Rigidity

Chapter Forty-Nine

Rigidity

Shadows made by firelight danced throughout the room. The coming of evening had been upon them when Sansa had arrived, and with the winter solstice fast approaching, the light of day had yielded to night rather quickly leaving their two huddled forms to be swallowed in the encroaching darkness. Throughout the relatively short time they'd been lying on the bed, Sansa's hand had casually trailed her fingertips up and down the length of Ramsay's stomach where her other hand remained laced through the gap between his arm and chest clasping his shoulder and holding Ramsay firmly to her front. His head rested in the hollow of her neck while Sansa's chin lay buried within the hair atop Ramsay's skull.

The tightness that Sansa held him to her breathed a much-needed security into Ramsay. He would gratefully bask in her possessive hold as long as she chose to afford him with it. The tension that had concaved his chest to the rancid sentiments her innocent question concerning his name day had evoked still swirled through Ramsay's thoughts now, but the embers of resentment that the topic had sparked had been doused by the affection Sansa now provided him. It dulled the entrenched hurt Ramsay had buried long ago like the snow that concealed the rolling hills around them.

Ramsay's brow furrowed becoming undone by the madness he'd willfully entwined about his subconscious as a means to cope with the many memories he'd interned within to stay sane at all. The dormancy of winter would come to pass, and like the winter, the mental artifices he'd used to cover and

suppress these obfuscated emotions were melting away and resurfacing in a manner that Ramsay was in no way prepared to manage. The onslaught of these feelings left him conflicted with an overwhelming sense of weakness as the vulnerability affixed itself to Ramsay's psyche like ethereal fetters. The part of himself that had spent years bottling these damaging articles away to the recesses of his memory warred to make Ramsay push them away now, but it was no longer in his power to do so.

Sighing exhaustedly, Ramsay closed his eyes desiring an escape from the mantra within his head that scourged through too many bad experiences he'd chosen to never fully process. 'Why are these phantoms haunting me now?' It was a rhetorical question Ramsay pondered bitterly. He'd known there would be a reckoning thrust upon him the day he'd allowed himself to feel at all, but at the time Ramsay had never expected that opening himself up in such a way would have released a floodgate to every other gut cringing soppiness that churned within him. His mental fortitude had been steadily declining over the past few weeks as the shackles of the weight he bore laid Ramsay lower and lower. Prior to his fall, Ramsay had thwarted these self-ruminations by diverting his aggressions onto a hapless victim of circumstance. With no scape goat or other means of distraction, he was faced with succumbing to the unbidden depression wallowing in these sorts of thoughts allotted which left a fog of melancholy numbness to settle over him.

Sensing Ramsay's despondency, Sansa planted a tender kiss upon his crown as she murmured, "You must be getting hungry. How's about I call for our dinner and that bath I promised you."

Ramsay tilted his head up although it did nothing to gain sights on Sansa as he readily responded, "That… that sounds divine." Any sort of deviation from his inner brooding was a welcomed change, and the activities Sansa suggested readily lifted Ramsay's spirits.

Sansa shifted behind him loosening her grip as she vacated the spot she'd been lying to move up and off the bed. Feeling the cold replace her absence, Ramsay rolled onto his back, and his vision lifted to the ceiling as his ears adeptly followed Sansa's trek to the door. Listening to her inform the night's guardsmen of her intended request, Ramsay waited for the door to slide shut and Sansa to move back towards him before his eyes sought out her form. He watched Sansa in impassive silence as she busied herself with the task that Ramsay had been doing when she'd first entered the room. Sansa didn't ask for his help, and Ramsay had been content to just observe her graceful stride as she replaced the rest of the items of her luggage that Ramsay had not. She was just finishing the last of it by the time the servants arrived with their dinner.

Rising from the bed, Ramsay sauntered over to see the amenities giving a slight frown of distaste as the food was placed and the covers drawn to reveal the tray's contents, two bowls of potato and leek stew, a loaf of bread, and some dried venison jerky. It wasn't exactly noble's fare, but rations had been restricted due to the coming war in order to not tap into the keep's stores too grievously. He'd expected better although said nothing. Ramsay's eyes continued to span the table, his frown deepening to see his chalice (not Sansa's) was filled with water. Sansa wasn't even particularly fond of wine, but her glass had been filled with it just the same alongside another glass of water to the side of it making it evident that he had been left out purposefully.

Pointing at his placing, Ramsay grumbled incredulously as he slumped down into his seat and grated his chair up flush with the table in a show of agitation, "What is this? Do I not get any wine with my meal?"

A tempered glare honed in on Ramsay as Sansa made her way over to her own chair. The chair was readily pulled out and elegantly tucked in behind her by an awaiting servant as her deadpan stare bore into him. Once seated, Sansa icily clipped, "Do you really need to ask that question, Ramsay?"

Swallowing hard, Ramsay gave her a wounded expression as he reflected on the previous night's discourse before cautiously replying, "You, yourself, stated that I would have allowances with you or Jon!" He paused gaze flitting about as he shook his head readying to pursue the claim, "I… I just assumed…"

Sansa interjected curtly, "You assumed wrong." Ramsay blinked in surprise at the interruption bringing a shocked gape up to focus on Sansa directly as she flatly resumed, "You may be granted wine again in the future, but I think for the time being that it is in your best interest to abstain. I can't in good faith reward you with that which you showed to abuse so fully just last night. Perhaps by the time of the coming solstice gathering, you will have proven to me that you've earned the right to partake again."

A blush colored Ramsay's cheeks and ears to take in the restriction being levied upon him, and where his mouth had dropped open at the onset of Sansa's proclamation, by the end of her avowal it had clamped into a firm line as his eyes cut to stare daggers at the floor for a loss of a target he could direct the outrage that tumbled within him.

The hallows of his cheeks ticked with the newfound frustration Sansa's pledged edict invoked. He would have nothing to dull his senses for weeks if she kept to this decree. As specified by a Stark, Ramsay doubted highly that it would be negotiable once put in place, and that simply wouldn't do. As it was, it was hard enough to manage the rigors of his new station with just one glass of wine on most nights he'd thusly been allowed to consume.

Unable to just let her tenet go unchallenged, Ramsay spat tartly, "Am I not already being punished with your given work detail come morning until however long you see fit to have me do so? Surely my atonement through this act alone should be sufficient penance to afford me a single goblet of wine to enjoy with my dinner!"

Sansa's eyes narrowed with a hint of umbrage that Ramsay was being so belligerent after having gotten off rather lightly considering what she could have done to him… maybe should have done to him for such a stunt. Her timbre rumbled her growing annoyance like an approaching thunderstorm, "Sufficient? Not in the slightest. I must say, when I came into my chamber last eve hearing and seeing the way you were behaving, I contemplated stripping you bare and laying the strap to you right then and there. You should be grateful I afforded you leniency as I couldn't be sure what had transpired in my absence between the two of you." Sansa leaned forward looming an aura of seriousness that caused the caustic expression Ramsay had been sporting to slip from his face as she hissed, "I've since pieced together more than I needed to in order to see that your opinion of this scullery maid was either all in your head or the malice you were directing at her was merely a means to enact cruelty on my attendants in my absence. So, answer me frankly Ramsay, which was it? Delusion or malice?"

His face paled at the lobbed allegations and their implications; in truth, the answer was both. Ramsay had misjudged the waif in the beginning, and once he'd realized the girl was meeker than a mouse, well… it was all Ramsay had needed for that bestial side of himself to take over. The predator within him had wanted to corner her frailty and toy with it a bit before ripping her to shreds. Ramsay wasn't in a place to carry out the latter, but tormenting the maid and laying her low had certainly scratched a deep itch that countered how small he otherwise felt given his current circumstances.

Ramsay's eyes widened, and his frame visibly cringed at Sansa's mention in front of all present (servants they may be) how she'd deliberated disciplining him with the strap. The words ringing in his ears were humiliating, but the thought of her becoming angered enough to reevaluate engaging in that activity now had Ramsay scrambling to answer in a manner that would set Sansa at ease. Blurting out with a sense of urgency to convince Sansa it was the former rather than the latter accusation she'd offered, Ramsay stuttered, "It …it was an oversight in her character on my part! I perceived past affronts and was rather certain that she'd been directing wicked intent my way!"

Shifting nervously Ramsay's hands tapped lightly at the edges of the table as he continued at a softer timber affixing Sansa with eyes that implored her to hear his entreaty, "I admit; I had a bit too much to drink, and my acumen was less than apt. Forgive me… it wasn't the wine over the amount of consumption. I swear to you that I will be far more discerning in the future."

This humbled response seemed to mollify Sansa well enough as the severe poise she'd taken on slackened. Leaning back in her chair, she exhaled her bottled vexations, "I want to believe you, Ramsay. I do, and due to my desire to see your current intent to be flawed prudence over viciousness, I have forgone the added gravity of a physical reprimand. That said, as the lady of this house, I will not in good conscious be negligent to those that serve me by not imposing some form of chastisement to you for what I did witness with my own eyes. No matter what may or may not have transpired between the two of you, you know well enough by now that you needed to bring your grievances to me personally. Show me that you can take responsibility for your actions in the coming days, and I will reconsider whether or not you need wait the full duration of my initial verdict to imbibe."

Her words settled in the silence as Ramsay mulled them over. There was a chance to right this heinous sentence if he could just prove to Sansa that he could make nice with the help. Inwardly, Ramsay scoffed at the sense of absurdity he felt he was having to undergo in order to regain a bit of respite to his evenings, but outwardly his face split into a forced smile as he raised his goblet of water in a toast, "To the coming days then."

Sansa's brow lifted and a light smirk graced her mien as she lifted her own cup up to clink against his, "To the coming days." His posture was stiff lacking much of the lucidity she'd seen when Ramsay was relaxed, and his smile resembled a sculpted figure with the effort Ramsay was expending to keep it solidly planted on his face. She was no fool; Ramsay wasn't going to pains to cheers her statement as a mutual note of him planning to prove himself to her as a man ready to move forward. No, Ramsay was doing his best to mask his lack of comfortability the conversation provided and wore the pained countenance of a man who understood what he would need to do in order to be given what he wanted.

That was just fine. It was easier to dangle a carrot for Ramsay to do as he was bid over having to cajole his obedience with negative reinforcement at every juncture. Not that Sansa wouldn't be quick to deliver that too if Ramsay showed he was in need of it. Her smile grew exponentially as these ruminations lingered to thoughts of taking Ramsay to task when he was exuding qualities that were reminiscent of the monster she'd known prior, that arrogant and appalling part of Ramsay gave Sansa a sadistic thrill to imagine harshly supplanting over her knee until he was squirming nakedly and crying out in defeat to her blistering admonishments.

Reddening, Sansa's smile faltered, and she quickly brought her eyes down to her lap and her cup to her lips to drink deeply. A feeling of shame crept through her at the sexual desire that currently ebbed and pulsed through her sex at the lingering idea of making Ramsay hurt knowing well that Ramsay was no longer the man she used to despise. He wouldn't be sitting like this at her table had he been, but there were still fragments of the old Ramsay that surfaced here and there as he grew bolder and more confident to speak within their relationship. It was those reemerging splinters of Ramsay's personality that Sansa still reviled and vehemently held a vendetta for whenever Ramsay showed them. It wasn't fair to him, and it left Sansa confused having reconciled within herself that she did feel more than just a little fondness for Ramsay.

Jon's chiding from the dinner where they had sent Ramsay away to converse in private flooded back to her now, "If you want to help Ramsay become better, so be it, but know to do so you are going to have to accept parts of the man that you may not agree with. He's not a blank scroll for you to write."

Sansa had understood Jon's meaning clearly when he'd stated it. That understanding didn't stop her from wanting to mold Ramsay to her personal desires, but it did help to put into perspective that she needed to keep herself in constant check. Jon's intuitive concern had necessitated a wariness of her own burgeoning appetites and a growing need to control them as her power over Ramsay lured Sansa to want to revel in it and on occasion abuse it.

After the act of raising goblets in a strained salute, further dialogue was stilled, and dinner persisted in relative silence as both were lost to their own private thoughts over the coming days. The only sounds that filled the room were the clinking of silverware, the crackling of the freshly stoked fire, and the periodic water sloshing into the tub as the servants poured the bath that had been requested.

Sansa slipped occasional glances at Ramsay, but Ramsay had spent almost the entirety of his meal staring mutely into his bowl or frowning at the contents (or lack thereof) of his chalice. Sansa had planned to delve back into their prior exchange on Ramsay's relationship with his former Reek, but as it was, the mood in the room had turned rather sour and inconducive to bring up such a delicate topic. It would have to wait Sansa ruminated letting out a dejected sigh of acceptance that she needed to be patient and choose her timing wisely if she were going to keep Ramsay amiable to opening up to her. She could tell that he wanted to, but even so, pulling the words out of him was a difficult process.

The bath had been filled and the food eaten, so Sansa ordered the evacuation of the dinnerware followed by the servants. Unexpectedly, the friction she and Ramsay had shared gave a sudden rise to something else within Sansa that was an amalgam of pent up stress and sexual energy that screamed for release. She was ready to have Ramsay all to herself, and she was more than certain he would be far more eager to partake in the coming activities where both would be intimately engaged over the uncomfortable silence that formed a wedge of distance between them now.