Fic: Song of Home (Game of Thrones)
Jul. 7th, 2012 12:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keep_countingTitle: Song of Home
Characters/Pairings: Sansa/Sandor
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Spoilers for season 1 and 2.
Genre: Romance/Hurt-comfort
Word-count: 436
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in relation to this
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
gameofships ' Ships in a Fortnight Day 11 prompt, which can be seen here
Summary: Sansa returns home to a ruin. And she isn't alone.
The door is red.
She can see it as clearly as she can see the blue skies and the white snow covering everything, sharp contrasts, so bright it almost hurts her eyes.
She has been away for so long that she has almost forgotten what it looks like. But she is sure the gate was never… red.
Crimson. Crimson and brown and pink where the snow had touched it, merged with it. The door, the gate, the path back to her home is dyed in all the shades of blood.
It terrifies her, like smoke curling into her lungs, gripping hold and no matter how much she coughs she can’t get it out, no matter how much clean air she tries sucking in, there’s no getting it out, no stopping the panic spreading from her chest to the very tips of her fingers.
And then there is a large, heavy hand on her shoulder and she snaps out of it, blinks and realizes…
There is no door. No gate. No path.
The blood has long been washed away, the bodies claimed by the earth and whatever remains is covered by the pure, white snow: it is not blood inviting her home, it is the snow, because she is a Stark and winter has come, come to welcome her home.
”Go on, little bird,” he says, and there was a time when that voice would have frightened her, when it brought back memories of King’s Landing and wildfire and green, haunted eyes and golden hair. But now – now it is so different. Now it’s strong hands pulling her away from biting steel and harsh eyes. Its soothing words and hurtful truths and marks and bruises on his body, gained in defending her, defending them. Now it’s a broad chest against her back, and heavy arms around her waist. Now it’s the first kiss she’d pressed against the scarred side of his mouth, in the middle of a road that she thinks she won’t ever be able to locate on a map, let alone find again.
Now he’s taken her home.
”I can’t believe I used to dream of leaving this place behind,” she says, admits, shamefully. Life’s not a song.
”It was prettier before,” he comments in that straight-faced way of his and she almost laughs.
”It’s a ruin,” she agrees, a little more solemn now. She reaches up to the hand still on her shoulder. ”But it can be rebuild.”
He only nods, and she hopes, begs, prays that he knows he can stay. He can stay forever, if he wants. In her home, with her.
Characters/Pairings: Sansa/Sandor
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Spoilers for season 1 and 2.
Genre: Romance/Hurt-comfort
Word-count: 436
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in relation to this
A/N: Written for
gameofships ' Ships in a Fortnight Day 11 prompt, which can be seen hereSummary: Sansa returns home to a ruin. And she isn't alone.
The door is red.
She can see it as clearly as she can see the blue skies and the white snow covering everything, sharp contrasts, so bright it almost hurts her eyes.
She has been away for so long that she has almost forgotten what it looks like. But she is sure the gate was never… red.
Crimson. Crimson and brown and pink where the snow had touched it, merged with it. The door, the gate, the path back to her home is dyed in all the shades of blood.
It terrifies her, like smoke curling into her lungs, gripping hold and no matter how much she coughs she can’t get it out, no matter how much clean air she tries sucking in, there’s no getting it out, no stopping the panic spreading from her chest to the very tips of her fingers.
And then there is a large, heavy hand on her shoulder and she snaps out of it, blinks and realizes…
There is no door. No gate. No path.
The blood has long been washed away, the bodies claimed by the earth and whatever remains is covered by the pure, white snow: it is not blood inviting her home, it is the snow, because she is a Stark and winter has come, come to welcome her home.
”Go on, little bird,” he says, and there was a time when that voice would have frightened her, when it brought back memories of King’s Landing and wildfire and green, haunted eyes and golden hair. But now – now it is so different. Now it’s strong hands pulling her away from biting steel and harsh eyes. Its soothing words and hurtful truths and marks and bruises on his body, gained in defending her, defending them. Now it’s a broad chest against her back, and heavy arms around her waist. Now it’s the first kiss she’d pressed against the scarred side of his mouth, in the middle of a road that she thinks she won’t ever be able to locate on a map, let alone find again.
Now he’s taken her home.
”I can’t believe I used to dream of leaving this place behind,” she says, admits, shamefully. Life’s not a song.
”It was prettier before,” he comments in that straight-faced way of his and she almost laughs.
”It’s a ruin,” she agrees, a little more solemn now. She reaches up to the hand still on her shoulder. ”But it can be rebuild.”
He only nods, and she hopes, begs, prays that he knows he can stay. He can stay forever, if he wants. In her home, with her.
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Date: 2012-07-07 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 12:37 pm (UTC)