A/N: welcome to season three! I had a very specific plan for this season, which involves a lot of road-tripping and a lot of reunions. Rose had a pretty rough time last season, so I tried to go easier on her! Theon, on the other hand, still has a hell of a lot of apologising to do. Enjoy this first episode!

This chapter contains explicit sexual content and reference to sexual violence.

Valar Dohaeris

"Death by fire is the purest death."

She feels his rough hands on her waist, flipping her over onto her back, and then he's on top of her. His face, smeared in his own blood, snarls down at her . . .

She thumps at his chest, desperately, but he doesn't even flinch. His body weight is crushing her lungs, making it difficult to breath, and the pain, the dizziness in her head, makes it difficult to think . . .

She hears a ripping sound. Looking down, she renews her struggles when she sees him tearing off her gown, forcing his weight between her legs. "Please!" she screams, kicking out in all different directions. "Please!"

Hands clasp her shoulders. The ground beneath her falls away, sucking her out of the darkness, plunging her into the light. Air gushes into her so suddenly, she splutters on it, springing upwards into a sitting position. The smell of the forest, the dew and the charred remains of the fire ground her senses.

He holds onto her shoulders, looking down at her in concern. "Rose?"

She sniffles, her breath trembling. "Sorry," she gasps.

Theon says nothing, keeping a hold of her while her breathing evens out. She's too embarrassed to look him in the eye, so she focuses her attention on the dirt ground, the warm colours of the leaves blanketing it.

His jaw clenches, and he straightens into a standing position. "We overslept," he sighs. "We've got to keep moving." He crosses over to where their horses are tied to the trunk of an oak tree.

Rose rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand, sleepily. "The Northern armies are long gone, now."

"They'll be searching for us. And we're a long way from Castle Black." He turns, watching Rose as she pushes herself to her feet and brushes herself down, the exhaustion slowing her. "Hurry up."

"Alright," Rose breathes. "Keep your breeches on."

She walks over to the horses, giving hers a gentle stroke. When she wanders to its side, Theon suddenly puts his hands on her waist, ready to hoist her up. Her heart momentarily stops. Taking even herself by surprise, she flinches out of his touch, backing up against her horse. "I can do it myself," she mumbles.

Theon drops his hands, glaring as she starts to mount. "Not allowed to talk to you, not allowed to touch you—"

"Just because I agreed to leave with you, doesn't mean I'm not quietly plotting your murder," she hisses.

Theon frowns, adjusts in his saddle, and gives his horse a gentle tap with his foot to get him trotting. Side by side, they begin riding down the slope of the forest, keeping in stride with one another. "Isn't the entire point of us leaving Winterfell to keep me alive?"

"Maybe. Or, it was a clever ruse to lure you out into the woods, where I could finish you off myself before the Northerners got their hands on you."

"If you wanted me dead, you'd have slit my throat in my sleep."

Rose shrugs. "Hmh. Lacks originality."

Theon scoffs, angrily. "You're impossible."

Rose allows herself a triumphant smirk, as her horse picks up the pace, galloping softly through the forest, the memories of her dream fading with each passing second.

They ride for almost an hour when they finally come across a small opening in the forest. For a moment, Rose is relieved, but when she looks out at the vast nothingness, the wide spread of empty land, she frowns. "Where are we?"

"We should be getting close to Deepwood Motte," Theon mumbles.

"All I see is wood." She sighs as he looks, wildly around him, squinting to see past the horizon. "Theon, we've been travelling for days, now. I got myself to Winterfell from King's Landing in a shorter time than this."

Theon scowls. "Maybe if we didn't stop to rest every five minutes—"

"It's a dangerous ride, from here to Castle Black. We're not taking the Kingsroad. If we don't rest, or keep ourselves fed, we'll never make it there alive." She purses her lips. "Admit it. We're lost."

"We're not lost," Theon snarls. He turns away from her, still frantically scanning the fields. Eventually, he lets out an aggravated sigh, gritting his teeth. "We should find the nearest village."

Rose rolls her eyes. "And what? Stop at an inn, declare yourself Theon Greyjoy in the hope that they'll fill your belly and find some whore to lick your cock?" The words are tumbling out before she can stop herself, more vicious than she intended.

Theon's head snaps round to glare at her. "Do you think me a fool?"

"You don't want me to answer that."

"Forgive me, if I'd like to sleep in a bed that isn't made of dirt or leaves."

Rose chuckles, humourlessly. "You're a priss. A priss, and a fool."

"Shut up," Theon snaps, harshly. She flinches, the tone in his voice drawing her back to Winterfell, all those painful, horrid memories seeping through. Blushing, Rose drops her gaze, nibbling, anxiously on her lip. Theon clenches the reins, irritated. "We'll keep riding until we reach the next village. Then, we'll stop to get something decent to eat. I'm sick of burnt rabbit."

Rose nods, silently. He stares at her for a long moment, but she doesn't meet his gaze. Without another word, he tugs on the reins, galloping past her and heading back into the forest.

Rose tucks her golden braid beneath her hood, stepping gingerly inside the inn. Although her heart hammers against her chest, she forces a smile, walking straight up to the innkeeper seated behind the bar. "Seven blessings," he greets. "Something I can help you with?"

Theon dumps a small string bag of silver on the bar. "A room. Any room, for me and my . . ." he trails off, giving Rose a sideways glance, before settling on, "wife."

She bites her lip to refrain from laughing.

"Of course. Where is it you're heading?"

"The Gift," Theon lies, effortlessly. "We have family in Mole's Town."

The innkeeper nods, fumbling with his ring of keys, plucking one out. "You're well away from there, I'm afraid."

Rose giggles, nervously. "In truth, we've lost our bearings a little." Feeling stupid, she asks, "Can you tell us where we are?"

"Ironrath. Nearest castle from here is Deepwood Motte. Such a shame . . . littered with Ironborn scum. Still, nothing to worry about here." He turns to Theon, giving him a pat on the back. "You and your wife can sleep easy tonight. This way."

Theon swallows, saying nothing. Rose plasters on a smile. "Thank you." Together, they follow the innkeeper up the rickety staircase.

"I don't think he suspected us."

Theon grins. "I'm a good liar."

Rose rubs her hands together, then holds them out, in front of the fireplace. The warmth feels strange against her cold skin — they'd spent so much time in the damp and cold, it's a pleasant sensation she'd almost forgotten. "Honourable people don't travel through the woods."

"Reckless people do."

She tilts her head to look at him. "You think me reckless?"

Theon straightens into a standing position, shrugging out of his tunic. "The Northern armies never would have laid a finger on you," he says. "Yet, you ran with me without a second thought." He crouches back down by the fire, letting out an idle groan at the radiating heat.

"If you'd have run and left me behind, your men would have killed me to spite you."

"Five hundred Northern men. And only twenty Ironborn." Theon shakes his head, sighing. "They'd have betrayed me, too, had I stayed."

"Like you betrayed Robb."

Theon angles his head to stare at her. She looks him in the eye, her heart plunging to her stomach when hurt crosses his face. Then, he turns away from her, fixated on the flames. "Truthfully, did he send you back to Pyke?" she asks, softly. "Or, did you leave on your own accord?"

"He sent me." He rolls his eyes at the dubious look on her face. "He sent me. An alliance with my father could have won him the war."

Rose smiles, sadly. "Well, the war isn't over, yet."

Theon rubs his hands on his thighs, then pushes himself to his feet. "We should get some sleep," he grumbles. "We'll move at first light."

Rose straightens, watching, warily as he removes his shirt and tosses it over the chair near the fireplace. He begins to tug on the bedsheets, plumping the pillows and untucking the linen. "There's only one bed," she murmurs.

"So?" He glances up. Rose has her arms wrapped around herself, her gaze cast to the floor, her entire posture rigid. "Rose, we've been far more intimate than sleeping side by side," he points out, exasperated.

"That was different," she whispers, her cheeks glowing pink.

Theon stares at her, but she doesn't look at him. When her eyes start glistening over, he lets out a frustrated sigh. "I'll sleep in the chair," he relents. "But, I get the pillows." He swipes them from the bed and drops them into the rocking chair, adjusting them to his liking.

Rose lets out a breath. "Fine. Thank you."

Theon nods, sitting down with a slouch. He leans back, admiring the fire, thinking deeply to himself. Rose peers at him for a moment. Pushing aside her fears, she approaches the bedside and begins to undress, her back to him. Her hands trembling, she unbuttons her shirt, then shimmies out of her riding breeches, leaving her in her undergarments.

Fully aware that he is watching her now, she kicks her clothes aside and quickly ducks under the covers, without looking at him.

Lorren shoves his hand between her thighs, feeling there . . .

A sharp twinge of pain at her entrance makes her scream, a shrill, echoing scream that should wake the entirety of Winterfell. Someone will hear me. Please, gods, let someone hear me. Rose can see him fumbling with his belt, unbuckling it, reaching inside his trousers . . .

"I'll show you what happens when you cross the Ironborn, girl."

Then, his lips are buried in the crook of her neck, biting, causing more sharp pain, his revolting scent all over her. It ripples through her entire body . . .

Lorren spreads her legs wider, forcing them apart with his own. He enters her then, in one swift movement, the pain too excruciating to describe . . .

"Rose. Rose!"

She can still feel his hands all over her, pushing everywhere, when her eyes snap open, her throat aching with screaming. Theon's hovering over her, shielding everything from view with his bare chest. "Rose," he whispers.

She shakes her head, burying her face in the pillow as gut-wrenching sobs shake her frame. She can't breathe, but she doesn't care. She just wants everything to disappear, to stop feeling him.

Theon rubs comforting circles on her back, his brow furrowed. "Come here," he says, eventually. Tugging her away from the pillows, he pulls her into his arms, holding her against his chest. Slowly, he leans back against the bedframe.

Rose grips onto him, wetting his chest with her tears. "I'm sorry," she whimpers.

"Shut up," he mutters into her hair. "It was a dream. You're alright."

Rose shakes her head. "It wasn't a dream," she gasps between sobs. "It happened, it's going to keep h—happening . . . forever." Her words drown in another flood of tears.

"No," Theon insists. "Never again. I should have . . ." he trails off, heaving a long, shaking breath. "I should have protected you better," he confesses, quietly. "You were right. I let those men invade your home. Men who have been reeving and raping longer than I've been breathing."

"Please," Rose sniffles. She angles her head on his chest so she can look up at him, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the dim light of the dying fire. "Don't blame yourself," she whispers. "I never should have said — it's not your fault."

"It is." Theon cradles her face in his hand, keeping his eyes, fixed on hers. "But, no one's going to touch you again," he promises, fiercely. "I swear it, by the old gods and the new. You're safe, with me."

Rose stares up at him. Her hand is pressed against his bare chest, feeling the warmth there. His heartbeat thumps gently beneath her palm. The memories of her dreams, they haunt her still, ripping through her vision, making reality disconcerting. But the feelings swelling in her chest are overwhelming.

She grabs onto the back of his neck and pulls Theon's head down, pressing her lips against his. She feels him gasping into her mouth but doesn't stop. Her arms circle around his neck, and he releases a deep moan into her mouth, his own hands falling on her waist. Their tongues dance together, their breath colliding in this unexpected heat.

For Rose, the moment is met with a deep sense of release. Everything that has passed between them, from arriving at to escaping Winterfell, explodes in one, deep kiss. It's not enough. She needs more.

Flinging her leg around, Rose mounts him, his hands sliding lower than her waist to support her. She can feel his member beginning to harden beneath her. Gripping tightly onto him, their mouths meshing, she rubs herself against him in a steady rhythm, feeling ripples of pleasure coursing through her. Theon's hands guide her hips, moving her into a faster pace, drawing her to and fro. "Gods, Rose," he gasps into her mouth.

Involuntarily, she shudders. Suddenly, she's terrified, confused with her arousal, but rejecting his body completely. Two strong urges, the first to ride him until her senses are drowning with him, the second, to get up and sprint out of the room before he can lay another finger on her, disturb her. Get a grip. This is Theon. He would never . . .

Theon uses his body weight to roll over, so she is rested on her back, his weight resting on top her. Rose's legs wrap around his waist, feeling him pressing against her, causing her to moan out in pleasure as he continues to roll his hips.

And, then, it's no longer Theon. It's Lorren, with his revolting breath, biting at her neck and pushing her down, down against the floorboards. His words in her ear, spreading her legs open, ramming into her —

Rose suddenly feels cold. She opens her eyes, wondering why. Theon has lifted his head, looking down at her for the first time, his brow furrowed. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted when a loud, heavy sob cracks through her chest. Her face is soaking. Have I been crying this whole time?

"Rose," he whispers, startled.

"It's alright," she pleads. Her hands slide, desperately over his face. "It's alright, just —"

"No." Theon pulls back, drawing himself away from her. His legs swing over the side of the bed, his feet planting on the ground. "I shouldn't have . . . you're not ready."

Rose keeps still against the pillows, watching him. He catches his breath, staring out of the window, listening to the soft sound of her sniffling. After he gathers control of himself, he finally looks down at her. A small, weak smile crosses his lips. His hand stretches out and rests against her belly, his thumb stroking against the exposed skin.

"We don't have to rush," Theon says. "We can wait. I'll wait, however tempting you may be." He lets out a chuckle.

Rose wipes her face on her hands, nodding. "That sounds like a good idea." A genuine smile plays on her lips. "You can share the bed if you like."

"You won't push me out in my sleep?"

"No." Rose giggles, her breath hitching with it. She leans over and covers the hand placed against her stomach, feeling his soft skin beneath her palm. Theon slips his fingers through hers and gives her hand a gentle squeeze.

With one last smile, she turns over onto her side, shifting further along the bed, ducking back under the covers. She flinches when she feels his weight pressing down on the other side of the bed, but then his arm drapes over her body, pulling her close to him.

It feels safe. It feels good, but not quite better.