The Bard of Bolton (crackfic) (Patreon)

The Bard of Bolton

A/N: Don’t take this seriously. I wrote this while high on pain meds.

He had just finished his part in the duet with Gabriella. Perhaps it was the wrong move to jump up on the crescent moon prop, but the excitement and passion came over him. The next thing he knew was the large edge of the prop falling on his head and darkness.

He woke up with a fuzzy memory, and what looked like a father who never smiled staring at him with a frown. Where was he? They called him Troy. Yes, he was Troy Bolton, and the only thing he remembered was that he loved music and performing, a hidden passion that emerged, and he only acknowledged while singing and dancing in front of an audience.

Roose Bolton

“How’s your son, Lord Bolton?” Umber asked, but he could hear the amusement hiding behind the lord’s question. He was sure the large man was smiling behind his beard, but he couldn’t be too sure.

“He is fine, Lord Umber.” He replied and clenched his teeth in annoyance. He was sure they were all laughing behind his back, after what his remaining heir, the fool had done for the past few years.

He had high hopes, but after that tragic accident, his only trueborn son had become… a village idiot.

“We’re all in this together

! Once we know, that what we are,

we are all stars, and we see that!”

He pretended not to hear his son’s singing voice out in the practice yard and stabbed his food. He did not want to bring the boy, but the Lord of Winterfell commanded it and he had no good excuse not to bring him. Now he was regretting his decision, as Troy Bolton showed off his songs in the yard where the other heirs practiced.

“We’re all in this together!

When we reach, we can fly

 know inside, we can make it!”

“Your son is very lively Lord Bolton.” Ned Stark added, rubbing salt to the wound. The man was even openly smiling with his wife.

“He has a very beautiful voice.” Catelyn Stark added, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“I have considered sending him south for fostering, but I have yet to receive word from the other houses.” Preferably somewhere far away. He should have killed the boy and produced an heir, but his son has the luck of the old gods.

He knew his bastard attempted to kill him in a number of occasions, but all attempts failed, and the last causing Ramsay’s death. He couldn’t believe Ramsey drank his own poison after forgetting which goblet his trueborn brother drank from. Perhaps this was his punishment from the old gods, to have an heir that will finally cause his infamous house’s downfall after allowing his eldest son to be killed by his bastard. He did not have a direct hand, but it was still considered kin slaying, and now he was paying the price.

 “Why so far?” Lord Stark asked. “You can have young Troy fostered here.”

He met his liege lord’s gaze. He didn’t have to ask the question ‘why now?’ Troy was ten and five, nearly a man grown. Fostering usually started at ten name days old.

Eddard Stark refused his suggestion to foster his eldest in Winterfell, and rejected his proposal to join their houses by marrying Sansa Stark to Domeric. He knew the answer. Humiliation. He knew what the Lord of Winterfell would do if he agreed. He would parade Troy to the other northern lords, and show what the future of the feared Bolton Legacy would become.

“That was amazing Troy!”

“Again!” Sansa Stark clapped her hands.

 His son, without shame or hesitation started singing that infernal song so many times that he himself had memorized the lyrics to it, to his embarrassment.

“Wildling,s, everywhere!

Wave your hands up in the air!

That's the way we do it, let's get to it,

Come on, everyone!”

He closed his eyes and released the breath he was holding as the other lords laughed as they watched his son’s energetic performance. Old Gods kill him now.

Jon Snow

He couldn’t put a word to properly describe the Bolton heir. He was just too damn cheerful. Always smiling, always positive, and he was not shy. Not one bit. Troy Bolton was his exact opposite, yet he didn’t know how, he became friends with him.

He couldn’t believe that this young man, his age, was the heir of such a fearsome house. He was open, guileless, and wore his heart on his sleeve. But he was also kind, and treated everyone equally, from lowborn to highborn, from peasant to lords. There was one problem… his friend had the strange habit of breaking out into song. No wonder Lord Bolton quickly agreed to leave his heir behind in Winterfell after the harvest feast.

They were out hunting in the Wolfswood when they were suddenly attacked by wildlings. Luckily, they were all mounted and were able to escape the ambush. Then Troy started singing on horseback, and he only stared at the Bolton heir with a confused face.

“We’re breaking free!

We’re soaring! Flying!

There’s not a wildling we cannot meet?

Are they trying? Oh yeah we’re breaking free!”

“This is not the time to sing Bolton!” Theon shouted.

Robb was outright laughing. “Let him!”

This only encouraged Troy to belt out more.

“More than hope, more than faith

This is truth this is fate

And together we see arrows coming!

All of us breaking free!”

Eddard Stark

He thought the Bolton heir was harmless. Part of it was true. The boy was born to be a bard, acting without shame or embarrassment, but he also had a good singing voice and admittedly wonderful but strange compositions.

He was polite, courteous, and cheerful, the exact opposite of his father and their infamous history. He had the boy watched discreetly in the first few weeks, but the reports were all the same.

Perhaps he was born different, but there was not a single deceitful bone in the boy. Cheerful to a fault, he had certainly livened things up in Winterfell.

The problem was that the boy couldn’t stop his damn singing whenever he felt the need, like in sword practice in the yard.

“You got got to… get  ‘cha..

CLANG

Get ‘cha…

CLANG

Get ‘cha

CLANG

Head in the game!

“Stop singing boy!” Rodrick Cassel, his master of arms, was losing his patience. Roose had trained the boy well in his fundamentals, almost a match to Robb in skill.

Nearby, Prince Joffrey Baratheon was nearly on the floor, laughing with his hands on his belly. The Bard of Bolton was quickly earning his moniker.

If that was the only problem, he would have brushed it off, but then he discovered another aspect of the young Bolton. He used another sword, the one tucked in his breeches. He was a terrible flirt, and he heard the new rumors from the maids that the boy was not just skilled with voice, but also with his tongue.

A guard reported that he had seen the boy leaving the queen’s chamber one morning, while he and Robert went out for the hunt. Now he was conflicted with what to do. Robert took in whores to his chambers every night, shouldn’t the queen do the same?

Troy had clearly attracted every woman’s attention at the opening feast, as he sang a soulful song about starring something new. He didn’t get the song, but the sighs from the women in the feast certainly got it. And Troy was an able dancer, and the queen danced with him three times that night.

He needed to consult his wife. Thank the old gods the queen’s twin was stuck back in King’s Landing, or else he’d be hearing from Lord Tywin within a week.