#theonsa fanfiction
Text
Lookalike (I)
Summary: When Jon Snow’s name day arrives, Theon Greyjoy hires you as a gift for him. But will you awake feelings they’ve been trying to hide from themselves?
WC: 2.9k words
Warnings: Canon divergence. Smut. Role play. Virginity Kink. Innocence Kink. Dirty talk. Prostitution.
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Masterlist
You were wearing your prettiest dress when you arrived at Winterfell, riding your horse into the gates just as the sun set down.
It was very nice, looking like a lady sometimes, with your hair up and people looking at you respectfully, and not trying to take a bite out of you.
The guards even let you step inside, and one of them showed you a place where your old girl could rest and eat a little bit, and didn’t ask you too many questions.
You weren’t even finished tying her into place when the young ward who’d brought you here arrived to get you.
Theon Greyjoy.
You were very familiar with him. This wasn’t the first time you saw one another - and probably wouldn’t be the last - but your interaction was new. All of the other times, it was he who came to you, visiting your brothel, but tonight seemed to be special enough that he had requested that you came to see him in Winterfell.
“My lady,” he smirked at you, cocky.
“Lord Greyjoy,” you scoffed, picking your bag from her.
Very funny of him.
“Oh, come on,” he rolled his eyes and gestured to you. “You are wearing away too much for a whore.”
You shook your head, moving to his side, and he slapped your ass, pulling your body close.
“Let me see what’s underneath that under a better light,” he teased you.
You skimmed away from him, slapping his hand out of the way.
“I don’t think Lord Stark will appreciate you groping a whore in his yard,” you remarked. “Much less my presence in his castle.”
He scoffed.
“I told them you are here to assist in the kitchen,” he told you. “And you are going to leave tomorrow because you were intimidated by me. It’s simple.”
Gods, what a mess.
“Oh, yes,” you taunted him. “Intimidated by the big and strong ward of Winterfell. Oh, Lord Greyjoy, don’t seduce me, I’m saving myself for farmboy lover. He promised he will marry me as soon as his father allows it.”
Your words were very quick to sour his mood, and he grabbed your elbow.
“Just get inside,” he grunted. l
You followed Theon through the walls silently. Winterfell was a big castle, and a true fortress. One could walk through it for days and never see all of it.
"What's in the bag?" he threw a look over his shoulder as you walked into his chambers.
When the owner of your brothel told you to come, she said Theon wanted you to look like you were going to stay in the castle, and not spend a single night. So, as to look convincing, you took your trip as a time you could use to buy a few supplies for yourself and the other girls.
"Needles, fabric, some herbs, oils..." you listed. "Nothing you would be interested in.'
He perked up.
"Is it a special kind of oil?" he asked. "Because I want to stretch you out, little whore."
You wanted to scoff but knew not to push it. Theon wasn't the biggest man you had ever had in your life, though he wanted you to act like he was.
"Some of them," you raised your chin. "Some are just to make us smell good."
He pulled you close, and this time you didn't reject him, just stretching your neck to the side so he could sniff you.
"And you always smell so good, don't you?" he ran his nose on your skin.
“I do,” you hummed.
Theon pulled away suddenly, and you watched as he moved to his bedside.
“Well, I need you to smell different tonight,” he loosened his cloak, tossing it on his bed. “You are… a bit of a gift tonight.”
You watched him closely. Of course, you knew this wasn’t a simple visit. You weren’t dumb to think he just wanted to change his usual environment.
“I believe you heard that Lord Stark’s bastard just recently turned 18,” he pointed out. “Jon Snow.”
There was no one in the Seven Kingdoms who hadn’t heard of Jon Snow. Lord Stark’s only fault, the torn in his flash. His little bastard boy.
The event, of course, was overshadowed by Lord Stark’s firstborn’s nameday, just a few days before his dear brother.
“And I’m his nameday gift?” you asked.
He grabbed a little bottle of oil and dangled it in his hands, walking to you.
“And since I’m a good friend, I got him the best whore in Wintertown,” he smirked.
He opened the bottle, and raised it to your nose, so you could give it a little sniff before he dabbed it on the two sides of your neck.
It was a rose perfume - and a very expensive one, considering how strong it smelt.
“So tomorrow, you are going to bathe, and put on this sweet oil,” he closed the bottle again. “You’ll braid your hair all nicely, and wear that pretty dress of yours, and you are going to surprise our Lord Snow.”
Tomorrow.
“And tonight?” you asked.
Theon smirked.
“You don’t think I would have you come all the way here and then not fuck you, right?” he asked.
You simply nodded. It made a lot of sense.
“And you’re going to fuck me in your bed?” you teased him.
“All night long,” he moved his hands to your dress, untying from around your waist. “It might be his nameday, but he isn’t the only one who deserves some fun, right?”
Theon kissed your lips before you could think much more, and you let him guide you along as your dress fell to the floor, and he did the same thing with the shift you were wearing underneath for warmth before pulling you along to his bed.
“You are a very sweet whore,” he touched your chin, raising your chin and moving his thumb over your lips. “But I need you to be an innocent girl for me tonight. That’s how you’ll be for Jon."
You raised your eyebrows in surprise.
“Innocent?” you asked.
Theon pushed your hair out of your shoulders, caressing your skin.
“An innocent little girl,” he spoke softly. “A virgin whore, if I may say.”
You had never been a virgin whore. A virgin? Yes. A whore? You’ve been that for a long time, but you were already fucking when you decided it was best to be paid for it.
“Milord,” you shuddered. “I… maybe you’ve asked for the wrong woman? I’ve… I’ve never done it before, I’ve never been with a man.”
His face showed a bit of confusion for a moment, but Theon relaxed the moment he seemed to understand.
"Oh, no, I did not," Theon purred, brushing back your hair. "You think I haven’t seen you? Teasing me down the halls? As your bosom blossoms…”
You forced your face to stay innocent as he spoke, and he caressed your neck.
"Do you know how much I wanted to have you for me, pretty girl?" he asked you.
You shook your head.
"I wanted to be your first man," he cooed. "Show you how good you can feel, how much pleasure I can give you."
"But milord!" you gasped. "We aren't even married."
Theon chuckled.
"You are going to be a virgin whore for Jon," he reminded you, very stern. "But to me..."
You waited. Of course.
"We don't have to be married, little love," he spoke softly. "It's alright."
He moved his face to your neck, kissing your skin, and you shivered.
"What about my father?" you gasped.
Theon licked and nibbled on your skin.
"Don’t worry about out that," he whispered. "It won't count."
He took his hands to your breasts, caressing your naked tits, pinching your skin.
“We won’t do much,” he promised. “I won’t spill inside you.”
You rubbed your thighs together, a little more excited than you wished he knew.
It was a sweet scenario, this one. One you had thought about in the nights when you had to warm your own cunt and make yourself wet for clients with good gold, but not much consideration.
Theon wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, carrying you to his bed and tossing you on it, and you were quick to close your legs and pull his cloak to cover your body, earning a lustful look from him.
“It’s alright, my little maiden,” he reached for you, taking your foot and slowly massaging it. “Don’t you trust me?”
You gulped, but nodded, knowing better than to drag this.
“I trust you, milord,” you whispered.
Theon smirked wickedly.
“Such a sweet girl.”
He reached for you, and undressed you once again.
“So pretty,” he purred. “Look at those perky little tits. I can’t believe you hide them away.”
You covered your tits with your half-assedly.
"Mother says I'm still young," you affirmed, feigning embarrassment. "That they'll still grow more."
He hummed along, clicking his tongue.
“I can make them grow for you,” he cooed. “Make your tits big and heavy, if you want to.”
You eyed him suspiciously.
“How?”
Theon smirked and climbed on top of you, kissing your collarbones before moving his lips to your breasts, and kissing your tit before wrapping his lips around your nipple, licking and sucking on it.
You gasped at the sudden touch, but soon it became a moan as he continued to lick, and suck and nibble, pulling on your nipple with his teeth scrapping your skin, and using his free hand to knead and squeeze your free breast before repeating his mouth movements with his fingers.
“You’re such a beauty,” he moved his lips away from your skin, moving his hands to your legs. “Men are going to kill for you, but they won’t know I was the first… the first one you let in…”
Theon kissed your stomach, licking the skin of your navel, and you shuddered.
He wasn’t… was he?
“The first one who ever got to get his eyes on this cunt,” he hummed. “And such a pretty cunt it is.”
You squirmed under his gaze, a little unease. Men didn’t take a lot of time looking at your cunt. Maybe at your tits, and at your naked bodies, but they never gazed at your cunt.
“Look at those fiery red locks,” he exhaled, touching you with his finger, and you sucked in a breath, startled.
Theon looked up at you, but didn’t seem much interested in the reasoning behind it.
“Pretty lady,” he rubbed you up and down, from your entrance to the button above it. “With a pretty cunt.”
You squirmed.
“Milord,” you whimpered. “What are you doing?”
“My Lord,” he corrected you softly.
“My lord,” you repeated.
He hummed along, reaching for you, and his finger reached your entrance, circling it slowly.
“Fingering you, sweet girl,” he said simply.
You panted, eager. His finger was slowly circling you, dipping in and then pulling out, not giving you anything.
“But my maidenhead,” you protested.
Theon didn't seem any detained, once again dipping his finger and pulling back.
"It won't break with just my fingers," he rested her leg on his shoulder.
A blatant lie, clearly.
"Are you sure?" you panted, a little needy.
Would he just fucking put that finger in?
"I am, my little lady," he kissed her thigh. "And you trust me, don't you? Your sweet Theon."
You nodded, looking for the meaning of his words.
"I do," you shuddered.
He slid a single finger into you, and you relaxed in relief, whimpering when he just pushed a second one right after, probably thinking it didn't matter for a whore like you.
"There you go," he purred. "There you go, my sweet lady."
"Theon," you moNed, not stopping to correct yourself.
He squeezed your thigh a little closer, curling his fingers.
"Yes, my sweet lady " he exhaled. "Do you like it when I touch you?"
"Yes," she confirmed, breathless.
He moved up your body, kissing your neck and chest as he fingered you, spreading you open, so sweet and patient he didn't even feel like himself.
"Theon," you whined as he pushed a third finger.
He angled his hand, and you moaned when the heel of his hand finally came to rub your bud.
Seven hells, you just wanted to peak! Couldn't he be merciful?
"Theon," you whined. "Please."
He nuzzled your neck.
"Please what, my sweet lady?"
You bit back your tongue.
"I... I..." you stuttered. "I don't know, just... Please. Please."
"Here?" he pressed harder against your bud. "This place, sweet girl?"
"Yes," you gasped.
He hummed along.
"And what do you need?" he purred.
You squirmed, and he fucked you harder with his fingers.
"I don't know," you arched your hips.
Greyjoy nearly growled.
"My sweet little lady," he cooed. "Your cunt is squeezing my fingers so much. Don't you know what that means?"
"It's strange," you panted. "I feel strange."
"It's alright," he assured you. "It's going to feel food in just a second. Let it happen, sweet girl."
You closed your eyes, moaning and arching your body, letting the pleasure take you.
"Theon," you cried. "Theon!"
"Peak for me, sweet girl," he hummed into your neck. "Let me feel your cunt squeeze my fingers, my lady."
You finally broke, peaking and crying as he continued to fuck you and play with you.
"There you go," he whispered into your neck. "There you go, sweet Sansa."
And finally, it made sense.
This wasn't the first time someone hinted or outrightly said you looked like Lady Sansa. You were older than her, and she was much prettier, but in the dark, all tall girls with red hair and blue eyes could be the daughter of the Lord of Winterfell.
All men wanted to fuck noble ladies. Many wanted to fuck the young innocent daughter of Lord Stark.
His ward wasn't any different.
He kissed you right after, devouring your lips hungrily, holding you close with his free hand.
“Theon,” you panted.
“Let me show you more,” he settled between your legs, and you could feel his hard cock against your entrance. “Please, sweet girl.”
You rubbed your nose on his.
“Sansa,” you whispered to him. “I’m your Sansa, Theon.”
His cock twitched under you.
“Sweet Sansa,” he held you tighter. “Let me make you feel good.”
You moaned, arching your hips, and he his cock into you, the thick head breaching your cunt’s entrance.
“You want me don’t you?” he hissed into your neck, breathing in deep, sniffing your perfumed skin. “Sneaking glances at me at dinner, letting me listen to your sweet songs?”
“I do,” you panted.
He pushed more into you.
“I want you so much,” you panted. “My Theon.”
Theon pulled your hips up tight, lifting your legs and putting them on his shoulders as he pushed his cock deep into you, making you gasp.
“I’ll fucking show you,” he growled. “I’ll be so good for you, sweet Sansa, I promise I will.”
You put your arms around his body, squeezing him close, knowing he wanted his fanstasy and giving it to him.
His hips moved in a sweet pace, fucking you slowly, as if to a little virgin he wanted to cherish and didn’t want to hurt.
“I’ll mark you as mine,” he nosed your neck, hungry. “Gonna breed you, give you a baby.”
You moaned, holding him closer.
“I’ll make you the lady of the Iron Islands,” he growled into your neck. “Fill that place with little redhead boys, show everyone how I fuck you every night, I’ll keep you pregnant all the time.”
Fucking beast of a man.
“Yes, Theon,” you moaned, and cried when his cock hit your sweet spot. “Please, make me your wife.”
His hand moved to your mouth, quickly covering it up with his hand.
“Careful, sweet Sansa,” he panted. “You father mustn’t know.”
You nodded, though still moaned when his cock brushed against your sweet spot again.
Theon was a fast learner. When he felt generous, he knew exactly when to make you feel pleasure.
And right now, you were his sweet Sansa, of course he would want you to feel the most pleasure.
Your peak threatened you again, and you arched your hips to him.
“Theon,” you panted, innocent, against his hand. “It’s… please… again.”
He growled into your neck.
“You’re going to peak for me again, sweet Sansa?” he asked. “I can feel your cunt squeezing my cock. Such a strong grip, my little maiden.”
“Please,” you panted. “I don’t know-”
“It’s alright,” he kissed your skin. “I can do it for you, sweet girl. Just take it. Keep giving me your sweet moans and I’ll do everything for you.”
You let him, and just rode your pleasure, peaking around his cock and taking it when you felt him trembling over you, spilling into your cunt as you still felt the sweet shocks.
He stayed inside you for a moment, tangled with you, sniffing your neck and holding you close, and you could feel the moment he remembered who he was laying with. Not his sweet Sansa, but just a whore.
“Alright,” he huffled, pulling away from you. “You can go now. Come back before the sun is down and I’ll help you dress up right to go to Jon.”
You frowned, confused.
“Go?” you asked. “Where?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Go down to the servants quarters or something,” he grunted. “They are waiting for a kitchen girl, anyway.”
You sighed, but picked up your things, dressing up and putting on your cloak, grabbing your bag.
“Fine,” you mumbled.
“I’ll pay you when you are done with Jon,” he warned you.
You nodded before leaving.
At least you would have a warm bed for the night.
. . .
"Lookalike" was posted on my Patreon back in October 2022! To read it before anyone else and have early access to my stories, consider subscribing to my page! It's just $2 a month, and it helps a lot!
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Sansa Stark awakes as a maid of ten and five again, in her childhood bed in Winterfell, when she should have been at the Eyrie at that age. Theon Greyjoy wakes up in the brothel in Wintertown, with a scream dying on his lips, alive and whole when he should have been missing parts of his body and soul.
Time, changes and even death would not make Sansa be a pawn in anyone else's game ever again. She would make sure that the people she loved the most would live. Never again would she be a little dove, or a little bird. She was and had always been a wolf of Winterfell. It was time she owned it.
#sansa stark#theonsa#theon greyjoy#theon greyjoy x sansa stark#asoif/got#asoif fanfic#got fanfiction#theonsa fanfiction
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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.
#game of thrones#got#theonsa#theon x sansa#sansa x theon#theon greyjoy#sansa stark#got fic#theonsa fic#got fanfic#theonsa fanfic#game of thrones fic#game of thrones fanfic#theonsa fanfiction#got fanfiction#game of thrones fanfiction#my writing#mine#we unravelled a long time ago
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I'm rereading a fave fic today & these were the notes to chapter 4
DELIGHTFUL. I love when authors are not only talented and amazing humans for sharing their stories with us - but they also make me giggle uncontrollably.
Anyway - you should read it - It's Theonsa and Fake Dating.👨🍳💋🤌🏼
All Rime, Some Reason by @dresupi (14/14 - E)
Summary: Sansa might be in her final year at University, but she finds that she can't handle everything on her own.
She calls Theon for help and he comes to her rescue. First from Ramsay, and then to literally pretend to be her boyfriend so she can save face. How long before what's decidedly fake becomes real?
Rime - n. frost formed on cold objects by the rapid freezing of water vapor in cloud or fog. Modern AU, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies AU
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I’m just gonna pin a little promotion page for the Theon/Sansa fics I’ve posted & update as continued
Theon/Sansa fics (AO3)
Everything and Nothing Spoken
- Sansa mourns (Post-canon compliant)
The Iron Prince
- The Queen in the North waits for Theon to recover from his injuries (Theon lives AU, Post-canon)
The Red Wolf runs to the Sea
- Sansa almost lost Theon once. She’s faced with the possibility again (Angsty, hurt/comfort)
Prince of Diapers
- Goofy, fluffy, baby fever (modern AU)
Queen’s Fury
- Theon POV of The Red Wolf runs to the Sea (includes graphic injury)
The Shattered Remains of Theon Greyjoy
- Theon POV fic for Theonsa #soupversary2023 (Canon-compliant, ambiguous ending)
Iron and Ice
- Multichapter ongoing, Theon lives AU, Dark Dany AU (canon divergence)
Year of the OTP 2023
January: Theon in the Snow
- First Kiss, Snow
February: A Good Man
- Different
March: Strings of Pearls
- Fresh Starts, Mutual Pining, Acceptance
April: Wreath Me in Flames (Make Me Burn)
- (Seemingly) Unrequited Love, "No, I'm not dating your brother"
May: Bundled Sunshine
- Flower Language, Sunshine, Pet/child acquisition
June: A Night of Sea and Stars
- Wedding, Love confessions
#original post by bree#bree writes#game of thrones fanfiction#bree ships things#theon x sansa#theonsa#theon greyjoy#sansa stark
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They meet again in Winterfell, but there is much to be explained.
Sansa is married to Ramsay Bolton, but this time, she does not forget the lessons she learned on her journey there.
Pomegranates is now available on Ao3
#game of thrones#asoiaf#sansa stark#theon greyjoy#theonsa#queen in the north#sansa x theon#got fanfiction#got fanfic#ramsay bolton#ramsay snow
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Calling all theonsa shippers, please give me fanfic recommendations!!
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Will you ever continue The Paramour? You listed it as having 9 chapters so I was hoping there was more even though it hasn’t been updated. I love the story and your writing so much!
Oh, one day I'll probably finish it. I'm quite fond of the Regency/Pirates of Caribbean style AU! I do have it outlined chapter by chapter, I just haven't completely written it out. It's one of those stories that really needs to be done with a particular mindset, which I'm just not in at the moment. Though, I am still quite intrigued by the direction I wanted to go with the triangle of characters, especially because I've given them a very different dynamic than I usually do. I also love all the pirating Greyjoy's...they are such a riot to work with. Poor Theon T.T
Let's just say that I do know that Theon ends up on a pirate ship again...and our icy-eyed sadist tags along after, because how dare Euron Greyjoy try to complete his Pirate Family Collection?
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Notes: Previously...
***
Sansa was trying on a new dress when her phone rang. Thinking it was her mother -nobody else called these days -she answered it.
“Sansa, babe!”
It was Margaery.
Curious as to why her friend would be calling her instead of just texting, Sansa greeted her.
“You’ll never guess who I just met with!”
“Who?” Sansa asked, already guessing.
“Theon! I’d hate to ruin a surprise, but I had to tell you.” Margaery’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement.
“What surprise?” Sansa asked even though she knew exactly that her friend was talking about.
“He wanted help to get you flowers.” Margaery said as if she was sharing the best news in the world.
“Really?” Sansa replied distractedly.
“You aren’t interested?” Margaery didn’t sound so excited anymore.
“He always gets me flowers.” Sansa said. “It’s nothing new.”
“Well, but this is the first time he asked me for help.” Margaery pointed out. “Which means there’s something different this time.” She insisted.
Sansa was supposed to deny it, say there was nothing different. This was her idea, she was the one stringing her friends along.
But her heart had skipped a beat.
When Theon had remembered her favorite flowers for absolutely no reason, her heart had skipped a beat.
And Sansa’s heart hadn’t been skipping beats for a while. The damn thing was bruised, tired of being abused, more than a little wary.
She didn’t know what was wrong with it; why it thought it should be acting like that around Theon.
Theon who was her dearest friend, who saved her and understood her.
She knew that he felt deeply guilty for what had happened to her. He couldn’t forgive himself for introducing her to Ramsay. Sansa had told him many times that it wasn’t his fault; she’d been looking for stupid ways to dull the pain. Yes, Theon introduced her to Ramsay, but she knew of him before that. She’d seen him around and she knew he wasn’t exactly a good guy.
Dating him was her choice.
She should’ve left when he hurt her the first time, but she was afraid. She should’ve left when he screamed at her. There were many other things that she should and shouldn’t have done, but she didn’t consider any of that Theon’s fault.
She only wished he’d forgive himself.
Her relationship with Theon had never been confusing to her; it’d seemed quite clear until the day before.
Although… If she were to be honest, things had been a bit strange since before the skip.
“Marge, I need to talk to my mom. I’ll call you later.” Sansa didn’t even wait to see what Margaery would say back.
There were times when a woman just really needed her mom.
***
Cat Stark was at home and hugged her daughter when she arrived.
Sansa looked like she needed a hug.
“What is wrong, love?” Cat asked, frowning.
Sansa lowered her cup. “Why do you think there’s something wrong?”
“Because you called me and asked to visit out of nowhere.” Cat pointed out. “You know I love having you over, but you don’t normally do this.”
Sansa sighed. She’d debated the whole way if she really should talk about this with her mother. She trusted her mother not to go around telling anyone about this, so this wasn’t the problem.
Saying it out loud would make it real. If she said to her mother that her feelings toward Theon were confusing… This would become a real thing.
“Mom…” She bit her lower lip. “How did you know you were in love with dad?”
Cat had clearly been expecting something completely different. Sansa hadn’t talked to her about boys in years.
“Well…” Cat started carefully. “We’d gone out on a few dates by then, and I knew I liked him a lot. Your father was always the silent type, but he always listened to me, made me feel like I had his undivided attention.”
Cat lowered her teacup to the table. “Of course -at first- I thought he was just humoring me, not really paying attention. I’d dated before him and boys had always been either eager to talk about themselves or just pretending to listen. But your father…” A fond smile. “He’d been listening, paying attention to everything I said. And on our seventh date -I’ll never forget that -he gave me a new copy of ‘Jane Eyre’ because I’d lost the one I had. It’d been just a passing comment, something that made me upset, but I hadn’t really talked to him about. But he knew it meant something to me.”
“And he got you a new book.” Sansa spoke softly.
“Without being asked, just because he knew it’d make me happy. I fell in love right there and then.” Cat finished with a smile that Sansa reciprocated.
“And you knew right away?” Sansa asked.
“I did.” Cat confirmed. “However, we were young and feelings change with time. The way I love your father today is completely different from how I loved him twenty years ago. He’s still the love of my life, and I’m very much in love with him, but it’s a mature feeling.”
“Because feelings change?” Sansa guessed.
“Yes. Not necessarily a good or bad thing, just a thing that happens.” Her mother told her.
“Isn’t it strange that this can happen?” Sansa asked.
“No. You and Arya used to say you hated each other. Aren’t you happy your feelings changed in that regard?” Cat said.
Sansa frowned. “It’s not the same.”
“It’s not the same because you’re talking about romantic feelings?”
Sansa shook her head. “Because I never really hated Arya. I was just a brat.”
Her mother laughed. “Okay, you do have a point.” She gave Sansa a long look. “Who are you thinking about?”
Apparently her mother had gotten tired of waiting for her to just ask what she really wanted to know. “It’s weird.” Sansa sighed.
“I won’t judge.” Cat promised her.
Sansa took a deep breath in. “It’s Theon.”
Cat hummed her understanding. “Are you in love with him?” She asked gently.
“I’m not sure…” Sansa confessed.
The older woman nodded. “Sansa, you and Theon have been through a scary situation together, and you’ve remained together while you recovered from it. Now… If you told me you were in love with him a few years ago, I’d be a bit worried you were rushing into it because of what had happened.”
Sansa didn’t say anything, just waited for her mother to continue.
“However, it’s been long enough that you two had time to come to terms with what happened and you both remained good friends. Yes, maybe your feelings changed and now you’re in love with him because you had time to think about it and realized that this is what you want. That Theon treats you with respect, kindness and love, and that makes you love him even more.”
Sansa sighed. “I’m scared.” She confessed. “What if I’m mixing up my feelings? What if I say something…”
“What if you aren’t?” Cat cut her kindly but firmly. “There are no guarantees either way, Sansa. Unfortunately, unless you take the risk, you’ll never know. You just have to decide if the risk is worth taking, or if you’d rather spend your whole life just wondering.”
#madame baggio#crackship#gifs not mine#fanfiction#posted on ao3#modern au#game of thrones#Sansa Stark#Theon Greyjoy#Sansa X Theon#theonsa#maybe theyre seeing something we dont
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I just finished the final episode of Game of Thrones about two hours ago and....*sighs*
I have many feelings and I'm going to list them:
1. Braime and Theonsa could have been endgame couples if the writers weren't COWARDS-
2. "Bran the Broken" makes me giggle bc they literally couldn't find any other nickname for him
3. I still low-key think Gendry should have been king in the end, given he technically was supposed to have the iron throne after Robert died in the first place
3. Yaayyy Jon, Tormund and Ghost are together again (if s8 ended with me not being able to see Tormund for one last time I would've thrown hands)
4. Literally poor tyrion being made another hand of someone he barely knows when he doesn't want to
5. Bronn wanting to prioritize rebuilding brothels over ships makes me laugh
6. Robin Arryn's glow-up shocked me bc he actually doesn't look like an iPad kid anymore 👏👏
7. Sandor being one of the casualties in the final fight saddened me more than Jaime I'm sorry but it did
8. Ngl I forgot who Edmure Tully was for a hot minute when he showed up
9. Dany's death did not make me upset but Drogon's reaction to her death did idk why
10. Did anyone else go "Now what?" during the last few minutes? Like Sansa being crowned queen of the North and Jon and Tormund going off with the wildlings and Ghost? Like what are they gonna do now? There really aren't any more threats. If anyone does know of any still existing threats by the end of the series let me know
Anyway, I'm pretty sure my mom is tired of hearing me yap about Braime all the time and my sis and I both agree that Theon should have been there with Sansa as she was crowned. I loved the series, and will most likely be moving on to HotD next bc I've heard it's good. Yes season 8 could have been better but in the end, we just have to accept that that's how the series ended and there's nothing we can do about it....
that's what fanfiction is for... 😗
#game of thrones#braime#jaime lannister#jaime x brienne#brienne of tarth#brienne x jaime#fyp#got#jon snow#theon x sansa#theonsa#arya stark#gendry waters#sansa stark#daenerys targaryen#bran stark#tyrion lannister#tormund giantsbane#sandor clegane#gendry baratheon#ser bronn of the blackwater
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The Things We Do For Love (II)
Summary: There is nothing Theon wouldn’t do to make Sansa happy.
Bringing the only other man she had ever loved into their marriage isn't the most absurd thing he would do for her.
It starts with just producing an heir, but this time, duty might lose its battle to love.
WC: 4.2k words
Warnings: Fluff. Hurt/Comfort. Smut. Oral sex. Breeding Kink. Mutual pining. Dirty Talk. Squirting. Multiple orgasms.
Masterlist
Jon left alone days after Theon, with just his horse and Ghost on his heel on his way to Winterfell, leaving Tormund in charge and lying about where he was going, taking a quick route back home and using a secret entrance to the crypt.
Theon had promised Brienne would go every night after the castle was asleep to find him, until the day he did arrive, so he just sat and wait, leaving Ghost out of the castle.
The whole time, his mind was rushing, just as fast as his heart.
What the fuck was he doing?
This wasn't right. He could impregnate his sis-...
His cousin.
His whole life, Jon had told himself he would never have a bastard child.
He never planned to get married, so he would have no children.
And yet, here he was, making a child! With Sansa!
As he walked through the crypt, he passed by his family. His father... her father, after all. Lord Stark had just raised him.
His statue was standing right beside Lyanna's, his real mother.
Would they have wanted this for House Stark? So many secrets and hiding...
What troubled him more, was not giving Sansa children. No, he would do it every day, any day, any time she wanted.
Jon loved her. He'd loved her since he was old enough to understand what love was, since he was young, and she was the prettiest girl in the whole world - she still was.
And it hurt. It hurt more than the knives he took to his chest, more than being sucked back into life, thrown back into a world that was nothing but cruel to him.
She was the only good thing he had in this life. She was the woman he loved!
And she wasn't his. Sansa wasn't his wife, she was Theon's wife.
And the children he would give her would never be his children, they would be Theon's children.
Theon, with the easy laugh, who always watched her with as much love and desire as he did.
His blood boiled when he passed his father's crypt and saw Robb's.
Would things be different had he stayed and fought by his side?
Would he still be alive, and Sansa would be free and not as lonely as he knew she was?
Maybe Theon would have never betrayed him.
Sansa would have never married Tyrion, and would never have married Ramsay. No, she would be safe and sound with her family.
And she wouldn't be his.
Or maybe she would, after everyone found out who his real father was.
Maybe he would be King now, with her by his side, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Young Sansa would love that.
But he hadn't fought by Jon's side, and everything that had happened, had happened.
Theon had paid his dues, he knew that and respected him for it.
He understood everything that Jon felt, and if he had to choose any man alive to raise his children, yes, he would choose him.
Theon was still his brother through it all.
Jon raised his hand to his face and pinched his nose.
He could tell the crypts were wearing on him, that it was bringing more feelings than what he was willing to confront.
He could almost imagine Robb's ghost telling him to kiss and make up with Greyjoy already.
Jon snapped out of his thoughts when he saw a light at the end of the hall, coming in his direction, and turned to it, moving in its direction.
"Lady Brienne," he spoke as her figure slowly revealed itself to him.
She had stayed behind as Sansa's loyal knight, now part of her Queensguard, after Podrick had lost to be part of Bran's Kingsguard.
"King Snow," she greeted him, looking at him as if to a friend she hadn't seen in a long time.
"Just Jon," he corrected her. 'Please."
She shook her head a little bit.
"You sound just like the queen," she remarked.
Brienne was very tall - he almost forgot how tall she was. Sansa was very tall too.
Jon couldn't help but wonder if his children would be as tall - or taller - than their mother. Maybe one day, in twenty years, he would have to raise his head high to look at his daughters' faces, towering over him.
He hoped - very much, and for many reasons - that they looked like Sansa.
The halls are dead silent as they walked through them, and Brienne stopped just as they reached the wing that was always used for their family.
"This is where I wait for you," she told him.
Jon nodded, though a little worried about the distance - or lack of it, to be most specific - between the knight and the room. She would be able to hear everything that happened inside.
But she was a Queensguard, and Sansa's most trusted knight. She would take her secrets to the grave.
He pushed the door open with hesitance, quickly seeing a flash of red hair as Sansa paced back and forth by the fire while Theon was sitting, just looking at her.
Her hair was longer than he remembered, flowing loose over her back. This was the first time he even saw her hair like this.
"You are here!" she exclaimed, eyes turning from worried to joyful.
"I told you," Theon said behind her.
Sansa just ignored him, running to Jon and into his arms, and he held her tightly as he caught her, breathing in her delicious scent.
"You smell like flowers," he realised.
Sansa stepped back from him, looking at his face with excitement all over his face.
"I got a shipment from Highgarden," she told him. "Soaps, oils, perfume... everything. Do you like it?"
He was just in awe of her smile. She looked so happy.
He would do anything to make her happy like this again, as many months as he'd need to do it if it made her shine like that.
"I love it."
She smiled shyly, cheeks flushing pink.
"Let me take your coat," she said quickly. "You must be sweating because of the fire."
Oh, yes, Jon was sweating, but it wasn't for the fire.
She helped him out of his outer layers gently whiled Theon served three wine glasses for them, picking his glass up but not bringing it to his lips.
He was just down to his casual layers and with his wine glass in hand, sipping it, when she took a hand to his pants, ready to untie them, and jumped away like it was a hot pan.
"Sorry," she pulled her hands to herself. "Sorry. You just..." she hesitated, flushing. "You wear a lot of layers."
"It's alright," he assured her.
"I wasn't thinking," Sansa added, blushing more.
He couldn't help smirking.
"Oh, you weren't?” he asked, teasingly. "I thought you were just always thinking one step ahead of everyone, as always."
Theon chuckled a bit behind her.
"He's got you there, wife," he recalled. "He's got you there. Were you trying to skip the main course?"
Well, it was good to see how comfortable they were with the plan already.
Sansa's face and neck became redder, almost matching her hair.
"Oh, don't start, you two," she walked away.
"What do you mean?" Jon reached for her, grabbing her hand, not letting her step too far away.
"You two always used to tease me!" she protested.
Jon chuckled, shaking his head.
Well, maybe they had teased her a little bit, when she didn't know babies were made. It was one of the few jokes that he could share with Theon when they were younger.
"You thought princesses got pregnant by kissing," Theon spoke, halfway through a giggle. "It was funny."
She huffed.
"You two are the worst," she tried to move away from him.
He pulled her closer instead, back flush against his chest, half done with his wine glass already.
Jon pressed his nose over her neck, perfectly positioned to do it, and smelled a little more of her scent.
"Yes, we are," he agreed.
She whimpered, and he turned to look at her face, their faces standing just a few inches apart.
"We can show you how terrible we are," he added, still not much louder than a whisper.
Sansa panted, near breathless in front of Jon, staring at him, just a couple of inches away from his face.
He wanted to kiss her so badly, to taste the sweet pink lips that had tempted him throughout his whole life.
Before he did it, however, she did it herself.
Sansa's hand rested her hands on his shoulders just as he squeezed her waist, holding her close as she slowly devoured his lips, full of a desire that mirrored his own.
He squeezed the fabric of her nightgown, angry and almost offended by its presence.
Suddenly, he felt a hand brushing his, and was reminded of the other presence in the room, and Theon stood behind his wife.
"Let's take his off," he said gently, and Jon moved away, looking at them, and seeing Theon just pulling her gown over her head, revealing her naked figure, and shouting Jon with a strong look from behind her shoulder.
He knew that look. It was a threat. Hurt her, and I'll kill you.
Jon could never hurt her.
Sansa moved her hands up to hide herself the moment she was bare, not her chest or the red triangle between her legs, but places he knew were covered with scars.
He wanted to growl, to tell her how she was gorgeous and nothing would ever make her look less than.
But he didn't. Instead, he stepped away and took off his shirt, throwing it on the floor and showing his own scars to her.
"I won't do anything you don't want to," he told her. "I can leave, and we will never speak about this again."
Sansa shook her head, grabbing his hand.
"I want you to stay," she affirmed.
"Then let me see all of you," he reached up with his hand up, opening them for her to place hers over. "There is nothing in the wolf that can ever change how much I love you."
Sansa exhaled.
This was the first time Jon told her he loved her.
Slowly, she let her hands down and rested them on top of his, breathing in deep.
"You're beautiful," Jon whispered.
Sansa's lips curled in a shy smile.
"You didn't even look yet," she chuckled.
"I don't have to," he told her. "I already know."
Jon kissed her again, and followed Sansa when she pulled him to the bed, making Jon sit and sitting on his lap right after, and he reached between her legs, humming a little to himself at how wet she already was, and she whimpered when he played with her cunt.
"We started a little earlier," Theon spoke from his seat, and he moved back, looking at her face.
Sansa panted, and he pushed a single singer into her wet channel.
"Theon prepared me," she moaned softly. "We got a bit excited."
He licked his lips, feeling his cock hard under her, and played with her cunt, watching her red curls framing it beautifully.
"Lay down," he kissed her neck. "I want to kiss you."
Sansa shot him an amused look and stood from where she was sat on him, laying on the bed with her legs spread.
Jon took a moment to watch her, to see her like that, waiting for him.
He wanted to kiss her every inch. Her lips, her jaw and her long neck; down to the soft curve of her shoulder and her pale arms, then up again to her collarbones and the vale between her breasts, each the perfect side of his hands. Jon would make her pale pink nipples red with his bites and sucks - maybe he could even make her cum with just his lips around her nipples, he heard a whore once say it was possible - and only then would touch her middle. He would kiss her torso, caress her soft stomach and bite her soft flesh, and draw around her scars to show her how beautiful she still was.
And then, just then, he would spread her long legs, and give himself the pleasure of even seeing her sweet cunt.
But they didn't have the time, not today.
So Jon crawled onto the bed and pulled her leg over his shoulder, and spread her red-framed folds.
She was all wet, dripping from her sweet entrance to her round ass, and her little clit was a little swollen as if expecting his lips already.
"She is quite bendy for a lady," Theon spoke, and he raised his eyes for a second to see him sitting by his wife's side, looking at her with a little smirk on his lips.
He caressed her thigh silently, deciding to test it, pushing them up to her chest and spreading her completely to him.
Jon couldn't help himself, and rested his nose on her curls, inhaling her sweet sense, a mixture of the flowers with something he knew had to be just her, the purest essence of Sansa.
He pushed her a little more, so focused on testing her body, he was surprised to hear her moan softly, a sweet sound that no chorus could compete with.
"Why don't you ask him nicely for your kiss?" Theon asked, his voice in a dark tone.
Sansa whined, and he looked at them, finding her husband pinching her chest, gently teasing one of her nipples, watching her face with attentive eyes.
Jon kissed her inner thigh, caressing the side of her leg and her hips, waiting.
"Please, Jon," she sighed. "Kiss my cunt, please."
He nearly growled at the dirty word coming from his Queen's lips and obliged, sealing his mouth over her cunt as his tongue invaded her slit and devoured her.
Nothing could ever compare to her taste. The most delicate desserts weren't as delicious as her cunt.
He was just playing with her clit, teasing her, when he was shocked by two hands gripping his curls and pulling him harder against her cunt.
And he was happy to oblige.
"Gods," Sansa cried.
He gripped her thighs a little tighter, opening his eyes and looking at her face, and couldn't help but to be curious once he realised how Theon had just lips over her ear, whispering words he couldn't hear, but seemed to make Sansa moan even more.
Theon always had a dirty mouth. He couldn't imagine what he could be whispering in Sansa's sweet ears.
His fingers continued to play and pinch her nipples, twisting them and pulling them, making them redder and redder and her cunt wetter and wetter.
"Jon," she whined.
He pushed two fingers into her, focusing on her bud, without taking his eyes from them.
Theon's lips moved again, speaking a single word he still couldn't catch.
"Jon," she moaned louder.
His cock throbbed at the thrill of being called. If she was too loud, people would hear them and put two and two together, and yet, here she was, calling his name.
Theon shifted on his spot and reached down, pressing down on her low belly just as he caressed a little swollen spot inside her, and Sansa's moan was a mixture of a cry of pleasure and something feral.
"Did you find it?" he asked, looking at Jon's face. "The spot?"
He teased it inside her, and Sansa whined, just as he moved his lips away.
"I think so?" he frowned.
"It's different from everywhere else," he told him and raised two fingers, moving them together as a tickle. "And when you do this..."
Jon repeated the movement inside her, and Sansa cried out.
"Yes," Theon smirked. "You have found it."
"Please," Sansa whined, arching her hips, and her husband spread his fingers on her stomach, pressing it down, and Jon felt a little pressure on his fingers.
"Don't let it go," his old brother said simply.
He nodded before setting his lips back on her, continuing to fuck her with his fingers and play with that little spot, feeling her walls squeezing his fingers.
"You'll be in for quite a surprise," Theon said, and moved to kiss her earlobe.
Sansa closed her eyes, tossing her head back, and he could feel her walls so coated in wetness he knew his fingers could almost slip out.
"Theon," she panted, still squeezing Jon's hair as if she was holding onto life by it.
"Show him, pretty girl," he nosed her cheek.
"Theon," she whined.
"Don't you think Jon deserves to see how good you can be," Theon cooed her. "How much pleasure he is giving you?"
"It's too messy," Sansa protested.
Her husband kissed her jaw.
"But it's so good, isn't it?" he cooed. "And you're so pretty when you are messy..."
He looked at Jon.
"She loves to be fucked sloppy," he told Jon. "Don't you, sweet girl?"
Jon shot them a curious look, a little confused, but saved the question for later - Sansa and Theon were very comfortable in bed, considering everything, which meant they probably had something up their sleeves, and who was he to do anything but enjoy it?
"So why don't you show him how messy and sloppy you can be, my love?" he kissed her cheek. "Don't you want Jon to be covered with your wetness? To make his lips and beard drip?"
Jon felt his hunger growing and sucked on her clit, eager for what Theon was dangling in front of his eyes while teasing her.
Sansa cried out, and he felt her cunt squeezing his fingers, and felt her cunt gushing against his lips, covering his face and his beard with her wetness.
He continued to lick and suck her until Sansa pushed his head away, also pushing him away with a foot on his shoulder, whining and panting.
When he looked at her, Theon was kissing her lips hungrily, but Jon didn't have time to overthink it, as she reached for him the moment her husband let her go, pulling him closer and kissing him with hunger.
"You were so good," he crawled on top of her, panting and biting her lower lip when she moved away from his lips. "Came so beautifully."
Sansa whined, arching her body and pulling him closer.
"Fuck me," she whimpered. "Please, Jon."
Jon nodded, feeling himself growing a little anxious as he stood up and took off his pants, undressing quickly and climbing on top of her again, and looked at his side when Theon started to move away, quickly being held by the wrist by his wife, who quickly took his hand.
"Don't go," she whispered. "Please."
His whole body and face relaxed as the tenderness fell on all three of them, and Theon moved to her side on the bed, laying down with his face near hers.
He kissed her cheek and jaw gently, full of softness.
"It's going to be okay," he whispered, rubbing his nose on hers.
Sansa's blue eyes glimmered in unshed tears, and he swallowed down. Jon wish wished he could die again, just so he could go down through the seven hells and kill that dog again for hurting her.
Instead, he reached for his hand to her thigh, petting her silently as he grabbed his cock, lining it up and moving it up and down over her slit.
She looked at him, chest heaving up and down.
"Touch me," she pleaded. "Please."
Jon reached for her, caressing her stomach and side just as Theon ran his hands over her just as well.
He was still sat on his heels, and leant closer to be over her body, kissing her opposite cheek and jawline the same way Theon had been doing, and moved down to her chest, kissing the vale between them and licking her chest, pushing his cock inside her, earning a soft moan from Sansa.
He sucked on her nipple, licking the underside of her breast, pushing deeper into her, not stopping while Sansa breathed heavily.
"You're so beautiful," Theon whispered into her ear. "So brave, my sweet girl."
She moaned, and he looked up, seeing her lips parted.
"How does it feel?" he asked, reaching for a hand to the breast Jon wasn't sucking on. "To have him inside you?"
She whined a little bit.
"Good," Sansa whimpered.
"He's here to make you feel good," Theon caressed her stomach. "To give you what you want."
He looked at Jon, as if to tell him to do the same, and Jon moved his lips up, kissing her jawline.
"I'm going to breed you," he thrust into her. "Gonna give you a baby. That's what you want, isn't it, sweet girl?"
Sansa moaned as the nickname rolled off his tongue.
"We'll fill up the north with children," he squeezed her hip. "I'll give you all the babies you want."
She moaned, and Jon felt Theon pushing a hand between them, moving to her cunt.
"Yes," she cried. "Please, breed me. Give me a baby."
Jon growled, and her pussy squeezed his cock tightly.
"I'll breed you over and over again," he pushed into her. "Fill you up with baby after baby."
This was what he should be doing from the start, just plug her up and fill her up, make her fat and round with his pups.
He knew this wouldn't be the only time it happened. Jon would come back, again and again, to make her happy, to give her child after child.
He could regret all of his life choices, but this was how he was going to make up for it. He would give her all the pups she dreamed of having, and would watch them grow up in Winterfell, safe and sound.
"Cum around his cock," Theon kissed her earlobe. "Cum around his cock while he gives you a baby, sweet girl."
Sansa arched her back, moaning, and Jon reached for Theon's hand, pulling it away from her cunt.
"No," she whined. "Please, Theon."
"You're gonna cum from my cock only," he growled, grabbing her hips and pounding into her. "You wanted it so badly, you're going to have to be satisfied with it only."
She looked up at him and their eyes met, and he looked for signs that he could be pushing her past her limits but found only desire staring back at him, with a glint of worry.
"Don't overthink it," Theon commanded by her side. "Let him fuck you. Let him breed you."
Jon adjusted himself before moving faster in her, smiling when she arched her body in his direction, crying out from pleasure.
"I better fuck you harder, then," he decided. "Until you can't think."
Sansa whined.
"Please," she moaned.
"Gonna make you sloppy and dumb, sweet girl," he promised. "Make your beautiful smart mind just drip from your pretty cunt."
Theon chuckled, whistling.
"Finally talking like a man, Snow," he reached for her chest, massaging her breasts and just teasing her around her nipple.
Jon hugged, just smirking.
"I learnt from the worst, Greyjoy," he grunted, lifting Sansa's legs higher.
Sansa cried out, eyelids falling closed as her body trembled under him, arching herself for both the men touching her.
"Everything for our little sweet slut," he teased, watching Sansa's face.
She opened her eyes wide, turning right to Theon and ready to say something when Jon seemingly hit the perfect spot inside her, and her words died into a feral moan while her cunt squeezed him, tight as it spasmed around his cock.
She cried out wordlessly as she came.
It was the hottests thing Jon had ever seen. He had heard of whores faking such a reaction, but Sansa was showing him the purest and most genuine pleasure.
Theon reached between her legs right away, playing with her clit and causing her eyes to roll back, and her cunt continued to squeeze Jon as she continued to cum.
He didn't last more than a few more thrusts, and let his head fall forward as he came, filling her cunt with a grunt while she quivered under him.
He pulled out from inside her after a long moment, and Sansa was quick to tilt her hips up, and Theon put a pillow under her ass, kissing her cheeks while she took in deep breaths.
Jon watched them with hesitant eyes, a little sad as he walked away, but stopped when Sansa called him.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Back to the crypt."
He had to leave before the sun was up and people started walking around the castle.
"Stay," she asked. "A little bit?"
He hesitated, but couldn't move. How could he say no to her?
"Until you’ve fallen asleep?" he offered.
Sansa nodded, and he walked back to the bed, earning a little smile from Theon, and Sansa pulled him to lie close to her, and Jon cuddled her just as Theon did the same, caressing her hair while she hid her face on his shoulder, holding his hand tightly.
Gods. He shouldn't get used to this.
But, dammit, he wanted to.
. . .
"The Things We Do For Love" was published on my Patreon on May! To read it fully and have early access to everything I post and exclusive access to Patreon-Only stories, subscribe to my page! It's only $2 a month and I ahve many perks to offer.
. . .
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Sansa and Theon couldn't help but be changed. After years of being together, after all their suffering, it is hard for them to restrain themselves, even in their younger bodies. The inhabitants of Winterfell noticed it, from the Lord and Lady of the Keep to the youngest servant.
The change in themselves creates a hurricane of changes, some created by the whispers that Sansa learned to sow, and others simply by their existence. As they learn their new and changed world, they discover that many changes had already happened before their awakening, and many more would remain the same, despite all the changes happening.
Or: moments that Sansa and Theon change the course of the Stark family (and of history), and one thing that would always remain the same.
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Theon x Sansa - ‘we unraveled a long time ago’ Chapter 2
Sansa knows she can't keep away from Theon's bedchambers for long, but any attempt to voice her feelings may not end the way she wants.
Theon has time to think about his feelings, perhaps realising more than he wants to.
this took me so long to finish and I have no idea why - I'm not sure I even like it but there you go!
heavily focused on Sansa but with a little bit of Theon's feelings.
I think I'll try to write a Theon-centric chapter soon
thanks as ever for reading x
also posted on ao3;
https://archiveofourown.org/works/45844339/chapters/118690183#workskin
It had been a few weeks since their last meeting. Sansa had wanted to visit. She wanted to be by his side, she would have been, every single day. But there was a part of her that knew she couldn’t. Knew that she had to give Theon some space. As Lady of Winterfell, she had many duties that she couldn’t ignore. She couldn’t let down the people of Winterfell or the northerners, not after everything they had done for her. So, Sansa had busied herself with the plans for the future. Winterfell had started to rebuild. Many of the northerners who came to fight had made their way home. Winter had come, it was still cold, people needed to eat, people needed shelter. They looked to Sansa for that. Though tiring and never-ending, Sansa enjoyed it. She enjoyed helping people, knowing that people would come to her. But this didn’t stop her mind wandering. It only wandered to one place, one person. No matter how much she tried to distract herself, it never seemed to work.
Knowing she would have to visit those chambers again, if only to settle those feelings of anxiety, one late afternoon, Sansa once again made her way up to that quiet corridor. Maester Wolkan had kept Sansa informed of Theon’s injuries, of his progress. Sansa didn’t quite understand the length of it all. Only that he was awake, still. He was going to live, still. The injuries around his body had healed, almost, and soon enough the Maester was going to suggest he start or try to walk again. This was positive, Sansa thought. A good thing. But that little voice in the back of her mind, that voice didn’t seem to think so. If Theon was getting better, if he was able to walk and talk and do everything as he once could, that could only mean one thing. He would go home. He would leave. Leave Winterfell, the North and more importantly, leave Sansa. She didn’t want that, she could freely admit that, at least to herself. But it seemed as if she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. He would leave, drift away and there was nothing Sansa could do about it.
Knocking on the wooden door, Sansa waited this time for a response. She received none so opened it slowly. Sansa was met by Theon. He was sitting up in the bed, the bedsheet loosing covering the lower part of his body. He looked almost brighter; Sansa noted. Theon’s tight curls seemed a little ruffled, but cleaner, much cleaner than last time. His shirt was loose, but again, clean. The cuts, the scars, the bruises, they had clearly stopped dripping into the fabric. He was healing. A small smile appeared as he noticed Sansa entering the room, but it disappeared almost immediately, as if he didn’t want her to see. As if he couldn’t smile for too long.
“Am I alright to...” Sansa motioned towards the room, not being sure what she was trying to signal. It was hard to understand what was going through Theon’s mind. He seemed a little distance, but that was understandable. Sansa didn’t pretend to understand Theon completely. But she could see the conflict in his eyes. He had volunteered to protect Bran, and Sansa knew what that meant. Theon believed he wouldn’t make it. He believed he would die in the Godswood. That he should have died. It would have been poetic. But that wasn’t how it was going to be. Sansa was glad of that, of course, she was. But she supposed it would take a little getting used to.
“Of course, you don’t have to ask.” Theon shook his head, as if what Sansa was asking was ridiculous. That gave Sansa some hope. Hope that she wasn’t intruding, that he wanted her there, just as she wanted to be there.
“How are you feeling?” Sansa asked, her voice sounding rather timid. She wasn’t sure why that was, but it was noticeable, she was sure Theon noticed too. Sansa didn’t like feeling the way she was, she didn’t like how she acted when she was in Theon’s company, but she couldn’t help herself. It was as if she was a young girl once again. As if she was in the company of her mother and father, growing up at Winterfell, watching Theon and Robb. But Sansa knew that wasn’t true. She wasn’t there, but here.
Moving himself to sit more forward, Sansa could see Theon’s arms struggling to keep himself upright. “Tired, but better, thank you.” Tired. Theon did look tired, he looked exhausted. Sansa couldn’t imagine. The road to recovery would have many bumps and uphill battles. He was still weak; it wasn’t the weakest Sansa had seen Theon. Those memories had clouded her more recently. The way he would avoid her eye. Bow down to him. The sadness that eclipse him. But that time had gone. Theon was no longer Reek, but Theon. He was whole again. He was here. But he wasn’t Sansa’s, and she wasn’t his. No matter how often she would think of that. But she couldn’t allow herself, she wouldn’t.
“Good. A raven was sent to Yara. I’m not sure when she’ll arrive.”
“If she’ll arrive.” Theon thought out loud, and this saddened Sansa. To think his own sister wouldn’t come to his aid, as he had to hers. But maybe it was different for Theon. He had spent so much time away from his family, away from his sister. Sansa realised they all had, even the Starks. Arya, Bran and Jon. They were the only people left for Sansa, the ones who knew her father, her mother. They remembered the way they would look at each other over dinner. How father would stand above the courtyard, watching his children. They remembered Winterfell as it was. How Maester Luwin would fix them whenever he could. How Septa would berate Arya with her needlework and Sansa with her rudeness. How Ser Rodrik would watch the older boys spar in the courtyard day and night. And Old Nan, they would all tire of her stories about the White Walkers. How ironic. Did Theon share those memories? Those feelings? Maybe not.
“I’m sure she will. I would, if it were Jon or Bran.”
“Arya?” Theon gave Sansa a smile again, but this one felt different. It wasn’t small or quick. It was one that held so much more than Sansa realised. Those memories the two of them of shared of Winterfell, where they had grown up, together, it meant something. No one could really understand, only the Starks. And after…Ramsey… Theon was only one who knew, who understood. They had something shared, something they would share for the rest of their lives. Sansa knew this, she thought about it often. She wondered if Theon did too. She hoped so, she wished. but perhaps not. Theon had suffered something else at the hands at Ramsey. To change yourself completely, become a shell of the person you were, that must do something to you. And that, Sansa could never understand, not truly.
“Even Arya.” Sansa mused, giving Theon a wry smile.
Theon waited before speaking again. He was thinking, deeply. “It’s different. We’re the last two Greyjoys. Us growing up...it wasn’t like here at Winterfell.” Sansa never paid much attention to Theon’s extravagant tales of Pyke and The Iron Islands. She had no real idea what it was like for Theon before he came to Winterfell. She had never met Yara but had heard tales of the Iron Born Queen. It was true it would have been very different to growing up with the Starks. Sansa couldn’t quite imagine how.
“Do you remember much?” Sansa asked, realising this may have been the first time she had even thought about asking Theon about his childhood. The topic of conversation had never been brought up before. It was hard to imagine what it was like in the Iron Islands, what it was like for Theon before he had arrived at Winterfell. Sansa was lucky, in a way. Her time in King’s Landing made her realise just how much. Her childhood was filled with love and laughter, something so many never had. Something she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Something she wondered if Theon had.
“I remember everything.”
“I don’t...I mean, before you were here. It was always you and Robb.” Theon and Robb in the courtyard. Theon and Robb in the main hall. Theon and Robb riding. Theon and Robb sparring. Theon and Robb. Always. Until it wasn’t. Until they were both gone.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Theon’s eyes glazed over for a moment, as if he had gotten lost in an old memory. Sansa wondered what memory that was. She wondered how it made him feel. By the look on Theon’s face once he had stopped visiting the past told Sansa everything she needed to know. Those once happy memories, they were still overshadowed by an immense sense and feeling of sadness, of regret, of guilt.
“I think...I think he’d be proud. To know what you did. For Winterfell, for the North, for us.” Sansa had wanted to say for me but stopped herself. She wasn’t going to do herself or Theon any favours by delving deep into those feelings. Those feelings were ones Sansa was still unsure of herself. She wasn’t going to let herself do something stupid, no matter how much she truly wanted to.
“It doesn’t-” Theon shook his head, he started to argue but Sansa wouldn’t let him. She could tell that Theon would never believe it. There was that place in Theon’s heart that would never let go of the guilt. He would hold onto that forever, no matter what Sansa would say. No matter how much Sansa would praise Theon’s actions, would plead with him to accept it, she knew that she could not change his mind. This was not something Sansa wanted to argue over, and with Theon still recovering, she would not put him through that. But that wouldn’t stop Sansa from giving Theon her truth. Maybe he would grow tired of hearing it, but Sansa forgave Theon, for as much as she could. Everything he had done; it was in the past. It was important to look to the future, to build something better. As Lady of Winterfell, that was one of Sansa’s main responsibilities.
“It does, Theon. There’s no point arguing because I’m right.”
“Of course, m’lady.” There it was. The formality once again. Sansa forced herself to smile, though she wasn’t sure it was particularly convincing. She also wasn’t entirely sure why this vexed her so. It was proper for Sansa to be called this; she was the Lady of Winterfell. But with Theon, it felt different, it felt wrong. She didn’t want him to call her this. Call her by her name. Say the word. When her name did escape Theon’s lips, when he spoke it so softly, Sansa did everything in her power to not brush profusely in front of him. But this was not happening. There was some distance in his words and Sansa didn’t like it. She wished she had the courage to speak up, voice how she was feeling, but she did not think she could handle to aftermath. The embarrassment, awkwardness, humiliation. No, she would not allow that. Instead, she would just wait, in secret, for Theon to say her name once again.
“He would have been angry at first, hurt. But...a lot of a time has passed.” That it had.
Theon needed to hear this; Sansa wanted it to be her who told him. She wasn’t sure whether her words would have any weight, whether he would listen and accept. But it was important for her and for Theon. It was important that she had tried to bring Theon back when he was so lost. It was important that she promised to tell Jon the truth about what he had done. It was important for Sansa that Theon had come with her to the Wall. But that hadn’t happened. There was so much Sansa hadn’t had control over. But that was going to change. Sansa was sure of that.
“Yes.” Theon nodded, not in agreement exactly, Sansa was sure he would never quite agree with what Sansa had said. He would always feel that guilt, feel that remorse, that regret. But he had to let go eventually, had to move on. He couldn’t repent forever. Sansa wouldn’t let him.
Realising she needed to move the conversation along, Sansa took a deep breath and turned to look out of the window. The snow had stopped falling from early that morning, but she could still feel the cold winter breeze. She couldn’t let her feelings take control, not now. She couldn’t falter, no matter how much she wanted to. No matter how much she wanted to let them take over, those feelings wouldn’t. To let Theon see them. She forced a quick smile, moving slightly closer to him. “Do you need anything?” Her voice cracked, but she made sure to recover. One of many things she had learned during her time in the capital.
Surprised by the suggestion, Theon started to speak but couldn’t manage to finish the sentence. “Uh, I’m not-” What did he need exactly? Theon was not so sure. He had barely been awake the past few weeks, he had not left the chambers, he had only seen Sansa and the Maester. But Theon was not complaining. The thought of any luxury had not crossed his mind and he didn’t believe he could conjure up any request. What would he ask for? In truth, Theon had everything he needed. He only had the clothes on his back, and that was enough for him. But Sansa clearly wanted to help, wanted to do something useful. Her visits enough were reason for Theon to look forward to the day, a feeling he had not truly felt in a long time. Theon was unsure if it was eagerness he felt before Sansa’s visits, especially as there didn’t seem to be a set routine. Today’s visit for example, was not what Theon had expected. Theon understood how important Sansa was, though the past few weeks were a little trickier without seeing her warm smile.
Not that Theon needed that or even wanted it. But Theon had thought about Sansa’s smile more often since waking up. Her trembling lip, tired, sad eyes, sniffles that escape from her nose – those were the things Theon would remember, those were the things that would plague his thoughts and meet him in his nightmares. But her smile, it was so much brighter than Theon could imagine. Theon doubted she reserved it only for him, but it was good to see, nonetheless. It was good to have company, good to feel something once again. Though dubious, Theon wondered how long that would last.
“Books? Or something to eat? Or...” Sansa was frantically trying to think what else Theon may need. Need, not want. Only the gods truly knew what Theon wanted, and though deep into Sansa’s most private thoughts did she urge from him to share her wants, Sansa would not make these known and she certainly wouldn’t ask Theon. All she could truly do was to make him as comfortable as possible, for the time being at least. Winterfell was his home. It had always been his home, even if Theon hadn’t looked at it in that way.
This was important to Sansa; Theon could sense that. But no matter how vigorously he searched his mind for something to please Sansa, he could think of nothing. His mind seemed blank. “I’m fine, but thank you, Sansa.”
Sansa nodded, embarrassed at how forceful she seemed and gave Theon a small smile. She turned her head for a moment, her eyes finding the window. once again. An easy excuse to look away from Theon, to regain her thoughts. It was snowing once again, not too hard today, however, it was much slower and softer. Sansa made a mental note to visit the Godswood before supper, wanting to take advantage of the seemingly good weather. But even the thoughts of the Godswood couldn’t completely distract Sansa. “I’m not sure...what you want to do.” Sansa didn’t turn when she spoke, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Theon. This was something she had pondered over whenever she had a spare moment. Theon was injured, but he was healing. Maester Wolkan suggested at a good rate. Eventually, the healing would stop, and Theon would be fully healed, or as much as he could be. The Maester had tried to explain to Sansa that there may be a possibility that some things may never heal, though Sansa still struggled to completely understand. Theon healing would mean only one thing, his sister would come back for him.
Yara Greyjoy would take Theon away from Sansa, take him away from Winterfell, from the place he spent so many years, from his home. Logically, Sansa knew Theon’s sister had every right to. They were brother and sister. They were the last Greyjoys. She was Queen of the Iron Islands, and Theon had sworn allegiance to her. But Theon had sworn to fight for Winterfell. He had come back, back to Sansa. He had intended on sacrificing himself. He had born so much, so many scars. Sansa didn’t want to let him go. But as Lady of Winterfell, she had many responsibilities and was required to make many decisions and even sacrifices. She just didn’t believe Theon would be one of them.
“About?”
Sansa sighed, not wanting to convey her irritation at what she was about to say. She wasn’t angry or annoyed at Theon, but at herself. She was angry that she could even allow herself to speak those words, allow it to happen. But she was powerless, she could think of no other alternative. Winterfell was Theon’s home, or at least that was how Sansa saw it. But she couldn’t keep him forever.
“Well, you’re welcome to stay here, at Winterfell, for as long as you need, as long as you’d like. Healing takes time, but...”
“But?”
“The war is over, there’s peace again. Your sister has the Iron Islands...”
“She’ll want me by her side.” There. The realisation had hit. Sansa couldn’t bring herself to say it and thanked the gods Theon managed to work it out himself.
“Yes.” Nodding to herself, Sansa’s eyes glossed over Theon. His figure was sat upright, but any emotion he may have had previously was now drained. “You don’t have to decide now, but...”
“Eventually.” Theon sighed, moving his bedclothes further away from him. Clearly, Theon was not best pleased about this decision either. It seemed that even after everything, Theon was still not in control. Decisions were being made for him. His life was not his own, and perhaps it never would be. The thought of what would happen after hadn’t crossed Theon’s mind. Theon had never expected his life to end up in this way, to be sitting in front of Sansa in this moment. Theon had accepted his fate and hoped for it. But that was not to be. Knowing that Theon had a life to live, had been given that second chance, it had changed something in him. The regret, the guilt, the sadness he had felt for so long was still there, it would always be there. But there were other feelings too, which occupied that once sombre space. Hope.
But that was being taken away. The hope that Theon could lead his own life, making his own choices, the right choices, that was slowly slipping away from him. Theon would go back to Pyke, the place he thought he would never see again. He would leave Winterfell, the place he thought he would never leave. But Winterfell wasn’t all he would leave behind. There was something else, someone.
No.
“Yes, eventually.” Sansa spoke this almost silently, as if she didn’t want to admit it out loud for the gods to hear. She could admit she did not want Theon to leave. Not so soon after everything. It had been so little time since the Long Night. The war was over, as she had said, there was no need to rush, or to curse time. But she seemed to be doing exactly that. It wouldn’t be long before Theon would be gone, the very room Sansa sat in would be empty, and so would she.
Theon did not look at Sansa for a while, but Sansa kept her eyes on him for as long as she could bare. He didn’t look angry, but Sansa could feel something there. Something strong. Something present. The Theon Sansa had been faced with upon her arrival at Winterfell was not the one who sat in front of her. That Theon was weak, was scared, was little. That Theon was Reek. Reek never seemed to feel anything. His master would not let it. Ramsey would not let it. He had complete control over him, like a little puppet. He was his puppet, his dog, his toy, his thing. He didn’t feel anything for himself. For Ramsey. Or for Sansa. He was empty, completely. Even after, when the two escaped, when Sansa and Theon reunited and for a split moment Sansa felt complete happiness, there was still something missing. Theon was not whole. Perhaps he would never truly be whole, never truly be himself, not in the way he once was. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t change, become something else entirely. Sansa wished and urged for Theon to feel something stronger, stronger than he had ever before. It didn’t need to be for Sansa, she could be entirely irrelevant. This meant something.
It meant something that the thought of leaving Winterfell conjured up something in Theon. Was it anger? Annoyance? Sadness? Sansa could not be so sure, but it was something. It certainly was not happiness or joy. Theon did not feel that knowing he would soon leave Winterfell and journey home to Pyke. And why was that? Why did Theon feel that emptiness at the prospect of going home? After realising the truth about the Lannisters and Kings Landing, all Sansa wanted was to go home. All she wanted was to be with her family again. She dreamt of it almost every night. But that dream soon became a nightmare. But for Theon, things were different. He had been home since leaving all those years again, he had seen the one place he was supposed to belong to. So, why? Sansa tried to not hope, she tried not to imagine why Theon would want to stay in Winterfell. She knew if she did, she would only be disappointed. And she didn’t want to feel that way about Theon. Not ever.
Theon was unsure as how he supposed to feel about this sudden decision. He was angry, yes, that he still was unable to decide for himself. But there was a sense of feeling hurt too, and Theon couldn’t pinpoint as to why that was. Or perhaps he could, truly he knew why, but did not want to admit that. He couldn’t, not now. After everything, he couldn’t let himself. He didn’t deserve to. But those feelings, they were all consuming.
These feelings were not new ones. These feelings were ones that Theon had felt for a long time, ones that had been buried for such a long time. Theon spent all day, every day in his bedchambers, waiting. This, in turn, allowed himself to think, to ponder, to realise. Feelings he had not given a second thought of for so long. But now, Theon had time, too much time. His mind would often find its way back to old memories, ones that before he would be too scared to visit. Those memories would be filled with Robb, those memories would be filled with Winterfell, his sister, Ramsey and her. They would always end with her.
Reek didn’t have these feelings, Reek couldn’t. His master wouldn’t let him, he would punish him for thinking of anything else but his master. But Reek did not exist anymore, which was something, particularly late at night when Theon was alone, Theon needed to remind himself. He was not Reek, he would never be Reek again. He was only Theon. And that was enough. Surely, it was enough? To have those feelings, to keep them close to his heart, to ponder over them – it was enough to do that alone. Theon could not let them escape, he just couldn’t. He was not Reek, but Theon wasn’t sure he was worthy of them. Not yet.
“Can I ask you a question?” Theon finally spoke, which made Sansa jump a little. He was looking directly at Sansa, his eyes piercing and ready. Only now did Sansa realise a shift in the way he was looking at her. There was a softness there, it was present, it was forward, more than it had been before. But there was a sense of determination too. It was Theon looking at Sansa, not Reek, not her father’s ward, not Yara Greyjoy’s brother, but Theon. Sansa wished he would never look away, that he would keep his eyes only for her. But this was just a fantasy, a silly, childish one, at that. A fantasy that would never become her reality, Sansa realised that now. Theon was slipping away, away from Sansa and there was nothing she could do to catch him.
“Yes.” Sansa whispered, as if she was scared about what he would ask. Surely not what Sansa had been avoiding the past few weeks? Surely not what Sansa truly felt about Theon? What Theon felt about Sansa?
“Did he suffer?” He. Sansa didn’t need any explanation; she knew exactly who Theon was referring to. This conversation was bound to arise. They hadn’t spoken of Ramsey, not how he had met his end. Sansa wondered how Theon had found out. Who had told him? What did he think? Feel? Relief, Sansa assumed. Just as she had. Happiness…not quite. It hard to surmise how Sansa had felt in that moment. After everything Ramsey had done, not just to Sansa, not just to Theon, but so many. The suffering would end. Her suffering would end. At least Sansa had thought. Ramsey’s death…that wouldn’t change what had happened. Those moments, the ones that visited Sansa almost every night, they would never leave her.
“He did. I watched him suffer. I watched him until he drew his last breath.” Sansa said nonchalantly, as if she was listing off her duties for the day. She didn’t like the way her voice sounded, cold, almost distant. But there was no difference to how Sansa felt in that moment, when she watched Ramsey, heard his screams, and knew it would all end eventually. There was no point pretending, not to Theon. Sansa imagined Theon would see right through it all, he would see Sansa.
Theon watched Sansa for a moment before commenting. She could tell he was trying to gauge how to respond. How would anyone respond to that? “I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better.” To know Ramsey suffered, to know after everything he did to so many, his last moments were filled with pain and misery, Theon thought he should have been contented with that. But he wasn’t. To know Sansa was there, that Sansa inflicted that pain upon him, that did not make matters any better. It was an odd feeling, really. Was there a particular way Theon should have felt? Empty, hollow, dark. That was how Theon felt. Nothing would ever change what Ramsey did to him. Nothing would ever take away the torture Theon experienced at the hands of Ramsey. Not even knowing how he met his own gruesome end.
“It made me feel better.” Sansa answered, rather defensively. Sansa hadn’t meant for it to come out of that way, but she felt as if she was being transported back to that moment. Sansa hated to admit that she had not thought of Theon’s suffering as much as her own. Selfishly, what Ramsey had done to her was at the forefront of her mind when she released the hounds. Theon was an afterthought. She hated that, just hated it. But she couldn’t lie, it did make her feel better. A sense of relief, to know that Ramsey could hurt no more, the suffering would end. To know she was the one who ended it, closed the door, buried it all. Of course, it was going to make Sansa feel better. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t understand Theon’s thinking. The act didn’t bring Sansa joy, it didn’t bring her happiness, or any positive feeling. All she knew is that he had to die. And she was glad it was her.
“That’s something.” Theon was now avoiding Sansa’s eye, though it didn’t seem intentional. Sansa imagined he had become lost in something else. Perhaps the moment he found out himself what had happened to Ramsey. Sansa felt a twinge of guilt. For her thoughts ignoring Theon’s suffering both before and after the fact. She wondered how he had responded to the news, what he thought, did he cry out? Was there a sense of relief? Reprieve? Sansa wished he would tell her, be more open. They had something shared, the two of them. Maybe at times Sansa wished they didn’t sometimes, wished they were connected by something else, something less traumatic. But that wasn’t the way it was. And there was nothing to change that.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t send word, but I had no way-”
“No, don’t apologise to me.”
“It had to be done, Theon. He couldn’t go on hurting anyone else.”
“I know. I’m glad it was. I didn’t mean...”
“Of course, not.” Sansa moved her hand and rested it upon the bedclothes, only inches away from Theon’s hand. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t directly touched his, perhaps it just didn’t feel quite right. Sansa didn’t want to push the boundaries of what she could and couldn’t do with Theon. Sansa wanted him to feel comfortable, at ease, but everything she seemed to do just escalated everything. It wasn’t what Sansa had wanted. Not one bit. Not at all.
Sansa was unsure why Theon had decided to speak of Ramsey. She imagined that he plagued Theon’s thoughts as much as he did hers. Perhaps even more so. It was inevitable that the two would speak of him, would speak of his end. They couldn’t avoid it forever. That unspoken connection between the two was something both felt, so strongly. Sansa could sense that. But what had made Theon conjure up the courage to ask? Perhaps it was that he too realised the two of them had a limited amount of time left with one another. Anything they wanted to ask or say, they would have to speak sooner rather than later. Sansa hoped that, anyway.
Leaving Theon soon after that, Sansa realised any conversation that included Ramsey was doomed to fail. She promised they would speak more about his sister, but Sansa doubted that brought Theon any reassurance. Sansa herself didn’t feel too confident about it either. The look on Theon’s face, the realisation that he would soon be leaving Winterfell, that told Sansa everything she needed to know. She knew she should have been sorrowful; she knew she shouldn’t have filled with glee upon realising how little Theon wanted that. But she couldn’t help herself, it brought her some comfort to know Theon didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave Winterfell, to leave the North, to leave her.
*
Theon did not see Sansa for a long while after their previous meeting. He felt he must have said something to upset her. Her visits were not very regular, but Theon knew eventually she would always come, he would just have to wait. But time was passing, and Theon was healing. He felt much better than he had in months, and yet there was still no sign of her. Maester Wolkan was Theon’s only visitor. His visits were regular, though this didn’t make them any more enjoyable. They were short, usually to check on his injuries. The two didn’t take part in much conversation, only passing comments about Theon’s recovery or the weather. That was perfectly fine with Theon, he didn’t have much to say to the man. And doubted the Maester would find anything Theon had to say particularly interesting. It was odd, still, even now, after everything, to see Maester Wolkan standing above him. The Maester’s robes were dark, dull, far darker and far duller than his predecessor. Theon’s mind couldn’t help but wander towards thinking of Maester Luwin.
Theon didn’t like to categorise the things he had done, particularly to the Starks. But one thing he felt the most remorse for was Maester Luwin’s fate. A good man, a decent, kind man. Well, maybe not always kind, not to Theon. He didn’t always deserve that kindness, Theon realised that now. He realised that the person he was didn’t deserve so many things. If Theon could go back, there was so much he would change. But deep down, far from the surface, Theon knew that would mean his story would have ended long ago. He would not be sat in his bedchambers at Winterfell. He would not have been afforded the luxury of surviving. Things would be different, and maybe that would have been better. But that wasn’t the way, it wasn’t how Theon’s life had unraveled and Theon knew eventually he would have to accept that. That didn’t stop those feelings about the previous Maester surrounding Theon. Theon knew he killed Maester Luwin. He could have saved him, but he hadn’t. The Maester had known the Starks all their lives, he had seen Theon grow into the young, selfish, arrogant man he was when he took Winterfell. He had lived and died in the Starks home. And Theon didn’t do anything to stop that.
It was a late afternoon, when Theon received a visit. He hadn’t seen another person for some time, or at least it seemed that way. Though his injuries were slowly disappearing, Theon found himself finding solace in his sleep. He believed he was sleeping more often than not. Perhaps it was the absence of a certain lady, or perhaps everything that had happened was finally catching up to him. As they always seemed to do.
It was the Maester who greeted Theon at the door, not the Lady of Winterfell. Of course, it wasn’t going to be her. It was silly of Theon to even expect that. It wasn’t that he needed to see her, or even wished to, not particularly. But he had grown fond of her visits, of her company and imagined she felt the same. Or he liked to think she felt the same. There was no real way of knowing how Sansa felt. She was the Lady of Winterfell now; things had changed since they were both at their childhood home. It was strange, some visits Sansa exude warmth and kindness, others she felt distant and maybe even cold. Theon doubted it was intentionally, and perhaps was just from his own imagination. But things felt odd between the two. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity. The two of them had never been in their current position before. Throughout their childhood, Sansa and Theon hadn’t spent too much time together, but they had always been there, lurking. During the wrath of Ramsey, Theon had concerned himself with Sansa’s safety more than anything else. And now…they had time, there was no threat, nothing to hold them back. And yet…nothing.
“I’m not who you were expecting.” The Maester spoke without even looking in Theon’s direction, closing the door behind him. Yes, this was true, Maester Wolkan was not who Theon was expecting. Not that he was expecting anyone in particular. Of course, not. Theon wasn’t going to admit that. But Theon didn’t think he was being particularly obvious, or at least he was trying not to. And why would the Maester pay any attention to that? Surely, he had more important matters to concern himself with, or at least Theon hoped. He hoped he was able to hide how he was feeling just that little bit longer, hold onto that hope.
Knowing there was no point denying what was clearly painfully obvious, Theon spoke, still watching the Maester gathering himself to check on Theon’s injuries. “No, you’re not. Is she here?” She. Good gods, Theon couldn’t even muster to speak her name. How pathetic. But the Maester knew exactly who Theon meant. He knew how often the Lady of Winterfell would visit Theon’s bedchambers. How often Sansa would ask after Theon, concern herself with his progress. Theon did not know this, however, not truly. He had some idea of what the Maester knew, what he saw, but did not know the whole story. And Theon felt he never truly would.
“Lady Stark is in King’s Landing, along with the rest of the family.” The Maester looked up at Theon as he spoke, as if he was trying to gauge his reaction.
“Why?”
“They’re making history. All the rulers are. Deciding the realm’s fate.” Oh, of course. How could Theon be so ignorant? While he was spending his days watching the snow fall from the window, counting down the minutes until he was visited by a certain red-haired Stark and feeling sorry for himself, everyone else was moving on. This was something Theon could only dream of doing, he wasn’t sure he could ever bring himself to do that completely.
“My sister?”
“I believe so. It’s likely she’ll make her way here with the family afterwards.”
“I see, thank you.” Theon tried to imagine Yara travelling with the Starks, but nothing came to mind. It would be an odd sight indeed. Theon couldn’t believe Yara would be too happy having a travel companion in Jon, after everything.
The two men didn’t speak as the Maester checked Theon’s injuries. He bandaged up his arm once more, but the rest of his body didn’t need any adjusting. Theon knew this could only mean one thing; he would be going home soon. Back to the Iron Islands, back to Pyke, to the Ironborn, to his sister. He should have felt happy at that notion, maybe not excited exactly, but hopeful. Theon did not feel any of those ways, he couldn’t even force it. He just felt an immense feeling of dread. Theon knew he should not be feeling that way, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to leave; he would admit that. Though why he felt that way, Theon could not bring himself to think of that, let alone speak it.
“Your injuries have seemed to heal up nicely. It shouldn’t be too long before you can try to walk again.”
“My legs, they weren’t…”
“No, but certain injuries can have odd effects on the body.”
“Yes, I suppose they can.” Theon frowned; he could feel his face tensing up. Unsure as to why he was becoming frustrated, Theon watched the Maester gather the supplies he had brought to his bedchambers. There was a part of Theon, a part he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t admit to anyone else, that almost hoped he would never heal. Hoped he would never be as he was. Theon believed that partly to be true. It was unlikely that Theon would be who he was, physically and mentally. Things had changed, as he had. But Theon didn’t believe he deserved to heal, deserved to be as he was. He had caused too much pain, too much damage. “How long?”
“Well, if you keep the healing up at this rate, it should only be a few weeks or so.”
“And then?”
“Well, I don’t believe it’s my place to say, m’lord.”
“I don’t belong in the North.”
“Maybe not.” The Maester spoke those words and nodded, indicating he would leave Theon to his memories. Maester Wolkan was there during Ramsey’s reign of terror. He was there that night in the Godswood, when Theon walked Sansa to Ramsey. When Theon was powerless, knowing only so well what would happen to Sansa. The Maester was there through all of it. Powerless, just as Theon was, to stop any of it. He knew the ins and outs. Knew their secrets. Saw their scars. And Theon had so many of those. His body, his mind, his everything, was filled with them. Filled to the brim. Filled so much, soon it may overflow, it could explode. But it hadn’t. Theon hadn’t. He was whole, he was alive, he was living. Even if he didn’t belong at Winterfell, no matter how much he wanted to.
#game of thrones#got#theonsa#theon x sansa#theon greyjoy#sansa stark#got fic#theonsa fic#sansa x theon#game of thrones fic#theonsa fanfic#got fanfic#game of thrones fanfic#theonsa fanfiction#got fanfiction#game of thrones fanfiction#my writing#mine#we unraveled a long time ago
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I may not hold myself to the results of this poll but I still feel I should ask just to see what people want. I'm sure the other ships have cute ship names but I do not know them, sorry!
I've posted the link to the fanfic here for your reference in case you want to look at it before you decide. But if you don't, no worries!
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The Shattered Remains of Theon Greyjoy
Theonsa Soupversary 2023
Happy Theonsa Soupversary 2023! This is dedicated to the wonderful fic writers and fans of Theon/Sansa for welcoming me into the fandom with open arms :) Here’s the link to the fic on AO3 as well!
Sansa made a noise that sounded like it could almost be a laugh. “That’s probably because of the soup.”
It was very good soup.
It really had no right to be, not when it was just a jumble of whatever ingredients they had in the stocks of Winterfell, the only thing feeding the meager army shivering in the cold as they waited for doom to sweep down on them. But then it also had every right to be, to give the people stationed in Winterfell any modicum of hope before the dead were at the gates; keep the flame of life alive and burning in every single one of them like pockets of warmth in the dark, even if it was just the thought of wanting to live so that they may have a taste of the soup again.
Theon felt that alone might have been enough for him.
Or so he told himself, even as his eyes wandered to watch as Sansa brought her spoon to her lips. He had spent the last few minutes in blissful silence with her, away from the suffocating presence of the crowds. Her very presence was enough to ease his weary soul, and he knew that she sought the silence of him, who expected nothing from her but her companionship. With Sansa, he curiously found that the world fell away and he only ever saw her; only his salvation, one he hardly deserved but wanted so desperately anyway. She was the reason he was here. He wanted to protect the living realm, sure, but he wanted to protect Sansa more.
As if she sensed him staring, Sansa raised her face to meet his eyes across the top of her bowl. The torches lighting the courtyard cast a golden glow across her face, igniting her hair into a wreath of flames. There was a hollow, dull ache in his bones that he distantly knew was from the cold, and yet his body was burning. Time froze around him under her attention, enough that he could forget for a moment what they were doing, what was coming; but that was all just a child’s fancy, the wishes of a child who thought himself a man, one who had died long, long ago. The look on Sansa’s face, he thought, was as close to a smile as she could manage, and he knew the one he gave her back was the same.
It was dark, and it was snowing lightly; both of which were probably due to the monster that was leading the army of the dead their way, but Theon found the scene comforting. He watched the drifting snowflakes, like cold soft kisses, swirling around her, landing in her red hair, catching on her eyelashes. How lovely it would be, to sit here forever and count each one. Unfortunately, the dead were on their way to steal this moment from him.
“How are you feeling?” Sansa asked him, softly.
Theon considered her question for a moment as he ate more of the pottage. It had been a long time since he had wanted to taste something so warm and good. “There’s no fear,” he answered, then added with a lighter tone. “And not even a lick of cold.”
She made a noise that sounded like it could almost be a laugh. “That’s probably because of the soup.”
Theon hummed his agreement as he brought the spoon to his lips again. It could be the fire that he saw in her hair, or the smile playing at the edge of her lips. The same lips that had given his name back to him, the same hands that had held his face and given him back his soul. His thoughts from that terrible night came rushing back to him suddenly, a cold hand twisting around his mangled heart.
Not her. Anyone but her.
He had wondered, for the longest time, what it must have been like for her after her anger had died away. Once she had learned he hadn’t killed Bran and Rickon, she stopped looking at him with hatred. She couldn’t have ever trusted him fully - not after he’d betrayed her first plan to Ramsay - even after he tossed Myranda off the battlements, pulled her along the outer wall, offered his hand to her, and jumped. Not at the very least until they had landed in the snow drift, and he’d wasted no time in pulling her to her feet and running as fast as he could limp away from Ramsay Bolton.
‘Light a candle in the broken tower,’ she had begged of him, when she had already done it herself.
For years he’d been with that monster of a man. It took a full year before he broke, before Ramsay created Reek from the shattered remains of Theon Greyjoy. He had tried to save himself in the beginning, the very, very beginning, but in truth he had given up long before Ramsay ever let him down from the cross. The weight of his betrayal, the weight of what he’d done to the farm boys, had been too much for him. He lost the strength to save himself. But the moment she had arrived, Theon found the strength to make himself save her. Even if it killed him. He was the broken tower.
He thought it wouldn’t mean a thing if he survived the battle for the dawn, but she didn’t, that a Winterfell without Sansa was just a castle made of snow. She breathed life into its halls. She carried the same memories he did, and corrupted as his were, she made them whole again. He realized it as soon as Maester Wolkan brought them both to greet him and his men upon his arrival. Daenerys may have been the queen he swore allegiance to, but that was for the Ironborn; he had barely spared her a glance the moment she entered the room as well. Sansa was the one he wanted to fight for.
Theon could have said more. He could have said a million things to her at that moment, sitting and eating their soup together. Things that would hurt; things that would make her smile, or cry, maybe even things she knew already. They both knew what he had volunteered for.
The bells of Winterfell rang into the night, drowning out the words he hadn’t realized had been rising in his throat.
Sansa gathered up her skirts immediately, her face steeling over as she took on her role as lady of Winterfell once again. Panic was setting in amongst the courtyard around them, and he knew just as well as she did that she had to be the one to organize the elderly and the children into the crypts. She met his eyes suddenly, a blue fire lit by the torches and by a ferocity he had grown accustomed to.
“Come back alive,” she told him, and Theon knew he couldn’t make that promise. He would be in the Godswood, protecting Bran. He would be where the Night King would be.
But he couldn’t help himself. “I will, Lady Sansa.”
If only to find out why you would want me to.
He could swear he saw the way he felt mirrored in her eyes as they separated. A warmth spread across his chest, the feeling light and airy when her gaze lingered on him. It filled him with a strength unlike any he had ever felt before; crashing and surging through him, the strength of the sea finding purchase in an Ironborn. All for Winterfell. For Sansa Stark.
Theon thought he might love her. He thought that he ought to tell her so when the sun rose again.
But it was probably just the soup.
#soupversary2023#bree writes#theonsa#theon x sansa#theon greyjoy#sansa stark#game of thrones fanfiction#original post by bree
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he was a boy, she was a girl (can I make it anymore obvious?)
by brazilianchild
Sansa is a ballerina and Theon is in a rockband.
Because here he was: Theon Greyjoy, the boy covered in bruises who liked punk rock and was a skater boy and smoked way too much weed and wanted to be in a band and helped her with her Pre-Calculus homework and spilled mud on her dress as a child and teased her in a way that could even be called flirting and he had brought her a rose and lemon cakes and was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her and made her realize that maybe she didn’t want a fictional prince after all but a real boy with real issues and maybe she just wanted him, Theon Greyjoy.
But he was also Theon Greyjoy, her brother’s best friend and she was a ballerina who had to focus on pirouettes and dance routines and not pretty boys who rode skateboards.
You can read the rest here.
The amazing cover art is made by the user @focusonmyvoice who also happens to be my talented best friend.
#theonsa#theonsa fanfiction#theonsa fanfic#theonsa au#sansa stark#theon greyjoy#band au#game of thrones#game of thrones au#got#got au#got fanfiction#got modern au#theonsa modern au#livysgot#livyswriting
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