Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 57

Sansa
The Maester that Theon had called Wendamyr did not ask Sansa her name. Either Theon's sister had told him the truth already or the old man knew better than to ask. Either way, Sansa was grateful.

"Thank you for helping me," Sansa remarked graciously, just as Septa Mordane had always taught her. She looked to Asha, who leaned against the door and glared hard at her. "Thank you, too," Sansa added, careful not to use the honorific my Lady that neither Asha nor Arya liked.

Maester Wendamyr touched Sansa's forehead. "You have no fever," he observed. "When did your symptoms come on?"

Sansa thought about it. "We were on a boat," she told him, "and in the nights after we had been on it a little while, I started to get sick."

"How long were you on a boat?" he asked.

"Several weeks," she replied, careful. "I couldn't eat much of anything for the last week or so."

Wendamyr took something from his basket, a little jar filled with a milky white substance. He tilted it back and forth between his fingers before apparently deciding against it. Instead, he picked up another bottle, this one larger than the first.

"Asha," he called to her, "do you have wine?"

She said nothing but removed a skin from her belt and walked across the room to hand it over. Without looking at Sansa, she returned to her post at the door.

Wendamyr uncorked the bottle, which made Sansa crinkle her nose. "What is that?" she asked. The scent made her feel sick all over again.

"Frightfully odorous thing, isn't it?" the Maester chuckled. "But it will work quickly to settle your stomach for a time." He grabbed a cup from Asha's bedside table, pouring wine from the skin. After he had released a few drops of the concoction into the cup, he passed it to Sansa. "Drink."

Sansa took it from him, but she did not drink. These people were strangers to her, and she regretted sending Theon away. But she knew she had to be brave. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell.

Slowly, she sipped it. The taste was not nearly as offensive as the scent, so Sansa swallowed it down as steadily as she could manage.

Maester Wendamyr removed the cup from her grasp. "Give it just a few minutes, dear."

Sansa nodded. The Maester was as wild-looking as every other Ironborn she had seen, but his voice was soft, which gave her some comfort. He went to the door to speak with Asha, who glanced often at Sansa in the bed, her expression rife with disgust. It made Sansa was to hide away forever; she had never been good at accepting contempt. So few ever disliked her, which Septa Mordane attributed to her pretty face and good manners. Her mother often mused that she had received all of the sweetness that should have been shared with her sister. Sansa just thought it made her weak. She did not want to be weak.

When Maester Wendamyr returned to the bedside, Sansa had to admit she felt less nauseous. The feeling had not entirely subsided, but it had certainly been dampened by Waldamyr's drink.

"Better?" he asked her.

Sansa saw Asha slip outside the door. "Yes," she replied when the older woman was gone. "Thank you very much."

Maester Wendamyr smiled. "No need for thanks, my Lady," he assured her. No one except Theon would ever call her a lady on the Iron Islands, Sansa was certain.

She regarded the old man with uncertainty. "How long will it last?" she asked.

He sighed, "Long enough for you to eat. I've sent Asha to retrieve some food, which will help nourish you. Have you always been so thin?"