Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 62

Theon
There had been several wedding ceremonies in the Godswood at Winterfell, so Theon remembered some of the customs, and Maester Wendamyr reminded him of the rest. At night, before a heart tree, the groom awaited the bride, who was then given away by a torch-bearing member of their family.

It was perfect: Arya and Sansa had brought a torch to light their way down the stairs; even though Sansa's father was far away in King's Landing, she still had a Stark to give her away.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Maester Wendamyr asked when Arya brought her sister to meet Theon beneath the big tree.

Arya remembered few of the ceremonial words, but she tried anyway. "Sansa of House Stark," she began with some confidence, and then hesitated before adding, "who comes here to be wed. A woman...grown—noble. Shit," she hissed, "that's not right, is it?" Theon laughed and Sansa did, too. He even saw Asha grin. Maester Wendamyr leaned down to whisper the proper words. Remembering now, Arya went on, "A woman grown—trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods." When she finished, Maester Wendamyr nodded at her.

He asked, "And who comes to claim her?"

Theon had practiced all evening. "Theon, of House Greyjoy," he replied. Sansa smiled at him, and he fell in love all over again.

"And who gives Lady Sansa?" Wendamyr inquired, looking back at Arya again.

"Arya," she declared after a moment. "Arya of House Stark, who is her sister." Finally, she guided Sansa's hand into Theon's.

The warmth of her fingers reminded him of all the nights they had spent together, all that had happened simply because he bothered to ask about the blood on her leg. It had not even been a year, and yet everything had changed.

"Lady Sansa of House Stark," Wendamyr continued, "do you take this man?"

Theon knew what she would say, and yet his heart still pounded hard against his chest. For so long, this was all he had dreamt of, and now he had it. He would never let it go.

Sansa crinkled her nose—the way she always did when she was particularly happy, the way Theon loved so much. "I take this man," she concluded.

"And you, Lord Theon of House Greyjoy—"Wendamyr turned now to him "—do you take this woman?"

He saw Sansa crinkle her nose again, and it made him want to kiss her more than anything; still he held himself back. "I take this woman," he smiled.

Maester Wendamyr smiled, too. "In the sight of the Old Gods and all those who bear witness, I do say that Theon of House Greyjoy and Sansa of House Stark become one in their presence. May the eyes of the Gods watch over you always."

The Maester had hardly uttered the words when Theon could contain himself no longer. He picked Sansa up and spun her, laughing. Once he had returned her to the ground, he placed his hands on her cheeks, rosy from the cold. She stood on her toes to kiss him in the sight of the Old Gods, and then smiled so wide that Theon had to let go of her lips. Arya ran to embrace her sister, bumbling with excitement.

When Arya released Sansa, she turned to Theon. "Are you my brother now?" she asked with a grin.

He pulled her into a hug. "Always," he promised.

Asha's voice cut into Theon like a knife. "We have to leave now," she snapped. "The Ironborn don't give a fuck if you arrive at the same time." With a disinterested hand, Asha beckoned them onwards to the shore.

Arya hurried to follow, and Theon heard her ask his sister what people called her if they did not say "Lady." Maester Wendamyr went with them, patting Theon's shoulder as he passed.

When they were out of earshot, Sansa asked, "So are we man and wife now?" She brushed back the hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

"Does that upset you?" he laughed as his hand ran down her side. "Is it already so terrible being married to a Greyjoy?" He kissed her cheek playfully. "I suppose Robb was right after all."

Sansa put her hands on the back of his neck, which heated the blood in Theon's body. She kissed him, soft and sweet, before she announced, "It's time for the part that isn't so fun, I imagine."

Theon nodded. Sansa slipped her arm into his, and they followed the others down the path. When the wood opened up, Theon could see the crowd that had gathered on the rocks ahead. They were silent as he helped Sansa to the water's edge, where Aeron Damphair, priest of the Drowned God, waited for them.

It was a short ceremony, quiet and ungrateful. The water was icy cold against Theon's legs, but Sansa hardly trembled, even when his uncle scooped three handfuls of water over her head. Theon saw the skin on her neck ripple with gooseflesh beneath the moonlight, and he wanted so badly to touch her. Instead, Aeron bathed him with seawater, which Theon blinked from his eyes so that he could see Sansa again. He was afraid to look away from her, for fear that some man would try his luck and tear her away from him.

At his uncle's instruction, Theon took Sansa's hand in his and led her from the water. They repeated a prayer, and when they kissed, they were married in the sight of the Drowned God. This time, Sansa did not smile. She remained stoic, only ever glancing from the water to ensure that Arya was not far away, sullen at Asha's side. The girl walked close to them as they returned to town, the crowd silent behind them.

Balon had arranged for a feast in Pyke's greatest hall. On the Iron Islands, only men attended the wedding feasts, but Asha had since insisted that Arya be allowed to stay, too. If there were any little girl whose presence Asha could appreciate, it was certainly Arya Stark.

Still, Theon knew how wedding feasts ended for the Ironborn. He would be expected to share his new wife with the men who had come to celebrate, though none but him would be allowed to finish inside of her. It was no wonder that the hall was so full of sweaty drunken men—

They had come for Sansa Stark.