open | when the white winds blow

[unprays]

Who: Sansa Stark (unprays) & OPEN
What: after falling asleep for three days, Sansa wakes with new memories and Tries To Adjust
When: backdated; between August 26 and September 1
Where: Thesa Station, various places in Olympia
Warning(s): your standard this is game of thrones warnings



i. — thesa station

[ she doesn't remember falling asleep. she doesn't remember sleeping — what she remembers is living. she remembers Winterfell, she remembers the Wall, she remembers Lyanna Mormont's cool gaze, Ser Davos with his gruff tone, Lady Brienne's steady presence. she remembers the snow falling on her cheeks, she remembers the loud declarations that crowned her brother king.

anyone who is in the hall may see her standing there, in front of an empty pod. gently, she places her hand on the glass. ] You gave me answers that I thought I wanted, and now that I have them, I would forget them. You gave me back my home, and you took it from me.

[ even with the heavy furs on her shoulders, Sansa feels far colder than she ever did in Winterfell. ]

ii. — silk wyrms & shades darker

[ she explains her absence with a sudden illness, privately glad that she only works part-time, thus not missing more than one shift.

( a. ) she starts her day in the Silk Wyrms, sitting behind the counter, adding embroidery to some shirts, rising to greet anyone who enters with a sweet, polite greeting.

( b. ) after her working hours are over, she steels herself and enters the Red Light District — Lady Koralle had tasked her with mending the clothes that required it, and she would do it. after all, it was because of her that she had been given the place in Silk Wyrms. she looks painfully out of place, but at least she does not need to be there long: only to pick up the clothes and then leave.

as she does, though, anyone who so much as looks at her will be fixed with a cool gaze and the words, ] It isn't very polite to stare.

iii. — closed to the stark (& greyjoy & half-targaryen) house

[ as soon as she is out of the pod, out of the virtual reality she uses to see whether she could find her brothers there, she leaves the station and hurries to their house. she knows it has been days, and even though she has spoken with Jon after waking up, it is not the same as seeing him, seeing all of them. it seems like a distant dream, now, Robb being alive and well again... and Theon, Gods, Theon. she had thought she knew what she owed him, but she had been wrong, so wrong.

as soon as she has the door open, she calls out, ]

Jon? Robb? Theon? Is anyone home? [ home. it pains her to speak the word, it pains her to think of having Winterfell and losing it again... but this is what they have. this is home, for better or for worse... with all of them there. together. ]

iv. — wildcard

[ none of these prompts suit you? want something else? feel free to just wildcard me, or hit me up with a PM or over on plurk @ celen for plotting or for requesting a starter, i'm more than happy to write one for you!

also, with this canon update, i want to remind everyone sansa has an opt-out post here, if you want to opt out of any of the subjects that come up in her canon! ]

Comments

[reek]

[ He doesn’t wish to speak of this. Even now, it twists his mind and his stomach into knots, knowing that others hold memories of him that he knows nothing of. It makes him feel as though he’s begun to slip into madness, like his uncles. Aeron, Victorian, Euron—each one of them has been touched by madness. Why should he escape that fate by the sheer luck of being raised away from the islands?

For a moment, he stands shocked, puzzled, uncertain of what to do. She’s never embraced him before. He can’t think of a time when anyone in Winterfell ever truly had, but this is a particularly strange case. To him, it reads like a person seeking comfort, and there’s little he can do but offer it. Hesitating, he returns the gesture, wrapping his arms around her loosely enough to allow escape but tightly enough to offer comfort. ]

Sansa—

[ Theon is capable of a horrifically cruel tongue. He’s shown that on multiple occasions over the years, but this isn’t one of them. Sansa hasn’t angered him. She’s merely confused him, and that’s not worth a sharp remark. If anything, he speaks gently. ]

Whatever it is that you believe you owe me—do not. You owe me nothing. Not here.

[ Not at all. ]

Do you wish for me to find your brothers?

[unprays]

[ the hesitant, stiff way he puts his arms around her is a sharp reminder that this, this is not the Theon she remembers — not the Theon who helped her escape, not the one who was willing to face the dogs and lie, only to save her. the one who urged her into the icy river so they would not face a worse fate.

she tightens her arms for a moment, fiercely glad that he remembers nothing, glad that he, at least, still has been spared the horrific memories of Ramsay Bolton. then she steps back. ]

I do. I do. You may think I do not, and you're right — it is not you I owe my life, that I am myself still... but I do owe everything to Theon Greyjoy, and that is who you are, isn't it? That you don't remember doesn't matter. What matters is that I do.

[ she pauses, considers his question... then shakes her head. ] No, don't. You're here. That's enough.

[reek]

[ Theon tries desperately, but he can find no scenario to place himself into in which he might have saved Sansa’s life. He still clings to the idea that Jon was lying and his sister is telling the truth: he died in Winterfell, he burned, he was left to the flames while Ramsay Snow took more useful prisoners.

His thoughts are growing muddled and tangled, and he’s beginning to doubt even himself. Things he was present for, things he seemed so certain of—he questions them now. He wants so badly to silence her, to tell her to stop this nonsense, to tell her that he wasn’t there, that it wasn’t him, that it couldn’t ever have been him, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

She steps away, he allows his arms to drop, and he looks truly lost. ]

Perhaps you've met a different Theon Greyjoy.

[ He smiles, but it’s a hint too fierce, too forced. It’s a crack in his armor, a hint at a man on edge. ]

I hear he's a very good actor.

[unprays]

[ she watches that smile grow on his face, recalls all the times she has seen him smile like that, wonders how could I have been so blind, and answers herself with I never cared to look, or if I had, I would not have cared to see.

it seems the more she thinks back on her childhood, the more she finds things to regret. ]

Perhaps I did, [ she says softly, allowing him this — the thought that maybe, maybe it had not been him. and in a way... it hadn't. it had been a different Theon, of that she is certain; or perhaps the Theon that Theon never wanted to show the world. perhaps Theon never was quite sure of just who Theon Greyjoy was. ]

Forgive me, Theon, [ she says then, reaching for his hand, not caring that it exposes her bruised wrist. ] For being so cruel to you as a child. For not realizing you were just as much my brother as Robb and Bran and Jon. You may be a Greyjoy, but you grew up alongside wolves.

[ she had asked for Jon's forgiveness — she would ask for his, too, now that he can give it. back home... no, he never could have. if Theon remembered, she would not ask him this, for their shared experiences were much more than this — but he doesn't, and she needs him to know this. this much, perhaps, he can accept, if not her gratitude for saving her. ]

[reek]

[ Theon wishes that his time in Winterfell wasn’t tinged with a feeling of contempt. He wishes he could look back on it and see nothing but the good times he spent with Robb, the laughter he shared with the Starks and their household, the japes, the smiles, and the few times they weren’t used to cover up something darker. ]

Stop.

[ He laughs, but his expression betrays him, his eyebrows knitting together. He’s a Greyjoy who grew up alongside wolves, but what does that truly make him? He’s neither an ironborn, nor a northman. Sansa is right: he doesn’t know what he is, or who he is. ]

Why should I forgive you for something I’ve never been angry with you for?

[ How can he blame Sansa for distancing herself from him when they were younger? He wasn’t truly family, no matter how desperately he wished to be. Everyone in Winterfell knew what he was. Robb hadn’t cared—or perhaps he merely refused to show it, but Theon saw judgement in the eyes of others. It hurt, it burned, it made him want to scream, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It wasn’t any fault of Sansa’s. With her, he was never angry. With the Starks, he couldn’t be angry.

He allows her his hand, no matter how strange that on its own may be, and her bruises don’t escape his gaze. It’s odd and out of place to see them there. If this were Arya, he wouldn't so much as blink, but Sansa is not Arya. ]

What happened?

[unprays]

You should have been.

[ even as she says this, she knows it would never have been — Theon, for all his arguments with Robb now, for all the things he has done... he always respected the Starks, always cared about the family that had become his. she knows he would not have blamed her for following her mother's lead.

no... it is her, judging herself, the naive girl she used to be, the naive girl that had, in part, betrayed her own house just as badly as Theon did.

she blinks as he asks her a question that doesn't immediately make sense to her; only when she looks down does she realize it must be the bruises. and without thinking, she answers, ] Ramsay.

[ it's only one word, but so full of contempt and hatred that it nearly cracks under it all. ]

[reek]

[ That’s all it takes. At the sound of his name, he grips her hand more firmly and lifts his gaze to meet hers as his expression hardens. His laughter, no matter how forced, is gone.

Jon had implied Sansa’s connection to Ramsay, but he was vague at best. He also said that Sansa didn’t know of Ramsay in this place. That, like so many other things, appears to have changed overnight. ]

What do you know of him?

[ His tone is oddly strained, as though he’s struggling to hold back his own anger and contempt, but he appears spooked. He knows what Ramsay is capable of, and those are things Sansa should never need to witness. ]

[unprays]

[ she draws in a startled breath as his hand grasps hers. his expression is hard steel, and she feels her mouth press into a thin line — not because she doesn't want him to know, no. Theon is perhaps the only one she truly doesn't mind knowing, given... everything.

but thinking of everything that happened pains her; her own body pains her, still. ]

I was wed to him. He would insist I still am. [ her voice is flat, emotionless, even as she nods to her wrists. ] He was not happy his lady wife did not agree.

[reek]

[ Theon finds himself growing angry, his teeth clenching together tightly as his gaze flickers back down to the bruises on her wrists. Of all matches Lord Eddard could have made for his daughter, he cannot imagine that House Bolton was ever on the table. Lord Roose had always been mild-mannered and soft-voiced, but there was always something more dangerous behind those pale eyes. Knowing Ramsay as the man he does, Theon himself cannot think of a worse match. He knows what Ramsay is capable of, and he's seen it--but he has yet to learn that those capabilities will extend to him as well. ]

Ramsay is Roose Bolton’s baseborn son.

[ His eyebrows knit together. Her mother wouldn’t have allowed this match. Her father wouldn’t have allowed it. Robb would have known better, even Jon would have known better. ]

Who permitted you to be wed to him? Who was it that arranged it?

[unprays]

No, [ she responds with quietly. ] Lord Roose legitimized Ramsay, made him his heir. Ramsay paid him back by killing him, so that he would become the Warden of the North.

[ no one has ever confirmed it... but she knows it's true. she knows Ramsay, and that is all she needs.

his question makes her breath out a soft laugh. ]

Lord Baelish.

[reek]

[ There were moments in Winterfell when Theon shrewdly wanted nothing more than to see the Starks just as unhappy as he always was, but he never truly meant it. Early on, he had tried desperately to hate them, but he never could. He even grew to love them, and he knows that Sansa doesn’t deserve this. Sansa never deserved this. His gaze darkens even further, as bad news upon bad new continues to stack up against him.

He laughs as well: soft and dark and bitter, but with a sharp edge. Ramsay in a position of power in the North is the most dangerous and terrifying thing he can imagine. ]

Regardless of Ramsay’s standing, what right did Lord Baelish have? Why did he not send a raven to the Wall?

[ Jon wouldn’t have allowed such a thing to happen. He knows it. ]

[unprays]

[ "bad news" is all she has lived with for so long — Theon, Jon and Brienne brought a light to her life she had forgotten... but their hard-won victory had come with the cost of losing their younger brother, and the knowledge that House Bolton was gone meant little now, in this land where the dead walked.

but Theon's question sends her mind spinning into more and more ifs; she had told Jon not to think like that, to think what he could have done differently... and yet here she is, thinking the same, wondering if she could have changed it all, if a raven to Jon could have saved her from Ramsay.

and someone else would have suffered in my stead, she thinks and shakes her head. ]

Lord Baelish married Aunt Lysa. He is my uncle by marriage, now. I suppose that gave him more right to speak for me and choose who I should marry. [ she smiles at him, wan and tired. ] The Lannisters forced me to marry Lord Tyrion, and they were of no relation to me. Why not ask what right they had to do that?

None, Theon. None, but it doesn't matter. I had to do it anyway.

[ because she was not in a position to say no. and when Brienne had come to take her away... she could have gone with her, but didn't. she didn't trust her then, and she will regret it forever. ]

[reek]

“Ward” is the word they might have chosen. It sounds prettier than “prisoner” when it comes to someone of no relation making decisions for you.

[ The words slip out with a laugh before he can stop them, and he doesn’t mean them to sound quite so bitter, but—it rings so familiar, doesn’t it? So many decisions were made for him in Winterfell, and many more might have been made if things hadn’t changed so quickly. Was it ever right that he should be the one to suffer for his father’s sins?

Roughly, he shakes his head, eyebrows knitting together as he reminds himself that now is not the time to air his personal grievances. He truly cares for Sansa, and none of what transpired after his father’s rebellion had anything to do with her. ]

I’m sorry. I did not mean—

[ He sighs, gritting his teeth as he gathers himself back together. Carrying on... ]

If Ramsay should wake here, do not approach him. Please. Let others deal with him. Myself, Jon, even my sister. She does not know his face, but she knows of him. As it stands, he and I have unfinished business.

[ Unfortunate that when given the opportunity, Theon will find himself too overwhelmed to take it. ]