Part 13; To Hide from Truth.

They refused to let it break them

they faced tragedy, they felt pain and it only

made them stronger.

Theon

Theon felt as though he was drowning. The same as he felt, pushed underneath the waves of the sea. On the Iron Islands, just prior to his departure, for Winterfell. The fill of his lungs—the choked suffocating sensation that engulfed him, when he was held down.

Ramsey had taken him back to that place. Bitter. Resentful. Until, finally his mind had switched off. Reek had emerged—and swallowed him whole. When Ramsey was slain, at his hands—at Sansa's—Theon was finally free of him.

Of strangulation.

In this one, revelation—Ramsey had returned. This torture was the worst inflicted. Far worse, even than the prying off of his fingernails, or drilling of his feet, until the bones cracked under the pressure.

No—No form of physical suffering could ever possibly hope to compare.

Tears, blinded him. Shimmered in the haze of firelight. All traces of sleep, gone from his features.

Sleep no longer mattered.

The thought of a monster's child developing in the womb of the woman he loved? Unconscionable.

Sansa's heartbroken tears ate at him. From the inside out—he fought to recall, just how to hold her. His arms shook with such vigor, he struggled to curl them around her.

Blood pounded in his ears. Skin seared with the burn of unfortunate, pain. And the rush of his blood was so loud—he could not hear. He transferred to a remote location in his psyche. In an attempt to process, those words.

Those Earth-shattering, words.

Sansa

Denial was a powerful thing.

All-consuming when one permitted it to take root. The lack of her monthly flower should have been a sign. Recognition, for her.

She would not let it be.

The sickness, in the pit of her stomach for the last month, when she thought of food.

She blamed on Theon's regression to Reek.

Four moons. It had been four moons since last, Ramsey touched her. It felt like so much longer. A lifetime. But it had not been.

It was the Maester that revealed what she had denied, in herself. The morning after Theon's reawakening, she had recognized the bump that appeared. Small. Resolute. And it came, overnight it seemed.

It was just there.

Small enough to make no one the wiser; large enough to tighten her carefully sewn, wedding gown. Just enough; to permit her, to push Theon away. If he felt it. If his hand brushed that little, barely bulging bump? What then?

How would she face him? And now—he was her husband. In spirit. In oath. In every conceivable manner. She feared he would not want her to be.

How could he? Now?

Which night had Ramsey put this little present inside of her? The last time? The first? She had no way of knowing, indefinitely. But the Maester's facial expressions when he settled her down to tell her. Told her enough.

She would birth the child of a monster. A rapist. Murderer. Torturer.

Her ultimate fear is that the child would carry Ramsey's face. The sickening, smirking, smug expression, he always seemed to carry. Worst of all. What if the child carried its Father's proclivity for ungodly things?

Ramsey murdered his own Father. There was no telling just what a child of his blood was capable of. And yet—this babe was also a part of her. Half-Stark.

"T-Theon?" When he heaved onto the stone—her heart shattered. There was too much for him to withstand. The fear his mind could detach, was very real.

Swept into the strength of his embrace, however—she found comfort there. Warmth.

"H-How long?" Tremor-laden words pierced her like a blade.

The denial had lasted—so long. And Theon would not have noticed. Men rarely did.

"Four moons gone." Her stomach lurched. The knowledge that in five more moons, she might welcome a monster into the world—gave no comfort.

Only fear.

Theon

Sickness rose in his throat; this time he swallowed it down. Refused to be ill a second time in front of his wife.

Wife.

Such a strange thought. That he was meant to protect this woman. This Lady.

Sansa, he had known longer than he had his own sister. His birthland. How could he protect her—abide by his oaths—when he could nary protect himself from the fallout?

"Four m-moons?" Searching through the fried strands of his memory; he reckoned the last time he heard the wailing shrieks from these chambers; was the night before they fled. Theon, recalled shattering a cup in his horror, at her wails. The panic that he would receive the belt for his incompetence, had consumed him, then.

Bunching his fingers into faded-locks of Sansa's hair. Theon inhaled her scent. Outside the window, the scratch of tree branches brushed stone. And the scent of fresh bread wafted up to mingle with the scent of the fire in the hearth, of their bedchambers.

She gave only a nod in response.

Tearful eyes found his.

He focused sea-green eyes on her belly. Hidden underneath the gown. His hand explored. Sought out the faint trace of a bump. Firm. Unyielding underneath calloused fingers—It all became real. Before it was just spoken words.

Pregnant.

That word echoed in his thoughts. Guilt ate him from the inside—out. Guilt. Because he knew he was incapable of ever giving her this. Motherhood. It was meant to be shrouded in joy. But what joy could be found in this?

Ramsey hurt her; brutalized her flesh to put his essence inside of her. To create this…thing.

Theon twitched, hesitantly.

"When did you know?" Tones barely above an octave of whispers, came from him. Solemnly. He sought the answer in her eyes.

"T-Three days." Her timid response came.

He might have congratulated her under any other situation. Had she spread her thighs for another man. Fallen in love. Been happy. He would have let her go. Let her be happy. But he knew not, how to react to this. How to respond. How to be a husband.

A father.

He would be the legal father of Ramsey's child.

He barely prevented himself from heaving again.

"I gave a vow, Sansa—" Spoken names were unfamiliar on his tongue, but he knew she disliked when he spoke her title. "—You are my wife now. We are bound to each other. What would you ask of me? I will comply." He forced out the words.

The trauma was on the brink of collapsing him. But he withstood it. For her.

Sansa's hand enclosed over his. Letting him grip the bump, with rough fingers.

"I asked too much already. I offer you freedom. The chance to walk away. From our wedding night. From Ramsey. From me."

Theon's heart cracked. To leave her, was to leave a part of himself behind. Dignity was all but lost to him. Sansa was the sole reason he regained even a morsel of it back. Ramsey had taken so much from him. So very much.

Now the woman he loved, as well?

He could not stomach it.

"You would ask me to leave?" His vocals cracked. "Just like that?"

"I could not bear to see you lost, because of me—because of this baby." She spoke the final word through gritted teeth.

It could be a monster, for all either of them knew. It was a gamble.

"I burn for you. As a husband burns for his wife. You vowed that we would always be together. If I sealed our union—You would always be with me. Always be mine…" Self-hatred spun in his stomach. "Ramsey made me, barely alive. And you brought me back from the brink of death—only to cast me aside?"

Theon wiped his tears. Roughly. "Without you. I am lost, already."

Sansa tilted up her chin. Kissed him in soft suspension. Their tears mingled in a salty-tang. His skin burned. "Could you be a father to Ramsey's son? Could you look at him each day, knowing what his father did to us, and love him?" Theon had witnessed Catelyn's disdain for Jon.

Through years of dysfunction, Jon had succumbed to his own self-disdain. He had grown to hate himself. Despise who he was. What—he was. Theon knew that Catelyn had been unable to carry through with loving Jon. She had been softer with him. Kinder. But never with Jon.

"I…I will never have children of my own. Never be able to give you one…I can—try." It was all he could offer her.

All he had to give.

The knowledge of this child's existence almost demolished him.

Only for Sansa did he hold on. For her.

Sansa

Sansa feared the worst. In her soul. She knew Theon was fragile. Just as she was. Broken. Delicate. Fractured.

Their chambers plunged into silence. A foreboding ache set in her belly. He would try. It was not an indefinite no—but not a yes either. It was an in-between offer to her. For her.

In quiet, complacency, Sansa tugged Theon's ragged tunic over his head. Discarded on the stone, she made to unlace his breeches. Ragged breaths rattled Theon's throat as she slid the last of his rags off. "You are a Lord. You should not wear servant rags." She all but whispered. Unlacing her dress with careful, precision. Yanking the fabric over her head. She was left bare to his eyes—as he was to hers.

"Lay down." She ordered—Theon obeyed.

She made to straddle his hips. Let her warm, cunt reside over his stub. It was a distraction she called for. She did not want to dwell on the future right now. Only the present. Only their wedding night.

It was still. The eve of their wedding.

"Tell me again, Theon. How you burn for me? Would you have touched yourself, were I not to sate you?" Mouth agape. Theon's hands roamed her waist. Grasped her hips in a tight, bruising hold. Skin flaming with heat in the firelight.

"San-sa…" Her name was drawn out. Slow. Edgy. His skin drenched with sweat. Building with lust. She could feel his tension. She ground down against him with abandon. Humped along his length. Made firm little ruts. As he offered, needful whines.

"That is no answer, husband." She taunted.

And he gave another strangled whine in recourse.

"N-Needed to t-touch…" He all-but admitted, with a reddened face. And she gave a satisfied smile.

"I know just where you would have touched." Sansa offered. Her hand slid underneath where she rubbed him. And found the single-most sensitive bit of his stub. Ground tight against him with her sweltering heat. Whilst her index finger pressed down.

His eyes rolled back. A spasm wracked him. And he came. She felt the powerful throb of him. The scent of his musk, as he fell to bits. And she rolled over the edge with him. And for one blissful instant—she was one with her husband. With Theon.

They were one.

And no one—not even Ramsey's spawn could deny her that.