Chapter Fifteen

New Beginnings

When Ramsay learned that Petyr Baelish had been imprisoned he gave Sansa a surprised look, "The very man who brought you to wed me in the first place? Why in this world would he seek to have me killed?" He thought on it for a few moments, "He did come to this place to defend you; perhaps that and this are linked; maybe he feels guilty for our union and seeks to correct it…?"

Ramsay knew that was wrong even before he uttered it, before Sansa shook her head in the negative. From what he knew about the man's reputation, penitent did not seem to flow at all with his nature. Sansa enlightened him, "He wants me to himself, so I must assume that he found out that I was keeping you in my rooms…"

He blinked, "Jealousy? The man tried to have me snuffed out simply because I am here?" He thought on this and it made sense if Sansa was correct about Petyr wanting her. Seeing as how privately she kept Ramsay from everyone else in the keep, Petyr must have been outraged that he didn't know what Sansa's intentions were for Ramsay.

Killing him would have been the most logical solution for a man unafraid to take that route. Ramsay had to give Petyr credit for knowing what he wanted and how to deal with competition. Still, it was harder to appreciate such things when one was in danger of having a knife placed between his ribs. He let out a slow breath; he could finally breathe easier.

Sansa was watching him as he thought deeply, running his hands through his thick, dark hair, "The fact that Petyr was jealous of you has set me to thinking on how I am interacting with you."

He glanced up, unsure why a nervous thrill ran down his spine as he worked to fight past a lump in his throat to speak, "In what way?"

She placed her hands behind her back and gave him a level stare, maintaining a dedicated air of neutrality that Ramsay could not see through, either in her manner or her tone of voice, "Well, you are still definitely a prisoner to me within these walls, but perhaps I need to turn my mind to how I will present you in the future."

Ramsay squinted, wishing that she would stop beating around the bush and just say what it was that she was planning, "And what exactly does that mean?"

Sansa only replied by giving him a sly smile and glancing him over as if taking his apparel in for the first time, "Well, for starters, why don't you ditch the sheet and put on some pants."

***...***

Ramsay felt entirely uncomfortable even though he wore clothes now. He had been taken to meal with Sansa just as he had in the past, except instead of feeling a flush of shame from being relegated to the servant's table, now he felt a surge of nervousness because Sansa had brazenly seated him to her left at the main table.

As in, where the nobles sat. The nobles who had gone stiff when she had seated him and now glared at him steadily as he stared down at his plate, feeling even more out of place at the lord's table than he had sitting with the help, whom had mostly just avoided him. They definitely hadn't sat there staring daggers at him at least.

There were quite a few coughs and indignant harrumphs from around the room as he lowered himself into his seat, and he had noted before he'd lowered his gaze that even Jon Snow was staring at him from his seat at the head of the table. That man had given his sister a surprised look and now seemed quite somber due to the shift in mood in general.

Thankfully, Jon did not have all of the lords of the north in attendance, of course; most had either ridden home to personally manage family affairs or were simply not in attendance, perhaps part of the reason that Sansa had selected this particular evening to bring Ramsay along with her when she had decided to dine with the other lords.

She was the sole remaining Stark by blood, title, and presence and technically that meant that everything within Winterfell belonged to her, and all the technicalities of how that House was run was hers to decide. So it was that no one could object to her decision to so openly put Ramsay before them, despite Jon's official title.

He could still challenge her though, Ramsay supposed, though it would set both of them back politically by arguing in public over a prisoner. Subjects should certainly never see the family members of the ruling House bicker over any matter as it weakened public opinion on the ability of said House to retain unity in trying times.

Sansa had chosen her timing well then in instituting Ramsay back into society, though Ramsay was uncertain exactly what capacity she expected him to serve House Stark, since she hadn't deigned to tell him what it was that she planned, only that she had demanded that he ready himself for dinner. He didn't know his seating until she sat him.

This way she was certain to get Ramsay in without having to worry about Jon contesting the issue, at least immediately; Ramsay had no doubts that he would be pursuing the matter after this particular scandal had passed. For now though Ramsay did what he could not to stir the hot waters quietly waiting for the food.

His mouth watered at the smell, and his stomach growled at the sight of the delicious foods that came from the kitchens upon platters carried by servants. The food was not dissimilar to what Sansa had been feeding him within the confines of her quarters, but it was more freshly made, and the aroma of it keenly filled the air.

Before he could dig in though one of the nobles across from him, a thin older man with a wispy mustache and long white hair that curled about his neck lost his patience slamming his fist upon the table, "Is no one else going to address the dragon in the room? Am I to be made to eat across from this swine at this table?"

A grumble of assenting voices followed but was equally matched with scornful looks and comments by those that felt this noble's reaction was in poor form. Jon glanced at Sansa, his expression locked ever in a look of being in over his head, a fawn among wolves when dealing in politics. There was a bit of accusation there perhaps, but she did not respond to it.

Jon let out a long heavy sigh and then affixed the noble who had spoken with a stern look, "Please remember that Lady Sansa is the presiding Stark of this keep, and that she can bring whomever she pleases to sit at her table."

This only caused more grumbling from those present, as voices rose to challenge or agree.

The thin fellow nodded deference to Jon but argued nonetheless, "I understand this, Jon Snow, but I think I speak for many of us here in wonder why it is that this rabid mutt is allowed to dine as if he were one of us. It was bad enough that he was allowed to wander the halls before, but this has gone entirely too far; is he a prisoner or not?"

A fair number of faces nodded to this sentiment; these nobles had almost all been wondering the same thing, and were relieved that someone had the gall to state it, even if doing so might seem insubordinate. Sansa set down the silverware that she had initially picked up to begin eating with, affixing the nobleman who spoke with an even stare.

"Are you Lords aware of what transpired in this keep after my brother Rob Stark was brutally murdered at the Red Wedding?"

This was met with a series of frowns and a great deal of head shaking for the most part; while aware that the Boltons had claimed the keep, few knew more than this.

She continued, "Petyr Baelish, whom you all now know to be a backstabbing, manipulative traitor, married me to the Bolton family in yet another bid for his own agendas."

Another nobleman down the table raised his hand politely, "Yes milady but on your first day of taking Ramsay as prisoner, you renounced his family name."

Sansa nodded, "Indeed I did; I recognized no authority concerning the edicts of Tomin Lannister, himself a bastard, as it related to Ramsay being given a family title, but regardless of whether I married him a Bolton or a bastard, we were still married."

Ramsay's eyes widened at this line of thought and there were gasps among those assembled as nobles present caught on to where she was headed with this reasoning.

The noble across from them stiffened further, his mouth becoming a tight line at the notion she presented. It was obvious he knew her meaning, but she spelled it out anyways, making sure that all knew her stance without doubt, "We are still betrothed, and since he was a bastard when we married, he instead took my family name."

Ramsay sat in a state of shock, glancing over to see that Jon's hands were tightening into fists upon the table. Despite his support for his sister, even he was having trouble swallowing what it was that she was saying. Ramsay didn't know what it was that Sansa had brought him here for, but he never thought it would be to name him 'Ramsay Stark'.

She must have known that this conversation would happen, he realized. Bringing him to the table had just been a clever manner of broaching the subject subtly. Jon had already supported her decision thus far now, so he couldn't risk argument lest he seem indecisive, which is a poor quality for a king, though Ramsay could see that he was just as upset as many others present.

After several long moments of awkward silence had passed and it became clear that Jon was not going to openly object Sansa's statement the noble that had led the argument against Ramsay set his utensils down and stood, glaring across the table at Ramsay, "Well, I suggest then that you annul your marriage by having him executed for his many crimes."

Sansa stood as well at the blatant gesture of disrespect to the Stark table, glaring at the noble just as hard as he glared at her declared husband, "I was very clear when I first interred Ramsay into this keep as to my intentions regarding him and the reasoning behind them. He was and is a prisoner of this House and your king."

The noble glanced back at her again, some of his resolve waning as he glanced over to Jon, whom had leaned back into his chair to watch the debate, his finger idly touching his lip thoughtfully but with no indication that he meant to interject in any way to weigh in on the situation discussed. At last the noble snorted irritably.

"Very well; we can all agree that your House suffered more than any other by the hands of this madman, but please keep in mind that this does not refute the harm he has done to others. Every day I hear stories of other atrocities coming to light that this psychopath is responsible for, including the rape and murder of women in the woods and even the slaughter of a helpless baby…"

A murmur swept through the room that let Ramsay know that tales of his more secretive acts with Reek and less hidden, more recent murder of his newly born baby brother had indeed gotten around, since none of the faces present looked at all shocked to hear the news. Some of them even shook their heads, convinced of the truth of it.

Ramsay's jaw clenched and he stared down at the table in front of himself. He didn't dare to look up at Sansa now, afraid of what her reaction to hearing these crimes so directly might be. More than this, his heart hammered in his chest for a simple reason; why in the world did it seem so important to him that she cared to protect him? Was he really such a coward?

To his surprise, she continued to defend him, her voice ringing through the room in its usual tone of clarity and authority, "I am well aware that Ramsay is a criminal charged with many heinous crimes. I stated publicly that one of the reasons he is allowed to live is so that he may continue to atone for his wrongs. I did not bring him here to reintroduce him to court."

Her eyes scanned the room, as if to make sure that she had everyone's attention before she spoke again, which she did, "I have only pointed out that he is still husband to me by the laws of the land, but I fully intend to treat him more like a ward than nobility. He is a liability yes, but one which I have shouldered personally, so I ask the court to trust me."

Another rumble of low voices caught in isolated conversations, and the thin noble at last spread his hands in defeat, seating himself respectfully once more with a look of resignation plastered to his face, "Very well milady, though I sincerely doubt that I speak only for myself in saying perhaps you lavish too much on one whom is to us now a murderous sycophant."

Sansa nodded to him as she also resumed her seat, "Your reluctance has been duly noted, but I assure you that the only reason he sits here is so that I may more closely and personally monitor his behavior. Should he ever be so foolish so as to abuse his fortunate place at this table, you should be happy to know you will only be able to observe his swift remand more closely."

Ramsay shrank physically into his seat, chagrined that Sansa and the others spoke so openly about him and his fate while he himself felt compelled to remain silent. It wasn't that he didn't want to chime in; no, it was that he was savvy enough to realize that doing so would likely do far more harm than good, plus this way he observed Sansa's opinion of him.

He wasn't at all certain why it was that he valued Sansa's opinion, or cared what she might think of him beyond perhaps how it affected his own rate of survival, but Ramsay was past ignoring that part of himself that did in fact care, perhaps even deeply. He could not deny that he had started worrying over her…

He frowned miserably when Sansa made it clear that he was not being reinstated into nobility by merit of his new Stark name, and hated that she used the word 'ward', which ironically now placed him very much in the same position under Sansa that Theon Greyjoy had been under when he had been ward of the previous Stark lord of Winterfell, Ned Stark.

A hand laid itself lightly upon his arm and stirred Ramsay from his deep thoughts. Sansa was looking at him when his blue eyes found the owner of that hand, "You are just pushing food around upon your plate; eat your fill if you will so that we do not tarry here overly long; we still have a long evening ahead of us and I would be on our way."

Ramsay began eating, trying his best not to show how perturbed he was any longer, and also attempting not to look around at the nobles who shared the table with him. He could practically feel their eyes boring into him as he continued the simple act. He couldn't help but dwell on the 'remand' that Sansa had mentioned, which put him in a foul mood.

It made him feel like even her request that he finish his food might be a command with consequences should he dare to question it, at least it felt that way under the scrutiny of so many enemies in his highly embarrassed state. He had to wonder if Sansa would deign to go so far as to actually spank him in front of all present…

He shuddered at the thought; a truly terrible notion. True, she had publicly humiliated him from the very first of his imprisonment within Winterfell, but that made the idea of having to repeat that same experience in front of these men, some of whom had not been present the first time she did it, by no means any more appealing.

Ramsay sped up his eating, scarfing down the last of his food without really bothering with the luxury of tasting it; he was even less interested in still being here than Sansa was now. Once finished Sansa bid those at the table good evening, giving Jon the slightest nod of her head before rising from the table and bidding Ramsay to follow.

He hurried along, doing his best to not look annoyed that she called him along after her as if he were a lapdog. She took him with her as she toured the keep, holding numerous small meetings with various members of the house, a few other nobles, and a few select servants. The tasks she was seeing to were mundane, but Ramsay was glad for the stretch.

It was nice to have access readily to so much fresh air. Despite still being within the keep's walls, Ramsay was overjoyed to be out of the cramped enclosure of four walled rooms, at least. It was amazing really how easy it was to take such a small thing as the tiniest freedoms for granted. He hung back mostly, ignoring most of what was said.

There wasn't really anything of import to listen to, after all; Sansa mostly discussed import or export of various foodstuffs, preparations for winter and a host of other less than exciting banality that came with being an overseer of such a large community plus a garrison or three of various soldiers. Mostly the people she saw ignored him too.

Mostly, anyways, though Ramsay noted on several instances that he was being spied from his position behind Sansa, and he took an inordinate amount of pleasure in staring back, perhaps even smiling at the more awkward servants. He did so enjoy it when their expressions betrayed not just curiosity but also a bit of apprehension.

After he had done this a few times, though, Sansa seemed to catch on that he was intentionally causing unease in her more skittish servants and commanded him to apologize to the young tanner's apprentice that he had most recently been terrorizing with a look that he liked to imagine said 'I'm going to find you later while you're sleeping'.

Flushing with humiliation, Ramsay had coughed and stammered out an awkward apology as he stared at the muddy ground below his feet. Sansa seemed satisfied with this act, fortunately, and went about her business as usual, while Ramsay for his part made no more attempts whatsoever to befuddle or scare her subjects.

Once all was said and done, Sansa gave Ramsay one last scolding for his misbehavior, telling him in a voice that he felt was far too loud and carried through the cold air too well that she was disappointed in him and that he was lucky she hadn't decided to spank him right there and then. This admonition was interrupted by Jon, who approached clearing his throat, "A word?"

Ramsay stood aside as the other two began their conversation, which he quickly discovered was to be about him. Not at all surprising, really, but no less uncomfortable. Jon wore a frown upon his face that spoke of all of the roiling questions and opinions that he had kept locked away behind a benign expression when they had been at dinner.

Mostly though Ramsay would guess that anger was the predominant expression, as well as perhaps surprise and confusion, "What was all of that back there…? You know as well as I and every other member of every great House of the north that annulling your marriage to Ramsay isn't even trivial in difficulty…"

Sansa's hands folded in front of her and her back straightened as she turned to face Jon with a neutral face. She did not reply but instead waited until he had said what he came to say in full. Jon continued, "He was married to you by Bolton decree backed by the approval of a king we do not and never have recognized."

Jon let loose an exasperated noise as he made a broad gesture of defeat at Sansa's apparent lack of care for the issue, "Why did you even marry him to begin with? I had assumed that you were still caught up in the back end of what happened in King's Landing; but when you claim now that you wish to retain your partnership…"

He shook his head, his eyes flitting around, giving him the look of a man who was searching for some hidden answer or attempting to find a clue to a difficult puzzle, "…I just don't know now what it is you are doing." He shook a finger at her with one gloved hand, "Also, don't think that I don't know that you announced that the way you did on purpose."

The King in the North looked very frustrated; something that might have amused Ramsay if not for the fact that said frustration could currently end up getting him killed. He loved seeing Jon at wit's end, but not when it pertained to Ramsay's survival. Ramsay tensed up, getting the feeling that this all might still end with a headsman's block.

The black-clad king went on, "I don't appreciate that you undermined me like that; I believe you knew that I would object to this and maneuvered to put me in my own way."

Sansa finally nodded now at this last accusation, "I admit that I did just that, but I assure you it is only because I couldn't trust you to see things my way…"

Leather creaked as Jon's hands balled into tight fists at his sides, and his jaw worked with latent anger. It was clear that Sansa had been about to say something else, but when she saw the hurt furious expression on his face she quieted, her gaze turning downward in obvious guilt for her decision. Jon waited some long moments to speak.

When he finally did his voice was low, almost a whisper, "We have to trust each other if we are going to survive; father always told us that. You didn't trust me; you worked around me and put us at odds with each other rather than trusting me. I'm going to trust you though, if only because we have to survive this and what comes after this."

He pointed a gloved hand at Ramsay, "I'm going to trust that you can keep him in line, and that he doesn't bring even more harm down on what little is left of our family. I cannot promise that I will not end his life if I even suspect him of treachery, so I suggest that he is kept impeachable in his manner." He turned his gaze to Ramsay, "You had best behave."