Erraticism

Chapter Forty-One

Erraticism

The door creaked open, but it was not servants that greeted Sansa; it was Jon. Her brow furrowed in worry at the stony serious gaze that met her, "We need to talk," Jon stated simply. His eyes drifted over to Ramsay, and Ramsay moved to step towards the two stilling his momentum as Jon added, "Alone."

Sansa's head spun back to take in Ramsay's form settling back onto the bed, and her sights lingered on him momentarily as her eyes gave him a silent apology before she turned back to Jon with a curt nod and followed him out. As the door closed, it amplified the severance Ramsay felt to be excluded from their conversation. He hated being offhandedly left waiting in Sansa's chambers for her to return with no more than a nod of dismissal. A pout played across his face, and Ramsay stood finding a need to pace as the emotions from the day collapsed from the sentiments of togetherness and trust he'd been roused by to a remembrance that this relationship was not and never would be an equal exchange. He would always be at the whim of Sansa's desires and duties, a bystander in her life pending for a given direction.

It was a feeling he'd known well with his father, but Sansa was not barring Ramsay from the discussion as a means to keep him in the dark or at arm's length, he had no place within Westrosi politics as a prisoner of war, and even more so, he had no place interfering with family matters concerning Sansa and Jon. These were the rational assessments Ramsay pieced together, yet as he moved like a caged animal back and forth across the expanse of the room, he was still very much consumed by envy.

***…***

Silently Jon led Sansa down the corridor with an assured gait, a man carrying matters of import on a heavy brow. Sansa followed her brother's unwavering march hurrying to keep pace and growing more curious to his beckon of her by every passing moment. What news could Jon wish to depart that would have him so keenly focused to seek her private counsel? Sansa pondered this until she could no longer stand their quiet progression lurching to a sudden stop to exclaim, "What exactly is going on, Jon?"

Her interruption had Jon stiltedly halt his momentum to glance back with a somber expression that twisted Sansa's gut; something was definitely amiss. Her voice trilled, "Is there trouble?"

Straightening with visible discomfort, Jon lifted his chin to regard her worry before responding demurely, "I received a missive from the maester, a summons to Dragonstone."

A flash of confusion passed across Sansa's mien as Jon's declaration sunk in, "Dragnstone? By who's decree?"

There was a pause as Jon's sights shifted past his sister scanning the hallway for any that would hear before stepping closer to remove the gap that separated them. He murmured, "Daenerys Targaryen has crossed the sea and seeks an audience. She wants to make an ally of us to oppose Cersei's claim to the iron throne."

Sansa's eyes darted across Jon's face reactively drawing a step backwards from the enormity of the proposal. She stated with a growing sense of urgency, "You can't go. The North needs you now more than ever!"

The frown that creased Jon's lips deepened as he announced resolutely, "Aye, but so does the realm. I received this invitation days ago," Sansa's brow drew down with a hint of indignation at the knowledge that Jon had withheld this information from her, but she did not interject as he continued, "…and today I was handed a message sent from my brother in arms who resides at the high citadel. He's informed me that Dragonstone houses a mine of one of the only sources of dragonglass known in Westeros. We need dragonglass, and Daenerys Targaryen has an army that could aide us against the coming legions of the dead. There's too much at stake for us to pass on this opportunity."

Sansa was shaking her head in disbelief, "The Targayen's are mad! Have you forgotten so easily what her father did to our grandfather? The risk is too great; send a delegate in your stead. The North can't afford to lose its king!"

"I can't do that. It would be an insult. She is a queen, Sansa. I must be the one to meet her face to face if she is to be in any way amiable to our cause. Please…" Jon took her hands in his as muddy orbs penetrated her with a seriousness that stilled any further protest from leaving her throat. His cadence was firm and imploring, "I am going to announce this news in the great hall. I would have you stand with me in my decision as a united front. You are the only remaining trueborn Stark in Winterfell. I need you to take up the mantle to see the North is tended to until my return. Will you do this?"

Her mouth opened and closed having more to say on the matter, but Jon's mind was set, and so Sansa's visage settled into a grave solemnity as she nodded her acquiescence, "I will."

***…***

The hall clamored with shouts of worry and disgruntlement as Jon relayed his intentions. The siblings shared a look both knowing already that Jon's news was not going to sit well before he'd ever declared it. Waiting for the room to die down again, Jon resumed, "I know that you are afraid for me, but we cannot fight the dead alone. We must form alliances, or we will surely perish. I will not waver on my decision and plan to leave for the shore at dawn's first light. My sister will lead you well in my stead and continue to prepare us for the long winter."

Jon did not stay to answer the lords and ladies that still objected his verdict, and Sansa's voice carried high above the throng as he strode to exit the hall, "My brother is right; we need more men to fight at our side. It is better to distinguish now who our friends and our enemies are. Cersei Lannister holds the South, and regardless of what opinion we hold of the Targaryens, Daenerys is an unknown force who has reached out to us and not her for a union. Jon's proposal is brash, but it is a necessity for our continued survival. You must trust that the peril he faces is to our coming benefit. The North…" Her speech faded to the backdrop as Jon pushed through the yawning doors of the main hall followed by his most trusted bannermen at his heel. A small smile graced his lips and a confidence filled him that no matter the outcome of the meeting he had with the dragon queen, Sansa would fill the role the North needed with or without him leading them.

***…***

It hadn't been long after Sansa departed that the servants arrived with the table and chairs she had requested stilling Ramsay's pacing with the disturbance to the once quiet room. He watched on with a dour scowl as the servants bustled about setting up the furnishings and arranging the food. It wasn't an elaborate fare having been hailed on a moment's notice, but it was still prepared for the lady of the house and had many alluring smells of braised meats and sweet bread. Ramsay's mouth immediately watered at the appetizing contents, and he fought the urge to start picking through the dishes. Sansa would wish for him to wait for her his mind disputed his craving, but as the steam began to evaporate from the now cooling containers, it was apparent that Sansa was not coming back to join him any time soon.

How long was he expected to wait? Would she be angry with him if he just decided to help himself? Ramsay snatched the chair closest to him, and if he'd not been so sore from the night prior's through tanning, his carried-out reaction would have been to slump down in an exasperated huff. Instead, Ramsay's stiffness reminded him of his lingering ailments serving to sour his disposition further. This temperament abated though at the sight of Melody cowering in the far corner. He hadn't even noticed her presence until now; the girl is so mundane she practically fades into the background he mused smirking and puffing out his chest as he settled into his seat.

He rolled his shoulders staring directly at her to a point Melody noticeably squirmed like a fly caught in a spider's web. Her reaction had Ramsay perk with a delighted smile as he called out purposefully, "You there; serving wench!"

Melody jerked to attention swiveling her head left and then right to clarify it was indeed her that Ramsay was referring to. It was, she realized with a sickening dread as she timidly stepped out of the protective shadows she'd sought solace in, "Ya-yes milord?" The words caught in her throat; he wasn't a lord anymore she was well aware, but she couldn't stop referring to him as one even now, and for her to have done so only expanded the cat-like grin the bastard wore.

Amused by her continued deference, Ramsay leaned back in his chair motioning to the empty goblet placed before him, "Aren't you the cup bearer? You see that I am seated, so why is my chalice still empty?"

Worrying her hands in her dress Melody responded bashfully, "I'm… I'm sorry milord, I'll fill it right away." Even as the words left her mouth, she hurried over to the pitcher of water picking it up and scurried over to begin filling Ramsay's cup.

Placing a hand over the lip, Ramsay mocked in a condescending tone as if Melody's action had been poorly thought out, "Did I say I wished for water?" His action caused Melody to back pedal her forward momentum as she shook her head lamely. Ramsay's smile melted, and he stared at her with a cold seriousness that sparked a jolt of fear to course up her spine. He left the uncomfortable silence to hang in the air a long moment before the grin he'd worn previously playfully returned. A barely audible snicker escaped his lips and Ramsay lost eye contact with her seemingly bored by the exchange. Waving her off, Ramsay leisurely settled back in his chair to enjoy his self-imposed lordly status as he stated flatly, "Wine. Fetch me a flagon." Almost as an afterthought, Ramsay quipped with a hint of annoyance, "Be quick about it."

Setting the water pitcher down, Melody briskly made her way out of the lady's chambers to do as she was bid. The room had gone deafly quiet during their exchange, but none that surrounded them questioned Ramsay's entitlement, and this willing acceptance to treat them as beneath him gave Ramsay a small thrill. He'd always enjoyed making others writhe with subtle psychological games that kept them on their toes. Ramsay wasn't foolish enough to put on such airs in front of actual nobility in his current holding for risk of getting put in his place readily, but what could a little bit of fun with the servants here and now hurt? Besides, he had been wanting a bit of wine to ease the tension of the coming continuation of he and Sansa's awkward conversation; getting a bit of a head start would mollify his agitation over having to wait on her and make speaking openly on the subjects Sansa would pry upon a little easier to navigate dulling his senses.

***…***

The meeting in the great hall had taken several hours, and by the time Sansa was exhaustedly making her way back to her quarters, her shoulders sagged with the burden of appeasing many houses. She had sent word back with a servant to tell Ramsay to eat after she and Jon had made it to the hall and settled the lords and ladies before them to hear the dire news Jon wished to depart. That in itself had taken a bit of time to amass and gather the nobles milling about from the many parts of the keep that they were scattered. Once the discussion had begun, and after Jon had left, it seemed that no one was easily satisfied stretching into long hours of debate and discourse. Sansa weathered these talks far better than Jon had, but it was a taxing situation that had demanded much from her.

The deliberations died down when the servants brought fourth bread, fruit, and wine for the guests in the hall. Food always tended to calm a boisterous room, and much of the larger matters had long since been discussed in the first few hours of the afternoon. Jon had left her to it some time ago, and Sansa supposed he'd done so on purpose to prove both to those assembled and each other that she could handle the reigns of Winterfell in his absence.

Jon's faith in her was assuring. There had been quite a number of instances that had left Sansa ruffled by the manner that her position as a trueborn in their house had been downgraded due to her gender and the people's love of her half-brother. She'd swallowed this insult knowing the world they lived in found it difficult to accept a woman monarch, and Jon was a good man who was easily followed. With Ramsay taking up so much of her time and energy, she'd actually welcomed the ability to disengage from the politics of court, but now she was going to have to juggle both. These ruminations populated her mind as she exited the noisy hall and traversed the corridors in welcomed silence.

***…***

The first three cups of wine, Ramsay had downed rather quickly unsure when Sansa was to return again, but once he'd been informed to go ahead and dine without her, Ramsay slowed to nursing his drink as he'd always done when he'd normally partaken. One thing Ramsay was particular about was to never become too inebriated; it wasn't safe to let your guard down living the life that he'd led.

Having full access to enjoy the contents of the table as he deemed fit was refreshing in its own way, but it was also a letdown to be dining alone. This never used to bother Ramsay, but the earlier elation of getting closer to Sansa to then be excluded by her having to leave him behind… again. It had his mind whirring over possible scenarios of them together, and left alone to these ruminations, it didn't bode well for his building insecurities.

Ramsay had finished eating some time ago, and with nothing better to do other than wait, he drank until his senses were so dulled that he found himself slumping drunkenly in his chair with head spinning as the pins and needles of intoxication washed over his limbs and his fingers letting the empty chalice he held dangling over the side of his chair loose to clang onto the stone floor. His eyes stared at the cup dazedly as it gently rolled to disappear beneath the table. He'd drank that first bit of wine entirely too fast, Ramsay realized belatedly as his half-lidded gaze drifted about the room trying to discern what he'd been thinking on last.

It was a fruitless endeavor as his mind had become far too muddled by this point to coherently pinpoint any actual string of thoughts over the momentary flash of whatever happened across his purview. Throughout this drinking endeavor he'd bullied Melody to refill his cup, serve him his food, take away his dirty plates, and whatever else he could send her to task doing just to watch her service him.

Ramsay's orders filtered to Sansa's ears as she pushed open the heavy oaken door to her room causing her to balk in surprise as his words sank in and registered, "No, not like that. I wish for you to crawl on the ground on hands and knees for it, like the dog you are."

Fury erupted through her as Sansa exclaimed in disgust, "Ramsay!"

Hearing his name yelled like a curse by Sansa had Ramsay jolt to standing teetering as the blood flow rushed to his head leaving Ramsay to feel the full effects of the wine spill over him. Ramsay stammered in bewilderment, "Sa-Sansa! You… you're back!" He wanted to force a cordial smile and bow at her return, but his lip only twitched upward nervously as she bounded towards him.

Electricity radiated off of her person, and if she could discharge it at him, Ramsay imagined that it would strike him dead by the glare she affixed him with now. Sansa typically maintained a very regal composure even when she'd been upset in the Godswood she'd not exuded this level of rage. He'd only ever seen her this angry once, the time she'd taken the hairbrush to him. In part, this memory served to make Ramsay stiffen and wince as she bounded forward snatching him by the bicep to physically drag him in one pull around his chair to stand directly in front of her. Her eyes blazed as she clipped a reply, "I'm back just in time it would seem. What is the meaning of this? Why were you insulting this servant so?"

Ramsay's eyes had grown wide and his face was slack in the wake of her aggressive interrogation. The drink had blunted his wit too much to lie cleverly, so Ramsay blurted the first thing that sounded like plausible justification, "She… she's had it coming for weeks! This wench has done nothing but taunt me since the day she's been given leave to get away with it!"

Sansa's brow furrowed as her sights shifted to Melody who still lay huddled on the ground under the table peering up at her panic stricken by the sudden turn of events. "Does he speak true?" Sansa demanded firmly.

Melody on the brink of tears rattled her head, "No! No milady! I would never!"

Ramsay barked antagonistically down at her pouring out his festering hatred the girl riled in him, "Do not lie to your lady! Confess to her how you spitefully smirked at me to get a reaction the night after I'd been belabored! Tell her…" Sansa shook Ramsay's arm violently enough to dislodge his speech, and when he immediately brought his shocked expression back to take her in, she scolded him, "Enough. You will still your tongue until I give you permission to speak again."

His mien shifted from astonishment to clear offense, but he didn't fail to comply as he pursed his lips tightly and his gaze shifted away from her piercing narrowed slits. The warm fuzzy buzz that had settled over him before had vacated his system as the fear that he should have been feeling when Sansa stormed over to him began to replace the once stupefied mental awareness he'd suffered from when she had first entered the chamber. He was becoming fully aware of just how bad this situation had gotten for him.

Sansa regarded the side profile of Ramsay's face studying him carefully, his jaw was set clenching in exasperated frustration. He was clearly nettled by the scullery maid; Sansa's vision drifted back to the shuddering girl on the floor. The girl didn't regale the visage of a meanspirited person that took joy in the suffering of others, but nor could Sansa discount that she very well could be a good actor playing a role for her benefit. This girl could have a disposition much like that of Myranda; Sansa hadn't known the extent of the cruelty that laid in the heart of Ramsay's past lover, but the moment she'd had any time in close proximity with the woman, Sansa had felt her animosity. The quaking figure before her, Sansa didn't get any such inclination from, and she found it hard to believe that Ramsay could feel threatened by her at all.

Nodding at Melody, Sansa instructed, "Please rise from off the floor." her gaze reverted back to the calm serious stare she'd perfected watching on expressionlessly as the girl shakily propped herself up to stand. The goblet Ramsay had demanded her to retrieve was clutched below her sternum coiled into her belly as a lifeline to transfer the intense anxieties this night had evoked. Sansa took her stance and the item she held in curiously recalling the command that Ramsay had bellowed at the maid as she'd entered the chamber. She held out her hand for the cup, and Melody timidly passed the article into her possession.

Rolling it in her hands, Sansa's brow creased; for the first time since she'd entered the room, the wafting aroma of wine assaulted her senses. It was becoming clearer what had transpired here. She queried casually almost as if she were stating to herself rather than Ramsay, "Wine. You were drinking. I hadn't asked for spirits to be delivered."

Ramsay shifted in growing apprehension; his eyes darting up to take Sansa in from his peripheral, and when he saw that she was staring directly at him, Ramsay cleared his throat stating defensively, "Well… I didn't think it was a problem to ask for a bit of wine with dinner." Opening his mouth to expound upon his statement, Sansa quipped sharply cutting him off, "Clearly, it was a problem." Ramsay's mouth closed visibly swallowing hard at the admonishing tone dropping his head in submission.

This was not what she wished to come back to after a grueling afternoon and evening discussing politics in the hall. "I'm displeased with your behavior, Ramsay," Sansa sighed tiredly letting her statement hang in the air as she quickly pivoted to take in Melody's posture to see if the girl gave any tells to if the accusations Ramsay had lobbed at her seemed at all credible. Melody looked just as petrified as she had been when Sansa had first laid eyes on her crumpled cringing form. To observe her now, Sansa doubted this slip of a girl had a mean bone in her body.

If what Ramsay alleged was true, he still was in the wrong for the manner in which Sansa had seen him treating her, and if he was lying, well that was a whole other matter to deal with. She would need to investigate further before she could sentence the severity of the punishment she would give Ramsay for this transgression. Either way, it could be sorted tomorrow Sansa decided, "It's late. Ramsay undress and climb into bed, and you…" Sansa paused looking over at Melody expectantly before Melody caught on that Sansa was waiting for her to announce herself, "Ma-Melody mistress!" She nervously curtsied three times in succession pleating the folds of her skirts and apron in an attempt to mimic what she knew of how to address a noble respectfully.

"Melody," Sansa stated formally, "I will wish for you to return tomorrow morning after the sun has risen and we've had our morning meal. We will discuss this matter between the three of us to get to the bottom of it." Swiveling to address the rest of the servants Sansa directed, "Please see to removing the dinnerware, once you have, you are all excused from duty." Glancing back over at Ramsay, Sansa stalled her movement turning back to announce as an afterthought, "For future reference, Ramsay is to have no wine without my or Jon's direct supervision."

Ramsay cringed tightening his fists at her declaration; he'd not moved from where he'd been standing, but this added humility was salt to the wounds this encounter had already inflicted and sent him to storm off in retreat towards the bed.

Sansa watched him recoil from her side and sulkily slump onto the bed to begin the task of kicking off his shoes although he paused in disrobing to glance back up to Sansa in silent question if she meant for him to divest his clothing here and now, in front of the servants. She didn't give him an answer rotating her back to him leaving Ramsay to figure it out on his own what he needed to do while she monitored the servants making quick work of dismantling the many items that had been placed on the table. Having her observe their work after the tension that had permeated the chamber had all her retainers dashing out with the assembled dishware in a quiet eagerness to comply with their lady's wishes and depart the premises.

Once the two were alone again, Sansa spun back around to see Ramsay had stripped down to all but his leggings, and when she'd about faced his direction, Ramsay was quick to hop to his feet dropping his trousers with a sense of urgency to obey. He faltered, "I… I didn't want to…," Sansa was striding towards him purposefully as he spoke, and she cupped his chin in her hand lifting his face to take in his wavering eyes. His ice blue orbs studied her unsure of what she planned to do to him but definitively worried that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Softly, Sansa interjected before Ramsay could stammer on, "It's alright. I understand, and I'm not upset that you waited to follow-through with this particular decree for modesty sake although that may not always be the case. I trust you will know the difference and adhere to my wishes when called upon to do so."

Ramsay opened his mouth to plead his case, and as if sensing his intention, Sansa added, "I do not wish to speak further on this incident. I've had quite enough debate for one evening. Please, just come to bed with me. There will be plenty of time to continue this matter after we've both had some much-needed rest."

Rest meant a clearer head; Ramsay nodded his chin in her hand eagerly, and Sansa smiled grateful that he was quick to acquiesce to her proclamation over trying to represent his argument further. She let her hand slip from Ramsay's face taking the three steps it took to reach the bed to pull the duvet down and expose the inviting inner sanctum of the goose down feathered mattress. Wordlessly, Ramsay followed the gesture climbing into the opening she held aloft and settling to lay on the bed. His brow was furrowed in curiosity as he stared up at her. Sansa perplexed him to a degree that Ramsay was always left guessing and unsure how to react to her. As of now, she wished to be kind and gentle with him, and Ramsay was keen to absorb this side of her when Sansa offered it.

She folded the comforter down and over his shoulders before beginning the laborious task of disrobing herself. All the while, Ramsay surveyed her motions as if they were a novelty, and when she was also naked, his body reacted to the sight of her. Sansa noted the bulge elevating the blankets where his crotch centered, but she did not react in any perceptible way to seeing it as she sidled around the bed to climb in next to Ramsay. She laid on her side facing him, and Ramsay swiveled his head to regard her. His expression had been hopeful that she would extend further attentions upon him in an effort to assuage the cropping guilt he was feeling as a means to let him know they were okay, but when it became apparent that she was not reaching for him in any manner, his countenance shifted to worry. He wanted to ask her if she were angry with him, but he knew that in some way that she was and didn't wish to hear her say as much, so instead, the two continued to endure staring wordlessly at one another.

Anger was not what Sansa was feeling at the moment, and although what she'd happened upon when she'd entered her chamber had indeed infuriated her, it also awakened her to the fact that even though Ramsay wasn't exuding those personality traits that she loathed in her presence, it was clear now that those mannerisms still resided within him. It once more cropped a worrisome niggling that she was treading dangerous ground, and that the man that stared longingly at her now could still be very cruel if given the opportunity. He was a work in progress, and she had to remember that there would be many failures on his part and hers along the way. She had to believe in herself that she could temper his behavior just as Jon believed that she could manage Winterfell.

Ramsay's eyes had not left her face, and his gaze became more vexed the longer the silence between them stretched on. His distress finally overrode her inner contemplations, and Sansa whispered gently to him, "Come to me, Ramsay." Her words spiked an immediate thrill to comply, and Ramsay slid over to her side gratefully. As he did so, Sansa rolled his figure onto his side pulling his back into her chest to spoon his form. Nuzzling his head under her chin, she heard Ramsay sigh his contentment as his body slackened in her grip. He'd been restlessly awaiting some form of engagement from her Sansa realized as she dipped to kiss the top of his head tenderly. He needed her so much, and this need sent a warm flush to crash through her being as she squeezed him tightly to her. She needed him too.