A/N: it has come to my attention that this chapter got kinda fucked up, but don't worry I've fixed it now. I am so sorry for the glitch, you know I do my best to provide you all with high quality content. Regardless, enjoy :)
The travel North felt brief, but mainly because Sansa had slept for a good portion of it. Sure, she'd packed books to read and even a small journal to write in, but it just didn't pass the time like a good nap could. She was very glad she'd elected not to have Petyr share the carriage with her—it helped her avoid conversation with him. That was the point, after all.
However, when they began to draw close to territory that seemed unfamiliar, she had to ask him what was going on.
"Lord Baelish?" She inquired, scooting close to the window of the carriage. "I thought you said we were going home—that castle isn't Winterfell. You didn't get us lost, did you?"
The redhead would be quite frustrated if he'd managed to screw up the directions. For a man who was revered and/or feared for his cunning, it'd be a pretty stupid decision to make.
"No, no, not at all my Lady," He was slightly offended she'd ever think he was that daft. As if he wouldn't remember where Winterfell was—he knew his way around the Seven Kingdoms better than a mere girl like her. Still, she was naïve, he couldn't fault her for that. It was time to tell her the true meaning for their adventure North. "This is your new home,"
"What?" As they approached the castle ahead, it became abdunantly clear to her that she was not at all lost, and that this was entirely intentional. At the gates of this large and dismal castle, a body was attached to an X-shaped apparatus—a skinless body. Flayed. She was at the Dreadfort.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. She was going to marry Lord Bolton—the thought alone made her sick. He was at least twice her age, maybe older. No, he was the same age as Tywin Lannister—the thought of her having to share a bed with him disgusted her entirely. She'd been betrayed.
As they stopped in the courtyard, she was hesitant to get out the carriage. She didn't want to be here among flayed corpses and bruised servants. She'd heard the stories of Lord Bolton's bastard—a sick, disgusting man who liked to torture pretty girls like her.
"I can't believe you…" She muttered under her breath, glaring at Petyr. Lady followed her out of the carriage, snapping at his hand so that he could not even attempt to take hers. She would not let him lead her anywhere—she would be leading herself. She'd rather bring herself to her own doom than lead in by Petyr Baelish.
"You shouldn't be upset with me, my lady, I only wish to help you. He won't hurt you, I promise," Lord Baelish continued, feeling a shadow of guilt as he saw the feeling of betrayal fill those sapphire irises.
Sansa did not grant him the dignity of a response.
"Please inform Lord Bolton and his son that Lord Baelish and Sansa Stark have arrived," He asked one of the servants. She had this air of rage to her that never seemed shaken. Her brown eyes were mad—but she was the only servant who didn't seem occupied.
"Right away, my lord," She responded, crossing the yard to make her way inside.
Myranda made eye contact with the red-haired maiden – this Sansa Stark—before she entered the corridors, and in those eyes she saw something. Something that she always lacked; innocence. She hated it, and she had a deep desire to break that innocence.
"Lord Bolton" She spoke, knocking on the door of the study. "Your guests have arrived,"
She wasn't pleased to announce this, for she knew that Ramsay was to marry this redheaded girl. She knew he would be even farther away from her grasp.
"Good then, I will go down to greet them," Roose rose from his seat and moved past her, avoiding all eye contact with the lowborn woman.
"Shall I send for Ramsay?" Myranda inquired, hoping for a yes.
"No, I believe he is near the courtyard as it is. I'll see him on my way down," In reality, Roose wanted Myranda as far away from his heir as possible. Before he was legitimized he didn't care much about what they did, but now he had an image to keep up. This lowborn disgrace could not be caught anywhere near the future Lord Bolton—at least, not if Roose had any say in it.
Indeed, Lord Bolton did see his bastard on the way down the halls. He didn't like talking to the boy, but it was only polite for him to greet his betrothed.
"Ramsay, we have guests in the courtyard," He spoke commandingly. "I'm sure that whatever it is you were doing can wait,"
"She's here?" The bastard almost dropped his knife. "I was just asking the gardener to get something for her chambers,"
"Let's go, boy," The elder Bolton rolled his eyes.
Ramsay wasted no time. He headed to the courtyard like he'd die if he didn't get there. His bride awaited him there.
There she was, in a black cloak with grey fur covering a periwinkle dress. Her skin as fair as the snow that dusted the ground, her hair as bright as fire. His icy heart melted, warmed by the flames of her hair. She was even more perfect than he could imagine. She was a dream, his dream.
Roose stood beside him, choosing to greet Lord Baelish rather than acknowledge Sansa.
"My lady…" Ramsay breathed, approaching her. "It is a true honor to finally meet you…you're even more beautiful than I was told you were,"
"Oh?" Sansa blushed, flattered by the compliments. "Thank you…"
"Forgive me, I haven't even introduced myself!" His mind was everywhere. He hadn't even noticed the spatter of blood on his cheek from his hunting trip earlier that afternoon. It was dried, but still noticeably, well, blood.
Sansa did take note of this. She was disturbed. His compliments had to be a farce, a way of making her trust him. She didn't want to be flayed. This wasn't the end of her story.
That's when she had a little epiphany: why would he kill her? She was too important to kill. She relaxed a little—they wouldn't want to kill an important political asset like her.
"I am Ramsay Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort" He kissed her pale, dainty hand—thought it was covered by a grey wool glove. "and more importantly, I am soon to be your husband,"
She would have been shocked, but truthfully, it made more sense to marry her to Ramsay than to Roose. The elder Bolton would certainly have trouble producing heirs—but not the youthful and healthy Ramsay. Of course he'd been legitimized, of course he was going to be her husband. It all made sense.
"Sansa Stark…" She responded, watching her breath escape her lips. In the winter air, it appeared like a little cloud.
"I'm sure you're as excited as I am, my lady. Could I show you to your chambers, help you get settled in?" Ramsay inquired, offering his arm. He wanted to appear gentlemanly, make her feel at least somewhat welcome.
"I…well, I suppose, why not?" She still held Lady's leash as she took his arm.
"Oh, I see you brought your direwolf. Isn't she a lovely thing? I have a treat for her—I'll show you the kennels, you can meet my girls and Fenrir there," Ramsay smiled, an attempt at being warm with her. It came off as a bit awkward, but Sansa was flattered he'd taken interest in her wolf. Most people disregarded the animal or saw her as a threat.
"Fenrir?" She inquired, curious as to why this particular dog was named.
"Oh, my wolf. I'm sure he'll like Lady, seeing as, well she's the only other wolf," Ramsay chuckled a little, even if the comment wasn't particularly funny.
Sansa simply followed him to the kennels.
Upon arrival, she and Lady both took note of how dark and dreary they were—just like the rest of the castle. The dogs seemed quite happy, though. Large hunting hounds, all black with dark eyes.
"There's a lot of them…Jeyne, Tansy, Rayna, Essie…" He named each hound as he passed their respective pen. He really did care deeply for these animals, even feeding them raw meat. It smelled fresh, and Sansa couldn't help but wonder what kind of meat he was feeding them—until she saw one particular hound gnawing on a human femur. She was disgusted, but held it back. She didn't want him to become offended and let her become the next meal.
"Ah, and here's Fenrir. Say hi, boy!" The wolf let out a loud, deep bark. One that shook Sansa, and made Lady's ears perk up in a gesture Sansa could only describe as a mixture of fear and curiousity. Lady barked right back.
"Her kennel is right next to his. I cleaned it up nicely, as you can see," He gestured to the inside of the kennel. It looked nicer than the other ones, more spacious. "I've got her dinner ready for her, and I even put her name on the door,"
"Oh, well that's very sweet of you, Ramsay," Sansa spoke, looking at the door. A silver plaque, 'Lady' inscribed on it. "What's she having for dinner, if I may ask? I always keep close tabs on her diet, to make sure she's healthy,"
"A mixture of meats, all good for her, don't worry. My girls and Fen eat the same, and they're healthy, aren't they?" He asked, as Lady entered her kennel. He unclipped the leash and put it on the rack where he kept all of the leashes.
"Oh, yes of course! What kind of meats?" She continued to pry.
"Oh, you know, chicken, beef, venison, prisoners…" Ramsay shrugged. "They love it. Sometimes I even add veggies for them, seems to work wonders for their fur,"
"I'm sorry, prisoners?" Sansa raised an eyebrow, shocked at his practices.
"Of course. They have to be dealt with, my lady. Don't worry—they're rarely alive when we feed them to the dogs. Usually I'm already finished with them," Ramsay explained nonchalantly. "Don't worry. They only get the finest flayed flesh,"
Sansa was silent. Maybe it was best not to comment in this particular situation.
"Now, how about I show you to your chambers now? I have something for you as well, you know" He lead her back to the castle's interior, bringing her to the finest guest suite in the castle.
"Until we wed, you can stay here. If you have any issues at all, alert me and I will deal with whoever caused them accordingly," Ramsay said, a sadistic smirk as he added the last part in. "I will see you at supper,"
He departed then, leaving her alone in the room. She looked around, smiling a little. It was very comfortable, and very much to her liking. She missed the North, everything about it. How the bedrooms looked, how warm everything felt. She finally felt at home.
She took off the fur cloak and went to place it in her wardrobe, when she noticed something on her vanity chair.
It was a beautiful gown of dark blue velvet, trimmed with white rabbit's fur. She picked it up and went to the mirror, holding it to her chest. As she did, a note fell down.
"Ramsay has requested that you bathe and wear this at supper this evening, along with the provided accessories"
She was amazed. She could not stop smiling. Ramsay may be a sociopath, but he knew how to shower his lady with gifts.
So that afternoon, she did exactly as the note said. She took a luxurious bath with her favorite bath oils—lavender, naturally, and styled her hair in an elegant northern braid style that her mother wore when she was a little girl. The dress was a dream—it was off the shoulders, with an opal in the center of the neckline. The white fur trim accompanied by the dark-colored fabric was truly elegant. She wore a pearl necklace with it, her earrings matching. She felt like a princess as she twirled in the mirror, admiring herself.
Tonight, she was going to be a princess, courtesy of her fiancée.