Chương 20: Recalibration
Chapter Twenty
Recalibrations
It was a noble's duty to uphold pacts and tend to matters of the area and the political arena that encompassed, but the majority of the Stark children hadn't actually ever been to the Bolton homestead outside of Rob whom had accompanied their father on diplomatic ventures that tended to span visiting many of the noble houses along the way not just the Boltons, so there had been no real gauge of travel time when Sansa had made arrival and return estimations. Coming to the close of the second day of rigorous travel Sansa had to question how much further they had to go before they started to near the Dreadfort. The answer she'd received had shocked her, the men that had known the area well estimated at least another three days as long as the good weather permitted more if not and that was if they could maintain the almost constant clip they had started with rotating the horses out every few hours to keep them spry. This news had come as quite a shock. Sansa had had Maester Medrick depart the more detailed instructions only to the men in charge of leading the caravan before the team had departed. Plans had been made rather suddenly, and as much as Sansa perceived she'd thought the hasty decision to make this venture through, she was realizing now that this could bode poorly for all of them should anything crop up to cause a problem along the way.
If Sansa had spoken to Ramsay beforehand about where she was headed, he could have informed her it was close to two hundred miles or five to six days of travel by horse to reach his old home, but that had been out of the question since she didn't wish to tell him her plans worried on how Ramsay would behave while she was away if he'd known her intentions for this trip was to discover more about him. It was apparent though that she'd gravely miscalculated the distance; with the new estimated time of arrival, it would take almost twice as long as she'd originally intended.
Jon had not questioned Sansa's projected time of return; being a bastard, he hadn't been overly interested in the rounds their father made with his eldest brother, Rob, mostly because it reminded Jon of his sullied status in their family. Jon had no need to be a part of the pomp of such trips, Eddard had many trueborn sons to take the titled lands of their family and to have accompanied him would have likely been met with derision from some of the other less tactful noble houses (even if only spoken about in hushed tones in darkened corners, it was an ugliness Eddard wished to spare the boy.) Jon didn't begrudge his father for not offering to take him on those journeys, it wasn't his place after all, and Eddard made up for it with other outings hunting and taking Jon around the surrounding homesteads of their lands to help the people that raised their banner; those excursions always made Jon feel less cut from the herd knowing his father did love him regardless of his baseborn title.
Sansa had brought a couple crows on Jon's behest worried that she may get caught in an ambush, and with only two crows to be had (in case one perished on the journey), she wondered if it was wise to send one back now to warn that her return home would be severely delayed. It was too risky Sansa ultimately decided, and she would wait until they'd found this riverside mill Maester Medrick had informed her of before sending out a crow. This way Jon would know exactly how much longer it would take to expect her return. She prayed that the two men would be able to get along well enough in her absence with the extended time added to her trip.
The dilemma at least gave her reason to take her time with her embroidery and sewing which always soothed Sansa especially when her mind raced on the many possibilities this journey afforded her saying she were even able to find the fabled miller's widow. Sansa had been left alone in the carriage for most the day, so it had given her plenty of time to worry and contemplate about both where she was heading and what she was to return to, and so it was now that she abandoned such reservations to the delicate needlework of her stitching to draw her mind away from her anxieties. She couldn't help but to smile at what she'd already made, Sansa was gifted in this trade she'd always been told. The scarf she'd hemmed was a crushed velvet, a dark hue of sapphire blue with thumbnail sized white and grey emblems of the wolf pattern that represented her family's house embroidered upon it. It would make for a nice gift to give Ramsay dually to keep him warm and to further claim him as her own. It pleased her immensely to think of the clothes that she could make him; producing clothing for her family and friends had always been a favored past time that felt so long lost to her after having left Winterfell originally. To do so now brought Sansa to feel a small spark of inner peace and for once in a long time a sense of hearth.
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It was night fall now, but it had been early afternoon when Jon had left Ramsay to rest having had a need to attend to other business at court with visiting lords, although much to Ramsay's surprise, Jon had promised to return to join him for dinner later that night.
He had been given a bowl of stew for lunch, brought by a servant, shortly after Jon's departure having not eaten anything since the night before. Ramsay had been grateful that he had been allowed to remain on the mattress under the covers for the duration of the afternoon; having only had one of his hands released to eat his stew (which he did so ravenously) before he was again secured to the mattress and permitted a respite from guards and servants alike while awaiting Jon's return later that night.
It wasn't Jon's request but Ramsay's to stay manacled to his mattress over being permitted to wander about the dungeon with guarded supervision. After everything had settled, Ramsay had felt more than a small amount of shame for what Jon had doled out to him even though the two had left off on good terms.
Ramsay was well aware that Temeric and Cecil were more than privy to what Jon had done to him especially after the flash of his already bruised ass revealed what Ramsay had hoped to hide from the two men prior to them leaving the dungeon to stand outside the door and await Jon's further instructions. If it had been a suspicion before, it most definitely was not now. That revelation followed by Jon commencing to lay down a whole new application of visible humiliation upon his already well marked rear (alongside his own high pitched screams and wails that most assuredly were well heard down the hallway and throughout the castle) left the thought of bearing anyone's company a horribly humiliating situation to ponder (especially those particular guards post the way he'd talked down to them and given them so much trouble on the walk back from the library.)
No, Ramsay was more than sure if anyone had not known the extent of his plight, by sundown word would have circulated through the serving staff and any others wandering about the keep that Jon had strapped him into a sobbing mess. Thankfully, the two guards seemed genuinely relieved at Ramsay's request to be left alone and were quick to depart and stand outside Ramsay's cell door rather than in the room with him allowing Ramsay a bit of privacy following the finishing of his stew.
Emotionally and physically the whole ordeal had been quite taxing, and Ramsay had found sleep shortly after his belly had been filled. He welcomed it readily dozing for a couple hours only to wake to echoes of muddled voices and footsteps moving down the corridor. They didn't stop only continuing to fade down the corridor; this happened several times throughout the afternoon as life moved on beyond the door of Ramsay's quiet cell, but no one disturbed him for the remainder of the day.
As the silence persisted, Ramsay found himself sifting through much of the past couple days and the varied emotions he'd felt throughout slogging over trying to write ideas for recompense as Sansa requested of him mixed with his assorted encounters with Jon. As many times prior, Ramsay's mind ticked away contemplating his current situation as it seemed ever evolving into something different. He'd started as a prisoner of war, hated and despised, and that predicament Ramsay had understood. He'd made a sort of peace with the thought of exiting this world after failure had met with his capture. It was an expected end for the failing side in a war after all, but everything else that followed and had continued to follow… it now left Ramsay incredibly confused.
What had the Starks made of him? He was no longer considered a lord and was now even less than an ignoble bastard, but what then had he been reduced to? A slave manacled to a mattress in the center of the dungeon meant for the sole purpose of Sansa's entertainment? A Sansa-made Reek? No, he wasn't like Reek really, was he? Ramsay wasn't sure anymore.
By all rights, he should abhor the Starks, Sansa and Jon both for the things that they had done to him and continued to do in the name of his betterment, but he didn't. In fact, something within Ramsay ached over the absence of Sansa now even though he knew her return more than likely meant that he would be given more of the same stinging treatment Jon had delivered him hours ago for behaving so poorly for Jon in her absence (Ramsay wouldn't admit it to himself, but he was beginning to develop quite a healthy dread of that strap!) Even in lieu of the pain to come, it was worth enduring it, if it meant she would forgive him, and Sansa would grant him her tender touch again. He desired her like nothing he'd ever imagined, and the lack of her presence now somehow left him feeling an emptiness and a hunger deep within his soul he'd never known. And Jon… Ramsay had loathed the bastard prior to Sansa's departure, but then he'd not really known Jon. Ramsay was starting to feel himself growing fond of him admittedly even finding a burgeoning respect for the man (which was unfathomable scant hours ago, and unimaginable to his previous self.) Ramsay not only endured two severe strappings from the man but also felt no ill will towards Jon for having done it in the first place as he surely would have if almost any other person dared to even consider it.
He'd not bequeathed any sense of regard for any other person other than an entertained detachment at best, a vengeful anger at worst, and mostly a coveting for what he deemed he deserved. The people around Ramsay had been stepping stones to power or inconveniently standing in his way. Ramsay didn't make 'friends' he made conditional allies of reciprocal investment or amusement. How now could he feel at all amiable towards Sansa and Jon, his proposed enemies, when he'd never remotely bore these feelings for his own blood… his family, the people that were meant to be closest to him?
Ramsay couldn't put his finger on it; he had feared Roose, respected his father's position and had craved his attention and approval most of anyone, but it was never reciprocated and as with many one sided relationships, it was rife with insecurities and a building underlying hatred for the lack of acknowledgement. Distantly in youth the fogs of memory registered the same want of attention and approval from his mother even though that had been replaced by mutual apathy at a very early age and the largest cause in his inability to form any kind of healthy connection with any other person. Both his first Reek and the Theon-formed Reek had been his emotional punching bags and pseudo sidekicks (although the latter could never replace the first); they had meant something to him (more akin to the bond one has to a pet although if truth be told he favored the dogs more), and then there was Myranda… she had indulged his darkest urges as a suitable playmate willing to follow his every whim, he had liked that about her, but like Ramsay, she had been ruthless. She didn't want him for who he was, Ramsay equaled security, and for a kennel master's daughter, the bastard of a noble was more than a fine catch. Ramsay had made that realization long ago, but having come to know nothing but equating a person to what use they granted, this was not only acceptable but expected. All of these people had meant something to Ramsay in varying degrees, but this… this was somehow different.
The correlation was off, it was an imbalance that Ramsay couldn't quite grasp. Everything around him felt like a slippery slope of colliding lines where he was no longer sure of his footing or where he stood other than on a precipice where there was no bottom in sight and no other direction than that in which he was pushed in. He was afraid of what he was becoming, but he was also eager to shed who he had been (a man that knew nothing but how to be hated or feared.) He'd never had qualms with the man he was before, even if father hadn't approved of some of his methods, Ramsay had always been his own man left to his own devices. His father had always bred independence in his children (or so Ramsay had perceived when in reality it was just neglect to care unless it affected Roose personally or politically.)
Someone truly did care now, and where Ramsay may have never believed in, understood, or accepted such a possibility before, the genuine feeling that he could be cared for sent a seed of doubt to manifest within him. He couldn't help but to question himself and the very things he once wholeheartedly believed was the foundation of importance in his world. Power and control of everything around him had been his only true motivation in life. Ramsay was coming to the realization that he wasn't really sure who he was or what he wanted anymore, and that fact was more terrifying than slipping on the guise of his former servant Reek because he was defining this new role, and it beckoned nothing but uncertainty and fear of failure to please and something more… a prospect to develop into something better than what he had let himself previously become. There wasn't just an expectation of a mandated structure to comply to; there was confidence and belief in him that he could choose to change on his own, and the opening of a door over the bludgeoning of a hammer altered Ramsay's perspective to actually consider wanting to for them as much as for himself.
Was he worthy of Jon and Sansa's faith? His father had never believed him to be anything more than a poor alternative to a trueborn son to further his own legacy, no matter how hard Ramsay had tried to impress him; but in lieu of all the ways he'd hurt Sansa and Jon, they were still willing to make an effort to give him another chance. Ramsay couldn't comprehend why they would, but he found a large part of himself clung to their hope as an internal need for transformation that he'd never knew how badly he'd craved but more so the positive human connection that the Stark siblings had begun to foster within him.
As the sky changed from harvest golds to ice chip blues, a small knock resounded on the door, and Ramsay was finally brought out of his inner reflections to focus his sights on the creaking dungeon door. A guard, that was neither Cecil nor Temeric, opened the door for a few servants that bustled into the room clearing off the small table and tidying up the area.
Ramsay did his best to not make eye contact with any of them as they moved about his space; he couldn't help flushing as he shifted on the mattress suddenly acutely aware of the prickling sting that still emanated across his ass painfully from under his fur covered sheet. Jon had done quite a number on him, and it would show like a crimson and plum welted beacon across his very pale skin, a branding of further shame, if he were now released from his shackles and made to rise off of his bed in concurrence of Jon's soon to be arrival. Ramsay was more than quite aware of his nakedness now due to this fact, and it made the want to just remain covered under his furs for the rest of the night in continued solitude a much more appealing option than sitting uncomfortably squirming on a hard chair surrounded by guards and servants in order to join Jon for a proper dinner at the table they were setting. He silently deliberated just telling Jon that he wasn't hungry and too tired for company, but his stomach would belie his words by the way it rumbled as a dinner trays were brought in and the multitude of scents of delicious smelling foods meant for the two of them wafted about the room.
Jon came shortly after, apparently talks with the gathered nobles had taken their toll on the man as he looked worn down and tired. He glanced at Ramsay whose eyes had been flitting about the room taking in the flurry of servants while trying to remain otherwise impassive to the goings on around him. Ramsay's eyes met Jon's, and he gave Jon a small respectful nod of acknowledgement. There was no sign of hostility or challenge reflected back at him that Jon had become accustomed to as a greeting from Ramsay, so it took a moment to register the emotions Jon did see on his face.
Ramsay's expression reflected hesitance with an arched brow in what Jon could only perceive as worry; it didn't take much to put together Ramsay's misgivings were centered around the servants and guards as his eyes began to dart furtive glances at them as they continued to perform their given tasks before flicking back up to Jon his bottom lip getting occasionally sucked between his teeth in a nervous sort of twitch. The color in Ramsay's cheeks and the tips of his ears reddened as Jon stepped closer taking in the sights that Ramsay was seeing before kneeling to release one wrist and then the other. As he did so, Jon spoke in a soft tone so only the two of them were privy to his words, "Remain on the bed, and once they are finished setting the table, I will dismiss the servants and guards."
Ramsay nodded gratefully watching as Jon continued around to release his feet. Ramsay's voice cracked slightly as he muttered back to Jon, "…I'm in your debt." He visibly relaxed letting out the tension with an audible exhale as he drew his arms into the blankets and under himself enjoying the change in position and the ability to have his limbs move freely once more. Ramsay pulled the blanket up around and on top of his head effectively cloaking himself from the scene around him deciding he'd lost enough face for one day. He mentally lulled himself into a passive hum willing for all the activity to finish and finally cease leaving the room vacant save for himself and Jon.
It was more than a little comforting to know that their meal would be a private affair, and as far as Ramsay could tell, devoid of any further humiliation; at least if any embarrassment was to follow, it should remain solely between the two of them who were already well aware of what had transpired. Ramsay found he had no intentions or want of causing any form of altercations with Jon now, but it wasn't for the same reasons he had kept peace with his father. Ramsay inwardly always braced himself for his father's wrath or hurtful quips at his expense and more so, Ramsay had feared his indifference, with Jon there wasn't fear only a growing curiosity and respect.
Even though more than a small part of Ramsay knew that Jon had the capabilities to make him suffer greatly at the drop of a hat, unlike Roose, Ramsay understood that Jon wouldn't escalate an issue unless he, himself, made an issue. In that way, Ramsay was able to feel a sense of serenity in the relationship he and Jon were developing; there was an unstated trust of fairness in regards to the way Ramsay would be treated which this too was a great anomaly for Ramsay to wrap his head around.
For the longest, Ramsay hadn't been able to decide if the Starks were naïve or simply just put their personal code above all else. He'd thought the first when he'd assessed them initially, but the more Ramsay grew to truly absorb what it was to be a Stark did he realize it was really the latter. What was more perplexing to Ramsay was that he was actually beginning to admire their personal convictions whereas before it only drew about a sense of repulsion and grating aggravation to the way it made his own banner men look down on him.
True to his word, once the serving crew had finished, Jon dismissed them informing that he would call for them to clear the table upon his departure. There were no questions asked although a few of the servants and both the guards seemed to evaluate Jon's decision as surprising their expressions stating as much as they all filed out. Having emptied the room, Jon glanced back at Ramsay and gestured to the table, "I'm famished; please, come and join me, Ramsay."
Ramsay had quietly watched the others work and Jon equally from beneath his hooded blanket where only his chin had been visible throughout the remainder of the servants fulfilling their duties. Ramsay had pulled himself up to sit his weight on his legs tired of laying down but also being mindful of his throbbing ass; the thought of sitting at all was highly unattractive (especially on a hard seat without any cushioning.) As loathe as he was to join Jon under such arrangements, Ramsay wasn't going to make mention of it… ever; he'd die of embarrassment first.
Ramsay tentatively moved across the bed on his knees to slowly rise wrapping his blanket more tightly around himself as he padded over to the suggested seat looking down at it with a grimace and a moment's hesitation before deciding how best to lower himself carefully with the least amount of impact to his tortured cheeks and thighs while hopefully remaining dignified enough to do so without relative notice by Jon.
Jon had noticed, he was attentive, but more so, he'd been the one to deliver the punishment and had seen the results of his attentions first hand as he'd concealed Ramsay's well spanked ass from further view once the deed had been completed. Ramsay had deserved every bit of it, but a small fraction of Jon still felt a tad bad for the suffering the man had to endure now that the problem had been addressed and sorted. He found himself wondering how Sansa had felt when she'd done so herself. Both instances Jon had delivered a tanning had left a sense of discontent to have done it, but Jon found each time he'd chosen to spank Ramsay he'd also not regretted the action when all was said and done. As unconventional as giving a grown man a strapping was, Jon had to admit that maybe Sansa really was on to something. The results were proving to be undeniably beneficial to keeping in check Ramsay's bad attitude and behavior. This more pleasantly reserved and restrained Ramsay was a far cry from the man that had spit in his face earlier this afternoon; it was a marked improvement although Jon would not make mention of as much.
Jon sat pulling his chair to scrape forward and align himself with the table bringing his eyes up to see Ramsay was still mostly shrouded in his furs looking down at the food. As Jon situated himself, Ramsay's eyes moved to regard the man, and Jon inhaled deeply, "I asked for a bit of variety as I'm not sure what you really like," Jon stated lamely for lack of a better opening statement.
Ramsay nodded taking in the five different items as he responded indifferently, "It's all the same to me… I've never been horribly picky." Ramsay hadn't had an option growing up as any food to a peasant had been a blessing. Even with the meager stipend Roose had sent to his mother, it was never enough for fancy dining over coin used to pay for services and repairs to keep the mill running. Roose had insulted Ramsay's small frame by making mention when he'd first laid eyes on him that it was obvious his mother hadn't fed him properly to have come to him with poking ribs that gave him the look of a mange-ridden mongrel. Ramsay had filled out some since coming to live with his father, but he never grew anywhere near the height or girth of his sibling Domeric. It was just another reason he'd envied his brother as even in death, Domeric was the strapping man that Ramsay would never be.
Jon nodded to Ramsay's statement standing up and reaching to start spooning out some of the food on to each of their plates, "Good; that makes dividing up the food an easy task." Ramsay could have helped himself, but Jon was trying his best to make him less uncomfortable by not having to rise from his own chair to fix a plate for himself. Jon made quick work of dispensing out portions for each before settling in his own seat once more.
"Thank you," Ramsay murmured looking down at his prepared plate with an understanding as to why Jon had made it for him. It made a flush of shame course through him to know the reasoning behind the kind act although he was grateful for it all the same.
Jon sensing Ramsay's embarrassment and having no words to say that would make him feel better only found himself clearing his throat uncomfortably as he adjusted himself in his seat picking up his utensils and hurriedly moving to eating off his own plate.
Following suit, Ramsay was more than happy to discontinue the awkward conversation and move directly to dining in welcomed silence.
The two continued to eat the majority of their meals this way before Jon's brow crinkled as he thought on the many topics discussed in the grand hall. It left a lot on his mind with several of the houses awaiting further direction and consensus to act now that the Starks were once more back in control of the North. Rumor had reached the council that there were fleets heading for Westeros from Meereen which had obvious cause for alarm noting some of the ships flew Iron Borne flags. Sansa had forgiven Theon, and after the state he'd seen the man reduced to, Jon had felt obliged to do the same. Sansa had mentioned to Jon when they had delivered Theon to the ports that he was heading North to rejoin Yara, his sister, although Jon had to wonder presently if those fleets may not be vengeful Iron Borne heading to Winterfell next to find out whether or not Sansa had been victorious against Ramsay's hold on the North and what kind of problems might come about to know the man had been defeated although still lived as their prisoner.
More disconcerting were the followed sightings of supposed dragons alongside these ships. If the mere suggestion had been brought to Jon a year ago that there were dragons flying about, he would have been hard pressed to believe it, but after spending time on the Wall and fighting Wights, Jon had little room to doubt much in the way of super natural beings. Jon did not consider Ramsay an ally in war, but that didn't mean that he might not have valuable information. He paused in his contemplation leveling his gaze on Ramsay, "What do you know of the far North… Slaver's Bay?"
"What do you mean?" Ramsay dipped his biscuit to sop up the gravy from the mashed potatoes on his plate popping the piece of bread greedily in his mouth as he stared at Jon curiously. He had no idea of anything happening that far north, his father didn't inform Ramsay of much that he didn't wish to address openly since his son tended to react first and think later. Many had heard rumor of this mother of dragons, Daenerys Targaryen though; she was becoming a bit of a fairy tale legend in an otherwise bleak time. Most in Weteros saw it as just that though, a fairy tale imagined by those ranting drunkenly off milk of the poppy. Ramsay smirked as he continued, "You're not expecting mythical winged lizards ridden by the infamous dragon queen to come swooping in for a visit are you?" Ramsay was joking, but upon seeing the seriousness in Jon's face, he balked shaking his head his smile growing, "No… you can't be serious. You don't actually believe that hogwash do you?"
Jon's lip twitched as he remained quiet a moment longer realizing Ramsay didn't actually have any tidings to depart. He looked down shaking his own head, "It's a little farfetched I agree." Jon left it at that returning to his meal without saying more on the matter, but now Ramsay having nothing better to discuss prodded, "What have you heard? Have there actually been sightings?"
Jon sighed realizing that bringing the topic up wasn't necessarily a good idea now as Ramsay seemed quite adamant to know the details. He didn't want to lie to him, but he also wasn't interested in engaging Ramsay further in a debate that he'd already gone round and round in with numerous worried houses. He shook his head, "I can't really say, people talk and people worry. I was just wondering if you'd been made privy to any news yourself while holding the North." Jon had regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth seeing the instant frown that drew across Ramsay's face to be reminded of his loss of the North. It was the truth though, so Jon made no move to repeal it regardless of how it made Ramsay feel.
Ramsay merely shrugged looking down at his plate as responded depreciatingly, "No… I didn't. It's a ridiculous notion, and you shouldn't believe it. There's a greater threat lying in wait in King's Landing if you hadn't heard. Something about religious freaks making a coo over the Lannister's… not that the Lions are much of a threat these days anyway," Ramsay couldn't help a soft chuckle thinking of Locke, the man who had professed to take the King Slayer's hand and who was sent to the Wall to infiltrate the Night's Watch and find out if Bran and Rikon Stark still lived (obviously at least one of them had since SmallJon Umber had been able to present Rikon as an opening trade for an alliance against the Free Folk.) Locke hadn't been heard from again, and as much as the memory of the man called Ramsay to ask of him, Ramsay assumed that some things (or in this case people) were best left to fade into the background. Nothing good would come of his relations with Locke anyhow as the man and Ramsay shared too many of the same nasty proclivities. The reminder of the man though sent a stirring through Ramsay as past activities flooded back to him, and he was prompted with old memories of pain he'd caused others which only signaled a corresponding ache to reminisce where he hurt now as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. No, it certainly wasn't much fun being on the receiving end of the pain.
Not having any idea where the chuckle had emanated from but assuming it lay in context to Ramsay's words about the Lannisters, Jon rebutted, "I've not heard any news about King's Landing. A lot of houses are losing to one war or another, but the Lannisters are the least of my worries at the moment although they may prove to be a threat at a later date. If what you say is true, these religious zealots will help to keep them from becoming a problem. We have enough troubles right here to worry about."
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Jove reallocated his weight from one foot to another trying to brace himself against the whipping cold, "I can't believe that high borne bitch put us out here while that little shit is living the life in there having dinners with the lord of the house and what not."
Reginald snorted derisively, "Lord? He's a bastard too you know, and from what I hear, he's got the punk squealing like a pig!"
Jove stuttered out a half laugh, "What I wouldn't give ta have seen that. Ya think he's twigging him like the lady of the house?"
Joining in on Jove's joke, Reginald chuckled, "Who knows what them Starks get up to, but I have heard word that they're not the only ones interested in our little friend. Word has it, that little cunt might be worth a bit of a promotion if'n you're willing to turncoat. Way I see it, the Starks have already shown their more loyal to prisoners than their own hard working soldiers. What say you Jove; are you tired of manning this wall? Cause I'm interested in better opportunities, but I'm gonna need to know you've got my back."
A malicious smile grew across Jove's face, "Anything sounds better than freezing me balls off out here on this here wall."
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