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Deep in the dungeons of Winterfell.
The cell that once held Ramsay Snow sat empty now.
His current residence was an abandoned kennel in a forgotten corner of the castle. Dark. Sunless. The air thick with the permanent stench of old dog musk and rotting straw , a smell that clung to everything, that never left.
Ramsay was curled in the deepest corner.
He wore a ragged linen prisoner's smock, stained with mud and filth he couldn't name. His once-immaculate hair lay plastered against his forehead in dirty, matted clumps. His face was clean , someone had scrubbed it with cold water, roughly , but those pale blue eyes had lost everything that used to live in them.
Turbid. Vacant. Like two glass beads filmed over with dust.
The "surgery" performed on the cold stone bed a few days ago had taken the last thing that made him a man.
He was no longer the elegant hunter who took pleasure in flaying.
He was just a Reek now. A lowly, broken creature not even worthy of a name.
His daily work was cleaning every kennel in Winterfell. Hands and knees, scraping out the hounds' filth bit by bit. Even the hunting dogs bared their teeth at him now, rumbling low in their throats.
Dogs know weakness. They could smell the fear and humiliation on him, and they knew , Ramsay ranked below them.
He never resisted. Never spoke. He endured the jailers' beatings and the hounds' provocations in silence, and he wept with gratitude for the smallest scraps , a moldy crust of bread, a bowl of sour broth , kneeling to kiss the boots of whoever tossed them to him.
He looked completely broken. Like a wild dog with its spine snapped, capable of nothing but groveling.
Creak.
The heavy wooden door swung open.
Blinding daylight flooded in. Ramsay's eyes clenched shut instinctively , he'd been in the dark too long.
Two figures stepped through, backlit by the glare. One tall, one shorter.
When his eyes adjusted and he saw who they were, his numb body gave a violent shudder.
Lynn.
And Miranda.
Ramsay's pupils contracted. His breath stopped.
Miranda had changed.
Gone was the leather armor, the coiled aggression, the feral edge. She wore a fine maidservant's dress now , dark grey velvet that traced the powerful lines of her body with quiet precision. Her hair was carefully combed and drawn back with a silver ribbon, baring the clean line of her neck. She'd even put on light makeup.
Those wolf-fierce eyes were soft now. Docile.
She walked half a step behind Lynn, posture respectful, like something that belonged entirely to him.
When she spotted the reeking figure huddled in the corner, her brow twitched , barely, almost nothing. She shifted closer to Lynn's side, one hand curling lightly around his arm.
As if his presence could wall out the smell.
That small gesture drove into Ramsay's eyes like a red-hot needle.
His body began to shake.
He remembered that night. The sounds that had come through the wall from the next room , her sounds, her voice , the ones that had nearly driven him out of his mind. And now she stood here, touching Lynn like that, wearing that face,
Volcanic fury surged up through his chest.
He killed it.
He wrenched his head down, buried his face between his knees, and made himself smaller.
He was afraid. He needed them to see that he was afraid.
"Look up."
Lynn's voice.
Ramsay's trembling worsened.
"I said look up."
He hesitated a long moment. Then, slowly, like a puppet jerked by strings, he lifted his face , that face full of humiliation and fear.
"Lynn... my lord..."
His voice came out dry and cracked, thick with servile flattery.
"I... I've cleaned all the kennels. They're very clean..."
He couldn't bring himself to look at Lynn directly. His eyes flicked sideways, caught a glimpse of Miranda , then snapped away as if burned.
"Is that so?"
The corner of Lynn's mouth curved into something unreadable.
"Sounds like you enjoy the work."
"I do... I do enjoy it..."
Ramsay nodded frantically, forcing a smile onto his face that looked worse than crying.
"Thank you, my lord... thank you for giving me this chance..."
Miranda watched him grovel into the dirt, and something cold and satisfied flickered through her eyes.
She hadn't forgotten the slap. She never would.
She released Lynn's arm and stepped forward, looking down at this man she had once loved to the point of madness and hated all the way to the marrow.
"Lord Lynn." Her voice was quiet. A victor's pity threaded through it. "He smells terrible. The stench will offend you."
Her cheeks flushed. She bit her lip, reached into her bodice, and produced a small cloth embroidered with delicate patterns, holding it out to Lynn.
"This is scented. You can use it to block out Ramsay's smell."
Lynn took it and pressed it over his nose, watching the silent contest between them with something like amusement.
Ramsay really did stink. Miranda's little cloth helped considerably.
At the sound of her words, Ramsay's body went rigid.
He raised his head slowly.
For the first time, something moved in those vacant eyes.
Pleading.
He was begging her silently , begging her to stop, begging her, for the sake of whatever they'd once been to each other, to leave him this last scrap of dignity.
Miranda looked at him coldly. She'd seen through him long ago.
"Why are you still alive?"
The words landed like a blade.
"A useless thing like you — a Reek who isn't even a man anymore — why don't you just die? You're wasting Winterfell's food. You're poisoning the air."
Reek.
Useless.
Die.
Each word hit like a stone hurled at his soul.
He couldn't hold it anymore.
"Ah—"
A sound tore out of him , raw, agonized, venomous , dragged up from somewhere deep in his throat.
His head snapped up.
Those pale blue eyes flooded with red.
He stared at Miranda. That stare wanted to devour her whole, to choke the life from her slender throat, to shred that pretty face apart,
He wanted to lunge.
He couldn't move.
Because Lynn's gaze had settled on him. Calm. Utterly still. No emotion at all.
But Ramsay felt it like the eye of something ancient and enormous , some great dragon fixing him in its sight. A terror rose from the deepest part of him and froze his blood solid, snuffed every ember of his rage.
Don't.
He's testing you.
Don't give yourself away.
The madness drained from his eyes. The venom drained with it.
What replaced them was fear. Deeper than before. Denser.
Thud.
Ramsay's knees hit the ground.
"My lord , spare me , Lady Miranda , spare me—"
"I was wrong, I was wrong, I'm just a dog, I'm just a Reek, "
"Please , don't kill me , I'll do anything, "
He looked more wretched than ever. More pathetic.
Miranda stared at him, and the satisfaction she'd expected , the sweet rush of revenge , didn't come. Not the way she'd imagined it.
What rose instead was disgust.
This was the man she had loved?
A coward who groveled before the strong and preyed on the weak. She felt that looking at him any longer was an insult to herself.
She turned and walked back to Lynn's side, her face settling back into that quiet, respectful calm.
"My lord. Let's go. This place is filthy."
Lynn didn't answer immediately.
His gaze stayed on the figure still begging on the ground.
He knew, of course. All of it was performance. Every whimper, every bow, every tear , performance. This man's bones were those of a mad dog, through and through. Lynn had no sympathy for someone who would betray and turn on his own people at the first opportunity.
Today, he had won.
But if he'd lost?
Ramsay would have found creative ways to make Arya and every other woman Lynn cared about suffer. He would have savored every moment of it.
Sympathy for an enemy like that was the worst mistake a man could make.
Every time Ramsay prostrated himself, every time he begged for mercy, he was storing up strength for the next time he could sink his teeth in. The deeper his degradation now, the deeper the hatred festering underneath.
But that was exactly what Lynn wanted.
A dog that only knew how to grovel was useless. A mad dog , one whose heart was full of hatred, yet had no choice but to offer loyalty , that was a weapon worth keeping.
He would use Ramsay's hand to erase the Dreadfort from the map. And in the process, this vile little man would pay a price he'd never forget.
"Alright."
Lynn's voice was mild.
Ramsay looked up at him with eyes full of desperate hope and barely contained terror.
"I can see your loyalty."
Lynn smiled , warm, easy.
"I've decided to give you a new job. Starting today, you don't need to clean the kennels anymore."
A flash of wild joy broke across Ramsay's face.
He thought his performance had finally moved this devil. He thought he was finally getting out of this hell.
"You'll be my personal attendant."
The joy froze solid.
Personal... attendant?
"You'll manage my daily needs. Pour my wine." Lynn's gaze dropped briefly to Ramsay's ruined lower body, and his smile took on a different quality. "An attendant who poses no threat is always the most comfortable to keep around. Don't you think?"
He paused.
"You'll also serve Miranda, of course."
Lynn reached out and drew Miranda gently against his side. She stiffened for just a moment, then relaxed, leaning into him.
"She's your mistress now as well. Whatever she asks of you, you do. Even if she tells you to eat from the dogs' bowl, you eat from the dogs' bowl." A beat. "Like the most loyal of dogs. Do you understand?"
The words detonated in Ramsay's skull.
Serve her. The woman who had betrayed him. Watch her and Lynn, every day, up close,
No.
No.
This was worse than death.
"Oh?" Lynn's eyebrow rose slightly. "You're unwilling?"
"No , no , I'm willing , I'm very willing, "
The words tore out of him, almost a howl. Survival crushed everything else flat.
He knew the truth: one syllable of refusal, and his head would be on Winterfell's walls before the hour was out.
He had to live. He had to live.
As long as he was alive, there was a chance. He would see this pair of them die in front of him. He would wash away every humiliation in their blood.
"Good."
Lynn nodded, satisfied. He released Miranda, turned, and walked toward the kennel door.
"Come along, my... Reek."
"That's your name now."
Ramsay , no. Reek.
He pulled himself off the ground and followed on hands and knees, like a real dog, trailing behind Lynn.
As he passed Miranda, her foot lifted slightly. Then settled back down. She'd thought about kicking him. She'd decided against it.
She gave him one look , a single sweep of pure contempt , and turned away.
She would need to talk to Lynn, she thought. Even with guards watching Ramsay every hour of the day, keeping a creature like him around was a risk. The smart move was to have Lynn kill him. That was the cleanest answer.
She followed Lynn out without looking back.
The kennel fell back into darkness and silence.
Only a fresh smear of blood on the ground remained, wordlessly marking what had happened here.
And the smell of humiliation and hatred hung in the air thicker than ever before.
➤ Next: Forcing Roose Bolton to Come to Winterfell