Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 53

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

Sansa
Sansa did not like the way men looked at her when she rode past. They all had pinched, angry faces, and most were covered in grime. With one hand, she held her cloak over her chest, desperate to hide herself.

All the way to the castle, Theon kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Somehow, it did not make Sansa feel any better; she was in a strange place surrounded by very strange people, all of whom would almost certainly wish her dead if they knew the truth of her identity. Her prayer returned silently to her lips.

I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully.

It did nothing to ease the sickness in the pit of her stomach. During the last part of their passage, Sansa had spent nearly every night vomiting, which left her exhausted and weak. Theon still made her eat every afternoon, but she could keep nothing down.

Being off the boat would help, she did not doubt, but her nervousness would remain. She was an enemy to the Ironborn, and in all likelihood, she would be an enemy to Theon's family, too.

When towers began to emerge through the mist before them, Sansa's heart quickened in her chest. Even her lips trembled too severely to allow the passage of prayer, so Sansa stayed silent inside herself.

Theon led them down the winding road past the first two towers. There, the townsfolk were so busy working and drinking and fighting that they did not look up often at the three horses passing through their streets. By the time they reached the third tower, however, Sansa realized they had caught the attention of everyone who could see them. Perhaps sensing it, Theon slowed his horse to a halt and dismounted. Arya put her weight on his shoulders and got down onto her feet before Theon approached Sansa.

"Come on, lovely," he beckoned her in a quiet voice. "It will be all right."

Sansa's hand shook when she reached out to touch him. Tenderly, he guided her onto the ground, lingering on her waist just a moment longer than was necessary for the job, and then he went to tie up their horses.

Sansa glanced around nervously: every eye was on them, but not a single one spoke. Theon motioned for her and Arya to follow him around the corner of the tower, where they met a pair of iron-clad guards with swords and axes on their belts. They watched Theon cautiously as he ascended the few stairs to the door they protected, before they asked what the fuck he wanted.

Theon pulled back his shoulders. "I've come to speak with Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands and the Salt Throne."

Arya found Sansa's hand beneath her cloak as they waited for one of the guards to respond. "You can't just walk up askin' for a visit with the king," one muttered, spitting at Theon's boots. "Even if you think you're mighty fuckin' special."

Somehow, Theon replied without hesitating: "I am Theon Greyjoy, Balon's only living son and your rightful prince. You will allow me through or else my father will hear of it."

It startled them, Sansa saw, but they did not move to open the doors. "Why should we believe that?" the same guard snapped, though his voice gave away his weakness.

"Bring me to him," Theon declared, "and you can ask him for yourself."

The guard leaned to look at the girls over Theon's shoulder. Sansa felt his eyes on her body, searching for an explanation. "They Balon's sons, too?" the angry man spat.

Theon wasted no time. "Who they are is not your concern."

It was enough for them. The two men kicked open the door behind them, but only one followed them inside. He led their party to a stairwell, dark and steep, which almost certainly wound all the way to the top of Balon Greyjoy's tower.

"Climb until you can't climb any fucking more," the guard instructed, pointing at the doorway. "If I've been had, I'll cut your fuckin' nuts off, and take your little girls in front of youse."

Sansa cowered back a little when he said it, so Theon stepped in front of her. "Go," he told the man, and he did.

Theon led the way up the stairs, taking a torch from the wall outside before he went. There were few windows in the stairway, and the sky was already beginning to darken, which meant it was difficult for Sansa to find her footing. Theon held the torch low behind him, which kept Sansa and Arya from stumbling more than a few times. The steps were uneven and rocky, but Theon was apparently unbothered, even when Sansa grew tired. With every curve of the staircase, a dizziness swept over her, which only worsened her nausea.

Just when she considered asking Theon if they could stop to rest a moment, the stairway opened out into a great room with a vaulted ceiling. A hearth at the far wall illuminated a blue-tiled floor and matching drapes that billowed in open windows. Before the hearth was a crooked old man, so engrossed by a book in his lap that he did not seem to notice Theon, Sansa, and Arya when they came into the room. He had thin white hair that fell all the way to his chest, cloaked in a silky green doublet that Sansa could see bore the great golden kraken of House Greyjoy.

Theon cleared his throat, and the man lifted his head slowly in response. "What?" the stranger grumbled. His voice carried down the long room, annoyed and apathetic. "Who are you?"

Sansa saw Theon's chest heave as he took a long breath. He replied, "Father?"

The man shot up out of his seat, dropped his book onto the floor and strode to the center of the room. Balon Greyjoy was evidently not sentimental. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he muttered. "Who the fuck are they?"

Before Theon could respond, Sansa removed the kraken brooch from her cloak and lowered her hood. As the light came down on her braided auburn hair, Balon spat at the ground in disgust.

He knew.