Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 37

Sansa
Sansa's siblings were buzzing with excitement when they came in from the practice yard. "You should have seen it!" Bran shouted at her as she sat in the reading room.

Even Arya was shaking her sister's arm. "Theon put him on the ground twice," she exclaimed, "wiped the grin right off his stupid ugly face."

Sansa smiled. "I hope Robb didn't see," she remarked.

"It doesn't matter if he did," Bran hurried. "Theon didn't want to fight him, truly. Joffrey made him."

"Still," Sansa sighed, though her smile did not falter, "you know we have to be careful of how we treat the prince. All of us. Theon, too."

Bran and Arya paid her no mind. "He did it all with one hand, too," Arya added.

"Good," replied Sansa, "Maester Luwin would have hacked off his sword hand if his wounds opened up again."

Rickon bounded up onto the chair across from her, holding a stick from the practice yard and waving it around. "One hand!" he shouted as he delivered a blow to the air. "Sansa, look! Theon was like this!" He swung the stick again and made a noise.

Sansa stood to pick up her brother and return him to the floor. She took the stick from the boy's hand and tapped it daintily against his nose. Bran moved himself further up against the door. "Truly," he began, "he looked like a hero, Sansa. Like the men in those stories you always liked."

She had always been partial to Old Nan's romantic tales. It had been a long time since she had sat and listened to one, though. They would only make her sad now that she had to marry Joffrey.

But there was still hope.

Sansa went straight from the reading room to Theon's chamber. His door was cracked open, so she went in, where Theon was on the bed unlacing his boots. There were clean clothes lain out beside him, but he had removed the shirt he wore for practice in the yard. Maester Luwin had advised him to change his undershirt frequently to keep the wounds beneath it clean.

He looked up, and Sansa barred the door. "Sansa," Theon greeted her. "Are you all right? What happened when you spoke with the Imp?"

She sat down on the bed beside him and gripped at his arm. "I heard what happened in the yard this morning."

Theon's eyes widened. "I don't know what you mean." He opened his mouth to say more but Sansa stopped him with her lips. She put a hand against his chest to kiss him harder. "Careful, careful," he hurried with a smile. "I'm still healing."

"I'm sorry," Sansa sighed, nestling her head onto his good shoulder. "Robb will probably hang you outside the walls for beating Joffrey into the dirt."

"I didn't beat him into the dirt," Theon promised. He kissed her forehead. "I assume I'll be hanged by the Lannisters before Robb has his chance. Especially after last night."

"No," Sansa snapped. "Tyrion won't tell anyone." Theon tilted his head. He did not understand, so Sansa went on, "I spoke with him, like you said, and he's going to help us."

She saw Theon swallow hard and clench his teeth. "Did you have to..." He paused, as if to reconsider. "You know."

Sansa shook her head. "No, Theon," she assured him. "The rock through Robb's window—it was Tyrion."

The way Theon looked at her, it was a wonder she was not speaking a foreign language. No one north of the Twins had ever loved the Lannisters. Speaking kindly of the Imp, especially, would not have sat well with either the Northerners, the keepers of the Vale, or the Ironborn.

Sansa leaned forward. "Lord Tyrion is the one who convinced Lord Varys in King's Landing to help Arya escape. I asked her about it. He made her swear not to tell. Not even my father knows."

"Why would he help any of you?" Theon whispered, his brows pinned together. "You know what he is."

"I do," she replied. "And he isn't what I thought he was." Sansa gathered up his hands in her own. "There's another way, Theon."

He looked up when she said his name, but there was something fearful about it that Sansa could not quite place. "What other way?" he asked flatly.

"If there were a more urgent reason to marry me to someone else," she said.

Theon narrowed his gaze on her.

A smile crept across Sansa's lips, devious and sweet. Her blood was hot with excitement and uncertainty and hope. "You have to go home," she began, but Theon let her get no further.

"No." He got up off the bed, his expression suddenly dark. "I won't."

"Just listen to me," Sansa pleaded. He shook his head, slipping the clean shirt over his shoulders. "Theon," Sansa tried again, "we can be married."

He froze, his hands on the laces of his doublet. Pinned to its breast already was the kraken brooch Sansa had gifted him. She rose to her feet to touch it with soft fingers.

"Don't you want that?" she asked.

Theon almost looked too confused to reply. Finally, he said, "How?"

Sansa's heart ached inside of her chest. "First, you have to go home," she repeated, only now Theon seemed willing to hear it. "Tyrion said the Lannisters are not nearly as concerned about the North's allegiance as they are the allegiance of the Iron Islands. With my father as the King's Hand, the North will not break faith."

"I haven't been back to the Iron Islands since I was a boy," Theon reminded her. "What could I possibly do there to help?"

Sansa took a deep breath. "If there were a reason for my father to believe the North was at risk of raiding and reaping from the Ironborn, he would have to act. If Balon Greyjoy were to agree to a peace, sealed by a marriage, then Joffrey would not be able to have me."

"That all sounds wonderful enough," Theon exclaimed, but Sansa knew his excitement was feigned. "Only it's not possible. There's no way my father could possibly have raised enough men to follow him to the mainland after the rebellion ended, so he will not attack, and if I instead tried to convince him to lie about attacking, just so that I could rescue Ned Stark's daughter, he'd cut out my tongue and send it back to Winterfell without me."

"You're not going to do any of that," Sansa snapped. "But you will have to do something to make the threat real." She looked down and picked at her fingernails. There was something she would not say.

Theon must have seen it. He asked, "What do I have to do?"