(It's been a while since these stories have been updated, and I'm sorry for that. I've been a bit down for months now and haven't been writing much. Thankfully, Jason has still been going pretty strong, and so I have two chapters and an epilogue to give you just in time for Christmas. All is Fair in Love and War has been completed, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have. Wishing you all the very best as well as a happy holiday! *hugs and snugs*)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Deep Water
It felt like an exceptionally long walk back, even though it wasn't terribly far despite the size of the castle, due mainly to the fact that Ramsay was feeling just as much like a prisoner now as he had weeks back before Sansa had allowed him the freedoms he had lately been enjoying due to good behavior, perhaps even more so now.
After all, he had the taste of the ability to leave his room fresh in his mouth, and now he had to return to the terrible boredom and frustration that came with being stuck in one place unable to leave. To make it worse, he was being dragged there by his newest jailor, and though no one in the halls or courtyard seemed to pay them mind…
He felt like their eyes were stealing glances at him, taking in his latest fall from grace, mocking him for yet another failure to avoid things like these. He stared hard at the ground, trying his best to walk as casually as he possibly could with Brienne tugging him along the way she did, half dragging him upon the balls of his feet at times.
Upon arriving at the room Brienne gave him an unceremonial push and Ramsay had to catch himself to avoid tripping to crash upon the floor. Sansa was not there currently, perhaps having left to attend to matters of court. Brienne pointed at Ramsay, as if somehow he wouldn't know it was he that she addressed, "Behave."
She then stepped outside of the room, but Ramsay had a feeling that she was merely waiting just outside of the door for him to dare to leave against her command. In a fit of impotent rage he cursed excessively as he snatched a pillow from the bed and slammed it across the room. He had thought to kick over a chair or something, but prudence kept him from it.
Even in his current state of elevated agitation, he almost knew that if he did anything that might merit as reckless destruction of any kind, like endangering the furniture… that Brienne was going to storm in and make his day even more miserable. The fact that he knew this to be the case and that it affected his actions was maddening in its own right.
He sat heavily and dejectedly in the chair instead of kicking it, feeling defeated and helpless. He tried to gear his mind in a manner that he might think his way out of this mess, but cunning plans were how he'd spun the web he'd trapped himself in. If he had just left Brienne alone and allowed her time to become bored with him, she might have eventually left him be.
But no, he had insisted on creating conflict and justifying all of her reservations, perhaps even proving them in her mind; he was nothing more than a snake in the bed that needed to be removed. Now Ramsay would never be free of her, he thought dourly. He glanced out at the open entryway to the room, so close and yet so far from freedom.
He had become too used to the few privileges Sansa had allowed him, he realized; he should have realized the potential cost of his gamble as losing such again, as he had. Ramsay had only just been put back into the confines of these quarters and already he felt it just as suffocating and restrictive as he had before.
His mind wandered over what he might say to Sansa to get her to perhaps move Brienne away so that he might wander out again, or in some other way occupy the big woman, but he knew that Brienne would be listening intently to anything he might say to Sansa, and he was not eager to earn himself punishment that way.
Frustration was the order of the day, and only mounted ever further in Ramsay as he sulked moodily, crossing his arms over his chest in a dejected stance upon his seat. He could only wonder what Brienne might say to Sansa concerning the fact that he was restricted to the room once more. He assumed Sansa would have to notice eventually.
The next day found Ramsay waking to something being thrown upon him in his sleep. He shouted in surprise, startling in his bed and scooting himself back to the headboard as he hurriedly looked to see what had so suddenly landed upon him. It was a rough brown sack, and when he looked to see where it had come from he locked eyes with Brienne.
She stood over the bed he shared with Sansa glaring down at him, her pale eyebrows knitted in patient disdain, "There are clothes more fit for extended time spent outside than what you currently own in that bag as well as the tools you will be needing. Get dressed."
Ramsay snorted derisively, "What? Exactly what do you think it is that you are going to be making me do?"
For a moment it had seemed that Brienne might move away after saying the bit about him getting dressed, but she stopped and turned on him at the sound of indignation in his voice. She leaned in close, causing Ramsay to press himself a little flatter against the headboard behind him to retreat from her scowl, "You'll do as I say, or this morning will be the day you find out what I'm willing to do when you don't obey."
His lips trembled with ill-suppressed anger, but in the end Ramsay looked away, slowly and reluctantly sliding himself from the bed to root through the bag for the items she demanded him to wear. As he might have expected, it was a suit of winter clothes fit only for a peasant. He growled as he began to gear up, wondering what Brienne was up to as he did.
"You've got to be kidding me." Ramsay made as certain as he could that Brienne could hear the way he felt about this in his voice. His tone challenged what she was doing, for in this he felt that Brienne must know she was pushing the boundaries of what she could convince him to do on threat of violence alone. He snorted derisively at the sight before him.
They both stood in front of the small stables that resided within the interior wall of the keep proper. In front of Ramsay were quite a few hay bales that had recently been unloaded from a cart and set upon the floor of the open-aired stable. Currently Brienne was extending a pitchfork towards him, her other hand still pointing up.
His eyes followed that gesture to the loft a good six feet above the floor of the stable, at least a head taller than Ramsay himself. She wasn't moving, her gaze fixed on him and her jaw set in a manner that suggested she wasn't interested in negotiating the command she had just given. Ramsay's hands balled into angry fists.
"How do you know I won't just run you through with that pitchfork…? I thought you had reservations about arming me?"
Brienne's eyes narrowed, "I wouldn't suggest you try. This isn't a proper weapon even in the hands of a soldier; it is a tool, and you will now use it to move that hay as I instructed."
Again Ramsay locked eyes with the woman who antagonized him, and yet again moments passed in which he grit his teeth and thought to rebel more directly, but as before he broke eye contact first, knowing what was on the line should he fail to obey. It had not escaped his notice that the nearby stable boy was watching them.
The only thing that could humiliate him more than what Brienne had insinuated doing to him would be her doing it publicly, here in the courtyard where there would be several witnesses, for Ramsay doubted she would politely retreat to a more private location to punish him. His face flushed with a unique combination of anger and humiliation.
In the end, he took the pitchfork and shambled forward, joining the stable boy whom was already stabbing and them heaving the hay bales up onto the upper floor of the building. It was heavier than he expected, and unwieldy as well, causing him to waver quite a bit as he unsteadily went about the labor he had been forced into.
Ramsay had pretended at menial work for a short while before, to fool Theon Greyjoy into thinking that he was a simple servant, but honestly Ramsay had done very little in way of work for the better part of his life. His mother had let him do as he wished as long as he stayed out of sight, and his father had done more of the same while also allowing Ramsay the comforts of a lord.
Now though Ramsay was expected to move these bales of hay, which despite their relatively small size and being made of hay, were a great deal heavier than he might have anticipated. His arms and shoulders strained as he attempted to match the pace of the stable worker, and a dull ache soon formed that forced him to slow.
He felt soon enough that he would not be able to summon the energy to work at that pace and slowed dramatically, the anger he had been using to throw himself into the work dulled by the intensity of the physical exertion needed. He was tired now, and his level of irritation at being forced to do the job in the first place continued to grow.
Finally when it was clear that he was looking terrible at even having attempted to match the stable boy, whom continued the labor almost effortlessly, he stabbed his pitchfork into a bale and turned a baleful glare on Brienne, "Are you done humiliating me for today or was there something else you had in mind? I'm clearly not cut from the same cloth as this dung covered peasant."
Brienne gave him a look that suggested she didn't intend to let up on him at all, "After you have moved all of these bales I have a number of jobs you can assist with."
Ramsay growled through his teeth, flinching and continuing his work when Brienne began to move closer in a threatening motion, though.
"What exactly did you do, woman; did you wander all of Winterfell looking for the hardest labor you could put me to task at?"
She gave him a curt nod, overtly ignoring his scowled annoyance at her candid acceptance, "Yes I did. I believe a lot more of this is in order, in fact."
He did his best not to say anything for a while, moving as slowly as possible so as to conserve his strength, jumping in surprise when something hard and heavy swatted him across the backside. He whipped his head around in time to see that Brienne had swatted him with the scabbard of her sword, "Pick it up; we've both a lot to do, and I'll not have you making him do all the work, Ramsay."
Ramsay's mouth opened and then shut as he thought better than to continue the argument when she had already started things off with such a strong warning. He didn't doubt for a moment that she was simply waiting for him to give her an excuse to become violently and savagely physical in her demands within the space of a heartbeat.
For all of his protest, Ramsay did what he could to see the task done, if only so that he could put the stable boy behind him for the day. Ramsay had noted that the boy shot Brienne and especially him quite a few sidelong glances as he worked, and Ramsay could only seethe at what imagined slights the peasant was thinking of him.
By the time the bales were all put up Ramsay was far more exhausted than he had been for many a year. Only once during a particularly exhaustive hunt had he ever strained himself so. Another whack on his bottom by Brienne's scabbard caused him to jump, startled, just as he had attempted to lean against the stable wall to rest.
"We've plenty more to do; you'll be allowed to rest when you've completed enough work."
Ramsay shot her a tired look, "Are you serious? Give a man a moment to get his wind, will you; I've only just finished your first slavish task…"
She swatted him again and Ramsay was sent moving, grumbling but not loud enough for anything to be made out.
He wasn't exactly going to skip for joy to his next assignment, but at the same time, he wasn't foolish enough to object enough that Brienne might take his words as true dissention. As always, he feared what the yellow-haired woman might do to make an example of this even more than he feared more back-breaking work.
The next assignment turned out to be less exhaustive at least, as Ramsay was directed to remove a sanding brush from the bag that Brienne had given him that morning. Then he was set to sanding a group of rough tables and chairs that had apparently been assembled only recently by the smell of the freshly cut wood.
She didn't say much, other than to tell him to get out his tool and to point at the furniture, "Sand it down smooth."
At first he had been relieved, as the task was a great deal less of an exertion than having to ply that infernal pitch fork, but Ramsay soon learned that monotony and repetition was its own form of cruelty.
It was tiresome work, as he dragged the sanding brush over the wood again and again, noting very little change, "This is going to take forever."
Brienne grunted at him, "We don't have that long; you have much yet to do, so I suggest you pick up the pace so as to finish in a timely manner."
Ramsay had already been at the brink of his ability to cope with Brienne's games, and as he sat there performing that menial task, feeling the ache of unaccustomed labors in so many places throughout his body, he felt himself slip over the edge at this last reminder that the armored woman was just going to keep on pushing him.
There was a loud clattering sound as Ramsay threw the sanding brush down against the stone as hard as he could, "Fuck this nonsense! I'll not spend all of my day performing such labors under a power mad cow such as yourself. Let us take this to Lady Sansa, and see if she truly wanted for me to be so used, if you are so confident she'll agree with you!"
Quiet descended, as several other people in the courtyard of the keep stopped what they were doing to see the altercation. Brienne looked like she had been planning to give him another swift swat with her scabbard, but now she seemed to think better of it, setting it aside as she moved to confront Ramsay, "I am certain this isn't going to go your way."
She stood over him a moment, glaring down at him in a way that made Ramsay want to turn back to his work; she didn't look like she was bluffing. She hadn't said she would keep him from appealing to Sansa to stop her little program, though, and Ramsay thought he might sense that perhaps Brienne was simply hoping to bully him enough that he didn't try that route.
He stood his ground, glaring back at her with malice he didn't have to fake, and finally she sighed, "That was the final warning Ramsay; you really are a stupid little man."
Ramsay blinked as she threw this insult to his face, and then she was grabbing hold of him as he struggled to keep her from hauling him along with her. At first, he fought less, thinking that she took him to see Sansa, but when he saw she was seating herself nearby he fought fiercely, "N-no!"
Despite his frantic efforts to suddenly free himself Brienne's hold on him was like iron, and Ramsay found neither purchase nor leverage in which to gain the upper hand as she slowly pulled him into a position he had sadly come to know all too well, "Stop! I thought we were going to see Sansa; she may not approve of any of this!"
He had hoped that the desperation he felt would not bleed into his voice as he said this, but he could hear it himself that it had; things were spinning out of control too fast, and reigning in his own composure was proving an impossible task in the heat of the moment. Brienne only shook her head at him as she wrapped an arm around his waist.
Ramsay was entirely in her lap now as she sat upon one of the wooden chairs that Ramsay had been meant to sand down, and as her one hand secured his middle to her waist, the other drew back his pants, causing Ramsay to gasp at both the sting of the cold upon his exposed ass and the fact that she had just bared him publicly.
"I have Lady Sansa's full trust in all that I do with you, Ramsay. Your attempts to cause disruption between us are what landed you in this position, so if I so much as think that you are trying to play us against one another again this can only become worse for you. I have given you every warning; I don't even know how you manage to be surprised."
Feeling a wellspring of regret instantly flood him, Ramsay suddenly and passionately understood that he had made a terrible mistake in ruining the hard work he had put forth in getting this far without such a public rebuttal. It was as if he could feel the eyes of everyone present and even those that would soon be arriving to see the commotion, boring into him.
Judging him, all of them, peasants though most would certainly be. Brienne obviously felt that Sansa wouldn't stop this sort of thing, which Ramsay had of course feared, but even if Ramsay had been right and the Lady of Winterfell did disapprove of this punishment, it wasn't going to help him escape what she did right now.
Wild with need to escape such a situation before it can spiral even further out of hand, and stimulated even further by the painful swats Brienne now began to apply after having slipped her hand from her gauntlet, Ramsay screamed out in desperation, "W-wait! Alright, I will do the chores and whatever else you like, please only stop this!"
Brienne grunted at him in a tone that sounded like annoyance, pausing as she took his measure as he lay there looking at her from over his own shoulder, his face expressively pleading. His heart held out hope that she might let this first true offense slide, but the feeling faded as she shook her head once, "No. You will do the chores because you don't want this to happen again. I warned you."
Ramsay stared at her in an awed fashion as she went about continuing what was apparently going to be a prolonged punishment. It had been a good while since last Ramsay had faced a public humiliation like this one, so much so that he had nearly forgotten the intensity of the feeling it created in him. Nearly, at least; he remembered well enough now…
He had pressed further than he should have dared and it was in fact just as Brienne had said; she had warned him. He had allowed his distemperament and his uncomfortability rule him and now he was going to be in an even worse mood, and whatever labors that Brienne might have foisted upon him, none would make him less comfortable than this.
The irony was not lost on him that soon enough that dreaded conversation with Sansa was certainly going to happen, as news of what Brienne did to him so publicly reached her ears wherever she was; the castle wasn't all that big. The Lady of Winterfell would likely even be alerted to these goings-on quickly enough to see them before Brienne had her fill.
Knowing Sansa and the unique, difficult to anticipate reactions she had to persons like Ramsay and Petyr, she could very well decide that Brienne should punish him more regularly! He wasn't sure where his bravado from before had come from, likely all of it born from desperation and delusional ego; he was fairly certain now that Brienne was going to get a seal of approval for this…
He attempted to draw his own attention away from how he felt, both physically and otherwise as Brienne heedlessly continued her shaming work, but despite his usual aptitude for ignoring others he couldn't get the other people in the area out of his mind. Constantly he imagined them all staring at him, even as he fought the urge to look to affirm whether the feeling was true.
Ramsay squinted his eyes shut, as if the act would keep him from hearing the murmur of the growing throng of peasants who had gathered in the yard to watch the display. It certainly did not keep him from hearing Sansa Stark's voice when she suddenly chimed over the chorus of mixed voices, all going quiet so as to give her voice room.
Brienne's victim jumped at the stern tone that she used as Sansa's words washed over him, "Brienne? What exactly is going on here? What were you two about out here?"
Her gaze passed over the unfinished wooden furniture, glancing to the gathered small folk, and finally came to rest on the armored woman and her counterpart.
Brienne of Tarth hesitated for a moment, and then set her hand down upon Ramsay's rump casually as she turned to regard her mistress, as if she might have been doing something ordinary like sanding a chair, rather than tanning a grown man's hide in public with her own hand. "Lady Sansa, I had recruited Ramsay for some civil duties, and he grew disrespectful."
Sansa considered this response for a moment as Ramsay held his breath, hoping against hope that she would condemn this public display in some fashion, or at the very least relegate Brienne's punishment to a more private setting. Surely it wasn't civil for this sort of thing to happen out where everyone could see it, right?
But as Ramsay was aware that Sansa had in fact done this very sort of thing quite publicly to him on the very first day of her doing it to him, he knew in his heart of hearts that this wasn't going to be the case. He could see the answer in her eyes before she even began to speak, in the slight movements of the muscles in her jaw.
Ramsay groaned as her lips parted to give her answer, because he knew from so many subtle hints in Sansa's posture and tone after their time together that what she had to say was not what he wanted to hear, "I see. Continue as you are then, have Ramsay finish what tasks he was to complete, and then send him to my quarters, as I will have words of my own for him on this matter."
His heart sank even further into the depths of despair than it already had at the mood conveyed with Sansa's words; not only was this not going to halt, a fact that made him squirm reactively as Brienne reared back her hand to disturb the reprieve he had been given all too soon, but Sansa intended to add further to the sting was accruing here, he knew it to be so.
She had mentioned that Brienne was to send him to her quarters once he was done with his humiliating penance and degrading labors, but Lady Sansa Stark remained for the time being, folding her arms over her chest and relaxing into a stance that made it clear she intended to watch for a while, likely to see how Brienne performed.
Lady Brienne for her part renewed her task upon Ramsay's backside with vigor, apparently wishing to make up for the lost time during her short conversation with Sansa. Ramsay found that the little bit of rest he had gained as a result of that did not help him tolerate to continued efforts of the knight in the least; in fact, it almost felt like it had made things worse!
Desperately Ramsay attempted to no avail to place his mind away from the pain caused by Brienne as she stolidly swatted him, but her renewed efforts weren't anything that he could prepare for, and to his great shame once again he found himself squirming and wriggling in the armored woman's lap to the tempo of the sound of her hand firmly slapping his flesh.
It wasn't a pretty picture he knew; despite himself his mind wandered again and again to what must be running through the minds of the small folk who watched his humiliation so avidly, or what Brianne now considered as he grunted and hissed at the pain she levied upon him so constantly, or most importantly to Ramsay; what did Sansa think of him watching him as thus?
To say that all of the slights against him made by the Lady Brienne made him feel small would be a drastic understatement of the fact; she had set out to humble him today and she had succeeded quite thoroughly. He only wished that he had set upon the wisdom he needed earlier and simply acquiesced to her demands early on.
If he had then perhaps he would not be enduring the hardship that he was currently undertaking. If he had set aside his terribly misplaced pride for even a little while, Brienne might have gotten bored with watching him struggle to work for his crimes against her and ceased pushing him so hard. But he had resisted, as he always did, he thought bitterly.
Ramsay closed his eyes tightly against his bitter sentiments and grit his teeth against the seething pain of not only his duress physical but the agony of trying to deny the fact that he was even pitying himself; how was it that time and again he found himself in this situation? When would he finally wizen himself enough to avoid this?
Brienne seemed to feel that he had endured enough, or perhaps the fact that his struggling had ceased as he had withdrawn within himself caused her to be satisfied that he at least seemed properly compliant, because she suddenly pull his trousers back over his pained posterior and righted him abruptly, "Pick up your tools."
He numbly moved to comply, one hand absently moving back to rub at a tortured cheek as he grabbed the sanding brush he had dropped when Brienne had so roughly assaulted him, at the beginning of what had become a memorable event for many, most notably Ramsay. He glanced over to where Sansa had been but he saw that she had taken her leave.
Likely once Brienne had finished with him Lady Sansa had decided that she had seen everything that required her time, or at least that she wanted to see. Clearly, she did not wish to remain in order to watch him continue the tedious task of sanding down furniture. Brienne cleared her throat imperatively and Ramsay jumped, moving quickly to return to his work.
It was slow going, monotonous labor, sanding those chairs and tables, and Brienne had him shoveling snow from the parapets that had accumulated there during the previous evening after he was done sanding. From there she had had him do a variety of other menial tasks, typically tedious or physically exhausting.
They were hard, and Ramsay wasn't any happier doing them now than he had been earlier, but he dared not voice his agitation this time, instead somberly working in the knowledge that it could indeed be far worse than it was. None of the tasks that Brienne asked of him were more awkward for the former lord than being publicly shamed like she had just done.
Finally, as Ramsay hefted a last bag of grain into the keep's storehouse, Brienne lumbered up behind him with news that was both sweet and bitter, "You are done for the day. See; it didn't kill you to do a bit of work. Such labor should help you build character, or at least help you remove your head from your ass."
Ramsay just frowned grumpily at her as she went on, "I wouldn't have to work so much to mind you like you were some juvenile delinquent if it wasn't for the fact that you still seem to think you actually still run this place. You're obviously confused about Sansa's place for you here at the keep, and it's my hope that this work reminds you of it."
Ramsay groused, "What; you're saying you don't think I pull my weight?"
Brienne stared at him for a long moment, really allowing the uncomfortable pause in which she wasn't replying take its toll. Ramsay looked away, fidgeting more than a little, pulling at his collar and shifting his weight from foot to foot, all the while aware that Brienne hadn't ignored the question; she was simply deigning not to respond.
As if the question were too stupid to bother answering. Brienne had after all made it extremely and even unpleasantly apparent that she didn't think Ramsay was proving useful enough for the Lady of the House to keep him retained. Finally he could bear her stare no longer and huffed irritably, "Well, I hope that my service today at least was noted…"
Her eyes narrowed and she still stood there with her piercing blue eyes locked onto him, "You mean after having to coerce, cajole and even beat you into shape you finally did the few things I asked from you on this one day, yes. Do you think anyone has to spend the day following around any of the other folk of this keep seeing that they do what needs done?"
Ramsay grit his teeth and looked away, his face heating as his jaw worked. He should have expected such a scathing retort, giving Brienne's brutish, blunt way of speaking but he had allowed his resentment about more than the work get the better of his tongue. For now though he wisely silenced himself, and Brienne gave him a push, "Come; the Lady awaits."