Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 56

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

Theon
Before Theon and his sister started back up the castle steps with their belongings, she mused that he really was a dumb cunt.

"Why would you bring them here?" she demanded.

Theon had no explanation besides his love, but he knew how little that would mean to Asha. He just said, "I needed to help them, and this was the only way."

"Help them with what?" countered Asha. "You took them from their home for what purpose?"

"Sansa was to marry the Prince of Westeros—Robert Baratheon's son," Theon explained. "He abused her and Arya. Brutally. And his family threatened the Starks' lives if anyone tried to keep them away from him." Theon navigated the first turn up the stairwell.

Asha was unimpressed. "Oh, how noble!" she exclaimed, her tone biting. "You brought them to a place where they don't belong, where the people don't want them. That tall girl will be fucked bloody the moment she steps foot outside this tower."

"She will not," Theon snapped. He stopped his ascent to warn Asha with his eyes. Only then did he realize he had given himself away.

Asha groaned. "Don't tell me you fancy the pretty little bitch."

Theon felt his face flush as he started up the stairs again. "Don't call her that," he muttered.

"You know she would never care for you," Asha laughed, "you know that, right?"

Theon knew to be careful, so he only shrugged. "If Father threatens to attack the North, Robb will offer Sansa to me instead of the Prince."

"So you've kidnapped her?" Asha exclaimed.

"That's what the North believes, at least," Theon remarked, stepping over a broken stair and kicking dust behind him. "No one could know that it was not real."

It all seemed to amuse Asha, who had not ceased her chuckling. "The mainland made you dumber," she decided. "Every man in your Seven Kingdoms would fuck the Stark girl if they had the chance." Asha thought about it a moment before adding, "Every woman would, too, if they have the taste for it." She smiled at herself. "No one would ever believe she'd choose you when she could instead throw herself from a tower."

The words stung, but Theon knew he could not react to them. Instead, he took a long breath, remembered why he was there, why he needed to win over his family so desperately. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect them," he stated, with all of the ease that he could muster. "It would be good to have your help, but if you will not lend it to me, I will do it without you."

"Theon." Asha stopped him. "You are my brother, dumb cunt that you are. But you know what we are. The moment you take the Stark girl as your wife, every man on this island will come together to take her and believe they've done you a favor." She shoved Theon by his shoulder. After the hit he had sustained at the hand of his father, the movement made him dizzy. "You are a Greyjoy," Asha added. "Their battles are not yours to fight."

Theon sighed. "They are."

He continued up the stairs until Asha told him to halt and take the passage to his right, deeper into the heart of the tower. The moment he stepped through the fog of dust, he heard Sansa say his name. It was weak and broken, but it sounded close.

Theon dropped what he was carrying to follow the noise to the end of the hall. Asha hurried after him, skidding to a stop when Theon came upon Sansa in a heap. She lay beside an old wooden bucket, paler than Theon had ever seen her. He ran his hand over her head, pushing back the hair that clung to her face with sweat.

"Please help me," she cried as she reached out for him.

Theon slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her off the ground. "A Maester," he demanded of Asha.

She nodded without protest. "Follow me to my chamber. I'll have Wendamyr come there." Asha motioned for Theon to move back to the stairs, and she led him on up the stairs. Sansa clung tight to his neck, and he brushed a gentle hand down the back of her head.

"It's all right," he promised her quietly.

Asha took them down a short corridor to her chamber, which was a large, decorated room with a canopied bed. "Lay her down," she instructed. "I'll be back in a moment."

As she went back out through the door, Theon laid Sansa down onto the bed. His heart pounded with fear and uncertainty: she did not feel hot to the touch, nor had she seemed ill in the morning. Whatever it was had come on suddenly, just as it had on the boat in the late evenings.

"Maester Wendamyr looked after me when I was a boy," Theon assured Sansa, sitting down on the bed beside her. "He'll help you feel better, I promise." The words were shaky, but Theon believed them to be true. He had to.

Sansa managed a weak nod. "Arya," she whispered. "Go back and be with her, please."

Theon wanted to refuse; he could not leave Sansa alone. But he trusted his sister more than he trusted the dark corridor in which Arya now sat by herself.

"Please," Sansa said again, this time with more conviction. "It's all right, Theon. I'm all right."

Asha returned with Maester Wendamyr, who looked exactly as Theon remembered him: a balding man with wild grey hair. "Theon," the Maester greeted him, but he did not linger. He went quickly to Sansa's side.

"Go, Theon," Sansa commanded, and Theon knew better than to fight her.

He went.