Capítulo 17: Bitter Cold
Chapter Seventeen
Bitter Cold
It had taken hours of just staring off into the dimming light of the torches for sleep to finally take Ramsay. His mind would not quiet of the many jarring thoughts that flooded through him. Jon's recent offer to take him out and about was its own pleasant surprise, and although it gave Ramsay a lot to think about, it wasn't keeping him from his slumber. His curiosity and concern lay in pondering where Sansa had felt the need to rush off to. Ramsay would not have fretted so if Sansa had given him something in regards to what would cause such a sudden dire need of attendance; (his mind turned to Petyr Baelish and the Vale thinking them to be her current most powerful allies and the ones who would most likely wish an immediate audience. They had helped her to defeat his armies, and perhaps now they called on her by crow to return the favor through lands or some other means shortly after the deed had met with success.)
The awful dread cropped within him that they might wish for Sansa to marry and unite bloodlines with another family of their choosing to politically strengthen bonds between all of their houses which was an often called upon diplomatic favor once wars were won and peace was reestablished. (Petyr Baelish was the leading dominion over the Vale until his stepson, the young Robin Arryn, would come of age, and Ramsay could imagine that snake in the grass pushing such an offer on Sansa just to be spiteful due to their last shared encounter that left him slinking out of the Stark dungeon after a failed attempt on Ramsay's life. She was not interested in him as a suitor she'd made plain, but perhaps Petyr would think to control Sansa and the Stark dynasty through other means since marrying her off to the Bolton family had not panned out the way he had hoped.
Sansa was still his wife though, and as much as Ramsay wanted to be comforted by that assumption of sacred vows, in the odd case that the two of them were now seen in (with he being a defeated enemy of the Starks), Ramsay was unsure just how recognized their marriage still was. Sansa had reverted to being called Lady Stark by many of the servants and guards foregoing her Bolton title entirely. Ramsay never made mention of it the few times he'd heard the guards speak of her as 'Lady Stark' in his presence. The peasants of Winterfell were not Ramsay's concern in this regard but what the aristocracy of the North might declare certainly was troubling to him. Since that first afternoon in the dungeon, Sansa had been sure to tell Ramsay that she was a Stark before she was anything, and his family name was but a fading memory. He hadn't taken that news lightly, and at the time Sansa had said it as a barb to hurt Ramsay; she had succeeded. His name was really the only thing Ramsay had left, and it was a bitterly hard earned yet brief victory for Ramsay to have gained it at all.
Thoughts on Petyr usurping the lands of Winterfell were fleeting thoughts as Ramsay remembered Sansa speaking of her venture only being a few days' journey to reach; the Eyrie was a much further distance than a few days from Winterfell; not to say that Petyr and his forces were not holed up with one of the many surrounding houses in the North especially with the winter coming into full force soon. The mountains of the Vale were quite treacherous; it was honestly a miracle at all that their cavalry managed to make it down to the battle in any sort of timing. More bad luck for him Ramsay thought resentfully.
Either way, it vexed Ramsay to have absolutely no clue to the goings on around him where his curiosity on the matter was of no consequence (and this was the real reason that Ramsay stayed riled and unable to sleep.) Loth as he was to admit it to himself, Ramsay missed Sansa, and he worried for her; being left behind made him feel powerless to ensure that she was safe even more so without even knowing where she'd went. Ramsay despised being kept in the dark, but it wasn't like he could demand an explanation from her or anybody for that matter. Maybe he could get Jon to give him answers to the questions plaguing him Ramsay ruminated. This line of thought was soothing and gave Ramsay the peace of mind he needed to finally drift off to sleep.
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The yawn of the heavy iron door had Ramsay's eyes fluttering open expectantly as he shot his head up more than eager to see Jon coming to fetch him. But Ramsay's eyes did not take in Jon, instead what they were greeted with was the image of Cecil and Temeric striding into the chamber with a young blonde servant girl that was carrying a fresh set of his thick winter clothes and boots. Boots were a good sign, although a fresh set of clothes presented the problem of changing in front of any of them.
Ramsay couldn't help the instantaneous flush that crept like a tidal wave across the entirety of his face leaving a lingering burn in the tips of his ears and cheeks as he smiled tightly towards their approaching forms. Would he be able to avoid them detecting the all too obvious markings of what he'd forgone? Ramsay didn't think so, and to divulge such was a mortifying blow to his already severely deflated sense of self. Ramsay was more than sure the fact that Sansa had punished him in such a way in front of all those soldiers and the marks he'd bore prior to that dreadful evening had likely circulated like wildfire, those sordid tales Ramsay could do nothing about.
That wasn't the case for the night Sansa had laid the strap to him and last night when Jon had; Ramsay was almost positive that both instances were a private affair kept between the three of them. The Starks didn't strike Ramsay as the type to gloat over such things (although he couldn't be sure of Jon's character, Ramsay was at least somewhat encouraged by the mannerisms Jon had presented to him the few times they had conversed that Jon was even less likely to speak on the act than Sansa.) If his assumptions were true, Ramsay definitely wanted to keep it that way! When the servant placed the garments on the plush chair alongside the boots and backed away to await taking Ramsay's previous outfit once Temeric and Cecil released him to change, Ramsay simply ignored the clothing roughly grabbing the boots as he stated snippily, "Replace those back from whence you retrieved them. I'll not need to sully a fresh pair of clothes. It's not like I've exerted myself in the ones I'm yet wearing sitting around here and lying upon a cot all day."
Temeric and Cecil didn't question the logic although the tone in which Ramsay addressed the girl made both men frown. Temeric announced flatly, "Well then, if you're finished getting ready, the lord of the manor is waiting to see you in the foyer."
Ramsay prickled at the slip and found himself correcting the guard with an air of superiority, "You'd do well to know that he's not lord of this keep; he's a bastard and doesn't have the namesake to claim that title." Ramsay wanted to add more, but thought better of it. He wasn't sure how much of what he said would be repeated back to Jon, and Ramsay certainly didn't want Jon to change his mind concerning his walkabout the keep. Ramsay had been looking forward to the outing (needed it desperately), and the thought of it being easily ripped from him over a few careless words had Ramsay quickly stilling his tongue. Of course the fact he felt the need to monitor what he wished to say only served to nettle Ramsay further.
Temeric and Cecil visibly bristled at the disrespect but didn't comment. Ramsay took in their scowls with a note of surging pleasure; he could tell between the commanding manner in which he'd addressed the help and his current statement about Jon, both of the guards were getting annoyed with his behavior. Let them be ruffled Ramsay thought as a smirk played upon his face. He liked getting under people's skin and pushing buttons. He playfully motioned towards the door with an artful swing of his arm, "I suppose that you wish me to lead the way then? Don't mind if I do." Ramsay, not waiting for the guard to affirm his supposition, took to confidently strutting towards the door with buoyant steps.
The servant timidly backed away as cautious wide eyes followed Ramsay's pace almost tripping over her skirts to remove herself from his path clearly unprepared for Ramsay's forward momentum towards her. Intimidating the woman from just his mere presence made Ramsay's now wide smile brighten; he leveled his eyes to bear down gleefully on the shrinking girl delighting in imposing an aura of distress atop the uncomfortableness that already radiated off the panicked girl in waves. Ramsay drank in her fear of him; it was turning out to be a wonderful start to his morning he decided.
Some part of Ramsay was sending off alarm bells that taking joy in these small acts of causing discomfort in the Stark's servant and guards could end badly for him, but his ego needed a little assuaging after two nights in a row of getting firmly put in his place by the Starks in such a humiliating fashion. The soreness he felt chafing him as he walked was enough to make Ramsay feel pangs of disgruntlement and a want to diffuse and lash out that pain on others. Redirecting his pain had become an art for Ramsay, and these people were insignificant and perfect for targeting his aggression on.
Ramsay held no respect for commoners outside of what purpose they served for him and his requirements. They were however a nonpartisan party thus far and could cause him trouble he realized if he wasn't cautious in the way he treated them, so Ramsay choose to leave off without further provoking having gotten the boost he'd wanted from their initial reactions. It wasn't fully what he craved, but it was enough to make him feel a little better about his own current horrible station in life. He wouldn't be the only one to feel put upon by the situations he was made to endure.
The walk to the foyer was unceremonious and quiet, and Jon stood talking to a soldier about something that as soon as Ramsay was seen approaching was truncated as the man nodded to Jon and quickly departed. Jon's eyes never left Ramsay taking in the fact that Ramsay noticeably straightened his gait becoming taut upon approaching Jon. Ramsay now held his shoulders squared and head high in an attempt to ensure even after last night's occurrence that the other man would know he had not cowed him. Ramsay still found more than a small need to feel seen as an equal to the Stark bastard when standing beside him even if he was a prisoner.
Jon had quickly perceived that Ramsay's demeanor had changed from the night before. Ramsay's pale blue eyes pierced into and over him now as if rooting for any weaknesses that could be found in the former Night commander's exterior. Ramsay still wore the cruel smile he'd mustered from harassing the staff in the dungeon, and his stance exuded that he was sizing Jon up and sending a silent challenge. It was an obvious outward attempt to bolster himself and assert some form of presence in front of Jon much the way lords met their servants. It was well practiced on Ramsay's part, and now that the two were meeting outside of the dungeon standing face to face verse Jon towering over his seated form, Ramsay couldn't help but to see if the Stark bastard would show any level of balk to a very subtle intimidation tactic, "Jon," Ramsay's smile quirked as he fixed Jon with a glare that radiated brazenness.
The posturing and the smirk reminded Jon of the malicious attitude Ramsay had carried at the parlay and the memory found an instant frown to cross Jon's features much in contrast to the grin etched on Ramsay's face. Jon did not flinch as Ramsay would have hoped. Jon only momentarily clenched a fist feeling another sudden urge to punch Ramsay in the face, but instead of giving into to these swirling feelings of indignation the smaller man was purposefully causing him, Jon chose to ignore the blatant attempt to get a reaction from him instead remarking dryly, "We are going to walk the outer perimeter of the wall to get you some exercise. You seem to be in good spirits, so I trust after last night you're not going to be too sore for a fair bit of walking?"
Ramsay's smug smile faltered and his expressive eyes widened; his gaze shot to and fro to ascertain where exactly the two guards that had followed him here were in conjunction to where he and Jon now stood. A flash of humiliation rocked through Ramsay as he noted the two men stood behind him idly flanking either side and apparently listening intently for their next given command.
Jon's simple statement was enough to instantly neutralize Ramsay's stance causing him to twitch anxiously from foot to foot. His shoulders bowed and his hands sought to clasp together behind himself as he swayed back on his heels to recalibrate. Ramsay cleared his throat trying to address Jon officially to save some face, but instead found himself grumbling through gritted teeth, "No… I… I can walk just fine." Ramsay found even as he said this to Jon his gaze shifted away as his shame wouldn't allow him to look the other man in the eye any longer. Ramsay added, annunciating the last three words to throw off any sort of other suspicions the men to his sides may garner from Jon's statement, "I'm more than ready to work out the aches of idleness." It was a mistake to challenge Jon Ramsay realized belatedly, and he silently prayed now that Jon would not expound on the subject and humble him further than his own brashness had opened himself to.
Roose would have made a point to have ground Ramsay under his heel for ever having been so presumptuous, but Jon didn't. Ramsay's diminished response had been enough to subdue the irritation that had begun to surmount within Jon enough to move on. He wasn't the type to be cruel although with Ramsay's ego constantly needing to be put in check, it was definitely tempting.
Jon took in the fact that Ramsay was still wearing the clothes he'd worn from the night before; he'd instructed a servant to bring him clothes appropriate for the bitter chill that awaited them making Ramsay sorely underdressed for the weather, "You're going to need a cloak," Jon stated simply pointing to the small side chamber where coats had been draped to dry after coming in from the cold, "I believe one of yours can still be found in there."
Ramsay's eyes flicked up to Jon nodding his assent as he moved over to the small hovel of a room. He was grateful the other man had chosen to acknowledge the need for warmer clothes since he was already feeling a chill enveloping him from just standing next to the door. The small act of grabbing and donning his cloak and gloves from a closet he'd come to fetch them from for quite some time now felt both familiar and alien. It was an indescribable feeling that Ramsay couldn't place other than to feel this was not his home any longer, it was theirs, and he was an interloper.
The feeling itself Ramsay recognized acutely; he'd felt this way for years when he'd first come to live at the Dreadfort. It was this familiarity that created an unsettled awakening within Ramsay that he truly abhorred feeling this way again, and the realization hit him that just like when he'd first come to stand before his father, he was going to have to fight to prove himself worthy all over again. Ramsay was playing with a completely different set of rules now though, guile would not be an approving trait among the Starks as it had been to his father. Roose had always favored callous and clever, and when Ramsay had shown him these qualities, the man had in turn afforded him with less condescension. What did Jon want from him though? Ramsay didn't really know, and not knowing made him feel off balance and unsure of himself, more very unwanted sensations Ramsay mused bitterly as he stepped back into the hallway to stare at Jon expectantly as a signal that he was ready to proceed.
Jon gave a nod of approval as his eyes grazed over the other man scoping for any hidden bulges that may be hiding weapons of any sort. Jon didn't really think Ramsay was able to obtain anything potentially lethal from within the confines of the small room in such a short span of time, but after having been stabbed multiple times by those that he'd considered allies, it was hard to trust anyone especially Ramsay. Satisfied with what he saw, Jon turned briskly to head outside, and the other three men followed. Jon was still not wearing a weapon, but taking Ramsay outside of the castle wasn't something he planned to do without escorts. Jon wasn't afraid of Ramsay, but neither was Jon a fool to think that any man couldn't manage to get the upper hand with the right opportunity.
Jon wouldn't have had to worry about an attempt to escape or an attack Ramsay quickly surmised as they exited the castle, and those that loitered about the grounds in tents and circled around stoked crackling fires all cut their eyes over to Ramsay evidently astounded to see him outside the keep's dungeon at all. Some gave menacing glares, some looks of shocked surprise, and yet there were others that chuckled at his passing with lips that turned up in knowing grins. All of these eyes boring into him had Ramsay's insides churning in a mix of loathing for them and himself. He wasn't prepared to face their ridicule, so Ramsay did his best to look through them telling himself he couldn't care less what such ingrates would think of him. Ramsay did care though as much as he didn't want to, in his current predicament, he was truly with no allies, and that was a rather scary prospect. He trudged forward a little more quickly now in an attempt to catch up and walk next to Jon. He carried his head held high walking shoulder to shoulder so that any that observed them would see that Ramsay was with Jon and not being led by Jon (as if any would see Ramsay as anything but Jon's prisoner with two guards in tow behind them.)
Jon only studied Ramsay's mannerisms saying nothing as they continued outside the main entrance where the gates laid in splintered pieces, a remnant of the battle that had so recently been fought. Ramsay wore a tight lipped frown staring straight ahead as the two continued to walk side by side, and neither said anything for long minutes as they crunched through the steadily falling snow. Temeric and Cecil maintained a thirty foot distance behind the two men talking sporadically in small clips amongst themselves, and once the bustling of the keep started to fade into the background and all that was visible was a long length of stone wall and a blanket of rolling white did Ramsay focus his attention back on Jon.
Jon had never taken his eyes fully off of Ramsay even if he hadn't been staring at him directly, he had been vigilantly aware of the other man's presence every step they had made. Seeing Ramsay staring at him now, Jon shifted his eyes over to show Ramsay that he had his attention, but Jon did not go so far as to invite him to speak.
Unlike Sansa, Jon always gave little tells about how he was feeling, and Ramsay honed in on the fact that Jon was not overly interested in talking to him. Ramsay may have continued in silence as he also was not as wanton to talk to the other man under his current status (although Ramsay very much would have been interested in the other man if the tables were turned) still, Ramsay needed information about Sansa, and Jon was the only one who might actually be able to give it to him. He licked his lips carefully considering his words before finally engaging the man in conversation, "The storms are starting to pick up, and the nights are getting longer. I'm more than a little surprised that you did not try to stop Lady Sansa from leaving with the season moving into harsher storms as it is. Having been a Northerner yourself as well as spending time on the wall, one would have thought you of all people would be more aware of the dangers to be caught out in a storm can bring."
Ramsay said this casually, but there was a hint of accusation that he was pleased had not been lost on Jon as the other man scowled and his brow crinkled in vexation, "You need not concern yourself; she went with plenty of extra supplies as well as trusted capable allies that will defend her with their lives and protect her from the elements. Sansa has thrived in these lands enough to understand the risks she's taking."
Ramsay raised a brow in mock consideration, "Are you really sure? There is more than the weather to be wary of, but if you say your men are well equipped; I'll have to take you at your word." His statement had definitely gotten to Jon as the other man's eyes narrowed slightly at Ramsay. He continued hoping to goad Jon into disclosing further information, "Still… one would think nothing to be that important as to risk the last Stark heir possibly freezing to death in the unforgiving cold. If I were you, I would have taken her place."
Jon had wanted to take Sansa's place, and unbeknownst to Ramsay, the words he used now only jabbed this wound of helplessness he felt. These roiling frustrations of Ramsay picking at his own grave concerns for Sansa combined with his firm dislike of Ramsay made Jon lose his temper. His hand whipped out to snatch Ramsay like a cobra strike engorging fingers into Ramsay's tunic to roughly hoist him off the ground and slam him into the stoned wall.
Ramsay's lungs let loose a startled cry as his eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected Jon to react this negatively to what he'd said. Cecil and Temeric had run up to assist Jon, and Ramsay held his hands up defensively expecting Jon to hit him from the ferocity he'd thrust him against the wall and the way the man glared at him with a coiled fist locked at his side.
If Ramsay had chosen to bluster any further unwanted statement, Jon would have been apologizing to Sansa because he would have hit the man. As it was, Jon only spat his agitation, "I would have seen her stay, I would have even gone in her place if but that I could. You are far more correct than you'd fathom, Ramsay; you are definitely not worth Sansa putting her life in danger!" Seeing Ramsay's brow furrow in confusion, Jon realized that he'd said too much. He let out a deflated sigh relaxing his grip on Ramsay so that Ramsay slid back down the face of the wall before Jon spun away from him to storm away in need of some immediate space.
Ramsay was stunned by this new revelation, it was both a relief to put to rest the worries he had concerning what her trip was being made for and that it was not anything to do with taking her away from him, but the knowledge that she had made the journey over something regarding him only opened Ramsay up to feel a whole new set of worries concerning exactly what she could have left out so eagerly to seek about him. Jon had made it a good fifty feet away before Ramsay had let the entirety of what he'd learned fully sink in. He still remained leaning against the wall a moment longer as he contemplated the news before pushing away from the wall calling out to Jon, "Wait!" He now ran to catch up to Jon who had slowly turned back to regard him with a cool detached stare. Ramsay stomped through the drifts of snow his need to know more making Ramsay move with expedience as Temeric and Cecil followed swiftly behind him.
Jon did wait silently watching as Ramsay made his way back to him with a crazed expression plastered on his face. He glared at Jon with all seriousness as he demanded, "What do you mean? Where has she gone!?" His eyes darted over Jon's features fervently looking for any indication of where she had gone and why in the other man's communicative face.
Jon frowned staring at Ramsay a long moment; he could see actual concern now in the other's eyes, but Sansa would have likely told Ramsay her intentions if she'd wanted Ramsay to know. As it was, Jon knew he'd already said too much to Ramsay as he replied, "It's not my place to say, Ramsay. When she returns, you can ask her yourself."
Ramsay shook his head as a smile that only crossed his face when he was feeling upset worked its way to strain his mouth in a quirky manner that denoted a snarl as he pointed reproachfully at Jon, "No, you know! Tell me, bastard! I have a right to know if it concerns her risking her life on my account!"
Jon had had enough of Ramsay's entitlement as well as his flagrant disrespect as he launched himself forward giving Ramsay a sharp shove that knocked him easily to the ground although Jon did not follow him to the ground to strike him as he had direly wanted. Although, Jon did lunge forward with balled fists at his sides standing beside Ramsay's prone form resounding out his anger, "There is nothing you need to know other than what you are told! I've grown more than weary of your disrespect, Ramsay, and in regards to my sister's safety, I'll consider this outburst one where you've given temporary leave of your senses. But, know this, and know it well," Jon's voice lowered taking on a threatening tone as he stared daggers leaning closer to Ramsay who stared up at Jon in slight disbelief, "That will be the last time I ever hear the word bastard come out of your mouth unless you are speaking of yourself! I'll not tolerate any more shows of posturing out of you without an answer similar to that of last night; am I clear?"
Ramsay blinked calculating the whole of Jon's warnings as he simply nodded his acquiescence swallowing back a mixture of revulsion that he was letting Jon intimidate him and worry that he'd been pushing the man too hard to the brink where twice over Jon had gotten physical with him and was now subtly threatening to spank him again. It was more than enough of a warning to shake Ramsay back to his personal reality. A surge of hate spiked through Ramsay then to be reminded of this, but it wavered to see Jon now held out a hand to help him back to his feet.
Jon had thought Ramsay would have swatted his hand away by the look of pure disgust he'd affixed him with, but something seemed to shift in him, and Ramsay's features reflected a sense of defeat as he leaned forward looking off at some undetermined point in the snow and finally grudgingly took the hand that was offered him. Jon almost felt bad now that the altercation had ended and Ramsay just continued to stew beside him. They continued on in silence for more than half of the journey around the perimeter until Jon having seen the pout on Ramsay's face long enough rolled his eyes to the sky inhaling deeply, "I let myself lose control by allowing your words to bring out more anger in me than I should have. Forgive my rash reaction, Ramsay. I am worried for Sansa too, but fret not for her safety or what she has gone off to learn. She will return soon, and you will be privy to the knowledge you seek soon enough if she deems it so."
Ramsay had resorted to clutching his cloak about himself to focus on the fact that he was feeling cold over trying to speak further to Jon, but his words still pierced through the façade Ramsay tried to construct that he didn't care what Jon was saying as curious blue eyes took furtive glances over at Jon. Finally after a moment of stretched silence, Ramsay responded almost inaudibly, "I should not have spurned you. You are Sansa's kin, and I respect her; she would wish that I show you similar respect, so I will work to do so."
It wasn't quite an apology, but it was probably as close as Ramsay was going to give him Jon presumed as they continued the remainder of their walk in contemplative silence.
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