Part 14; To Succumb to Darkness

Care too little you will lose them.

Care too much you will get hurt.

Theon

Tangled in the arms of the woman he loved; the permeation of their love making engulfed the room. Skin tingled with feeling as he listened to the lull of her breathing.

She was sound asleep in the crook of his arm. Almost angelic in appearance. Skin glistening in the dying embers of the fire.

Theon's leaf-green eyes sought out the little protrusion, barely recognizable to anyone, who did not know her bodice—but Theon memorized it.

Memorized her.

Every inch; each little dip, and valley. With tears welling in the rims of his eyes, Theon brushed over her stomach. Down…down…until his fingers grazed over the swell. Iciness pooled from the pit of his belly, outwards. Chilling him right to the bone.

Her question haunted him.

Could he love a child of Ramsey's? Could he truly?

Ramsey took every common courtesy from him. Left him dehumanized. One of the hounds in a pen. Stripped him of the life he had always known. Hollowed him out in every semblance of the word. There were aches, long set into his frame that refused to dwindle.

Even now. As he lay sated alongside her form—cramps set into his left hand. Fingers locked up; sharp tinging pains spread through the joints. Theon shifted.

Using his right hand to gently ease light massaging circles into the scar on his palm (where the thin blade of a knife had once pierced through skin.) Theon winced. It was a daily ritual. Easing the remaining fingers on his right hand, to soothe the throbbing ache in his left.

He still felt what Ramsey had done to him. Not just in his hands. But his feet. Every step, reminded him of the screw piercing his flesh—cracking bone—until he thought he might die from the pain. On his worst days—the foot cramped so badly—he could merely hobble to walk.

Flashes of brutalization came to the forefront. Touch of unclean hands. The weight of skin; flesh—holding him down. Searing him with the burn of humiliation. Each time Ramsey pinned him—took from him—It shredded apart his humanity. His latch to this world. Theon's will to live.

He still, felt that too.

Being torn open for another man's pleasure.

He felt all of it, still.

And yet, Sansa was the love of his life.

The only woman that could ever mean this much, and he could never leave her. Even if it destroyed him to stay—He would.

She was his wife.

He vowed his own to her.

Delicately, Theon shifted, climbing from underneath the furs, Theon dressed in a nightgown. His eyes staring in disdain at the dried, mess he made of the stone floor.

He made quick work of cleaning the vomit with a bucket, and rag. It was habit to clean.

Instilled in him by Ramsey, when he was made a practical slave, as well as a prisoner in this castle.

Once finished, Theon nestled close to the fire, bundled in furs, listening to the low crackle. He planted a few extra logs, giving it a prod, or two—it roared back to life. Theon suffered from the cold, now. Every bone in his body ached when the chill hit, just right.

Yet another side effect of Ramsey's brutality.

Every which way he turned; the ever-reaching influence of Ramsey was in view. Still dictating Theon's life, even without an Earthly presence, among the living.

He imagined a child of Ramsey's incorporated into the mixture. And he prayed to the Gods that they show mercy enough to have the babe resemble Sansa. He could withstand Tully-blue eyes, and carrot-red hair. He could almost forget the child would be half-Ramsey.

Pretend, instead, that a part of the child, resembled himself. He too, shared a few similarities with the Starks. Curly wisps of hair, like Robb, and Jon. The same muscular build.

All he ever wanted as a youth was to return to the Iron Islands as the rightful heir. Stake his claim, take a wife, and have heirs to carry on, after he was gone.

That life seemed so distant now. Broken.

He could never have babes. He never expected to marry. Not especially to the most eligible Lady in all of Winterfell. But Sansa chose him. Loved him.

And he could only ask himself why. Why she loved him.

When there are so many other whole men out there. Lords, with titles, lands, and prominent houses. Theon was nothing. Not anymore.

Now, she made him; hers.

Sunbeams extended in through the windowpanes. Rousing Theon from where he had nodded off. The fire had extinguished in the night; shivers traveled up his spine, from the chill in Sansa's bedchambers—Their bedchambers, now.

It was going to be a struggle to wrap his mind around, being a husband.

Sitting upright, Theon piled new logs on the fire, tending it back to life. Wincing, as aches coursed through his frame.

He felt old. Beyond his years.

Settling by Sansa's bedside, Theon offered her a warming kiss. He felt sleepy fingers drag along his jaw. Pink petals returned the kiss.

"I thought you might be gone." Hesitant words came forth. Saddened Tully-blue eyes searched his features.

"I will not leave you." Theon vowed. Cementing the promise with a kiss to the back of her hand.

With lingering hesitance, Theon's hand released hers, nestling over her belly. "Nor our child." There was strength in his words.

One he did not know how he found the wherewithal to speak.

Sansa's face glimmered for a moment with hopefulness—then turned dismayed. Eyes saddened; skin shivered. Finally, Sansa shoved away his hand. Sliding off the edge of the bed, without a single word.

Theon felt sickness rise in his stomach. Bubbling there. What had he done? A troubled expression shone across his face. And he twitched.

"S-Sansa?" She was clear across their bedchambers. Seeking out a dress for the day.

She made no move to speak. Only proceeded to rummage. Lifting her nightgown over her head; the sight of her bareness—usually would set his insides afire—this time only made his stomach twist. Tears, leaked down his cheeks.

"I will…leave you in peace, My L-Lady." Thick tension lingered in the air. Theon felt it.

Listlessly, long strides had him out of her chambers, down the halls, to the chambers she provided him, whilst he was a guard at her door.

Instinctively, Theon replaced his night attire, with his armor. Lastly, his belt latched into place. Sword, hung at his hip. Still, the ache set into his bones, made his stance, less straight. His eyes colder. And the loss of his wife's ability to converse with him—only made his emotions less stable.

What had he said? Done?

Ramsey's son would be theirs now. His.

Acceptance was all he could offer—All he could withstand.

Bile rose in his throat as he remembered precisely how Ramsey had forced this babe into his wife. Theon swallowed it down.

One. Two. Three.

Sansa is my wife.

One. Two. Three.

Ramsey gave her a child.

One. Two Three.

I can never give her a child.

He could not count anymore.

The numbers refused to come. And died at the last word.

Child. He was unable to give her this one happiness. One little gift that could have made them both whole.

Numbly, Theon left his chambers. Unable to think anymore, on the subject.

Sansa

Lingering hatred made a home, just underneath the surface of porcelain skin. Even the warmth from the fire felt non-existent on her skin.

She could not feel. Could not see a path forward from here.

Not with Theon. Not with this…thing inside of her.

When she heard him claim the spawn; as though it were his own. She thought she might be ill. Right then. There.

She knew Theon's mindset was fragile. His heart was tender, but his mind would fracture. Bend. Break. All because of this thing's existence.

He might be strong. Withstand for a little while; but like a flame that burned to a fire—Theon would lose control. He would never be able to handle a child of Ramsey's.

She knew it.

So, did he. He had to know it—Somewhere.

The fire glowed on her face. Hand rested where the small bump laid. She wished it were gone. That she never knew. Now, all she could imagine, was Ramsey's hands as they pinned her.

His promises to give her a present. A gift, in an heir. That he would fill her belly with many Lords, and Ladies. Then he would paw at her, until he forced her to shudder from the pleasure. That, made her sickest of all.

Ramsey could make her bodice react. Even, when she had not wanted it to.

It had.

She could never erase the eve of her wedding to Ramsey from her mind. The cascade of tears down Theon's cheeks, as he witnessed her dignity being stripped away.

Though, she was attired—Sansa was frozen. Unable to leave her chambers. Unwilling to step outside these walls. She lost track of time.

Nestled, before the fire—Time seemed to hold still.

She did not even react when the wooden door creaked open. Hinges squealing in protest, heavy footfalls against the stone inched nearer. Still, Sansa remained stoic. Eyes trained on the flickering flames.

"Sansa, Are you unwell?" Yanked back from the abyss, by the rasp of Jon's voice, Sansa startled.

Eyes wide, skin paled—and her heart almost stopped.

Sansa could not have surmised that Jon would come in search of her. So rare was it that he even spoke to her. Since he was still clearing up the aftermath of her decision to wed a broken man.

Was this the Gods punishment for loving Theon?

She felt the thick of it entwined around her heart. Encapsulating her in grief. They would both be forced to look upon the stain of Ramsey's villainous acts, until their dying days. This reality, was barbarous.

She loved Theon. Clung hold of him, tight. Refused to stand down from her fight to be his—and now, her reality was colliding in on itself.

Calming down slightly, Sansa shifted her optics back toward the licking flames of the fire. Wondering, briefly, if it would be better, if she did not survive at all.

"I am fine." Piercing, icy tones cut through the air, like a knife.

Jon seemed hesitant for a moment, then realigned his posture. Settling alongside her, on the settee.

"Your husband is wandering the castle. Seeming rather out of sorts. And I find you, alone, in your chambers, looking petrified with fear." Jon was speaking in careful, soft tones. As though fearful of further spooking her.

There was no possible manner in which, Sansa could be spooked, further. Not now.

"You have just wed, I believed neither of you would be seen for days. What with how potent your attachment to one another, appeared to be." More careful words. A joke.

How she wished that she could settle. Merely fade into the beauty of her husband's love. Listen as he spoke, and believe him blindly. But she had witnessed Theon's breakdowns. They were strung out. Oftentimes, abrupt, and without warning. She felt a fallout coming. She felt it in her bones.

"I am pregnant, Jon." She let the words sear into him. Peered up, to witness the falter in his features. The shock; staggering him.

"You…" His eyes followed a trail to her hand, where it rested over the barely there, bump. "I thought you were loyal to Theon…Who…?"

She turned her face to his. Anger. Fury, written into her eyes. "You think I cheated on my husband?"

Jon gaped.

"It is Ramsey's!" Sansa hissed.

Terror, wrote into Jon's eyes. Just like her, Jon had thought the horror of Ramsey's existence was at an end. The monster was gone. Dead.

But he would live on. Now, and forever.

"Gods…Sansa I am—"

"Do not dare say you are sorry! Do. Not. Dare." She clenched her teeth. Shot daggers with her eyes. Warning him.

"And Theon…?" Jon's voice piped up. Rasping with dread.

"I cannot bear to ask this of him. To ask him to father a monster's child. The monster that took everything from him—from us! He put this awful thing inside of me. I have to grow this…this abomination!" Sansa lashed out. It was the first time she did. The first true reaction.

There was panic. Horror. Fear.

And yet. It was still just an innocent life.

Until it wasn't. Until it grew to be like Ramsey. To despise everyone, and everything. To wreck Winterfell, and torture other people.

"Hey—Hey listen to me, Sansa." She felt him draw her into his arms. She fought for several seconds. Before, grasping tight to the leather of his tunic. Sobbing with abandon. "You will survive this. Theon is strong enough to survive this. You cannot shut him out. Not after all you did to have him as your husband. I will be here. Theon will be here. You do not have to endure this on your own." Jon was speaking. And despite it being quite clear he had no actual grasp on how they might overcome this obstacle, she heard the reassurance in his tone. Felt the sincerity there.

But she knew Theon. Better than anyone. Theon would have left her as a youth. Would have disregarded Ramsey's spawn as evil. And left her. But Theon of today. Of now. Would break apart, slowly, inside. Until there was nothing left of him. And she feared that above all else.

Feared the loss of him.

This time, for good.

"I cannot. He will break. He will be lost…Theon must be protected, even if it means I have to cut him loose. I am sinking, he does not have to go down with me." She reasoned.

"You will not sink, I have you. Sansa. I have you." Jon whispered into her ear. "Tell me what you need. You will have it."

Sansa was silent for the longest time. Only her sobs echoed. Finally, she knew what was best.

What she needed.

"Keep Theon busy. If he inquires as to why, tell him…Tell him I do not wish to see him for a little while. Will you do that for me?" Wiping her tears with wavering fingers; she leaned back.

"I will" His eyes were dark, haunted. But truthful.