Chương 47: Between the Lines
Chapter Forty-Eight
Between the Lines
"Of course; I will set him to work with Melody in the morning," the aging matron hesitated still looking rather confused by Sansa's initial request to have Ramsay working explicitly under her staff, "Are you sure he'd not be better suited for working with the blacksmith or the stable hand, milady?"
Sansa lifted her chin weighing the suggestion a moment out of courtesy although she'd already made up her mind. Ramsay would refrain from doing any jobs outside of the castle's proper that could greatly sully his clothes or allow him access to weaponry or a means of escape. It wasn't that Sansa suspected Ramsay may wish to flee her side, but it had occurred to her (even without Jon's personal warning) that as hated as Ramsay still was, it would be more difficult to keep him safe where circumstances may allow for 'reasons' to cut him down for suspected flight or being perceived as dangerous.
Keeping Ramsay to simple tasks that busied him about the halls of the bastion allowed him to stay close while also ensuring he wasn't being seen as any sort of threat. "I'm quite sure," Sansa stated firmly, "As I said, he's to avoid areas where guests frequent and food is prepared. He will be escorted by guards to ensure the safety of those around him, but I am under the direct impression that he should give you no trouble. If he does, I insist you have a guard seek me out, so that I may handle the matter personally."
June nodded matter-of-factly to her mistress' command, "Your will is as good as done, Lady Stark." Sansa gave a slight bow of her head in acknowledgement before turning to leave the woman and the tiny hub outside of the kitchens that acted as an office for the matriarchal maid to divvy out duties to her subordinates as well as keep up with the comings and goings on of the castle.
Exiting her meeting with June, Sansa darted through the bustle of kitchen servants that were prepping the dinner that was to be served at dusk to the many occupants within the keep. Making it across the spacious concourse to an alcove of privacy, Sansa let go an audible exhale feeling a dichotomy of relief to have that business taken care of and an ill-omened worry to know Ramsay wouldn't be tucked away to the safety of the dungeon or her chamber any longer.
It was an eventuality that had needed to come to pass (When first she'd returned from her travels, Jon had cautioned her as gently as he could how harmful, impractical, and cruel keeping Ramsay isolated from others indefinitely would be. He'd chided that she couldn't keep the man sequestered away like a doll on a shelf, and Sansa had reluctantly agreed although she'd been ruffled by the suggestion giving Jon an indignant air for having implied that she would keep Ramsay in such a way. Sansa's outrage had not really been centered on the audacity of Jon's words as she had let on but rather her own internal conflict that an avaricious and selfish side of herself could have actually been happy doing just that of which Jon had alleged.)
Initially, when Sansa had Ramsay develop his list, she had planned to send him out to provide restitution to so many that he'd harmed in his lifetime, but that was before she'd left. Since returning from her trip, Sansa had become even more covetous of Ramsay, and with that possessiveness came a fear of losing him and a want to protect him. Twice over in her absence, Ramsay's go-to reaction had brought him into physical conflict with first his guards and then her brother. Both incidents could have led to Ramsay's demise, the probability had been rather high as Ramsay showed he was prone to let his pride outweigh his reason. Sansa had spanked him full sore for both counts, and as much as she hoped that would mark an end to such foolishness, Ramsay was proving to be a slow learner regarding his ego.
Unbeknownst to Ramsay, Sansa had already resolved to punish any level of insubordination on his part harshly. Due to his past transgressions, she had resigned herself to the reality she would more likely than not be delivering another punishment Ramsay's way very soon. A kaleidoscope of lucid imagery flared vividly to mind calling forth the act of punishing him and the shared connection that had been burned into Sansa's memories. An edge of guilt warred within her then to feel a prickle of heat generate through her sex at the thought of finding a legitimate need to lower Ramsay's trembling form across her lap for an abject lesson.
His tears and raw emotion pinpointed to her given actions and handling of him swirled a warped internal thrill that Sansa found difficult to understand. On one hand, she hated to cause Ramsay suffering, but having the power to induce a level of distress in him that she controlled in its entirety was evocative in its own right. Mostly what drew her to the deed was the allure of directing amendments within Ramsay via her own will over his that were proving to make him a better man. She was a conductor of change, his change, and Ramsay was reluctantly willing to take her guidance not just because he feared her but because he wanted her approval. That in itself was remarkably alluring to Sansa, and it made her all the more engaged with wanting to steadfastly maintain his progress (much to Ramsay's detriment he would find when it came to earning a sore bottom by her hand!) Sansa hadn't admitted it to Ramsay, but she could no longer deny that she not only could love him but already did.
***…***
The next few hours saw Sansa to oversee issues with the master of coin as they worked out the rigors of dispersing and storing food shares, organizing better lodging options to accommodate the continued sheltering of several soldiers and Wildlings that remained scattered about the castle's proper, and communing with the villagers from surrounding hamlets who came to seek aide during the onset of a particularly bitter winter. The coffers were not dry, but Maester Rhodry was quick to express his personal hesitance to the expenditures the coming scheduled feast would bring. He gave subtle warning of how it would diminish the already dwindling reserves. This had been a hot topic of debate that had already been decided upon, so Maester Rhodry only made a tired passing of what he saw to be an obvious failing of logic in the Starks' decision to continue forward with the event. Sansa didn't deign to dally on the subject further ending the conversation with the parting words, "Your worry has been considered, Maester Rhodry, but if the war my brother is expecting comes to pass, this may be the last feast many of our allies will have a chance to partake in. We are not Lannisters, and no coin is worth that loss."
Her response elicited a scowl from the elderly man as he bowed and Sansa proceeded to vacate the back cloistered chamber where the master of coin compiled most of his bookkeeping. Once free from the burdening exchange, Sansa felt the weight of responsibilities shift to the back of her mind as she made her way back to Ramsay.
***…***
The day had been a much slower crawl for Ramsay, whom left with nothing to occupy his time had drowsed on the bed for an hour or so but found that as much as he'd wished to just check out mentally, sleep was not on the menu. No longer stewing from his earlier confrontation outside the confines of Sansa's bedchambers and propelled by his boredom, Ramsay decided a bit of exploring was in order.
A spike of nervous energy pulsed through his frame as Ramsay sat up and slid open the nightstand drawer to peer inside. Sansa hadn't told him that he couldn't take a look around, but a part of Ramsay discerned that his snooping about and sifting through her belongings likely wouldn't make her happy to discover. Ramsay of course vindicated the action to himself with the conjecture that with Sansa having moved his clothing into her armoire that this was to be his place of residing too, so why shouldn't he be able to indulge his curiosity? This rational emboldened Ramsay further as he progressed through every nook and cranny of both nightstands, Sansa's vanity, the clothing cabinet, book shelves, and finally the item he'd been most reticent to address, the luggage that had yet to be unpacked from Sansa's journey.
There was more holding Ramsay back than just the fact that Sansa's bags were most definitely not communal space, and if caught rummaging through them, it was akin to a violation of privacy. Under normal circumstances, Ramsay didn't give a damn about another's confidentiality, but given his new standing the threat of possible punishment pushed the hackles on the back of his neck to rise as his stomach twisted in an odd sort of way that gave him a rush of adrenaline just to contemplate the deed. These feelings gave Ramsay pause, but what had stopped him cold was the apprehension of what may be lurking within the depths of her possessions. Sansa had been to his old homestead, she'd conversated with his mother over what he'd not been able to fathom and was unable to ask. It occurred to Ramsay that Sansa could have been given any sort of object of yore that would open a floodgate of acidic value to the memories it contextualized. There had been few assets that Ramsay had called his and even fewer that he'd left behind when he'd turned that page in his life, but the thought of finding a buried relic and the accompanying sentiments that would likely create was enough for him to stave off the impulse for excruciating minutes before even that ward was broken and Ramsay's curiosity demanded satiation.
Deft fingers worked to untie and unbuckle the bundled belongings unraveling the secret contents within the last vestiges of uncharted territory Sansa's private quarters held that Ramsay had yet to investigate. Ramsay decided that as he removed items from Sansa's bags, he'd put any miscellaneous odds and ends on the bed and set the clothing in her armoire. This sort of unpacking gave him the excuse of 'tidying up' the place while effectively perusing all articles contained therein.
It felt like a solid reasoning that Sansa would not question his intent for (after all, she'd left him to his own devices, once more isolated away to her bed chambers for half the day. What else was he to get up to?) Even with this logical justification set in place, Ramsay's spine jolted with a jumpy flinch, and his hands fumbled with the dress he was hanging as the door yawned Sansa's return. He'd dug through all of the sacks with a cursory look over when he'd first started this venture without seeing anything of real interest and only continued the systematic work of putting the objects away in fear that Sansa would otherwise have recognized he'd rifled through her things. That anxiety still niggled at the back of Ramsay's mind now as his eyes widened affixing to Sansa's approaching form.
Relief had flooded through Sansa to have finally returned to Ramsay and her sanctuary after much of the day's errands had been tended to, but the sudden halt in Ramsay's movement as she'd entered followed by the uneasy manner in which he gazed upon her, set alarms to raise that he had been up to something. Her lips contorted into the slightest of frowns, barely perceptible to any who did not know Sansa well.
Ramsay did know Sansa well enough though, and feeling a compulsory need to explain his actions before she could address them, Ramsay blurted out with a nervous grin that grew as he spoke, "I hope you don't take offense to me putting your belongings away. I… I was rather bored, and I assumed that since the servants hadn't seen to it already, it would give me something to busy myself with."
Sansa's vision spanned to take in Ramsay's current activity absorbing it before her eyes dropped down to her partially filled luggage and finally over to the few other travel items she'd brought that were not clothing lying neatly across the bed spread. If not for the oddity of Ramsay's mannerisms, Sansa would not have felt the scene amiss, but both were getting a keen sense of the other now, and Ramsay was telling on himself.
There wasn't anything left that she was hiding from him, but a small part of Sansa wondered if Ramsay thought she was still keeping secrets. Her gaze fell away as she pondered this, and absently, she reached down into the side pouch of the opened knitting bag that Ramsay had barely touched (due to its obvious contents.) Pulling at the tuft of fabric that had been peeking out of the pocket, Sansa withdrew the silken scarf she'd made for Ramsay on her journey giving it a once over to see that it still met her satisfaction.
Not moving to continue the ruse of unpacking after placing the last dress he'd had in hand into the armoire, Ramsay's sights drifted down to remain captivated on Sansa watching her intently and eager to hear her reply. When Sansa hadn't responded, Ramsay had momentarily worried that she may be angry with him, but taking in what she was doing brought on an inquisitiveness to see what Sansa was excavating from the knitting bag. Ramsay blinked in surprise as Sansa rose from beside the bag, turned towards him, and took a step to stand next to him to gently drape the scarf over his neck. Ramsay fixated on Sansa's hands as they smoothed the material down his front. She stated placidly as she stared down at the minute wolf patterns etched into a design throughout the cloth, "Blue is a good color on you."
It was a simple statement, but mentally Sansa's thoughts finished the sentence with, 'Wearing my house's emblem over that wretch on an X, also looks far better on you.' She kept that comment to herself though so as not to tarnish the gift by making it one more way that she was marking Ramsay as hers by further removing him from the Bolton legacy.
If Ramsay had read her underlying intent, he would not have found the offering as endearing. As it was, knowing that Sansa had used the many hours that she'd been away from him to stitch him a bit of finery had Ramsay's face illuminate with the brightest of smiles. His eyes rose to take in Sansa with a slight air of surprise as he questioned, "You made this for me?"
Sansa nodded an affirmative with a smile of her own happy to see Ramsay seemed pleased with her present, "With winter upon us, you could use an extra layer to keep warm."
It was Ramsay's turn to nod as he ran his fingers down the length of the cloth enjoying the soft pliable material of the silk combined with crushed velvet. The threadwork really was on par with many crafters in the trade that sold their wares at the market. Ramsay spent a long moment just taking in the details before replying with a softly murmured, "It's exquisite; thank you."
Sansa beamed at his noted appreciation, "You're most welcome, Ramsay. I plan to make you many things in the coming days that I hope will please you in similar fashion. Perhaps something extra special for your name day? If you'd like anything in particular, you may request it, and I'll see what my ability holds to make it for you."
His eyes rose once more blinking to focus on Sansa as he mutely paused at her proposal before faltering out a curtailed response, "A particular request?" Ramsay hadn't been given many presents outside of what Roose had bestowed upon him as a rank of his station. Those weren't seen as endowments over upgrades earned vicariously from being the only Bolton heir and having spent the better half of his life raised as a nobleman.
Having expected more from Ramsay, Sansa had left his truncated sentence to hang in the air until she'd realized that was all he was going to offer. It left an awkward suspension in the conversation, so she continued stiltedly, "Well… you can ruminate on it. There's no rush to decide… saying your name day isn't tomorrow that is," Sansa chuckled softly hoping Ramsay would assure her it wasn't and give her his actual name day so that she'd have an idea of a timetable to be able to make him something nice, but he didn't expound further. Instead, a shadow overtook the previous delight Ramsay had shown her moments prior as he continued to stare down at his scarf absently playing with the folds.
Sansa's brow crinkled in dismay as she asked gently, "Do you know when your name day is Ramsay?"
Silence persisted a moment longer before Ramsay shrugged off the question with a dismissive reply, "It wasn't really worth making a fuss over, so I never took note of it." This was of course a boldfaced lie. All Ramsay had known was that he'd been born in the dead of winter and that his mother had been impregnated in the last throws of spring. She'd never acknowledged his birth in any sort of celebratory way (not that she had had anything to give him or would have wanted to make him anything he hadn't expressly needed if she had.)
Internally, Ramsay had roiled over the absence of any mark of a day meant to be his special day having secretly envied other children whose families had gone to such pains to show them just how much they meant to them through grand celebrations. This hadn't changed coming to the Dreadfort. His father wasn't much for revel making on his coin, and while Bethany had still lived, commemorating anything to do with Ramsay would have been a reminder that he'd wormed his way into their stead and deposed her son, Domeric. This was more than enough reasoning for Roose to forgo bringing up Ramsay's birth let alone make any sort of upheaval over an observance of his name day. To his credit though, Roose had never made any sort of pomp over his own name day either. Such recognitions weren't of much import to the Boltons.
The coveted want to have this sort of singularized gala faded for Ramsay as his childhood waned. It was replaced by an indifference over any sort of loss of worth he had borne from the prior lacking of notice, and it became another means for Ramsay to further detach from those around himself. As a lord, Ramsay had discerned every day could be a day to revel in his own personal merriments. Much of the time that also meant someone else's suffering as Ramsay seized what joys he could from the position being a nobleman afforded him. Who needed gifts when you could take what you wanted from those who didn't have the power to oppose you?
Of course, Ramsay had no power at all any longer, so there was nothing he would have that was not given to him. The irony of where he stood, comparatively to the relic of his previous self, washed over him anew. Ramsay's past reminiscences now chipped away at his malformed ego that flagellated him by the reality of the heavy consequences a lifetime of his sins had shouldered upon him. The wake of which left Ramsay's throat to bob as he swallowed his humility and conceded that he'd been humbled. It was a fall he yielded was self-actualizing; he'd come to accept that whether he wished this life or not that it had been earned.
A hand fell on his shoulder giving it a tender squeeze, and Ramsay brought his attention back to the present realizing belatedly that he'd been adrift in his own mind staring off in the distance. Sansa didn't have to say anything to show that she understood the topic was sensitive. With one gesture she'd brought the toothy grin back to grace Ramsay's face as he admitted, "Sorry. I was a little lost in thought."
"It's alright, Ramsay. Come," Sansa stated lightly taking his hand and leading Ramsay back to the bed. She swept the few objects that littered the bedside into her other hand and tossed them back into the maw of the half-filled bag Ramsay had been emptying. His sights dully took in the action more honed in on what the purpose of having brought him back to the bed entailed. Growing rigid, Ramsay had to wonder if Sansa planned to punish him for going through her things or return to activities of taking him with her glass prong, but his mind was set to ease as she climbed atop the comforter pulling him up alongside and down into her arms as she wrapped her body around his.
Tucking Ramsay's form into the contours of her own frame, Sansa encircled both his waist and shoulders cinching her hold upon him with a tightening squeeze that drew their bodies compactly into one another. The embrace warmed Ramsay both physically and emotionally, and he sighed his contentment for how this act of kindness left him to feel. He hadn't realized he'd needed a hug until he was receiving it, and the longer Sansa held him, the more Ramsay internally uncoiled starved for such simple ministrations. She'd seen his hurt and hadn't demanded more from him, and for this silent mercy, Ramsay was thankful.
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