#talk to me about slow burns and rebuilds and conversations that don't happen and cute moments that do

[electricbluebutterflies]

“Invisible chains are the strongest.” for the prompts

Theonsa (yay debut fic for them / please be nice to me guuuh), post-canon-divergent, PG-ish, also on ao3.

It’s easier to not be alone.

This is how she justifies. This is how she rebuilds. This is how she-

It’s easier. After everything she has endured, Sansa figures she deserves that kind of choice when she can get it.

There is enough to do, in the weeks that turn to months, to make her forget there was ever a life before. She has become everything, and out of that she will mend, out of that-

The moments her mind is not safe do not go away. It is easier not to speak of them.

It’s easier to not be alone. It’s easier to allow familiarity to be a beginning of…

She does not know what she wants, at first. She does know that in another life she would have loved him when they were children, and in this one it is a mercy to have someone in her circles who knows too many of her scars. These walls are haunted for him too, and it is easier to walk them together, easier to-

Sansa does not think of the future beyond how much of the North needs to be rebuilt. She does not think of her heart anymore. She still knows it will eventually want to rest.

She knows her advantages. When she marries again – if she marries again, and she may choose that too – it will be by her own desires. Perhaps not only for love, but she would like to hope-

They walk the grounds, and she wonders if it would be alright to reach for his hand.

They do not speak beyond necessary formalities. There is a comfort in that presence in these months, the safety of not being-

“Will you stay?”

She will let it be a decision now. It had not been when there were wounds to recover from, and that was months of new worry, but all is well now, and she is not-

He turns to look at her and she sees the flash of fear in his eyes, and let no one else ever say that he is unwanted, and-

“Would it be a choice?”

“In what way do you mean?”

“If you want me gone-“

Her heart breaks, and she is reminded of its presence. Her heart breaks, and she wants to cry, to fold him in her arms, to find out if his kisses would taste like saltwater, to-

“If that… if anyone…”

“You have always been kind, and I would hope that everyone else here follows your lead, but-“

“Has something happened?”

He shakes his head, and she can fill in what is not said easily enough, nothing that should concern her but minor slights, overheard whispers, nothing likely to escalate but enough to poke at old wounds and-

“You would tell me, if-“

“I still can’t tell what you actually want to ask me.”

She doesn’t know either, she thinks. She doesn’t have a plan yet – there has never been a plan, not for her – and it is entirely possible that a major direction of the rest of her life rests on what she says in the next few heartbeats, and she isn’t sure-

She could ask him to keep her warm in the night and he would do it. She could ask him to stand by her side always, any form that could take and oh there are options, and he would. She could-

She kisses the side of his face, and it feels light and sweet and warm, and she does not know what she wants but she knows where this will lead. A good man, now, who will let her delight in him, and-

“Will you stay?” she repeats.

“As your consort?”

“Perhaps, in time, if you-“

“You could do better.”

As if that is the way of the world, Sansa thinks, as if the control she has over her own fate is that much of a ward against unknown men with unknown agendas, as if-

“What if I just want you?”

He’s quiet for a few moments, doesn’t quite look at her, doesn’t quite-

“Would that be enough?”

“I know my options, and I know you. You are loyal to me and you would not take pleasure in my pain. Between those facts alone…”

“You used to dream of-“

“You know why I don’t anymore,” she says too quickly. “If I must be practical-“

“Would that be enough?” he repeats.

She can’t know. Not yet. She is still mending her heart, and perhaps in time…

This would be a good thing to build around, she decides. She does want and she does wonder, and-

She presses her lips to his because she can, and he does taste a little like salt like she’d thought but also like winter winds and home, and-

“Is that enough for you?” she murmurs, tilting her head so her mouth is still against his skin.

“Would you stop there?”

“I think I would want more, if I were to… at least the warmth of…”

If she is to do this, she thinks, she needs to be sure. If she is to do this…

“I could give you that, if you’d have me. There are still…”

“I could be happy with you.”

She expects he’ll say something else to give her a way out, but instead he turns his head for a kiss and it’s soft and good and she can see a future she wants in it and-

“Yes.”