Rumination

Chapter Fifteen

Rumination

Jon had scouted out twelve of what he considered to be his finest men (a few of which were trusted allies over actual ranking soldiers.) When it came out that Jon was looking for recruits to join Sansa on her journey, Lady Brienne had insisted she accompany her along with her squire Podrick. Tormund, the Wildling leader, had also volunteered to join the convoy having a want to scout out the area a little better and growing restless just sitting at the keep. While Ser Davos Seaworth, had already proclaimed Jon to be the true king of the North and had readily stepped forward wishing to aide in keeping the Stark family safe. The rest of the men selected were battle worthy soldiers that Jon had fought with and knew well enough to put his trust in escorting his sister.

The group was ready to depart by the time Sansa had made it to the main hall, and Sansa observed that Jon exuded a somber moodiness as she moved up to his side giving him a small nod of respect.

Jon returned the gesture before splaying his hands out towards the gathered group, "These forces are both quick of mind and sword and will ensure you safe passage sister."

Sansa knelt in a formal courtesy to the assembled, "I thank you all for attending me on my venture. I know my call for assistance is rather sudden. Your support in this matter is much appreciated. If you'll give me a moment, I'd like to have a word with my brother before we depart."

The group gave various motions of acknowledgement and respect before filing out of the main hall to leave Jon and Sansa standing awkwardly beside one another.

Sansa studied Jon looking him up and down a moment before she spoke, "Are you sure you're going to be all right with this arrangement?"

Jon swiveled to face her fully as he affirmed, "I don't like the man, but I respect you and your wishes concerning him. I'll mind him while you are away as I said I would." He frowned, "I don't have to like a duty to fulfill it."

She fixed Jon with a warm expression, "I know; what I'm asking of you, to remain civil with him, is a lot considering all he has done. That, his crimes against so many, is actually something I planned to address upon my return," as Sansa said this, Jon's eyes sparked with interest suddenly curious as to what she intended. "I told Ramsay that while I was away, you would bring him parchment and quill to start working out ways that he could make amends to those he's hurt."

Jon's expression shifted into a look of doubtfulness, "Amends? From Ramsay Bolton… Are you serious?"

It was Sansa's turn to frown, "Well yes; you know that I plan to keep him alive, so I've decided he's going to work to make reparations. It's not going to absolve Ramsay of all that he's done, but it's a start. I don't want the people thinking he's gotten away with his crimes and holding resentment towards him or us for sparing his life. This time away from Ramsay is a perfect opportunity to get him to actively participate in his own redemption by having him consider his crimes and work out ways to make recompense."

Jon had a look of resignation painting his features, "I'll bring him the paper to write on, and see to it he is diligent for you."

Sansa smiled; she hadn't expected Jon to monitor this particular endeavor she'd set out for Ramsay, but the fact that Jon was willing to keep Ramsay on task while she was gone over just avoiding him as much as he possibly could (which was what Sansa had honestly expected,) greatly pleased her, "Thank you Jon; I'll do my best to be swift on my return."

She reached out to hug Jon, and he embraced her tightly, "The men that are accompanying you are good men, they will keep you safe, but don't let your guard down. We have too many enemies out there, Sansa." He kissed the top of her head tenderly, and Sansa could sense his trepidation and anxiety that she was leaving his sights after everything he knew she'd been through. Now reunited, Jon had grown very protective of Sansa. Their family line was dwindling and with Arya still somewhere unknown, Sansa was the last living family member he had left, and it would kill him to learn of anything happening to her.

She squeezed him back just as firmly before releasing her hold to look him in the eyes with a leveled seriousness, "I'll be alright, Jon. It's a day and a half's journey away through our own lands. Try not to fret for my welfare."

Jon's face was strained, but he forced a nod, "Go on then. The morning grows late."

Sansa gave a small nod choosing to depart without further words as Jon's expression said all that needed to be said between them. She was already getting a late start to her excursion, and her companions were waiting for her.

The reins snapped jerking the wagon forward, and Sansa's eyes stared out the window listlessly at the keep as they steadily moved away from it. The snow was already starting to coat the ground in a show of typical Westeros winters; it wouldn't be long before it would be impossible to make such a trek. For this reason, Sansa had decided it was a decision that needed to be made now or wait until the spring when the snow thawed. Her curiosity would not hold out that long, and to gain a better understanding of Ramsay at this juncture was critical (saying his mother was still alive or held any sort of relevant information. Ramsay had said that it'd been years since he'd seen her after all, but then, for all Sansa knew, Ramsay could have been lying to her. Sansa didn't assume this was the case, but Ramsay was rather reticent to talk about his mother and may have wanted to divert Sansa's attentions from further inquiry.)

Lord Davos sat silently in front of Sansa regarding her with a curious stare deliberating on whether or not to engage her in conversation since she seemed lost in thought. He was a respectful sort, so he waited until her sights finally drifted from the window to take him in to speak. Sansa's eyes wore the rings of exhaustion, and he felt an immediate pang of sympathy. The past few weeks had been very difficult for her he was more than well aware. Always the chivalrous type, Davos was quick to offer to be inconvenienced for a lady's comfort, "Lady Sansa, you look as though you've hardly rested. If you wish, I can take my leave to ride one of the horses for a bit and give you some privacy. It will be of no bother to me."

She considered the invitation but shook her head declining politely, "I'm fine, thank you." Sansa's lips quirked into a small weary grin, "I don't think I could sleep right now anyway." Her eyes flicked back to the road to see the keep was now a small dot in the distance. She remembered the last time she'd glanced back to see the castle disappearing from so far away was when her and Theon had raced in a terrified panic to escape it from the very man she now worried about within it.

It was such an odd sensation to regard Ramsay with any sort of affection, and if she'd not personally broken him, she'd never have believed such feelings for the man possible. She had been the one to knock the legs out from under Ramsay and twist him in a way that even she didn't understand fully what she had done to him. Sansa had been nowhere near as cruel to Ramsay as he had been to Theon, but the thought of mirroring what he'd done to the wrecked Greyjoy left her to feel more than a small amount of guilt and a sense of responsibility to nurture Ramsay away from becoming the hollowed out man Theon had turned into. Who Ramsay had been was never who she wanted to become. Was that reasoning really why she cared for Ramsay now? No, there was more to it than that, but the complication behind her feelings were hard to put into words and even harder to explain.

Sansa had seen echoes of Ramsay's behavior towards her in Theon's behavior towards Ramsay; it was that almost blind sense of loyalty that had bewildered and infuriated her in Theon. He'd been so disillusioned that he'd betrayed her even though it had meant he would still suffer by Ramsay's hand. Theon's allegiance to Ramsay though was born of unadulterated terror of what Ramsay would do to him, but Ramsay's devotion to her was very different.

When she had originally started, Sansa had garnered a similar response from Ramsay by making Ramsay fear her as Theon had feared him. Shattering Ramsay and wresting control of his actions ensured he dreaded consequences, but that was where the resemblance between the two had ended. For Ramsay, it had been Sansa's tenderness that had converted him to give himself over to her willingly. Sansa had recognized the change in him the first time she'd elected to bestow kindness over cruelty to him, but she hadn't put together what kind of impact she was inflicting on Ramsay until she'd extended other small affections to him to that also reaped an immediate positive response. Most men would not have bent their will to her for such a reason, but there was something far deeper she'd touched within Ramsay, and although the origin of why he reacted to find refuge in her this way, Sansa didn't know. What she did know was that he yearned for it and perhaps had always needed it.

His craving for a kind touch was enough to bring out something sheltering in her too. As it was, she was still awed by the transformation of their relationship, and Sansa could tell that those around her including Lord Davos, that even now currently fixed her with a look of both concern and inquisitiveness, found it difficult to understand just what had brought about such a drastic change in her demeanor towards Ramsay. They all had questions that she hadn't been able to bring herself to divulge answers to, but as her feelings settled and solidified, it was becoming easier to face. Speaking to Jon about Ramsay the night before had removed a large burden, but there was still quite a few people of importance that she would find wanting answers, so it was best she get used to talking about Ramsay now. She raised her chin to consider Davos' quizzical gaze before opening herself to his questions, "You want to know why. I'm sure every person on this trek is of the same mind set, so ask. I will not say that I will answer all your queries, but perhaps I may at least enlighten you with some answers to satiate your curiosity."

Davos blinked in surprise; it was true, he had many questions, but like the rest that had muttered their confusion over the situation, he had never expected for Lady Sansa to openly invite him to the truth. He was silent a moment gathering his thoughts before proceeding, "I will not say it isn't a wonder to many why you are willing to go to such lengths to learn about Ramsay Bolton, but it's not my place to question your choices, my lady. Although, I can't say that it doesn't baffle me and leave one intrigued to know why."

Sansa nodded at his statement, "It's a fair assessment to be baffled over my recent actions concerning Ramsay; to be blunt with you, it's something I'm still working to understand myself. I never intended or would have imagined the scenario that is playing out now. I thought I knew the man, and as detestable as he's been, I had only meant to rip him apart before killing him. Death had been a kindness I wasn't willing to afford him," her eyes shifted back to the window thinking on the awful things that she'd done to him, the awful things she still wanted to do to him even now (albeit much less cruelly.)

Lord Davos regarded Sansa quietly; he sensed there was more that she wanted to say, but that to say them was proving difficult for her. He was a patient man, and so he waited for her to begin again.

She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat as she returned her attention back to Ser Davos' enduring gaze, "As you well know by now, I've done things to Ramsay that make me no better than he was," Davos shifted uncomfortably opening his mouth to rebuttal her statement, but Sansa wasn't finished and continued, "If it were just guilt I felt for the things I inflicted upon Ramsay, I would have ended him already. It's not. I won't lie, as much as it shames me, guilt is not the only thing I felt for what I did to him. When I loathed him, I found I more than liked seeing Ramsay writhe for me, but a deviant lust did not drive me here to make this journey. What did spark this venture was that I've discovered a part of him through his suffering that I'd like to believe is actually salvageable, a part that left me curious to see if what I'm observing is a delusion of grandeur or an actuality."

He took her words in now as he leaned back in his seat; lord Davos had given counsel to and served kings, but he'd also lived in the depraved world of a smuggler. In this way, he was easy to speak to. Sansa had felt less wary to tell him of her intentions partly because of Davos' easy nature and sorted past, but even so, her statement had given him a lot to digest. Ramsay's death was an easy answer to him, but Davos realized now that whatever had happened between lady Sansa and Ramsay in the depths of her dungeon was a far greater mystery than he'd originally anticipated. Like Jon, he was concerned that Ramsay was coning her into believing a lie, but unlike Jon, Davos saw a cunning in Sansa to ferret out such an untruth and was more inclined to believe in her instinct, "If I may ask, what is it that you hope to find out here?"

Sansa sighed looking slightly abashed as she responded, "I'm seeking out Ramsay's mother."

Davos' eyebrows raised even higher at this admission, "His mother? She was a miller's wife then? Jon had mentioned we were to follow your lead, and although I'm not overly familiar with your lands, my curiosity raised when you gave direction to the men to follow the weeping water north of this Dreadfort, that once housed the Bolton family, in search of a common mill."

Straightening, Sansa nodded, "You must think me insane to want to come out all this way for a simple conversation, but I have been told things by Maester Medrick that raises more than a few questions as well as seeing a defining shift in Ramsay's disposition at the mere mention of his mother. To have such a negative reaction from him where he's otherwise been rather reserved lately gives me cause to believe that she may also provide a better picture into who Ramsay actually is, or at least she may help give me a better understanding of the man, so I can make wiser decisions when it comes to handling him."

Lord Davos' brow was furrowed in a look of contemplation as he mulled over this new information. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, the way Sansa spoke of Ramsay held a number of tells that she was quite invested in him now (and not just in making him pay for his crimes against her but for some other undefined purpose which was a tad unnerving after not only the stories he'd heard about Ramsay but witnessing the man's callous mannerisms and deeds personally.) The fact that Sansa was seeking out his mother to question her about him seemed a bit above and beyond anything he may have seen as a course of action he'd suggest, but as an advisor, Davos also knew the importance of gathering knowledge; knowledge could be invaluable. The term know thy enemy was an infamous saying for a reason, so he merely nodded slowly in quiet agreement before giving her a serious composed stare as he replied, "Well then, let us hope this woman can give you what you seek."

*****************************************************

The room felt too quiet once Sansa had left, and Ramsay's eyes darted to the two guards that watched him impassively. He had half expected for them to shift into an obnoxious set of pricks like the previous two men who had harassed him; he was relieved that wasn't a reality especially with Sansa telling him she'd be gone for a few days.

The thought of waiting days for her return had his stomach knotting; what would he be treated like now without Sansa present to interject or intervene? Sansa had mentioned Jon would be his standing warden while she was away, and just the thought of enduring the low born bastard giving him direction was enough to make Ramsay bristle. He wasn't much for taking orders, and outside of his father and most recently Sansa, Ramsay had rarely been of the status to have to (as those unfortunate enough to make the mistake of referring to his station as a bastard often didn't live long enough to make that mistake a second time.) He wasn't in a position though to buck any form of authority, so he quietly simmered letting a calm overtake him to at least appear unruffled by the situation even if inside he was anything but.

Ramsay's attention drifted to his plate of growing cold food; he'd lost his appetite, but forced down the food because he neither wanted to be tied back down to his mattress anytime soon, and the next time he was brought food may not be of the same luxury that Sansa had recently been affording him. The guards didn't rush him as Ramsay pecked at the food dully spooning in a bite here and there autonomously as his mind drifted over the past couple days. Shifting in his seat brought him back to having been punished quite thoroughly by Sansa, and Ramsay did his best to put that memory out of his mind. He instead liked settling on thoughts of their dinner from last night, it had felt normal enough (or as normal as he'd had the privilege of experiencing since he'd lost the battle and the Starks regained control of the keep.) Ramsay found these small moments of normalcy worth clinging to as it was a tether to his sanity or what he had considered sanity before Sansa's reconditioning.

The realization that Sansa had warped his mind was a truth Ramsay found hard to swallow even though he saw his own psyche willingly concede. At first he had told himself he had no other choice but to comply, but that wasn't all true. There was still a part of him that remained cold and calculating as to what had happened and why, but the majority of Ramsay overlooked these facts for the continued opportunity to both live and to be cared for. It frightened Ramsay; as a former torturer he saw all the signs, had seen the signs of falling into compliance, and yet, he seemed unable to bypass falling into the pitfall that was Sansa Stark.

These guards, Jon, any of the rest of them, they were not Sansa, and as such, a bitterness began to seep into Ramsay to be at their mercy. They were undeserving of any form of obeisance, but he didn't wish to upset Sansa either; he could be cordial enough to get through the next couple of days…

The sound of heavy boots moved with solid strides along the corridor and came to an abrupt stop in front of the dungeon door as it unceremoniously burst open. It wasn't a violent display, but some of Jon's frustration was definitely aimed at the door.

Ramsay had his back to the door spinning his head to glance over his shoulder and regarded Jon with an implacable expression.

Jon made quick work of moving up to stand beside Ramsay surveying the table; he frowned none too pleased with the look Ramsay was already affixing him with. In his left hand a small ink well's weight rested loosely on three fingers while a rolled up scroll protruded from between his index finger and thumb. His right hand gripped his sword.

Ramsay's eyes were drawn first to the clenching and unclenching sword hand before casually drifting over to the hand with the supplies Sansa had had sent for him to jot down ideas to make right his sins (a chore he was in no way interested in completing but also knew that he would at least have to mark down a few things for Sansa to purview upon her return.) Jon wasn't versed in hiding his feelings at all, and his obvious unease made a smirk play upon Ramsay's lips, "I see you've fetched my writing provisions; that's a good man. I'm sure your sister will be quite proud of your promptness."

It was a definite jab at his station, and Jon grit his teeth forcing back the urge to reopen the now healing cuts he'd placed upon Ramsay with a few well-placed punches to his cocky face. Instead he responded evenly, "Sansa will be more pleased with your progress on obeying her wishes; finish your food, so that you can get to doing as you were told," he set the vial of ink and scroll down harshly on the small table before leaning in closer and stating severely, "I'll be back to check on you later. I would suggest you work attentively lest you make us both regretful."

Ramsay was all out scowling at Jon's word choices knowing that Jon was not only demeaning him by clearly pointing out his place but promising punishment if he didn't produce something by the time Jon returned. Ramsay found his rage escalate and course through his veins like an unquenchable fire as he pursed his lips and stared straight ahead not deigning to look at Jon or give him a response for fear that he wouldn't be able to control the negativity that threatened to pour out of him if he did.

Seemingly satisfied with Ramsay's response (or lack of response,) Jon rose back up to standing before giving a nod of departure and quickly turned to leave without further word.

Ramsay found his eyes trailed after Jon watching him leave; Ramsay was glad Jon never turned back to see him staring after him as he exited. If Jon had looked back, he would have seen Ramsay's seething sneer set with clenched bared teeth to display the level of malice he held towards Jon. It was for the best; in Jon's current mood, he may have found the act of impudence enough to take Ramsay in hand then and there. Ramsay really had no idea the fine line he was walking with Jon, and if he did know, he'd likely be much more willing to work with the man. As it was, Ramsay assumed Jon was more the type to fall to being a messenger of his deeds to Sansa upon her return, and taking much less stock in the man's threat than he should. He looked down at the scroll and scoffed before throwing his napkin on his plate to address the nearby guards, "I'm done with this scrap; one of you can call on a servant to clean up this mess."

The men didn't seem to take kindly to his words, but neither did they quip or chastise Ramsay for the way he addressed them. The larger of the two stepped forward motioning with his hand for Ramsay to get up, and all the while, Ramsay watched him carefully as he obeyed the request by slowly rising from his chair and taking the few steps towards the guard that separated them. Temeric was appeased enough with Ramsay's response to rise without further rudeness as he splayed a hand over to his right, "Come on then, Lady Sansa wished for you to get a bit of walking in, and seeing as there's only that small table, we will need to get it cleaned off if you're going to be able to have room to write."

Temeric meant the comment in a literal sense that Ramsay had no room to comply with now both Sansa and Jon's wish to work on the task she'd given Ramsay, but Ramsay saw the statement as a slight because he was still stewing over Jon's words and had assumed the guard was taking his own jab at his expense following the conversation that had just past. Ramsay didn't remark on Temeric's words, but his eyes narrowed hatefully to show the full of his contempt before moving in the suggested direction away from the table.

Having had no prior dealings with Ramsay, Temeric ignored the display and followed after him letting Ramsay walk ahead ten feet. The servant that had been serving Sansa and Ramsay quickly moved in to clean off the table while the other guard was kind enough to grab both the parchment and ink for her to do so easily.

Ramsay's shoulders were squared and tense as he walked the expanse of the small room (that only seemed smaller each passing day.) His body ached from disuse; the small bit of walking about felt good, but if he continued in this vein, he could tell his muscles would begin to atrophy making him an even smaller man than he was currently, and that thought left him with a sense of uneasiness. It was just one of many thoughts that raced through his head as he paced about the room quietly fuming.

It only took the servant a few minutes to clear off the table, but Temeric didn't force Ramsay back to the table right away sensing the smaller man needed to let off some steam, and so they made three more passes around the expanse of the room before Ramsay glanced back at the guard not announcing that he'd had enough but from the look on his face, he was bored with tedious circular motion.

Temeric nodded in the direction of the table, "The table's clear for you as you requested." It wasn't a demand to start writing, but the invitation was obvious.

Ramsay turned back to the table and stalked to his seat to carefully adjust himself in front of the replaced ink well and scroll where his plate had once been. Some of his anger had seeded away having had a chance to walk it off, and the guard's pleasant manner helped to sooth Ramsay's unsettled emotions concerning the task as well as the encounter with Jon. He was feeling much testier, and Ramsay equated this feeling to having to deal with Jon and this new assignment he'd been given when in actuality what was most bothering him was knowing that Sansa was off on some journey where he was left behind to wonder and worry about her. Ramsay didn't like these constant feelings concerning her that continued to crop up within him making him feel pangs of longing followed by anger and resentment that she'd left him. His automatic response always seemed to fall back to wrath, this Ramsay was accustomed to, but to miss her or anyone was something new. It left him feeling vulnerable which was an emotion Ramsay detested to feel, and as such, this same cycle continued to swirl within him.

Ramsay leaned back in his chair now staring at the rolled up scroll and bottle of ink for long minutes as his jaw worked, and he pondered upon what he could actually write. Of course the more Ramsay thought on the task the more embittered towards it he became. The image of taking the vile of ink in hand and smashing it into the stone wall was a satisfying thought although not practical or at all a logical means to deal with the frustration he was feeling, so he didn't act upon it (mostly because he didn't want to deal with the repercussions doing so would likely bring) but it did seem to diffuse some of the aggression Ramsay was feeling just to picture himself doing it. That would have to be enough for now.

His brow lifted noticing for the first time that he had no quill to write with, and the corners of his mouth tugged into a smug smile. Ramsay motioned towards the supplies, "It would seem I can't do any writing today as I've nothing to write with unless I'm expected to use my fingers."

The guardsmen looked at what Ramsay had clearly pointed out before glancing back at one another. Temeric replied, "If you want to be the one to go ask for a quill, I can man the prisoner while you're away, Cecil."

Cecil grimaced, "We were told he needed attending with no less than two men at all times, Temeric."

Temeric sighed tiredly, "We'll cuff him down, and then you can run for the quill. I don't think he's going to lunge from his chair and attack me, but you're right, it's best to be on the safe side." Temeric turned his attention back to Ramsay, "Cecil will get you a quill, and in the meantime I'm gonna need you to resituate yourself on your bed."

It was an excuse to delay the task a little longer and one that Jon couldn't deny him for not completing without having the physical means to do so. Ramsay felt in some small way he was getting over on Jon to have an excuse to avoid doing what he had threatened him with and gave no argument to Temeric's request to lock him back down.

The guards did so quickly enough with full cooperation from Ramsay, and Cecil departed shortly after. There was a long silence that followed where Ramsay spent the time doing his best to ignore Temeric before Cecil returned with a quill that he set on the table. Once Cecil had returned, they released Ramsay once more.

Ramsay rose from the mattress a bit more sluggishly than he'd gone back to it not looking forward to sitting on the hard wooden chair again so soon. Cecil had been gone a while but not long enough for Ramsay's liking. So it was that Ramsay found himself right back where he'd started, staring down at the rolled scroll and ink bottle for long minutes and trying to decide on what to write. He supposed that he should have used the long break of Cecil running to fetch a quill to think further on what he could write, but instead Ramsay used the time to mentally shut down and let himself drift into a half sleep to pass the time (it was something he'd done a lot these days to stave off boredom.)

Sighing Ramsay figured he'd stalled long enough wasting nearly two hours on deliberating and deciding he'd best get at least one or two things jotted down incase Jon decided to pop in to check on his progress as he'd warned of. Ramsay didn't want to come off as being defiant (even if he was doing his best to give Jon a minor bur to annoy him by not kowtowing fully to his demands. Ramsay's pride wouldn't allow himself to quietly do as he was told… at least not by Jon, the Stark's bastard, of all people.) Jon wasn't even naturalized like he was, so why should he bow to someone beneath him? Prisoner or not, Ramsay was still Jon's better, and he had no plans of giving the man any more deference than he absolutely had to in order to remain in Sansa's good graces.

As Ramsay ruminated on bolstering his ego, he untied the twine holding the scroll unrolling it. Within the page there was a quill that had apparently been rolled up with it for transport, and if Ramsay had simply unraveled the scroll in an attempt to write, he would have found the quill easily. His face flushed noting both guardsmen also witnessed his discovery.

Ramsay cleared his throat as he remarked in a rather perturbed tone, "Well, it appears you ran a false errand." He didn't apologize as he ripped off the cork on the ink well to furiously dab the quill in the ink and begin writing. Ramsay ran a hand through his hair as the vexation of the situation he made for himself gnawed at him now. Ramsay realized that he had no excuse for such a flagrant and now obviously deliberate waste of time, and the stress of trying to hurry the contemplation of self-inflicted punishments only seemed to exasperate his feelings to a point that by the time Jon had come to check on him as promised, Ramsay had nothing but a few drops of ink where he'd dabbed the quill in an impatient tapping motion as he'd struggled to clear his thoughts.

Jon had entered the dungeon much more calmly than he had earlier, but anticipating his arrival, Ramsay had spun back to look at him with eyes that widened in a shocked surprise before quickly turning away. Ramsay had rolled the scroll up and was recorking the ink well as Jon approached.

Ramsay didn't look at Jon choosing instead to stare off in the distance with a glower painted firmly on his face. His hands were interlaced tightly in his lap, and his posture was rigid.

Jon took this all in as he looked the man up and down a long moment before taking the scroll off of the table to unravel it. Seeing there was nothing written on the parchment sparked an immediate irritation to rise within Jon, but he did not show it only letting out a tired sigh, "I'm not even going to ask you why you haven't written even one sentence, Ramsay. You know what was asked of you, and now you're forcing my hand." Jon didn't want to deal with this now, he didn't want to deal with it at all. He glanced over at the plush chair beside Ramsay's bed to see the strap was laid neatly over the arm of the chair as Sansa had said it would be. The thought of using it on the other man caused bile to rise up in his throat, but he'd also sworn to Sansa he'd keep to her methods of punishment.

Ramsay had been watching Jon out of his peripheral, and it wasn't lost on him what Jon had glanced over to gaze upon. An immediate thrill of astonishment and alarm took hold of Ramsay at the thought of Jon strapping him. He suddenly found his voice as he blurted heatedly, "I'll get it done! I just need more time! This isn't easy to come up with, so I've been mulling it over for a bit."

Jon peered back at Ramsay lifting a brow having noticed Ramsay's attention drawn in to see what he'd been looking at had sparked a reaction in him.

Ramsay's face was flushed with both impotent rage and humiliation, and as much as Ramsay just wanted to tell Jon to go fuck himself, he already knew that would land him in a much worse place than his neglect had already done. No, this was damage control. Perhaps he could placate Jon into giving him another chance; it was obvious by the grimace that Jon had made, he wasn't fond of the idea of punishing him, so it was definitely worth a try.

Jon considered Ramsay for a long moment before answering, "I'll be back tonight after you've had your dinner to deliver your punishment, but I can be lenient if you actually show me some effort, Ramsay. Make the next few hours count," with that said, Jon tossed the scroll back on top of the table and left.