Iron and Blood: a Theon & Sansa Story

Chapter 71

Sansa
The ship Theon had taken to the mainland returned before the next moon, only Theon did not return with it. Sansa refused to cry.

She went immediately to the the crewman Theon swore he trusted the most, and demanded to know what happened. "You brought back a midwife, but you did not bring back your King," she snapped as they climbed the stairs to her chamber. Tristifer Botley was a long, skinny man who donned a near-flat beard that refused to sprout from certain parts of his face. Sansa cared not for his awkward and often timid demeanor, but she could not choose who the Greyjoys trusted.

She slammed the door behind the man they called Tris and stared hard at him, waiting. Finally, he said, "Lady Sansa, I don't know what happened to your husband, but I promise you we did not abandon him." Tris rummaged through his pocket for something and then held it out to Sansa. "A little girl came to the docks with the midwife and word of Theon. She gave us this."

With uncertainty, Sansa reached to accept the token in his hand. It made Sansa shudder: the silver brooch Mikken had made at her request, the one Sansa thought would protect Theon the way Robb's direwolf had protected him in the wood. How could it protect him from a rock in the middle of the sea?

"A little girl brought this?" Sansa breathed. "Why?"

Tristifer chewed at his bottom lip. "She said she brought it on Lord Theon's orders," he remarked. "She said he was alive. And—"

"And what?" Sansa shouted at him. She had no patience for his whimpering—not while she was nearly seven moons into her pregnancy and her husband was leagues away or lost or dead.

"She said she had a message for you," Tris squeaked. He returned to his pocket, this time to remove a paper. "She knew about you—asked after you by name."

Sansa took the paper from his hand and unfolded it. Sketched crudely but assuredly upon the parchment was the sigil of House Greyjoy and the word safe. The little note was signed with two separate sets of initials: MR and WS.

For a moment, Sansa considered it, brushed her fingers over the smudged charcoal. "The little girl," she began, "the one that brought you word of Theon—what did she look like?"

Tris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "She was tall," he stammered, "pretty hair—lots of curls."

Sansa pressed the parchment against her chest and nodded. "Thank you, my Lord," she said to Tristifer. "You can leave now. Fetch my sister as well."

He bowed his head and murmured, "Your Grace," before he left.

It took nearly no time for Arya to appear at the door. "Theon?" she asked, desperate. Sansa held out the note, and her sister accepted it. "What is this?" she asked after a moment.

"A little girl brought the midwife to Theon's ship and insisted he was safe," Sansa replied. "And she left this with Tristifer Botley."

Arya turned the paper over in her hand. "Meera," she sighed, and Sansa knew she was grateful. "Will he be back soon?" Arya returned the note.

Sansa could only shrug. "I hope," she whispered. "I can't imagine he would leave us here alone for very long. Not unless it was important." Sansa wished she could curl up in bed with Theon beside her; as her pregnancy grew longer, the pain had increased. She remarked to Arya then, "I ought to visit with the midwife."

"Let me bring her to you," Arya insisted, leading Sansa towards the bed. "You should rest more, anyway."

When she left, Sansa sunk into the sweetness of her pillow. She remembered the first night she had spent beside Theon—the night that Robb put a fist across his jaw. Now she was married, with child, and further away from Winterfell than she could have imagined. Sansa rolled her head to her shoulder, to sigh at the empty half of her bed. He would not have stayed on the mainland unless it were truly a matter of life and death.

He would be home soon, Sansa promised herself. He had to be.

The midwife that appeared at her chamber door was a tall woman with long dark hair and a smooth face. She had darker skin than most in Westeros, and brown eyes to match. She could not have been much older than Sansa—at least she did not appear it.

"My Lady," the woman greeted her. She smiled so warmly that Sansa's Northern distrust all but fell away. "May I come in?"

Sansa motioned for her to shut the door, and she did. "You're a midwife?" Sansa asked, fearful that the sweet woman would take it unkindly.

She only smiled and glanced at her feet. "Like my mother," she replied. "I cannot have children of my own, so I think it worked out for the best."

"I'm sorry," Sansa stammered, sitting up. "You are a friend of the Reeds?"

Nodding, the midwife remarked, "Lord Howland gave my mother and I shelter when my father died. We had nothing, but he helped us find work with ladies all over the Neck."

"Are you from the North?" Sansa inquired. Most Northerners were dark of hair but pale of skin, which meant those who looked any different had to fight for respect and recognition.

"I am," the midwife declared, moving closer to the bed. "My parents were from the Summer Islands, but when my mother became pregnant with me, they snuck onto a merchant's ship and landed at Saltspear. When I was born, they travelled round the North some, I think, until Lord Howland took us in. I've lived at Greywater Watch for as long as I can remember." She said it with such longing, Sansa had to smile.

"What is your name?" she asked the midwife, who sat down beside her bed.

"Abylene," she said. "Most call me Aby."

"Aby," Sansa tested it out. "I'm Sansa."

"It's an honor to meet you, Lady Sansa," Aby breathed. She touched Sansa's hand atop the covers.

Sansa nearly forgot her manners. "Thank you for coming all this way," she hurried. "I know it can't be easy leaving your home for a stranger on the Iron Islands."

"You have no reason to thank me, my Lady," Aby assured her. "It's the greatest honor to serve House Stark—one I never could have imagined when I was just a girl."

It made Sansa feel guilty for some reason that she could not name. She was grateful, too, but it was strange to be treated like a true highborn lady by a woman she had never even met. Her parents had raised her to believe every Northern house would die for every other, but it would have been more honest to say that every Northern House would die for the Starks.

Perhaps sensing her guilt, Aby took Sansa's hand in her own. "No one but the Reeds ever treated me like a true Northerner. Let me be a true Northerner now," she pleaded. "Let me serve House Stark and serve you. Let me prove that the North always remembers."