Capítulo 9: Bending
Chapter Nine
Bending
Sansa hadn't taken long to return to the dungeon, the medicine she spoke of was already made in large quantities due to the number of injured men being treated after the battle. She'd sent a servant to gather it and another to prepare some food for the two of them to be brought back with a small table and two chairs. It wasn't lost on Sansa that she was planning to have dinner with Ramsay in the dungeon of all places, and the mere thought of it struck her as absurd.
As she waited in the foyer for the servant's return, Sansa's mind roiled over the day's events. She couldn't help feeling herself foolish to be letting Ramsay Bolton of all people get close to her. Never would she have ever imagined that in the span of one week, she could evoke not only a change in him to need her but that she would in turn start to want him back. There was something intrinsically pervasive in the way Ramsay's mentality had shifted so wholly; what really threw Sansa was the fact that she actually believed that he wasn't faking it. The sentimentality of such a prospect had her on edge.
Sansa had to wonder if she was of sound mind anymore because she surely had to be mad to be feeling the way that she had started to feel about the bastard of Bolton, but Ramsay's eyes held a hypnotic quality to them that Sansa couldn't deny was quite alluring to her, and it was true that the power she held over him now both in mind and body was quite tantalizing to behold. It made Sansa burn with an inner fever that ignited so many new and provocative sensations within her. For a moment, she forgot where the fantasy had ended and reality began. They had been almost one in the same until the realization came that Ramsay was still a living, breathing, person; he was hers still fully and completely not unlike many of the objects that she owned, yet he was still a person nonetheless, and this fact held its own weight for her to ponder on. She was raised nobly, but could what she be doing to him be considered any less than ruthless?
Jon's quiet regard told her the persistence of the situation still worried him. From accounts that were told of Ramsay's yield to Sansa's will (Jon had been paying close attention, and from the knowledge garnered, closer than he'd have liked to be privy to.) Jon was concerned less now for her safety and more for her personal integrity of where this new dark path she walked would lead her. They were not raised callously, and what she did now, they both knew was not the traditional Stark way. Ousted by their home long enough to know that the honors and traditions of Ned and Katalin Stark were but haunting ghosts to a seemingly distant past, memories that walked down shadowed hallways to settle within the mausoleum and perhaps fade into transparency as the world around continued to lurch forward. Time had changed them. Sansa had changed there was no denying, and as much as she was loath to admit it, this didn't feel like it was a bad change. Sansa felt far more confident now than she had in her entire life.
She had never been in charge of her life, forever the beaten back wall flower pushed into duty as was expected of her because she bore the Stark name. Things had drastically changed for her now since taking back their old home to which she was seen as the lady of the manor even though she herself felt Jon had rightful claim over the title by his own prowess and strength. Defiling Ramsay the way she had was a conquest to feel whole again when she'd started, a fire blazing in the pit of her stomach urging her to strip him bare of everything that he was and tear him asunder to blow away not unlike ash in the wind for what he'd done to her and others she'd cared about.
It had felt good to destroy the monster that she'd seen him as, and her mercilessness commanded respect from many of the men and women that had seen or heard of the results of what she'd done to Ramsay, dare it to say that many even regarded her with a modicum of fear to know the lengths she'd tortured the man and the fact that she broken his very spirit. This type of recourse was expected of a Bolton (especially the bastard of Bolton for many had been witness to Ramsay's display of flaying individuals to cause fear and pain in both those he inflicted it upon and any who were forced to stand on the side lines and observe), expected of a Bolton yes, but not of a Stark.
Sansa was becoming somewhat of a legend as it was not often to hear such sordid tales of a noble woman doing the things she had done to a defeated prisoner of battle (the tales were elaborated in heated whispers through the quiet halls of the castle and not so secretive boisterous fabrications around many campfires.) Some had murmured that Ramsay had perhaps changed their lady and touched her with the taint that had filled him. They gossiped that when she'd broken Ramsay, she'd taken his cruelty and absorbed it into herself. Most refused to believe such rumors of course and just raised a cup to Sansa and cried justice well served.
There were celebrations and feasts she'd heard to learn that Ramsay Bolton had been brought so low as to become a mockery to hold the name Bolton at all. He'd hurt so many, and to hear of his downfall at such a huge cost to his pride was rather satisfying for those that had suffered from his actions. She may have shared such news with him when she still resented the very breath Ramsay took, but now, the thought of hurting him (and she knew that such news would devastate Ramsay, he'd held such a firm stock in being naturalized after all) to tell him how they mocked him and his house now would serve no purpose other than to be cruel.
Sansa found she was no longer interested in being vindictive. There was no further reason because the person that she had hated no longer lived within the eyes that stared back at her; all she saw in those pale blue eyes now was a longing desire for her attention. He'd become a sad creature comparatively, but better nonetheless. She would make him better still.
Sansa's eyes rose to the door as a gust of cold wind marked the return of the serving girl. The girl held a small slab of bark in both hands with a knife's scrape of the amount of the tincture she'd been given. It wasn't much, but it was more than what Sansa needed for a couple applications. The servant was quick to hand her the bark looking rather nervous as she did so. Sansa thanked her, and the girl nodded with downcast eyes and shifted quickly away. Sansa didn't remark as she watched the girl move away, but something inside of her twisted in dread that she'd somehow created a generalized uneasiness in some of the servants now. This wasn't the first incident of the servants shying away from her like this young girl. Over the past couple days, Sansa had noticed it to become a rather frequent occurrence that quite a few servants in the keep kept very short correspondence with her and were always hasty to provide whatever she would ask of them. Were they really afraid of her? Did they think she would do to them what she did to Ramsay if they displeased her? Surely not!
The thought in itself tumbled through her as she made her way back to the dungeon door peering in through the small slits to see Ramsay curled in on himself in the tub where she'd left him. He looked harmless, frail to the world around him, and Sansa knew that she had been the one to make him that way; maybe she was to be feared. These recognitions within herself cropped an understanding that not everything was as it seemed to be; the fearless moniker that was being passed around about her was not entirely true. As she stared at Ramsay now, she knew fear, and it was not anything like what she had felt for him prior to the recapturing of the keep. She was starting to fear what she was feeling, more specifically, she feared her feelings and whether those feelings would eventually be her down fall.
Ramsay lifted his head to the yawning groan of the dungeon door; it was amazing how familiar that sound had become to him over the past week. Upon seeing Sansa, he rose tentatively and removed himself from the waters. There had been a towel laid across the back end of the tub, and Ramsay grabbed a hold of it quickly patting himself down as Sansa made her way towards him.
Ramsay couldn't help but glance over at the strange green crème she held quite simply in both hands; Ramsay of course made no comment and quickly averted his eyes from the ointment. He knew well what it was for. The sight of it now though caused a heat to build through him numbing his face and settling in his cheeks. The thought of lying still and divulging himself to her to apply the balm to his entrance left Ramsay to feel irrationally embarrassed. He had suffered enough degradation that he expected to be treated like an object now. After everything else he'd been put through, such a simple treatment should seem laughably easy to overcome feeling ashamed for, but it was the intimacy behind the act in the way that it was being done to care for him instead of hurt him that was causing this reaction now.
Sansa watched him as he toweled himself dry his muscles shaking here and there most likely due to the limited amount of moving about he'd been afforded chained first to the cross and then his bed. When he was done, Ramsay found himself shifting from foot to foot as his eyes trailed up to Sansa, he silently willed her to give him direction so as not to displease her by choosing poorly. He held the towel against his stomach as if his nakedness wasn't something both of them should be used to by now.
Sansa's lip tugged down slightly at this; she didn't want him hiding himself from her as his nakedness served to please her. She stated candidly, "Fold the towel and place it on the tub's edge; when you've done that, I want you to get on to your bed, so that I may tend you." She said this with head held high and expression neutral to make Ramsay more pliable. Ramsay seemed to default to obey more readily when she spoke to him like this now she'd noted, and she didn't want to give him reason to falter in that resolve and question her authority over him in lieu of the kindness she gave to him now. Sansa turned and strode away from Ramsay to sit on the side of his bed settling herself neatly as her eyes lingered over his form just watching him curiously and awaiting to see him follow her instructions.
Ramsay's eyes followed her, and when she'd seated herself, he did as he was told reluctantly pulling the towel from his body, folding it, and placing it where he'd originally grabbed it before bowing his head and padding back over to the front of his bed. He timidly climbed on top of the mattress crawling to the middle of the bed where his eyes glanced to her momentarily before looking back down at the mattress. Ramsay found it difficult to keep eye contact with her for too long unless she demanded it. His own inner shame wouldn't allow it.
Watching him move reminded Sansa of the grace a deer crept from out of the woods with, cautious, graceful, and ever the prey. Again she was reminded that this was what she had made of him. It was still hard to comprehend that she could have ever have done this to another human being, but then Ramsay hadn't been a human being when she'd shredded him. To look at him now made her feel a pang of guilt; Sansa had felt similarly when she'd left Ramsay earlier, in actuality her guilt had been far worse as his anguished sobs and the way he had looked at her with such despair put in prospective how much she'd actually already taken from him that she hadn't fully realized up until that moment.
She'd wanted to shatter Ramsay when this had all began, but now she wasn't really sure what she wanted, other than him. This new side of Ramsay left her feeling more conscience of hurting him; she hadn't cared before, but now Sansa wanted to make him crave her touch when she had her way with him (not just tolerate it because he had no other choice.)
Ramsay had shown he was hungry for her attention, and Sansa deemed that perhaps if she was gentle with him, she might get Ramsay to enjoy the things she did to him. If she could accomplish this, it would make Sansa feel much better for wanting to do them to Ramsay in the first place. He did seem to enjoy pleasing her with his mouth, (the first time she'd enjoyed that quirky pull in his smile that denoted he had in fact been pleased with himself) and if she worked to please him while she fucked him with her glass cock, Ramsay could grow to appreciate that she was willing to give him an orgasm for pleasing her well. It could be mutually beneficial.
If not, a girl still had needs, and Ramsay was hers to do as she willed with. It was an awful way to think, Sansa knew deep down, but she would not be denied either. If she couldn't get Ramsay to like it, he'd still give her the dues she deserved to take care of him. She had spared his life after everything he'd done, and even he had openly admitted his life was forfeit the day they had taken back the keep. It was fair to say Ramsay owed her this much. Besides, he was still her husband technically, and in that regard, it was still Ramsay's place to please her sexually. The back of Sansa's mind told her this was flimsy logic, but her lust agreed with it wholeheartedly.
These thoughts had Sansa's eyes grazing over Ramsay hungrily, but she restrained any action that would anyway denote such feelings as she stated in a clinical fashion, "I want you to lie on your back for me and leave your knees up, Ramsay."
Ramsay's eyes depicted the uneasiness he felt as they flicked up to regard her imploringly, but he didn't disobey as he gulped back his trepidation moving first to sit and then to slowly lay onto his back as she'd bid him to do. His jaw clenched in his apprehension as his sights moved to the ceiling and his knees drew together reflexively.
Sansa lightly placed the small length of bark across Ramsay's stomach now as she rose.
Ramsay's ears were perked and attentive to the sounds of the folds of her dress being situated, so Sansa could climb further onto the bed and in between his legs, and when her knees, one by one, sunk into the bed, Ramsay couldn't help but to grow tense with dread. His heartrate jumped into a flurry as blood rushed and pumped furiously in his ears; the heat returned to his face now as Sansa gently applied a light pressure to his inner thighs to open him to her.
His gaze shifted from the ceiling back to her now as Sansa reached under him picking his bottom up off the bed and pulling him forward to flatten out his body. Inadvertently in his nervousness, he'd kinked his spine aiming his ass down into the bed to make himself less accessible. This small act of defiance didn't rile Sansa though as she knew Ramsay was only acting out of fear not disrespect towards her.
Sansa took the strip of bark off of Ramsay's stomach and placed it in front his ass. His body had begun to shiver now as Ramsay's anxiety built, and Sansa pushed with a light firmness on his knees to guide them towards his chest and elevate his entrance for her to better see him, "Hug your knees to your chest for me."
Ramsay limply wrapped his arms around his legs feeling so wholly exposed. Knowing how he must look to her was humiliating enough to make his eyes water as Ramsay sucked in a ragged breath willing this experience to already be at an end. Sansa's fingertip was touching him there again, but the manner in how she did so was just as gentle as she had been in the bathtub. Her finger left him and returned to lightly dab the pasty substance gently on his swollen flesh as Sansa rubbed small circles into the sensitive skin to work the ointment in well.
Seeing Ramsay splayed to her like this brought back memories of fucking him and how good it had felt. The fact that he was unchained and willing to put himself in this position at her command was enough to excite her as a twinge rose through Sansa's nether regions; she did her best to ignore these animalistic urges and concentrate on just tending to the angry red swelling he was suffering from. The sight of the damage helped to calm the fires that were stoking within her as she thought about how sore he must still be. She grimaced letting out a soft sigh, "I'm done, Ramsay. You can lower your knees and relax now."
Ramsay was more than happy to comply as he let go of his knees and dropped his feet back down onto the mattress. He let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding feeling an inner relief to know she wasn't going to need to probe him in any fashion while applying the ointment. The mixture she'd placed on him had a cooling affect that Ramsay had to admit felt nice on the aggrieved area. It still burned a reminder of all that he'd endured, and although he had healed much since the initial brutalization of that horrid night-long event, Ramsay was still nowhere near fully healed.
Sansa moved from between Ramsay's legs and laid the remainder of the tincture down on the floor. As she'd moved from the bed, Ramsay tentatively brought his legs to lay flat once more his eyes following her motions as she readjusted the fur blanket from the floor once more over his body. He was surprised that she wasn't ordering him to be chained; he was of course grateful that she was granting him freedom of movement for the time being even if it wasn't to be for very long.
The show of trust in him while she tended and groomed him meant more than she could know. Ramsay shifted onto his side exhaling deeply feeling oddly centered and content from the day's interactions with her. She could have hurt him severely or had been cruel at many junctures the past couple hours they'd been in each other's company, but she had stopped when she saw she was going to hurt him this time and granted Ramsay mercy. What was more compelling to him was the fact that she now showed him a continued stream of tenderness to make him feel at ease for the simple sake of helping him to feel better over having brought him to the brink prior. Compassion was an unfamiliar concept to Ramsay, but he found that he appreciated it wholeheartedly when given to him.
Sansa sat behind him now her weight bearing down on the mattress enough for gravity to move their bodies to touch where her hip ran flush against his shoulders. Sansa noted he didn't stiffen this time; it sent a wave of pleasure through her to feel his distress uncoil as his body grew lax next to her. Ramsay's trust in her was strengthening. He seemed so eager to please her now; it was a good sign. She'd crushed him, but at the rate their connection was evolving, she didn't see it taking long to cultivate healing to counter the devastation she'd caused him and hopefully mend him in a manner he could become a better person through her kindness and direction.
She peered down at him, and Ramsay began to turn to bring his eyes to attend her fully, but her hand on his shoulder stayed his movement, "You need not stress yourself; just rest." Her hand slipped from his shoulder down the length of his neck and to his hairline as she gently pushed each strand delicately behind his ear and away from his face. Her touch left him inert as his mind lulled focusing only on the way her fingers caressed him and how that touch sent vibrations of pacification into his inner depths.
His eyes fixated on a point on the wall as Ramsay's thoughts overloaded his mind in a whir of events in his life leading up to the present that seemed to blend and fragment in his mind's eye. He found it hard to concentrate on anything except her; some small part of his old self rose to question the validity of this existence and whatever the hell he'd become, but every other part of Ramsay that wholly wanted this kind of attention served to beat that voice into obscurity. He didn't care what he was becoming, it didn't matter anymore. Sansa was him filling with a growing sense of adoration towards her for the nurturing affection she continued to grant him and the emotions she now stirred in him that had hid so long from the light of day. Ramsay hadn't understood what love was, and although warped, he was beginning to feel a blossoming of it for her now.
Sansa continued to study Ramsay's face as she smoothed fingers fondly through his hair, the expression on his face looked so serious, and she had to wonder what was going through his head, "You look as though you've gone somewhere else, Ramsay. Care to share your thoughts with me?"
It was the first time she had asked him something over simply stating it, and Ramsay's mind took this courtesy in. His eyes remained staring off in the distance now as he spoke, "I… I don't know what to say." He moved now on to his back to stare up at her with solemnity, "I'm here with you, my lady, and only you. What you do with me now… your will is my own. I would swear fealty to you now if you would but let me."
Sansa regarded Ramsay seeing the earnest plea in the way his eyes pierced into her; she didn't doubt he was being honest with her. Her chest tightened as she felt her heart beating fiercely; she gave a slight nod and responded as calmly as she could manage although her own emotions were riding a roller coaster to take him in and the devotion he afforded her now, "Swear it."
Ramsay rolled from his back sliding in to a sitting position next to her before slipping off of the bed and down onto his knees before her. He bowed his head in deference before bring pale blue eyes up to look at her as if to look at her now was sipping of the finest ambrosia, "Lady Sansa, I swear my life and all that I am to you. I am yours completely," Ramsay lowered his head to rest on her knees.
Sansa was silent simply reaching out to stroke him once more in her awe. She was taken aback but the gesture and was doing her best to remain ceremonially still so as not to take away from the levity of what Ramsay had just vowed to her. She remained for a long moment with his head laid in her lap as she stared down at the sight of Ramsay bowed before her on his knees in supplication for her favor. It left her flushed and heady; it was a sight she liked seeing Sansa had to admit.
Regaining her wits, Sansa took in a deep breath as she swept a hand down the side of Ramsay's face to rest gently under his chin and lifted his face to lock eyes once more, "This pleases me, Ramsay. I will take you completely, and if you serve me well, I will cherish you."
She felt him swallow hard against her palm as he gaped at her not unlike a devote priest prayed at the altar, "I will serve you like no other," he stated passionately.
Sansa's lip tugged into a small smile as her other hand swept the hair clear from his forehead, and she leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Ramsay's brow. As she did so, she felt his body give a pulsed shudder as he drew in a deep breath. When she pulled away, his eyes were closed and opened with slow blinks as he watched her intently. Sansa let her hand slip from his face as she stood to tower above his kneeling form and stated with the command of a queen, "Rise."
Ramsay was quick to comply raising fully to stand at attention looking up at her expectantly. Once he had done so, she gave him a small nod, "I have food coming for us, but I think you've proven to me that I don't need to keep you here chained to your bed anymore. I think instead I will have us dine elsewhere after I've afforded you some clothes. You aren't going to make me regret giving you such freedoms are you, Ramsay?"
Ramsay shook his head quickly, "No, lady Sansa. I am grateful for any leniency you bestow upon me!" The prospect that she would give him clothes and that she spoke now of him attending her sang to his heart that she would give him such an opportunity. He wanted nothing more than to be at her side.
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