#winterreigned

he was a knight now . ser podrick payne . no more squiring , no more chasing after someone else's horses , no more shining of armors or sharpening blades . he was a knight , and perhaps someday he would have a squire of his own . but his new title meant he was no longer tied to bryenne , and she'd made sure to leave early enough to avoid an emotional goodbye . now all his decisions were his , and he knew exactly the first one he wanted to see through .

❛ my la–– my queen, sansa . ❜ he shook his head at himself , adjusting to her new title . ❛ your grace , if i could have a minute of your time ? ❜ // @winterreigned

Only at the transportation from King's Landing back to the North had Ned seen the light of day. He wasn't sure what led to the decision of being moved to the cells of his home. Perhaps with the dead of his son the North no longer held any threat to the crown. Then why didn't they simply cut his throat and be done with it? What sort of leverage was there still to gain? Ned had a lot of time to contemplate on that. Roose Bolton did not offer him an explanation - he rarely came to visit. His bastard, however, was a frequent guest, and he was a talker. Theon Greyjoy's presence was shortly introduced, as were the updates surrounding politics. Ramsay thought he was boasting or inflicting physiological pain, but for Ned it was merely a source of information. It was how he learnt about Sansa's return to Winterfell.

That was the first time he had responded to any of the boy's words. A fatherly worry both in eyes and voice at the mention of her. "Sansa - is she alright?" For now, was his answer, before leaving the cell with a vile snicker.

@winterreigned sent ⛓ for an arranged marriage starter

Harwin knew it was only a matter of time before his father wrangled him into an arranged marriage, but he still can't believe it's actually happening now. Especially to a Stark. House Strong is a small but loyal family; Harwin himself had gone south with her brother Robb. They had few men to offer-- they held a small part of the North along the Neck-- but they had never refused the call.

He's a logical choice, is what his father promises him. Uniting House Stark with a loyal house that holds a stronghold on the border of their new country makes sense, but it still seems insane to Harwin. Still, he travels to Winterfell when his father summons him.

He's met Sansa before. He was at her coronation. He's never held a long conversation with her before he'd arrived, but she's not a total stranger to him. They're getting used to each other. On this particular eve, he's sitting in front of the hearth in the main hall, brows furrowed as he focuses on his needlework. He looks up when he hears the door open, and smiles when he sees it's her.

@winterreigned — what is happening between us? / sansa & theon

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇. some sort of deliverance , only a little less holy. for theon , it's a river. he's going against the current. the water is clean and it isn't unpleasant , in so many words. it isn't easy , either.

and despite all the swimming lessons of his youth , he finds himself drowning. drowning in the red of her hair. drowning in her eyes. drowning in the warmth that she gives him , so wholly. he has loved her for longer than he can remember. can't quite attribute it to his youth , for he was bigger than his own self back then. but doesn't quite attribute it to circumstance , either. it's something slow and meaningful. turning of the fall leaves , or something. scheduled. bound to happen and bound to exist — and the world does move , always , at its own pace.

and once again , theon finds himself in sansa's chambers after the sun has set. long after dinner has finished and shortly after the time where one would return to their own chambers. late enough for suspicion and yet not late enough to consider the evening at its end. and mostly they would talk — about everything and about nothing all at once. memories of their childhood. everything they each thought they would be. and each making a point to avoid a certain span of time in their own histories. they are , ever , on the same page. quill and ink included.

and each night they drift , ever so slightly , toward one another. and tonight he sits on the foot of her bed. and something about his intentions are so clear. and so careful. and he can only hope he has read her correctly in all the previous days. all the passing looks and intimate nights. and of course , there's always fear. would she accept him? and where would they go from there? and would he be enough and would he be something infinitesimal or something lasting? could he ever be her future? unlikely. and even so , he persists.

❝ i am no stranger to the cruel sun of ashai, my lady. ❞ ⸻ a few minutes unprotected in the sun could be the end for a man. the north, however. . . even with all coats in the world he would have been ill prepared. ❝ but i cannot get aquainted with this unforgiving cold. ❞ the emerald mountain hissed, as if in agreement with her rider —– a gloved hand reaches out, with neither fear nor hesitation, to pet sharp scaled snout. she too was uncomfortable here, naturally so —– being fire given form.