Sansa had delt with cruel men in her life. She'd learned lessons the hard way. It all began with Joff.
Then Little Finger.
Then Ramsay.
Haunted by ghosts of his memory. Sure, she could burn the sigils. Make sure that whatever remained physically of house Bolton had been eradicated. Memories however, could not be touched by flame. Or ripped apart alive by dogs. Dreams were strange, frequent things for Starks. Sansa could deal with dreams, no matter how odd they seemed. It was the nightmares she could do without.
Night had fallen. The pathways of the Godswood had been lit by rows of lanterns, as snow softly fell. The train of her dress was heavy. She could feel it. As if something was pulling on the ends of it.
Warning her.
Sansa turned back to look. Perhaps her gown had been caught on a fallen branch? When she turned, it wasn't a stick, but a flock of birds. Tiny doves tugged at it, ripping apart the fabric with their beaks, and tiny talons. Warning her of danger. But she had no choice. This was her duty. To her house. To Mother and Father.
Stop!
She wanted to cry out. Yet, no words came. Sansa could feel her pulse and heart racing as laughter sounded in the distance, and she smelled he damp, rotting earth. When she turned back, Ramsay's face was just as twisted and gnarled as it had been on the night he died. His laugher, even more manic and persistent as he reached out a rotted hand.
Suddenly, he was at her side. She was in her old bedroom. Not Mother and Father's where she currently resided, but the one from that night.
No!
The rip of threads and fabric made her freeze as the rotted hands pressed on her back. That jangling sound that made her freeze up even to this day as Ramsay removed his belt, and allowed it to drop to the floor with a loud thump.
Sansa's eyes flashed open, and she pushed at the person who currently laid hands on her.
"Get off me!"
The hand's immediately left her, followed by a weight lifting from the bed.
"I'm sorry!"
She knew that voice. It wasn't Ramsay pushing her into the bed. It was Theon trying to wake her.
The fireplace glowed only embers now, but they offered enough light to show her that Theon now stood in the corner. Shifting nervously. Hands trembling.
She glanced down at the now unoccupied mattress on the floor.
"You were fussing in your sleep…" His voice was scarcely a whisper. "I never meant to…" He swallowed. Sansa could tell that the man was near tears now. Or perhaps crying already.
"Theon…" She whispered as he added another log to the fireplace.
"I should go." He made his way to the door.
"No, please!" She gripped the blankets. They were drawn up close to her. She hadn't remembered doing that. Theon turned back towards her, hands on the doorknob.
"Stay with me…" Sansa must have sounded rather childish. Like the nightmares she'd have as a child, and her Mother would come running in, and the morning when Sansa woke again, she would find her mother sleeping beside her. Prepared to fight any sleep monsters that may have come her way.
They stared at each other for a moment. Theon's eyebrows turned upwards.
Such a sad expression.
It killed her to see him look at her like that. But Sansa understood. Then his hand fell away from the knob, and he stepped towards the bed. Sansa allowed the blankets to fall as she searched his face for something. Any semblance of am indication of feelings. She needed to know if her feelings were reciprocated.
He had put some weight back on, and he had a lot less fear in his eyes. He seemed to stand much taller to. He was handsome.
He'd always been handsome, even when he was a shell of a man.
Sansa patted the edge of the bed, and once again asked him to stay. After a moment or two of hesitation, the man she'd seen go through hell and back. All with her, laid down beside her. Her head came to rest on his chest. He smelled faintly of salt, fish, and the sea, intermingled with the distinct smell of a cold winter night.
"I get nightmares, too."
She wrapped both her arms around him. Thankful that she was not the only one to be plagued with this.
Sansa brought her eyes up to meet his. They were the same bluish green of the ocean. It suited him.
And then her eyes fell to his lips. A bit chapped, but so were hers. The cold weather in the North made it nearly impossible to prevent such things. Her head had already been tilted, thanks to their position. She was not a bold girl, but she wasn't stupid either. A hand came to rest on Theon's face, tracing the outline of his bead first before she ran a thumb gently over his bottom lip.
His mouth parted slightly at her touch, and she smiled as she brought her lips to his.
Theon seemed surprised, and pulled away.
"Sansa," He whispered, shaking his head. "Theres nothing we can… I can't…"
His eyes were downcast and ashamed. It took her a moment to process what he meant. But then she shook her head. Her hand once again returning to his cheek.
"I know," She whispered. Sansa could feel her cheeks redden. Of course he wouldn't feel the same way. He couldn't feel the same.
But after a moment, his lips found hers this time. His kiss was soft, and welcoming. Not like any other kiss she'd had before. It wasn't forced.
It just felt right.
Her lips pressed back against his. It was clear he hadn't forgotten how to kiss a woman. This made sense, Theon had always been the type to chase after women. If memory served her correctly, he'd always had a certain fondness for Redheads. Or at least she hoped.
Ros came to her mind. Sansa had always thought Ros was pretty. She had the most perfect red hair. If she had been in a more respectable position, Sansa may have even considered emulating such hairstyles. They were simple. But elegant.
However, times were different, then. Theon and her both were different people.
Still, she kissed him. A bit nervously at first, but she soon found a rhythm, following his lead.
Sansa liked the way it felt. How the sensation filled her stomach with tiny fluttering birds, rather than fear. She did not want to push him away.
They had lost track of time. By the time they'd drifted back off again, Someone had come knocking to rouse them.
Yara kept giving her knowing glances. She'd wondered if perhaps Theon had told her that they'd spent half the night kissing.
No, that's not him anymore.
Perhaps the old, arrogant, Theon would have bragged, but not this new one. The one with a new found confidence that Sansa couldn't help but be proud of. Jon had been busy making preparations for a wedding f his own.
"I will not father a Bastard." She heard him say. Which could only mean one thing. Her suspicions about Jon and Dany were correct. Jon tried to insist that the marriage was purely political. Sansa knew more then she let on. She'd seen the way they looked at one another.
"Jon," She knocked on the door. "May I come in?"
"Of course, Sansa."
She opened the door, and stepped inside. Jon had kept his room relatively tidy. The bed had been made, and Ghost slept happily on the bed overlooking the window. Snow fell hurriedly, as if it's mission was to now bury the castle.
Jon was writing at his desk, but stood as she shut the door.
"What can I help you with, Lady Stark?"
She chewed her lip nervously. Should she just be upfront with him?
"I wanted to ask you something."
Jon nodded, and indicated a nearby chair, as he returned to his.
"I've overheard you talking with The Queen."
Jon cast her that same, broody, but knowing look.
"I know why you want to marry her."
"She makes an-"
Sansa held up a hand to silence him.
"I want to marry Theon. For an alliance."
It wasn't a complete lie. There were benefits to such an arrangement.
Jon appeared skeptical of the last statement, but did not appear to be surprised.
"Sansa, a Greyjoy and a Stark union…"
"You've already told him he could be both. He told me. Why not let him marry me? I will be unavailable to marry another lord, and I feel safe with Theon, Jon. Not to mention a Greyjoy alliance grants us ships, and give them what Father and Robert had deprived them of for so long."
"Balon-"
"Balon Greyjoy is dead." Sansa shot her brother a look.. She understood Jon's reluctance but this is what she wanted.
" Theon and Yara both made a pledge to change the iron born way," She continued with a shake of her head. Disappointment in her half brother, evidently clear. "In order for them to do that, they need more allies than just house Targaryen!"
"He betrayed our Family, Sansa. Or have you forgotten? What makes you think he won't do it again?"
She stared at him. Her hands clenched into fists. She wanted to strike him across the face, but she would not want such treatment from him. So, she swallowed, tilted her head up at him, and gazed her half brother in the eyes.
"He has paid for his crimes tenfold. Yes, but you weren't there. You don't know the first thing about the monster Theon saved me from. He will never have a bride if it's not me, Jon! And I choose him. Yes, Theon can't give me a true born heir… But I don't want to have an heir. Not after Ramsay."
Jon's face softened then.
"I'll see what I can do about the arrangements."
