Breaking Bread

Chapter Thirty-Five

Breaking Bread

It was a short walk to the study with one guard in front of them and another behind. The halls had grown dark lit by flickering scones that danced to the hallowed winds that fought to push past the drawn drapery. Distant cries of celebration echoed from the main hall where Northmen and Wildling alike celebrated the departure of the Umber armies and the subsequent return of Lady Stark and all those who had accompanied her. There was much to rejoice for Sansa thought as she absently squeezed Ramsay's hand. She felt his grip tighten, and the two shared a small smile as they walked on in silence.

Jon was already seated when they arrived and stood to formally welcome them. Catelyn had always been meticulous that her children follow noble etiquette even with each other. She had told them, "If you can't respect your own family, how is it that you can presume anyone else should respect you?" It was an ingrained politeness, and both Stark siblings gave each other a slight bow in greeting before moving to sit. Ramsay had been taught the decorum of such gestures for when he had been allowed to be present for guests that traveled to the Dreadfort. Pleasantries Ramsay had seen as redundant and pointless, but he'd begrudgingly complied to after having been given a few cuffs to the ear for not following these ritualistic behaviors. Such tedium the Bolton family tended to see as unnecessary when not trying to impress, and outside of mixed company, they would forgo it. As it were, Ramsay found himself mimicking the two stiltedly although the act of doing so made him feel awkward and out of place.

Winter stores typically meant meager meals even for the noble class with not a lot of variety outside of meat and grain, but that was not the case tonight. Tonight, Jon had asked the cooks to prepare something a little more special to honor Sansa's return home. The table was set with a small feast of freshly baked bread with fruit preserves, dried plums, deer shank, bacon wrapped potatoes, and an assortment of nuts. Ramsay happily noted honeydew lemon cakes (Sansa's favorite dessert) and freshly squeezed lemonade had been fixed as well. It had been quite some time since he'd had a sweet cake, and his mouth watered at the prospect of the treat. Once the three had seated themselves, the servants busied about the table serving out portions.

Melody was among the servants Ramsay spied with a growing glee, and when she glanced at him, he gave her a broad cocky grin. Melody avoided eye contact with him doing her best to steady her shaking hand as she poured each glass of lemonade. As a note of further agitation, Ramsay settled his hand firmly on top of hers giving her his most charming smile as he chided, "Steady as you go, girl; you wouldn't want to make a mess and ruin the festivities, would you?" Ramsay timed his statement with slow deliberation, the mirth spreading across his face to take in how uncomfortable he was making Melody. Fear coursed through the scullery maid to have Ramsay's hand clamped over her own, and it took every ounce of restraint for her not to yank it away from him as she trembled out, "Of course not, milord."

Both Starks took in what seemed like an innocent gesture, and Jon thought nothing of it, but Sansa knew better, and her expression darkened. Ramsay had swelled like a peacock from the interaction, and when he had released Melody's hand and sat back in his chair leisurely, Melody backed away spinning on her heel to quickly depart. Turning back to Sansa though and seeing the withering glare she fixated upon him, Ramsay's grin faltered and his form deflated. His brow furrowed in puzzlement as his eyes danced between her and Jon. An uneasy silence persisted, and Ramsay found himself repeatedly sipping on his lemonade as his eyes darted back to regard Sansa waiting for her expression to change or for her to say what was on her mind. Sansa remained silent though and finally turned away to regard Jon although her posture remained stiff. Her glower had been a clear warning Ramsay knew, but he was unsure exactly what the warning was for.

Jon was equally perplexed by the engagement but said nothing only quietly observing how Sansa reacted with Ramsay and absorbing their shared mannerisms. When Sansa turned her attention back to him, Jon used the opportunity to diffuse the building tension, "The men that you sent to double back arrived at the keep without incident before sundown. They told me the whereabouts of your carriage, and a small group have been sent to retrieve it. You should have your belongings returned by morning."

This was good news, and it eased Sansa to relax a little. She took a roll from the basket breaking a piece off as her shoulders loosened, "I'm glad to hear it. What of the Umbers? The men were toasting their departure as we came to join you. I worry that they are going to become a problem in the future."

Jon grimaced at the ugly reminder of their earlier encounter with the Umbers, "They have left by way of the king's road some hours ago; I sent men to follow their progress. If the Umbers don't return to the Bay of Seals, we'll know about it."

Ramsay wanting to be a part of the conversation added, "You shouldn't underestimate House Umber, they don't like your Wildling friends one bit. They may go home, but it won't be long before they start to try to amass other houses against you for allying with what many on this side of the Wall see as an enemy to the North."

Jon's lips pursed in thought as he took in Ramsay's words. It had already occurred to him that this may be a possible threat, "Aye, they may. It's not a concern that we can address without having reason to suspect them of treason."

Ramsay let go a disbelieving chuckle, "They were here, weren't they? I'd say that's reason enough to suspect treachery. My father would…"

Sansa cut Ramsay off sharply, "Your father's tactical advice is not welcome at this table." Her eyes fixated on Ramsay with a cool stare, and Ramsay's mouth hung open a moment from the bludgeoning response surprised by Sansa's harshness with him. He closed his mouth into a thin line staring down at the table as he nodded growling more to himself than to her, "Of course not." Ramsay's jaw worked feeling belittled to have his statement truncated as though he had spoken out of turn. He and his father may not have seen eye to eye on many things, but if it were one thing he admired about the man was his battle prowess. It had only been recently that he'd even been made a part of the man's war council, and from what little Ramsay had witnessed, he'd found illuminating and inspiring eager to have added his own twists to the man's tutelage.

Realizing she was being rude to Ramsay, Sansa apologized, "I'm sorry; that was impolite to interrupt you. Your father was our bannerman, and he betrayed my family. His rule was drawn in blood and conspiracy, and whatever decisions he would make, understand that we would not."

Ramsay was equally surprised that Sansa had apologized, but it made him feel better that she had even if her words (although true) were offensive to take in. Ramsay grimaced giving a small nod before turning his attention to his plate becoming lost in thought as he picked at his food. Both Jon and Sansa shared a look where Jon lifted a brow in concern, and Sansa flushed slightly embarrassed with her outburst turning to her own food to avoid Jon's troubled gaze. The only sounds carried through the room for long minutes was the clinking of silverware on plates as the three ate in silence.

When the main course had been removed and the sweetcakes placed on new plates in front of them, Jon opened to try and rejuvenate the atmosphere with a change of topic, "Many of the lords and ladies wished to gather in the halls for winter solstice. Many agreed that it would be nice to come together for more than the grimness of war. We will still have council, but there will be merriment to mix with whatever else needs discussing."

Sansa nodded thoughtfully, "That's a fortnight away…" her eyes traversed up to meet Jon's finally holding his gaze a moment before she continued, "That would lift the people's spirits and give many something pleasant to look forward to. I think it's a grand idea, Jon." A smile took root, and Sansa's face cleared of the gloomy mask that had occupied her visage as her thoughts turned to modifying one of her many dresses to accompany the event. Sansa hadn't attended a ball in her homeland since she was but a girl. As a young maiden, she wasn't allowed to mingle with the young lords then because her mother didn't let her nor Arya out of her sights (this was of course for good reason but made the party rather dull for both girls for differing reasons.) Oh, how Sansa had longed to dance among the lords and ladies often daydreaming of the then fabled King's Landing and tales that she'd heard of their grand balls. It was of course a grand hall in King's Landing, but never was it a grand time no matter how decorated with pomp and grace of nobility. Those times were filled with misery and a decay of innocence that had soured such ideas from her mind as yet another foolish girl's ideal fantasy of what life could be over its actuality. But, she was no longer a prisoner to that naivety nor the strictures of the awfulness that had beset her at the capitol.

Ramsay didn't interrupt further finding his lemon cake to be far more interesting than talks concerning parties and gatherings although his own mind wandered over what role he would take regarding such festivities. It occurred to Ramsay immediately that he was likely not going to be invited doubting that his presence would be welcomed by many of the nobles that would be attending. None of them had ever really liked him over tolerated his presence when he'd been presented as Roose Bolton's bastard, and with Roose no longer alive, he was just a bastard with no holdings where hardly any recognized his awarded title or the king who had decreed it. A tumultuous bout of seething dissonance settled into the pit of Ramsay's stomach to ruminate on how negatively they would speak about him. This line of thought persisted into imagery of Sansa smiling at and perhaps dancing with other noblemen while he remained quietly awaiting her return like that of a damsel locked away in a tower.

Ramsay was scowling openly now, and Jon took in the display raising a curious brow, "Is something bothering you, Ramsay?" Sansa's eyes also rotated to take Ramsay in as Ramsay's face slackened instantly realizing all eyes were regarding him and the expression he had plainly set upon his face. Ramsay never was very good at hiding his peaked emotions; it was something his father had chided him for on many occasions, yet it was still a skill he had yet to master when he became upset.

Ramsay blinked turning his attention away from his half-eaten dessert to gaze at Jon. His lips contorted to replace the emotion he'd been projecting into something a little less readable. This wasn't his forte, and instead Ramsay just looked frustrated as he shook his head, "No, nothing. I just…" Ramsay smiled bitterly, "Isn't throwing parties a bit of a waste of resources in the dead of winter? You were just mentioning that your men were still recovering from injury after battle, and I would think it wiser to recruit more soldiers in the event the Umbers or another house is planning on usurping your hold on Winterfell. If I were in your shoes, I would be preparing for hostiles over planning revelries."

Sansa and Jon were quiet taking in Ramsay's concerns and digesting them. Jon had addressed Ramsay, but Sansa responded first, "One cannot live by such a philosophy and keep true supporters. There is more to ruling than pushing your weight around, Ramsay. You have been taught that there are always vipers awaiting you in every mound of grass, and that is only true when you are a viper yourself."

Ramsay smirked assuming little of Sansa's ability to speak on war and the way men conducted themselves therein, "By all means… have your merrymaking. Concentrating your efforts towards more worthy endeavors is just my own opinion. You may have defeated me and the men I stood against you with by a strong ally in the Vale, but know with the Vale, other Northerners, and Wildlings alike… you cannot assume they will be an ally forevermore. As you said, my father was once your bannerman, and that speaks testament to my statement to you now. You may not welcome the skillset that my father boasted, but my father was a man that headed many war councils. Our house knew adversary and how best to prepare for it."

"Your house knew adversary because it ruled with fear, and there is no loyalty in terror," Sansa snapped, "Of all people, Ramsay, you should know this well. There isn't one person that you've inspired loyalty in through your father's legacy." Ramsay's eyes had grown wild with the implications Sansa's statement made, but by this juncture he knew better than to rebuttal with any argument he may have. Sansa wasn't interested, and the more he suggested the less she seemed to want to hear. Sansa was becoming riled, and Ramsay wasn't sure if it was Jon's presence or the topic, but he was becoming increasingly worried this conversation was going to come out of his hide much later if he didn't work to correct its course. The thought of having to swallow his own opinion to mollify Sansa chiseled away at Ramsay's pride, and unable to justify her stance, Ramsay instead grew silent willing himself to just ignore the way her scathing comment made him feel and say nothing at all.

Satisfied that Ramsay had stopped defending his father's awful traditions, Sansa busied herself with stabbing her fork into a piece of her lemon cake. Jon sighed at the building tension in the room setting his napkin on the table and addressing Ramsay, "I'd like to have a word in private with my sister, Ramsay. Excuse us for a moment, please." Ramsay glanced back up to Jon and over at Sansa who had stopped eating and was staring at Jon with a note of surprise written on her face. Leaving the table sounded more than ideal after their recent discussion, so Ramsay gladly rose from his seat giving the siblings a once over before nodding at Jon and taking his leave.

The two guards that stood posted on either side of the door followed him out of the study closing the door to grant the two some privacy. Ramsay had wanted to remain by the door in hopes of overhearing what Jon had wished to say to Sansa, but apparently, the guard seemed to have thought of that waving his hand to usher Ramsay down the hall as he pointed to a small bench placed in the corner that overlooked the foyer as a guard's post. Ramsay grimaced following the command as he slumped onto the bench with an aggravated sigh clasping his hands and looking rather bored and irritated to have been completely removed from the conversation.

Once Ramsay had vacated the study, Sansa fixed Jon with a leveled stare, "You wanted to speak to me alone?" Jon ran a hand through his hair as he examined his sister's expression; he grimaced proceeding carefully, "Are you alright?" Sansa's brow furrowed in confusion, "I'm fine; why do you ask?" Jon shifted uncomfortably trying to process how best to confront his sister when she was already on edge, "You've… you've been rather aggressive with him don't you think?"

Had she? Sansa recounted the conversation realizing almost every reply Ramsay gave she'd countered tersely. Sansa frowned sitting back heavily against her chair as she admitted, "I suppose I have. I recognized something in his behaviors that set me off at the start of dinner, and it's just gone downhill from there. Ramsay still venerates Lord Bolton, and the very mention of that man reminds me of what he did to Rob and in turn much of what House Bolton has done to our family. It sickens me to hear his name persist in any regard that is not venomous."

Jon's eyes softened sympathetically, "It's his father, Sansa. The man raised him." Sansa's mouth hardened into a thin line ruminating this fact as she growled, "And you can see why that concerns me; Ramsay still respects him, what he's done… why shouldn't that worry me?" Jon understood her unease, but he also understood that a man grew to uphold their father's birthright as more than just lineage. This was even more true for a bastard where all else that defined your character was negative. Jon had been blessed to have Ned Stark to look up to and follow in his footsteps where Ramsay had the opposite to which he also had strived to mimic. Jon inhaled deeply; these were things Sansa didn't understand that he did, and to try to explain them to her would likely only create more strife, so Jon settled to remain gentle, "What do you want to do with him from here then? 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 blinked as her consternation faded and she considered Jon's statement; she'd been so busy trying to remake Ramsay into who she wanted him to be, she had forgotten to recognize that he already was a person under the parts she'd drawn out. She nodded sheepishly, "Of course. I've been presumptuous and impractical; you are right. Ramsay and I haven't shared conversations like this; there's much to be shared between us. I'm still learning to talk to him past what has transpired." Sansa paused finding herself losing Jon's gaze as she mused on the totality of their relationship, "It's been challenging, but it's also been rewarding."

Jon said nothing, but his eyes spoke of a quiet understanding. Sansa's lip pulled up lightly into a half smile, "You've imparted wisdom on me, Jon, and I thank you for helping me to recognize my failings. I will try harder to observe more and react less harshly." Jon's face parted into a relieved grin, "You've always had a bit of a temper, but it suits you well." Sansa laughed shaking her head, "Mother would be proud," at this Jon chuckled lightly, "She would."

***…***

Ramsay's mind ran rampant of all the many things the Starks could be conversing about, and he readily assumed having been excused from the table that none of it boded well for him. It left Ramsay pent up with a surge of anxious agitation as the minutes ticked by and the drawn out wait stretched uncomfortably with the fact no one was speaking to him. So it was, when a servant had been sent to fetch him to return to dinner, Ramsay reentered the study in a foul mood glaring at his seat so as to exude his anger without directing it at either Jon or Sansa. Ramsay knew better than to address either Stark with the annoyance he was feeling, but that didn't mean that he didn't wish to let it be known that he was rather unhappy about having been asked to leave. It was rude after all, and he had a right to feel indignant.

If either Stark had noticed, neither made comment. Sansa was watching Ramsay as he slumped into his seat, and Ramsay found his own eyes darting over to discern the expression she weighed upon him. It wasn't displeased as she had seemed to be with him when he'd left the room, and in fact, her eyes denoted a level of concern that left Ramsay to feel nonplussed that he couldn't read her. Ramsay's sights then drifted to Jon, and he found the man was also just staring at him curiously. Clearing his throat Ramsay stumbled out agitatedly, "The two of you look as though I've sprouted a second head."

Sansa smiled sensing Ramsay's unease and wishing to calm him, "I was a bit off with you earlier; Jon and I found a need to discuss where those viewpoints were coming from. I feel more prepared to address them in the future with you I think."

She had been rather off Ramsay inwardly agreed, and to hear Sansa put word to it left Ramsay vindicated further in his personal perception to justify his beliefs that she'd treated him unfairly previously. He grimaced petulantly, "Well, I'm glad you acknowledged the problem. I was sorely missing my sweet cake," Ramsay stated sardonically more as a vent to his frustration for having been the topic of discussion without being privy to it than an actual want to return to his dessert.

Sansa frowned at Ramsay's subtle insolence but said nothing assuming she deserved the barb even if it bothered her for Ramsay to feel he could regale her with such a level of cheekiness. It was a line that crossing could lead to disrespect, and Sansa had to be careful to how far she would allow that side of Ramsay to come out before there would be a need to shut it down and assert her dominance over him.

These thoughts brought about a smile as the imagery of bodily hauling Ramsay in her lap and spanking him for reaching a point of impudence she wasn't willing to endure flourished to the forefront of her mind. The surprise on Ramsay's face of telling him when she planned to take him in hand only further fostered an awakening between Sansa's legs that had her blushing terribly in heated desire.

Ramsay caught the giddy grin and the reddening that swept over Sansa's face, and his own lip quirked a small smirk back at her assuming she'd found his comment funny over rude which was just as well Ramsay mused. His mood had lightened considerably as Sansa moved back to discuss more mundane aspects of court with Jon that she'd needed to be caught up on in her absence. Having heard much of this particular news already, Ramsay drifted off mentally relaxing and enjoying another lemon cake as the two spoke on boring matters of state.

The evening had taken a turn for the better as the three relaxed enjoying a normal dialogue one would expect at a noble's table until Sansa brought up her discoveries from earlier that afternoon causing Ramsay to practically choke on his pastry. Sansa questioned Jon conversationally as if they were merely discussing the color of the sky, "It came to my attention when Ramsay and I were bathing that he had a fresh swath of bruising decorating his backside. You hadn't told me that you had found reason to discipline Ramsay while I was away. Would you care to elaborate?"

Jon had equally been taken off-guard by this line of questioning, and his mouth hung agape as he worked to regain his bearings. His face colored feeling just as embarrassed as Ramsay to have Sansa bringing up the matter here at dinner where he was unprepared to address it. Jon had expected this topic may arise eventually though, so it didn't take him too long to recover. His eyes stared at Sansa travelling over to take Ramsay's expression in noting how the other man squirmed uncomfortably awaiting with rapt attention to hear what Jon would divulge.

Ramsay's discomfort only served to make speaking about the other man more unpleasant, and Jon's jaw worked a moment as his mind fought to pose a suitable answer that would satisfy Sansa while remaining somewhat kind to Ramsay. He didn't owe Ramsay anything, but Jon was never a man that wished ill on anyone. At one point, that wasn't the case with Ramsay, but he'd taken most of his frustration out on Ramsay's face in the courtyard, and since then, the two had come to an understanding that revolved around Sansa's want to reform Ramsay and Jon's willingness to follow through with Sansa's desire.

Jon swallowed hard beginning stiffly, "Well… there was a bit of a misunderstanding when we first hit it off. I had to establish what it was that you were looking to have Ramsay deliver regarding your list," Sansa's brow rose as her gaze cut to Ramsay who immediately looked away in a swelling shame. Jon had paused taking in a deep breath as he recalled the remainder of why Ramsay had to be reprimanded, "The second incidence I think was more of…" Sansa swiveled her head back in a snapping quickness to Jon interrupting, "Second? There was more than one time you had need to bring Ramsay in line?" Ramsay cringed at Sansa's tone as the octaves she delivered her statement in denoted both surprise and a growing agitation.

Jon looked over at Ramsay pityingly taking in the way that Ramsay's gaze bore into the table in heated embarrassment to hear the words that Jon spoke about him now. They were not untrue though, and so Jon continued, "Yes, only two though, and they were dealt with early on. The second time Ramsay and I had to come to an understanding that I wasn't his enemy. We've worked it out since then I think and have gotten along well enough without any further need to address any other grievances." Seeing the heated glare Sansa was giving Ramsay, Jon felt a need to add, "I've been taking him out of the dungeon in the mornings to break fast and when I've the time, we walk the parapet and dine in the evenings. I've allowed him a bit of wine by the hearth, and I think it's been good to ease Ramsay into the life you've afforded him."

Both Ramsay and Sansa were locking eyes on Jon in surprise now although Jon was staring solely at Sansa as he continued with all serious intent, "He's doing better than he was when you left him under my charge," Jon's eyes shifted over to Ramsay who stared with a look transfixed before settling back on Sansa, "You know father was never fond of keeping prisoners; at the wall, I saw what long bouts of caged reform did to a man. Those men were better off dead. I'm not going to tell you how to handle Ramsay, but I will ask you to consider my council, sister. If I didn't think you cared for this man, I'd have told you already to have him put down, but we both know that's not the case; is it?"

Jon's soft chocolate eyes had moved to regard Sansa with an imploring look that demanded an answer. His words had taken her breath away under the assumptions made that she was in fact making Ramsay's life miserable. Was she? Of course not! This was her immediate halting response Sansa wished to rally against Jon with as the incredulousness of such a statement backhanded her, but Sansa remained silent. Deep down there was truth to her brother's statement.

Sansa was keeping Ramsay like a coveted treasure that only she could glory in, and it was objectifying she knew. Sansa swallowed hard losing eye contact as she nodded, "It is. I care for Ramsay it is true, and you're right. I will work to treat him less like a prisoner and give him freedoms as is suitable to his behavior. There's no need for us to be uncivil," Sansa rose then abruptly as she stared down at Jon with a gravity that belied her youth, "I will give your words serious consideration, Jon, but do know that any delivered punishment not brought by my hand to Ramsay will be vindicated to further correction upon my awareness. Ramsay knows by now that he needs to behave with or without my presence, and to not do so is a slight to me," Sansa's eyes shifted to Ramsay who was unable not to stare up at her with wide wary blue eyes expressing awe and surprise at her declaration, "Come, Ramsay. I think we've had our fill here, and we still have much to discuss; don't we?"

Ramsay's face paled in recognition of what that 'discussion' would entail as he gave a barely registered nod to her query afraid not to respond even though it humiliated him to do so. It was no secret what was to come next, but even still, Ramsay found himself standing slowly as if in a trance barely registering Jon any longer and falling in line behind Sansa with a bowed head. Sansa stormed out of the study and back towards her bed chambers, and Ramsay found himself following swiftly and silently behind her unable to protest even though his mind screamed a million objections as his gut twisted threatening to empty the contents of his dinner upon the stone floor.