Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 34

Theon
Theon scolded himself for taking his eyes off of Sansa. Somehow, she and the prince had slipped from the Great Hall with the Hound close behind them, and no matter how desperately Theon searched, he could not track them down.

Eventually, he passed the boy-prince and his massive guard as they headed drunkenly down the stairs. Theon knew better than to ask after Sansa, though he was grateful she was not with the little blonde cunt. His gratitude passed when he saw the Imp come down next. The man nodded at Theon, but he looked almost too drunk to stand, so Theon could not say whether Tyrion Lannister even knew who he was greeting.

Theon went to Jon's old room, where all of the youngest Stark children would sleep until Joffrey was gone. Arya was in a cot beside Bran's bed, just where he had left her when he took her from the feast. She had begun to shake and cry after Joffrey's many drunken toasts—the last of which was addressed to "Sansa's sweet little sister." It was too much for the girl to bear, though she had fallen swiftly to sleep once Theon had lain her down and pulled a fur blanket over her shoulders.

There was no sign of Sansa.

He shut the door silently as he returned to the hall, this time heading for Sansa's room at the end of the corridor. When he creaked open the door, he found the room dark. Removing a torch from the corridor wall, Theon stepped inside to scan the corners and the bed.

Nothing.

He tried the solar at the top of the tower, the reading room just below it—even crossed the castle to duck his head into Lady Stark's room and study. Still, Theon found nothing. He dared not try Robb's chamber, especially not if the prince was on his way there.

Nothing would keep Theon from finding her, though; he would not sleep until he had seen Sansa safely to Jon's room for the night.

The Godswood.

It occurred to Theon suddenly, but when he considered it, he knew with certainty he would find her there. His cloak was in his room, so he hurried up the stairs to retrieve it. The nights were getting colder, and it was not safe for Sansa to stay out all night. The cold was a slow killer, and it would take her fingers and toes before it took the rest of her.

He passed Maester Luwin, who asked how his wounds were feeling. "Fine," Theon called over his shoulder. "Healing very well, I think."

If Luwin had wanted to say more, Theon did not give him the chance; he threw open the door to his room and rushed inside for his cloak.

Instead, he found Sansa on the bed in her nightshift, her legs crossed and head down.

"Sansa," Theon snapped, barring the door. "You know you can't be here."

She lifted her head to look at him, face swollen from tears. Her mouth was bleeding badly, though it did not appear she had made any attempt to wipe it away. There was a streak of red down her nightshift, and a stain on Theon's bed. Her eyes were empty.

Theon went to her, sat down on the bed so that she could reach him. "I can't do it," Sansa stammered, looking nowhere.

When Theon went to wipe a new spurt of blood from Sansa's chin, his hands shook with anger. "He did this to you," Theon whispered, but it was not a question.

Sansa was careful with her voice. She had drawn the curtains and brought only a candle with her, which waved wildly on Theon's bedside table. "He kissed me and when I tried to get away—" Her sentence was cut off by a sob. "When I tried to get away, he bit down so hard on me," she managed.

Theon was too angry to respond. He should have known how quickly he would snap; all it took was seeing Sansa cry. The blood on her lip only made it worse. Had she not reached out to hold onto him then, Theon would have gotten up to throw his fist against the wall.

Sansa's touch kept him down. He pulled her into his chest, and she cried harder. She was safe, but Theon knew it would not last: Joffrey would do worse, and soon. He needed to speak with Robb. There had to be another way—this could not be the end.

Theon held her tighter, forgot about the pain in his chest, and hoped he never had to let her go.

It was another hour before her tears slowed. Theon's back was against the wall, and Sansa had curled herself into a ball on his lap. He felt her touching the silver brooch on his chest.

"Why doesn't mine protect me?" she asked quietly. "I need a real direwolf."

Theon kissed her forehead. "My life would certainly be better if I had a kraken to use on my enemies," he agreed. Sansa breath was slow and shaky against him, and her lip no longer bled. No one could hurt her when he had her there, wrapped up in his arms behind a barred door. He should not have let Joffrey hurt her at all. His father would have told him he was weak.

When Sansa was ready, Theon walked her back to her room, where he helped clean the blood off her lip and drain the red water from the basin. Then she slipped off the stained nightshift that she wore and replaced it with a fresh one. She would run out of clothes if all of them ended up covered in blood.

The castle was quiet as they headed for Bran's chambers. Sansa clutched Theon's good arm as they walked, while his weakened left held up the torch that lit their way.

It was too late to step away from Sansa by the time Theon saw him before them. The world might as well have burned.

Theon heard himself say, "Lord Tyrion."