derpha:

It’s not safe to be here,
not like this, but he does anyway.
He’s sleek and quick like this.
Hiding himself, stowing away, will
not be at all problematic for him
if they so find themselves in the event
of needing to.

Born the opposite of a cynic, he’s
made an order of debt to her, and
thus far he has failed in all manners.
She has still come to see the fall of her father,
and she will see further horrors.
There’s simple devotions here;
and he’s putting the words he offered to her
in the promise of keeping her safe
to a grave of filth. In the title of a lie.

“Condolences, Miss Lady,” he says,
because he doesn’t know what else to say.
And then he does:
“You couldn’t have known. If you are
thinking of blame and where it lies:
it’s not with you.”

:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::

Condolences. Condolences only
go so far, for it does not whet her
appetite nor does it keep her sleep
dreamless. Condolences cannot
stitch a head to a body and return
words back into her mouth. It is
second-hand regret shrouded in a
cloud of pity but she accepts it for
it comes from Lady and she has
nothing else. 

Sansa’s eyes focus on the glinting
edges of her plate as she pushes
the meat around, feeling too queasy
to eat anything. ”Do you want the
rest? I think I shall take my leave.“

”You’ll stay, won’t you?“ She fears
Joffrey sending Ser Ilyn Payne to her
chambers to drag her by the hair to
the chopping block. She fears the 
doors not be strong enough to keep
rough hands out. She fears they will
turn on her now that their king has 
made it clear he doesn’t mind bruises
below her neckline. Sansa fears.