章節 5: Twisted in All Directions
Chapter Five
Twisted in All Directions
"And what exactly do you plan to do with him now, Sansa?" Jon paced in the small archway of the study looking rather vexed at his sister who rocked slowly at the hearth staring into the fire seemingly unconcerned.
Sansa had been wondering the same thing. Originally she'd planned to get her revenge and put Ramsay down, but the past week had opened her eyes to many more possibilities. Ramsay's eyes, staring back at her last night still haunted her now. She'd left him shortly after violating him only to come back long enough to place a furred blanket over him. It was winter, and the dungeon was getting rather cold.
Ramsay had been shivering pulled in on himself as much as his restraints had allowed, and when she'd returned, he had shivered from something deeper than the cold he'd felt only glancing at her furtively before tucking his face back into his shoulder. He had been crying, silently to himself to unload the misery he felt in what he had hoped to be private isolation as his lingering pride, or the shreds of what was left of it, still made it difficult to let Sansa or anyone for that matter see this side of him. After everything that had transpired between them, to see her now sent his stomach to tie in knots. The realization made Ramsay feel ill; there was no denying that he was most definitely afraid of her now.
Sansa had sensed this too. It made her feel worse than she had after he'd broken down in front of her in an obvious snap of will from the things she'd done to him accompanied by his own guilt that she'd dragged out of him. She'd wanted to get into his head, and she'd finally done so, but what was revealed left her feeling a cold numbness to prickle through her.
Her resolve to hate him faltered under his impassioned inner torment; it leaked out of the cracks of his desperate attempts to hide baring that he, Ramsay, did in fact have a vulnerable side, and she'd somehow tapped into it. She'd not only tapped into it, she was ripping him apart like he'd done Theon. There was a level of satisfaction that she'd reached that deep within him to pull out something humanizing when Ramsay had done nothing but proudly work to display what a monster he could be for all to observe. He wasn't proud now; in fact she'd managed to wipe his smugness off his face the first day, and she hadn't seen him smile since.
Sansa felt the need to comfort him now, such an alien gesture to a man that had harmed her repeatedly with malicious intent, but the furs still shook with Ramsay's attempts to contain himself enough not to make any sound. Small sniffs still could be heard though, and Sansa frowned feeling her own inner turmoil build within her. Maybe Jon was right; maybe she was acting like a monster. She found herself dropping down to kneel in front of him once more, and Ramsay reflexively trembled.
The action sent an immediate spike of disgust through Ramsay that 'she' had produced this response in him, and his eyes glazed over once more as memories of Reek passed through his mind. Such shudders from Reek had elicited a yearning to see them again and again Ramsay remembered. They reminded him that Reek knew he belonged to him and him alone, and now Ramsay wondered if Sansa garnered the same level of joy from him now. The thought of her seeing him in such a light caused the tears standing in his eyes to fall once more, as if he couldn't be more pathetic Ramsay thought hatefully at the renewed wetness on his face.
"Are you hungry or thirsty, Ramsay?" Sansa offered evenly.
Her words caught Ramsay's attention, he was both hungry and thirsty, but he was now suspicious this would be a trick of some sort to introduce some other form of torture upon him. His mouth worked warring dually with whether or not he wanted to answer. His pride told him to remain silent, but another part, newly blossomed, feared not answering leading to some form of other torture.
Ramsay swallowed hard grimacing as he justified to himself that answering her was worth avoiding at least one more unknown torture. He shifted his head off of the mattress hovering above it, but Ramsay did not look at her; he was too embarrassed by the emotional state he was in. He spoke in barely over a whisper, "Yes."
Sansa studied him a moment longer before she stood and moved to and out the door without another word.
Hearing the swish of the fabric of her dress swivel away, Ramsay chanced a glance up to watch her go. He couldn't help but wonder why she was being so nice to him. It was preferred to indifference or a cold calculating glare that spoke of a simmering wish to see him in anguish. These remembered reflections of her made Ramsay quake with a wretched cut to his insides as if his innards shriveled at the thought of the gesture alone. She was conditioning him to thoroughly fear her wrath, and much to his disdain, Ramsay couldn't help but to follow the direction she pushed him towards. There really was no detour to the path she chose for him he'd grasped as much earlier on.
Long minutes passed, close to an hour, and Ramsay had wanly assumed that the torture of Sansa's last request was to make him desire what she'd offered, but in the end to never return leaving him hungrier than before she'd offered. He'd accepted as much and was almost surprised to hear her approach and enter to the now dimly lit dungeon. The torches would go out on their own in another hour or so, and it painted the dungeon in a softer glow than Ramsay had ever remembered. Not that he'd really paid much attention to the ambiance before, but with little else to whittle away his time with trapped within these four walls, the mind found it had to occupy itself with something.
His tears had dried, and he could face her as he lifted his face now with wide curious eyes. Those icy blue irises jerked to and fro across the expanse of the silver covered tray Sansa carried. A touch of nervousness was betrayed in his sudden jerky movements as she settled herself and the tray on the floor and lifted the lid.
Sansa had watched his face seeing that even in this way that Ramsay expected her to hurt him and seemed surprised her intentions were genuine. He stared longingly at the tray of food flitting his eyes up to her looking not unlike a begging dog under the table praying to be fed table scraps. She'd brought him a hearty stew that brewed in the cauldron from earlier in the night. The embers had drawn low, but there was plenty within the big pot to still feed a good sixty mouths in the earliest hours of morning. She'd also brought him a draught of apple cider, and she lifted it now to his lips.
Ramsay only hesitated a moment before drinking heartily in impulsive gulps from the mug presented to him. If it be poisoned than good riddance he thought more unafraid of a quick and mostly painless end now more than ever. He doubted Sansa was willing to ever make it that easy for him though. Finally having his fill of the large mug, he lifted his head away with a satisfied gust of breath closing his eyes and just enjoying the feeling of being satiated in that way. He blinked refocusing to see she watched him now rather intently, and his eyes felt the need to fall away, "Thank you, my lady," Ramsay forced in a voice that sounded far too weak for his own ears to hear.
His bashfulness now sent a surge of desire through her Sansa found as she settled the cup back on the tray and picked up the stew. She pulled a small spoonful of the chunky matter up to meet his lips, and Ramsay gingerly opened his mouth to take in the bite. Of course, he couldn't help a small wince at the reminder of just hours before how he'd opened his mouth for her in a much different manner. His jaw still ached from such treatment; a flush of shame burned his cheeks now, and he felt choked momentarily by his own mental vision as his mouth contorted in repulsion.
Sansa's brow furrowed as she asked curiously, "Is there something the matter with the food?"
Ramsay's eyes were quick to shoot up to her as he shook his head no vigorously, "It's fine my lady, delicious even!" His heart rate quickened; the last thing he wanted was for her to stop feeding it to him.
She took in his desperation for her to continue before nodding slowly moving back to the task. Her face remained expressionless, and as she continued to feed him, she saw he'd finally seemed to let his guard down to steel occasional looks in her direction; although, his eyes never lingered long.
He'd always looked at her with a hint that he'd known something she hadn't or with assurance that whatever he had planned to say to her would paint him in a glorious light. Ramsay had so much liked to brag. Hours in their private chambers after the deed of nightly raping had been done he'd mutter on hateful opinions of the Frays especially regarding his pregnant cow of a stepmother while he tossed back goblet of wine after goblet of wine in his obvious jealousy and fear of being usurped.
Ramsay always had something to say, but now he had nothing to offer. No venomous threats or grand schemes to embellish to her, no smug retorts or vile lecherous insinuations that would lead to further assault to her person; the silence in that way was a relief. In fact, his face didn't even look the same to her now without carrying a shred of its normal fierceness and anger she'd grown accustomed to seeing. It had been akin to looking in the eyes of a rabid Jackal; now his face looked soft and he carried an air that showed he was unsure of himself. He was being held accountable he knew, and anything he deigned to say could have dire consequences. Yes, she'd definitely taken more than his anal virginity she was most certain now. There was something deeply satisfying to know she'd filtered him in such a way that he wouldn't dare to speak to her in a disagreeable manner ever again without fear of retribution.
The bowl was finished in silence, and Sansa placed it on the tray and lifted the mug for Ramsay to finish the last of its contents. His eyes became wary once more trying to ascertain what would follow this unexpected kindness. Did she plan to make him 'earn' the favor she'd granted? He may have done as much to one of his victims, toying with their emotions was often the fastest way to break a victim, Ramsay found. He had been very good at breaking people and making them scream; Sansa had proven she apparently had no problem in that department either. There were so many questions now that he wanted to have answers to, but Ramsay's tongue lay still, leaden in his mouth for the things he feared to ask and other things he simply didn't want to hear.
Instead, Ramsay bowed his head stating with no lack of the gratitude he felt, "Thank you for the meal, lady Sansa." He hoped his appreciation would be awarded with future treatment like this. The fact that he looked forward to getting fed well as being a kindness wasn't lost on Ramsay either, but if he had to be honest with himself, it was one of the best things he could come to hope for in his current standing. How very far he had fallen.
Sansa just watched him impassively now, and Ramsay felt meek under her gaze unable not to remember what she'd done to him and would likely do again; after all, she had thoroughly enjoyed herself at his expense. He'd felt her desire in the pants she heaved on the back of his neck and the muscle spasms her thighs had made when his own thighs had been spread to her shaking against her with every greedy thrust she'd lunged into him. The softness of her skin and the feel of her femininity did nothing to cut out the ruthlessness in the way she'd fucked him. It made him feel small in her presence now.
His jaw tightened as Ramsay's eyes danced back and forth in obvious thought; Sansa asked him curtly then, "You look as if you have something you'd like to say to me. Spit it out Ramsay."
Ramsay's eyes lifted suddenly depicting uncertainty as his mouth worked trying hard to say what was plaguing his mind, "What …what will you do with me now?"
She raised an eyebrow thinking, 'anything I want,' and this thought sent a chill down her spine both from lust and self-disgust that she couldn't help mildly regarding him as an object even now. She took in a deep breath, "You're going to serve me. I want to make use of you still. Perhaps I'll just keep you in my chambers to satisfy my needs as I need them met," this elicited a balk from Ramsay that she would be so forthcoming to him with such lascivious intent, but he supposed he should expect no less. She seemed to relish turning much of his own past mannerisms back on him. Ramsay had often enjoyed the quiet unwelcomed acceptance in her eyes when he'd whispered what he'd planned to do to her once he'd brought her back to their personal chambers for the night. She had dreaded his advances, but she'd had no place to deny him his pleasures as his wife, and now he in turn had no place to deny her.
For her to point it out to him in this way though still thoroughly shamed him, and he found he could once more no longer keep eye contact as he let out a small cough and the heat in face spread clear to his ears. She was getting good at embarrassing him, and from the small grin that swept across her face, he knew she liked that too.
"Tell me Ramsay, how did you expect this to all end?" She asked, but her tone was mocking now.
Ramsay swallowed hard as he muttered much deflated, "Not like this…" he didn't elaborate feeling lost in the statement as it was.
"No, I imagine not," Sansa quipped, "But you had stated on the battlefield that you'd missed me terribly, and now here we are back together again. Does that statement of yours not still hold true?" She knew she was poking a wound now, but she didn't care. He'd meant to torment her then, and she'd meant the same now.
Ramsay found himself drawing his eyes back up to meet her stony expression as his mind focused on memories of the parlay. He found the last ounce of pride he could muster as he stated lamely, "You'd also told me I'd die that day, but I suppose we both were less than honest."
Sansa scoffed raising from the ground with the tray in hand, "You did die that day Ramsay; you just haven't realized it yet."
His mouth parted, and the look of disbelief that had taken over his features shifted into a look of regret realizing that her words, although harsh, had rung too true. The man he was now was certainly not the man that had been on the battlefield that day; he never would be that man again. She had changed him irreparably.
Her mouth turned into a sneer seeing him feeling sorry for himself for no longer being the monster she knew, "Do not mourn for such a loss, Ramsay. The world never needed or wanted that side of you." Her head tilted to the side slightly as a surge of inner anger twisted her words to make him visibly squirm now, "You will be of much use though, I'll make sure of it, if only to warm my bed, so that I can explore you more fitfully. I must admit I was a bit excited tonight, more excited than I thought I'd ever feel to share a bed with you. You should be pleased that you have created such a fervor in your wife. Doesn't this please you, my dear husband?"
Her words continued to send cold waves of discomfort to pulse through him as imagery of what she said to him coupled with the pain he was still suffering from correlated to form an angst-ridden frown to play across his lips. Did she actually expect an answer? His eyes had avoided Sansa as she hammered away further at the ravaged remains of his ego, and as quiet followed, he left the question to hang in the air praying it was rhetorical in nature.
Sansa set the tray down taking a step closer, and Ramsay found himself shrinking back slightly and cringing as she ran her free hand through his hair, "It pleases me, and that's all that really matters now." Her fingers grasped at his scalp moving across the top of his head, the touch was not coarse though, it was gentle, and he found the now tender caress evoked a turmoil of emotion within him as he shuttered and unbidden tears welled in his eyes and fell seamlessly down the sides of his face.
Ramsay would have preferred that she had been vengeful now, it would allow for him to have rallied a firm hatred against her ministrations, but Ramsay hadn't had many gentle touches ever in his life. His mother had always held him at a distance because of the pain he'd represented being born to begin with. To have Sansa give him even this much sent a discord through his being that made him crave it more, "I will please you, my lady," he found himself saying quite brokenly.
She hadn't expected this response from him Sansa realized as something inside her ached at his reaction. She found herself cupping the sides of his face to lift his gaze to her; she had to know his true intensions. Was he playing a trick? What she saw there looked fiercely loyal, but that wasn't to say Ramsay wasn't a masterful liar, even if that were the case, that was not the feeling she garnered from him now. What she felt now was a sense of longing, he did want to please her, and he would.
Sansa released her hold, and Ramsay closed his eyes turning his face into her retreating palm. She hesitated a moment to caress him further, and he sighed contentedly his hot breath grazing her wrist. This sprang all new urges in her that she'd never felt for the man, and Sansa now felt the need to retreat without further statement as she grabbed the tray from the chair and turned to leave.
She peered back once as she opened the heavy metal door, and his eyes held her captive for a moment with a look that spoke that he might in fact actually miss her.
That had been several hours ago. Sansa had found it hard to sleep, and busied herself for much of the early morning and afternoon helping tend to the wounded. She retreated to the study to think now, and her thoughts continuously went back to Ramsay. She felt so very confused now; could she actually find it in herself to care about a man as brutal as Ramsay Bolton? By all rights she should hate him wholly, but some small part of her wanted a little more of him now than she'd taken, and if the look he'd given her before they'd parted ways meant anything, she had sensed he'd be willing to give it to her.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the sound of heavy boots met the study's doorframe. It was Jon, and he wore a grave expression.
Sansa went to rise, and Jon held up a hand, "There's no need. I can't stay long. I came to ask you if you've sated your revenge on that poor bastard yet, so we can give him the end he's got coming."
"There isn't going to be an execution," Sansa stated flatly.
"And what exactly do you plan to do with him now, Sansa?" Jon paced in the small archway of the study looking rather vexed at his sister who rocked slowly at the hearth staring into the fire seemingly unconcerned.
Sansa stated in a matter of fact tone, "I'm going to keep him. I want Ramsay to serve me as his punishment. I still think that death is far too good for him; let him suffer the fate he gave Theon Greyjoy."
Jon's lips parted as he regarded her in utter surprise quite astounded that she would suggest as much for the likes of Ramsay Bolton, "Sansa… please listen to me. You're grieving over the atrocities this man has caused you and our family, but don't you think it's time to move on? Let the man swing, and be done with him. This is not what mother and father would have wanted. Besides, he's our enemy, we'd never be able to trust him."
Sansa did rise from her chair then a heat blossoming through her, "Not what mother and father would have wanted? Did you forget one of our most trusted servants had been a Wildling captured for her crimes and sentenced in the same fashion? I didn't see mother and father batting an eye to the sentence, but they probably would have to see the North ride with an army of Wildlings. Do not throw their names in on this decision, Jon, times have changed, and so have we!"
Jon's eyes softened as he moved closer to take one of her hands in both of his, "If this is what you want, I will not stand in your way, but do know every minute that Ramsay Bolton breathes, a will always be wary. He's a dangerous man, Sansa, I hope you know full the risks you take."
She regarded Jon carefully giving a small nod, "I do. I know him better than most, and I've seen what he's capable of. Trust I'll not take my eyes from him for one second."
Jon took in a deep inhale pulling her into a hug, "Alright. He lives, but I swear if that bastard hurts you or anyone else, I'll cut off his balls and feed them to his man-eating dogs while he watches!"
Sansa appreciated that Jon gave her this much, she had been afraid he would take action 'for her' regarding Ramsay, but he still respected her enough to seek her council on the matter. She hoped the choice she was making wouldn't come back to haunt her.
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