@ririwithrice @ning-ningx300 jakdhsjkasdkhwaishda yall are the only people im talking to rn and im too lazy to tell yall individually but im gonna go to bed :)
oh god i found an “angst” drabble that i wrote like 2 months ago and forgot to post LMAO reading through it is like.....i can see why I didn’t post it...but I’m gonna post it anyways lol
It all seemed meaningless in the grand scheme of it all.
She sits alone in her solar, perhaps thinking an hour or two alone might do her well. It has not. They have won the battle of the dead, they are alive... Well, some of them are. She won't think of Theon, she can't think of him.
At her feet, as if he senses her discomfort, Ghost nuzzles her knee, a silent reminder that she's never quite alone. "Good boy, Ghost," she murmurs as she runs her hand along his snout, the cold, wet nose pressing into her palm a comforting sensation that brings the softest of smiles to her face. She thinks of that morning, of the glint of the silver direwolf in the winter sun... The smell of burning flesh, she's found that it lingers long after you've gone back inside. A chill races her spine and she closes her eyes, breath catching in her chest, her heart beating quickly. Suddenly, the room is spinning and she's afraid. She's so very afraid.
In the days that have passed since Theon's death, she's not let herself grieve for him. There had been so much to do, so much to ensure was taken care of. How many wounds she had stitched closed, how many feverish foreheads had she sponged? How many children had she clutched close when their fathers had not returned from the battlefield? There had been no time for her to grieve for the loss that was Theon, a loss she had been unprepared for, the pain unspeakable, the ache in her heart unimaginable.
A new kind of pain that has crippled her, broken her entirely.
"Sansa..."
He's been watching for a few long, horrible moments; the realization of her pain, of her suffering, hits him like a punch to his gut. She raises her face to look at him, but Jon isn't certain she can see him, for she's crying so hard. Does she even realize it? He crosses the room in four great strides, sinking down to wrap her into his embrace, the catch in her throat as she softly cries his name breaking his heart into dozens of tiny pieces. She looks as if she's not slept in days and he realizes that she probably hasn't.
They've been here before, on nights when she came to his room like a ghost in her nightgown, frightened by the nightmares of a past she could not forget. She came so often, he'd memorized the sound of her footsteps outside his door. On days when the whistle of a sword in the courtyard dissolved her into tears, a reminder of that day in King's Landing.
They've been here before and that makes it all the worse.
She clings to him and Jon can think of nothing else to do but to gently tug her to her feet so he can switch places with her, he taking the chair so he can instead pull her into place upon his lap. When she's settled, she leans into him, her face buried into the crook of his shoulder, and Jon strokes the length of her long red hair, softly whispering anything he can think of as she cries. "I remember once..." He says, unable to help but to chuckle at the memory, the sound forcing Sansa to raise her head from his shoulder. "We were boys back then... Robb and Theon and me..." He's grinning, still able to recall the way the sun bounced off of Robb's Tully curls and the way Theon had scowled at being taken so far into the forest. "We got lost of course," Jon goes on and to his surprise (and joy) a small smile is curving on her lips. "I thought Father was going to skin us all for straying so far. I think he sent out every man in Wintefell to search for us." His chuckle deepens her smile and his heart skips a beat at the sight of it. "It seems you and Arya had better sense than to join us on that adventure."
"You told us it was haunted by a witch," she reminds him, remembering those days as if they had just been yesterday. "Arya said she wasn't afraid but she disappeared when you three left." They both can remember Arya back then- no older than six, claiming no fear of the witch in the woods, though when offered to go, she had hidden herself in the broken tower. "Theon was so angry, he fell in the mud and ruined his new breeches." Sansa continues and at once her smile fades. She bows her head, thrust back into sorrow at the memory of her friend, of her family. Yet another name she must add to her list, though hers is much different than the one Arya keeps.
Jon slips his hand into hers. "He was a good man," he says, giving her hand a small squeeze. "A true hero." He thinks of that day, that day when Sansa had come to him at Castle Black. Theon... Theon helped me escape. She had told him, wrapped in Jon's own furs, a steaming bowl of soup between her palms. He saved my life, Jon. He said he would die to get me to you... That you would protect me. He thinks of that day on Dragonstone, when the dingy had washed onto the shore with Theon inside of it. What you did for her is the only reason I'm not killing you. He'd not forgiven him yet back then on the beach, but now he has. Jon only wishes it weren't too late to tell him so. "We will build him a statue in the crypts, so all will know what Theon Greyjoy did for House Stark."
Sansa stares at him for a long moment before she nods, knowing it was the least that she could do for Theon. He never would call himself a hero, but he was one. He was.
They sit together a while longer, Sansa returning her head to his shoulder, their hands still clasped. Jon softly recounts another story from childhood, this one a tale of Robb, Theon, and himself daring one another to sneak into the Lord's chambers for swigs of ale, only to be caught by their father. Father... Jon thinks, knowing there was something else he needed to tell her, something else she needs to know... But now that he looks down at her face, he realizes she's fast asleep there against his shoulder. He supposes his secret can wait another day. Beneath his feet, he feels Ghost as he sits up, red eyes blinking at him as if the wolf knows the truth of his heart. He probably does. "I'll tell her, boy, don't worry." He says softly, reaching down his free hand to scratch behind the wolf's bandaged ear- Sansa's doing, of course.
There's so much to tell her, so much he's longed to say to her... But right then, he's just going to let her sleep.
