Archive of Our Own ^beta

01

There was no snow in Winterfell tonight.

The man in the warm fur cape stood in front of the grimy cell. The torch on the wall was burning, but could not bring any warmth to the dungeon. The sinner being tied to the stool was still asleep. He hadn’t showered for a whole week. Mud, filth and blood tissues stuck in between those black curls, causing him to look like one of the malodorous rags in the fish market.

Jon looked across the cage. If it wasn’t for the dripping blood on the other man’s neck, he would have been convinced that Ramsay was dead for long. The trepidation upon his twisted and damaged face was fouler than any other scars in this world. Jon chose to come alone at midnight for a reason. The Battle of the Bastards was over now: it ended with him pinning Ramsay on the ground, and punching him into a coma. Jon would never want to see this nauseated face again, however, yesterday Sansa spotted something unusual. The bastard who was now held a prisoner seemed to have lost all his memories.

It seemed like all the sins, betrayals, goriness, fist-fights and ambitions had been carried away by the penetrating chill breeze. Lighter than the snowflakes which fell on the rampart of Winterfell.

“Any confessions?”

Jon came to the dungeon as soon as he heard Sansa’s concerns. The former Lord of Winterfell was covered in bruises, staring right at him like a newborn, bewilderedly. There were no traces of fear nor anger in his icy eyes.

“Don’t you have some confessions to make, Bolton?”

Jon asked again.

Perhaps the knots on those hemp ropes were too tight, the prisoner whimpered painfully. He did not respond to the question. Jon had no idea about what he was working towards, but Ramsay’s silence fueled the anger inside him. Flashbacks of Rickon running towards his army with fear and panics flooded in. Jon had only wished that his horse could run faster - his hands was only inches away from reaching Rickon’s. He could have protected him, like he always did when they were both young. Instead, Rickon collapsed right in front of his eyes, with an arrow piercing through the chest. The devil who made this shot curled up on a wooden chair, pretending that none of these have happened.

Jon spent a lot of effort to repress the urge of rushing over and giving the man a few more fists. He stared viciously, waiting for the boiling blood inside him to cool down. Then the Lord of Winterfell made his ultimate decision.

“Perhaps he will remember it after a quick reunion with his hounds."

Today, Jon revisited the dungeon driven by impulse. It had been a week since the redemption of Winterfell. Meanwhile, he had given Ramsay numerous punishments. However, the guard's news enkindled his doubts - Ramsay remained innocent in his moments of sanity. At first, he yelled hysterically, attempting to catch the guards’ attention, but was ignored by all. After a while the struggles stopped. He looked terrified when the hounds tore his right leg, but not a single familiar curse escaped from the once serpent-like mouth. Ramsay Bolton has become weak, taciturn, and frightened.

While Jon was contemplating about future punishments, Ramsay woke up. The iron chains around his neck clanged together. Jon looked up, only to catch a confused look.

It shouldn’t be like this. The man should be throwing him resentful glances and spitting at him. He should put on an indifferent smile and make the most vicious curses. He should be at least fearful, kneeling on the ground, begging for mercy like his Reek. 

But none of the aforementioned behaviors were exhibited when they caught each other’s sights. His grey eyes, which were once gloomy, display a sense of purity under the reflection of fire. There was no joy or sadness on the man's sober face. Rather, he calmly raised a question, as if he was asking what was for breakfast. 

"Why are you doing this to me?"

02

Jon changed all the guards in the dungeon. He wasn't stupid enough to trust Ramsay. The last thing the former Lord of House Bolton lacks is his natural savagery and superb acting ability. Jon decided to be the audience of his performance, despite this could yet be another malicious scheme. The alliances in the North were gathering, preparing for the battle with the Night King was now the priority. It was important to let the army recover. In the meantime, he has just enough time to entertain Ramsay.

On the eighth day of his imprisonment, Ramsay finally left the wooden stool. It was extremely painful, as his flesh and blood seemed to have grown into the wood’s creases, and the process of tearing them apart burned. He did not scream at all, for his throat was too dry due to dehydration. He felt like a dry well.

The man in cold armor threw him onto the stiff ground, and left after adding heavy chains to his hands and feet. Ramsay panted quietly – the attempt to raise hands just then has nearly drained all of his strength. It was at this moment that his jaw was pinched by a strong hand wearing fine leather glove.

A fine-looking man was glaring at him coldly, like a direwolf in the snow, penetrating its prey with fierce gazes. Ramsay flinched consciously, then something hit his lips, Ramsay couldn't feel it. He lowered his head and found that the man was holding a cup to feed him.

The water was ice cold, but his body temperature was even lower. The feeling of fresh water rushing across the esophagus was wonderful. Ramsay hasn't had a proper drink for a while. Since he can't possibly raise his hands, the only way to take in more water was to raise his head. However, the man feeding him seem to have made up his mind on not letting him to succeed, by tilting the cup in a fixed angle on purpose. The glass of water quickly ran out, Ramsay licked his lips disappointedly.

After the fed, the man backed off from the iron fence without saying a word.

Ramsay laid on the ground, unsure about what to do. He really cannot remember anything. In the beginning, he attempted to figure out his charges, but what came was only more severe punishments. By now he was completely disheartened, the one thing he prays for is an end. Could either be of the punishments, or of his life.

Ramsay is still acting, Jon reasoned. Both the prisoner and the punisher remained quiet, guessing out each other's thoughts. The awkward silence ended when Ramsay passed out. He fainted because of extreme hunger.

Ramsay was given dinner that night, but there were laxatives in it. He curled into a ball and leaned against the corner to catch breathes. The intestine was cramping. The newly healed wounds on his abdominal were torn again, Ramsay could only press against those wounds tightly, so the blood would not rush out.

When Jon entered the dungeon, the first thing he sensed was a putrid smell. The scent was by masked the smell of blood, fermenting in a damp and air-tight dungeon.

Jon noticed that the ground was even filthier. There seemed to be a large pile of dirt in the middle of the cell. Its colour was indistinguishable.

Ramsay hid in the corner. The endless diarrhoea has made him dehydrated and completely collapsed. As the stranger approaches him, he employed all of his strength to crawl back, with legs together. Yet, all his effort went in vain since the wet traces on the pants was fairly self-explanatory.

He felt ashamed, for being buried in carrion, faeces and blood. He was saturated with filth now, exuding the foulest sour smell in a dungeon, unable to do anything to stop it. He gritted his teeth and glared at the man in front of him, attempting to crucify him with the most vicious looks.

He failed. 

As soon as he opened his eyes, tears ran down helplessly.

This was something beyond Jon's expectations. The man in front of eyes looked sad and angry. He whipped away the tears, and seemed to be stubbornly reluctant to let Jon see his vulnerability.

For some reason, Jon thought he was pathetic, as he was patronizing some powerless herbivores. Unintentionally, he tilted down his chin and touched the man's dirty face.

Ramsay was struck by this intimate action. He eyes widened, raising his gaze cautiously, more tears ran across the chin flooded into the mouth. He showed a helpless look, and then quickly lowered his head to shrink into a ball. Jon discovered that he was shivering all this time.

If Ramsay was indeed acting, his acting skills would be truly fascinating – it could even perhaps fraud the Seven Gods. The coldblooded Bolton will not demonstrate such weakness or vulnerability in front of his enemy, unless his brain has got eaten by a wolf.

The prisoner, who again curled into the corner of the cell, was biting his Lowe lip to stop the sobbing. His face was buried in between the ragged sleeves. He was reluctant to look at the man standing in front of him again.

Today's visit ended with Jon's mind being in the state of chaos. He had to rethink through all these.

03

Things were begging to pass beyond the realm of reality.

To be fair and honest, ever since his resurrection, Jon was much more receptive to all supernatural phenomenons. He seek advice from Melisandre, the Red Priestess seemed a little puzzled too. She claimed that the Lord of Light was certain of Ramsay Bolton being an honest man, and that he was now as innocent as an untainted snowflake.

Jon frowned, he could not find any excuse to refute this statement. However, he knew that it would be outrageous to forgive Ramsay's past crimes. He might have been gifted with a rebirth in the soul, but physical compensations were still yet to be made.

It was all Ramsay Bolton's fault. The more blameless he looked, the angrier Jon became. He would rather to have Ramsay growling and spitting curses at him, so that he could just beat out every single one of his teeth. In current circumstance, the persecution and endurance were unilateral. It ought not to be like this. Ramsay must die, and he must die for a good reason.

Jon answered his question bluntly.

"You asked why am I doing this to you. It is for that you are a guilty of unforgiveable crimes. You must atone, even if you have seemed to lost all of your memories."

The prisoner on the ground quickly digested the message. He appeared even more obedient after hearing the speech. Ramsay slowly got up on his knees, and was quickly whispering something.

Jon listened with extensive care. There was only a single word.

"Alright."

For the first time, the new Lord of Winterfell felt moved.

Now that his prisoner has pleaded guilty, all punishment should came as natural as daily prayers. This was what atonement ought to be like. 

Jon didn’t come every day, but the "programs" he arranged for Ramsay varies. They would not kill him all at once, but not were them easy to get through. The House of Stark, unlike the ruthless Boltons, give only the fairest punishments. Nothing less, nothing more.

In the few dungeon visits Jon have had, Ramsay's cooperative attitudes always surprised him. The Bolton did not resist at all when the guards shackled him; when his skin was scorched by the heated metal piece, nothing was said as if he was a dead stone. Only when Jon walked in front of him, then he would lift his head up to look at him. Not much was stored in his eyes, there is an unexpected purity.

Jon was upset, by now he should have felt satisfied, but Bolton’s excessive obedience made him discontent. The direwolf felt that he had punished the wrong man. Ramsay was no longer the wicked Bolton, instead he accepted all the torments without a single complain. When those light blue eyes gazed at him, there was no trace of resentment. His eyes could even absorb Jon’s internal anger.

Jon felt a sense of uneasy. He began to intentionally or unintentionally reduce his contact with Ramsay, to prevent himself from softening. In one of the few visits, he would also bring insignificant treats for his prisoner.

These ranges from a glass of water, a piece of bread and a piece of sugar to a small pot of candied fruit. The punishment would end early on rainy days, or even when Jon was in a good mood. In those times, he would not do anything other than quietly standing at the doorstep of the dungeon cell, observing what Ramsay does when he was in a daze.

The punishments were more so an alternate form of breeding. Jon Snow has captured a wolf cub, and the cub was so obedient that he couldn't help but to come closer and closer.

04

"There you are."

The man's curly hair rested softly on his shoulder. He raised his head and greeted the Lord as soon as he heard those footsteps.

Although Ramsay was now imprisoned, he was actually having a good time. He was allowed a bath once a week and have clean clothes to change. He was served two meals a day, and the melted drizzles of the accumulated snow was sufficient to meet daily needs. Beyond that, he could also be looking forward to Jon's arrival.

Ramsay has been very good. The kind of compliance gave Jon a weird sensation. For instance, the former would smile at Jon when he received a sugar cube. When Jon was irritated, he will take off his shirt and prepare himself for the whipping. When Jon was busy, he will lean on the door of the cell and wait. Being sleepless all night. Jon didn't know what was wrong with Ramsay. After all, Jon was one who smashed his face in the one of one combat.

Everything was the same this time. A new batch of dried fruit was delivered from the kitchen, and Jon sneaked out a small tin.

He wasn't worried that Ramsay would suddenly attack him, so he opened the door and stepped into the prison. Ramsay took the jar with both hands, as usual, and observed Jon’s reaction carefully. The latter nodded slightly, allowing Ramsay to open and dine on the spot.

His prisoner was having a hard time opening the nutshell, Jon looked around the dungeon cell in boredom. Ramsay didn't have a bed. He made a place with hay and lay there in sleeps. Jon wanted to feel the stiffness of the thatched bed, so he got up. But a hand behind him grabbed the corner of his shirt.

"Is anything wrong?"

"... No, my Lord."

Ramsay's stuttering sparked Jon’s doubts. Again, he sensed the long-absented danger. The Lord of Winterfell strode across to the haystack and begun rummaging. The hay was very light and fine. Ramsay's neat bed soon became messy.

The man who was enjoying nuts just then changed his cheerful expression all in a sudden. He rushed over in panic and gripped Jon’s linen inners tightly. The jar of nuts fell heavily on the ground, and the nuts inside all scattered all over the place.

Jon touched a hard metal piece deep hidden inside the haystack. He grabbed it and turned around and pulled Ramsay’s collar. Ramsay was lifted from the ground and was forced to cope with Jon’s integration.

"What is this?"

The pale face of the prisoner was completely bloodless at this moment. His thick eyelashes were pursed down. Those cracked lips of him trembled, and the shivering voice was let out slowly.

"... It...was su...sugar, my Lord. It was the sugar I hid, I should never have done it!"

Now Jon was truly speechless.

He let go of the man and looked at the familiar iron case. It contains the maltose he brought in last week. It was his first-time bringing Ramsay small treats. There were originally five of them in the case, but now only two were left. They were still kept safely inside cleanly all this time, though the sugar coating has melted a little.

Jon turned to look at the man on the floor. Ramsay was still griping the corner of his clothes with one hand; the other hand was resting on his lap. His two legs did not look exactly the same - there was a missing piece in his right calf. This was likely to be the work of his ‘good girls’. Despite the growth of new flesh, the scars were still ugly.

The prisoner lowered his head, his voice was quiet but not entirely firm.

"Would you…could you please give it back?"

Jon paused for a long time before he squatted down.

"I formally apologize to you."

Jon didn't wait for Ramsay to answer.

The man looked up and did not seem to have understood what he had just said. The tearing eyes blinked, and the prisoner leaned closer to Jon face in seek for an answer. Jon gazed at his slowly approaching face, which has been painted with tear stains. It was close at hand.

05

This was so very wrong, but Jon still kissed his prisoner. Hopelessly.

Ramsay’s lips were too dry, but his tongue was soft. The unconscious mumblings and avoidance of his prisoner gave Jon a sense of gratification. It was as if he’s taming a wild beast. The gentle struggling and sobbing did not pull a stop on this farce, but rather, they became the arousing catalysts of romance.

"Would…Eh…Do you like that?" Jon probed with an uncertain tone.

Ramsay's nose was still pink from the cry. He didn't dare to look up at Jon. Shyly, he revealed a silly smile.

Although the banner of House Bolton depicts a flayed man being pinned upside down, without the bloody cores, Ramsay appeared more like a young bear instead of some heartless fiend. Fluffy hair. Round eyes. Blushing cheeks.

Jon let out a smile without even noticing himself. The cumulated dismay was suddenly swept away. His heart even skipped a few beats. In a confused state, he pushed Ramsay away. The man and quickly shuffled the jar into the latter’s arms.

Ramsay took his baby jar and went to pick up the scattered nuts. Jon kept him accompanied, doing his best to help splitting the fallen nuts into two piles. The clean ones got put into the jar, whereas the dirty ones were picked up by Ramsay, wiped on the clothes, and then  eaten.

There was no talk throughout the whole process, but Jon's hand accidentally bumped into Ramsay’s for several times. The latter remained silent, but the heated ear tips behind his black curls betrayed him.

"Could you please stay behind?"

When the nuts were finished, Ramsay made a second request.

He has no idea why he had made such a demand. The only thought which crossed his mind, was the fact that he felt a sense of reassurance with the other man’s presence, regardless that he still does not know his name. Just then, he was kissed by that man. He wasn’t sure of the meaning of that kiss, but he knew that if the man went away, he would never come back again. And there will longer be any no sweet treats, nor gentle smiles.

Jon paused again, thinking that perhaps Melisandre had changed his old heart with the heart of a cassanova before he was brought back from death.

This abnormal intimacy lasted for a while. Jon fabricated abundant excuses to persuade himself, as well as the people around him. Ramsay did not disappoint him – he was as always, behaving like a gentle pet. Ramsay was gaining weight. His originally sharp cheeks were replenished with flesh, through the aid of milk and honey.

Ramsay is still a prisoner of Jon, except that Jon had locked him inside his heart.

It was not until the day when Jon described to Ramsay about the rare appearance of sunshine, and the latter pleaded for a sun bath, had he realized just how long the other man had been held imprisoned behind those iron bars.

Jon released Ramsay. Sansa objected this decision, but Jon’s persistence eventually granted his prisoner some freedom.

The Winterfell was giagantic. Although Jon have given Ramsay the permission to move around at will, the latter still only came out when there were a few people being present. He did not want to cause more troubles for his lord. Jon was already treating him good enough. 

Ramsay was delighted, as Jon have just given him a pair of new boots. The boots are very soft and were crafted with lamb-skins. But he preferred to walk on the carpet with barefeet. That way it is warmer.

Ramsay moved to Jon's bedroom to live with him. It was only half a month from the battle with the Night King, so Jon was often absent as he was busy training the soldiers.  Sometimes there would be sex. That was enough, in fact far enough for Ramsay.

Ramsay was very content about his life for the time being. During the day he would nest in Jon's bedroom to read, sometimes he would wander around the castle. Everything in Winterfell appears new to him, after all, he was always facing the darkened cell walls beforehand.

The maester’s study was situated on the third floor of the main castle.  Ramsay was exploring the room for the first time, and the things on the mahogany lockers caught his attention.

It was a shield. The paint on the half-height tall woodwork has faded, you could barely see the fierce brown bear being painted upon its surface. A familiar sense rushed through Ramsay’s veins, and for no reason, he felt that the thick wooden shield must have harmed him somehow.

He stretched out his hand to touch the bear on the shield, feeling the coarse surface was. Ramsay always felt like there was something missing. He felt a needle-like pain in the back of his head.

The lower half of the shield was covered with curtains. Ramsay lifted the curtains out of curiously, instincts told him that there must be some other hidden traces on the wooden surface. At the top of the shield, there are three ... He lifted up the red flannel.

There were three round holes that were undoubtedly created by arrows.

In the following moment, the only thing he could experience is that something was crushing his skull. Ramsay collapsed on the ground.

It was all dark, then sunlight pierces through. A strange woman was holding his hand and muttering something, and then bowed down to gently arrange his messy hair. There were traces of frustration on her face. Ramsay looked up, it began to snow. The woman disappeared when he gazed down. A filthy man then kneeled before him, crawling over to touch his shoes. Ramsay ducked in panic, but was tripped and sunk in the snow. Jon rushed over and bashed him onto the ground, waving his fists with the maxima anger. Ramsay felt the shattering of his nose and cheekbones. Yet no matter how he shouted, Jon did not stop. He cried in fear.

The scenery suddenly changed again. This time it was him who sat on the horse. Jon glared at him, the softness in his eyes were long gone. They were replaced by murderous intents and forbearing anger. 

Then Ramsay heard him saying, "Will your man want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn’t fight for them?"

06

It was dark when Jon returned. Ramsay did not fall sleep, so he lit a candle laid on the deck chair to read. Jon hugged him from behind. The prisoner trembled, but still turned around for the intimate exchange.

"You were a little late."

"The was is near, the alliances had a meeting. They kindly gave me a few days off."

Jon leaned over to his ear and whispered the last word. His pounding heart and warm breath scorched Ramsay’s skin.

"Of course, my Lord, I promise you will rest well."

Ramsay forced out a smile. He raised his sight to gaze into Jon's eyes and began to lick the other man’s chin. Jon kissed him while he was gently biting the former’s nose bridge.

The lord took off his cape, and slide his hands onto Ramsay’s neckline, beginning to unbutton the prisoner.

A tingling sensation roused from his chest, Ramsay broke free from the tangled kissed, gasping. Jon bit his lip the next second.

Ramsay enjoyed his brutality. He remembered the scene of him sitting on a horse, opposite Jon and Sansa.

"I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the north talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not."

"I don't know if I’d beat you, but I know, my army will beat yours."

What was Jon like back then? 

He seemed to want to rush over and tear Ramsay apart, just like what he had been like when Ramsay was first locked into that stinky dungeon.

But Ramsay also remembered that part where Jon hugged him in the filthy cell, patting his back, and bringing him dried fruits for treats. He also once kissed his icy eyes and murmured secrets into his ear.

When Jon's fingers entered him, Ramsay entangled his legs around Jon's waist. He trembled, and gasped during the orgasm. He saw Jon smiling, and the doppelgangers of him overlapping each other. Ramsay wasn’t sure which one was the real him.

Jon stripped off the last bit of cloth in his upper body.  Ramsay's pants were a bit obstructive, so Jon bowed his head and wanted to give a hand in taking off the former pants and boots.

Ramsay knew that there was no turning back. He held Jon's hands and said that he could undress himself. He gripped the dagger, of which stole during a dinner, being hiding all this time in his lamb-skin boot. Jon was still in a dream like state.

Ramsay felt pain, both physically and spiritually. The soul of a Bolton has ultimately returned.

There ought to be no hesitations.

The dagger penetrates Jon Snow's unguarded neck.

Blood and tears shed down. Together.