At Riverrun…
Within the ancient halls of Riverrun, the ancestral seat of House Tully, an old laid on a bed. His eyes were closed, his long white beard trimmed, his skin paled and wrapped in bandages laced with herbal poultices as a result of a deep stab wound he sustained. He'd been unconscious for about a while now; his arms and limbs only twitched as he dreamed. Tending to him was a rather young woman, waist-length brown hair, light skin, a pretty face with a small chin, delicate nose and big brown eyes.
Lifting up the covers to his bed, she delicately removed the bandage and leaned to her left to pull out a fresh one.
"Mmmm…" the old man stirred. His closed eyes twitched and he began to stir.
The young woman in question paused and observed him closely. As he slowly opened his eyes—taking in his surroundings—he tried to move, but felt a hand press against his bare chest.
"Easy now, kind ser," she beseeched calmly. "You're still in no condition to start moving about."
The old man looked at her. "Who… *cough* who are you, girl?" he asked wearily, his throat sore and dry.
"Lady Roslin Tully, kind ser," she introduced herself. "My husband is Lord Edmure Tully. I was born at the Twins a fifth daughter to Lord Walder of House Frey."
He blinked. "Edmure… you're his wife?"
Roslin nodded.
"Huh. *cough, cough* You're… you're not like the rest of Lord Walder's brood, rather pretty I might add."
"Thank you, ser. But again, please try not to move around so much. You're wounds still need healing."
Before he could speak, Riverrun's maester Vyman enters the room with a vial of milk of the poppy. Kneeling down to meet him at eye-level, Vyrman recognizes his patient.
"Ah, so you're finally awake," he said examining the stitched wound before wrapping another wrap of bandages. "For a while there, we feared you wouldn't pull through, Bodrin."
Bodrin, one of King Daveth Baratheon's contacts and representative of King's Landing's smallfolk, slowly looked down to examine his stitches. The last thing he remembered was trying to prevent Stannis Baratheon's soldiers and Melisandre from taking Gendry, struggling against the Brotherhood Without Banners, Beric Dondarrion, Anguy, Thoros of Myr… and the blade impaling him in the gut; then after that... nothing. For a moment, Bodrin believed he was going to die. For him to be in Riverrun, barely alive, it was somewhat of a miracle, a small stroke of luck—considering his age and frailty.
"How… how did you find me?" he asked.
Vyrman finished wrapping a new set of bandages. "One of our patrols found you laying in your own blood on the Kingsroad just a few clicks west of here."
"How bad were my injuries?"
"The blade was deep, but stopped a few inches short of hitting major body organs such as the stomach or the liver… Whoever did this hadn't had any real proper arms training; quite sloppy. As I said, you're lucky to be alive."
"It was *cough, cough*… it was the Brotherhood Without Banners," Bodrin revealed.
Roslin and Maester Vyrman stopped what they were doing and looked at him.
"A band of outlaws did this?"
Bodrin nodded his head weakly. "They were… they were led by Lord Beric Dondarrion. Whatever they used to be, they… *cough, cough* I've seen them do things."
"What things?"
"It's like… magic none of us have ever seen," he explained, referring to Thoros of Myr's power of resurrection and the flaming sword trick. "Unnatural. I saw 'em use it twice when Sandor Clegane—"
"The Hound was here? In the Riverlands?" implored Vyrman.
"Beric fought Clegane in a trial by combat, but lost. Hound cleaved him across his shoulder. But that Thoros of Myr… he has magic you wouldn't even dream of. Said some words, I couldn't hear them. And then the next… Beric was on his feet. Alive. I don't know how, don't know why. But there he was."
Vyrman and Roslin looked at each other, unsure of what to make of this.
"Fever must still be getting to him," the maester speculated. "My lady, I'll take care of the rest. Please inform Lord Edmure about this Brotherhood Without Banners."
Roslin nodded and stood. "Please keep us informed of his condition, ser. If what he says is true, about the Hound or these Brotherhood bandits, we'll have to increase security."
Once the new Lady of Riverrun had departed, Maester Vyrman and Bodrin were alone.
"What else do you remember?" the old maester whispered.
Bodrin's head was spinning; whether it's the fever from his infection or from drinking milk of the poppy, he couldn't say. "There was… a red priestess."
"Priestess? What kind of priestess?"
"You are more than they could ever be. They are just foot soldiers in the great war. You will make Kings rise and fall," Melisandre's voice rang through his head.
"I'm sorry, old friend. But we serve the Lord of Light, and the Lord of Light needs this boy," Beric's voice rang through his head.
His thoughts turned to Gendry, last surviving bastard son of King Robert I Baratheon; Daveth's half-brother. Bodrin had taken Gendry out of King's Landing when Joffrey ordered the deaths of all of Robert's bastards and looked after him during their time together on the road. Gendry was as stubborn as an ox, and Bodrin knew that the lad was still young—eager to seek out his own path ever since his dismissal from Tobho Mott's service at the Street of Steel. Ever since Gendry was taken away by Melisandre, Bodrin fought tooth and nail to get him back—and paid the price with a blade piercing his flesh.
"She's an evil witch," he spat. "Took the boy away with her. Dragonstone, I think. My gut tells me Gendry's in danger. I know deep down she'll kill him if we don't get him out of there."
Vyrman curiously raised an eyebrow. "Why would she take an interest in this bastard?"
"This one is different, Vyrman. He's strong and has a talent for fighting, not just working an anvil."
"And? What makes this boy so important?"
This discussion was getting nowhere fast enough so Bodrin decided to tell him the truth. "Because the boy… Gendry, he's the last surviving bastard of Robert of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men."
Vyrman stared at Bodrin, listening to every word he said. It was true that the late King Robert was quite promiscuous and fathered multiple bastard children with whores or any women he encountered. His lusts were the subject of ribald drinking songs throughout the realm. Even as far as Riverrun, House Tully heard what had happened in King's Landing during the culling of Robert's bastards.
"That red witch mentioned power in a King's blood," he continued. "And I think she'll kill Gendry to get it."
"Does this have anything to do with the current King? Do you think His Grace will become a target?"
Bodrin looked uncertain. "I don't know, but I've no desire to find out."
Vyrman sighed and shook his head. "If what you're saying is true, then I'll see what I can do. I'll bring word of this to Lord Edmure."
Bodrin tried to move. "I…" his voice strained. "I need to write a letter. Send a raven to King Daveth."
"You are in no condition to move about. Did you not heed Lady Tully's words?" the maester placed a firm hand on his patient, stopping him in his tracks. "You need to rest. I'll send a raven to King's Landing for you."
He hated feeling powerless, but given his current condition he felt he wasn't given a choice in the matter. Slowly laying his head back down, Bodrin could only watch as Maester Vyrman left the guest room—leaving behind a vial of milk of the poppy and other medicinal herbs. His bandages were new, but his stitches still needed to properly close the wound as his body fought off any infections lingering within him. Bodrin would have a terrible scar at the end of the day, that much was clear.
Whilst the sun's rays shone through the castle walls of Riverrun, Bodrin only thought about Gendry.
"Hold on, my boy…" he prayed. "I'll get you out of there, and away from that red witch's clutches."
At the Dreadfort…
Hidden from the eyes of most bannermen, Ramsay Snow and Locke had been prepping their men-at-arms for what appears to be an adventure… of a hunt, most likely. Ever since King Daveth I Baratheon publicly announced that Locke and his men infiltrated Winterfell, killed all the ravens and imprisoned most of House Stark's denizens to silence them in order to use Theon Greyjoy as a scapegoat during the Second Greyjoy Rebellion, the North had been scouring the region day and night in search of him. Even the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Robb Stark, was furious at Locke's deception and called for his head.
Ramsay, Lord Roose Bolton's bastard son, aided Locke and released him from imprisonment with the assistance of Ramsay's men-at-arms, a group called the Bastard's Boys. Once the restraints were removed, Locke felt a burning desire for payback.
He was now a wanted fugitive on the run.
"Fucking stag," he cursed. "Cheated me out of my earnings, humiliated me in front of everyone, now Stark wants my head."
Ramsay didn't look concerned even in the slightest. "Must have been quite a display, though the greater players always bounce back into the game. But if they believe they've earned themselves a happy ending, then they obviously haven't been paying attention as to how the game works." He grinned wickedly.
"Men like the Young Stag are just meat, stinking meat."
"Exactly!" the Bolton bastard exclaimed.
Once Ramsay and Locke and the Bastard's Boys avoided detection from the scouts stationed atop the Dreadfort, the winds changed slightly and each felt the temperatures beginning to drop. Regardless of House Bolton's fealty to House Stark or their opinion of their liege lords, they were always right in the end. Winter has come and they would bear the brunt of the weather first before the other six kingdoms combined. With the peasants gathering the crops, it was only a matter of time. And time was a resource Ramsay or Locke could ill afford.
"As Lord Bolton's eldest son," he continued. "I can assure you that whatever my father offered you I can reward you a thousand fold and more."
Even the Bastard's Boys knew that last statement from Ramsay wasn't true—but said nothing out of fear of inciting Ramsay's anger.
Long ago Ramsay had an older brother, a trueborn brother. Domeric Bolton, Roose Bolton's long deceased firstborn son and heir. Despite being born into the second most powerful noble house in the North with an intimidating family, Domeric was a harpist and very well-read and surprisingly considered by his fellow Northmen to be rather pleasant. He allegedly fell ill due to "sickness of the bowels" and died not long after meeting his half-brother Ramsay at the Weeping Water against his father's wishes since he had always wanted a brother of his own. Roose believed Ramsay poisoned Domeric out of jealousy and desire for power as a Bolton heir. Still, he hated being reminded of his origins.
"Ramsay Snow, you mean. The bastard," one of the smiths mentioned.
"Never call him that!" a handmaiden would spray spittle. "Ramsay Bolton, not Ramsay Snow, never Snow, never, you have to remember his name, or he will hurt you."
There was a smile on Ramsay's plump lips, but none in those pale, pale eyes. "Snow, the other northerners call me. But I say Bolton! Regardless of what my father says, we've been flaying our enemies alive for a thousand years. But what better way that getting what you want than by hunting what that certain someone cares more?"
Locke listened. "What'd you have in mind?"
"You want vengeance against the Oathkeeper. You up for a hunt?"
"Who am I going after?"
Ramsay reached into his pocket and unveiled a tiny scroll. Locke examined it closely as the bastard Bolton readied his pack of hunting dogs—the Bastard's girls; mean, vicious bitches trained to kill wolves and rip people to shreds as per Ramsay's instructions to the Dreadfort's kennelmaster. The pack is comprised of at least two different breeds of dog, the more common a large, muscular, black-haired dog commonly used for killing, and a smaller, more slender brown-haired dog typically used for tracking. Ramsay often starves his hounds as to increase their aggression and sate them with his human victims, who are devoured alive for his amusement.
Once Locke was finished looking over the parchment, he looked back as Ben Bones, Yellow Dick, Damon Dance-for-Me, Luton, Sour Alyn, Skinner and Grunt gathered with the hounds.
"They've been fed, but their aggression won't flare up until you've just about reached your destination," Ramsay explained. "Once they get going, it's almost hard for them to stop. These men will accompany you to your destination. The joy of the hunt."
"And that is…?"
Ramsay's smile was bone-chilling, the personification of pure evil. "Hunting in the harshest desert you can think of."
"Dorne."
"Find and capture Princess Myrcella Baratheon. Enjoy the hunt!"
Chapter End
Author's Note: Well this cameo chapter marks the conclusion of Season 4; as we move onto Season 5 we are introduced to Roslin Tully (née Frey) and the revelation of Bodrin's fate. Also making a return to the scene is none other Ramsay Snow himself and the wickedly evil plan he has in store of inflicting pain and terror. How do you this will play out as we begin the next phase? Thoughts? Let me know.
Zurver: Can't wait for the next chap
Supremus85: No, Myrcella no; it was already a slap in the face when she died in canon; let her be, you psychotic bastards! (I mean Ramsay and Locke, of course)
—I know what you meant. We know Locke's and Ramsay Snow's dark nature; they make good villains, but in this story it's bound to be disaster in the end.
DarkJokes: I hope this does get as bad as Ramsey killing Marceylla. You better not kill that innocent little girl. Can't take her dying again. Lol
—As we speak I'm currently working on the next few chapters, but I will say this much: Myrcella will not be harmed in anyway. It was never nor is it ever my intention to see anything bad happen to her. As for the rest, well... Stay turned for more releases in the next few days.
Patty 4577: Wow. I knew Ramsay was stupid evil but this takes the cake.
Hear My Fury: Roose, just kill Ramsay. You know how dangerous he is. Daveth you need to remember to have Varys and his little birds track down Ramsay and see what he's doing. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm rooting for the Sand snakes to take down Ramsay's men. Actually Oberyn's there too, he might actually get some more action, provided he recovers from the Mountains punch to his face. I hope you're adapting more of Doran from the show rather than the books because I think he'll do anything to protect Myrcella. At least he'll do this to gain Daveth's favor after the debt he now owes the guy.
C.E.W: So Ramsay Snow finally snapped, making a move against Daveth and the Starks. Locke, a handful of men and hounds are heading for Dorne. Bright side is, if the ship's captain taking them there snitches on selling information to the Sand Snakes. Instead of killing Myrcella, the Sand Snakes will try to protect her as they owe her brother Daveth their father's life. Ellaria may insist on it, Oberyn being alive prevents her from her darker nature. And we may get to see Aero Hotah in a fight considering we were denied that in the series.
ZabuzasGirl: ...Ramsay is as good as dead.
—Mess with Daveth's sister, all hell will break loose.
kyrasaige16: I've always found Ramsay to be a very fun character to watch. He's sadistic, yes, but he's so interesting and charismatic. I love the little exclaimations you threw in there. I feel like you really got him right. I can't wait to see what you do for season 5!
SkittlezxBabex146: No not myrcella like come on no
—It'll be a race against the clock.