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peterjakes · 1 month ago

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Theon x Sansa - 'we unravelled a long time ago' Chapter 4

The time has finally come. Theon Greyjoy is almost fully recovered and Sansa Stark is becoming accustomed to her new position. Neither want Theon to leave, but neither can quite admit how they feel just yet. Or maybe they can?

WHY OH WHY DID THIS TAKE SO LONG TO WRITE?!!?

also you can tell I got bored when writing the dialogue hahaha - look we don't need to describe Sansa and Arya okay - they're sisters

I'm not 100% on this but it's been like 2 years lol so we'll go with it

I will always hold a special place in my heart for these two.

thanks as ever for reading x

also posted on ao3;

It was a dark night in Winterfell. The guards were shivering down below, whilst their Queen sat high above. Sansa, eyebrows furrowed and eyes focused, was sitting in her chambers, scribbling on a piece of parchment. Arya, who was sitting opposite her, spinning her blade around her fingers, was watching her sister. She didn’t think there could be anything more tedious than the ‘duties’ her sister would harp on about. And yet for some reason, here Arya was keeping her sister company. She supposed she didn’t have much else to entertain herself, not at this hour anyway. But Sansa suddenly stopped, placed her quill on top of the piece of parchment and looked over to her sister. Arya was taken aback, Sansa never liked it when Arya would stare at her. It was mostly glares growing up, but staring was not much better.

“Arya. I was thinking. Once, I officially become Queen. There’s certain positions that need to be filled. Master of Coin, Ships, Laws-“

“War, Whispers.” Arya smirked as continued to spin her knife, watching as the silver glint surrounded the room.

“Well, I’m not too sure on those ones. But Lord Commander, Grand Maester…” These positions in Kings Landing were filled by deceitful men, who would plot a downfall so swift no one ever saw it coming. You would not cross these men, for they had more power than people knew. That was something her that would have saved her father. The honourable Ned Stark, loyal, trusting and foolish. Sansa would not make the same mistakes as her father. She owed that to him.

“A lot of decisions.”

“I can’t do it by myself, I need your help, Arya. As my sister, I need you.”

“I’d be honoured, Your Grace. But you have to promise me.”

Sansa sighed; nothing was ever simple with Arya. There was always something. She always seemed to complicate things. “Promise you what?”

“That you’ll tell him, eventually.” Arya gave a sister a knowing smile, once that Sansa couldn’t reciprocate. It was something unspoken between the two sisters. Arya knew exactly what Sansa was thinking in that moment, like many moments before. Sansa couldn’t deny her sister knew her better than anyone, especially know almost everyone they knew growing up was gone.

“Arya…”

Arya shrugged, placing her knife back in her scabbard, “Well, you know what to do if you want my services.”

Theon was sat upright in the bed he soon would no longer call his own. He had realised in the last few days how uncomfortable the bed really was. He didn’t complain, who would really care if the Ironborn traitor couldn’t sleep? But he had hardly slept the past few days. Though, Theon imagined this wasn’t due to the bed, rather something else that was constantly on his mind. Theon would soon leave Winterfell, and he would very unlikely never return. What we he doing? Why was he going along with something he hated the idea of? Oh yes, that’s right. Duty. Honour. His sister. And Theon didn’t deserve to decide what he wanted. He had promised his sister to stand by his side, and he couldn’t take that back, not now. No matter what he felt about a certain Northern Queen.

The Maester was checking on Theon’s wounds, but the two had sat in silence, Theon did not know for how long. He didn’t particularly feel like speaking, especially to the Maester. There was one person he would gladly speak to, and yet he assumed she was far too busy for Theon now. A difficult conversation would have to be had soon, however. Theon couldn’t put it off any longer. Yara grew more agitated by the second, she would not wait forever, and Theon couldn’t expect her to. Theon Greyjoy would have to go home, back to the Iron Islands, back to Pyke. Theon would go back to the place he had yearned for all his childhood. And yet, Theon could not think of anything worse in that moment. Theon did not want to leave, so why did he feel so compelled to do so? He couldn’t take advantage of the Starks hospitality any longer. Sansa and Arya had been gracious, more than Theon deserved, or even expected. Hostility would have been more suited to the man Theon believed himself to be.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the Maester seemed to slow down. He had discarded a number of bloodied wrappings that were once on Theon’s legs and seemed to be adding only a few new ones. “I’d like to go outside, if...” Theon spoke, almost not recognizing his own voice. It was small, and quiet, as if he didn’t want the Maester to truly hear him.

“Very good, m’lord. You’ll need to become accustomed to walking again soon. Now is a better time than any.”

Theon watched as the Maester wrapped the last of the cloth around his leg. The pain had faltered in the past few days, and Theon knew he couldn’t stay lying in this bed forever, no matter how much he wanted to. It was odd, Theon spent years and years yearning to be taken home. Waiting for his father to save him from the Starks and Northerners. And yet now, with his sister waiting to take him back home, he didn’t want it. Pyke would seem so small, so quiet in comparison to Winterfell now. Something was achieved here, something Northerners would remember for centuries. The myths, the stories, the songs. And the one person who was almost as hated as the Lannister Queen, was a part of that. Theon could admit only to himself that he felt some sense of pride. It made all those years he was so angry worth it. Even if it was only a little bit.

It took Theon an exceptionally but predictable long time to even get down to the courtyard. He refused any help from the Maester, he couldn’t bear to look at his face, filled with sympathy. It wasn’t that Theon didn’t want his sympathy; he just didn’t believe he deserved it. He could walk quite well now, only limping every so often. The pain had subsided too, it was more of an ache now, as if Theon was lugging around something heavy.

The courtyard was still covered in the white snow, though it was a warmer day, with the sun shining down. Theon noticed her straight away. Her auburn hair shone in the winter sun. She had styled it different today, embroidered with some kind of winter flower. She was speaking to a guard, deep in conversation. Theon couldn’t make out what was being said, only that he felt an odd sense of pride watching Sansa there. She looked quite beautiful in the morning glow. Yes, Theon could admit that to himself in the moment. All senses of what was right and the duty he had for his sister fell apart, just for that second. Sansa had always been beautiful, no one could deny that, and Theon had always thought so. But standing there, something had changed. Theon wasn’t entirely certain what his feelings were for Sansa, he couldn’t quite explain it. He just knew he felt them so strongly, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them to himself. Maybe it was for the best that they would part ways. Theon didn’t deserve to have those feelings for someone like Sansa. She deserved better.

He waited a moment, watching her gesture quickly, before he made his way over to her. Sansa must have heard him coming, or felt his presence at least, as she didn’t move until Theon was barely inches away from her, as if she was preparing herself. She turned to face Theon and smiled. Her eyes glossed over Theon’s injury and wooden stick that was supporting him. A little sadness seemed to travel across her eyes, worry perhaps. She cared about Theon’s health; he knew that much. He supposed he should be grateful for that at least.

“Lady Sansa.” Theon nodded, attempting to bow but failing miserably and completely embarrassing himself in front of her. Sansa didn’t seem to notice, her eyes fixated on Theon’s face and only his face.

“Maester Wolkan mentioned you were feeling better.”

“I am.”

“That’s good. I suppo-“

“I think-“

Theon wasn’t sure what he was going to say in that moment, and a sense of relief almost engulfed him when Sansa began to spoke at the same time. Anything she had to say would be far more important, of course it would. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be going home soon.” Sansa continued to walk, but decided the snow patches on the ground were far more interesting that anything else in that moment. She couldn’t look at Theon, Theon could sense that. He didn’t think his facial scars were all that bad. They had healed pretty quickly, all things considered. Theon was the opposite. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Sansa for one moment. It would be a moment too soon. Leaving Sansa and Winterfell was not what Theon wanted to do, but he had to. He didn’t want to forget Sansa. Didn’t want to forget how softly spoken she was with Theon. Didn’t want to forget the small freckles dotted around her cheeks. Didn’t want to forget the way she made him feel. He would memorise everything about her, her features, her laugh, her smile, her favourite colour. Everything. That is what he would take and treasure.

“Er, yes. I suppose I will.”

“Your sister seems quite agitated.” Sansa motioned towards the Ironborn Queen, who was in that moment sat crossed legged ranting at the blacksmith. Theon only caught glimpses of the conversation, but it did not sound like a jovial debate. It never was with Yara.

“She doesn’t like the North.” Theon sighed. It was a sentiment he had felt from the moment he stepped foot in Winterfell all those years ago with Ned Stark. But a part of Theon knew he never truly hated the North or Winterfell or even the Starks. He couldn’t. He hated himself more than anything now.

“No, I don’t suppose she does. I’m not sure how well a Northerner would do in the Iron Islands.”

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“She doesn’t like us Starks.”

“Have Greyjoys ever? My father didn’t.”

“I don’t know…things can change.” Sansa turned to Theon, her eyes locking onto his. She was blinking quickly, her breath hitched, though Theon may have imagined that. He too felt his heartbeat quicken the moment Sansa’s eyes found his. They didn’t stay for long, however. But moved down to his nose, and then his mouth. Sansa must have seen Theon noticing where her eyes fell to, she quickly focused back onto the courtyard, her eyebrows furrowed. What was she thinking? A question both Theon and Sansa pondered at.

“Sansa, you should eat something.” The two Stark sisters were sat opposite each other. They rarely ate in the dining hall. It was far too big for just the two of them, so they would often sit in Sansa’s chambers.

“Is there anything left?”

“Plenty! That,” Arya grabbed the scroll that was taking all of Sansa’s attention and slid it across the table. “Can wait.”

Sansa sighed, “Fine, fine.”

“I haven’t seen you lately, have you been ignoring me?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous.”

“But you’ve been ignoring something else? Or someone.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Are you going to make me spell it out?”

Sansa shrugged her shoulders; she was so tired and didn’t think she had the strength or energy to argue with her sister any longer.

“When does he leave?”

“If you’re talking about Theon-”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“A matter of days, I suppose.”

“I don’t like her. His sister.”

“Hm. I think the feeling’s shared.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. Theon has to go home eventually.”

“I always thought Winterfell was his home.”

“Well, it’s not.” Sansa snapped, glaring at Arya. She was getting too angry at the wrong person and her sister wouldn’t thank her for that. But it was like Arya had no real idea what she was talking about. She had no idea what Sansa was feeling, how confusing and complicated it all was.

“Sansa.”

“What?”

“I’m your sister, I know you better than anyone else, yes?”

“Yes, Arya. Unfortunately.”

“So, you can tell me.”

“And what is it I’m supposed to be telling you?”

“Are you being intentionally dense?”

“That’s your Queen you’re talking to.”

Arya sighed, of course Sansa would try to pull rank, “Sansa, please. I’m not an idiot. And nor is he.”

“I don’t know-”

“You can admit it, you know.”

“Admit what?”

“That you don’t want him to leave!” Arya exasperated, jabbed her fork into the wooden table. Sansa jumped at this, a little exaggerated Arya thought. But her sister was always so dramatic, making problems when it was quite clear to Arya what the answer was.

“It sounds like you’re the one that doesn’t, not me.”

“Well, that’s not true. But I have become used to Theon being here again. Like when we were younger. Before...everything changed.”

Sansa stayed silent for a moment. “Maybe there’s some truth to that.” Annoyingly, Arya was right. It wasn’t just Sansa, Arya felt it too, as did many others at Winterfell. It was right to have Theon there. He was a hero after all.

“Of course, there is. I’m never wrong.”

“Oh, you are, plenty, Arya.”

“Beside the point. So, what are we going to do about it?”

“There’s nothing to be done. I can hardly command him to stay.”

“Why not?”

“Arya.”

Arya shrugged, “I would.” Sansa wondered how much of that was true. The Baratheon bastard had followed her around like a lost puppy before the battle and even after. But it wasn’t long before he was bidding her a frosty farewell.

“Which is why you’re not the Queen.”

“Maybe for the best.”

“Yes.”

“So, you don’t want him to leave because...of what?”

There was no point delaying or trying to dissuade Arya from the topic of conversation. Sansa would just have to face it. She was becoming sick of doing things she didn’t want to. Surely being Queen had some perks. “When I came back to Winterfell, promised to Ramsey, you were all gone. Father, Mother, Robb, Jon, you, Bran, and Rickon. Almost everyone we grew up with, disappeared, missing, dead, forgotten”

“But Theon.”

“Yes. Sometimes it still feels strange being here again. I thought this time, he perhaps would stay. Having a choice.”

“Does he?”

“Well, yes.”

“So, you’d miss him?”

“Yes, Arya, I would.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why would you miss him? It can’t just because of Father, or Robb.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you, Sansa.”

“As you keep reminding me.”

“Sansa-”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to do.”

“You just don’t seem very happy.”

“Fine. I don’t want him to leave. I want him to stay! But there’s nothing to be done.”

“You could tell him.”

“That wouldn’t make a difference.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It may not, and then where would we be? I couldn’t just confess-”

“It isn’t some dark secret, Sansa. It makes perfect sense.”

“If I did, and he still...” “And besides, I couldn’t do that. Make someone choose. I wouldn’t be the choice.”

“You don’t know-”

“I do, Arya. I can’t.” “I’m the Queen of the North now, I have duties that are far more important.”

“I can sense we’re not going to get anywhere. Are you going to finish that?” Arya had been eyeing up Sansa’s plate for most of the conversation. She was hungrier than ever. All the arguing.

“Have it.”

Theon knocked gently on the bedchamber door. He knew Sansa was in there, probably far too busy for him, but he knew he’d have to just stop being a coward and tell her. He didn’t want to tell her. He would rather do anything else. Well, maybe not everything. But he had to. He knew that.

“Come,” Sansa’s voice travelled through the door, and Theon obeyed, slowly opening it to find her standing in the middle of the room. She had her hands on her hips and was intently reading a piece of parchment.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Oh, no.” Sansa looked up to find Theon waiting anxiously by the door. She placed the scroll down and turned to face him fully.

“Your new position, it’s keeping you busy?” Theon gestured towards the mountain of parchment and scrolls sprawled across the wooden table in the middle of the room.

“Very. Everyone who came to Winterfell for safety, the ones that survived, have all gone home now. But that doesn’t mean we have enough to feed or clothe everyone...I sometimes wished I’d paid more attention when I was in King’s Landing or perhaps to Father.” Sansa sighed. She didn’t want to burden Theon with her problems, which seemed so insignificant compared to his plight. And yet, he was the only person she wanted to speak to. About how she was feeling, how he was making her feel. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t destroy the last shred of happiness Theon would have once he set foot back home, where he belonged. No matter what Sansa thought.

“I’m sure you’ll get there.” Without you. Sansa couldn’t help but fill her brain of these thoughts. Theon was leaving Winterfell. He was leaving her. She doubted she would ever lay eyes on Theon Greyjoy again, and that pained her terribly. He looked so handsome in the light. Now most of his wounds had disappeared, Sansa could see his face properly. It was as if she was transported back to the younger self, watching Theon strut around Winterfell’s courtyard. She’d always thought he was handsome, though a little smug for her taste. She didn’t dare tell anyone, especially Robb. Oh, the teasing! But Sansa wasn’t a little girl pining over a Ironborn Prince. She was a Queen. But that didn’t mean queens couldn’t feel the way Sansa did. The way she wanted Theon to feel.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. I, uh, spoke to my sister. She wants to leave in the morning.”

Oh. Sansa hadn’t expected that, not one bit. This was far too soon. This didn’t give her enough time at all. But how could she tell him no? It wasn’t her decision to make. Theon was his own person and could very well do as he pleased. It wasn’t for Sansa to have complicated feelings about it. She was being selfish. “On the ‘morrow?”

“Yes.”

“So soon.”

Theon nodded, blinking repeatedly. Sansa watched as Theon attempted to give her a small smile, though he looked pained to do so. Did he want to stay? Was that what he was trying to tell Sansa? She was more confused than ever. Why couldn’t he just say it? Why couldn’t she?

“You’re not asking for permission?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. Should I?”

“No, Theon. Please, don’t.” Sansa moved forward, closing the gap between the two of them. Theon watched as she walked. She seemed more vulnerable in this moment, as if she was laying herself bare just for Theon. Only for Theon.

“Right. I just...wanted to tell you, in person.” Theon moved as if was going to say something else but stopped himself.

“Thank you.”

Beat. An awkward silence.

“Is there anything you need before you go?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.” Theon answered, far too formal for Sansa’s liking.

“Of course. Well, you will be missed, I’m sure.”

“Oh.”

“The Hero of the Godswood.”

“Very funny, Sansa.”

“I’m not jesting. The North remembers, does it not?”

“Of course, it does.”

Sansa smiled; she tried to at least look happy for Theon. This was supposed to be a good thing. Theon was going home. He was recovered enough that he could travel. But Sansa felt anything but happy. And she was sure her face couldn’t hide that.

“Arya will miss you.”

“Will she?”

“She’s become oddly sentimental recently. I suppose…you remind her of Robb. Of home.”

“Sansa-“

“I will miss you too, of course.”

“Of course…” Theon echoed Sansa’s comment, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sansa would miss him. And she had openly admitted it. Well, of course she would. They had something shared the two of them. And Theon had come back to her, to Winterfell, for Winterfell. A small part of Theon pushed its way to the forefront of his mind, the small part that had a tiny glimmer of hope. The hope that Sansa felt as Theon did. That there was a chance Theon could have some happiness in his miserable life. This part of Theon had been pushed down, pushed away. Sansa had never shown any true interest, and it was comical to think so. But now, the way she stopped when Theon admitted he was leaving so soon. The way she spoke so softly to him. The way she was the first person to see Theon when he woke. The way she told him she would miss him. That maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to go.

“I’m sure you’ll be happy to go.” Sansa spoke so softly, and yet it bought Theon back to reality, shattering that slimmer of hope he had. No, of course, not. Sansa would miss him, as she would miss anyone. But she was happy to see him leave. Too many memories. Theon was not a good person, especially to Sansa and the Starks. Why should he deserve any true happiness? He was alive. That was all he got. The old gods had been merciful, and Theon should be grateful. Dreaming of anything changing between him and Sansa was a folly, it couldn’t be.

“You’ll be happy to have me out of your hair.” Sansa didn’t understand why Theon seemed so intent on putting himself down. She could never think like that and would not. She wanted to tell him that wasn’t true. That she couldn’t think of anything worse than him leaving her. She wanted him to know how she truly felt. But it wouldn’t make a difference. Theon was leaving, he wanted to, otherwise why would he go?

“We never saw it like that, Theon. Never.” Theon took a sharp intake of breath, but he stayed silent. Sansa waited for Theon, for him to understand what she was saying. Theon caught a glimpse of something in Sansa’s eyes, almost as if she was pleading with him. What was she saying? Was she yearning as much as he was? She couldn’t be, she couldn’t feel as Theon did. Why would she? What did Theon have that Sansa could want? He’d betrayed her, her family. He’d destroyed so much. And yet, Theon could feel his mask failing, his wall falling. He so longed for Sansa to reciprocate how he felt. He longed to mustier up the courage to voice his feelings. To tell Sansa how important she was to him, how he believed he couldn’t live a true life without her. How he would think of her noon until nightfall. How she plagued his dreams, how she soothed his nightmares. How her kindness, her softness, her delicateness, were the only things that brought Theon joy. How could he ever tell her that? Putting those feelings into words would be difficult enough. But he couldn’t. He had to let her go. And she had to let him. It was the only way.

“Well, I’ll be sure to bid you farewell in the morning.”

Theon nodded, “Thank you, Sansa. I’ll, uh, leave you to...”

Before Sansa could return her thanks, Theon had left. He’d disappeared completely. Slipped out. Just as he would the next morning. Theon Greyjoy was leaving, and there was absolutely nothing Sansa could do about that. She was losing him.

Upon waking the next morning, Theon realised he had almost not sleep at all that night. He wasn’t particularly surprised. How could he? The early morning was spent trying not to overthink everything that Sansa had said. The way she looked at him. The small smiles she would give only to Theon. How sad she looked when Theon told her of his plan to leave. But he couldn’t help himself. How could he not think anything of it? He couldn’t bear to think of what could have been. He didn’t want to think of Sansa. But she followed him everywhere. He couldn’t not think of her. Her ugly laugh whenever she found something funny. The depth of her hair, and how it trailed down her back. Her fingers touching Theon’s. How she had sat with Theon almost every morning after he woke up. The way her eyes sparkled whenever she was excited. Theon didn’t want to part with those memories, with those feelings. He couldn’t. And soon that would be all he had left of Sansa.

“Sansa. Sansa!”

Sansa stood, next to her sister, up high on the balcony. The two sisters were watching the commotion in the courtyard. The Ironborn soldiers along with their Queen and Theon were crowding around. There was laughter, shouting, drinking. Arya thought they were all very pleased to be leaving, just as many Winterfell folk were glad, they were going.

“Yes?”

Arya glanced over to the courtyard, noticing the young Greyjoy talking to the Maester. Sansa’s eyes were still fixed on him, though her expression was unreadable. “Are you listening or are you slightly distracted?”

“I don’t know what you mean; I’m listening.” Sansa was frowning, but didn’t take her eyes off the courtyard. She couldn’t bring herself to. She wanted to watch Theon until the moment he was no longer visible. It was the only thing she could do in that moment. “Proceed.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes.”

“He’s off then.”

“Yes, Arya, he is.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Arya-“

“Clearly not, he wouldn’t be leaving if you did.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. Sansa-“

“Arya, please!”

“Did you say goodbye?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, I suppose that’s settled.”

“Arya-“

“You’ll have to find a new candidate.” And with that, Arya stormed off, speeding down the steps. Oh, great.

“Arya!”

Sansa’s eyes found Theon, still stood in the courtyard. His sister walked away, leaving him alone down below. Sansa wasn’t sure how long it was until Theon glanced up to find her still watching him. Sansa wasn’t embarrassed this time. This may have been the last time she would ever look upon his face. She was going to treasure it. Memorise all of his features. The way his curls bounced around his face, the slight stubble he had grown since being at Winterfell, how calm his eyes looked now the fighting was over. She would remember it all. All of it.

Sansa smiled at Theon, waiting for him to respond. But he couldn’t return it.

And as Arya said, that was that. Theon Greyjoy was gone. And Sansa Stark would just have to put up with it.

The Ironborn party hadn’t been riding long when one of the soldiers stopped in his tracks. Theon had been trying to think of anything but the red-headed Stark but had failed miserably. In a sense, it was a relief to have something to distract him from her, even for just a moment.

“Stop! We have a shadow.”

“What-”

Only a few feet away, was a young boy, a servant boy; Theon remembered him. He ran around the courtyard not long before the Battle of Winterfell, playing with, whom Theon presumed, his sisters. And it seemed he was running again, but this time, towards Theon.

“Lord. Theon.” The boy was panting hard, clearly from running all the way from Winterfell. It must have been at least a few miles. But he still made sure to bow in front of Theon. Theon hated when people did that. ‘Lord Theon’! What a joke.

“Yes?”

“The. Queen. She. Sent me.”

“Good gods, will he get on with it?” Yara was tired of this. She had spent far too long in Winterfell, in the North. She needed the Iron Islands, and as soon as possible.

“He just needs to catch his breath.”

“Well, Theon. You stay with him while he does. Ride on!” Yara turned away from her brother, to continue riding. Theon watched the Ironborn soldiers follow suit and waited until they were out of earshot. He moved himself off his horse and knelt down, so he was level with the young boy.

“She sent me. To give you this.” The small boy held out his hand. Something wrapped in cloth stood before Theon, waiting to be unwrapped. Theon didn’t understand, he couldn’t think of anything Sansa would want to give him. The servant boy waited for Theon to unravel the item. To Theon’s surprise, it seemed to be a pin of some sort. A wolf’s head. The Stark crest. Theon held it in his hand, up to the dim light of the early morning. He rubbed his index finger over the wolf, feeling the smoothness drag across his skin. Sansa had given him this. To remember her by perhaps? Or was it something more. Theon never believed himself to be a Stark. But he didn’t truly feel like a Greyjoy either. Maybe he could be one, maybe this was proof. Theon did belong somewhere, but he was going in the wrong direction.

“Thank you. Will you tell the Queen...”

“Yes, m’lord.”

This gift seemed to explain how Sansa felt without saying a word. And Theon Greyjoy was leaving her for Pyke. What on earth was he doing?

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