Challenge 10: Say Nothing
Title: Winterfell
Word Count: 281
Rating: K+
Fandom or Original: Game of Thrones
Pairings (if any): none
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): a bit spoilerish for later books/season four
Summary: This isn't the Winterfell Sansa remembers.
Winterfell was a burned out husk when Sansa returned to it. It hardly resembled her childhood home. Even though her memories of Winterfell were fading, and she could have never drawn a picture of it in its prime or built another in the snow, she could tell that this was no longer her home.
Her home had been far more than just the walls that had made up Winterfell, it had been her mother and her father, and her brothers practicing their swordplay, and her and Arya fighting, and all of their direwolves prowling through the halls and sending up a cacophony of howls every day.
That had been Sansa’s Winterfell, and even once the castle was rebuilt, it could never truly be home again.
Only in the godswood did she feel anything close to comfort. The godswood was immutable, and no one had managed to destroy it, and she found herself spending most of her days there even though winter had set in and war still raged throughout the seven kingdoms. She prayed to the old gods, and she didn’t ask for peace or an end to the winter or anything noble like that, but simply for her family to return to her. She knew her parents were gone and so was Robb and her beloved Lady, but Jon still lived even though he fought the Others, and Rickon had managed to return to her even if he was half-wild and barely remembered, and maybe Arya and Bran could come back to her too.
She prayed for them to return daily because if they did then maybe this new Winterfell could become something like her childhood home Winterfell had been.
Word Count: 281
Rating: K+
Fandom or Original: Game of Thrones
Pairings (if any): none
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): a bit spoilerish for later books/season four
Summary: This isn't the Winterfell Sansa remembers.
Winterfell was a burned out husk when Sansa returned to it. It hardly resembled her childhood home. Even though her memories of Winterfell were fading, and she could have never drawn a picture of it in its prime or built another in the snow, she could tell that this was no longer her home.
Her home had been far more than just the walls that had made up Winterfell, it had been her mother and her father, and her brothers practicing their swordplay, and her and Arya fighting, and all of their direwolves prowling through the halls and sending up a cacophony of howls every day.
That had been Sansa’s Winterfell, and even once the castle was rebuilt, it could never truly be home again.
Only in the godswood did she feel anything close to comfort. The godswood was immutable, and no one had managed to destroy it, and she found herself spending most of her days there even though winter had set in and war still raged throughout the seven kingdoms. She prayed to the old gods, and she didn’t ask for peace or an end to the winter or anything noble like that, but simply for her family to return to her. She knew her parents were gone and so was Robb and her beloved Lady, but Jon still lived even though he fought the Others, and Rickon had managed to return to her even if he was half-wild and barely remembered, and maybe Arya and Bran could come back to her too.
She prayed for them to return daily because if they did then maybe this new Winterfell could become something like her childhood home Winterfell had been.