Chương 19: Second Time's a Charm
Chapter Nineteen
Second Time's a Charm
Ramsay wasn't even sure why he fought so desperately as Cecil and Temeric dragged his raging form, with much difficulty, down the corridor. Ramsay spilled nonstop expletives and insults at the men holding him as a form of retaliation for their part in corralling him and subverting his efforts to perform a counterattack on Jon after the man had backhanded him to the floor. Ramsay was mostly infuriated that Jon had not even been caught remotely off-guard by his dirty tactic; he'd been so sure that throwing ink in Jon's face would have given him the upper hand for at least a moment to prove to that haughty self-righteous prick that he wasn't as strong and agile as he'd like to make others believe. Ramsay knew that all it took was one small slip, and he would have had the advantage in their fight; he would have proven to Jon that he COULD have the advantage. Sure, it was a petty win, but Ramsay had wanted it all the same just to prove to the both of them that it was possible. Instead, Ramsay had managed to utterly humiliate himself in his attempt to assault Jon, and now what he'd get for his troubles amounted to no gain either physically or emotionally having not even landed one hit on the bastard.
Servants that saw them or rather heard Ramsay coming stopped suddenly in their tracks curious to observe what all the fuss was about. Seeing whom the captive was, most chose to swiftly move to the side but they still continued to gawk as the three passed. Ramsay roared, "Go on! Keep staring peasants! I'll gouge your eyes out of their sockets if given half the chance!" In his impotent fury, Ramsay planted his feet down stubbornly trying to trip the men pulling on him, kicked out at tables and decorative furnishings in an effort to destroy something in his wake, and otherwise worked to make the journey as problematic as he could muster for the two guardsmen escorting him back to the dungeon.
"Fuck's sake! Why do ya have to be so damn ornery? We ain't brought this down on you; and Lord Stark was doing you a favor just taking you out of the dungeon!" Cecil growled in slight bewilderment as he gave Ramsay an extra push forward in an attempt not to get thrown into another wall from Ramsay's constant passionate struggles.
Ramsay whipped his head around to narrow his eyes at Cecil snarling venomously, "It shows what a half-wit like yourself knows of nobility! That man is not a lord! Convincing buffoons to mar tradition and call him one doesn't change the fact that he's nothing more than a baseborn commoner. Unlike me, HE has been give no royal decree of naturalization to be called anything but a Snow!" Ramsay's eyes had gone wild, and he was practically frothing at the mouth as he screamed his declaration at Cecil.
Temeric feeling Ramsay wrenching towards Cecil as he gnashed his teeth and hissed his contempt merely yanked Ramsay back with a rough tug. Cecil's eyes widened at the ferocity in which Ramsay rebutted his simple statement, and Temeric strained to stay calm, but the aggravation in his tone was unmistakable, "Alright you, there's no need to continue on like this. You're not doing yourself any favors by lashing out at us like you are. Cecil's right, we're not the cause of your frustration; we're just doing what we've been asked. Do you really want to make this harder on us? I shouldn't have to point it out, but if you do, we can certainly just as easily make it harder on you."
Getting the hint and having carried on long enough to expend much of the anger he was feeling, Ramsay considered Temeric's words and although not giving in entirely stopped railing so hard against them deciding instead to surge forward in an attempt to get back to the dungeon more quickly as he groused, "Fine. You wish to threaten me? I can't deny the fact that I'm outnumbered two to one, and I have little to obtain from having you oafs using this fact to my further disadvantage. So then, the quicker we return, the quicker I can get back to ignoring you." Temeric and Cecil merely shared a disgruntled look, but neither chose to respond further just pleased Ramsay was at least mostly cooperating with them.
As they walked in a hurried clip, Ramsay's eyes blazed with a seething fury and his jaw remained clenched with nostrils flaring the pent up anger he still exuded through deep intakes and exhales of stilted breath. He needed to stay angry… Ramsay knew what was to come next, and the fact that there was nothing to be done about it but to continue to roll through the motions had his stomach tightening into a sickening dread.
Silence brought deliberation, and Ramsay's mind couldn't help but to be drawn to the fact that his ass still bore the marks and tenderness of two back to back strappings. The weight of the consequences he was likely to face at Jon's hands started to seep in now that most of Ramsay's blustering and fighting had spent much of the energy he'd used to stoke his wrath. His passion to be spiteful started to fade as they finally arrived back at the dungeon pushing through the yawning door to see his mattress with mussed sheets that wore the heavy iron manacles that mockingly awaited his return. It was then that Ramsay began to feel the tendrils of apprehension begin to fully replace his previous vehemence. The realization that he was being made to feel fear for someone like Jon caused a new surge of abhorrence to flood through Ramsay, but try as he desperately might, Ramsay just couldn't hold on to those embers of animosity. Those feelings were forcibly squelched by the dismay of inevitably the closer Ramsay was pushed towards the awaiting bed too aware of what was to come next for him and the embarrassment to proceed and follow the act itself.
Ramsay's gut clenched as Temeric announced, "I don't think I need to tell you what has to be done. You heard Lord Stark's orders as well as we did."
Of course he did, Jon's words echoed through Ramsay's head; he would be made to strip before being manacled face down on his bed, and they would see. They would see everything he'd tried so hard to hide. Ramsay had been boisterous and incredibly rude to Cecil and Temeric especially from the point they'd slammed him onto the tabletop and led him back here. Now Ramsay had to ask himself in his erratic impulse for a need to hit Jon why he hadn't considered the fact that these guards had no idea what he'd be exposing to strip in front of them as Jon had commanded. Doing so after everything he'd said and done to them and around them made Ramsay feel more than a little ill. These men would now be made aware of the fact that the Starks were actively taking a piece of leather to him to enact discipline for his bad behavior not unlike an errant child. It was enough to make his cheeks and ears burn a deep red as the blood rushed to Ramsay's head leaving him to feel almost lightheaded with the shame of it.
Ramsay didn't make any condescending comment on the validity of Jon's title now, instead, he found himself staring at Temeric dumbfounded as this nightmarish scenario persisted in his mind. Once the guards had strapped him down, would Jon then discipline him in front of them? He could, after the way that Ramsay had acted, he'd have no reason not to.
Ramsay would have demanded an audience, if he were performing this task, solely to amplify the humiliation of the one he was torturing, but he prayed now more than ever that Jon was nowhere near as vindictive as he. Having these men see what had been done to him was one cross to bear, to have them witness it was something altogether far more debilitating to imagine.
Cecil cleared his throat as a note that the two would take action to enact Jon's will if Ramsay didn't start taking it upon himself to do so on his own. Ramsay's window of time was quickly narrowing he realized, and the last thing he wanted was to add further degradation to his person by having to endure his clothes being ripped from him by these two men. He was thankful at least that Cecil and Temeric were not the previous heckling guards that Sansa had dismissed of their duty of overseeing him. Those two would most certainly have made sport of him now and relished the idea of his punishment to come. Rude as he'd been to Temeric and Cecil, Ramsay had to admit they'd been more than fair with dealing with him (even if the idea of having guards and being a prisoner was vexing to tolerate.)
Sighing in defeat, Ramsay's eyes drifted to the strap that still lay ominously across the arm of the plush red chair, it was a symbol of pain to come, and it caused an involuntary shudder to reverberate through him as he carefully sank onto his mattress to slowly begin pulling each boot off. Ramsay set the boots neatly next to the chair as they had been placed this morning for him to retrieve by the servant girl for his outing. He contemplated sourly on how the morning had started off so very well; Ramsay had thought things were starting to look a little brighter for him even having to live under such strict Stark rule as he was being subjected to. It was nearly midday now, not even a full day had gone by, and all the happiness that he'd began the day with had shattered into a morose horror of events that descended into what would likely be one of his worst days. As much as Ramsay wanted to fancy that he could outlast the pain of the strap as he had last night, he was more than well aware that he was already quite sore, and they hadn't even started on this new volley of swats. Last night, Jon was 'lenient,' and Ramsay had nearly wilted to the application. No, Ramsay wasn't that gullible; Jon would most certainly make him fold into bitter tears this time, and the thought of Jon breaking his will to such a point was enough to make Ramsay want to cry now.
Ramsay felt numb to everything around him unable to fully take in the severity of what he was about to face, he couldn't. His body moved autonomously from his mind that had retreated inwardly to a place where his thoughts had already spiraled out of control and now lay too scattered and disoriented to concentrate on anything at all but each moment to moment as it passed. Time had an odd way of warping where seconds seemed like minutes and minutes like hours seemingly slowing down just long enough to make each instant long suffered. Ramsay imagined that his many victims must have felt this very same conundrum of mental agony, and he knew once Jon started laying down the strap that time would again lurch even more sluggishly making each second an excruciating hell to brave.
Ramsay stood once more, his bare feet taking in the coldness of the stone floor. He lifted up and down from the pads of his feet to his heels; the chill on his naked feet making him feel the weight of his soon to be exposure. Ramsay tugged lethargically at his tunic pulling it off and letting it drop unceremoniously on the floor hesitating to relinquish himself now of his pants, the last vestiges of pride he still clung to. His eyes then darted to take in the crumpled mass of furs on the floor, and a light of hope blazed within Ramsay. He may yet keep a shred of his dignity he rationalized as he quickly knelt and retrieved the blanket throwing it over his shoulders before removing the last article of his clothing.
Once divested of everything save the sheltering fur, Ramsay hurried to kneel onto his bed and place himself into the all too familiar spread eagle position to be clamped in irons. He did this without any hesitation or fight in hopes that Temeric and Cecil would just lock him down and leave without further investigation knowing that he had fulfilled Jon's requests of him. After all, it was understandable to wish to have some kind of cover if not for modesty than for the chill of winter alone.
The two men seemed to follow suit with what Ramsay had predicted they would do except after locking him in place, they did not leave as he had hoped. Instead, Temeric and Cecil moved back over to the small table and took a seat awaiting Jon's return.
Ramsay found himself straining to hear any movement beyond the metal door, and any set of boots that clopped by made his insides shrivel and his muscles tense. He had no idea what Jon's gait sounded like (unlike Sansa who he'd practically memorized the sounds of her shoe's soft clicks and the swish of her dress' fabric.) Time had seemed to drag preparing for Jon's arrival, but unlike his former punishment's wait that drew out for hours, Jon appeared far too swiftly for Ramsay to feel in any way prepared to face him like he had been last night. Last night, Ramsay had stewed so long that he was just ready to get the encounter over with; he couldn't decide which was worse now, to be over prepared or under prepared for this sort of confrontation.
Ramsay involuntarily flinched as he snapped his attention to the boots that stopped in front of the dungeon door casting an elongated shadow to creep under its frame. A lump formed in his throat as Ramsay worked to swallow it down, but his esophagus felt like it was further restricting in response to the door opening before him in a protesting groan.
Ramsay hadn't really seen Jon to be all that intimidating when he'd first laid eyes on him (even though he'd known full well the mark of Jon's battle prowess.) Ramsay had known to be cautious of getting in a physical bout with Jon, but he never had planned to best the man in hand to hand combat. He'd had an army, so Ramsay hadn't needed to worry how good a fighter Jon had been as he'd simply expected to see him mowed down in front of him on the battlefield.
To see Jon's steely gaze of determination boring down on him now made Ramsay's eyes widen and a shock of fear crop within his gut. The full recognition of how helpless he was to be manacled down and awaiting Jon's judgement manifested in Ramsay's mind, but he did his best to maintain an annoyed façade resolving to at least appear unafraid even if with every surefooted step Jon strode towards him, Ramsay's game face ultimately weakened.
If Jon saw through his veneer, he said nothing to denote it as he leaned over and quickly snatched the strap from the chair's arm only stopping now to level a calm and collected stare on Ramsay's face.
Seeing the implement firmly gripped in Jon's hand sent a chill up Ramsay's spine and a momentary crack in his exterior as his lip twitched and his neck let go a small reactionary tremor. This humbling tell Ramsay was more than sure Jon had observed; his face flushed in humiliation as his eyes shifted to focus forward jaw clenching tightly as Ramsay was keenly aware how he was actively avoiding eye contact with the man now. Coming down to the wire as they were, Ramsay had imagined he'd be full of spit and vinegar towards Jon ready to verbally tear into him, but he was instead stonily silent and unable to react or feel anything outside of an overwhelming sense of anxiety that sent every one of his nerve endings to prickle in anticipation of Jon's next action.
Jon said nothing as he focused forward to move on to the task at hand. Ramsay watched through his peripheral as Jon continued his undertaking around the side of the bed. As Jon moved, Ramsay couldn't help but to physically feel his looming presence, and his skin rippled to the feeling of cold air like a tidal wave assaulting his flesh.
Ramsay sucked in a mortified breath feeling the exposure of nothing more than his legs and his ass on display. Jon had tossed the lower half of the furred blanket across Ramsay's back to only uncover the necessary area he intended to strike. Ramsay's face contorted in a fierce grimace as his body erupted in an immediate tremble that he couldn't force himself to stop. His body had betrayed him wholly, and Ramsay wanted nothing more than to sob for this loss, but that was at least one thing he was able to control from leaking away from him unbidden.
"I will take it from here," Jon spoke softly as his eyes rose to announce to the guards that he was wishing privacy.
Temeric and Cecil (whom had risen upon Jon's arrival and had remained standing awkwardly at attention to watch on in morbid fascination, quiet onlookers of what felt like a moment that should otherwise have been a clandestinely shared interaction between Jon and Ramsay) were more than happy to take their leave. The two men only gave a quick nod to their lord before practically stumbling over their own feet to swiftly retreat from the room.
He didn't say as much, but Ramsay was inwardly thankful that Jon didn't proceed with his punishment while the other two men were still present and openly gaping at the scene. They'd looked stunned, and the fact that they were so surprised to see what was happening unfold before their eyes only seemed to add to Ramsay's chagrin. He had wished Jon would have saved him the dignity of telling the men to leave first before he'd uncovered his bruised flesh to them and made it more than painfully obvious what was about to happen to him.
Tears pricked his eyes as a new flush of embarrassment coursed through Ramsay. He couldn't believe the shame alone almost had him on the brink of tears. What had become of him? He'd been so proud once; never would he have imagined such a paltry threat as enduring a spanking would cause anything more than a laugh of ridicule from him at the sheer ridiculousness of the notion. That surely was not the case now, and to know as much was more than a little debasing.
Jon's voice carried tiredly overhead once Temeric and Cecil had departed the dungeon, "I don't understand why it has had to come to this again, Ramsay, but regardless of my own understanding, I don't think I need explain why it's happening. If you've anything to say for yourself, speak your peace now, but be warned that further insolence will grant you a lengthy extension to an already severe sentence as I've had more than my fill of whatever beef you have with me. This needs to end now."
Ramsay licked his lips listening to Jon's words intently, and as much as he was terrified to ask, he had to know as he questioned with an urgency that belied his attempt to remain calm, "How many… how many is severe?" He craned his head to look back as much as his restraints would allow; Ramsay's eyes fixed Jon with a wide eyed stare that held nothing but pure nervous concern all pretense of trying to act composed and unruffled falling away to the fear of having already had a taste of Jon's heavy hand.
Jon regarded Ramsay a moment before stating simply, "Thrice the amount of last night."
Ramsay's mouth parted, and the color drained from his face as he shook his head in disbelief, "What!? One hundred and fifty! You… you have to reconsider! Surely twice that of last night would be…" Ramsay trailed off becoming choked on the prospect of stomaching a total of one hundred delivered stripes to his already tender posterior let alone another fifty on top of it.
Jon's expression remained flat; it was hard to feel any ounce of pity for Ramsay's plight after all the headaches the man had caused him culminating into an attack against his person. Jon shook his head, "You have had plenty of chances to take the mercy I've offered, and you spit it back in my face quite literally. No, you've earned every bit of what you will receive. If we're to be candid, you deserve far more," as Jon finished speaking, the strap descended with a solid strike followed by a steady clip of slaps as Jon began the punishment without further ado.
Ramsay screamed out against the ricochet of pain the strap elicited as his body jerked like a marionette to the intensity of the sting Jon dispensed; it was as bad as he'd remembered when they'd left off last night as the considerable bruising cemented the deep seated soreness to rise to the surface and ignite the previous flame on top of this newly added agony. He had wanted to curse the man only holding back calling him a bastard due to the threat of an extension to endure said misery should he be so foolhardy as to test Jon's doggedness not to follow through with his earlier warning.
As much as Ramsay wanted to rally his earlier anger and remain embittered and spiteful towards Jon in defense of himself regardless of what it cost him physically, Ramsay was instead quickly losing stamina to the relentless torturous application of continual stinging pain Jon provided him. The licks unrelentingly fell in brutal succession, and when he'd made it to twenty-five (half of yesterday's installment and only a sixth of what he's been told by Jon to expect today) Ramsay found himself screeching out as he twisted and bounced in his fetters, "No! No! Stop! Wait!" He bucked with a growing panic as Jon did not slow his distribution of unerring swats to the under curve of his ass one iota. Ramsay now yanked fervently against his restraints in a frantic need to evade the maddening pain that continued to build both on his flesh and tear at his mind as he called out, "Parley! Damn it, Jon! Parley!" This was too much to bear after he'd been brutalized the past two days in a row, even though it humiliated him further, Ramsay had to try to get Jon to grant him a small reprieve from this torment.
The strap did not still as Jon spoke in a no nonsense tone, "There is no parley to be had, Ramsay. The only option you have here is to take what is given and learn from it." Jon was not hitting Ramsay any harder than he had the other day, but by the way Ramsay writhed on the mattress, it looked as though he were striking him with a barbed whip rather than a simple leather strap. He supposed the added treatment to Ramsay's previous grievances made what the man withstood now a far worse punishment, but Jon only saw this to be further incentive for Ramsay to wake up and step in line. Something had to give, and Ramsay would find that it would not be Jon.
There would be no clemency Ramsay realized as Jon's statement settled to roost in his mind and an immediate despair took hold of him. They continued on with Jon dropping blow after blow, and Ramsay doing his best to suffer through the awful cumulating scorching burn that blossomed across the entirety of his ass and lower thighs. He'd managed only small grunts of pain at first, but as Jon persisted, Ramsay had begun to yell upon the impact and finally shriek out his distress in agonized screams. He wanted to put his mind elsewhere, but Ramsay found himself unable not to tick away the swats as they were applied to constantly reevaluate how much anguish he still had yet to tolerate.
Somewhere near the seventy-fifth swat, the insight that they were just barely at the halfway mark was enough to cause Ramsay to cry out in between howls of agony, "Jon! Stop! I've learned! I'll not stand against you again, I swear it!" To say that Jon had imparted anything on him was a knife to his gut, but his eyes were already watering from the sheer pain, and to admit this much was better than recanting his deeds. He was on the verge of shedding very real tears, and as much as it shamed Ramsay to lose face and say what he told Jon now, to cry or beg Jon to stay his hand would be far more appalling.
"I'm pleased to hear it, Ramsay," was all Jon said, and as the next five swats fell, Ramsay's resolve withered as he screeched, "Please! I've suffered much at your hands and your sister's! I ask that you to remit just this once for mercy's sake!" Ramsay cringed at the waver in his voice, and when there was no answer other than the heavy handed fall of slaps to his aching rear, the standing tears that had blurred his vision cascaded down the sides of his cheeks as Ramsay silently wept his cries now filtered with the misery of his personal defeat.
Listening to Ramsay's shouts turn into watery squeals and the acknowledgement that Ramsay had been brought to tears struck a chord in Jon to want to stop, but to quit now would show a lack of follow-through which would blur the line of structure that needed to be set in place. Ramsay needed to know that his poor behavior would not be tolerated and would consistently be matched with an immediate answer. They made it to the one hundredth swat, and Ramsay was quite vocally sucking in air and sniveling a mournful keening as each strap landed.
Jon slowed the stream of his application and the intensity of his licks; he had to finish what he'd started, and against his better judgement, he didn't have the heart to continue delivering such harsh slaps when Ramsay had degenerated into such a sad state. Ramsay was normally belligerent to his advances in conversation, but now, he had lowered his head burying his face into the bed as his shoulders shuddered convulsively. The only sounds escaping him were outcries of pain as the strap landed and barely contained whimpers. Jon thought it was now or never to try and get some clear answers out of him, and so he asked, "Why is it that you hold such a grudge towards the fact that I hold the title of bastard, Ramsay? Your vehemence to label me when you are as I am leaves me mystified."
Ramsay screamed out passionately, "You and I are nothing alike!" His words were mixed with anger and hurt as the question made Ramsay also have to question himself. In the state he was in, he couldn't think clearly past the pain enough to formulate a lie, so instead, he found himself speaking true to his heart as he poured out, "I hate you for everything that you are, Jon Snow! You're the bastard that became lord commander, the bastard that these people give false title too when you've yet to earn it! I earned it! I… I did everything to earn it, and it …it never mattered…" the words tightened in his throat as Ramsay now openly sobbed feeling completely lost to his own inner turmoil.
Jon was silent a moment studying Ramsay as he considered his broken words and saw the open wounds that festered below the surface as it started to become more clear what the actual problem was. Jon spoke softly now, "A title is only what you make of it, Ramsay. I'm a bastard, this is true, and every day of my life I fought to be seen as anything else, but at the end of the day, it is what I am and what I will always will be. This doesn't define me, it never did, and it doesn't define you either."
Against his better judgement, Ramsay found himself glancing back over his shoulder at Jon although he flinched and hissed in pain to see the strap still relentlessly counted down the remainder of his sentence. He was grateful for the fact that Jon had decreased the power behind each swat tenfold even though the sting still radiated a trial to endure not crying out pitifully to each stripe connecting with his quivering bottom. He sniffed back tears as he struggled to speak, "I've… I've done things you don't come back from. I can neither take them back nor make them right. That… that does define me," Ramsay found himself looking away as a mixture of shame and confusion swirled through him. He didn't know why he was saying this to Jon, bearing something inside of him that left spikes of vulnerability like weeping lacerations of weakness. His father would have been disgusted, Ramsay thought absently. It was something he was never allowed to do because exposing your neck meant that you were susceptible to getting cut. It was one of the first and most basic lessons Ramsay had learned in life, but his walls were crumbling, and Ramsay found he no longer cared to hide how he felt to Jon. What did it matter anymore? He'd been completely subverted, and the scraps of will he'd vested to hold such a front had finally given way to leave him shattered emotionally.
Ramsay let go gut wrenching wails of sorrow and something more, actual remorse as he let himself sink into the pain Jon was delivering and the pain he couldn't escape internally. Ramsay was coming to terms that who he'd been and the things he'd done were his legacy, and where before he'd worn it like a badge of honor, now it left him feeling hollowed out and empty. He'd hurt so much, and seeing others hurt, letting them feel his pain was a connection, a fascination that became gratification. Now it just haunted him as a part of him that had fallen into depravity to assuage some deeper need that he didn't understand but that over the time he spent as ward of the Starks was coming more and more to light.
Jon let Ramsay sob as he finished the last twenty odd strokes more than glad to be done with causing Ramsay pain. He tossed the strap into the seat of the chair before reaching over to quietly draw the fur blanket back down over Ramsay's scorched flesh. Jon couldn't help but to grimace observing the raised welts and discoloration that decorated Ramsay's backside knowing he was going to be smarting for the next few days. Jon hoped it was more than enough to curb any continued malevolence Ramsay held towards him. Having to go to such extremes felt awful not just for Ramsay but for Jon too whom was never one to enjoy another's suffering.
Ramsay was dimly aware that Jon had finally reached the culmination of the promised one hundred and fifty lashes although somewhere after one hundred where Jon had started speaking to him and he'd completely lost his composure, Ramsay had lost track of the count (which was an agony in its own right.) His ass was practically throbbing, and the slight touch of the furs being drawn down to recover him was chaffing and uncomfortably noticeable.
He was thankful the punishment was finally over, but even still, the tears welled in his eyes and continued to stream from him in what felt like a never ending river of wetness. It was the more humiliating now to be crying in front of Jon with hitched breaths of uncontainable blubbering when the man wasn't even spanking him anymore. The more he tried to pull back his emotions, the harder it seemed to be. He was swimming in a circular cycle completely out of his depth to have to feel these emotions so vividly.
Seeing Ramsay was having difficulty collecting himself, Jon offered as he unlocked Ramsay's manacles much to Ramsay's surprise, "The basest of men can rise above their past and become something more, Ramsay. Sansa sees more in you, and I want to see more in you too, but what we want for you has to be what you want in yourself. What you have done has defined you, but what you do from here on out will redefine you. Your story has not ended; you are still writing it, and every day is a chance to make a new chapter."
Ramsay kept the blanket wrapped around him as he pulled himself up on his knees and wiped his face doing his best to clear the tears away as he stared at Jon still in shock that he'd unclasped him from his bonds. Ramsay looked down now rubbing at his wrists and fighting the urge to reach back and inspect the terrible throbbing sting that persisted on his extremely battered rear. He'd never say as much out loud, but the pain he felt now was definitely more than enough to never test Jon in such a way again.
It was an odd sensation that just like yesterday, even though Ramsay had been considerably more volatile today when he's merited this spanking, once all was said and done, all he felt was an easing calm settling over his mind. They'd cleared the air, and Jon had beaten him full sore, but never once did he speak condescendingly towards him or tear him down, and that in itself was something that left Ramsay reeling mentally. He wasn't sure what to make of Jon's statement, but the sentiment made him feel hopeful, and that was something Ramsay hadn't felt much of in his life.
He brought wide blue eyes back up to search Jon's face, and Jon could see something different in the way he looked at him now, ever expressive and telling, his eyes told Jon now that Ramsay wanted to try. Ramsay's lips strained a half smile as he asked lightly, "Do… do you think we can start over?"
Jon found a small smile forming on his own lips as he nodded, "Yeah, I think so."
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