Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 19

Sansa
Sansa hated when Robb's chamber door came into view and she was forced to let go of Theon's hand. For the moment, at least, her tears were through—but that did not mean she hadn't wanted to stay in the bed with Theon the rest of the evening.

She hoped tonight he might kiss her as he had so many weeks ago; Sansa was certain it would make her forget about the trouble with Joffrey, if only for a little while.

It would have to wait. Her mother was kneeling on the floor beside Robb's bed, sewing two sheets of white linen with Septa Mordane. Theon entered after her and went to the study where Robb worked. There, Sansa saw Mikken and Ser Rodrik taking apart Robb's desk to make room for what would be Joffrey's bed.

Sansa went to her mother's side. Catelyn stood to hug her daughter tight. "I will look after you, my love," she whispered.

It was meant to comfort her, Sansa knew, but all she really wanted was for people to stop talking about the prince's visit altogether.

There is still time, she assured herself. Time for Joffrey to fall off his horse on the King's Road and break his own neck.

It would be a silly way for a prince to die, which made Sansa smile to herself.

She took up the sewing where her mother left off, and Septa Mordane went to the kitchens to find discarded down from the fowl they had eaten at the feast several weeks earlier.

As she worked, Sansa looked over her shoulder every few minutes to see what Theon was doing with the other men. Each time she glanced over at him, his eyes were already on her.

"Get back to work," he mouthed once.

Playfully and in silence, Sansa shot back, "Why don't you come make me?"

Mikken saw their exchange then, and his chuckle made Sansa blush.

Septa Mordane returned with a basket of feathers and Jeyne Poole close behind. Jeyne, too, carried a basket of white down, though she was not graceful with it, and feathers fluttered to the ground at her sides as she walked.

When she saw Sansa, she squealed and dropped the basket all together. "Sweet Sansa," she cried. "You're going to be a princess!" She grabbed Sansa by the shoulders and shook her gently. "And then you'll be a queen! A Stark of Winterfell! Can you believe it?"

Sansa forced herself to smile as bent back down to her sewing. "I can't believe it, truly," she admitted. Jeyne did not seem to notice the bite in her tone when she said it. "The prince will bring knights with him," Sansa added, "perhaps one of them will fall in love with you."

Jeyne rolled her eyes. "A knight is not a Lord," she reminded Sansa.

Without looking up at her friend, Sansa asked, "What do you mean?"

"Your father wrote to mine on behalf of the king," Jeyne exclaimed. She leaned in close so that only Sansa could hear. "To keep the Iron Islands committed to the Realm and to be sure the North accepts their peace, your father's dearest friend will wed his daughter to Balon Greyjoy's only living son."

Sansa was so caught off guard that she pierced the sewing needle into her finger and cried out in pain. Theon came running, much too quickly, and stumbled when he saw Jeyne.

"Is...everything all right?" he stammered. He straightened his tunic and cleared his throat.

Sansa pulled the needle from her skin, grimacing as blood seeped into the white sheet in her hands. Jeyne hurried to take the fabric from her hands, murmuring, "Be careful of the blood! This will be the prince's mattress."

As Jeyne rubbed out the fresh stain, Sansa looked to Theon with wide eyes. It was clear that did not understand, so Sansa waved him away. "Later," she breathed in his direction, hoping that only he could hear.

Jeyne was too distracted to pay her any mind, and Robb was arguing with Mikken over the chest of drawers in his study. Theon returned to them uncertainly, and Sansa went back to nursing her pricked finger.

"So?" Jeyne prompted as she stitched, much faster than Sansa had. "Will you come to visit me on the Iron Islands? Or perhaps we'll stay here in the North? I'm not sure how it works. You will have so much to do as queen, I'm certain, but I know you would make time for me." Her voice was so giddy it made Sansa feel sick.

She had no reason to be upset, not really at least. Joffrey was coming to marry her after all, so she could not keep Theon to herself, anyway.

But Gods did she want to. All she could think about was getting into bed with him again and stealing more kisses in the darkness when everyone else was asleep. It had been hard enough to know about the tavern women he had bedded; it would be far worse when it was Jeyne. She would share every detail with Sansa, no matter how vulgar, and Sansa would be forced to swallow it down without complaint.

Robb and Mikken's laughter rang out from the study, and Sansa was reminded of her work. "Let me," she insisted to Jeyne, who had nearly finished all of the stitches.

Jeyne forfeited the needle without complaint, biting her lip. She squeaked, "Imagine if I took him into my chamber before the wedding?" Her eyes, Sansa saw, were fixed on Theon in the study, tearing a plank from Robb's old desk. A sweat had broken out on his forehead, and Sansa could see the way his muscles heaved with each motion beneath the dampened tunic. Sansa shook away the strange feeling that gathered in her stomach then.

"You should probably wait," Sansa stuttered. "Just—if I were you. I would. Wait, I mean." She wiped some blood off her finger and went back to work. Jeyne just kept watching Theon.