"Lady Sansa, wake up, please."

Sansa blinked and opened her eyes. Lady Brienne was leaning in from above her, looking concerned. Behind the Lady's tall frame, stars shone on a dwindling twilight sky.

Sansa sat up, and pulled the blanket closer around her body. The camp fire had been doused and Podrick was already busy readying their remaining horses. She had slept almost throughout the entire night despite the cold and the uncomfortable bed of dirt and pine branches and despite the fact that Theon had left them the day before.

Nightmares had woken her from time to time, of course. They always did. This last one… They were in her bedchamber and Ramsay had ordered Theon to approach the bed and… No, it bore not thinking of.

Theon…

At first, she had hated him so much that she thought she was going to be sick. Those first days after that awful girl, Myranda, had taken her to the kennels to show her Theon; in part to humiliate him further, and in part to shock Sansa, the mere sight of him creeping along the hallways, always dirty, cowering, and shaking had repulsed her. He shouldn't be alive. He had turned on them. He had taken Winterfell, betrayed her family, betrayed his friendship with Robb, but worst of all, he had murdered Bran and Rickon. And yet here he was, alive despite it all. She loathed him. He ought to be dead.

As more days went by, and she got used to the idea of Theon being alive, and here, she grew weary of watching how he was treated by the people who were now living in Winterfell. She frowned when she saw how he acted like a submissive, frightened dog all the time, and instead of a sense of righteous joy, she simply felt appalled. She wanted justice. She needed it, but a just punishment would have meant Theon being put to the sword years ago. Instead, the Boltons had kept him as their prisoner. They had obviously not been treating him kindly, and she suspected her future husband was the main reason why Theon had changed from a cocky youth to this quivering wreck of a man. Theon seemed to be Ramsay's slave more than a prisoner and Ramsay had even forced him to obey a new name, Reek. Men and women alike either ignored Theon or mocked him, and it disturbed her. She had even witnessed two of Lord Bolton's men making Theon trip and fall over while he had been carrying an armful of firewood. The men had laughed and kicked at him when he was on the ground, trying to gather the pieces of wood and get back up. A thin line of blood had been running down his face from a cut caused by the fall. And while it was usually Theon who served them dinner, he himself was clearly malnourished. The food stuck in her throat when she watched him shaking in the corner as they ate.

When he was not serving them in one way or other, he slept in the cold kennels with no blankets or enough hay to make the stone floor just a bit soft or warm, and Sansa wouldn't even have treated a dog that badly. He wore the same filthy rags day in and day out. His hair was long and greasy, his beard unkempt. Theon, who used to love fancy clothes and who always tried to look his best. Just like her, really. A very long time ago.

All of these humiliations and punishments might be the Boltons' way of just castigations, but they were not the Starks'.

Yet, Sansa didn't say anything to Lord Bolton, nor to her fiancé about her thoughts on the matter. After all, Theon had brought all of this on himself, unwittingly or not, and while she might disagree and be sickened by it, she would not step in to defend or help her brothers' murderer. But once she and Ramsay were married, she would demand that Theon's misery be put to an end, the way the Wardens of the North had always done it. But not until then.

Then came the wedding night. She vaguely remembered Theon crying and doing as he was told. She thought she remembered him whispering unintelligible words over and over, but that might have been her imagination.

All she was certain of was that he didn't lift a single finger to try and help her. She remembered seeing through blurred eyes how Ramsay, when it was finally over, had dragged a disheveled and crumbled looking Theon with him as they had left her bedchamber. The days afterwards remained an inconsistent blur. Someone placed plates with food on her table, and someone emptied her chamber pot and someone left her fresh, hot water in a bowl on the washstand. She saw very little of anything and mostly remained hidden under her blankets, trying to block out the world, and everything. Each night, Ramsay would return and hurt her.

As each new day passed and each new night meant more violent, and debasing assaults, she came to realize that it had to stop. She couldn't keep on existing like this and she knew that she had been a fool to believe in Petyr's ensnaring words. What did Petyr know anyway? Was he a woman? He was completely clueless as to how invasive and hurtful, being taken unwanted was. Just like she had been herself before the wedding night. And with Ramsay it was nothing but cruelty. It was painful, and wrong. He hurt her everywhere. Seemed to enjoy it while smiling and saying words completely at odds with what his pinching hands and body did to her. She understood that it was impossible for her to manipulate her husband in any way. He was a cruel, evil man with a heart of ice and she meant nothing to him, apart from her family name and inherited title.

She had to find a way to get away. She had to get word to those who remembered her father. Who were loyal to the Starks.

She had realized by now that it was Theon who tended to her room and served her fresh food each day but she hadn't talked to him. She understood that Theon had been devastated that first night. That he had enjoyed absolutely nothing of it. He had to help her. He had to want to help her, didn't he? Someone must get word to the people who wanted to help her. Someone must light a candle in that tower. And Theon, traitor, and murderer of her own two brothers was her only hope. But there was no other way. The old lady hadn't been back since her wedding. All who came to her room were Theon and Ramsay, and they kept her door locked whenever they weren't there. She could probably run past Theon if she tried, but the thought of running into Ramsay in one of the hallways terrified her. And she was certain that one of his men would grab hold of her. Fleeing on her own like that was a hopeless matter.

And so Sansa had asked Theon to help her and wordlessly, he had nodded his acceptance. He had insisted on being Reek, but she had believed that she had gotten through to him by grasping him firmly by his shoulders and reminding him who he truly was: Theon Greyjoy, last living son of Balon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands. But she should have known that it was not that easy. Theon was not Theon anymore, and he had betrayed her, running off to tell his master almost instantly. That afternoon, when she found out in that horrible way how Theon had failed her, her hatred for him returned full scale. Theon might cry and cringe and claim to be oh so sorry, but in the end, he accepted his fate and as a consequence, he accepted hers as well. There was nothing kind or human left in Theon. He was just a dog, and a murderous liar to boot. She fronted him the day after Ramsay had killed the kind, old lady. By then, she understood that she had to save herself somehow, someway. She could not depend on Theon or Reek in any way. But she wouldn't let him off the hook without confronting him about his betrayal and so she sat waiting for him to arrive with her daily meal.

When he did enter her room, and when she had asked him why? with as much venom in her voice as she could muster, he had told her that he had helped her. Because there was "no escape." Oh, how she resented hearing those words. They could not be true. They must not be true. Someone akin to Theon had surfaced just then. Someone with a conscience. Someone whom she could hurt for betraying her because he seemingly cared for her in his own backwards way. She had felt a heady, and angry sensation of satisfaction when she threw her hateful words at him like daggers.

"If I could do to you what Ramsay did, I would!"

It was petty, she knew, but in that moment, it felt good to see how she was able to harm him. But surprisingly, though hurt, he accepted her words. He had looked so sad and sincere as he told her how he deserved to be Reek. How he deserved everything. She heard the misery in his voice when he mentioned each of his crimes and especially when he spoke Robb's name, and for a second, she almost felt bad for lashing out at him. But when he referred to her two small brothers as nothing more than "those boys" she had jumped up in angry, and wounded outrage. She had managed to corner and terrify him so much so, that for a few short moments, he had truly become Theon again. She saw a teardrop fall from his eyes as she towered over him, shouting at him. And then out of the blue, he had confessed to her in a frightened, and terrified shout that he didn't kill Bran and Rickon. It had been two farm boys.

At that very moment, time stood still. Bran and Rickon might still be alive! Ramsay had lied to her. Had made Theon lie to her as well. All of her hatred for Theon seemed to vanish and drain away in a heartbeat. Her brothers could still be out there, living and breathing! Theon was a child murderer as per his own admission, but her brothers were alive, and all she could think of and feel at that moment was stunned relief and hope.

Watching Theon, she realized it made no difference to him. He was the walking embodiment of regret for all the things he had done. Yes, there was still some Theon left inside of him when you dug hard enough, but he was Reek not only because he was forced to be so, but also because he felt he had to be. Because he truly felt he deserved whatever Ramsay did to him. Because he regretted all of his past actions and poor choices. As he fled her room, she knew that her own situation was unchanged. She had only herself to rely on if she ever wanted to get away from Ramsay Bolton. She had the corkscrew she had snatched the day before and she would find a way to pick open the lock on her chamber door and light a candle in that tower even if that was the last thing she ever managed to do. It had been several weeks since she spoke to the old lady who was now dead by the hands of her own husband. But all she could do was hope that there was still someone out there, waiting for her signal.

During the next few days, she didn't speak to Theon much but only watched him silently, as he came and went. Never once did he look up to meet her eyes. Pale and troubled looking, riddled with guilt and shame, he placed her food on the table, replaced her chamber pot, closed or opened her windows, rekindled the fire. And left without a word. She couldn't find it in her heart to hate him anymore. She didn't know what to feel about him. All she knew was that she had forgiven him. He would have never killed Bran and Rickon. And he would have never wanted for Robb or her mother to die. Like her, he had had fanciful, ridiculous dreams of titles, riches, and being the center of attention. He had committed heinous crimes along the way, but they plagued him worse than any punishment could ever do. As for him choosing his own family over hers? Were not her own mother's family's words "Family, Duty, Honor"? Things were never black and white. She knew that by now.

Then Ramsay left Winterfell one morning to do battle against Stannis Baratheon's army and she had heard and seen his men leave the castle along with him from her open window.

She acted straight away. She had succeeded in unlocking her chamber door and she had managed to reach the tower and light the candle, but on her way back, she was caught by Myranda who was having a tormented looking Theon in tow. She couldn't think of him as Reek, no matter how many times he had told her that that was his name. She didn't think that it had been Theon himself who had told Myranda that Sansa had left her room. Instead it looked as if Myranda had discovered it all by herself. Sansa should have realized that Myranda would come by and taunt her as soon as Ramsay had left Winterfell. And as Theon had the keys to her chamber, Myranda must have brought him along only to find Sansa's chamber deserted.

As Myranda threatened her in a not very subtle way, Sansa's heart was hammering in her chest. The girl was just as evil and mad as Ramsay was, and she would hurt Sansa in a heartbeat. But so be it. She told the girl that if she was going to die, she wanted it to be while there was still some of her left and she meant it. She noticed how sorrowful and sad Theon looked at her words but she dismissed his glance and kept her eyes focused on Myranda. She was certain that she was going to be pierced by Myranda's arrow any minute and though terrified, she only hoped for instant death, when Theon suddenly acted, and grabbed Myranda, pushing her hard to the side. The arrow whizzed past Sansa and she watched as Theon wrestled withh the girl and managed to push her off and over the rail of the gangway. The shriek and sound of Myranda hitting the ground below them and the complete silence afterwards made Sansa freeze. None of this was expected at all and she didn't know what to do now. All she could do was stare down at the blood pooling out around Myranda's crushed body.

It was Theon who acted when the sound of Ramsay's horn tore through the air. It was Theon, who grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him as he made her run with him to the top of the outer wall.

She closed her eyes remembering the piercing look Theon had given her as he turned and reached back for her to join him on the narrow precipice. It had been questioning and yet so intense, without him ever voicing a word. Will you follow me, Milady? Do you trust me, it said. And she would. And she did. When she was standing next to him, looking down at the snow in what seemed far too far below them, he had shifted the grip on their hands as gracefully and gently as if they were about to go out on a dance floor. She had curled her fingers around his, suddenly feeling stronger, graceful, and determined. And then they had jumped.

Knowing that no matter what, it would be better than staying in Winterfell.

Somehow they had not only survived, but landed just right. The snow had absorbed their drop and they had sunk so deep into the deep drift, that they had nearly been buried completely. For long minutes, they had just lain there, gasping for breath, trying to get their lungs back to functioning. Finally, they had been able to claw their way out of the snow.

"Are you unhurt," Theon had asked her as soon as he was able to talk and, miraculously, she was. So was he, it seemed. They were both bruised and battered but neither had broken any bones. Then, they ran.

They ran until she could go no further, but each time she thought she would faint from exertion, Theon had kept coming back to her, pulling her further along, forcing her to move. The river they had crossed would have killed her, had Theon not been there to guide her. He had to have been just as cold as her, but her skirts weighed her down considerably. Without him, she would have tripped and lost her footing and drowned in the dark, icy waters.

Afterwards, running or trying to run in a soaking wet and heavy dress had been near impossible. When Theon at long last had guided her towards a fallen tree, she had been close to collapsing and practically unable to think any coherent thoughts at all. He had said something to her, her name perhaps? She didn't know. All she knew was that he had suddenly pulled her firmly against him, his arms encircling her tightly. His hand had rubbed her back up and down, up and down and he had leaned his head against her shoulder. It had felt so good to be held like that. She had leaned back into his touch and closed her eyes, feeling comforted and cared about for the first time in years, feeling his body move as he breathed. It felt like bliss.

But all too soon Ramsay's dogs and men had found them. She would never forget how Theon had let go of her and told her to go north while he would lure the men away. He would sacrifice himself for her and he had turned away from her and left to go and do just that.

Then Brienne and her squire had arrived seemingly out of nowhere and there had been fighting and bloodshed, and she had watched as they had killed Ramsay's men and dogs one by one. She had seen Theon pick up a sword and kill the last of them, saving the squire, Podrick's life.

They had picked two of the strongest looking horses from the fallen men and had ridden as fast as the horses could stand all day. It had been snowing most of the time and their tracks had been quickly covered. When they finally made camp close to sunset, Sansa had been exhausted and sore. But she was warm and her clothes were mostly dry from sitting on a warm horse all day. Best of all; she felt safe.

The same thing clearly couldn't be said about Theon. He flinched at any sudden sounds and movements and looked thoroughly pitiful.

He wasn't though. She knew that now. Theon might forget it from time to time, but he was far stronger than he realized. If not for him, she would have been dead or worse by now. She would not forget that.

During their ride, when they had been forced to slow down in order not to hurt the horses, she had told Lady Brienne who Theon was and that no matter what Lady Brienne might or might not have heard about him, he had helped save Sansa and he was not to be hurt. To her relief, Lady Brienne calmly accepted her words without asking any further questions and for that Sansa was deeply grateful.

When they had stopped and she had been sitting down with a blanket around her shoulders, sipping from a mug of bitter, strong wine, she had looked at Theon as he gathered firewood at Podrick's request. A strange emotion ran through her as she watched him work. He had to be just as exhausted as she was, if not more. How strange to think that only a few days ago, she had all but hated him and now, now she felt as if she depended on him. Needed him. During their escape, he had helped her keep on moving, never letting her stop despite the fact that she was nearly falling apart from exhaustion and constantly wanted to simply lay down and die. He had taken her hand again and again and had constantly encouraged her to take just one more step, run just one more short distance, cross one more narrow stream and finally getting her across the icy river. She would never have made it that far without him. And strange as it may sound, she had never felt more cared for, more loved really, than when he had hugged her. The embrace and the sensation of being cared for did not last long but while it did, it had been real, and good, and kind.

Perhaps it wasn't so strange that she felt she needed Theon all of a sudden. He was the only one who truly knew who she was. The only one who cared for her because of her, and not because of her family name. He had been so far gone that there had hardly been any Theon left inside of him, but somehow, he had found himself again when it was needed. Or pieces of him.

While she and Lady Brienne talked quietly, Sansa kept her eyes on him. News of her sister gladdened her beyond words. Things had been so bleak and dark. But now? Now there was hope. For all of them.

Some birds suddenly chattered and startled the horses which in turn startled Theon who jumped up and walked around, looking this and that way, clearly afraid and unsettled. Sansa drew in a breath, stood up and walked over to him.

As she reached him, he turned towards and told her that they shouldn't be lighting a fire. He was worried that the smoke would lead Ramsay to them but Sansa felt certain that Ramsay would not be able to find them again. She suggested as much, reminding Theon that the Wall wasn't far away and that Ramsay wouldn't be able to touch them once they were there. Theon didn't seem comforted. Instead he told her how Jon would have him killed as soon as they reached Castle Black. Sansa huffed.

"I won't let him. I'll tell him the truth about Bran and Rickon," she said but Theon only bent his head.

"And the truth about the farm boys I killed in their place? And the truth about Sir Rodrik who I beheaded? And the truth about Robb, who I betrayed," he said. His voice was so full of regret and sorrow and Sansa needed him to understand that she had forgiven him. She wanted him to see a way out of his misery.

"Once you take the black all your crimes will be forgiven."

It was meant as words of comfort but she was not surprised when he told her that he didn't want to be forgiven. Yet, it frightened her to see him hate himself so much. She knew that part of the reason why he had become Reek so fully was that he truly felt he didn't deserve any better. But he did, and she needed him to understand that, but before she could say anything at all, Theon sighed and breathed,

"I can never make amends to your family for the things, I've done."

His voice sounded so broken. As if he had given up on everything. He glanced towards Lady Brienne and Podrick.

"They'll keep you safer than I ever could."

That terrified her. No, no, he couldn't leave her. Not now. Not after everything.

"You're not coming with us?" She felt on the verge of tears.

For the first time, he looked up at her. Truly looked at her and held her gaze. Earnestly he said, "I would have taken you all the way to the Wall. I would have died to get you there."

He looked so sincere. So honest and small, and so vulnerable and she flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He sobbed a few times in her arms and she blinked away tears of her own and briefly thought about how no one had been kind to Theon for a long, long time, either.

She let go of him when he stiffened and pulled back a bit. His face was tear stained and once again, his eyes didn't meet hers.

"May I take one of the horses," he asked.

She wanted to cry. "Where will you go?"

"Home," he replied.

She reached out her hand, wanting to touch his face or simply stroke his hair, but he turned away and so she simply placed her hand on his shoulder. Home. Theon wanted to go home. He had been taken from his family when he was just a boy. He must have been only nine or ten years old . She might have thought of him as some kind of brother same as Jon was, but Theon had never truly been her brother at all. He had been her father's hostage. Taken from his mother and father who were only rarely mentioned by her own parents, and if so, not in very praising manners. Never trust a Greyjoy. Winterfell had never been home to Theon. Not when he was living with then and certainly not these past few years. What he had endured during his years as Ramsay's prisoner, she could only imagine. If Theon felt he could find peace or a better life on Pyke, then so be it. As far as Sansa was concerned, he owed the Starks nothing. Not anymore.

They went back to Lady Brienne and Sansa told her that Theon wanted to leave and if he might take the horse he had been riding? Lady Brienne frowned.

"It's very late. The sun will be down shortly. You shouldn't ride off in the dark," she told him. "Besides, the horses need to rest for now. Stay with us for the night and then you can leave in the morning."br /

Theon didn't look at Brienne but he nodded his silent thanks.

"Podrick, do you have a spare shirt for Lord Greyjoy?"

"Please, milady," Theon said, "don't call me Lord G-greyjoy. And I don't need another shirt. This one is good enough for me."

"That may be so," Lady Brienne said dryly and her look at Theon's tattered shirt spoke volumes to the contrary.

In a kinder voice, she added,

"But it will be freezing tonight and a warm, woolen inner shirt will keep you far more warm than that rag ever will."

Theon flushed and turned, shaking his head.

Sansa reached over and grabbed his arm.

"Don't be foolish, Theon. I want you to stay with us, but if you will not, then I need you to return safely to your family. I want you to make it. To survive, do you understand?"

He glanced up at her, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"I've had enough of people I care for, suffer and die. If I have to worry about you freezing to death all alone out there, I won't get any rest or peace of mind. You will take the shirt and stay as warm as you can. Do you hear me?"

He looked down, avoiding her eyes, but he nodded. Podrick got up from the now burning campfire and the soup he was heating, and rummaged through his belongings. He came over to them, carrying a long-sleeved woolen shirt in his hands.

"It's not exactly clean," he said.

"That doesn't matter," Sansa replied. She took the proffered shirt and signaled to Podrick to leave with a small nod of her head.

"Theon, please. Take it and put it on. Now, please."

She held out the shirt for him to take. His eyebrows drew together but he reached over and took the shirt from out of her hands. He turned around and quickly pulled off his dirty rag of what was probably once a warm and thick shirt and just as quickly pulled Podrick's woolen shirt over his head and arms. Then he pulled his old tattered shirt back on as well. Sansa's and his eyes met briefly before he turned and walked away towards the campfire.

Sansa rubbed unbidden tears away from her cheeks. She had only seen Theon's back and just a glimpse really, but it had been a horrible sight. There had been scars everywhere crisscrossing his skinny back. Broad, uneven strips of mangled skin, some of them longer than a hand and wider than two fingers. Theon had been cut and flayed by Ramsay, there was no doubt about it. She knew he had been hurt, but to see it written so plainly on his body was something else. She thought she had caught sight of large X which had been branded onto one of his upper arms as well and she knew he was missing a finger. Her stomach turned. Gods, how she wanted Ramsay dead. She wanted him dead, dead, dead.

When it became time to lie down and get some rest, she asked Theon to lie beside her next to the fire. He obliged but stiffly.

She couldn't tell him how she wanted to feel safe and cared for again, so she simply told him to hold her as she was cold. He immediately reacted as she knew he would. He rolled over and pulled her gently towards him, draping the blanket he'd been given over both of them so that Sansa was now covered in two blankets. He pressed her body against his and kept her close to him. She lay there listening to his hushed breaths. After a few minutes, she reached out and put an arm tentatively around him and snuggled closer. She knew he was crying by now but she didn't say anything.

Eventually, the shared body heat and the long day got the better of them and they both fell into a much needed sleep.