A Need to Suffer

Breaking Bread

Forgive the flubs on this recording guys, I know there was a few that had me groaning at the end, but I rerecorded this thing three times, and after thirty minutes, I just couldn't do it again... especially at that last line, sorry :/ On the flip side, I am working with a friend that owns a recording studio, and we are redoing every chapter, so these will be replaced by awesome chapters to come! The first four are in production now! =D 

https://app.box.com/s/9bo7grdk3r3kszc2frycyg93h6lue3t8

Chapter Thirty-Five

Breaking Bread

It was a short walk to the study with one guard in front of them and another behind. The halls had grown dark lit by flickering scones that danced to the hallowed winds that fought to push past the drawn drapery. Distant cries of celebration echoed from the main hall where Northmen and Wildling alike celebrated the departure of the Umber armies and the subsequent return of Lady Stark and all those who had accompanied her. There was much to rejoice for Sansa thought as she absently squeezed Ramsay's hand. She felt his grip tighten, and the two shared a small smile as they walked on in silence.

Jon was already seated when they arrived and stood to formally welcome them. Catelyn had always been meticulous that her children follow noble etiquette even with each other. She had told them, "If you can't respect your own family, how is it that you can presume anyone else should respect you?" It was an ingrained politeness, and both Stark siblings gave each other a slight bow in greeting before moving to sit. Ramsay had been taught the decorum of such gestures for when he had been allowed to be present for guests that traveled to the Dreadfort. Pleasantries Ramsay had seen as redundant and pointless, but he'd begrudgingly complied to after having been given a few cuffs to the ear for not following these ritualistic behaviors. Such tedium the Bolton family tended to see as unnecessary when not trying to impress, and outside of mixed company, they would forgo it. As it were, Ramsay found himself mimicking the two stiltedly although the act of doing so made him feel awkward and out of place.

Winter stores typically meant meager meals even for the noble class with not a lot of variety outside of meat and grain, but that was not the case tonight. Tonight, Jon had asked the cooks to prepare something a little more special to honor Sansa's return home. The table was set with a small feast of freshly baked bread with fruit preserves, dried plums, deer shank, bacon wrapped potatoes, and an assortment of nuts. Ramsay happily noted honeydew lemon cakes (Sansa's favorite dessert) and freshly squeezed lemonade had been fixed as well. It had been quite some time since he'd had a sweet cake, and his mouth watered at the prospect of the treat. Once the three had seated themselves, the servants busied about the table serving out portions.

Melody was among the servants Ramsay spied with a growing glee, and when she glanced at him, he gave her a broad cocky grin. Melody avoided eye contact with him doing her best to steady her shaking hand as she poured each glass of lemonade. As a note of further agitation, Ramsay settled his hand firmly on top of hers giving her his most charming smile as he chided, "Steady as you go, girl; you wouldn't want to make a mess and ruin the festivities, would you?" Ramsay timed his statement with slow deliberation, the mirth spreading across his face to take in how uncomfortable he was making Melody. Fear coursed through the scullery maid to have Ramsay's hand clamped over her own, and it took every ounce of restraint for her not to yank it away from him as she trembled out, "Of course not, milord."

Both Starks took in what seemed like an innocent gesture, and Jon thought nothing of it, but Sansa knew better, and her expression darkened. Ramsay had swelled like a peacock from the interaction, and when he had released Melody's hand and sat back in his chair leisurely, Melody backed away spinning on her heel to quickly depart. Turning back to Sansa though and seeing the withering glare she fixated upon him, Ramsay's grin faltered and his form deflated. His brow furrowed in puzzlement as his eyes danced between her and Jon. An uneasy silence persisted, and Ramsay found himself repeatedly sipping on his lemonade as his eyes darted back to regard Sansa waiting for her expression to change or for her to say what was on her mind. Sansa remained silent though and finally turned away to regard Jon although her posture remained stiff. Her glower had been a clear warning Ramsay knew, but he was unsure exactly what the warning was for.