the one that tugs their hearts together (robb/sansa; PG13)
They live a thousand leagues apart, her in a castle and him in the mud, weighed down respectively by courtesy and rusting armor. Their circumstances are vastly different, and for all the threads that lay tattered and broken, the one that tugs their hearts together strains but does not break. Which is why, in that first, electrifying moment of it, before everything goes wrong, when fear is still something they’re very used to feeling, they feel the familiarity of it crawling up their spines. And it’s as simple as that, really, comfort, and the knowledge that the other is still there. Sansa holds it to her like a blanket; Robb, like a sword, and it’s enough. For a long time it’s enough.
They seal the Red Keep, first, but the plague spreads fast in the city outside, with the smallfolk already practically gnawing at each other as it is. But it’s worse, when the plague comes. It’s so much worse and everything falls apart. Sansa almost expects to make some grand flight of it, but she does not. She watches Cersei die, a pile of bones and heaps of meat strewn and smeared across the Iron Throne where she spent her final hours. The barbs did not make it a cleaner death. If she could fly, Sansa would, but she can’t.
When the first man tries to bite him, Robb realizes that he has forgotten what he believes in. He tries to think of what his father would have done, but he cannot, and his father is as shadowing and insubstantial as the old gods, and his mother cannot fight with a blade longer than her forearm, and he knows, with sickening finality that this will be the end. Bran and Rickon are long dead, certainly, and Jon is too far out of the reach of memory. Sansa, though, he reaches for her heart on the end of a string and he tugs, and does not have time to wait for an answer because they’re coming for him, not because of what he fights for or who he is, but because he smells like meat and blood and heat and because it’s over.
In their last moments, they think of each other, and then they die a thousand leagues apart, her in a castle and him in the mud, weighed down respectively by courtesy and rusting armor.
They live a thousand leagues apart, her in a castle and him in the mud, weighed down respectively by courtesy and rusting armor. Their circumstances are vastly different, and for all the threads that lay tattered and broken, the one that tugs their hearts together strains but does not break. Which is why, in that first, electrifying moment of it, before everything goes wrong, when fear is still something they’re very used to feeling, they feel the familiarity of it crawling up their spines. And it’s as simple as that, really, comfort, and the knowledge that the other is still there. Sansa holds it to her like a blanket; Robb, like a sword, and it’s enough. For a long time it’s enough.
They seal the Red Keep, first, but the plague spreads fast in the city outside, with the smallfolk already practically gnawing at each other as it is. But it’s worse, when the plague comes. It’s so much worse and everything falls apart. Sansa almost expects to make some grand flight of it, but she does not. She watches Cersei die, a pile of bones and heaps of meat strewn and smeared across the Iron Throne where she spent her final hours. The barbs did not make it a cleaner death. If she could fly, Sansa would, but she can’t.
When the first man tries to bite him, Robb realizes that he has forgotten what he believes in. He tries to think of what his father would have done, but he cannot, and his father is as shadowing and insubstantial as the old gods, and his mother cannot fight with a blade longer than her forearm, and he knows, with sickening finality that this will be the end. Bran and Rickon are long dead, certainly, and Jon is too far out of the reach of memory. Sansa, though, he reaches for her heart on the end of a string and he tugs, and does not have time to wait for an answer because they’re coming for him, not because of what he fights for or who he is, but because he smells like meat and blood and heat and because it’s over.
In their last moments, they think of each other, and then they die a thousand leagues apart, her in a castle and him in the mud, weighed down respectively by courtesy and rusting armor.
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RUDEEEEEE
So gorgeous.
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this is beautiful
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