章節 16: Illumination
Chapter Sixteen
Illumination
The next few hours saw to Ramsay tapping his fingers and staring heatedly at the parchment before him feeling both shamed by the fact he was having to work to come up with ideas of contrition for crimes he had felt vindicated committing and waiting for the inevitable return of the Stark bastard who would then judge his labors to inform Ramsay whether or not his endeavors were worthy enough to reduce, or if at all possible, eliminate a predetermined punishment to come. It was a good thing that he'd had a second quill as in his seething frustration, Ramsay had impulsively crushed his first quill with an irritated fist snapping the brittle implement easily. Realizing what he'd done, Ramsay carried the rage out further and violently threw the fragments onto the stone floor before calming and snatching up the second quill to continue his work.
One of the first suggestions he'd scrawled onto the page was the thought of using his archery skills to teach one of these ingrates the ability to hunt, of course the things that Myranda had taught him when it came to training hounds was invaluable, so he jotted this down as well. Upon rereading them to himself, Ramsay had realized that these two suggestions would likely only rile Jon further because he'd killed his brother with his archery and had threatened to feed Jon and his companions to his man-eating dogs, Ramsay quickly blotted them out. The last thing he wanted to do now was to upset Jon more than his procrastination already had. He wanted to work his way out of getting disciplined rather than earning himself more of Jon's annoyance. Ramsay was more than sure any half-assed attempts as a note to give either sibling lip service would also be met with punishment, so Ramsay sighed, irritably folding his arms to rest his chin on them, as he began to seriously ponder what he could actually offer those he'd hurt to make a real attempt to compensate them.
Ramsay didn't really have much in the ways of skills to offer; his father, Roose had given his mother enough protection to keep her mill and fend off her dead husband's brother's greedy attempts to take it from her (earning the man a cut off tongue for his troubles to ensure Roose's help was not disclosed), and his mother's servants tended the fields in order to live on her acquired lands leaving Ramsay to traipse about with Reek doing as he pleased until he'd come to live at the Dreadfort.
His half-brother, Domeric had been trained to do so many things that Ramsay wasn't good at. Ramsay had envied him so much; Domeric had everything given to him, the training of a knight, riding lessons to make him a master horse rider, a noble's education, an heir to all the Bolton lands, and most of all their father's approving eye. Even after Ramsay had had Reek slip the drought of herbs he'd taken from the Maester's quarters, meant to poison vermin, into Domeric's food, and his brother had fallen ill and eventually breathed his last breath leaving Ramsay as Roose's only living heir, Roose still would only regard Ramsay with no more than a cold disdain.
Roose had never accused Ramsay of being responsible for Domeric's death (he couldn't prove it), but Ramsay was almost positive that his father had known what he'd done and perhaps blamed himself for allowing Domeric to talk him into bringing Ramsay to the Dreadfort to begin with. Either way, Ramsay had been his only living heir after so many other attempts prior to Domeric had led to a still born or death before the babe had ever left the cradle. No, Ramsay would have to do if Roose were to leave any legacy at all, even a tainted one with blood so bad that leeching did nothing to stave off the growing depravity that lurked within the bastard of Bolton. Ramsay hadn't cared though because he was heir to the Bolton estate, and he was just happy to be his father's only son now.
Ramsay had felt nothing for Domeric back then other than animosity for taking everything from Ramsay that he'd felt he'd always deserved, but now, as his thoughts drifted over his past to try and ferret out what he could actually offer to do for others, some small part of him realized that his brother might have actually wanted him for more than just an entourage piece. Domeric had spoken of him being his squire which only spoke to Ramsay as being Domeric's servant as a second son; Ramsay was tired of being second best.
Ramsay had had no comprehension of what he actually could have had to have been Domeric's brother. He'd never given the relationship a chance having sought to kill Domeric not long after he'd managed to worm his way into the castle. Ramsay had been so blinded by his own rage and insecurities that he only saw his brother's want of him as nothing more than a humiliation, a slight for his low birth to stand beside his brother's shining glory. It only intensified how Ramsay had secretly always saw himself as a joke and an outcast who desperately tried to wear the guise of the Bolton name to prove himself worthy in his father's eyes. He was Roose's son to, and it stung his pride and his heart to know that he never would be more than half-Bolton trash to the man. To Ramsay, Domeric had reminded him that he was a shamefully poor substitute to his father's trueborn son. There was so much in a name, and Ramsay had wanted to be so much more than 'the bastard of Bolton' that he'd failed to see the bigger picture. With everything that had come to pass, where he sat now having been stripped of everything, Ramsay had nothing more to do than reflect on his life and his very bad choices.
You are the company you keep, and other than Domeric, Ramsay had been of the ilk that were ruthless and selfish; he'd readily maintained the same outlook throughout the entirety of his life, but the Starks believed in fairness, and most of all justice, and Ramsay knew this too even if their concepts of integrity had never been placed into him from his raising, he recognized them in others especially when he had no other choice but to. The Starks were loved by the people, and Ramsay had always thought their supporters foolish and weak, but standing upon the decimation of his own house to remain the only living Bolton, a failed family that would be erased from history, left Ramsay to realize he now stood alone by his own hand, and he had been the foolish one.
As much as Ramsay didn't want to believe he'd done anything wrong, the longer he spent trying to devise ways to make amends, the more he was starting to get a niggling sensation that he could spend a lifetime trying to make right all of the terrible acts he'd unleashed on others and still never be able to make up for them all. He'd spend the rest of his days working to scratch the surface of his misspent youth, and whereas before he'd felt a sense of pride to have hurt and lorded over so many by garnering ways to strike fear in their hearts, to now be in a similar position to so many he'd taken from, Ramsay was finally beginning to feel a sense of regret.
These ruminations caused Ramsay's stomach to twist and his chest to tighten, he didn't like these feelings either; in truth, until recently, he'd never given his actions a second thought because as long as Ramsay had gotten his way, that was all that had mattered to him. It was hard not to feel some sort of compunction now though, after all, he'd originally been spared solely because of his heinous crimes only to prolong his suffering where anyone else would have merely been sentenced to a quick death. No, death would have been a mercy, and it had been decided that he hadn't deserved an easy ending to his pain. Ramsay had longed for death drowning in his own humiliation and self-loathing over what he had faced, what had been done to him, when Sansa had first started taking him to task. Things had become much better between him and Sansa once she had altered whatever plans she'd intended for him formerly, but what she had already done to him had left a lasting and permanent impression.
Sansa had cracked Ramsay's exterior to make him consider and relate to his immoral deeds through his own trauma and pain. It wasn't until she'd torn him down to his very foundation did he finally see what she and many others had expected him to feel all along. It had been a dawning realization when she'd taken him roughly with her glass cock reiterating all the poisonous things he'd poured into her on a nightly basis and reflecting those words back at him whenever he'd called out for clemency. Sansa artfully connected his offences on her with his own misery; she had made a victim of him by recreating her experience in him firsthand. It had shown Ramsay how awful what he'd done to her was, and she did so again here by mental means commanding him to think on his crimes and devise punishments for himself.
To put himself in the shoes of those he wronged and try to find ways to compensate them for what he'd taken from them left Ramsay at a loss because there really was no way to repay someone's family for flaying one of their kin, but that was what he was expected to do since he couldn't die for all of them a hundred times over (which would have been his answer for the things he'd done if it had not been done by him but instead to him.) It wasn't in Ramsay's nature to empathize, and the very act of doing this was forcing him to look at his actions and face the reality of his transgressions through more aware eyes. Ramsay was starting to realize with a sickening dismay that on some level he did deserve punishment as the excuses he'd made previously to justify his actions no longer held the weight within him they once did. In the end it was why he couldn't hate Sansa now; Ramsay knew what he'd done to her, to Theon (his Reek), and whereas before he'd only considered his own want to torture them and feel gratification for elevating himself above them, trueborn nobles that thought they were better than he was and deserved to be brought low by his hand, he now had clarity to personally correlate how prolonged hurting physically and emotionally was a dreadful state to be in.
Ramsay couldn't avoid the icy chill that ran through his veins; he wanted to scrub his brain of all the thoughts that now plagued him, but once the perception of empathy had come to light within his core, there was no undoing it. Like most people, but new to Ramsay, he was beginning to feel more than regret for having to pay for his crimes, Ramsay was starting to encompass an understanding of the pain he'd caused others where an underlying emotion stirred within him that he'd never recognized feeling, a sense of guilt. Remorse was a foreign concept newly implanted within Ramsay through Sansa's radical methods, but like a disease, the small fragment she'd made him feel already seemed to be infecting his way of thought starting to now carry over and observe more than just her and himself. Ramsay didn't want to think about other people as having feelings or pain, they weren't special, they weren't Sansa, they weren't him! Yet, try as he might, Ramsay couldn't help but to absorb this fact as his mind ticked numbly away so many failed ideas to find forgiveness from those he'd wronged. The futility of his strained determinations left Ramsay feeling disheveled and hollowed from the lack of any suitable suggestions he could actually propose.
Time was ticking away, and Ramsay didn't want Jon to come back to find an empty page a second time around, so finally pushing past all the uncomfortable emotions he was feeling, Ramsay began to list anything that came to mind that he could do for another person that excluded any form of activity that would be seen as hostile or relating back to his crimes. The list was painfully small by the time the servants came with his dinner which even though he'd not eaten in some time, Ramsay had managed to lose his appetite in the wake of expecting Jon's soon to be return.
Would his list be acceptable? Probably not, and the thought of the other man's disappointment in him served to sour Ramsay's mood further. Ramsay's own lack of productivity aggravated him, and he now redirected that vehemence at Jon because he knew the man would be coming soon to deliver a promised punishment to him. The fact that bastard was given the right to reprimand him at all rose the hackles on the back of Ramsay's neck. He hated Jon and his pretentious self-righteous face! Ramsay stewed now scowling with arms folded tightly against his chest becoming more and more upset by the moment the further his own anticipation stressed that judgement was almost upon him.
As an act of spitefulness to add to his very brief listing, Ramsay wrote in big letters that filled up the remainder of the page, 'DEATH,' before rolling the scroll up unceremoniously and tossing it on the table. Seemingly satisfied with the small act of defiance, Ramsay snatched a chicken leg that had gone cold off his dinner plate and began ripping into it. He might as well eat Ramsay thought bitterly as there was nothing more he could really do but wait, and Jon did make him wait. It was nearly dark by the time Jon had arrived; after so many long hours, Ramsay had lost most of his agitation sinking into a state of melancholy acceptance of what he was sure to face.
Unexpectedly, Jon was no longer wearing a weapon when he entered the dungeon, and he dismissed the weary guards that looked as though they were ready to die of boredom. These were two replacements that had come around midday but had not spoken to Ramsay (not that he'd minded since Ramsay tended to ignore the guards as best as he could anyway.) Ramsay wasn't sure if the fact Jon had discharged the guards so easily and came bearing no protection made him feel relieved or insulted. Surely Jon didn't see him as no threat at all? Jon had manhandled him in the courtyard rather easily, Ramsay remembered with a growing frown, but Jon must know that underestimating him was a mistake. Mixed feelings aside, Ramsay did find his curiosity peeked as he watched Jon release the men from duty and come to stiffly sit across from him just staring at Ramsay a long moment as if to assess him fully before they began their parlay.
Jon settled back in his seat taking the rolled up scroll and unfolding it to purview its contents. His expression was worn and serious as he lowered the parchment and regarded Ramsay tiredly, "Death… you put this down as a mark of insolence I take it?"
Ramsay rocked peevishly in his own chair crossing his arms once more as he squared his shoulders rebelliously and cut his eyes to stare crossly at the wall, "You plan to take me to task regardless, so what does it really matter what I wrote? We both know it to be the only compensation anyone would really want. Debts are paid in blood after all, and I've spilt plenty of theirs." His jaw tightened working out his frustrations a moment before his body slackened, and Ramsay breathed out a heavy despondent exhale, "You wanted me to tell you what I thought they would want from me… it's only a fair assessment that my death is what most would scream for. Why not give it to them then?"
Jon's brow furrowed as he studied Ramsay closely, "You're serious aren't you? You would readily die for your crimes rather than live and make amends?"
Ramsay's eyes flicked back to Jon as he smirked letting out a humorless laugh, "Is that so surprising? Do you think I'm afraid of dying?" The emotions that had brewed within him all day now wrestled to come to the surface, and Ramsay fought them back down with a building wrath as his impulsive nature took over and he spewed out with a hiss, "I'd rather die than be paraded about making nice for the benefit of your allies! You asked me the penalty I would give for my crimes? I wrote it plainly; it would be death, a hundred times over!"
Jon quietly took in Ramsay's impotent rage as the man's nostrils flared and he gripped the table with whitening knuckles. He didn't take offense to Ramsay's outburst, Jon only sighed, "You can't atone for anything in death, Ramsay. It's an end, and for whatever reason, my sister wants you to remain among the living for her sake, so death is not an option. Your other points… I wish there were more, but it's a start."
Ramsay was amazed that Jon hadn't chided him or responded with any sort of condemnation for his lack in number of ideas. The fact that Jon hadn't treated him the way he'd automatically expected had Ramsay visibly deflate as he looked down at the table to respond hesitantly, "I… I didn't know what else to put down." Ramsay added almost inaudibly as he slumped back in his seat, "It wasn't from lack of trying. I just… I don't think I really have much to give that would be considered a comparable restitution."
Equally surprised by Ramsay's admission having expected a blustering rude response rather than a humble one, Jon's hardened expression softened taking the smaller man's countenance in. Perhaps Sansa was on to something and Ramsay really was changing under her guidance. It didn't make Jon like Ramsay, but it did give him pause to dislike him a little less, "It's not a matter of what you can provide as restitution over a willingness to sincerely try to provide it. Sansa didn't give me a measure of what she wanted to see you write, but I do know the emboldened word death taking up more than half the paper is not going to win you any favors with her. I'll bring you a fresh parchment tomorrow, and you can transfer the propositions you made onto a new sheet and try to add anything else you can think of."
Ramsay's eyes widened in surprise to hear Jon's response, "You'll not tell her of this then?" A small light of hope rang through him to think that the way their conversation was going now that this whole incident may just get swept under the rug.
Jon dashed that hope to pieces with his next statement, "I'll not tell her about you having to rewrite the parchment, but if she queries on whether I had to punish you while she was away, I will not lie to her."
Ramsay's mouth parted to speak pausing a long moment before finding his voice. It was strained and perturbed, "What I did write… that wasn't enough for you then…"
He'd already told Ramsay that he would discipline him, he'd also given him the opportunity to lessen the degree of his penalty if he'd put forth effort to comply. Ramsay hadn't written much, and outside the childish display of marking up the length of the remaining paper with the word death, Jon did believe from Ramsay's reactions and words that he likely did try to cede to his command. Weighing his options, Jon finally decided, "I will not forgo what I already stated I would do, but I do think you put in a concentrated attempt to give me what Sansa wanted from you, so I will also be lenient in what I deliver."
Ramsay's muscles tensed to take in Jon's statement, so there was no avoiding this, but the man did say he'd managed to earn less, so that was something… still the fact remained that he would be taking it from Jon, and that was more than Ramsay's pride could withstand. His brow furrowed in frustration as he growled indignantly, "If you plan to tell your sister upon her arrival home then why not let her decide my fate when she gets back? She is the only trueborn Stark in this keep after all! I pledged my fealty to her; she should be given the right to carry out any decisions concerning me, not you!" Ramsay already knew Sansa would be quite upset with him, and that he'd likely be earning another punishment at her hands for giving her brother trouble upon her return. The reality of this also had Ramsay on edge feeling quite powerless to control anything that was happening to him anymore. He had gone from practically doing whatever he pleased to living with a strict structure of rules that judged every move he made and every word he said. It was a lot to endure especially when not following commands met with corrective punishments.
It wasn't a shock that Ramsay would protest Jon's right to discipline him, but it did annoy Jon nonetheless that Ramsay would resort to calling out his lineage when he himself had been a bastard. He took in a deep breath steeling back his anger to respond in a calm firmness, "Your fealty matters not, Ramsay. You are a prisoner, and you have no rights other than what you are given. As for Sansa, she was quite clear in how she wished I handle you, Ramsay, and I am nothing if not a man of my word. I will carry out her will as promised, and you will submit to it willingly, or I will make you submit. I thought to give you the decency of carrying this out between you and I, alone, so as not to shame you further, but I will not hesitate to call the guards standing right outside the door to forcibly restrain you if you cannot face your punishment like a man. This is the only choice I'm giving you, so what is it going to be, Ramsay?"
Every word hit like a fist to the gut sending Ramsay into a stunned silence. He wanted to be furious, he wanted to protest further, but Ramsay knew to do anything so bold would surmount in a lot more pain and humiliation. Instead, Ramsay was just numb with indecision. His biggest choice now was how much humiliation was he willing to take and at what cost? He could fight Jon, and to be restrained would save him face enough that he hadn't willingly yielded to Jon like a submissive little cunt, but to do so meant that not only would others see his degradation (not just what Jon would do to him but what Sansa had already done to him last night) Ramsay would also most certainly suffer a much harsher chastisement from both Jon now and Sansa upon her return. His pride was worth a lot, but after everything he'd already been through, his ability to put up such a front hardly seemed worth the fallout that would follow such a brazen act of insubordination. Sansa was being relatively nice to him now, and disobeying her brother was already going to make her mad, but fighting him would likely make her furious with him.
Ramsay pouted feeling cornered between a rock and a hard place. He averted his eyes in his embarrassment having already chosen but finding himself unable to announce his decision because to do so meant surrender, and that too was a disgrace that Ramsay wasn't ready to face just yet.
Jon saw the myriad of emotions playing through Ramsay's face and posture; Ramsay had withdrawn to clasp his hands together staring at the floor as his legs bounced lightly with a nervous energy. He could tell Ramsay wanted to object, but there was also a sense of acquiescence in the way Ramsay's shoulders sank and his head bowed further in defeat. Jon remained silent letting Ramsay work through his own inner turmoil ready for either choice even though by Ramsay's mannerisms, Jon was leaning to believe Ramsay wouldn't give him any more trouble even if Ramsay hadn't verbally said as much.
The fact that Jon only patiently waited for Ramsay to make a decision brought Ramsay to think on how his father would always make sarcastic jibes whenever he would ask him to make a choice to both provoke and subdue Ramsay simultaneously. Roose knew that Ramsay worshiped him, and because he'd held such sway over the boy, he could be exceptionally cruel in the ways he would talk down to Ramsay and ensure the boy knew his place. No other man had been given the ability to direct Ramsay in such a way, and as such, this experience was uniquely foreign. Ramsay kept waiting for Jon to insult him or make him feel lowly, and when Jon was instead tolerant and respectful to the point of putting himself at risk by sending the guards away to help Ramsay save a little face and not to make him feel weak (as Ramsay had originally assumed was Jon's tactic), it became difficult for Ramsay to process how to respond.
Ramsay knew there would be a point where Jon would force him to make a decision if he held out too long, and Ramsay didn't want to be put on the spot to answer in such a demeaning way preferring to at least have this small bit of choice on his own terms. He took in a deep breath bringing wary blue eyes up to face Jon's dark unwavering stare as he nodded lightly, "Alright. I'll yield to you freely."
Jon nodded moving into action as the chair scrapped across the floor and he stood moving an arm to point towards the bed, "Let's get this over with." Secretly Jon breathed a sigh of relief as Ramsay's eyes followed the gesture, and he rose to move in the direction Jon had guided; the last thing Jon wanted to do was to have to force this on Ramsay and get into a physical altercation with the man. Of course they hadn't truly begun, so until all was said and done, Jon wasn't going to make any assumptions on how it would all turn out until the deed had come to pass without incident.
Moving in the direction Jon had pointed left Ramsay to break out in a cold sweat as his mind screamed at him to rebel, but his feet continued to tread mechanically over to where he'd been instructed. Ramsay's mouth turned down into a grimace as his stomach twisted in knots and his heartbeat pulsed in his ears. Ramsay couldn't help but to glance back with wide eyes that projected his uncertainty in succumbing to Jon's discipline of him. He swallowed hard while his fists clenched and unclenched as he turned to face Jon his eyes drawn to Jon's hand grabbing the strap from the chair's arm. It was now or never Ramsay thought as he strained a chuckle of false bravado, "You said to take your punishment like a man, I thought that meant you'd also be hitting me like one. Surely your fists can deliver enough punishment that you wouldn't need the extension of an implement?"
Jon frowned regarding Ramsay with an ounce of pity knowing to relinquish to being chastised in such a way as Sansa was ordering him to carry out would be awfully embarrassing. But then, someone like Ramsay Bolton needed to know shame, so Jon couldn't feel too badly for him, "I would heed your request, but Sansa has instructed I only punish you in this way. Please see yourself to disrobe and lie across the bed."
Ramsay grit his teeth as he looked away and a rise of frustration, helplessness, awkwardness, and futility coursed through him. He wouldn't bring himself to argue his plight as he knew such would be fruitless and only make him seem weak in both his and Jon's eyes. Ramsay shucked his shirt off pausing long enough to glance back to see if Jon would find his back to be a good enough target. Jon only silently observed, but the stony expression on his face portrayed that he was waiting for Ramsay to disrobe completely, and so Ramsay haltingly did. The act of taking down his pants in front of the other man was mortifying, and if he didn't have the strength of will he did, Ramsay would have cried from the level of deep shame he felt knowing his ass was already well decorated with blotches showing Sansa's well placed ministrations. Ramsay's lips quivered as he fought to maintain his composure noting the way Jon's eyes seemed to widen taking in the damage Sansa had afforded him.
Presenting himself in this way to Jon was much harder than it was with Sansa. Jon was not tying Ramsay down and there was no threat of anything but this punishment he was to face (which was more humiliating than painful, and as such harder to take psychologically than a simple thrashing with fists.) Ramsay could take that kind of abuse stoically, but a spanking was meant for children not grown men, and having endured it a number of times now, Ramsay knew it was still going to hurt like hell especially in the state his ass was in already. He wouldn't be able to restrain from bucking and crying out, and the thought of Jon seeing him in that light made Ramsay feel ill.
Jon had been his enemy, they'd waged a battle with banners flying and men dying, and to now find himself kneeling on the cold stone floor and stretching his body across his mattress to willingly allow himself to be strapped by that same enemy left Ramsay beside himself with wonder that he was able to bring himself to do it at all.
Jon gave no speech or warning simply striking Ramsay's exposed bottom as soon as it had been placed upon the mattress as ordered. The suddenness left Ramsay to audibly gasp and jerk forward with a start scrambling momentarily to remain in place as the intensity of the slap emanated across his very tender flesh. Unlike Sansa, Jon left no pause to ruminate where and when the next hit would land. He landed in quick unerring strikes to the same areas Sansa concentrated her efforts on (not that Jon wouldn't have been privy to that with the more than colorful display that was already present to work as an active guide.)
This was a special kind of nightmare Ramsay found as he was unable to mentally disconnect from like he had been able to do when Sansa had stood above him strapping him soundly. Jon's swing was sharper and the sting seemed to embed deeper with a resonance that took Ramsay's breath away. It didn't take more than ten strokes to have Ramsay squirming outside of his own desperate will to control himself. His body was acting on its own accord responding to the current of blows that came too fast to mentally register and cope with. It was a challenge not to roll away from the severity Jon delivered, and Ramsay found his gasps and grunts turned quickly to uncontrollable squalls and screams of pain as his legs twitched in barely contained resistance to block the onslaught for just a moment. It would be so easy to do so, but that in itself would prove to be far more shaming than to take it as he was. No, Ramsay would call out, but he would not stop Jon and prove that he couldn't take what Jon dished out, although Ramsay was seriously starting to wonder if this was Jon's idea of a light punishment exactly what would have been considered harsh?!
Jon watched in morbid curiosity as Ramsay physically and mentally began to break down before his eyes. He'd never done anything like this to another person, but the years of swinging a sword gave him enough skill to be accurate in his aim. Seeing Ramsay bounce about and squeal was almost comical if not for the very real implications of pain he was causing the other man. Before they had started, Jon had still held animosity towards Ramsay, and he had half wondered if his hate for the man would carry over into his discipline, but Jon found just as when he'd witnessed those men at the wall that had been sentenced to hang for their treachery against him, there was no joy in inflicting this pain even though he had felt if anyone deserved it that Ramsay Bolton was at the top of that list.
Ramsay made the mistake of looking back, and the visual of his much reddened ass gyrating to the symphony of Jon's continuous smacking lashes was too much to witness, and he found himself pleading, "Leniency! You promised leniency!"
Jon paused reflecting on Ramsay's words to contemplate whether or not he was being true to his word. What Ramsay had taken was not enough in Jon's eyes as he'd already devised a set number of licks that Ramsay was to endure, "I am being lenient, Ramsay. I would see you receive a total of fifty lashes for your disobedience. The punishment just feels harsher because you are suffering from pains you received the night before from a separate occurrence unrelated to this one. That is not of my doing but yours, and I will not reduce your sentence because you've managed to acquire punishments consecutively. Perhaps the added pain will act as an incentive to judge more carefully your options."
Jon's words stung his pride as much as the resumed heavy handedness of the strap where the small break in the rotation only seemed to make the pain feel that much worse. Having been given a solid amount of swats to expect would have been reassuring if not for the fact that what Jon had promised to deliver meant they were barely halfway through this ordeal, and Ramsay still had what he'd already taken with the added pain of what he'd suffered already to persevere through.
Knowing the number and how far they were from finishing made each new swat feel that much more awful to contend with. Jon was right of course, Ramsay's already very tender flesh before they had started made what he was serving him feel excruciating. It would have been nice if Jon would have considered this pain in his leniency, but Ramsay could hardly blame him as leniency had never even been in his vocabulary when dealing with any of his victims. Was that what he was now? A victim? As lick after lick fell, Ramsay hated to admit it, but he knew that he was less a victim verse a product of circumstance. Victims were chosen and selected, whereas he found this predicament through his own actions and had been taken to task for them. The question Ramsay now had to ask himself was how could he manage to keep well away from repeating this god awful cycle? And it was god awful he found as he wailed loudly to the biting kiss of well-oiled leather twisting from side to side now forcing Jon to pause before lining up to strike him again.
"Do you need to be chained down, Ramsay?" Jon finally asked wearily after Ramsay's writhing escalated to a point that it was taking several moments in between each lick to carry out the next one.
They had sixteen left to get through, but the fact that Jon felt the need to ask him that made Ramsay shrivel inwardly as he snarled, "No, just… just get it over with!" Jon questioning his ability to endure only shook Ramsay's deteriorating resolve farther as he felt his eyes glaze over with tears wondering just how pathetic he must look to the other man to have had him ask such a question. It was a downward spiral of emotions as Jon resumed and Ramsay fought with every ounce of his being now to remain still.
Ramsay was shaking all over by the time Jon delivered the last lash, and a sense of euphoria filled him to know he'd managed with no small amount of a miracle to make it through Jon's chastisement without breaking down into tears although several times he felt on the verge of them. He still felt emotionally drained and on the edge of tears now as he drew in exasperated breath after breath reaching back to tenderly touch his scorched flesh and shoot Jon an unhappy glare although he kept any snide comments he might have liked to make to himself.
Jon was just pleased to have reached the end of this, although when all was said and done, it hadn't been as difficult and uncomfortable to execute as he'd originally thought it would be. The petulant glower Ramsay affixed him with now made him raise a brow, "Have you not received enough? The way you're looking at me has me to wonder."
Ramsay flushed immediately averting his eyes, "No, it was enough! You made your point well!" He found his voice was cracking under the strain he was feeling as he subconsciously jittered under Jon's gaze worried that he might start again if he found him to not be contrite enough.
Jon tossed the strap back onto the arm of the chair, "Dress yourself, Ramsay. I'll chain you down, so you can rest for the night."
As Jon spoke Ramsay was quick to rise and begin stiffly dressing. Once he was dressed, Ramsay didn't wait for Jon to instruct him, he crawled on to his bed and raised each limb of his own accord to be manacled. Jon observed this too quietly watching Ramsay's silent compliant demeanor in slight awe of the severe change in the entirety of his attitude as he clasped each cuff to Ramsay's wrists and ankles. Ramsay for his part just wanted this to finally be over and did his best to put the awkwardness he felt away from himself by retreating inwardly as best as he could.
Jon threw the furred cover on top of Ramsay before coming back around to stare down at him taking in the way Ramsay looked almost dazed from the encounter. Jon sighed, "I'll be by tomorrow to take you out of here for a bit. I'm sure these same four walls are a strain to see day in and day out."
This caught Ramsay's attention as his eyes drifted up quizzically to regard Jon. He didn't understand why this man that he'd so ruthlessly killed his brother, tormented his sister, and had tried to kill him would treat him with any amount of sympathy. "You… you would do that for me?" Ramsay's voice wavered, "Why?"
Jon stared at Ramsay a long moment before responding, "To keep you down here like this isn't good for anyone. One needs to take in the fresh breeze to be able to think clearly, and I want you to work to give my sister a better list than you've given me today. You and I can sit down and discuss possibilities that you can do that you may not have yet considered."
Ramsay's throat tightened, Jon was wanting to help him and offering a reprieve from these dank quarters much to his surprise. It was unfathomable to Ramsay, and the offer stunned him silent as he processed Jon's words before nodding, "I… I would like that."
Jon gave him a small nod in return, "Good. I'll be by sometime after the break of light."
Ramsay was still speechless when Jon turned away and departed to leave him alone with nothing more than the burning scones on the walls to keep him company and his thoughts. His ass burned uncomfortably, but what Jon had told him even overrode the radiating pain he felt throbbing a heat of its own to what he was sure would equate to being quite difficult to sit comfortably as Ramsay's mind drifted to the idea of spending time with Jon without having the encounter be a part of any sort of negative connotation. Never in a million years did Ramsay imagine the two being in a civil way, but to think of it now wasn't something he would say he'd object to (which was dumbfounding in its own right after what the man had just done to him.) There was more to it than that though, and Ramsay actually found himself looking forward to what the morning would bring.
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