My beautiful wife. One day I'll be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. You'll be my Lady and Wardeness.
But isn't your stepmother pregnant?
What of it?
What happens if she has a boy?
Then I'll have a baby brother.
But he'll be the heir.
I'm Lord Bolton's eldest son.
But you're a bastard, a trueborn will always have the stronger claim.
[Ramsay turns to Sansa coldly.]
I've been naturalized by a royal decree from...
Tommen Baratheon? Another bastard.
[Ramsay stares at her incredulously, seething at her consistently reminding him of his precarious claim.]
Bastards can rise high in the world. Like your half-brother Jon Snow. Born the Bastard of Winterfell, now the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. You didn't know? Yes, he's done very well for himself. Oh! I nearly forgot why I asked you to join me. Come, my lady.
[Ramsay leads Sansa out to the courtyard where he has displayed the flayed corpse of the elderly maid who approached Sansa earlier about giving a signal in case she ever needed rescue.]
Your northern friend. [He pulls out the candle she gave Sansa.] Reek told me you wanted to leave. Why? Winterfell is your home, now I am your husband. Tough old bird. Everyone talks when I start peeling them. But this one? Her heart gave out before I even got to her face. [Sansa is in tears.] We do breed tough in the North. [To his men.] Bring my wife back to her chamber. It's far too cold out here for a lady. You should hold on to your candles. The nights are so long now.
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