Chapter 37 - Petyr / Ramsay
Let me be your freak show. I could be your favorite monster. (Sub Urban, Freak)
The tip of his beard twitched without bidding. Petyr Baelish stared at the blank grey sky before him, apathetic to the wind that slashed at the blue woolen curtains. A scrawny raven cawed, black beak picking at the thread that clung on its leg. The parchment between Baelish's fingers snapped with threats to tear but he kept it tight even after having read the sprawled words about them. The gush of Alyssa's Tears below his apartments muddled with his mind.
How convenient… Petyr shook his head in worldly thoughts, convenient and amusing… and terrifying all at the same time. He always thought himself a clever and manipulative man even in his stay at King's Landing, playing games with the most powerful people and smirking behind their stupidities at the bite of crumbs he scatters in thin air. But this time fate curved on a very obscure twist in the labyrinth of possibilities he had least expected.
"Lord Protector…"
Petyr tipped his head to the side upon Helliweg's call. The sound of chains around the maester's neck pricked his senses. He paid extra wariness when it was anything relative to the infirmary.
"She is awake."
At once he slipped from the voluminous mind riddles, green-grey eyes immediately roused. Finally...
His hand crumpled the parchment and tossed it in the charred bowl of cinders. As the paper lit he watched it crisp and blacken; the broken pink wax melted over the now burning signature of Ramsay Bolton.
Tension met him upon entering the chamber. Petyr stood dazed awhile at the girl sitting against piled pillows at bed's headboard. Rusty matted hair in contrast to pale skin and Tully eyes, it was Cat at that age… fierce yet noble, his Jenny of Oldstones and he her Knight of Dragonflies, his every reason to have gotten drunk as a boy. It was definitely her and he heard himself speak her name but when she called back it was Sansa's voice that melted in his senses.
But of course. Cat is dead. And even if not, she would be somewhere else… perhaps in Winterfell or back to Riverrun, scrolls under her nose or scrutinizing her own son Robb, or combing all seven kingdoms in search of her missing children. She would be anywhere but here in a closed space with him.
"Sansa, love…" Petyr calmly approached and bent on the stool by her bedside. He watched her eyes brim with tears and there was the reluctance at first but Sansa let herself wrap her arms around his neck like he was the only one she had left. Petyr held her, her warmth spilling through his layers of undershirt and plum colored doublet.
He patted on her coarse red mane as she sniffled in his shoulder. "Shh, it's alright now. You are safe… you'll be safe…" gods would there ever be a time she would not cry...
They remained tact a little longer, with his imagination rolling back years before at the mossy bricks of Riverrun and Cat in his arms instead. He was never convinced of what he truly felt for Sansa, if helping the girl was an ulterior motive because she was Cat's flesh and blood… or if it was rather a form of vengeance for himself from all who underestimated him, Cat included.
"How did you find me…?"
Petyr retracted as they broke from the embrace. He looked at Sansa, at the weak voice that was hers and the grief-stricken face which still held a youthful beauty despite.
"Sansa, listen carefully. Allow me to elaborate… I know matters had been difficult for you and secrets were kept but before you judge please listen…" Petyr held her hand firmly. Until the girl's feeble nod did he continue. "I… I heard you have been mistreated. I learned of your tragedies. And I know you had been waiting for a rescue but given the fact it was all news to me I could not make a concrete plan. And I remembered Jeyne."
He paused at the sudden crumple of her face at the mention of the name. The girl did held importance for her, he finally concluded. He thought Jeyne Poole to have been of a low regard given the years they were separated.
"She saved me…" Sansa inhaled, pain wroth on her chest, "She did all she could to save me and I did nothing but doubt her."
"She was more than obedient. I had her smuggled from King's Landing and it took quite a time given how prying Lannister eyes could be… Ravens to Winterfell were for Roose Bolton. I know, dear… it is unsettling…" he tightened the hold on her hands sensing a newfound bitterness settle in her expression. How would she not? All this time he had been exchanging parchments with Lord Bolton and not a single one for her.
And yet, his mind twisted, the best part is to come.
"After many trials of convincing him to give you companion, he had suddenly agreed, to my surprise. I sent off your friend with the intents to spy on you and communicate with me."
"How did she know the path beneath Winterfell?"
He gave a thought. "A map among Maester Luwin's properties, one intended to be put to torch next to others. I've… taken things with me upon return from dropping you home."
She stared at him. Her blue eyes overcame with disbelief and he knew it, along with the fact he could shock her to anger but she had no choice and there was nowhere she could run off to anymore, is there? He practically owned her as he did her aunt Lysa, maneuvering their powers and taking to full advantage their fragility. He sits Lord Protector of the Vale atop an impregnable castle, strong of twenty thousand silver knights and the last living Wolf of the North. He who had taken part in the murder of two Hands and a King. He who only uses wits and cunning and a number of ravens while stags and lions devour themselves for the throne. In this game of kings, he was a fucking god.
"There was a wolf," Sansa spoke upon remembering, "I was with a Direwolf…"
Petyr narrowed his eyes, "Why would you be with a Direwolf, Sansa?"
"It was Nymeria. She, she saved me…"
He inhaled. This was a time he had best be careful. The current path to his yet another successful calculation was a narrow strait with cliffs on each edge. "Saved you? Sansa – pray tell me true. What happened? From your escape to Winterfell until the wolf, tell me."
Sansa recounted her tales, this simple girl. How Cat had made her too delicate. Petyr listened of the path beneath Winterfell and how Jeyne snuck them out, to the awaiting litter he had set bored almost to death…
"We came by the river…" she sniffled and looked down almost in shame, "I was upset when she wouldn't speak of the plan. I walked off into the mist… just thought to have followed the river and saw…"
The pause was new. "Saw what, Sansa?"
" – Nothing. Just mist… and snow. And the river. Jeyne found me. She led us back. And…" Sansa's voice deepened its injury, "Myranda… they chased us with a hound. And Jeyne…"
Again he pressed his hands around hers, patting her tears and calming the heaves on her shoulders. She went on and he was patient. If there truly was anything he had learned that never failed him, it was patience.
"And the wolf?"
Petyr saw a swallow cascade down her throat.
"It was Arya's… freed when she once attacked Joffrey," she fiddled with her fingers. But she always did.
"And you said it saved you?"
"I would like to think it that way."
"How would a beast save you, Sansa?"
She pursed her lips and shook her head feebly, "I don't know… it must have been luck, then."
There was a silence that went in, and Petyr scooted closer, summoning his most convincing tone. "Sansa, it was my men who saved you." He watched her blue eyes turn momentarily dazed. "There was no beast… no wolf. There was the hound, yes, who… we both know what it did. But there weren't any wolves, my dear. No Nymeria."
"But… I…" she opened her mouth only to close it again, words throttled.
"You were injured," Petyr touched the purple bruise on her cheek, "…and you were bleeding."
"Bleeding?"
He nodded slowly. "Do you know why they were pursuing after you?"
A lick on the lips. Jaws hardening.
"Roose Bolton, he, uh… he nearly forced himself – "
"Oh Sansa…" "I fought. I struck him, and ran to Jeyne… that was when we escaped."
"And his son…?"
She stared and he could feel the pain that barreled from her eyes. "Jeyne hasn't told you?"
Of course. He flinched. But a little more confirmation wouldn't hurt. "The last she spoke of him was of his father sending him off for Stannis Baratheon."
"He's dead…" she looked away, "How he went I did not care to remember."
He shut his eyes with a long awful sigh. "I am so… so sorry Sansa, this all had fallen to you. I shouldn't have… I swear had I just known this could have happened…"
"Things happen Petyr," Sansa slouched back by pillows, "No matter the event, its effects would cripple just the same."
"Pain truly has shaped you differently, dear," he lifted a hand to tuck a stray lock of red behind her ear, "There is, one other matter that needs your concern."
Maester Helliweg stood by the chamber door. Wisps of thin grey hair almost disappearing upon contrast to the daylight behind him. Sansa waited.
"You do know you're carrying a child?"
The way she hitched a breath and pale skin almost turning purple answered him. My, my…
"I – no… I, what?" she groped her belly, palms curling above thin nightdress, "Is it… did I…?"
"You've bled," he quietly smiled at the horror that clung to her face before pulling her out of the demise, "But Maester Helliweg was able to cease it… you are in a very special, yet critical condition, Sansa. I would have to warn you not to be delved in too much anxiety."
Sansa was ever silent. He watched the sparkle of a lone tear fall from her chin.
"My child would have been older than you, by now. Lysa and I conceived even before your mother and father married. But Lord Hoster would not allow us to be. He sent me away and forced Lysa a drink that soon made her bleed…" Petyr lowered his voice, "I could not imagine your pain back then. This child could be a reminder of those gruesome seasons. It is your body, and your decision to make, my dear. I would not allow another to decide for you, including myself. It is a thing Lysa had not been given liberty to. But listen, there is greater strength you show in keeping your baby… and if you do, I promise to never leave you again and do everything in my power to save and protect the both of you. Would you like that, Sansa?"
There was no reluctance the way she nodded to the point of pleading – "Yes. I would like that very much…"
Petyr was held back. Managing a brothel, he was more than familiar with how the ambitious women would react to pregnancy, like it was a curse or a plague, anything that would put a wall between them and pleasure and gold. Not that he complained, but with Sansa Stark and the seed of a ruinous Bolton growing inside her was quite the scandal. He cleared his throat and pulled the blankets over her belly.
"I need you well-rested then. I am called for other concerns, one of which, your dear cousin Robin," he planted a kiss on Sansa's forehead. She went rather warm… and when she smiled it was a ray of sunlight whilst her hands grazed over her stomach.
The Maester followed Petyr's steps along the hallway to the next tower.
"You procured the herbs I sent for?" asked Petyr.
"Every bit," Helliweg muttered, placing his hands behind him. His heavy robes scuffled across the wooden floor. The walls on either side glimmered with the sigil of falcon before white moon. "You still want me mix Moon Tea, Lord Protector? I had just heard the girl say she wanted to keep – "
"She isn't of a sound mental state, and is making dreary judgments…" Petyr gibed, "Make sure to sweeten the taste as possible. I want her consuming every drop." He heard the maester snicker behind him. He liked the old man and his slyness; he liked men with an insatiable thirst for ambition. He chose him in replacement of Colemon for this reason guised as a better healer of the frail boy Robin Arryn.
"You cause yourself too much trouble," the maester snorted, "...made me save the baby when it was bound to be bled out while she was unconscious. It would have been easier back then. And now you would secretly wash it off again albeit her healing."
"Nonsense," Petyr turned to him donned in the grin that spoke how pleased he was of himself –
"Once upon a time I talked her into marrying a bloody sadist only to save her from it. Did you see her hating on me? Oh my friend, we could do the strangest things to gain someone's trust… and all in the name of power. Now call in Ser Lothor will you, that Direwolf needs to be disposed from the kennels and from her memory."
Ramsay watched tautly as the raven disappeared behind darkening clouds. He turned to Maester Wolkan already shuddering at the crassness of his voice – "We send another one tomorrow."
He began to wipe his ink-stained hands, face devious and distraught with sleeplessness. The thickening bush of stubble began shadowing his jaws.
"But My Lord," started Wolkan, ever stuttering, "That was the fifth to be sent. I'm afraid we have very few ravens left… if you could recall there was nil a single bird when we came, slaughtered by Lord Greyjo – "
"I will force pigs to grow wings if it means finding my wife in the fucking Vale!" Ramsay snarled. The bottle of ink rolled on the floor after his fist crashed on table's surface, leaving a waste of black trail. Wolkan had none to say thereafter. He offered a fearful nod and left as Ramsay slacked onto the chair, raking his fingers across his sweaty scalp.
Sansa is pregnant.
A coil in his gut twisted.
It was supposed to be exciting news. Most men should be in tears at the prospect of sons but he found nothing to feel but dread and terror. Sansa is pregnant and he was not there to offer protection. Seven bloody hells he does not even know where she really is! Tomorrow marks a week since Myranda left and every night he paces back and forth the parapets awaiting their arrival. None of Myranda. No response from the Eyrie. Goddammit!
The only consolation he could assuage himself was that Sansa is carrying his child and not his brother. Wolkan said so, based on moon's count. He better be right, Ramsay exhaled bitterly, or Winterfell would be left with no maester at all.
He raised his head at the sound of hesitant footsteps coming his direction. A head peeked through the door. "My Lord? I'm afraid you have to see this…"
"I'm afraid you better tell me first if it's worth seeing…"
The soldier cringed. "Apologies, my Lord. An army approaches."
Ramsay was already on the door before the end of the sentence. He strode through the hallways, heart pounding in grave anger. He anticipated this, perhaps a nearby house knowing the castle is in a vulnerable state and not a single Stark in it. "Grab whoever you can to fight. Women or children I don't bloody care."
He anticipated this and blood rushed at a manic will to vent his frustrations in a careless slaughter.
Daylight was ebbing pale gray amongst the hills when he stood by the rampart. His measly defense was a group of shivering men by the gates, all knowing this would be well be their end. He saw the approaching scattered mob, almost a thousand perhaps, and immediately hardened when he made notice the banners they held.
Stag. Heart. Flames. Everything similar to the ones that hung on the castle walls.
Too soon. Ramsay tensed. If this be Stannis' victory, it would be too soon. Even before the portcullis shook and the riders began pouring in, he already knew. Running down the courtyard in his disheveled form he immediately searched faces. A knight on horseback approached him, thickly hooded, equally famished. One hand held the reins and the other a small figure held at the chest.
The knight unveiled his face, weary features, sunken cheeks and all too familiar eyes already speaking even without voice. Ser Davos Seaworth. They locked gazes before the bundles of cloth the Onion Knight held stirred and peeked out the face of a little girl.
"Where are we?" Shireen looked up at Davos, still clutched in his breast.
"Back in Winterfell, sweet child."
"Will father and mother arrive shortly?"
Davos pursed his lips and looked away before tightening his hold on the girl. He tried his best to sound calm, reassuring. But only Ramsay could not miss how begrudged the old man to offer the promise. His own veins froze.
"Just pray," the Knight lied, "We can only pray for now…"
A / N: I hope all is well with you! And here I again am sorry for the month long delay. How can ending a fic suddenly turn out difficult lol. I actually have started this chapter with Myranda but there was this very big plot hole I could not patch so I had to redo it from another angle... and changed most of the remaining plot. Hahaha. Please do bear with me.
Thank you for the reviews, still. I will be replying to them shortly.
My love and prayers for your safety. xx