[ he observes her, though he can't help but smile at her last suggestion. ]
You're right about that. Even if I were the marrying type, you're probably young enough to be my daughter, and even then, I've never been much for the idea of ruling anyone. Once you get that sort of power, all you'd do is just try and maintain it.
[ that was actually the truth. he'd never really wanted to rule anything, despite his success at manipulating others. no, all he'd ever really done was in service to a higher ideal.
(well that, and a man he happened to care about deeply) ]
But I do have to ask. Who is "Ramsay Bolton"? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.
[ after all, she'd already shared quite a bit of information with him, hadn't she? ]
[ the look she gives him then, at the declaration of not wanting any sort of power at all, is nothing but a small smile, yet there's relief and gratitude unlike anything else hidden in it — at least in that, she will not have to fear him trying to use her.
the smile disappears, though, when he asks her about Ramsay. ]
... he's a monster. [ her voice is quiet, flat, the kind of voice that strives to be without emotion but ends up being frosty, colder than winter. ] His father killed my mother and brother. He flayed an old woman alive just for trying to help me. He killed my little brother. [ however, any mention of what he did to her is strangely absent — because the more people know of Ramsay, the more people she can turn against him, the better. and yet... speaking of the things she had endured will only make others pity her.
[ he can tell that the question struck a nerve. nevertheless, he knows that look. pure hatred. he's seen it directed his way more than a few times, and he's directed it at others.
he thinks briefly of the man that raised him, and the horrors he subjected on most others. he thinks of Skull Face, and what he'd done to a girl around her age.
...he knows the type. some might call him the same as them, but that was just one of the many masks he wore. there was little point to needless violence, after all. ]
...Is he here? [ no. ] Is he awake?
[ but if he was, it wouldn't be his revenge to take. ]
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no subject
You're right about that. Even if I were the marrying type, you're probably young enough to be my daughter, and even then, I've never been much for the idea of ruling anyone. Once you get that sort of power, all you'd do is just try and maintain it.
[ that was actually the truth. he'd never really wanted to rule anything, despite his success at manipulating others. no, all he'd ever really done was in service to a higher ideal.
(well that, and a man he happened to care about deeply) ]
But I do have to ask. Who is "Ramsay Bolton"? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.
[ after all, she'd already shared quite a bit of information with him, hadn't she? ]
no subject
the smile disappears, though, when he asks her about Ramsay. ]
... he's a monster. [ her voice is quiet, flat, the kind of voice that strives to be without emotion but ends up being frosty, colder than winter. ] His father killed my mother and brother. He flayed an old woman alive just for trying to help me. He killed my little brother. [ however, any mention of what he did to her is strangely absent — because the more people know of Ramsay, the more people she can turn against him, the better. and yet... speaking of the things she had endured will only make others pity her.
she doesn't want their pity. ]
no subject
he thinks briefly of the man that raised him, and the horrors he subjected on most others. he thinks of Skull Face, and what he'd done to a girl around her age.
...he knows the type. some might call him the same as them, but that was just one of the many masks he wore. there was little point to needless violence, after all. ]
...Is he here? [ no. ] Is he awake?
[ but if he was, it wouldn't be his revenge to take. ]