Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 76

Theon
Two days passed, in which Theon and Asha set men to search houses all over Pyke. Arya asked people on the street if they remembered seeing their true and rightful queen, but none could recall. Aby, the midwife, visited brothels and taverns at night in the hopes that Sansa might have turned up there somehow, but every morning she returned empty-handed, save for a few bruises she had been gifted by bothered patrons when she refused their advances.

"I asked the women if they had seen a beautiful young woman with blue eyes," Aby told Theon on the second night, "and I thought perhaps she had changed her hair or hidden her stomach, but they swore they would have noticed a pretty girl inside their walls."

Desperate and angry, Theon went down to the cells beneath the tower to treat with Maester Wendamyr, who had betrayed him once and would almost certainly do it again. He had to know something, Theon decided.

The old man was hunched over in his little cage, poring over one of the hundred books Asha had allowed him. He was thinner than he had been, and his hair had thinned so much, it was nearly transparent in the candlelight. At first, Theon didn't know if the maester had heard his entrance, but then Wendamyr greeted him, "Hello, Theon."

Theon had no time for it. He threw open the cell door and slammed his fist down against the book in his hands. The maester looked up at him with sunken eyes. "Do you know where Sansa is?" Theon hissed at him. "Do you know who took her?"

Maester Wendamyr picked his book up off the floor. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Without thinking, Theon threw his fist against the maester's cheek. "Tell me," he commanded, louder this time. "Tell me where she is."

"I don't know," Wendamyr murmured, as a trickle of blood ran down from his lip. It would not take much to break him.

Still, Theon held back. "Tell me what you know," he pressed, "or you will spend the next year dying slowly at my hand."

There was a flicker of fear that passed over the maester's expression, and when Theon saw it, he found a way in.

"You didn't do it," he breathed, "but you know who did."

Maester Wendamyr rolled his head back to look Theon in the eye. "I know there are people who would betray you for the right price," the old man said. His voice was weak but certain. Even without him saying it, Theon knew it was true: most men could be bought if you offered them enough, especially the Ironborn. Here, men were not loyal like Northerners, and they did not pretend to be. Their service was bought with blood and gold—neither of which Theon and Asha could claim in abundance.

But there were people who could.

"Is it the Lannisters?" Theon asked. "How did they know who was willing to betray us?"

Maester Wendamyr shrugged. "They thought anyone would."

Theon grabbed the maester's collar and drew him close. "How did you find out?" he demanded.

"You send your most trusted advisors to guard my door," Wendamyr murmured. "People will say anything to an old man in a cell."

Theon released his grip on the maester's robe, rising to pace the cell. "What else did they tell you?" asked Theon, chewing at his lip. "Who told you about it?"

If it were necessary, Theon would beat the answers out of Wendamyr's sickly body, but killing him immediately would do no good. There was a chance he was the only person who knew of Sansa's whereabouts and would be willing to speak on it.

The maester shrugged. "They told me very little," he sighed.

"Then tell me all of it," Theon snapped. "If you ever want to see the light of day again, you will tell me everything you know." Theon crouched down in front of him again. "You want something," he muttered, "and I'm the only one who might give it to you."

"What is it that I want?" Wendamyr inquired thoughtfully.

Theon didn't know. It was more than just his freedom, but Theon was unwilling to entertain the old man's game. "Tell me, and you will have it," he said through his teeth.

Wendamyr stood up, walked to the front of his cell with a sigh. "Your father was my dearest friend," he began. "He was a good king for these islands, and you—" he turned to Theon, "—you betrayed him."

Theon narrowed his glare but said nothing.

The maester went on, "You brought enemies into our home, and your father acted in the best interest of his people."

Theon scoffed. "It was in his people's best interest to rape my wife and murder her at our wedding," he exclaimed. "I was supposed to stand by and let it happen?"

"You were supposed to be his heir," Wendamyr shouted back at him, as if Theon were still just a boy. "He trusted you, and you broke his trust for some Northern whore." The maester eyed Theon carefully before he added, "Then you let her sister kill the man who raised you."

Theon did not react. Balon Greyjoy had not raised him. Ned Stark had helped some, but in large part, Theon had raised himself. He belonged to no one, had no true house, and was unwilling to bow for a man who despised him.

None of it aided Theon's understanding. "So," he urged the maester on, "what is it that you want?"

Now Wendamyr smiled. "Justice," he whispered. "Justice for my friend, your father. You sullied his good name when you told everyone he died protecting your cunt wife instead of telling them the truth—that he died fighting for his men's right to the Stark whore."

"All right," Theon replied. "I'll tell them I cut him down myself to protect the woman I love." It was a small price to pay for Sansa. Theon shrugged. "That's all?"

"No," Wendamyr chuckled. "You will not tell them another lie. You will tell them exactly what happened to their king." He paused to touch Theon's arm kindly and then said, "You will tell them that Balon Greyjoy was murdered by a Stark."