sansa stark ♛❅ queen in the north (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
toivory) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thesphererp2019-10-16 03:32 pm
toivory) wrote in thesphererp2019-10-16 03:32 pm
Memory Share: Sansa Stark (2)
Outside the gates, everyone is dead. Sansa's husband was a brilliant strategist, she would give him credit where it was due. He liked to pour himself into nooks and crannies and like ice in the winter, expand and destroy them from the inside out. He didn't play by the rules, and those that had played by them this long were now dead.
The last time Sansa had had a memory play out over the network, it had been of her father's death. She's grown considerably since then, blossomed into a beautiful young woman, very much the image of her mother to those who knew her, as she sweeps through the dark walls of Winterfell. She's stiff as she walks as fast as she can, her hood pulled up over her head to mask her bright red hair. Perhaps, in the hustle and bustle, she will be missed. She certainly looks worse for ware, her skin ashen, her blue eyes dulled. It's only a matter of time before her husband returns from the battle outside their gates. And when he came, he would bring pain with him.
She doesn't have much of a plan, truth be told. Get out, run as far, far as she could and hope some of the Baratheon army at her gates had survived and would offer her protection. She wouldn't survive outside the castle walls for long. She had no weapons, no training.
Ramsay will be returning soon, and she won't be around for it. She climbs the ramparts, as quickly as she dares so as not to attract attention, turning this way and that so as to avoid anyone. There's a way down into one of the courtyards, she realizes, that she could climb down and be out the gates before anyone noticed. Glancing behind her, Sansa steps out into the open, on a small platform high above the courtyard. When she turns her gaze forward, it's to see the sharp end of an arrow aimed directly at her.
She registers the woman holding the bow- Myranda Bones. Her handmaiden, and Ramsay's lover. She'd made it quite clear she was the favorite, only not wed to him as she was lowborn and Ramsay had only just been legitimized. Myranda, hoity and proud, stands with her bow drawn taught. At her shoulder- Reek.
Sansa stands tall. "My lady," Myranda says as pretty as she pleases, like she weren't moments from sending the arrow straight into her lady's heart. "I've come to escort you back to your chamber".
The shadow of the man she'd once known as Theon Greyjoy speaks, and when he does, his affection is clear, "Go with her. Please," is his plea.
There is a moment where no one breathes, but Myranda pulls back the string just a little bit more. Choosing her words as carefully as she always did, the Stark in Winterfell speaks, "I know what Ramsay is." A monster. "I know what he'll do to me." She can't help it, but her eyes drift toward Reek. He had been a beautiful piece of art in Ramsays' eyes. But he was the first, and Sansa would surely become the second. He'd already beaten her down, covered her skin in bruises, scars, cuts. He raped her every night, tried to break down what no one else had succeeded in doing. She didn't want what happened to Reek to happen to her. But it was only a matter of time. "If I am to die, let it happen to me while there is still some of me left."
Death would be a release. A sweet, sweet release from all of this hell, from the fighting she'd been doing since her father died. She was tired of it. If she didn't die now, her death would be slow and drawn out.
"Die?" Myranda could have been a sweet girl. She lowers her bow completely, unstringing the arrow. "Who said anything about dying?"
Her stomach drops to the floor 50 feet below.
"You can't die," Myranda continues on, and she's sure that this girl is just as bad as Cersei Lannister. Certainly she took joy in the other girl's torment. She had a nice scar on her thigh to prove that. "Your father was Warden of the North. Ramsay needs you."
She had made a terrible mistake. He did need her. Winterfell was not his. Not until- "Well. I suppose he doesn't need all of you." She held the arrow like it was a knife, her threats made all the more palpable by the ghoul behind her. "Just the parts he needs to make an heir." Her chest stung with the words. Needlessly, Myranda continues. "Until you've him a boy or two, and he's finished using them." Sansa steels herself against Myranda's eyes looking her up and down like she was a piece of meat and Myranda one of Ramsay's starving dogs. "Then he's got incredible plans for those parts." She draws her bow lovingly, raising the tip. "So, shall we wait for him to come back, or shall we begin now?"
She cannot speak. There is no answer here, nothing she can say to show her hate and fury. Myranda doesn't even let her try to come up with words, though. She's too eager- always too eager. "You're leaving it up to me? Good. Let's begin." The bow is drawn back, and Sansa stands upright, no emotions displayed on her face, ever the perfect mask. She is a Stark and she will not be afraid in the walls of Winterfell. This was her home, and these were her people. Her people that loved her and would do anything they could to protect her. She was confident in that, as she prepares herself for the pain.
But the pain doesn't come. Instead, Theon throws himself on the small girl, grabbing her and grappling with her bow and arrow. She tried to throw him off, but he is larger, stronger. Angrier. There's a shriek as the girl is pushed up and over the thin wooden railing, plunging down into the courtyard below.
Myranda Bones was dead.
But that was the least of their problems. They had just killed Ramsay's mistress. His favorite toys had gone and broken what he cared about, and there would be hell to pay. Both of them know it- they have to get out of here. Quickly, the two take off across the same passages they'd known so well as children, running up and down the stairs, Sansa screaming for Theon to give her back her doll. But now they are silent as the horn rings to signal the troops' return.
Ahead of them is the castle wall. Below them is a fifty foot drop that will take them outside of Winterfell and close to the woods. Behind them is a fate worse than death.
Theon takes a step up on to the wall and Sansa joins him. There's only one choice here. They look at each other. One way or another, this is going to end. Right here and now.
Holding each other's hands, they plunge together into the white.
The last time Sansa had had a memory play out over the network, it had been of her father's death. She's grown considerably since then, blossomed into a beautiful young woman, very much the image of her mother to those who knew her, as she sweeps through the dark walls of Winterfell. She's stiff as she walks as fast as she can, her hood pulled up over her head to mask her bright red hair. Perhaps, in the hustle and bustle, she will be missed. She certainly looks worse for ware, her skin ashen, her blue eyes dulled. It's only a matter of time before her husband returns from the battle outside their gates. And when he came, he would bring pain with him.
She doesn't have much of a plan, truth be told. Get out, run as far, far as she could and hope some of the Baratheon army at her gates had survived and would offer her protection. She wouldn't survive outside the castle walls for long. She had no weapons, no training.
Ramsay will be returning soon, and she won't be around for it. She climbs the ramparts, as quickly as she dares so as not to attract attention, turning this way and that so as to avoid anyone. There's a way down into one of the courtyards, she realizes, that she could climb down and be out the gates before anyone noticed. Glancing behind her, Sansa steps out into the open, on a small platform high above the courtyard. When she turns her gaze forward, it's to see the sharp end of an arrow aimed directly at her.
She registers the woman holding the bow- Myranda Bones. Her handmaiden, and Ramsay's lover. She'd made it quite clear she was the favorite, only not wed to him as she was lowborn and Ramsay had only just been legitimized. Myranda, hoity and proud, stands with her bow drawn taught. At her shoulder- Reek.
Sansa stands tall. "My lady," Myranda says as pretty as she pleases, like she weren't moments from sending the arrow straight into her lady's heart. "I've come to escort you back to your chamber".
The shadow of the man she'd once known as Theon Greyjoy speaks, and when he does, his affection is clear, "Go with her. Please," is his plea.
There is a moment where no one breathes, but Myranda pulls back the string just a little bit more. Choosing her words as carefully as she always did, the Stark in Winterfell speaks, "I know what Ramsay is." A monster. "I know what he'll do to me." She can't help it, but her eyes drift toward Reek. He had been a beautiful piece of art in Ramsays' eyes. But he was the first, and Sansa would surely become the second. He'd already beaten her down, covered her skin in bruises, scars, cuts. He raped her every night, tried to break down what no one else had succeeded in doing. She didn't want what happened to Reek to happen to her. But it was only a matter of time. "If I am to die, let it happen to me while there is still some of me left."
Death would be a release. A sweet, sweet release from all of this hell, from the fighting she'd been doing since her father died. She was tired of it. If she didn't die now, her death would be slow and drawn out.
"Die?" Myranda could have been a sweet girl. She lowers her bow completely, unstringing the arrow. "Who said anything about dying?"
Her stomach drops to the floor 50 feet below.
"You can't die," Myranda continues on, and she's sure that this girl is just as bad as Cersei Lannister. Certainly she took joy in the other girl's torment. She had a nice scar on her thigh to prove that. "Your father was Warden of the North. Ramsay needs you."
She had made a terrible mistake. He did need her. Winterfell was not his. Not until- "Well. I suppose he doesn't need all of you." She held the arrow like it was a knife, her threats made all the more palpable by the ghoul behind her. "Just the parts he needs to make an heir." Her chest stung with the words. Needlessly, Myranda continues. "Until you've him a boy or two, and he's finished using them." Sansa steels herself against Myranda's eyes looking her up and down like she was a piece of meat and Myranda one of Ramsay's starving dogs. "Then he's got incredible plans for those parts." She draws her bow lovingly, raising the tip. "So, shall we wait for him to come back, or shall we begin now?"
She cannot speak. There is no answer here, nothing she can say to show her hate and fury. Myranda doesn't even let her try to come up with words, though. She's too eager- always too eager. "You're leaving it up to me? Good. Let's begin." The bow is drawn back, and Sansa stands upright, no emotions displayed on her face, ever the perfect mask. She is a Stark and she will not be afraid in the walls of Winterfell. This was her home, and these were her people. Her people that loved her and would do anything they could to protect her. She was confident in that, as she prepares herself for the pain.
But the pain doesn't come. Instead, Theon throws himself on the small girl, grabbing her and grappling with her bow and arrow. She tried to throw him off, but he is larger, stronger. Angrier. There's a shriek as the girl is pushed up and over the thin wooden railing, plunging down into the courtyard below.
Myranda Bones was dead.
But that was the least of their problems. They had just killed Ramsay's mistress. His favorite toys had gone and broken what he cared about, and there would be hell to pay. Both of them know it- they have to get out of here. Quickly, the two take off across the same passages they'd known so well as children, running up and down the stairs, Sansa screaming for Theon to give her back her doll. But now they are silent as the horn rings to signal the troops' return.
Ahead of them is the castle wall. Below them is a fifty foot drop that will take them outside of Winterfell and close to the woods. Behind them is a fate worse than death.
Theon takes a step up on to the wall and Sansa joins him. There's only one choice here. They look at each other. One way or another, this is going to end. Right here and now.
Holding each other's hands, they plunge together into the white.
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[Alex Reagan talking about boundaries. Will wonders never cease?]
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Trauma. [She laughs nervously and takes another drink.] That's one word for it.
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[Alex's voice is normal when she says it, even if her sleeping had only become worse. And her decision had definitely become worse too.]
I think it's a good word for it. The right word. Because that's what it was. And it's how it affects you. [It's clear that it's a more general 'you' than a specific one.]
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[She frowns deeply, reaching a hand across the table to gently touch Alex's in comfort.]
Would you believe I've never been able to do that?
[Probably. She was very, very repressed.]
I have a lot of trauma, in that case. Ever since the day the King came to Winterfell. I can only pray it's over now. Yet I know those prayers will go unanswered.
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I know. I wish I could tell you that it is. But no one can make that promise. Especially in a place full of nightmares and sharing your memories.
But I can promise if you need someone to vent too, I am a good listener.
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And, you, too. If you want to tell me about the body... Well, there's plenty more to drink yet.
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[Alex just frowns for a moment, and she takes a large drink of the whiskey in her glass, because Maddie Franks is... Well, it's still a sore subject and it's always going to be a sore subject honestly.]
Is part of a much longer story, though. And not one that's entirely mine to tell. At least not here.
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But if you ever do choose to tell me the story, even parts of it, I'll be happy to listen.
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[There's a faint smile.]
You know, beyond what my memories already have.
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Not much we can do about that- I know Theon certainly would rather some pieces of our lives be kept private.
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Yeah, I can imagine.
[Because she's seen some of it, and she knows that's probably not even the worst of it honestly.]
I think in some ways it can help too, by just making people more compassionate towards one another. At least I hope so.
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I would hope so as well. We need more compassion in the world. Whichever ones we come from.
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Let us hope we can bring these thoughts to actions.
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It’s hard to always have that hope.
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I know. I mean I’ve not seen things anywhere near as bad as you’ve experienced but I’ve seen some pretty horrible things that men will do for power and to end the world if they can.
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They really are. Some men don’t care who they hurt or how many or if they’re just kids and...
[Alex just takes a drink.]
Sorry.
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It's alright.
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It definitely isn’t. But people all too often take the easiest path to power.
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