Sansa and Theon trudged through the woods as Lady loped ahead to scout and wandered back every so often. Every time, the wolf would stop to lick Sansa's face and then set off into the woods anew. Every time, Sansa couldn't keep from grinning like an idiot. Her wolf was safe. She was safe. And Theon… Looking at him, a wave of happiness threatened to overwhelm her. Theon hadn't attacked Winterfell. He hadn't betrayed Robb to Balon Greyjoy. Bran and Rickon were safe.

Theon caught her staring. "Do I have something on my face? I thought I got all the blood off, back at the stream–"

Sansa shook her head, fighting the blush rising in her cheeks. "Thank you," she said softly.

Abruptly uncomfortable, he looked away. "There's no need to keep thanking me."

"Not for the rescue," she clarified. "For listening."

Slowly, he looked back toward her. "Your letters always knew far too much, not even including what you told me back at Winterfell. How did you know?"

She kept her gaze fixed on the ground. Someday, she had always known she'd have to pay the reckoning for the truths she'd told to Theon. Perhaps she could pass herself off as some sort of seer, but in a world where Theon hadn't sacked Winterfell, where perhaps Rickon would live, perhaps Robb– she couldn't be sure how accurate her prophecies would remain. She'd risk the truth. If Theon didn't believe her, she'd deal with it as it came.

"I've lived this before," Sansa softly said, still too much of a coward to raise her eyes from the muddy ground. "I lived until I was twenty, till the Night King returned from beyond the wall and the good men of the Seven Kingdoms died fighting him back."

She'd lived to rule the North, in truth, lived to see the crown set on her head – and woken up as a girl the morning after. But with Robb the King in the North and all her brothers living, she wasn't about to mutter anything that would wish them ill.

There was no way to prove anything she said – no way except the information she'd already told him, over many letters. For a long while, Theon was silent, walking next to her. Then, finally, he asked, "What happened?"

"You'll have to be a bit more specific," Sansa said, lifting her chin higher. "Eight years – six now – is a long time and I've a dreadfully good memory."

She braced herself to explain Theon's relationship with his father, with Yara, his crazy uncle, still debating what to tell of Reek–

"What happened to you?" Theon asked, his eyes intent upon her face. "Six years is a long time. Especially with a good memory."

Her eyes flicked to him against her will, then away. "If you hadn't rescued me, after the Lannisters defeated Stannis, they would have married me to Tyrion." Theon jolted in shock and she barreled on. "He's a good man and did no wrong by me. But at Joffrey's wedding to Margaery Tyrell, Baelish and the Tyrells killed the king and blamed it on the two of us. I fled with Baelish, who tried to marry me to Robin Arryn, and succeeded in marrying me to–" Sansa swallowed. "Ramsay Bolton."

Theon frowned. "But he's… you said…"

"Yes," Sansa replied, forcing her voice to remain firm. "That was how I knew."

"Oh, Sansa," Theon said. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pity in his voice.

"You were there," she whispered. "With Ramsay. He'd hurt you and tortured you and broken you. And you'd betrayed us, taken Winterfell and lost it to the Boltons and were the reason Rickon had to flee - and why he died. But you were there with me. And you were the reason I escaped Ramsay. You took me to Jon, at Castle Black."

Sansa risked a glance at him. His face was unreadable, staring off into the trees. Instantly, she regretted saying so much, regretted telling him of his suffering, his brokenness.

"I died, didn't I?" Theon finally asked.

Sansa nodded. But she cut him off before he could reply. "You died fighting for Winterfell. You died protecting Bran from the Night King. You bought the time Arya needed to kill him, to end the Long Night." Tears ran down her cheeks for the Theon of her own time, her friend she still missed so dearly. "You died a hero. Every woman, man, and child alive in Westeros owed their fate to you."

"Well," Theon said. He forced a bright smile. "That's not so bad, then, is it?"

A laugh burst from her. It mingled with her tears, as she fought in vain to force both back. Smiling and crying, she looked at Theon, who smiled back.

"But that's all different now, isn't it?" Theon asked. "You're not marrying Tyrion this time around."

"I'm not marrying any of them," Sansa said heatedly. "I'll strangle Ramsay with his own guts before I let him lay a finger on me."

"Do you have a plan?" Theon asked.

It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her. She smiled up at him. "I'm making one."

"Good." He gave a sharp nod. "Robb could use your advice."

Her smile widened, dimpling with happiness at the edges. "He's never listened to me before."

"He's been listening to you for months," Theon said, with a grin over at her. "Only he doesn't know it, yet."

. . .

"Has Robb taken Harrenhal, yet?" Sansa asked later, over a thin meal in an inn off the Goldroad. Neither of them had brought anything but the clothes on their backs, making a hot meal a necessity. A warm bed was an added benefit, with the possibility of bargaining for horses in the morning.

Theon shook his head. The inn was nearly empty and no one was near, but they spoke in whispers all the same. "Heading to Oxcross."

Sansa nodded, thinking. "Then the Crag, then Harrenhal, then Riverrun."

"Riverrun?" Theon said, grimacing. "That's doubling back. Why in seven hells would he go to Riverrun?"

"Because grandfather died," Sansa said, sipping at her soup.

"Still," Theon gestured across the table, sketching a line down the wood. "If we're pressing west, driving the Lannisters before us–"

"It's a mistake," Sansa replied. "I know. So is Harrenhal. When he gets there, everyone is already dead."

Theon paused, trying to hide his shock. Sansa continued sipping her soup.

"What we need," she said calmly, like she hadn't casually mentioned knowledge of a sort that would turn the thrones of the world on their heads. "Is to make an alliance with Stannis."

"Stannis!" Theon burst out, before lowering his voice. "The man's a nightmare. Did you know, he chopped his own knight's fingers off, just for being a smuggler?"

"Yes," Sansa replied. "And then knighted him afterwards. He's not perfect, I'll grant that, but what better option do we have?"

"Renly. He's got the forces, the allegiance of his men, and Robb's already sending your mother–"

But Sansa was shaking her head. "If Mother left, by the time we get to Robb, Renly will already be dead, killed by dark magic from Stannis."

"He's sounding more likeable all the time," Theon muttered.

Sansa put her hand over his. "For all his faults and hardness, he'll uphold the law. He's a just man. If he gives his word to the North, he'll keep it."

Reluctantly, Theon nodded. "So, what, we go treat with him?"

"He won't have it," Sansa replied. "He believes it's his duty to rule all Seven Kingdoms and isn't willing to budge. Perhaps if we could taunt him with Jon, somehow…"

"Jon? What would Stannis want with a Stark bastard?" Theon knew Sansa had to be joking and wished she'd give it up soon before he lost what little was left of his mind.

Sansa gave a bashful smile. "He's… um, a Targaryen, actually. And technically, he's the rightful ruler of the realm."

Theon grabbed his ale. He drank until he saw the bottom of the cup. Immediately, he ordered another.

"I'm not lying," Sansa said softly, once the serving girl had left. "If you don't believe me, when Mother comes back, she'll have a sworn swordswoman, Brienne of Tarth, who's almost as tall as the Hound."

Theon's new cup of ale had arrived. He settled into it immediately, pouring it down his throat.

Sansa sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned all of that. It's just so… good to be able to tell the truth after all this time. You're the only one who doesn't make me feel like a lying lunatic."

Finally setting down his cup, Theon shook his head. "I met Talisa; I already knew you weren't lying. You are a lunatic, though. I'm just glad you're on our side."

With a small smile, she took it for the tease that it was. "My other concern is the ironborn. With you gone from the Stark camp, it's likely they'll start ravaging the North, just like they did last time. For all I know, your sister might have already taken Deepwood Motte."

Theon choked on his ale. "I should have gone to my father, claimed my birthright, stopped him–"

But once again, Sansa was shaking her head. "They don't respect your birthright. They consider you weak, a greenlander. They'll respect and follow you once they see your strength, but I haven't figured out a way to show them, yet."

Surreptitiously, Theon straightened in his seat. "My strength?"

Sansa nodded, distracted with her own thoughts. "Your way, taking a castle you couldn't hold, backfired terribly."

Theon shrunk back in his seat and she continued. "Your father will die in the next year or so. At the Kingsmoot, your crazy uncle shows up and takes the rule from you. Perhaps that will change, though, now that you…" She coughed, trailing off.

"Now that I what?" Theon asked.

"Rescued me," Sansa said sweetly, not fooling him for a second.

"Sansa…" he warned. "You already told me about Jon bloody Targaryen. Don't hold out on me now."

Sansa's face could have been cut from stone. "Can produce heirs," she replied.

Theon made a face. "Of course I can. When in seven hells couldn't I…" He trailed off at the realization.

"Yes," was all Sansa replied. "Ramsay."

Theon's face was a thundercloud. "He dies."

"Yes."

. . .

Sansa lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. Change was wonderful, marvelous… and terrifying. With everything shifting, how far would the repercussions fall? She couldn't say.

Theon lay awake, staring at her from his bed across the room. "You know so much," he whispered to her in the dark. "You could do anything you wanted. What is it you want?"

"To save my father," she said.

"Sansa," Theon chastised.

"To save my family," she answered instead. "To save my mother and Robb and Jon and Arya and Bran and Rickon. Even the ones that live, we're all changed. We've all paid the Iron Price for it."

"You've already paid it," Theon replied. "You've paid it for all of them."

"I know," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it may not be enough."

A happy thought glowed through her misery and Sansa rolled over, facing Theon from across the room. "I saved you. That's one family member down. It bodes well for the rest, doesn't it?"

With a snort, Theon rolled away. "I'm not a Stark."

Her smile was wasted on the dark. "Aren't you?"

Shocked, Theon rolled back toward her. But after the stress of the day, Sansa had already fallen asleep.

And I saved you, he added to himself. That makes two.