Sansa gets her revenge…
(So major warnings about this chapter. Dark themes. Torture. Dark Sansa, definitely dark Arya and mentions of rape. So skip if this ain't for you. Also reminder: my characters are OOC.)
From the shadows she watched him. Studied him. STALKED him.
Her tormentor. Her abuser. A man in a long line of many who had made her life hell. Who forced her to be the victim. Who stole from her, hurt her and ripped her innocence from her as if they had a right to.
A man whose life she now held in the palm of her hand.
He had been - to her - a monster come to life. A man who had instilled such a fear in her that there were times where she felt as if she could've just ended it all just to escape his violence.
Her own personal nightmare that seemed to be taller than the hound. More vicious than Joffrey. Crazier than Cersei. And more cunning than Petyr Baelish.
But now, now Sansa saw him for what he truly was. A small pathetic excuse for a human being whose only power lay in the mind games he played with people and his father's name and fortune. Ramsay Bolton – no Snow, he was Ramsay SNOW, Sansa thought determinedly, Ramsay Snow was a nothing. Just a vindictive little man who will get exactly what he deserved.
Sansa smiled at the thought watching him from the shadows.
He sat bound to a chair in the very dungeons he had just weeks before thrown her into. To train her, he said, like how he trained his hounds. All women needed to be trained.
She had spent fourteen days and fourteen nights in this very cell, with no food, barely any water and just a bucket for her needs.
Each night he came to her with his mocking smiles and his taunting laughter. Each night was a different kind of torture. Was this the night of him forcing himself on her, or would this be the night he just sat and stared at her? Was this the night he would eat his nightly meal in front of her, the fragrant aroma causing her belly to clench with hunger, or would this be the night he would bring his hounds and have his hounds snap and snarl at her while she cowered in the corner.
Each night may have been different, but the effect was the same. Her fear was his aphrodisiac.
But now, now this was Sansa's time. And she was going to enjoy every minute of it.
The old Sansa would've balked at the idea of gaining so much pleasure from someone else's pain. But the old Sansa had died a long time ago, with her girlish ideals and her childish dreams.
This Sansa knew that the world was a very dark place to live in where men ruled and women were ruled. This Sansa knew that to survive, your enemies had to die, your family had to be kept close and you had to learn how to kill or be killed.
And Sansa wanted Ramsay to suffer as he had made her suffer. She wanted him in pain, both mentally AND physically. And then when he begged and pleaded for his life, she wanted to be the one to take it.
Arya however had initially been reluctant to give her this kill.
"This is not something that you can take lightly, Sansa, the taking of someone else's life. No matter how much they deserved it. Your first kill will always stay with you, in your dreams, in your waking hours. It may diminish over time but it won't fully disappear." She had told Sansa softly the night before.
"I want him dead, Arya. And I want him to suffer." Sansa told her.
"I know. And that will happen. But –"Arya sighed, meeting her gaze.
It amazed Sansa the different faucets of her sister's personality. In private she was Arya her little sister. Different to the sister she had grown up with but still her little sister, with her warm smiles and her quick wit.
With her companion Grey Worm there was an easy comradery there that Sansa knew Jon was slightly jealous of. Where once it had been Jon who Arya turned to for advice or companionship she now turned to GreyWorm, speaking easily in the man's native tongue like she had be born to it.
In public she was almost as silent as her companion. Watching, assessing, and speaking only when necessary. But when she spoke people tended to listened. The men tended to listen. That in itself was amazing considering when it came to the ways of war, men only listened to themselves.
And then there was the Arya when faced with the enemy. This Arya alarmed her slightly and she knew concerned Jon. This Arya was not their Arya. It was like a totally different person occupied her sister's body. She spoke differently, referring to herself and to others in the third person. And although it was subtle, Arya acted differently. Her movements tended to be more – liquid. More precise. More deadly.
It was her assassin training, Grey Worm had told her when she questioned him one time. Arya had studied for years in the House of Black and White to be one of the most feared assassins in all of the Free Cities and Westeros. With the ability to change her face at will and the knowledge of how to kill a man a thousand different ways, Arya could easily be one of the most dangerous people alive.
And that was the many faces or the many faucets of Arya's personality.
But the Arya that was speaking to her now, was Arya her little sister.
"I have no doubt that you have earned this kill. That you have earned the life of Ramsay Snow, but to kill a man, Sansa. To take his life –" she paused, shaking her head. " – it's the living with it after that's the hardest part. No matter how much he deserves it, no matter how much you want it now, it's the living with it afterwards that will haunt you." Arya continued softly, drawing Sansa's attention by the darkness of her eyes. Arya reached out and grabbed Sansa's hands, turning them over in hers and Sansa noticed the vast difference between the two. Hers were soft, unlined with nary a mark. Arya's were smaller but callused, her hands riddled with old wound lines and scars. "He has given you enough memories to last you into the next life. Why let him add one more to this."
"Because I want my vengeance." Sansa told her after a pause her mind continually going back to the pain and humiliation she had faced in Ramsay's hands. "Is that too much to ask?" she had asked her softly.
Arya shook her head, giving her a strained smile.
"No, I understand vengeance." She told her softly. "I just –"she stopped, before taking a deep breath. "I just don't want you to turn out like me. So consumed with killing and retribution that you end up losing a part of yourself. A part that makes you human."
Arya stared at her with dark eyes full of shadows and secrets.
"Just remember that before you make your final decision."
In the end Sansa had asked for his life to be hers. To do what she wanted, to die how she wanted.
But the torture. That would be Arya's.
"A girl wonders, does a man like his room a girl has prepared for him." Sansa watched as Ramsay jerked his head turning towards the shadows that housed Arya, anger chasing away the fear.
"Untie me, bitch. NOW!" Ramsay roared and Sansa shook her head. The man was seriously delusional if he thought he still held the upper hand.
"But a girl does not want to." Her sister said mockingly, her tone sweet as she stepped into the dim light of the dungeon cell. Again Sansa was taken back by the sheer beauty of her sister. Those grey eyes glinting in the dim light, the display of high cheekbones, full lips and light tone of her skin.
The thick wealth of long dark hair was tied back into an intricate braid, and even though she was standing demurely Sansa had begun to notice the danger that wrapped around her sister like a well favoured cloak. Clinging to her and drawing attention to the slim lines of her body, the curve of her smile and the dark depths of her eyes.
"Once I get free I will –"
"Why does a man think he will leave this place?" Arya asked him curiously, tilting her head to one side. "A man won't leave this place. A man will die, maybe not tonight. Maybe not even on the marrow. But a man will die."
Ramsay started laughing, his body jerking, those eyes that haunted her nightmares widening crazily.
"I will fuck you girl." He promised in a low tone. "While your sister and that bastard watches. They will hear you scream for mercy to which I will have none. They will –"
"A man bores a girl with his inane chatter." Arya interrupted sighing. "A girl likes action." Sansa watched as Arya continued to smile at Ramsay demurely, as if they were discussing the weather. "Oh! I girl would like to introduce you to a friend." From behind her Arya pulled out a small but dangerous looking dagger that fit her smaller hand perfectly. The handle was shaped like a dragon, complete with scales, twisting tail and glowing red eyes. The blade was twice as long as the handle, curved and seemed as if it was coming directly from the dragon's mouth. Almost like a dragon's fire. She tilted it, staring down at it as it caught the dim light, the steel of the blade glinting. "A girl calls her friend Athdrivar or Death." She smiled at the blade affectionately, before turning that smile on Ramsay. "Athdrivar has been wanting to meet a man called Ramsay Snow for a long time."
"You think a blade scares me?" Ramsay laughed, but Sansa heard the slight shake in his voice and saw the apprehension in his eyes.
"A girl's Dothraki brother gifted her Athdrivar as well as many other gifts. A girl wishes Ramsay Snow to meet them." She raised her hand and in swaggered Styr, the Thenn leader, carrying a large bag. Sansa watched as he paused, turning to stare at Ramsay before grinning as he leaned forward to sniff at Ramsay's neck. Ramsay blanched in revulsion, flinching away from the Thenn leader, but not being able to get very far.
"His flesh will taste sweet." Styr purred, licking the blood from Ramsay's cheek before smacking his lips. "So very sweet." he whispered as if in a trance, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips.
"A girl will allow the Thenn Magnar Ramsay Snow's flesh after a girl is finished." Arya promised causing Styr to snort before he placed the bag he carried at her feet.
"A girl better remember." Styr warned teasingly, pointing a finger in Arya's face. Arya inclined her head almost regally, reminding Sansa of their mother.
"A girl keeps her promises."
"Aye, a girl does." Styr smiled, again showing those teeth. "A Thenn Magnar eagerly awaits." He bowed slightly, smirking at Ramsay who blanched in fear, before Styr sauntered out of the cell, winking at Sansa on his way out.
"Now –"Arya said calmly, drawing Ramsay's attention back to her. "A girl's other friends." She drew out a Dothraki arakh, with its onyx hilt and it's ebony blade. "A girl named this friend after her Dothraki brother Drogo." A warm smile crossed Arya's features as looked at Ramsay. "A girl wishes that Ramsay Snow could meet Drogo. Drogo would love to meet a man called Ramsay Snow." She sighed, her smile widening. "A girl has many memories to tell her Dothraki brother when he gets here. Many memories indeed! Oh! And this –" she pulled out another blade, this one with its jagged edges and it ivory handle. " – this friend a man would appreciate. This one is used by the Lothrati for skinning the skin off a man's flesh." Arya stared at the blade almost lovingly. "A girl's mentor gifted her with this friend." She said softly. "They speak to me. Each wanting to taste a man's flesh first, each whispering to a girl about their thirst to taste a man's blood." She tilted her head and Sansa's smile widened as Arya traced the tip of the Lothrati blade from the top of Ramsay's forehead, around to the front side of his ear, down past his jawline and then stopped in the clef of his chin. A thin line of newly spilt blood following in its wake.
Ramsay choked, jerking his head back and he began to struggle in earnest, a terrified look crossing his pale face. Sansa's smiled widened at the fear on her tormentor's face.
It was if he finally understood that Arya was not some simple little girl playing at being a killer. It was if the darkness that was in Ramsay recognized the darkness that was in Arya and it knew which was the more dangerous one. It was as if Ramsay finally believed that he wasn't as untouchable or as feared as he had thought he was.
"A man must watch." Arya whispered, as with her free hand she touched the top of her forehead, past her hand down her face, her features changing as her hand lowered. Suddenly Myranda's face stared at Ramsay, causing him to give a small strangled sound.
Grabbing the front of his tunic, Arya/Myranda drew the blade down, slicing open his tunic in one smooth movement, the tip of the blade leaving a trail of red from the base of his throat down to his belly.
Ramsay cried out, abruptly cutting off his scream as he stared at Arya/Myranda.
"I would never bore you Ramsay?" Arya/Myranda cooed in Myranda's baby-like voice, touching the unhurt side of his face tenderly. "I love you." She pouted, before smiling at him. "Tell me Ramsay do you think Lady Sansa is pretty?"
Ramsay blanched as stared at her in fear.
"Well do you?" she demanded, glaring at him in anger. "What did you tell me when I told you that I might go and find myself my own husband? That I am yours?" she screamed in his face, causing Ramsay to rear back. "You are mine Ramsay! Mine! I refuse to share you with her!" she screamed in his face. Arya/Myranda stopped her tantrum abruptly giving him a warm smile. "I loved you Ramsay." She murmured leaning in towards him and brushing her lips over his.
"Myranda." He whimpered, and Sansa saw tears, actual tears form in his eyes.
"But you chose her! Sansa Stark of Winterfell!" she spat. "You chose someone else instead of me!" she hissed her eyes narrowing in hatred.
Sansa was fascinated. Absolutely fascinated. Her sister was playing with Ramsay's mind, his emotions. It was mesmerizing.
Arya/Myranda stopped, smiling that beguiling smile once more before her hand past from forehead to chin, this time revealing Ramsay's father. Roose Bolton.
"Your brothers Ramsay?" Arya drawled in the perfect pitch of Roose Bolton's tone. "You killed your brothers?! They were babies!"
"Father I –"
"Enough!" Arya/Roose snapped, back handing him and causing Ramsay's head to snap to one side. "You are a disgrace to the Bolton name! I regret ever having legitimizing you!" Arya/Roose smirked, leaning towards Ramsay. "In fact – I take it back. You are no longer my son. You are no longer a Bolton!"
"Father no! I –"
Again, Arya/Roose's hand past from forehead to chin.
"Ramsay?" this woman was unfamiliar. Pretty, with her curly blonde hair and her bright blue eyes. "Ramsay." The woman breathed cupping the unhurt side of Ramsay's face with tenderness that had Sansa frowning. "My son. My baby."
"Mot – mother?" Ramsay choked out, the tears falling from his eyes.
"Look how you've grown." The woman whispered. "So strong, my son."
Ramsay sobbed as he nuzzled his face into her hand.
"But what have you done?" the woman scolded. "You've hurt so many people. Killed so many. Why son, why?"
"Mother please!"
"I can't forgive what you've done Ramsay. You're – you're evil. A killer." She gasped her eyes widening. "A monster." She whispered dropping her hands from his face as if he were filth.
"No, no, no, no!"
"I'm ashamed of you. For what you've done. For the people you've hurt." She blinked those big blue eyes at him. "I have no son." She finished, taking a step away from him.
"Mother!" Ramsay whined watching as she retreated from him shaking her head in disappointment.
"I can't let a monster like you live." Arya/Ramsay's mother whispered. "I can't let you hurt anymore people. I just can't." she finished staring at her hand as if she just realised that she held a knife in them. "You must die. The evil must die!"
She lunged forward thrusting the blade towards Ramsay's belly with such rage it had Ramsay screaming in fear.
Only to have her pull up short the tip of that deadly blade piercing his exposed belly, drawing a droplet of blood to the surface.
Arya/Ramsay's mother began laughing, that laughter having a hysterical edge to it.
"Oh a man is so entertaining." Again the swiping of her hand over her face and her sister's eyes peered down at a sobbing Ramsay. "A man disappoints a girl, though. A girl thought that a man would last longer than this." She shrugged. "A man is weak. Feeble. Pathetic."
Grey Worm had told her to watch for a sign. It would be very subtle, but it would indicate when Arya had quit playing and she would be down to business.
He had told her to watch Arya's eyes. A slight narrowing of her eyes before a cold smile would touch her lips and she would incline her head ever so slightly to the left.
Arya gave the sign as she held the Lothrati blade up again, staring at the blade and then at Ramsay.
"A man hurt a girl's sister. He hurt Sansa Stark. Now a man must pay with his life." She said softly, touching the blade with her free hand. "A girl wants to hear a man scream. Like how he made a girl's sister scream." She reached grabbing Ramsay by the hair and jerking his head back to expose his throat. "A girl wants to hear the pain in a man's voice as he screams 'stop'." Arya started lovingly making criss cross motions across his cheek with the blade, the smile on her face rivalling Sansa's.
Ramsay whimpered causing Arya to stop.
"A girl wants to hear a man scream." She told him sternly, her grip tightening on the handle of the blade and digging into his cheek a little harder.
Ramsay's whimpers turned into sobs as he tried to jerk his head away from Arya's grip.
"A girl said scream!" Arya commanded.
It was then Ramsay gave her what she wanted, as the harder she dug her blade into Ramsay's cheek, the louder he screamed.
Again Sansa wondered if there was something wrong with her at her lack of emotion. She felt no disgust, no repulsion. Not even shock at the sight of her sister torturing this man.
"A man made a girl's sister shed tears. Tears of pain, of humiliation. Tears he had no right to." With her free hand she wrapped her fingers around his throat, as she lifted her hand and back handed him twice. Something he would do to her on a regular basis.
"Stop!" Ramsay sobbed. "Please!"
Arya ignored him, instead she moved to her bag and pulled out a handful of long metal spikes. They were thin, thinner than Sansa's little finger but longer than the span of her hand.
"A man hasn't screamed loud enough for a girl to be satisfied. A man must scream louder." She told him firmly, selected one spike and driving it through Ramsay's upper chest.
Another spike went through the opposite side of his chest, and another through the top of his thigh, so very near his the one place he held dear.
"No! Please!" Ramsay cried. "Please, please, please."
"I remember crying the very same words." Sansa said softly, her voice wrapping around them. "No, please. Don't. Please." she took a step towards the pair, holding her head high, studying Ramsay's face like it were a puzzle. "Please. Stop. Please." she trailed off, a smile similar to Arya's crossing her face.
Silently Arya took a step back, allowing Sansa to get closer.
"I remember hearing your laughter, mocking me. Taunting me. And then I remember the feel of your hands as they held me down. As you raped me. I remember that day in the forest when you and Myranda hunted for me like I was some animal. And how you allowed your dogs, your hounds, to track me down, snarling and snapping. I remember a lot of things, Ramsay." She said so softly as she stalked towards a sobbing Ramsay. "But the screams. My screams is what I remember most of all. Please. Don't. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop." The more she said it the angrier she got. "Stop. Please stop." She spat, realising she was directly in front of him, staring down at him. "But all you did was laugh. At my pain. At me." Sansa held out her hand and Arya placed in it a one small metal spike.
Ramsay panted staring at her through pain filled eyes.
"You won't do it, Sansa." He croaked. "You don't have the guts to – arhhhh!"
Without warning Sansa stabbed him in the thigh, ignoring him as he tried to bow away from her.
"For the bite mark you gave me the first time you raped me." she said stonily. "Right on the upper thigh. Remember Ramsay? You took a chunk right out of him thigh." She sneered.
Again she held out her hand and Arya placed another spike in it. This time she drove the spike into his forearm causing him to scream in pain.
"For the time when you almost broke my forearm when I raised it to defend myself from your lashings."
Another spike. This time in his stomach.
"For the time you kept me in this cell for 14 days without food and would eat in front of me causing my stomach to clench in hunger."
And finally the last spike. This one thicker than the others. Shorter but sharper.
Sansa stared at the spike and then at Ramsay whose eyes were hazy with pain.
"This one, this one is special." She whispered to him. "For every night you came to me. Held me down and raped me. Tore me apart. Wrapped your hands around my throat and squeezed without mercy. Suffocating me until I would black out only to revive me and start again."
Lifting her hand she drove the spike down with a ferocity that surprised her, in between his legs, right through his penis causing him to scream in agonised pain.
"And now –" Sansa said softly, staring at him as he sobbed in pain. "Now a man called Ramsay Snow will feel what real pain is like."
(Okay, okay, okay. I know. There are hints through this chapter that Khal Drogo is alive and well in my story, he is. Yeah I know. Spoiler alert! But it's Jason Momoa. JASON MOMOA. I – I just can't! I'm sorry! Oh and the scene between Ramsay and his mum. Wasn't too much about her that I could find so this is just from my head. But again. Jason Momoa!)
