Dissolution

Chapter Forty

Dissolution

The foursome was silent save for the emanations of combined footfalls crunching through the freshly fallen snow. Cecil and Temeric were uncharacteristically stiff pacing themselves somewhat awkwardly behind their lady and Ramsay. The men felt intrusive now given the two's shared connection as it cast an insular aura around the couple that had huddled in a tightly interwoven mass of furred cloaks. It wasn't an intended slight, and neither guardsmen took it as such, but they were grateful all the same that the march moved at a hurried clip through the woods and courtyard only slowing when they'd returned to the foyer.

At the onset of their return, both Ramsay and Sansa were lost to the thoughts of the coming conversation. Each were anxious for different reasons pondering their own private ruminations about the other as they walked arm in arm. Sansa evaluating how to proceed and what questions Ramsay would feel comfortable entertaining at this juncture where the latter worried over what would spill out of him like a tumultuous geyser in her presence.

Each step felt muddied in a vortex of time moving too fast towards their destination yet somehow drawn out acutely the closer to the keep they drew. They had made it to the foyer in a blink of an eye, but Ramsay's mind had rapidly spun through a myriad of possible scenarios this coming talk would bring about, and he worked now to prepare himself to handle Sansa's inquiries. Listlessly, Ramsay replaced his cloak his peripheral noting Sansa's openly concerned gaze. His vision shifted away from her uncomfortably reflecting hesitance to proceed further as anxious fingers curled open and closed and his eyes stole furtive glances at Sansa as she hung her own cloak beside his.

Sansa would have dismissed the guards upon reentrance to the castle for Ramsay to feel more at ease, but Jon and she had agreed, over dinner when they'd sent Ramsay away, that it was best for both her and Ramsay's safety that she not leave him unattended outside the dungeon or her personal chambers. It was too soon since the war's end to rightfully anticipate any attacks that could come against her or Ramsay especially proceeding the abrupt and unwelcome visit from House Umber. The North was Stark held once more, but with enemies in King's Landing and rumors of the Targaryens coming back to reclaim the seven kingdoms, it was best to air on the side of caution. If being a member of court in King's Landing had taught Sansa anything, there were vipers slithering in every corner, and as much as she'd like to trust the newly named Stark bannermen, Ramsay's own house had been one prior to the coup that had killed her brother Rob in the most sordid of ways. Trust was a luxury surpassed by those in power, and she would keep those she gave it to few and far between.

The halls were empty save a few servants milling about, and Sansa only stopped their procession long enough to instruct one to have meals prepared and brought up to her room with an accommodating table and chairs. When the quartet arrived at Sansa's quarters, Temeric silently reached over to open the heavy wooden door letting the two enter before abruptly shuffling to the side to give them the privacy they sought. Both men had grown accustomed to their duties and needed no further instruction sidling wordlessly into their perspective posts on either side of the room's entrance and standing at readied attention.

Ramsay strode several paces into the room staring straight ahead as Sansa slid the door closed behind them with a light hitch to lock them away once more in solitude. The moment of silence that followed this simple act left a sinking uneasiness to settle in Ramsay's gut. He didn't turn to face her, but his ears perked and his jaw clenched with a pulsing anticipation as the swish of Sansa's trailing gown swept ever nearer. Ramsay reactively stiffened to the sensation of her breath trailing across the base of his neck. Her body's heat was close enough now to intangibly sense as Sansa hovered like a ghost at his back.

The instant was suspended in time, and Ramsay remained ramrod still awaiting Sansa's next move. She didn't linger long before her delicate arms wrapped around his waist to draw their figures into a firm possessive embrace. Her warmth emanated through his back, and the thrum of Sansa's heartbeat pounded through his chest. Ramsay's senses attuned to the pulse her heart echoed within him and his own heart synchronized to the rhythm to create a biological unity causing his shoulders to slacken and his chest to let go a soft acquiescent sigh. He couldn't help but melt into Sansa's arms having not realized how much just her holding him pacified the throng of apprehension he'd been mentally besieged by.

Her cheek grazed the side of his jaw followed by velvety lips trailing butterfly kisses up to the lobe of his left ear. Each peck continued to delicately draw up to Ramsay's temple in a languid affectionate manner. This experience was unlike the kisses infused with latent hunger he had felt prior. This affection wasn't sexualized, but instead fortified a placidity to course through him that calmed Ramsay to the core. Squeezing him to her chest tightly, Sansa whispered with coaxing reassurance, "It's going to be okay." She didn't explain further; she didn't need to. Ramsay simply nodded. Both knew the other understood this wasn't going to be an easy dialogue to share.

Turning his face to the side, Ramsay acknowledged Sansa with wavering eyes that locked momentarily with hers before his gaze gradually slid back forward with brow knitting in consternation, "What do you want to know?" The words came out evenly, but the mere utterance sped the cadence of Ramsay's heart and flowered a constriction to snake through his torso as real and imagined fears nestled a home into his mind's eye. His hands absently tightened to the arms that held him so closely; her strength had become an anchor to the dread he was suffused with.

Sensing his insecurity, Sansa reactively hugged Ramsay protectively as she replied, "Eventually everything, but I don't expect all to be revealed in one sitting. I wish to know you, Ramsay. I have garnered some aspects of what your life was from my travels, but throughout our time spent in each other's presence, we've never shared a true discourse. I won't assume to understand you without your own record of accounts."

Swallowing nervously at the mention of accounts, Ramsay's frame tensed. Sansa was well-aware of many heinous acts that he'd done, and she hadn't cast him aside yet, so why was it that telling her more felt so damning? It hadn't felt wrong when he'd done them, and in fact, Ramsay had been rather proud of many of the atrocious things he'd wrought. His games had given him a sense of power, he was in control, and Heke had smiled with the utmost approval as the two had bonded over the lamentations of their victims. The shared torture had been an elevation of predator over prey as peasants were akin to cattle, and their irrelevance granted he and Heke amusement.

His further past deeds could possibly sway Sansa's view of him, and Ramsay now felt the weight of his crimes in a whole new light. These things he did were not only unacceptable by the laws of the land but also intolerable to Sansa he knew well. The ruling cast prior to his father taking over as warden of the north had only given Ramsay cause to be cautious for his own survival, but he hadn't actually cared one wit about their judgement of him. The loss of Sansa's opinion though, that meant something to Ramsay, and the possibility of her reviling him over caring for him caused waves of trepidation and a nagging sense of guilt to prickle through him.

Guilt… the irksome reaction to recognize and empathize with another's plight; Ramsay loathed that it had found a way into his subconscious and struggled within him like a trapped animal in a bag clawing to be free. Ramsay had preferred when the trivial suffering of those that were beneath him gave him nothing more than a curious observance to want to poke at them further. He had seen hurting his fellow man like that of a child's indifference to sticking a twig in an ant hole to stir up an aggravated mass just to see what provocation such an action would create. Such curiosities he'd found fascinating and entertaining, but that sort of acquitted joy to his follies had been ripped away by the things that Sansa had done to him.

Ramsay knew from personal experience now what it was to live in fear of what another could do not only physically but emotionally to him. It put into perspective what he had done to others and the level of anguish that he had caused Sansa specifically. She'd made a point to reenact detail after malicious detail of their coupling ensuring the first time she'd raped him (both personally and with a mass of eager deviant sycophants at her disposal) to demonstrate all the vulgarity Ramsay had visited upon her (and then some) the night he'd taken her virginity.

Sansa had become kind to him perhaps she even loved him, but that experience would be forever etched in Ramsay's mind. He understood with clarity the cruelty she was capable of but chose to no longer bestow upon him. It was a reminder of the monster he had been to others. He would have never stopped being that monster had he not been forced to heel. The former Bolton recognized this too, and a part of his soul that had laid dormant for over two decades thanked Sansa for pulling its withered form from the flames of debauchery Ramsay had been so content to burn in.

She had continued her lessons by instilling a recognition of culpability in him the day she'd had Jon make him while away countless hours on a list of punitive acts to mollify those he'd wronged. The article had made Ramsay examine in detail all those that could have a reason to hate him and why. It was a testament to what he'd sown and even more so how little he had to offer in compensation. Having been enlightened in many ways, Ramsay would and could never be that man again. Not that he wanted to slip backward emotionally, but living in that mindset had been so much easier than… this, whatever he'd been transformed into in the three weeks that had marked the end of his tyranny over Winterfell.

Noting how tense Ramsay had become in her grip, Sansa leaned forward to rest her chin on his shoulder. "You're worried. Why?" Her concern didn't wither with her query as she tightened her hold to clasp Ramsay more firmly. This reaction from her only seemed to put Ramsay more on edge as her affection coalesced into further sentiments that he didn't deserve her.

A light tremor worked its way up Ramsay's spine causing the muscles along the track of his vertebrae to involuntarily flex as he responded uneasily, "There's a lot about me that you've probably heard from those that prance about your court. Gruesome tales… and… and likely true ones," Ramsay paused peripherally glancing to take in Sansa's reaction, and when she neither looked his way, let him loose, or gave him any reply, he continued stiltedly, "I've… I've done more still that even whispers from the trees are not privy to release." His head lowered, and his voice weakened, "You wouldn't approve of any of it, and to hear it may have you wish to fetch the hangman's noose."

Inhaling deeply, Sansa removed her head slowly from Ramsay's shoulder letting her arms disengage from around his waist. An immediate fear sparked through Ramsay that his words had condemned him. Her hand wrapped about Ramsay's bicep lightly as she circled about to face him. Once centered in front of him, Sansa grabbed his other bicep securing the intimacy between them as her gaze penetrated Ramsay with very real sincerity. Ramsay's eyes locked onto her stare dilating with uneasiness to the seriousness she exuded upon him.

Sansa spoke plainly, "I said accounts, Ramsay, I was not asking for you to rant off a litany of sins. I know that you've done horrible crimes both in and away from my presence. I won't say that you are forgiven for them. It's not my right or place to do so. The only forgiveness I can grant is for any misconduct you have pressed upon me personally. That said, I've moved into this venture well informed that before I took claim of you as my ward, you'd done unspeakable evils that chilled me to the bone. They still do, but I'm no longer judging you by your past. I've committed to redeem you and help you build a better future. That said, justice needs to be met, and your spared life will be spent working to make up for the pains you've bore upon others."

Her words had Ramsay inwardly cringing as he measured the implication of his place forever by her side as not a lover but a responsibility. He couldn't hold her gaze under such embarrassing scrutiny, and his eyes averted to the floor. Sansa wasn't finished, and for what she spoke on, she wanted his full attention, "Ramsay, I need you to look at me," she was firm, but her words were tinged with a quiet regard that took the edge away from the gravity of her statement. He couldn't refuse her if he'd wanted to; Ramsay's head rose to display emotion-filled irises beseeching sympathy. Sansa supposed that Ramsay expected her to continue in the vein she'd left off pounding into him the reality of their merger. Her composure softened as she continued gently, "The person that stands before me now, that swore an oath of fealty to me, is not the person who committed those vile acts. I'd like to believe I've slayed the beast that salivated for that sort of immorality. Maybe not completely, but enough to bring forward another part of you that is worthy of absolution. Am I wrong to believe this?"

Before she'd finished speaking Ramsay had begun shaking his head vehemently, "No! No, you're not wrong!" When she'd continued her speech to mention his proclaimed fealty to her, Ramsay's hands had moved to link around Sansa's elbows wanting a further connection to her. His heart swelled to her statement; even if she'd not forgiven him now, there was a hope she could grant him a pardon to see past the many dark deeds he'd flagrantly committed that would forever stain his character. Sansa was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he was changing, and that was all Ramsay could aspire for at this juncture in their relationship.

"I want to be a better man for you," Ramsay affirmed earnestly, "I will be; of this I swear!" His adamancy was touching but flawed in direction, and Sansa corrected, "Not for me, Ramsay. You need to be a better man for you." His brow furrowed in obvious confusion, and Sansa went on to explain, "I appreciate a want to improve on my behalf, but you need to instead wish it for yourself. You will be a better man for me in the process." Ramsay affixed her with a dumbfounded expression not understanding what she was getting at. There would come a time he would, Sansa decided leaning in to kiss the small crinkle on his forehead.

His brow immediately relaxed under the ministrations of her tender lips, and when Sansa pulled away, Ramsay's eyes closed, his face slackening with head tilting downward to accept her affections. These were the engagements with Ramsay that Sansa had become drawn to. The passive tendencies she pulled out of him that had been alien at the start of their rapport, but now was a mark of recognition that Ramsay would submit to her and serve her in whatever capacity she willed him to. Her pleasure was his own, and it was undeniably attractive especially given the self-indulging man he'd been prior. Sansa smiled down at him fondly watching on as Ramsay's lashes fluttered and curious blue eyes flashed up to take her in. His mouth parted to reveal a timid flash of teeth seeing her approval of him as her happiness generated a euphoria to cascade over him and brighten his demeanor considerably.

It's going to be okay, Ramsay heard Sansa's words dancing over him, and for the first time in a long time, he believed it to be so. He didn't just love Sansa, he trusted her, and this wasn't one and the same but something far more precious. As if she could see his revelation, Sansa's smile broadened and her hands squeezed Ramsay's biceps one final time before she released his arms turning from him and moving ten paces over to sit on the bed. Sansa's gaze drifted up to Ramsay's, and her palm patted the space beside her, a silent summons to join her that Ramsay didn't hesitate to obey. He wanted to be near her always. Ramsay lowered himself into the spot her hand had vacated, and once he'd settled, Sansa reached out instinctively to take his hand in hers. It was a simple gesture causing Ramsay to marvel at the way her hand clasping his solidified a tether to bind him further to her.

Their shared connection made the insecurities that ebbed and threatened to consume Ramsay fade momentarily, and in their absence, he spoke, "You have questions you wish to ask," his hand gripped hers more tightly pausing to turn and face her with all seriousness, "I will answer them to the best of my ability. Whatever you wish to know; I will be honest and forthcoming." His jaw tightened as he thought inwardly, "Even if it is not what she wants to hear, I will tell her and clear the air once and for all." She'd shown that she was resourceful enough to find out most anything she wanted to know about him, so he might as well have it come from him personally while she was feeling receptive to take it in. She was a Stark, and if it was one thing Ramsay knew he could count on was that she would not break her word to him and shun him for what he disclosed to her in confidence, or at least he believed keeping her continued faith in him was worth the risk of candor.

Sansa's expression was hard to read with neither a frown nor smile, her eyes darted over the whole of him as if taking Ramsay in fully for the first time. He was opening himself to her inquiries, and although Sansa worked to keep the elation this level of trust Ramsay was granting her from projecting outwardly, inwardly her heart soared with a rising exhilaration born of excitement and trepidation. She hesitated to speak now that she was given the floor as she mentally moved through the many things that she could ask of him. He was willing to entertain her questioning knowing her intentions, and a part of her knew it was best not to waste the opportunity this presented, so she opened with the sorest subject, "I want to pick up where we left off in the Godswood, to speak more on my visit to see your mother. I admit that I went to her with expectations that she would unravel the mystery you presented."

Sansa's brow furrowed as her pretty lips contorted into a frown shaking her head at a loss for what she really wanted to convey. She sighed tiredly staring off as her mind was pulled back to the conversation she and Ramsay's mother had shared, "I honestly don't know what I had wanted her to say really. I just wanted to understand what compelled you to do the things you did to others. It took a matter of moments to realize that there wasn't anything she could muster a plausible justification for. I had assumed your father was to blame for the majority of your callous behavior, but I failed to pick up the clues that you had shown me in your faltering speech when I'd initially asked about her. I know now that she was as much to blame if not more so for shaping your outlook on life."

Focusing her gaze back on Ramsay, Sansa leaned closer encompassing his hand in both of hers as she ventured, "I know she's hard for you to discuss, but do you think you can talk about her and your past with me now?"

Ramsay was grimacing when Sansa had concluded but nodded as his own eyes fell away to find his hand enveloped within both of hers. He needed to see this as well as feel it as a counterbalance to the rising tide of emotions that were flooding through him to bring his mind backward in time. A long moment lurched by where Ramsay said nothing, and Sansa waited patiently willing herself not to urge him on. Ramsay needed to speak as he was comfortable to do so, and finally after several mouth-parting stops and licked lips, Ramsay started, "We didn't get along… she hated me, and my father. We both played our part in ruining her life, to make her so angry, and if she wasn't going on about something I did or any number of misfortunes in her life," Ramsay's tone turned bitter as he expounded, "…then she mourned for a life that had been taken from her when her womb had been cursed by my father's tainted seed."

A snarl split to bared teeth and Ramsay's hand tightened around Sansa's own as he recanted his memories. Sansa could sense he was spiraling quickly into a dark place and interjected sternly, "You were a child, and no mother should blame the ills of the father on a babe in the womb. You didn't ruin her life, Roose did." Ramsay halted looking up at her in stunned silence as her words sunk in. The anger receded from his composure, and Ramsay slackened once more loosening his grip and letting out a deflated sigh as he continued, "Yes… well she wasn't as enlightened as you having always been a smallminded bumkin from the countryside. She couldn't handle me, and at the risk of being flayed alive, she went to father and acquired a manservant."

Ramsay hesitated to continue working out mentally how to approach the conundrum of Heke. He glanced Sansa's way, and her gaze bore into him silently inciting for him to resume. Blinking, Ramsay collected his thoughts and pressed on, "His name was Heke… one of my father's longtime servants; his most redeeming quality, for those that stood downwind of the man, was that he bore a heinous stench. It was so vile that most he came in contact with would reel in disgust." A smile broke Ramsay's lips remembering fondly, "Some even emptied the contents of their stomachs or fell to the ground in a faint for their delicate sensibilities to have been so compromised." Ramsay chuckled his amusement from the conjured images recalled to him while Sansa's lip found itself curling at the thought of withstanding a smell so awful that it would cause such a volatile reaction.

The revulsion on her face only added to Ramsay's delight, and he barked a laugh at her response. Sansa cut him a playful glare, and Ramsay averted his eyes a smirk still played upon his face. He settled back in to renew his tale with a clearing of his throat, "Heke was dull in the head, but he was always loyal." Ramsay's sights grew distant and the mirth left his mien, "He served me like no other." There was a sense of finality in his statement that weighed a somberness to the conversation, and Ramsay shifted as a wave of distress eroded the exchange leaving him silent once more.

The more she learned of this Heke, the more Sansa saw the impact he had on Ramsay. She opened her mouth to draw out more about this man when a soft knock came on the door shifting her attentions as she stood followed simultaneously by Ramsay. Sansa glanced Ramsay's direction voicing, "The servants have brought our meal, I will send them away once they've served us." Without further word, Sansa moved to open the door and allow entrance to her chambers, and Ramsay sighed his relief for the small interlude. He hoped this meal would also have a flagon of wine; he could use a drink right about now.