Sword

I feel flayed,

Like the banners that cover me like poison

I am Stark

But my hair is like a raven,

And I am covered in oil,

Wrapped up in our quietly tired

Musings of shared trauma, your fire doesn’t burn me though it should,

You who have stolen my house, Theon,

Now toiled down to a smashed weapon under the boot heel of the sinking dynasty of a brutal war.

You tell me, “It can always get worse,”

I see it in your eyes, though they hide from my gaze,

You do not know yourself anymore.

I saw you when you sunk your sword

Into that Bolton banner,

And saved me from the freezing moon

Holding me in your cradling warmth

I, Sansa, can start to heal

As I see you stand up tall again, I remember I had tried to etch your true name in your mouth again, as you are

A man even though your own sword was brutally abused, stolen.

Tattered and flayed by the same man,

We are one,

A sword drawn hopeful in the night,

You brought me the sun,

In dreams, I linger in your heart.