ironbornprince:

       Pity. It was all he ever received
       since his time in the Dreadfort. 
       That wavering stare of mingled 
       sorrow and disgust felt achingly 
       familiar. Yet he yearned for more
       than simple commiseration; Theon
       needed her to understand his 
       actions. 

              ❝ You lost your home because of me. 
                     But I, 
                            I never had one.. ❞ 

       The explanation spluttery bitterly
       from his lips, more twisted than 
       he could ever have intended. A
       painful swallow shaking down his 
       throat, Theon continued in vain. 

                            ❝ ―I just wanted to feel as if I had accomplished something. ❞

              ❝ I am… so sorry, Sansa.
              I never wanted to cause
              your family any harm. ❞  

       The pungent stench of the
       burning farm boys still lingered
       in him after all these years. The
       screams of the innocent forms
       haunting him forever more. I
       could never have done that to 
       Bran or Rickon, he always 
       reasoned afterwards. But how true 
       that was would never be known.  

              ❝ No, m’lady, I’ll take my leave. 
              I would dare not disrupt your
              household a moment longer. 
              I imagine your brothers would
              put me to the sword if they 
              catch sight of me. ❞ 

                                                 ❝ H…- how are they? ❞

:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::

                She needs time. It is no easy
        feat trying to remember the past
        so fraught with death, destruction;
        a betrayal that runs deep– hollows
        out your insides and laughs as you
        bleed from the sucking chest wound.

               His words register, bringing out
        a sorrow from within her. Ice melts,
        snow thaws and the lady of winter
        finds herself reigning in a heart that
        wants to drop, so deeply saddened
        was she by his plight– by their luck.

               "I wish you had thought of us as
        your family.“ Maybe, such wishes did
        not cross her mind in the past, so taken
        was our young lady by the promise of
        propriety and knights, fragile dreams
        that shatter under a callous hand– but
        now, now she could use some family. 

                 At his forward rejection, Sansa
        bows her head, taking it as a personal
        failing. She remembers when she first
        hosted a Lannister party in the newly
        rebuilt winterfell. it had cost her many
        sleepless nights but she had survived
        that and was rewarded with maidenhood
        once again. Maybe it’s time to clear all
        the demons lurking outside their walls.

                 ”Growing, and growing up still.
        They’ve…changed but they’re closer
        to men than boys, now. Soon, Rickon
        will inherit Winterfell– I really do wish
        you’d stay to regain your strength. The
        journey is long and cold.“

                 ”He may take some time to grow
        civil but he knows better than to attack
        you. Guest rights still mean something in
        this keep, I assure you.“