Chapter Text
Ramsay slid his fingers down sweat drenched hips, scrabbling for purchase as he thrust upward, as hard as the position would allow.
“Fuck,” he panted, “How do you always feel so good?”
Pod's slick channel tightened around him in response, but he said not a word, too lost in sensation as he rolled his hips and took every hard inch Ramsay had to give. Pod was kneeling above his lord knight, hands clenching down on Ramsay’s shoulders for balance as he bounced and weaved. Panting attractively as his head lolled back, wobbling drunkenly and exposing his lovely long throat. Ramsay wanted to reach up and bite it. But he was loathe to change the angle that had Pod so enraptured.
Pod began making a light groan that gathered in momentum, deepening with each of Ramsay’s thrusts, until he shuddered violently and went still. Only then did Ramsay flip the boy on his back, taking care to have tight hold of his thighs, to keep himself in place. He thrust in with abandon, wildly propelling himself in deeper, until he finished with a growl and bit down on the flesh closest to his mouth. It happened to be one of Pod’s nicely rounded shoulders.
They lay in a pile of undulating flesh as they struggled to regain their breathing. Until Pod’s hands began to skitter about him, clearly wanting Ramsay to get off. Ramsay complied, but not before pressing a hard kiss against the younger man’s slack mouth. He flopped down into what was generally designated his half of the bed. Letting the chilled Northern air cool the fire under his skin. Beside him, Pod drifted into a light doze. Ramsay spread furs across them both, and not without need. Less than an hour later, the door to his chamber thumped open, and a familiar tiny figure skittered toward them.
The small intruder launched himself at the bed, managing to land on Pod’s fur-clad legs. Ramsay’s bedmate woke with a wheeze, and Merik giggled in delight.
“Horsey!” His son shrieked, to which Ramsay raised only a brow in question.
Merik knew how to string more than word in a row, but often chose not to do so. Roose thought the boy feeble-minded, but Ramsay suspected he was just lazy. Ramsay directed his questioning look to Pod, who was guiding the child to nestle into the furs between them. Therefore not resting all his weight on Pod's valuable legs. Task complete, Pod sent Ramsay a winsome smile.
“Dom promised to take him riding today,” he imparted, and all became clear.
“Ah,” Ramsay found himself grinning with real pleasure at his son then. “How should you like riding with Uncle Domeric? He taught me to ride also, did you know?”
Merik gave a little wave of his arms to indicate he understood, before hiding his big smile behind his hands, as though it were a secret. Pod began to tickle his tummy in response, and the boy squealed with laughter.
Ramsay poured a goblet of water for Pod, who accepted it gratefully. Ramsay had already quenched his thirst in the interim between activity in his chamber. Merik slithered up the furs to be closer to him, eventually leaning back against his father’s well-defined chest. Ramsay absently ran a hand through his son’s thick hair. He wondered how many domestic scenes like this one were left for them to play out.
Tyrion Lannister was heading back to what had once been the Westerlands soon, and was taking most of the Southrons back with him. A few had perished, and some had been sent to the Wall with Joffrey Waters. If Ramsay never had to make another journey further than the Barrowlands, he would count his life a lucky one. Ramsay had quite his fill of marching through muddied and war-desecrated lands. Stinking heaps of bodies and burning farmhouses littering the land, as they marched in driving rain and sometimes snow. The North was his home, under stark grey skies, breathing clean air. He never wanted to find himself in the slagheap that was the South again, if he could avoid it.
The same was not true for Pod. He was a Southron man, for all that he had been converted away from the Faith and been taught to fight like a Northman. He had kin in the South. A home that belonged to his House and probably had no one to claim it, judging by how many Lannister bannermen had died or been deposed in the war. No doubt he would soon be packing his meagre belongings in a bundle and returning to the Imp’s service as a squire.
Ramsay had offered to knight the boy after Podrick saved his life in battle. Pod had skewered a Black Ironborn fuck through the back and out through the belly, as he stood over Ramsay with an axe in his hand. Gold krackens had come to their aid then, swarming their fellow Islanders in a ferocious clash of kinsmen that was savagely beautiful. Pod had lugged an injured Ramsay back to a tent with maesters and Silent Sisters tending the wounded. Practically dragging him with one of Ramsay’s heavy arms slugged over his shoulders. But the boy had refused his offer of knighthood; saying that he had not yet earned it.
Ramsay suspected that the denial stemmed more from a lack of will to leave his side. As knight and squire they were afforded intimacies. Two knights could not spend so much time alone in one another’s company, without raising suspicion. Ramsay cared not a whit for what anyone thought of him. Everyone was too frightened of him to ridicule him. But Pod was a sensitive soul, and easily bullied. If he should've been caught unaware, taunting soldiers could have beaten him bloody before Ramsay sent his Boys to intervene. He knew he wouldn’t have to ask Damon for assistance; the brutish man was fond of Pod. If Ramsay didn’t know how Damon was face-deep in camp followers every night, he might have grown extremely greedy and protective. He didn’t like to share his toys.
He decided to renew his offer of knighthood before Podrick left. Better to send him back to the Lannister Imp as his own man, not beholden on serving anyone for favourable attention. As suspected, Podrick did not deny him this time. Though asked that they delay the ceremony for a time. There were matters he wished to discuss with King Robb before to undertook his vigil.
Ramsay did not ask what these matters were; mayhaps the boy was securing his passage North, should he ever wish to visit again. Judging by the fondness Pod had for his son, he did not think it outside the realm of possibility.
*
King Robb and the Lannister Imp were in attendance when Maester Wolkan anointed Pod with the Seven holy oils. Since they didn’t have a Septon at the Dreadfort to do it. Snow covered the ground of the godswood, and they could see the clouds of their own breath. Ramsay had scoffed at Southron tradition and made sure Pod was covered with furs, so he didn’t freeze to death during his all-night vigil. He’d also made the servants take him pea soup in the middle of the night, with the warning that he would whip them if Pod didn’t eat it. Despite it being against the rules, Pod had finished the whole bowl. Much as Ramsay suspected he would, if others faced punishment for his deeds.
Now a few of them had gathered for the last part of the ritual, though most had opted to remain out of the cold. Merik had wanted to attend, but Ramsay had asked his step-mother to take the boy in where it was warm. Knowing that the woman wouldn’t heed the boy’s protests. There would be time to celebrate together at a feast held in Pod’s honour.
“I’m pleased for the lad,” Lannister said cutting through Ramsay’s thoughts, “He was always the good sort; too soft to get on in this world, I worried. It’s a miracle he survived the fighting.”
“No,” King Robb disagreed, “I saw him grow fierce under Ser Ramsay’s tutelage.”
“Indeed,” Lannister said, giving Ramsay a nasty, dubious look.
Ramsay wished he could put out his eyes, but since King Robb had released them, the time for abusing hostages had come to an end. Father had never been very inclined to set Ramsay loose on them either way. He said his younger son was too heavy handed. Dom was the better choice to ‘interrogate’ prisoners and the like. Regardless of the name of the man holding the knife, a flayed man screeched the same. Dom often let Ramsay take over anyway, when he grew bored of their pathetic noises.
But there was no need for all that now. Pod joined them with a silly, wide grin on his face. Ramsay felt his fingers twitch with want to reach out. He longed to smother that foolish grin with his own lips. That Pod could be so thrilled to be leaving him made his neck itch. He was unaccustomed to this neediness, to wanting things from people but being resigned not to gaining them. Whenever Ramsay wanted something, he simply took it. Would that he could do the same with Pod. But a person is not a castle, or food or land. You could take a person, but you couldn’t keep them, not unless they allowed it. Ramsay grit his teeth and vowed not to be cruel on a happy day for his lover.
He attuned himself to the conversation, sometime after the other men had congratulated his former squire.
“Are you ready to be on the road?” Lannister said, as Ramsay stared with hollow eyes running across Pod’s features. He needed to commit this face to memory, in case he never saw it again.
Pod directed that familiar gentle, soft look at him, eyes like a placid doe. They weren’t the same mud brown as Ramsay's son, rather a lighter shade mingled with a little green, but it was enough to pass them as kin. In another life, they might have been a family. Ramsay swallowed deeply, his mouth suddenly filled with saliva.
“I had rather hoped to be given a reason to stay.” Podrick whispered, seemingly only for Ramsay.
Ramsay’s thin thread of control snapped like cut twine. He hurled himself forward, dragging Pod into a cruel and demanding kiss, with biting teeth and grasping hands. He pulled back after a moment, feeling like a wilding attempting to steal a bride. Pod didn’t let him get far, sliding one hand into his hair. Returning his kiss with a far sweeter, if no less possessive, one of his own.
Lannister let out an awkward cough, and they separated. They found the short man regarding them in mortification, whilst Robb Stark was attempting to hide his laughter behind his fist.
“Fuck off, Imp.” Ramsay snarled, “You’re not having him.”
“I don’t want him!” Lannister squeaked, “Leastways not in that manner. But you’ll always have a room at Casterly Rock, should you want it, Pod.”
“Thank you, m’lord.” Said Pod, sliding his arm under Ramsay’s own, and about his waist. Ramsay rested a propietary hand on Pod’s hip in response. They fit together like two pieces of wood carved from the same branch.
“Ah, I’ll see you at the feast?” the Imp finished with an embarrassed nod, taking his leave.
King Robb stayed a moment longer, approaching them. His smile was wide and not surprised. But then, he had fought on campaign beside them for years. He was bound to be aware of any rumours regarding their closeness. He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, and Ramsay suddenly wondered what exactly Pod had spoken to the King of.
“Congratulations, Ser Redbolt,” their King said with a knowing grin, but he was looking toward Podrick.
Ramsay turned to him in confusion. Redbolt was the name he had chosen for his own knightly House. Back when Dom knighted him, so that he and Myranda could give their son a real name.
Robb sent Ramsay a nod, before turning to depart also. Ramsay turned to Podrick for an explanation.
The newly made knight shrugged. “No point to me being the only Northman with a Southron name. The Paynes never really cared much for me, not even my own mother.”
Pod’s eyes took on a mischievous twinkle then. “I doubt your father would ever give us leave to marry. Knighthood is one of the few ways a man might change his name… and we’re a family, aren’t we?”
His tone took on a hesitant note then, as though he was still unsure, after all this time. Ramsay’s answering kiss was savage, but tempered by love.
“Forget the feast.” He hissed, “I’m going to fuck you over the desk in my father’s solar.”
Pod laughed uproariously at that, but didn’t protest as Ramsay took hold of his hand to drag him inside, to do just that.