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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 5: The Gift of Violence

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Ylva hummed a cheerful tune as she stirred yet another concoction for Lady Bolton. Elderflower and milk of the poppy, with some honey to make it sweet. Every morning for the past several weeks Ylva would bring this along with a breakfast that Fyona would nibble at, though she would happily drink the entire mixture that would prevent Ramsay’s seed from ever taking root. Ylva continued humming this happy song all throughout the halls on her way towards Fyona’s chamber. Knocking and immediately entering, Ylva carried in a silver breakfast tray with a small vase of wildflowers. Though a twinge of jealously shot through her, she had to admit that Ramsay’s new bride was wonderfully exotic. The rays of sunlight danced over her bronzed, caramel skin and the light seemed to get trapped in the fullness of her inky hair, because it never seemed to stop shimmering. She awoke to Ylva’s presence and her thick lashes fluttered open like fans. She greeted her with a cat-like smile and a gentle, “Hello”. She sat up right away at the sight of the poppy milk and held it preciously with both hands. As she gladly sipped her morning elixir, Ylva began brushing her hair and weaving in wildflowers at random. Gathering up her breakfast tray, Ylva was about to say goodbye when a strong, heavy knock came at the door. Without waiting for a reply, Ramsay entered, so eager to kiss his bride that he pushed right passed Ylva. “Ramsay,” Fyona feigned another famous smile. “What’s all this?” He kissed her again. “I’m meeting with some of our neighboring lords, but of course I always make time for my sweet wife.” He motioned for Ylva to leave. With the security of not getting pregnant, and if Fyona was truly honest with herself, she was actually starting to enjoy sex with Ramsay. He just did something to her…something…exciting. Knowing the horrible things that the beautiful man was capable of terrified her, and yet when he fucked her in the countless ways he did, she saw a different side to him. One that deeply scared her - one that sometimes made her fear for her life and the lives of those around her, but still…there was excitement. And a sureness. A guarantee in the back of her mind that he needed her more than she needed him. A guarantee that let her push things. An unspoken rule, that when they fucked, she had permission to take charge. Permission to rule him. So long as she accepted the gallons of cum he offered her, he encouraged her every action. Testing the limits again this morning, she decided to grab his hair, hard, as he was licking her pussy and about to stop. She let go immediately, for fear of his retaliation, but instead, he smiled up at her and continued his delicious actions. He smiled. The sadist actually smiled in a way that didn’t signal to her that anything terrible would befall anyone- just bliss. When he finished her off, he kissed her deeply before dressing to meet with the neighboring lords. She wrapped herself in his sheets, taking in the musky scent, and actually missed his presence. She drifted back off to sleep, perhaps believing that he wasn’t quite as evil as he seemed.

“Fyona!” Her eyes snapped open. It was still daylight, perhaps still even early evening. “Fyona!” Ramsay called again. She decided to test things again by taking her time. She slowly climbed out of his massive bed, stretching as she did so. Looking at herself in the mirror, there were still many flowers from when Ylva did her hair earlier, so she decided on pulling it all messily to one side and tying it towards the bottom very loosely with a blue satin ribbon. She looked like Spring, even in Winter. She slipped into pale, golden layers of Dornish chiffon, exposing much of her shoulders and falling to her forearms in ruched sleeves, with simple shoes to match. “Where’s my gorgeous bride?!” She hurried down the hall before stopping to use both hands just to open one of the hulking iron doors that Ramsay had kicked so easily at their wedding feast. On the other side, Ramsay sat with three fellow Northern lords all drinking around the head table. Ramsay, a bit tipsy, chuckled at her struggle. Pushing with all her might, Fyona finally managed enough space to pass through. First in was a long, shapely leg exposed by the high slit in her chiffon skirts, then followed by the rest of Lady Bolton. Ramsay whistled at the brief show of skin before motioning for her to come. “Come! Join us, wife! Reek! Bring my love a drink.” She winced at hearing Theon’s new name again but forced her feet to her carry her towards the chair beside him. Her pale golds next to his pitch black leathers made them resemble night and day. He placed his palm under her seat and brutishly pulled her closer to him. Though Persephone and Hades, at this closeness the sheer blackness of the hair they shared gave them no beginning and no end. “Their children would undoubtedly sprout raven’s wings!” As Walda liked to say. Theon handed her a goblet of amber honey wine that she happily accepted. Ramsay pressed his face into her luscious locks and quickly whispered, “I like your hair this way,” before kissing the top of her head. The show of affection surprised her so much that she couldn’t even believe the smile and blush that her body had forced out of her. “Lord Jiry,” Ramsay cut. “It was…a real shame that you and yours missed our wedding. The wine was flowing and an excellent time was had by all! You even missed seeing my beautiful bride here…” Ramsay draped his long, muscular arm over Fyona’s shoulders, pulling her even closer. “Aye, we did,” Lord Jiry looked back weakly at his sons. “And we’re quite sorry my Lord and Lady. My wife is sick, you see…I could not leave her side.” Fyona’s understanding came as second nature. Ramsay’s however… did not. “Yes, yes, that is…quite regrettable. Do give her my good wishes upon your return home.” Relief washed over Lord Jiry and his sons. “Thank you, my Lord. I shall.” The men gathered their cloaks and began to make their way out, but not before Ramsay remembered something. “Oh Lord Jiry! I believe you’ve also forgotten a gift for my new bride.” Fear dripped down his spine as he turned to face the young Bolton again. “I…I believe I have, my Lord. What pray-tell, would the lovely Bolton Lady wish for as her wedding gift?” Fyona feared for him as well. “No-nothing, my Lord. I have everything I need here and want for nothing. Your visit was more than kind enough.” Lord Jiry bowed to her. “You’re much too kind, my Lady. I shall bring you the most beautiful flowers from my wife’s garden upon my return.” Fyona smiled down at him and nodded with thanks.
“The promise of flowers does her no good now.” Ramsay stood and towered over the eldest of the Jiry clan. “What can you give her currently in your possession? Jewelry perhaps? A ring?”
The man stuttered back. “I-I-…a ring? My lord? Yes, of course. My lady, I could give you a ring passed down to me by my father. It is hammered gold, with an emerald in the setting here, see…?”
Fyona put her hands up in front of her and shook her head profusely. “I couldn’t possibly…”
Ramsay pulled out his favorite dagger and grabbed Lord Jiry’s offered arm, slamming his open palm down onto the table. “Lovely. This shall do nicely.”
“Please, Ramsay, my lord!” Fyona jumped up and held his arm back with all her might. She turned to the older man. “I would love the flowers from your wife’s garden upon your next visit, Lord Jiry.” She dismissed them with the mercy in her eyes. They all bowed and quickly turned to leave. Promptly ignoring the mercy bestowed by his wife, Ramsay brought the dagger down on Lord Jiry’s pinky anyway. In a screaming instant, blood was spattered all over her dress. With gritted teeth, the older man held his wounded hand to his chest like a newborn babe. “Sorry about your lovely dress, my sweet. We’ll have Miranda clean it.” He smirked before leaning down to whisper in her ear. “I really do like your hair this way.” He kissed the top of her head and stepped out of the room as if nothing had happened. Fyona and the three lords were in such shock that she couldn’t bring herself to ask who Miranda was.
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Fox Hunt