Go ahead and cry little boy

You know that your daddy did too

You know what your mama went through

You gotta let it out soon

Just let it out


Callused palms pushed against the door, and Roose Bolton entered a different world.

There they lay: Sansa Stark perched silently on the pillows piled high on a side of the bed, face pinked at the cheeks, eyes sweetly closed, lips limned in red. She stirred softly in a lavender night dress, her hair a perfect wave of sunset against the swirl of black-grey vair and wolf pelt.

And Roose has seen the most peculiar image in the world, something he has never set on his long and weary years, and something he will never see again in a thousand lifetimes.

On the arms of Sansa lay a head of ebony. Ramsay, his psychopath of a son, the bastard lunatic missing half a brain, was a bear cub curled on her lap. His face basked in the warmth of his wife's soft stomach, arms enclosed around her waist, breathing hushed and shoulders calmly rising and falling.

Alone, Sansa was typically who she is. The once-budding rose has fully bloomed. She was not a queen, not a wardeness, not a lady at that moment. She was simply a cloud in an air of sweet dreams devoid of everything ashen in this cruel land. She was a peach-colored mattress showered in petals, with perfume that devours nightmares at the slightest whiff. And beauty will always be a badge that clings like the blue pools in her eyes.

Alone, Ramsay never resembled the stupid whoreson he scarred over and over again. He clung to his wife like a boy to a mother, selfishly fencing her, absorbing her radiance and heat solely for himself. Her fingers weaved between his mats of raven hair.

Together, they looked too wrong. A dove and a raven tangled in the sheets is the most eccentric splendour one could ever discover. They were oil and water, and yet there they are, bodies touching, feet bare, and unspeakably tranquil like the sea after a squall. It looked like their souls were making love, the pleasure ringing out on their placid breathing and sleep has become their gates from the eyes of the world. Together they were husband and wife, they looked begrudgingly perfect it made Roose want to give everything to be in that state.

He suppressed a breath when Sansa's hand slowly stroke across Ramsay's tangles of hair, and before she opened her eyes at the perception of someone staring at her intimacy with the man in her arms, Roose crept out of the room silent as the night that engulfed the realm.

A/N: I know it wasn't much but I do hope to at least update despite the tangles of paperwork needed to finish. Thank you for the reviews. I'm sorry for the delays...as usual. Off to the other POVs on the next installments.