Chapter Text
“Another one of your urchins?” Ramsay asked wryly, lifting the tatty boy in question into the air by the scruff of his neck. The boy, no more than four or five, giggled, hands dancing about his mouth, where the evidence of his pilfering was staining his lips.
“Torrhen!” Pod called with a large smile, opening his arms to accept the wriggling child into them. “There you are. Maester Niccos was worried, you little imp!”
Torrhen squirmed to throw his arms about Pod’s neck, delighted with the attention.
Ramsay rolled his eyes, stomping away from the table where the fruit bowl had lately been desecrated by small, sticky fingers. He threw himself into a large chair beside the roaring fire with a huff. Since he and Podrick had moved into the keep they had been gifted by King Robb, they had been inundated by the locals; merchants, fishermen and their get, all wanting jobs, trading deals and favouritism. That had mostly died down, once all the household serving positions had been filled. For a short time, all was quiet and orderly.
But as with all bustling, growing towns, Sea Dragon Point was filled with motherless street rats, stealing and causing trouble. Ramsay had been all for locking them in his new dungeon, or else forcing them into labour. But Pod had taken pity on the underprivileged children, and had decided to round them all up, inviting them to the keep for daily lessons and a free meal.
He’d even sent to the Citadel for a maester of their own, which cost a fair amount of dragons annually, that they really couldn’t afford to spare. Not until the revenues from their trading deals started making a decent profit. Ramsay had unsuccessfully tried to argue that the homeless and unemployed were a natural part of life in a city. Pod had disagreed; he had actually lived in King’s Landing at one point, and seen how terrible the conditions were, first hand. He refused to allow it in ‘their’ town.
Pod had taken it into his head that the children needed to learn their letters, history, and the theory of trade and warfare. He was also of the opinion the children would work harder if they were fed regularly, and already somewhat skilled by the time they reached seafaring age, therefore more useful to society. Pod had even asked their master at arms to train the older ones in basic swordplay. Pod had persuaded Ramsay to allow it, with deep kisses and long fucks; and in the end Ramsay had caved, because a happy Podrick meant a peaceful life.
“Robb Stark will have us hung for treason, thinking we’re growing an army,” Ramsay had complained.
To which Pod had cheerfully kissed his cheek, and suggested they invite the King in the North to come and see the progress for himself. Robb had naturally been charmed and delighted. He had insisted a whole host of Northmen attend upon them, to see the results for themselves. Forcing Ramsay to spend even more money on a grand feast to host them all. King Robb had trotted out the most successful children; the seamstress who had opened a little shop, the deckhand praised by his captain, and Edd, the boy showing the most skill with a sword. Then he had strongly suggested other lords implemented similar schemes.
Which was how the Redbolts were garnering a reputation for philanthropy and compassion, much to the chagrin of all the lords that had hoped to gain control of the North’s new port for themselves. And how half of the lowborn urchins in the North had suddenly found themselves at lessons with a maester, before attending to their usual work.
Robb had used it as an excuse to build yet another structure, this time a ‘teaching hall’ in Winter Town. Employing a separate maester to run it, and dedicate himself to the children there. The maesters were not pleased at having to educate ruffians. The first man at Winter Town had been sent back to the Citadel in disgrace, after Robb had discovered he had been shirking his duties and only reinforcing the children’s notions of ‘their place’. Robb had publicly whipped the man in Winter Town’s square, for beating a child bloody. The other maesters suddenly ceased their grumbling and become very enamoured with the new endeavour after that.
Now Ramsay’s keep, aptly named ‘the Redbolt’, was filled with tiny, irritating beasts at almost all hours of day. And Ramsay was forced to pretend he was keen on the idea, lest he look like a miser. Domeric thought the entire tale was hilarious. He kept ‘coming to visit’ ostensibly to spend time with his brother, but really so he could laugh about Ramsay’s new generous, kind reputation directly to his face.
Thankfully, he was not alone in his lack of enthusiasm. His mother thought the scheme was folly also, and would lead to smallfolk with ideas above their station. Coming from the smallfolk herself, Ramsay valued her opinion in the matter, and it amused him to see how she took his side in all things. Still, she had been careful not to disparage Pod himself when casting dire warnings about the scheme.
Ramsay had made it clear when he invited Tessa to live with them, that Pod was an eternal feature of the household. And that if Pod should feel uncomfortable with her, or she tried to come between them, or if some mysterious accident should befall Pod, then she would be out on her ear, immediately.
But she wasn’t stupid, his mother, for all that she was a lowborn wretch. Tessa knew better than to jeopardize her chance of living out her remaining days in a keep, with servants to tend to her every whim, though she had balked at the idea of it at first.
“What m’I to do, m’lord?” she asked pitifully, “Don’t know nothing ‘bout running a keep. Can only work a mill, clean and cook and sew. That’s all I can do.”
She’d almost been in tears, before Ramsay assured her that the lord’s mother need not do anything, but sit by the fire and eat well. And sew clothing for him, if she wished. That had mollified her, and she set about sewing him cloaks and tunics, the quality improving with each new item. Especially as, after he had discovered her, Pod had the young seamstress girl come and sit with Tessa regularly. Sharing her considerable skill, and feminine conversation.
His mother had been very uncomfortable with the idea of Ramsay laying with a man. But Podrick was an easy man to abide, even if she was still leery of the freedom with which they expressed affection in public. Since she was lucky he hadn’t killed her for tossing him aside like refuse, Ramsay wasn’t willing to listen to her opinion on his choice of bedpartners.
The only reason his mother still breathed, was that when Ramsay had decided to sate his curiosity, and visit the mill she owned, she had known him almost immediately. Tessa had asked after his health and upbringing, and said she was happy his father had done right by him. Treating him as befitting his station, as the son of a lord. She had admitted his father had threatened to kill her himself, if she ever sought Ramsay out at the Dreadfort. It was one thing to claim a motherless bastard. But apparently quite another, for Roose to allow the plain, dowdy woman he raped to parade about, asking after her son and revealing the truth.
Ramsay was surprised by his sudden need to know her. She had obviously thought on him, over the years. And it was true that he had enjoyed a better life at the Dreadfort with Dom, than he would have at the dreary, sad little mill Tessa called home. Robb Stark had just gifted him a keep of his own. So Ramsay decided to put his new power to good use, and insisted that she should come and live with him.
He’d quickly broken her of the habit of calling him by anything but his name, and in turn he called her ‘mother’. They usually ate their noonday meal together, just the two of them, where they would exchange stories. She enjoyed to run her hand gently through his hair, and often wore dresses in deep pink, reflecting the sigil Ramsay had chosen for his personal coat of arms. They rapidly settled into a routine of living, as though they had never been parted.
She did not displease or embarass him, and kept her opinions about Podrick to herself. Though her dresses and manners might never be as fine as Wylla’s, they certainly befitted the lady of a small keep. Tessa agreed with every public announcement he made, and disapproved of every lord that they were forced to host, believing them all to be greedy, rude and foolish. Opinions which Ramsay generally shared. It amused him greatly to see how uncomfortable it made his neighbouring lords, to be polite and gracious to an obviously lowborn woman. Mother had taken his name as ‘Mistress Redbolt’, having no House of her own, and neatly slipped into the family. As though she had always been there.
It had been particularly thrilling when Father had come to visit, and had turned pale with suppressed rage at finding her there. Unfortunately, King Robb had also been visiting, to oversee the progress of the port. So Father was forced to bite his tongue, and curse Ramsay only in the recesses of his mind. Merik was thrilled at the idea of having another grandmother, since Beth and Rose had two of their own and now he could match. For his and Ramsay’s sake, Pod tolerated Tessa, though she was generally cool toward him, and resisted his attempts to befriend her. Ramsay suspected that disharmony would ease with time.
Until then, he enjoyed basking in his favourite armchair by the fire, while Mother knitted socks and tutted over the dirty little children climbing about the keep as though they owned it. The children were irritating, as was the unwarranted praise Ramsay garnered from pretending to care about their fates. Whenever visiting lords came by, he was expected to smile and gush about their achievements.
But it made Pod happy, to provide for them. And it certainly put paid to the assertions that nothing good would come of the Redbolt's instalment at the keep. The chatter and laughter of so many children filling their halls wasn’t overly terrible. Better than the oppressive quiet at the Dreadfort, in any case. Ramsay could grow used it, here on the coast where the waves constantly lapped at the small beach, a soothing background noise, and there were always new traders hawking interesting wares in the markets.
Merik was thrilled to feed sea birds every day, and canter about the coastline on his grey charger. Pod was occupied with a litter of children Ramsay couldn’t otherwise provide for him, now that Merik was too big to coddle. And his mother, so eager to please, was always willing to listen to anything that entered Ramsay's mind. All catered to by servants of his own, in his smart new keep at the fashionable Sea Dragon Harbour. Far enough away that Father no longer bothered him, but close enough for Dom to visit fairly frequently. Soon, the port would make Ramsay rich, and he would live out the remainder of his days in the North, feeding Pod honeycakes from his fingers, as they both grew fat from the abundance. Yes, a fitting end indeed, for a descendant of the Red Kings.