It had always been a game to him. Everything that he did was a game which usually ended up with him winning. It was in his nature. It was who he was. He could not stop that and he would not stop that. His father had seemingly remembered that, but he did nothing to stop it. He did nothing to stop his son from his sadistic ways.

That was why he finished taking in this girl as his ward. He was scared as to what he would do to her. He had warned his son to be kind and courteous. He had demanded him not to scare the girl and not to do anything to defile her. He supposed he was fortunate that he could keep his eye on him. He had watched him grow and he had watched him change, but it was under his watch. He only worried what would happen should he have to leave the Dreadfort. No doubt his bastard would run amuck. Regardless, that day may never come.

The first time he had been scared was when he had seen the girl sat in the library with his bastard hovering over her. They had been sat too close together for his own liking. The girl had sat up straight as her septa had taught her, but his bastard was leant forwards, his chair angled close to hers as he whispered into her ear and she giggled. His bastard had looked up and stared at her, moving his fingers to take a strand of her hair and push it behind her ear. It was then when her cheeks turned red.


He had looked up at the sound of his name before he stood from the chair he sat on. He dropped his hand to the girl's shoulder and squeezed it softly. She watched as he made his way over to his father and dropped his hands to his hips, expectantly waiting for him to say something.

"Yes?" he asked.

Roose Bolton moved out of the room and his bastard followed. Ramsay looked behind to throw the girl a smile before he closed the library door and stepped out to the corridor. He followed his father down the corridor towards the door which led onto the walls of the castle. They stepped outside and Ramsay felt the cold air run through him.

"What is it?"

The impatience in Ramsay's tone could be heard through his feeble attempt at pleasantries. He didn't like his father and he knew that his father returned the sentiment. There was no love between father and son.

"What are you doing with her?" Roose wondered.

"You told me to be pleasant towards her," Ramsay nonchalantly shrugged. "She is a lady of House Bardon, is she not? Should I not be pleasant to her?"

"You know as well as I why she is here," Roose replied. "Her father was the only Northern house to rebel against House Stark. She is not here to be wooed and bedded."

"I seem to be unable to do anything correct," Ramsay complained and move to stand at the wall which looked to the forest over the Dreadfort. "One minute you tell me to be pleasant towards the girl, and the next minute I am being scolded for doing so."

"Civil," Roose said. "Being civil to the girl shall suffice. What is it you want with her, Ramsay? She is not a toy for you to play with. All eyes are on us as we keep her here. If she is harmed-"

"-Oh father," Ramsay chuckled. "You truly do have little faith in me. It is underwhelming."

"I know what you are, Ramsay," Roose said in a low and harsh voice. "Rose Bardon is not yours to torment."

"Did I look as though I was tormenting her?" Ramsay snapped back and glowered to his father. He was about to storm back into the corridor before he felt his father take hold of him by the arm.

"What are you doing with her?" Roose demanded.

"Nothing," Ramsay said. "Don't worry, father. It is all a game, is it not? All of this is a game..."

"Not her," Roose shook his head. "Not her, Ramsay."

Smirking, Ramsay did not dare to challenge his father on that statement. He decided to keep quiet before walking down the corridor and back towards the library. He opened the door to find that she had moved to sit by the roaring fire. He could not deny that it was cold in the Dreadfort as evening slowly moved over them. She still held the book he had given her to read in her hands, her eyes scanning the pages meticulously.

Ramsay closed the door slowly, allowing the latch to make a noise. He wandered through the small library as Rose looked behind herself and to him. He kept silent with a small smirk on his face before he settled himself down onto the floor next to her. She marked the page in her book and closed it, dropping it into her lap before looking to him.

"You're not in trouble for spending time with me, are you?" she worried for him.

"Of course not," Ramsay shook his head. "Why would you think that?"

"I am a disgraced ward," she reminded him.

"And I am a bastard," he replied, the word harsh.

She knew how he hated to be called that and she could not deny that it did seem hurtful towards him. She forced herself to smile to him and he once again reached out to run his hand down her cheek, cupping it tenderly as her other hand moved to rest on his arm. His hair was dishevelled after he had been outside with his father. His face was pale and covered in stubble. He clearly needed a shave. Silence overtook them as Ramsay's fingers moved against her brown curls and she kept her fingers in a feather light touch on his arm.

"It seems that we are perfect for each other," she whispered and Ramsay chuckled.

Gods, if only she had any inclination. If only she knew what he was and what he could do to her. But this was part of the fun. He loved playing games, and Rose Bardon was the latest pawn in his new game. He kept silent as she leant forwards and her other hand reached for one of his. He gave it to her, knowing how desperate she was for love.

She was pathetic really. She had been sent from her family to this cold place, and ever since then she had warmed to anyone who gave her attention. Ramsay had never met such a pathetic creature before.

But he gave her what she wanted. He would do that until the time was right for him to stop.

"What is it, my dear?" Ramsay wondered as he kissed the back of her hand.

"Nothing," she promised him, doing her best not to think back to her handmaiden's snide comments earlier. "Nothing is wrong."

Ramsay squeezed her hands and leant forwards to press his lips against her brow. She leaned into his touch and soon found herself being cradled against his side, both of them staring into the fires. Her hand moved to his chest to rest against the leather on his body. She closed her eyes and Ramsay heard her breaths became shallower. He looked down to find her lips parted and her eyes closed and he wondered if she was asleep.

He didn't move, only adjusted his arm around her waist and caught her hand as it fell from his chest. Kissing the top of her head, he knew what he would have to do when the time was right. He knew that Rose Bardon would have to be dealt with.


A/N: A different kind of story, but I enjoy exploring Ramsay's POV. Anyway, do let me know what you think!