Chapter Text
There were a great many things Sansa Stark had never told Theon Greyjoy, and the fact that she could not swim was one of them. So, here she was on a rickety dock that was far too crowded with her father's- no, her brother's (she had never quite adjusted to that switch) bannermen. She walked a step or two behind her new husband, who strode over the old dock with all the confidence of a man who had been born on the sea. But then, of course, he practically had been. Theon Greyjoy cut through the crowd amidst cheers from Karstarks and Umbers and Mormonts alike, with the same smirk he had worn since the day Robb took him under his wing as children.
The day Robb had sent Theon to his father, there had been no doubt that Theon and Robb's bond would bring him home victorious. The letter from Baelon Greyjoy announcing that his son Theon was once again under his banner had taken the lords by surprise, and outrage swept through the North. Sansa had once asked Robb whether he knew the betrayal was coming, but he had just smiled at her conspiratorially. She knew then that it had been no surprise to him when Theon's ships had turned on the rest of his father's fleet. Now Northern lords crowded and shoved just to pat him on the back. He was a real Stark now. They had always believed in him. Never doubted him.
The more the brown-nosing lords pushed, the closer Sansa got to the edge of the dock. She forced her breathing to slow, her chest heaving as she eyed the edge of the drop into dark water. She soon found herself toeing the edge of rotting planks, her teeth clenched, until an especially enthusiastic Mormont boy bumped into Theon, who in turn bumped into her. She feels her left foot slip out over open water, and she on instinct reaches out to steady herself, her heart pounding out of her chest. In the blur that is her fall, she feels her fingers wrap into fur. She barely lets out a squeak before an arm wraps around her waist, and she's jerked to the right and pulled against a body. As her vision clears and her heart slows, she looks up and sets it racing again. Theon smirks down at her, glancing between her face and her fingers wrapped into his fur lined cloak in an uncomfortably private way that would have made a younger Sansa blush. That Sansa had believed for most of her childhood that Theon had to have been the most handsome boy in Winterfell. His hair always windswept and dark, his nose charmingly crooked, and that smile. But this Sansa knew better. Too long in Kings Landing had taught her to see through men like him.
She ripped her hand from his cloak and ducked out of his arms, jaw clenched, charging forward to make her own path through the crowd of lords. Theon let her go, but the one glance she spared him confused her. He stood, watching her go, with an uncharacteristically soft expression on his face, his brows knit together and his head slightly tilted. She would have categorized it as concern, had she not known him better than that. She was his latest conquest, and she was sure that despite their new marriage, she wouldn't be his last.
He had made the same face the night before. He had practically glowed as they were carried off to their wedding bed, but the moment they were alone, his expression had changed to the one he wore now.
"Let's just get it over with, shall we?" She had sighed. If there was one valuable lesson she had learned in King's Landing, it was how to pretend you weren't about to cry. At the very least, Theon had seemed just as uncomfortable as she had been. It was over quickly, with minimal effort or enjoyment from either party. Well, she thought, feeling her cheeks starting to burn a bit, enjoyment might not have been precisely minimal. He does know what he's doing, she supposed.
Sansa sped to the end of the dock, where her family waited. Bran smiled at her sadly, while Rickon leaned against his brothers wheelchair, beaming at her from under his curly mop of hair. Both brothers would miss her, but each would envy her in their own ways. Next to them stood Arya, recently returned from Braavos, standing straight and tall, her eyes flickering between Sansa and Theon, her smirk as mysterious in meaning as it always had been. All in black beside them, Lord Commander Jon Snow. She wasn't well versed in the laws of the Nights Watch, but she had a feeling he had seriously abused his status to be here. And the last brother, draped in furs and his auburn curls adorned with a simple iron circlet, the King in the North, Robb Stark.
She said goodbye to her siblings one at a time, ruffling her little brothers' hair, planting kisses on heads, hugging her sister. When she came to Jon, he practically folded her into his arms, the warmth of his black cloak melting her against him.
“You were already so far from me." He muttered into her hair. She pressed herself further into him. They hadn't been close as children, but she had been up to the Wall many times since she came home, and she had wondered how she could possibly live without Jon again. He pulled away from her, holding her head in his hands.
"You're not going to make me say it, are you?" She half joked. He laughed his warm laugh.
"No, I know." He patted her cheek and stepped back, letting her move on to Robb.
She loved Robb, she always would. He was her oldest brother, and he was supposed to be her protector. But something had changed. He drew her close.
"I know this isn't what you wanted." He apologized softly. She swallowed hard.
“It's not about what I want." She muttered bitterly. He pulled away.
"What is it?" She hesitated, her eyes darting as she tried to decide whether she wanted to potentially start an argument before she left for an indefinite amount of time. He bent his head to meet her eyes "Sansa..."
"Was I part of the deal?" She burst. "Did he ask for me, or did you offer?"
"Which is worse?"
"I don't know yet." He sighed and looked up to the sky. It was a habit he had picked after their father's execution. Even when father was gone, Robb still looked to him for guidance. His gaze drifted back down to her, apologetic.
"He wanted to be a Stark."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"I know." He sighed. Sansa nodded, clenching her jaw and swallowing her rising anger. She reached up to straighten his crown, not making eye contact.
"I hope it was worth it." She muttered. She turned on her heel to head toward the gangplank.
Her mother stood in front of the gangplank, arguing with who Sansa assumed was the captain or some other high ranking sailor on the ship. Her mother's auburn hair and blue eyes, the Tully coloring that had passed so perfectly to her eldest son and daughter, shone in the morning sun. Her eyebrow was arched in the way it did when she scolded her children. A smile flashed across Sansa's face for a moment. For all that had changed, she knew she could at least depend on Catelyn Stark's motherly instincts. Her mother glanced over, and broke off the argument as she saw Sansa moving toward her. She bunched up her skirts and ran towards her daughter, pulling her into her arms. Only then did Sansa begin to cry. Her mother stroked her hair, hushing her softly. When Sansa had cried herself out onto her mother's shoulder, Catelyn stepped back, gripping her daughter's shoulders.
"I didn't love your father when I married him." She tried to comfort.
"You didn't know father when you married him." Sansa countered. "I know Theon. He won't change. I don't think he can." Her mother shook her head with a wry smile.
"Going home with a good woman can do a man wonders." Catelyn counseled. Sansa conceded, though only because she refused to bicker with her mother before she left.
After all the goodbyes and 'I love you's were said, Catelyn wiped her eyes and headed towards her other children. Sansa took a few steps up the gangplank, then turned and waited for Theon. They could at least try to appear happily married in public, she supposed. Theon was talking to Robb, both boys as gentle as she'd ever seen them. They talked quietly, before Robb took Theon's head in his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. They had never been separated for as long as they were about to be. Her husband nodded at his old friend solemnly and started for the ship before Robb grabbed his arm. The talking to was quiet, but stern. Whatever Robb asked, Sansa could see that he didn't expect Theon to give so agreeable an answer, and so readily. She watched these boys as Robb pulled Theon into a hug. Brothers to each other, and brothers to her. Maybe her and Theon could get along. For Robb's sake, at least.
With a bow to Robb, then a bow to Catelyn, Theon finally headed up the gangplank with his usual swagger, the quiet softness of his moment with Robb gone. He smirked at her again and offered his hand. She looked at the hand, then up at him, and with a lifted eyebrow headed up to the deck of the ship on her own. She wasn't going to let him win that easily.