Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 30

Theon
When Theon kissed Sansa the morning of Joffrey's arrival, he promised her it would not be the last time.

Her eyes were glassy, but she did not cry, not even when Arya came to the door to say Lady Catelyn was waiting to help Sansa with her dress.

"Go on," he assured her. "I'll talk with you later."

When Arya ducked back into the hall, Theon stepped forward to put his hands on Sansa's face. She nodded at him, her expression filled with fright and uncertainty. Then, with honey-sweet lips, she stood on her toes to kiss him again. It lasted only a few moments, but it was so true, so delicate, it was worth a lifetime to Theon.

And then she was gone.

Theon laid out his day clothes, the ones specially made to please the royal party, and went down the stairs to the boys' rooms. Maester Luwin was helping Bran into his doublet, while Rickon swung his grey breeches above his head.

"Put those on," Theon instructed the boy. "Do you want your big brother to come down here and see you aren't prepared for the Prince's arrival?"

Rickon frowned at him but obeyed. Bran was lacing up his doublet when he said to Theon, "Doesn't look like you're prepared, either."

Theon looked down at the old clothes he wore. "No," he admitted, "but it's easy for me to get dressed. You two are the trouble."

Bran smiled at him as Maester Luwin swung the boy's legs down off the bed. "Have you seen Sansa this morning?" Bran asked.

Theon's jaw tightened. "No," he lied. "Why do you ask?"

Bran shrugged. "I just wanted to know if she was all right."

"Your sister is very brave," Theon replied. "And she has her brothers to look after her."

Bran did not look at him when he said, "She has you, too."

Theon tried hard not to react. He thought he saw Maester Luwin glance at him, but he was not sure. Clearing his throat, Theon went to tousle Rickon's hair. "Make sure you're prepared to meet down at the gates within the hour."

They nodded their understanding, and Theon went to find Robb. He passed Arya in the stairway; now she wore a pale green dress, the sleeves long and billowy.

"You look very nice, my Lady," Theon told her.

She yanked at the collar of the dress. "I look stupid," she muttered. "It's like what they made me wear in King's Landing."

Theon put a hand on her shoulder. "It's only a day," he sighed. "Come the morrow, we'll be back in the yard practicing, I promise."

He let her go. At the top of the stairs, Robb was speaking quietly with Jory Cassel and Ser Rodrick, but they stopped when Theon approached. Robb wore all black, his cloak pinned with the shimmering direwolf brooch that had evidently saved Theon's life. He did not remember much, but the dent borne into the poor wolf's neck was evidence enough, he supposed.

Robb dismissed Ser Rodrick and Jory. "Walk with me," he told Theon.

They walked out onto the bridge connecting the castle towers, the one that overlooked the yard and seemingly all of Winterfell. Everyone was out, preparing for the prince's arrival and that evening's feast. Theon rested a hand on the top of the rail and waited for Robb to speak.

"There are enemies in Winterfell," he remarked eventually. "They're watching us. They will watch Sansa the closest."

Theon nodded. "I imagine you're right."

"Do you remember what I told you the night we found out the prince was coming?" Robb asked. He went on before Theon could respond. "If you put my sister in danger, I will send you back to the Iron Islands in pieces."

The thought that Theon would ever let Sansa get hurt at his hands shot anger through the stab wounds he now bore for her brother. "I would never let anything happen to her," he remarked through gritted teeth.

"Theon," Robb hissed. His hand grabbed the front of Theon's tunic, hard and unflinching. "Go back to the brothel women. Do you hear me? Stay away from my sister."

Theon ripped away from Robb's grip. "Aye," he snapped back. "I hear you."

He thought about telling Robb everything—about how much he loved his sister and how he would never put her in danger—but instead he just said nothing. He left Robb alone in the cold.

Back in his room, Theon put on the clothes lain out on the bed. The doublet was black, save for the seams, which were gold, to reflect the colors of House Greyjoy. He laced the front of it, though the top eyelets proved difficult with his bad arm. Nearly an hour later, he was still laboring with it. Grumbling, he almost did not hear the gentle knock at the door.

As it creaked open, Theon spun around, letting the laces fall against his chest. It was Sansa—her hair braided back from her face, loose curls hanging down her shoulders. The dress she wore was green-blue in color, tight around the bodice and lower on her breast. Her big blue eyes were sad, but Theon still thought her more beautiful than any woman in Westeros.

"My Lady," he stammered, nearly forgetting himself. "You look...perfect."

Sansa forced a smile, but Theon saw that it pained her. "I almost forgot to give you this," she began, taking a step toward him. Between her hands, Theon saw something glimmer in the sunlight that came through the window. She stopped before him and took his hand in hers, moving a piece of metal into his palm, jagged on one side and smooth on the other. Theon looked down to the space between them: it was a silver brooch, melded in the shape of a wily kraken—the sigil of Theon's house. Sansa added, "I guess Mikken was lying when he said it took nine moons to make one. I only asked him to do it a few weeks ago. After you got hurt."

Theon ran his thumb over the beast's tentacles, admiring their detail and the glimmer along their surface. "Sansa," he whispered breathlessly, grappling for words.

"It was the direwolf that saved you when you were Robb Stark," Sansa declared. "If you ever need saving when you are Theon Greyjoy, I thought this would be better."

Theon wrapped his good arm around the back of her neck, drew her close to his chest, where his doublet remained half-laced. "Thank you," he whispered. She lifted her head to kiss his cheek.

Before Theon could ask, Sansa moved to help him with the rest of the doublet. As she laced it, she said, "You look handsome, my Lord. Jeyne Poole is a very lucky woman."

Theon shook his head at her. "I'm not marrying Jeyne Poole," he sighed. She knotted the laces at his neck. Theon studied her expression, watched the way her lips parted as she focused. He returned the brooch to her hand so that she could pin it carefully upon his chest.

"Perfect," Sansa concluded, stepping away from him.

Theon caught her by the waist and pulled her back. She met his lips—cautiously at first and then with eagerness. If she had not pulled away after a moment, she would have felt his manhood against her.

With a sigh, she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "I love you, Theon Greyjoy," she whispered in his ear.

By the time he finished saying the words—I love you, too—the door had been shut, and Sansa was gone again.