Midwinter Prompt #2: Ghosts
Title: Ghosts
Author: mrstater
Prompt: #2
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairings: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Ghost
Rating & Warnings: rated PG, mentions of character death, future fic
Word Count: 373
Summary: Tyrion is afraid of Sansa's ghosts.
Ghosts
The black figure cuts a striking path across the field of snow, but Tyrion knows it's the white wolf at his side, barely distinguishable from the drifts despite its massive size, that captures Sansa's gaze as she looks down at the pair from the castle ramparts.
Ghost is more consort to King Jon than his queen ever will be--that's plain enough to see from his reluctance to shed the blacks he donned as a man of the Night's Watch--and Tyrion has learned to be wary of the direwolf as he used to be wary of the handsome, charming courtiers who might make his Lady of Lannister regret the vows she pledged to stand by. For Sansa is shadowed by a ghost of her own, and Jaime haunts the halls as a daily reminder of what happens to souls parted in twain.
She misses her Lady, Sansa admitted to him, once, with downcast eyes and flushing cheek. The acknowledgment shames her, when she also grieves father, mother, sister, brothers…all of them gone, even the half-brother who turned out not to be her brother at all. Sometimes she misses her direwolf even more than all the rest.
Tyrion slides his hand along the frosty rampart until it rests lightly on hers. So inadequate, her long elegant fingers left exposed by his stubby ones, and his words which form steam in the air even more so.
"You have become the lady, Sansa."
"I'm not so certain of that, my lord," she replies. "Sometimes, I think I've gone as fierce and wild as Nymeria."
Seldom does she speak of her lost little sister who seems to have vanished from Westeros, and less of the missing wolf for whose sins the innocent Lady paid. Even more surprising to Tyrion is when Sansa turns to him and stoops to brush her lips across his forehead. Her loose hair tickles his cheek, and for a moment Tyrion fancies himself the recipient of one of those magnificent beasts' nuzzles, as gentle as it is dangerous.
"Or mayhaps," she tells him, straightening up and weaving her fingers through his, her mane ablaze against the field of snow that glitters in the rising winter sun, "that's because I've become a lioness."
Author: mrstater
Prompt: #2
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairings: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Ghost
Rating & Warnings: rated PG, mentions of character death, future fic
Word Count: 373
Summary: Tyrion is afraid of Sansa's ghosts.
Ghosts
The black figure cuts a striking path across the field of snow, but Tyrion knows it's the white wolf at his side, barely distinguishable from the drifts despite its massive size, that captures Sansa's gaze as she looks down at the pair from the castle ramparts.
Ghost is more consort to King Jon than his queen ever will be--that's plain enough to see from his reluctance to shed the blacks he donned as a man of the Night's Watch--and Tyrion has learned to be wary of the direwolf as he used to be wary of the handsome, charming courtiers who might make his Lady of Lannister regret the vows she pledged to stand by. For Sansa is shadowed by a ghost of her own, and Jaime haunts the halls as a daily reminder of what happens to souls parted in twain.
She misses her Lady, Sansa admitted to him, once, with downcast eyes and flushing cheek. The acknowledgment shames her, when she also grieves father, mother, sister, brothers…all of them gone, even the half-brother who turned out not to be her brother at all. Sometimes she misses her direwolf even more than all the rest.
Tyrion slides his hand along the frosty rampart until it rests lightly on hers. So inadequate, her long elegant fingers left exposed by his stubby ones, and his words which form steam in the air even more so.
"You have become the lady, Sansa."
"I'm not so certain of that, my lord," she replies. "Sometimes, I think I've gone as fierce and wild as Nymeria."
Seldom does she speak of her lost little sister who seems to have vanished from Westeros, and less of the missing wolf for whose sins the innocent Lady paid. Even more surprising to Tyrion is when Sansa turns to him and stoops to brush her lips across his forehead. Her loose hair tickles his cheek, and for a moment Tyrion fancies himself the recipient of one of those magnificent beasts' nuzzles, as gentle as it is dangerous.
"Or mayhaps," she tells him, straightening up and weaving her fingers through his, her mane ablaze against the field of snow that glitters in the rising winter sun, "that's because I've become a lioness."