Safety Distance
Safety Distance
Everything was still, quiet and peaceful. The sky tainted a slight shade of violet, light pink clouds scattered all around it, some shaped like animals or flowers, some shaped like nothing at all. Butterflies of all colours fluttered by, grazing their wings against the red of her hair. All was warm and calm, a quietude she hadn't known for a long time. But dwelling on the darkness of the past wouldn't do, she thought to herself as grey clouds slowly crept in the horizon. She pushed them away with thoughts of deep blue and green, the sound of waves crashing against gargantuan rocks in the open ocean, the furious winds of the north freezing the surface of the waters. But only for a moment. The storm lasted only for a moment until she found her composure and allowed her mind to once again be transported to endless fields of gentle grass and violet clouds. His voice brought her back to the idyllic landscape she had briefly left, the place she would rather spend her eternity on.
“Lady Sansa.”
And the deep blue and green hues of the ocean, sometimes thunderous and frightening and sometimes still and beautiful, were all mirrored in his eyes. She had seen him drown in his own tears, choking in his own fears, be broken into a thousand pieces and put them all back together, slowly but surely, even if he knew some pieces would always be missing. And every single time, she managed to find a piece of herself amongst his own wreckage. Ever since she was a girl, she had seen him as a magnificent ship, tall and mighty, unwavering in the undulation of the vast sea. Even when the tides changed and the waves rippled so furiously it would be easy to fall into one's knees, he still persisted and his ship still sailed, his banner wavering in the sun after the storm.
“Theon.”
She couldn’t stop her lips from forming a smile towards him even if she wanted to. But she did not want such a thing, not anymore. Lady Sansa of Winterfell no longer had the patience of pretending she despised Theon Greyjoy. All was forgiven. Never forgotten, absolutely, but she owed her life to Theon and that was the most precious gift somebody had ever given her, so to grace him with a smile felt pale in comparison to what he had done for her. He would have died for her and that’s a debt she cannot ever repay.
Unsurprisingly, he smiled back, his face lighting up like a candle in the dark. She didn’t even have to try to make him smile, her presence was enough. And she would never admit it, but she felt the same towards him.
“Sansa!”
Her eyes fluttered open yet again, but this time they weren’t greeted by Theon’s ocean eyes, but by Arya’s murderous stare. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Sansa blinked, the sun hitting her face, causing her to temporarily lose sight and wonder where Theon had gone and where did her sister come from so suddenly. The sky was no longer violet but its usual shade of blue dotted with white and grey clouds. The rain was imminent now.
"Jon wants us all to have dinner together," Arya spat, and Sansa could hear the annoyance in her voice and she couldn't help but agree with her little sister's concerns. Whenever they had dinner all together, they ended up discussing politics and plotting their next move, which Sansa didn't feel like doing, not when all Sansa wanted was to lie there in the grass, sunbathing with Theon lying next to her, maybe she would shyly hold his hand and feel that pleasant tingling up her spine he always seemed to make her feel every time his fingers accidentally grazed her skin. Instead, she was forced to dine with her family as they planned her wedding to whats-his-face from The Reach, the boy they called a Warlock in the South.
“What were you doing here anyway,” Arya scoffed as Sansa got up and shook the bits of dirt and grass off her garments, still mildly confused at the whole endeavour. One minute she was about to hold Theon's hand and suddenly, he wasn't there anymore.
“I just wanted some peace and quiet,” she spat bitterly.
The youngest shrugged off the dry response and simply walked away, knowing Sansa was following behind, walking slowly as always, her long dress dragging in the grass. Sansa’s eyes were once again fixed to the sky, as blue and infinite as Theon’s eyes and she wondered where he had gone in the half a minute she stopped paying attention. He had gotten in the habit of disappearing as if he wasn’t even there to begin with, a habit Sansa resented him for. He always seemed to fade just before she got a chance to take in the courage needed to press her lips to his, desperate to show him how much she cared about him, how thankful she was, how much she longed for him.
♧
Dinner, as usual, dragged in between fake laughs, too many glasses of wine and talks of political and military strategy. Not that Sansa wasn't interested in those things, but they wouldn't pay attention to her opinions anyway, they never did; she was just a little girl who knew nothing about anything, even after everything she had endured, her experiences were silenced by older men. So she stopped bothering with them and started busying her mind with strategy and philosophy. A busy mind is a healthy mind, unoccupied by phantoms. But ghosts would always find their way into her dreams.
Her mind drifted when they started mentioning the future husband, a Ferric boy whose father had important connections in the South, in the fertile lands of Westeros where all the fruits grew and the sun shone most days. The Ferrics were known for using their magic for the good of their land but Sansa couldn’t help being apprehensive towards magical people. After all, Melisandre, the only witch Sansa had ever known, had used her power to commit some atrocities, like burn little Shireen Baratheon at the stake. But perhaps a magical husband could have its benefits.
That night, he visited her again. Slithered his way through the slight crack of the window and stood there, a warm smile on his face, glistening in the moonlight.
"Lady Sansa."
She sat up in bed, not even caring that she wore nothing but her nightgown. He had seen her naked form before, albeit in much more unfortunate circumstances that she would rather not think about. This was a moment of joy, not a moment to remember Ramsay Bolton and the torture he had inflicted on both of them. The last thing Sansa wanted on her mind were memories of Ramsay roughly disrobing her and forcing himself into her, without a care in the world, as Reek was forced to watch. Reek was the shell of the once proud Greyjoy boy, the mutilated and flayed Theon had lost his identity during those days and forcing him to watch Lady Sansa get tormented was Ramsay’s favourite past-time. Sansa shook these thoughts off her mind, focusing on the man before her, Theon Greyjoy, last living son of Balon Greyjoy, competent sailor, Lord of the Iron Islands and Protector of Winterfell.
"Theon."
He took a tentative step towards her bed and she didn't stop him at all. She meant to ask him to join her but how would that have sounded for a highborn lady, the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark, to invite a traitor from the Iron Islands into her bed? She pondered for a minute, eyeing Theon's figure in the fragile moonlight, deciding that there were things worthy of care but this was not one of them, not in that moment. Nobody was around to see and judge her actions, not at that moment.
“Sleep with me. Please.” And she was aware of just how desperate that plea had sounded but her dignity was the least of her concerns when Theon was right there, so close she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. Through it all, he never lost his warmth, like the core of the Earth beneath the ocean, bursting with heat if only anyone could be bothered to dive into him. Sansa was willing to.
He knew that she meant they were to simply sleep together, it wasn't a euphemism for anything sinful, she would probably have no such desires after Ramsay Bolton had defiled her night after night, roughly and without any love in his touch. Much less would she desire such things with someone like Theon, someone castrated in more ways than one, a ghost of his former self, the same Theon Greyjoy who had betrayed the Starks and killed two farm boys when ordered to murder Sansa's younger brothers. The Lady of Winterfell deserved so much better, richer, more handsome, someone with all their parts. But that's not what she wanted, not then and there. She had been broken herself, if he was a ship, she was a beached siren that men had captured. But they had both won, his ship was sailing and she was swimming freely once again. Their scars, worn like battle armour, proudly and dignified. They were survivors and nobody could take that away from them. Sansa Stark, the Siren, would not be bothered by concerns of what others would think of her.
Carefully, as if testing the waters, he pulled the covers and lied down next to her leaving a safety distance between their bodies but turned to face her. The moonlight that engulfed the room made her look even more angelic than usual, her long fire-coloured hair framing her face so beautifully he had to hold his breath for a moment to take it all in. She was fire and ice, cold in the surface but warm to the touch, the frozen walls around her melted away whenever he was around.
"How wonderful it would be to spend eternity by your side," he mumbled, his eyes fixed on hers as if the world had stopped for just a minute, while they existed merely for one another. If only it could always be like that...
She said nothing and the silence that fell upon them was comfortable, warm, like a sweet summer breeze or a cup of hot mulled wine on a winter's day. Just the way he looked at her felt like an embrace but she craved his touch now more than ever. More than after they crossed a frozen river to escape Ramsay's men and hounds and she felt her blood freeze in her veins, more than when he vowed to fight for Winterfell in the Great War. She needed his touch and he needed hers. Sansa closed her eyes, her arm reaching out to close the distance between them, fingers determined to caress his skin. Her breath hitched in her throat and she could feel her heart trumping through her mouth. But it was all gone too soon. Her hand fell on the mattress and when she opened her eyes, Theon had disappeared. Nothing in her room but moonlight and cold wind coming from the window.
Summer days in Winterfell were much more pleasant than the nights. Even in the warmest months, as soon as the sun set and darkness took over the land, so did the cold wind. Still, Sansa would leave her window the slightest bit open, hoping to get his visit but he didn't come for several nights.
♧
"Sansa!"
Her eyes met her brother's, he seemed aggravated. She looked around and realised everyone was staring at her as if they were waiting for her answer to a very important question.
"You are Lady of Winterfell, you have to pay attention when we discuss paramount affairs!"
"I'm sorry," was all that Sansa managed before falling silent, not even interested in knowing what their gathering was about. It was probably the same old discussion they always ended up having, about how they would defeat Cersei Lannister and claim the Iron Throne and Sansa had grown tired of hearing about that matter, especially from Jon and Daenerys.
"Uniting House Stark of the North and House Ferric of the South seems like a pertinent move at this point," Tyrion continued, his eyes on Sansa, like a teacher repeating what he just said to the one distracted student sitting in the back of the room. "Their eldest son is a good match for Lady Sansa: he's handsome, young, tall and kind. Unlike her previous husbands." She giggled at this comment.
Deep down, she wanted to protest, to scream at them for even suggesting yet another arranged marriage after everything she had been through at the hands of her previous husbands, especially coming from Tyrion who had once wed her as well. But she couldn't bring herself to say anything, not when there were other thoughts filling her head. Sansa did not wish to marry anyone at all, not even for the sake of political alliances that would also benefit her. In the end, politics aren't worth more than her dignity, which she had lost and regained through blood, sweat, and tears a hundred times over. No man could take that away from her, not Joffrey who'd had her father killed; not Ramsay, who'd raped and tortured her; not Littlefinger, who had played games with her mind for so many years and sold her to the Boltons. And certainly, not whoever this Southern nobleman was. She had gotten used to the idea, she had kept her calm for the sake of the Kingdoms and she knew it was a good political move but that didn't stop her from hating it all.
However, she said nothing, her silence both a strategy and a necessity. Showing fragility was not an option but she really wanted to cry. All her life she had been treated like a little girl without a voice, sold off as a political weapon simply for being Ned Stark’s eldest daughter, told what to do and whom to marry but those days were over. Sansa Stark had learned how to play the Game of Thrones and if this arranged marriage could advance her in the board, so be it. Thanks to all the suffering she had been put through, she had become a competent player, kind and loved but still ruthless and unmoving, intelligent and level-headed.
She poured herself a cup of wine and drank it all, watching the heated discussions unfold until it was time to retreat to her chambers. The sigh of relief that left her lips when she finally got a moment for herself felt like it had been trapped in her throat for years and, as the maid helped her out of her heavy dress and constricting corset, she sighed yet one more time, careful to keep her tears at bay just a little bit longer. The image of impenetrable strength was hard to carry but she knew it would be like this. Soon, she would be Queen and Sansa had to be prepared for the burdens of royalty, as heavy is the head that wears the crown.
♧
Will he come tonight, she wondered, melancholic yet excited at the prospect of seeing Theon one more time. She hadn't seen him in a while and she wondered what had become of him. Was he off to the Iron Islands to see his sister? Had he found a woman somewhere and forgotten about Sansa? The latter thought left a bitter taste in her mouth but she supposed she had no right being bitter about it. Theon was a man after all and, despite having no manhood, he was handsome and courageous and any woman would be lucky to have him. And he was no inexperienced teenager, surely he knew how to please a woman using other tools...
With these less than appropriate thoughts about Theon's pleasing ways, she ended up falling into a deep, dreamless sleep like she hadn't had in a long time. Proper rest was a necessity for Lady Sansa to face the council the next morning and discuss her marriage to Lord Ferric, whom she still had to meet.
The rain fell harshly against the glass, the noise so loud it awoken her and she looked over at the slightly open window, that she refused to close in case Theon was to come. It was still dark outside and she wondered just how early it was, looking away. The vast dark nothingness outside frightened her more than anything and she couldn't bear to look at it. At least the darkness of her chambers felt somewhat safe and warm and there were always candles there to guide her way, such as the one burning by her vanity, next to her small glass vase. She couldn't recall the last time she had put flowers in it, possibly since the battle of Winterfell but, somehow, one single flower had made its way in there. Sansa would rather hold that thought until the sun came out. Possibly that whole ordeal had been another dream and there would be no flowers by the time the sun was to rise.
Except there was. The sunlight illuminated her room when her maiden opened up the curtain, muttering something about it being already late and Sansa's head wouldn't stop pounding. Perhaps she had too much to drink the night before but it was much needed. Yet, the flower she had sworn was a product of her tipsy imagination or wine-induced fever dream was still there, one single violet in her porcelain vase.
Perhaps it was the maiden, Sansa tried to convince herself, even though she knew that made no sense. Violets were Theon's favourite flowers. She smiled at the thought, his deep blue eyes coming into mind. Maybe he has been there and she just missed him. She mentally cursed herself for not being awake all night to see him.
With the heart somewhat warm and a silly grin, she got on with yet another day of discussing her to-be marriage with the Southern warlock, horseback riding and longing for night to fall so she could retreat to her chambers and contemplate her flower until she fell asleep, perhaps he would visit and this time they would be able to hold hands before he decided to disappear. Just one touch would feel so sweet, Sansa sighed as her eyelids grew heavier.
"I'm sorry about my absence, Lady Sansa.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she couldn’t hide the grin that lit up her face even if she tried to. She wanted to tell him how much she had missed him, to reassure him that there was nothing to apologise for, all that mattered was that he made it. Mostly, she wished to just touch him before he mysteriously disappeared yet again. Instead, she simply lost herself in his gaze, too mesmerised by the sight of him to even say a word. As always, he had a gentle smile on his face and looked at Sansa as if she was the most precious flower he had ever seen and he wished for nothing but to keep her safe from any harm; he would die for her a thousand times and he wanted her to know that.
"I'm cold," was all she managed, a silent invitation for him to join her in bed which he immediately understood. Truth be told, he was just waiting for her consent because he had been dreaming about it since the last time they had been together. He wondered if this time he would be a little less cowardly and close the distance between them, the safety distance he wasn't sure he needed anymore. She once said she didn't want him to touch her when Reek delivered her hand to Ramsay at their infamous wedding, but so much had changed since then. She wanted him to touch her now. It was what she craved most in the world.
He closed the window before climbing into bed with her, shedding only his big coat, unsure if he should undress any further.
“Theon…”
Once again, the moon bathed her room with its pale light and she looked so beautiful it was almost a crime he wasn't kissing her. This time, he would close the gap between them and it would finally happen, what he should have done that night before the battle of Winterfell when they shared their last meal. Sansa's cold hand reached out and this time, her fingers grazed his skin, her touch healing, and tender, as he had never felt before. She could barely believe what was happening, her skin on his, his eyes on hers, glistening with tears that formed but didn't fall. She wanted to ask why he was crying but she decided to comfort him instead, shifting so her entire body was touching his, her face finding shelter in the crook of his neck. He immediately returned her affection by stroking her long hair fondly, his tears rolling freely down his cheeks now that she couldn't see it.
“I would die a thousand deaths to get you to the Wall, to safety, if I had to,” he whispered. “I would do it all over again if you asked me to.”
“I won’t ask you to die for me,” she replied and, inhaling deeply as her face grew red, she whispered: “I won’t ask for anything of you but a kiss.”
“If that’s what you desire…”
It took Theon a minute, he needed to wipe his tears and steady himself before facing her. Sansa had closed her eyes, anticipating the kiss. It wasn’t her first, but it would be the first time she desired it. Theon, on the other hand, was experienced, he had kissed many women before and they had all praised him on his mastery with his tongue and lips but this was different. This was Sansa Stark, the girl he had grown up with and gone through hell with, the woman he had grown to love and admire more than anybody else. She deserved so much more than a thoughtless kiss, she deserved love to transpire into her soul through his mouth.
At first, their lips merely touched for a little while but it wasn’t long until she craved more, her hand coming to rest on Theon’s face, fingers playing with his curly hair. This feeling was new and exciting for both of them. Soon, they were wrapped up in each other’s arms, frantic and needy, lips sloppy and hands roaming. Sansa had never felt so wanted, so loved, so needed, like her touch could heal all of Theon's wounds and that thought made her feel empowered. She broke the kiss for a moment to push his back against the mattress and climb on top of him, straddling his waist.
"Theon…"
"Sansa."
Her eyelids fluttered open and she found herself alone in her bed yet again, surrounded by nothing but darkness, no sign of her lover's presence anywhere. The full moon glistened in the sky and Sansa shed tears into her pillow, wondering if she would ever find happiness after all the torture she had endured.
Another morning came, and another and another, until days became progressively darker, shorter and colder. Those days Sansa needed warmth more than ever and spent most of the time trying to fall asleep so she could see him again and forget the upcoming wedding. James Ferric turned out to not be as bad as Sansa had anticipated: he was tall, handsome and definitely had good banter. His presence wasn't undesirable and they had become something akin to friends over those awful family dinners and events they had been forced to endure together. There was, however, no love or passion between them and, besides pecks and held hands in front of their families, they didn't share any physical contact nor did they yearn for it. When it came to physicality, James was happy to treat himself or invite bedwarmers into his chambers and Sansa had been occupied at night with the visits from Theon, who would always disappear before she got what she wanted. The vase on her vanity gained one more violet every time he graced her dreams with his presence.
♧
“Sansa,” Arya began, a worried look in her eyes, brows furrowed with a certain sadness. “Theon’s dead, Sansa, he can’t be coming into your room at night.”
The oldest couldn’t face her sister and rejected her touch when Arya tried to hold her hand. She knew Theon was dead, she sent his corpse off to burn along with thousands of others who had died for Winterfell that night. But she wasn’t ready to face it just yet, after everything she’d lost, losing Theon before she even had him broke the last bit of her heart and she would rather live in a sleep induced fantasy where he visited her dreams and they made love and he left her a violet to remind her that his thoughts were occupied with love for her.
“Then who’s leaving these flowers in my room, Arya?”
Arya's lips pressed together as she frowned, her gaze averting down to her feet. Sansa was on the verge of tears, her eyes red and glossy. But the point still stood that somebody was leaving flowers in her room at night while she slept and that thought, while endearing on the surface, became creepy as soon as she was confronted with the fact that Theon could not possibly have left anything in her room as he had been dead for a while and his body had been burned.
♧
“Sansa, you have to let go of me,” he said, propped up on his elbow, his hand supporting his head as he lied down on his side next to her. “It’s been too long, you can’t keep living in a dream.”
She briefly looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and nodded. Deep down, she knew there was no use in daydreaming forever and forgetting to live. She deserved to be happy after everything she had been through. She deserved to raise her glass and drink the wine. There had been Joffrey and his dreadful mother, Lord Baelish, Ramsay Bolton; she had lost her father, her mother, and brothers, her best friend, all so suddenly and unannounced. Being strong had become a task and she had grown exhausted of it. At least Theon understood, he was there when Ramsay defiled and maimed her, they went through all of that together and he had never demanded strength from her. He had never demanded anything from her at all, unlike her family and everyone else around her.
“I don’t want to…”
He wiped the tears from her face with his fingers, his own heart heavy because he did not want to say goodbye but he knew it was for the best. The nights he visited her dreams had been the happiest he had seen her in a long time but she had to live, she had to find happiness in her waking hours and if that meant he had to die once more and for good, so be it.
“I don’t want to leave you either, my love,” he began, a lump in his throat he couldn’t clear away. “But you need to let me go. You need to be alive in your waking hours, too.”
Sansa smiled slightly, knowing his love for her ran so deep that he was willing to put her wellbeing before his own, as he had done before. It left a bittersweet taste in her mouth, knowing she would never see him again but it was all for her own good.
"Ferric is a good man, Sansa, you will learn to love him and he won't cause you pain as Joffrey or Ramsay did." He swallowed before he could say as I did. Even after saving her life and giving up his to protect her brother Bran, he still felt like that was not enough redemption for betraying the Starks and ultimately getting Robb and her mother killed. He had put her through pain himself, even if it had been a long time and she had forgiven him.
“I’ll be with you again once you have found happiness outside your dreams.”
She nodded, the tears had dried and left trails on her face that Theon promptly massaged with the pads of his fingers, moving closer to her. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her but wasn't sure if that would be appropriate and the last thing he wished was to make her uncomfortable. As if reading his mind, Sansa closed the safety distance between them with a slow kiss to his lips, which he reciprocated. This time she wouldn't let him slip between her fingers like water, she would show him how much she adored him with whispered promises and lips ghosting over his skin, even the parts of him he had been trying to hide for so long.
Sansa loved all of him, no inch of his skin was left untouched and, in return, he did everything he could to please her, forgetting about what he lacked and focusing only on making her soar and giving her all the love he had in his heart at his fingertips, savouring the honey that dripped from her. The violets in her vase seemed to open up and grow every time she moaned his name and, in no time, her entire room was covered in vines scattered in violets, bright and fragrant, surrounding the bed where their love was consummated.
She was awakened by the roar of a thunderstorm outside, her eyelids as heavy as her heart. Sansa knew he wouldn't be there and she was to marry James Ferric that same day. Soon, a dozen maids, as well as Arya, would burst through her door carrying the several layers of her gown and they would brush her hair and braid it and make her look like a bride. At the end of the day, the Stark-Ferric union was for the best of her family and Winterfell and James was decent, so Sansa had learned to accept this union and even welcome it. They would live together, maybe have one or two children and grow old together in King’s Landing, watch their children grow old and have children of their own until they died peacefully in their sleep when their time came. And then Sansa would finally see Theon again and spend eternity with him.
"What is this?!"
The first maid to arrive at Sansa's chambers dropped the corset she had in her hands as soon as she entered Sansa's chambers and was confronted with the beautiful yet creepily odd sight: Sansa lied in her bed with someone beside her while the entire room around them was covered in violet flowers.
"Lady Sansa!" When the woman was close enough to her bed that she could see who it was lying beside Sansa, she dropped to the floor, unconscious, exclaiming, "Oh, heavens!"
It wasn't long before half a dozen people were gathered in Sansa's chambers, including her sister Arya and more maids, all absolutely shocked at the sight before their eyes. Arya shook her sister, shouted in her ears, pinched her cheeks but the eldest didn't respond at all, despite having a pulse and breath. Beside her, Theon seemed to sleep deeply, looking very much alive, his skin warm and pinkish as his chest rose and fell slowly.
A squeeze to her hand rendered Sansa awake yet again, faint sunlight coming from the outside. All the maids were ready to dress her up and braid her hair for the wedding and Sansa’s vision was blurry as she tried to make sense of her surroundings, realising her bedroom was not covered in flowers, but the violets in her vase were fully open, the sun shining on them and that sight felt like a dream.
♧
The wedding went on as planned, everyone seemed happy, even Sansa. Despite everything else, she smiled. There were song and dance, wine and even Sansa's favourite lemon cakes. She had wished her mother and father were there, as well as her brothers and Theon. Theon… James Ferric was a good man, he used his magic to feed the hungry and rid his land of plagues, he never used his powers to harm anybody and, even though he could have made her love him with his powers, he never did.
They grew to adore one another at their own pace, building a strong and sound relationship, based on trust and admiration. James knew how much she had endured and how she had persisted and kept her wits and good heart through it all and he genuinely cherished her resilience, intelligence, kindness, and beauty. In turn, Sansa learned to love Ferric for the strong-willed, cunning and lovable man that he was. Ramsay Bolton's name, house, and words really did disappear as she had told him they would on the night she unleashed his own starving hounds on him. It took many years and those wounds left scars but they did heal and she never mentioned him ever again.
The violets in her vase stayed fresh all those years, open and beautiful, no matter the weather. Sansa wasn’t sure if James had enchanted them or if it was Theon’s doing, somehow he could be looking after them from the afterlife. Her dreams were filled with flowers, little birds, the ocean… She dreamed of sailing the open ocean, without a destination, being surrounded by sea, the wet wind in her face, the vastness of the world at her fingertips. He disappeared from her dreams but never from her heart as the violets were a constant reminder that he would never truly be gone and he would be smiling down at her, knowing she had finally found the happiness she truly deserved, a placid sense of happiness and serenity that kissed her skin like a butterfly.
The sky was violet and decorated by pink clouds, shaped like animals and trees and nonsensical images. Sansa closed her eyes and let the sunshine lull her into a light sleep. It was still hard to believe she had survived it all and thrived despite all odds. Some days, she feared she would wake up by Ramsay’s side yet again and realised it had all been just a really pleasant dream. But that never happened and she got used to being content.
“Lady Sansa.”
And although it had been years, his voice still made her heart thump like it used to. There he stood, handsome as always, face shaved and blonde hair neatly groomed, dressed in a lovely navy blue gown, adorned with the Greyjoy Kraken and the Stark direwolf sigils, his hands behind his back.
“Theon…” She wouldn’t fight back tears this time and her arms caged his frame yet again, a firm grip of someone who had longed to hold him for so long. He embraced her as well, lingering in each other’s arms to bask in one another’s warmness.
When they broke the hug, he revealed what he had hidden behind his back: a bouquet of violets and daffodils, yellow and purple contrasting in a vibrant display of colour. Sansa took the flowers in her hands and admired them for a moment, her gaze finally falling on the man before her, looking so handsome and renewed like he too had fully healed.
“Everything you’ve conquered, Lady Sansa, you deserve it all.”
“Lady Sansa.”
And the deep blue and green hues of the ocean, sometimes thunderous and frightening and sometimes still and beautiful, were all mirrored in his eyes. She had seen him drown in his own tears, choking in his own fears, be broken into a thousand pieces and put them all back together, slowly but surely, even if he knew some pieces would always be missing. And every single time, she managed to find a piece of herself amongst his own wreckage. Ever since she was a girl, she had seen him as a magnificent ship, tall and mighty, unwavering in the undulation of the vast sea. Even when the tides changed and the waves rippled so furiously it would be easy to fall into one's knees, he still persisted and his ship still sailed, his banner wavering in the sun after the storm.
“Theon.”
She couldn’t stop her lips from forming a smile towards him even if she wanted to. But she did not want such a thing, not anymore. Lady Sansa of Winterfell no longer had the patience of pretending she despised Theon Greyjoy. All was forgiven. Never forgotten, absolutely, but she owed her life to Theon and that was the most precious gift somebody had ever given her, so to grace him with a smile felt pale in comparison to what he had done for her. He would have died for her and that’s a debt she cannot ever repay.
Unsurprisingly, he smiled back, his face lighting up like a candle in the dark. She didn’t even have to try to make him smile, her presence was enough. And she would never admit it, but she felt the same towards him.
“Sansa!”
Her eyes fluttered open yet again, but this time they weren’t greeted by Theon’s ocean eyes, but by Arya’s murderous stare. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Sansa blinked, the sun hitting her face, causing her to temporarily lose sight and wonder where Theon had gone and where did her sister come from so suddenly. The sky was no longer violet but its usual shade of blue dotted with white and grey clouds. The rain was imminent now.
"Jon wants us all to have dinner together," Arya spat, and Sansa could hear the annoyance in her voice and she couldn't help but agree with her little sister's concerns. Whenever they had dinner all together, they ended up discussing politics and plotting their next move, which Sansa didn't feel like doing, not when all Sansa wanted was to lie there in the grass, sunbathing with Theon lying next to her, maybe she would shyly hold his hand and feel that pleasant tingling up her spine he always seemed to make her feel every time his fingers accidentally grazed her skin. Instead, she was forced to dine with her family as they planned her wedding to whats-his-face from The Reach, the boy they called a Warlock in the South.
“What were you doing here anyway,” Arya scoffed as Sansa got up and shook the bits of dirt and grass off her garments, still mildly confused at the whole endeavour. One minute she was about to hold Theon's hand and suddenly, he wasn't there anymore.
“I just wanted some peace and quiet,” she spat bitterly.
The youngest shrugged off the dry response and simply walked away, knowing Sansa was following behind, walking slowly as always, her long dress dragging in the grass. Sansa’s eyes were once again fixed to the sky, as blue and infinite as Theon’s eyes and she wondered where he had gone in the half a minute she stopped paying attention. He had gotten in the habit of disappearing as if he wasn’t even there to begin with, a habit Sansa resented him for. He always seemed to fade just before she got a chance to take in the courage needed to press her lips to his, desperate to show him how much she cared about him, how thankful she was, how much she longed for him.
♧
Dinner, as usual, dragged in between fake laughs, too many glasses of wine and talks of political and military strategy. Not that Sansa wasn't interested in those things, but they wouldn't pay attention to her opinions anyway, they never did; she was just a little girl who knew nothing about anything, even after everything she had endured, her experiences were silenced by older men. So she stopped bothering with them and started busying her mind with strategy and philosophy. A busy mind is a healthy mind, unoccupied by phantoms. But ghosts would always find their way into her dreams.
Her mind drifted when they started mentioning the future husband, a Ferric boy whose father had important connections in the South, in the fertile lands of Westeros where all the fruits grew and the sun shone most days. The Ferrics were known for using their magic for the good of their land but Sansa couldn’t help being apprehensive towards magical people. After all, Melisandre, the only witch Sansa had ever known, had used her power to commit some atrocities, like burn little Shireen Baratheon at the stake. But perhaps a magical husband could have its benefits.
That night, he visited her again. Slithered his way through the slight crack of the window and stood there, a warm smile on his face, glistening in the moonlight.
"Lady Sansa."
She sat up in bed, not even caring that she wore nothing but her nightgown. He had seen her naked form before, albeit in much more unfortunate circumstances that she would rather not think about. This was a moment of joy, not a moment to remember Ramsay Bolton and the torture he had inflicted on both of them. The last thing Sansa wanted on her mind were memories of Ramsay roughly disrobing her and forcing himself into her, without a care in the world, as Reek was forced to watch. Reek was the shell of the once proud Greyjoy boy, the mutilated and flayed Theon had lost his identity during those days and forcing him to watch Lady Sansa get tormented was Ramsay’s favourite past-time. Sansa shook these thoughts off her mind, focusing on the man before her, Theon Greyjoy, last living son of Balon Greyjoy, competent sailor, Lord of the Iron Islands and Protector of Winterfell.
"Theon."
He took a tentative step towards her bed and she didn't stop him at all. She meant to ask him to join her but how would that have sounded for a highborn lady, the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark, to invite a traitor from the Iron Islands into her bed? She pondered for a minute, eyeing Theon's figure in the fragile moonlight, deciding that there were things worthy of care but this was not one of them, not in that moment. Nobody was around to see and judge her actions, not at that moment.
“Sleep with me. Please.” And she was aware of just how desperate that plea had sounded but her dignity was the least of her concerns when Theon was right there, so close she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. Through it all, he never lost his warmth, like the core of the Earth beneath the ocean, bursting with heat if only anyone could be bothered to dive into him. Sansa was willing to.
He knew that she meant they were to simply sleep together, it wasn't a euphemism for anything sinful, she would probably have no such desires after Ramsay Bolton had defiled her night after night, roughly and without any love in his touch. Much less would she desire such things with someone like Theon, someone castrated in more ways than one, a ghost of his former self, the same Theon Greyjoy who had betrayed the Starks and killed two farm boys when ordered to murder Sansa's younger brothers. The Lady of Winterfell deserved so much better, richer, more handsome, someone with all their parts. But that's not what she wanted, not then and there. She had been broken herself, if he was a ship, she was a beached siren that men had captured. But they had both won, his ship was sailing and she was swimming freely once again. Their scars, worn like battle armour, proudly and dignified. They were survivors and nobody could take that away from them. Sansa Stark, the Siren, would not be bothered by concerns of what others would think of her.
Carefully, as if testing the waters, he pulled the covers and lied down next to her leaving a safety distance between their bodies but turned to face her. The moonlight that engulfed the room made her look even more angelic than usual, her long fire-coloured hair framing her face so beautifully he had to hold his breath for a moment to take it all in. She was fire and ice, cold in the surface but warm to the touch, the frozen walls around her melted away whenever he was around.
"How wonderful it would be to spend eternity by your side," he mumbled, his eyes fixed on hers as if the world had stopped for just a minute, while they existed merely for one another. If only it could always be like that...
She said nothing and the silence that fell upon them was comfortable, warm, like a sweet summer breeze or a cup of hot mulled wine on a winter's day. Just the way he looked at her felt like an embrace but she craved his touch now more than ever. More than after they crossed a frozen river to escape Ramsay's men and hounds and she felt her blood freeze in her veins, more than when he vowed to fight for Winterfell in the Great War. She needed his touch and he needed hers. Sansa closed her eyes, her arm reaching out to close the distance between them, fingers determined to caress his skin. Her breath hitched in her throat and she could feel her heart trumping through her mouth. But it was all gone too soon. Her hand fell on the mattress and when she opened her eyes, Theon had disappeared. Nothing in her room but moonlight and cold wind coming from the window.
Summer days in Winterfell were much more pleasant than the nights. Even in the warmest months, as soon as the sun set and darkness took over the land, so did the cold wind. Still, Sansa would leave her window the slightest bit open, hoping to get his visit but he didn't come for several nights.
♧
"Sansa!"
Her eyes met her brother's, he seemed aggravated. She looked around and realised everyone was staring at her as if they were waiting for her answer to a very important question.
"You are Lady of Winterfell, you have to pay attention when we discuss paramount affairs!"
"I'm sorry," was all that Sansa managed before falling silent, not even interested in knowing what their gathering was about. It was probably the same old discussion they always ended up having, about how they would defeat Cersei Lannister and claim the Iron Throne and Sansa had grown tired of hearing about that matter, especially from Jon and Daenerys.
"Uniting House Stark of the North and House Ferric of the South seems like a pertinent move at this point," Tyrion continued, his eyes on Sansa, like a teacher repeating what he just said to the one distracted student sitting in the back of the room. "Their eldest son is a good match for Lady Sansa: he's handsome, young, tall and kind. Unlike her previous husbands." She giggled at this comment.
Deep down, she wanted to protest, to scream at them for even suggesting yet another arranged marriage after everything she had been through at the hands of her previous husbands, especially coming from Tyrion who had once wed her as well. But she couldn't bring herself to say anything, not when there were other thoughts filling her head. Sansa did not wish to marry anyone at all, not even for the sake of political alliances that would also benefit her. In the end, politics aren't worth more than her dignity, which she had lost and regained through blood, sweat, and tears a hundred times over. No man could take that away from her, not Joffrey who'd had her father killed; not Ramsay, who'd raped and tortured her; not Littlefinger, who had played games with her mind for so many years and sold her to the Boltons. And certainly, not whoever this Southern nobleman was. She had gotten used to the idea, she had kept her calm for the sake of the Kingdoms and she knew it was a good political move but that didn't stop her from hating it all.
However, she said nothing, her silence both a strategy and a necessity. Showing fragility was not an option but she really wanted to cry. All her life she had been treated like a little girl without a voice, sold off as a political weapon simply for being Ned Stark’s eldest daughter, told what to do and whom to marry but those days were over. Sansa Stark had learned how to play the Game of Thrones and if this arranged marriage could advance her in the board, so be it. Thanks to all the suffering she had been put through, she had become a competent player, kind and loved but still ruthless and unmoving, intelligent and level-headed.
She poured herself a cup of wine and drank it all, watching the heated discussions unfold until it was time to retreat to her chambers. The sigh of relief that left her lips when she finally got a moment for herself felt like it had been trapped in her throat for years and, as the maid helped her out of her heavy dress and constricting corset, she sighed yet one more time, careful to keep her tears at bay just a little bit longer. The image of impenetrable strength was hard to carry but she knew it would be like this. Soon, she would be Queen and Sansa had to be prepared for the burdens of royalty, as heavy is the head that wears the crown.
♧
Will he come tonight, she wondered, melancholic yet excited at the prospect of seeing Theon one more time. She hadn't seen him in a while and she wondered what had become of him. Was he off to the Iron Islands to see his sister? Had he found a woman somewhere and forgotten about Sansa? The latter thought left a bitter taste in her mouth but she supposed she had no right being bitter about it. Theon was a man after all and, despite having no manhood, he was handsome and courageous and any woman would be lucky to have him. And he was no inexperienced teenager, surely he knew how to please a woman using other tools...
With these less than appropriate thoughts about Theon's pleasing ways, she ended up falling into a deep, dreamless sleep like she hadn't had in a long time. Proper rest was a necessity for Lady Sansa to face the council the next morning and discuss her marriage to Lord Ferric, whom she still had to meet.
The rain fell harshly against the glass, the noise so loud it awoken her and she looked over at the slightly open window, that she refused to close in case Theon was to come. It was still dark outside and she wondered just how early it was, looking away. The vast dark nothingness outside frightened her more than anything and she couldn't bear to look at it. At least the darkness of her chambers felt somewhat safe and warm and there were always candles there to guide her way, such as the one burning by her vanity, next to her small glass vase. She couldn't recall the last time she had put flowers in it, possibly since the battle of Winterfell but, somehow, one single flower had made its way in there. Sansa would rather hold that thought until the sun came out. Possibly that whole ordeal had been another dream and there would be no flowers by the time the sun was to rise.
Except there was. The sunlight illuminated her room when her maiden opened up the curtain, muttering something about it being already late and Sansa's head wouldn't stop pounding. Perhaps she had too much to drink the night before but it was much needed. Yet, the flower she had sworn was a product of her tipsy imagination or wine-induced fever dream was still there, one single violet in her porcelain vase.
Perhaps it was the maiden, Sansa tried to convince herself, even though she knew that made no sense. Violets were Theon's favourite flowers. She smiled at the thought, his deep blue eyes coming into mind. Maybe he has been there and she just missed him. She mentally cursed herself for not being awake all night to see him.
With the heart somewhat warm and a silly grin, she got on with yet another day of discussing her to-be marriage with the Southern warlock, horseback riding and longing for night to fall so she could retreat to her chambers and contemplate her flower until she fell asleep, perhaps he would visit and this time they would be able to hold hands before he decided to disappear. Just one touch would feel so sweet, Sansa sighed as her eyelids grew heavier.
"I'm sorry about my absence, Lady Sansa.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she couldn’t hide the grin that lit up her face even if she tried to. She wanted to tell him how much she had missed him, to reassure him that there was nothing to apologise for, all that mattered was that he made it. Mostly, she wished to just touch him before he mysteriously disappeared yet again. Instead, she simply lost herself in his gaze, too mesmerised by the sight of him to even say a word. As always, he had a gentle smile on his face and looked at Sansa as if she was the most precious flower he had ever seen and he wished for nothing but to keep her safe from any harm; he would die for her a thousand times and he wanted her to know that.
"I'm cold," was all she managed, a silent invitation for him to join her in bed which he immediately understood. Truth be told, he was just waiting for her consent because he had been dreaming about it since the last time they had been together. He wondered if this time he would be a little less cowardly and close the distance between them, the safety distance he wasn't sure he needed anymore. She once said she didn't want him to touch her when Reek delivered her hand to Ramsay at their infamous wedding, but so much had changed since then. She wanted him to touch her now. It was what she craved most in the world.
He closed the window before climbing into bed with her, shedding only his big coat, unsure if he should undress any further.
“Theon…”
Once again, the moon bathed her room with its pale light and she looked so beautiful it was almost a crime he wasn't kissing her. This time, he would close the gap between them and it would finally happen, what he should have done that night before the battle of Winterfell when they shared their last meal. Sansa's cold hand reached out and this time, her fingers grazed his skin, her touch healing, and tender, as he had never felt before. She could barely believe what was happening, her skin on his, his eyes on hers, glistening with tears that formed but didn't fall. She wanted to ask why he was crying but she decided to comfort him instead, shifting so her entire body was touching his, her face finding shelter in the crook of his neck. He immediately returned her affection by stroking her long hair fondly, his tears rolling freely down his cheeks now that she couldn't see it.
“I would die a thousand deaths to get you to the Wall, to safety, if I had to,” he whispered. “I would do it all over again if you asked me to.”
“I won’t ask you to die for me,” she replied and, inhaling deeply as her face grew red, she whispered: “I won’t ask for anything of you but a kiss.”
“If that’s what you desire…”
It took Theon a minute, he needed to wipe his tears and steady himself before facing her. Sansa had closed her eyes, anticipating the kiss. It wasn’t her first, but it would be the first time she desired it. Theon, on the other hand, was experienced, he had kissed many women before and they had all praised him on his mastery with his tongue and lips but this was different. This was Sansa Stark, the girl he had grown up with and gone through hell with, the woman he had grown to love and admire more than anybody else. She deserved so much more than a thoughtless kiss, she deserved love to transpire into her soul through his mouth.
At first, their lips merely touched for a little while but it wasn’t long until she craved more, her hand coming to rest on Theon’s face, fingers playing with his curly hair. This feeling was new and exciting for both of them. Soon, they were wrapped up in each other’s arms, frantic and needy, lips sloppy and hands roaming. Sansa had never felt so wanted, so loved, so needed, like her touch could heal all of Theon's wounds and that thought made her feel empowered. She broke the kiss for a moment to push his back against the mattress and climb on top of him, straddling his waist.
"Theon…"
"Sansa."
Her eyelids fluttered open and she found herself alone in her bed yet again, surrounded by nothing but darkness, no sign of her lover's presence anywhere. The full moon glistened in the sky and Sansa shed tears into her pillow, wondering if she would ever find happiness after all the torture she had endured.
Another morning came, and another and another, until days became progressively darker, shorter and colder. Those days Sansa needed warmth more than ever and spent most of the time trying to fall asleep so she could see him again and forget the upcoming wedding. James Ferric turned out to not be as bad as Sansa had anticipated: he was tall, handsome and definitely had good banter. His presence wasn't undesirable and they had become something akin to friends over those awful family dinners and events they had been forced to endure together. There was, however, no love or passion between them and, besides pecks and held hands in front of their families, they didn't share any physical contact nor did they yearn for it. When it came to physicality, James was happy to treat himself or invite bedwarmers into his chambers and Sansa had been occupied at night with the visits from Theon, who would always disappear before she got what she wanted. The vase on her vanity gained one more violet every time he graced her dreams with his presence.
♧
“Sansa,” Arya began, a worried look in her eyes, brows furrowed with a certain sadness. “Theon’s dead, Sansa, he can’t be coming into your room at night.”
The oldest couldn’t face her sister and rejected her touch when Arya tried to hold her hand. She knew Theon was dead, she sent his corpse off to burn along with thousands of others who had died for Winterfell that night. But she wasn’t ready to face it just yet, after everything she’d lost, losing Theon before she even had him broke the last bit of her heart and she would rather live in a sleep induced fantasy where he visited her dreams and they made love and he left her a violet to remind her that his thoughts were occupied with love for her.
“Then who’s leaving these flowers in my room, Arya?”
Arya's lips pressed together as she frowned, her gaze averting down to her feet. Sansa was on the verge of tears, her eyes red and glossy. But the point still stood that somebody was leaving flowers in her room at night while she slept and that thought, while endearing on the surface, became creepy as soon as she was confronted with the fact that Theon could not possibly have left anything in her room as he had been dead for a while and his body had been burned.
♧
“Sansa, you have to let go of me,” he said, propped up on his elbow, his hand supporting his head as he lied down on his side next to her. “It’s been too long, you can’t keep living in a dream.”
She briefly looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and nodded. Deep down, she knew there was no use in daydreaming forever and forgetting to live. She deserved to be happy after everything she had been through. She deserved to raise her glass and drink the wine. There had been Joffrey and his dreadful mother, Lord Baelish, Ramsay Bolton; she had lost her father, her mother, and brothers, her best friend, all so suddenly and unannounced. Being strong had become a task and she had grown exhausted of it. At least Theon understood, he was there when Ramsay defiled and maimed her, they went through all of that together and he had never demanded strength from her. He had never demanded anything from her at all, unlike her family and everyone else around her.
“I don’t want to…”
He wiped the tears from her face with his fingers, his own heart heavy because he did not want to say goodbye but he knew it was for the best. The nights he visited her dreams had been the happiest he had seen her in a long time but she had to live, she had to find happiness in her waking hours and if that meant he had to die once more and for good, so be it.
“I don’t want to leave you either, my love,” he began, a lump in his throat he couldn’t clear away. “But you need to let me go. You need to be alive in your waking hours, too.”
Sansa smiled slightly, knowing his love for her ran so deep that he was willing to put her wellbeing before his own, as he had done before. It left a bittersweet taste in her mouth, knowing she would never see him again but it was all for her own good.
"Ferric is a good man, Sansa, you will learn to love him and he won't cause you pain as Joffrey or Ramsay did." He swallowed before he could say as I did. Even after saving her life and giving up his to protect her brother Bran, he still felt like that was not enough redemption for betraying the Starks and ultimately getting Robb and her mother killed. He had put her through pain himself, even if it had been a long time and she had forgiven him.
“I’ll be with you again once you have found happiness outside your dreams.”
She nodded, the tears had dried and left trails on her face that Theon promptly massaged with the pads of his fingers, moving closer to her. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her but wasn't sure if that would be appropriate and the last thing he wished was to make her uncomfortable. As if reading his mind, Sansa closed the safety distance between them with a slow kiss to his lips, which he reciprocated. This time she wouldn't let him slip between her fingers like water, she would show him how much she adored him with whispered promises and lips ghosting over his skin, even the parts of him he had been trying to hide for so long.
Sansa loved all of him, no inch of his skin was left untouched and, in return, he did everything he could to please her, forgetting about what he lacked and focusing only on making her soar and giving her all the love he had in his heart at his fingertips, savouring the honey that dripped from her. The violets in her vase seemed to open up and grow every time she moaned his name and, in no time, her entire room was covered in vines scattered in violets, bright and fragrant, surrounding the bed where their love was consummated.
She was awakened by the roar of a thunderstorm outside, her eyelids as heavy as her heart. Sansa knew he wouldn't be there and she was to marry James Ferric that same day. Soon, a dozen maids, as well as Arya, would burst through her door carrying the several layers of her gown and they would brush her hair and braid it and make her look like a bride. At the end of the day, the Stark-Ferric union was for the best of her family and Winterfell and James was decent, so Sansa had learned to accept this union and even welcome it. They would live together, maybe have one or two children and grow old together in King’s Landing, watch their children grow old and have children of their own until they died peacefully in their sleep when their time came. And then Sansa would finally see Theon again and spend eternity with him.
"What is this?!"
The first maid to arrive at Sansa's chambers dropped the corset she had in her hands as soon as she entered Sansa's chambers and was confronted with the beautiful yet creepily odd sight: Sansa lied in her bed with someone beside her while the entire room around them was covered in violet flowers.
"Lady Sansa!" When the woman was close enough to her bed that she could see who it was lying beside Sansa, she dropped to the floor, unconscious, exclaiming, "Oh, heavens!"
It wasn't long before half a dozen people were gathered in Sansa's chambers, including her sister Arya and more maids, all absolutely shocked at the sight before their eyes. Arya shook her sister, shouted in her ears, pinched her cheeks but the eldest didn't respond at all, despite having a pulse and breath. Beside her, Theon seemed to sleep deeply, looking very much alive, his skin warm and pinkish as his chest rose and fell slowly.
A squeeze to her hand rendered Sansa awake yet again, faint sunlight coming from the outside. All the maids were ready to dress her up and braid her hair for the wedding and Sansa’s vision was blurry as she tried to make sense of her surroundings, realising her bedroom was not covered in flowers, but the violets in her vase were fully open, the sun shining on them and that sight felt like a dream.
♧
The wedding went on as planned, everyone seemed happy, even Sansa. Despite everything else, she smiled. There were song and dance, wine and even Sansa's favourite lemon cakes. She had wished her mother and father were there, as well as her brothers and Theon. Theon… James Ferric was a good man, he used his magic to feed the hungry and rid his land of plagues, he never used his powers to harm anybody and, even though he could have made her love him with his powers, he never did.
They grew to adore one another at their own pace, building a strong and sound relationship, based on trust and admiration. James knew how much she had endured and how she had persisted and kept her wits and good heart through it all and he genuinely cherished her resilience, intelligence, kindness, and beauty. In turn, Sansa learned to love Ferric for the strong-willed, cunning and lovable man that he was. Ramsay Bolton's name, house, and words really did disappear as she had told him they would on the night she unleashed his own starving hounds on him. It took many years and those wounds left scars but they did heal and she never mentioned him ever again.
The violets in her vase stayed fresh all those years, open and beautiful, no matter the weather. Sansa wasn’t sure if James had enchanted them or if it was Theon’s doing, somehow he could be looking after them from the afterlife. Her dreams were filled with flowers, little birds, the ocean… She dreamed of sailing the open ocean, without a destination, being surrounded by sea, the wet wind in her face, the vastness of the world at her fingertips. He disappeared from her dreams but never from her heart as the violets were a constant reminder that he would never truly be gone and he would be smiling down at her, knowing she had finally found the happiness she truly deserved, a placid sense of happiness and serenity that kissed her skin like a butterfly.
The sky was violet and decorated by pink clouds, shaped like animals and trees and nonsensical images. Sansa closed her eyes and let the sunshine lull her into a light sleep. It was still hard to believe she had survived it all and thrived despite all odds. Some days, she feared she would wake up by Ramsay’s side yet again and realised it had all been just a really pleasant dream. But that never happened and she got used to being content.
“Lady Sansa.”
And although it had been years, his voice still made her heart thump like it used to. There he stood, handsome as always, face shaved and blonde hair neatly groomed, dressed in a lovely navy blue gown, adorned with the Greyjoy Kraken and the Stark direwolf sigils, his hands behind his back.
“Theon…” She wouldn’t fight back tears this time and her arms caged his frame yet again, a firm grip of someone who had longed to hold him for so long. He embraced her as well, lingering in each other’s arms to bask in one another’s warmness.
When they broke the hug, he revealed what he had hidden behind his back: a bouquet of violets and daffodils, yellow and purple contrasting in a vibrant display of colour. Sansa took the flowers in her hands and admired them for a moment, her gaze finally falling on the man before her, looking so handsome and renewed like he too had fully healed.
“Everything you’ve conquered, Lady Sansa, you deserve it all.”