#onborrowedwings

I was so excited to get this ask, thank you!

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?

It was a departure for me in the way that I generally write, the first time that I’d attempted a story that was non-linear with two separate timeframes happening side by side. It did take a lot of effort, because chapters from ‘Then’ and ‘Now’ ideally needed to complement each other, reflecting how the past then affected present events. It was also an effort not to contradict things I’d earlier (stupidly) spelled out at the beginning that then needed to happen before the end.

7: Where did the title come from?

Purely out of my head to fit with the themes. The story is about how people are changed by the experiences they face, how they can grow into what they should become, the journey undertaken to get there.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Not written ones, however early on I had planned for there to be greater opposition at the time Daryl and Beth revealed they were in a relationship and for them to potentially leave for some time until there could be a reconciliation.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

I thought I did okay with the smut for once, hahaha. Seriously though, I really enjoyed exploring those themes of growth - how people can grow both into themselves and into a family. That what you are is not set in stone purely based on how others see you.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

Seriously this fic takes you through the whole range of emotions. And gut punches you about halfway through when Sansa learns the fate of Robb and Catelyn. There’s a bit right around there where Sansa and Sandor are going over their options (Riverrun is out, The Eyrie is not an option because Lysa sits up there isolated not caring what happens to the rest of the world, Greywater Watch is too close to The Frey’s and The Greyjoys) and finally it comes down to this:

“My half-brother Jon in the Night’s Watch?”

“And how are we to reach there and what are we to do once we have? I’ve no wish to don a black cloak and women are not allowed at the Wall.”

“Lord Stannis, then?” Sansa continues desperately, “He is an enemy of the Lannisters and is an honourable man, surely he would protect me?”

“Lord Stannis’s forces were spent in the Battle of the Blackwater and he’s retreated to Dragonstone. No way to reach him without great risk and I wouldn’t trust him not to use you for his own purposes if we did.”

“Is there nowhere that we may be safe?” she asks him in despair, “No ally that we may go to for sanctuary?”

He cuts her off, “And perhaps that would be for the best if I can manage to take him down with me. I’ll die and you’ll remember me for the best man you ever knew and never have the chance to learn otherwise.”

Sansa shakes her head, still trying to quell the threatening tears. “I do not wish to remember you for the best man I ever knew,” she whispers, “I would much sooner you returned to my side to prove me wrong if it means that you are alive.” 

I love me a Sandor that's gruff and somewhat self-deprecating. And in this fic he's that in spades. He tells Sansa, several times, that he's not right for her. He's a 'second son from a minor house, who has no right looking at a Stark of Winterfell.'

And I just. All My Feels. Because while this Sansa has her eyes open, and she's seeing the world for what it is: a wicked, wretched place that's not like her songs and fairy stories; she recognises that Sandor is one of the best men she'll ever know. *clears throat, wipes mist from eyes*. And she knows if he goes to face off against The Mountain there's every chance he's not going to come back to her, no matter how hard she prays.

“What are you doing here?” A policeman blocked the entrance to a derelict hovel.  “This is no place for children.”

“I’m here to examine the remains.” Ciel gave him a dark look. “If you have to ask who I am you don’t have enough authority to stop me from entering. Stand aside.” The middle-aged policeman blinked, clearly taken aback by his attitude. Taking advantage of his silence, the earl gave his butler a sharp look and pushed past the man, entering the structure. It was old and smelled of rotten wood despite the chill air. There was something else, sharp and vaguely sweet—the first hints of human decay. Ciel could feel Sebastian’s eyes on the back of his neck, waiting for him to lose his nerve, to prove his weakness. He wouldn't.

Following the footprints left by the police, he made his way down a set of rickety stairs into the basement of the structure. The smell grew steadily stronger and the young earl had to fight to keep himself from covering his nose. This was nothing. He had seen much worse. Repeating those words to himself like a mantra, Ciel stepped off the last step and entered what must have once been a large wine cellar. The walls were spattered with red, awful visceral remains scattered across the stone floor. Ciel’s eyes widened slightly. He felt a sour taste in his mouth as he looked away from the gruesome sight, feeling sick despite his resolve.

“Earl Phantomhive…” Sir Arthur Randall frowned, a clear look of ire on his lined face. “This is highly irregular. We haven’t even finished out initial report.”

“If you have a problem with my methods, take it up with Her Majesty.” He muttered, pulling the notepad from the aging man’s hand. Minimum of five, possibly six victims…one of which seems to be a child…obvious ties to occult practices… Ciel saw something on the page and looked up. A mark, not entirely unlike the seal he bore on the iris of his right eye, was burned into the ceiling, scorched ash adding a smoky musk to the already vile mess below. Ciel’s breath hitched in his lungs. If this was what he suspected…The young earl gave his butler a cursory glance, but as usual, he failed to glean any information from the insufferable smile grafted on the demon’s lips. “Did you remove any artifacts?”

“No.” The aging policeman grumbled, snatching the notebook back from the young earl. “As I informed you, we have barely scratched the surface of the investigation. If you must be here, do try not to disturb police proceedings.”

“If I had any faith in your proceedings, I wouldn't be here in the first place.” Ciel snapped, starting to feel mildly lightheaded. Carefully stepping over a grizzly pile of red slime, he removed his cloak and handed it to Sebastian.

“Are you alright, young master? You look rather pale.”

The slight  tone of amusement in the butler’s voice made the young earl’s jaw tighten, his eyes briefly flicking up to check the taller man’s expression. “I’m fine.  Stop asking asinine questions and help me look for evidence. I don’t want to touch anything.”

If this was the aftermath of a successful summoning, Sebastian would know, but as far as the police could tell no one had walked out of this room alive. One of the neighbors—no doubt hoping for a reward—had reported smelling smoke, which had led the Fire Marshall to discover this mess. Ciel’s eyes cast over the odds and ends scattered across the table. Most of it was cliché stereotypical junk: a skull with candle-wax dripping down over its cheekbones, a few silver daggers, a mortar and pestle, and several inverted pentagrams. But there were a few things that might be a bit more sinister: an array of devices that had most surely been used for torture, a jar of human fingers, and a series of bloodstained tomes, one of which caught his eye. The emblem of a dove hovering over a crown was pressed on its cover, along with a name. Albert Langsley….the name triggered a vague memory—his father discussing something in earnest with a portly man. Something involving the name Langsley…