Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 58

Theon
There was an old wooden game tucked into the corner of the second room that emerged off the first. Theon did not know what it was, nor how to play it, so he and Arya came up with their own rules as they set up the pieces. The board had painted blue tiles, but the paint was chipping away and one corner had been eaten away by some sort of bug.

Occasionally, Arya would hesitate before making her next move, just to ask Theon if he thought Sansa would be all right. He always replied that Maester Wendamyr was a great healer, and he would have Sansa feeling better soon enough.

Inside, Theon was scared. He could not fathom losing Sansa—not then. She was everything to him, and if he could not protect her, then what was his purpose? He did not want the Iron Islands, nor did he care much for his father. All he wanted was her safety and her love.

"You should go see her," Arya told him after some time had passed. She looked up from their game to show that she meant it, and Theon understood.

He pulled himself up off the floor. "Let no one in," he instructed, and Arya nodded.

"I know," she assured him. "If I can, I'd like to keep my head on my shoulders a while longer."

Theon smiled. When he was outside the door, he heard Arya bar it behind him. He retraced his steps to what he thought was Asha's room, though every door and passage looked the same to him after all these years. Fortunately, when he pushed open the door, Sansa was still in the bed with Maester Wendamyr beside her. Asha raised her eyebrows at Theon when he entered, hopping up out of her chair to approach him. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Sansa's voice that reached him first.

"I would like to speak with your brother privately, my Lady." Her eyes were sullen, but the color had returned to her face, and she did not appear to be as sick as she had been. It comforted Theon more than he could have imagined.

Asha turned to glare at Sansa in the bed. It was unlike Sansa to speak so sharply, and Theon knew how much Asha hated her own title. Maester Wendamyr stood and helped usher Theon's sister from the room. He shut the door gently behind them.

When Theon looked back to Sansa, she was in tears. He hurried to sit down on the bed so that he could hold onto her hand. "What is it?" he asked.

Sansa just shook her head and cried harder. She would not look him in the eye, which made Theon feel sick. Had his sister said something? Or Maester Wendamyr? What would have made Sansa angry with him? Whatever it was, Theon was certain it had to be a mistake.

Finally, Sansa pulled her head from her hands, though she did not take her eyes off her lap. She held a little bottle there, filled with a murky liquid, sediment spinning at the base.

"Sansa," Theon prompted. "Will you tell me what's happened?"

"I'm so sorry," she stammered through tears. "I'm sorry, Theon."

But Theon did not understand. He pushed Sansa's hair behind her ear and asked, "Why are you sorry? You haven't done anything wrong."

"I have," she sobbed. She let Theon hold her then, but it did not seem to help her sadness.

"Please," Theon tried again, "tell me what happened."

Against his chest, he felt Sansa take a deep, trembling breath. "Your Maester," she whispered. "He didn't know what was making me sick, and he—he asked—" a wave of grief overtook her, and she let out another sob. "He asked if I was a virgin—"

She was cut off again, crying so hard that Theon though the castle might shake beneath them. He understood what she was trying to say without hearing another word.

Theon did not know what he was supposed to feel then. Anger? Fear? Happiness? All he felt was confusion. It could not be true. Theon had bedded dozens of women; not one had ended up with child after he brought them moon tea from the stash at the brothel. It was true that most only allowed him to spill his seed outside of their bodies, but the few who had let him in swore by the tea's prevention abilities.

"How?" Theon managed. He hoped he did not sound as nervous as he felt.

Sansa only shrugged; she was crying too hard to speak, anyway. Theon held her tighter. He knew that whatever he felt, Sansa must have felt ten-fold. She was so far from home, unmarried, and so much was expected of her. Theon kissed the top of her head in assurance.

"It will be all right," he promised.

"How?" Sansa cried. "What will we do? The Lannisters will be at your throat if they know you bedded me while Joffrey was at Winterfell. And my family will never want me back."

He knew it was not true, and Sansa had to know it, too. "You know your family will always want you. And you don't have to worry about the Lannisters here."

It did not seem to comfort her. "What will we do?" she asked again.

Theon sighed and admitted he did not know. "But it doesn't matter," he added, "because I'm going to keep you safe." He pulled away from her to meet her gaze. "I promise I will keep you safe, all right?" It was strange and horrifying to consider, but he was quick to assure her, "I will keep your child safe, too. Our child, Sansa. Do you hear me?"

She hesitated, her eyes full of fear, but nodded. Theon pressed his forehead against hers, and she kissed him. Her lips were salty with tears. Somehow, though, it made everything better.

He left the room to speak with his sister and Maester Wendamyr; what they knew could not reach his father.

Both were still outside, exchanging whispers in the dark corridor. "No one can know," Theon hissed between them. "Especially not my father." He stared hard at Maester Wendamyr. "Do you understand?" Theon pressed him.

The Maester hurried a nod. "Yes, my Lord. I will speak of this to no one." He ran off, and Theon was grateful that all maesters were human—it instilled in them a healthy sense of fear.

Theon's sister, on the other hand, was not so reliable. "Asha," he snapped, grabbing her arm. "Can I trust that you will keep this matter private?"

Asha ripped away from his grasp. "What?" she muttered back at him. "People cannot know that sweet Sansa Stark of Winterfell let a man take her before her wedding night?" Asha just laughed. "By her next name-day she'll be home in the North with some bastard babe sucking at her tit, and whatever dumb cunt fathered it will have to suffer the Starks' wrath."

Theon ran his hand through his hair. The sister that had berated him for his foolishness ever since he arrived could not even see what was in front of her.

Sensing Theon's frustration, Asha clapped his back. "Come now, you had to have known she would never want your grimy cock," she comforted him with a grin. "The girl is not yours to worry about, little brother. Put her and her dirty little sister on the street outside and let them find their own way home."

Theon knew he needed his sister on his side. "Asha," he breathed, "the child is mine."

At first, her grin widened with amusement, as if she believed him to be joking with her. When Theon's expression did not change, however, she seemed to understand.

All she said was, "Fucking hells."