Iron and Ice

by MaryRouge

Summary:

At the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, Balon Greyjoy is able to convince King Robert in arranging a betrothal for his last remaining son. He thinks it will be a betrothal between Theon and the Princess Myrcella, so everyone is surprised when it's really between Theon and Sansa Stark.

Or, a canon divergence where Theon and Sansa are betrothed as children, and as such, neither are happy about it. At least, not at first.

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or its characters. They belong to GRRM.

Notes:

Just an idea that popped into my head. It's a one-shot for now, but I had a lot of fun writing it, so we'll see. Also, I may change the title. I'm not sure but I struggled to come up with one lol.

Have a great day!

Chapter 1: The Betrothal

Ned Stark wanted nothing more than for his family to be happy. And while all of his sons were the happiest they could be, he was failing the women in his life. 

 

He knew his wife loved him, but she never forgave him for the bastard he brought home. And he knew she never would. If only she knew. If she knew the truth, he knew she would forgive him, but he had not kept his promise to his sister for all these years for nothing. He would keep on lying to his wife, keep on allowing her to believe he had dishonored her, no matter how much it pained him.

 

Sansa, his beloved daughter. His first little girl. She loved him most of the time, but she, too, had been betrayed by him. At the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, Balon had somehow convinced Robert to arrange a betrothal for his son. He said it would help keep him in line, help keep him well behaved. Balon had intended for the betrothal to be with Princess Myrcella, but Robert would have none of that. And because Ned had already offered to take Theon on as a ward, Robert had assumed Ned would be perfectly fine with a betrothal for his eldest daughter. Who was Ned to deny his King? His friend? His Brother in all but blood? No, Ned couldn’t deny him, and so, he returned home not only with a ward but a future good-son.

 

Cat had been furious, and rightfully so, but there was nothing Ned could do. He figured he could raise the boy with honor. Make him worthy of his daughter. And for the most part he had. Theon Greyjoy was clever, charming, good with a sword, even better with a bow. He knew his place and he understood his honor. The only problem was he knew his place to be heir of the Iron Islands, and so he was also arrogant, mouthy, and reckless.

 

When he first returned home with Theon, Sansa hadn’t seemed to mind. She was too young to understand what a betrothal meant, and because Theon and Robb were fast friends, and Sansa idolized her big brother, she was quite fond of the kraken. But as the years wore on, and Sansa grew more romantic and full of fantasy, and Theon grew more arrogant and testing, Sansa began to resent her father for the match. Theon did nothing to woo her. He was no knight in shining armour like Sansa had hoped her future husband would be. Ned had tried to tell Theon to court her. Tried to command it, for he was his ward. That had backfired tremendously. Theon was 14 when this happened, Sansa 11, and that had been the night of Theon’s first (and last) visit to Winter Town’s brothel. Ned had berated the boy, and punished him. But Theon had said he saw no harm in it. He seemed to honestly believe it. He said on the Iron Islands men had salt wives, and that even though Sansa was to be his rock wife, he had brought her no dishonor. He said his Father expected it of him, and that he wouldn’t disappoint. He pointed out that she didn’t even have to know. He also pointed out Jon, and that Ned had no ground to accost him.

 

Ned had not known what to say to that.

 

And when Sansa found out, though who told her was still unknown, she had cried for weeks. She refused to look at Theon, and had begged her mother to break the betrothal now that he had brought shame to her. Catelyn couldn’t do that, though, and neither could Ned, and when he tried to explain that to Sansa, she refused to speak to him.

 

Sansa’s coldness for Ned and disdain for Theon watered down with time. Ned knew she had forgiven him, for it wasn’t his fault, but he also knew, like her mother, she would forever feel betrayed by him. And as for Theon, she talked to him when he had to. For what it was worth, he had apologized, though Ned suspected it was because Robb had told him to, and he had even been making a more valiant effort in courting her. But it seemed it was too little too late.

 

—

 

Winterfell 297 AC The day of the arrival of King Robert Baratheon

 

Sansa woke feeling well rested and excited for the day. She was to meet royalty today, and the thought thrilled her. She dressed quickly, and raced down the hall to her parents chambers so her mother could braid her hair. Arya was supposed to be there too, getting her hair done, but of course, she was nowhere in sight. 

 

“Will you do your sister’s hair for me?” Her mother asked. She still had lots of preparations to see to and couldn’t wait around.

 

“If I find her,” Sansa promises, and then heads down the hall.

 

“Arya?” Sansa knocks at her sister's door. No response. She pokes her head in and sees no sign of her, so she tries to think of where to look next.

 

She checks Bran and Rickon’s rooms on the off chance she’s there, but no luck.

 

“Are you well, my lady?” She hears Theon ask. He must have seen her frantically looking about. She sighs, rolls her eyes, and then turns to face him, placing a smile on her lips. 

 

“Quite well, my lord.” She answers him. He’s dressed lazily and his beard and hair are a mess. She rolls her eyes, annoyed. “You haven’t seen Arya, have you?”

 

Theon nods. “She’s with your brothers, in the training yard. Bested Bran in archery according to Robb. Last I saw her she and Rickon were chasing Bran about, along with the direwolves.”

 

Sansa nods, and looks to her side. She hasn’t seen Lady all morning. “Your wolf, my lady, is with Grey Wind, Robb, and your lord Father. I can bring you to them, if you’d like.” He offers his arm, which Sansa declines.

 

“No. I need to find Arya and do her hair,” she tells him a little snippily before remembering her manners. “But thank you.”

 

Theon nods, and walks away.

 

“Theon?” She calls out. He turns around, a small smile on his lips. “You need to shave.” She tells him. His smile frowns. “And dress well. The King is coming today.”

 

Theon rolls his eyes. She can sense a laugh coming from him but he manages to contain it. “Yes, my lady. Your brothers and I are going to do that in an hour or two, per your lady mother’s request.”

 

“Oh.” Sansa says.

 

Theon chuckles, and then turns back around. “I’ll see you later, my lady.”

 

Sansa nods, not that he can see it.

 

—

 

Theon stands outside, with the rest of the Stark family and all of Winterfell, as they await the arrival of the King and his procession. He’s next to Jory, and behind Sansa and Robb. At first he’s bored. They stand outside for a long time, waiting, and every time Theon tries to whisper something to Robb, Jory elbows his side and Sansa shoots him a look. So then he stands there silently, and becomes bored truly.

 

The King arrives, along with the rest of his ensemble, and Theon manages to stand there, a polite smile on his face while the King greets all the Starks. 

 

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” He asks or more so tells Sansa, and she smiles. 

 

Theon smiles too, happy for two reasons. Firstly, he’s happy she’s happy, she had seemed in a rotten mood this morning. Secondly, more selfishly, he’s happy that she’s his. She’s the prettiest lady here, prettier than the Queen even, who is standing about with a creased brow and frown, and she belongs to him.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Prince smile at Sansa, and he can see Sansa smile back at him. Theon hisses, and Robb looks over at him, a look in his eye acknowledging he saw it, too. They both look to Lord Stark, but he is busy talking with the King.

 

“Later,” Robb whispers to Theon, when he sees he’s about to make a scene. Theon looks down at his hand and sees it clenched in a fist. He hadn’t realized that at first. Theon nods.

 

“Lady Sansa,” Theon says. “Perhaps I can escort you back inside?”

 

Sansa peels her eyes off the prince to look at him, clearly having forgotten he was right behind her.

 

“Forgive me, Greyjoy, but it would be my honor to escort the beautiful lady inside,” The prince says. The tone in his voice makes it clear he means to anger Theon but Sansa doesn’t seem to see it. She smiles at Joffrey, and takes his offered arm.

 

Theon looks at Robb, but he is walking arm in arm with Princess Myrcella. Prince Tommen and the younger Stark siblings trailing behind them. Joffrey and Sansa fall in line, and Theon is left to stand there awkwardly.

 

Annoyed, he grabs his bow and heads for the woods, knowing if he trains in the yard too many people will be there. And he’d rather be on a real hunt, instead of just practicing with a target.

 

“Snow,” he says, when he sees Jon standing at the edge of the forest. “Go grab a bow. We’re going hunting.”

 

Jon looks at him, then back at Winterfell where even outside there is a pleasant commotion of people.

 

“Now?” He asks.

 

“Yes, now.” Jon hesitates and Theon sighs, exasperated. “Here,” he says, handing Jon his bow and quiver. “I’ll go grab another. I’ll be back.”

 

Theon grabs a second set of bow and arrows, and then he and Jon hunt for the rest of the day. They only shoot a handful of rabbits, but they don’t mind. They stay out until an hour before dinner time, and when they head back, Jon takes Theon’s bow and quiver from him.

 

“Aren’t you heading inside?” he asks.

 

“Lady Stark thinks it would insult the King to seat a bastard at his feast.” Jon tells him sadly.

 

Theon frowns. He pokes fun at Jon all the time, but he’s never thought less of him. He can’t control who his parents are, and Lady Catelyn should know that. There were times he even felt jealous of Jon, who was more a Stark than he’d ever be. No, that’s not true, he thinks. When he and Sansa marry, he’d be a Stark well enough. 

 

“Are you sure? Perhaps she just meant she wanted you to sit at a different table?” Theon asks, though he knows it’s not the truth.

 

Jon frowns. “It’s alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, Greyjoy.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Theon agrees. Then he goes inside and readies for the feast.

 

He puts on a doublet that Sansa made him for his last nameday. It was black with gold trim and accents, and in black thread that matched the fabric, Sansa had embroidered a kraken on the chest. In the top corner, there were two smaller shapes, another kraken and a direwolf, embroidered and embellished with shining gold and silver thread.

 

It was his nicest doublet, and so he had yet to wear it, for he had been saving it for a special occasion. He didn’t want it to get ruined, and he knew he would if he wore it as often as his other doublets, for truth be told he had few.

 

He combs his hair and then heads to Sansa’s room. He plans to escort her to dinner, and wants to get there early, so no prince can beat him to it.

 

He knocks on her door and little Beth Cassel opens it. “Lord Greyjoy!” She greets. He smiles at her.

 

“I’ve come to escort Lady Sansa to dinner,” he tells her. He looks in her room and sees Jeyne Poole there as well, but no Sansa.

 

“She’s with her mother, getting her hair re done,” Jeyne tells him.

 

“Ah.” Theon says. “Thank you, my ladies.” He says, before hurrying towards Lord and Lady Stark’s chamber.

 

He stands outside the door, which is cracked open, and is about to announce himself when he hears them talking.

 

“Please Mother!” Sansa begs.

 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Sansa. You are already betrothed. And while I like the match even less than you do, it was the King who made it. To go back on it, even to suggest a match with his son, would be a great insult. Your father would never.” Lady Stark says.

 

“But I’d be Queen someday. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Please talk to Father. Please.”

 

“Very well,” Lady Stark agrees.

 

Theon feels a knot form in his stomach. Princey has been here less than a day, done nothing more than smile at her, and Sansa wants to marry him? Theon had been here for years, and sure, they’d had a bit of a rocky start to romance, but in the last two years Theon had done his best efforts to court her, and Sansa had seemed displeased with every compliment he offered, every gesture he did. He knew she was mad about the brothel incident. But that was years ago. He had apologized immensely. He didn’t think he had done anything wrong. Salt wives were a custom in the Iron Islands. He saw no harm in taking interest in another. And it wasn’t even his true interest. He had gone to the brothel to better prepare himself. He and Sansa were not to marry for years yet, but when they did, he wanted to be a good husband, a proper lover, and knew he couldn’t be that if he was a green boy.

 

Shaking his head of his thoughts, he knocks on the door, before opening it.

 

“Lady Stark, Lady Sansa,” he greets.

 

“Lord Greyjoy,” Lady Catelyn greets. Her voice is a little cold, probably because of her recent conversation with her daughter, but Theon ignores her tone. It doesn’t seem like they think he heard them and he wants to keep it as such.

 

“I’ve come to escort Lady Sansa to dinner, my lady,” Theon says. “But if you’re not ready, I can wait outside.”

 

“No,” Sansa says. “I’m ready now.” She stands up, and then straightens her dress in the mirror. She looks to her mother, who gives her a nod.

 

“I’ll talk to him, sweetling,” She tells her. Theon makes a face, but quickly schools it, and offers Sansa his arm.

 

She takes it, and he leads her into the hall. 

 

“You look beautiful, my lady,” Theon tells her honestly.

 

Sansa blushes, and looks at her feet. “Thank you, my lord.” She then looks back towards him, but doesn’t meet his eye. Her gaze snags on his shirt. “You’re wearing the one I made you?” She asks, surprised.

 

“Of course!” Theon tells her. “It’s my favorite doublet.”

 

Sansa laughs, unbelieving. “You’ve never worn it before,” she reminds him. He’s surprised she noticed. It shouldn’t surprise him, for Sansa has always been one to care for clothes, but it surprises him because that means she’s taken note of him often enough to know he’s never worn it.

 

“I didn’t want to ruin it. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion such as tonight.”

 

“Oh.” Sansa says. Nothing else, just, oh.

 

They get to the great hall, and take their separate seats, Theon by Robb and Sansa by Jeyne. Princey is across from Sansa, and Theon can’t ignore the glances he keeps giving her. It angers him, but he knows better than to accost the prince in front of the big crowd.

 

He looks at Robb. “Do you see this?” He asks him.

 

Robb nods, and then laughs a little at Theon’s misery. “Relax. The Prince is just taken by Sansa’s beauty, and Sansa’s taken by his title. Nothing will happen. We won’t let it.”

 

“I’m a prince too. Or has she forgotten.”

 

Robb laughs. “The Iron Islands are not the same as the Seven Kingdoms Theon. And besides, you’re a prince in the eyes of the Ironborn, not necessarily the rest of Westeros.”

 

Theon blanches, though he knows it to be true.

 

“I’m still better than Princey over there,” Theon pouts.

 

Robb laughs. “Now that, we agree on.”

 

Robb manages to distract him with jokes after that, but then Arya flings food at Sansa, and Lady Catelyn motions for Robb to put her to bed.

 

Theon’s left alone after that. Not really alone, but there’s no one else sitting near him that he wishes to talk to.

 

When dinner is done, the Queen ushers her precious princey and her other children away, and after almost everyone clears out of the great hall, Sansa stays seated, pouting quietly. Even Jeyne leaves, having to return home.

 

Theon gets up and sits beside her. He takes a chalice and pores some wine into it, before handing it to her. “It will take some of the embarrassment away,” he tells her.

 

Sansa’s face grows redder. “Was it really so bad?”

 

“No,” Theon is quick to backpedal. “I only meant that you clearly look saddened now.”

 

“She ruined my dress!”

 

“It can be washed. I assure you, it’s not ruined.”

 

“She embarrassed me in front of the Prince!”

 

“Hence the wine,” Theon motions towards it. Sansa takes a small sip, followed by two large ones. She finishes the chalice, and then hands it back to Theon to pore more into. He does, albeit reluctantly, and hands it back to her.

 

“You need not worry about the Prince, my lady, he’s not worth the trouble.”

 

“You sound jealous,” Sansa laughs. Though, due to the wine, it’s more of a giggle.

 

“I am jealous,” Theon admits. “You’ve smiled at him in the last day more than you have at me all year. How does that make me feel? How does that make me look? You’re my betrothed, after all.”

 

“A fact you’ve forgotten before.”

 

“I didn’t forget.” He winces. That was not the right thing to say. “Salt wives are a common practice on the Iron Islands. I only did what was expected of me.” He tells her truthfully.

 

“So you’ve said.” She takes another big sip of wine, and Theon takes the chalice from her. Lord and Lady Stark would never forgive him if she got drunk on his watch.

 

She makes a face when it’s out of her hands but doesn’t protest.

 

“I won’t take any. Salt wives,” he clarifies. “Now that I know you wouldn’t approve.”

 

“How honorable,” Sansa says dryly.

 

“I mean it.” He says firmly.

 

Sansa looks at him, and then down at his shirt, her fingers coming to the kraken embroidered at his chest, trailing down the threaded tentacles. He can feel his muscles clench. She’s never been this close to him. Her hair smells nice. Like honey. And her skin smells like winter roses.

 

“Is this really your favorite doublet?” Sansa asks.

 

“The very one,” Theon tells her.

 

Sansa nods, and then pulls her hand away. She grabs her chalice and takes another sip. He’s about to offer to escort her to her chamber when Ser Rodrik motions him over.

 

“Excuse me,” Theon says, standing up. Sansa waves him off, looking down at her wine. Theon laughs, and takes the chalice away from her, carrying it with him so she can’t drink anymore.

 

He gets to Ser Rodrik and asks. “What is it?”

 

“The princes want to duel the boys tomorrow. Will you set up the training yard with me in the morning?”

 

“Sure,” Theon agrees. The thought reminds him of Jon, and he goes outside to check on him.

 

He finds him, staring up at the night sky.

 

“A Lot on your mind, Snow?” Theon asks.

 

“Yes.” Jon says plainly.

 

“Such as?”

 

“It’s no matter tonight,” Jon shrugs. “I’ll tell you another time.”

 

“Okay.” Theon agrees. He had seen him and Robb talk to their Uncle Benjen earlier, but other than that he doesn’t know who he could have talked to, or why he’s in such a mood. “Do you want company?”

 

Jon shakes his head. “I’m off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow, Greyjoy.”

 

Theon nods, and heads back inside, where he sees Sansa still sitting at the table, the last one remaining in the great hall. She has found another chalice and is drinking the wine intently.

 

“Woah,” Theon says, approaching her. “Hey now, my lady, let's save some for the rest of us, aye?”

 

Sansa looks at him and smiles. “Theon!” She says excitedly. 

 

Theon laughs. The wine works quickly, he thinks to himself.

 

She stands up and stumbles over to him, nearly falling, and Theon catches her, steadying her in his arms. Too quickly, he thinks.

 

“Let’s get you to bed,” he tells her. 

 

“I’m not tired,” she says loudly, smiling at him and reaching again for the wine. Theon stops her from reaching it, and shushes her gently. He forgot how loud drunk girls could be.

 

“Yes, you are. You just don’t realize it. Come.”

 

He leads her down the hall, and to her chambers. She keeps trying to break hold of his arm, but it only causes her to lose balance. Not even halfway to her chamber Theon picks her up and carries her, much to her loud protest. He’s lucky that the rest of the castle is either asleep or too drunk to notice Sansa’s state, as well as him carrying her around.

 

He gets to her room, and struggles to open the door with her in his arms, but somehow manages. He sets her down when they’re inside and closes the door.

 

“Can you put yourself to bed?” He asks.

 

Sansa nods, and reaches behind her to pull at the laces of her dress. Theon turns to look away, but doesn’t leave just yet. He doesn’t want to leave her alone should she need him. And if he were to catch a glimpse or two while he waits, well, no one can really fault him for that.

 

He can hear Sansa struggle, and is surprised to hear her curse in annoyance. He’s never heard her swear before. He laughs and he can hear Sansa turn to look at him.

 

“Aren’t you going to help me?” She asks.

 

Theon’s back is still to her. He wants to turn around, but fears his Ironborn manners will get the best of him if he does. “That…that wouldn’t be proper, my lady.” He tells her, barely looking over his shoulder.

 

“You have to help me. I’m a damsel in distresh. Dis-tresh? Distress? No, that's not right. Theon? What’s the saying?”

 

Theon finally turns to look at her. “You had it right.” He tells her. He turns her around and begins untying her laces.

 

“Distresh,” she says again, a whisper this time.

 

When her dress is untied, he steps back, deciding to let herself pull it off her once he’s gone. She begins taking it off right away.

 

“My lady…”

 

“I’ll need help with my corset, too,” she mumbles. She steps out of her dress and turns to face him, a smile on her lips and a questioning look in her eye. She steps towards him and turns back around. He unties the cords of her corset, and takes his hands away, but Sansa pulls them back, to her waist.

 

“Sansa?” Theon questions. He has no idea what she’s doing.

 

“I’m waiting,” she says, her voice timid and hesitant for the first time this evening.

 

“For what?”

 

“For you to seduce me.”

 

Theon chokes on his own breath. “W-what?”

 

“I know you heard my mother and I earlier. And you’ve already admitted to being jealous. The Ironborn take what's theirs do they not? Aren’t you going to take me?”

 

Fuck, Theon thinks. Of course he wants to take her, but he’s been trying to act with honor, as Robb would, as Lord Stark would hope for him to. But she’s right. The Ironborn take what’s theirs. He wants nothing more than to take her here and now, but somehow, he manages to refuse. “You’re already mine,” he tries to reason. He looks away from her and pulls his hands away.

 

She turns to face him, and brings one of his hands to her chest, letting it cup her breast. “Not officially. Take me,” she says, her voice nearly a command.

 

“No.”

 

Sansa’s eyes smart at this. “Don’t you want me? You said I looked beautiful.”

 

“You are beautiful. But you’re also drunk. I’m not going to take you. Not tonight.”

 

Not tonight, she mouths to herself. “Another night, then?”

 

Theon can’t help but smile. “Aye, my lady. Another night.”

 

Seemingly satisfied, Sansa turns and walks towards her bed, pulling back the covers and laying down. 

 

“Goodnight, Theon,” she calls out. 

 

“Goodnight, my lady.” He puts out all the candles in her room, and leaves quickly.

 

He gets to his room and readies for bed, but finds he can’t sleep. He’s worried about what’s just happened. He’s worried about how much he liked it. He’s worried she’ll forget it all by morning. He’s worried Lady Catelyn will talk to Lord Stark and his betrothed will marry the Prince. An hour ago, he wouldn’t have truly cared. His pride would have been hurt, but that’s not really new for Ironborn men. But now, more than his pride would hurt. His heart would, too. He never realized how much he cared for Sansa. He never realized how much she cared for him. She certainly seemed to hide it well. But she wanted him to seduce her. That had to mean something. Right?

Chapter 2: Blue or Green?

Summary:

Well, what do you know? It's not a one-shot. I've been vibing with this story!

I do have like four or five other stories I should finish up, so maybe I'll finish one or two of those soon. Most of them only need one or two more parts.

Have a great day!

Sansa wakes with a pounding headache, the too-bright sun shining down on her in bed. She grunts, and pulls the covers over her head. Her thoughts drift to last night. The end of it is a little fuzzy. She thinks she remembers most of it, but the order of it all is out of place. She remembers Arya dirtying her face and dress, in front of the prince no less, and then she remembers Theon taking care of her. 

 

Theon! It had startled her at first. She had never known him to be so kind before. That’s not entirely true. In the last two years he had made several attempts to court her. He brought her flowers weekly, but so did Bran and Rickon. He would ask her to dance at every dinner there happened to be music playing, but so did Robb. She always said yes, but only out of propriety. It would look terribly alarming to refuse to dance with her betrothed. They hadn’t danced last night, but only because the King’s brazen behavior made dancing seem unideal, even with the pretty music. He complimented her often, and always asked how she was, but Sansa would have none of it. He betrayed her. He dishonored her. When he went to the brothel and bedded another. He was supposed to be her knight in shining armour, her Florian to her Jonquil, her Duncan to her Jenny, and yet it didn’t matter to him. 

 

When Sansa first heard of her betrothal, she was young, and didn’t know what it meant. When she got to an age where she understood, she was over the moon in love. She likened Theon to a pirate prince of the Iron Islands, and herself to the fair maiden who would tame his wild ways and charm him. She saw love. She saw devotion. She saw a fairytale ending.

 

But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Theon was no pirate prince. He was a pirate through and through. Rough, roguish, and arrogant. She knew he had honor. No one raised by Ned Stark wouldn’t. But she wasn’t sure he had enough honor. she supposed if her mother could live with her father’s act of dishonor towards her, she could live with Theon’s. At least she didn’t have a bastard to remind her of his infidelity. Not that she blamed Jon for it, though she knew in some twisted way, her mother did. Jon had no control over who his parents were.

 

But last night, she had almost forgotten all the pain Theon had caused her. She had been so upset about being embarrassed in front of the prince, and yet, somehow, Theon had made her feel better. He made her smile and laugh, and he had confessed to being jealous, which she was vain enough to admit to herself that hearing that made her feel good. He deserved to be jealous. But then he had taken her to her room and her childhood fantasies got the better of her drunken mind. She had thought he would act like a savage pirate, when he had had her alone with him. And like a wanton, she had offered herself to him. She’s not sure why. She blames the wine. But she knows the wine wasn’t the only reason she had a strong desire for him to touch her. For her to touch him.

 

But Theon had proved he was no pirate. Instead, he was a man of honor. A man who would never take advantage of a drunk girl. He had enough decency for that. He did promise to take her another night, she remembers suddenly, blush filling her face. She feels completely embarrassed, though no one is there to witness her rosy countenance. And no one was there last night, either, when she had behaved so unladylike. Perhaps Theon himself won’t remember? She knew he often liked to drink and have a good time. He didn’t seem drunk last night, though. Maybe she had been too drunk to notice?

 

Pushing her thoughts aside, Sansa climbs out of bed. She goes to her wardrobe and picks out a dress for the day. Deciding on a pale green, with long sleeves and a neckline embroidered with leaves and jasmine flowers, a tight waist and a billowy skirt. 

 

She braided part of her hair back, to keep it out of her face, and then slowly made her way to the great hall, to break her fast.

 

She gets there to find all her siblings, save for Arya and Jon, eating together at a table. 

 

“Good morning, Sansa," Robb greets her with a smile.

 

“Good morning!” She says, her smile causing her to wince due to her headache. She sits down beside Robb.

 

“Are you going to watch me compete with Prince Joffrey?” Robb asks excitedly.

 

“Is that what you plan to do this morning?” Sansa asks, surprised.

 

“Yes. Per the prince’s request. Bran and Prince Tommen will duel as well.”

 

She looks over at Bran, who looks exceedingly nervous.

 

“You’ll be fine Bran,” Robb assures him. “You’re using practice swords.”

 

Bran nods and looks back down at his barely eaten plate of food.

 

“Where’s Lord Greyjoy?” Sansa asks.

 

Robb shoots her a look. He hates when anyone uses titles in private. “Theon and Jon are setting up the training yard,” he tells her.

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

—

 

Sansa is sitting outside, next to Princess Myrcella, Rickon in her lap, with Bran and Tommen sitting behind them. Arya is nowhere in sight. The direwolves, save for Nymeria, are all laying in a pile and are watching as well.

 

Robb is wearing little armour, just a chestplate, really, but Joffrey is decked out in a full on golden ensemble. 

 

They watch as Robb easily bests Joffrey. The Prince seems more angry than embarrassed. He’s red faced, though that could be from exhaustion or overexertion. He angrily stocks off, and Sansa gets the urge to follow him. To check and see if he’s alright. She stands up and excuses herself.

 

“Sansa!” Bran calls out. “Aren’t you going to watch?” He and Prince Tommen are being heavily padded up before they fight.

 

“I’ll be right back, Bran. I shouldn’t miss it, but either way, you’ll fight bravely. Just like Robb.” She smiles at Bran, and then Robb, before putting Lady on a leash and heading off in the direction of the Prince. She passes Arya on the way, who barely acknowledges her as she runs to Jon’s side.

 

She finds the Prince in the Godswood, stubbornly kicking a tree. 

 

“Your Grace!” Sansa says sweetly. “Are you alright?”

 

“What are you doing here? Following me?” He barks at her.

 

Sansa winces. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I only meant to check on you.”

 

“It was an unfair fight.” Joffrey tells her. “Your brother is older than me.”

 

“Of course,” Sansa agrees. To herself she thinks it doesn’t matter. Robb is maybe a few moons older. Not enough to matter or make a true difference. She fidgets with her fingers, unsure of what to say. “Is there anything I can do to cheer you up, Your Grace?” 

 

Joffrey looks at her strangely. She feels uneasy and tightens her hold on Lady’s leash. He turns his gaze to Lady. “Have the beast kill something. That will be fun to see.”

 

Sansa gasps. “Lady’s not a beast, Your Grace. She doesn’t kill.”

 

Joffrey scoffs. “Look at her. She’s a beast. She’ll kill if I want her to.”

 

“No, Your Grace. I don’t think she will.” An angry voice says. Sansa turns and sees Theon, making his way towards them.

 

“What are you doing here, Greyjoy?” Joffrey asks in disgust.

 

“Checking on my lady,” Theon answers. She doesn’t miss how he said ‘my lady’ not ‘the lady’ or ‘Lady Sansa,’ but chooses to ignore that for now. He’s at Sansa’s side and offers her his arm, which she gladly takes. Joffrey was beginning to frighten her. She’s glad to no longer be alone with him.

 

“She’s perfectly fine.” Joffrey says, an evil grin coming to face. “She came to check on me. Isn’t she sweet?”

 

Theon tenses. “The sweetest lady I know.” He agrees. “Which is why she only did what was expected of her, when she came to check on you. Clearly, you're fine. So I’ll escort her back to the yard now.”

 

He turns around, Sansa and Lady following him.

 

“Don’t you leave,” Joffrey whines. “Just wait until my Father hears of this!”

 

Theon laughs. “Of what? What? Seriously, Your Grace? I came to the Godswood to check on my betrothed, and we left. What’s to tell.”

 

“You…you… didn’t see what happened before you came here.”

 

“And what was that?”

 

“Lady Sansa threw herself upon me,” Joffrey snickers. “Said she preferred me to you. I’ll tell my Father about the whore that she is, and how, when you stumbled upon us, you threatened me.”

 

Theon takes a deep breath. “Oh, I’ll do more than threaten.” He says. He lets go of Sansa’s arm and stocks towards the Prince, punching him square in the jaw.

 

“Theon!” Sansa gasps. He throws another punch. And then another. “Theon! Stop! Stop right now!”

 

Joffrey is on the ground and before Theon can punch him again, Sansa grabs his arm, just as Lady pulls on Theon’s pants, to pull him back like Sansa wanted.

 

“Please! Just take me back inside.” Sansa begs.

 

Theon looks at her, and his eyes soften. “Very well.” He leads her back to the training yard, where everyone is still hanging about. Bran and Tommen seemingly just have finished their duel. 

 

Theon brings her to Jon and Arya. “Stay with Jon,” he tells her, and then he motions to Robb. “We need to talk to your Lord Father. Now.”

 

Robb gives him and Sansa a concerned look, but follows after Theon.

 

—

 

“What’s this about?” Ned asks, as Robb and Theon sit down in his solar. He looks to Robb, but Robb shakes his head. He doesn’t know what this is about. That means, whatever it is, it has to do with Theon. Great, he thinks. Just great.

 

Theon is silent, though, clearly weighing his words.

 

“Theon brought Sansa back from the Godswood. She seemed shaken up. And he told me to come with him to talk to you. That’s all I know,” Robb says. Then he speaks up again. “Oh, and, Sansa had followed Prince Joffrey to the Godswood.” Robb looks to Theon. “Joffrey didn’t return with them.”

 

Ned nods, and turns his attention back to Theon. “What happened, Theon? Don’t lie.”

 

“He said some nasty things. Untrue things. About Lady Sansa. I merely defended her honor. That’s all.” Theon says. He looks Ned in the eye as he says this, so he knows it to be true.

 

“And how did you defend her?”

 

“I may have punched the Prince. Once or twice. And I may have left him there. But only because Sansa asked me to bring her back inside.”

 

Robb hits his side. “You left the Prince bloody and in the Godswood! Are you out of your mind? The Queen will have your head.”

 

“No,” Ned speaks up. “No one’s head. Robb, have the King meet me in the Godswood. Only the King. Theon and I will go check on the Prince.”

 

Robb nods and rushes off, as Ned drags Theon back outside.

 

Joffrey is still laying there, whining and complaining. He’s happy as ever when he hears someone approaching, and bitter as ever when he sees who it is.

 

“Lord Stark,” he whines. “Your ward beat me. You must punish him!”

 

“We’ll wait for your father to arrive, my prince.”

 

Minutes later, Robb and Robert arrive. 

 

“Ned! What’s the meaning of this?” Robert asks.

 

“Father!” Joffrey screeches, as he struggles to sit up.

 

“What’s happened to you boy?”

 

“The Greyjoy boy attacked me, Father! Completely unprompted.”

 

Theon scoffs. “He dishonored my betrothed. I only defended her honor.” Ned shoots him a look and so Theon adds, “Your Grace.”

 

Robert looks from Theon to Joffrey. “Is this true, Joffrey? Did you bring dishonor to Lord Stark’s daughter? My good friend, Ned?”

 

“Well, no…I…”

 

“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you, boy, he’s an Ironborn afterall.” He turns back to Theon. “Why didn’t you kill him?”

 

Theon looks taken aback. “Lady Sansa asked me not to.”

 

“And he didn’t want to betray the throne, Your Grace.” Robb adds quickly. “He’s not like his father.”

 

Robert shrugs this off. “Yeah, yeah. Balon’s a prick. I’m well aware.”

 

“Father!” Joffrey whines. “What are you going to do? Punish him!”

 

“I’ll do no such thing. You’ve embarrassed me, my son. Not only did you dishonor a proper Lady but you got beaten by someone your age. You’re my son. Do better.”

 

“Father I–”

 

“Go inside and whine to your mother.”

 

Joffrey scoffs and stands up. Before he can walk off Robert grabs his arm. “Tell anyone what happened and you’ll be in trouble. If anyone asks, your mother included, you got those bruises fighting with Lord Robb.”

 

“We fought with swords, Your Grace,” Robb informs him. “Not fists.”

 

“So? No one will question the truth if I confirm it.” He looks back to Joffrey and fixes him with a stern gaze. “Do you understand me, boy?”

 

“Y–yes, Father.” Joffrey says, before scurrying away.

 

When Joffrey’s gone, King Robert turns to face Theon, and Theon does his best to straighten up.

 

“You defended your girl,” Robert says, “so I won’t have you killed for striking the crowned prince. What you did was honorable. But we’re to keep this quiet. Joffrey and Robb Stark's duel got out of hand. Just boys being boys, that’s what we’ll say.” He looks to Ned. “Tell your other children as much, and I’ll do the same. This is the story we’re to tell.”

 

Ned nods, but his face is cautious. “Of course, Your Grace…but…”

 

“But what, Ned? Spit it out.”

 

“My son has no marks on him. I fear some may find the story false.”

 

Robert considers this, and then lets out a laugh. “I reckon it makes the story more believable,” he jokes. Theon and the others join in on the laugh a little awkwardly, before they all head inside.

 

—

 

Sansa is still standing with Jon and the others, Arya and Bran questioning her about what happened. She ignores them. She doesn’t know what she should say.

 

“You’re white as a ghost, Sansa,” Bran tells her. “You have to tell us what happened.”

 

“Did Joffrey or Theon do something?” Arya asks. “Lady is on high alert.”

 

Sansa looks down at her direwolf, who’s leash is still in her hand, and sees that Lady is on high alert. Her teeth are uncharacteristically bared and her eyes are almost glowing. She’s looking towards the Godswood, where Joffrey remains. She pets Lady’s head, hoping to calm her down a little.

 

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Jon asks quietly. 

 

Sansa nods. “I’m a little shaken, is all.”

 

“But why?” Arya asks.

 

“Wait for Father, Arya.” Jon tells her.

 

Minutes later, they watch as Theon and her Father walk back out towards the Godswood. Arya and Bran call out to them, but Father tells them to go inside. She can’t read his expression. He’s wearing his Lord of Winterfell face. Theon won’t look her way, so she can’t read his expression, either.

 

Against what their father told them, they all remain outside. Minutes after that, Robb and King Robert head towards the Godswood as well.

 

“Robb!” Arya calls, running over to him. “Tell us what’s happened! Please!”

 

“Arya!” Robb chides. He places his hands on her shoulder and squats down to more of her level. “Take your younger brothers, as well as the Prince and Princess, and go show them the Glass Gardens, alright?”

 

“But–”

 

“Arya. Do as you’re told.”

 

Reluctantly, Arya nods, and leads the rest of them away until only Jon and Sansa remain. “Jon, please go take Sansa to her room.” He looks at Sansa. “Father or I will be there shortly.”

 

Jon and Sansa both nod, and Jon leads her and Lady away.

 

Jon offers to stay with her, but Sansa would rather be alone, so she tells him no thank you.

 

“Are you sure?” Jon asks. “If you don’t want my company, perhaps I can look for Lady Jeyne? Or Lady Beth? I can even look for Lady Stark if you’d like?”

 

Sansa winces. She must really be as pale as a ghost if Jon is willing to find her mother for her. She knows he’s afraid of her. She knows he knows how much she despises him.

 

“No, Jon, really. I’m alright. And Robb said he or Father would be here soon, anyway. I need a moment to collect myself.”

 

Jon leaves at that, and Sansa goes to her wash basin, so she may wash her face. As she does, she looks in the mirror and all of Joffrey’s words play back in her mind. He said she threw herself upon him. He called her a whore. Normally she would know to just brush this off. She would know it’s not true, but…isn’t it? Just last night she threw herself at Theon? She asked him to take her and even though she thought herself a wanton girl, she didn’t care. She wanted him to take her. Maybe the Prince was right. Maybe she was a…she can’t bring herself to say it, even if it’s only in her thoughts. No! She thinks. I’m Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I am a lady, trueborn and noble. She’s not sure she’s able to convince herself, but it’s just as well. Robb walks in, disrupting her thoughts.

 

“Hey,” He says carefully. “How are you?”

 

He sits down beside her on the bed, just as Grey Wind sits down beside Lady in her bed in the corner, and Sansa leans into Robb’s side, hugging him, tears falling from her eyes.

 

“Am I ruined? Did I dishonor Father? What’s the King going to do to punish him? And Theon, too? He’s not going to hurt them, is he?” She asks frantically.

 

Robb hugs her back and pats her shoulders comfortingly. “No no! Sansa, you’re not ruined. The prince didn’t actually touch you, did he?” He asks, suddenly worried.

 

Sansa shakes her head.

 

Robb nods. “Then you’re fine. And the King isn’t punishing anyone. Only Joffrey, the little prick. He ran off, crying to his mother. The bruises he’ll bear aren’t because of Theon.”

 

Sansa looks up at him, confused.

 

“If anyone asks, though, no one should be asking, the bruises are from the Prince and my duel. That’s what the King says, so that’s what we’ll say.”

 

“But Theon–”

 

“Theon is fine. He’s not in trouble.”

 

“No but he’s an Ironborn. What will people say of him if they learn I was dishonored and he did nothing to defend me? They’ll laugh at him, for sure.”

 

Robb smiles, amused. “Are you seriously worried about Theon’s reputation?” Sansa blushes. “You should tell him that, he’ll be quite pleased. But no. He won’t be made fun of. You weren’t dishonored. No one will bring you up at all when regarding the incident.”

 

“Surely Arya will say something.”

 

“Father is talking to her and the boys now. We figured they’d be most receptive to him.”

 

Sansa nods in agreement.

 

Robb squeezes her side reassuringly and kisses her head. “Do you want me to stay with you?” He asks. “Perhaps we can play knights and ladies like we did when we were little?”

 

Sansa smiles. She loves her brother dearly, and she appreciates his efforts to cheer her up, but she’d really rather be alone. She tells him as much.

 

“Very well,” Robb says. “If you change your mind, just come look for me.”

 

“Okay, I will. Thank you!”

 

Robb leaves and takes Grey Wind with him and for a while, Sansa just sits with Lady and pets her head. She begins to grow restless though, and so she takes out her sewing. She finished her most recent project a few days ago. It was a dress to wear when the royal family arrived. The dress she wore last night. The dress Arya ruined. Well, maybe not ruined. It could be washed. But still. 

 

She decides her next project will be a new doublet for Theon, since he loved his last one so much. She looks through the fabric she has in her room, and settles on a deep, dark, emerald green. It will bring out his green eyes. The thought makes Sansa stop. Does he have green eyes? She wonders. Now that she thinks about it, they might be blue. She’s never paid close enough attention before. She knows they’re not brown like Jeynes. Nor grey like Jon and Arya and Father’s. She knows they’re not Tully blue, but they may be a lighter blue? She’s not sure. Exasperated, she puts the green fabric back, and pulls out a chocolatey brown wool, figuring she’ll start on a new dress for herself instead.

 

Not an hour later, there’s a knock at her door. “Sansa?” Her mother asks, poking her head in. When she sees her daughter sitting in her room, she steps inside. “Your father and brother told me what happened, are you alright, sweetling?”

 

Sansa nods, a little unconvincingly. “I’m a little shaken up is all, but I’m fine.”

 

Her mother sits beside her and squeezes her hand. “Perfectly understandable, my dear. I’ll talk to your father tonight. I’ll convince him to break your betrothal. Obviously you won’t marry the Prince, but perhaps another northern lor–”

 

“What do you mean?” Sansa interrupts, confused and worried.

 

“Lord Greyjoy caused the scandal, even if that’s not the story we’re to tell. I’ll speak to your father, you shouldn’t have to put up with this. He’ll get the King to understand.”

 

“But Theon didn’t do anything wrong! He defended me! After the Prince said those cruel things. He wanted Lady to kill something! He called me a whore! Theon came to my rescue.”

 

“What are you saying, Sansa?” Her mother is trying to remain calm, but Sansa can tell she is startled by her words.

 

“I don’t want you to break the betrothal.” She says, and it shocks her how much she means it. Theon redeemed himself in her eyes, both last night and just now. He had proved himself to be an honorable man. Just like Father was. Just like all the knights and princes in all the stories. She wanted that. She wanted him.

 

“Just yesterday you begged me to convince your father to wed you to the prince and now you’re okay with Theon? He’s a Greyjoy. If he’s anything like his father you’ll see just how savage and arrogant and–”

 

“He’s nothing like his father,” Sansa says. “Nothing at all.”

 

“Sansa, sweetling, you’re just a girl still. You change your mind quickly, but tomorrow, I’m sure, you’ll want to be rid of him. Remember what he did those years ago? In Wintertown? He dishonored you, too. Just like the prince. But I’ll find you a better match. Someone honorable, and kind, and worthy of you.”

 

“Theon is all those things,” she tells her mother. But her thoughts shift to the brothel incident. He had dishonored her. But unlike the prince, he had apologized. Profusely. “Most of those things,” she corrects. “If I wish to be rid of him tomorrow, I will tell you so, but please, don’t do anything tonight.”

 

Her mother sighs. “Alright,” she tells her, “but only because I love you, my sweet.” She lovingly runs a hand through Sansa’s hair, before taking one of Sansa’s hands and squeezing it. She looks down at the fabric in her lap and asks, “What are you working on?”

 

“A new dress,” Sansa says.

 

Her mother feels the fabric. “It’s durable,” she tells her. “But add some color to it. Maybe blue or green? To bring out your eyes or compliment your hair?”

 

Blue or green? Sansa thinks to herself. What color are his eyes? She nods at her mother, and then asks, “Where is Lord Greyjoy? I never thanked him for…defending me.”

 

“He’s with Robb, but you can’t look for him now, too many people are watching, and too many people will gossip. Talk to him at dinner, I’ll seat you two next to each other, and as far from the prince as possible.”

 

Sansa nods, though she wishes it weren’t so. She’s dying to see him. Dying to know the color of his eyes. Blue or green? Blue or green?

Chapter 3: Blue and Green

Theon was dreading dinner, having to sit in the same room as Princey and Sansa. The same room as Ned and the King. It sounded like it would be too much stress on everyone’s part. He thought it would be better if he wasn’t there. So he wasn’t there. He was sitting outside with Jon instead. The two of them sat against the South wall, near the stables, taking turns throwing a stick for Ghost and having him fetch it. Theon was telling him his side of the events from earlier that day.

 

“And that’s why you’re not at dinner?” Jon asks. “A little cowardly don’t you think?”

 

Theon glares at him, but then shrugs. “A little, but it’s also smart. I am not one to control my temper and who knows what I’ll do when I see Princey.”

 

Jon laughs, taking the stick from Ghost and throwing it again. “Why do you call him that?”

 

“Have you looked at him? He’s a princey through and through. A royal prick. Whiny and entitled.”

 

Jon nods. “His siblings aren’t so bad, though. Bran seems to really get along with Prince Tommen. And the princess is quiet, but she seems kind enough.”

 

Theon shrugs in agreement. He doesn’t know the young prince or princess well enough to have a say, but it certainly doesn’t take much to be better than Joffrey. Ghost comes running back and drops the stick at Theon’s feet. He picks it up and throws it.

 

He and Jon fall into silence, both seemingly lost in thought. Theon has no idea what Jon is thinking about, but he is distracted enough by his own thoughts and doesn’t give Jon much mind. 

 

Theon’s thoughts drift to Sansa. He wonders where she’s sitting. Is she by Jeyne? Or Robb? How close is she to Princey? Is he bothering her? Or perhaps he’s managed to charm her again? The last thought makes a growl catch in his throat. He coughs to clear it, earning a weird look from Jon.

 

Theon shakes his head, and both boys go back to their thoughts. Theon’s starting to think he should have gone to dinner. He could have sat by Sansa and scared Princey away. But it’s too late for that. For him to show up now it would only raise suspicions. Suspicions for what, he’s not sure, he just knows it wouldn’t look right.

 

He curses to himself, and then throws the stick far when Ghost brings it to him. Far and fast and angry. Jon looks at him again, and decides to break the silence.

 

“I’m thinking of taking the Black,” he says. “If Father agrees to be the hand and goes South.”

 

Theon falters, he hadn’t been expecting him to say that. “Why?” He asks.

 

“Lady Stark won’t want me here, and won’t have any reason to keep me here if Lord Stark’s away. This way, I control where I go.”

 

“Robb wouldn’t let her send you away. Neither would Lord Stark.”

 

“I know. But things would be different. Worse, somehow. This way, I have some control in my fate. There’s honor in joining the Night’s Watch, even for bastards.”

 

“But you’re not just any bastard are you? You’re the Warden of the North’s son. They wouldn’t be easy on you. Honor wouldn’t come easy to you.”

 

Jon doesn’t say anything to that.

 

“Just think on it some more, aye?” Theon asks him. “It’s a lifelong commitment. Think of how sad Arya and Bran would be. Arya would never see you again, and Bran, didn’t you two plan to see the wall together?”

 

Jon frowns. “They’d understand.”

 

Theon laughs. “They’re children, Snow! Children never understand.” He didn’t understand how his father could leave him. How his father just sent him away when he was still just a boy. He hadn’t seen him or Asha since. They both wrote to him, Asha more frequently, but he hadn’t seen them in nearly a decade. What were they like? Did they miss him? Did they remember him? He struggled to remember them sometimes. And what of his mother? Was she improving?

 

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Jon says stubbornly.

 

“If you say so,” Theon says, dropping the subject.

 

When dinner is nearly over, Theon and Jon sneak into the kitchens, and grab some food, before heading to their respective chambers.

 

Theon eats quickly, and grows restless. He wants to find Robb and ask him how dinner went. He goes to Robb’s chamber, and knocks on the door, but Robb doesn’t answer. It’s possible he’s still at the feast, he knows people are still in the great hall, drinking the night away. Resigned, he turns back down the hall, to his room, when a small voice catches his attention.

 

“Theon,” Sansa calls out, her voice barely above a whisper. Theon turns his head and sees her standing at her door. His breath catches when he sees her. Sansa’s always been pretty, beautiful even, as he’s told her before, but something about now, as she stands there, the light from the candles in her room behind her giving her a glow, makes her more beautiful than ever.

 

“My lady,” Theon says, remembering his courtesies. He drops into a quick bow. “How are you feeling?”

 

Sansa blushes, or he thinks she does, it’s kind of hard to tell in the low light. “I’m alright,” she tells him. She opens her door slightly wider. “Can we talk for a moment?” She asks shyly. 

Theon looks down both ends of the hall, but there’s no one there to see them. He nods, and then follows her inside. 

 

—

Sansa closes the door quietly behind him, and then turns to face him. She’s too embarrassed to meet his eye, though she’s dying to know, are they blue or green? Blue or green?

 

“I wanted to thank you,” she tells him. “For defending me. And I want you to know, what the Prince said, it wasn’t true. I didn’t throw myself at him. I’m not a…” whore.

 

Theon smiles at her. “I know you’re not, my lady. The prince was speaking lies. And I’ll always defend you,” he tells her. “On my honor.”

 

“Is that why you did it?” Sansa can’t help but ask. She meets his eyes then, but even in the candlelight it’s too dark to be certain of the color. “Because of honor?”

 

“Of course,” Theon tells her. 

 

Sansa can’t help but frown. “Well then, thank you, my lord. I greatly appreciate it.”

 

She walks back to the door, and is about to open it, when Theon places a firm hand against it, preventing her from doing so.

 

She turns around and gasps when he sees just how close he is. So close he could kiss her. So close that, if there was enough light, there would be no uncertainty in the color of his eyes.

 

“That’s not the only reason,” he confesses. “I meant what I said last night. I was jealous. I am jealous. Of how you acted with the Prince. You’ve never been like that with me.” He laughs then, to himself. “And maybe I don’t deserve it, but–”

 

“You do deserve it!” Sansa interrupts. She looks up at him, and forces him to hold her gaze. “You do deserve it,” she says again. 

 

Theon looks down at her, and then his eyes drift to her lips. He’s going to kiss me! She thinks giddily. She’s never been kissed before. But then, whatever trance he seemed to be under breaks. He removes his hand from against the door, and takes a step back.

 

“Thank you, Lady Sansa,” He says politely, before looking at the door. “I should be going.”

 

“Theon!” Sansa says, grabbing his hand and pulling him more towards her. He comes willingly, and Sansa’s breath catches when they’re faces are once again mere inches apart. He seems at a loss for breath, too.

 

“I’m not drunk,” Sansa whispers. She can feel a blush return to her cheeks.

 

Theon smiles, amused. Sansa finds herself entranced by his charming face, glowing in the candlelight. She wishes she could see his eyes clearly. Blue or green?

 

“No,” Theon agrees. “You’re not drunk.”

 

He looks down at her lips once more, and before Sansa can worry if he’ll pull away again, he kisses her. Sansa is surprised at first. The feeling of his lips pressed against hers is not what she thought it would be. It’s not bad, just strange. His lips aren’t soft, like hers are. They’re rough, and yet, somehow, gentle.

 

He kisses her lightly for a few moments, before pressing harder and then surprising her again, by running his tongue over her bottom lip. She gasps and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue full into her mouth. Sansa can feel her blush deepen, she doesn’t know what to do, and is momentarily embarrassed by her lack of knowledge in this area. But Theon doesn’t seem to mind, as she moans against his lips, he brushes his tongue against hers and guides her in mimicking his movements. She does, and smiles when she hears a strangled sound catch in his throat. He kisses her a little while longer, and then finally pulls back for air. Sansa didn’t realize how out of breath she was until he finally pulled away.

 

She looks at her feet, unsure of what to do or say next. Theon takes a hold of her chin, and brings her gaze back to his. He kisses her again, but this time it’s brief and gentle, and then he steps back pulling her away from where she was pressed against the door. 

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my lady,” He tells her, smiling.

 

Sansa can’t help but match his smile. She’s glad for the dim light, so he won’t see how red-faced she is. At a loss for words, she nods at him shyly. His smile widens, into his toothy grin. She used to find that grin obnoxious, but now finds it infinitely endearing. 

 

With one last look at her, he leaves the room. When he’s gone, Sansa leans against her wall to steady herself. She presses a few fingers to her lips, still in disbelief. Theon was shaping out to be the fairytale knight she had always dreamed of. The thought warms her heart. She dresses for bed, and unbraids her hair, before pulling back the covers and drifting off, dreaming of fairy tales, handsome knights, and happy endings. Dreaming of pirates, maidens, and Theon. Her Theon.

 

—-

 

When Sansa wakes the next morning, she has one goal on her mind, to find out the color of Theon’s eyes. Blue or green? It’s been eating her up. She puts on a grey dress, with a direwolf embroidered on the bodice, and ties back her hair with a grey lace ribbon. Using leftover grey lace, she makes a bow for Lady and ties it around her neck, so they match.

 

She puts Lady on a leash, and leads her outside, hoping to catch Theon and her brothers in the training yard, where they often spend their mornings. She’s right to find them there, along with Bran, Prince Tommen, and Princess Myrcella. She’s glad Joffrey’s not there. It was hard enough to avoid him at dinner. He seemed content to stare at her last night, an evil look in his eyes. Thankfully Robb glared at him until he cowered and looked away.

 

Theon smiles at her as she goes to sit down. She blushes, smiling shyly and looking away. She sits beside Myrcella, and the two of them watch as Robb helps Bran and Tommen with their stances, and Jon and Theon practice archery.

 

“He’s very good,” Myrcella tells her, pulling Sansa’s gaze away from Theon.

 

“Who, Princess?” Sansa asks, confused.

 

“Your brother,” Myrcella says, looking over at Robb. “He’s very sweet with the boys. Tommen says he gave him good and helpful advice yesterday.”

 

Sansa nods in agreement. “Yes, he’s a good brother. Very helpful and kind.”

 

“And smart and charming, too,” Myrcella continues. She looks over at Robb, a dreamy look in her eye, and smiles. Sansa looks from her to her brother quizzically, she hadn’t realized Princess Myrcella was interested in Robb. She knew Robb thought her pretty and kind, but she’d have to inquire later if his feelings ran deeper. 

 

Sansa takes the opportune silence and looks back over at Theon. He and Jon are collecting their arrows. He looks over at her again, and grins, before winking and putting the arrows away.

 

“Lord Greyjoy is charming, too,” Myrcella says. Sansa blushes at being caught. But then remembers Theon is her betrothed, and so a little staring is okay. 

 

“Yes, well, I…”

 

“It’s alright, Lady Sansa, I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just an observation.”

 

Sansa smiles at Myrcella. “Perhaps I can see if Robb and Theon will accompany us on a walk when they’ve finished training?”

 

Now it’s Myrcella’s turn to blush, but she smiles and nods.

 

“Where’s your older brother?” Sansa can’t help but ask.

 

“Oh. Father told him to stay inside the next few days. A lot of people were questioning his…bruises last night. I believe my Mother is with him now.”

 

Sansa nods.

 

“I don’t know what happened, Lady Sansa, but I know my brother, so I can only assume. If Joff…did anything…I would like to apologize on his behalf.”

 

“There’s no need, Princess. It was not your fault.”

 

“I’m glad you think so. I was hoping we’d be friends and was worried he ruined that.”

 

“We are friends,” Sansa confirms. Myrcella smiles at her and the two turn their attention back to their younger brothers.

 

When training is done, Sansa is quick to flag Robb over. He sets his sword down and walks over, wiping sweat from his brow upon reaching them. 

 

“Sister, Princess Myrcella,” He greets, a charming smile on his lips as he gives a quick bow.

 

“The Princess and I plan to go for a walk, perhaps you and Lord Greyjoy could escort us?” Sansa asks.

 

Robb smiles at her, and then Myrcella. “Of course. Theon!” He calls out. 

 

Sansa holds Lady’s leash in one hand, and Myrcella’s arm in the other, as they walk to the entrance of the Godswood, Robb, Theon, and Grey Wind following behind them. When they reach the entrance, Sansa lets go of Myrcella’s arm, and looks to her brother. “Robb? Perhaps you can walk with Princess Myrcella? I was hoping to speak with Lord Greyjoy privately.”

 

Robb looks at Sansa quizzically, but holds no objection. “Of course,” he says, offering Myrcella his arm. Then he looks at Theon. “Stay no more than 20 feet from us,” he tells Theon, in a warning, overly protective brother tone.

 

Theon nods, and then offers Sansa his arm and leads her along. 

 

When they’re far enough ahead of them, Theon looks back at Robb and Myrcella. “What did you wish to speak to me about, my lady?” He asks her charmingly.

 

“Nothing in particular,” Sansa confesses. “I just wanted to get Myrcella and Robb alone.”

 

“Why?” Theon asks, turning around to look at them again. “Is the princess interested in Robb?”

 

Sansa smiles in response, and as she does, she finally gets a good look at Theon’s eyes in the sunlight. They’re a seagreen, she discovers. They look bluish now, but he turns his head more towards her and they take on more of a green hue. Blue and green.

 

He catches her looking into his eyes, and his darken. “Don’t look at me like that,” he warns, shaking his head and looking away.

 

“Why not?” Sansa asks, worried she’s broken his interest in her somehow.

 

“Because if you do, I’ll kiss you again, and if Robb sees that he’ll beat me worse than I did Princey.”

 

Sansa laughs. “Robb would never hurt you.” She tells him, amused.

 

“Yes, he would. You don’t know him the same way I do, I’m afraid. He’s much sweeter with you than me.”

 

“That’s probably true,” Sansa agrees.

 

She hears a giggle and looks back to see Myrcella laughing happily at something Robb has said.

 

“I think they are well matched, don’t you?”

 

“I can’t say I know the Princess well enough, but if you think so, I’m inclined to agree.”

 

Sansa smiles at him. “Do you say that only to please me, my lord?” Sansa asks shyly.

 

“I say that because it’s true. The fact that it pleases you is merely a bonus, my lady.”

 

Sansa’s smile widens. “Good to know.”

 

They finish their walk, and then she and Myrcella head back inside, deciding to work on some sewing together. Jeyne and Beth join them as well.

 

Now that she knows Theon’s eyes are seagreen, she sets aside her dress to be worked on later and grabs some new fabric for a doublet for Theon. 

 

Jeyne and Beth work intently on their sewing, but Sansa can’t help but notice that Myrcella’s stitches are as distracted as her own. She takes that as a good sign, she’ll have to question Robb about their walk later.

 

The four girls chat and sew until dinnertime, when Robb and Theon come to escort them to the Great Hall. 

 

Jeyne and Beth walk ahead, while Sansa takes Theon’s arm and follows behind them, Robb and Myrcella walking arm in arm behind them as well.

 

“You’ll actually be at dinner tonight, yes?” Sansa asks him. “You won’t leave me alone with Joffrey?”

 

“He wasn’t bothering you, was he?” Theon asks worriedly.

 

“No. Robb wouldn’t let him. But I fear he’ll be distracted tonight,” she tells him, looking behind her.

 

“Ah, I see. And yes, I’ll be at dinner, sitting right beside you, the whole night.”

 

“Good,” Sansa tells him, smiling at him and squeezing his arm.

 

“Good,” Theon agrees.

Notes:

I think Myrcella is 10ish years old in the show in season 1, but for the sake of the story I’m going to make her Sansa’s age. I know a three year age gap is still not ideal for her and Robb, but like Sansa and Theon, they’re not to be married for a while, and it is pretty standard for the GoT universe anyway.

Have a great day!

Chapter 4: Walks, Talks, and Betrothals

After their walk, Sansa and Myrcella meet up with Jeyne, Beth, and Arya, though Arya is only there because Septa Mordane said she had to be, as the five young girls all work on embroidery together. 

 

When that is done, Arya runs off to find the boys, and Myrcella goes with her in hopes of finding Tommen. Jeyne has to go home, as her mother was looking for her, and so Sansa goes with Beth to look for Ser Rodrik or Jory, hoping that Robb will be nearby and she can speak with him. 

 

They find Robb and Theon with Jory, talking amongst themselves. 

 

“Robb!” Sansa calls out when she sees him. The three men turn to look at the girls. “Will you come with me? I need to talk to you.”

 

“Sure, Sans.” Robb says, walking over to her. The two of them step to the side. “What is it?” He asks.

 

“What do you think of the Princess?”

 

At the mention of Myrcella, Robb smiles. “She’s very beautiful. And kind. And funny, too. I overheard her joking with Prince Tommen and Bran earlier. Why?”

 

“No reason,” Sansa says, smiling. “Only, she may have expressed some interest in you, and I was only wondering if I should encourage it or not.”

 

Robb’s smile widens. “Really?”

 

“Really. So, I should encourage it?”

 

Robb grins, and hugs Sansa to his side. “If it comes naturally,” he tells her.

 

—

 

Robb left to speak with their father after that, and Sansa spent the rest of her afternoon spending time with all of her younger siblings, plus Tommen and Myrcella. The six of them all spent time in the Glass Gardens, the younger four looking for bugs and insects, while Sansa and Myrcella made flower bouquets. At one point, Father and the King stopped by and pulled Myrcella aside, and when Myrcella came back she was quiet yet very smiley. Sansa could only wonder what it was about. She had a few ideas. 

 

Unlike the previous night, Joffrey is quiet at dinner and keeps to himself. The only one who has to deal with him is poor little Tommen, who was forced to sit next to him at the end of the long table.

 

Sansa is seated between Theon and Myrcella, with Robb sitting across from Myrcella, and Jeyne and Beth next to him. At the high table, her parents sit, Rickon with them, next to her mother. The King and Queen sit there as well. The Queen looks especially annoyed tonight, her gaze shifting between her sons, Myrcella, and then glaring at her husband. Her husband, the King, doesn’t seem to notice or care as he loudly jokes and jests.

 

The meal is fun and lively, and Sansa can’t help but notice how Theon spends the entirety of the time either glaring at Joffrey or staring intently at Sansa. Every time Sansa catches him looking at her, she smiles at him, and he easily returns it, but they don’t talk much. Theon is intent to be silent, and Sansa is focused on playing matchmaker between Princess Myrcella and her brother.

 

“So, Princess, what do you think of the North?” Sansa asks.

 

Myrcella looks away from Robb, blushing. “I like it,” she tells Sansa. “It’s nice and cozy, if a little cold at times.”

 

“Oh but you get used to the cold, Lord Greyjoy did, didn’t you Theon?” Sansa asks.

 

Theon looks away from Joffrey and back to them. “Huh? Oh yes. I am much more accustomed to the weather nowadays.” Theon says.

 

Myrcella nods. “Oh! I’m sure I would,” She agrees bashfully.

 

“Do you miss King’s Landing then, my lady?” Robb asks charmingly.

 

“A little, I suppose. It’s been nice to travel though. I’d hardly ever left the Red Keep prior to my father bringing us North. I will be happy to sleep in my own bed again. And Tommen and I miss our kittens. Father wouldn’t let us bring them along.”

 

Robb smiles at her. “How many cats do you have?”

 

“Just one. A little calico, named Daisy. Tommen has a ginger named Ser Pounce.”

 

Robb smiles wider, and continues to talk to her. Sansa shakes her head in disbelief. She has no idea how Robb manages to flirt while talking about cats, but he does. She shifts her attention to Theon.

 

“Is he always like this?” Sansa whispers to Theon. 

 

Theon chuckles, and leans in closer to her. “You haven’t noticed? He’s always been one to charm the girls.”

 

“I thought that was you,” Sansa jokes lightly.

 

“That’s been my reputation,” Theon admits, shy almost. “But no.” He grows quiet after this, and Sansa can’t help but feel guilty. They were getting along so well. So very well. And yet she had ruined it with just one comment.

 

“I’m sorry,” She tells him.

 

He smiles at her, but it feels awkward and forced. “There’s no need, my lady. The fault is mine.”

 

“No,” she says. He avoids her gaze and she reaches for his hand under the table, squeezing it reassuringly. He meets her eye and she squeezes his hand again. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

 

He smiles at her again, but this time his smile is genuine and true. “I forgive you,” he tells her. “Now a change in topic, perhaps? Would you like to join me on a walk tomorrow morning? After we break our fast?”

 

Sansa feels butterflies in her stomach. “Gladly,” she says, feeling a nervous yet excited giggle catch in her throat.

 

Sansa looks away from him as the King stands, clinking his fork to his chalice. Father stands too, and everyone quiets as the King readies to speak. Robb stands as well and walks to their parents' side. 

 

“Myrcella, sweetling,” The queen says, “Come stand by me, dear.”

 

Myrcella shyly stands up, and rushes to her mother’s side. Joffrey’s face grows sour, and Sansa instinctively shifts closer to Theon, when Joffrey’s eyes turn in the direction of Sansa. Theon wraps an arm around Sansa’s shoulders protectively.

“It is my pleasure,” The King says. “To announce a betrothal between my daughter, the Princess Myrcella, and Robb Stark, the son of my lifelong friend, and newly appointed hand of the king. Everyone congratulate the future Lord and Lady of Winterfell!”

 

People clink glasses and cheer, Robb grins, walking over proudly to Princess Myrcella and taking her hand in his, kissing it sweetly. Myrcella clams up a little, and steps closer to her mother, who then tries to usher her out of the room. The King stops that from happening, taking Myrcella’s hand and pulling her to his side. Angrily, the Queen ushers Joffrey out of the room with her, Tommen staying behind and rushing over to Myrcella, clinging to her hand.

 

Sansa stands and rushes over to Robb, hugging him tightly. “This is wonderful!” She tells him happily.

 

Robb hugs her back. Sansa then walks over to Myrcella, hugging her just as tightly. “We’re to be sisters!” She says excitedly.

 

“I know!” Myrcella smiles.

 

When dinner is done, Sansa volunteers to put her younger siblings to bed, so that Robb can spend more time with Myrcella.

 

She says goodbye to Jeyne and Beth, and then rounds up Bran and Rickon, while Theon gets Arya.

 

They all meet in the hall, and Arya whines at having to leave the feast early.

 

“Even Prince Tommen gets to stay!” Arya complains. “He’s only eight.”

 

“He’s a prince,” Bran reasons.

 

“But I’m older,” Arya argues.

 

“Arya! Stop complaining and come.” Sansa says, taking hold of Bran and Rickon’s hands.

 

Theon leads them down the hall two steps, but Arya doesn’t follow them.

 

“Arya!” Sansa squeals, exasperated.

 

“I’m not going.”

 

“Yes. You are.”

 

“Ladies,” Theon says, breaking the tension. He turns to face Arya. “Your Lady Mother said it’s time for bed. You can follow your sister, or I will carry you down the hall. Your choice.”

 

Arya considers this, and then smiles coyly. “I’d rather be carried,” she says, reaching her arms out for Theon to lift her. Theon chuckles, but picks her up with ease and carries her down the hall, Sansa and the boys trailing behind.

 

They all sit and listen as Bran reads a story to Rickon, and then Sansa sings to him, before stopping at Bran’s and then Arya’s doors to drop them off. When it’s just her and Theon in the hall, Sansa grows shy, feeling embarrassed by her interactions with Arya earlier, and how she had acted so rudely in front of Theon. She’s yelled at Arya in front of Theon before, but before, she hadn’t cared what Theon thought of her. Now she did. 

 

Theon smiles when he sees her flushed complexion. He offers her his arm and leads her down the few steps to her door.

 

“I had a good time, today,” Theon tells her quietly. “Both at dinner and this morning, on our walk. Perhaps we can go on another walk tomorrow?”

 

Sansa blushes. “I’d like that.”

 

“Tomorrow, my lady?” He asks, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

 

“Tomorrow,” she confirms.

 

Theon looks both ways down the hall before stepping closer to her and pressing a quick kiss to her lips. He pulls back, and Sansa instinctively leans forward, hoping to catch his lips again. He kisses her again, bemused, before pulling back once more. He opens her door for her, and she steps inside her room, waving him off as he slowly walks away.

 

—

 

In the days that follow, Sansa develops a new routine. Every morning, she and Myrcella watch their brothers, sans Joffrey, train, and then Robb and Theon accompany the two of them on a walk. Afterward, the girls sew with Septa Mordane, Jeyne, Beth, and Arya. When that is done, Sansa and Jeyne go to her chambers, to finish up their other lessons. 

 

Sansa is sitting at her desk, half-heartedly attempting some arithmetic problems, while Jeyne lays on her bed, reading.

 

“When you and Lord Greyjoy get married, are you going to worship the Drowned God?” Jeyne asks. She’s reading a book on Ironborn culture.

 

Sansa ponders this, she hadn’t thought about it before. “I’m not sure. It will probably be expected of me, but it will be hard for me to follow a third religion,” She says. She already worshipped both the Old Gods and the Faith of the Seven. 

 

“Has Lord Greyjoy ever mentioned it?”

 

“He worships the Drowned God, but even then he doesn’t seem too religious.”

 

“Hmmm.” Jeyne says. “And what about their other customs? Aren’t you afraid of living on the Islands? They follow the Old Way. Not only are there salt wives, they raid and reave and plunder. Aren’t you scared?”

 

Sansa can feel her heart begin to race with worry. Truth be told, she had never really thought about what it would be like to live on the Iron Islands. Up until days ago She had hoped her parents would be able to break the betrothal and so she never worried about it. Since then, she had been so happy with Theon she hadn’t actually considered all that came with being with him.

 

“I–I’m not sure. Theon promised me he’d take no salt wives. And I–I hadn’t really thought about all else.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to worry. Lord Greyjoy would protect you. He’s got the strength and honor and kindness all Stark men seem to possess.”

 

Sansa considers this. “I guess so.”

 

“And who knows, maybe the Iron Islands won’t be so bad when Theon is the Lord of them?”

 

Sansa nods, but she’s beginning to feel a little overwhelmed with it all. It was years away, yet, when it came, it would be the rest of her life. She’d spend her days on the Iron Islands. Her children would be Ironborn. She would be Ironborn. For the rest of her life.

 

“Oh Sansa!” Jeyne exclaims. “I hadn’t meant to worry you. I’m sure everything will be fine. Your father never would have agreed to the betrothal if he didn’t think you’d be safe.”

 

Sansa nods again, but then she remembers what her Father had told her when she and her mother had first learned of the betrothal. It wasn’t his choice. The King had made the decision without him. He was honorbound not to disagree with the King. There was nothing he could do. 

 

Sansa can feel her fear settle in her chest, she places her hand over her heart, willing herself to take a deep breath. For the first time in days, she begins to dread her betrothal once more.

Notes:

Happy Sunday!

I'm still developing the plot for this story, so the next few chapters will either be little filler ones, or I'll take a break and plan it all out before posting again. I have the next few major plot points figured out, but I don't know how I want the story to end, and I want to figure that out before I keep writing.

There will be no War of the Five Kings, but Daenerys and all that's happening in Essos will still be going on so I need to work all that out. Feel free to leave plot ideas in the comments if you want!

Have a great day!

Chapter 5: Letters from Home

Dear Brother,

 

I hope this letter finds you well. How’s your training going? Father wants a fatality report from you. Have you had any more kills as of late? I hope those greenlanders haven’t made you too soft.

 

Pyke is the same. I tried to convince Father to let me fertilize the islands. I think in a few years we could get grass to grow again. He said no, but I think I might do it anyway. He doesn’t know what’s good for the land.

 

Write back when you feel like it. I will as well.

 

I hope to see you soon, little brother.

Asha

 

Theon sets the letter down on his desk and sighs. He misses his sister. He hasn’t seen her since he was sent to Winterfell. They wrote to each other a few times a year, but not more than that because Theon knew Asha wasn’t too touchy feely or chatty like that. She was Ironborn, after all.

 

Like me , he reminds himself. He curses himself when he realizes how soft he’s gotten. He’s spent too much time in Winterfell. He’d grown to like it, even. No, he corrects himself. I’ve grown used to it. I had to. Pyke is my home. He shakes his head of his thoughts, and checks his clock. It’s barely past midday, but he could use a drink. And some fresh air. It would be good to clear his head. 

 

He sneaks in the wine cellar and grabs a wineskin, before heading to the stables and saddling his horse. A ride would do him good.

 

Hours later, he drunkenly leads his horse back to the stables, at the rate he’s going, he’ll probably be late for dinner, though with the state he’s in it’s probably better he doesn’t go at all. Lady Stark would kill him if he showed up drunk and sloppy.

 

“Theon?” Jon calls out, surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I went for a ride,” Theon answers, as he clumsily tries to unbuckle the girdle.

 

“Here,” Jon says, pushing him aside. “I’ll do that. You sit.”

 

“I’m okay,” Theon says, as he sits down.

 

“You’re drunk.”

 

“Eh. No more than usual, though.”

 

“If you say so,” Jon chuckles. He finishes unsaddling and then grooming the horse, while Theon just sits and watches. He can feel a headache coming on.

 

“You should wash up before you go to dinner,” Jon tells him.

 

“I’m not going to dinner,” Theon says as he stands.

 

“That’s probably smarter. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Sure thing, Snow.”

 

Theon gets to his room and washes his face, before throwing on some fresh clothes and sitting at his desk, deciding he will write back to Asha.

 

“Theon!” Robb says, as he enters his room. “There you are. It’s dinner time. Sansa was worried, said you didn’t come to escort her–” He looks at Theon more closely. “Are you drunk?”

 

Theon smiles at his best friend. “As a skunk!”

 

Robb laughs, but then grows serious. “Can you sober up before dinner, or should I tell everyone you’ve gotten a stomach bug?”

 

“Ironmen don’t get ‘stomach bugs.’ But I should probably not go. Just tell everyone you couldn’t find me. I skipped dinner the other night and no one seemed to care.”

 

“Sansa did.”

 

Theon straightens up. “You can tell her I have a stomach bug.”

 

“You want me to lie to her?”

 

No. “Yes.”

 

“Really?” 

 

“It won’t be lying. I’m sure I’ll feel sick in the morning.”

 

“I’m not going to lie to her.”

 

“I know you won’t. You Starks are too honorable for that.”

 

“You’re too honorable for that, too. You should be, anyway.”

 

“Tell her I’ll come find her after dinner. I should be sobered up a little by then.”

 

Robb nods, and dumps out Theon’s wash basin and sets the empty pail by him. “In case you need it,” Robb says.

 

Theon rolls his eyes at Robb, but smiles at him too, and Robb leaves him at that.

 

—

 

Sansa sits at the table, next to Jeyne, waiting eagerly for Robb and Theon to come to the Great Hall. She’s disappointed when Robb enters the room alone. He doesn’t notice her at first, too busy smiling at Myrcella, but then he looks at Sansa and walks over to her. He leans down between her and Jeyne and whispers to her, “He’s not feeling well. Said he’d find you after dinner.” Sansa nods, and he walks away, sitting down with Bran, Tommen, and Myrcella near the other end of the table.

 

“What’s happened?” Jeyne asks.

 

“I don’t know. Robb says he’s unwell. That he’d come find me after dinner.”

 

Jeyne smiles at her reassuringly. “Perhaps it’s just as well. You’re too flustered right now to see him anyway.”

 

“I’m going to hate the Iron Islands,” Sansa worries aloud. “They’re bare and rocky, rough and violent. I’ll never be safe.”

 

“The Ironborn don’t kill their own. That was in the book, too.”

 

“But I’m not they’re own. I’m a Northerner. They’ll never like me. Think of how rude some Northerners are to Theon, and he’s been here for years.” She thinks back to Princess Myrcella’s words from the other night, It’s nice and cozy, if a little cold at times. Perhaps she hadn’t been referring to the weather so much as the attitude? It would still make sense if she hadn’t.

 

“Theon would be there. And his sister, too. And there’s no way your lord father or brothers would let you go there if it wasn’t safe. Perhaps they’re just waiting for Lord Greyjoy to pass away. Once Theon is ruling the Iron Islands it will be much safer for you, I’m sure.”

 

Jeyne’s words make sense, and so it eases some of Sansa’s worries, but she still feels a little uneasy.

 

“Talk to Theon after dinner. I’m sure he’ll tell you the same things I am. And it’s not for some time. Didn’t you say you can’t be wed until you’re sixteen?”

 

Sansa nods. 

 

“Talk to him.”

 

Sansa nods again.

 

“Perhaps you should go now? Ease your worries?” Jeyne says. She stands up and then pulls Sansa to stand up as well. “I’ll go with you.”

 

The two girls excuse themselves from the room and then down the hall, where they run into Jon, who appears to also be heading in the direction of Theon’s chambers.

 

“Jon!” Sansa says happily, linking her arm through his, her other hand still linked with Jeyne’s.

 

“Sansa. Lady Jeyne. What are you doing, leave dinner early?” He asks.

 

Sansa blushes.

 

“Sansa was hoping to speak with Lord Greyjoy. I’m walking with her to his room. Where are you headed?”

 

“I was headed there as well. Are you sure you need to see him? He is…unwell.”

 

Sansa’s stomach churns. She hopes he doesn’t feel too sick. She wants to make sure he’s okay. “I’ll be quick,” Sansa says. “I just want to check on him.”

“I…um…”

 

“She’ll be fine, Jon,” Jeyne says. She lets go of Sansa’s hand and steps to the other side of Jon, taking his other arm. “Perhaps you can walk me back to the feast? So that Sansa can have a moment with him?”

 

“I…um…”

 

“Come on, Jon,” Jeyne says, pulling him back in the opposite direction.

 

Sansa smiles gratefully at her best friend, before waving her off.

 

Sansa gets to his door and grows hesitant, knocking shyly. After a few moments, she doesn’t think he’s heard it, so she knocks again, louder this time.

 

Theon opens the door. “Rob–Oh! Hi, my lady.” His hair is disheveled and his tunic is only buttoned up halfway, as if he’d gotten lazy and didn’t bother with the rest of it, but he doesn’t look nearly as drunk as she was the other night. Even if he did, she’s seen him in far worse drunken states than that.

 

“You look like you’ve had fun,” Sansa tells him, bemused. “Can I come in?”

 

Theon smiles at her, and opens the door wider, for her to step inside.

 

“Is dinner done already?” Theon asks.

 

“No. I wanted to check on you. Robb said you were unwell.”

 

Theon scoffs. “I’m perfectly fine, my lady. I’m Ironborn, afterall, and we don’t get sick so easily like you greenlanders do.”

 

Sansa tries hard not to be offended by his tone. She knows he doesn’t mean it. Not really. At least, she thinks she knows that.

 

“There’s no need to be mean, my lord,” She tells him cautiously and cooly. 

 

“I’m hardly being mean. Most Ironborn are worse.”

 

Sansa winces. That’s not the comforting thought she was hoping to get by talking to him. “Are they really?” She can’t help but ask.

 

Theon studies her expression, and then shrugs. “Yes. No. Sort of. Most of them put on a facade, but some of them, sure, they’re…intentionally unpleasant. At least, from what I remember of them. I remember the people less and less as the years go by.”

 

He sits down at the edge of the bed, and Sansa sits beside him. “What do you remember?”

 

“Little things. The rock and sand. My bedroom. Asha and I running around with training swords while our older brothers actually trained. Little things like that.”

 

“Do you miss your sister?”

 

“Everyday,” he readily admits.

 

Sansa grows quiet, going over all that he’s said, trying to decide what to ask next, if to ask him anything at all. 

 

“Will you miss Arya, when she goes away?”

 

“Of course!” Sansa says defensively, then softens a little. “I won’t miss the fighting, and we do seem to fight more than get along, but she's my only sister. I’ll miss her dearly. Her and Bran. Who knows when I’ll see them again?”

 

“I’m sure it won’t be that long. Your Lady Mother won’t want to go that long without seeing them, or Lord Stark for that matter.”

 

Sansa smiles at that. Her parents had an arranged marriage, and they didn’t get along at first, but now they’re happily in love. She and Theon could be down a similar path. Wouldn’t that be romantic, She thinks, to have a love story matching her parents?  

 

“You’re right,” she agrees.

 

He grins at her, and wraps an arm around her shoulder. She leans against his side, relishing in how perfectly she fits against him.

 

“I’m always right,” he jests. 

 

Sansa laughs lightly. “Theon? Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Sure, my lady.”

 

“When we…get married, and we go to the Iron Islands…will they like me? The Ironborn, I mean.”

 

She can hear Theon’s quiet breath as he considers this. “Probably not at first, but I do think they will. My sister’s always made it seem like my father boasts about the betrothal all the time. Even if they don’t like you yet, everyone knows and has accepted the idea of you. I imagine it will be an adjustment for both of us…whenever we go back. There’s a lot of talk that the North has made me too green, so they’ll be testy of me, too.”

 

“So…we’ll get through it together?” She asks hopefully.

 

“Aye, my lady. Together.”

 

Sansa leaves not long after that, but not before Theon kisses her goodbye. She nearly gets carried away in the kiss, she can tell he does too, but she pulls back before they go too far.

 

She scampers out of his chambers and over to hers.

 

When she’s alone in her room, she squeals in excitement. She can’t wait to tell Jeyne in the morning. Jeyne will love to hear that she’s no longer worried! 

Chapter 6: Happy Days

Notes:

Double chapter day! Yay!

Happy St. Patty's day everyone!

The next day, Sansa is sewing with Myrcella and Jeyne. She’s finished sewing Theon’s doublet, and has now started the embroidery for it. The doublet itself is a muted blue-green, not quite his eye color but the closest she could find, and she’s using grey and silver thread to embroider a kraken on the front. It’s not the traditional Greyjoy colors, but Sansa doesn’t think he’ll mind. 

 

Myrcella is working on a dress for herself, much to the Queen’s shagrin. Myrcella’s dresses had always been made for her, but upon learning that Sansa sews most of her dresses herself, she wanted to give it a try. They don’t have bright and lavish fabrics in the North like they do in King’s Landing, and so the Queen had become further annoyed when she came to check on Myrcella and saw her using a pale purple-grey wool. Myrcella tried to calm her down, and urged her to go check on Joffrey. The Queen sweetened up at Myrcella’s soft voice, and complimented her daughter’s handiwork, smiling and acting like a completely different person, and then left to go do as her daughter suggested, but not before glaring at Sansa.

 

Sansa almost finds it funny. When the Queen first arrived, Sansa had admired her dearly, and the Queen seemed to think fondly of her, too, but after the incident with Joffrey, the Queen sneered everytime she looked her way. Sansa tried to brush it aside, but it hurt a little, to know the Queen didn’t like her. It made her worry she wasn’t worthy enough. Worthy for what, she wasn’t sure, but the feeling remained.

 

“I was thinking of making my mother a dress as well,” Myrcella says. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t? I don’t think she’d want a woolen dress.” 

 

It had been decided that, even though Robb and Myrcella weren’t to be married for years yet, the Princess would stay in Winterfell a little while longer, not returning home with the rest of the royal family and their ensemble. Sansa sensed that was the true reason for the Queen’s anger, that she would be parted from her only daughter, but the King had insisted and said it would only be for a little while. Myrcella’s Uncle Tyrion would stay behind with her, as well as her Kingsguard knight, Ser Aerys.

 

“I’ll have my father send some silks and satins here for you, when he arrives in King’s Landing. You can make your mother a dress and some more for yourself, as well.” Sansa suggests.

 

Myrcella looks down at the fabric in her lap. “Thank you. That would be good. Though, I can’t imagine silk dresses will be practical when the weather grows colder. Winter is coming, is it not? Tis what your brother said.”

 

Sansa smiles. “Yes. Winter is coming. But you’re a princess! You must dress accordingly!” Sansa sighs happily at the thought of silk and satin dresses, with Myrish lace and jewels to match. “Oh how I would love to wear silks! Mother won’t let me get any fabric though, she says it’s not practical for the weather here.” She frowns. It won’t be practical on the Iron Islands either. She had always imagined herself adorned in pretty silk dresses when she was older.

 

“Perhaps we’ll ask your father to send some, saying it’s for me, and we can make my mother a dress or two as well as one for you? I don’t think Lady Arya would like one, but perhaps you, Jeyne, and I could have matching gowns?”

 

Sansa smiles. “Oh how lovely! And no, Arya wouldn’t like that.” Sansa laughs.

 

“She wouldn’t like being called a lady, either.” Jeyne adds with a giggle.

 

Myrcella nods and the two girls refocus on their sewing, only stopping when there’s a knock at Sansa’s door.

 

“Come in!” Sansa calls out.

 

Ser Aerys opens the door, for he had been standing guard outside of it, and announces “It’s your Uncle Jaime, my princess.”

 

“Uncle!” Myrcella says excitedly. 

 

The Kingslayer smiles at his niece, bows to her, Sansa, and Jeyne, and then takes his niece's hands in his own.

 

“Forgive my interruption, dear, but your mother was hoping to dine with just you and your brothers tonight. I’ve come to collect you. She has a surprise for you and wants to see you before it’s dinner time.”

 

Myrcella stands, taking hold of her uncle’s arm. “Oh. Alright.” She turns to Sansa. “Do tell your brother I’ll see him later? He can come find me after dinner.”

 

Sansa nods.

 

“Tell him he can see her tomorrow, Lady Sansa. The Princess will be spending time with family tonight.”

 

Sansa schools her features and nods again, remembering her courtesies. “Of course, Ser Jaime.”

 

Myrcella and her uncle leave, and Sansa sews for a little while longer, before going off in search of her younger brothers.

 

She finds Bran and Rickon with Arya and all of their direwolves in Rickon’s room, where they are trying to teach their wolves some tricks.

 

Sansa’s glad she brought Lady with her. She walks over to Bran and sits beside him, Lady sitting next to Summer.

 

“What tricks has he learned?” Sansa asks.

 

“Sit. Stay. Lay down. Arya and I are trying to teach them fetch, but it’s touch and go. Rickon is still working on stay with Shaggy.”

 

Sansa smiles, and reaches out and pets Summer. She had already taught Lady the basic tricks. Sit, stay, lay down, come, go, and fetch. But she supposed it couldn’t hurt to practice the tricks some more.

 

“Lady,” she commands gently. “Fetch the toy.” She motions to the stuffed direwolf on Rickon’s bed, and Lady goes and brings it to her. Bran and Rickon cheer, but Arya rolls her eyes.

 

“Nymeria can do that, too.” Arya says. “Nymeria, comb.” Arya commands, gesturing to the hair tool on the floor. Nymeria doesn’t move. “Nymeria!” Arya says again. Nymeria tilts her head, but doesn’t fetch, and Arya sighs. “She did it earlier,” Arya informs her.

 

“I’m sure she did,” Sansa agrees. She’s decided to try and be nicer to Arya, after learning that Asha and Theon got along. If he could get along with his sister, she could get along with hers. “What else does she know?”

 

“She knows sit,” Arya says. At the mention of the last word, Nymeria sits, and Arya smiles. “Good girl.”

 

Sansa smiles too. Because Lady already knows the most tricks, Sansa spends the time helping Rickon teach Shaggydog stay and lay down. They don’t have much success with the former, but Shaggy does seem to grasp lay down fairly well.

 

Before she knows it, Robb and Theon knock on the door, before entering.

 

“Time for dinner! Oh–Hey Sans,” Robb says, reaching down and petting Summer and Nymeria. “Where’s Myrcella? And Prince Tommen?”

 

“Spending time with the Queen. They are to dine with her privately tonight.” Sansa informs him.

 

Robb frowns, and Arya pokes his side. “I can’t believe you like her so much. She’s so southron!” 

 

Robb tugs on Arya’s braid playfully, neither denying it nor defending it.

 

“Don’t listen to her,” Sansa tells him. “I think you are well matched.”

 

Robb smiles at her. “Thanks, Sansa.” Robb says appreciatively. 

 

The cluster of them all head to dinner, leaving the direwolves in Rickon’s room. Dinner is much more enjoyable without Prince Joffrey there to sour the mood. Sansa finds herself easily able to laugh with Robb, Theon, and Jeyne. The King appears not to be drinking as much tonight, without the Queen there, and as a result he is less of a loud, promiscuous slob, and more of a joyful, if slightly obnoxious jester. Laughing with Lord Tyrion and her parents at the high table.

 

When dinner is done, the music continues, and Theon is quick to ask Sansa to dance with him. Sansa accepts, but grows nervous as he walks her to the center floor. She’s danced with Theon countless times, but always begrudgingly. This is the first time she’s ever wanted to dance with him, and she feels butterflies in her stomach.

 

“You’re blushing” Theon whispers to her, as he takes one hand in hers and the other on her waist.

 

A hand flies to her cheek. “Am I?” She asks worriedly.

 

Theon smiles. “Yes. You look beautiful, by the way,” He tells her charmingly, his smile turning to a grin as she feels her blush darken.

 

They dance two songs, and Robb dances one with Arya, before dancing with Sansa for two as well. Sansa dances one dance with Bran and thinks to be done, when her Father comes up to her. 

 

“Might I have a dance, Sansa?” He asks tentatively.

 

Sansa smiles at him. “Of course, father!”

 

He leads her back to the center floor, and leads her in the dance. 

 

“I am sorry for what the Prince did to you,” Her father says. “I know we talked about it briefly, after the incident, but it occurred to me I never apologized.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“No, but I should have been more attentive. Seen his cruel manner sooner. Not let you be alone with him.”

 

“It’s no matter. Theon was there to protect me.”

 

Her father’s eyes shift at that, over to where Theon and Robb are now sitting and drinking ale. “Yes. I’ve noticed you two spending more time together lately. And you now call him Theon instead of Lord Greyjoy. Have your feelings changed on the betrothal?”

 

Sansa blushes. “Yes. I’m sorry for being upset with you about that…I…I’ve changed my mind about him. He’ll be a good husband. And I’ll be married to a liege lord! A Prince of Pyke! How exciting is that?”

 

Her father smiles. “I’m glad you’re happy. That’s all I want for you.”

 

“Thank you, Father,” Sansa smiles. The song finishes and she kisses her father’s cheek, before sitting beside Jeyne.

 

“Did you dance with anyone?” Sansa asks Jeyne.

 

Jeyne shakes her head. “Just Robb for one.”

 

“Hmmm. Tomorrow night we’ll try and find someone for you. I think Lord Glover’s son is still here.” Sansa looks around the room until she spots Gawen Glover, but then shrugs when she sees him sitting and talking to Alys Karstark. “Maybe not.”

“It’s no worry. There’s still plenty of time for me to find a man,” Jeyne says optimistically. Sansa smiles in agreement. She and Jeyne share the same fairytale-like romantic notions. It’s one of the reasons they get along so well.

 

“True. But I’ll have Theon dance with you next time, too.”

 

After another half hour of drinking and chatting, she bids Jeyne goodnight and goes off to bed. Robb had already left to send their younger siblings to bed, so Sansa wishes her parents goodnight, and then Theon escorts her to her room.

 

“How was your day, Lady Sansa?” Theon asks, as they walk down the empty halls.

 

“It was good. And how was yours, my lord? ” She asks. She had long since stopped calling him ‘my lord’ or ‘Lord Greyjoy’ when they were in private, but he continued to use proper titles.

 

“It was good. What are your plans for tomorrow?” He tells her.

 

“Same as usual, I suppose. Why?”

 

“I told Arya I’d take her to the woods to practice archery in the morning, thought you’d like to come?”

 

“Why the woods?” 

 

“Arya doesn’t want the boys to know I’m helping her. Told me to keep it quiet.”

 

Sansa chuckles. “That could be fun. Sure. What time?”

 

“Just after sunrise, before we break our fast. It’s a secret, remember.” He tells her in a charming tone.

 

Sansa giggles. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, my lord. Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight, Sansa.” He whispers to her. He leans in and kisses her quickly, before walking back down the hall.

 

Sansa goes to her room and quickly readies for bed, wanting to get the most sleep she can before tomorrow’s early morning.

Notes:

I tried to keep Sansa as naive and dreamlike as she is at the start of the series, I hope everyone likes this and the last chapter.

Have a great day!

Chapter 7: Lessons in Archery

Notes:

I forgot I had written the next chapter for this! So you get two new chapters from me today (this and chapter 4 to 'The Heir of Winterfell')! I'm going out of town soon, so I'm not sure when the next update to this or any of my stories will be, but it shouldn't be too long.

I hope everyone has a good day!

Sansa opens her eyes to Arya shaking her awake.

 

“Get up!” Arya whines. “Theon says you are to come with us and we need to wait for you. Hurry up! Get dressed.”

 

Sansa rolls out of bed and walks to her wardrobe, pulling out a simple, grey dress. “I’ll be quick,” Sansa promises.

 

Arya rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you will. Why are you coming with us, anyway? Since when do you like archery?”

 

“I don’t know if I like it,” Sansa admits. “But I have no weaponry skills and this way I can learn some while spending time with my betrothed” Arya makes a gagging face and Sansa walks over to her, tweaking her nose. “And my little sister!”

 

“Okay. But you better not distract Theon too much. I need him to help me perfect my stance before I go South. There won’t be any good instructors there.”

 

Sansa laughs. “There will be plenty of knights who know archery there, Arya.”

 

“All the Southron knights are good with swords, not bows. But maybe I could take a sword lesson or two?” She wonders aloud.

 

Sansa clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Ladies don’t use swords.”

 

“I’m not a lady!”

 

“Yes you are. Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, and don’t you forget it. Remember your courtesies when South, Arya. Courtesy is a woman’s best armour, and you’re going to need armour with Joffrey there to ridicule you.”

 

Arya makes a mocking face, but then considers her sister’s words and nods. “Okay. But that’s why I’ll train with a sword. If Robb could best Joffrey without breaking a sweat, it stands to reason I could best him after a lesson, or two.”

 

Sansa laughs again. She finishes dressing and then braids her hair back quickly, before she and Arya go out into the hall.

 

“Where’s Theon?” Sansa asks, as they walk west, towards the hunter’s gate. 

 

“He’s grabbing Lady and Nymeria from the kennels, he said they could come with us.”

 

The two girls make it to the hunter’s gate and wait for Theon, who shows up a few minutes later, two bows and two quivers strung across his back and the two direwolves trailing behind him, rushing over to the girls when they see them. Sansa and Arya each pet and kiss their wolf and then look up at Theon when he’s next to them.

 

“Good morning, Sansa!” He says sweetly.

 

Sansa blushes, especially when he kisses her cheek, but before they can get too carried away Arya grabs Sansa by the hand and drags her out the gate.

 

“Enough of that. We’re wasting time. You two can kiss later.”

 

Sansa grows embarrassed, but she hears Theon laugh.

 

“Relax Arya!” He tells her. “We still have plenty of time.”

 

He quickens his pace to get in front of them and leads them a little ways into the Wolfswood.

 

There’s several targets scattered around on different trees, so Sansa imagines this is where people practice often. She wonders how often Theon has snuck out here, with Arya or any of her other siblings.

 

Theon helps Arya first, having her aim at several targets at different angles high up in the trees. He helps her with her footing, and when she seems settled enough he walks over to Sansa.

 

“Good morning, Sansa” He tells her again, his lopsided grin on his face, making his eyes brighter, even in the darkness of the early morning.

 

Sansa smiles. “Good morning, Theon.” 

 

He stares at her sweetly for a few more moments, before remembering why they’re here and handing her the quiver, and then the bow.

 

“I know you’ve seen the boys and I practice. So I assume you know how to hold it?” He asks.

 

Sansa nods. She knows the gist of it. She steadies her feet in the ground and grabs an arrow from the quiver, hooking it in the bow string and then aiming it at the target about 15 feet from her.

 

“Square your feet,” Theon tells her. She does. “And relax your bow arm.” She relaxes both arms, but that feels off. Too lazy. “No, like this.” Theon says, he walks up behind her and his arms wrap around her as he straightens her bow arm slightly. “You want your bow arm to be straight enough, just not locked in place.” He then lifts the arm that's pulling back the bow string and arrow, raising it so it’s just above being in line with her shoulders. He’s so close to her now, that she can smell him. He smells nice, like pine and honey. She’s suddenly very aware that she didn’t put any perfume on that morning. She didn’t even wash her face. Arya! She chastices in her head. If only she hadn’t rushed me!

 

“There,” Theon says, letting go of her arms and reminding Sansa she’s supposed to shoot. He doesn’t step away from her, though. Instead his hands find her waist and help steady her.

 

“There!” Sansa whispers, finding it hard to focus.

 

Theon chuckles in her ear, and she can’t help but smile in embarrassment. 

 

“Release the arrow,” he reminds her.

 

She does, without giving it much thought. The arrow misses the target, landing a few inches above it in the tree the target is nailed to.

 

“Almost!” Theon says. “It’s better not to let the arrow pull on the string so long. And we’ll need to work on your aim, some. But that was good.”

 

Sansa smiles at the praise and pulls another arrow from her quiver. Theon helps her with her next three shots, staying right against her with her hands at her waist, and on her fourth shot, she does end up hitting the target, if only barely. But then Arya calls Theon over and he reluctantly steps away to help her. Sansa finds her shots are much worse without Theon there to guide her.

 

After minutes, Sansa’s arms feel stiff and sore, and so she sits with the wolves and watches as Theon helps Arya. But she grows bored of that, and so she tells them she’s going to head back, that she’ll take Lady with her.

 

“We’ll come back with you,” Theon tells her. “You shouldn’t walk in the woods alone.”

 

“No!” Arya complains. “We still could practice for another hour! Please Theon! I leave in two days! You promised me!”

 

Sansa nods at her sister, and then at Theon. “You two can stay. I’ll be fine. It’s not a far walk.” It wasn’t really. They had barely entered the clearing, and were probably only a couple hundred yards from the gate.

 

Theon hesitates, but Arya pleads again and Sansa reassures him she’ll be fine, so he reluctantly agrees.

 

—

 

Sansa and Lady begin walking back, weaving between the trees until they’re back on the trail to the gate. That’s when she sees him, standing there, an evil look in his eyes, as if he was waiting for her. 

 

Joffrey.

 

“Your Grace!” Sansa says, in surprise and fear, she hopes the former outweighs the latter and that he can’t sense. Lady can, though, she’s on high alert. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I was looking for you, my lady.” He tells her.

 

“Oh!” Oh.

 

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day,” He tells her sweetly. “I was out of line. I got caught up in your beauty, and in my distracted state I forgot my manners. Can you forgive me, my lady?”

 

He steps closer to her, and Sansa’s caught off guard. He seems genuinely sorry, and Sansa’s easily inclined to forgive him.

 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Sansa tells him with a smile. “There is nothing to forgive.”

 

“I’m glad you think so,” he tells her. He steps even closer to her and takes her hands into his, smiling. But the smile is different than a moment ago. It looks evil again.

 

“Your Grace?” Sansa asks. She sees him coming closer and only manages to gasp before he forces his lips on hers.

 

She pulls away quickly, and tugs on Lady’s leash so she doesn’t attack. “Your Grace!” She exclaims in shock. She takes another step back. “You shouldn’t have done that. I’m promised to another. My betrothed will not be happy if you keep pursuing me–”

 

“You don’t need to defend that Squid to me. I see him for what he is. He’s the son of a traitor. And he will be a traitor one day, too. You’ll see. He’s beneath you. If my mother talked to my father he would break the betrothal. And you could be with me. Be my lady wife. I’ll be King, one day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“I…I…” She doesn’t know what to say.

 

He reaches for her again, and this time Lady intervenes, jumping in front of Sansa and growling at the Prince.

 

He flinches, and takes a few steps back. “Control your beast!” He demands.

 

“She’s not a beast!” Sansa defends, but she pulls Lady back regardless. No sense in allowing any harm to be caused.

 

“Look at her. Of course she is. And how dare you disagree with me! You insipid little–Owww!”

 

Sansa gasps as an arrow flies into Joffrey’s leg. He falls to the ground and clutches his leg, nearly crying out in pain.

 

Sansa turns around, worried Theon’s behind her and that he’s actually shot the prince. It’s even worse than beating him up. Theon is behind her, and he has his bow aimed and ready, but the arrow is still attached. He wasn’t the one who shot him. Sansa looks to his side and sees Arya, bowing down before them, making a show of her good shot.

 

“Arya!” Sansa screams. “What have you done?”

 

“I shot him in the leg! He’s fine.” Arya argues.

 

“I’m not fine you stupid girl! You could have killed me!” Joffrey wails.

 

Theon grabs the bow out of Arya’s hands and slings it around his side. “Lady Arya is quite skilled, Your Grace, if she was aiming for elsewhere you’d have a wound far greater than this one. And she was merely defending her sister. Who you have dishonored once again.” He hands both bows to Sansa, and then crouches down in front of Arya. “Run ahead and tell Maester Luwin I am bringing the Prince to him, and then go find your Lord Father and send him to Luwin as well.”

 

Arya nods, happy to have been given a task of importance. She runs off, Nymeria following behind her.

 

“Can you stand, Your Grace, or shall I carry you inside?”

 

Joffrey scoffs, and then stands. He tries to pull the arrow out, but Theon stops him, for he doesn’t know how much blood he may lose between here and Maester Luwin’s chambers. He’s not so injured he can’t walk, but he does limp a fair amount, and so Theon has to support his side. Something neither man sees to be happy about, as Sansa and Lady trail after them.

 

Arya and Nymeria are waiting with Maester Luwin and her father, for Joffrey walked so slowly they took so long to get there. The King and Queen are there, too. The Queen seething with anger and the King visibly hungover.

 

“There he is! My sweet boy! What has the wretched squid done to you now!” The Queen exclaims, rushing over and fussing over her son.

 

“I was attacked! Ambushed! It was treason!”

 

“He was taking advantage of my lady,” Theon defends, stepping in front of Arya and blocking her from view. “I wasn’t thinking. Us squids rarely use our heads. I shot him to stop him, but I only meant to injure. That’s why I went for the leg.”

 

Sansa and Arya look at eachother, confused. Arya shot Joffrey. Why is Theon saying he did?

 

“This is the second time the Greyjoy has attacked our son! You have to do something!” The Queen tells the King vehemently.

 

The King looks to her father, who looks helplessly from the King to Theon to Sansa to back to the King. “Let me have a go with my ward, my king. He’s always had a temper. I’ll get him to see reason and it won’t happen again.”

 

The King sighs, looking from Ned to his wife. “This is the second time, Ned. And he’s a Greyjoy. Perhaps it’s time to discipline him further? Send him somewhere else?”

 

“No!” Sansa exclaims, just as Arya says, “He didn’t do it!”

 

Theon covers Arya’s mouth and shakes his head at her.

 

“What do you mean, Arya?” Her Father asks.

 

“Nothing, my lord,” Theon says. “It was my fault.”

 

Arya bites his hand, and he drops it from her mouth.

 

“I did it, Father!” Arya confesses. “I shot the Prince. Nymeria sprinted off and when Theon and I followed her we saw Joffrey making Sansa uncomfortable. I did the first thing I could think of to stop him. I aimed for his leg! I never meant him real harm.”

 

Ned nods, and hugs his youngest daughter to him.

 

“Not only were you ambushed by a little girl but you accosted the lady again? Ned Stark is my greatest friend! My brother in all but name, and you continue to bring him dishonor, and in his own home!” The king yells at Joffrey. “Forget sending the Greyjoy boy away, I should send you away!”

 

The Queen and Joffrey both gasp.

 

“You don’t mean that!” The Queen says. “He’s your heir!”

 

“He’s not acting like it!” The King bellows. “Ned’s ward took the blame for a little girl while my heir tried to take advantage of one. How is it a Greyjoy has more honor than a Prince? Perhaps Joffrey should be a ward somewhere? So he can man up and be a worthy son of mine.”

 

“You don’t mean that!” The Queen says again.

 

“Seven hells I don’t!” The King turns to Maester Luwin, who has been standing quietly this whole time. “Write to Lord Royce at the Vale. Ned and I were wards there. If my son wants to be my heir, he will be a ward there, too. Better himself until he’s worthy of the throne.” Maester Luwin nods.

 

“He’s a prince–” The Queen says.

 

“He’s my son and he’s an embarrassment. I will not have that. Write to the Vale.”

 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin says.

Notes:

Yes, I'm aware of Robert's hypocrisy in this. But Robert isn't. The King gets what he wants and he wants Joffrey gone. Yay for everyone else! Poor Vale though, having to deal with him now!

Chapter 8: The Journey South

Notes:

I hope everyone has a good day!

The journey back to King’s Landing is delayed, as they await word from the Vale that Joffrey can be sent there. Within a week, they get word that he can, and King Robert sends him away at once, accompanied only by the Hound. With Joffrey gone, preparations to head back to King’s Landing begin again, and her Father, Arya, and Bran are to leave the next morning. Sansa had spent the morning with Arya, in the library tower, looking for a book on Nymeria the warrior Queen for Arya to bring with her on the journey.

 

Now, Sansa and Rickon are spending time with Bran, while Robb and Jon are with Arya. Sansa wasn’t sure what the other three were currently doing, but she, Bran, and Rickon were playing knights and ladies in the broken tower.

 

When it came time for dinner, the Queen had insisted on dining privately with her two remaining children and her brothers, and so Sansa’s own mother had requested the same. Sansa sat next to Robb and Arya, and across from Bran, Rickon, and her parents.

 

Dinner is nice, Sansa likes that she’s able to spend some more intimate time with her family, but she’s sad that Theon isn’t with them, and her siblings seem sad that Jon isn’t there, as well.

 

It goes by quickly though, and when everyone’s done eating, her father stands up, lifting Rickon into his arms.

 

“Children,” he says. “Your mother and I are going to put Rickon to bed and then spend some alone time together. The four of you can stay up, but not too late, and keep quiet, the rest of the castle will most likely be turning in early.”

 

They all nod, and then decide to head to the library tower, so they can play cards and be as loud as they want.

 

“I’ll go get Jon!” Arya says, rushing towards the door. 

 

“Bran, go with her!” Robb says.

 

“And get Theon, too,” Sansa instructs. “Robb and I will go see if the Prince and Princess want to join us. We’ll all meet at the tower.”

 

Arya and Bran agree and sprint off, Summer and Nymeria running with them. Robb offers Sansa his arm, and the two of them, plus Lady and Grey Wind head towards the Guest House.

 

“You do realize we have to get through the Queen, the Kingslayer, and the Imp just to see if they can join us, right?” Robb asks.

 

Sansa nods. “It’s worth a shot. Besides, the king may be with them now and he likes me. If I ask for Myrcella and Tommen’s company, he’ll grant it.”

 

Robb smiles. “I haven’t seen the princess since breakfast. It would be nice to see her again.”

 

Sansa rolls her eyes, but she feels the same way about Theon, so she can’t really be one to judge.

 

They knock on the door, and Ser Arys opens it.

 

“My lord, my lady,” He greets them both.

 

“Ser Arys,” Sansa smiles at him. He wasn’t like Ser Meryn or the Hound, Ser Arys was kind. “We were hoping to see the Prince and Princess, and if they’d like to join my siblings and I for some card games?”

 

“Ah, yes. The princess was helping the prince ready for bed, the Queen is otherwise preoccupied, and all other servants and guards have been dismissed.” He opens the door wider, so that Robb and Sansa can enter, and then he walks towards another door, knocking on it lightly. “Lady Cella! Lord Robb and Lady Sansa are here to see you and your brother.”

 

There’s the sound of quick scurrying across the floor and the door is pulled open. “Did they bring the direwolves?” Prince Tommen asks excitedly. The prince’s eyes brighten when he sees them and he rushes over to pet both Grey Wind and Lady.

 

Sansa smiles at Tommen, and leans down to pet the wolves, too. Ser Arys pokes his head in the door, speaking softly with the princess, and then shuts it. 

 

“The princess will join you shortly,” He says. He looks at the clock, and then addresses Tommen. “It’s nearly your bedtime, but I don’t think your parents will be checking on you tonight. Your mother might come, but not until late. You and your sister can stay up, but I’m going to come collect you if you’re not back by midnight.”

 

Tommen nods excitedly, and then focuses his attention back on Grey Wind.

 

A few moments later, Myrcella enters the room, wearing a pale blue satin bed robe over her nightgown, and her hair tucked into a loose braid. She smiles at Sansa, and then at Robb, her gaze lingering on him sweetly for a few moments.

 

“My Princess,” Robb says charmingly, kissing Myrcella’s hand. “We were hoping you and your brother would join my siblings and I for some card games?”

 

“Oh how fun!” Myrcella exclaims. Tommen perks up, too, even more so than he already was. 

 

“Ser Arys says we can stay up until midnight!” Tommen tells her excitedly.

 

Myrcella turns to Ser Arys. “My mother won’t be back by then?” She wonders. Her hand fiddles with a necklace hanging low on her neck. It’s a golden locket with the Lannister lion and an emerald on it. Sansa had asked Myrcella about it the other day. Apparently the Queen had given it to her after her and Robb’s betrothal was announced. The Queen had a matching one. Her mother wanted her to ‘never forget her true family’ is what Myrcella had told her.

 

“Not tonight, sweetling. She…she may come check on you later, but you’ll be asleep by then. I’ll come get you at midnight and escort you and your brother back.”

 

Myrcella nods, and kisses Ser Arys cheek, before walking over to Tommen and taking his hand as he stands up. The four of them and the wolves all walk to the Library tower, to find everyone else already there. Sitting at a round table, Bran is dealing cards as Theon jokes with him and Arya and Jon whisper with each other.

 

They all look over when they hear the doors open and Theon smiles at Sansa when he sees her. Sansa returns the smile, and takes the seat next to him. Tommen sits on the other side of Arya and Myrcella sits beside him with Robb next to her.

 

“What game are we playing?” Myrcella asks.

 

“I’ll explain it,” Arya says. “It’s really not that hard.”

Arya proceeds to explain how the game works, with Robb and Bran interjecting with rules and things she forgets to mention. Myrcella plays alright, though clearly the game is not her strong suit. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, as every time Sansa looks at her, she sees her looking over to Robb, whispering to him a question or two that she has. Sansa wouldn’t be surprised if she’s pretending not to know what to do just to talk to him. He whispers back to her sweetly, and Sansa wonders if he’s distracted, too. He’s certainly playing more poorly than normal.

 

Sansa looks over at Theon, hoping he’ll see what she sees that Robb and Myrcella are well matched. He’s said that he agrees with her, but only because he trusts her opinion. As much as that warmed her heart, and really, it did, she wants him to see it for himself, too.

 

But Theon is distracted, talking with Jon and Bran. Feeling jealous of his lack of attention, she subtly lays her hand on his thigh. He looks over to her right away, a strange look in his eye, similar to the one he gets when he kisses her. He leans closer to her and wraps his arm around the back of her chair.

 

“Yes, my lady?” He asks, his voice cracking slightly.

 

Sansa looks over at Robb and Myrcella, and then back over at Theon and asks, “Do you see it, now, too?”

Theon’s confused for a moment, but when Sansa looks over towards them again he does as well and he nods. “Aye, my lady,” he whispers. “I see it.”

 

He looks down at his lap, and takes a steadying breath. His hand comes on top of hers, still resting on his thigh, and he pulls it off slowly, keeping their hands under the table and intertwining their fingers.

 

The lot of them play cards well into the night, laughing, talking, and having a grand old time. As he promised, Ser Arys comes to collect Myrcella and Tommen at midnight, and escorts them back to their rooms. Jon takes Arya and Bran off to bed, and Theon is about to escort Sansa to her chambers, her arm in his as they make their way to leave, when Robb stops them.

 

“I’ll see my sister to her room, Theon.” Robb says.

 

“You don’t have to, Robb. I don’t mind if–”

 

“I’ll take you, Sansa. Say goodnight to Theon.”

 

Sansa frowns, but Theon nods at Robb. Theon kisses her cheek quickly and whispers in her ear, I’ll see you tomorrow, before heading off to his own room.

 

“What was that about?” Sansa asks, taking Robb’s arm and letting him lead her back. “He’s taken me to my room before.”

 

“Yes. After dinner. When there are witnesses to see him take you there and leave. But at this hour? If one person saw you, who knows what rumors would spread? Especially with all the South that still looms about.”

 

Sansa hadn’t thought of that. She squeezes Robb’s arm appreciatively. “Thank you. You’re always looking out for me!” She tells him sweetly.

 

“It’s my job,” Robb says with a shrug, but he smiles at her. They reach her door and he kisses her forehead, wishing her goodnight.

 

—

 

The next morning, Sansa wakes bright and early. She puts on a Stark grey dress, with weirwood leaves embroidered on the skirt and sleeves and a direwolf centered on the bodice. She braids her hair out of her face and secures it with a deep red ribbon to match the leaves on her dress. When she’s all ready for the day, she grabs the present she made Arya and heads to her sister’s room. She had already given Bran his gift, a silver doublet that was shiny and sewn in a fashion to look like an armoured chestplate, with a direwolf embroidered to match the one on her dress. For Arya she had made a dress, of the same grey her own was made out of, only hers had no weirwood leaves on it. Instead, she had embroidered tiny snowflakes throughout the skirt and sleeves, so small and thin you only saw them up close. Like Bran’s, she had fashioned the bodice to look like armour, only she had made it a little more feminine and subtle so their mother would approve. She had also made the skirt a lot thinner, so it would fare well in the Southern warmth, and simultaneously made the dress easy to move in, so that Arya could wear it and still easily run about.

 

Sansa knocks at the door and Arya answers it. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Arya asks sleepily.

 

“I have a present for you,” Sansa tells her. “And I thought I’d help you get ready.”

 

Arya lets her inside, and Sansa sees the mess that is her room. Clothes and things scattered about, an open and empty trunk laying on her bed.

 

“Septa Mordane made me repack my trunk again! I was supposed to do it last night, but I couldn’t be bothered.” Arya tells her.

 

Sansa makes a face, grimacing at the mess and Arya scowls at her. “It’s alright,” Sansa tells her. “I’ll pack for you while you get ready.” She hands her sister the dress, wrapped up in brown paper.

 

Arya smiles. “Jon and Robb gave me a gift, too.” She says as she unwraps the gift. She frowns a little when she sees it’s a dress, but upon examining it further, she sees how it resembles armour and smiles. “I’ll wear it today!” Arya says, beginning to put it on.

 

“I made the skirt light so it’s easy to move in,” Sansa informs her, happy that her sister likes her gift.

 

“I can tell! It will be so much easier to use my sword in this!”

 

Sansa gasps. “You have a sword?”

 

Arya covers her mouth in shock, and hesitates a moment, before answering. “No.”

 

“Arya!”

 

“Okay, fine. Jon gave me one. But please don’t tell. I promised him I’d be careful with it. And I named it Needle, after you and all your sewing. It will go great with the dress.”

 

Sansa rolls her eyes, but looks at Arya meaningfully as she says, “Alright. I won’t tell.”

 

Arya is so happy, she hugs Sansa. Quick but loving. The two girls then head down towards their parents’ chambers, so that their mother can braid Arya’s hair one last time before she goes away.

 

They knock, and enter to find their parents laying in bed, cuddling with one another. 

 

“Girls? What is it?” Their mother asks.

 

“You wanted to do my hair,” Arya reminds her. 

 

Catelyn smiles, but looks out the window. The sun has barely risen, and they wouldn’t be leaving until it was well in the sky, per King Robert’s decision. “It’s early yet, but alright.”

 

Their parents sit up, and Arya and their mother go to a chair to start braiding. Sansa stands there a moment as her father pulls a doublet over his head.

 

“Sansa,” he says. “I need to grab a few more things from my solar, care to walk over with me?”

 

Sansa smiles, and takes his offered arm.

 

“You look pretty,” He tells her sweetly. He looks over at Catelyn and Arya, smiling at them. “All of you do.”

 

Her mother blushes, and Arya grins. She and her father head out the door.

 

Sansa sits in her father’s solar as he packs up some last few things. 

 

“Will you send back some satins, silks, and lace from King’s Landing? Princess Myrcella and I were hoping to make some dresses.” She asks.

 

“Sure, sweetling.” He tells her, looking up at her. His face is straight, but there’s a smile in his eyes. “I’m glad you two are getting along so well. It’s good for her to have a friend here.”

 

Sansa nods. “I like her. And Robb does too, which is always good.”

 

Her father nods, knowingly. “And I’m glad that you and Theon are–” There’s a knock at the door. “Come in?”

 

Theon walks in, smiling when he sees Sansa’s there. Given her father’s previous, unfinished thought, Sansa blushes redder than she normally would. Her father looks flustered, too.

 

“My lord. I’ve seen to it that yours and Bran’s horses have been saddled. It appears King Robert woke early and wants to get on the road sooner than he’d said last night.” Theon informs.

 

Ned nods. “Of course he did. How soon?”

 

“The end of the hour.”

 

Ned nods again. “Thank you, Theon. Take Sansa so she can eat with her siblings. I need to go see her mother again. But I’ll see you both outside, soon.”

 

“Yes, my lord,” Theon says obediently. He offers Sansa his arm, but Sansa walks over and kisses her father’s cheek before she takes it. Then Theon leads her to the Great Hall.

 

They walk there quickly, and Theon drops her off. Robb, Jon, Bran and Rickon are already sitting at a table. Before Sansa heads to the table, she turns to Theon. “Aren’t you eating with us?”

 

“I can’t.” He says. “I have to help your father prepare some last minute things.” His hand goes to her hair, as he twists a curl around one of his fingers. He leans in and kisses her cheek, whispering “You look pretty,” into her ear before walking off.

 

Sansa eats with her brothers, Arya joining them not long after, and then the six of them head outside.

 

Most of the royal party is already ready to go and waiting outside the gates. Those of Winterfell who are also going South are still within the gates, saying goodbyes as they finish preparing to go.

 

Sansa looks over and sees Myrcella standing outside the Queen’s wheelhouse, alongside her mother and Tommen, as well as her uncles, Tyrion and Jaime, the five of them all talking to one another. Tommen looks scared and sad, on the verge of tears, causing both Myrcella and the Queen to fuss over him. After a minute, Myrcella whispers something to her uncle Jaime, who nods and smiles at her. She hugs him sweetly, and then whispers something to Tommen, causing him to smile at Myrcella, then Jaime, and then over at the cluster of Stark children. He waves to Bran and Arya, who wave back.

 

Myrcella walks over to them, much to the Queen’s protest. Sansa thinks she’s coming to her, or to Robb, but instead Myrcella approaches Arya, curtsying before her. Sansa eyes her sister pointedly, until Arya does the same.

 

Myrcella turns to Bran. “Ser Bran, perhaps you can show my brother your horse? He’s been eager to see it. He’s saddened he has to ride in the wheelhouse the whole time.”

 

“Of course, Your Grace,” Bran says, flagging Tommen over and the two boys running off. 

 

Myrcella turns back to Arya. “I have a favor to ask of you, Lady Arya.”

 

Arya makes a face at the title, but nods. Sansa, Robb, and Jon all stand and watch, interested to see what it is she asks.

 

“My little brother is scared to be alone in King’s Landing. We don’t know exactly when I am to return home, and he’s never had to be alone before. I was hoping, seeing as you're such a good sister to Bran and Rickon, that you might be willing to be like a sister to him, too? At least until I return. After all, we are to be family for true some day.” She looks at Robb and blushes, but he smiles at her.

 

Arya considers Myrcella’s words. “When you say be a sister?”

 

“I mean comfort him, spend time with him. Play knights and ladies, play with practice swords. Bran has already agreed to be a brother to him. He promises to be better than Joff, though that’s not particularly challenging, so if you’d rather not I understand and it’s alright.”

 

Arya nods, and asks, “I’d get to play with practice swords?”

 

“Yes, of course! Tommen used to spar with Robin Arryn when he was in King’s Landing. But Robin didn’t enjoy it much and neither did his mother, your aunt, so I would have to indulge him.”

 

“You’ve used training swords?” Robb asks, intrigued.

 

Myrcella blushes. “No! I am a lady, my lord, that would be improper.” She leans in closer to Arya, and says, in a voice above the whisper. “But if you, your brother, and Tommen sneak into my room, he knows where I keep my bow and arrows, a weapon perfectly acceptable for a lady to use. At least according to my uncles, they're the ones who insisted I learn. I’d be perfectly fine for you to take them and practice with. It would be a shame for them to sit and waste.”

 

Arya smiles. “I’ll be like a sister to him.” She agrees. “But I’m not a lady. Not like you. I’ll practice sword fighting with him.” At that, everyone laughs, and Arya takes Rickon’s hand and they run off, after Bran and Tommen.

 

Myrcella is about to say something to Robb, when the Queen calls her over.

 

“Myrcella, my dear, come stand with me.”

 

“Yes, Mother!” Myrcella chirps. She quickly curtsies to them and rushes off to her mother.

 

Minutes later, Sansa is still standing outside with Robb and Jon, when Bran, Arya, and Rickon come back over, Tommen going back to where his family stands.

 

Her mother and father come outside, Theon following behind them, and then the King, and it signifies it’s time to get the show on the road.

 

Sansa hugs Arya and Bran, lingering on Bran because he lets her. She kisses each of their cheeks, and then takes a crying Rickon from her mother’s arms so she can say goodbye as well. Sansa hugs her father sweetly, who takes Rickon from her and tries to comfort him. She waves to Prince Tommen, who, like Rickon, is crying a little as he hugs Myrcella. Myrcella has her own tears falling from her face as she kisses her brother’s head and whispers reassurances.

 

When all of the goodbyes are done, Sansa stands in line with Robb, who is now the one carrying and comforting Rickon, and her Mother, Jon standing far off behind them. Her father mounts his horse, and Theon hands him a water skin, before coming and standing beside Sansa.

 

Sansa watches her father, brother, and sister ride away, and feels her own throat start to swell. She looks over and sees Myrcella crying, silently but steadily, as her uncle Tyrion and Ser Arys comfort her.

 

With that sight, and Rickon crying next to her, Sansa sheds a tear, too. Theon notices and quickly wipes it away, smiling sweetly at her. 

 

“You’ll see them soon enough,” He tells her, though neither knows how soon it will be.

 

Sansa nods and hugs his side, seeking comfort in his touch. He wraps his arm around her and kisses her forehead. They stand outside for a while, but then her mother goes inside with Maester Luwin. Myrcella’s uncle heads inside as well, Ser Arys going with him, and Myrcella, no longer crying, walks over to where they stand.

 

“Rickon,” She coos. The crying boy looks up at her, tears pooling in his eyes. “Perhaps you, your brother, and I can take the wolves for a walk? It will be good to get some energy out.”

 

Rickon nods, and reaches his arms out for Myrcella to take him. Robb looks hesitant, but Myrcella eagerly takes hold of Rickon and hugs him to her. She turns towards the wolfswood and begins to walk off. Robb, Shaggydog, Grey Wind, and Lady following after her. 

 

“Jon!” Myrcella calls out. He steps out of the shadow he was hiding in. “Do be a dear and come with us. Ghost needs the exercise and I’m in need of your company.”

 

“My company, Your Grace?” Jon asks skeptically.

 

“Of course! You have to tell me how you beat everyone at cards last night.” Myrcella giggles. 

 

Jon nods, a small smile on his lips, and follows after them with Ghost.

 

Sansa turns to Theon when they’re gone, and he’s looking at her with that hungry look in his eye. She remembers the doublet she finished for him the other day, and how she still needs to give it to him.

 

“Theon?” She asks.

 

“Yes, my lady?”

 

“Take me to my room, please. I have something for you.”

 

Without a second thought Theon takes her hand in his and eagerly leads her to her door.

 

Notes:

Bran never fell from the tower because Cersei was so distracted with Joffrey’s behavior and Myrcella’s betrothal that she and Jaime didn’t have any sort of rendezvous in the broken tower, so Bran didn’t see anything and Jaime didn't push him.

So, Ned’s going to be up to a fair amount in King’s Landing, as he’s still going to try and uncover Jon Arryn’s death, but I’ll be changing a couple of plot points regarding how he handles his discoveries, would you guys like to see things from Ned’s/someone else in KL’s perspective(s) or would you like me to summarize it all and give it to you that way? Please let me know!

Chapter 9: Stolen Kisses and New Friends

Summary:

Sansa finds new ways to spend the time now that half of her family has left Winterfell.

Notes:

Happy Thursday! I hope everyone is having a good day! It's been a while since one of my stories has had over 1000 hits and so I want to thank all of you who are continuing to interact with my story! It means a lot!

Side note, for those wondering, I had Beth Cassel go to KL because she’s Arya’s age, and so, she probably won’t really be in the story from this point out.

Sansa doesn’t even have a moment to gasp when Theon pulls her into her chambers and presses his lips to hers. He kisses her passionately, in a way he never has before, his tongue intertwining with hers in an urgent, needy manner. She kisses him back with just as much fervor, but while his lips are insistent and sure, hers are nervous and cautious. Theon is the only boy she’s ever kissed, and her experience is limited. She’s not sure how many other girls Theon has kissed, but she knows he’s got more experience than her. This kiss is evidence enough.

 

She’s pressed against her door, and when she pulls away from Theon panting, in need of air, he simply shifts his attention to her throat and neck, trailing kisses all over, sucking her skin. She feels weak in the knees and knows if she weren’t pressed against the wall or held so securely by Theon’s strong grasp at her hips she would stumble to the ground.

 

His mouth finds hers again and she sucks on his bottom lip, eliciting a moan from him. His moan makes her shiver from her head to her toes, and in her core, though she’s not sure why that is. She normally gets the feeling of butterflies when Theon kisses her, but this is much more than that.

 

His hands slide up her hips and waist, to the sides of her breasts. He cups them, squeezing lightly, and Sansa moans in response. The noise encourages Theon further, and his hands move to the neckline of her dress, pulling at it. The dress doesn’t budge, for it’s tied tightly at the back, and in Theon’s struggle to free her of it, his demeanor seems to change. He slowly pulls away from her, breathing heavily.

 

“Why’d you stop?” Sansa asks. She’s worried she did something wrong. Was the kiss unpleasant for him? She wonders.

 

Theon hesitates. “I fear, if we continue…I may get a little carried away.”

 

“Oh!” Sansa replies. For a moment she’s not sure what he means. Most of their kisses had been gentle and quick, she would have called what happened a moment ago ‘carried away,’ but then it comes to her, what he really meant, and she feels like a ninny for not thinking of that instinctively.

 

“I mean it when I tell you I want to be honorable. I never want to dishonor you again, and if I took you, here and now, like I want to, I’d be doing just that.”

 

“Oh!” Gods, she thinks, say something else. “That isn’t very Ironborn of you.”

 

Theon winces, but recovers quickly. “The Ironborn follow the Old Way, and clearly that hasn’t been working out for us. When I’m Lord of the Iron Islands, I plan to set the Ironborn on a new path. No raping, reaving, raiding. None of that.”

 

Sansa smiles. “What will you do instead?” She wonders.

 

“I don’t know,” Theon admits. “My Grandfather tried to change our ways, and then my father undid all his efforts. Maybe I’ll finish what he started? Asha wants to try and re-fertilize the Isles. She has asked me to send different saplings and seeds. I don’t know how I would, though. She says it could be as pretty as Tarth in a few years if done right.” He shrugs. “The iron mines are still going strong, perhaps we take up trading? And there’s all the fishing that could be done, too.” He thinks it over a few moments. “I haven’t come up with a distinct plan. I’m hoping it will come to me when I return home.”

 

Sansa nods encouragingly. “It all sounds good to me.” She’s never been to the Sapphire Isles, but she’s read about it and seen pictures. If the Iron Islands were as vibrant as that, she would have no trouble calling it home.

 

Theon smiles at her, leaning closer and kissing her nose. “I’m glad. I would like you to be able to think of the Iron Islands as home if you could, I know how it scares you in its current state.”

 

Sansa blushes. “I’d get used to it,” She tries to reassure him.

 

“I’m sure you would. But you shouldn’t have to.”

 

Sansa is so warmed by his words she pulls him back towards her and kisses him fervently once more. He lifts her up against the wall, with one of his legs resting between hers for additional support, and they get so lost in eachother that Sansa’s not sure how much time has passed when they finally break apart.

 

He rests his forehead against hers, and Sansa smiles. She opens her eyes, meeting his seagreen gaze, and that's when she remembers why they’re here. She needs to give him his doublet.

 

“I have something for you,” She reminds him.

 

“Hmmm?” Theon wonders, turning his attention back to her neck. She lightly pushes him away and he obliges, setting her back on the ground and taking a small step back from her. She goes to her wardrobe and grabs the doublet, handing it to him.

 

He smiles wider when he sees it, his fingers trailing over the stitches delicately. “I love it,” he tells her. “Thank you.” He kisses her cheek, and then begins to take off the doublet he’s currently wearing, pulling it off and then putting the new one on. Sansa’s mouth drops at the quick glance she gets of his chest and arms, well defined and chiseled with muscles. She can feel her mouth droop and quickly closes it. 

 

When the doublet is on, he smiles at her, and the fabric really does bring out the color in his eyes. Sansa smiles back giddily.

 

—

 

Later that evening, in the hours before dinner, Sansa and Jeyne are sitting in her room. Jeyne sits at her vanity, rebraiding her hair, while Sansa sits at her desk, penning a letter to Asha, her future good-sister.

 

Lady Asha,

 

I am so happy to be writing to you, for I’ve heard so many wonderful things from your brother. He’s told me stories of the two of you, and how well you got along and how much he misses you, and it really inspired me to put more effort into spending time with my own sister, for like you and Theon, we were recently separated and I don’t know when I’ll see her next. 

 

Most recently Theon told me of your desire to re-fertilize the Iron Islands, and how you had asked him to send seeds and saplings. I would like you to know I am asking my own brother to prepare a shipment to be sent to you. But before he sends it, are there any plants you had in mind? I, for one, don’t know much about that sort of thing, and can always leave it to Robb or Theon to decide if you’re impartial, but if you have an opinion, please do let me know. I will have the shipment be sent as soon as possible.

 

I cannot wait to meet you! And I know Theon is eager to see you as well. I pray to the Gods that making your acquaintance will come sooner than later.

 

Until then, 

Sansa Stark

 

Sansa reads the letter outloud to Jeyne, and makes a few tweaks to it, before folding it up and putting it in her desk drawer. She won’t send it until she talks to Robb, and probably won’t until tomorrow, for it’s not exactly dinner conversation on the day that half their family left home.

 

She and Jeyne then grab Rickon and take Lady and Shaggydog for a walk. Robb is busy with his Lord of Winterfell duties, Theon and Jon are busy helping him, her mother is busy with her normal activities, and Myrcella is shadowing her for the day, as she will continue to do once or twice a week, so she can learn more about the responsibilities of the Lady of Winterfell.

 

They go to the Godswood, not wanting to leave the castle walls, and after walking around for a while they let Rickon and the wolves run about while Sansa and Jeyne sit in the grass and make flower crowns out of wildflowers. 

 

When it’s nearly time for dinner, they head inside, and take Rickon to Old Nan, before heading to Sansa’s chambers to freshen up. Sansa undoes the braids her hair is currently in, and braids two fresh pieces, pinning them up into a headband of sorts, and does a similar style to Jeyne’s hair, changing it by braiding her hair with four strands instead of three.

 

They then head out into the hall, and knock on Myrcella’s door. She had been moved to Arya’s room for the remainder of her stay, while her Uncle Tyrion and Ser Arys were to continue to stay in the guesthouse. Sansa had requested it, wanting Myrcella to feel more welcomed into her home. She still remembered how Myrcella had described the North as ‘a little cold.’ She wanted to make it more inviting to her if she could.

 

Myrcella is ready when they come to see her, so they all sit and chat in Sansa’s room, waiting for Robb and Theon to come get them.

 

They arrive, along with Jon, not 10 minutes later, and the six of them head to the Great Hall.

 

Dinner is much quieter, almost too quiet. Not only is the King’s party gone, but half of Winterfell seems to be, too. Her Mother is clearly saddened, where she sits at the front of the head table, and Sansa does her best to cheer her, along with little Rickon who is sitting in her lap. She had​​ Theon sit with Jon at the further end of the room, so that Jon wouldn’t be alone and Theon wouldn’t say anything that would further sadden or anger her mother. Sansa has since learned that Theon generally means well, but he rarely has a filter when he speaks, and she knows how unsettling what he says can be. Jeyne sits with the boys, too, and so Sansa is able to focus all her attention on her mother and youngest brother. Robb is sitting with them, and Myrcella next to him, but he is busy talking with one of Wintertown’s merchants, as Father often did at dinners.

 

“Was your day good, Mother?” Sansa asks, helping Rickon cut his meat.

 

“Yes. It was very busy, but that kept me distracted. Princess Myrcella was good company. She seemed very interested in all I had to show her.” 

 

Sansa smiles. “That’s good! Do you miss them already?” Sansa can’t help but ask.

 

“They haven’t even been gone half a day,” Catelyn tells her, reminding Sansa as much as herself. “But yes, I do.”

 

“Me too!” Rickon says, his mouth full.

Sansa and her mother smile, and then quickly chide him and remind him of his manners. 

 

When everyone has finished eating, her mother leaves to put Rickon to bed. There’s no festivities or heavy drinking to follow the meal, the atmosphere still feeling off without the Lord of Winterfell about. 

 

Jeyne leaves and Myrcella is busy chatting with her Uncle Tyrion, so Sansa is unsure of what to do. Robb had to attend to some last minute matters and Jon and Theon went with him. She decides she’ll just retire early, but as she walks towards the door Myrcella flags her over.

 

“Come sit with us, Lady Sansa,” she says sweetly.

 

Sansa smiles and sits down. “Thank you.”

 

Myrcella nods. “Have you met my Uncle Tyrion? Properly, I mean.”

 

“No we have not, sweet Cella,” Tyrion says, his voice slurring from the wine. Lord Tyrion appears to be the only one truly drunk from the meal. “I am Lord Tyrion, my lady. That you know. Or perhaps you know me by something else? The imp, maybe? Or Myrcella’s favorite uncle?” He jokes.

 

Sansa laughs awkwardly. 

 

“Uncle,” Myrcella chides, in a similar manner to how Sansa chided Rickon. “Be nice. Sansa is one of my only friends here.”

 

“Oh! You’re right, how terribly rude of me.” He takes an overly dramatic deep breath and plasters a smile to his face. “Nice to meet you, my lady. I am Tyrion, Princess Myrcella’s favorite Uncle.” He jokes again, but his voice is much more gregarious this time. Sansa and Myrcella laugh for true.

 

Sansa spends the next hour or so with them, before Theon comes to get her and escort her to her chambers. She says goodbye and wishes Myrcella goodnight, before walking off with Theon.

 

They walk in comfortable silence for a while, until Sansa tells him, “I’m sending a letter to your sister tomorrow. I need to speak with Robb first, but I was hoping to send her seeds and saplings like you said she asked for.”

 

Theon looks surprised, but not overly shocked. He smiles at her, and then a laugh escapes him. “That’s nice of you,” he tells her. “Though, I had already asked Robb about that this morning. That’s what we were sorting out after dinner, which plants and seeds and such to send her way.”

 

Sansa smiles, too. “I’m glad. I was a little worried you might think I was overstepping.”

 

Theon shakes his head. “If anything, I’m glad you took an interest, regardless of whether that interest was in befriending Asha or the Iron Islands.”

 

“It was a mixture of both of those, as well as doing something for you. You’ve always been so kind to me, and I’ve been too harsh on you to realize it. I wanted to thank you, somehow…I…” Sansa blushes, feeling vulnerable and embarrassed. 

 

They’ve arrived at her door, and so they stop. Theon leans in, and Sansa expects him to kiss her lips, so she closes her eyes. He kisses her cheek instead. Trailing light kisses up to her ear.

 

“I appreciate it,” he whispers. “Though perhaps, from now on, we come to each other with our ideas first, since they may overlap as such?”

 

Sansa smiles, a small giggle escaping her. “I’d like that.” She tilts her head up and kisses his lips. He readily returns the kiss, and moments later she pulls away, out of breath and remembering where they stand. Sansa gently pushes Theon away by his chest, and he laughs.

 

She looks around, mortified, but the only other people in the hall are Myrcella and Tyrion and they appear to have just entered.

 

“Goodnight, my lady,” Theon whispers to her. He kisses her cheek and walks away, nodding at Myrcella and Tyrion in acknowledgement as he passes them.

 

Sansa is far too embarrassed to linger and strike up conversation with the two of them, so she rushes into her room, closing the door behind her. As she readies for bed her embarrassment shifts into happiness, as she thinks of Theon and their interactions of the day. She barely has time to miss her family with how jubilated she feels. She’s never felt more hopeful for love. All the pieces are falling into place. Her life is going to play out just like all those happy fairytales from her childhood. Or, that’s what she tells herself as she drifts off to sleep, at least.

Notes:

Next chapter will be partly from Ned's perspective, in KL, but I plan to incorporate the happenings in Winterfell, too.

Chapter 10: Schemes, Lies, and First Fights

Notes:

IMPORTANT! Time Skip this chapter! Everyone’s arrived back in KL and have been there a few months. Let’s say a 6 month time skip from the last chapter over all. Ned has looked into Jon Arryn’s death and discovered that the Baratheon children are all bastards, but for the sake of Tommen and Myrcella, as well as his own family because Robb is betrothed to Myrcella, he is trying to find a way to reveal the news and dethrone Joffrey, but not disinherit younger two, he is also trying to treat Tommen as the heir and help raise and guide him, though is struggling with Cersei looming about, with Tommen being the only child to remain with her, she is able to put all her attentions on him.

My dear Cat,

 

I hope you are doing well. 

 

Bran and Arya are both doing well. Bran has been training under Ser Barristan Selmy for a while now, and is getting quite good. He and Prince Tommen have been getting along quite nicely. They’re good friends, like Robert and I. I got Arya a dancing master so that she may practice with a sword as well. Forgive me for doing that without your permission, but she was eager and I thought the safest thing to do would be to get her an instructor, otherwise she would have just practiced without me knowing, and probably would have gotten injured.

 

I miss you terribly, being parted for six moons is already far too long. There’s so much I want to say to you. If only I knew when I’d see you next.

 

Forever yours,

Ned

 

—

 

Sansa stood in the Godswood as her mother read the letter aloud once more. With them was Robb, Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, Theon, and Jon. This was not the first letter they had received for her father. He normally wrote to her, her mother, and her siblings quite frequently, he had even already sent the fabrics Sansa had requested, but there was something in this letter that sounded off.

 

“My husband is a man of few words,” Catelyn says. “He must mean he has found some things out, about what really happened to Jon Arryn. Things he wants to tell, but can’t over writing, should a raven be intercepted.”

 

Sansa had just recently learned of Aunt Lysa’s theory that the Lannisters killed her husband, Jon Arryn, though everyone else standing among her seemed to have known about it for months. Even Theon. Her mother had been the one to tell her, a few weeks ago, saying that investigating was the main reason that her father took the position of Hand of the King. Well that and honor, anyway.

 

“Possibly, my lady, but should we really jump to conclusions as such? Perhaps we wait for another letter from Lord Stark? See if it seems just as urgent?” Maester Luwin wonders.

 

“No. I want someone to talk to him as soon as possible. King’s Landing is already a far journey. If we wait any longer we’re wasting time.”

 

“I can ride to King’s Landing on the morrow, talk to Father,” Robb says.

 

“No. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. You stay here, with your brother and sister. I’ll go.”

 

“Aye, my lady, but not alone.” Ser Rodrik says. “I’ll go with you. The roads are not safe for a woman to travel alone and we can’t bring any bannermen if we want to keep this visit quiet.”

 

“How soon will you leave, my lady?” Theon asks.

 

“Princess Myrcella and her Uncle are due to leave at the end of the week. I don’t want any Lannister’s trailing behind me. I’ll leave two days after them. That way they won’t hear any rumors of my sojourn if I follow them from behind.” Her mother says.

 

With that decided, their small group breaks apart. Sansa goes with Theon and her brothers to Robb’s solar, while everyone else goes off in different directions.

 

Robb is schooling his emotions, trying to be like their father and not reveal how he truly feels, but Sansa can see right through it. Jon and Theon can, too. Robb is clearly worried, stressed, and slightly angered.

 

“What are you thinking, Robb?” Sansa asks.

 

“What do you mean?” He asks, his voice cool.

 

“We don’t know exactly what news Father has, but it can’t be good, especially if he wants to say it in person.”

 

“And if the Lannisters’ are behind it then that means your golden princess isn’t as sweet as she seems,” Theon adds. Sansa and Jon shoot him a warning look.

 

“Myrcella is obviously not involved,” Sansa says, placing her hand on Robb’s arm to soothe him. She looks at Theon as she speaks, though.

 

“Well maybe not directly, but who’s to say she’s not involved at all, even if she doesn’t know it? I wouldn’t put it above the Lannisters to use her against you, Robb.”

 

“She’s not a Lannister, she’s a Baratheon,” Jon interjects.

 

“And Sansa’s a Stark, not a Tully, but look at her? She’s every inch her mother’s daughter, just as Myrcella is the Queen’s.”

 

“You don’t mean that,” Sansa accuses Theon. “Surely you don’t mean that? Myrcella’s been here for months, you have to admit she’s sweet and kind and nothing like her mother.”

 

“Well, maybe not now, but people change.” He can sense Sansa’s mad at him and tries to soften his tone. “All I’m saying is the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

 

“Oh! So then by those standards I should expect you to be a stupid, obnoxious fool just as they say your father is! You know what they say, never trust a Greyjoy! I guess we can start second guessing every word you say from this moment out!” Sansa huffs.

 

“Hey now you two, let’s take a moment and calm down!” Robb says, stepping between them and trying to calm them down.

 

“Well what do you know?” Sansa says, acknowledging Robb. “Lord Greyjoy was speaking the truth for once! I’m my mother’s daughter and Robb’s our father’s son. Let us applaud the lord of the Iron Islands! We can now confidently say we can and should judge children for their parents actions! All thanks to him!”

 

Theon flinches, just as Robb says, “Sansa,” in a chiding tone.

 

Sansa regrets her words, but is too annoyed with Theon to apologize. It’s not as if she has no reason to be mad at him. Who is he to judge Myrcella? 

 

“Sansa,” Robb says again. “Perhaps you should take a walk? I can go with you if you’d like? Or Jon?”

 

“No.” Sansa says, annoyed. “I’m fine.”

 

“Sansa.”

 

“Oh, alright! Fine! I’ll leave you to it.”

 

She storms out of there, rushing to her room. It’s still early, the servants of Winterfell just now starting to wake up and motivate. She wishes Jeyne were here, so she could talk to her and get her advice, but Jeyne won’t be here for another hour or two. She contemplates going to Myrcella, for they’ve become good friends and she knows she would give good advice, but seeing as Myrcella is part of the problem, she can’t really go to her for it.

 

She’s not even worried about what her father has to say. She is, but she knows that her mother and Robb and her father will be capable of handling it. She’s angry at Theon. How could he let his arrogance make him so untrusting? Myrcella had been nothing but kind and gracious to all of them, and Theon knew that. Sansa knew he knew that. And Theon knew that Sansa knew. How could he be so inconsiderate?

 

She’s too angry to work on her sewing, or go to the Great Hall and break her fast, so instead, she grabs her bow and Lady’s leash and heads to the Wolfswood. She knows it’s reckless to leave the walls of Winterfell alone, but she’s got Lady to protect her, and she’s not as afraid, with Joffrey and the rest of the South gone.

 

Regardless of feeling safe, she stays very close to the Hunter’s Gate, shooting at targets in the third nearest tree. She’s still not a very good archer, and finds she’s an even worse shot while angry. It is a while before she hears someone come for her.

 

“Sansa!” Jon calls out frantically. He stops running when he sees her, Ghost at his side. “Robb! Theon! She’s here!”

 

Moments later, Robb and Theon come rushing over. 

 

—

 

Theon didn’t know what to think. He hadn’t meant any offense to Princess Myrcella, his comments were more directed to the Lannister family in general, and how rotten and twisted most of them have proved to be. He just didn’t want Robb to get his hopes up that Myrcella was so different from them. She might not be. He hoped, for Robb’s sake, that she was as lovely as she seemed. But she might not be. 

 

He couldn’t understand why Sansa was so mad at him. He had brought up a valid point and she had immediately turned defensive, harsh, and cruel. Why? He wondered. He couldn’t come to a conclusion that pleased him.

 

After Sansa left, he helped Robb plan out and solve the first few matters of the day, and then, at Robb’s urging, he had gone to Sansa’s chambers to talk. Robb had recommended he apologize, but Theon didn’t see what he had done wrong. He would apologize if he had done something wrong. Sansa was the one in the wrong. She said he was just like his father. But she said it in a way that was cruel and demeaning. Like it was bad to be his father’s son, in the same way it would be bad for Myrcella to be the Queen’s daughter. Was he really so bad? He hadn’t thought so, but maybe? Sometimes he wished he was like his father. He should be happy the wish was granted.

 

He knocks on Sansa’s door, and waits for her to answer. She doesn’t. He knocks again. When she doesn’t answer that time, he calls out, “Sansa? I’m…I’m sorry. Can we talk? Please?”

 

Still, no response. He thought at least she’d make a sassy comment. Or open the door just to slam it in his face. She was the kind of girl who enjoyed the drama of that sort of thing.

 

“Sansa?” He says again. “If you don’t answer me I have no choice but to come in.”

 

Nothing.

 

Screw it, he thinks. He opens the door and walks inside. “Sansa–” He stops. She’s not here. He doesn’t know where else she’d be, it’s so early in the morning that breakfast would not yet be served in the Great Hall. Where could she have gone? Did something happen to her?

The last thought makes him sick to his stomach, he runs through the halls, back to Robb’s solar, when Jon and Robb are still talking with each other.

 

“Sansa’s gone,” he gasps out.

 

“What?” Robb and Jon both ask urgently.

“She’s not in her room. I don’t know where else she would be.”

 

“The Godswood?” Jon wonders. “Or the Sept?”

 

“Perhaps she went to find Mother?” Robb thinks aloud.

 

“I’ll check the Sept,” Theon says.

 

“And I the Godswood.” Says Jon.

 

“I’ll check with my mother.” Robb decides. “Meet in the training yard and we’ll regroup from there.”

 

The boys disperse and Theon rushes to the Sept, unsurprised to see she’s not there. The pains in his stomach intensify, and he hopes that Jon or Robb are able to find her. He doesn’t care where she is so long as she’s safe. He heads to the training yard and is the first to get there.

 

When Robb and Jon both show up empty handed, the three boys all rush to the Hunter’s Gate, figuring they’ll check there first and the East Gate next. They grab the direwolves and bring them along. Shaggydog sticks with Theon while the other two stay by their master’s sides.

 

Jon sprints ahead and Theon goes left, Robb right. Theon scans his surroundings but doesn’t see any sign of Sansa when he hears Jon call out.

 

—

 

“Robb! Theon! She’s here!” Jon calls. Theon and Robb come rushing over, the direwolves running ahead of them.

 

“Sansa!” Robb says, breathless. He pulls her into a hug before pulling back and looking at her seriously. “What were you thinking? You shouldn’t be out here alone. Remember what happened last time?”

 

“Joffrey’s gone,” Sansa says.

 

“I know, but still, it’s not safe. Let’s head back inside.”

 

“Robb,” Jon says. “Perhaps we let Theon and Sansa have a moment? He can bring her back inside.”

 

Robb looks from Sansa to Theon, and clearly wants to protest, but Jon pulls him away. 

 

Sansa and Theon stand there awkwardly. Both are too angry to break the silence.

 

Theon takes a deep breath and that seems to give Sansa the will to speak. “What was that about?”

 

“What? I’m not the one who just yelled at me.” Theon retorts. 

 

“You were speaking harshly of the Princess. She’s my friend. I will always defend my friends.”

 

“But not your future husband? Good to know where I stand, my lady.”

 

He walks to the tree and pulls the arrows out of the targets. He brings them over to her and places them in the quiver, slung at her back. 

 

“Let’s go inside,” Theon says, grabbing the leash from her hand and attaching it to Lady, before heading back towards the gate.

 

“We’re not done having this conversation!”

 

“I know. But if you’re going to keep yelling at you I’m going to need some ale.”

 

Sansa gawks. “I am not drinking with you. Whatever you want to say just say it here.”

 

Theon turns around, studies her, and shakes his head. “Nah. I need ale.” He turns back around and begins walking back. “Don’t worry, you can keep yelling at me when we’re inside.”

 

Sansa throws her arms up in exasperation, but has no choice but to follow him, so she does.

 

Theon releases Lady once they’re back in Winterfell and then they storm in silence all the way to the kitchens, where Theon pours some ale for himself and wine for Sansa. She declines it when he offers it to her, so he sets it aside and they head to Sansa’s chambers. When they get there, Theon opens the door for her and she glares at him, walking inside and he follows behind her, closing the door.

 

Once again, stubborn silence wins out, until Sansa can’t take it anymore.

 

“You first,” Sansa tells him.

 

Theon sighs, and takes a swig of ale. “I know Myrcella is not like her mother. But she could become her one day. She’s living her life out in the South. You saw how stuck up those Southerners were. I just don’t want Robb to be disappointed should the Princess’s personality change.”

 

Sansa considers this. It makes sense when he puts it this way. He did it out of his love for Robb, but he couldn’t say that. No. Men were not one to speak their feelings. Of course he did it in a roundabout, backwards way.

 

“Oh,” she says. 

 

Theon’s quiet after that, as if he’s waiting for her to say more. When she doesn’t he chugs the rest of his ale, setting the cup down.

 

“Do you really think I’m like my father?” He asks, shyly, his cheeks turning rosy and his eyes silently begging her to say no.

 

“Of course not!” Sansa tells him honestly. “Well, I guess I’m not sure. I’ve never met your father. But you don’t sound like any of the stories I’ve heard about him. And you’re not like all those things they say about the Ironborn.”

 

Theon lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “But I should be.”

 

“You should?” She questions, stepping closer to him.

 

“I want to be.” He confesses.

 

“You do?”

 

“Sometimes. I know the Ironborn have a reputation as idiots, but while they’re stupid, no one doubts their bravery. While they’re brash and roguish, they’re still confident and strong. I want to be those things.”

 

Sansa smiles. “You are those things.”

 

“Not here I’m not. Here I’m stupid, brash, and roguish. And instead of being brave and confident, people see me as foolish and arrogant. No one respects me here. But on the Iron Islands, the Ironborn respect my father. I want that.”

 

Sansa nods, relishing in how vulnerable and true he’s being with her. She steps further towards him until she’s close enough for him to wrap his arms around her waist. 

 

“You have that. Maybe not with everyone, but Robb respects you so much. And he values your opinion, too. He’s come to you for advice nearly as often as Maester Luwin, and certainly more than Jon or Ser Rodrik. He wants to know what you have to say. He trusts you. And me? You mean so much to me. You’re smart, handsome, strong, brave. Yes, you jest often and can be arrogant at times, but at the end of the day you’re kind and honorable. When we go to the Iron Islands, whenever that will be, you will be one of the most respected Lords to date. What is the saying? ‘What is dead may never die but rises again harder and stronger?’ You bring with you the alliance of the North and the Ironborn will know you as the Lord who gave them rebirth, instead of more ravenging. You’re not like your father, and that’s a good thing. You don’t need to be. So many people already love you and believe in you. Your sister does. Robb does. I do.”

 

A small smile breaks out on Theon’s face, and his arms tighten around her, but his eyes are still cautious, unbelieving. “Say it,” he asks. “Please.”

 

“I love you.”

 

A full grin takes over his face, and he kisses her sweetly, before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. “I love you, too,” he whispers.

 

Sansa can feel her insides go gooey with giddiness. She smiles at him and the peppers kisses all over his face. “You love me!” She says happily.

 

Theon chuckles, but nods, leaning down and bringing his attention back to her lips. He kisses her with more passion this time, their tongues meeting in moving in intoxicating patterns. When she pulls back, she’s breathless and yet eager for more. She’s the one to instigate the next kiss, not that Theon seems to mind. They kiss for a while until there’s a light knock at the door.

 

The door opens. “Sansa? Oh–” Jeyne says, smiling at the doorway. “Should I come back?”

 

Theon barely spares Jeyne a glance. “Yes, you should,” he says, before turning his attention to Sansa’s neck. Sansa giggles, and lightly pushes Theon away.

 

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” She tells him happily.

 

Theon makes a noise that sounds like a whine, but kisses Sansa’s cheek and then straightens up.

 

“Very well,” he tells her, smiling. “I’ll see you soon.” He turns to walk away, greeting Jeyne before leaving the room. The door closes behind him and Jeyne squeals. Sansa does as well.

 

“I have so much to tell you!” Sansa says joyously. She recounts the morning's events, save for the meeting in the Godswood, and Jeyne is just as happy for her as Sansa is. The two girls are a fit of laughter as they do each other's hair for the day, and spend way too long agonizing over Sansa’s outfit choice. They settle on a lilac dress, made out of silk from the Reach and trimmed with Myrish lace. Myrcella had made the dress for her, and it was far too decadent for a regular day in Winterfell, but the day was feeling particularly warm and Sansa herself was feeling warmed with happiness and felt as though the happy day warranted a little dressing up, even if everyone else may think her ridiculous.

Notes:

Theon and Sansa had their first fight! It was resolved quickly though and I'm kinda sad because it was fun to write them bickering. Oh well. Some of you may think the end of the chapter was sappy, and it is a little, I got caught up in sappy feels.

Have a great day!

Chapter 11: Goodbyes

Summary:

First the Princess Myrcella returns to King's Landing, and soon is followed by Lady Catelyn Stark...

Notes:

I wrote the previous chapter so long ago, even though it was posted fairly recently, but it was nice to come back to this story. I hope everyone enjoys the chapter and has a good day!

I have finals next week, so it may be a hot minute before I update again because I hope to spend the weekend prepping for those. But I don't think I've ever really gone that long without updating any of my stories, so we'll see.

On the morning the Princess Myrcella is to return to her home in King’s Landing, Theon wakes bright and early. He readies quickly, knowing Robb wanted to get in some training. Myrcella, her uncle, and her sworn sword, Ser Arys, were to leave before breakfast, so he and Robb had to wake early.

 

He meets Robb in the training yard. Robb looks tired, like he hadn’t slept all night. Theon momentarily worries what he had gotten up to the night before. He knew what he would do if he and Sansa were expected to be parted for a long time. But Robb is Eddard Stark’s trueborn son, and therefore much more honorable than he. He stops worrying, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t tease him about it.

 

“What were you doing last night?” Theon asks.

 

“What do you mean? Nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

“Oh! So, sneaking off with the princess is a regular nightly occurrence?” He teases.

 

Robb blushes, and looks away. “Don’t say anything,” He warns. “I fear her Uncle would kill me.”

“The imp?” Theon asks, laughing.

 

Robb rolls his eyes. “No. The Kingslayer.”

 

“I think the Kingslayer is a little too far away for that.”

 

Robb laughs now, too. “He may track me down. Ella says they get along very well. He’s her favorite uncle. If he thought I–I…”

 

“Compromised her?”

 

Robb blushes, but nods. “He’d kill me.”

 

“He wouldn’t kill you. You're Warden of the North. Son of the King’s best friend. And if what Sansa says is true, Myrcella wouldn’t let him. Besides, nothing happened last night, right?”

 

Robb glares at him, but not seconds into their stare-down the two boys break down, laughing with one another. They go back inside to clean up.

 

Theon puts on the black doublet Sansa made him, and washes his face, but he doesn’t bother to recomb his hair or do anything else before heading to Sansa’s chambers to escort her to outside

 

He knocks on her door and Sansa calls for him to come in. Jeyne is with her, having spent the night so she would be there early enough to say goodbye to the princess. Both girls are dressed, and Jeyne is finishing braiding Sansa’s hair back.

 

“Good morning, my ladies,” Theon greets them.

 

“Good morning, Theon,” Jeyne says.

 

“Good morning, my love,” Sansa says to him sweetly. She tilts her head to the side, granting him access to kiss her. He obliges, walking over and kissing her cheek.

 

“I’m nearly finished,” Jeyne tells him.

 

“Take your time,” He says, sitting down and petting Lady, who is nuzzling into him, enjoying his attention.

 

When Jeyne finishes Sansa’s hair, she rushes off to go find Rickon and make sure he’s ready, leaving Sansa and Theon alone.

 

Sansa ties a fresh ribbon, royal blue velvet embroidered with winter roses and matching the dress Sansa’s wearing, around Lady’s neck, and then comes and sits beside Theon, leaning her head on his shoulder and yawning.

 

“Late night?” Theon asks, laughing lightly.

 

Sansa nods against him. “Jeyne and I stayed up late talking and sewing, and then, when we finally did go to bed, we heard a noise out in the hall. It was just Myrcella, apparently she had snuck off to the kitchens late last night, but afterward we still couldn’t fall asleep for the longest time.”

 

“Hmm,” Theon says in acknowledgement. He smiles knowingly to himself at the confirmation that Myrcella and Robb had snuck off last night. He hopes once again for Robb’s sake that the Lannister’s had nothing to do with Jon Arryn’s death, but he knows it’s a foolish hope. He brushes it aside for now, nothing can be done at the moment.

 

The two of them sit like that for a few minutes, in a peaceful bliss, before Theon looks out the window and sees how late it’s gotten.

 

“We best head outside,” He says. He stands up and then pulls her up, too. He puts Lady’s leash on her, and offers Sansa his arm, and the three of them head outside.

 

When they get there, they go and stand by Jeyne, who is holding a sleepy Rickon’s hand and talking quietly to Jon.

 

Rickon smiles, small and tired, when he sees his sister, and takes her hand with his free one, pulling her from Theon so she can stand closer to him. Theon doesn’t seem bothered by it, though, he merely chuckles a little and stands beside Jon.

 

Moments later, her mother and Maester Luwin come to stand beside them as well, and Jon steps further away, off to the side, for he knows her mother wouldn’t want him near. Sansa shoots Theon a worried look and he goes to stand by Jon once more. When he looks back at her she seems relieved somewhat and he smiles, feeling pleased.

 

When Princess Myrcella exits the castle on Robb’s arm, followed closely behind by her Uncle Tyrion and Ser Arys, they all stand a little straighter. Myrcella smiles at Sansa and the rest of them. She lets go of Robb’s arm, who turns with Ser Arys towards Myrcella’s horse to make sure it’s properly saddled. 

 

Myrcella approaches Lady Stark first, smiling at her and curtsying before her. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Lady Stark,” She tells her sweetly.

 

“It was an honor to have you here, my dear,” Catelyn tells her. She curtsies to her as well, but then opens her arms up to give her a hug. Myrcella eagerly walks into her embrace. After a moment, they pull apart and Myrcella crouches in front of Rickon, who lets go of Sansa and Jeyne’s hands.

 

“Goodbye Ser Rickon,” Myrcella coos at him. “You’ll be at least a foot taller when I see you next. Perhaps you’ll be able to best Bran or Tommen in a duel?”

 

Rickon smiles at the thought, and hugs Myrcella tightly, but is either too tired or too shy to say anything. Myrcella giggles and kisses his cheek. Afterward, Catelyn brings Rickon inside, Maester Luwin following behind them, so Sansa motions Jon and Theon back over.

 

Myrcella hugs Jeyne and Sansa in turn, the three girls all promising to write to each other and send different gifts that they plan to sew or embroider. 

 

Then Myrcella turns to Theon, who takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckle, wishing her well on her journey home. Sansa’s surprised to hear how genuine he sounds as he says it. She thought he mistrusted her deeply, but perhaps he really was just being cautious. It’s hard not to grow to care for a girl as kind and lovely as Myrcella. But then she catches him smirk at Robb when he finally lets go of Myrcella’s hand and Sansa’s not sure what to believe. She makes a mental not to chide Theon for it later.

 

Myrcella looks to Jon, who is looking shyly at his feet. She holds out her hand for him to take, which he does, but he’s still too shy (or stubborn, maybe?) to kiss her knuckle. Unfazed, she merely squeezes his hand in hers.

 

“Cella, sweetling, we have to go.” Her Uncle Tyrion calls out.

 

“Oh. Okay.” Myrcella says. She smiles at them all one last time and walks back over to Robb, who takes both of her hands in his and kisses them each gingerly. She blushes, and then stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek, whispering something in his ear that causes him to grin like an idiot before she walks to Ser Arys who lifts her onto her horse.

 

Robb, still grinning, walks to Sansa’s side and waves Myrcella and the men off with the rest of them.

 

Sansa wants to ask Robb what he and Myrcella were whispering about, but she’s almost scared too. Like it may be some secret she’s not supposed to know. Perhaps she’ll ask Theon what he thinks, later.

 

When the princess is out of sight, they all head inside to eat.

 

—

 

Sansa and Jeyne spent the rest of the morning cooped up in her chambers, working on a riding dress for her mother. Sansa seemed to be spending so much of her time sewing lately, but she didn’t mind. Usually she’d spend her mornings either watching the boys train or practicing archery herself, so she didn’t mind when she and Jeyne (and Myrcella sometimes, too) would turn inside and work on sewing. They’d drink tea and gossip or tell stories and it would always be such fun. 

 

But she and Jeyne were hastily working on this dress, for they needed it to be done by tomorrow night so they could give it to her mother before she left. She and Jeyne had worked on it late into the night before and had been working on it since breakfast this morning. Her hands hurt and she could tell Jeyne’s did, too.

 

“Perhaps we could give it to your mother when she returns?” Jeyne wonders aloud, tying off a row of stitches.

 

“What’s the point of a new riding dress if she gets it after she’s done riding?” Sansa asks.

 

“Well, we’re not going to finish it in time. Unless your brothers or Theon know how to sew and we can recruit their efforts, as well?”

 

Sansa laughs. “I’m afraid none of them will be of any help in that regard.”

 

“Perhaps just a respite then? We’ll finish the dress, we just won’t have time to embroider. Maybe we just line the skirt with ribbon and add a ruffle to the end of the sleeves? Your mother is very practical. She wouldn’t want an intricate dress if it were meant to be muddied while riding.”

 

What Jeyne says is true, and so Sansa agrees to a quick break before they continue on it. They decide some sunshine would do them both well, and so they leash up Lady and do a lap around the grounds. When they’re back, they get in just a little more sewing before it’s time for lunch.

 

Sansa sits in the Great Hall in between Jeyne and Robb and across from Theon, with Jon at his side. 

 

“Hey, Sans, before I forget, Mother wants to see you after lunch. She said to go to her chambers.” Robb tells her.

 

“Whatever for?” She asks, looking at Robb in slight confusion.

 

Robb smiles and shrugs at her. “You’re to be the Lady of Winterfell while Mother is away. I think she just wants to give you some pointers.”

Sansa nods, feeling worry and nerves swell in her throat and stomach. She sets her fork down, unable to eat any more.

 

Everyone at the table seems to sense her worry. Jeyne and Theon both reach out and take one of her hands, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and Robb’s eyes soften at her.

 

“Don’t worry. It will be fine. It’s only for while she’s away, and you’ll have me and Jeyne and Maester Luwin. All will be well.”

Sansa nods, absentmindedly. She looks to Theon’s eyes for reassurance and he smiles at her, soft and loving. The sight of him makes her feel infinitely better, and she turns back to Robb.

 

“Okay. I’ll go see her when I finish eating.”

 

Robb nods, and everyone goes back to their plates. Everyone but Jeyne, that is, who suddenly wonders, “How will we finish the dress in time? If your mother has you shadow her like the Princess Myrcella did, it will just be me working on it.”

 

“What dress?” Theon asks.

 

“We’ve been working on a riding dress to give to Lady Stark. But I guess it was all for naught.” She sighs dramatically.

 

“I’m sure you could finish it on your own,” Robb offers. “You are a very capable seamstress.”

Jeyne blushes at the compliment. “Oh I certainly could! But I’ll be sewing alone. With no one to keep me company. Think of how dreadfully dull that would be!”

 

Theon and Robb both roll their eyes, but they know Jeyne is only putting on a show. With so many sisters, you have to be dramatic from time to time if you want attention, Jeyne had told Sansa once.

 

“Jon can keep you company?” Theon suggests.

 

Jon, who had been quietly sitting throughout the entire meal, blushes and stares down at his plate.

 

“Yeah,” Robb agrees. “Theon and I were going to go over some plans his sister sent, and Jon expressed no interest in that. I’m sure he’d be happy to keep you company.”

 

Jeyne looks to Jon hopefully. “Oh, that would be splendid! Would you, please, Jon?”

 

It takes Jon a moment to work up the courage to look her in the eye, but he nods, slowly. “Aye, my lady.”

 

—

 

Sansa finds her Mother in her chambers, just as Robb said. Her mother explains to her all the responsibilities Sansa will be handling in her absence, as well as who to go to for help with each matter, and when that’s done, her mother offers to rebraid her hair, if she’d like.

 

Sansa sits in a chair while her mother combs through her curls. She’s always loved the feeling of someone playing with her hair, but there’s something especially soothing about her mother doing it.

 

“Mother?” Sansa asks. “Do you really think I can handle it?”

 

“Yes of course, my dear. You’ll do great. And it’s only temporary. Think of it as practice.” Her mother assures her.

 

“Practice?”

 

Her mother sighs. “You’ll be Lady of the Iron Islands one day. Theon will be a liege lord just as your father. Just as Robb will be. Your responsibilities will be more or less the same there, too. Think of it as practice, for that.”

 

Sansa considers this. She doesn’t want to admit that thinking of it that way makes her more nervous than before. She has people who can help her here, in her home. She won’t have that on Pyke. At least, not in the same abundance.

 

“I’ve grown to like Theon more,” Sansa says, hoping to change the subject.

 

Her mother smiles a tight smile. “I’ve noticed.”

 

“You could be nicer to him. He’s not like his father. Not really. I think you’d like him, if you gave him a chance.”

 

Her mother sets the comb down, running her fingers through Sansa’s hair and beginning to braid and twist it. She’s silent, and Sansa wonders if she’s upset her mother. She hopes not. She doesn’t want to have to choose between her and Theon. Not that it would ever come to that. She knows her mother likes Theon…to a certain extent. She knows he’s always been like a brother to Robb, and her mother appreciates him enough to treat him with the proper respect in public, but that seems to be where her courtesy stops.

 

“I like Theon,” her mother says finally.

 

Sansa laughs. “Mother!” She admonishes.

 

Her mother smiles, and the two women laugh lightly. “I’ll grow to like him. I’m sure I would, if I spent more time with him.”

 

Sansa knows she is only saying this, but the idea still sounds appealing. “Will you?” She asks. “Spend more time with him, when you’re back from King’s Landing?”

 

Her mother sighs, tying off her braid. “Yes, sweetling. If it’s really that important to you.”

 

Sansa smiles, standing up and hugging her mother excitedly. “Thank you!” She exclaims. Her mother hugs her back, tightly.

 

“Of course. Now run along. Find Rickon and have him stay with you or your brother so that Maester Luwin and I can finish up some last minute things.”

 

Sansa nods and grabs Rickon, who is sitting and listening to Old Nan tell him stories of their father, aunt, and uncles, from their childhood. Rickon would rather spend time with Robb than sew with her and Jeyne, but Sansa knows Robb is busy, so she takes him with her anyway, thinking she and Jon can trade off and Jon can take him to the Wolfswood or something.

 

She can hear Jeyne laughing from all the way at the other end of the hall when they near her chamber door, and Sansa wonders what could possibly be so amusing. It’s easy to get Jeyne to laugh, but Jon is not exactly a funny guy.

 

Whatever it was, Jeyne’s laughing dies down a little when she sees Sansa and Rickon. “How were things with your mother?” Jeyne asks.

 

“Good. I’m here to help again.” Sansa says, sitting down beside Jeyne and grabbing a needle and some thread. “Jon, perhaps you can take Rickon and the wolves to the Wolfswood or something? Mother wants him preoccupied.”

 

Jon nods. “Sure.” He stands up, and lifts Rickon onto his shoulders, heading towards the door, Ghost and Shaggydog following behind.

 

“Thank you for keeping me company, Jon,” Jeyne says. “Sorry if you found sitting with me dull.”

 

“Of course, Lady Jeyne. I’ll be happy to keep you company any time.” Jon says, nodding at the two girls and then leaving.

 

Sansa begins hemming an edge, and asks, “What had you laughing so much when we came in?”

 

“What? Oh! Nothing really, Jon had just made an attempt at a joke.” Jeyne says, as she stitches a ruffle.

 

“An attempt?”

 

“Yes. It wasn’t very funny, but the effort was there, and that’s what made it so…laughable? I don’t know. I suppose you had to be there.” 

 

“If you say so.”

 

—

 

The morning her mother and Ser Rodrik are set to leave, Sansa wakes bright and early, readying quickly before running off and rousing Rickon so he can say goodbye, too. 

 

They head outside, and see her mother, wearing the dress Jeyne and her had given her the night before, standing beside a horse and talking with Robb and Maester Luwin. 

 

Her mother smiles when she sees them and motions for them to come over, lifting Rickon into her arms when they reach her. 

 

“Be good, you three. And Rickon, you must listen to your brother and sister, as well as Maester Luwin. Do you promise?”

 

Rickon nods. “I promise.”

 

“Good.” Her mother kisses and hugs Rickon, and then Sansa, and lastly Robb, before Robb helps her get on the horse.

 

Theon appears, leading another horse, for Ser Rodrik, and minutes later, when Ser Rodrik comes outside with the last of their supplies, Theon helps secure it to the horses and Ser Rodrik and her mother head off.

 

Sansa stands there, with Theon and her brothers, waving as her mother disappears, and when she’s out of sight, they head inside.

 

Sansa takes a deep breath upon reaching the Great Hall. She’s Lady Stark now. She only hopes she can be as good in the role as her mother.

Chapter 12: Lady of Winterfell

Notes:

Hey guys! I hope everyone is well! Sorry this chapter took so long to post, I was traveling a lot and then got really busy with work.

Shoutout to my dear friend for helping me with this chapter!

The next couple/few chapters will sort of seem uneventful/unimportant, but I do have a big plot twist coming up that aligns with the end of season 1 and the birth of Danaerys’ dragons!

So stay tuned and have a great day!

Sansa’s mother had been gone for several months, and Sansa had found that being Lady of Winterfell wasn’t too much of a challenge. Robb, as Lord of Winterfell, handled most of the responsibilities, and the things she did have to handle, she had Maester Luwin to help her with. 

 

Sansa’s responsibilities included managing Winterfell’s accounts, overseeing the castle’s staff and resources, hosting any visitors (which proved easy as they hadn’t had visitors since Princess Myrcella left), and any other sort of daily mishap or problem.

 

Her mother had a great system in place for Winterfell’s accounts and resources, and managing the castle staff wasn’t hard because she knew all the servants and got along with them well.

 

She’d spend her mornings with Maester Luwin, lunch with Robb to go over what his morning had been like, and then she was able to spend her afternoons with Jeyne, or Rickon, and sometimes Theon, too, if he could slip away from Robb.

 

Things had been going very smoothly, and Sansa was happy because her mother was to be home within the week. She was happy she’d be able to see her mother soon, but she knew she’d miss her role as the Lady of Winterfell. She was telling this Theon over breakfast. They were sitting in the Broken Tower, trying to get a few moments alone before their mornings got busy.

 

“It was fun,” Sansa says to him. “Being Lady of Winterfell. And Maester Luwin says I’m quite good at it.”

“You are!” Theon smiles at her. “Robb and Jon would agree, too.”

 

“I’m going to miss it.” 

 

“Eh,” Theon shrugs. “You’ll be the Lady of the Iron Islands soon enough, I would enjoy the lack of responsibilities while you can.”

 

He says this so casually, but it means so much to her. Sansa spends her time dreaming of fairytales and how her future would play out, so it’s easy for her to envision their life together, but she knows Theon is not as optimistic and whimsical as she, so it’s sweet to know he thinks of their future, too.

 

“You think?” Sansa coos.

 

Theon grins, and pulls her close to him, his lips so close to hers, she can easily feel his warm breath on her skin when he says seductively, “I think.”

 

He closes the space between them and Sansa eagerly reciprocates. They kiss until they lose track of time. Only stopping when they’re interrupted by Jeyne.

 

“Sansa? Theon?” Jeyne calls. “Oh!”

 

Sansa blushes and leans away when Jeyne catches them, but Theon doesn’t share her embarrassment.

 

“Hello, my lady.” Theon winks at her.

 

“Robb’s looking for you,” Jeyne tells him. 

 

Theon nods and stands up, pulling Sansa up with him. He kisses her cheek and then nods at Jeyne. “I’ll see you later, my ladies.” Theon tells them, sauntering off.

 

When he’s gone, Jeyne giggles and Sansa blushes a deeper red. “You are sooo lucky it was me who found you!” Jeyne tells her. “Robb almost sent Jon.”

 

Sansa lets out a choked sound. Jon would not have been happy. And she doesn’t want Theon to get into any more fights because of her.

 

They pack up the leftovers of breakfast and drop it off at the kitchens. Then Jeyne accompanies her to the Glass Gardens to go over inventory with the head gardener. When that’s done, they meet up with Maester Luwin and Rickon, and Jeyne takes over teaching Rickon’s lessons while Maester Luwin and Sansa head back to the Great Keep to go over the day’s daily matters.

 

“It appears, my lady, that there’s a conflict in Wintertown. Robb is busy with correspondence with his father, plans to rebuild the broken tower, and dealing with a conflict happening at the wall, so it would be good if you were able to handle it, my dear.” Maester Luwin tells her.

 

“What is it?” Sansa asks.

 

“Two of the farmers at the edge of town are having some conflict over swine.”

 

“Swine?”

 

“Pigs, my lady.”

 

“Oh.” Gross! She thinks.

 

“Yes. Apparently one farmer’s swine wandered into the neighboring farm, and the neighbor is refusing to give it back. But the neighbor is saying that the pig belongs to him, and so it’s hard to tell who to believe.”

 

“All of this is over one pig? A singular pig?”

 

“Yes, my lady.”

 

“Is it really that important?”

 

“Yes, my lady. It’s part of the farmers’ and their families' livelihoods. Losing the pig won’t be detrimental, but it will hurt them. Especially when your brother says there’s rumors in King’s Landing that the King will raise taxes in the North.”

 

“There’s no way my father would advise that!”

 

“I don’t think so. And neither does your brother, but we need to be aware of the rumors.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

“But don’t you worry about that, my lady. Your parents and your brother have it under control.”

 

“Of course,” she demures, even though she will be worrying about it.

 

“The farmers are waiting in the Great Keep. Why don’t we go talk to them? Focus on one task at a time.”

 

Sansa nods, following Maester Luwin inside.

 

—

 

“It’s my pig!”

 

“No! It’s mine!” 

 

Sansa had been listening to this back-and-forth bickering for the last 20 minutes, and was getting nowhere. It was exhausting, and overwhelming, too, because she couldn’t seem to handle such a simple issue.

 

“Enough!” Sansa demands. She takes a deep breath and composes herself. “We are going to do this one at a time. Mister Alaric, you will talk first. Mister Garth, if you would be so kind as to wait in the hall, we will send you in soon to talk next.”

 

The farmers are surprised at her tone, for she had been rather quiet up to this point, but both men nod, and Garth walks outside the room.

 

“Now, Mister Alaric, please have a seat and tell your side of the story. Remember, your honor is at stake, and if you are found lying, my brother, Robb Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, will see you rightly punished.”

 

Alaric nods, and takes a seat. “It’s my pig, my lady. Same breed as all my other swine. If you came down to my farm I could show you.”

 

“Then how did it get to your neighbor’s land?”

 

“My son found a hole in our fenceline the other day. It’s patched up now, but I suspect that was how.”

 

“I see.” Sansa says. “I will speak to Mister Garth next, but when that is done, I would like to visit your farm if that is alright?”

 

“Of course, milady.”

 

Alaric leaves and Garth enters.

 

“Please have a seat. Tell us what happened, and remember, your honor is at stake. If you are found lying, my brother, Robb Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, will see you rightly punished.”

 

Garth nods, and looks nervous, his face pale and sweat-lined. 

 

“The pig was found on my property, milady, I believe that makes it mine.”

 

Sansa looks to Maester Luwin, silently asking, is that a law?

 

Maester Luwin shakes his head.

 

She motions to the door and Maester Luwin brings Alaric back inside.

 

“Mister Alaric has stated that the pig in question is the same breed as all his others. I will be visiting his farm this afternoon, and if he’s truthful, the pig will be returned to him. Do you have any other concerns? Complaints?”

 

“A patch of my wheat crop was destroyed by the pig.”

 

“You will be compensated in silver for the damages of that.”

 

Garth nods. “I’d appreciate that.”

 

Sansa smiles. “I’m glad to hear it. I will be visiting your neighbor’s farm this afternoon to make sure the pig is, indeed, his. Perhaps I may visit yours so I can access the exact damage the pig did to your wheat crop.”

 

Garth nods. 

 

“Good. You and Alaric are dismissed. Maester Luwin will escort you both to the gate. I shall see you later today.”

 

Maester Luwin leads the man out and Sansa heads to Robb’s solar, so that she can tell Robb she’d be going to the farms after lunch.

 

She knocks at the door, and hears Robb call out, “Enter!”

 

She opens the door and sees Robb sitting at his desk, looking over some papers, as Jon and Theon hover over his shoulders.

 

“Sansa!” Robb says happily. He stands up from his desk and walks over to hug her. Jon smiles at her, and Theon grins, but he doesn’t walk over to greet her, for he always shy’s from affection when Robb or her mother are near. 

 

“I’m going to Wintertown today,” Sansa tells them.

 

“Whatever for?” Robb asks, moving back to his desk chair. 

 

“I need to look at one of the farmer’s pigs, and another’s wheat crop to solve a conflict.” Sansa says.

 

The three boys laugh, though she’s not sure why. Robb nods. “You’ll not go alone.” 

 

“I can take her,” Theon offers.

 

“Or I can,” Jon says pointedly.

 

Robb looks between the boys. “Jon can take you.”

 

Sansa rolls her eyes. “We’re going after lunch.” Sansa tells her brother.

 

“Oh!” Jon says.

 

“Is that a problem, Snow?” Theon asks, goading. 

 

Jon glares at him. “I sort of have a thing to do…”

 

“As I said, I can take her,” Theon offers again, looking at Sansa and then at Robb.

 

Robb ponders a moment, shoots Theon a look, and then shrugs. “Theon can take you. But keep things respectable, please.”

 

“Of course, Robby,” Sansa says. Just as Theon says:

“No promises.”

 

Jon glares daggers at Theon and Robb shoots him a stern look. Theon laughs and shakes his head. “I’m only joking. It will be strictly business. I’ll be on my best behavior.” Theon promises. 

 

“That’s not saying much,” Jon argues. But Robb seems pleased enough. 

“Very well.” Robb says. He looks to Sansa. “Anything else?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay. Theon will come get you after lunch. And I want you home before dinner. Or I send out a search party.”

 

Sansa laughs.

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“Yes, Robby.” Sansa agrees.

 

She waves the three boys goodbye, smiling sweetly at Theon, and then goes to look for Jeyne and Rickon, wanting to sit in on Rickon’s lesson and see how he’s progressing.

 

—

 

Sansa stood in the stables while Theon finished tacking up his horse. He had already saddled and tacked hers, for she didn’t ride often enough to know how to do it properly.

 

“How was your morning, my love?” Sansa asks, petting her horse’s face. Lady, feeling jealous, was circling her legs.

 

“It was good. We received a raven from Asha! She got the supplies not too long ago, and has started cultivating Harlaw.”

 

“Oh how splendid! I do hope she’ll keep us updated on its progress.”

 

“I asked her to, but we’ll see. It will probably be slow progress at first, anyway. There,” he says, as he finishes strapping on the girdle. “Are you ready to go, love?”

 

Sansa smiles at him, and nods.

 

Sansa leads the way out of the stables, Lady behind her, and Theon behind them, pulling the two horses. When they’re outside, Theon lifts Sansa onto her horse with ease, and then climbs onto his own.

 

The ride to Alaric’s farm is nice and easy, and Sansa quite enjoys it, because it’s been so long since she’s had time to simply talk with Theon. They chat about random, little things, when lately they’ve only had time for the big, important ones.

 

When they arrive, Alaric and his wife and children all stand outside to greet them. Sansa smiles at the sight of such a happy, loving family. It makes her miss her parents and siblings even more. She longs for a day for them to all be together in Winterfell again, but the thought dawns on her that that day may never be. Her father was hand of the King, his place was in King’s Landing. Her mother would be home soon enough, and she was sure that Bran and Arya would be back, but would there ever be a time where they’re all in Winterfell at once? And what of herself? She was to be married in a matter of years! The plan was for them to stay in Winterfell until Theon’s father died, but the plan could easily change. Or Balon could easily drop dead. The last time she had spoken of her future with Theon, he had mentioned that he thought his Father would be dead long before they married. Was that the truth? Or just a guess? Would her family all get to be together but her? Would–

 

“Are you good?” Theon asks, as he lifts her down from the saddle.

 

“Yes! Sorry.” She smiles at Theon, and then turns to Alaric. “It is good to see you again.” She tells him.

 

“You as well, my lady,” Alaric bows. The rest of his family does as well, and then he and his son lead Theon and Sansa over to where they keep their pigs.

 

It’s very muddy, and while Sansa had worn her riding boots, she had also worn one of her favorite dresses. She had not planned on getting it soiled. 

 

She looks to Theon, only to find him looking at her. He laughs when their eyes meet. “Here, my lady,” he says, stepping closer to her. Before she has a chance to ask what he’s doing, he lifts her up and carries her through the mud, setting her down on a dry patch of dirt. Sansa laughs girlishly until she remembers where she is. Who she is. She is the Lady of Winterfell. She must act as such. She schools her expression and eyes Theon to do the same. He does, albeit reluctantly.

 

It is clear that Alaric was telling the truth, and the pig is indeed his. Next he shows them the fenceline, which is now all patched up, and then they head to Garth’s farm. He and his family are also standing outside to greet them, and after he shows his damaged wheat crop, Theon hands him an appropriate amount of silver.

 

They’re finished with the errand sooner than Sansa had expected them to be, and so they ride back to Winterfell at a leisurely pace.

 

“What were you thinking about earlier?” Theon asks. “When we arrived at the first farm you seemed so lost in thought.”

 

“Oh.” Sansa blushes. “Nothing, really. Just…”

 

“Just…” Theon encourages.

 

“I don’t know the next time my whole family will be in Winterfell. Bran will become a knight. Arya too, at this rate. I’m sure you’ve heard Father got her a dancing master for her sword. Mother will come home, and I’m sure Father will visit…but when? Robb will always be here, but eventually Rickon will leave, too. And I’ll go to the Iron Islands, and Winterfell will never be my home again.”

 

Theon considers her words. “I thought you were excited to see Pyke?” He asks, his voice a little said.

 

“I am!” Sansa assures him. “I’m excited. But I’m scared and sad, too. Jeyne can’t come with me. I’ll have you, but you’ll be busy being Lord of the Iron Islands, that we’ll only see each other for parts of the day. I don’t know anyone there. Not like I do here. Here, the entirety of Winterfell is like a family to me.”

 

“You’ll have family in Pyke, too. Asha will be a sister to you. And the Ironborn will grow to like you, I truly believe that. Plus, give it another five years, and we’ll have lots of little krakens to keep you company, too.”

Sansa smiles and blushes at the same time. Equal parts giddy and embarrassed. “You think about our children?” She asks him, genuinely surprised.

 

Theon shrugs. “Sure. I haven’t planned out their names or anything like that. But I’d like to think that a decade from now, we’d be well settled on the Islands, at least one or two babes.”

 

Sansa smiles. “Only two?” She coos, curiosity and endearment filling her with warmth.

 

“Ideally more,” Theon confesses. “But I don’t want to overwhelm you, so, however many you want. Preferably at least one girl who’s got her mother’s beauty.”

 

Sansa beams and Theon’s close enough that all he has to do is lean over to kiss her. They kiss for a few moments, but then Sansa’s horse grows fidgety, so they have to stop.

 

“What would we name them?” Sansa wonders contentedly. “Would you want to name them after your brothers?”

 

Theon thinks this over. “Maybe. I…I don’t know. I didn’t really know them too well, and it’s possible Asha would rather name her sons for them. But it might be expected of me. I’d probably have to name one after Rodrik, at least.”

 

“I like the name Rodrik!” Sansa decides. “Plus it’s a Northern and an Islands name, so it represents both of us.”

 

Theon grins at her, and then chuckles. “Let’s not name our children until they're born, aye? Who knows, we may only have daughters.” 

 

“I’d give you an heir!” Sansa says, feeling defensive.

 

Theon grows serious, and reaches over and squeezes her hand. “Of course, love, I know you will. But there’s no pressure to. That’s all I meant. And I do think it’s bad luck to think of names before you’re even with child. Surely it’s a bad omen.”

 

Sansa laughs. “I didn’t realize you were so religious!”

Theon shrugs. “I don’t pray often, but that doesn’t mean I’m not religious. There isn’t a sea in Winterfell, so it’s kind of hard to honor the Drowned God.”

 

Sansa nods in understanding. “Would you want me to convert? When we’re married.”

 

Theon shrugs. She clicks her tongue in annoyance. He can be so calm about important things and she finds it rather irksome. “If you want to, sure. I do think we’ll need to have an Ironborn ceremony when we wed. And our children will need to follow the Drowned God, but you can follow what you’d like. I can even build you a Sept or a Godswood like your Father did, if it means that much.” He doesn’t tell her that he’s already planned for that and sent a weirwood sapling over to Asha to be planted.

 

Sansa pulls on her reins until her horse stops. Theon does as well when he sees her.

 

“What?” He asks, he quickly scans the area but doesn’t see anyone around, and Lady seems fine, so he doesn’t think there will be an ambush or anything of the sort.

 

“How long until we need to be back?” She asks, dismounting her horse.

 

“A few hours. We’re about half an hour away though, so we’ll be fine on time.” Theon says. “What are you doing?”

 

“Get down from your horse!” Sansa says, with as much command in her voice as she can muster.

 

Theon chuckles, but obliges. “Why?” He asks.

 

She doesn’t answer him. Not with words, anyway. Instead, the second his feet hit the ground she pulls his face to hers and kisses him passionately. He takes no time at all to return the kiss, and lifts her in his arms, so that he doesn’t have to lean down at all. Knowing the horses won’t go far with Lady there to watch them, he carries her to a nearby tree, not breaking his lips from hers as he does, and gently presses her back against it, his body pressed against her front. They kiss like that for hours, and it takes some serious self control on Theon’s part not to get carried away. Talking about their future children has made him wish they didn’t have to be such a far away idea. But Robb would kill him, and he has more respect for Sansa than that, anyway. He can wait. A little longer.

 

Sansa frets about her messed up hair as they ride back, but she doesn’t truly seem to care. Theon says she can just blame it on riding in the wind. Sansa’s not so sure people will buy it, but Jeyne is the only one who sees her in such a state when they return, and quickly ushers her off to her chambers to fix it.

 

Come dinner time, Sansa sits at the high table with Jeyne, her brothers, and Theon, freshly washed and dressed in purple, as Theon had told her once it was one of his favorite colors to see her in. She smiles and laughs at the story Robb and Jon are telling, but it’s absentminded laughter. What she’s really thinking about, is not the story her brothers tell, but instead, the stories she’ll one day tell her children. Her little kraken babies with eyes the color of the sea. It’s a happy thought.

Chapter 13: Truths Revealed

Notes:

A short little chapter because I haven't posted in a minute and don't know when I'll be able to post next. Happy Easter! I hope everyone has a great day!

Sansa’s mother returned a fortnight ago with a plethora of news. The most shocking was that none of Queen Cersei’s children were King Robert’s. They were all the Kingslayer’s. The King, however, did not know this, and her father had thought it best not to tell him. Joffrey was in the Vale, and reports of his behavior had shown he was not fit to rule, in a few years he would have a chance to prove himself, but until then her father hoped to teach Prince Tommen honor and integrity, in hopes that he could be a good successor to the King. So far, that has been going well. Her father had gotten him to sit in on council meetings on occasion, and Tommen and Bran were both shaping up to be skilled future knights. As was Arya, apparently. All three children were excelling in their sword fighting lessons.

 

Sansa was unsure how Robb was taking the news that his betrothed was illegitimate. She had tried to talk to him about it, but he had dodged her efforts. She knew better than to have Theon talk to him about it, she still remembered how skeptical Theon had been of Myrcella when they first decided to send Catelyn to King’s Landing, so she had had Jon try and talk to him instead. Jon had proved as unsuccessful as she.

 

Amongst other news, Sansa’s father also had enough reason to believe that the Lannister’s were behind Jon Arryn’s death. Sansa knew that was also weighing on Robb. The Lannister’s were not to be trusted and Myrcella was one of them. But neither of their parents had mentioned breaking the betrothal. Probably because they couldn’t do so without causing suspicions. The Starks would be considered fools to break a betrothal with Myrcella. She was a Princess, afterall. At least, to the eyes of Westeros.

 

In Essos, word had spread that Daenerys Targaryen was expecting a child. According to her father, the King was not handling the news well. But her father believed they shouldn’t grow too worried while the Targaryen and the Dothraki were on the other side of the sea.

 

The news was overwhelming, and while Sansa was grateful it wasn’t her burden to bear, she was worried for Robb, who seemed overwhelmed with all the new information, and worried for her father and siblings, too, who were on the other end of the continent and out of reach should bad things happen.

 

She was grateful to have Theon, Jeyne, and the rest of her family at her side. Now that her mother was home, and she no longer had the responsibilities of the Lady of Winterfell, she was determined to help Robb in any way she could. She and Jeyne would often spend their mornings in Robb’s solar, with him, Theon, and Jon. 

 

On this particular morning, however, Sansa and Jeyne were in her chambers, sprawled out on her bed as they tried to come up with a way to get Robb to talk about how he feels with all of the new developments.

 

“Perhaps we suggest he visits King’s Landing? Maybe, if he saw your father, Arya, Bran, the Princess Myrcella, maybe it would ease his mind some? I’m sure seeing your father would help him a great deal.” Jeyne suggests.

 

Sansa thinks this over. “Maybe. But I don’t think Mother would let him. She didn’t when Father’s letter arrived. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

“But you’re a Stark. And Jon. And Rickon. And it would be much easier for Robb to go because it wouldn’t have to be a secret trip like your mother’s was.”

 

“Jon’s a Snow,” Sansa corrects. “And Rickon’s a babe. And I’m just a girl. Mother will never let him go.”

 

The two girls fall silent in thought after that. Until Jeyne speaks up again. “Has Theon tried to talk to him?”

 

Sansa shakes her head. “No. I told him not to. Theon is not so very good at that sort of thing.”

 

“He’s good with you,” Jeyne reminds her. Sansa blushes. Theon did always find a way to comfort her, when she thought no one could. Perhaps he should talk to Robb? At this point, it’s worth a shot.

 

“I’ll talk to Theon at lunch,” Sansa decides.

 

“Good.” Jeyne smiles. “Now, we best get to work on your nameday dress if we want it to be done in time.” Jeyne sits up and then hops off the bed, walking over to Sansa’s desk were a half-finished gown of thick purple cotton, with blue thread detailing of embroidered winter roses and snowflakes and curly-cue designs. 

 

Sansa rolls her eyes and laughs at Jeyne’s easy mood and demeanor. “Okay,” she agrees, and the two girls sew for the rest of the morning.

 

Just before lunch time, Jon and Theon come by Sansa’s chambers to escort the girls to the great hall, and Sansa has Jeyne go ahead with Jon so she can talk to Theon. 

 

Jon seems weary to intentionally leave Sansa alone with Theon, but Jeyne pulls him along, ushering him out the door.

 

Sansa sits at her vanity and applies fresh perfume, motioning for Theon to sit in another chair. He does, and Lady rushes over to him, seeking attention.

 

“How’s your morning been, my love?” Sansa asks.

 

“Good,” Theon shrugs and smiles at the same time. “Yours?”

 

Sansa smiles at him through her mirror. “Good. How does Robb seem to you?”

 

“Eh. He’s quiet, lost in his thoughts, but he’s fine. There’s not much chaos in the North right now, so it’s all easy to manage.”

 

“Has he written to Myrcella?” Sansa asks hopefully. Robb used to write to her weekly, Sansa did as well, but he hadn’t written since their mother returned.

 

Theon’s silent, which is answer enough. “...I don’t think he knows what to say to her. Or maybe, it’s more that he’s worried he’ll say the wrong thing.”

 

“Do you think he hopes to break the betrothal?” Sansa gasps, turning to look at him.

 

Theon shakes his head. “No. He’s too honorbound to do that.”

 

Sansa lets out a breath of relief, and then plays over his words. “What do you mean?”

 

Theon grows quiet once again, and Sansa stares him down until he speaks. “He and the princess…got well acquainted with each other when she was in Winterfell.” 

 

Sansa rolls her eyes. She had seen that herself. Her brother had seemed quite enamored with his future bride. She knows Theon must be implying other things, and she’s embarrassed that her innocence prevents her from knowing exactly what he’s getting at. “Theon?” She questions him further. He shakes his head at her, unwilling to say more. Sansa’s mind drifts and she gasps at her realization. “Myrcella’s not with child, is she?”

 

Much to Sansa’s dismay, Theon bursts out laughing. After a moment, he pulls himself together and shakes his head. “No, love, she’s not expecting. Robb’s a fool in love but he’s not an idiot. There’s plenty a couple can do that won’t result in a child.”

 

Sansa calms at that, and can’t help her curious mind from asking, “such as?”

 

Theon’s eyes grow hungry as he looks her over. He shakes his head to rid him of it, but it doesn’t seem to really work. “I…I shouldn’t say.”

 

Sansa stands up and walks over to him, sitting in his lap. His hands immediately find her waist, and she leans closer to him. “Could you show me?” She whispers. She presses her lips to his neck and can hear his sharp inhale.

 

“Aye,” he says. “I can show you.” His hands tighten on her waist, but he doesn’t move. After a while, Sansa pulls back and looks him in the eye. His eyes are black, and she can feel herself grow wet.

 

“Will you show me?”

 

“I shouldn’t. I want to, but I shouldn’t. I don’t have the same kind of restraint. I’ll likely get carried away and–”

 

Sansa pulls his hands to the laces at the back of her dress, interrupting him.

 

“Sansa!” He warns.

 

“Theon!” She challenges.

 

They stare each other down for several moments, and then in a swift, surprising motion, Theon’s pulled her against him and his lips are on hers. He lifts her in his arms, standing up and walking towards her bed. He lays her down, gently, at the edge of the bed, and instead of crawling on top of her, like she thought he might, he gets on his knees, and pulls her by the legs until she’s closer to him. He lifts up her skirts slowly, and Sansa pulls them to gather at her waist, looking at him with a curious, slightly nervous, expression.

 

“Are you sure?” Theon asks, his voice raspy.

 

Sansa nods.

 

“Close your eyes,” He commands lightly.

 

“Why?” She wonders.

 

“Sansa!”

 

She closes her eyes at once, and a moment later she can feel him pulling down her smallclothes. She can feel her cheeks growing hot and is grateful her eyes are closed so she can’t see her own embarrassment. She waits for Theon to talk, to tell her what he plans to do. His hands are lightly stroking her thighs, and she’s fighting the urge to squirm. She’s about to ask him what he’s doing when her breath catches in her throat after she feels his own breath inches from her core.

 

She doesn’t even have the chance to gasp when she feels his tongue on her. It feels weird at first, and yet impossibly good. She expects to feel embarrassed, but her mind is stuck on the wonderful feeling as well as her willingness not to squirm. She’s unsuccessful in the latter, and bucks her hips against the rhythm of his tongue. He brings one hand to her stomach and gently presses down on it to still her. Her hands find his hair, gripping it tightly. She gasps and then moans when she feels his tongue enter her, and it only seems to encourage him further. He continues his delicious rhythm until she feels her body begin to shake and build, the pleasure overwhelming her. 

 

“Theon!” She gasps out, her voice near a scream. She covers her mouth in horror, but doesn’t have a moment to worry about it because the next thing she knows is the waves of pleasure running through her. Her body shakes and she clutches tightly at his curls again. When her body has relaxed, he pulls away from her, pulling her skirts back down to cover her.

 

She blushes when their eyes meet, and looks down in embarrassment, but he leans over her and pulls her chin up to meet his gaze. He grins at her, and then kisses her sweetly, a contrast to moments ago when his attentions had been passionate and almost overwhelming. She finds it weird to taste herself on him, but other than that, their kiss feels just like it always does, and she finds great comfort in that.

 

Theon leans in again and kisses her cheek, before standing up and gazing down at her. A gentle grin on his lips.

 

Sansa blushes deeper, and Theon chuckles. “How do you feel?” 

 

“I…I…is that what it always feels like?”

 

“When done properly, yes.” Theon tells her.

 

Sansa smiles bashfully, looking away from him briefly before looking back in his eyes. “Can we do it again?”

 

Theon grins his cocky, self-assured grin, and nods at her. “Aye, love, we can do it again. As much as you want.”

Chapter 14: Brothels, Dragons, and Broken Hearts

Summary:

The plot thickens!

Theon had talked to Robb, though it was a couple weeks later due to busy times for the Warden of the North. Robb confessed to being conflicted on his feelings for Myrcella. On the one hand, he cared for her a great deal. Or, he thought he did. She was good, kind, and beautiful, but she was also the product of incest. And she came from a family of schemers with no code of honor. On the other hand, honor was weighing over Robb a great deal. He hadn’t compromised the princess, but he did…grow acquainted with her, and given her status and title that could be seen as compromising should anyone find out. Theon had assured Robb that no one would find out, should he want to break the betrothal, though breaking the betrothal would be scandalous enough. Robb, however, did not want to break the betrothal. Not yet, anyway, he just needed more time to think.

 

“You could always go to the brothel,” Theon had suggested. Half joking, half serious.

 

Robb looked at him appalled. “Why would you say that? I’m not going to do that. I would never do that to her.” 

 

“It was just a suggestion,” Theon defends. “It couldn’t hurt.”

 

“It couldn’t hurt? It couldn’t hurt ? What the hell is wrong with you? You haven’t been back have you? I thought you hadn’t gone since the incident? Don’t tell me you’ve done this to Sansa again?” Robb accuses, his demeanor growing angry.

 

Theon stands up straighter. “Of course not! I haven’t been back. And I only meant…you're conflicted, right? Not sure if you love her? If you went there, and discovered that you didn’t desire any of the other women, or if you did but only because you were picturing her, that would be very telling wouldn’t it?”

 

Robb thinks this over. “Aye,” he agrees.

 

“See? That’s all I meant.” Theon looks away from Robb and back at the papers on his desk. The two men study the documents for several long moments before Robb breaks the silencing asking,

 

“Can we go tonight?”

 

—

 

Late that night, after the entirety of Winterfell is fast asleep, Theon and Robb sneak off. They quietly make their way to the stables, Grey Wind trailing behind them and saddle up their horses. They were going alone. Robb had pondered inviting Jon to go with them, but Theon had advised against it.

 

When the horses are saddled, Robb commands Grey Wind to wait in the stables. They don’t want to attract too much attention, and a direwolf certainly would.

 

They ride quietly through the streets of Winter Town, unrecognized in their hooded cloaks of simple cloth. When they reach the brothel, Robb grows hesitant.

 

“Are you sure about this?” He asks.

 

“This was your idea,” Theon reminds him. “It will be fine. No one will know.”

“People knew about you.”

 

“Well…I didn’t exactly hide it. Not very well, anyway.”

 

Robb takes a deep breath and nods.

 

“We’ll see Ros. She’s who I saw, I’m sure she’s still here. It will be fine.”

 

“Ok. Let’s go in before I change my mind.”

 

Theon leads the way inside, pausing at the door briefly when he thinks he hears a sound. A rough step that sent rocks scattering. He and Robb look around but see nothing.

 

“Wind, probably.” Robb says.

 

Theon shrugs in agreement and the boys go inside.

 

“My friend would like to request a private room. With Ros…if she’s still around?” Theon tells one of the servers. He hands over a pouch of silver.

 

The serving girl nods. “This way.”

 

Theon motions for Robb to follow her, and then he trails after the two of them. The serving girl leads them to a private room, and then heads off in search of Ros.

 

“How exactly does this work?” Robb asks, when they’re alone in the room.

 

Theon laughs, he can’t help it. “You know how it works!”

 

“I know how to be with a woman,” Robb says, annoyed. “Brothels. I mean brothels. How do they work?”

 

Theon shrugs, still grinning in Robb’s annoyance. “She’ll come. I’ll leave you to it. And the two of you can do whatever you want.”

 

“Whatever I want…” Robb echoes.

 

“Aye. So if you want to leave right away, we can. And if you want to stay, your secret’s safe with me.”

 

Robb nods, and is about to say something else when Ros walks in.

 

“Lord Greyjoy,” Ros greets, a seductive smile on her lips. “I never thought to see you again,” she purrs. “Not that I’m disappointed.” She reaches for him, but Theon swats her hand away. He surprises himself that he does this. He was committed to Sansa, that much he had already been sure of, but he never thought he was the type who would never look at another woman. He could easily admit Princess Myrcella was beautiful, but she was out of his reach. Here, Ros was, admittedly pretty and standing right in front of him, and yet, he didn’t want her.

 

“I’m not here. Not for me, anyway. I’ll be outside.” Theon says. He looks at Robb, and winks at him, earning an eye roll from his best friend, and walks out the door.

 

He debates finding a seat and maybe getting an ale, and decides to wait a few moments to see if Robb will come right out. He doesn’t, so Theon orders a drink. A minute later, the drink is brought to him, but before he can take a sip, Robb is at his side.

 

“Let’s go,” Robb says bluntly.

 

Theon nods and chugs his ale, before following him outside.

 

“Not even five minutes!” Theon remarks. “Should I be worried?” He asks jokingly.

 

“Nothing happened,” Robb says honestly. “You were right. It was very telling.”

 

“So the Princess Myrcella?”

 

“I’ll keep the betrothal.”

 

“She’s a Lannister,” Theon can’t help but remind him.

 

“She’ll be a Stark someday. That’s all that matters.”

 

“If you say so,” Theon tells him. The two boys climb on their horses and ride back home.

 

They untack the horses and groom them, before heading inside. They head towards Robb’s chambers, wanting to play cards for a while, for neither are tired. They pass Sansa’s door, and hear quiet whispers and…crying?

 

Robb and Theon look at eachother, confused. Robb knocks on his sister’s door. “Sansa?” He calls out.

 

“Robb?” Theon hears Lady Starks’ voice. “Come in!”

 

Robb quickly opens the door and the two boys file in, closing it behind them.

 

Sansa is sitting on the edge of her bed, her face red and puffy with tears and leaning into her mother who is running a comforting hand through her hair. Jon is also in the room, standing quietly.

 

“What’s going on?” Robb asks, looking between his mother and Jon.

 

“Sansa?” Theon exclaims, rushing to her side. Lady Stark glares at him and Sansa flinches away, causing him to falter.

 

“Robb,” Lady Stark says firmly. “Where were the two of you just now?”

 

“We went to Winter Town, Mother. Why? What’s happened?”

 

“Where in Winter Town?”

 

Robb hesitates. He shoots Theon a glance, who shakes his head at him. “Does it matter?” 

 

Sansa lets out a sharp sob at that and leans further into her mother’s embrace.

 

Lady Stark looks at Jon, and takes a deep breath. “The boy–Jon, saw you boys go to the stables. He saw you leave and he followed you.” Lady Stark scoffs. “Theon, I know you’re not above something so low, but Robb? How could you let him do such a thing to your sweet sister, again?” She reprimands.

 

Theon lets a surprised gasp. Sansa thinks he cheated on her. “That’s not what happened, my lady–” Theon starts.

 

“Shut up! You ungrateful Greyjoy!” Lady Stark interrupts.

 

“Mother,” Robb speaks up. “It’s not. Theon went because I asked him to. I–”

 

There’s a knock at the door.

 

“It’s Maester Luwin, my lord, my lady,” Luwin says.

 

“Come in,” Robb calls out.

 

Maester Luwin opens the door, rushing in with two scrolls in his hands. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I have urgent news. My lord, my lady,” he addresses Robb and his mother, “perhaps we may speak privately, it’s rather urgent.”

 

Robb looks around the room and nods. “Let’s go to my chambers,” he says. Lady Stark makes no move to leave her daughter’s side. “Mother!” Robb commands. “Come.”

 

Lady Stark gently lets go of Sansa and follows Robb and Maester Luwin out the door.

 

“Sansa,” Theon starts.

 

“Save it, Theon!” Jon hisses. “You’ve done enough–”

 

“I haven’t done anything!” Theon defends, his voice near a shout. He kneels in front of Sansa and takes her hands in his tentatively. She won’t meet his gaze but doesn’t flinch from his touch, so he reaches a hand up and pulls her face to look at him. “Sansa,” he says again, his voice soft. “Please, listen to me. We went there for Robb. I can explain it, or he can, whatever you want, but you have to believe me, I would never–”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Theon!” Sansa cries, her voice a raspy whisper. “You already have. You already did.”

 

“That was years ago. Robb–”

 

“Is engaged to Myrcella. His honor may bend enough to lie for you, but it would never break to betray her. Betrothals, promises, they mean something to him.” She rips his hand from her face and pulls her hands away, wiping away fresh tears. She looks at Jon. “I want him to leave.”

 

Jon nods and walks to Theon, pulling him up to stand.

 

“Sansa!” Theon yells and Jon drags him towards the door. “I love you! You don’t seriously believe I would–”

 

The door opens before he and Jon reach it and Robb, Lady Stark, and Maester Luwin walk back in. Their faces lost in thought.

 

“What is it?” Theon asks, looking at Robb. 

 

“Daenerys Targaryen. She hatched dragons. Three of them.” Robb says.

 

Jon lets go of Theon. “Dragons are back?” He asks in disbelief.

 

“Yes. Her Dothraki husband died and somehow that caused the dragons to be born. That’s what our report says and Father confirmed it in his raven, too. Only, when word reached King’s Landing, King Robert had a heart attack. He’s woken, but he’s not well.” Robb takes a deep breath. “King Robert named Father Protector of the Realm until he’s recovered. And when he recovers, he wants to lead an attack on the Targaryen. He wants to kill her and her dragons, too.”

 

“Can he?” Sansa asks, skeptical. She’s off her bed and standing beside Theon and Jon, but she won’t look at Theon.

 

“I don’t know? Maybe? He’s won two wars already. What’s one more?”

 

Jon shakes his head. “The King’s not as young as he used to be.”

 

“So?” Theon speaks up. “He’s got plenty of soldiers to do the fighting for him. What does all this mean?” He asks Robb.

 

Robb shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

 

“Regardless,” Lady Stark speaks up. “Nothing can happen or be solved tonight. Everyone off to bed. We will discuss this more in the morning.”

 

Jon is quick to leave at Lady Stark’s request, and Maester Luwin goes after him. Robb rushes off to his solar to write back to Lord Stark. Theon wants to linger, to talk to Sansa, to explain things, but Lady Stark won’t let him.

 

“Please!” He begs. He turns to Sansa. “I didn’t go to the brothel for me. You have to believe me. Please!”

 

Sansa shakes her head, and clutches her forehead. “Please, just–just leave.” She asks quietly.

 

“Sansa?”

 

“Please. I can’t deal with this tonight, Theon. I can’t. I can’t.”

 

“You said you believed me when I told you I’d never visit a brothel again. You meant it! I know you did.”

 

“But you did! You did! Even if Robb asked you, you could have told me you were going. But you didn’t. You chose not to. Please. Just leave. I spent the last hour thinking the love of my life broke my heart. Again. When you promised you wouldn’t. I let you go 10 minutes ago because my heart couldn’t handle it. It still can’t. I can’t deal with this right now. Dragons are back, my Father is in charge of Westeros, and that’s already so much to think about and I just–I can’t think. I need time to think. Please leave.”

 

“Goodnight, Lord Greyjoy,” Lady Stark says. Her voice is a command, get out!

 

Theon wants to stay, he doesn’t want to leave Sansa like this. But she’s asked him to leave, and Robb could probably use his help anyway. “As you wish,” he says, quietly stepping out the door.

 

He walks towards Robb’s solar in a slow daze. Dragons are back. Dragons are back! Yet all he can think of is the love of his life and how she may never love him again.

Notes:

The plot thickens! I'm excited for where the story goes to from here!

From here on out, sorry if the timeline is messy/inaccurate. I am trying to follow canon, but it's hard when we don't have a distinct timeline, and there's no war of the five kings, which changes a lot of the plot. Feel free to point out any plot holes you see in the future and I'll fix if I am able.

And sorry if Theon and Sansa's predicament seems dramatic. Young love often is.

Have a great day! Feel free to leave a comment! I always love to see them!

Chapter 15: A Witness

Summary:

Sansa and Theon reconcile, Robb receives and shares so interesting news, and Sansa has a plan!

When Sansa had asked Theon for time to think she hadn’t thought he would avoid her completely. The morning following the second brothel incident, as well as the ravens from King’s Landing, Robb had come to find her before breakfast, and explained everything. He didn’t go into great detail, but had simply told her that while it was initially Theon’s idea to go to the brothel, it was for Robb’s sake, and Theon hadn’t bedded any woman while they were there. He had even turned one away, Robb had said. Sansa had felt silly and sorry at her brother’s words, and planned to apologize to Theon at breakfast, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t at lunch either, or supper that night. It was three days since then and Sansa hadn’t been able to run into Theon once. 

 

She had informed Jeyne of the entire incident, and Jeyne had been trying to help her pin Theon down, but she, too, had been unsuccessful. Theon always seemed to be with Robb in the early morning, but would disappear by the time Sansa would come to see him. 

 

On the fourth day, Sansa had had enough. Robb had come to collect her and Jeyne for lunch, like Theon normally would, and Sansa asked after Theon once again. 

 

“I tried to get him to escort you,” Robb told her. “But he’s insistent that you won’t want to see him still. I think he’s run off to the Wolfswood, it’s where Jon and Rickon found him the other day.”

 

“Try harder!” Jeyne commanded, sounding annoyed. She blushed when she realized she had said it out loud. “Forgive me, Robb, my lord, but clearly Sansa wants to make amends. Have you told Theon as much? He wouldn’t be hiding away if he knew it’s not what Sansa wanted.”

 

Robb stuttered for a response and Sansa laughed, despite herself. She’s not sure Robb had ever been told off by a girl before, other than Arya, that is.

 

“I have told him as much, Lady Jeyne. He simply chooses not to believe me. The Ironborn are stubborn like that, or so I’m told.”

 

“Could you take me to see him?” Sansa asks. “To the Wolfswood?”

 

“I suppose,” Robb says. He’s got a strange expression on his face. Sansa can’t quite read it. “Let’s go now. There’s a matter I need to discuss with…well, both of you really, and so I might as well tell you together.”

 

Sansa wants to ask him what matter he is referring to, but Robb insists that he will tell her when Theon is with them as well. They quickly finish walking Jeyne to the Great Hall, leaving her in the company of Jon, and then head off to the Godswood. Grey Wind runs ahead while Lady trails behind and Sansa walks swiftly, pulling Robb along with haste by the arm she has tucked in his.

 

“Hurry up, Robby!” Sansa begs. She’s desperate to see Theon. Four days is just too long to be without.

 

“Be quiet, Sansa. If he hears us he’ll scurry off and we’ll never be able to catch him.”

 

“You’re faster than him,” Sansa reminds her brother.

 

“Yes, but you’re not. And I wouldn’t leave you alone in the woods, regardless of whether the direwolves are with us or not.”

 

“Oh, well I–” Sansa’s cut off by Robb covering her mouth with his hand. He points to a nearby tree, with an arrow lodged high up and centered. The arrow is clean and new, letting them know it’s a fresh shot and that Theon must be nearby.

 

Sure enough, Grey Wind comes running back to them a few moments later. Robb removes his hand and offers Sansa his arm again, as they follow after Grey Wind. They walk for a couple of minutes before seeing Theon in a clearing, faced away from them, shooting arrow after arrow into the same knot of a far away tree. He doesn’t miss once.

 

Sansa wants to say something, to get his attention, but is too scared to speak. 

 

“Theon!” Robb calls out for her. Theon turns to look at him, surprise overtaking his face when he sees Sansa there as well. 

 

“I’m sorry!” Sansa rushes out, before Robb can say anything else. She steps closer to Theon, who has lowered his bow, his arms at his sides, one holding the bow and the other an arrow. He sets the bow down and returns the arrow to the quiver at his back, walking towards her as well. “I never should have jumped to such a conclusion. I should have known you would never betray me, not when you have promised me otherwise. It was only Jon had seen you, and I never thought Robb woul–” She stops and turns to look at her brother, blushing slightly. 

 

Robb blushes as well. Theon saves them both the embarrassment. “Nevermind it. It is no matter. I should have told you we were going.”

 

“Why didn’t you?” Sansa can’t help but ask.

 

Theon shrugs. “I…I didn’t think you would take it well. Even if I wasn’t going for me…”

 

Sansa doesn’t know what to say to that, for he was right, she hadn’t taken it well. “And why have you been avoiding me these last days?”

 

“You wanted time to think,” Theon said simply.

 

“Surely you knew I was seeking you out, though?”

 

Theon nods. “The last time I visited a brothel, you…well…you wouldn’t speak to me. I was worried about what you would say.” He looks down at his feet, embarrassed.

 

Sansa steps forward and takes his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. “So you’ll forgive me, then?” She whispers to him. She looks up into his eyes, his own drifting to her lips.

 

“Aye,” he nods.

 

Robb coughs, regaining their attention. “Glad to see you guys are no longer quarrelling. But I have an important matter to discuss with you.”

 

“What is it?” Theon asks, as the two of them turn to face Robb.

 

“I received a raven this morning, from your father, Theon.”

 

Sansa can hear Theon gulp. She tightens her hold on his hand. “Whatever would he say, Robb?”

 

“He has heard of the dragons in Essos. He has heard that Father was named Protector of the Realm. I think he believes he can gain power from that, somehow, for he has demanded that you and Theon marry right away and return to the Iron Islands.”

 

Sansa gasps, surprised, and Theon turns red with anger. “He can’t make a demand as such! He can’t even request it! I am but a ward here. A hostage! And because of him. He could have me killed by demanding that!”

 

“Relax, Theon, I have no intention to kill you.” Robb teases. Theon doesn’t find it very funny, and Sansa can’t find it in herself to laugh, either. “And you’re right, he can’t make a demand as such. Especially not to me. I am Lord of Winterfell while Father is away, but Father is still in charge of Sansa. Still in control of the North. He’s a fool to ask me and not Father. He’s an even bigger fool to think I would grant that you return home, Theon, let alone that I would simply send my sister away without a second thought. I will respond to the raven, as kindly as the matter can allow, and tell him that the two of you will neither marry nor head to the Iron Islands any time soon.”

 

“It’s not your decision to grant me to return or not,” Theon argues.

 

Robb has the decency to look pitiful, not that Theon appreciates his pity. “Well, it kind of is…”

 

“I’m your father’s ward. Not yours!”

 

“It doesn’t matter!” Sansa speaks up, placing a hand on Theon’s chest to calm him. “Father would not want it either.” She looks towards her brother. “Robb? Why don’t you head inside and pen a letter to Lord Greyjoy. Theon can read it before you send it. He and I will be back shortly.”

 

Robb laughs. “I’m not leaving you two alone, Sansa. Not while Theon’s mad at me.”

 

“Theon would never hurt me!” Sansa defends.

 

Robb looks pointedly at Theon, before returning his attention to her. “That’s not what I was implying, sweet sister…But yes, I’ll leave you be. Spend no more than 10 minutes before following after me. I will send Grey Wind back out if I don’t see you return.”

 

Sansa’s a little confused as to what he means, but sees his agreement as victory enough and nods.

 

Robb leaves, Grey Wind following after him. Sansa motions for Theon to sit on a nearby tree stump, and he obliges. Lady rushes over to him and pesters him until he gives her affectionate strokes along her fur.

 

Sansa walks over to him and contemplates sitting on the ground, or another nearby stump, but decides against it, for she doesn't want to ruin her dress. Theon sees this and pulls her into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around her.

 

He’s still angry, that much she can tell, and she tries to think of a way to calm him down. She resolves to lightly trace random shapes on his doublet, over his heart, until she can feel his heartbeat slow.

 

He leans against her, his forehead resting against her collarbone. “Are you really angry at Robb?” She asks calmly, after a few quiet minutes.

 

Theon takes a deep breath, causing Sansa to shiver. “No,” he answers. “Not at him. At my father, more so. You’d think he’d wish me dead, the way he so carelessly gambles with my life. I’m his heir. I’m his son. His last son.” He says the last bit sadly, and Sansa soothingly runs her fingers through his hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, for what else can she say. “If only there was a way for you to prove yourself to him, my love. If your father saw your true character he’d regret his mistreatment. I’m…I’m sure of it.”

 

Theon laughs. “It wouldn’t matter. Nothing I do will grant his approval. I could defy Robb, and your Lord Father, steal you away and take you to the Iron Islands to please him, and still, he’d find great fault in me somehow.”

 

Sansa laughs, too. “Would you really steal me away?” She coos teasingly, hoping to distract him from his sorrows.

 

Theon looks up at her and grins. “Maybe,” he shrugs, jesting.

 

“It would be very easy on your part to steal me, in any case, for I’d willingly go if I thought it was what you wanted,” she confesses. “For I disagree. I do think it would favor you in the eyes of your lord father.”

 

“Is that so? Hmm. Maybe we should run off to the Iron Islands then.” 

 

Sansa laughs, but then thinks it over. It’s not the worst idea. She and Theon are to be married eventually, why not sooner? And if it could please Balon, even only slightly, it would certainly make her more appealing in the eyes of the Ironborn at having followed their liege lord’s command. That was a great desire of hers, to be accepted by the Ironborn, she was scared what would happen to her if she wasn’t.

 

“Torrhen’s Square is but a three day ride away is it not? We could head there and then take a ship to Pyke?”

 

Theon turns her in his arms to get a better look at her. “You’re not serious?” He asks, sounding skeptical.

 

“We are to be married at some point. Why not now? It would please your father, and the rest of the Ironborn. Robb and my parents won’t be thrilled, but they'll forgive me with enough time. Certainly quicker than your father would forgive you. If Robb is right that King Robert wants to declare war with the Targaryen girl, then we would be doing a service by ensuring the Greyjoy fleet. Your father will not provide it if we deny him this simple request.”

 

“There’s no guarantee he’ll provide it if we grant him what he wants, either.”

 

“And what do you want?”

 

Theon looks at her, his eyes full of love and longing. “I’d marry you as soon as possible, love, though I confess it would be for rather selfish reasons.”

 

Sansa smiles, and presses a quick kiss to his lips. “Then, my lord, say yes and steal me to Pyke!”

 

Theon answers her with a passionate kiss, not stopping until, as promised, Grey Wind comes to collect them.

 

—

 

The only person they tell of their plan is Jeyne. She’s skeptical of the idea, to be sure, but ever so supportive of her dear best friend.

 

Their plan is to leave for Torrhen’s Square in 3 days time, so as to not wait too long but still have time to prepare. Robb had drafted a raven in response to Balon’s but Theon had intercepted it from being sent out. Theon had then written out his own response to his father, telling him that he would be bringing Sansa, as his wife, to Pyke despite The Stark Lords’ disagreement on the matter. He was waiting to send the raven until the morning before they were to leave. Instead, he had sent an immediate raven to his sister, asking to have an Ironborn ship and crew waiting for them at the Saltspear, for them to finish out the journey to Pyke.

 

They were to marry in the Godswood the night before they were to leave as well, though Sansa was still working it all out. Because they were to wed in front of the Old Gods, they didn’t need an Septon to officiate, but they needed a witness other than Jeyne, and or a family member, to escort her and help with the ceremony. She knew she couldn’t ask Robb or Jon. They would never let the wedding go through. She supposed she could make do without another Stark present. She and Theon were to do an Ironborn wedding upon reaching the Islands, and that was the more important of the two ceremonies, but Sansa still wanted to do her Winterfell wedding as right as she could.

 

If Bran were here, she would have him escort her. Bran would see the duty and honor in doing it for her, and wouldn’t tattle or object the way Arya would. He would probably tell on her later on, but that would be after she and Theon were far from Winterfell and it would be too late to stop it.

 

Rickon was too little, otherwise she would ask him.

 

She was starting to realize that she wouldn’t get the Winterfell wedding she had hoped for, and ordinarily that would deter her, make her doubt that this was the right decision. But she was a girl of four and ten now, and had flowered, too. She couldn’t be scared, as a little girl may be. She was not a little girl anymore. Maybe in her mother’s eyes she was, or Robb’s, but not her own. She had managed the castle as the Lady of Winterfell for several moons while her mother was away, and she was ready, now, to be the Lady of Pyke, of the Iron Islands.

 

A Stark witness was not an option, but Sansa knew they needed someone in addition to Jeyne. Robb would trust Jeyne’s word, but for the rest of Winterfell, the rest of the North, to rely on the word of one young girl was not enough. They would assume that Theon really had stolen her. Even if that was the story they were going to tell her soon-to-be Lord Good-father, it would not do well to tell that story to the Northern lords.

 

Sansa tried to think of a trusted, male, who could be in attendance of the wedding without preventing it. If Jory were here, she would ask him. He would certainly object to the union, but he wouldn’t prevent it, and he would tell the story true to Robb when he asked. But Jory was away in King’s Landing. He was of no help to her now.

 

Asking Ser Rodrik was not an option. He was more loyal to Robb and her mother than to her and would never let them wed.

 

Sansa was beginning to realize how few friends she had in Winterfell. There were countless people loyal to House Stark, but so far she couldn’t come up with a single person other than Jeyne and Theon loyal to her.

 

She and Jeyne were up in her chambers hastily working on attire for her to wear on the journey. They knew there would be no time for a wedding dress, and they were using their current cloaks for the ceremony, but Sansa would need dresses to better suit the island weather and terrain. They were making one dress a dove grey color, embroidered with a golden kraken on the sleeve, to serve as both a wedding dress and a dress she could wear aboard a ship. It was made of a cotton, instead of a wool, so that it dries more easily, and while it had a full skirt, Jeyne had cleverly added a pocket that contained a strap that allowed her to easily lift and hold her skirt should she need to wade in water. In addition to that dress, they were working on another, a black dress, to be embroidered with gold designs. It was a dress of Greyjoy colors. Sansa planned to finish it while aboard the ship to Pyke so that she could arrive in proper Greyjoy fashion. She and Jeyne had gone through her summer dresses, and while she had outgrown most of them, there were three that still fit that would serve her well. The girls had packed those dresses away along with some smallclothes, a few nightgowns, and all the other basic attire she would need.

 

She was feeling as though all hope was lost, when she spotted Rickon and Maester Luwin outside her window. Maester Luwin was to serve the Lord of Winterfell, but he was always helping the entirety of House Stark. He had helped her a great deal while she was Lady of Winterfell, and she and him had grown much closer. That on top of the fact that he helped raise her, Sansa was certain that if she phrased it properly she’d be able to get Maester Luwin to be a witness to her wedding. She would have to wait until right before the ceremony, so as to not give Maester Luwin any chance to change his mind, but that gave her enough time to finish her preparations and figure out what exactly to say to him. It was perfect.

Notes:

For those of you who think this plan of theirs isn't the smartest. I agree. It's not very smart. But Sansa hasn't faced the horrors of KL and so she's very much the innocent naive girl she was at the start of the books/show and is desperate both to be with Theon and to have the Ironborn approval. And Theon, well, I've always thought Theon is smart in terms of battle strategy and simple politics, but that he fails to picture long term things such as wars and complex politics. So, naturally, this is the result of their characters.

I hope everyone has a great day!

Chapter 16: Goodbyes II

Notes:

Happy Sunday!

I hope everyone has a great week!

Theon had gotten several preparations in order for his and Sansa’s journey to Pyke. He was still skeptical of it, he felt like he was betraying Robb and Lord Stark by running off, but it was what Sansa wanted and his loyalty would always fall to her first and foremost.

 

He’d hidden supplies in the stables, to be easily retrieved prior to riding off. His bow, as well as one he’d made for Sansa, and several sheaths of arrows were stored away in the stables as well. He’d taken an appropriate amount of silver, with a note explaining the amount when Lady Stark or Maester Luwin would find it missing from the accounts. He’d written to Asha, asking to have a ship waiting for them in Saltspear, as well as asking her to get some preparations ready for his and Sansa’s Ironborn wedding which would happen not long after they arrived in Pyke. He asked his sister to prepare a few gifts to give to Sansa, and to try and coax their mother from Harlaw, so that he could see her again and she could possibly even attend the wedding. Asha never wrote much about their mother, which led Theon to believe she hadn’t gotten any better, but perhaps seeing him would do wonders for her health? He was certainly eager to see her again.

 

He still had to pack, but he could do that fairly last minute, so really, everything was in order on his account, which was good, for he could not so easily be away from Robb without causing too much suspicion. He spent most days advising him, right at his side, more so than Jon, Maester Luwin, or anyone else.

 

When the last morning prior to the one they planned to leave came, Theon snuck to Sansa’s chambers early, wanting to speak to her before the day got started. He’d rarely seen her since that mid morning in the Wolfswood, for they had both been busy with preparations and their day-to-day tasks. 

 

He slipped through the door, not bothering knocking for he knew Sansa would still be asleep, and chuckled quietly to himself when he saw her. She was curled up in a ball under her quilt and furs, snoring so quietly and ladylike it almost sounded like a cat purring instead. 

 

He walked over to Lady first, wanting to pet her and let her know he was here so that she wouldn’t startle awake and alert anyone else. Lady smiled lazily as he ran his hands through her fur. She eyes him once, slowly, before closing her eyes once again.

 

Theon then walked over to Sansa’s bed, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and shaking her awake.

 

She startles a little, her eyes fluttering open, slightly alarmed. Her worry disappears when she sees it’s him, her eyes shining even in the low candlelight that fills her chambers. 

 

“‘Morning love,” he whispers, smiling. She smiles back and he leans down to press a kiss to her lips. She wraps her arms around his neck, allowing him to deepen it. He leans further over her, bringing his hand to rest beside her head to brace himself. She pulls away after a few moments, needing to catch her breath, but her arms stay securely wrapped around him, and so he takes that as an invitation to continue kissing her. He trails kisses down her neck, lingering on her collarbone, sucking and teasing her with his tongue, hoping to elicit that delicious moan of hers. He succeeds, and she covers her mouth, embarrassed. Theon chuckles, but it comes out as a muffled sound because he can’t bring himself to remove his lips from her skin. He tugs at the sleeve of her nightgown, infinitely grateful that women’s nightclothes were designed to be loose fitting. “Are you bringing this with us?” He asks. He quite likes this particular nightgown. It was one Sansa had made with the fabric Myrcella had sent for from King’s Landing, and Theon had seen it when she had finished sewing, but he had never seen it on her until now. He finds it much prettier now that it’s on her, though he’s sure it would look much nicer on the floor.

 

“Hmm?” Sansa asks.

 

“The nightgown,” Theon clarifies, pulling at the sleeve further until it’s completely off her shoulder. “I like you in lace.” He tells her seductively, smiling against her skin before resuming his rhythm of kisses.

 

“Good to know,” Sansa coos. She threads her fingers in Theon’s hair, and the two continue to kiss for a while, until sunlight just begins to creep in through the window, and Theon remembers why he snuck in here to begin with.

 

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Theon asks, pulling back and then sitting on the side of her bed. 

 

Sansa sits up as well and threads their fingers. “As I’ll ever be.”

 

“It’s not too late to cancel,” Theon reminds her. “Only Jeyne knows…well, and Asha, too, I suppose, but I could convince her to keep quiet.”

 

“No–I don’t want to cancel. Do–do you?”

 

Theon shakes his head, bringing her hands to his lips. “No. I’d marry you this minute if that’s what you wanted, regardless of either of our fathers’ wishes. I’m not doing this for them.” He leaves the last bit unspoken, I’m doing this for you.  

 

Sansa smiles and leans forward, kissing his cheek. “Good. Then you send the raven to your father and I’ll finish readying the rest of my things. I want to spend the day with Rickon, if I am able. I don’t know when I’ll see him next. And unlike Robb, and my mother, he may not remember me so well.”

 

Theon smiles sadly, and squeezes her hand. “I’ll see you later,” he promises. He presses a quick kiss to her lips and whispers “I love you” before scurrying out the door.

 

—

 

Saying goodbye to Rickon proves challenging, especially considering she can’t outright say the word without causing suspicion. She spends all morning with him. She had told Maester Luwin she planned to give Rickon etiquette lessons, and she did, for only a few minutes, before following him out to the training yard, Shaggydog and Lady nipping at their heels.

 

She chases her little brother around until she’s out of breath, and then the two of them wade in the small pool of the Godswood, before laying beside the weirwood tree and napping in the shade.

 

Rickon lays curled into his big sister’s side, smiling sleepily.

 

“Do I really have to go back to my lessons?” He asks tiredly. “The morning’s been so fun! Can’t I just spend the whole day with you?”

 

Sansa smiles, happy and sad. “No, sweetling, Mother and Maester Luwin want you to stick to your lessons. Father would want it, too.”

 

Rickon lets out a little humph. “Okay, but not until after lunch, right?”

 

Sansa giggles. “Yes, sweetling.”

 

Rickon smiles and cuddles further into her, Sansa tightens her grip on him, savoring the moment.

—

 

Sansa finds Jon in the crypts, looking at a statue of their Uncle Brandon. It surprises her, she had come down to the crypts just to be down there one last time. She didn’t plan to say goodbye to Jon until later.

 

“Hey,” She says, startling him.

 

“Hey Sansa!” He says, surprised. “What are you doing down here?’

 

Sansa walks to stand beside him. “Same as you, I guess.” 

 

Jon smiles lightly. They stand quietly at Brandon’s statue, and then turn to their Aunt Lyanna’s. They don’t speak, and eventually Sansa turns to look at her grandfather’s statue, but Jon lingers on Lyanna.

 

“You’re not still thinking of leaving, are you?” Sansa eventually breaks the silence.

 

“How did you hear about that?” Jon asks, surprised.

 

“Theon mentioned it, a few moons ago. You’re not still thinking about it, are you?”

 

Jon shrugs. “It’s always an option.”

 

“It’s for life, Jon!”

 

“Bastards can find honor there.”

“You can find honor here, in Winterfell!” Sansa looks to him with pleading eyes. “Please stay! Robb’s going to need you!”

 

“Robb has Maester Luwin, Theon, and your Lady Mother. He doesn’t need me.”

 

“He needs you just as much as them. And more, too, soon. Please!”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Sansa bites her lip. “I…I…don’t know. Just promise me you won’t leave anytime soon? Promise me, Jon!”

 

Jon can see her worried eyes and nods. “I won’t,” he promises. Sansa lets out a sigh of relief and pulls him into a hug. She doesn’t want her and Theon to leave Robb and then have Jon leave him, too.

 

—

 

Sansa asks Robb to take her on a walk after lunch, claiming they could both use some fresh air. Robb agrees, and leads her as they stroll along the walls of Winterfell. He doesn’t say anything, and Sansa doesn’t want to be the first to speak. She knows how stressed her brother is, with everything going on in Essos and King’s Landing, and if he wants silence, she will give him silence.

 

They pass the broken tower and Robb finally speaks up. “I’m going to start repairing it,” Robb says. “The tower.”

 

“Really?”

 

Robb nods. “I’m not sure what I’ll turn it into. Maybe an undercroft, or another keep? A watchtower like it was originally? Or something else entirely, but it seems like a waste to let it stay as is when we have the time and resources to fix it.”

Sansa smiles. “That’s true. I’m sure it will turn out nicely, Robby.”

 

Robb returns her smile. “Do you have any ideas? Of what to turn it into?” 

 

“I’m not sure…what would be useful…especially with it so close to the keep. Maybe a watchtower would be best?”

 

Robb nods. “I think so, too, but we’ve also gone over a century without one and been fine so I wonder if it could be turned to something more useful.”

 

“It’s not like it will be built tomorrow. There’s time to decide.”

 

“True. I’ll ask Theon and Jon about it tomorrow.”

“Or today!” Sansa blurts out. Robb looks at her strangely. “I…I just mean you can ask them today, it doesn’t need to wait…”

 

“Okay, Sansa.” He studies her countenance for several long moments. She can feel herself turn crimson. “Are you alright?”

 

“Of course!”

 

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

 

“Of course I know that, Robby. I’m perfectly fine.” He doesn’t look convinced, so for good measure she adds, “It’s only my time of the month is all.”

 

Now it’s Robb’s turn to grow red. He quickly tries to change the subject. “Ah, okay…Aye…um…let’s turn towards the glass gardens. Some flowers might make you better.”

 

Sansa giggles, and kisses her brother's cheek affectionately, happily letting him lead her to the greenhouse.

 

—

 

That night, before dinner, Sansa comes to her mother’s chambers in hopes that she would do her hair. Her mother and her had sort of fallen out of that habit since her mother’s trip to King’s Landing, but knowing this was possibly her last opportunity, Sansa wanted to take advantage of it.

 

She knocks on her mother’s door, and her mother answers it quickly.

 

“Sansa! Sweetling! What do you need?” Her mother asks, stepping aside and letting Sansa enter the room.

 

“I was hoping you would do my hair.” Sansa tells her, taking a seat at the vanity.

 

Her mother smiles. “I’d love to!” She tells her. “It has been so long! And I didn’t want to ask in case you felt too old for me to do it.” Her mother confesses.

 

Sansa smiles at her through the mirror. “I’m never too old to want you to do my hair.” She informs her, causing her mother’s smile to grow.

 

“I’m glad! Perhaps I can do it tomorrow, too?”

 

Sansa’s smile slips momentarily, but she quickly brings it back to her lips. “O–of course, Mother!” She feels her heart sting her a little, but she tries to push that feeling down. She always knew this day would come. The day when she would leave home to be with her Lord Husband. She won’t let herself be sad about it. Now is not the time. And she will see her mother again. Her and the rest of her family. She will make sure of it. No. She won’t let herself be sad. She thinks of Theon, and finds she does already feel a little better at the thought.

 

—

 

Theon was walking towards Robb’s solar, when he ran into Jeyne. He had already managed to say goodbye to Rickon and Jon, but hadn’t gotten Robb alone for a long enough period of time.

 

“Theon!” Jeyne called out from across the hall. “Where are you off to?”

 

“Robb’s solar,” Theon said, as if it were obvious. There wasn’t much else in the direction they were headed. If anything, he should be asking where she’s going.

 

Jeyne rushes to his side and takes his arm before he even has the chance to offer it. “I just finished Sansa’s dress! All of her things are packed away. Perhaps I can come with you?”

 

“Sure,” Theon agrees. “Actually, when we get there, do you think you could distract Jon? I would like to say goodbye to Robb.”

 

Jeyne smiles at him. A shy, girlish sort of smile. “Glady,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

 

They enter Robb’s solar and both Robb and Jon look up.

 

“Lady Jeyne!” Jon greets excitedly. Robb and Theon exchange a weird look. How long has that been going on? Theon wonders.

 

“Jon! Lord Robb,” Jeyne greets, smiling. Robb says hello to her and then she looks to Theon and winks. “Jon, would you please escort me on a walk before dinner? Sansa had the cook prepare lemon scones for dessert and I hope to build up an appetite.”

 

Jon blushes, but nods. “Of course, my lady.” He offers her his arm and Jeyne accepts, letting him lead her out the room.

 

“How long has that been going on?” Theon asks when he and Robb are alone. 

 

Robb shakes his head, laughter in his eyes. “I have no idea!” He begins stacking up some papers on his desk. “Where’s my sister? I would think you’d be with her now if Jeyne’s not.”

 

Theon rolls his eyes. “She’s with your mother.”

 

“Ah,” Robb nods. “So you decided to come back and help me finally?” Robb teases.

 

“Of course!” Theon continues the jape. “I know how much you rely on my wisdom and guidance.”

 

Robb laughs easily at that and Theon soon joins him. “I do value your help, you know?” Robb tells him, growing serious. “I’m sorry about the other day. You are my father’s lord, and I know you wouldn’t be here helping me otherwise. I do wish we’d have become friends under different circumstances, but I wouldn’t be able to handle being Lord of Winterfell if it weren’t for you.”

 

Theon blushes, he hates sappy moments. With Sansa it’s one thing, for she’s a girl. His betrothed. But Robb’s his brother in all but blood. He doesn’t feel the need to be so sentimental. “Aye, well um, thank you.”

 

Robb smiles at him and Theon smiles back. “Enough of that, though?” Robb’s eyes grow jovial once more. “Let’s say we get a round or two of sparring in before dinner, aye?”

 

“Aye,” Theon agrees, and the two boys head off to the training yard.

Notes:

Theon of course said goodbye to Jon and Rickon as well, and I can add those moments to the chapter if anyone really wants me to, but I just didn’t want the chapter to be so goodbye heavy and I thought it more important to include all of Sansa’s goodbyes.

Chapter 17: The Godswood

Notes:

Next chapter they’ll link up with Asha and some of the Ironborn so I’m excited for that!

Have an amazing day!!!

When dinner was done, and Maester Luwin had retired for the evening, Sansa was quick to excuse herself, feigning a headache. Theon and Jeyne lingered, so as to keep Robb and Jon and anyone else busy, but her mother had already left with Rickon to put him to bed.

 

Sansa rushed to her chambers and finished packing away the rest of her things, before putting on her wedding dress. Jeyne had outdone herself given the timeframe. The dove-grey dress not only had a golden kraken embroidered on the sleeve, but it was also trimmed with gold ribbon, on the skirt, waistline, and edge of the sleeves. There were three pearl beads sewn at the center of the neckline, as well as small, golden, embroidered squigglys and curly-cues. The back of the dress was lined with mother of pearl buttons. It really seemed like the perfect combination of both the Iron Islands and Sansa’s femininity.

 

She put the dress on, and then added a pearl pin to the braided updo her mother had done in her hair, fastened her cloak around her shoulders, and then headed to Maester Luwin’s turret.

 

Upon reaching the door, she immediately knocks and feels butterflies in her stomach. She wishes her worries away, it’s too late to turn back now.

 

Moments later Maester Luwin opens the door. “Lady Sansa,” he greets. “What brings you at this hour, child? Are you well?”

 

“Quite well, Maester Luwin, I was hoping to speak with you regarding a favor I have to ask?”

 

“Sure, dear, come on in.” Maester Luwin steps aside and Sansa enters, bracing herself for the argument she’s about to have to plead.

 

—

 

Maester Luwin objects to the entirety of the notion, much to Sansa’s dismay. She had thought she articulated everything perfectly well. She had been running through her speech any free moment she had these last few days. She had even rehearsed it with Jeyne, who had promised it to be convincing. Maester Luwin just didn’t see the logic behind it.

 

“I understand young love my dear, but this would be disobeying both your Lord Father and Lord Brother’s orders, and undoubtedly going against your Lady Mother’s wishes. Your and Lord Greyjoy’s desire to keep it all a secret should be worrisome enough.”

 

“But we are to be married anyway, and this way it pleases Lord Balon and he is less likely to rebel. That’s worth something is it not? With the crown weakened Lord Balon’s loyalty will certainly be tested should we not do anything to agree with him.”

 

“The King and Lord Stark defeated the Greyjoys once, they can do it again.”

 

“But it doesn’t need to come to that if you just agree to be a witness! Please!”

 

“Lady Sansa, it is unnecessary. I doubt a wedding will prevent any plans Lord Balon forms, if anything it will just tie you and your family more into the mess.”

 

Sansa knew that! It’s all she thought about! Didn’t he see that? She loved Theon and she wanted to marry him, but that wasn’t the driving reason behind this plan. “Father will kill him!”

 

“Ironborn tend to go out fighting, my dear, there’s nothing you ca–”

 

“I’m not talking about Balon! I’m talking about Theon! If his father goes against the crown my father will have to kill him! Or Robb, since my father is away. I love Theon. Robb loves Theon. I can’t lose him. Please! You have to help me, you're the only one who can. Please don’t let him die! Father will never kill him if we are married! I could talk him out of it! But if he’s just my betrothed, he’ll simply find me another. Please!” Sansa begs, tears forming in her eyes.

 

Maester Luwin takes a deep breath, and Sansa braces herself for his refusal. “Alright,” he says, surprising her. “I’ll be a witness, but you and Theon have to tell me everything, so I can keep your family well informed.”

 

Sansa smiles, wiping her tears away. “Thank you!”

 

—

 

Sansa informs Maester Luwin of every detail, the route they plan to take to Pyke, the amount of silver Theon had taken from the stores, everything. He then promises to meet her in the Godswood in one hour, and that he wouldn’t inform Robb and her mother of their plan until the next day, when she and Theon would be far enough away that Robb and Jon couldn’t stop them.

 

Sansa then goes to find Theon, who is waiting for her in her chambers. He stands up immediately when she enters, his face worried.

 

“Did he agree?” He asks.

 

“Yes. Where’s Jeyne?”

Theon smirks. “She’s instigating a fight between Robb and Jon to keep them preoccupied for the night. Says she’ll meet us in the Godswood.”

 

Sansa giggles. “Of course she is.” The walls of her room are warm, and so she takes off her cloak, laying it against the back of a chair. She looks over at Theon, who is staring at her with the hungry expression he always gets when he’s about to give her the Lord’s kiss, as she’s since learned it’s called. Her breath catches. If they were to have a normal wedding, there would be a bedding to follow, but since they plan to ride off right after their vows are official, she supposes they’ll have to wait.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Theon tells her, blushing at being caught staring.

 

Sansa smiles at him. He’s wearing the black doublet she made for him. She can’t help but think he looks rather handsome. “As are you,” Sansa tells him, her voice smaller than she intended, more strained. Sansa walks over towards him and guides him backwards until he walks into her bed. He sits down when he reaches it, and pulls her to stand between his legs, wrapping his arms around her. 

 

“Tonight would be our wedding night,” she says aloud.

 

“Aye,” Theon agrees, eying her curiously.

 

“It’s too bad we have to leave right after the vows,” she tells him as she runs her fingers through his hair. 

 

Theon closes his eyes and groans. “I couldn’t agree more.”

 

Sansa takes his face in her hands, pulling him to look up at her. He opens his eyes and obeys. “We are to be man and wife in an hour. But it won’t be official without a bedding. Perhaps we should…have a bedding now?”

 

“Sansa!” Theon warns, his voice like gravel.

 

“I’m serious. I want to be yours! Completely.”

 

“You are mine,” Theon promises.

 

“Then take me!” Sansa encourages, her gaze drifting to his lips. When she looks back into his eyes they are full of longing, as well as concern. She nods, not breaking eye contact, and that seems to do the trick.

 

His lips are on hers in a millisecond. He kisses her slowly, probably trying to give her time to change her mind, but Sansa finds it of no use. These kisses may be slow, but they’re full of passion, making Sansa feel dizzy in the best way imaginable. When it becomes clear she won’t change her mind, Theon hugs her more tightly to him and then stands up, turning with her in his arms and gently laying her down on her mattress.

 

He pulls his doublet off in haste and his hands fly to the buttons of his tunic. When those are undone he yanks his tunic off, too, before moving to his breeches, apparently wasting no time. Sansa feels his desperation, though. She stares at his bare chest, chiseled and toned and stretched with muscles, she brings her fingertips to his abs, curiosity getting the better of her. He tenses slightly at her touch, but relaxes after a moment and smiles at her. His breeches are soon discarded and he crawls over her before Sansa has more than a moment to marvel at his length. He resumes kissing her, and Sansa takes pleasure in the ability to explore his body with her hands, lovingly running her hands over every inch of him. Theon shifts his attention to her neck, trailing kisses down and sucking her skin. His hands come to her back, as he tries to undo the buttons of her dress, though this proves challenging with her laying against the mattress.

 

He curses against her skin and then sits up, hovering over her and flipping her so that she’s on her stomach. Sansa gasps in surprise, and Theon’s hands slow slightly, as he undoes her dress.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, kissing her shoulder and then resuming with the dress. When all the buttons are undone, he carefully turns her back over, and Sansa sits up pulling her dress down until it pools at her waist. Theon guides her to lay back down and then lifts her hips up with one hand, pulling her dress off with the other. He grins when he sees her shift, Jeyne had made it for her as a wedding gift. It was white lace and completely see through, though she was still partially covered by her corset and panties. 

 

“I take it back,” Theon says. “What I said this morning. This is my favorite nightgown of yours.”

Sansa blushes, and Theon chuckles, pulling her shift up and then her panties down her legs. He brings his face to her core. He groans when he realizes how wet she already is, and after a few strokes of his tongue, he pulls himself up and crawls back over her.

 

“You’re sure?” Theon asks, checking with her one last time.

 

Sansa nods, her hands coming to his face and pulling him towards her so she can kiss him. “Take me!” She tells him.

 

Theon growls, and attacks her with his tongue. He positions himself at her entrance, and holds her gaze as he enters her.

 

It hurts at first, but he keeps still until she’s grown used to him. When he starts moving within her, Sansa is overwhelmed by the sensation. It feels so good and perfect, she lets out a guttural moan that Theon swallows. She feels like she should be doing something to him, but she’s unsure what to do, and Theon seems very encouraged by her reactions, be it a moan, scream, squirm, or her bucking her hips.

 

It’s not long before she feels herself coming undone, and it feels so much more wonderful with him inside her. Theon lures her into another orgasm, he soon follows her lead and fills her with his seed.

 

He removes himself from her and then lays down next to her, and Sansa leans into his side. She’s out of breath and yet has never felt more energetic. It’s a weird mix of things. After a few minutes Theon looks out the window and tells them they best head to the Godswood. He’s all grins and Sansa’s all smiles as they redress. She blushes when she sees her blood stained sheets, but quickly pulls them off the bed and discards them. Theon grabs her bag of things, telling her he will bring them to the stables first and then meet her at the Godswood. 

 

“Okay,” Sansa agrees. “I’ll see you soon, husband!”

 

“And I you, wife!”

 

—

 

Jeyne is already waiting with Maester Luwin in the Godswood when Sansa arrives with Lady.

 

“I was worried you changed your mind!” Jeyne whispers in her ear as she rushes to her friend's side. She hugs her briefly and then takes Lady’s leash from her and then stands off to the side.

 

“Lord Greyjoy?” Maester Luwin asks. Sansa hates how skeptic he sounds.

 

“He’s on his way,” Sansa promises.

 

“Good.” Theon shows up not five minutes later, though it appears a little too late for Maester Luwin’s opinion. He stands there tensely, leaving everyone to stew in the silence. “Perhaps we should all recons–”

 

“Let’s get started!” Jeyne interrupts.

 

Sansa smiles at her gratefully, and Jeyne smiles back.

 

Theon and Maester Luwin stand below the heart tree, and Sansa heads back to the entrance of the Godswood. She’s sad she has to walk in alone, but it can’t be helped. Just as she’s about to begin her dissent, however, Jeyne rushes to her side, offering her her arm.

 

“You shouldn’t have to be alone, not on a night like tonight.” Jeyne tells her.

 

Sansa smiles so wide her cheeks hurt. “Thank you, Jeyne.” She takes her friend's arm and all of the sudden her smile turns sad. “I’ll miss you.”

 

“Me too,” Jeyne says sadly. “But we’ll write! As often as we can. And one day I’ll come visit you and it will be great fun.”

 

Sansa smiles again. “Yes!” Sansa agrees. “We will! Thank you, for helping me with all of this. Theon and I couldn’t have managed it without you. I really appreciate it.”

 

Jeyne smiles at her, and begins to lead her down the walkway. “What are friends for?”

 

“We’re more than friends, Jeyne. We’re sisters.”

 

“Well, if that’s the case you’re my favorite sister!” Jeyne coos quietly. “And I love you!”

 

“I love you, too!” Sansa whispers. It’s just then that she finally turns her attention from Jeyne and to Theon. He’s looking at her intently, and clutches his heart when their eyes meet.

 

Sansa blows him a kiss and he chuckles. She and Jeyne reach the end of the aisle and Jeyne kisses her cheek.

 

“Who comes before the Gods this night?” Maester Luwin asks.

 

“Sansa, of the House Stark,” Jeyne says. “Comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

 

“Theon, of House Greyjoy,” Theon says, his soft smile replaced by a knowing grin. “Who gives her?”

 

“Jeyne Poole, her best friend and sister in all but blood. Daughter of Vayon Poole, who is her father’s steward.”

 

“Lady Sansa,” Maester Wolkan asks. “Do you take this man?”

 

“I take this man,” she says eagerly. 

 

Theon smiles at her, taking her hands in his. They kneel before the heart tree, and bow their heads in silent prayer. When that is done, they stand again, and Maester Luwin declares them wed.

 

Theon kisses her sweetly, nothing too passionate for he knows better than to anger Maester Luwin lest he tell of their plans sooner than promised. When that is done, Maester Luwin hugs Sansa goodbye. 

 

“You have grown up wonderfully, my dear. I am so proud.” He tells her.

 

“Thank you,” Sansa tells him.

 

Maester Luwin then turns to Theon. “And you, Lord Greyjoy, have turned out as well as I always knew you could be.”

 

“I…um…thank you?” Theon replies to the backward compliment.

 

Maester Luwin nods. “I will wait at the entrance to escort Lady Jeyne back, you may say your goodbyes and hurry off.”

 

He walks away and Sansa turns back to Jeyne. “Tell Robb and Jon it was my idea,” Sansa tells her. “They won’t be mad at you. They can’t be. This is our fault, not yours.”

 

Jeyne nods. “Sure, Sansa.” She pulls her into a tight hug. “Be safe,” she whispers. 

 

“You too,” Sansa whispers back. She takes three letters out of her pocket and hands them to Jeyne. One for her, one for Robb, and one for her mother.

 

The two girls pull apart and Jeyne turns to Theon, pulling him into a hug before he can object. “Be careful, Theon.”

 

“I will,” Theon promises. 

 

Jeyne pulls back and looks at him seriously. “If anything happens to Sansa I’ll kill you.”

 

Sansa gasps but Theon doesn’t look surprised. “Of course, Lady Jeyne. If Robb or Jon don’t beat you to it.”

 

Jeyne giggles.

 

Theon looks out at the moon. “We should get going,” he tells Sansa. Sansa nods. She gives Jeyne one last hug and then Theon leads her to the stables, Lady following behind them. Their horses are already saddled, and Theon looks at Sansa, his hands going to her waist. “It’s you and me now, right?”

 

“You and me,” Sansa confirms.

 

Theon kisses her and then lifts her atop her horse, before climbing on his own. They ride off and out the gates of Winterfell. Just them, their horses, and Lady. Headed to Pyke, their first adventure as man and wife.

Chapter 18: Reaching Saltspear

Notes:

Short chapter today, but a chapter nonetheless.

The three day ride to Pyke is tiresome, but uneventful. Sansa’s not used to riding so often, and it’s all she does for days on end. One of the nights they even had to camp in the woods, something Sansa is not accustomed to nor wants to ever grow accustomed to.

 

Upon reaching Torrhen’s square they stay for an afternoon, renting a room at an Inn and Theon sells their horses, before buying them a small boat to take as passage down the river to the Saltspear.

 

Sansa quite enjoys their time on the river. It’s just the two of them, plus Lady, and it feels like a real honeymoon of sorts. They’re able to take the river downstream and so Theon doesn’t need to steer it at all, and they spend their time below deck, making love and lazing in each other’s arms. Sansa can’t think of a more perfect way for them to spend their time. She’s grown quite accustomed to the marriage bed, despite only being acquainted with it for about a week.

 

When they reach the estuary, Theon docks their boat, helping Sansa off of it, and then their bags, Lady wading in the water to get on shore.

 

“Which ship are we taking from here?” Sansa asks.

 

Theon looks around momentarily. “That one,” he says, motioning to his right. Sansa looks in that direction and gasps when she sees the ship he’s referring to, ships, really. There’s three ships, one slightly larger than the others, all docked near the shore. They’re adorned with black and gold Greyjoy sails.

 

“Is that the Iron Fleet?” Sansa asks, astounded.

 

“Part of it, yes,” Theon tells her, amused. “There’s a hundred ships total, give or take.”

 

“And they’re all here?” Sansa asks, surprised.

 

Theon chuckles, and kisses her cheek, throwing both of their bags over one shoulder so he can take her hand in his with his free arm. “No, love. The rest are back home.”

 

Home. It’s still strange to Sansa to think that the Iron Islands are her home now. She supposes she’ll get used to it, in time. But until then it’s still strange.

 

Theon leads her over to the ships, and there’s a woman standing there to greet them. She looks so much like Theon that Sansa is immediately able to place her.

 

“Lady Greyjoy,” The woman greets.

 

“Good-sister!” Sansa says happily, pulling Asha into a hug when they reach her. 

 

“Oh! Brother, she’s very friendly,” Asha informs Theon.

 

Sansa immediately pulls back, blushing. “Sorry, Lady Asha.”

 

“And formal, too.” Asha looks her up and down. “She’ll be good for you,” Asha tells Theon.

 

Theon chuckles and Asha steps towards him, opening her arms for him to hug. He hugs his sister, the first time in nearly a decade, and Sansa smiles at the pretty picture. Two siblings reunited after all this time. She hopes when she sees her siblings again it will be just as sweet. She prays for their separations to not be as long, though.

 

“Come, this way,” Asha tells them. “I’d like to get on the water before it’s too late in the day.” 

 

Theon nods, and takes Sansa’s hand again, the two of them following after Asha. When they get on the ship, it seems as though it’s the first time Asha’s noticed Lady.

 

“You’re bringing the wolf?” Asha asks.

 

“She’s my direwolf, she’s always with me,” Sansa says.

 

“Oh. Okay. Well I’m not sure how she’ll get along with the cat, but, nevermind. That can wait until after I introduce you to the main members of the crew.”

 

Sansa looks to Theon confused, but Theon shakes his head, mouthing: I’ll tell you later.

 

“You remember Dagmer, don’t you brother?” Asha asks.

 

Theon nods. “Uncle,” he says in greeting. The old man is a little hard for Sansa to look at, his lips are split in two by a giant scar across his mouth, and he’s missing teeth. The teeth he has are rotten, as seen when he smiles at her and Theon. Sansa has to fight to keep herself composed and kind, when she almost wants to hide behind Theon in fear. She squeezes his hand and he strokes her fingers reassuringly with her thumb.

 

The old man, Dagmer, Sansa corrects herself, looks over Theon long and hard. “You look like a mainlander,” is all he says.

 

Theon pauses momentarily, before nodding in agreement. “I’ve been on the mainland for some time,” he reasons. “It’s only natural, I suppose.”

 

Dagmer shrugs in agreement, and then lets out a loud laugh. He turns his attention to Sansa, and she can feel herself tense under his scrutiny. “And this is your mainland bride, eh?”

 

Theon nods, gently guiding Sansa a half step forward. “Pleasure to meet you, Ser,” Sansa says.

 

Dagmer laughs, much to Sansa’s bewilderment, but he doesn’t seem to be laughing in malice. “She’s a pretty one. I can see the appeal.” He says, before walking off.

 

Asha introduces them to the rest of the crew, and Theon seems to know a little more than half of them. Then she takes them below deck, to the captain’s quarters. 

 

“This ship is yours, Theon, already been blessed by Uncle Aeron. Still needs a name, though. Perhaps your lady wife can give it one? All of your things are in the room off of there,” Asha says, pointing to one of the doors. “I’m the room here, so if you could keep your nightly activities quiet?” She asks jestingly, smiling when Sansa blushes. “I’m going back up so we can set sail. Come above deck, little brother, when you’ve gotten it all settled.”

 

“Aye,” Theon agrees. “Thank you, Asha.”

 

Asha nods. “See you soon,” she tells him, and then leaves them be.

 

Sansa opens the door Asha had said was theirs and lets Lady walk through first, and then herself, followed by Theon with their things. The room is simple and bare, with a bed in the corner and a small desk, wardrobe, and nightstand. Theon sets their bags on the bed and turns to the desk, which has several things stacked upon it. He picks up a small wooden bin with a blanket in it, nestled on the blanket is a small kitten, a tabby with both oak brown and fire orange coloring, and impossibly fluffy. Sansa squeals when she picks it up from the box and cuddles it to her chest, Lady circling her skirt curiously. 

 

“A kitten!” Sansa exclaims. She hadn’t thought Asha serious when she mentioned a cat earlier.

 

Theon smiles at her excitement, and pets Lady so that she doesn’t feel the attention being stolen from her. “It’s customary to give one’s new wife a cat as a marriage present. I asked Asha to pick one out for you. Do you like it?”

 

“Like it?” Sansa squeals. She kisses the kitten's head. “I love it!” She tells Theon, stepping towards him and kissing his cheek. “Thank you!”

 

Theon blushes. “Of–of course,” he mumbles. He sets the bin back on the desk and Sansa pets Lady, cuddling the kitten tightly to her. Theon grabs another box, a much smaller one, and opens it, showing it to her. It’s a ring. Her wedding ring, she realizes. It’s a gold band with a blue pearl at the center surrounded by a cluster of various sized white pearls. She reaches her hand out eagerly for Theon to slide it on her finger, and he does. She pulls her hand close to her face so she can further examine it. It’s beautiful.

 

She tells him as much.

 

“It was my Aunt Gwynesse’s.” He had told her all about his family during their journey to Saltspear. Sansa knew Gwynesse was Theon’s mother’s sister. A widow, who had grown sad and forgetful in her state of mourning, who lived on the island of Harlaw with Theon’s mother and their brother, his Uncle Rodrik. In the widow’s tower, that had been named for her.

 

Sansa nods and smiles at the ring, before turning her attention to Theon and smiling at him. She sets the kitten in its box on the desk, and Lady walks over to sniff it, but she pays them no mind. Instead, she walks straight to her husband and pulls him by his doublet. He willingly lets her pull him until his lips come crashing into hers. He bushes their bags off the bed, them falling with a thud so loud that the little kitten startles. Sansa breaks away from Theon and rushes to comfort the kitten, picking it up and cuddling it to her. Theon can sense that the moment’s ruined and grunts in annoyance, falling back on the bed, Lady climbing up and joining him. Sansa giggles, and walks back over, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek.

 

“Later, my love.” Sansa promises. There’s a third box on the table, just as small as the second, and Sansa opens it up. There’s a simple golden band nestled within the box.

 

“That would be mine,” Theon tells her, looking over from where he’s sprawled on the mattress. Sansa smiles and takes the ring out of the box, bringing it over and sliding it onto her husband’s finger.

 

After a few minutes, Theon goes above deck, bringing Lady with him, and Sansa sits at the desk, the little kitten asleep in her lap. She contemplates writing a letter to send to Robb, but they wouldn’t be able to send it until they dock in Pyke so she figures she may as well wait a little.

 

She unpacks both her and Theon’s bags, and then grabs the kitten and heads above board as well. She sees Theon at the helm of the ship, Asha standing next to him, the two of them conversing out of earshot. Lady is on the deck, peering out at the open water, and Sansa walks over, giving her a pet upon reaching her. She looks out at the open water, and marvels at how vast it is. She knows if she looked behind her the mainland would still be in sight, but it amazes her that the water stretches as far as the eye can see when she looks straight ahead. She’s never felt this free, which she finds funny because she’s never felt trapped. Sure, there were times when she had wished she could have left Winterfell, like when the King first arrived and she thought she’d go South like Arya and Bran, but she finds she’s not disappointed. The sea feels so welcoming, so calming and serene, and King’s Landing, for all its royalty, was said to be impoverished and malodorous. 

 

Asha comes up beside her and looks out at the sea as well. “Thrilling isn’t it?” Asha asks. “Being at sea?”

 

Sansa nods, and then realizes Asha can’t see her. “Yes,” she says. She turns and looks at Theon, who is ordering two crewmates to tighten the sail, and looking so at ease as he does.

 

“He’s changed,” Asha says. “From when we were children. But it’s also like he never left. The last time he steered a ship he was eight years old and look at him.” She sounds like a proud older sister and Sansa wonders if Robb or Jon have ever talked of her in such a manner? 

 

“He looks happy,” Sansa says quietly. 

 

“Aye,” Asha agrees.

Just then Theon catches the two looking at him and he smiles. Sansa can tell the smile is more directed at her and she beams back at him. This was the right decision, she thinks, running away. Nothing bad could happen to them here.

Notes:

Random, but for those curious, while I am more following the books for plot (and given how little plot this follows take that with a grain of salt lol) I base all characters’ looks by how the actors look in the show, because it’s easier for me to visualize and describe where need be. However, while Sansa, Theon, Asha, Robb, etc, are all supposed to look like their show counterparts, I find it so easy to visualize Dagmer as he’s described in the books so I kept him the same.

Sorry if all the Ironborn characters seem weird. I really struggled to accurately write their personalities and mannerisms, no matter how hard I tried. So I kind of tried to not use them as much as possible, we’ll see how much better I get when they get to Pyke and are surrounded by Ironborn. Please remember I write for the romance, not as much the plot, so if things seem a little OOC or just off in any sense of the word, sorry about that.

Lastly, GRRM based the Ironborn off Vikings and Celts. I plan to use more of their traditions in the wedding ceremony as well as other ironborn characteristics, but one viking wedding tradition is for brides to be gifted cats as a sort of housewarming/wedding present. The cat I was writing of is a skogkatt, as it is native to Norway where the vikings were.

Feel free to leave any cat or ship name suggestions! Have a great day!

Chapter 19: The Lord of Pyke

Notes:

It has been so long since I've updated this story! I'm sorry about that! I've gotten caught up in my other stories it seems.

I plan to finish a current WIP, 'How to Get the Girl,' as a priority, but I'll try and update this story, as well as my other stories, as well. I might try and post like two chapters of that story, and then one chapter of a different story and follow that pattern if that makes sense?

Would you guys rather I focus on this Theonsa story the most or one of my other ones 'The Heir of Winterfell' or 'Who doesn't love a challenge?' It's hard for me to tell which story is a fan favorite, not that I have many fans lol.

Have a great Monday!

The rest of the journey isn’t as bad as Sansa thought it might be. The Ironborn didn’t particularly scare her much now, but certain handfuls of them still made her uncomfortable. She did earn some of their respect though, by not getting seasick at all on the journey. They said it was very surprising considering she was a girl, and a mainlander.

 

They dock at Pyke late into the night. So late, that early morning being a more accurate description. Sansa puts a leash on Lady and clutches Astrid, her little skogkatt, who has grown a fair amount in the time at sea but is still easy to hold with one arm, to her chest. She follows after Theon and Asha as they disembark the ship.

 

Standing at the shore, ready to greet them, are two of Theon’s uncles, Aeron and Victarion.

 

“Welcome home Theon,” One of the brothers says to them.

 

“That’s Uncle Aeron,” Asha whispers to Sansa helpfully.

 

“We don’t have time for this,” The other uncle, Victarion, says. “Theon, Asha, I have some unfortunate news. Your lord father is dead, drowned at the bottom of a bottle it seems. Now that you’re back, Theon is King, our Lord Reaper, we can have the ceremony tomorrow.”

 

Sansa is shocked by the news, but Theon and Asha both seem stunned. 

 

“Drinking wouldn’t have killed him,” Asha reasons. “He’s Ironborn, after all.”

 

“We can show you him, though it’s been nearly a week so he’s not in the best state now.”

 

Asha flinches, ever so slightly, and Sansa pities her. She understands Asha wanting to stay strong, but Sansa would never want to have to suffer through seeing her own father’s dead, decaying body. That would be torturous. Of course, Asha would never admit as much, she feels she has a reputation to uphold.

 

“Perhaps my lord husband goes to see him alone,” Sansa speaks up, looking at Theon carefully. He eyes her a little skeptically, unsure of what she’s getting at. “I’m rather exhausted from the journey, and Lady Asha promised to show me to my chambers. I’m sure you and your nephew have a lot to catch up on, anyway,” she adds, with a hint of a smile.

 

Victarion looks her up and down. “This is the Stark girl,” he realizes more than asks. “Very well, my niece can get you settled, but Asha come find us when you’re done. We do have much to discuss and prepare.”

 

Asha agrees and looks to Sansa with the barest trace of appreciation showing in her eyes. Theon winks at Sansa and then walks off with his uncles. It’s only when she and Asha are alone on the shore, that Sansa realizes what was just said. Balon Greyjoy is dead. Theon is Lord of the Iron Islands now. And Sansa is the lady. The Lady of the Iron Islands. She’s not sure if the flutters in her stomach are because she’s giddy or scared. Asha begins to walk off before she can decide, and Sansa rushes after her.

 

Pyke is more or less what Theon described it as. Rocks and sand. Sand and rocks. She wonders how the recultivation of Harlaw is going, but is too scared to ask Asha at the moment. She’s not sure how the Ironborn handle sadness, but gets the feeling most are the type to grow angry easily.

 

Asha leads her inside the main stronghold, through several twists and turns down different, confusing hallways. The castle is dark, and gloomy almost, but Sansa suspects it is due to the lack of decor, for it is sparsely decorated, and any sort of decor is old and either heavily worn or fraying.

 

“This is the Lady’s chambers. I’m not sure if Theon will be moved to my father’s just yet or not, but my mother hasn’t been to Pyke in years so I made sure they had this quarter ready for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Sansa smiles, taking Lady off her leash and setting Astrid on the ground. “But what do you mean Theon has different chambers? Won’t he stay with me?” She asks dubiously.

 

Asha makes a face. “Is that what you do in the mainland? Are all the lords and ladies so in love they never spend a night apart?” She laughs, and Sansa blushes. “If Theon likes you so much, he’ll have you moved to his chambers. He’ll definitely do that for the first month or so, until it’s confirmed he put a kraken in you, but you’ll be glad to have your own chambers. That way you won’t see any of his salt wives.”

 

“Theon’s not taking any salt wives,” Sansa says proudly,  standing taller as she does. Her hands fall to her stomach and press into it, though she’s not sure why. Maybe because she’s feeling defensive of her husband. 

 

Asha hears the confidence laced in her tone and blanches. “Drowned God!” She exclaims, exasperated. “The mainland really has changed him,” She mumbles to herself, but Sansa still hears her. “In any case, my brother can be a bit of a nuisance, you’ll discover that soon enough. You’ll be glad to get away from time to time.” 

 

“Oh. Okay.” She concurs, though she silently disagrees. 

 

Asha waits with Sansa until all of her things have been brought to the room, and then she heads off in search of her brother and uncles, leaving Sansa all alone.

 

She dresses for bed, and braids her hair in a long, complicated style, to kill some more time. She feels uneasy about going to sleep before she sees Theon again, and she knows he’ll come to check on her when he’s able.

 

She lights a candle, and takes a seat in the creakiest rocking chair she’s ever seen, as she pulls her sewing into her lap. Theon had asked Asha to bring Sansa some sewing supplies on the ship, and during the journey, Sansa had so much time on her hands she had made several things. She had made herself two new dresses, one of sand colored cotton, that Sansa had used black thread to embroider krakens all over the bodice and hem of the skirt. The other was a pearly grey, very similar color to Sansa’s dove grey dress, so Sansa had made sure to make this dress a completely different style. She gave it short, cap sleeves, and Sansa was sure to add no gold embroidery to it. Instead, she had used some black tulle to give the dress some contrasting bell sleeves, and lined the seams of the bodice with several strips of braided tulle, as well as trimming the skirt with it. She had made Theon a new pair of trousers and two new doublets. She had also made Asha a dress. It was similar to the one she had made Arya months ago in that it resembled armour, only it was black instead of silver. It had a high neckline and a stiff, yet dainty collar, and Sansa had embroidered a golden kraken on the chest. Sansa thought it was very pretty yet still not overly feminine, so she thought Asha may like it, but then she had never seen Asha wear a dress at all on the ship, and had chickened out of giving it to her before she even finished it. But now, with a supposed coronation tomorrow, Sansa figured her good-sister may need a dress. Taking the remaining black tulle, she added braided trim to the skirt but not the bodice. She then intertwined black and gold thread and used it to line the sleeves and collar. She finished it in no time, and then checked on her dresses. She figured she’d wear her dove grey dress tomorrow, but wanted to have a ribbon for her hair, so she cut up some remaining sand colored fabric, and gave it clean seams, before hanging it beside her dress in her wardrobe.

 

She then sits back in the rocking chair, stroking a sleeping Astrid as she lays in her lap with one hand, and using her other hand to pet Lady as well, when Theon finally arrives at her chambers.

 

“Hey,” He greets, his voice tired. He has his bag slung over his shoulder and he lazily drops it to the floor.

 

Sansa stands, and lays Astrid on the chair, before walking over to Theon and pulling him into a hug. He melts into her embrace, clutching her tightly.

 

“Are you okay?” She whispers. 

 

He nods against her. “I’m fine, just…tired. My uncles want to have both ceremonies tomorrow, both the wedding and the crowning ceremony. In the evening.”

 

“That soon?” Sansa asks as she pulls back.

 

Theon shrugs. “Why wait?” He reasons.

 

He sits down in the rocking chair and begins to take off his boots, and Sansa takes the opportunity to grab his bag and begin unpacking his things in here. It will be harder for him to leave her room if all his stuff is in it, too. By the time all of his things are unpacked, Theon has stripped down to his breeches and is walking around the room, looking at it closely.

 

“It’s the same as my mother left it,” He remarks quietly. Sansa looks over and smiles at him. “My Uncle sent someone this morning to fetch my mother for the ceremonies. She’ll be here tomorrow. As will a distant cousin of mine, Helya Harlaw. She’s Arya’s age I think, I’ll ask my Uncle Hotho if she can stay when I see him, that way you can have a friend.” 

 

Sansa nods. It will be nice to have a friend. And with Sansa soon-to-be Lady of the Iron Islands, perhaps Helya can become one of her ladies-in-waiting. She’s pretty sure that’s not an ironborn custom, but maybe Theon would allow it. Regardless, it’s a question for tomorrow. “Come to bed, my love,” She tells him, outstretching her hand. “It's going to be a long day tomorrow. You need your rest.”

 

“Wait,” he says, reaching in his pocket, and pulling out three parchments. “Letters from Winterfell. They arrived a few days ago,” he says, and sure enough Sansa sees the unbroken wax Stark seal on each. He hands two to her and keeps the other for himself and Sansa opens hers.

 

Sansa,

 

Your family did not take the news well. I’m not sure how cordial their ravens to you will be, but your Mother cried for a full day convinced Theon had really taken you, and Jon and Robb were so vehement in their anger that I was worried they would rush after you before you ever reached Torrhen’s Square. I was able to talk Jon down, and he got Robb to calm as well, but it was close. They’re still not happy about it. Nor are they happy with me. Jon refuses to speak to me and Robb, well, I think he’s just angry. He’s not avoiding or ridiculing me, but he constantly looks at me with disbelief.

 

Your mother has calmed some, and Rickon, while sad that you and Theon are gone, is probably the only one who can find joy in the situation. He keeps asking your mother when he can visit you on Pyke and if Theon will teach him to command a ship.

 

Your mother wrote to your father in King’s Landing immediately, so I expect you’ll be hearing from him at some point, too. 

 

Write as soon as you're able and let me know you are okay.

 

Your dearest friend,

Jeyne

 

She smiles a little, despite the warning Jeyne’s letter provides. She carefully folds the letter back up and sets it on her vanity, before opening the other letter.

 

Sansa,

 

Mother could not quite express her thoughts in words, so I am the one to write to you. I do hope you and Theon are okay. Jeyne and Maester Luwin have both stated that this was your idea, and if that’s the case, I’m sorry you felt the need to hide it from me. I’ll admit, I probably wouldn’t have allowed it to happen but I do wish you had come to me all the same. We could have worked out something else, I’m sure of it.

 

I’m not mad, so please do write back. Not to me as the Lord of Winterfell, but to me, as your brother, who loves you and is concerned for you. What’s done is done so let’s take true advantage of this marriage alliance with the Greyjoys. 

 

Send word when you reach Pyke and I will send an additional raven as well.

 

I love you,

Robb 

—

Theon,

 

What the hell were you thinking! Jeyne is insistent that this was Sansa’s idea, and if she weren’t such a good friend to Sansa I would take her for a liar. A scheme like this has you written all over it. I assume you're still mad about our fight in the Wolfswood.

 

I also assume you have already consummated the union, and I expect you to do right by my sister or I will come to the Iron Islands and kill you myself.

 

Don’t let me down, brother.

 

Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North

 

Theon swallows shallowly as he finishes reading Robb’s letter. He can tell Robb wrote one to Sansa as well and he hopes, for her sake, he was much kinder in it, though Theon knows he could have been much ruder in his own. He folds the letter and slips it in the pocket of his discarded doublet, before climbing into bed.

 

When Sansa finishes reading her second letter, she looks around the room and smiles when she sees that Theon’s made himself comfortable. She quickly rushes over to bed as well and lays her head on his chest. He wraps his arms around her and she holds him tighter, laying one of her legs over the both of his.

 

“Are you really alright?” She whispers.

 

“As much as I can be,” he confirms. “It’s all a little much, and Asha seems angry, but I’m not sure what about. If it’s at me, or maybe my father for dying. Who knows?”

 

“I think she’s scared,” Sansa tells him.

 

Theon chuckles tiredly. “I’ve never known Asha to be scared.”

 

Sansa smiles. She’s never known Robb to be scared. Or Jon. Maybe it’s an older sibling thing. But she could see it in Asha’s eyes earlier. She is scared. But Sansa can’t pinpoint exactly what she’s scared about.

 

“I made her a dress for tomorrow,” Sansa says, shifting the topic slightly.

 

“When?” Theon asks, his voice amused.

 

“Well, I started it on the ship, but I finished it tonight.”

 

“She’ll need it,” Theon says. “Thank you for thinking of her.”

 

“Of course!” Sansa smiles. She looks up at Theon and then kisses the corner of his mouth. “She’s my family too now.”

 

Theon’s eyes are drooping, but he still grins his true grin and kisses her lips, before closing his eyes and laying his head back down.

 

“Tomorrow everything will be different,” he says quietly.

 

“Isn’t it already?” Sansa wonders aloud.

 

“I suppose,” Theon agrees. 

 

“It will be a good different,” Sansa promises, her voice light and happy. “I can feel it.”

 

Theon appreciates her positivity, because he’s not sure he has the same outlook she does. He’s not sure he likes Pyke. He’s glad to be home, he feels comfortable here, but there’s something…different in the way he feels as opposed to how he thought he’d feel. Maybe being on the mainland for so long really has changed him. He wants to be on Pyke, he wants to rule it and rule it well. But he’s not so sure he believes in the Old Way anymore, and he’s not sure how he can change things without risking Sansa or his lives. His father tried to change things, and as a result Theon was shipped away. He and Sansa don’t have any children yet, but it’s only a matter of time, and Theon’s scared to admit he’s unsure of what will happen when he reveals his plans tomorrow, at the crowning ceremony. Perhaps one of his uncles will start a kingsmoot? Or maybe Asha will? He’s not sure what will happen, and he’s not sure he wants to find out. But Sansa’s wandering hands soon distract him, and he forgets his worries completely when she brings her mouth and tongue into the distraction as well. By the time he remembers it’s mid morning, and the sun is shining heavily through the open window, commanding him to wake and get out of bed. He lets out a breath, and then does just that, bracing himself for the day ahead of him. His first day as the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Chapter 20: Growing Family

Summary:

Theon's plans for his reign as the lord of the Iron Islands + a Harlaw/Greyjoy reunion!

Notes:

Would you guys want another chapter of this story or 'The Heir of Winterfell' first?

Also, kinda random but what are people’s thoughts on Robb/Myrcella?

Sansa’s not sure what time it is when she wakes, for it feels early, but the sun is shining strong and bright. Theon’s up and dressing quickly, and Sansa rushes to dress as well, for she’ll need him to help her get her dresses laces tied neatly before he leaves. He wordlessly helps her tighten her corset, and then ties the laces at the back of her dove grey dress once she’s put it on.

 

“I have to go find my uncles,” Theon tells her, as she begins to take the braid out of her hair. “But I’ll come find you around lunch time.”

 

“Okay,” Sansa agrees. “Send Asha by when you see her so I can give her her dress.” Sansa tells him.

 

He nods, and kisses her, lingering for longer than he should, before heading off. Sansa braids two pieces of hair back, and pulls all of her hair up, securing it and then twisting it into a crescent bun, incorporating the ribbon she made the night before so that it hung decoratively. She washed her face, cleaned her ears, and fiddled with her pearl wedding ring while she debated what to do next. She’s not sure if she’s supposed to stay in her chambers all day. Theon had said he would come find her, which would imply she didn’t have to be here, where he last left her, but she didn’t really know where she could go. She also had told Theon to send Asha here, so it would look bad on her if Asha came and she was gone. 

 

Astrid comes and hops into her lap, and Sansa absentmindedly strokes her fur, looking down at her kitten, and that’s when she gets the idea to make matching ribbons for Astrid and Lady. Cutting up more pieces of the sand colored cotton, she does just that.

 

She ties each ribbon on her pets, and then shuffles through one of the drawers of the desk in her chambers, happy to find a quill, ink, and some parchment. She begins to pen letters for Winterfell, for surely Theon will be able to get them sent.

 

Robb,

 

I write to let you know I have arrived safely to Pyke alongside Theon. We met up with his sister, Asha, in Saltspear, and she made the rest of the journey with us. We got here last night. Upon arrival, however, we received the news that Theon’s father, Lord Balon Greyjoy, is dead.

 

I’m not sure if the news has already reached you or not, and I imagine Theon will write to you in greater detail about the politics of all that it entails, but just so you hear it from me, too. 

 

I haven’t gotten too settled in Pyke, so I can’t speak to you regarding that, but just know that I am safe and sound. Theon’s coronation, as well as our Ironborn wedding ceremony will take place later today, and I plan to write a raven to Mother soon detailing that as well as any other updates. Is she still mad at Theon and I? I hope not. Please do assure her I am well.

 

Love,

Your sister,

Sansa 

 

She looks over the letter for any errors, and is satisfied to find none, so she begins to pen a second letter.

 

Jeyne,

 

Theon and I have made it to Pyke! It looks the same as it was described in the book we read, but it doesn't feel as dreary as it looks. Not yet anyway. Theon’s father died a week ago, and now Theon is to be crowned today. He seems very stressed on the subject, but I’d be more worried if he wasn’t. This is no light matter.

 

I am to be a Princess of Pyke! Can you believe it? I know I won’t technically hold a royal title, but here on the islands Ironborn have already referred to me as such. The title doesn’t mean to me as much as I thought it would, but the sentiment behind it warms me a little. The Ironborn don’t seem to completely hate me.

 

I do hope Jon and Robb have forgiven you by now and that all is well in Winterfell. Give my family hugs for me!

 

Love,

Sansa

 

She looks over her letter and then decides to change her sign off. Adding to it so that it reads: Lady Sansa Greyjoy of the Iron Islands.

 

It will make Jeyne smile just as much as she is now when she sees it. There’s a knock on her door just as she folds the letter. Setting it aside, she moves to open it.

 

“Lady Asha!” She greets excitedly.

 

Asha smiles at her faintly. Asha sort of reminds her of Jon. Not as broody, but just as expressionless.

 

“Lady Sansa,” Asha says back. “My brother said you had a dress for me?”

 

Sansa nods, and grabs it from her wardrobe. “I thought you could wear it for the ceremonies today. I started working on it a week or so ago, but didn’t finish it until last night.” She hands the dress over and Asha studies it briefly. 

 

“It’s pretty,” Asha tells her. “Thank you.”

 

Sansa beams at the compliment. Perhaps she and Asha can be as close as true sisters! As she wished for her and Arya to be, had Arya not turned out so wild. She no longer despises Arya for her behaviors, but is well aware that they’ll never be too close unless Arya reforms her manners.

 

Asha makes to leave at that, and Sansa quickly follows after her, slipping her notes in her pocket. Lady follows after her, having proved extra clingy lately, and Sansa lets her come, attaching her leash to her. She leaves Astrid be, though, for she is napping soundly.

 

“What are you doing today, Lady Asha?” Sansa asks excitedly, as she hurries to catch up with her good-sister.

 

Asha looks over at her confused, likely she hadn’t expected her to follow, but she just keeps walking. “I’ll put the dress away. I don’t need it until later, and then I’ll look for Theon and my uncles and see what needs to be done for tonight. Most likely I’ll be the one preparing for my mother’s arrival.”

 

“Perhaps I can join you? I have nothing to do the rest of the morning, it seems.”

 

“I guess,” Asha shrugs.

 

So Sansa goes with Asha as she drops off her dress, and then accompanies her to the docks, where their ship had arrived the night before, and listens on as Asha informs the crew manning the dock to alert her when her mother’s ship arrives. She follows Asha as she then looks for her Uncle Aeron. They find him talking with Theon in the great hall.

 

“Brother! Uncle!” Asha calls out as she makes her way to him. Sansa rushes over to Theon’s side and he takes her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, and then letting go. Sansa smiles at him and steps closer to his side, and he wraps his arm around her hips, resting his hand over her stomach.

 

“We were just discussing some things, so it’s good that you’re both here.” Aeron says. “Firstly, here are ravens from King’s Landing. They arrived not long after the ones from the North, but I had to keep them hidden or else Victarion would have had them opened already.” Aeron hands three letters to Sansa, and Theon reaches in his pocket and pulls out two to let her know he has his too. Theon tucks his in his pocket so Sansa does the same. “Secondly, we were going over the ceremonies. They’ll happen simultaneously so you’ll both be crowned just after you’ve said your vows. Then we’ll have the drowning ceremony for Theon, after which Theon wants to make an announcement, though I recommend he runs it by at least Asha or I before he does.”

 

“What’s the announcement?” Asha asks, just as Sansa says “ drowning ceremony?”

 

Theon nods, turning to look at her. “After I am crowned they’ll drown me and Uncle Aeron will bring me back to life, to prove I’m worthy of the seastone chair.”

 

“You could die!”

 

“I’ve only unsuccessfully revived four ironborn in all my days,” Aeron attempts to reassure her.

 

“Exactly!” Sansa snips. “He’s not doing that.”

 

“It’s not up to you, girl.” Aeron tells her, growing defensive at her attitude.

 

Theon squeezes her waist with his hand in an effort to calm her. “I’ll be fine. Uncle did it to me as a baby and I survived.”

 

“Well I’ll be damned if you do it to our children!” She all but yells.

 

Sansa wants to argue some more, but Asha interrupts her before she can. “We only do it to the boys.” She dismisses. “What announcement, brother?”

 

Theon takes a deep breath, and looks between his three family members, reaching down and petting Lady, who is still leashed and standing beside Sansa. Looking back to her, Sansa nods at him encouragingly and he speaks. “I want to reform the islands, like Grandfather tried to, before Balon put a stop to it. No more Old Way, I want us to revert to how the islands were at the start of time, a follower of the Seven. No raping or reaving. No more thralls or salt wives.” He looks at Sansa as he says the last bit, and Sansa beams at him. Asha and Aeron, however, both seem resistant.

 

“The Old Way is our way,” Asha says.

 

“Not any more.” Theon shakes his head. “No one on the mainlands respects the Iron Islands, and with good reason considering how we behave. If we want them to take us seriously we have to act seriously. We have to make a change.” He turns to his uncle. “My mother used to tell me stories of my grandfather’s rule. She said it was a happier time. You lived through it, and through my father’s. Which was better?”

 

Aeron thinks carefully before he speaks, and the three of them look at him expectantly. “My father’s rule was better than my brother's, that's for sure. He was victorious in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, he brought maesters to the island that brought great health and knowledge along with them. He didn’t lead a failed rebellion, and was overall more respected. All that is true. But you have been away from home a long time, my nephew. You can’t just come back and change everything and expect a peaceful rule. There will be a great protest. Great upheaval. Victarion may call a Kingsmoot. If Euron were here he most certainly would. You have to be able to handle all of that and come out stronger. Or else it will never work.”

 

Theon nods. He grabs one of the letters out of his pocket. “My good-father, Lord Eddard Stark, wrote me this raven. He confirmed an earlier message he had sent that Robert Baratheon plans to invade Essos and kill the Targaryen and her dragons. He’ll need a fleet to do so, and he can’t easily get one from Dorne given their history, so he’ll come to us. He’ll come to me. Because of my ties to Ned Stark as his ward, and now my overall ties to the North through Sansa. We will aid the Iron Throne in the war to come, and when we return to the islands we will have earned their respect, and a stronger place within Westeros, but we can only keep it if we reform our ways.” He takes a deep breath. “I know it won’t be a well received notion at first, but it was working, with my grandfather, and I believe it can work with me. If I had the support of my sister and uncle, I’m sure it would help persuade any weary Ironborn.”

 

Aeron and Asha are quiet for several moments, and Sansa has to fight herself to be quiet, too. She wants to squeal and dance in excitement at Theon’s plan. Finally, Aeron speaks up.

 

“Your plan is bold, which means so are you. The Iron Islands are due for reformation, and I’ll be glad to see out my days under your rule. You have my support.” Aeron pledges.

 

Theon nods, grateful, and everyone turns to Asha. She’s still silently deciding her opinion. She looks from Theon to Sansa several times. “She brought this notion to you,” Asha says aloud.

Theon shakes his head. “Sansa had nothing to do with it,” he defends.

 

“I know. I mean being with her, and being on the mainland. It changed you. I thought it made you soft, but now…I’m not so sure. I suppose it made you…smarter?” She shakes her head, laughing a little. “I take that back, that’s not the right word. I just mean, you’re better than I thought you’d be. You have my support, brother. And we know you’ll have Mother’s and all Harlaw support so that will aid you as well.”

Theon smiles, and Sansa finally lets herself react. She hugs Theon tightly and kisses his cheek, before turning and hugging Asha and Aeron as well. They hug back stiffly, but Sansa takes the hugs for what they are.

 

Uncle Aeron walks them through how the ceremony will play out, and then Sansa is excused. She takes the opportunity to read her newest letters, settling on a large rock near the shore, Lady resting at her feet as she reads.

 

She recognizes her father’s handwriting and reads his letter first, both nerves and excitement filling her stomach. She knows her father isn’t pleased with her at the moment, but it’s been so long since she’s heard from him that she thinks any words will be of comfort to her.

 

Sansa,

 

When your mother sent word of what you and Theon had done, I must admit I was surprised. I’d expect something brash from Theon, but not from you. But now that it is done it cannot be helped. I’m assuming you are well and happy, but if you’re not, just let me know and your brothers and I will come to get you. I still have half a mind to come to Pyke myself. Now that King Robert is starting to get back on his feet, I just might. I know it would soothe your mother some if I could confirm for myself that all is well, and I’d be able to stop in Winterfell on my way there and back. I’ll wait a fortnight for a response for you, but if I don’t hear anything I will be on my way to Pyke no question about it.

 

You’ve always been a bright girl, so I know you have a reason behind doing this. You’ll make a wonderful Lady of the Iron Islands, as good a liege lady as your mother, I’m sure.

 

Love, 

Your father,

Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Hand to the King Robert Baratheon, and Protector of the Realm 

 

Sansa worries about her father’s letter. She might be safe in Pyke, but she’s not sure if her father would be. Or maybe he would? Now that Balon is dead. She’ll have to ask Theon. She opens the next letter before her thoughts and fears consume her.

 

Lady Greyjoy,

 

Sansa feels exceedingly giddy when she sees it. It’s the first time it’s ever been written down before. Lady Greyjoy! Sansa thinks it looks rather perfect.

 

I was utterly surprised when I heard the news of yours and Lord Greyjoy’s nuptials. How romantic! Running off to Pyke like that!

 

It’s been awhile since I’ve written you, so this letter will serve as both a congratulations and an update on life in King’s Landing.

 

My father is recovering fairly quickly from his heart attack. Ser Arys wouldn’t tell me much, but I do think he plans to declare war against the Targaryen girl because he’s started training again. And while he hasn’t done away with drinking, he is drinking a lot less than normal. Tommen, Bran, and Arya are training, too, though I doubt either of our mother’s will let them participate in the war to come.

 

Apparently your Lord Father discovered that Lord Baelish, our Master of Coin, was embezzling most of the Realm’s funds. He’s been sentenced to death, no trial at all, at the end of the week. My Uncle Tyrion is to replace him.

 

My mother tried to visit Joffrey in the Vale but Father refused. She’s been rather confined to her room since then, though Tommen, my uncle Jaime, and I all try to keep her company.

 

I haven’t gotten a letter from Robb and nearly two moons. Was he awfully busy up until your journey? I do hope that’s the reason. You’d tell me if I did something to upset him, right? 

 

Please do write back and tell me all about your romantic adventure!

 

Your friend,

Princess Myrcella Baratheon

 

Myrcella’s letter is perhaps the most informative of them all. She hadn’t heard anything of Lord Baelish’s schemes or Lord Tyrion replacing him. She makes a mental note to relay the news onto Theon. Setting that letter aside she opens her final one.

 

Sansa,

 

Father is upset that you and Theon married. I stole the letter Mother wrote to him and she seemed very upset as well. Be aware, I think Father is planning to come to the Iron Islands. Write back if you need Robb, Jon, or I to come and rescue you.

 

Sincerely,

Bran

 

P.S. I stole Bran’s letter before he sealed it. I think it’s so cool of you, running away like that and defying Mother and Father. Stupid, but cool. Perhaps I can visit you on the Iron Islands? Other than my training lessons, King’s Landing’s a bore. And it smells terrible! You’re lucky you married Theon and not Joffrey. - Arya

 

Sansa can’t help but smile at her two younger siblings’ messages. Though of rather differing opinions, the sentiment in each is rather heartwarming. She wonders just how much the two of them have grown up while away. She prays that she’ll be able to see them again soon. 

 

Tucking the letters away into her vanity drawer, she begins to get ready for the ceremony. She puts on her dove grey dress and braids and twists her hair up into a simple updo, letting the sand colored ribbons lined with golden thread fall in loose curly cues just above her shoulders. She’s saddened she only has her wedding band for jewelry, for all of the jewelry she brought with her was made of silver and would not go with the gold accents of her dress. It can’t be helped, so she busies herself with retying the bows on Lady and Astrid when there’s a knock at her door.

 

“Come in,” Sansa calls.

 

Asha pokes her head in, and Sansa smiles at her, her smile growing when she sees Asha is in the dress she gave her. 

 

“I can’t get a couple of buttons at the back,” Asha says. “And I can’t ask anyone else for help with a dress.” Asha doesn’t necessarily ask Sansa for help either. She just steps into the room and turns her back to Sansa, waiting for her to secure the remaining buttons. Sansa does just that.

 

“Is that how you’re going to wear your hair?” Sansa asks.

 

Asha shrugs. “What’s wrong with it?” She asks. Her hair is short, so it can’t be styled too easily, but it could use a brushing, and perhaps Sansa could work a dragon braid or something into it to keep it neat.

 

“Sit, please.” Sansa says excitedly, motioning to her vanity stool and then grabbing her hair brush.

 

Asha reluctantly sits down. “Nothing too fancy or that will take too long,” she says.

 

Sansa nods. She combs through her hair and then does a dragon braid at the back, securing each section with thread. When that is done, Asha glances out the window and gasps. “What is it?”

 

“Mother is here!” Asha says, her voice as excited as Sansa’s ever heard it. Asha stands up immediately and runs out the door. Sansa looks out the window and sees two longships, each with the Harlaw flag approaching the docks, picking up Astrid and motioning for Lady to come, she runs after Asha so as to not get lost.

 

Sansa’s out of breath by the time she catches up with Asha and reaches the docks. Theon is there, too, waiting for his family to arrive. Sansa clutches her stomach in an effort to regain her breath and compose herself, and Theon hurries to her side, taking Astrid from her and setting her on the ground beside Lady, before helping Sansa to stand straighter.

 

“Are you alright, love?” Theon asks, looking at her worriedly. Sansa nods, and stands up straighter, despite still feeling a little light headed. She grabs onto Theon’s hand to steady herself, and he doesn’t let go.

 

Two older men are the first to disembark one of the longships. Theon whispers that the one on the left is his Uncle Rodrik and the one on the right is his Uncle Hotho. 

 

“Uncles,” Theon greets, stepping forward. Sansa steps forward as well.

 

“Theon,” Hotho nods.

 

“You’ve grown taller than your father,” Rodrik remarks, a smile on his lips. He turns to Sansa and bows his head ever so slightly. “You must be the new Lady Greyjoy. My sisters have been eager to meet you.” He turns his head to look back just as three women emerge. Two of them are older, no doubt Theon’s mother Alannys and Aunt Gwynesse, and the other much younger, closer to Sansa’s own age. Sansa assumes she is Helya, Theon’s cousin. 

 

“My boy!” Alannys squeals. She looks placid and disheveled simultaneously as she rushes over to Theon, nearly falling as she practically jumps off the boat. “My boy,” she says again when she’s closer, this time much quieter and subdued. She pulls Theon into a tight embrace for several long moments, before pulling back and studying his features. Alannys is beaming as she looks over her son, and then turns to embrace her daughter, Asha willingly hugging her back. Sansa is watching Alannys interact while Theon turns to his aunt and cousin to greet them. When Alannys pulls away from Asha, she turns back to Theon, only to seemingly just then notice Sansa standing there.

 

Alannys’s face pulls tight for a moment as she tries to figure out who Sansa is. 

 

“Mother,” Theon says slowly. “This is my wife. Lady Sansa.”

 

Alannys grows confused, before revelation falls over her countenance. “You’re married!” She exclaims happily, hugging her son again. Sansa knows Alannys’s memory and state of mind isn’t sound, and so she’s not surprised that Alannys didn’t remember her and Theon to be married, even though she should have known it was part of the reason of the Harlaw’s coming to Pyke. Alannys lets go of Theon and grabs Sansa’s hands, studying her frame and features. “And you’re expecting! How lovely!”

 

Sansa’s mouth falls open. “What do you mean, Lady Alannys?” She looks down at her stomach, trying to do some quick math in her head.

 

“Oh it’s early yet dear, but look at you?” Alannys says. “Doesn’t she look with child, Gwyn?” 

 

Gwynesse walks closer, before nodding her head. “Barely a moon by the looks of it,” Gwynesse agrees.

 

Sansa is too stunned to speak. She looks at Theon and he looks stunned as well. “Wouldn’t a moon make it too early to tell?” He asks his aunt, though his arm wraps securely around Sansa’s side, his hand resting on her stomach.

 

“Maybe, but your mother and I have always had an eye for this sort of thing.” Gwynesse says.

 

“It will be a boy,” Alannys says happily.

 

A boy! Sansa thinks. A baby boy! Her baby boy! Hers and Theon’s! The heir of the Iron Islands. Sansa beams as she rests her hand atop of Theon’s.

 

“Come, let’s get you settled before the ceremony.” Asha says, leading her mother away, Gwyn and Helya following after her. Rodrik, Hotho, and the rest of Theon’s uncles and cousins who made the journey heading off as well until only Theon and Sansa remain on the dock. 

 

“Did you know?” Theon asks, a light grin on his lips as he pulls Sansa to him, his hands now resting on either side of her waist. Sansa shakes her head, a light blush on her cheeks. She should have known. Women are supposed to know these things, but truth be told she had no idea. Theon leans in and kisses her happily. “A child!” He exclaims. “I can’t believe it!”

 

“Neither can I!” Sansa remarks. She thinks she’s still in a state of disbelief, despite the happiness she’s feeling, she feels exceedingly anxious, too. What does she know about raising a baby? And on the Iron Islands, too? Did her mother feel this way when she had Robb? Of course, her mother birthed Robb in the comfort of the Riverlands, her own home, and had her family to help her. Water and soil separate Sansa from her own home, and the only family she has here is all new. She knows she won’t have to raise the baby completely on her own, Theon will help, and Alannys and Gwyn certainly seem excited, but Sansa almost feels…lonely? An odd feeling when surrounded by countless people, but none of which will understand how she feels. She’s a stranger here, in her new home. A stranger who is the liege lady and now carries the heir. A stranger whose husband wants to reform the land they’ve only just set foot on. A stranger whose father is the protector of the realm. A stranger whose brothers may be shipped off to war. A stranger who is soon to be a mother herself, yet wants nothing more than to wrap herself in the safety of her own mother’s warm embrace.

Notes:

I pictured Sansa’s hair to look like Princess Anna’s hair at Elsa’s coronation in Frozen, for anyone who wants a visual. And dragon braids are an easy hairstyle for shorter hair, which is why I chose it for Asha.

Also, who's surprised by the ending of the chapter! Next chapter will be the ceremonies and such, but then the story's going to take a fun turn!

Have a great day!

Chapter 21: A Stag on the Water

Notes:

I was struggling to write this chapter just because I didn't know what to include in the ceremonies, I ended up just glossing over them and moving on, but hopefully it's not too big of a deal.

I haven't proofread, so sorry for any errors.

Sansa goes and finds Asha, Alannys, Gwynesse, and Helya, the latter three of which are getting ready for the ceremony and simultaneously unpacking. 

 

“Sansa dear, how good of you to join us!” Gwyn says, smiling when she enters. “Have you properly met Helya, Theon asked for her to be a lady-in-waiting for you.”

 

“Not officially, I haven’t. Hello Helya!” Sansa smiles warmly.

 

“Lady Greyjoy,” Helya curtsies. She looks as young as Arya, but much like Sansa herself is rather tall for her age. She’s got on a rock-gray dress with minimal adornments and frills, and her hair is loosely tied back in two windswept braids.

 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lady Helya,” Sansa smiles.

 

Helya smiles back, twiddling with the ends of her braids.

 

“Perhaps I can help you with your hair, Lady Helya?” Sansa asks cautiously.

 

“Isn’t that supposed to be my job?” Heyla asks, her voice a little timid. 

 

“My hair’s already done, but you can do it another day. We can get in the habit of doing each others!” Sansa smiles, and Helya smiles back.

 

Sansa doesn’t have time to do an intricate hairstyle, so she merely brushes through Helya’s hair and rebraids it into two fishtail braids. While she does this, Asha helps her mother and aunt finish packing and getting ready.

 

Alannys looks beautiful in a sea green dress that brings out the color that hides behind her clouded eyes. She wears a long necklace, strung with pearls, which are occasionally separated by beads made of seaglass and small shells. Her hair has been pulled back and secured in a net that also has bits of seaglass woven into it.

 

Aunt Gwynesse is in a blue dress as dark as the deepest depths of the sea. You would think it was black, if it weren’t for the sunlight shining on it and revealing the midnight hue. Sansa’s quite inspired by the dress, and its long, poet sleeves. She makes a mental note to look for a similar fabric to make a dress of her own. She needs new ones, now that her stomach is to grow round with child. 

 

Once everyone is ready, they’re about to head back outside, when all of the sudden Alannys gasps. “I almost forgot,” she says, rushing to her jewelry box that was recently set onto the vanity. She opens it and pulls out two velvet pouches, handing a blue one to Asha and a magenta one to Sansa. “For my daughters,” she says smiling, and looking at the two of them expectantly as she waits for them to open it.

 

Sansa pulls on the string carefully, opening the pouch and dropping its contents into her palm. It’s a dainty pearl necklace, small ladybird sized snow white pearls strong on a durable silk string, with two metal clasps in the back. There’s a matching bracelet and earrings too.

 

Asha received pearl jewelry as well, only she didn’t get any earrings. Her necklace and bracelet are strung with large, chunky, black pearls that Sansa finds rather fitting for Asha.

 

“The black pearls were mine and the white were Gwynesse’s when we were younger. Gwyn and I thought it would be good to give to you both.”

 

“Thank you, Mother,” Asha says, as Helya helps her put on the jewelry.

 

“Thank you, Lady Alannys,” Sansa echoes. Turning to her good-aunt she says, “and Lady Gwynesse.”

 

“Of course, dear. Gwynesse says, before helping Sansa put on all the jewelry. The five girls then go downstairs at that, Lady trailing after them. Sansa puts the leash back on her direwolf and keeps her close to her side. Some of the Ironborn had been eyeing her sweet wolf with contempt, others with disdain, and some with fear. Only her Harlaw relatives seemed to care for the wolf, with Helya and Alannys reaching out to pet her as they walked. 

 

The group of them walk towards the shores of Pyke, and Asha is the first to notice the small ship tied at the long dock, and the Baratheon sail adorning it. Her hand draws the sheathed dagger from her pocket and she unsheaths it, holding it at the ready. 

 

“Why is there a Baratheon ship here?” Asha asks Sansa cautiously.

 

Sansa looks over and sees the ship now too. “I…I don’t know…” Sansa tells the truth. If the yellow sail and black stag weren’t so unmistakably Baratheon, she would have figured Asha had it wrong.

 

Every important Ironborn is on the shore already, as they had been waiting for the ceremonies. They eye the ship with the same skepticism Asha holds, though perhaps to a greater extent. Most of them have the swords drawn at the ready as well. But there’s only one ship, and from what Sansa’s learned of ships lately, it’s not large enough to be a longship. Whoever is on that ship, be it Stannis, Renly, Robert himself, or any one of his bannermen, they’ve come here peacefully. Well, as peacefully as one can come to the Iron Islands.

 

“Mother, stay here,” Asha commands, flagging a group of Ironborn to come stand beside them. “Sansa, come with me.” Asha leads the way, and Sansa hands Lady’s leash to Helya, for her to hold, but as she hands it over Lady takes the opportunity to sprint off in the direction of the dock.

 

“Lady!” Sansa admonishes. Her sweet pup has never done that before. Lady lets out a bark only it doesn’t sound much like her. It sounds a lot more like…”Summer?” Sansa calls out. She sees her little brother’s wolf run down the dock and towards his sister, and seconds later Nymeria is running after him, too. 

 

Dagmer, Uncle Hotho, and Uncle Victarian are all standing on the dock, and as Sansa rushes towards it, now leading Asha instead of the other way around, she sees Theon emerge from the ship with her very own father at his side.

 

“Father?” Sansa yells in disbelief. Theon and Ned’s gazes both turn towards her, and when she and her father make eye contact, and she realizes it’s really him, she sprints in his direction, passing the three direwolves who are now reuniting just down the shore. 

 

Sansa races down the rickety dock, nearly falling several times in her haste, but she always has enough grace to catch herself and carry on. When she finally reaches her lord father and the other surrounding men, she remembers where she is, and who is watching. Everyone is watching, for that matter, she realizes when she quickly glances back at the shore. She comes to a halt and takes slow, small steps to finish making her way to her father and her husband.

 

Her father too, who seems to have forgotten himself in the moment of seeing her again, composes himself, the Lord of Winterfell face coming back to him.

 

 “Sansa,” He greets warmly, his voice full of affection despite his neutral expression. He holds out his arms to her and Sansa is quick to walk into him and hug him tightly. She pulls back and looks at him confused, but he doesn’t say anything more, so she lets go and walks to stand on Theon’s other side.

 

“What’s going on?” Asha asks.

 

“Lord Stark is here on behalf of King Robert Baratheon,” Theon tells her. “They ask for our aid in the war he plans to wage against the Targaryen.”

 

“Is that so?” Asha asks, looking to Ned to confirm.

 

Ned gives a slight nod of his head. “Yes, my lady. The Royal Fleet will only be so sufficient against the Dothraki army. The King needs more ships and more men.”

 

“And the King chose to ask us? Does he not remember what happened a decade ago? Why not ask Dorne? It’s much closer to King’s Landing.” 

 

“Because of what happened between Dorne two decades ago,” Ned supplies. Sansa knows what he’s referring to, how Tywin Lannister ordered Elia Martell and her two children to be killed on Robert’s behalf. Asha realizes what he means after an awkward, long pause. 

 

Turning to face her brother, she asks, “Well, Lord of the Iron Islands, what say you? Are we to help the King in this war?”

 

Theon looks at Ned. “The Iron fleet consists of 100 warships. The Redwyne’s have more, why didn’t you go to them?”

 

“Renly Baratheon is currently in the Arbor, negotiating. And Stannis Baratheon is prepping the Royal Fleet. They say the Dothraki number 100,000. If we are to overpower them, we’ll need all the ships we can get.”

 

Theon nods. “I’ll lend you the ships, and the captains and men in them, but I’m not the Lord of Pyke just yet, so I cannot command that of the Ironborn. We’ll say you’ve come to visit Sansa, and we’ll wait a few days to announce our joining of King Robert’s cause.”

 

“Very well,” Ned nods. “I assume I came at a bad time?” Ned asks, looking towards the crowded shore.

 

“You came at the perfect time,” Aeron says, having just approached them. “It is time for your good-son to be crowned. The Ironborn grow impatient, so we must get on with it.” 

 

Her father nods yet again. “Of course. Let me just grab my two children who are with me, and we can head to the shore. Jory, bring Bran and Arya out, please!” Ned yells. Moments later, Arya and Bran come bursting through the trap door at the front of the ship, Jory right behind them.

 

Sansa gasps when she sees her two siblings. She hadn’t seen them in nearly a year. 

 

“Bran!” Sansa calls out happily, rushing over and hugging her little brother. “You must be a foot taller!” It was an exaggeration to be sure, but he’s certainly grown half a foot or so. 

 

“You think?” He asks hopefully, and Sansa suppresses a giggle. His voice has changed, too. As has his clothes, which are much more southern style, but Sansa supposes that’s to fit the climate. Something else that’s new is the sheathed sword at his belt. Sansa thinks he wears it well. Other than his height, voice, and clothes he looks very much the same. 

 

Next, Sansa turns to Arya, who pulls her into a hug before she can even reach for her. “I missed you,” she whispers to her sister. Arya doesn’t reply, she merely nods in agreement.

 

Sansa waits for Arya to be the one to pull back, and when she does, Sansa takes the chance to get a better look at her. Like Bran, Arya looks more or less the same but in the opposite way. Her height’s the same, her voice is the same, but her appearance has changed. Her hair is twisted back into a neat braid that has been twisted and secured into a bun at the nape of her neck. It’s barely windswept when ordinarily it would be wild. Her dress is still northern style, and it stops midway at her calf when she’s at the age where it should fall to the floor, but it’s much cleaner than it used to be, there’s no mud caking the edges of the skirt, and upon closer inspection, there’s no patches or tears that have yet to be mended. She’s not Arya Horseface anymore. Though perhaps she’s still a little wild and unladylike, for her sword, Needle, is strapped to her side same as Bran.

 

Sansa doesn’t have time to give Jory a hug before Asha has come to her side and taken her hand, pulling her along until she falls in step with her. Theon comes to Sansa’s other side and falls in step as well, and the three of them lead the way to the shore.

 

Sansa gets separated from her family as she and Theon are told to follow Aeron, climbing up a large salt rock where they can stand above the crowd. She searches frantically for a moment, but smiles when she sees her father and siblings standing next to her Harlaw relatives. Her father is whispering to Uncle Hotho and Uncle Rodrik, while Bran is holding Lady and Summer’s leashes while talking to Helya who is eagerly petting the wolves, and Arya and Jory are struggling to keep Nymeria still enough to put her collar and leash on her.

 

Uncle Aeron clears his throat in signal that the ceremonies are to begin, and all eyes turn to Theon and Sansa. Sansa blushes, feeling her face warm with all eyes on her. Beside her, Theon stands straighter, though his posture still looks nervous. Sansa discreetly squeezes his hand in reassurance before letting it go and turning to face Aeron.

 

The wedding ceremony is first. The Ironborn wedding ceremony is very similar to that of the faith of the Seven. There are a few distinguished differences, such as standing on the shore with one’s feet in the water, and being sprinkled with salt water, but the vows are more or less the same and their hands are still tied together in the end. 

 

When the wedding is done, the two driftwood crowns are placed on their heads. Theon’s is simple, resting above his brow like it was meant to be there, though Sansa can tell by the way he’s now standing that it feels a little heavy on his head. Sansa’s crown is a little more intricate. Thin, smooth twigs secured upright on a driftwood band. Sansa too finds it heavier than she thought it would be. 

 

Once the crowns are on their head, Aeron announces now would be time for a kingsmoot should any captain have something to say. Silence follows, and Sansa holds her breath as she waits for something to happen.

 

There’s murmurs in the crowd, but no one calls for a Kingsmoot, and Sansa lets out a sigh of relief at that. Her eyes find her father’s and she smiles at him. He smiles back, but his smile is hesitant, as he then looks around at the crowd that is now rather suddenly dispersing. 

 

Theon climbs down from the rock and then turns to help Sansa down, setting her on her feet and then leading them over to where their family members are standing.

 

“Where’s the feast being held, Theon?” Bran asks.

 

Dagmer and Victarian snicker and walk away at that, and Theon looks at Bran semi-sympathetically. “There is no feast, Bran.”

 

“But what about the ceremony? And the wedding?” He asks curiously. 

 

Theon shrugs. “We’re not like the South, we don’t splurge on lavish feasts just because of a wedding.” 

 

Bran looks disappointed, and Arya does, too, but when Uncle Hotho offers to give them a tour of Pyke, they seem to forget about any prospect of food, eagerly going off with Hotho and Helya. Jory and the wolves accompany them, too.

 

“We need to sort the logistics out,” Ned tells Theon. “But I need to talk to my daughter first.”

 

Theon nods understandingly. “I’ll come find you in an hour and we can discuss things in my solar?” 

 

“Aye,” Ned agrees.

 

Theon and Asha head to their solar, while Uncle Rodrik escorts his sisters back to their chambers, leaving Sansa and her father alone on the beach. He offers her his arm, and Sansa hooks hers through, and they begin to stroll along the shore.

 

They’re quiet at first, before her father finally speaks up. “Do you think you made the right choice, Sansa?” He questions her.

 

Sansa nods, and then speaks up, her voice confident. “Yes, I do.” Her confidence is momentary, fading as she asks, “Do you?”

 

His expression is unreadable, and his answer is vague. “We will see.”

 

“I love him, Father. And he loves me.”

 

“I know, Sweetling.” He tells her honestly. His honesty is enough for Sansa to switch topics.

 

“Is there really a war coming?”

 

Ned hesitates, before nodding his head. “Yes.”

 

“And you’re going to fight in it?”

 

“It’s what Robert wants.”

 

“What of the boys?” She worries suddenly. 

 

“They’ll fight, too. Robb is leading the first wave of Bannermen down South, and Jon is at his side. Theon and I will sail from here to the Riverlands, before making our way to the Capitol as well. Jory is going to sail to Saltspear with Bran and Arya and take them home. They’ll remain with your mother and Rickon in Winterfell.”

 

“But for you it’s off to Essos?” She asks, biting her lip.

 

“Presumably. Perhaps not right away.”

 

“How long will the war last?”

 

Ned hesitates once more, and this time he doesn’t answer. Sansa knows, realistically, it will probably last years. Most wars do, and it will take months to get all the men, ships, and horses to the capitol, and more months after that to get to Essos. 

 

She clutches her stomach when she realizes she doesn’t know how old their son will be before Theon gets to meet him. If he gets to meet him. No, she tells herself. I must not think like that. I must have courage and be brave. All will be well, King Robert has defeated the Targaryens before.

 

“Prince Joffrey will be on the frontlines,” Her father says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

 

“Really?” She asks in disbelief.

 

“Per Robert’s command. It’s his last chance to prove himself.”

 

Sansa suppresses a laugh. He won’t be able to prove himself worthy, he’s already done the opposite and everyone knows it, even King Robert. She wonders how soon he’ll die, and then admonishes herself for having the thought. But then a worse thought takes its place. King Robert knows Joffrey will die in the war, and yet he’s commanded him to fight anyway. Such a terrible thing for a father to want for his child. She clutches her stomach again, even though it is not yet swollen.

 

“Theon has to live!” She says frantically. 

 

Her father’s eyes grow sad. “That’s out of my control, dear. It is war, after all.”

 

Sansa knows he speaks true, so she merely nods her head and tightens her hold on his arm. They finish their stroll in silence.

Notes:

I made up the Ironborn traditions in the ceremonies, so none of it is canon.

This is one of the harder stories for me to write, because I want the plot to be (relatively) sound. I sort of shifted my original plans I had for the impending war, so feel free to leave thoughts and suggestions of people you want to see or things you want to happen and I may just incorporate them. I have a loose idea of the war, but I don't have every detail planned out. I may end up killing off a bunch of characters, for it is a war after all, but we'll see. I never like to kill them off.

In fact, someone should really talk me out of killing Robb because I fear I have a plan for that yikes

Have a great day!

Chapter 22: Safe

Theon, Asha, his uncles: Aeron, Hotho, Rodrik, and Victarion, Dagmer, Ned, and Jory all stood around a table in Theon’s solar. The Lord of the Iron Islands’ solar, it was still something to get used to.

 

They stand around, looking at a map of Westeros and Essos, while Lord Stark informs them of the current plans. “Renley Baratheon is attempting to acquire the Redwyne fleet. My oldest sons are marching the majority of my Northern bannerman south to King’s Landing. They’ll stop briefly in the Riverlands, and meet up with the Blackfish, who will be leading the first round of Tully forces. Lord Royce is also preparing to head to the Riverlands, he will bring his bannerman to the Riverlands after my sons and the Blackfish have continued south, and make his way to King’s Landing with the second wave of Northern forces. Once the majority are in King’s Landing, we will sail for Essos with what longships we have. King Robert is eager to make quick work of it.”

 

Theon nods, as does everyone else in the room. “When would you like my men to sail to King’s Landing? It will take us the longest since it’s not a straight shot.”

 

“As soon as possible, considering. Jory and I will head for Winterfell with my children, and stay for a week’s turn or so before I make way for King’s Landing myself.”

 

Theon nods. “Very well. Myself, Asha, Dagmer, and my uncles, along with the rest of the Isles finest captains will lead our longships and men. We’ll set sail once all the preparations are in order. No more than five days' time. Asha, can I trust you to start getting the preparations in order?”

 

“Aye, brother.” Asha says. The group disperses, but Ned and Uncle Rodrik both linger. 

 

“I need to speak with you, Theon.” Uncle Rodrik says.

 

“As do I.” Ned tells him.

 

“Are these private matters?” Theon questions, looking between the two men with slight concern.

 

“Depends on how much you trust your good-father,” Rodrik regards. 

 

Theon looks at Ned and the two men lock eyes. After a moment Theon nods. “I trust him.”

 

“I don’t think you can trust your uncle Victarion.” Rodrik says, his voice quiet and composed.

 

“Why not?” Theon asks. He knows very little of his Uncle Victarion. He knows very little of all of his uncles. He never really got to know them before he left. He knew them the way a boy would know his uncles, not the way a man would. If he truly knew him now he was sure his opinion would be different, but he wasn’t sure if he would find him untrustworthy. He couldn’t determine that any better than he could determine if his Uncle Rodrik was untrustworthy. He does remember liking his uncle Rodrik best of all his uncles, but much time has passed since then.

 

“I saw him with the Dragonbinder. It’s a Valyrian steel horn, I’m sure you’ve seen it as a boy. It used to belong to your Uncle Euron. They say it can bind and control dragons.”

 

“So it would prove a useful tool in the battles to come.” Theon argues.

 

“I saw him packing it away. Hiding it. I don’t think he plans to bring it to the capitol. It’s certainly risky. Anyone may take it. And if it really controls dragons. The king may forge a new enemy. You can’t trust him.”

 

“Are you certain?” Ned asks.

 

Rodrik nods. “Victarion is as worse as Euron, mark my words. We’re only lucky Euron hasn’t been spotted in years. If they were both here, we’d have another war to fight.”

 

“What do you suppose I do?” Theon asks, seeking guidance. He can’t just outright accuse his uncle. But he can’t ignore this fact either.

 

“Think about it some more. The three of us will. You don’t leave for days, so it needn't be solved tonight.” Rodrik says. “I best go check on your mother. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Theon agrees. Rodrik nods at Theon and Ned, and then exits the solar, leaving only the two of them. “And what did you wish to speak with me about?”

 

“As you know, I plan to bring my children back to Winterfell.”

 

“Yes.” Theon nods, thinking of Bran and Rickon.

 

“All my children.” Ned clarifies.

 

Theon doesn’t respond at first because the words register in his mind. But then it clicks. All his children. Sansa. “No.” Theon says. His voice was firm. Strong. Stubborn.

 

“Theon, please. I just want her to be safe.”

 

“What? And she’s not safe with me?”

 

“She won’t be with you. You’ll be in King’s Landing. In Essos. She’ll be alone here. You can’t tell me that thought doesn’t unsettle you even a little? She’ll be safest in her home.”

 

“This is her home now.”

 

“Well that’s your fault. Not mine.” Ned quips. His voice is controlled, but the comment still stings. Theon chooses to ignore it.

 

“She’s staying here.” He says firmly.

 

“Theon, my boy,” Ned’s voice softens. “You’ll understand this one day, when you have a child of your own. A father will do anything to keep his children safe. That’s all I’m trying to do.”

 

“She’s safe here.” Theon states again. He wants to say it, to tell him that he is a father. Or he will be, anyway. But Sansa was so excited at the idea of telling her family that he didn’t want to take that from her, no matter how mad he was at Ned. “She’s staying here. She will be safe, you have my word. My mother is here. As is my aunt. You saw how fragile my mother was. If she can survive here, I guarantee Sansa will thrive. And as an olive branch, despite your hypocrisies and insults, I offer a wardship here on the Iron Islands for Bran. He can stay here, with Sansa. And he can be a ward under my Uncle Rodrik, who I plan to ask to reign in my leave. That way Sansa’s not alone here, while I’m gone. And what’s that saying? The lone wolf dies but the pack survives? If Bran’s here she won’t be alone and they’ll have two direwolves between them. I know he can’t become a knight here, but he could just be a ward through the war, and then you can send him to the Vale or somewhere. Or perhaps Arya stays here instead as one of Sansa’s ladies. Sansa mentioned wanting multiple and currently she only has my cousin.” The last words come out as more of a ramble, and Theon curses mentally, for he lost his edge of authority there.

“I’ll think on it.” Ned promises.

 

“Aye. And I have much to think about as well.” Theon says, his mind drifting to his Uncle Victarion and his ‘dragonbinder.’ He’s not sure what to do about that just yet. But he wants to come up with a solution on his own. It’s his duty to, as Lord of Pyke. “You're dismissed. I’ll come find you and all your children later.”

 

Ned nods, his eyes slightly sorry and sympathetic, and leaves.

 

Theon sits his solar and continues to ponder the many dilemmas in front of him. Can he trust Uncle Rodrik? He thinks he does. He certainly wants to. But if Rodrik’s telling the truth then what will he do with Uncle Victarion? He can’t just take the horn from him, nor can he leave it with him. If he asks his uncle about the horn, his uncle will either grow angry or defensive and neither of those options are good. 

 

Perhaps it’s better to sleep on it and decide in the morning? Rushed decisions aren’t always the best. At the very least he has his mother’s family on his side. And the Starks, too. Even though he and Ned are fighting he knows that ultimately Ned will have his back in this, for Sansa’s sake if nothing else. 

 

Wanting to clear his head before meeting up with Sansa and the rest of them, he goes outside for a swim.

 

—

 

After Sansa and her father had finished their walk, he had gone to talk strategy with Theon and the rest of the ensemble. She meets up with Helya, Alannys, and Gwynesse, and the four of them all go to the main common room, where they work on some sewing and embroidery. Sansa is starting a midnight blue dress inspired by the one Aunt Gwynesse is wearing. Alannys and Gwyn are working on a baby blanket for her little babe. Sansa is only giddy and excited as she thinks of the baby now. Perhaps it’s just the excitement from seeing her family again that’s making her feel this way, but she’s immensely excited to tell them all. A spout of good news in the looming storm of war. Helya is embroidering a small handkerchief.

 

Sometime later, Jory drops off Arya, Bran, and the three direwolves. Sansa has both her siblings sit by her. She sets up an embroidery hoop for Arya to begrudgingly work on, and has Bran help her trace and cut the fabric for her dress. 

 

“The Iron Islands are cool!” Bran tells her happily. “Not very pretty, but there’s lots of places to climb and explore. How long do you think Father and us will stay here?”

 

“I think that’s what Father is discussing with Theon.” Sansa says.

 

“Oh. Yes, that would make sense.” Bran agrees.

 

Once all the dress pieces are traced, she leaves Bran to cut them, and then sits back by Arya to help her with the hoop. She’s trying to get Arya to learn the lazy daisy stitch, and when she’s done, the fabric she’s using can be used on the bodice of a new dress. The stitch itself is not particularly hard, but to get several stitches the same size and equal distance apart to form a flower can be a challenge.

 

A challenge Arya is clearly struggling with. Normally, Sansa might have teased her for her poor embroidery skills, but she’s grown fonder of her little sister in her absence, and so she does her best to encourage and help her. After about 20 minutes and four failed flowers, Arya does seem to get the hang of it. 

 

Bran has cut a few pieces out and so Sansa begins to stitch them together just as Uncle Rodrik and her father come and join them. Her father comes and sits by them while Uncle Rodrik sits by his sisters. 

 

“What are you girls working on?” Their father asks.

 

“I’m working on a new dress, and Arya’s embroidering a piece I can turn into a dress.” Sansa tells him. 

 

“Good job, girls. They look very pretty. Your mother would be impressed.”

 

Sansa smiles, and Arya does, too. Their father may have complimented them both but Sansa is simply piecing two pieces together, Arya is the one who is doing the pretty stitches. The compliment was meant for her. Sansa wants to ask for her father’s opinion on what to embroider on the dress, but that would take from Arya’s moment, and besides, her father wouldn’t have any good advice in that arena. 

 

Her father watches Arya stitch for a few minutes, and then asks Helya what she is working on. Helya gets up from her seat beside Alannys and shows him the handkerchief she’s making. It’s a beautiful peacock, half of her family’s sigil, which is both the Harlaw scythe and the peacock of house Serrett, her grandmother’s house. Sansa’s quite impressed with the handkerchief as well. It’s all such neat, tiny stitches.

 

“And what are Ladies Alannys and Gwynesse working on?” her father asks, about to get up and walk over to them. Sansa panics. He doesn’t yet know about the baby. And this is certainly not how she wants him to find out. He’ll feel betrayed, that she hadn’t told him herself. 

 

“Father, perhaps you can escort me to my chambers quickly? My cat, Astrid, is there, and I want Bran and Arya to see her.” Sansa asks.

 

“Sure, dear.” Her father says, standing up and offering her his arm.

 

They walk to her chambers in peaceful silence, and when they get there, Sansa picks up Astrid, who cuddles into her. Her father offers her his arm to walk her back, but Sansa doesn’t take it.

 

“Before we go back, I was hoping to tell you something.” Sansa says.

 

“What kind of something?” Her father asks, his demeanor calm.

 

“It’s good news! Great, actually. It’s perhaps too soon to tell you but I’m not sure when I’ll see you again, so…I’m going to have a baby! You’re to be a grandfather!”

 

Her father doesn’t react for the splitest second, but then he lets out a breath and pulls her into a hug. She can’t see his face, but she hopes he’s happy.

 

“That’s great, dear. How long have you known?”

 

“Just since Alannys got here. She’s the one who told me.”

 

“So a maester hasn’t confirmed it?” Her father asks, releasing her from the hug with a small smile on his face.

 

“There are no maesters here, though Theon is working on getting one. But Alannys is rarely wrong about this, neither is Aunt Gwyn and she confirmed the pregnancy, too.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You can tell Mother, but don’t tell Bran and Arya just yet. For it is still early.”

 

“Of–of course.”

 

“Now let's go back, shall we?” Sansa asks, taking her father’s arm.

 

“Sure, dear.”

 

Her father leads her back to the common room and Arya, Bran, and Helya all fawn over Astrid, with Sansa putting it in Bran’s lap and then going to sit beside Alannys and Gwynesse.

 

Theon eventually comes to join them and Sansa smiles when he enters the room. Standing up and rushing towards him, she engulfs him in a hug. His hands wrap around her securely and he kisses her hair. 

 

“I told him,” she whispers in his ear. “About the baby. I told Father.”

 

“Really?” Theon whispers back. “How’d he take it?”

 

“Well! He seemed happy for me. For us.” She pulls back from him and strokes her stomach with affection.

 

She sees Theon and her father exchange a glance, but they don’t say anything. Theon takes her hand in his and leads her toward the sofa, sitting beside his uncle Rodrik. Sansa takes up her sewing once more, and Theon starts reading a book that was on the table. A book on Ironborn history. About the reign of his grandfather, Quellon, who Theon aspires to be.

 

The room is oddly quiet now, with the only chatter coming from the three kids playing with the cat. When the hour gets to be late enough, her father excuses himself, Bran, and Arya to put them to bed, and Aunt Gwynesse excuses herself and Helya, so that she can bring her to her father, Uncle Hotho.

 

“Have you given more thought to what we discussed, Lord Stark?” Theon asks.

 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Lord Greyjoy.” 

 

“Talk about what?” Sansa asks, curious.

 

“I’ll tell you later,” Theon whispers to her. 

 

Sansa nods and hugs her father and siblings goodnight, before deciding she would like to retire as well, saying goodnight to Alannys and Rodrik, and having Theon take her back to their chambers.

 

—

 

Theon leads her away quickly, and when they’re in their chambers, he wastes no time in pressing his lips to hers in urgent passion. Sansa is equally passionate, until she realizes what the passion may mean.

 

“How soon do you leave?” She pulls away and asks.

 

Theon stills, and looks away from her.

 

“Theon!” Sansa admonishes, pulling his face to look back at her.

 

“As soon as everything’s ready. No more than a week's time.” He says quietly.

 

“And how long will you be gone?” 

 

“It’s war, Sansa. Getting to Essos will take months alone. There’s no way to say for sure just how long it will take.”

 

“Can you promise you’ll come home?” She asks, biting her lip to stop the tears forming in her eyes.

 

“Sansa–”

 

“Promise me, Theon. Promise me!”

 

“I can’t make a promise that there’s no guarantee I’ll keep. It’s out of my control.” He worries then what will happen to Sansa should he die. And wonders briefly if it would be best to send her back to Winterfell. He’s her safety net here in the Iron Islands. She’ll be safe with him gone but not with him dead.

 

Sansa’s crying now, and he hates it when she cries. Pulling her into his arms he hugs her securely and kisses her hair. 

 

“I promise you I have no intention of dying. And I will do everything in my power to make it back to you. You and our son.” It pains him when he realizes he won’t be home when she gives birth. He wants to be a better father than his own, and he’s already off to a rough start. He’ll do better though, when he’s back. He’ll be better than his own father. Better than Lord Stark. Better than all of them.

Notes:

I think there will be one or two more chapters, and then a time skip to/during the war. I'm still trying to think of a name for the war, so it may be a while before those chapters come out.

I'm not going to go too into detail for the war, just because I'm terrible at writing battle scenes, but I'll have sort of a recap chapter of the war, where I'll explain how the war went, and prominent players/houses roles in the war, who died and how, how the war was won, etc. Let me know if there's anything you want me to go into relating to/in regards of the war : )

Who would you rather stay in the Iron Islands with Sansa? Bran or Arya?

I hope everyone has a great day!