Cold Dog Soup
She called herself Alayne Stone, but people saw through her disguise. She couldn’t truly hide her own royal bearing, nor the blue of her eyes and the vague disapproval that tugged at her lips. The Boltons saw her for who she was, and more importantly, what she was and Petyr did nothing to help. He sold her out, and as often as Ramsay placed his hand upon her own and looked up at her with that earnest expression, she knew this was not a match that would suit her. She had heard too much, and now seen too much, as the ravens perched upon the flayed bodies that littered the burnt streets of Winterfell.
You will be happy here, Ramsay whispered as he stood by her upon the ramparts. I will never raise a hand against you.
How could anyone believe those words when the evidence of his cruelty was so plain? Even the hounds he cherished held the marks of his hand. Fur stripped about their faces here and there where they had been hit. Some showed bone about their hips and the lines of their spines, starved so they would be more enthusiastic still in their chase.
It was rumored he hunted humans.
After three days in his presence she no longer doubted such rumors.
Why don’t you sit with me, my Lady? He asked with a smile that showed his sharp teeth. There was an edge to every word, and his eyes seemed to glint with a barely concealed madness each time she excused herself from his presence.
I’m sorry I can’t stay. There is sewing to be done. It wouldn’t be proper, it wouldn’t be right.
Words upon words fell from her lips and she watched as the man’s displeasure grew.
It was near the end of the second week that he showed up at her room, wine and meat stinking on his breath. He leaned in the doorway, watching her as his bulk blocked the only route of escape. His smile was small and twisted, and it grew as he approached her and caught her chin in his hand in a bruising grip.
You are to be my wife, dear Sansa. Do you know what that means? He asked her sweetly. It means you are to do what you are told. You are to obey me in all things, and together we will forge an alliance that will give us the whole of the North. Wouldn’t you like that? Our children growing up in these walls.
His voice trailed off and Sansa’s blood ran cold. She knew what was expected of her, once the wedding came to pass. She knew what he could do. She’d seen him walk the halls, blood dripping off his chest and back. She’d seen the women he used, the way that they limped and the cruel laugh of the kennel-master’s daughter as she bore his scars. She nodded.
Good, Ramsay replied as he patted her cheek. I’ve a present for you. Just go to the kennels, it will be the best surprise.
Ramsay’s gifts never came without their consequences.
She put it off three days, but the glee in his voice was something she couldn’t be denied. She saw his smirk each time she met his gaze, and for the first time realized the true extent of his patience. He was marking her, circling her with his own expectations. He was waiting until she would give in, and then the trap would snap. She couldn’t resist the curiosity, however. She couldn’t hold out forever, and he knew it, and knew it well.
So she finally went to the kennels, alone. She finally went to the cage that he had indicated, and saw the bundle of rags and filth, long white hair and missing fingers. She finally met the gaze of the creature laying there, and felt her stomach twist.
“Theon?” Her voice was a mere puff of smoke in the chill air.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
Sansa turned, and went running from the kennels the image emblazoned in her mind.
“Didn’t you like your gift?” Ramsay asked as she pushed through the door into her very own room. He sat at the edge of her bed, wine cup clutched delicately within his hand.. He offered her his wolfish smile. “Only the best for you, sweetling.”.