A/N: So, working in a world as complicated as GoT, this is likely far from the last time you'll see a correction from me, especially cause you lot are so dang clever! ;)

Balon never got Theon back in this timeline, but I don't think Balon would have needed Theon back in order to act against the North, especially when King's Landing is a lot farther journey from Robb than Pyke would have been. Theon has been gone from the Starks for a while now (Sansa mentions it has been a long time since she heard from him) and Balon would absolutely know it. But, in typical me fashion, I forgot to mention most of this. XD

In Chapter 4, I've added: "The Iron Fleet had been spotted on the move. Every day that passed, Sansa feared hearing word of Winterfell. It was only a matter of days before Theon sacked it."

In Chapter 5: "My other concern is the ironborn. With you gone from the Stark camp, the Greyjoy ships have already been seen on the move. 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."

(pretend I didn't also get it wrong and write Moat Cailin last time XD)

Thanks for reading! :)

The innkeeper had been willing to part with two horses (though his prices for the brutes was unthinkable) and Theon had gotten him to throw some of his daughter's dresses into the bargain. Ripped lady's finery did not make for inconspicuous riding. The stout woolen dresses would be perfect.

After Theon had finished saddling the horses, he headed up to collect Sansa, running into her on the stairs, heading down. He stopped cold. Fleeing for their lives yesterday hadn't given him time to appreciate it, but his statement about her being the prettiest girl in the North had not been an exaggeration. Even in a dress cut like a sack, her hair tied back in a braid, she was a vision of loveliness.

At first seeing him, she smiled her breathtaking smile, but the longer he stared, the further her smile faltered. "What's wrong, Theon?"

"Can't you, I don't know–" He gestured vaguely at all of her. "Be less pretty? I can't hide you with every man in ten leagues staring."

Sansa stood flummoxed. She'd never heard a compliment couched in so much annoyance. "I could rub dirt in my hair again–"

"Oh, nevermind," Theon said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her after him. "Just don't look at anyone."

Using her other hand to pull her hood up, Sansa followed, with a small smile for Theon's aggravation.

. . .

"What do you remember about the Iron Islands?" Sansa said, as their horses plodded down the Goldroad. The Lannisters would be hunting for her, but he doubted they'd expect her with a single escort. A man and a woman on the road together could be anyone. Especially once they turned north towards the Riverlands, where her hair would no longer draw comment.

"Oh, I don't know," Theon said, flicking his reins uncomfortably. "I was a boy. You'd know more about them than I do, I expect."

"I've never been."

And her smile at him, so warm, so safe, invited him to tell the truth. "I don't remember much, anymore. I remember little things, our customs and ways, but all the specifics have been… rubbed round by the waves, I guess. I remember my family but I barely remember their faces." Theon looked away, scanning the woods for any sign of Lady.

"I barely remembered what my father looked like, by the end." Her pained smile hurt to look at. "I was so grateful to see him again. When we were at court this time around, I saved my allowance and had an artist take his likeness. It's not perfect, but it's wonderful, all the same."

"Then I'm sorry you had to leave it behind," Theon said.

"Oh, no," Sansa said, pulling out her necklace emblazoned with a bold, Lannister lion. "I keep it here, always."

He felt stupid for saying it, but… "That's a Lannister necklace."

Sansa smiled. "Yes. A present from Joffrey. I thought it fitting. Something I knew they'd never take away from me."

Theon wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

"I liked your sister," Sansa said, redirecting back to her original topic. "Practical. A good leader. Impressive, really, all she accomplished when the ironborn usually despise females."

Clenching his jaw, Theon kept his eyes on the road. It wasn't his fault he wasn't there, wasn't his fault he had to grow up on stone and snow and not sea–

He pulled his horse close to hers. "Riders. Up ahead."

Sansa resettled her hood, making sure it well-covered her hair. "Too late to hide in the woods. Hopefully they don't pay us any mind."

"Don't go mouthing off with this lot," Theon said. "Clever girls attract notice."

Any comments in reply were cut short. The riders were Lannister men. A whole column, riding toward them. Sansa kept her eyes locked to the ground as the soldiers approached. Theon guided the horses off the road, waiting patiently for the soldiers to pass like good, loyal subjects.

One by one, the column clopped past. Some bore wounds, some bore bandages, but all looked weary with a long day's ride.

Theon held his breath. Thirty men, all in Lannister red. One wrong move and they'd kill him as soon as breathing. Then Sansa would be recaptured, and probably raped, and–

"Ho there!" The soldier at the end of the line rode towards them, a captain, by the look. "What are you two doing out on the road?"

Sansa lowered her gaze further.

Theon ducked his head in a quick bow. "Me and the wife are just heading home," he said, trying his best not to sound like a Northman. "The farm's over thataways and–"

The captain stepped his horse closer. "Don't you know it's not safe? The Young Wolf is on the move. Only a matter of weeks before he's left the Riverlands and started putting the Westerlands to the torch."

Theon tried to hide his shock. "I didn't think we had anything to worry about, what with you brave soldiers around."

Sansa kept her eyes locked on the ground, doing her best to look meeker than a mouse.

The captain scoffed. "We've got more important things to protect than farms. The road is closed to travelers. There's a war on." The line of soldiers had almost passed and the captain turned his horse, ready to rejoin them.

"Please," Theon said. "We left our child back with my sister and–"

"Oh, get going!" The captain stepped his horse back into the end of the line. "Die at Stark hands, if you're so desperate for it!" At the last moment he turned back, staring at Sansa. "She's a pretty one."

Theon's heart pounded harder. Saying she was his wife should have given her some protection, with the Lannisters thinking they'd have to kill him to get to her, but–

The captain winked. "You're a lucky man." With a yell to the horses, the column stepped into a trot, quickly gaining distance away from them down the road.

Sansa's hand slipped into his. He held on tight.

"I think it's time we went back to the woods," Theon said.

. . .

They'd been walking for what felt like hours, through the thick, root-filled forest, too rough to trust their horses over.

And they'd been traveling for days.

When darkness fell, they began their wordless routine. Sansa unrolled their packs, setting out blankets and rubbing down the horses. Theon wandered into the woods, hunting for sticks that wouldn't smoke too badly and bushes to hide what little fire they dared. And then, once they'd gotten it all settled, Lady would saunter into camp, dragging a half a deer, or a brace of rabbits, or one time a goat that very definitely still had a bell around its neck. They had pointedly ignored the bell all evening. In the morning, Sansa had bumped it, Theon had snickered, and then Sansa lost all sense of composure. Some poor family had lost their goat to a direwolf not seen in the South outside of legends and Sansa and Theon hadn't the faintest idea from which farm, with no possibility of reimbursement. At that point, there was nothing else to do but laugh.

This night, it had been a stag. Or the front quarter of one, from antlers down to one bloody, hoofed foot. Skinning it with Theon's knife, Sansa wished it had been a lion. Then she could feel properly vicious as she gutted the beast.

Behind her, Theon built the fire, coaxing it bit by bit to stay lit – but not too much! – and settled it back down into embers again.

They were far enough off the road that a fire shouldn't be visible, but shouldn't didn't mean wasn't and neither of them were willing to risk it.

Meat roasted slowly over only hot coals and Theon and Sansa settled down to wait.

Lady stretched behind them, a perfect couch to recline against, filled with wonderful heat. Sansa sank against her direwolf's side gladly, laughing as Theon stared with open mistrust.

"You knew her when she was a puppy!" Sansa insisted. "She's not going to bite you!"

"That's what you say," Theon replied. "She likes you."

Hesitantly, he shifted closer. He put a hand on the direwolf's side – a growl shook beneath his fingers. He ripped his hand away.

Sansa couldn't stop laughing. "She's messing with you, Theon! She knows you're scared of her!"

"I'm scared of her because she's worthy of scaring me," he replied. "You haven't seen Grey Wind with limbs sticking out of his mouth and–!

"Oh, stop being a baby. Just– Here." Placing her hands on his shoulders, she shoved him backward. He fell back against the direwolf's grey fur. No growl arose. Sansa still leaned on him, her hands braced on each shoulder. Theon stared up at her, not daring to breathe.

Abruptly, she sat back on her heels, her hands hanging awkwardly at her sides. "See? No harm done."

"Yes," Theon whispered. "But now I can't move or I'll disturb her."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "If you wanted me to bring you food, you could have just asked."

He flashed his cheekiest grin. She passed him a skewer, leaning back against Lady next to him to eat her own.

"I never got to do this before," Sansa finally said between bites. Leaning against her direwolf, juice dribbling down her chin as she ate smoked deer in the middle of a forest, Sansa Stark, bloody Princess of the North, looked utterly content.

"Well, yes," Theon replied. "You've said this was the first time that I rescued you."

Her grin beamed across her face. "First time from King's Landing," she clarified. "Third? No, fourth time you've rescued me, all considering."

Theon felt a little lump catch in his throat. She was worth rescuing. She was worth rescuing every time.

With a sigh, she leaned back against her wolf. "But I meant Lady, actually. I've never gotten to know her larger than a puppy." As if she could sense the conversation, Lady craned back to give Sansa a giant lick, then settled her furry head on Sansa's shoulder. It must have weighed a ton, but Sansa couldn't have looked happier, stroking her wolf's head as the animal settled down into sleep.

"You must have missed her a lot," Theon said, licking the last of the stag off his skewer.

"Every day," Sansa replied. "How I hated Joffrey for that. Hated the Queen. But mostly… mostly I just hated myself."

Theon could relate. Every time he'd let Lord Stark down (and oh, how many times there had been) he'd felt the weight of his disapproving glare following him around for days. But more than anything, he'd hated himself for having earned it.

"Tell me a story, Theon."

"A story?" he frowned, kicking dirt over their little fire. "What sort of story?"

Leaning further back into Lady, she tugged her cloak over herself. "Something from your childhood. From the Iron Islands."

"From the Iron Islands?" he said, with surprise. "I can't remember any happy stories from there."

"Then tell an unhappy one."

Theon settled back, before realizing that the warmth was Lady. He waited, frozen– until he saw her giant tail thump with happiness. Still not quite trusting her, he resettled again, silently promising it would be the last time.

"Legends say–" Theon stopped, feeling silly. He hadn't listened to tales since he'd been a child. He'd never told a story before in his life. Sitting in silence, he could do nothing but feel the chill of the woods in the air, the warmth of a direwolf at his back, hear the gentle breaths of the princess at his side… and perhaps not feel so silly anymore for talking about legends.

With strength in his voice, he began again. "On the Iron Islands, legends say that the great hero Hrothgar carried a horn that, when blown, summoned krakens."

Sansa made a contented hum at that and he carried on.

"Some say the Drowned God himself made that horn and cast it into Hrothgar's hand in punishment for his pride. For Hrothgar had boasted that his fleet was stronger than any creatures of the deep, his arms capable of slaying any kraken. Now, krakens can be summoned, but they cannot be commanded…"

Surrounded by her wolf, falling asleep to the sound of Theon's voice, Sansa wondered if there was anything more peaceful in the entire world.

She didn't think there was.

. . .

It had been two weeks of hard riding through the woods, with inns hard to come by and harder to risk. Two weeks, and then, after nightfall just outside Oxcross, a scout picked them up – a scout with a wolf emblazoned across his armor.

They were tired, they were dirty, Theon could swear he still had thorns stuck in one pantleg– but they were unmistakably home. Repeating her life left few wonders for Sansa, but she stared about herself in awe. She'd never seen Robb's war camp before. There sat the Manderleys, with whom she'd played as a girl. One of them had lost an arm. Common foot-soldiers clustering around an iron stew-pot across the way laughed loudly at something Lord Karstark had said. They laughed again when he winced at the taste of the stew.

After being in the South for so long, it was absolutely delightful having the North come to her. Though, it felt like looking at ghosts. Where she came from, all these fine Northmen were dead. They died fighting for Robb, in the Red Wedding, fighting for Jon, or fighting the dead. Too many dead at her family's call. There sat Dacey and Maege Mormont, with no thought of dying and leaving Bear Island to her ten-year-old daughter. And there sat the Glovers and the Cerwyns and the Hornwoods–

"I brought something you might like, Your Grace," the scout said as he headed in to Robb.

With the curtains on the tent pulled back, Sansa could see all the way inside to where Robb stood hunched over a table shuffling maps. She stood in mute shock, unable to take her eyes off of him. Robb. Alive. In her previous life, after she left Winterfell, she'd never seen him again. It was a miracle. She looked at Theon, who grinned back at her. Theon had given her a miracle.

"Is the 'something I might like' a few thousand bannermen?" Robb asked flatly, pulling the candle closer to another map. "Or perhaps word that the Vale is finally on the move?"

"Er… no, Your Grace." The scout shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Take it to someone else, then," Robb said, still not looking up. "Lord Umber, perhaps."

"Maybe I will!" Theon shouted from outside the tent.

Robb's eyes snapped to him. Then, slowly, not believing what they saw, they fell on Sansa.

She pushed her hood back. But Robb was already running. He crushed her in a hug, spinning her around, her feet swinging off the ground.

Sansa clung to his shoulders, laughing like a girl as she spun.

"Mother!" Robb called. "Look what Theon brought us!"

"Theon?" Catelyn called from inside her tent as she stepped through the flaps. "That worthless Greyjoy, running away– SANSA!"

And then Catelyn threw herself onto her daughter, joining the laughing huddle of Starks.

"I said I would," Theon said, feeling a bit defensive. "I said I'd get her–"

Catelyn stretched out an arm, pulling Theon into the huddle whether he liked it or not. "I apologize for every mean-spirited thing I've ever said about you, Theon Greyjoy," Catelyn said, trying to sound serious through her happy tears. "You've been more of a brother to my daughter than her own blood."

"Mother!" Sansa said, barely visible from the middle of the Stark huddle. "Robb's right here, you can't just–"

"Theon brought you home and I didn't." Robb grinned, clapping Theon on the shoulder. "Mother can say anything she likes. I'll agree with it."

Around the camp, men were drifting out of the tents, peering to see what the commotion was in the center of camp.

Robb broke away from their huddle, pitching his voice to be heard across camp. "Lord Greyjoy has brought my sister, Sansa Stark, home! A feast in their honor! To the Princess of the North!"

Cheerful cries and repeated calls of, "The Princess of the North!" replied to his most exciting announcement. Sansa knew the men were happier for the food than for her return, but it was nice to be able to pretend.

Next to her, Catelyn hadn't taken her eyes off her daughter for a second, still silently crying while she smiled.

"I'm sorry we couldn't bring Arya," Sansa said. "I know you've been worried, but she escaped King's Landing–"

"Of course I'm worried," her mother replied, pulling her into yet another hug. "But let me enjoy this while I can, before I think of Arya in Lannister hands."

"But she isn't," Theon said, finally having something to contribute, to ease his awkwardness from standing amidst their reunion. "Arya escaped them at King's Landing–"

"And then got caught by Tywin at Harrenhal, yes I know," Catelyn said with annoyance. "So please, let me just enjoy Sansa for a moment."

Theon started to slink away, but Sansa grabbed his arm. On her face was pure terror. "How do you know?" she asked her mother. "How do you know they have Arya? They lied before; it's doubtful they've announced that they lost me–"

"Because they showed her to us at the last battle!" Catelyn snapped, now truly crying. "Tywin sat her in front of him on his horse to taunt your brother! He has her at Harrenhal!"

For a moment, Sansa couldn't speak. "This is my fault," she whispered. "I did this."

"Sansa, no, sweetling," Catelyn said, running her hand through her daughter's hair. "You didn't even know; how could this be your fault?"

But Sansa turned to Theon, only just then realizing she still gripped his arm. "I did this," she repeated.

Unlike her mother, he didn't try to deny it. "That wolf over there," he pointed with his chin, to where a lighter grey direwolf lay forlornly with its head on its paws. "That doesn't look like Grey Wind."

Catelyn wiped at her tears with a handkerchief. "Nymeria. She was following the Lannister forces, nipping at them wherever she could. She was going to get herself killed, so we took her–" Her mother broke off into sobs again.

Sansa rubbed a comforting hand on her mother's back, trying not to fall apart, herself. Robb sauntered back over, still grinning, and was caught aback by his mother's tears. He pulled her into a hug.

Theon still looked at Sansa, waiting for answers.

"My friend Winafrid would say that girls shouldn't have direwolves," Sansa said to him as clearly as she could, with her mother and Robb a foot away. "That the queen would demand mine be killed and Arya drive hers away, to never be seen again. That keeping them around might be throwing a wolf into one end of a pond and a kraken into the other and hoping to make no ripples."

Staring at Nymeria, Theon only whispered, "Shit."

Lady lay down at the forlorn wolf's side, giving a lick up her sister's face. Nymeria blinked but did not move. With a low keen, Lady put her head over Nymeria's neck. Slowly, the sad wolf closed her eyes, finally dropping into sleep.

"It's all my fault," Sansa said again, staring at the wolves. Her sister was in danger and all because Sansa had missed her pet direwolf. If she'd thought for one second, if she'd– But no. Sansa had thought. And she'd thought nothing could have kept Arya safer than her direwolf. She'd thought and she'd been wrong.

Theon grabbed her hand. "Then we'll fix it."