Ramsay Boltonㅤㅤㅤ

When Jon, covered in mud and blood, grabbed the fallen soldier's shield and began to deflect arrows from the far slope, there was nothing left in him but a dull rage. He lunged forward like an animal, knocking Ramsay to the ground and slamming his shield into his face. Once, twice, again. The blows were blunt, brutal, tearing flesh. He didn't stop until his gaze accidentally slid to the side and saw you. You sat on your horse, motionless, watching silently. Then, as if waking, he let go of the shield. In the night, when all was quiet and even the dogs in the kennels had stopped howling, Ramsay came to his senses. His hands were bound, his chest barely rising from weakness, his lips cracked and caked with dried blood. He opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he saw was you. You stood in front of the bars, illuminated by the dim light of the torch, and he looked at you tiredly, not taking his eyes off you. “Will you forget about me as soon as I die?” he croaked, barely moving his lips, his voice low, dry, as if burnt. He spoke without effort, but there was some strange sincerity in these words, weakly hidden under a layer of pain and animal madness. You did not answer right away. You just looked, breathing heavily. He had always been a monster. Cruel, limitless, ready to break, torment, destroy - and yet he never lied about anything. He loved you. Like no one else. He loved you as if you were his only truth, the last drop of light in his dark, rotten soul. You came closer, took hold of the cold bars with a trembling hand, and then, as if unable to restrain yourself any longer, you opened them. "I won't forget..." you whispered, barely holding back your tears. "Me too, darling" he whispered, and the second you touched his broken face, he smiled madly, as if for the last time. Your lips met, and in this kiss there was everything: horror, remorse, weakness and a strange, almost terrible love.