#bastardbled

The snow is piling down in Winterfell beneath a dreary sun as it begins to sink below the horizon. The sheen off of the snow is tinted a pale pink with the fading light and Sansa keeps her gaze averted downward to avoid any prying eyes as she leads her horse through the gates of the town. Her body is covered head to toe in a thick fur coat, boots, and a hood, but somehow she still feels revealed and vulnerable, even with the dagger sheathed firmly on her belt. No one dares to speak to her about everything that had happened but she can feel the guards watching as she pulls up her mare at the exit of the town to a halt so that she can mount up. The horse is as white as the landscape before it and Sansa strokes her palm softly down the animal’s neck before pressing her heels to its sides and moving off at a brisk pace down the path towards the outer villages.

It has been 12 days, just over a week, since she was broken free from Ramsay’s grasp but each time she closes her eyes, she can still feel his grip snaked around her as strong as ever and it makes every muscle in her body tense. Even with Jon now ruling Winterfell, her months held prisoner have erased any feeling of it being home and replaced all her warm memories with harsh ones, violent ones, memories that she tries hard to bury.

Sansa shakes her head lightly and a few strands of red hair escape from her hood to flutter across her cheeks, blushed from the cold. She refuses to let memories overwhelm her right now. She is safe, she has to remind herself. The barking of a dog is not Ramsay’s hounds, it is merely a pet. The yelling from the town is not a cry of fear, it is merely children playing. Swallowing down a lump in her throat, Sansa lets out a deep breath and rides forward steadily towards the little town she had been recommended to visit. 

The cold feels numb against her skin and the girl is so lost in her own mind that it doesn’t seem to take much time at all before the chatter of life becomes louder around her and she is arriving in the small village on the outskirts of Winterfell. It seems to be a relatively poor area but Sansa is certain that she had heard of a reputable healer in the area. There are those within the castle walls but those nurses have known Sansa for years. She would never want them to see her how she is now so battered and broken. Her blue eyes look around carefully and she slows her horse to a walk until they come across a little house on the edges of the town with a small sign in front of it that reads of a healing and tailoring service. She knows that the sun will be setting soon and she fiddles nervously with her hands, hoping she isn’t too late to arrive. Sansa swings her leg over the saddle and dismounts slowly, hearing the crunch of her boots against the snow. She wraps her mare’s reins under the cover of a large oak tree and with that, approaches the door and knocks several times, still occasionally gazing over her shoulder as if she expects to be recognized or have someone jump out at her. When a woman comes to open the door, Sansa clasp her hands behind her back and averts her gaze back to the floor.

“ I know it is getting late and I hope I am not interrupting anything but I was wondering if someone might be able to help me with some injuries I have recently acquired? ” She swallows hard and tucks her coat more firmly around herself.  

It was supposed to be nice relaxing evening away from work. Just popcorn and cheesy movies. Not getting roped into a band of merry rebels who were trying to take down this horrible facility that was trying to take over the world or whatever it was. Lauyrn had been half listing and half wondering how she could get out of this. But these people knew who she was, where she worked. If she didn’t help them it could end badly for her. 

So she went in, followed the orders given to her. Stayed as hidden as she could, blending in to the workers there with some ease. No one looked at her with suspicion, someone even greeted her like she had been there for some time. 

She hadn’t expected to run into one of the test subjects. That’s when it hit her. The person that had spoken to her had been on of the higher ups. Lauyrn’s brain scrambled with what to do. She’d been found out but she didn’t want to fight if she didn’t have to either. She’d never really used her abilities in combat before. She’d been sent on a suicide mission. Never meant to come back. She was sure of it now as she stared in fear at the man and what he could possibly do to her.

Lauyrn slid a large crate in between her and the man and attempted to run away, finding the door she had come in was locked. Lesson learned. Don’t accept money from strangers. No matter how much and no matter how much world saving they do. It’s not worth you dying. Lauyrn told herself, angry that she had gotten placed in this situation as she was about to turn back around that’s when she felt an icy blast hit her body and she nearly fell to the ground in pain as she felt something sharp hit her shoulder and as soon as she felt the wound it closed up almost just as fast. 

Lauyrn breathed a sigh of relief as her healing factor kicked in and she scrambled past the man trying to stabilize her feet as they nearly slipped on the cold almost icy floor beneath her. Just great, she was up against someone who could control ice. What next? She’d be stuck as an ice sculpture?

“Chill out!” Lauyrn called as she pulled and pushed things out of her way and trying to block any oncoming attack from the man. “There’s snow reason to get so mad. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be doing!  But we both seem to be in flurry to get places...so...” Puns. Really? Life and death situation and puns are all you can say right now? 

“You  SERIOUSLY took too long.” he sighed, letting his head fall back upon the sofa he comfortably had sprawled across. “Calm down.” he muttered reaching into his jacket and pulling out a tiny bag, offering it to the girl.

                      She rolls her eyes then snatches the bag from his hand, pulling herself onto the arm of the chair and crossing her legs. “It took me a WHILE to get it, okay? People just DON’T fall for the same shit anymore. Damn ASSHOLE chased me through white-picket-fence central when he realised I got his wallet.” 

Sansa rose before the sun on the day after her wedding, and dressed without the assistance of a handmaid. Most of the servants she saw on her way down to the kitchen were familiar, and while some skirted their way around her, leaving a wide berth, some gave her hopeful little smiles, whispers of "welcome home, Lady Sansa". She had no smiles to return, but she gave them solid nods of acknowledgment, like her father would have when he walked these halls.

The quiet affection of Winterfell natives gave Sansa the strength she needed this morning. She ordered breakfast laid out in her chambers for two, hot oatmeal with butter and sugar, crispy bacon, hearty toast served with various different kinds of jam. She didn't know what Ramsay preferred, so she asked for a little of everything. When the kitchen was well into preparing, she went back to her rooms.

The young Snow was on the verge of a pout as he STARED at the other. Ramsay shoved him (lightly), stomping around in circles. Pacing about in thought. Breaking the frost from the dead grass. He clenched his fists and screwed up his face. Throwing his arms about frantically he quickly returned to Damon. “Promise me.” he order GRABBING his pinkie with his own. “Promise me they’ll pay! Swear it to me!”

platonic touch // @bastardsboy

The halfhearted shove caused him to stumble back only slightly, the cold grass crunching beneath his boots. Ramsay was known for temper tantrums, but this was different -- he was hurt. With their fingers interlocked, Ramsay’s eyes seemed to be pleading with his own. At that simple touch, Damon felt as though their veins were intertwined, weaving together and binding them as one. He felt a great shift, like everything would change from this one fleeting moment.