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There's a howling in the crypts, guttural and monstrous.
Sansa hurries towards the noise as her people cower, shrieking and helpless against the dead. She's done with hiding. They need her help and she's sworn to them. Her grip on the dragonglass blade too loose and unbalanced. Sansa nearly loses her weapon, as one of the wights lunge and struggle against her other gloved hand thrusting it back against the flint-stone.
Glinting, black dragonglass jabs into the wight's eye-socket, as it were made of soft clay. Sansa's gut roils. The baker's young daughter Sansa has defended then hunches down, crying hysterically and fisting the edge of Sansa's fur-lined cloak.
"It's alright," she murmurs, crouching down, petting her fingers through the girl's hair. "No harm will come to you. Stay hidden—"
One of the tombs bursts open, emitting dust and rubble, jerking Sansa's head up. The baker's daughter cries harder, screaming and hugging Sansa's leg. But she hardly feels it. Rickon's statue falls apart in front of Sansa, and his corpse emerges from it, heaving to his feet. He's nothing more now than rotting, spoiled meat and bone, limping forward and making snarling noises.
Her baby brother — Rickon would sneak into her room, yanking on Sansa's braids and rummaging through her chests for toys. He smiled the hardest and his temper tantrums often were the loudest. Shaggydog listened to no-one but Rickon, just as Rickon listened to no-one but Rickon. Despite all of his wildness, he napped on Sansa's lap when Mother had been ill or away, asking in a small, sleepy voice if his oldest sister would sing about Jenny Oldstones or Alysanne Targaryen's cradle to him.
Rickon deserved better than to be hunted like an animal, and to be put down the same. Tears gather on Sansa's cheeks, as she raises her dragonglass blade. Out of nowhere, Tyrion swoops in, cutting Rickon's thigh and then stabbing him in the heart.
"My lady!" he yells, gesturing for her.
Sansa's body feels numb, as she falls and trembles onto her skirts, hanging her head. Tyrion ducks behind the tomb, shushing the little girl and cupping the back of Sansa's head. "Listen to me," Tyrion's voice rumbles, low and concerned. "Sansa…"
"We're going to die, aren't we…?" Sansa whispers, not fearful nor comforted.
Tyrion cracks a smile.
"I would be my honor to spend these last few hours with you, Lady Stark."
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GoT isn't mine. As much as I am a Sansa/Podrick endgame hopeful,,,, I really have a soft spot for Sansa/Tyrion and I wanted somethinf with Sansa actually USING the knife Arya gave her AND something painful with the Stark crypts/Rickon. HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE PAIN. ANY THOUGHTS/COMMENTS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED.
((Want a request for GoT? I'm doing 100-500 word drabbles of any ship + any prompt until S8 ends. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a ship and prompt, as well if you want NSFW or SFW. The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you just read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))