Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2319359.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Melisandre_of_Asshai/Ramsay_Bolton, Roose_Bolton/Rhaella_Targaryen, Robb
      Stark/Daenerys_Targaryen, Theon_Greyjoy/Rhaenys_Targaryen, Aegon_VI
      Targaryen/Margaery_Tyrell, Arianne_Martell/Viserys_Targaryen, Elia
      Martell/Rhaegar_Targaryen
  Character:
      Ramsay_Bolton, Melisandre_of_Asshai, Roose_Bolton, Rhaella_Targaryen,
      Robb_Stark, Daenerys_Targaryen, Theon_Greyjoy, Rhaenys_Targaryen, Aegon
      VI_Targaryen, Margaery_Tyrell, Arianne_Martell, Viserys_Targaryen,
      Rhaegar_Targaryen, Elia_Martell, Arthur_Dayne, Jaime_Lannister
  Additional Tags:
      Other_characters_and_tags_to_be_added_in_future, Alternate_Universe,
      Crack, Smut, Power_Dynamics, Sadism, Masochism, Violence, Emotional
      Manipulation, Possessive_Behaviour, Self_Harm, Delusion
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-09-17 Updated: 2014-12-08 Chapters: 3/? Words: 1556
****** So Darkly Devoted, I Have Become ******
by TheCatLady
Summary
     In which Ramsay is a Targaryen bastard in King's Landing, and
     Melisandre believes him to be Azor Ahai reborn and schemes to put him
     on the Iron Throne or die trying, knowing he may be humanity's only
     hope against the coming storm. Ramsay, however, is less interested in
     the fate of the world and more intent on finding his way under her
     skirt. Cracky AU, obviously. Drabble chapters. [Discontinued.]
Notes
     Hey all! This was actually inspired by another author's drabble,
     where they paired Ramsay and Melisandre together. I found the ship so
     interesting, I decided I wanted to write something of my own. I'm not
     even certain where this idea came from, but I thought of it and knew
     I had to write it. Title is from the song “Hunted”, by the band
     Device. Not sure how often I'll get to update this since life takes
     priority, but since they're drabble chapters it shouldn't take me too
     long to churn the story out. :)
***** Chapter 1 *****
When Ramsay first laid eyes on the Red Woman, he'd been ten-and-four, and had
been fighting with his brother again. Viserys had had the nerve to call him
“bastard” to his face – something their mother never allowed and would punish
Viserys for doing so if she heard it – and as usual, it had resulted in a fist
fight that led Daenerys to run for help from the King's Guard. The boys had
been split up, and while Viserys was being chastised by Rhaegar and Jon
Connington, King and Hand respectively, Ramsay had snuck off to the gardens to
sullenly squash bugs he found with rocks, wishing his father would take him
hunting instead.
Shooting things with crossbows never failed to make him feel better.
She came seemingly out of nowhere – a blur of red in the corner of his eye, so
startling he'd thought he'd imagined her at first – but sure enough, there she
stood before him, her ruby-coloured eyes staring down at him with a thoughtful
expression on her beautiful face. She took his breath away, and made his cock
twitch, just with a look.
He found himself staring at her ample cleavage and swallowing a lump in his
throat when she introduced herself. Whether she was aware of his lurid looking,
he did not know, for she gave no indication of it.
“My Prince,” she said in a husky voice as foreign and silky as she was. “I am
Lady Melisandre, from Asshai. I'll be serving on your brother's small council
as an advisor. I saw you playing just now, and thought to come and introduce
myself.”
Ramsay found himself embarrassed that she'd found him doing something so
childish, wishing for the umpteenth time he'd been hunting instead. He imagined
how impressed she would be if he brought her back a wolf pelt or a boar to eat
instead, and found himself even angrier than he was after his fight with
Viserys.
“Does something trouble you, my prince?” asked Melisandre, brows furrowing ever
so slightly. “Why are you out here alone?”
Ramsay clenched his jaw, refraining from complaining. “Nothing ails me, fair
lady,” he gave her his most winning smile, one he usually saved for his mother
and serving wenches. “I came outside for some fresh air. It is a pleasure to
meet you.”
The corners of her red mouth picked up, and Ramsay couldn't tell if she was
suppressing a smile or faking one. It irritated him. He wanted to see her smile
at him, those red eyes burning with desire for him. She was the most beautiful
woman he'd ever seen in his whole life, and suddenly, he was worried about
everybody else seeing her. What if somebody else thought her just as beautiful
as he, and tried to marry her, and steal her away from him?
A darkness settled over him; a calm, subdued rage. Ramsay knew the answer.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Aegon becomes betrothed and Ramsay gets a new friend.
The day Aegon became betrothed, he was ten-and-two, and his little wife had
come to King's Landing from a boring place called Highgarden. She was of an age
with him, with soft brown hair, soft brown eyes, soft pale skin, soft, soft,
soft.
Naturally, the presentation required Ramsay's presence, and as a youth of six-
and-ten, was loathe to part with his riding leathers and breeches in exchange
for red and black velvet. He stood in front of all those people gathered in the
throne room, beside his father who was the very picture of cold, detached
grace, and pictured all those people with their skin flayed, screaming in agony
as they begged him for mercy.
It made the smile come a little more naturally when the applause started, at
least.
After the ceremony was finished and everyone in the court began to disperse,
Ramsay turned swiftly to leave, when suddenly he felt his father's hand clamp
down hard on his shoulder, keeping him in place.
“Your new sister is not the only one I wanted you to meet,” he said quietly,
and beckoned for someone to approach them.
Ramsay looked at the man who walked up to them in disgust. He was thin as a
rake, gaunt and pale as a sheet. He wore flowers in his thin, brittle hair, and
stunk repulsively. Ramsay sneered at him openly, wondering if this was some
kind of jest of Viserys'. He would've believed that wholly too, had it not been
his father who was doing the introduction.
“Ramsay, this is Reek,” said Roose. “I understand that with your cousin Aegon
now betrothed and your brother Viserys leaving for Dragonstone in a few short
days, you may lack for... suitable company. Reek is hereby your manservant and
will serve you well, just as he served me for many years at the Dreadfort.”
Once Roose left, Ramsay was alone in the throne room with the repugnant
creature. He regarded Reek with his cold, icy eyes before shrugging. “You
hunt?”
“If my prince commands,” Reek grinned ghoulishly, bowing low.
“Bow?”
The skinny man paused, considering. “All manner of weapons and... methods, my
prince.”
“Really?” Ramsay was intrigued. “You'll have to tell me of these... hunting
methods of yours. I shall meet you by the stable in an hour. Don't be late.” He
let his warning hang in the air as he removed himself from the room, leaving
Reek all alone with the Iron Throne, which he stared at lustily.
“I wouldn't consider it, Heke,” came a voice from one of the pillars. “The
throne tends to... harshly reject any who attempts to sit upon it who does not
belong there. And your blood is better off where it is, if your stench is
anything to go by.”
Reek's eyes narrowed at the red woman whose presence had escaped his notice. He
was not accustomed to being snuck up on. “As my lady commands. What is it you
called me?”
“Heke,” Melisandre repeated, her eyes shining with a knowing glint. “Oh, I know
who you are, my friend. And I know of the role you play in Prince Ramsay's
life.” Her expression was decidedly neutral, as best Reek could tell. “Tread
carefully. That is all the warning you shall have.”
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for the delay!
Melisandre of Asshai proved to be both very popular and unpopular at court in
the years to follow. Many women regarded her with fierce jealousy and contempt,
but Ramsay's mother, the former queen Rhaella, trusted her. Roose was
indifferent to her, and he seemed to be the only man. Even the ever-gallant
King Rhaegar found it difficult to keep his gaze from wandering to Melisandre,
much to Queen Elia's disdain.
And yet, Ramsay never saw Melisandre show any favour towards the men at court,
frequently turning down marriage proposals and brushing off declarations of
love like she was swatting away an irritating fly. She never seemed to age,
either. Ten years flew by, and they saw much happen. Another rebellion rose
from Stannis Baratheon, the deceased attempted-usurper Robert Baratheon's
younger brother, and their house was subsequently decimated and declared
extinct. Stannis had been allowed to live as a display of clemency, Melisandre
had told him, and he had spurned Rhaegar's mercy for the sake of his pride. He
deserved his fate for raising arms against the royal family. Hearing the
intensity with which she spoke made Ramsay's heart pound painfully.
Viserys married Arianne Martell, and the two of them lived on Dragonstone with
their silver-haired, dusky-skinned brood. Both Rhaenys and Daenerys had gone
North, one year after the other, to their respective betrothals. Every so often
he would receive an update on one of them – Daenerys birthing a litter of pups
or Rhaenys a squid – but Ramsay didn't care beyond a malicious laugh at their
expense.
When the topic of marriage was breached upon with Ramsay, he bristled at the
suggestion, meeting Rhaegar's gaze evenly. Icy blue eyes fought for dominance
with dark indigo, and Rhaegar had sighed, relenting for the time being. His
years as king had weighed heavy upon him, and he looked ten years older than
his true age. The desire to fight matters he knew would prove tough had all but
waned into nothing, and thus Ramsay remained free to do as he pleased.
“You have no interest in the women at court, my prince?” Melisandre had asked
him later as they strolled through the gardens together. Dark clouds loomed
overhead, and fierce winds blew, threatening a storm, but Ramsay didn't notice.
“Only one,” he'd said seriously, and plucked a red rose from the garden to give
to her.
Melisandre regarded the token of affection expressionlessly. Ramsay's heart
leaped into his throat when she leaned down to smell the flower. She looked up
at him with her large ruby eyes, her nose buried in the petals, and Ramsay bit
back a moan, trying to imagine what she would look like on silk sheets covered
in blood. Would her back arch and her fingers claw his scalp with his head
buried between her legs? He liked to imagine it would.
And then the moment was gone, and she was standing straight once more.
Melisandre touched his cheek with her fingertips – feather-light and brief –
before she brushed past him without a word, walking away from him.
Ramsay crushed the rose in his hand, ignoring the sharp stabbing of the thorns
in his palm as it bloodied.
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