Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 26

Theon
Theon's dreams were haunted with a blinding pain. He felt nothing else—only the ache in his chest and the burn in his shoulder. Everything else left him, but the hurt still remained.

He tried desperately, ceaselessly, to clamber from his dream-realm, but doing so only made the pain worse. Once, he was certain he heard Sansa's sweet voice, but when he fought to reach her, he slipped further into his ache.

However long had passed since that evening in the wood, where Theon fell to a bloody sleep beside a bubbling stream, he could not say. It felt like a lifetime had passed in nothingness by the time he woke up at Winterfell.

The sun burned angrily through the window, and Theon could not open his eyes to face it. He rolled his head to the other shoulder, away from the heat of his wounded side, and tried again to open his eyes.

When he did, the world was blurry, but Theon could make out his own arm, which led to the body of another, seated in a chair beside him.

"Sansa," he heard himself say. He blinked and saw her more clearly. A smile came over him. "Sansa." Her name tasted so sweet on his lips.

She started to cry, her long auburn hair sprawled across the bed as she laid her head against his hand.

When she looked up at him, Theon nearly forgot about the pain that ran through him. She was the most beautiful woman in North—in the Realm, even—and he could not believe he was alive to see her.

"Why are you crying?" he croaked, his voice dry and awkward.

Through sobs she answered, "They said you might die, that—that only then would you be in—in less...pain." Sansa coughed on the words, crying so hard that Theon thought she would not be able to say anything more. "I prayed to the Old Gods," she managed. "I prayed that you would live, because I'm selfish and stupid and couldn't lose you."

Theon blinked away some of the dreariness, felt her hand inside of his. "You aren't selfish, Sansa," he sighed, his jaw stinging from the blow he had been dealt in the woods. "And you're not stupid for wanting it. I wanted it, too. I woke because I wanted to get back to you." The pain on his left side made him wince, but he stammered, "Even now I'm afraid you're in my dreams, and I'm not really here."

"You are," she assured him, sniffling. "You're back home and you're safe." Her big blue eyes calmed some of his pain, and he smiled at her again. Somehow, she managed a weak smile back at him, though her tears did not cease.

"I needed to get back to you," he whispered. His uninjured arm was still weak and achy, but he lifted it to brush Sansa's rosied cheek. "All I needed was to get back to you."

She held his hand against her face and turned to press her lips against his palm. "Please," she begged, "don't leave me again."

"I won't," he promised.

Sansa lowered his hand onto the bed. "I'll get the maesters for you," she said shakily.

When she had gone, Theon glanced down at the cuts on his left side. It was the blade that jabbed straight down into his shoulder that grieved him the most. The other knife had skidded over his heart and landed deeper beneath his collarbone, but it had been stitched cleanly and hurt only on the inside. A cut on his head ached only a little when he reached to touch the sutures. The wound on his shoulder had been covered with a piece of linen, though it was so soaked with pus and blood Theon could not tell if the cloth had ever been white, and the scent made Theon gag.

Maester Luwin came in with another robed man wearing a maester's chain. Theon recognized him somehow. Still, he asked, not unkindly, "Who are you?

The little grey man smiled, pressing a hand to his chest. "I am Maester Dedrick," he introduced himself. "I serve Lord Umber at Last Hearth, my Lord. I treated you on the Kingsroad."

Theon nodded, trying to remember. "Thank you," he remarked after a moment, though he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say.

"It is good to see you awake, Theon," Maester Luwin observed, approaching the bed with a basket of medicine jars. "It is right time to cleanse and treat your wounds. I have prepared some wine with milk of the poppy, if you would take it."

The other maester came forward with the glass, but Theon refused it. "I don't want to sleep again," he told them. The thought of never again seeing Sansa's face scared him more than any amount of pain.

Maester Luwin looked like he might protest, but Maester Dedrick said, "Very well, my Lord, you will want something to bite down on."

Sansa was still at the door, looking on nervously. When Maester Luwin noticed her, he suggested, "Lady Sansa, it may be best if you left for the time being." His voice was kind but stern, and Sansa did not accept his request readily.

Instead, she looked to Theon with pleading eyes, perhaps in the hopes that he would let her stay at his side, but he knew better: he did not want her to see his pain.

"It's all right, Sansa," Theon assured her. "Find Robb and tell him I've woken. We'll speak again later."

She drew in a long breath and glanced around, as if she hoped someone would appear and give her permission to stay. After a moment, though, she nodded and replied dutifully, "Yes, my Lord."

Watching her leave nearly broke Theon's heart, but he shook it away. When she was gone and the door had been shut behind her, Maester Luwin uncorked one of his jars. Maester Dedrick started a fire in the hearth, a wineskin in his hand. Noticing Theon's gaze, he approached the bed and offered up the skin. "Drink some," he urged. "It will ease the pain as best we can."

Theon took a swig and coughed. It was the strongest drink he had ever tasted, and he worried even one sip might leave him too drunk to speak. He took another anyway.

Maester Luwin started to peel back Theon's bandages, ever so carefully, to reveal the gash beneath. Theon looked away from it and grabbed a pillow to bite down on. Dedrick boiled the strong wine over the fire, and Theon took a long deep breath. He knew what was coming.