{ Each the Other’s World Entire }
wolfless. You most certainly may! Hopefully I can succeed without
making anicelybandiedword facepalm at any point.
wolfless. We’ll go with tkc!verse; as much as I love all the AUs,
one can never get enough canon!otp.
{ When the Cold Winds Rise }
Another face unseen until her arrival at
Winterfell’s broken and burned gates. They
hung her brothers there some years ago.
No evidence of the crime remained.
Sansa turned to the stranger, memories
of laughter echoing in the sadness of wan
smile. “You are too kind, ser, and I thank you
for your tidings.” If I am to be crowned, do I
stand a princess in the interim? As I once was
when Robb held the Northern wilds?
Matters for another time, correction forgone
in the wake of genuine care. A signal to her
guard and the long train of men continued their
march within the bailey. Winterfell would be whole
again, in time. “Come, you ought seek shelter in
the keep with all the others. Joy of homecoming
makes not the weather any warmer.”
The Princess Diaries 2: The Royal Engagment Sentence Meme - ACCEPTING
⊰♕⊱— He’d wanted to see her smiling face for awhile now. Since
victory had called his name and the chants of the North
rang out after the fall of another mad king. When the
South had bent their knee to the prevailed. The good king
Robb, whose ferocity rivaled his direwolf’s. Whose mercy
knew no bounds. They sung songs of him, the Stark who
invaded Southern borders for the bounty of his father.
Yet, not once had he seen his darling sister. Not once had
called Sansa’s name into the crowd. His siblings had
dwindled to nothing. She was all he had.❝ Where’s my sister? ❞
Sansa had thought he would find her before the fighting even died away, the sister long captive and alone. Yet no longer was he the boy, the brother, the lord who would, one day, take up his father’s seat in the halls of Winterfell. Conquerors had the vanquished, kings had their subjects, pressing matters always forgone in the melodious telling of kingdoms born anew. And so she waited, until steel fell silent and the clouds broke. Until direwolves snapped and howled above the city gates. Until her family’s sigil covered every hateful crimson brick on which it might be draped.
Even then, no summons came. He knows I am here, he must know I am safe. No matter the silent reassurances repeated as she walked halls guarded by northmen, the need to be assured of Robb’s existence would not dissipate. He is my brother as well as their king, she thought, taking familiar turns from her room until chambers never before entered stood before her. The small council. Who sat there now, she wondered, in the wake of a new rule? “ —– Robb?” So much older now, the girl saw as his knights allowed her entry, a man with a crown upon his brow. Not of the sort one rushed up to in desperate embrace. “ – Oh. Brother, I…I have missed you,” she confessed, too aware of her audience as slim fingers worked in brocade skirts.
A speech? Gods, but she heard enough of such posturing advice between the sun’s rise and set. To think of being subjected to it in the peace of their bed made the queen suppress a delicate shudder of foreboding. Of this particular soliloquy Sansa knew nothing, though it sounded well-suited to his temperament. Perhaps she ought to inquire just what point his sentiments arrived at, the lesson to be taken from his ascending analogy…
“ —- I assure you, grey cloak, oration is far from my husband’s mind in so personal a venture as you see fit to broach.”
Reblog with a picture of your character silently judging you.
The Lord had half a mind to swat Sansa’s prying fingers away from his collar. First you nag, now you fuss? But she was not adjusting the silver sigil out of any desire to clear away perceived blemish or imperfection. She adjusted the small avian so that deft fingers could work the tiny hooks of his heavy doublet. Madness, Petyr thought, a skeptical arch to one brow. “Do you?” he stated, a curious quirk to the first syllable. Testingly, one of his hands moved forward to touch at her hip. The doublet gave way to a bright chartreuse tunic of thick silken material. Her purpose seemed obvious, but Sansa was a woman of certain tastes; narrow window bowers did not usually fall within them. The conviction of her kiss changed his mind.
”Here?“ he asked, incredulously, his arms fully circling her waist before hands sought to travel up her back. There was an immediate stirring, familiar and entirely welcome. It had been well and plenty long enough. Leaning into her, pressing her further against the glass, his own idea of reciprocation made itself known as lips parted at the corner of her mouth. “Rare that my lady should miss me so fervently…” There was a curve to his smile that she would be able to feel, one hand reaching down to finger the careful folds of her skirts before bunching a handful of fabric between them. “—time has made you a wanton. How shameful.” But before she could protest his fleeting barb he kissed her again, tongue risking over her teeth, a quiet sound rumbling deep within his chest as he pressed flush against her.
Leave a “Shag Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a dirty drabble about our characters.
