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peterjakes · 4 months

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theon x sansa - 'we unravelled a long time ago' chapter 3

Sansa has some important news for Theon, but his return to Pyke is looming and neither want to fully admit how they truly feel. Arya, on the other hand, can sense Sansa is about to burst and intends to do something about it.

I'm in two minds about this one - some parts I like, other not so much!!

I definitely think I'm gonna write a Theon-centric chapter soon

as ever thank you for reading and a happy new year! x

also posted on ao3;

Theon knew it would happen eventually, he knew he would have to face it, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. His past always seemed to come running after him, he could never escape it.

Theon heard her before he saw her. “Theon. You’re alive, then.” Swaggering into the bedchambers, Theon watched his sister’s movements. Her hair looked shorter, and her eyes were angry. She didn’t look like much of a queen, not how Theon understood it. But that didn’t matter. She was inspecting the room, until her eyes fell upon Theon. They stayed there for a moment, as if she was playing through every moment they had once shared in her head. A small smile crept on her lips when she pulled a nearby stool over to his bedside. Her legs were sprawled out and she was leaning back, still eyeing up her brother.

Theon nodded, moving himself to sit up properly. He wasn’t technically in bed, only sitting on top of the bedclothes. The Maester had advised he start to familarise himself with moving around, and soon enough, he should try walking. Theon couldn’t think of anything worse. Not only would it be likely to be difficult, but it would also be another place for Theon to see Sansa. He couldn’t easily avoid her, and he was sure she would want to speak with him. She spent a lot of her time watching over the courtyard. Theon imagined it was a good place to be with her thoughts. But Theon didn’t want to put himself in certain situations. Not yet. “Yes, and Euron’s dead.”

Yara smiled at that, clearly relaying the moment she found out their uncle was killed. Theon wasn’t sure he felt the same way. He didn’t relish that fact, not in the way Yara did. He didn’t laugh at the thought of his uncle being slain, at the sight of his mangled body, the loss of breath. They were not the same, Theon had realized that. They were too different. But he was glad Euron was gone. “He is. Thank fuck for the gods.”

Theon watched his sister for a moment, the way her smile stayed etched across her face. Theon couldn’t remember a time he ever felt that elated. Not for a long time, not truly feeling happy. There was always another feeling that overwhelmed that. And Theon didn’t like it. He deserved it, but he didn’t enjoy it. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You did what you came here to do. And have a good scar to prove it, I’m sure.” Yara didn’t want to hear Theon’s self-pity, she was tired of it. Theon knew this, he knew how Yara felt about him. She knew she didn’t truly understand the torment he felt every day, and she didn’t want to understand. She was different to him. She had been allowed to stay with their father, with their family, in their true home. Theon could never truly understand how that felt. Sometimes it felt as if they were too different. There were people who weren’t Ironborn, who understood Theon better, who had experienced the same things, who knew exactly how he was feeling. But that was not Yara. And going back to Pyke wasn’t going to change that.

Of course, there was one person in particular who could understand better than anyone. Sansa. But Sansa wasn’t sitting in front of Theon, it was Yara. And she could never understand him.

“I do. And it hurts.”

“Of course, it does.” Yara scoffed, as if what Theon was saying was so self-pitiful, so inconsequential. She didn’t mean it, Theon was sure. But that didn’t make it any easier. This was exactly how Yara was, how she had always been. Theon almost dying wasn’t going to change anything. He had disappointed her, he knew that. She may not admit it, but she had wanted him by her side, not running off to Winterfell, to the home of his captors.

“Are you going home?”

“I’ve only just got here but being surrounded by the Starks isn’t my idea of fun. He killed her; you know.”

Theon seriously doubted anything Jon had done in the past few weeks even came close to what Theon had done. Jon was honourable, he was good, and he was Ned Stark’s son. He hadn’t let anyone down, he hadn’t killed innocent people, and her certainly hadn’t committed the atrocities Theon had. Theon was sorry to hear what had happened to Jon, to know he could have fallen so low. And to leave Sansa as she was. But wasn’t that exactly what Theon was going to do? How was he so different from Jon? How could Yara sit there, thinking about Jon with such disgust? When she and her stupid, little brother were truly no different. “Jon’s a good man. Better than me.”

Yara ignored that comment, rolling her eyes. She had clearly heard enough about how good and honourable the Starks were. Theon thought the same himself not so long ago. But there was no point thinking that way, not anymore. “But yes, eventually I’ll go home.”

“As Queen.”

“As Queen. But we still need to decide what to do with you.”

“And who’s deciding?”

“Me, of course. But I’m sure the Lady of Winterfell will have something to say about her hero.”

“I’m not her hero,” Theon mumbled, not wanting to think about Sansa. He hated how Yara’s smile curled up, like she knew something Theon didn’t. He couldn’t think about Sansa, without feeling an immense wave of guilt and regret. He longed for her to visit his chambers, ached to be in her company, see her smile and laugh, to feel safe. But whenever he saw her, he didn’t know how to act. He didn’t know what to say to her, and he knew eventually, Yara would take him home. It was unlikely Theon would see Sansa again, not for a long time. Theon still couldn’t quite comprehend how that made him feel. The things he felt about Sansa…they were becoming stronger and stronger, travelling up to the surface and Theon couldn’t ignore them for much longer.

Yara sighed, shaking her head. “If you say so.” She clearly didn’t believe him, but it seemed futile to try to argue. She couldn’t care less about the Stark girl. “Get some rest, Theon. You deserve it.”

Rest. All Theon had done for weeks was rest. He had laid in that bed for so many nights, waiting and longing. He couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t need to. Soon, his body would be healed. Soon, he’d be walking around like nothing happened, like nothing had changed. That was wrong, of course, everything had changed. And yet, he was going to end up exactly where he started. Stuck on Pyke. How wonderful.

Theon was sure Sansa had watched Yara leave his bedchambers. It could only have been a few minutes that passed before Theon was visited by the Lady of Winterfell. Theon wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that. There was a little voice in the back of his head, that voice kept whispering things that couldn’t possibly be true. Things that were not true. Theon wasn’t fool enough to believe them. But Sansa had seemingly just missed Yara as she walked down the corridor to Theon’s chambers. She knew Yara was speaking with him, informing him of what had happened. And Sansa had waited until the two Greyjoy siblings were finished. She clearly didn’t want to intrude and wanted to speak to Theon alone, without anyone else there.

Theon watched Sansa closely as she made her way across to occupy the stool Yara had placed in front of the bed. She gave him a quick smile when she greeted him, but Theon could sense there was something on her mind. She hadn’t just come to visit Theon on a whim, or because she wanted to be in his company. Oh, no, she came with a purpose. There was a reason for her visit, and clearly, it was not something Sansa wanted to do. She wouldn’t be there otherwise; she had far more important things to worry about, to deal with. Theon…he was not important. Not to Sansa. And yet, she was too important for him. She filled his brain, even when he didn’t want her to.

“Theon.”

“Sansa, is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered, rather abruptly. “It’s...urm, it’s been decided. You’re to stay here, at Winterfell, until you’ve fully recovered. And not a day before. After that...” Sansa trailed off, blinking rapidly, and trying to look anywhere that wasn’t Theon. Her hands were placed in her lap. but she kept twiddling them between each other, as if she just couldn’t stop herself fidgeting. Why was she acting that way? What was going through her mind?

“Yes?”

Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, before turning back to Theon. “Well, you’ll go home. With your sister, your Queen.” Sansa’s eyes found Theon’s and they locked on with them. Whilst his were filled with disappointment, anguish, and anger, hers were filled with guilt, regret, and sadness. Theon knew this was what was going to happen. But he couldn’t help a small part of himself thinking he could stay in Winterfell. Thinking he could finally be able to make the decision that he wanted.

“I see,” Theon paused, taking a breath to consider what he would day next. “Alright.” Any thoughts of how he felt about Sansa instantly disappeared. His feelings didn’t matter, they truly didn’t. He didn’t quite understand them himself. But those confusing, strange feelings couldn’t be voiced, couldn’t be acted on. Theon was going to Pyke, whether he wanted to or not. He had no real choice in that. It was what Yara wanted. And Sansa…Theon did not know what Sansa wanted; he couldn’t understand her.

“There’s something else.” Sansa’s soft voice interrupted Theon’s thoughts. Again, he couldn’t read her, not at all. Her eyes glazed over, the burning candle by the edge of the bedside table flickered, matching the auburn colour of Sansa’s hair. She seemed to allow herself to glance over to Theon every so often, as if she didn’t want him to notice. He did, of course. But he couldn’t make sense of why she was acting in such a way.

“What is it?”

“Jon’s gone. Arya too, although I suspect not for long. She comes and goes now. Bran is...Bran. I’m the only Stark left at Winterfell.”

“There must always be a Stark at Winterfell, isn’t that what your father used to say?” The Stark words, or at least one of them. They seemed to have so many. Winter is Coming. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. The North Remembers. Theon remembered when he was younger, having only been the Stark’s ward for a few moons, he learned of the importance of the Starks and their words. Ned Stark was heralded as this honourable man, just, true, fair and loyal. Not at all how his father had presented him to be. Theon wasn’t so sure either version was entirely true. How can a man who takes a child from their home? Who forces them to live among their enemies? But Ned Stark was not a bad man. Theon knew what bad men looked like. He saw one whenever he looked upon the looking glass, his own reflection staring right at him. Those gaunt eyes, the twisted curls, the tremor of his lip. But regardless of how Theon felt, about himself or the Starks, their words seemed to have so much power, especially in the North.

“Yes. But...the North is an independent kingdom now. And with Jon gone...” Thinking about Jon hurt Sansa. They all had made mistakes, but Jon was paying for them. Leaving her alone in Winterfell.

Being Lady of Winterfell was something Sansa had become accustomed to. She understood the importance of the position, having watched her mother until she had left for King’s Landing. It was true that her head was filled with fairy tales, a type of life that did not exist. But Sansa wasn’t completely ignorant of the world around them, no matter how much her younger sister protested she was. She had learned a lot when Jon had left for Dragonstone, she had been truly tested as Lady of Winterfell, of the North. But being Queen? That was something different. Something Sansa was not sure of.

Theon finally realized what Sansa was getting at. “Not Lady Sansa, Queen Sansa?”

“Yes.” Sansa merely nodded, her facial expression staying frozen.

“I see.”

“It’s what I always wanted, to be Queen.” Sansa sounded bitter when she spoke those words. How foolish a girl she once was. Only caring about the beautiful dresses that she would wear, marrying her prince, carrying his babies, and living in a big castle, far away from Winterfell. How wrong she was. She couldn’t have been wrong if she had tried.

“And now you have it. I’m sure you’ll be a great Queen.” Theon only realised how flat his voice sounded as if he couldn’t care less about Sansa’s new position. That, of course, wasn’t true. He did care. Very much. This was a big change for Sansa, though he knew she could do it as easily as anything. Sansa seemed to always pick up things so quickly, so effortlessly. It was something he admired about her. One of the many things.

“I hope so, but I should go, there’s much work to be done.”

“Of course.”

Sansa left not long after, citing her busy schedule as a reason. Theon felt hollow once he was alone again. It was strange. Something felt off, Sansa felt different, as if she was harbouring some feelings that she would not let escape. She would not let Theon see them, not even get a glimpse of them. Theon didn’t know whether he wanted to know what those feelings were. He couldn’t think of his own, let alone Sansa’s. But it was the uncertainty Theon felt that made him uneasy. And he didn’t like it.

The next time Sansa was faced with a Greyjoy, it unfortunately wasn’t as pleasant. Sansa wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about Yara Greyjoy. She seemed extremely angry and agitated all of the time, particularly now she was in Winterfell. A permanent scowl could be seen on her face, and she spent most of her time outside of the castle grounds. Sansa knew exactly where she was going every night. But Sansa knew that wasn’t important, she had to put that behind her. Yara Greyjoy was here, and it looked like she was here to stay, at least for as long as Theon would. That wasn’t an enjoyable thought for Sansa, but she would rise above it. She would do what her mother would have done, her father. She was Queen now. And Queen’s had to act a certain way.

“Your Grace.” Sansa bowed her head towards the Ironborn Queen, forcing herself to smile. She knew the woman beside her could see through the niceties, but she may as well keep up appearances, for the sake of both families.

“Lady Sansa,” Sansa noted how the Greyjoy gritted her teeth as she spoke Sansa’s title. She wasn’t particularly pleased with the current predicament, but unlike most of her family, she had learned how to keep her true feelings close to her chest. But some of those feelings, feelings about certain people, they didn’t want to stay hidden. Not anymore. They would creep out eventually and change everything.

“Shall we walk?” Yara didn’t answer but followed Sansa regardless. Sansa knew this was going to be an uncomfortable conversation, she knew exactly how Yara felt about her and her family. But the Greyjoys had never been regarded very highly by the Starks. Maybe not until now. Theon and his sister were the last Greyjoys. Just as Sansa, and her siblings, were the last of the Starks. Maybe they could be better than the previous generation, than their parents. Sansa knew her father had good reason to not trust Balon Greyjoy, but she could never understand why Theon had to be punished. Even as a young girl, when she would watch from the balcony the young, Ironborn prince striding about, Sansa would wonder what it was like to be so far from home. Things had changed, and Sansa was sure that they couldn’t go back. “Thank you, for coming to Winterfell.”

“I don’t suppose I really had a choice, did I?” Yara answered gruffly, looking straight ahead, as if she couldn’t bear looking at Sansa. Well, Sansa felt the same way, or at least she wanted to. This was Theon’s sister, but that didn’t mean Sansa couldn’t have qualms about her presence in Winterfell. Sansa knew only too well how troubling and difficult sibling relationships could be. “My brother is here, so I am here.”

“The North will forever be in debt to Theon. We all will.” I will. But Sansa didn’t dare speak that aloud, especially not to Yara. Sansa couldn’t even truly admit it to herself, not outside her own mind. In a strange way, she felt a certain affinity for Yara. It was a feeling Sansa couldn’t quite explain, but it was clear to her that the two Queens were more similar than they first believed.

“How strange that sounds. My father wouldn’t believe it.” Sansa was sure a smile had just crept onto Yara’s lips, even for just a moment. Maybe the Greyjoy Queen wasn’t as resentful as she made out.

“Nor would mine.”

“I don’t think there’s any need for pleasantries, we may as well get straight to the point.”

Sansa sighed, “You’ve come to collect him?” She knew she couldn’t avoid this topic forever, but as the words travelled from her mind to the outside world, she knew it couldn’t be taken back. Yara certainly wouldn’t leave without her brother, and Sansa doubted very much that she would want to stay any longer than required.

“Return him, you mean,” Sansa noted the shift in Yara’s tone, even more frustrated than before. She didn’t quite believe that could be possible. Return, like Theon was a lost package. Return, like he was stolen from her. Sansa supposed in a way he was. But Theon had gone home, more than once. And yet, he had decided to come back to Winterfell. He had decided to come back to fight to save it. He had come back to Sansa. He had come back to a place that was never his home, that he never felt he belonged to. And there was a reason, Sansa wished she was the reason, but couldn’t say for sure.

“Maester Wolkan informs me healing takes time. You can’t rush it.” The maester hadn’t said those exact words, but Sansa wasn’t being untruthful. The maester had spoken to Sansa about Theon, briefly, over the past few weeks, just informing her of his progress. Sansa didn’t know the exact details of Theon’s injuries, but she understood enough to know Theon still had some recovering to do. But that wouldn’t last long, and soon Yara would take him away, take him back to Pyke, take it home. Sansa wasn’t sure she could stop it, but she would do everything in her power to make sure it would smoothly.

“I didn’t expect to be back in Pyke by the ‘morrow.”

“I know that I was just preparing you.”

“And are you prepared? To lose your hero of the Godswood.”

Sansa could tell Yara found it amusing, she clearly knew how Theon felt about himself and what he had done for Winterfell. Perhaps she had not expected her brother to survive, just as Theon had. But regardless of how anyone felt, Theon was a hero. He was a hero to Sansa; in more ways than he knew. “I wouldn’t let him hear you call him that.”

“Hm.”

“You may jest, your grace, but Theon is a hero. In more ways than he knows.”

“I understand.” The Ironborn Queen did not sound as if she did fully understand. Sansa supposed she could appreciate it. Theon was her younger brother; he would always be just that. Just as Bran and Rickon were Sansa’s. But still, Sansa would forever be in debt to Theon. She never believed she could ever make it up to him. But she wanted to, desperately.

“I’m not stupid, I know how you feel about being here. But I thank you, I do.”

“Your brother-“

Sansa sighed, “What Jon did is not relevant. Not to me, not to you, and not to Theon. He’s paid the price, just like so many others. I do hope that won’t taint your stay here.” She had grown tired of hearing about Jon’s disgrace.

Yara waited a moment before she nodded, realising that there was no point arguing with Sansa.

“We’ve had a room prepared for your stay, for as long as you need it.”

“How kind.”

“Everything alright, dear sister?” Arya was standing in the doorway, leaning up against the frame. Her eyes were watching her sister scribbling down words and words on the parchment. She looked tired, no, she looked exhausted. He hadn’t noticed Arya standing there, too focused on her work. Her chambers were messy for the first time in Sansa’s life. Arya had never seen her like this. The Sansa that she knew was always in control, she knew what to do in a crisis and wouldn’t waiver. But something had changed, like it had for Arya. For everyone.

“Oh, fine, just fine.” Sansa didn’t look up when she spoke, her hand quickly rushing against the piece of parchment. Arya watched her for a moment, before sitting on top of the stool opposite her sister.

“You don’t sound very sure, my Queen.”

Sansa closed her eyes, before placing her quill down. “Arya.” She could see her sister smirking at her, she knew Arya thought all the sudden change was ridiculous, she always had. Arya was never one for following the rules, she didn’t enjoy their lessons with the Septa, and she didn’t like wearing dresses or acting like a proper lady. Sansa on the other hand had done everything she was supposed to, but that didn’t make her life any easier. And yet, here they both sat, in Winterfell, at home, just the two of them. Sansa was Queen of Winterfell, after everything. And with the one person she could truly rely on.

“Alright, alright. I apologise.” Arya could sense Sansa wasn’t in the mood. She could sense something was seriously wrong with her sister, and she very much doubted it had to do with her royal duties. “What is it?”

“Just…there’s a lot to do.”

“I can help.”

“I’m sure you can, and I may take you up on that offer.”

“But?”

“It’s not this. This, I can solve this, fix it, find a way.”

It didn’t take Arya long to figure it out. Actually, she had known for quite a while. Arya knew her sister better than anyone, their years apart had not changed that. She saw the way Sansa would glance at Theon when she thought no one was looking. She noticed to slight tint of pink that would appear on her cheeks whenever someone would mention his name. She also noticed how much time Sansa had spent in his chambers since he awoke, and how she was the first to visit him. Arya was not stupid; she knew exactly what it meant. She’d thought about mentioning it many times, but it only seemed right now, when the two sisters were alone. “Theon.”

“What?” Sansa gulped, not expecting Arya to even think to mention Theon. Of course, she had been thinking about him, he filled her brain. She had tried not to think of him, she had tried to think rationally and reasonably, but nothing seemed to work. Sansa had tried to distract herself, which wasn’t proving too difficult with her new position. There were so many different things she had to worry about, more than her parents ever did. But the days were moving on and time was running out. Theon had almost recovered, and he would soon leave. Sansa couldn’t stop it no matter what she felt. There was no real point trying to stop it. She was powerless.

“Yara. The Ironborn Queen.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, though she was glad the subject was drifting from Theon to his sister. “We should never have invited her to stay.”

“Hm, it’s the done thing, is it not?”

“Mother wouldn’t have let another Ironborn even think about entering the gates.” Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her mother. Her hatred of the Ironborn was well-known to any who knew her. And yet, Sansa had allowed not one, but two of Balon Greyjoy’s children into their home, let alone the Ironborn soldiers who came and died for Winterfell. Oh, how times had changed.

“But you’re not Mother, Sansa.” No, Sansa was not Catelyn Stark. No matter how much she tried to think of her mother during times of need or trouble. No matter how many times Littlefinger would tell her how much she looked like her. Sansa was her own person; she could never be her mother. But she missed her desperately. She wished she had got to say a proper goodbye. She wished she had listened more, been kinder to her. She would have to do her justice now, as the Queen of the North.

Sansa sighed again. “What is it, Arya?”

Arya knew Sansa wasn’t going to tell her without any probing, even though the both of them knew exactly what was troubling the Queen of Winterfell. “You can admit it, you know. You can admit it to me.” Arya’s eyes locked with Sansa’s; she could sense the fear in her eyes. She could see how everything she was feeling was just about to burst out for all to see. But Sansa couldn’t keep it to herself forever. And Arya didn’t want her to, not if it was making her so unhappy.

Feeling Arya’s eyes on her, Sansa couldn’t help but turn her attention to something else, anything else. The words she had been scribbling down previously didn’t seem to make any sense. The words on the page didn’t matter, it was just a way of Sansa avoiding the inevitable. But she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t say the words. She knew what Arya was trying to say, but Sansa didn’t want to admit it. Not even to Arya. Not even her sister. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t let those feelings come to pass. Even though she wanted to, she didn’t truly understand how she was feeling. She’d never felt so much in such a short amount of time. It hurt to see Theon, and yet, that was the one thing she wanted to do. She missed him when he wasn’t there and wanted to check on him. It was foolish really, for Sansa to feel like a little girl. But she couldn’t help it. She’d tried, desperately, to think of anything else. But that was becoming more and more difficult. She was just too scared, scared that it would all be for nothing. “And what is it I’m admitting?”

“Sansa, please. You can’t deny we’ve become used to Theon being in Winterfell again.” Arya used the term ‘we’ lightly. Yes, it did take Arya back to when she was young. Seeing Theon reminded her of Robb, it reminded her of Mother and Father, of little Rickon. But some of those memories were not happy ones. The loud crowds by the Sept. The chaos at the Twins. The battle in the snow. But technically, yes, it was nice to feel as it was, before.

“True. You the most.”

Sansa was missing the point entirely, of course, she was. She didn’t want it to be real, she didn’t want to have to face those feelings. But she couldn’t wait forever. Soon, Theon would be gone, and she would miss her chance. Arya knew what that was like. There were times she regretted how she and Gendry had left it. But it was the right thing to do. Sansa, however, would be making a big mistake. “Everyone we grew up with is gone. All of those memories, those people…”

“So yes, I don’t like the idea of losing another. Not again.”

“I see.” Arya nodded, perhaps this was Sansa voicing those feelings. Not exactly in the way she had expected or even wanted, but Sansa was very different from her sister. “Have you…voiced these feelings to anyone else?”

“No, just you.” Sansa rolled her quill across the table, sighing to herself. Why was she telling Arya this? It wasn’t going to help or even change things. “Why is that funny?” Arya seemed to be sniggering at her.

Arya scoffed, “I…just…would never have imagined this conversation to ever exist. You confining in me.” She shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all. If only their father could see them now. The thought of Ned Stark still brought an enormous wave of sadness to Arya. Maybe more so than anyone else they had lost. She would never admit that to anyone else, not even her sister. But she missed him so much, more than anything. Even after all those years.

“You’re my sister. The last of the Starks. Of course, I confine in you. I trust you.”

“And I, you. But it doesn’t have to be that way.” Arya was urging Sansa now, but she couldn’t change her mind. Sansa was stubborn, just as she was.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do, Sansa. You can’t fool me.”

“Arya, please. I’m tired.”

“You better get some sleep then, my Queen,” Arya smirked at Sansa, who couldn’t help but smile back. But it wasn’t a real, genuine smile. It was one of sadness, one of guilt, one of regret, for something that hadn’t even come to pass.

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