Parallels

Chapter 37

Parallels

The way Ramsay clung to Sansa resonated to her that he craved the warmth she shed upon him, and Sansa let Ramsay retreat into her for this much sought-after solace. In the wake of silence, Ramsay said nothing burying his head into Sansa's shoulder feeling a need to hide his face. He couldn't look her in the eye because even though she had disciplined him granting him exoneration of his deeds, the totality of the event coming to pass to begin with still adhered a stain of weighty shame upon him that Ramsay couldn't fully escape. Sansa only moved her hands in methodical slow circles soothingly up and down the fabric of Ramsay's dress shirt, a gesture meant to ensure to Ramsay that she was no longer upset and only wanted to comfort him. Oddly, this connection didn't feel awkward but inviting as the barriers between the two had been broken down to convene into this imparted moment. It was intangible, pure, and honest, and the harmony shared left an aura to reverberate like a breach of sunlight after a severe storm's passing.

Wanting Ramsay closer, Sansa drew one of her hands down to brace against his lower back and gently pulled Ramsay forward up her leg. Ramsay's back stiffened in automatic response to the pain the movement caused as he was quickly reminded just how full sore Sansa's hairbrush had made him. His backside was decorated with harsh raised welts that burned their presence be heeded, but other than a soft elicited grunt, Ramsay did not resist Sansa's advance to bring their torsos closer. Once Sansa had adjusted him, Ramsay let out a sigh of contentment relaxing into the feeling of being crushed against her having wanted this intimacy as much as Sansa.

Bringing his chin into the dip of her neck, Ramsay kissed her soft flesh appreciatively trailing from Sansa's neck down to the apex of her shoulder. Sansa reciprocated with a soft exhale of pleasure as she squeezed Ramsay affectionately to her. Tilting his head to lay comfortably on her shoulder, Ramsay nestled into Sansa enjoying the way their bodies melded into one another. Many of the candles had flickered out by now, and most of the room's light was cast by the crackling fire that danced shadows across the room. Ramsay's sights were drawn to the hearth penchant of the warmth it radiated alongside that which he now garnered from Sansa's embrace.

Staring into the flames, Ramsay's mind began to wander over the night's events marveling how it was that he came to be so dispossessed of his pride before Sansa yet still inwardly accepting of his recent place in the world. Sansa had settled something within him, calming his otherwise constant predilection to grasp for more than he'd otherwise been offered. Never would he have seen himself falling into a role where he bowed to anyone like he had chosen to do with Sansa, but much had changed him, and Ramsay had decided as long as he would be encompassed within the sentiments Sansa heaped upon him now, the humility he endured was a price worth paying. He was coming to understand what he most wanted from Sansa was something that she was more than willing to give him; he didn't have to fight tooth and nail to be loved by her, and this fact made him both puzzled and grateful to the kindness Sansa met his developing needs of her even when he'd so thoroughly disappointed her.

"Come; let's get you more comfortable," Sansa cooed lightly as she worked at the tassels cinching Ramsay's shirt. Ramsay shifted sitting up with a hiss as the underside of his ass rolled up to place his weight onto the firmness of Sansa's unforgiving thigh. Ramsay glowered on impact and Sansa chuckled at the sulk Ramsay afforded her playfully chiding him, "Don't look at me like that, Ramsay. It's not my fault you brought trouble upon yourself."

Ramsay soured further, but he had grown wise enough not to let the bitterness her comment provoked entice a negative retort. He instead exhaled his aggravation over his discomfort turning to look back at the fire and place his frown away from directing it at Sansa. Sometimes saying nothing was the best answer. Sansa did not rebuke Ramsay for having a bit of a bad attitude knowing that she was poking his sore ego to have said what she had. In response to his pout Sansa's mouth twisted into a small smirk finding his scowl amusing; she continued to silently work at the draw strings behind Ramsay until his dress shirt was loose enough for him to pull off.

Once Sansa had slackened the ties of his top well enough, Ramsay did not need prompting quickly tugging the article of clothing off his person and discarding it to the floor. Ramsay was never fond of the way noble clothing had need for assistance to wear or remove and how typically tight they would fit. The spanking had worked up a bit of exertion in him, so the shirt now dampened with sweat, felt even more constricting against his form than normal making Ramsay doubly pleased to have discarded it. Clear of the shirt, that left his pants still bunched and trapped beneath Sansa's knee holding Ramsay from leaving her lap. The reminder of this fact made a blush blossom across Ramsay's face as he turned back to peer at Sansa sheepishly awaiting for her to proceed being too averse to have to ask her to release him from her leg.

The thought alone was humiliating enough to create a wave of shame to course through Ramsay further reddening his cheeks and ears, and Sansa apparently catching on to Ramsay's silent plea for her to free him reached out to steady his body by gripping the undersides of Ramsay's arms and withdrew her knee that was keeping Ramsay immobile. Able to move once more, Ramsay shifted backwards away from Sansa to stumble back onto the floor where his pants fell the rest of the way down his legs to pool at his feet. Ramsay bent down awkwardly removing his boots and removing his leggings glad to no longer feel physically restrained by them.

As Ramsay worked to remove the remainder of his clothing, Sansa slid off the bed waiting for him to finish undressing, and when Ramsay had done so, Sansa turned her back to face Ramsay looking back over her shoulder expectantly. Sansa didn't have to ask for his help in disrobing as Ramsay automatically maneuvered up behind her to begin the task of unclasping her dress for her as he'd fastened it before their dinner. Sansa was pleased to note that this time when Ramsay's fingers worked to undress her there was no longer that cringe of remembered abuse. The memory was still there, but it no longer lingered to cut her further; Sansa had moved on to leave those sentiments in the past where they belonged putting her heart and mind at peace.

As the last hook was undone, Sansa let the dress sag from her form gracefully stepping out of her dress and bringing it back to the armoire to replace it alongside her other garments. She glanced back over to Ramsay who wordlessly observed her movements an ever-present interest lighting his eyes; Sansa smiled softly displaying her mutual fondness for him, "Please pick up your clothes and bring them to me, Ramsay; I would like to put them away in the wardrobe."

Ramsay glanced down at the discarded outfit, typically he saw tidying up to be beneath him, a servant's job, but Ramsay shrugged inwardly reasoning that he was to be staying in the lady's quarters now, and women tended to be far more orderly with their things. Ramsay followed Sansa's command bringing the items over to her although his gait was stiff with a sore back from the positioning Sansa had held him in (the exertion of twisting about to the intensity of her stinging hairbrush had made him quite taut.) Walking over to hand Sansa his suit, Ramsay was made aware of how taxing Sansa's punishment had been on him physically as well as emotionally.

Focusing on this ailment had Ramsay's mind turning over what else he currently suffered from feeling the acute persisting heat on his tenderized flesh making Ramsay reflexively reach back and gently rub at the niggling pain that radiated from his posterior. Standing by the armoire, the full length mirror was set to face them, and Ramsay found an impulse now to see exactly what Sansa had done to him although he highly regretted taking that glimpse once he had. His brow furrowed and the frown that had slipped away earlier returned reflecting Ramsay's misery at the illuminating discovery of bruising and welts he observed. He belatedly noted that Sansa had already hung up his outfit and was watching the mirror's image of him scrutinizing his swollen ass from over his shoulder as he lightly ran his hands up and down his inflamed flesh. Realizing Sansa was seeing this display, Ramsay quickly turned back to her with an instant flush of humiliation dropping his hands to his sides and averting his gaze as he subconsciously cleared his throat.

Sansa could see clearly the damage she'd done to him, and although she did not regret delivering the discipline, a part of her did feel a want to mollify Ramsay's suffering. She stated gently, "Go lie on your stomach atop the bed; I will seek out the maester and return with a salve to help soothe your discomfort."

Her words did nothing to assuage the embarrassment Ramsay felt; the last thing he wanted was for further rumor to circulate about a need of a healing ointment for him. Ramsay's eyes shot up from the floor fixing Sansa with a worried gaze. He shook his head as he blurted out, "No, no! I'm fine… really."

Sansa merely sighed grabbing a simple winter nightgown from the wardrobe and throwing it over herself having already decided her course of action, "Nonsense. I won't be long, Ramsay. The maester should already have the ingredients needed to make a tincture to ease your soreness. Stop being so stubborn, and go lie in the bed to await my return."

As she spoke, Sansa gathered a coat and donned slippers to make herself decent enough to traverse the halls of the castle. Ramsay watched her move about the room readying herself with mouth slightly agape wanting to object but knowing that Sansa would not be deterred from her given course once her mind was set. Frustrated by her determination, Ramsay glowered in defeat turning to bound over to the bed. He angrily tossed the covers aside climbing into the bed only to then snatch the blankets back up and over himself flopping down in a huff and facing away from Sansa.

Sansa paused to watch Ramsay closing her eyes a moment and willing herself not to comment on Ramsay's blatant fit. She was unable to understand the reasoning he was so opposed to her wanting to ease his pain. Sansa chalked it up to Ramsay's ego and the fact that he was most likely upset that she'd witnessed him inspecting the injuries she'd dispensed and now held a bit of resentment for the pain she'd caused him. Let him sulk, Sansa resolved to herself that it wasn't worth getting upset with Ramsay over. Jon's words came back to her from dinner then as a reminder that she couldn't change everything about the man, and if it was one thing Ramsay was well known for was his moodiness. He would learn to curb that if he kept it up though as Sansa wasn't about to abide his man-tantrums like Roose did, but she could cut Ramsay a little slack for all that he'd recently been through.

Ramsay's eyes shifted about listening curiously to Sansa move to and finally out the door, and only once he knew that he was alone in the room did Ramsay turn back to face the door. He felt absurd that now that Sansa had departed, he wanted to be sure he was able to see her when she returned.

***…***

It didn't take Sansa long to make her way to Maester Wolkan's quarters, and she was relieved to see the glow of candlelight illuminating from beneath his door. She knocked lightly taking a step back and awaiting an answer. The sound of shuffling feet resonated closer until Sansa heard the unlatching of the wooden bar from the other side of the door as Maester Wolkan carefully peered out into the hallway. Seeing who had come to pay him a visit, surprise registered on the man's face, and he straightened hauling the door open quickly as he stuttered out, "My Lady? What… what brings you at this hour?"

Sansa frowned apologetically, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Maester, but I have a request that only you can fill." Throughout Sansa speaking, Maester Wolkan was nodding his head in automatic agreement, "I will help in any way I can, milady. What is it exactly that you need of me?" Sansa smiled appreciatively, "I need a balm for…" she paused a moment considering her wording, "… for swelling." He was looking Sansa over with a puzzled expression instinctively trying to see the ailment that she described but not questioning further other than to state simply, "We will need to go down to the apothecary room where my supplies are kept." Sansa nodded as Maester Wolkan stepped out of his room to oblige her. She quickly followed after his lumbering pace, "Thank you, Maester Wolkan, your devoted service will be well rewarded; I promise."

The two had traveled down to the maester's workshop where he fiddled through several jars pulling out a mortar and pestle to grind a mixture of sheep's lard, olive oil, and a purple juice that Sansa was informed was crushed from the petals of wildflowers. As Sansa had predicted, it hadn't taken long for the medicine man to make the salve, and in no time, she was headed back to her chambers with a wooden bowl containing a fair amount of the mixture.

The night watchmen had asked Sansa for any specific instructions regarding Ramsay as she'd left, and when Sansa had said to just leave Ramsay be, they had nodded their assent and repositioned themselves as they had been while she had been in the room. Returning to her chambers, both guards glanced at Sansa and then the bowl in her hands before one impassively reached over to unlatch her door and step inside to hold it open for Sansa to enter. As Sansa passed through the threshold, the two men hadn't laughed or smiled, but both sets of eyes had peered in to the chamber curiously fixing their sights directly on Ramsay who was laying in Sansa's bed looking up at her having been anxiously awaiting her return.

Feeling their gaze upon him, Ramsay's eyes shot to the door cringing internally observing their eyes meeting one another before shutting the door. Ramsay bitterly assumed that what their eyes shared was amusement at his expense likely from having some inkling as to what the concoction Sansa returned with was for. The whole while Sansa had been gone in fact, Ramsay had been able to do nothing BUT think about who might see what she carried back to him or ask what Sansa was doing. Ramsay's stare focused on the bowl and its gelatinous contents as Sansa laid it on the nightstand casually turning on her heel and treading over to the armoire to replace her coat, nightgown, and slippers. Ramsay hardly noticed too busy contemplating on the notion of the rumors that he was so sure the guardsmen would be circulating about him. Those men, who unlike Temeric and Cecil, never spoke to him other than to give him direction, and even though they'd never been rude to him like his first two guards, Ramsay was positive that they didn't like him. His stomach twisted; they would have heard the way he'd carried on screaming his agony like a bleating goat, and it would be yet another sordid tale of how low he'd fallen.

All of these pent-up insecurities manifested into a deepening frown to paint Ramsay's face, and Sansa took it in well. Her brow furrowed in concern as she made her way back over to the bed asking softly, "Ramsay, are you alright?" Ramsay didn't respond; he wouldn't even look at her. Was he still sulking over the fact that she'd left to retrieve the salve for him? The persistence of Ramsay's bad attitude was starting to darken Sansa's mood, and she snatched the wooden bowl from the nightstand and just as quickly tore down the blankets covering Ramsay's lower back, ass, and thighs.

Ramsay immediately noticed the shift in Sansa's demeanor being drawn away from his inner turmoil to refocus his attention back on her. When Sansa had spoken to him, Ramsay had been so lost in thought he hadn't even acknowledged her question. His expression was a bit stupefied now by the sudden action on Sansa's part to divest him of his coverings in such a violent manner. Sansa stunned him further by delivering two sharp slaps, one to each of his cheeks that had Ramsay jumping and letting out a gasp coupled with an uncontainable squeal of surprise. Ramsay's jaw dropped and his eyes widened in utter shock as he exclaimed, "What?! What was that for!"

Sansa narrowed a dangerous glare on him, "If I need to explain, perhaps I should put this bowl down and revisit a more thorough understanding upon your buttocks that I don't appreciate the way you've been behaving!" Ramsay's hip jutted up from the bed unconsciously turning the target of her ire away from Sansa as his hand darted back to brush against the fresh sting that she'd dispensed. Sansa still looked rather upset, so Ramsay raised his hand out to her in supplication to stop any further advance quickly rebounding, "Wait! I… I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to make you angry!"

Incensed by Ramsay positioning his ass out of her range, Sansa reached out to grab his hip and rolled him back flat on his stomach. She spat reproachfully as she did so, "Do not turn from me, Ramsay! If I deign to punish you, I will not have you working against my efforts!" From the previous attitude Ramsay held to this resistance, Sansa's immediate worry was that she was giving Ramsay too much leeway and was in threat of losing the control over him she'd attained. If that were the case, Ramsay could become a danger, and that was the last thing Sansa wanted after the two of them had come this far.

A rash of goosebumps and a tremor fled over the entirety of Ramsay's body as he found himself drawn rigid. Every nerve ending tingling in dreaded anticipation at the feeling of Sansa's fingers sinking into his hip and roughly yanking him back into place. His ass bobbed up squirming momentarily to the threat it now faced, but Ramsay didn't move himself out of Sansa's influence. Instead, Ramsay turned back to gaze at her with a mournful mien as he moaned out an explanation, "Please! I wasn't trying to avoid your hand; my… my body reacted on its own accord!"

His earnest reply and expression had the irritation drain from Sansa's face as she sighed, "Alright; maybe I was being a tad harsh with you. I didn't mean to lose my temper, but you've been moping since I mentioned going to fetch you this balm, and I grew weary of it. If something is bothering you this badly, Ramsay, you need to talk to me. I can't read your mind, and your recent behavior has me disconcerted."

Ramsay's jaw worked staring up at Sansa with ingrained fear; his mind racing at the implications of her statement. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her, it just felt like he was choking on the words jumbling in his throat. He swallowed tearing his eyes away from her as he nervously fidgeted with the pillow until finally, he found the nerve to push it out, "They know about us. They all know what…" Ramsay's voice trilled, "They know what you do to me, and I can't stop thinking about what I've become in their eyes." Ramsay's lips pursed turning down with a slight tremor; he was unable to say any more as his eyes glazed over. He closed them in an effort not shame himself further by crying from this simple admission as bile rose in his throat from how awful those words hurt to say. Voicing them seemed to compound all the negativity Ramsay felt regarding such personal losses and made the fears he grieved feel all the more real.

Sansa's heart sang pity for Ramsay then, and she stepped forward to caress his neck pacifyingly. Leaning down, she placed a soft kiss on Ramsay's cheek tutting gently in his ear, "You've become much more to me. Try not to let what those think who do not care for you concern you; such thoughts will only serve to make you miserable, Ramsay."

She didn't deny his fears; how could she? They both knew that Sansa had no control over rumors spread any more than he did, and this recognition only sobered Ramsay further to his own statement's truth. Ramsay opened his eyes turning to face her, his expression was exposed and filled with unrest as he spoke impassioned by the inner torment he felt, "How can I not? I don't even know who I am anymore, or who you want me to be. I'm… I'm trying," Ramsay swallowed hard, jaw locking, as his eyes shifted over Sansa's mien; he wanted to say that he was trying not to let what he knew his life had become embitter him, that he felt lost, without purpose, but those words would not flee his throat. Instead, Ramsay let silence reign as he stared at Sansa with a longing for her to give him some form of peace.

Sansa stroked the side of Ramsay's face tenderly, "I see you are, and I know what you face to be a hard journey. The man you were was filled with holes of emptiness, and who I want you to be is a person neither of us know but who has been coming to light evermore every day we spend together. You've come further than I could have ever hoped or imagined, so please, Ramsay, keep trying. For me, and for you. I promise that you will find consolation in the grievance you suffer now, later." As she spoke, Sansa lowered herself to sit on the bed dipping her fingers into the wooden bowl and began to apply it gently to Ramsay's welted ass.

As the cool crème made contact to his swollen skin, Ramsay flinched going rigid, but after a moment, his body relaxed under Sansa's ministrations. It felt good to have the mixture lightly worked in to his heated flesh, but he didn't thank her, although a part of him niggled Ramsay that he should. The ointment served to calm the intensity of the burn even if it did not rid him of the tenderness he felt., and for that, Ramsay most definitely was appreciative. His gaze fell away as Ramsay digested Sansa's words. He didn't really know what to reply, but Sansa didn't seem to expect an answer from him busying herself with meticulously tending to his backside.

Several long minutes passed this way, and once she had finished, Sansa quietly set the bowl back on the nightstand, wiped the tincture from her hands with a rag, and returned to climb into the bed and cover them both. Ramsay had taken to just observing Sansa flowing about the room, and when she had settled next to him, he turned to lay his head facing her with that same awe he often projected upon her. Sansa smiled at him moving forward to peck his nose with a soft kiss, and when Ramsay reactively smiled bashfully back at her, Sansa kissed his lips tenderly. She retracted still affixing Ramsay with a grin while lightly brushing her fingers through his bangs, "Do you feel any better?"

He did, and Ramsay found himself grinning widely as he nodded, "You have that effect on me." Sansa brightened at Ramsay's response and widening smile; she was satisfied with the progress they were making and relieved of her own silent fears that haunted her on whether Ramsay had started to backslide. Sansa silently chided herself for overreacting making a promise to herself that in the future she would work to get Ramsay to talk to her when he started to brood before her own aggravation was piqued by witnessing it.

Getting Ramsay to talk though felt like pulling teeth, and even though the two slaps that she'd delivered were a bit unjustified, they had gotten Ramsay to finally let go of what was eating at him. Sansa leaned in with closed eyes departing another soft kiss on Ramsay's eager lips. Ramsay was more than willing to engage Sansa's passion, and moved closer as her arm wrapped carefully around his ribcage to pull him to her chest tucking Ramsay covetously into her side. Ramsay exhaled a deepening sigh of relaxation adjusting himself to lay comfortably against her as Sansa rolled onto her back letting Ramsay settle his shoulder into the crook of her arm while his head lay upon her breast as a pillow. She reflexively squeezed Ramsay kissing the top of his head affectionately as the two became comfortable.

Ramsay's whole poise was more relaxed after finally opening himself up enough to tell Sansa what was really upsetting him. There was an understanding shared, and that was one thing their relationship was lacking Sansa realized. There was honesty, but it was truncated by so many walls each were still holding in place, and those blockades would have to fall if they were ever to gain true insight on how the other was feeling without coming to altercations like that which they had just underwent. When the morning came, Sansa planned to make a point of getting to know Ramsay better, and she would open herself more to him as well. She was going to have to broach the topic of where she'd gone and what she'd learned on her journey before Ramsay inevitably queried about it she knew, and it would be better if she opened with the topic than he. One thing at a time, Sansa ruminated; for the time being, she only wanted to sink into this respite they now shared. There would be plenty of time for revelations tomorrow.