Chapter Sixteen

Getting One's House in Order

The next day found Ramsay standing in the audience hall listening to the affairs of court such as they were for the north. Sansa insisted that he stand to the back of her despite the frowns and unspoken objections that passed over the faces of many of those gathered. One of the first things that Ramsay noticed was that Jon had summoned almost everyone.

Nearly every official of even somewhat high standing was present, including representatives for most of the Houses if not the actual heads of each House themselves. They all watched in rapt attention as Jon quietly walked to the center of the room and read a scroll to them all sent to him by crow from Daenerys Stormborn.

Apparently, the message within stated that the foreign empress had returned to Westeros to seize the crown lost by her father the Mad King, and that the impudent bitch actually expected the newly crowned King of the North to travel himself down to Dragon's Reach where her forces had recently landed and bend his knee in submission.

Ramsay couldn't help but chuckle at the balls on that woman, which of course drew quite a few ugly looks from those assembled, his voice carrying very well in the respectful hush that had fallen to allow Jon room to read the message. Jon turned to glare at Ramsay and the latter sheepishly ducked his head, staring at his feet with his hands passively behind his back.

Fortunately for Ramsay other voices quickly chimed in, eager to contest the very thought of their king doing something so incredibly stupid. Jon barked out a command for silence to hush the dissenting voices and explained in a calm but loud voice how important it was that they win the coming war against the Night King and his legion of undead soldiers.

The room grew somber as he reminded all present that they simply didn't have the men to hold the north alone, even if it hadn't been for all the recent warring they still didn't have a force ready to combat a foe who could raise the fallen to add to his ranks. Also, he mentioned that the mountain Daenerys sat upon was made of something called dragonglass.

Apparently, this ebony stone would actually kill the risen dead where normal steel weapons would fail. The only other route to destroying such unholy abominations was listed as being fire, which he then reminded everyone that Daenerys had in triplicate with her three fully grown dragons. Even one of the beasts could wreak havoc on the Night King's forces.

Objections arose, of course; after all, Jon's own family had suffered extensively at the hands of the Mad King in a series of events that had led to the rebellion against that monarch's rule, and many were quick to judge the daughter by the actions of the father. Not only this, but she had brought a horde of foreign invaders with her, that alone a damning action.

As far as many in the room were concerned, she was a heathen witch who wished to burn her way across Westeros, leaving a trail of cinders akin to what her father had attempted with his dying breath. Jon had to shout to get the room calm again, and Ramsay was surprised to see Sansa stand to object against her brother with the others.

Ramsay smiled; seeing Sansa turn on Jon in any way caused him pleasure in having the opportunity to see a bit of chaos introduced to the bastard king's life. Being that she was the only blooded Stark still alive to everyone's knowledge, her voice also carried more weight than the others, and her objections weighed on Jon, who looked exhausted already with politics.

She spoke of Targaryen treachery and madness much as the others had begun to rumble around her, but being a direct descendent of the Stark lord whom had been murdered by the Mad King gave her opinion of the damage caused more worth. She emphasized she thought this a trap, aligning with the others in the room, making it clear that only Jon thought this wise.

Ramsay couldn't help but agree; Jon was being unreasonably stupid despite the dangers he spoke of; only a madman would put himself willingly into enemy hands on the hope of appealing to their better nature. Jon persisted, though, making it clear that he was going and that was that. When Sansa told him that he needed to be with his people he informed her that they would have her.

Sansa seemed surprised by the transfer of power but Ramsay was less shocked; there was really no one else for Jon to rightfully hand power to upon his absence after all. He was smiling even wider now; he very much enjoyed that Jon was likely off to get himself killed doing something pointlessly stupid while his wife attained supremacy over Winterfell.

Sure, the way that she constantly downplayed his position took a bit of the wind out of that sail, but he was in some way elevated by this he thought. Perhaps it was all in his mind, but Ramsay could not help but dream now of the day when he rightfully ascended to his place as master of Winterfell beside Sansa, and once more Warden of the North…

He snapped out of his reverie when Sansa finally turned to address him as the meeting began to disperse; Jon had not given room for anyone to even speak in contest of his final decision. He had simply walked out of the room, leaving the rest to do as they will. When it was clear that Sansa had nothing further, a murmur filled the room, and some began to file out.

Ramsay jumped when Sansa broke his train of thought and shattered his daydreams by grabbing his arm and whispering at him harshly; "Do not think that I don't know that you were not minding your manners as you stood behind me there just because my back was turned." Ramsay opened his mouth to respond but she spoke over him, "I saw those before me distracted by you several times."

"I was simply smiling!" he said in his defense, a little appalled that she was being so aggressive when he himself had said nothing during the meeting.

Sansa shook her head, "That was completely unacceptable during that meeting; there was no matter worth smiling over. Don't pretend you don't know the first thing of decorum in court."

Ramsay was just about to reply to this statement when Sansa reinforced the seriousness of her displeasure by giving him a swift and quite public swat on the backside. He jumped, snapping his mouth shut and feeling his face begin to burn in open shame. Sansa gave him a steely look and spoke slowly, "Don't do it again."

They were standing close together, and though the sound of that physical admonition had been of the loudest sort to Ramsay's ears, he could only hope that the dispersing throng hadn't been drawn to the noise. The room was filled with the growing sound of many voices speaking, so he could only hope that drowned out the noise of his quick rebuttal.

He simply nodded quickly, not wanting to add any more dialogue to the scene that Sansa had started over his smiling at Jon's expense. The reproach faded from her eyes and she pointed, "Come, we have a lot of work to do in finding out all of the details I'll need to know in order to properly run Winterfell, never mind prepare her for the coming winter."

The hours that followed this entailed a great deal of boring interactions with yet more uninteresting laymen. Ramsay had never enjoyed taking part in such meetings, and was fairly certain that his own father had delegated such tedious conversations to someone of lesser rank within the House. Sansa would hear none of his suggestions though.

"It's best to speak to the smallfolk personally, especially when morale is so very low; it helps to build a relationship of trust between a lord and his servants. At least that is what my father has told me. At the time I was too young to understand exactly what he meant, but I see here in this keep many faces that carefully watch to see if we give a damn for their welfare."

Ramsay scoffed at her words, "It isn't a lord's concern whether or not the peasants are happy; their fucking peasants, they'll always find something new to gripe about while you scramble around trying to please them. Also, from what I've heard of the affair concerning your father I couldn't be troubled with whatever 'advice' such a naïve man might have provided you."

Sansa whirled on Ramsay, her eyes flashing with a definitive look of insulted indignation. She dismissed the farmer they had been speaking with and turned back to Ramsay with a slow sigh that spoke of her effort in remaining calm. Ramsay had grown tense, even stepping back when she had first shot him that look of disdain.

His hands were clasped together now as he worried one against the other in an obvious sign of apprehension as he waited to see what she would say, and ultimately how much trouble his bold statement had gotten him into. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again; she looked furious and any attempt to explain his reasoning might make things worse.

"Ramsay, I know you have a lot to learn about how we Starks do things, and that you never knew my father, but I assure you that he was not naïve. He was honorable, and even more than that he was a good man. In the end he gave up even his honor to protect his family, and it cost him his life. That did not make him a fool; it made him extremely brave."

Her eyes had become a bit wet Ramsay thought, but before he could see if she might be on the verge of tears she turned to continue calmly walking along the path to the next task speaking as she did so, "Some say he was a fool for trusting the wrong people, but I would never fault a person for extending trust; the fault always lies with the betrayer of that trust."

When she turned to look at him again there was no sign of tears, but instead a hardness in her gaze that cut to the center of him, "My father was murdered by snakes who enjoyed playing games with the lives of others, and even if I am denied the opportunity to repay them for what they've done, I am certain they can't escape their own webs."

She paused for a long moment then on that old beaten dirt path, Ramsay staring at her, wondering what it might be that had deterred her from her usual persistence in seeing to the day's scheduled meetings in a timely fashion. At last, she started moving again along their route, but the thoughtful look never passed as if she were suddenly pondering many things.

Ramsay could only hope none of those things had anything to do with him; he was still waiting for her to suddenly declare punishment for his less than thoughtful words before, but to his relief it seemed he was not the one who was currently flitting about in her thoughts, "I'm going to add one more stop to tonight's meetings. I want to have a chat with Petyr Baelish."

Petyr had not been treated nearly as well as he might have expected a lord to be treated. When Jon Snow had declared his arrest, he had been led to a dark cell of the keep and thrown inside rather roughly. His clothing was now dirty, and he was not being given food and drink befitting someone of his rank. Worse, the guards ignored him.

Many times he demanded the right to speak to Jon about his right to a fair trial, and many times the men standing watch did not even bother to look his way, as if they were deaf, or he was speaking another language entirely. It didn't take much of this sort of insolence before he completely lost his composure cursing and yelling at them.

This was just as thoroughly ignored though, and Petyr finally gave up after he had screamed at them until his throat felt raw with the effort of doing so. He sat dejectedly against the wall; Jon had not even had the courtesy of placing him into a cell with a cot. The only item of 'furniture' available was the wooden bucket serving as chamber pot in the corner.

He knew he would see a trial soon enough; Jon was a Stark and he knew their kind well. He would follow the rules as Starks always did and he would see a fair trial. Once he discovered whose hands he needed to grease if necessary, or paid whatever fine might be imposed upon him for tampering with a Stark prisoner, he would be free.

After all, Jon couldn't hold him forever over trying to have Ramsay Bolton assassinated, of all people. He fidgeted uncomfortably upon the stone that lay underneath him; he couldn't help but think of how Rob Stark had executed high-ranking nobles in his own army over the killing of several of his prisoners… Jon wouldn't sentence him to death over this, would he?

Even more bothersome in general was the news he heard through listening to the guards talking amongst themselves to pass the time late in the night; Sansa had declared Ramsay a Stark through his marriage to her! This raised question over whether Jon would consider his attempts on Ramsay's life an attack on their House.

Worse, it raised a great many irritating questions in his own mind as to what sort of relationship Sansa was having with her prisoner. Why in the world would she choose Ramsay Bolton over him, even after everything the man had done to her? These questions assailed him when he tried to rest and lead him to many sleepless nights.

On one of those evenings though, as he tossed and turned, wondering how fucking long it was going to take his connections to the Vale to get him free of the place, Sansa's voice suddenly filled the small space of his cell. Petyr leapt to his feet, surprise evident in his face when he noted that the Lady Stark stood right outside of his prison.

"Petyr Baelish, I see that your confinement to this place has not treated you well; hopefully this bit of discomfort has given you incentive to be truthful. I have a few questions that I would like very much for you to answer."

He approached the cell door quickly, happy to speak to someone at last that might help him be free of the place.

"Lady Sansa, I would be overjoyed to answer any question you like with the utmost truth; you can trust me implicitly."

Sansa raised an eyebrow at this statement in an obvious expression of sincere doubt, but her words stayed to the point, "When you murdered my Aunt by pushing her out of the Moon Door back at the Vale, why did you do it?"

Petyr took on an air of shocked disbelief, raising his left hand to his heart in a universal sign of surprise, "Milady Sansa, I would never use such a word as hard as 'murder' to describe what befell your Aunt that tragic day back at the Aerie. What I did in pushing her to her death was a simple act of defense of you, since she was currently trying to throw you from the Moon Door."

Sansa shook her head in the negative at his reply, her voice steady and cold of emotion, "My Aunt was no longer trying to kill me when you pushed her; you only did so after interceding on my behalf and talking her down. When you delivered that underhanded fatal shove, she was still smiling at you, unaware of your murderous intent."

Petyr's face dropped all pretense of feigned innocence and his voice also grew distant and removed of the crime he was accused of, "I did what I had to do in your best interest. It brought me no joy to betray your Aunt like that but you saw how she was; if left alive she would have eventually done you grievous harm. She was insane!"

Once again Sansa shook her head at him, "Unhinged, perhaps, but no more so than one might expect a person to become considering the murder of her husband Jon Arryn. When she spoke to me I didn't sense true insanity, only a terrible jealousy towards me on account of the relations she thought I might be having with you…"

She tapped her finger against her chin as she said this last, watching as Petyr seemed to suddenly grow very uncomfortable with the flow of their conversation despite his best efforts to give off a calm demeanor. "Yes, she was madly in love with you if I recall; you had her very well wrapped around your… well, I'll avoid the pun, but you know of what I speak."

Petyr pulled at his collar as he responded, shifting from one foot to the other, "Yes, well… your Aunt and I had a very passionate engagement, though I think you know well enough that my relationship to her was entirely one that supported my desire to ascend in power; she held not a candle to you my dear. I stand by my assessment of her derangement."

Sansa continued to negate his claims, her expression darkening a bit, "Kind of you to admit that fact, as it only helps in supporting why it is that you insist on her lunacy; you were using my Aunt from the very beginning, and you intentionally kissed me where she would see it. You set the stage for her murder; you didn't just 'happen' across us at the Moon Door. You were there waiting; weren't you?"

His face paled a bit, but otherwise Petyr kept his composure, replying in even, measured words, "That is an interesting string of conjecture; but I think you are missing something in all of that… what is my motive to murder your Aunt at that time? I already had her loyalty, so why would I need to kill her to advance any further?"

Sansa replied quickly, "Because you didn't love her, as you already said. As many times as you have proclaimed desire for me, I would be a fool to think that you would consider my Aunt a part of the equation in our coupling. So, you arranged for her to die, leaving her boy of a son in charge of the Aerie; you get all the power by manipulating him instead without the unpleasant marriage."

Petyr scoffed, waving a hand dismissively at her words, "Really? What sort of cold-hearted monster do you think I am that I would kill a loyal friend for that reason alone?"

Sansa wasn't buying his routine, though, and she replied evenly, "I watched you order your men to murder a fisherman who had helped you secure me to your boat for less."

He opened his mouth and then closed it, no longer certain if what he had been about to say in the face of Sansa's accusations was going to measure up. Petyr had not expected her to bring up the cold-blooded murder of the dock worker that he had conscripted to ferry her to his boat the day that Joffry was poisoned at his wedding feast.

Honestly, while it could still be merited that killing that poor bastard had made certain he could not tell anyone who was looking where Sansa had been taken, Sansa would almost certainly not allow that particular reasoning to justify murder given her current mood on killing people. He cleared his throat, trying to sum it up, "It had to be done."

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, "Whatever you tell yourself so that you may sleep at night, though something tells me that you don't lose much sleep over the people you hurt as you climb the ladder of success toward the power you covet. So, you murdered my Aunt for what we shall call personal reasons… tell me, how long were you seeing her?"

His expression tightened, and Sansa seemed to be noticing that she was causing him to be nervous. To Petyr's dismay she seemed like she was enjoying the fact. "I only consummated my relationship with your Aunt as was required by law once we were married if you are accusing me of adultery as well of murder, I assure you that was not the case…"

"But I know as well as you that a relationship starts well before all of that for most, and I recall that the traditional period of mourning had only just passed when my Aunt pledged her vows to be your wife and take you as husband. Let's take what you said earlier about using my aunt to gain a step up politically and the fact that you don't mind murdering folk to get what you want…"

They both knew that this was what she had been alluding towards much of the conversation, so Petyr decided it was finally time to drop the pretenses and have her address her accusations directly. He took on an air of indifferent agitation, "Are you accusing me of murdering Jon Arryn, so that I could marry your Aunt?"

Petyr rolled his eyes at her, "If I was going to supplant a man in such a fashion for power, why not just murder Robert and woo Cersei?"

Sansa laughed at him, "Do you think I'm dense? You never have and never will have a chance with Cersei Lannister and you knew the rumors of her brother."

Before he could reply she continued, "I doubt you killed Jon with your own hands, you probably went so far as to have my weak-willed Aunt do it for you…"

His jaw had tightened at her words and she went on, her eyes reflecting that she had seen the truth in his expression, "She was easily manipulated, my Aunt. Though now we have a great deal more to explain…"

Petyr had underestimated this woman terribly and now he was at a loss as to what to say when so directly presented with an accurate guess as to his betrayals. The only thing he had now he realized was that Sansa was still only ruminating on conjecture; she had yet to obtain any sort of proof. Though at this rate he was on thin ice indeed.

Much had changed in this girl since she was the naïve little thing that Ned Stark had brought to King's Landing with him. He had gotten too used to her slowness to adapt to the violent politics that surrounded

her and failed to see her become a dangerous player in that game. He made his face a mask of disinterest, "Indeed, much of your theory holds no logic."

She gave him a look offhand that told him that she was not so easily detracted simply by having her argument contested, "Well, that's what we are here working out, isn't it? So, let's see… if you had Jon Arryn murdered to put the resources of the Vale at your disposal but didn't actually want my Aunt to be the one at your side…"

Her look of thoughtfulness continued as she pondered openly, "…then you would have wanted to somehow marry my mother whom you so desperately wanted, though as she was married to my father Ned Stark, you have to find a way to make her a widow first. So, the letter that my Aunt sent to warn us about a 'Lannister Plot' would have been your idea."

His blood rushed in his veins and his heart pounded in his ears, but Petyr worked hard to give her an almost disinterested look of feigned disbelief, "That's preposterous! While I have often done my best to instruct you in the matter of statecraft with an eye towards planning for all eventualities, there is no way I could have known your father would die."

Sansa stared at him for a long moment before replying, "You're right; you didn't know he would die, just as you didn't know that my mother would be murdered by the Frey's during the Red Wedding."

He smiled and started to say something dismissive, happy that Sansa was going to let the matter drop, but she talked over him, "You didn't know my father would die but you knew it was possible. You like to gamble. You probably chalked my mother's death up to a bad bet."

Petyr's face went stony again; she was almost correct. Many nights he had lain awake thinking about how he could have done things differently concerning Catelyn, which was an anomaly for Petyr; he had after all spent most of his life training himself to only ever look forward, to take his failures and successes as they came and ever be one step ahead.

However, Catelyn dying had been a crushing blow to that ideology, and even progressive Petyr had needed to reflect on the errors that led to such a tragedy. He had asked himself the one question so many times; how had he not anticipated that she would put herself in the line of fire? It was Catelyn after all, and he often wondered if he should have known better.

He often questioned whether it was in fact his fault that she had died. Usually when this terrible inner conflict surfaced, he would brush it away with a stance he found himself repeating internally like a defensive mantra; she had made her own bed by choosing the Starks over Petyr… she had made her own bed and then she had to lie in it, and he couldn't help that.

Such reasoning was harder to maintain in the face of Sansa's cold words concerning whether he even cared that her mother had died. Of course, he cared; Catelyn had been destined to be his, but cruel reality took her from him one final time. He decided that he didn't want to argue these feelings with Sansa, since they already made him feel shaky enough.

Instead, he tried to focus on the nature of her accusations, which were getting dangerously cohesive, "I'll admit that I have left a few things to chance, but the level of chaos you're talking about my having created intentionally would have been madness; I would have been risking everything on the mere chance that your mother would end up at my side."

Sansa watched him as he spoke, and Petyr was aware that despite the chill to the air that his face had become decidedly heated, and he worked not to fool with his collar or give any other obvious signs of his sudden anxiety. The way her eyes watched him though, they were part of the problem; it was like she was looking right through him.

When Sansa did at last speak, it was clear that she still dismissed all pretense on his part of his being innocent to any degree, "You forget how long I have had the opportunity to be witness to all of your schemes, both personally and through the words of so many others, Petyr Baelish. You instigated war because you believe you are very clever, not because you are mad."

"In fact, you are so very certain of your own cleverness, perhaps your ego never allowed you to consider that you might be putting my mother in danger. Still, given your history, I find it hard to believe you actually loved her or anyone else. You're a snake, and whatever it is that you thought to be love it certainly wasn't; love isn't self-serving."

That stung, since she was clearly representing both what he had previously told her concerning his fondness for her mother and the burgeoning love he had professed to have for Sansa herself. Petyr had so many times told himself and reminisced on the love he had held for Catelyn Stark, and he knew he wanted Sansa… why couldn't she understand?

At last he found words again after the stinging blow to his character, "Well… I had rather hoped you would have an at least slightly more favorable opinion of me after all that I have done on your behalf…"

Her eyes flashed with an anger that caused Petyr to take a step back in surprise despite the bars that separated them, "Favorable? You call murdering my Aunt's husband and by proxy my father a favor?"

He retorted quickly, "I'm entertaining your speculations but please remember these flights of fancy you are having are conjecture, while the aide I provided you in helping you escape King's Landing was very real!"

She pointed an angry finger at him, "You whisked me away all right, so that I could play my part in your little games. I'm not sure how you intended to deal with Cersei, but I'm positive you've planned on using Stark ancestry to boost yourself to the iron throne for some time now."

She paused, "You had that ship waiting on the water to leave immediately after Joffrey's death. That man who led me to you, he had to have received instruction well before the poison took the king." Her brow furrowed in irritated realization, "I can't believe I never even thought about it before, but it's obvious now that you were involved in that assassination in the first place."

Another angry finger was jabbed between the bars at Petyr, stabbing him in the chest accusingly, "Which means that all you were really doing in pulling me out of that mess was preventing me from being collateral damage as a wrongful suspect in his murder, like that poor dwarf, Tyrion. You were only cleaning your own mess, and once again, only because it benefitted you. I didn't see you whisking Tyrion away."

Petyr's brow furrowed at the tone of her voice, "The Imp? You would have had me kidnap the Lannister whom Cersei would have been clawing to destroy once her son died? I think this is just one more example of your erroneous reasoning; accusations of regicide aside, I think you must know that I saved whom I could in that volatile situation."

Sansa huffed, "That's exactly what I meant; even your defense of your actions is in showing that you wouldn't act selflessly. Lord Tyrion was kind to me after I was forced to marry him; despite being strangers and despite his reputation he was more considerate of my well-being than you have ever been with all of your claims of loving me. You traded me to the Boltons!"

Ramsay cleared his throat from behind Sansa. He had watched this discourse quietly thus far, but now he had the distinct impression that perhaps Sansa had forgotten his presence. Not only that, but he feared that the conversation was about to take a turn for the worse concerning his own part played in the events that the other two were recounting.

Petyr startled, squinting to take in Ramsay where he stood in the shadows behind Sansa. Normally he was more perceptive of such things, but Sansa had commanded his full attention since the moment she had made her presence in the room known to him, and he had managed to overlook the simple fact that she had not arrived alone.

Petyr had reacted, but Sansa did not, not even slowing in her dialogue with Petyr to so much as recognize Ramsay's attempt to butt in. Ramsay was certain she had heard him; the fact that she paid him no heed meant that she both remembered that he was still there and that she didn't care if he was present for what she had to say.

Her counterpart in the argument behind the bars had not been able to marshal a response to her scathing words last spoken between the way she delivered them and the fact that Ramsay had provided a momentary but poignant interruption of thought. She was far from done chewing him a new one though, "You have often gloated over your ability to read people; tell me that you didn't know Ramsay for what he was."

Petyr stammered a moment, trying to gather his thoughts in the face of her growing fury, quiet but severe as it was, "It was an important political alliance… the only way that we could return you to court without risking threat from Cersei, since she felt the Boltons to be her allies…" he glanced over at Ramsay, "Obviously you seem to have changed your mind about them?"

Her face was still calculatingly difficult to read, but the smoldering anger remained in her voice, "Ramsay still raped me and hurt me, and his father still did nothing to stop it, and you still left me to that fate, not so much as a letter of explanation." Ramsay was cringing at her words, and Petyr could tell from the way that he stared at the ground that something had certainly changed in the dynamic of their relationship.

"Whether I have the former Lord Bolton here now or not should have little bearing on the hardships I still endured on account of you."

Petyr licked his lips; he was approaching the bottom of the barrel in things he might say in his own defense. Sansa's memory was impeccable in remembering his many offences.

"Lady Sansa, I'd have you remember that when… this man…" he said, gesturing to Ramsay where the other man stood, "…took your brother Rickon Stark prisoner and sent you threat of his death if you didn't face him in a hopelessly outmatched battle, it was I who answered your call for aide and mustered the troops of the Vale to your side!"

She shook her head at him, her scowl showing that she didn't mind entirely if she showed him how much he disgusted her, "Those soldiers only marched for you because you murdered my Aunt and her husband, to a war that only existed because you sowed contention between the Lannisters and my family, whereas otherwise the Boltons would still be banner men of my father."

"Proof!" screamed Petyr, at his wits end as to what to say about the bold truths she had managed to speculate, "Still I have yet to see or hear any sort of proof of any of the things that you profess to know despite not beholding any of it in person…"

"I watched you kill my aunt with my own eyes! You are already going to be tried for murder, the penalty of which is death!" Her eyes blazed, and Petyr finally went silent.

Sansa relaxed visibly. Ramsay noted that Petyr's stunned silence seemed to be a balm to her foul mood, perhaps, or at the very least she was finally getting the reaction she had been hoping to see as a proper response to her allegations. The man's face had gone ashen, and his mouth was a tight line; it was clear that he had no further defense to offer.

She had decided that he was guilty and that was that, regardless of what he might say. Demanding proof for the validity of the other crimes really was meaningless since the ultimate price was already at stake for the one action she herself stood as witness to. Ramsay had seen this look many times; this was the face of a man who faces a true look at his own mortality and impending death.

As a person fond of creating that look in a plethora of victims, Ramsay had become acquainted with its particular feel, and he smirked at the sight of it. He had gotten a strong vibe of superiority and smugness from Petyr the last time that they had spoken, when the two of them had both exchanged mutual lies despite both knowing the other was a liar.

Seeing Petyr scared now was a rare treat really considering how long he had to go without enjoying such sport. However, as he grinned at the sight he noted Sansa had turned her head to glower at him. The smile fell from his face quickly as he turned his head down to stare at his feet. Sansa was obviously not pleased with his attitude, and he was suddenly walking on thin ice.

Thankfully for Ramsay, she turned her attention away from him back to Petyr after a long moment's time had passed, "You will receive a trial for all that you have done and be given the opportunity to throw yourself at my mercy in a day's time, Petyr Baelish. Until then, I suggest you spend your time considering how clever you actually are and whether further lies will aide you."

Petyr opened his mouth and then closed it before speaking in the universal sign of a man who wanted to speak but whom was conflicted on what to say due to the strain of the moment, "Wait… Sansa, it's clear there are terrible misunderstandings between us on my disposition towards you, I swear that everything I've done was for your good as well as mine!"

She wasn't hearing his words though, and was already turning to leave, beckoning Ramsay to follow along with her. Seeing her spurn him yet again while in the same motion inviting Ramsay to stay close to her spurred more of the same jealousy that he had felt before which had led him to try to have that man killed and thusly put him behind those bars.

This emotion swirled in together with the sea of other terrible feelings that swept over him like a wave and he reached his hand between the bars in a desperate, imploring gesture as he yelled after the retreating form of Sansa Stark, "Sansa, please! Sansa, wait…!" But she did not wait, and several moments later Petyr was left alone with his thoughts once again.