บท 41: Until the Morrow
Chapter Forty-Two
Until the Morrow
Sleep found Sansa readily once she had felt a level of peace had been reached between her and Ramsay. She was exhausted from the numerous activities and encounters she'd partaken in that had stretched for days on end as the weight hadn't subsided when the Umbers departed, and she was safely home. The tension had only continued to mount with Jon announcing he was embarking on a worrisome venture that he may or may not return from, the fate of Winterfell being left in her hands, and this new dilemma with Ramsay and the help… all of it left much to think on, but the culmination of all these trials had drained the last vestiges of Sansa's energy. Given the opportunity to fade from her unremitting concerns while embracing Ramsay was all the excuse her weary mind had needed to slide into slumber.
While she slept, Ramsay lay inert in Sansa's arms listening to the deep intakes of her heavy inhalation above his head as he ruminated on the day's events. It was hard to find sleep even though being nestled into Sansa, as he was currently, was exactly where he wanted to be. The momentary awkwardness that had loomed between them prior to Sansa calling him to her was a point that now troubled Ramsay acutely. It was a break in the consideration she'd been showing him as of late, and although Sansa had not disregarded him, Ramsay's internal anxieties pushed his thoughts towards a fear of abandonment by her if he severely displeased her.
His sentiments on the subject of rejection roiled like a tumultuous current warring that he needed to do one of two things: tip his attitude towards indifference as a means of emotional preservation or decide to commit himself to further obeisance to avoid further troubles with her. To do the latter stung his pride greatly, but indifference was a last resort. Ramsay recognized that to go down that road would truly mean he'd given up hope that there could be something between he and Sansa, and a future devoid of Sansa's fondness was something Ramsay wasn't willing to contemplate further. Ramsay's mind switched gears mentally rolling back through the events that had ended the night so poorly. His stomach lurched considering that his misconduct hadn't been fully addressed yet; whatever would come from it wasn't going to play out in his favor.
Sleep eventually found Ramsay as the remnants of the wine in his system helped to lull him into a drowse and finally into a dreamless oblivion. Sensitive to Sansa's arms draped about him, when she'd shifted onto her back in the wee hours of the morning, Ramsay sensed her movement and had turned to curl into her snaking his own arm to possessively encircle her waist. He laid his head in the crook of her arm staring wide awake at the haze of dusk peeking through the corners of the drapery. He'd have preferred to slip back into the blissful calm he'd risen from, but it was too late for that now. The worry of what the morning would bring was enough to kill his ability to doze further, and instead his mind began to race to the tune of the disquiet he'd agonized over the evening before.
He and Sansa would talk about last night with that wretch of a girl, and when the details came out (as undeniably Sansa would ferret out the truth quickly) Ramsay already knew that he would be found wanting in her eyes. He'd grasped how much what he'd been doing to the scullery maid Sansa would disapprove of, but at the time, he'd let the wine dictate his truest feelings towards the girl as he'd been accustomed to showing prior to having a keeper that would hold him accountable for his spitefulness. It was a grave error of judgement on his part, and he understood this too well now as every time that Sansa stirred, Ramsay found his chest tighten in trepidation to the assumption that she was waking which would undoubtedly spiral him nearer to a day full of unpleasantness.
Hours crawled this way until Ramsay's angst had dampened into a tired numbness by the time that Sansa's lashes fluttered to take him in. The dark circles his visage projected were not lost on her, and Sansa knew without asking that Ramsay had not slept well. Reaching out tenderly, she pushed errant strands of his hair back behind his ear, a quiet attempt to sooth Ramsay's nerves even though on some level Sansa was glad that the situation weighed on him heavily enough to take the matter seriously. It was promising to know that he was reflecting on what had happened; it showed Ramsay cared that he'd upset her enough to have worried away part of his night over what he'd done. Whether his concern was for the right reasons of how not to treat others or over fear of a punishment to come, Sansa didn't know. Either way, if Ramsay was reticent to behave so shamefully again, regardless of the motivation behind his reservations to do so, Sansa decided that it was for his betterment.
Ramsay's eyes closed to the feel of Sansa's delicate fingertips, and he inhaled sorrowfully trying to find solace in the gentle strokes meant to calm him. The contact helped to ease his troubled mind, but not enough to forego his anxiety entirely. His own lashes flickered open taking Sansa in with wide eyes that wavered over her face; the apology he'd been wanting to deliver in the silence of the room, while he'd awaited her rousing, was finally able to flee his sputtering lips, "About last night… I'm… I'm sorry. I know what you saw was rather condemning to witness." Ramsay wanted to continue his proclamation further to plead his case before the third party was brought into the mix and while the two of them were still alone. This intimacy allowed Ramsay to degrade himself with apologies he didn't truly mean or wish to depart on the urchin maid that vexed him but, the act of telling Sansa he was in the wrong regarding the servant girl grated at the very fiber of his being so much that it stalled his request for forgiveness truncating what could have been a proper admission of guilt into the blunted statement he'd delivered.
Blinking at Ramsay's disclosure, Sansa gave a small nod displaying a cold demeanor even though her hand rested lovingly to cup his ear and cheek, "That's good to hear that you are; you need to be. As for what I witnessed… yes, it was rather condemning," she finished flatly, and Ramsay grasped immediately from her harshening tone that a failure to show suitable contrition had cost him any sort of leeway he may have gained prior to including the waif in the coming discussion. If anything, his lack of response had damned him where not saying anything at all may have been a better tactic.
Her hand slipped away from him, and the vacating warmth sent a shiver down Ramsay's spine. Sansa rolled to sit up and leave the covers, and Ramsay found himself rising on his haunches as she did so with an abrupt need to mimic her movement even though she'd not called him to follow her from the bed. Sansa made her way over to the armoire with Ramsay at her heel, and other than handing him a new outfit, the two reacted independently, wordlessly dressing beside the other. Ramsay was keen to track Sansa's mood studying her intently to try and gain a bead on where her mind was relating to him, but she seemed in a world of her own staring off thoughtfully. He was relieved she wasn't projecting any sort of displeasure his way, and in fact she paid him no heed at all, her expression was enigmatic leaving any tells of what exactly she may be pondering an irritating mystery to Ramsay.
Venturing to break the still in the room, Ramsay asked, "You left the table and chairs… will we be breaking our fast here together this morning, or have you other plans for us?"
Sansa's gaze drifted to lock eyes with Ramsay before replying offhandedly as she turned to the mirror to continue adjusting the dress she'd donned, "We will be dinning here, but that won't be right away. You will remain until I return."
The silence ticked a beat between them as Ramsay digested her statement doing his best to retract the immediate frustration he felt in a grievous attempt to remain calm and collected. Still, his voice strained tightly as he petitioned, "Lady Sansa… you're leaving me behind… may I ask why?"
Sansa stopped tightening her corset to her waist to stare at Ramsay's reflection in the mirror with an expression that was not angry, but it held a terseness that annunciated that she had a clear objective in mind that she would not dally from to mince words with him. The reply she afforded him was a simple curt, "No."
Ramsay's brow furrowed worriedly as she resumed lacing her top with a sharp pull to cinch the corset to her midriff quickly slipping on the shoes nearest her. Her eyes never left him as she performed these tasks, and Ramsay watched on dumbfoundedly unsure how best to counteract the haste in which Sansa was readying herself. Before he had a chance to respond, Sansa added, "If you do not know why, Ramsay, take my leave as time to ponder on it. Perhaps once I return, you can expound upon your question with an answer for me." Striding towards the chamber's door, Sansa's voice carried caustically overhead, "In fact, I will expect an answer from you when I return."
Ramsay remained stunned behind her as his heartrate accelerated with a newfound urgency to react to her departing form, but Sansa's declaration was enough to silence his want to say more without a bit more preparation. He recognized now was not the time to challenge her in any way. Instead, Ramsay's jaw clenched, and his back straightened rigidly watching her retreat from the room as the heavy thud of the oaken door sealed him away from the rest of the keep, and he was left once more to his own devices.
The brisk pace to which Sansa had flung the door open had startled Cecil, and both men's eyes widened in slight surprise as Sansa stepped past them with only a slight nod of acknowledgement to continue her march down the hall. The night guards had been replaced by Cecil and Temeric at the break of dawn, and neither had been informed that there had been any sort of altercation the night before. The two sentries gave one another a puzzled look before Temeric called out, "My lady?" When Sansa halted to turn back, Temeric bowed in deference, "Did you wish us to carry on our normal routine with Ramsay in your absence?"
This question gave Sansa pause as her lip pursed, and she contemplated once more on how much Ramsay had changed in her absence from the keep. Whatever Jon or these guards had been doing with Ramsay may not be what she wished done with him going forward, but she couldn't know without first being privy to what this routine they spoke on was. She didn't have the time or the patience at this juncture to review it, so Sansa stated frankly, "Ramsay is to stay in my quarters until I return. No one other than yourselves are to enter without my explicit consent. He has much to consider, so unless there is a true need for you to interact with him, I would prefer you leave him be." Sansa, deeming that she didn't owe them any further explanation, spun back on her heel and continued bounding down the corridor leaving Cecil and Temeric bewildered in the wake of her exodus.
***…***
Much as she wished to follow up on the events that vexed her with Ramsay, there was more pressing matters that drew Sansa's attention. She moved deftly through the castle weaving past the milling soldiers and busied peasants, snatching her cloak from the vestibule's wall, and bounding outside with a fretful burst. Sansa feared that she would be greeted with a vacant courtyard save those that had taken up residence outside the stronghold.
Coming to an abrupt stop, her worries were laid to rest; Jon had not departed although the men that were commissioned to brave the journey with him were already mounting their steeds in preparation to leave. Sansa sighed her relief hurriedly moving up to embrace Jon when he'd turned around to face her, "I was afraid I may have missed you."
As Sansa pulled back from him, Jon smiled with a weary upturn of his lips, "I would have waited a while longer." Of course, he would have; Sansa already knew deep down that Jon would not have left, without a dire necessity to, before she'd seen him off. His presence pacified her to have him near and sent her into upheaval of twisted dichotomy to see him go. Sensing Sansa's turmoil, Jon laid a hand on her shoulder steadying her eyes to his as he assured her, "I will return as soon as I can. Try not to vex yourself; you will do fine." Sansa merely nodded as Jon gave her shoulder a soft squeeze of encouragement before shifting to mount his horse.
The wind whipped flurries of snow to sting her cheeks, but Sansa remained clutching her cloak tightly to her form and watching on as Jon and his procession galloped towards the sea and their unknown destiny. It wasn't until their figures began to wash out in a haze of the falling snow did Sansa finally withdraw back into the sanctuary of the keep.
Hanging her cloak in the foyer, Sansa's mind reallocated to what tasks she planned to attend to next, but it was increasingly hard to focus. She knew where she should have gone, but she found herself in her needlework tower sequestered away to her thoughts in need of space and time to think. Ramsay could wait. It was best that she approached what would come next with a level head.
***…***
Melody scampered back to the kitchens to finish her duties with haste after leaving Sansa's chamber having wanted nothing more than to abscond from the awful episode she'd just endured. The other maids, that she shared a room with, had not returned from their own obligations when she'd arrived, so Melody was free to collapse upon her bed and let loose the torrent of terror and grief the past hours had welled within her. She heaved long pulls of air gripping her tattered pillow (remnants of her mother that Melody had hidden away from being burned upon her untimely passing.) Her distress escaped her person in a mournful wail muffled by the pillow as best she could as heavy tears rolled an unerring stream down the contours of her sharp chin.
'I must have done something wrong to have the gods forsake me this way!' Melody thought pitiably. Normally she was not prone to opinions of self-depreciation, but the past few weeks leading up to tonight had culminated to an inordinate amount of stress for most of those that served the bastion as responsibilities and leadership shifted leaving a massive disruption to the order that had reigned for some months and even more so for Melody as she was shuffled about to these newly assigned undertakings far against her want to do them.
The sobs were allowed to overwhelm her for several long minutes before Melody pulled herself together enough to crawl under her sheets and curl into a fetal ball. She was thankful to be alone in the dark engulfed in the sanctuary the peace of being by herself granted. Unlike most, Melody preferred to be isolated away to contemplate the world, often while she finished her daily chores, finding her mind drifted to fanciful imaginings of tales she'd listened to her father tell her and her siblings around the fire. These mental distractions kept her sane; the days when she'd skipped about, carefree through the tall summer grasses catching fireflies as the sun set, seemed a lifetime ago to this dreary reality that the past year had heaped upon her.
Fear was a feeling that Melody was well accustomed to, and she'd learned to override most of her skittish tendencies when dealing with her new obligations to the Starks, but tonight had left her shaken to the core. Would the lady of the house believe her? Melody ruminated on packing her small cache of belongings and fleeing into the night, but she was neither that stupid or brave to face so many dangerous unknowns. Much like Ramsay, Melody found it difficult to find sleep contemplating the horrifying prospect that if her mistress found her to be intolerable come the morning, she could be turned out into cold of winter to likely die a miserable fate. These musings caused an ebb of panic to rise and fall through Melody until her trepidation on the matter wore her down and she finally found rest.
Morning came with a bleary-eyed exhaustion for her, but a servant's life often left one feeling broken down and weary, so Melody rose to complete her daily tasks mutely moving about with a sluggish lurch. No one seemed to notice her lackluster performance, and if they did, there was no mention of it. It wasn't long before the castle was bustling with activity, and Melody was more than thankful to be distracted by the harried requests to fetch water for the maester, bring slop to injured soldiers, and change out the linens in many of the guest rooms that visiting dignitary temporarily resided in.
Melody had become so busy that the ugly business of last night had fled her thoughts until June, the head stewardess, held up a hand to halt her from disappearing down the hall with another set of bed sheets, "Let those alone;" she motioned for Melody to put down the bundle of bedding, "Mildred will take up your duties now. You, my dear, have been personally requested to attend Lady Stark." One eyebrow had arched in a quizzical fashion as June continued, "Apparently she's garnered quite a bit of interest in you because she questioned me thoroughly on what you tend to get up to." As June relayed this to her, Melody blanched her face growing ashen with a dread that poured through her and settled like a lump of steel in the pit of her stomach.
Evidently this wasn't the response that June had expected, and her brow furrowed further to show a hint of displeasure, "You haven't been pilfering or lazing about have you, girl?"
Blinking in surprise and slightly insulted by the accusation, Melody stammered, "Na-no! Of course not, madam!"
June's lips pursed as she continued to levy a hard stare down on her subordinate long enough to make Melody begin to fidget before cutting her eyes away motioning for Melody to follow her, "Well, I suppose if'n the Lady Stark has quarrel with your services, I'll know soon enough. Now then, come along." June didn't hesitate spinning away to storm down the corridor with Melody in tow struggling to keep up with the matron's swift gait. The two maneuvered through the keep to the East wing which grew quieter the further they traversed down the hallway.
There were guards posted here and there, but otherwise this area of the castle didn't see hardly any of the traffic that Melody was used to. Her eyes spanned about in awe taking in the newness, and so distracted by where she was and whom had summoned her, Melody almost slammed into the back of June when the older woman had stopped suddenly at a spiraling staircase. Her withered hands plucked a torch from the wall passing it over to Melody whose mouth hung agape mutely taking the light source from her superior. June waved upwards, "Go on then; don't leave the mistress waiting!"
Not wanting to dawdle, Melody scampered quickly to do as she was bid, and the flame's brightness illuminated her shadow to dance across the winding steps as she made her way to the top. Pinpricks of sweat dotted Melody's forehead from both the exertion of hurrying up a flight of stairs and the fear that had become an overwhelming inferno within her knowing the confrontation from last night was about to come to a head here and now. For a moment, her head spun, and the feeling of nausea escalated to a point that Melody thought she may just faint, but after a small pause, she regained her composure and began moving towards the entrance of the only room to the tower she'd climbed.
Sansa's eyes peered up to see Melody's shuddering form in her doorframe. She took her measure once more having had a couple hours to ruminate and rest enough to feel her judgment would not be impaired by her earlier weariness; she still saw the same girl she'd taken in the night prior, terrified and not in the least bit intimidating. Her hand gestured to the rocking chair beside her, "Please, place your torch in the scone on the wall, and come join me."
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