there's an ember in the rafters

part of the white walkers rp ooc info

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

He plucks at the quilt beneath his cheek.

“Yeah, well…” he drifts off, wondering when he will close his eyes. It was hard for me too. There’s no reason to say it aloud. She’s his sister, with any luck, she still knows him enough to be able to tell what he’s thinking most of the time. It’s obvious how much he wants to prolong this. She’d much rather be down by the fire.

“You look a lot like Mum now, San,” he says, out of nowhere. “You shouldn’t worry so much. She always looked worried, remember?”

[wicked-bloods]

She doesn't want to look like their mother. The comment twists inside her, presses up against her ribs and stomach and hurts.

"Of course I'm worried. I thought you were dead and now you're cold and thin and-"

I can't help you. I can't fix you like you fixed me. We've made the best of it, but sometimes I want to be weak.

Her mouth shuts, and there is one deep breath before she says, quietly, "Just sleep, Robb. You need it."

With anyone else she would have left, to save a shred of the strong face she had put up, but with Robb she could slide her back down the doorframe and sit across the opening.

"I'll stay here."

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

He shifts up against the pillows before she goes. The brass fixings in the bedposts jangle - he almost cracked his head open when he was six, trying to jump and touch the ceiling. Sansa had been the one who screamed and roused the alarm when he fell.

“You’re okay, Sansa,” he says, and the light is getting even darker now and he can barely see anything but her outline against the door. “How are the others? How’s Theon?”

It’s all coming back to him in that mental yawn before he collapses into sleep: that group survival isn’t just about everyone holding their own. He never had to worry about Jeyne; she was always the most responsible, sufficient person he knew, and she had Ygritte. Sansa had Theon, and Theon had… no one.

He swallows, and his throat is dry. We’re in this together. Now and always. But first we get her out. That was what he said when they’d run, and regardless of who was responsible, that promise had been broken. And now, if he could manage to get up and slip out and into the snow before dawn, he was going to break it consciously. And he hadn’t even spoken to Theon.

[wicked-bloods]

She leans on the doorframe. Part of her wants to lie. It would be easier that way.

"They mourned you." I mourned you. Did you mourn me?

Best not to mention the look in Ygritte's eyes when she was confronted about hiding the news. In her anger, Sansa had interpreted a small part of it as relief.

"Theon missed you as much as I did." She does not say that he cried, cried like he did after he told her his mother had died.

"We-" and the word comes out choked, and she stuffs the rest back down. "It's been hard."

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

He’s not expecting her to move against him like that and he nearly bristles. But she’s his little sister and she’s the reason he’s here now and he won’t push her away when there’s so little time left. Her chin notches in his ribs and when he sighs his lungs compress too quickly.

“No. No, that’s not true,” he mutters.

A lot of things are his fault. He made too many mistakes to keep it all together. His father might be a collection of rotting meat, still, if he’d had the guts to fix that. They couldn’t go back to the hospital because of him. They couldn’t get the boys. He didn’t tell Jeyne he loved her before the end. He didn’t tell Theon either. They stayed in the city because he died there and now they’ll all die here with him.

“You shouldn’t sleep here,” he says, stiffly, remembering the little curved cuts on his arms from clutching himself in his nightmares, forever thankful she didn’t make him change for the night. “I have dreams sometimes.”

[wicked-bloods]

"Don't."

She didn't want to fight with him about whose fault it was; did it matter? They were here now and had to make the best of it.

Her hand squeezes again, and she remembers when they were little, and she would have nightmares. Vague dark shapes coming to snatch her away, her parents away, and she would wake up scared of the shadows in the corners, clutching her little stuffed wolf and running to Robb's room.

He had helped scare away the nightmares when they were shadow, but flesh and blood took more than hugs to vanquish.

The tone in his voice is strange, and she sits up reluctantly, cheek cooling rapidly in the air. Dreams.

But she wants to sleep in the same bed, to keep him safe and warm against the outside cold. Losing him again was not an option. The pack survives, Dad had always said. He was dead, the pack was dead except for them.

"I'll stay upstairs, then. Call if you need me."

One last tightening of her fingers before letting his hand drop onto the bed, and she stands. There aren't words to say what she wants, that she loves him more than anything now, that she would take care of him now as much as he had taken care of her.

Maybe it was better she didn't speak.

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

“No.”

He says it quietly, already turned away with his head against the pillow and even though he’s tired, so very very tired, he can’t yet shut his eyes because this is his father’s side of the bed and it takes some getting used to.

Sansa doesn’t move, and he’s thankful for that. He didn’t really mean that he wanted her to leave.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, lying still. “I wish I knew when this would be over. I wish I could end it for you. This wasn’t supposed to be your life, was it?”

He still remembers her coming to the empty flat on that day when the heat was clinging like a film. Every window in the place was open, the doors slamming randomly in unfeelable drafts, and his little sister had bruises on her arms and even then, when the sun was out and the world was warm, he could do nothing to help her.

[wicked-bloods]

She sits level with his waist, reaching out with her hand to gently clasp his own. Sadness doesn't seem right; he could not protect her from everything now. This was not a problem solved with screaming and fights and threats.

Maybe this would never be over. Maybe winter would never leave, and they would freeze inside the house, one by one, and be carrion.

The thought does not scare her; it makes her angry, that she should give up so easily.

"It's not your fault. Nothing's your fault."

Her hand tightens, and she leans over to embrace him, head resting on his chest. The beat of his heart is still there, a steady thud thud thud against a frail cage.

"I've made this a life, Robb."

It is thankless, but it's worth living.

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

He doesn’t object this time, and he’s happy to part with his coat and boots, if nothing else. He hands them to her and she drapes them over the brass frame at the end of the bed. When she moves aside, he sees his reflection in the vanity across the way, and it’s always something of a surprise, like hearing his name spoken aloud again, to see how his face has changed. But still, he looks away.

He would want her to stay a while longer, but he doesn’t want her to see him. He wonders if the shirts left in his father’s wardrobe still smell clean, or if they too have been eaten alive and sucked dry by moths and flies. He won’t ask her - she doesn’t need to wonder or see that, either.

“It’s good, Sansa,” he says. “I’m good.”

And then: “Where is Ygritte?”

No one has said anything. He hasn’t heard anything. Maybe she’s dead and they won’t tell him. It seems doubtful but, then again, most people are dead now.

[wicked-bloods]

Her hands smooth over the cloth as she hangs it on the bed frame, palms covering deep red stains that she knows to be blood.

It would have bothered her, before.

"She's sleeping. Or that's what she said."

She pulls the comforter up from its place at the foot of the bed, and Robb dutifully lays down so she can cover him. It's a maternal gesture, to tuck him in, and she sits down at the edge of the bed when she's done.

"Do you need anything?"

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

He doesn’t object this time, and he’s happy to part with his coat and boots, if nothing else. He hands them to her and she drapes them over the brass frame at the end of the bed. When she moves aside, he sees his reflection in the vanity across the way, and it’s always something of a surprise, like hearing his name spoken aloud again, to see how his face has changed. But still, he looks away.

He would want her to stay a while longer, but he doesn’t want her to see him. He wonders if the shirts left in his father’s wardrobe still smell clean, or if they too have been eaten alive and sucked dry by moths and flies. He won’t ask her - she doesn’t need to wonder or see that, either.

“It’s good, Sansa,” he says. “I’m good.”

And then: “Where is Ygritte?”

No one has said anything. He hasn’t heard anything. Maybe she’s dead and they won’t tell him. It seems doubtful but, then again, most people are dead now.

[wicked-bloods]

Her hands smooth over the cloth as she hangs it on the bed frame, palms covering deep red stains that she knows to be blood.

It would have bothered her, before.

"She's sleeping. Or that's what she said."

She pulls the comforter up from its place at the foot of the bed, and Robb dutifully lays down so she can cover him. It's a maternal gesture, to tuck him in, and she sits down at the edge of the bed when she's done.

"Do you need anything?"

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

Robb still hasn’t looked at her. He nods, stiffly, and they go up the stairs.

“Not here,” he grunts when they get to their parents’ room. “No. San. I can’t. It still-” He sits down on the bed and slumps forwards when the mattress gives way beneath him, such a foreign feeling now. It’s practically dark in the room now, though the sun is just starting to set outside behind the blizzard. Finally, he steels himself and looks up, seeing her standing before him, her hair like a small hearth of it’s own. In front of their mother’s vanity it’s almost too much.

He put the names of his little brothers and sisters out of his head. It’s taken practice, but he does it.

“You okay?” he asks her, digging his fingers into the sheets. He’s so tired he suddenly doesn’t even think he could sleep. “They look after you? You eat? No one gets bit?”

[wicked-bloods]

Sansa ignores his protests, letting him collapse into the bed. He looks so worn, like a piece of sea glass tossed onto the shore.

It frightens her because she knows she must look that way too; they all must. Months of running, four months of bang bang bang and scavenging, constantly beaten back.

But she had adapted, and lived. No one looked after her; they worked together.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It was Ygritte and me for a while, but we've learned."

She kneels, starts untying the laces of his boots (Mum would have a fit if he slept in the bed- the thought chokes off), brow furrowing at how chilled his ankle is as she peels off the wet sock.

"Take off your coat. It needs to dry."

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

His eyes are trapped in the sweeping upward lines again, in the edges of the door frames, the bannisters heading up the stairs, the falling shadows. There are so many details of the house that his mind simply erased, and they’re coming back to him now. How he slid down the stairs with Jon when they were boys (where is Jon? Is Jon alive?), chased Arya and his brothers through the hallways. The air catches in his throat.

“Sansa.” He keeps saying her name over again. “Arya? The boys? Did they..?”

Her face doesn’t move, bar the tiniest shake of her head, and so, he resolves, neither will his. Winter has started to make her hard like it’s made him hard. (He did think, once, that she would prove resilient where he would shatter, and at least he was right about one thing.) They both quaver slightly, and the matter is swept aside, uncomfortably.

“No, not down here,” he suddenly breaks out. “Ground floor is a stupid decision. They’ll always come in on the ground floor. And they can break down doors. Did you know that, now? They can do that. Not down here.”

[wicked-bloods]

Part of her wishes her brothers and sister had been snatched up by the government, taken away to somewhere safe, but that was stupid and naive and childish (oh, Sansa, those fairy tales aren't true. no dragon is going to snatch my princess up, and her mother's laughter echoes like ghosts).

She wants to apologize for not taking care of them better, for going to the hospital alone, for agreeing to stay that night, for drinking and fucking Theon instead of being responsible.

But sorry had never been enough, and she remains silent.

I know that. She and Ygritte had to flee an abandoned home in the middle of night, waking to the splintering of wood and glass, shooting, shooting, running until their breath froze in their lungs.

Instead of saying I have survived too, but there is a fire, and I am here to keep guard while you thaw your bones, she swallows again and nods.

"Of course. Do you want... your room?" His shoulders come up weakly, and going up the stairs he stumbles, so her hand clasps his arm and she can feel, again, how he has wasted away.

They are just past the doorway to their parent's room when he stumbles again, weighing heavy into her, and she shakes.

He murmurs that he'll be fine, that he can just go to sleep, but Sansa drags him into the bedroom. It was once magical to her; Catelyn would let her sit and watch as she prepared for parties, explaining that there were special parties for when Sansa was older.

Can I wear a giant gown like a princess?

Anything you want, Sansa.

"I won't fail you," she whispers to him, and she wonders if he hears.

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

His eyes are trapped in the sweeping upward lines again, in the edges of the door frames, the bannisters heading up the stairs, the falling shadows. There are so many details of the house that his mind simply erased, and they’re coming back to him now. How he slid down the stairs with Jon when they were boys (where is Jon? Is Jon alive?), chased Arya and his brothers through the hallways. The air catches in his throat.

“Sansa.” He keeps saying her name over again. “Arya? The boys? Did they..?”

Her face doesn’t move, bar the tiniest shake of her head, and so, he resolves, neither will his. Winter has started to make her hard like it’s made him hard. (He did think, once, that she would prove resilient where he would shatter, and at least he was right about one thing.) They both quaver slightly, and the matter is swept aside, uncomfortably.

“No, not down here,” he suddenly breaks out. “Ground floor is a stupid decision. They’ll always come in on the ground floor. And they can break down doors. Did you know that, now? They can do that. Not down here.”

[wicked-bloods]

Part of her wishes her brothers and sister had been snatched up by the government, taken away to somewhere safe, but that was stupid and naive and childish (oh, Sansa, those fairy tales aren't true. no dragon is going to snatch my princess up, and her mother's laughter echoes like ghosts).

She wants to apologize for not taking care of them better, for going to the hospital alone, for agreeing to stay that night, for drinking and fucking Theon instead of being responsible.

But sorry had never been enough, and she remains silent.

I know that. She and Ygritte had to flee an abandoned home in the middle of night, waking to the splintering of wood and glass, shooting, shooting, running until their breath froze in their lungs.

Instead of saying I have survived too, but there is a fire, and I am here to keep guard while you thaw your bones, she swallows again and nods.

"Of course. Do you want... your room?" His shoulders come up weakly, and going up the stairs he stumbles, so her hand clasps his arm and she can feel, again, how he has wasted away.

They are just past the doorway to their parent's room when he stumbles again, weighing heavy into her, and she shakes.

He murmurs that he'll be fine, that he can just go to sleep, but Sansa drags him into the bedroom. It was once magical to her; Catelyn would let her sit and watch as she prepared for parties, explaining that there were special parties for when Sansa was older.

Can I wear a giant gown like a princess?

Anything you want, Sansa.

"I won't fail you," she whispers to him, and she wonders if he hears.

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

Sansa’s words take some time to register. His ears are ringing as if she is silent and the house is empty and the air is dead. He almost forgets she is there until his eyes can’t take the fire anymore and he flinches back. Still, he can’t take her hollow blue gaze upon him, assessing his faults, his bruises. 

We can go somewhere else.

She’s not pushing for desertion. She can’t be. Not his little sister. Not what should be home in this crumbling house.

We can all pack up and leave.

He bites down behind set lips, teeth walling up together, and shakes his head. It’s a gross mockery of his father’s voice that comes into his head, unheeded, bearing an old adage like his mother used to whisper. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. (They’d deserted Winterfell House generations ago, swapped moors for boulevards and farming for policies. When he looks up into the rafters, it still seems an appropriate enough remark. Winter lives in this house. It hangs from the gutters).

And besides, he cannot lead them out again. It’s not his place anymore. The pack survives. The pack survives. (His stomach aches.)

There’s a family portrait still hanging over the fireplace. Sansa didn’t have the good decency to burn it. His vision swells below it - he remembers how he hasn’t been able to sleep in such a long time.

“I’m so tired, San,” he grits. “I’m so tired of this. Let me sleep. Where can I sleep?”

[wicked-bloods]

I’m so tired, San.

She flinches at the roughness of the words, but bites her lip and motions with her head. They had dragged the couches closer to the fireplace earlier, blankets and comforters from the attic tossed over to air out.

"You can sleep here on the couch for now- it's not a proper mattress but it's warm enough since there's the fire and the rest of the house is kind of cold." The words run together; she wants to take care of him like she had not been taking care of herself.

"If this is... ok. You can sleep in a bed if you want." Not that you want to see the wreck this house has become.

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

When Theon leaves, Robb finds he watches, and then his eyes catch on the bright spark of the fire. It’s somewhat ingrained now, to gravitate towards flames. They can’t hurt him - only help him.

He’s not surprised that Theon’s left and Jeyne before him, though his throat is dry when he swallows. Surely there’s comfort in that: old patterns, leaving. At least Sansa stays, and he tries not to be bitter and think of something other than himself and his own survival. 

He’s slow to look back at her.

“I’m sorry,” he shudders, suddenly weakened. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”

[wicked-bloods]

"No, no," and she squeezes his hands , trying to catch his eye again. "We- I want you here. I need you."

She has killed and killed and killed (though did it matter when they were already dead?), and Robb had been gone and she wants to say that he would make it better. The words are a lie; Robb looks broken, and she was broken, but they could be broken together.

"We can go somewhere else. I don't know where, but we can all pack up and leave. We'll survive."

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

He feels as if he caves in over her but that she is so small and boney-sharp under his hands and he’s barely even touching her. He doesn’t feel the tears; she’s pressed her face to his shoulder and there are layers between them. It’s like empty birdcages rattling and clashing against one another. He can’t even summon the energy to try to crush her so he stares at the fire behind her and grips her hair.

She shakes for a while, and he meets Theon’s eye against his better judgment. He kept her safe, at least. Finally, he meshes his windburned lips to the top of her head and lets her loose, still holding her at the elbows.

It’s difficult for him to speak again. The words keep coming up against his lips but he grits his teeth against them. She’s alive. She’s safe. Now what? What can he even begin to say? He cups her face instead, shadows playing in her hollow cheeks, and kisses her, hard, on the forehead.

“You’re alive,” he says, quietly. He looks up. “Why are you still here?”

[wicked-bloods]

She doesn't want to let him go because then the world would crash around them again, and when his lips leave her brow she settles her hands over his. Of course she's alive, of course she would keep on fighting, she's let the winter into her bones and he is the summer.

But she did not know why she came back to the house. Because I don't know where we're going from here. The city is home, the countryside is foreign, I thought your remains were here and I couldn't leave them.

"You're alive, too." Her voice is soft. "We wanted to get what we could." Because the ghosts called us back.

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, robb and theon (jeyne, ygritte)

[stark-blood]

It twists an icy blade in his ribs, but his first thought, unwarranted, is how much she looks like their mother. In the grey half-light with the fire on her hair and her eyes hollow and tired, she’d fool him for Catelyn and that only makes it worse. He doesn’t want to feel the despair curdle in his stomach. All this time out in the cold and all it takes is one step into the house where he was a child and where she is, still, slightly a child, and he’s coming unstuck.

When Jeyne slips away, he doesn’t notice. He’s vaguely aware of Theon still standing in silence (and doesn’t that make it even more of a homecoming?) but his little sister is standing by the fire and it’s more colour than he’s seen in weeks.

He must look like a monster. She looks like home.

“San,” is all he manages, not sure if it’s all he’s willing to say or all that his lungs will allow. He hears crying upstairs - or maybe it’s laughing? - and there’s the strangely familiar pang of guilt he’s been smothering since he first recognized them in the snow.

“Sansa,” he says her name, again, remembering the grey, dishwasher memory of finding her in the hospital at Christmas when the world collapsed and it was just the three of them again in this house, the first three, thinking and gabbing at ten and six before Arya and Bran and Rickon came along. At the hospital, he’d near lifted her off the ground when he saw her. He doesn’t think he has the strength anymore, but she’s stumbling towards him and he puts out his arms to take her in.

[wicked-bloods]

She cannot feel her legs anymore, like the blood has shot straight up to her brain and she knows that she stumbles to him, ungainly and all limbs and nothing but the need to touch him and know that she's not hallucinating.

He could break under her weight, but then again, so could she. Still, her grip is tight and her head tucks instinctively by his neck, and she can feel the skin and pulse and knows that this is him, that her brother is back from the dead.

"Robb," the tears are hot and they hurt but the effort it takes to speak instead of sob is what hurts more. The world could rebuild again, now that her brother was back- it had really been the two of them against it all, hadn't it?

[stark-blood]

your city is a wilderland | stark mansion | open to sansa, (theon, jeyne, ygritte and robb)

If Robb’d ever thought to come back here, he would have known at once that someone was living inside. Through the snowy thicket he can’t see the windows or the glow of any hearth fire, but there is a significant change in the snow when he gets up close. It’s packed beneath his feet, worn down from the weight of so many comings and goings. How long have they been here, and why did they come here in the first place?

He made a conscious effort to avoid Westminster; he went east and slowly worked his way back across the city. He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to know the buildings so well his feet would take him there of their own accord. Didn’t want to sleep in his bed and, in the morning, wake up and believe for a split second that the world had just been a horrific dream.

Before the large, black door, (broken open, the jam torn up, something’s holding it closed from the inside), he stops and looks back. Jeyne and Theon have shadowed him in silence. Anything different would have seemed in-congruent to him, but he’s still surprised to see them standing there. There’s a gasp in the wind and the air clears for just a moment, before snow blurs their faces again.

He hits at the door with the butt of his gun. It gives against something but doesn’t budge. He’s about to kick it instead before a black shape slides past him and Theon’s somehow got it loose.Makes sense, he thinks, that he can’t enter his own home these days.

The carpet in the hall is wet from melted snow. His mother would be appalled. The air is only a little warmer but blissfully calm compared to the screeching wind outside. It shakes the windows, which still have their glass. 

His steps slow as he makes his way towards the open archway to the living room with its Victorian fireplace. Most logical place to set up. At the threshold, he freezes, seeing a girl with red hair crouching before the grill to warm her hands. He doesn’t know if it’s Ygritte or Sansa, so if he was going to say anything at all, the idea vacates now. The heat from the fireplace just reaches his frozen hands and face, but he stands still, trying to recognize his sister.

[wicked-bloods]

She abandoned the upstairs to help tend the fire, wearing an old sweater of Robb's that he had left stuffed into the back corner of his closet. It smelled like cedar and disuse, but it kept her warm enough as she crouched in front of the fire.

He had worn it on Christmas, the one where she had gotten her last doll, the year before the clothes and shoes and spa days. The tree was in that corner, and Rickon tried to bite Arya and then Dad-

She bit her lip, turning her head to rub away the memory. A shadow in the doorway, and she jumped to her feet.

"Sorry, Ygri-"

The shadow was a ghost, her brother reincarnate, his hair frosted over and a look in his eye.

Tears threatened again, her eyes big and hot and it hurt to cry, and she doesn't want to, just looks from Jeyne to Theon to that ghost in the doorway.

"Robb?" The sound ripped from her throat.

[princeofpyke-blog]

.don't look at me - i'm only breathing.

I should have died with him.

It’s become something of a mantra to Theon, his very own national anthem, a eulogy that haunts him when he opens his eyes to greet another day, another day in a world where he does not belong.

Read More

[wicked-bloods]

Sansa abandoned the downstairs to Ygritte, tracking snow on the upstairs hardwood (Mum would be horrified) to witness what the breakdown of humanity could do. Her room was trashed, but there were clothes left in the closet and things in the vanity, from what she could see. The stuffed wolf- she's a Lady, like me!- her father had gotten her as a little girl was kicked under the bed, and in a rush of nostalgia she snatched it up to realize the head had been torn off the shoulders. Did someone think a Stark daughter would keep something valuable in a toy?

The wolf's head she kept cradled in her arms as she went to the room next door. It had stood in contrast to Sansa's pink and bright room- Robb had left a mausoleum when he moved out, clean and neat, but now it too was in disarray. She crawled onto the comforter, soft and clean next to her grime, realization of Robb's absence weighing down her bones.

She couldn't wail, couldn't scream her grief to the sky and curse the God who deemed to let this happen, could only let the hot tears well up as she shut her eyes to make it go away.

Her body curls up around the little stuffed wolf head, trying to protect itself in sleep, and when a warm hand rests on her shoulder she stirs.

"Robb?"

Maybe I should apologize for sleeping in his bed, she thinks as she rubs her eyes. But then she hears the crying, and remembers as reality crashes down again.

It's Theon- Sansa never thought she'd be happy to see him, the skin drawn tighter over the harsh lines of his face, and he sinks onto the edge of the bed as he cries.

Theon Greyjoy had never cried.

She adjusts herself so she sits next to him, twisting her torso to drape her arms around his shoulders and clasping her hands gently on his neck. Her eyes squeeze tight again as she presses her forehead into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

Like those words have ever been enough.

[wicked-bloods]

c'est la mort- one shot

[princeofpyke-blog]

text - sansa stark

[wicked-bloods]

to: Theon Greyjoy

msg: no

[She wants to throw the phone across the room. Did Ygritte lie to her? Was this more recent? Less than twenty-four hours and she’d lost her father and brother.

They were wolves, like on their crest, and her father had swept her up into his arms and called her his Little Wolf, and she would giggle as he pressed his scratchy stubble into her cheek.

The press called her and her brother the Young Wolves, inheritors of a legacy.

She could not be the only one left.

She would not.]

[princeofpyke-blog]

to: Sansa Stark

message: im sorry

[[The phone clatters from his hand to the floor beside him, he can’t fucking do it any longer, acknowledge that the best part of him is gone, the best thing he ever knew is dead, crushed beneath the layers of history. The tears are welling in his eyes any more and he doesn’t know what else to do fucking do anymore, so he raises the bottle of gin beside him and takes a prolonged gulp. He can barely feel the burn of it anymore as it sears his throat, all he knows is that he thinks it might help him forget, help him not remember what it meant to feel any more.

He’s slumped down on the ground, back leaning against the wooden surface of the bar. He’s still shirtless, he can’t be bothered searching for where he threw his top away in the heat of the…that. Theon’s dimly aware of the clattering of Jeyne somewhere in the back, dividing up the ammunition in his backpack between them and searching for supplies in the backroom of the deserted pub. He should be more ashamed of himself, curled up on the floor in self-pity like some sort of wretch, but he simply lacks the strength for anything else.

Robb’s voice rings in his head: We’re living through this together, and Theon tries to kill it with another swig, tries to make it stop but it doesn’t, it can’t, Robb’s face dances on the edge of his periphery, grinning at him as he’s bathed in the light of the flames engulfing Harrod’s, laughing as they toast one another a merry christmas at the end of the world, he sees Robb as he’s always been, the heart and soul of everything Theon’s ever known.

He bites his hand to keep from audibly sobbing. His phone bleeps.

He can’t bring himself to pick it up.]]

[wicked-bloods]

to: theon greyjoy

msg: theon please where are you

[She needs him.

She needs someone, anyone.

She's tempted to type that she needs him, to have his arms around her because it's the only familiar thing left, but by now it's like they're a thousand miles apart instead of maybe even ten.

Even if she says she wants Theon's arms, it's a lie- she wants Robb's.

She wants and cannot get.

That is what burrows deep into her heart.]