Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 47

Sansa
The food at the inn was so plentiful, Sansa worried she might be sick at the end of their meal. After so many days of hunger, nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

Theon's gaze was heavy with distrust, Sansa could tell. After all, for as much as her father trusted Howland Reed's family, Sansa had not met him since she was a babe. She would not know his face, which meant she certainly would not know the face of his brother and daughter. But the girl who introduced herself as Meera Reed looked to Theon with as much suspicion as he offered her, and Sansa took it as a good sign.

They supped with Meera and her uncle, whom she called Havhan, along with the orphan who bore a bastard's name—Waldron Snow. He could not have been much older than Robb Stark, perhaps a few years his senior, and he had a long ovular face that was familiar to Sansa somehow, though she was not sure why. He had dark blue eyes, and dusty red-brown hair. Sansa decided he did not look much like a Northerner at all.

As they ate, Arya's mood seemed to improve. She took to Meera, who told her all about the swamp-hunting of the crannogmen. Arya asked about her fork-like spear with three heads, and Meera promised that, once outside, she would let her try it on scurrying mice.

"Will we eat them after?" Arya asked, almost excitedly.

Meera laughed. "We prefer frogs," she replied, "though we don't shy away from mice if they're what we find."

Sansa was happy to see her sister smiling again after their travels. She hoped the second leg of their journey would be kinder to them than the first.

After their meal, Theon stayed at the table to speak with Havhan Reed, while Meera and Arya hurried to play outside the inn, which left Waldron Snow to escort Sansa to her chamber for the night.

It was a small room with no windows, though Sansa was almost grateful for it: the wind in the night would be bitter, she knew, and a window would not stave it off as a wall would. The bed was neatly made, pink flowers embroidered upon the sheets , close to a hearth laden with firewood. At the foot of it was a chest, which Waldron unclasped and flipped open before Sansa.

"Clothes," he declared in a gentle voice. "We knew you could not have packed much, so we thought you'd be in need of it. We can arrange to have a bath drawn for you as well, my Lady."

Sansa looked down: the trunk contained a stack of women's clothing and pile of what appeared to be men's shirts and breeches. "These are for me?" Sansa murmured.

Waldron smiled, and the creases in his cheeks were mischievous. "For you and your companion," he clarified. "There's a trunk for your sister in the room she'll share with Meera tonight."

Sansa met his gaze. "My companion?" she echoed.

"Greyjoy," he replied. "Your brother sent careful instructions not to allow you to share a bed. Reasonably, I took it upon myself to determine the inn would be short a room this evening. I hope you don't mind sharing this one with your friend just this night." Waldron closed the big chest, still grinning. He remarked, "There's a highborn girl living under the Reeds' protection back home. If I had the chance to share a bed with her, I would do nearly anything to seize the opportunity."

Sansa was intrigued by his musings and so inquired, "You love her?"

Waldron's cheeks reddened, and Sansa saw his smile soften. "I know I care for her greatly," he admitted, "but I can't have her. And so I cannot love her."

The sadness in his voice made Sansa ache. She knew what it meant now to love someone she was not supposed to have. With only a little more luck, she would have him; Sansa imagined Waldron would never be so lucky.

"Thank you," she sighed, placing a hand on the man's arm. "I'm grateful you came to help us. I know we are strangers to you."

"Hardly," Waldron assured her, smiling wide again. "I'm a Snow, my Lady. I was born at Winterfell." He nodded at her. "And the North remembers. Always." With that, he went to the door and reminded Sansa she need only ask the innkeeper for help and a tub for bathing would be brought to her.

When he was gone, Sansa sighed and collapsed onto the bed. The softness beneath her was so comforting, she almost felt drunk on it. So many nights had passed on the cold forest floor that Sansa could not be certain the bed was as comfortable as she believed it to be; by her measure then, however, the mattress seemed even more luxurious than her own at Winterfell.

She did as Waldron had bid and asked for a bath. It felt good to wash the dirt and grime from her skin. Without asking permission, she rinsed the dye from her hair, which smelled foul after weeks in the wood. The blackness seeped into the water, twirling and dancing beneath its surface. When she was clean, a girl came to remove the tub, but she did not look twice at Sansa's suddenly auburn locks.

Sansa opened the trunk Waldron had indicated, removing a soft white gown that was cool on her shoulders. The sleeves ended wide at Sansa's elbows, and the bodice was decorated with laces, which Sansa knotted loosely around her torso. There were no smallclothes in the trunk, but even if there had been, Sansa would not have bothered with them. The fabric of her gown was so smooth and gentle against her skin that smallclothes would have felt suffocating in comparison. Her mother and Septa Mordane would have her neck if they saw her dressed that way, her body exposed beneath the willowy movement of fabric, the collar low across her breast.

But her mother and Septa were far away in Winterfell, and from there, they could say nothing of her dress. Sansa missed them, anyway.

She sat down on the bed and combed her fingers through her damp hair; it was the most comfortable she had felt in a long time. Perhaps in all her life.