod of approval. "I'm pleased with this look, but we're not going out anywhere pretty pet. Did you think I was treating you to a dinner?" Ramsay laughed, leering at his pretty prey. She stood before her former Master, shaking so hard she wondered if he could see... heart pounding so loudly that she wondered if he could hear... "No, I... Ramsay, what's wrong? Is Gregor alright? Are you?" She stepped in, but he g...

"Ramsay! Wait..." But he had already gone. Melly hung up the house phone, her hand shaking so badly that she had to try several times to replace the handset in the charger. Gregor's schedule was unpredictable, he was often out late on jobs for Ramsay, so she hadn't been overly concerned when he'd not come home that evening. Most nights he would call her, but now and then he was unable to check in, so after she'd had her dinner and seen to the dogs, she'd fallen asleep, reading in bed. The ringing phone had woken her and assuming it was Gregor, she'd answered without checking the caller ID. The sound of Ramsay's voice on the other end of the line had jerked her fully awake, setting her heart to pounding. It had been two years since Gregor had taken her from Ramsay and still, every time she heard his voice, she felt sheer terror. Ramsay had owned her, used her... tortured her... her skin still bore many of the scars of his attentions. She had lost ...

They returned to the Hall of the Hundred Hearths, Gregor walking beside her, arm around her possessively, resting his big hand at the curve of her hip. He would protect her. She was still shaking, and what she would have liked, was to lean into him, to let him bear all of the weight of Arys Dayne's execution, yet she walked beside him, head held high, refusing to show her new husband how weak she really was. She must be weak, she knew. A brave girl would not have been sorry to see the Dornishman meet his demise, she thought, but Melicent felt sick, chilled... the image of Arys on the saltire, his entrails spilling from his gut, the sound of that sickening blow... his screams... repeated over and over in her mind. It wasn't that she wanted him to live, not really. But watching... seeing ... she'd never wanted that. Was there more to it than that? She didn't rightly know. Arys's death, the violence of it, scared her. Her Lord Husband's pleasure at the completion...

The bright green flames were all around him, glowing against the night sky. The scorching heat suffocated him as he struggled to breath in the thick smoke. The fire was a  living, breathing beast, consuming all, yet always hungry, and it was after him. But men came at him too, wielding swords and he slashed back with his own, hacking bodies to pieces like meat. He felt the spray of their hot blood splash upon his face, a burnt facade that he saw smirking back at him from his sword's own gleaming blade. It was a dark haunting reflection he had seen time and time again since his horrible accident as a child. The battle raged on, men died and the flames came closer. Sandor felt real terror run through his spine and he fled, back to the safety of the castle and it's high stone walls, hiding in the darkness of a room like a coward.  He tasted the sharp, red wine upon his tongue as he drank, trying to ignore the sounds of war coming from outside the window. He only looked up when...

It had been to long since he had brought Sandor into the emergency room, beaten half to death, perhaps more, and barely breathing. Gregor paced up and down the hallways, glaring at anyone who gave him a questioning look. Keeping  the entire place on edge, security guards with anxious hands on their gun holsters, while doctors and nurses avoided crossing paths with him and held back any updates on his brother's condition. The Mountain finally walked outside, getting a signal on his cell and dialed the last number he ever wanted to call. "Baelish here." The line answered and Gregor clenched his jaw, taking a deep breathe before answering. "You need to get to the hospital. Sandor is hurt. Badly." He replied with a clipped tone, not waiting for the Mockingbird's questions, and hung up. Gregor then headed to the parking lot and jumped  into his truck, shaking hands grasping the steering wheel as he speed off into traffic and drove into the darkness ...