Sansa's letter had been explicit: Robb had to marry the Frey girl – immediately. When later tragedies occurred, Robb would break his betrothal in his grief. This was the only thing that mattered, Sansa kept stressing. Offend the Freys and the Starks lost the war and everyone died. Period. Nothing else mattered.
Theon wondered who was included in 'everyone' and wished Sansa had seen fit to say. Was it because he died there? It couldn't be – he hadn't had a chance to betray anyone yet. Ha. What a cosmic joke his life consisted of, thanks to Sansa and his inability to dismiss her as crazy. As long as he hadn't had a chance to betray Robb, Theon wasn't in danger of dying. After that, he had Ramsay Snow and mutilation to look forward to. Charming.
There, at least, he was glad Sansa had spared him the details. What had she become – some sort of priestess? He'd heard of Red Women seeing things in the flames, but this felt different. It felt personal.
When Catelyn delivered the offer from the Freys, that Robb would marry a Frey girl of his choice and Arya would marry a Frey son, Theon braced himself. This was it, according to Sansa. If he trusted her at all – which he wasn't yet sure he did – everything hung on this.
Catelyn had long left the tent, but Robb was still fuming. "I'm to be bartered, sold like prime meat at a butcher's stall! For crossing a river and some bannermen!"
Theon kicked his legs up on the war table. "Why don't you make them a counteroffer? They won't let you off the meat hook, not when they can get a Frey ruling Winterfell, that's for sure. But you could save Arya if you offer to take a wife for yourself right away. Marry her when you reach Riverrun. Could even be a proper ceremony, that way."
"I don't have time for a marriage!" Robb fumed, pounding his fist against the table. "And to a Frey–"
"You'll manage," Theon said, not adding that if Sansa were right, Ned would be dead soon and Robb would get all the time in the world. "I'll bet there's at least one pretty Frey girl and they gave you your pick."
"No." Robb stared down at Theon, chips of ice in his eyes. "I won't manage marrying a girl I've never seen, never spoken to–"
"So take her with you!" Theon blurted back. "Talk as you ride! A whole army can protect one measly girl, can't it? What you won't manage is breaking this betrothal, Robb. If you see some other pretty piece of meat while you're camped further on, her bannermen will hear of it. And then her father will hear, and suddenly, they'll all be Lannister bannermen."
"I'm not some bloody savage like you, Theon," Robb snarled. "I can keep it in my pants. A pretty piece of meat isn't going to lose us the war."
"Can you?" Theon retorted, growing heated. "When you hear your father's dead, and your sister next to him, but before they let her die, Joffrey–"
"ENOUGH!"
Robb stormed past, more furious than Theon had ever seen him. He paused at the exit of the tent. "Take the Frey bitch with us. I make no promises about Riverrun."
The tent flap drifted shut behind him. Theon wondered if this counted as a success at all. While Sansa had apparently discovered some way to get letters out without interception, Theon had no way to ensure his could do the same.
. . .
Loveliest Sansa,
I know what a hard time you've been having, what with your awful father declared a traitor! I figured some news from home might cheer you up.
The twins visited yesterday, and while they were as dreary and offensive as ever, they introduced me to their sister, who seems as lovely as can be. Mother and I talk of nothing but marrying her to brother Borris as soon as possible, but Borris will hear nothing of it. At least she's staying with us for the time being. I'm hopeful we can talk them into visiting that fishpond by your garden, that your mother always loved. Maybe there we'll have another chance.
Hopefully, that dreadful event you mentioned hasn't come to pass. Hopefully, this was enough to distract you from it for a bit, but please tell me what you need to distract you better in the future.
Until then,
Your rambling friend,
Winafrid Manderly
. . .
Sansa had to smile. Wynafryd wouldn't spell her name wrong; Theon was far cleverer than she'd ever given him credit. Suddenly, she was glad he had been the one who listened to her speeches of doom. No matter how many times she would have told Robb, Sansa was fairly sure he'd have gone off and married that same nurse every single time. Even the little bit Theon had managed sounded like a miracle.
Dear Winafrid, Sansa found herself immediately penning a reply. That is simply wonderful news! I do hope Borris comes around, but it sounds like you're trying everything you can. If you stumble across a–
Nurse was too specific. Only places with wounded had nurses. Sansa trusted Baelish to get her letters out but not to keep from reading them, himself. If the gods were good, he'd underestimate her like everyone else, and never even try cracking the code. A code was a small price to pay, especially when Theon was clever.
-girl in your neighborhood named Talisa Maegyr, keep Borris away from her! I've heard she's an insufferable flirt and is not to be trusted, especially around a man so stupid. If only you could simply ship her off to somewhere else, to make sure she was never seen again!
If you're worried about planning any of the dinner parties coming up, trust your brother. He's got quite a head for parties, actually. And the table settings – divine! That color he picked for the tablecloth, for example. I was worried it would be too green, but when all the embroidery was done, it looked bold and triumphant!
Write often. I live to hear from you.
Your faithful friend,
Sansa
. . .
Rereading the letter for the third time, Theon couldn't help but smile. He wasn't worried about dinner parties… but he was immensely worried about battles. If Sansa's code was to be trusted, he had nothing to fear. Apparently, Robb wasn't such a green commander after all. Delightful news. No wonder Sansa was so concerned about her brother's love life; if they could get Robb out of his own way, it sounded like the Starks stood a chance of… actually winning.
He had scoured the camps, feeling like an idiot, asking anyone if they knew a Talisa Maegyr. Until, finally, one of the Karstark boys pointed to the medical tent.
With a nod, Theon ducked inside.
There she was, a vision of loveliness and smiling at a man, even as she stitched up a hole in his guts.
"Talisa Maegyr?" Theon asked, and the lady jumped.
"Yes?" she said, wiping her bloody hands on her smock. "Who's asking?"
It took Theon a moment to remember how to speak. This was it; proof Sansa wasn't crazy. There was no way she'd met this lady before, no way she'd known her name. And yet…
"Theon Greyjoy," he said, clearing his throat. "I'll give you fifty gold dragons to leave this camp by the morning."
"Fifty!" Picking up her skirts, she marched around the cots to lift her nose at him. "Is this a joke? I came to help, not to be bought and sold–"
"You're an excellent nurse, all the men say so," Theon said, assuming her pretty enough for them to say it, regardless. "But two of the highborn lads have… had a disagreement, of sorts. They're liable to start up again at the slightest provocation. Best we remove the issue before it comes to it."
Talisa sniffed. "I've dealt with men before. I'll deal with them again. I'm not a child, Theon Greyjoy."
He smiled. "I'm sure you have. It's not you I'm worried about. They're likely to misbehave and your lovely King in the North can't afford to punish them. And he can't afford to be seen not punishing them. Do you catch my meaning?"
Talisa looked away. "Yes," she said in a small voice. "I'll go. You don't have to–"
But Theon had already plopped the purse into her hands. "If you don't have anywhere to go, Dacey Mormont is heading back to Bear Island, to resupply. She'd be a good escort on the road and I'm sure the Mormonts would be lucky to have you."
Talisa gave him a smile he didn't deserve, meddling to make sure a man he loved like a brother would never find true happiness. Meeting her here, Theon knew without a doubt that Robb would have twisted himself into knots to be with her. She was nothing short of lovely.
"You're a good man, Theon Greyjoy," Talisa said, as she left the tent.
He'd been avoiding the obvious for as long as he could. If Sansa had known about Talisa, didn't that mean there was a chance she'd been right about him? A traitor, a murder, a child-slayer?
"No," he whispered, though whether in reply to Talisa or to his own musings, he couldn't say. "I'm not."
. . .
As they relaxed with a bottle of ale in Robb's tent the next night, Theon had just finished extolling the many merits of Roz when Robb turned to Theon with a little gleam in his eyes. "Have you seen that pretty nurse? The one with the black hair and soulful eyes?"
Theon swallowed. By the gods, had he already been too late? "Talisa?" he said, trying to sound casual. "Yeah, she was an alright lay. I've had better, though not often since we hit the road. Did you know, she makes this delightful little sound when–"
"Stop," Robb said, turning green. "Nevermind."
The tent flap pushed open. Rosalin Frey stood there, with her pale hair shining and her pretty face pinched in timidity. "I'm so sorry, my lords. I didn't mean to intrude–"
Theon stood, clapping Rosalin on the back as he passed. "This old sod was getting sick of me, anyway. See if you can't cheer him up, will you?"
The night air stung against his face as he stepped outside, bringing the first bite of winter on the wind. Theon hugged himself to keep warm, nodding to Robb's guards as he passed. He needed another letter from Sansa. Needed it badly. Whatever future the two of them were threading, it was far too narrow a one for his liking.