Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 41

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

Sansa
The whole night, Sansa lay trembling. Her head ached so severely, she thought for certain she would not survive until the morning. The pain in her bones was far from the worst of it, but Sansa could not bring herself to face the rest of it as yet. She could not lay comfortably on her ribs and so stayed with her eyes up on the ceiling, equal parts horrified and alone.

All she wanted was to take a long bath—to wash Joffrey off her skin. There was blood on her face, which had dried and now flaked onto the pillow beneath her head. The pain might never subside.

When morning came, Joffrey rose from the bed, dressed himself, and snapped that he would be back again tonight. In her weakness, Sansa could not even manage the words, "Yes, my Lord."

The Prince left her there in her blood, bruised and broken, with one eye nearly swollen shut. Still, Sansa could feel the warmth of the sun that came in through the window, and it gave her strength enough to pull back the covers and slip her feet onto the floor.

Dressed in only her nightshift, she stumbled to the door of her chamber. There, she glanced back at the bed she had slept in since she was a girl, only to find it was not the same bed—it couldn't have been. The covers were strewn about, the sheets partly pulled back from the mattress. Looking at her own blood on the pillow made Sansa feel sick.

When she stepped out into the hall, a silhouette startled her—so much that nearly fell back against the door. But as the shadowy figure moved forward, Sansa cried with relief. "Theon," she breathed.

He did not look twice at her before he threw a cloak around her shoulders to cover the grey nightshift that she wore, and then he pulled her across the hall into his room. Sansa's feet would not carry her to the bed; when Theon had shut and barred the door, she fell into a heap on the ground just inside, sobbing. Each breath made her ribs ache, which only meant she cried harder from the pain.

Theon picked her up off the ground without a word, and laid her down onto the bed. Only then did he appear to take account of the damage. Sansa wished she had the strength to cover herself, to hide her brokenness and put it somewhere Theon could not see it. But it was everywhere: in one short night, her being had been crushed and smothered, and all she had to show for it were bruises and tears.

The sadness in Theon's posture was palpable as he sat down on the edge of the bed to look over her wounds. He pulled the cloak tighter around her when she shivered, and then breathed an apology Sansa knew was not his to utter.

"Please," she heard herself whisper. "I need to bathe."

Theon rushed to his feet and out the door, leaving Sansa alone again with her grief. She was so afraid someone would come find her that she refused to close her eyes, even in her exhaustion. If she did sleep, she knew that Joffrey would haunt her dreams.

When Theon returned to the room and prepared her bath, Sansa tasted blood again: coppery and hot. With a trembling hand, she wiped it from her lips, and then let Theon lift her up onto her feet. The water in the tub was steaming; had Theon not been there to stop her, she would have climbed into it with her nightshift on, desperate for warmth and comfort. Instead, Theon removed the cloak from her shoulders, helped her from her shift, and placed her delicately into the water.

It swaddled her as a blanket might swaddle a babe, though she knew it would soon burn against her cuts. The bruises, however, were soothed by the warmth of it, and Sansa found her tears slowing.

Theon rolled up his sleeves and ran a hand over her hair before retrieving a rag from beside the tub. As he seeped it with water, Sansa looked down at her legs. There was a mess of black and blue markings down her shin, though the rest of her lower half had been spared from Joffrey's wrath.

She let Theon lift her arm and brush it gently with the cloth. He was careful of the bruise near her shoulder when he moved to wipe her neck.

"Tell me what hurts," Theon said, dipping the rag beneath the water's surface again.

Sansa did not look at him, but she leaned her head a bit closer to his chest. "Everything," she whispered. A tear rolled down her bloody cheek and fell silently into the tub.

"Will you let me bring you moon tea from Maester Luwin?" Theon asked as he brushed some of the blood from her face. "I can tell him it's for some girl at the tavern."

Sansa managed to shake her head, though the movement sent a shock of pain down her spine. "He didn't do that," she whispered. "Not inside of me. I told him I was in my heat." She leaned forward so that Theon could wash her back. "He made me undress," she stammered, "and then he made me touch him. Made me do it until he could finish himself on me." Sansa dug her nails into her chest, where the Prince had reluctantly spilled his seed when Sansa refused his entry into her mouth. At the memory, she clawed her bare skin, as if it might rip away the act that had sullied it.

Theon lifted Sansa's hand from her chest before she could draw blood. "Careful," he murmured. He wrung out the cloth before dabbing it over her collarbones, moving down onto her breasts after asking if it was all right.

Sansa nodded absently, but she hardly felt him at all. Everything inside of her was pain—all the way into her bones. The water bit at the gash on her rib, the circle of teeth marks at the base of her neck.

"Come now, lovely," Theon prompted in a soft tone, once Sansa sighed that she was as clean as she would ever be. When she hobbled to her feet and stepped from the tub, Theon wrapped her in a blanket. Sansa used it to dry herself, pressing hard into her bruises in the hopes they would disappear like stains from a dress. As he helped her into a pair of grey breeches and a soft tunic, Sansa cried. Theon did not shush her, nor did he try to tell her it would all be right again by the evening. Instead, he helped her into his bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin as she shuddered.

With soft lips, Theon bent to kiss her forehead. When he started for the door, Sansa suddenly found her voice. "Are you leaving me?" she called to him.

He strode back to the bedside and took up her hand in his. "I'm never leaving you again," he promised. "I swore to your brother I would tell him when I had you safe—but I will not linger there, you have my word. I will keep the chamber door in my sight."

Sansa nodded and let him kiss her fingers. "Please come back," she cried softly.

He promised her again and then got up to slip out the door.