Ghosts of the Past (Crossover - Game of Thrones/Mercy Thompson)
Title: Ghosts of the Past
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of abuse
Word Count: 803
Genre: Angst
Summary: Just because Sansa's old Alpha is no longer alive to terrorize her, it doesn't mean that she's not haunted by his memory.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
“You’re mine now.” His words were soft, gentle. The smile on his face was tender. She didn’t meet his eyes - if she couldn’t see the twisted madman lurking behind those green orbs, maybe she could convince herself that he was genuine in his proffered comfort. Maybe.
“I changed you - that makes you a part of my pack... My pack.” He repeated the words slowly, savouring them, and she could feel the power and possessiveness he tasted in them through the bond she shared with him, the bond of a wolf with her Alpha.
The little smile that had been lurking at the corner of his mouth grew to a full-blown smirk. “Mine. You’re mine now. And that means I can do what I like with you.”
She didn’t even see him move until she felt the force of his blow snap her head sideways.
Sansa pushed the memory to the back of her mind. Sitting in the back of an unfamiliar car, as she travelled halfway across the state with two dominant wolves she barely knew, was hardly the time to be giving herself a panic attack.
At least, she thought with some degree of bitterness, she’d grown so used to the abuse that the memories didn’t affect her as strongly as they used to. So it was unlikely that anyone would notice her distress, mild as it was.
She was wrong.
The man driving, the one with the copper hair that fell to almost to his shoulders, suddenly tilted his head so that his eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. There were flecks of gold in those eyes, and the power he conveyed through them was too familiar, too similar to that of the boy (she would not call him a man, he was not worthy to be so described) who had spent the past three months teaching her in every imaginable way that she needed to fear him, for her to be able to maintain the eye contact for more than a split second. Her eyes dropped, but her heart rate spiked, and she knew for sure that both wolves in the car could smell the irrational fear that she just couldn’t repress any longer.
The man in the passenger seat acted as though nothing was happening, but her new Alpha, the one who had already acknowledged her fear when he’d glanced back at her, broke the silence after another few moments.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Robb murmured, and she could hear the sincerity in his voice. She wanted to trust him, she truly did, but it had taken time to teach her never to trust anyone. Sansa was done trusting anyone until they’d proven themselves trustworthy.
After a moment, seeing that she was still refusing to raise her eyes, Robb tried again. “Joffrey’s dead - he can never hurt you again. You’re mine now.”
Hearing those words, identical to those Joffrey had crooned to her, voice sweet as poisoned honey, the first time she awoke after her Change, raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and she didn’t even realise that she had let out a soft growl until Robb actually twisted in his seat to look at her properly.
“No,” she replied, her voice so low it would have been inaudible if not for the werewolf-sharp hearing of all occupants of the car. “Joffrey can never hurt me again.” Her eyes darted up to meet her Alpha’s once again, if only momentarily, before she continued in a whisper, “But you can.”
She didn’t see the genuine sorrow that flitted across his face before he focused on the road once more. Didn’t see the tightened fist of the pack second, sitting in the passenger seat, as he fought down the protective instinct that demanded he make those who’d tried to break her answer for their crimes - no matter that they were already dead. All she could see was the way her hands were shaking in her lap. All she could hear was white noise ringing in her ears, and as Sansa Stark drowned out the world, all she could feel was the burn behind her eyelids as she fought back the tears.
Because try as they had, they hadn’t broken her. And she’d be damned if she let a single tear fall because of them ever again. No matter what they’d tried to tell her, she was not weak. They were dead, all dead, everyone who had constantly told her she was less than nothing, but she was still alive, and their hold over her was broken. So she forced her eyes to dry, as she forced her heart to harden, and forced the ghosts of her past out of her mind.
She hadn’t broken when she’d gone through hell. She wouldn’t break today.
END