Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 40

Content Warning: this chapter includes descriptions of violence against women, some of which is sexual in nature.

Theon
Theon searched half the night for Sansa. She never made her way to Jon's room with the younger Stark children, nor did she ever appear in Theon's room. When he approached her old chamber, which she had vacated upon Joffrey's arrival, Theon found the door barred. He pressed his ear against it, listened for a sound or a movement to indicate Sansa's presence, but there was nothing. No light appeared beneath the door, and the boy-prince's personal guard was not standing outside, which led Theon to believe Joffrey was not there.

When he went to bed, he was haunted by what sounded like Sansa's screams. No matter how much he tries to remind himself it was only his fears, the noise kept him awake.

Theon felt helpless; what kind of man was he if he could not protect the woman that he loved? If all he could do was lay in fear of her injury? Greyjoys were supposed to be brave—and Starks, even braver.

When he could take his sleeplessness no longer, Theon crawled from his bed and slipped a tunic over his shoulders. There was a candle on his bedside table, so he lit it and stepped outside into the hall. The men usually stationed outside Robb's room were absent. It made Theon nervous.

He crept across the corridor and down the stairs. Instead of stepping outside, he headed towards the Great Hall and the studies at the far end of the castle. To Theon's surprise, Robb was in the library, hunched over a table with his back to the door.

"Robb?" Theon called to him. It took a moment for Robb to turn in his seat. In the flickering light, Theon saw that his face was wet with tears. "Are you all right?"

Suddenly, Robb was not Lord of Winterfell. He was a man of tremendous sadness, and Theon could see he was crumbling, even if he tried to hide it. His near-broken direwolf brooch was in his hand, which leaned heavily on the table. Somehow, he shook off the tears.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Robb sighed. Theon sat down in the chair across from him as he went on, "I'm Lord of Winterfell, and I cannot even protect my family. I sat in my chamber for hours, listening to my sister cry in her bedroom."

"Tonight?" Theon stammered. "Sansa?"

Robb frowned. "Theon," he snapped, "we can't."

Theon's fists tightened on the table. He would kill the prince himself if Ned Stark's life and the lives of his children were not at risk. The thought that anyone would be evil enough, heartless enough, to hurt Sansa was unfathomable to Theon; she was so sweet and kind and good to the world. Theon just clenched his jaw and bore it.

"I'm meant to be Warden of the North," Robb whispered in anguish. "I'm meant to look out for all of the Northerners, but I can't look out for the ones in my own castle."

Theon had nothing to say. His mind was still fixated on Sansa: of course the cries he heard were true. How could he have been foolish enough to think them dreams?

Robb did not seem to notice Theon's distraction. His head was heavy in his hands, and he looked as though he might cry again. Theon tried to reassure him. "You're Lord of Winterfell, and you have a plan to save your sister. All right? We're going to help her."

If it made Robb feel any better, he did not show it. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and then spun the direwolf brooch against the table. "I'm sorry for everything," he managed. "I know how much you mean to Sansa. I should have believed you."

"No," Theon breathed, "the Lord of Winterfell should never believe a Stark would be taken with a Greyjoy."

It made Robb laugh. "Fair enough." He paused and looked up from his brooch on the table. "How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't," Theon replied with a shrug.

So Robb asked, "What were you doing down here?"

Theon looked down at his hands. The days of lying to Robb had passed, he knew. Still, it was not easy admitting everything to him. "I was looking for Sansa," he confessed.

"You heard her, too?"

Theon shook his head. "I wasn't certain if it was real or not. I thought maybe it was a dream. What did you hear?" He asked it, but Theon realized immediately he did not want to know.

Robb told him anyway. "I just heard her crying, asking for help, asking for it to stop."

Theon gritted his teeth as hard as he could, wondering how much strength it would take to shatter every bone in the boy-prince's jaw. He muttered, "I have to go find her."

"No," Robb shouted, jumping to his feet. "You will not."

Theon reached across the table to grab the front of Robb's doublet. "You may be Lord of Winterfell, but I am not a Stark. I am not a Northerner, and I am going to help Sansa. I will not put my hands on the boy-prince for the sake of you and your father." He released Robb and left him at the table to consider what he had said.

The castle was silent as Theon returned to the stairwell, dying candle in hand. He called out Sansa's name in a desperate, whispered tone. At the top of the stairs, he glanced towards Robb's door, but the guards were still absent. He went straight to Sansa's chamber, where he found the Hound in full chain mail.

"What are you lurking for?" the big man grumbled. His long, greasy hair hung wildly over his eyes, casting shadows across his scars that made him appear more monster than man.

Theon hesitated. Every excuse slipped from his grasp, and suddenly he was stammering. "I—I came to find the Lady Sansa."

"You can find her on the morrow," the Hound growled back. "The Prince will be with her the rest of the night."

A smirk snuck across the Hound's huge ugly face, and Theon nearly lunged at his neck. It would be the last night he left Sansa alone. Her pain was his own fault, and for it he would never rest. Soon, the ship Tyrion Lannister purchased for Theon's passage to the Iron Islands would arrive—and he would have to leave Sansa until their plan was enacted. With any luck, it would not take more than a year, though the reality is that it would probably take much longer. Theon could not bring himself to think about it.

He backed away from the Hound, who eyed him all the way back to his chamber. There, he sat just inside the door, waiting to hear an indication—any indication—that Sansa had emerged from her night in captivity.