An: I hope you all enjoyed the bonus story I added to my account! I was originally going to use it as a flashback, but I got so far in it and decided it was going to be a whole different AU for Sansa and Theon!

Part 37; To Remember Anew

My biggest fear is eventually

You will see me the way

I see myself.

Theon

Warmth. He felt warmth. It was the first true sensation he had. Deep in the pit of his belly, Theon felt something was wrong.

Something had happened—but what?

He remembered blinding, searing pain. Like he had never felt before.

Recalled the sound of Sansa's shrieks. Calling his name. He wanted to go to her. Wanted to reach out, and hold his wife—but she felt so far away.

He had been detached. Unable to overcome the darkness that bid him forth.

The scent that omitted from the warm body against him; was unfamiliar. He could feel the rise and fall of breath. And he shivered, slightly. The scent was mildly, familiar. Where did he know it from? It was natural. Clung to the warm body's skin.

As his eyes opened a crack, he recognized a heap of a boy sprawled on his lap. Theon was propped up on pillows, and at such an angle, that he readily supported this boy's weight.

Sansa was nearby, her hand, rested on his upper-thigh. Her ocean-eyes trained down. Perhaps, a prayer on her lips.

His very first ounce of recognition came when he placed the scent.

Ramsay.

The scent that clung hold, and stuck to this young boy's skin—was Ramsay's.

Suddenly, he recalled his arms, curled around the bundle of a babe. Eyes trained downward, taking in the pink features. And toothless-gums, of a smiling, cherubic-face.

Robb. It was Robb.

Antsy sensations crawled up his spine. He felt panic in his chest—only for a moment. Why was he so large? He had been a babe—only yesterday.

Yesterday…It was yesterday…Wasn't it?

With hesitation, Theon moved his arms. Both felt heavy—leaden. But he managed to fight through his confusion—his pain. And shift.

Robb stirred on top of him. Further nuzzled his face into Theon's neck. And Sansa's ocean-eyes, found his. They opened, and her cheeks upturned into the softest of forlorn, smiles.

"Do you feel any better, Reek?"

He flinched at the name. Remembered how Ramsay used to use it, taunt him with it—until he detached. Until he could not take it, further.

"T-Theon…" The word came—but sounded bungled. Uncommonly, so.

Sansa's eyes widened—and her hand jerked from his, quicker than a flash. She was off the bed, and a few inches away.

What had he done?

He wanted to follow her—but the weight of a still slumbering Robb on his chest—prevented him from even shifting, again.

Instead, he attempted to convey the hurt that jabbed his chest—with his eyes.

"W-Which Theon?" Her voice trembled, eyes-wide. She appeared frightened of what he might say, or do.

He was confused. Tired, and most of all—immobile. There was not a whole lot he could manage, from his space upon their mattress. His head felt as though it were split in half. His skin was ache—and fire.

"H-Husband…" With great difficulty, he compelled the word to befall his lips. His throat felt dry. Sore—and on the verge of swallowing, sandpaper.

Sansa appeared calmer, even came toward him, without preamble. Then, settled back on the bedsheets. Though she appeared white as a cloud. Her skin pale—drained of all color. He wondered, what the other Theon had done to her. How long had he been in control?

If Robb was this old…if his body felt this badly damaged…how long had it been, since he had laid eyes on his beloved? He noticed the weathered change in her features. She had aged—if only a few years.

Robb stirred on his chest, came too with sleep in his eyes. He rubbed them. Cautiously, and curious-optics, landed on his.

"Papa…?" He made a low hum in his voice. Rumbled his vocals. Theon felt his heart constrict as this young boy referenced him as 'Papa'.

"You had a seizure, Theon. You were out for five years…Reek emerged first…a few hours ago. We thought you may never awaken, again." She was quick to provide an explanation, as though it was rehearsed, and Theon's stomach toiled in fear.

Five years?

A seizure?

For some reason these concepts would not connect in his mind. No matter how he attempted to force them to. Everything was fuzzy. Abnormal. He attempted to connect to the fragments that were circling his mind—but he couldn't. They were out of touch.

The memories that strung together his seizure—were gone.

"Is he…Theon, now, Mum?" Robb gave a wavering glance in Sansa's direction, and received a curt nod in return.

"Yes. It appears he is."

"Papa! I have waited so long to be able to meet you! I always knew you would wake up!" He tied his legs around Theon's waist, and practically squeezed him to death. Theon made a low sound in his throat. But wound his arms around his son's waist, all the same.

He always knew that he could never be a father. With what Ramsay had taken from this body—there was no physical way he could. But he knew that Ramsay's child, would need a father, all the same. He just never believed that a child of Ramsay's would be so receptive to him. Or any man, for that matter.

He trained his mind on a singular thought—and forced out words. "W-Why did you think I would never wake up?" They sounded garbled—even to his own ears. But Sansa appeared to understand, without repetition.

"The seizure damaged your brain. The Maester did not know, how much of it was damaged, precisely. Just that you may never wake back up again. He even suspected your personalities could have been erased in the event. Or altered in some way. Or even that you lost your memories." Her attempt at explaining, only worried him further.

What if he could not even remember what had been forgotten? Were there chunks in his memory banks now? He attempted to sift through—see what he could, of his past.

Pain—hurt—pierced his mind, as he struggled to see. Some images came easier than others. He could feel Sansa in his arms. Hear the sound of her voice in his ear, as they came together on their wedding night. He could see Ned's face. A gentle calm in the air, as he taught him how to use a sword. He still preferred his bow, and arrow. Robb—his brother—Sansa's brother. Sword chipped at the edges, in hand, pleading with him to fight for Ned's honor. For the new King in the North.

Theon yanked his mind back. Reeled at the memories. So many memories.

Yara—soft, warm—Yara. Her pleading for him to come home. Not to die so far from the sea.

The sea—he could still feel the spray on his cheeks. Wind in his hair—the Kraken-blood in his veins sang to be underneath those waves. He remembered his life as a boy—the undercurrent would pull him deep, and he would nearly feel the sea as it filled his lungs. His breath held—ice in his veins. The sea creatures would hover near to his home. He could still view them, if he searched hard enough.

Those memories were his safe place, once. Sometimes, they still were.

Yara used to race him—speed under the waves, and he would follow. Pumping his arms in the frigid waters—losing to her, longer, muscled arms. He betrayed Yara—Reek had. And he retained those memories, too. How could he ever face her again?

"Y—ara…" He muttered the name, without even realizing he had. His eyes had gone a million miles away.

Sansa presented him with a concerned expression. Drew her eyebrows together. Curiously, his eyes landed on hers.

"Yara has come to visit. When she received news of your condition, she has come. To speak to you. In hopes it would awaken you. She is the Lady of the Iron Islands, now. She rules over your home. The very first Lady, as I hear it, told." Sansa encouraged the thoughts of his sister. And he wondered why, Yara would have come here.

She had loathed him, when he returned. Snubbed him, and regarded him as a pretend-leader. More, or less, referred to him as a soft, Northern-Lord. Despite his ten years in the Iron-Islands.

"S-She…Did?"

Sansa nodded, squeezed his hand, softly. "I asked the Maester to send a raven, now that you have awoken. Perhaps she will come visit again. Would you like that?"

His eyes filled with tears. Imagined a piece of his home—a visit from his sister meant that his home would be near. And he offered her a nod, in return.

Robb beamed at him, "Aunt Yara was kind to me. She offered me a Kraken-pin. She told me, I am welcome in the Iron-Islands, if I ever wish to venture there."

Theon was stunned at the news. Yara was not the friendly kind. Although, Theon had never viewed her in the company of children, previously.

He gave another nod, to Sansa. His mind was strained. Tired. It was difficult for him to remain alert—conscious. His strain to recall memories, had burdened his brain. Overworked him.

He rubbed his hand across Robb's back. Felt the resistance in his muscles. They really did feel weak—and incoherently, docile. Even this slight movement was causing a cramp to begin in his forearm.

Robb shivered, and sighed in his arms. He felt bad for being gone this long. Being unable to raise his son with Sansa. He had promised to love, Robb. And now, he knew nothing about this young boy. Only the brief glimpses he could recall from holding him when he was a baby.

And for some reason—the familiarity of having him on his lap. Even though he could not have known it before, at least—not like this.

Perhaps he had some awareness in his unconscious, catatonic-state. But those memories were blurred. Stoned over with blurriness and haze.

"T-Tired…" It was strange to feel tired, after so much time being unconscious. How many years had he been asleep, and yet he still felt like he could attain more?

"Rest, Sweetheart. You would not want to send yourself into another seizure." Sansa insisted, and he nodded in earnest. Thankful, that she understood.

He closed his eyes—and within moments—he was asleep, again.