Greater Understanding
Chapter Forty-Three
Greater Understanding
The soft tweets of sparrows had drawn Ramsay to throw open the curtains and let in the sun's rays. He'd stood there observing nothing in particular, but the openness had helped him to feel a little less contained as his thoughts drifted over Sansa's last words to him. Ramsay pondered, and as he did so the sky changed from the pale blues that greeted him to a bright backdrop of white as the sun rose high overhead. Morning had long since passed, and Ramsay finally grew weary of the sight before him turning away from the window to be encompassed by the still in the room. Being trapped in Sansa's chamber was beginning to send Ramsay into internal fits of exasperation wondering not only how much longer he'd be left to wait for the coming dispute with the servant girl but how at a loss he was on what he would present to Sansa as a worthy explanation to her given grievance. She'd demanded he give her an answer as to why she'd left him behind, and that was a conundrum that had a myriad of responses (none of which Ramsay wanted to acknowledge or admit.) It wasn't just that saying aloud her reasoning to leave him behind was justifiable due to his previous behavior was grating, but to disclose such a fault, especially in front of the lowly servant wench, was a humiliation that spurned Ramsay to no end.
The more he thought on apologizing to Melody, the more infuriated the thought of doing so made him. Why would he owe that peasant any sort of excuse for the way he'd treated her anyway? Ramsay fumed inwardly chaffing further as his introspections on why he shouldn't be feeling any form of contrition continued to poison his mood. She was a nobody, a commoner meant to serve in whatever capacity nobility saw fit! Surely Sansa must know to hold her up on a pedestal as if she were worthy of consideration only gave room for later unruliness and defiance towards the ruling house? These sorts of dilemmas were never an issue in the Bolton stead as the servants all well knew their place. Neither was having a bit of sport at their expense unheard of; Roose never denied Ramsay these amusements although he had occasionally scoffed and chided him for creating an aura of uneasiness in the staff. These admonishments Ramsay had mentally pushed from his mind easily, and he'd merrily continued his maltreatment of the staff without issue having never truly seen a real problem with otherwise harmless harassment. It kept the retainers rather adamant to complete their duties swiftly and accurately throughout their tenor. There were always exceptions where Ramsay had gleefully gone that extra mile to insure compliance as a matter of making good on the stern reputation that House Bolton represented. It was remarkable how word getting about of a flayed finger here or a screw in the foot there kept the underlings quite devoted to the house they served.
This whole affair niggled at Ramsay; as far as he was concerned, he hadn't really done anything wrong. Never once did he lay a finger on the girl or threaten her with harm. All he had done was verbally motivate the maid to be ever diligent in the tasks she was already meant to perform; ones that she was attending to rather poorly! These deliberations although satisfying to Ramsay as a given rationalization for his exploitation of Melody, he was more than keenly aware Sansa wouldn't have the same level of indifference his father had shown given the matter, and so he was left to contemplate what exactly he could say that would appease her. This circumventing thought pattern kept leading Ramsay in circles where his known world and his previous past would clash to fragment and thwart his ability to consider an amiable solution without immeasurable strain. The pressure knowing that Sansa would show up at any time now only added to Ramsay's annoyance and frustration. Once Sansa did finally arrive, the irritation fled from Ramsay's countenance replaced by an awkward shift of his frame and a visible start having been knocked from his own personal reveries to the present moment as he spun to face the opening yawn of the heavy door.
***…***
"Are you familiar with needlepoint?" Melody blinked at the awkward question Sansa asked pausing in her task to place the torch in her hand to the mounted scone on the wall. She nodded her head eagerly, "Yes, milady. I am fluent in threadwork for mending and quilt making, but nothing fanciful as the embroidery I've seen mark the dresses you've made."
Sansa couldn't help a small lift of her lips given the maid's flattery of her stitching, "I see. There is yarn in my basket and spare needles that you may take up," Sansa didn't expound more watching Melody expectantly as the girl resumed her first given order and meekly moved to the basket that sat beside her rocking chair. Tentatively, Melody reached into the wicker bin and pulled out the supplies she'd been requested to obtain and looked to Sansa for further direction. Sansa gave a slight nod to the rocking chair that sat beside her own, and Melody shuffled over to inelegantly droop into the chair she'd been pointed to. Sheepishly Melody glanced over at Sansa as she began looping yarn around her own needle in preparation to start a new quilt. Sansa studied her having decided that the girl's nerves made it hard to carry on any form of conversation during their last encounter and hoped that by busying herself in this way that dialogue would flow more easily. Sansa had personally always found speaking to the other women in her knitting circle to be leisurely compared to much of the other discourse she'd had to endure in her life, and she supposed this was another reason she enjoyed sewing as much as she did.
There was a labored silence that carried between the two women as Melody fumbled nervously with her instruments finally relaxing once she had noted that Sansa was paying her no mind having moved back to begin work again on her own endeavor (which ironically was removing the Bolton sigil from one of Ramsay's lapels; one of the many articles of clothing that she'd had the servants bring up the day before for just this purpose.) She knew it shouldn't please her, but a petty side of Sansa relished ripping the threads that held the upside-down man on the X-cross off to see the tattered felt flutter to the floor knowing it would be swept up and thrown into the fire later. It was satisfying as a mark of claiming Ramsay to remove the taint of his house from his apparel. She would sew the Stark wolf on his clothes at a later date, but for now the amputation of the branding of his father's crest from her presence would suffice.
The two continued in this vein until Sansa had finished the jacket she was working on setting it in the basket beside her to be returned to her armoire and reaching over to the pile of Ramsay's outfits that she'd yet to get to. Melody watched her curiously as Sansa folded the cloak she'd plucked from the mound to rest across her thighs. The Bolton sigil lay prominent for a moment before getting flipped over to reveal the stitching that held the embroidery woven into the cloth, and Sansa went to work once more cutting away the fine threads to dismantle the insignia, "Such an ugly motif," Sansa stated with a hint of disgust, "I've felt as much since the day I saw their banner although I came to loathe it the night I was proselytized to be married under it."
Melody's eyes widened in surprise to the bold statement shared having not expected words of derision towards the house of the man Sansa now held in her bed chambers. Too afraid to comment, Melody only lowered her eyes back to continue knitting, and Sansa let the hush in the room reign for several more minutes before she began again, "He really doesn't like you. I don't care whether he does or not, but I'm intrigued to know why. Care to enlighten me?"
It was Melody's turn to pause and gawk at her mistress as she racked her brain on how best to respond having no clear idea as to why the former lord and now prisoner of house Stark had taken such a personal dislike to her. She shook her head feebly, "I'm sorry, milady… I… I don't rightly know what I've done to make him hate me so. He never noticed me until I was sent to attend him by lord Stark two weeks hence. Ever since, when he lays eyes on me, my skin crawls to feel the heat of his glare." Melody's lip trembled feeling on the verge of tears due to the intensity of the situation compounded with the looming exhaustion she felt.
Sansa's gaze settled on Melody as she tried to answer her lady informatively; this girl wasn't sowing a malicious plot to see Ramsay punished, but from Ramsay's reactions, he saw something in her that he truly believed was spiteful, and Sansa was even more inquisitive to know what about this girl could pitch such a fever in him. It was then that she decided exactly how best to punish him and perhaps in doing so to pick this girl that wallowed in her own fright up to see Ramsay wasn't a man to fear anymore, "What he did to you, I do not and will not abide. I can promise it won't happen again as he'll not be left unattended in your presence or any other save myself or Jon without proper handling. He's my ward, and I do take responsibility for his actions. I can't say I can deduce the exact reasoning why he's taken to harrying you in particular, but I think it amounts to the fact that deep down, Ramsay is afraid, and when he sees fear in others, he detests the mirror of it in himself choosing to use what little power he has to bully those whom will cow to him to make himself feel as if he has some power over them." Melody remained quiet, and after a tick, Sansa continued, "It's a behavior that I find detestable, but I've come to realize Ramsay is like an instrument, he requires fine tuning. He will learn to show respect to not only the noble class but those I hold in my keep under my protection. In that, I could use your aid. Will you agree to help in his reformation?"
The maid was stunned speechless gaping at Sansa, who was now staring at her pointedly. Regaining her composure, Melody mutely nodded a timid agreement. Sansa gave her a genuine broad smile of gratitude, "Good. I am most gratified that you are willing to cede to my request after what he must have put you through. Rest assured that Ramsay knows I am displeased with his conduct and should he exhibit a hint of it in my presence or any others he will be dealt immediate consequence to enforce that sort of behavior will not be tolerated." Melody stared in wide-eyed wonder mystified by Sansa's conviction and continued to numbly nod like that of a parishioner to a priest's gospel. She wholeheartedly believed Sansa's proclamation from the manner she'd observed Ramsay behave the moment Sansa had put a swift halt to his bullying just by entering the bedroom.
Seeing Melody brighten and become so agreeable after her decree had Sansa's worry that this girl would tuck tail and run at the prospect she had in mind melt away. If Melody knew what Sansa planned, she may have hesitated, but as it was, she was just grateful that the lady of the house wasn't seeing her to be at fault in this whole debacle. That in itself had calmed Melody considerably, and any gesture of service her mistress bade, she would more than happily assist Sansa to the best of her ability.
The two women remained quietly working in the tower as Sansa finished the original task she'd set out to accomplish here. It didn't take her much time to divest the last of the Bolton patches from Ramsay's clothing, and neither carried on a conversation as she did so. The silence was no longer strained though as Melody uncoiled from the terror that had gripped her pacified now by the fact that she was not to be ousted from the bastion nor was Sansa going to allow Ramsay to torment her further. Sansa's word gave Melody an inner peace and an aura of protection, a sentiment she'd not known since her father was alive and well. For once in a very long time, Melody felt safe.
***…***
Cecil stepped into the chamber holding the door open wide as Sansa strode confidently into the room with Melody trailing behind her like a shadow. Ramsay's eyes were only focused on Sansa paying the maid little mind as his throat bobbed nervously to her predatory approach. He uttered lamely, "Sansa… it's been some time. I was beginning to worry about you."
Sansa lifted a brow tilting her head to peer inquisitively down at Ramsay. Her expression told him that it wasn't her safety that he worried about in this instant and that they were both well aware that he had much more to fear if this discussion went disappointingly, "I trust that you will have more to depart to me than your concern." Her gaze leveled on him a moment longer before she turned her head back to Cecil, "Thank you; you can see yourself out now."
Offering no resistance to Sansa's command, Cecil vacated the room with an affirmative nod as Sansa slipped past Ramsay to seat herself at the table. Ramsay snorted derisively taking Melody in long enough to flash her a sneer and a needled glare before shifting away to sit to Sansa's right. The suddenness of Ramsay's mercurial expression from plaintive to hateful had halted Melody from fluidly proceeding to the table as well instead taking a moment to warily watch Ramsay move away from her. The wave of dread to be in this man's presence returned as it had engulfed her the night before, and even with Sansa mere feet away promising sanctuary should Ramsay antagonize her, Melody couldn't help but to feel afraid of him. Regaining her wits, she nervously slunk over to Sansa's left and sank into her own chair with downcast eyes as her hands worried apprehensively into her apron.
Flickering eyes took Melody in before darting disapprovingly over to Ramsay who was still affixing the maid with a harsh glare. Sansa had had her fill of this resurgence of the old Ramsay. It was even more alarming that he wasn't even trying to be subtle or covert at this juncture in the way he aimed to intimidate the servant girl. Ramsay surely knew what was at risk, Sansa knew, so why wouldn't he just stand down from such foolishness? His stubbornness reminded her of Lady when she was a willful pup and how no matter how Sansa shouted for her, the wolf would not come back if she'd spotted a small animal that would give her chase. Ramsay was no wolf; he would come back Sansa would make sure of it. She spat her rising agitation, "Do I have to tell you what will be revisited upon you if you don't stop trying to cow this girl? My brush lay only a few steps away in the confines of the nightstand. I'll have you fetch it for me as demonstration that you will not undermine my authority of you."
The threat melted Ramsay's demeanor as he visibly shrank with red face into his seat shifting his sights to his lap before peering back up into Sansa's steely glare. Ramsay's eyes were wide as saucers, and his mouth hung agape shocked that Sansa would be so bold as to announce what she could do to him in front of the maid. She'd delivered punishment to him four times in the same manner, but outside of the first two where she'd detested him, the last two had been discreet and intimate. The thought of a witness to such shaming now made Ramsay's head swim and his guts twist. She wouldn't… would she? A cold shiver ran up his spine as he internally deduced by the way she was still heatedly staring at him that Sansa most definitely would.
Realizing this, Ramsay's mind whirred as he dropped his gaze to the table, could he let her do that to him at a whim even at such great humiliation to his person? He could fight her of course, but that would end so much worse for him. It was a death wish should he try anything drastic, or a loss of trust which would land him back in chains, also an outcome Ramsay wanted no part of. Were he to rebel against her, he was at risk of hurting her, and Ramsay was beyond wishing Sansa harm, and in fact wanted her feverishly. It didn't take much to decipher that he would cede to Sansa's demand if it came down to it, and this internal known fact made Ramsay blush even more furiously.
Placated by Ramsay's now demure attitude, Sansa changed the emphasis of the conversation back to the reason she'd brought the two together, "Alright, the both of you have something brewing between you that needs hashing out. I've spoken to Melody privately, and she holds no ill will against you, Ramsay." Ramsay lifted his sights to observe Sansa attentively as she continued, "I cannot divine what has caused such animosity towards her, but regardless of how you may feel, it's completely unacceptable for you to have treated her so savagely. I've devised an idea to help you and Melody come to terms. Tomorrow, you will work alongside her," this pronouncement had Melody staring just as awestruck as Ramsay, "Your guards will accompany you, and I don't want to hear any bad reports."
Ramsay was shaking his head in disbelief, "You… you wish for me to be diminished to the role of a house maid?"
Sansa sighed, "No, I wish for you to learn to treat those who you think below you better. You made a list for me to begin restitution for the ills you have reaped, and I see no better start than with this servant whom I personally witnessed you mistreating. Did you not tell me that you would be a better man for me?"
Nodding numbly, Ramsay gave Sansa his acquiescence to her decree, but her lips pursed with impatience until he verbalized, "Yes, I did. And I will do any task you see fit for me to do, my lady." His answer must have pleased her because Sansa's mien softened as she turned her eyes to Melody, "This isn't going to be a problem for you is it?"
Melody stammered, "Na-no mistress." Sansa leaned back in her chair thinking that had gone much more smoothly than she'd anticipated at the start, and she was just glad to have some semblance of a plan on how to deal with Ramsay's insubordination. For his part, Ramsay's brow had furrowed ruminating his displeasure of this assigned punishment, but it was better than the alternative of a public chastisement. He wondered if that was still to follow but his thoughts were derailed by the opening of the chamber door by Cecil to allow the servants carrying plates of food to bustle to the table. Ramsay watched in a detached fashion as they set a placing for each of them and began dishing out portions of meats, breads, and fruit. He had been hungry, but at the start of their conversation, that need had been considerably dampened. Still, he picked up his spoon and began to push his food about his plate if for no other reason than to disengage from this very uncomfortable conversation.