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Fox Hunt	By : Ms.Kinky Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 15622 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own GOT. It is the property of George RR Martin. I receive no financial gain (only personal satisfaction) from this story. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter List
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Chapter 2: The Chase

“He loved the chase and preferred to hunt two-legged prey.” –G.R.R.M.

                In tears, she unbuckled the carriage harness around Jolly with a heated fervor. Ramsay laughed. “If they don’t eat you, you’ll be undoing my straps just like that.” Her blood boiled. Managing not to look evil in the eyes again, Fyona leapt up onto her Clydesdale and took off in the opposite direction. They just had to outrun those dogs and she knew she could lose those beasts in the forest. Trying not to think of Tristin or Hildi, she rode as fast as her horses’ legs could carry them. Racing through the trees, adrenaline pumped through her veins like the gushing rivers of her homeland. Soon she would reach the Godswood Tree and be in the safety of her family’s protection. Fyona was already beginning to feel the dropping temperature of her cousins’ home. Though it was summer, the North was always cold. Especially to outsiders.
                Through a short-range telescope, the young Bolton lord watched them fly with an incredible speed. Collapsing his scope, Ramsay chuckled and shook his head. While her attempt was impressive, she’d lost the game before they even started. ‘She might outrun my dogs, but she’ll be in for quite a surprise once she gets to Winterfell.’ Perhaps it was time to play a new game with his prey: Manipulation. Excitedly, Ramsay called for his men.
                Jolly’s mighty hooves hammered away at the forest floor. They were so close now. She’d played in these very forests with her Stark relatives during their younger days and nothing had changed. Not even the large boulder marking the clearing of the Godswood. ‘Please. We’re nearly there!’ Rounding the boulder, Fyona felt numerous arms violently jerking her off her horse and tossing her to the ground. As the wind escaped her chest and she struggled to breath, she looked up to see three Bolton soldiers. The shortest of which took out his sword and whipped Jolly’s hide. The sweet behemoth whinnied up on his back legs before racing back south. Jolly was an old horse, but he was strong and he was smart. He would run home. She prayed- prayed to any God that would hear her, to guide him there safely. She could survive this. Whatever these monsters did to her, she would endure. She just needed Jolly to make it back to the Riverlands alone. That would be all the message her family needed.
                Arms crossed, Ramsay looked on from a short distance and marveled at how quickly she was caught when finally cornered. Satisfied with the time, the hunter drew his bow.
                With the breath still caught in her throat, she continued to gasp for air as she kicked and clawed. The same man who whipped Jolly used his sword to rip her bodice partially down the middle. The youngest man grabbed her swinging fists and held her down while the greasiest one dropped down between her legs and hiked up her skirts. “What’s this? No hair down here, boys! That something they do in Dorne, pretty half-breed?” He laughed. She felt as though she was finally going to lose all her good senses in a sea of fear- but the wise words of her Great Uncle Blackfish rang in her ears. ‘Don’t ever panic, little fox. You can’t think when you panic.’ The oily monster began untying his pants, and she knew she was reaching that threshold of fear. Panic started to overtake her when suddenly, mid-laugh, an arrow burst through his left eye. A few blood drops trickled down onto her chest. Two more arrows flew over her and into her attackers. Gathering her wits and what little strength she had left, she dragged herself away fast enough to miss the bulk of their limp, fallen bodies. Her breath finally started to settle, but the action did nothing for her racing heart. She grabbed the nearest sword and frantically scanned the area for the archer. Fyona could swear her heart would explode at any moment. Then the slow, heavy footfalls behind her made her blood run cold. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. She didn’t want to look death in the face.
                Ramsay couldn’t help admiring the spirit she still had, but his bride had to be broken first. He picked her up so fast that she lost her grip on the sword. She screamed and kicked, but his inhuman strength was enough to stop all that nonsense. The Boltons were as cruel as they were cunning, but this one seemed a beast in human skin. He eyed her like a discarded doll…or a piece of meat. “Calm yourself, little fox.” Just how much had he really learned about her? The childhood nickname on Ramsay’s tongue stung her eardrums like the sharp knives he used to kill Tristin and Hildi. ‘Oh my god…Tristin and Hildi...’ He grabbed Fyona by her tiny waist and held her tightly against his rock hard chest. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. You did it! You reached the finish line!” He cheered. Even when he smiled in that oh-so-handsome way, he looked sinister. “What are your house’s words again? Ah, yes…Cunning and Wise.” His rough hand slowly traveled up her shapely arm, gliding over her creamy shoulder and stopped at the large rip made by his men. His motions were almost gentle, lulling her in her exhausted state. "Weren't so wise when you got caught, now were you?" He suddenly grabbed a hold of the tear and ripped her bodice all the way down to her toned navel. She yelped and tried to fight him, but he only held her tighter. “Easy now, little Rorstark…I said I wouldn’t hurt you...yet. I only wish to see what I've won.” His dark eyes explored her body, enchanted by the way the crimson of his soldier’s blood complimented the yellow in her golden skin. Her perfect tits rising and falling with her heavy breathing. He was sure of it now. It’d be much more fun to fuck her than to kill her. Though the choice was a close one. ‘How beautiful she’d look all dressed in blood…’ Ramsay removed his cloak and placed it over Fyona’s shivering shoulders. She stiffened at the touch. It brought another smile to his rugged face as it reminded him of how similar the act would be tomorrow night. No wedding ceremony would be complete until he’s cloaked his new wife with his house’s colors, and has mercilessly fucked, stuffed and mounted her for all of Westeros to see.
                Without a shred of effort, the Bolton lord lifted her up onto his shadowy horse before climbing up behind her. She could feel the ripples of strength in his arms as he took the reins in one hand, and snaked another long, muscular arm around her waist. The great hunter urged his steed home, eager to fuck his new trophy and excited to rub it in the faces of the Rorstarks, Tullys, and remaining Starks alike.
                Her long black hair was a tousled, bouncing mess, but Ramsay loved it. She looked wild. Fearless. He found himself breathing in the scent of it- sweet blackberries. ‘My beautiful, wild bride who smells of blackberries…’ The growing bulge in his trousers jabbed into her lower back as they rode. It both revolted and excited her, which only revolted her further. She refused to fall prey to his mind games.
                As they rode, she soon noted their direction. Surely he’d know not to come within distance of Winterfell. Her Northern family would race to her aid. “Where are you taking me?” She finally asked.
                Reaching the familiar gates, only her greatest nightmares could have fathomed the sight. Winterfell’s towers were bleeding with Bolton banners. Her lips parted and hot tears rolled down her cold face. ‘If the Boltons have taken Winterfell…What on Earth have they done to my cousins…?’ Ramsay pressed his smirking lips against her cheek as he spoke, “Welcome home, my Lady,” and planted a kiss. She cringed before looking on at the castle in dread. Their banners were disgusting. A man, or perhaps even a woman, strapped upside down and flayed from toe to head. With all the muscles and tendons exposed, their house color had to be red. Varying tints and shades all painting a history of violence. ‘Please find the main road, Jolly. Get home.’

I’ve seriously had She Wants Revenge’s “Tear You Apart” playing on a constant repeat while writing this. lol, Thanks for reading, guys! Please review! Even a bad review can be helpful :]
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Fox Hunt