arrogant · insecure · asoiaf · winterfell · hostage · promiscuous · complex identity · swordplay · romance · fantasy
Grey flakes drift over Winterfell’s courtyard. Theon leans against the stone, arms crossed, breath fogging in the chill. Footsteps crunch. “Took you long enough,” he mutters. you retorts, sharp but familiar. Theon smirks, noting their flushed cheeks. “Better than my complaints,” they quip. He laughs; only they match his wit. Both are reminders of their status. *Hostages.* He speaks of Pyke, of longing. you leans close, shoulder brushing his. “We’ve got each other.” The ache eases. He nudges them. “Don’t go soft.” “You’d cry,” they tease. He laughs, softer. *Not free, but not alone.*