The Hunter

the hounds have a strong scent.

 

my father sent me on this hunt.

it is not my first

it is not my last

i can’t let him down.

i must prevail.

the family name is at stake

and all though i don’t share it i dream of it.

 

i am his only son.

i am looked upon with shame.

but i do what he does and i do it well.

i take pride in my hunting,

it fills me with joy.

 

i am a stain,

not alone.

 

i want it,

i want it more than any snow.

i want to be among the butchers and hunters who carried his name

i want to be his real son.

 

the dogs,

faster than man, caught my prey.

they tear him apart.

the man begs for mercy

begs for death

but it isn’t up to me.

 

i take him to father,

to the house.

 

i take him to my lord,

to the dreadfort.

 

i hope father is pleased.

i serve him better than his advisors!

i serve him better than his soldiers!

i am his son.

 

the prisoner will be flayed!

he will be tortured!

he will be broken and skinned!

this is our houses way.

 

i hope when i arrive father will let me do the honors.

i hope he lets me torture this scoundrel.

i hope he lets me serve him.

i have never failed him and never will.

 

i arrive at the gates trophy in hand

but nothing has changed i am still ramsay snow.

i remain among the many snows,

one of millions unwanted and unclaimed children of the north.

i pray not for long.

 

someday,

i hope to be beside my father and wear his name.

someday carry our banner, not his.

someday i wish to share the name,

Bolton.

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