❛ you have a sadness living in places sadness shouldn’t live . ❜
he knows not her name. someone he thinks he failed , more than likely — for who hasn’t he ? — and for the thought of it dark somber stones throw themselves at winged lady , dressed in the finery of her feathers . DOES HE LOOK SAD ? rather a sad sight , perhaps : if by the hunch of a spine drenched in the once black of his cape , the bow of a skull crowned in weight of woes alone .
❝ I’m sorry, ❞ snow trembles as he speaks ; or his heart does , and it is not the first time of many he’d wished it stayed cleaved in two . ❝ … I don’t think we’ve met. ❞
and yet, she’s pledged for him — NO , NOT HIM / FOR SANSA , FOR ARYA , FOR BRAN , FOR THE DEFILED DEAD IN THE CRYPTS — for the starks.
he still doesn’t feel a wolf , even dressed in it’s skin and sigil : not even in ghost’s eyes does he feel his kin at times .
( who hasn’t he failed ? )
they call him king . THE LONE WOLF . he feels anything but .
maybe that’s all he is now : a sadness , rotting in shambling skin . this lady sees it , and what other words have they shared but these ? he may as well be a wight, grief against death.
❝ Sit, if you’d like. ❞ gentle offer , king thinks himself a corpse but those glinting eyes hide a nature he oft forgets himself of : there is no hiding it . he is a DIREWOLF , through and through : down to the quiet , inquisitive way stubbled throat warbles with his swallow , the tilt of his chin not long after . ❝ Your sigil is unfamiliar, my lady. You’re of the Vale, aren’t you? ❞
soft . soft as he can be , doused in the light of the fire ; he can never get warm anymore , can he ? NO. no , he’s always cold , and he suspects even with the dead gone he will never be warm again . but he can still think , still learn ; he can do right .
he can give lady a twisted snare of lips in ghost of a smile , the first he’s shed in too long : but how much longer still has it been since she has seen a smile , he wonders ? ( how much more of himself can he cut away for his people? ) jon snow will not fail this dove perched with a warbling chest and tattered wings on his sill , so he asks . he smiles . even if it hurts.
❝ … I’m willing to listen, ❞ the lone wolf tells the lost dove , sunken into his furs . they have little else to do , in these waning hours , other than feel human for all their monstrosity . ❝ If you’re willing to speak. ❞
jon snow never denies elaena . bastard is cut of sorrow , and knows it .
milk and honey , @dovewomna .
