Unveil

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Unveil

Ramsay's head bobbed up and down atop Sansa's rising chest. She'd fallen asleep some time ago far more exhausted from her day than Ramsay had been. Propped upon her heaving breast, Ramsay could see over the footboard of the bed and watched the once raging fire dwindle into softly glowing embers. The rest of the keep had long since fallen asleep, but slumber eluded Ramsay as thoughts of all that he and Sansa had been through in the space of one night populated his mind. Ramsay ruminated now on how completely shell-shocked at every turn he felt, so much between them had changed in such a short amount of time. It was staggering to digest the contrast of what their relationship had been to what it had become, but as confused as he was by the rapidity of what was happening to and with him, Ramsay knew that he welcomed the transformation.

Life was getting better for him Ramsay had to admit, even if there were still many aspects of Sansa's choices concerning him that he wasn't very fond of. What Sansa did give him offered more of a connection with another person than he'd ever had in many respects, so it was easier to look past the other not-so-pleasant facets and be happy enough for the good tidings he received. Ramsay still couldn't help but silently hope that Sansa would continue to give him more freedoms soon though as living under such stricture was suffocating to his wanderlust nature to roam and his predilections to be free to do as he pleased. As it was though, he was content to be resting in Sansa's embrace while she slept knowing how much she had grown to trust him. Thinking on these sentiments filled him with an inward glow of bliss, and Ramsay found himself reflexively squeezing Sansa needing affirmation that this shared moment was in fact real. Sansa made him feel complete in a way Ramsay had never fathomed was possible, and he was grateful that he could be so lucky as to have found forgiveness and a second chance from her. He wanted to make Sansa proud of him; it was the last thing his thoughts correlated before Ramsay's reflections began to drift into a haze of serenity to eventually succumb to the folds of unconsciousness that incessantly ebbed at his waking mind.

***…***

Tormund took a deep pull on his mug settling back in his chair as he shook his head in obvious disbelief, "You Starks," he let go a humorless laugh, "With your sister requesting I carve a wooden cock for her," his broad grin spread to encompass a lecherous nod, "I get why she's keeping him around!" Tormund's mood shifted to a state of confusion as he continued, "But you, I half expected you'd have sent the cocky prick's head rolling from his shoulders by the time we'd returned. I sure as fuck didn't see you asking me to keep my people from taking a go at him." Glancing at the seriousness held in Jon's expression, the burly man shrugged nonchalantly, "I can tell them he's off limits, but I can't say they'll take much heed to the warning; you know well that we freefolk don't follow the same codes you tart-arses do."

Jon's countenance remained severe as he responded with concern lacing his words, "That's not good enough; I need more reassurance from you." Out of all the people in his keep, the Wildling army was in no way under Jon's command, and with the hostilities he'd witnessed just from the walk he and Ramsay had gone on, Jon felt it was best to address the matter sooner rather than later.

Tormund sighed in annoyance waving dismissively at Jon's worry, "Alright; for you and your sister's sake, I'll express a personal interest that the little shit comes to no harm. From what goes around the campfires, most are satisfied the cunt's getting somewhat what he had coming to him for his worthless threats," The grizzly man's countenance shifted revealing a jovial smirk in Jon's direction as he rose from the hearth with a swagger that denoted weariness, "For those not happy about it, I reckon they can be convinced one way or another." Not waiting for a response, Tormund saluted a farewell toast with his mug before turning to lumber back out into the courtyard where most of the Wildlings had taken up residence in the Stark keep.

Jon nodded raising his own cup out of respect for his friend as he watched the Wildling leader depart. Once Tormund had disappeared down the hall, Jon leaned back in his chair taking a long swig of ale. He was relieved that the red-headed warrior was amiable to his cause even if he didn't agree or understand why Jon would care. Jon had to ask himself that very question quite often when regarding Ramsay, and he knew mostly it was for his sister's happiness, but he couldn't deny there was more to it now having taken Ramsay under his wing.

Jon's brooding eyes moved back to the fire contemplating the mess Ramsay posed just being left alive. It had been hard to calm the nobles that rallied for Ramsay's death when they'd first retaken the hold, and after this most recent event with the Umbers, Jon expected a resurgence of outcries for Ramsay's head. Jon had had to convince the gathered aristocracy in a heated debate that Sansa and he had a handle on the former possessor of Winterfell. Ramsay was their prisoner, captured in their keep, so they held the rights to see justice met on their own terms. Unlike the political courts in King's Landing, when Ned Stark had ruled these lands, the nobles were always allowed to freely voice their concerns on such matters and typically came to a political agreement (even if that agreement was voiced in bitter growls of refute.)

Most respected Jon's decision although begrudgingly so; none had stormed out of the assembly, so Jon had taken that his stance on Ramsay's fate had not caused any dissension in the ranks of those who now agreed to be his bannermen. With the prospect of White Walkers marching from the Wall, the last thing Jon needed was for those he trusted to be divided on his ability to make sound judgments.

He had been given the title: King of the North, but that didn't guarantee Ramsay's safety from someone trying to take matters into their hands on a personal note or discreetly by a house that held a grudge that surpassed their courtly civilities, but Ramsay was safer now than had Jon not had a lengthy grueling discussion in the grand hall to address the matter (something Sansa was blessedly unaware of.) Such politics the Wildlings were not subject to, so Tormund's agreement to help contain his people set Jon's body to finally loosen from its rigid poise feeling this hazard may have finally been neutralized.

Throughout Jon and Tormund's conversation, Davos had sat across from the men quietly observing them, and when Tormund had left the room, his sights now hovered on Jon. When the silence had persisted long enough, Jon finally met his gaze, and the two men shared a look that weighed heavily in the room. Jon grimaced, "You think I'm a fool to be keeping him alive; don't you?"

Davos' brow raised inquisitively, "I said nothing of the sort, but something tells me that you feel foolish all the same."

Exhaling deeply, Jon gulped down the remainder of his brew leaving a long pause between them before resignedly admitting, "I don't rightly know what I feel."

Gravely nodding his acknowledgement of the man's plight, Davos leaned in closer settling his elbows onto his knees, "Well, if I may be so bold as to offer counsel, I would suggest that you figure that out and soon."

Jon regarded the sage old man returning the nod, "Aye, I suppose I already have. It's not the choice my father would have made, and dismissing the justice others are clamoring for makes me feel as though I've cheated them their due to see Ramsay executed for his crimes against the North."

Davos' countenance shifted to an uneasy curiosity, "Will you execute him then to keep the peace?"

Jon's stare bore into Davos sharing the sincerity therein, "No, I won't be the one to put him to death; if it will ever come to pass, that decision rests with my sister. I handed Ramsay over to her at her behest; he'd hurt her most, and I saw it as fitting that she be the one to choose how he'd be done in. I'd not thought of Sansa keeping Ramsay alive or the repercussions that would bring down on our heads, but having seen what she's done with him… I am stunned to her charms. She has won over the beast in him in a way one would not think possible from a man like Ramsay Bolton. I can't trust him like she does, but even so, I can say with certainty that I believe my sister has him well in hand. To that degree, I'll not waver on my conviction or my word, but I admit it still concerns me nonetheless."

Davos digested Jon's statement clasping his hands to rest his chin upon them; his eyes drifted in thought before he responded, "In the many years that I served Stannis, he was never a man to forgive his enemies; I can't say that I'd have disagreed with him regarding the fate of any of the Boltons. Their poor reputations proceed them witnessed boldly with their banner displaying a flayed man. I've seen their mark on the world and would have seen it a better place without them. I've also witnessed with my own experience how powerful forgiveness can turn the tide of a man's view into something entirely different. I was that man for differing reason, and what I learned has changed me wholly. Your sister has made an investment in Bolton's bastard for better or worse, and if you support her judgement, I will stand by your side."

A small appreciative smile cropped on Jon's lips. Davos' pledge grounded his wavering worry; even if many of the houses stood divided against he and Sansa's stance to preserve Ramsay's life, Jon knew that those, whose advice he respected most, still stood with him, and they would survive untied regardless of the controversy. Jon's weighty expression lightened denoting a hint of the alleviation he felt, "Your allegiance is something I do not take lightly especially considering the circumstances. Thank you."

Davos simply nodded giving Jon a small smile that said all that needed to be said between them.

***…***

The sun had risen high in the sky when Ramsay's eyes fluttered open to the realization that he was alone in bed. His breath hitched in a stutter-stop motion feeling at the empty spot where Sansa had once laid as his addled mind took in his surroundings. Ramsay shot up reflexively on one elbow whipping his head around the room to settle on Sansa. His frame relaxed from the tenseness that had settled in his joints at the detection that she'd not actually left him behind.

Sansa was fully dressed, sitting at her vanity pinning the last braid in place of an intricately designed bun. Having sensed his movement, Ramsay caught the reflection of Sansa's gaze on him in the mirror. When confirmation that he'd seen her was made, Sansa afforded him a small smirk chiding him playfully, "I was afraid I was going to have to wake you if you did not do so on your own."

Blinking and wiping the sleep from his eyes, Ramsay moved to sit up and address her properly. He instantly regretted putting his full weight on his bruised posterior as his body jerked promptly shifting to his side upon recognition of the pain that still radiated in waves across his ass. The ache had only been dampened by the escape of slumber he noted disdainfully. Hissing his discomfort, Ramsay's sights drifted away from Sansa to the bed to hide the immediate shame that cropped within him. His face flushed into a heated display feeling weak for Sansa having observed this involuntary wince.

Sansa's ministrations felt worse the day after as did every spanking he'd received thus far, and finding himself in this state was becoming entirely too familiar Ramsay ascertained sourly. He had begun to anticipate just what he would have to look forward to in the coming days while waiting for the swelling and bruising to lessen enough for him to find a chance to sit where it wouldn't cause him a jolt of soreness. Sansa was regarding him thoughtfully with a hint of concern decorating her features, but Ramsay wasn't about to remark on the tenderness her spanking still afforded him. Even so, Ramsay found that his thoughts could not keep from dwelling on the chaffing the simple action had caused him emotionally and physically. Sansa had made good on her threat, and Ramsay would not be forgetting any time soon the imprint her hairbrush had made on him.

Seeing a growing pout forming on Ramsay's face elicited by the cringe that had proceeded it, Sansa rose from her chair and casually moved back over to the bed to inspect him. She fussed lightly, "Let's have a look at you," her wrist made a twirling motion as a signal for Ramsay to roll over and present his bottom for her perusing.

It was an order he didn't wish to comply with, so Ramsay's frown deepened as he mumbled out his disgruntlement, "I'm fine… I don't need any tending."

Sansa tutted, "Oh stop sulking; I have plenty of balm for several applications. I can tell that you are pained, so turn on to your stomach, and let me help you hurt less."

Ramsay's lips pursed in frustration, but he didn't offer Sansa any further resistance as he flipped onto his stomach with a resigned sigh. Sansa watched Ramsay settle into place taking up the bowl with the healing mixture and relaxing onto the bed beside him. The grimace on Ramsay's face remained although it wavered slightly as Ramsay peered back over his shoulder at her; his eyes held a mix of want for her care coupled with an undertone of insolent opposition. Ramsay rocked his hips agitatedly back and forth; after her accusation that he was brooding, he had wanted to challenge Sansa's instruction even though the application of the crème did feel very soothing to his swollen flesh. It nettled Ramsay to be told, instead of asked, to accept this treatment. But by this point in their relationship, Ramsay knew well that deferring to Sansa's choices for him over his own was something he was going to have to become accustomed to as a new way of life.

These contentions caused a flare of restlessness to rush through him and an impulse to rebel that momentarily rose to the surface, but as Sansa began gently applying the cooling ointment, Ramsay had to question what exactly was he fighting here? He tracked the deftness of Sansa's fingertips working the salve into his bottom with the utmost care as his mind wandered absorbing the action and drifting to contemplate where his aggrieved sentiments were fixated. The realization finally came that all he was really doing was making an internal counterproductive battle out of Sansa trying to make him feel better. He was resisting Sansa only as a point to wallow in self-misery to spite himself. This was a line of thinking that Sansa was steadfastly plucking out of him like one weeded a garden, and just like a garden, Ramsay knew that Sansa would be vigilant in enduring no weeds took hold to despoil her hard work. His pride and stubbornness were working to get him in trouble Ramsay bitterly surmised. He deflated sheepishly in the wake of these reflections pulling the cylindrical pillow to and under his chin; it wasn't lost on Ramsay that this continued trend often led back to a pained backside.

Long minutes passed in silence as Sansa applied the salve until Ramsay sensed a shift in her demeanor. Sansa's hunger was palpable through the way her fingers manipulated his flesh, and Ramsay turned back warily observing how her eyes now roamed his flesh with an intensity that spoke of the avarice she felt. Every swipe across his backside was now coupled with a noticeable groping that had Ramsay's body tightening with anticipation. Her thumb glided across the crack of Ramsay's ass roughly parting him to flash a peek at what she'd wanted to see exposed for her own decedent desires. The slight tremble this created in Ramsay's form sent Sansa's breath to catch in her throat before markedly speeding up to the imagery of climbing up behind Ramsay and driving her glass cock aggressively into him as he lay so invitingly before her. This internal fantasy was causing her to grip the globe she was massaging a little too tightly eliciting a whimper to escape Ramsay as his bottom reactively squirmed to the pressure being applied to his sensitive cheek.

Sansa instantly released his flesh stilling to collect herself as her vision darted to take in the uneasiness etched on Ramsay's face. He was not blind to her want, and even though he did not object to her fondling him as she did, Sansa could tell by the expression he bore that he wasn't wanting to be taken as she wanted to take him now. Her gaze abashedly moved down to the bowl in her hand dipping her fingers into the tincture to tenderly smooth the mixture once more over the entirety of Ramsay's ass. Heeding from Ramsay's reaction that he wasn't wishing for such a sexual encounter with her, Sansa continued the task clinically pulling back on any urges to carnalize the act.

Ramsay's eyes never left her silently observing the nurturing caress that had replaced Sansa's lustful fondling until his body visibly loosened, and he felt secure that she had set aside her desires. A wave of gratitude washed over him as Ramsay laid his head back down on the pillow with a contented exhale. He wouldn't admit out loud that her pampering him like this regardless of his initial recoil for its application felt good bodily and internally knowing that she wanted to lessen the pain of the injuries she'd caused him.

Sansa smiled at Ramsay's relaxing figure with a touch of sadness; even after the leaps and bounds they'd made in their relationship, Ramsay still regarded her actions cagily as if she would still rape him if her want was great enough. Sansa supposed she couldn't blame Ramsay for his reticence since she'd slipped a few times going overboard with her desires to claim him. Ramsay had forgiven those transgressions easily and had even offered himself willingly to please her.

She'd repaid his generosity by stimulating his cock to orgasm while taking with him in the way she was growing quite fond of, but that hadn't given Ramsay a want to preform those acts for his own pleasure. Sansa longed for a point the two deeds would become synonymous, and Ramsay would crave her to take him just as much as she yearned to do it. That wasn't now though, and that fact disappointed the building sexual drive raging within her. Sansa had wanted another go with him before leaving the bed chamber, but she was patient and would respect Ramsay's silent disinterest at this juncture in hopes that he would be more willing later.

Rising from the bed, Sansa stated dispiritedly, "I'll get you something to wear, and we will take a walk through the Godswood." Her mind had shifted to the gravity of what she intended to address with him, and with these new concerns, all sexual appetites fled from her mind to focus on what must come next. Her heartbeat's tempo elevated to the ruminations of how Ramsay would take the news she was about to impart. He hadn't wanted to talk of his mother, how now would he feel to learn that the sole purpose of her journey was to seek the woman out? If she was to tell Ramsay about her trek out to see his mother, she decided to take him to the weirwood heart tree, a place of contemplation and meditation. It would set a calming atmosphere for such a conversation.

Ramsay's head lifted eyes widening to the prospect Sansa suggested; they hadn't been together in the castle's wooded grove since the day they'd been wed. He watched her stride over to the armoire to retrieve an outfit for him, and the sullen nature that Sansa wore like a burdening cloak about her shoulders only made this announcement feel ominous. He swallowed back his churning trepidation slipping off the mattress to quietly trail up behind her surveying Sansa's face as she sifted through his clothes considering each set before finally picking something suitable for the weather. Her gaze flicked over to take him in as she held out the clothing she'd selected, but her expression held no tells that Ramsay could read. Sansa was good at leaving him guessing when she chose to. She simply observed Ramsay with that same veneer while he donned each article she handed him, and as much as Ramsay wanted to ask more questions of her proclamation, he felt too disquieted by her mannerism to query further.

Once he was fully dressed, Sansa gave Ramsay a cursory nod moving to the coat rack by the door to adorn herself in furs. Ramsay mutely followed her opening the chamber's door to the sight of Temeric and Cecil leaning against the wall engaged in a heated debate. Temeric insisted, "It isn't the same at all! My father labored for old Hather smelting swords for the Battle of the Trident, and I'm telling you the numbers weren't as imbalanced as…" noticing the door swinging open, both men immediately dropped the conversation and straightened to attention.

Ramsay perked, a smile gracing his lips; it was a relief to see their friendly faces, "Gentlemen," Ramsay addressed them with the airs of nobility painfully groomed into him by his father's command. Opening the door wider for Sansa to exit, Ramsay waited for her to pass before moving up to keep an even pace with her gait. Coming out of Sansa's personal chambers dressed in finery with her by his side followed by Temeric and Cecil had Ramsay feeling much less like an escorted prisoner. Ramsay would have been strutting like a peacock under such circumstances normally, but hearing the tail end of a conversation linked to the culminating battle of Robert's Rebellion had instantly piqued his interest to want to renew the guard's conversation and satiate his curiosity.

The civil war between Rhaegar and Robert was legendary, and it was one of the few battles that had happened in his lifetime (even though he'd been but a boy when it had occurred seventeen years prior.) It was a bit of history he'd garnered quite a bit of knowledge about in his studies, and because it was a fascination for him, Ramsay had retained much of maester Medrick's teachings regarding it. Had Sansa not reproached him so thoroughly for his advice concerning military tactics the night before, Ramsay would have pursued the topic, but as it was, he didn't want to put Sansa in a bad mood especially considering the oddity of where she was intending to take him on their walk. It only enhanced the friction that had settled between he and Sansa propagating an uncomfortable silence as they traversed through the castle.

Sansa paused in the foyer once they had made their way to the door that led out to the courtyard; the servants had brought up Ramsay's clothes to her room, but not a cloak. Sansa nodded to the wall where Ramsay's furred wrap had been moved for easier access now that Jon had taken to having him get out for walks daily. Wordlessly, Ramsay slipped the furs over his shoulders haphazardly buttoning the top clasp. As he did so, he intently peered at Sansa having glanced at her several times during their walk through the keep where she'd only resolutely stared ahead. This behavior had worried Ramsay wondering if he'd done something wrong to have had her acting so distant with him. He of course had no clue that Sansa was not avoiding him over carefully considering options on how best to communicate with him.

Noticing for the first time the anxiety she was causing him, Sansa moved forward pulling the shroud to cover the front of his chest more fully than Ramsay had done to ensure he stayed warm. His eyes softened to the treatment fixating on her as he often did with that same expression of devotion. The bliss Ramsay exuded provoked the corners of Sansa's lips to reveal a ready smile in the presence of Ramsay's unspoken appreciation. She adored this side of him even though the reason he was so receptive to so little attentive intimacy was because he'd never had it. To know the root of it saddened her and spiked a bitter scorn for Ramsay's mother. Sansa found the need to chase away her memory with a soft kiss to the middle of Ramsay's forehead. It was hard now not see the damage done to Ramsay by this woman, and it hardened Sansa's resolve to tell him the truth of what she had become privy to if only to allow Ramsay an outlet to speak about her.

The kind gesture followed by a tender kiss had brought an immediate relief to pass over Ramsay as the worry that had been building within him contracted under the reassurance that Sansa was still concerned for him. They exited into the courtyard veering to the right and moving towards the walled in forest where the wind would be lessened by the cover of trees. As they walked, Ramsay found his voice reminiscing on Sansa's beaming smile, "It's good to see you happy. I was starting to wonder if I'd somehow upset you."

Sansa caressed Ramsay's shoulder affectionately as she replied, "No; not at all; just the opposite actually." His eyes rose inquisitively taking in her statement and wondering why it was then that Sansa seemed so formal and nonplussed with him now. Ramsay didn't ask though sensing on some level that he would be finding out soon enough. He followed her as they walked; his eyes squinting protectively against the prism of brightness reflecting off the canopy of white. The snow had been falling nonstop throughout the night and lay untouched beyond the entrance to the grove where it had been otherwise muddied and cleared away by the everyday crisscrossing activity about the courtyard.

Sansa stopped at the entrance to the Godswood for a moment turning to Ramsay and holding out her hand for him to take. Ramsay did not hesitate to clasp his hand in hers as the two shared a smile born of two people sharing something innocent but feeling something far greater. These were sacred grounds to her family, and to enter them with Ramsay hand in hand after all that had transpired between them meant a lot to Sansa. To bring him to these hallowed grounds that forged a calm into her soul, Sansa knew without further doubt that she'd wholly forgiven him. More than Ramsay would understand, but that was okay; her faith wasn't spoken in mournful laments or dictated by hubris edicts as many that professed to follow the will of immortals. Sansa's faith lay quietly in her heart and bled out through her actions over words. Her mother had solidified within her that speaking of faith anyone could do, but to say nothing and act rightly proved to the gods your worth far more.

Their feet crunched in the snow, and the two moved closer in proximity as they trudged through the thickest banks until the ground became more solidified by the tree line. They could have released the link to resume walking next to each other, but neither wanted to let the other go, so they remained walking hand in hand as Sansa led the way to the weirwood heart tree. Temeric and Cecil seemed just as puzzled by the direction Sansa was taking them but only shared occasional glances that affirmed to each other silently that they were equally unnerved by this recent development of Sansa taking their charge into the castle's wooded coppice. Not that either man was particularly worried about Ramsay these days, but this was their first watch of him under Sansa's care over by themselves or with Jon, so there was an impending uncertainty as to how Ramsay would behave, doubly so when adding in the new strange environment.

All the trees were barren stripped by the winter, but the wierwood tree stood like a beacon calling out to those in its' vicinity to be drawn to its' colorful crimson leaves and alabaster trunk. The face upon the bark was grim as ever with eyes that wept trails of blood-red tears made of the tree's sap. Ramsay had never been the type to take stock in religion finding it mostly amusing due to the horrific tales of moralistic retaliation that tended to follow the choices of the wicked and unwise. He'd scoffed at such stories counting them off as foolish drivel, but as it was now, he could relate to many of the men in those stories reduced and penitent. Was that what this was? Was Sansa bringing him here for some sort of ritualistic service? She hadn't made mention of any sort of religious vows that she held dear in her time as his captive, he would have used them against her if she had, and since she had become his keeper, she'd not given any indication that she was devote, so why bring him here?

Seeing the questions in Ramsay's confused expression, Sansa stated, "I come here to think and find peace. In the summer, this small lake was a place that my siblings and I would wash away the heat and cares of the day with joyous laughter." Sansa stared longingly at the iced over lake as if all her happiest memories lay buried within the murky frozen barrier. Her vision moved back to Ramsay focusing an intensity upon him that kept him immobilized as she asked, "Will you sit with me? I wish to speak with you about my journey."

Ramsay nodded following her to carefully climb onto the sprawling roots that tendrilled from the tree into a mass of appendages that gripped the bank possessively. Sansa sat, and when Ramsay settled himself, she moved closer to bring their bodies to touch hip to hip as she reclaimed his hand. Ramsay stared as her hand enveloped his and her fingers gripped down tightly. It sent a tremor of elation to course through his body as he found his own hand squeezing hers back receptively. Ramsay's lips split into a quirky grin; this felt good; her closeness, the affection, all of it was exactly what Ramsay wanted. But… there was something off that Ramsay couldn't put his finger on. Sansa's mien denoted seriousness which belied the serenity of this scene, and even though he'd been preparing himself to hear news that would not settle well, when Sansa did finally speak, the words he may have said vacated him as a shock overtook his senses.

Turning to fully face Ramsay, Sansa pulled his hand into her lap leaning in to place her other hand gently on his knee as she spoke, "I do not wish to keep secrets from you, and I am almost certain what I have to say will come as a surprise." She straightened noting she had Ramsay's rapt attention as she delivered the news, "I did not tell you where I was going because I had decided it best to wait until I returned. Now that I have, I think you deserve to know my intentions. My voyage's sole purpose was to meet your mother."

Ramsay's gut twisted at Sansa's proclamation stumbling out lamely, "You… you what?"