Chapter Twelve

Bait and Switch

The next day found Ramsay waking stiff and sore, but alive, well and past what he had to assume was the worst of the treatment he was going to receive on behalf of Sansa due to his prior behavior in attempting to escape the keep. While he obviously would have preferred if she had not punished him at all, he had to admit that it could have been worse.

For instance, he could have been killed by those that had been pursuing his death. Or he could have been run through by an eager guard of the keep, simply trying to keep him from escaping. He could have been put to death by Sansa herself upon his return to imprisonment. No, being humiliated again wasn't ideal, but finding the silver lining wasn't difficult either.

He rose slowly, giving himself time to try and acclimate to being awake, both mentally and physically. His shoulder and leg were almost distant pained memories now, barely causing him any issue at all, but his tortured rear was another story. He absently reached back to gently rub the sensitive area with a frown painted on his face.

That frown deepened at the sight of Eroc. The big warrior was ever watchful, fixing Ramsay with those pale blue eyes of his as he leaned against a far wall of the room with his arms folded over his wide chest. Ramsay glanced away at the meeting of their gazes, feeling shame simply by looking at the man who had witnessed all.

He knew he was perhaps overreacting, and his stomach churned to think that Eroc might even enjoy his meek behavior, a thought that Ramsay did not enjoy. Still, he didn't want to seem challenging to a person who was looking for a fight, and loathe as he was to do so, acting subdued would be the best way to avoid further travesty of justice.

The smaller man rose carefully from the bed, trying not to put too much weight on what pained him and wincing since that wasn't something he could avoid entirely. Once standing he wandered over to a dresser to pull out some clothing for himself. No pants, of course, the thought of why causing his face to heat all over again.

He stood there covering his genitals in an almost modest fashion, painfully aware of Eroc's gaze on him, when he finally came up with a plan to solve at least part of his problem. He moved over to the bed, taking some of the linens there and wrapping himself in them so that his lower body was no longer exposed.

He was violating her command in spirit but not necessarily by the words she had used to command it technically, so Ramsay could only hope that Sansa did not respond to his choice to garb himself this way with rancor. He had been frowning all along, but his frown deepened even further as he noted that his makeshift covering gave him the appearance of wearing a dress.

He adjusted it several times, trying to give the semblance of wearing some kind of robes, but ultimately the material and color of the linens in addition to their sheer nature continued to lend him the look of a man wearing feminine garb. He let out a sigh as he gave up, realizing that regardless of how he did this he was going to carry shame with him.

Ramsay paced the room a bit before finally directing himself to Eroc, as unappealing as the gesture was, "Um… are we going to eat breakfast?"

The wildling cast a bored look his way, "The rest of the keep broke our fast hours ago; you'll need to wait for Sansa either way. She has been gone since early this morning and I have no intention of letting you leave without her say on the matter."

This caused Ramsay to sniff in irritation; since when did Eroc care what Sansa wanted? No, the man was denying him food out of malice he was sure, "Well then perhaps you could summon the servants to fetch me something? I'm starved."

Eroc shook his head at Ramsay, "And I don't give a damn. I'm certainly not your butler, prisoner."

This only served to rankle Ramsay further, but he bit his tongue to stop anything foolish from spilling out; he would be damned if he was going to be giving the brute any valid 'justification' in causing him yet more degrading pain. After a moment he released a long, bitter sigh, "Very well; I suppose we shall have to wait."

The red-haired warrior raised an eyebrow and tugged at his beard with one set of thick fingers, obviously surprised by Ramsay's words. It appeared to Ramsay that the man might have been expecting a different response from Ramsay altogether, and he was secretly pleased that at least in this small way he could surprise Eroc.

Ramsay paced the room until doing so started to pain his feet, still even now trying to discern who it was that had been trying to have him assassinated. He no longer felt any large amount of fear concerning that; the loyal guard of the keep would be extremely alert to any further attempts at infiltration, making Ramsay's murder less likely now.

Despite how important the topic remained, though, he couldn't help but continually allow his mind to drift back to the issue he had been debating well into the evening prior, Sansa. Just thinking of her brought on a rush of conflicting emotions so wrapped up and tied together that he couldn't even begin to tell them apart to even know what it was he felt.

The last remaining Stark had a hold on him that he had not really appreciated until the events that had caused him to truly analyze his relationship with her and wonder what it was exactly that she now wanted from him. Obviously, he had to assume that what she did started as simple revenge, a pure emotion that he knew well.

But had it moved into something else from there? As he had many times now, his mind recalled to his memory the image of her face, creased with worry as she had entered the cell where her people had been holding him protectively. Doubtless word of the attempted assassination had just spread to her; had she been concerned for his safety?

It could have been for a variety of other reasons that the sight of him had brought relief to her face; perhaps she had been worried that she had jeopardized her and Jon's reputations in keeping Ramsay as she had, and was glad that he hadn't been murdered, creating a political scandal. But Sansa had thus far given him little reason to think she cared about politics.

Not only that, but her behavior since then did not align with such a theory; if she had been truly concerned of that, she would have doubtless put him to death publicly at her earliest convenience; that was the option Ramsay would have elected for if he had to deal with such a conundrum. Well, she certainly wasn't Ramsay.

Still… Ramsay was broken from his thoughts as the object of them walked into the room, her dress billowing behind her ever so slightly at the rapid pace that carried her in, "Eroc, we must move Ramsay, Jon's orders."

She looked as if she was ready to explain further, but Eroc didn't question the directive, simply standing upright and taking a step across the room to grab Ramsay by the arm before glancing her way again, "Where to?"

Sansa pointed back out the way she had come by way of answer, "We are to move him somewhere those that have been tracking his movements are less likely to find him."

Eroc pulled Ramsay along as Sansa led him from the room, but the big man couldn't help but question the act even if he was going along, "Why move him at all?"

Sansa replied, "When we tried to summon the guardsmen who had been assigned to Ramsay for further questioning we discovered that they had disappeared entirely; a difficult feat to do in the military in general and even more improbable a task in a place like this. Jon decided that whomever is after Ramsay may not be done hunting him."

The red-bearded warrior nodded, his other hand scratching at that beard, "Seems like a lot of trouble to go to protect a prisoner… was he not fated to die once you were done having your fun with him anyways?"

Ramsay's breath caught in his throat for a moment, but he let it go when Sansa dismissed the notion with a shake of her head.

"No… I don't know what you've heard but despite the clamoring of those that would see Ramsay executed I have already made my will known; Ramsay is to remain alive so that the rest of his days can be spent in penance for his multitude of crimes."

Eroc shook his head, confused, "I don't understand why you don't just kill him; he's as bad as they get, and letting him live could send a bad message to other cunts like him."

Sansa shook her head again, "A lot of people feel the way that you do; more than not in fact. I have had to quarrel with one lord after another and even at times with Jon since this last incident, but I have convinced them so far of my cause; as I said when I first took possession of him as prisoner, death would be reward to him."

The wildling still didn't seem convinced though his tone suggested that he wasn't quite as opposed. He continued the discussion as they walked down one hallway and then turned to another, "I get that you want to send a message then; 'Sansa the torturer' perhaps, or maybe just let the would-be Ramsay's of the world know that you hold a grudge…"

He cast a look at Sansa as they walked, "…but this is all so very time-consuming when your efforts might best be applied elsewhere. You said yourself this puts you at odds with the other lords of what you call the 'north'. I don't know a whole lot about southern tradition, but don't your people frown on prolonged torture? Will keeping him hurt your standing here?"

Sansa just grimaced bitterly, "Fuck the other lords; I've had my fill of the politics of this land in ways you cannot imagine."

This caused a smile to bloom upon Eroc's face, and he gave her a warm look, "Well then, I might have gotten an entirely wrong feel for you on first impression. I think we shall be friends."

She returned the smile to him, giving a single nod as well, "I think I would like that; I'll admit that I was worried about Jon's alliance with your people at first due to rumors I have heard of murderous savages, but since I have spoken to you and others of your tribes, I have come to value your honesty and straightforwardness."

The grin on Eroc's face spread even wider, "And I must say that Jon and now you have proven that our belief in the honor-less ways of your people to perhaps be exaggerated."

Sansa let out a mild chuckle, but there was no trace of real humor in it, "Well… for some of us at least…" her expression darkened, "Sadly a great many of us live up to those stories and more I'm sure."

Ramsay had stayed quiet so far despite the rude way that Eroc continued to thrust him along before him towards whatever objective Sansa led them, but his patience with not knowing was finally running thin, "Excuse me… where exactly is it that we are going? We have passed all of the quarters…" he frowned, "…am I being returned to a cell?"

The Lady of the keep shook her head, "No… Jon and I discussed it at length and we have agreed to move us to an older wing of the castle that hasn't served as quarters for some time, for a variety of reasons."

Ramsay's brow furrowed, "I am being hidden away… why? Wait… us? You are going to move yourself there… what purpose does that serve… why would you?"

Sansa reached a finger up and placed it on Ramsay's lips, "Don't worry yourself over the reasons for what I do with myself. In answer to your prior question; everyone in this keep knows that I have been keeping you in my quarters for the longest time, and that would be the first place that your pursuers would look."

This caused Ramsay's face to flush slightly, the warm, now familiar glow of embarrassment that he wore about him like the bedsheet around his waist resurfacing as he thought on the fact that everyone knew that she had been keeping him in her quarters like some sort of pet. Sansa went on, "Also a cell was where you were attacked last, so this seemed most prudent."

She stepped to a thick wooden door and pulled hard on it, gesturing inside. Eroc pushed Ramsay inside perhaps more roughly than necessary before stepping in himself. Sansa moved around them to light a few candles, revealing a still somewhat darkened room that had no windows and retained a smell that reminded Ramsay of a root cellar.

His nose crinkled at the odor, "It is little wonder why you no longer use this place… it isn't fit for human habitation."

Eroc smiled at Ramsay's comment but replied to Sansa instead, "Ah, he doesn't like it. That means it's perfect."

Sansa sighed at the two men, "It only has the one door and there isn't too much servant traffic on this side of the keep, meaning it will be less likely that we will be spotted entering or leaving. Since the place was recently used only for storage, would-be assassins will likely not even bother searching this area for their target."

She cut off her assessment there but Ramsay got the distinct impression that there was something she was leaving unsaid, so he voiced the concern, "What aren't you mentioning?"

Sansa turned a nervous smile his way, "Well… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you, but the other reason we did this was to flush out any spies."

Ramsay nodded sagely, "I see; you only told this location to a few select persons and are waiting to see if I am attacked here, narrowing down the spy pool…" he frowned deeply, "but that would mean you are banking on another attack to my person…" he sighed, "I suppose I am not a high value asset so no huge loss there…"

Despite himself and his desire not to let his emotion show in what he was saying, Ramsay could hear his bitter disappointment in his own voice. Why would he have expected that Sansa would work to protect him? The way his stomach churned he wondered how unrealistic his perception of his relationship with Sansa had become…

He thought he might detect the slightest hint of a smile that never left Sansa's eyes, "Well… the baited trap is meant to be twofold; we don't just want to narrow the spy pool."

Eroc interjected, "You want to catch the next assassin. For interrogation."

Sansa nodded, "Exactly."