"Come out already! I can see you! Hahaha."
Donnel Sarsfield's voice echoed through the woods.
Believing his words would be sheer stupidity. Petyr Baelish was too exhausted to run any further, panting heavily as he hid behind a tree. A savage bastard! That was his only impression of Donnel, or rather, Joffrey.
"Wait for me!"
The shout from behind was close and loud—Ramsay was also running toward him.
"You filthy mongrel!" Petyr assumed Ramsay was looking for him and picked up a tree branch for self-defense.
"No! No! That Donnel tricked me too! He wants to kill both of us!" Ramsay, being younger and faster, reached Petyr quickly. The branch posed no threat to him, so Petyr simply leaned on the tree, showing he meant no harm. That was when Ramsay noticed the blood covering his hand.
Petyr turned his head slightly, revealing his left ear—or rather, the hole where it used to be, now a bleeding wound.
"Your ear?" Ramsay asked.
"Shot off by Donnel's crossbow. You wretched cur! You sold me out—he's a lunatic!"
"You can't blame me for this. I'm a victim too. I'm heading downstream along the river. What about you?"
Like hell I'd trust you! Petyr thought. First, he had been betrayed, then Ramsay himself had been discarded like a pawn. But his face remained composed, his expression one of pure tension. "I'll head deeper into the woods."
Having caught his breath, Petyr took off toward the forest. He had grown up in Riverrun and knew the terrain well. Downstream was open plains—a dead end. The only real chance of survival was to pass through the woods, climb the nearby mountain, and reach Stone Hedge, the seat of House Bracken. If he could make it inside the castle, he might just survive.
Ramsay watched Petyr's slow, exhausted steps and quietly followed him.
"Where did they go?"
Donnel had no real hunting skills and quickly lost sight of his prey. Frustrated, he turned to his knights.
"Hound! Where are they?"
The Hound had no interest in this sadistic game. He was here to protect Donnel, not hunt people. His voice was muffled beneath his helmet's visor.
"You shouldn't be killing smallfolk for sport."
"They volunteered! Took my coin to play the game. And he even brought me a second one! I paid for both of them!" Donnel snapped.
"That doesn't make it right. You're toying with human lives."
"If they return the money, I won't kill them!" Donnel huffed, clearly irritated.
The Hound remained silent.
Donnel's patience ran thin. He roared, "I command you, as the heir of Casterly Rock! Find them, or I'll tell Tywin and have your whole family slaughtered like dogs!"
The Hound, spotting blood splatters on the branches, finally pointed. "That way. Deeper into the forest."
"Mount up! Ten gold dragons to whoever finds them first!" Donnel shouted, spurring his knights into pursuit.
Meanwhile, Petyr and Ramsay, drenched in sweat, hid behind a rock to catch their breath.
"Why are you following me?" Petyr demanded.
"I lost my way," Ramsay replied.
Petyr pointed. "You go that way, I'll go this way. If we stick together, we're both dead."
Ramsay smirked. "People can't outrun horses."
"What do you mean?" Petyr asked, hating the smug look on Ramsay's face.
"I only have to run faster than you. That spoiled brat will have fun tormenting you first, giving me time to escape."
"I'll kill you first!" Petyr swung his branch, aiming for Ramsay's eye.
Ramsay effortlessly parried the attack, landing two quick punches that made Petyr see stars. Twisting his wrist, he yanked the branch away and shoved Petyr to the ground.
Hearing distant hoofbeats, Ramsay stood over Petyr and kicked him hard in the groin. "Never start a fight without knowing your opponent's strength. Consider that a lesson."
Petyr curled into himself, unable to speak from the pain, while Ramsay took off deeper into the woods.
"Ser Donnel! I found one! Behind the rock to the east!" a knight shouted.
Within moments, a dozen riders encircled the downed Petyr. The Hound glanced at him. "Not the injured one. They must've turned on each other."
Donnel smirked upon hearing that, tossing a pouch of coins from his saddle to the knight who had spotted the prey.
"Hah! The poor will always be poor. Even when running for their lives, they can't help but turn on each other."
"You speak the truth, my lord!" The knights around him cheered in agreement.
Those who understood Donnel's nature either kept their distance or flattered him. Over time, a cruel lord would inevitably be surrounded by cruel men.
Standing only a dozen paces away from Littlefinger, who lay sprawled on the ground, Donnel raised his crossbow, aiming at different parts of the man's body.
"You promised not to kill him," the Hound spoke up.
Littlefinger could hear every word. Seeing Donnel pointing the crossbow at him with nowhere to hide but a large rock at his back, he clutched his legs and pleaded,
"My lord! Please don't kill me! I possess vast knowledge, I know how to manage affairs! Ahhh!"
Thud!
Donnel pulled the trigger. The bolt pierced through Littlefinger's thigh.
"Hound, see? I didn't kill him," Donnel said with a grin. The Hound wasn't his subordinate—Tywin had sent him as a bodyguard. And given his reputation as a formidable knight of the Westerlands, even Donnel had to show him some respect.
"The one who just claimed the reward—put the prey on your horse. The rest of you, keep hunting! Whoever finds the next one gets ten gold dragons!"
"Yes, my lord!"
"Watch me! My grandfather was a hunter—I'll find the next one first!"
With that, all but the Hound and the knight guarding Littlefinger galloped into the woods, scattering in search of their next prey.
Ramsay left Littlefinger behind as bait but didn't run into the forest. Instead, he circled toward the riverbank. If he could reach the river and swim across, these armored knights on horseback wouldn't be able to follow. That was his only chance of escape.
"They're splitting up to chase me!"
Birds burst from the trees all around as Ramsay sprinted toward the river, no longer caring about stealth.
Finally, he reached the riverbank, but several knights were already closing in behind him.
"Run! Keep running!"
"Think your legs can outrun my horse?"
The knights followed on horseback, swords in hand, mocking him but making no move to capture him. They were waiting for Donnel.
Since they weren't stopping him, Ramsay continued his escape, diving into the river and swimming toward the opposite shore. By then, Donnel, the Hound, and more knights had gathered on the bank.
Whoosh!
A crossbow bolt splashed into the water beside him. Ramsay kept swimming—this pampered brat had no aim! He still had a chance!
Whoosh!
Another bolt struck the water. Ramsay paddled furiously. The farther he got, the worse their aim would be. He was going to make it!
"Everyone, draw your bows and shoot him dead!" Donnel ordered from the shore.
"I surrender! I surrender!"
Ramsay stopped swimming—better to surrender than be shot to death.
---
He obediently swam back to shore. Not seeing Littlefinger, he smiled at Donnel and said, "My lord, you have won your hunt. I am now your prey."
The knights erupted into laughter, ridiculing his shamelessness. Donnel laughed along with them.
"My lord, are you satisfied with this kind of hunt?" Ramsay asked, relieved that his life seemed to be spared.
Donnel grinned. "Satisfied! Much more fun than chasing those dumb animals!"
With a sly smirk, Ramsay stepped forward and took Donnel's horse by the reins.
"A man like me can only provide the thrill of the chase, my lord. But I can arrange for women to be the prey as well."
"Oh?"
Donnel's interest was piqued. The other knights smirked knowingly, while the Hound, his face hidden beneath his helmet, gave no reaction.
The knight carrying Littlefinger returned to the group. Seeing that he was still alive, Ramsay felt reassured—Donnel was not one to kill without reason.
Ramsay continued, "We used to hunt peasant girls. Women flee differently from men—they always run toward the road. Chasing them down is great sport. And once we catch them... we can do whatever we please."
"Keep talking." Donnel's expression remained unchanged.
Ramsay felt the need to up the stakes and suddenly had an idea. "But peasant girls are too timid, most of them are ugly and covered in filth. After a few times, it gets boring. The real best prey are the beautiful noble girls!"
Donnel hadn't expected this man to be so bold. "You dare hunt noble girls? Aren't you afraid a lord will have your head?"
Ramsay raised an eyebrow and tapped his temple. "That's what makes it exciting. As long as the lord never finds out, there's no problem. This kind of hunt isn't just about action—it requires intelligence. If you plan it well, you can even pin the blame on someone else."
Donnel grinned. "Sounds like you know quite a lot! Riverrun is full of noble girls right now. Which one can you bring out?"
Ramsay's eyes lit up—he had found a like-minded soul. "Robb Stark of the North has been going on hunting trips alone with a noble girl these past few days. If we pick the right moment to snatch her, any mishap will be blamed on him!"
"Robb Stark! Wright Baratheon's apprentice? He's a mage. You've got guts." The Hound spoke up.
Ramsay turned to him. "Ser, Robb only spends time with her during the day. At night, they return to their separate chambers. And a mage is still just a man—magic isn't omnipotent."
Then he looked back at Donnel. "The girl is absolutely stunning, not even ten name days old yet, and still untouched."
Hearing that she was Wright Baratheon's apprentice's woman, a surge of anger welled up in Donnel. "You'll do it tonight. If you bring her back and frame Robb for it, I'll pay you whatever you want!"
Ramsay grinned. "I'll make it happen tonight, but I'll need two of your knights to help."
"You despicable, vile bastard!" Littlefinger cursed from where he lay slumped on the horse.
"I'll go!"
"I'll help Donnel chase down this prey!"
"If we're using a girl as prey, we should make sure she isn't wearing anything."
"Once Donnel's had his fun, we can all take turns."
The atmosphere grew darker. The knights followed Donnel's lead, laughing along even if some of them found it repulsive.
Donnel was already picturing Robb Stark being sentenced to death, Wright Baratheon flying into a rage—his wicked grin widened.
The tide had turned. Ramsay was delighted. This spoiled noble brat was completely under his control.
"Oh, right. Which family is the girl from? Do you know her name? What does she look like?" Donnel asked carelessly.
Ramsay smirked lecherously. "Oh, she's a beauty, known as the 'Western Fairy'—Seran Farman of Fair Isle!"
"I know that girl. The first time I saw her, I thought my heart was going to stop."
"I saw her a few days ago—wearing a pink dress. Absolutely stunning!"
Ramsay chuckled. "My lord, you'll have the first turn. Then the knights can have theirs. I'll take care of the cleanup afterward."
"Good!"
"You're an interesting one." The knights were pleased with the plan.
The Hound's expression was hidden beneath his helm, while Donnel stared at Ramsay with a wicked grin.
"Hound, geld him."
The Hound, Sandor, swung off his horse and drew his massive sword.
"My lord, what do you mean? If you don't like this plan, I can pick another girl!" Ramsay took a few steps back, stunned by Donnel's sudden change. Even the knights were surprised—how had his mood shifted so quickly?
Donnel had given the order, and the Hound was not one to hesitate. A towering figure clad in black armor, he faced an unarmed Ramsay. One strike was all it took.
"Aaagh—!" The greatsword flashed, and Ramsay's arm flew off, severed cleanly at the shoulder. The wound was neat—the Hound was pleased with his own precision.
He kicked Ramsay to the ground, pinned one of his legs beneath his boot, and, gauging the position through the clothes, swung the sword again.
"Urgh—" Ramsay twitched on the rocky riverbank, let out a strangled gasp, and lost consciousness from the pain.
The Hound yanked down his trousers, inspecting the wound.
"Not quite done. One more cut should do it."
The Hound, Sandor, mocked himself before swinging his sword down once more in a vertical chop. Ramsay's body convulsed briefly, then fell still.
Back in the day, Sandor had known exactly what Myrcella and Tommen looked like as children. The sudden appearance of two kids on Fair Isle hadn't escaped his notice over the years. Just like Joffrey, they'd been given new names and identities. And this bastard had dared set his sights on a relative of Lord Tywin. That was reason enough for the Hound to take another arm.
Not a single knight dared to speak.
Good! Littlefinger was pleased but knew better than to voice it aloud in a moment like this.
The Hound removed his gauntlet and pressed his fingers to Ramsay's neck. "Still alive."
"Drag him back!" Donnel didn't even look back as he turned his horse toward Riverrun.
The Hound reminded him, "Bringing two injured men into Riverrun won't be convenient. We can leave them in the knights' tents outside the city."
Donnel nodded. "Handle it. Chain them both up—don't let them escape!"
The Hound pried up a stone from the riverbank, scooped up some silt, and smeared it over Ramsay's wounds to keep him from bleeding out too quickly. As long as he survived the day, Sandor wouldn't have disobeyed Donnel's order to geld him. How many more days he lived after that wasn't his concern.
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