Chapter Text
For a moment, Sansa just stared at Alannys, struggling to parse what she’d heard: the older woman might as well have been speaking another language, for all the sense it made. Arya had always gotten into more than her share of trouble as a kid, but she’d never been lost before- or at least, not so lost she couldn’t find her way back.
“No, no, that’s not- you’re lying.” It was a terrible accusation to make, but the only possible explanation in the face of such absurdity. The lines around Alannys’ eyes and mouth creased- usually they only did that because she was smiling- and it took Sansa a moment to recognize the look as one of pity.
“Oh, love… I wish I was.”
Her vision tunneled, Alannys’ face becoming a pinprick, the entire rest of the beach, and White Harbor, and the world fading away.
There was a terrible sound, a screaming, like that of a dying animal, and for a wild moment Sansa thought, ‘dear gods, someone put that poor beast out of its misery,’ only to realize it was coming from her own mouth. Horrified, she slapped her hands over her lips to keep the noises back but they kept spilling over.
She remembered the last thing she said to Arya, those angry, awful words.
‘You know what? Go ahead, do whatever you want, like you always do. In fact, you can go straight to hell for all I care.’
Theon’s arms around her waist were the only thing keeping her upright. The screams morphed into heaving sobs, then babbling nonsense that slowly picked itself into semi-coherence.
“They’re dead, she’s dead, I killed her-”
“Sans, no, don’t talk like that,” Theon insisted. “We don’t know anything yet, they’re still looking.”
“You- you don’t know what I said to her!”
“It doesn’t- Sansa, look at me.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, and saw her own frightened face reflected back in the twin oceans of his eyes. “Listen, whatever stupid argument you two had, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is getting Arya and Gendry back safe.”
Shoving down her terror and grief in that moment was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do, but at least she had plenty of practice at it. She scrubbed roughly at her damp eyes with her palm and gave a terse nod. “You’re right. Arya wouldn’t give up, so we shouldn’t either. What can we do to help?”
“I was talking to Wyman shortly before you two arrived,” Alannys offered up. “He’s been coordinating with search and rescue ever since- since they learned that the kids were missing.” She didn’t need to say it: the longer things went without any leads, the less likely they were of finding Arya and Gendry alive.
Sansa caught herself before she could spiral again. That wouldn’t help anyone right now. They made their way past the caution tape perimeter to where the makeshift command center had been set up, a flimsy canopy the only thing protecting the tables of maps and equipment from the still ongoing rain. Sheriff Manderly looked up at their approach, his ruddy face somber under his walrus-like moustache.
“Ah, Sansa, I’d heard you girls were back in town. I meant to reach out sooner, before… well, before.”
That was a blatant lie: one of Arya’s favorite summer past-times was terrorizing the old sheriff with her gang of ruffian friends. Manderly had likely been hiding out in his office at the station ever since he’d caught wind of their arrival- he probably would’ve stayed there until the town was Stark-free again, if it hadn’t been for this.
“What are you doing to find my sister?” Sansa said brusquely. It was hardly proper, but she found she didn’t have it in her to be polite.
If Manderly was taken aback by this uncharacteristic behavior, he didn’t show it. “We sent word to Oldcastle search and rescue, but they’re spread thin; this storm came up early and with hardly any warning. We’re making do with the volunteers they could spare.”
“Where’s my dad and my sister?” Theon asked.
Manderly explained, “Yara went out with the searchers as soon as the rain cleared up enough to let them. Dagmer’s got his people combing the coast, in case the storm forced them aground.”
“And where have they checked so far?”
The old sheriff beckoned Theon over to point something out on one of the maps of the White Harbor coast and surrounding islets, and the two sailors quickly fell into discussion. The volunteers had already marked up the maps with pins and stickies, either representing places of interest or where they’d already searched, Sansa wasn’t sure. It soon became obvious that she was completely out of her depth in this matter; she could manage a sailboat alright, but her summers here weren’t a match for these watermen’s combined decades of experience. Besides, geography had never been her strong suit.
The full weight of her helplessness sank in, causing whatever bit of steadiness she’d gained to evaporate, and she finally became aware of her rain-soaked clothes. It was absolutely freezing cold, much more so than a normal summer rain should’ve caused.
“Here, we don’t need you going into shock now,” came a familiar voice, as a mylar blanket was placed around her shoulders. She blinked, and the owner of the voice came into view; it took her a moment to place, still feeling dazed.
“I-I… Jory?”
The man gave a wry grin. “One and only. Good to see you again, squirt. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
It had been nearly a decade since she’d last seen Jory Cassel: he’d been a teenager when the Starks first started coming to White Harbor, and her parents had enlisted him as a babysitter many times, before the eldest siblings reached an age where they could be left in charge. The last Sansa had heard, he’d moved South for school. Before she could think better of it, she’d pulled her old babysitter into a hug, completely forgetting she was soaked to the bone and probably smelled as good as a wet dog. Luckily he didn’t seem to mind, giving her back a soothing pat that made the shock blanket crinkle.
“I can’t believe... what are you doing here?”
“I moved to Oldtown a few years back. When my boss said they needed spare hands to help with a search and rescue in White Harbor, I knew I had to volunteer,” he explained. Sansa pulled back enough to see that he was wearing a uniform with characteristic EMS patches on the shoulders.
“You’re a medic?”
He gave a solemn nod. “Like I said, better circumstances and all that. I’m glad you’re here now, though. When you didn’t answer our phone calls, we started to worry you and your boyfriend had gotten lost too.”
“We went camping, in the woods. No service.”
“Well, you’re back safe; now we’ve just got your sister and Gendry to worry about. Hey, I can see those gears turning.” Sansa flushed; Jory was absolutely right, she’d been just about to let herself spiral again. “You can’t think like that. We’ve got some great people on this, sailors who’ve been working these waters all their lives.”
“I know,” Sansa admitted softly. “I just don’t know what to do. I feel so… helpless.”
“If you need to be helpful, I’m pretty sure there’s a dog in there who needs breakfast,” Jory offered, pointing over at the beach house with his thumb. “Poor thing’s been barking up a storm, but any time someone tried to get close she’d threaten to take their fingers off.”
“Oh, Nymeria!” she exclaimed, ducking out from under the tent and making a sprint for the house. Guilt gnawed at her stomach; Nymeria wasn’t her companion, and frankly she could be a real pain in the arse, but she was probably hungry and confused as hell by all these strangers. There wasn’t much she could do for her sister, but at least she could take care of her beloved pet. Once Sansa got to the house, she could see that the wolfdog had torn the curtains in the front windows to shreds, but Nymeria herself didn’t seem to be there. With any luck she’d tuckered herself out, and Sansa would be able to feed her and get back to the search.
Sansa struggled to unlock the door, her numb fingers fumbling the house key. She’d barely opened the door a crack before a grey mass barreled past her, knocking her over with the force of it, and racing out onto the beach. She scrambled to her feet, crying out a panicked, “wait!” after the fleeing animal, but it was no use: even on her best days Nymeria hated listening to commands, and today was clearly no exception.
By the time Sansa realized what was happening, Nymeria had already made it to the highway and was racing down the road. Holding the shock blanket above her head in a vain attempt to keep the rain out of her eyes, Sansa ran after the wolfdog, her feet slipping in the wet sand.
Despite Nymeria having had a decent head start, once Sansa reached solid- if muddy- ground she started to catch up. Even as her sides cramped and her lungs began to burn she forced herself to keep moving, long legs eating up the pavement, barely letting one foot hit the ground before propelling herself further. She could barely see through the rain whipping past, and a few times she thought she heard someone shout her name; once she even thought that she heard another howl in the mist, but she refused to take her eyes off the grey shape ahead of her.
When Sansa finally caught up with the wolfdog it wasn’t because she’d suddenly gained superspeed; Nymeria had just stopped, standing perfectly still at attention except for the twitching of her ears and the tip of her tail. Sansa clamped her fingers around the dog’s collar to keep her still while she gasped for breath, though it seemed like Nymeria wasn’t interested in going anywhere else.
“What- the hells- is wrong with you?” she panted, trying to tug the dog back to the beach house. Nymeria wasn’t having it, though, and all Sansa’s huffing and pulling managed was nearly faceplanting on the slippery metal of the old railroad tracks.
“Dammit, come on!” Still the dog wouldn’t budge. Sansa collapsed to her knees, still hanging on to Nymeria’s collar for dear life. “I know you’re scared for her, but we need to go home, I think the storm’s picking up again,” she pleaded uselessly. “Arya wouldn’t want anything to happen to us.”
At the sound of her person’s name, Nymeria finally broke her gaze from whatever she was staring at long enough to meet Sansa’s, then gave a pointed nod forward with her snout.
“What, Arya?” The dog repeated the movement, and Sansa sighed. “She’s not out here, girl. Trust me, I wish she was.” This time, Nymeria swung her big shaggy head to face Sansa full on, golden wolf eyes boring into Sansa’s blue.
Everyone had said Ned Stark was crazy when he brought home the litter of puppies he found on the side of the road; with no collars or ID chips, the best anyone could figure was that their mother had been a stray who’d been killed by a car or overzealous deer hunter. As they grew, it became apparent that these weren’t regular dogs, too big and too clever; there must have been some wolf in their bloodline, maybe even a grandparent who’d been a full wolf. Cat had been furious, of course, certain that the pups would be wild and impossible to control; she quickly changed her tune when Summer cornered a would-be robber trying to break in through Bran’s bedroom window.
From then on, the dogs had been a staple of their lives, an extension of their chosen person; it was only fitting, given that the Stark family’s ancestral sigil had been a wolf. Sansa had always chalked up Lady’s training successes to hard work, but sometimes it felt almost too easy. Rarely did Lady need to practice a trick more than a few times before she got it, and she had a knack for predicting what Sansa wanted her to do even before she gave the command. As crazy as it sounded, there were times where Sansa wondered if Lady understood her more than an animal should; times where her sweet, docile pet looked at her, and there was far more wolf than dog in her eyes.
Sansa was getting that feeling now from Nymeria, and throwing all common sense to the wind, she chose to listen. First she tried to orient just where the wolfdog had led her; everything looked different in the rain, but not so changed that it didn’t feel familiar. The cold ground bit into Sansa’s knees through her jeans and she shifted uncomfortably on the metal railroad tracks.
The tracks…
On a hunch, Sansa scanned the area, squinting to see through the downpour, and then she spotted it. The crumbling stone wall that Theon had tucked Yara’s bike behind when he took her out here. They’d walked past these very tracks on their way to-
Sansa gasped. Surely it couldn’t be that obvious? The coast guard certainly would’ve checked already… except Theon had sounded sure that no one else knew about it. She didn’t know anything about currents or how a storm could affect them: the idea itself may be laughable, and not just because she might have gotten it from a dog. There was every chance this was a waste of time, or worse, would draw precious resources elsewhere. But could she live with herself if she didn’t try?
“Sansa!” This time she realized it hadn’t all been in her head, someone really was shouting for her. It was Theon; she wasn’t even aware that he’d chased after her.
But of course he had.
Once he caught up to them he doubled over, panting from exertion. “For fuck’s sake, what was that all about?”
“Well, Nymeria ran off.” Sansa gestured to the dog in question, who did her best to look innocent of all charges.
He looked at them both incredulously then shook his head. “C’mon then, we gotta get back, the storm’s picking up again.” Theon hesitated before adding, “They’re, ah, they’re gonna be calling back the searchers.”
Her heart froze in her chest. “No, no, they can’t do that!” Sansa exclaimed. The look he gave her at that was enough to make her stomach curdle, because up until then- even after hearing about Lady, and Ned, and Cat- she had never seen that look in Theon’s eyes before.
Pity.
“They have to… I’m so sorry, Sans.” He started to reach for her hand and she reared back.
“No, they can’t, I-I won’t let them, I’ll- wait!” As crazy as it sounded, she knew this might be Arya and Gendry’s only shot. “Just tell me, have they checked the cave? The one you took me to?”
Theon blinked at her, puzzled. “Um, no, I don’t think so. But the way the current’s been moving, it’s unlikely they’d end up there-”
“But is it possible?”
“I mean, yeah, I suppose,” he said dubiously. “But it’s not even on any maps, it’s pretty much invisible from the water if you’re not looking for it- and the three of us all swore to keep it secret.”
Well, something like that had never stopped Arya before; plus, the promises of teenaged boys were notoriously fickle, especially in the face of a pouting younger sister…
“It was Jon,” Sansa realized. “Jon would’ve told Arya. He never could keep anything from her.”
Theon still seemed skeptical. Sansa could hardly blame him for that: hells, she’d be skeptical too if she was in his position. But if she was right- and the more she thought about it, the more certain she became that she was- then they were wasting time Arya didn’t have.
“Listen, I know it doesn’t make any sense, I need you to just trust me on this. You know these waters but I know my sister, and I am telling you that if she were in trouble she’d go where Jon told her it was safe.”
Theon’s eyes continued to bore holes in her, and for a moment Sansa was terrified that he’d dismiss her, tell her she’d wasted precious time, gotten her hopes up for no damn reason; instead he cupped her face in his hands and pressed a fierce kiss to her forehead.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “C’mon then, we’ve gotta stop Manderly before he calls everyone back in.”
His hand in hers, they raced back to the beach, this time with Nymeria on their heels.
Already the mood at the makeshift command center had dropped considerably, the volunteers openly resigned as the worsening storm brought the chances of success down to almost zero. They were preparing to shift from a rescue to a recovery. Theon flagged down Sheriff Manderly and the rescue coordinator from Oldtown, and began to explain the situation; as suspected, they were hesitant about the idea, especially when they realized the cave wasn’t on any of their maps.
“I’ve already begun to call everyone in, we can’t afford to stay out there any longer with how the storm’s picking up,” the coordinator explained.
“But they’re still out there now, it won’t take much time to check once they know what they’re looking for,” Theon argued.
The man still seemed unconvinced, but Sansa could tell Manderly was starting to waver: whatever opinions he had about Arya’s antics, he was a softy for his own daughters and probably couldn’t help but think of them now.
“I understand the dangers, sir, but please, this is their last chance,” Sansa begged. “There must be someone who’s willing to take the risk.”
That did it: she could tell the moment the old sheriff caved, just by the look on his face. Even his moustache seemed resigned.
“Aw, hells. I know better than to underestimate a Stark,” he grumbled almost fondly.
The coordinator followed after, and soon they were relaying information over their radios to the crew still out there. Dagmer and Jory- who had met up with him while Sansa was on her impromptu jog- and their team were the closest. Theon quickly took over for Manderly, guiding his stepfather through where to look. The previously dispersed volunteers had begun to gather around them, hanging on to every word.
“- gods, there it is… found some wreckage ‘round… earlier here but- never would’ve- to look-”
Sansa clutched desperately at Theon’s arm as Dagmer’s voice made it across the crackling radio waves. Wreckage was good in this case, right? It meant she was on to something with her hunch.
Dagmer’s narration continued on in fits and bursts: the crew couldn’t see any sign of them near the mouth of the cave, but Theon had advised that it went farther back than it appeared to. They’d have to venture inwards, where hopefully they’d find Arya and Gendry.
“- water level’s awful high in there… not sure there’s anywhere- mother of-!”
And the radio cut out.
The entire beach went quiet. There was nothing but dead silence from the other end. For a solid minute, Sansa thought no one even breathed. And then-
“- this is Jory Cassell, we’ve found- them… repeat, we’ve found them both- they’re alive!”
Cheers erupted from the crowd, almost drowning out Jory status report on their conditions, the coordinator relaying it to a hospital; but Sansa doubted she would’ve heard any of that even without the noise, those beautiful, precious words thrumming through her ears on loop.
They’re alive.
They’re alive.
They’re-
“Where are they? Where are my daughters?” Only one voice was capable of cutting past the din like that. Sansa knew exactly what she’d see even before she turned to find a harried, rain soaked figure pushing through the crowd of onlookers.
“Mum?”
---
It turned out that when Sansa and Theon arrived unexpectedly, and in the ensuing chaos of the rescue effort, Alannys had neglected to mention that when Arya and Gendry were discovered missing and she’d been unable to reach Sansa’s phone, the next person she’d contacted was Catelyn Stark. Their obsessively workaholic mother, who had immediately dropped everything without a second thought the moment she heard her daughters were in danger.
Huh. To think, Arya had seemed convinced that their mother couldn’t be bothered: Sansa would have to mention this to her cynical sister, once they were allowed into her hospital room to see her. Currently both of the rescuees were undergoing treatment for their respective injuries, with Gendry’s surgery expected to last longer. Never one to sugarcoat things, Dagmer had explained the situation, admitting that Arya and Gendry were in rough shape when they found them, Gendry more so; he had been completely unresponsive, while Arya was half delirious from cold and pain. Best as the rescuers could tell, the boat’s mast had broken and crushed Gendry’s leg. Arya had gotten them both to land despite having suffered a broken collarbone when the boat later capsized, apparently keeping him alive out of sheer stubbornness.
All things considered, Sansa thought she was taking everything rather well, now that she knew she hadn’t killed her sister and her boyfriend. For now, she was stuck in a private waiting room with her pacing mother, wearing borrowed scrubs and wrapped up in shock blankets like a takeaway burrito, while her sort-of-boyfriend was back home taking care of her sister’s probably-psychic dog.
Meanwhile…
“How in the seven hells could this happen?” Cat swore, stalking up and down the aisle like a trapped- well, like a trapped cat. She’d changed out of her thoroughly soaked tweed jacket and skirt, but refused the blankets when they proved too cumbersome for her pacing. “She’s been on boats since before she could walk! Years of experience sailing, and not a single incident!”
Sansa had tried letting her work it out, but seeing as they’d been there for over an hour with no end in sight, this had gone on long enough.
“Mum, I know this is just you being scared, but please don’t say any of that to Arya. She’ll think you’re blaming her.”
Catelyn froze in her tracks. “What? Of course I don’t blame her, why would she think that?” Sansa sighed: her mother had never done well being frightened, so she always tamped it down until it came out as anger. For Sansa, who often had a similar response, this made sense; Arya, however, had always felt things too big to keep them locked down.
“How else could she possibly take it? She thinks you don’t care about us anymore.”
“What? How- how could she think that?”
“Well, you did stay home instead of coming with us…”
“Someone had to keep an eye on your brother during his summer session-”
“He could’ve stayed with Ed and Roslin, or come with us and do online classes. There were other options. You didn’t come because you didn’t want to.”
Though Cat’s face remained stony, Sansa knew her mother’s tells: the way her hand had been buried in the pocket of her borrowed scrubs, worrying her prayer beads, now moved to twist at her wedding band.
“I’ll admit, I let myself become buried in my work-” Sansa had to fight to keep back a scoff at this, the understatement of the century, “-but it’s almost done, I just need a bit more time.”
“You’ve been saying the same thing for three years now. Ever since Dad died.”
“It- it’s just been taking me longer than expected.”
Before Cat could start her pacing again, Sansa took her by the elbow and drew her to sit in the chair next to her. For the first time in a while- maybe in years- Sansa really looked at her mother. While she’d always been willowy, now she looked thin, the hollows under her high cheekbones even more pronounced and the bones in her wrist fragile beneath the skin. Her skin looked more grey than fair, with bruise-like shadows below her eyes, eyes that now shone with tears. It hadn’t escaped Sansa’s notice that Cat hadn’t once let herself cry this entire time, not even in relief when they learned Arya was alive.
She thought back to her conversation with Shae, how she’d managed to be both gentle and unyielding, and tried to summon that same tone now.
“Mum, how many rewrites has it gone through? How many edits?”
“What- that’s-”
“You’re never going to finish it, because you don’t want to.”
“I-I… I don’t know how,” Catelyn admitted softly.
“How to finish it?” Sansa pressed. Something in her mother’s noble, ever-composed face broke then, and the last wall finally came down.
“How to let him go.” A small gasp escaped her lips and Cat buried her face in her hands, shoulder hitching with the force of repressed sobs. Tentatively, Sansa placed a hand on her mother’s knee, half prepared for her to reject the comfort; instead, she seemed to minutely lean into the touch, and in turn Sansa rested her head on her shoulder.
“I miss him too. I miss you both.” Catelyn began to shake even harder at that.
“I never meant to make you feel like that, I swear.”
Tears pricked her own eyes, and Sansa turned her face into Cat’s shoulder, fighting the instinct to tell her it was alright. “I know.”
---
They stayed like that, Catelyn fighting against every sob that tried to break its way out, until the arrival of a nurse finally snapped them out of it. She gave them a calm, empathetic smile that said she was used to crying family members- although Sansa figured they weren’t usually crying over a death that had happened years ago- and gave them a moment to pull themselves together before detailing Arya’s condition. The bottom line of it all was, Arya’s surgery to fix her broken collarbone had gone well, though she’d be in a sling for the next few months and would need physical therapy. Privacy laws meant she couldn’t talk much about Gendry’s condition, just that his surgery was more complicated and would take longer, but they were optimistic he’d keep his leg.
Considering that a few hours ago everyone had been ready to write him off as dead, it seemed almost anticlimactic.
“She’s been moved to recovery,” the nurse explained. “Still a bit out of it from the anaesthesia, but you’re welcome to come sit with her.”
For all that thunder she’d arrived with, now Catelyn seemed oddly hesitant. Now that the immediate danger had passed, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Sansa took the lead, reaching for her hand and following the nurse to the recovery room.
Her already petite sister was tiny in the hospital bed, dwarfed by layers of heated blankets. Bulky dressings peaked out from under the neck of her gown and a sling kept her arm stable against her torso. Arya still looked groggy, her eyes barely at half-mast, but she managed to look at them.
Catelyn rushed to her side, any prior hesitance gone, and stroked her fingers through Arya’s mess of purple hair splayed across her pillow.
“Hello, my love,” Catelyn said, her voice soft in a way it hadn’t been since when they were little and home sick in bed. “You gave us all quite the scare.”
Arya blinked and scrunched her face up like she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Her eyes landed on Sansa, still hanging back awkwardly, and she reached out with her good arm. Sansa drew closer, and leaned in to hear her whisper-breathe:
“So much for hot-girl summer, huh?”
A hysterical giggle exploded out of her mouth and Sansa threw her arms around her sister, only just remembering to be careful of her shoulder.
“You’re such a brat,” she said, delightedly. Arya managed a weak pat on her back with her one good hand.
“Yeah, I know.”
Sansa pulled back and looked her over closely: Arya still looked exhausted, but her eyes were more alert now.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again, you hear me?” Sansa demanded. She was trying for stern, but it was hard when she wanted to laugh with joy instead.
“Didn’t mean to… th’ storm just came up, and…” Arya trailed off as she looked around the room. “Wait, where- where’s Gendry?”
Sansa cut in before she could spiral. “He’s fine! Or, he will be, soon. His leg got pretty messed up, but the two of you will be back to your old disgusting selves before you know it.”
“I-I… I wasn’t sure,” Arya admitted. “Afterwards… I don’t really remember much, but, I just knew I couldn’t leave him.” She shivered, and Sansa removed the shock blankets still draped over her shoulders and surreptitiously placed them over where she thought Arya’s feet were.
“You saved him. You saved the both of you,” Sansa reassured her. At that, all the relief dissipated, leaving behind the bone-weariness that had been building for hours now, and she knew there was something else she had to say. “I’m so sorry for what I said before, it was so stupid, I never should’ve said any of it.”
Arya grimaced. “You were kinda right though.”
“Wait, what?”
“Once I got us to shore, all I could think was, what if no one found us, and what would that do to everyone? A-and Gendry, I thought- it was my fault we were out there, he only went because of me, and I wasn’t careful, I didn’t check the weather,” Arya choked out, and then to Sansa’s dismay she started to cry. “If he’d died it would’ve been because of me, because I was reckless and stupid-”
“But he didn’t, and you’re both safe now, thank the gods,” Cat murmured, bending over to kiss her forehead. Arya’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion as if she only just realized their mother was there.
“Mum, I- what are you doing here, I thought… you said you were too busy to come with us this summer?”
If Arya’s crying had been upsetting, nothing could have prepared Sansa for the moment Catelyn broke down, all the tears she’d managed to keep back while in the waiting room bursting free. Horrified, Arya looked over to Sansa as if she could explain how their ever-stoic mother turned into this weepy mess. But Sansa was at a loss too, unable to remember the last time she saw her mother cry like this: even after the accident, by the time Sansa had been freed from the wreckage of the car and taken to hospital, Catelyn had already been told of Ned’s death and was wrapped up in worry over Bran’s uncertain condition. The last few years had been marked in turn by depression and obsession, as Cat let more and more of her life be consumed by work. But there had never been tears like this.
“Hey, s’alright now, I’m fine, see?” Arya tried, giving Cat an awkward pat on the shoulder.
“No, no it’s not!” Catelyn managed to get out between sobs. This time she made no move to cover her face, letting her hands lie limp on the hospital blankets.
Sansa was debating whether they should just let her cry it out when Catelyn spoke up again through her tears. “I know I haven’t- I’ve not been well since Dad died, but I love you so much, more than any stupid book.”
“We know that, Mum,” Sansa tried to assure her, though unsuccessfully judging by Catelyn’s miserable laugh.
“Clearly you didn’t, or at least you weren’t certain. Listen now.” Her hands darted out to grab theirs unexpectedly, squeezing them just this side of too tight. “You two- you and your brothers- you are the most important things in my life. You are my life. I will always come for you. And I never meant to make you think anything less than that, and I am so sorry I lost sight of what matters.”
With that, both girls finally let themselves fall into their mother’s long-awaited embrace. All this time they’d been treating Cat like she was broken, when in reality she’d just been a bit lost; Sansa could relate. What mattered was that she’d found her way back to them, and maybe they could finally start to heal together.
Things still weren’t alright, but maybe they could be in time.
---
Arya was released from hospital later the next day, but refused to leave Gendry’s side until he too was cleared to go. They quickly realized that with his bum leg it would be impossible for him to climb the many steps to his apartment above the diner, which prompted Cat to magnanimously offer that he stay at the beach house in Robb and Jon’s room. Arya seemed entirely too pleased with this arrangement, which prompted Sansa to mime vomiting behind their mother’s back; she was already preparing herself for the mental anguish that was sure to arise from having those sickeningly sweet (and horny) lovebirds under one roof.
Their mother, meanwhile, appeared to be taking the route of feigning complete ignorance to the concept of any of her children having sex lives, which Sansa could hardly blame her for. Besides, Cat had other concerns, namely the mortifying realization that in her panic to get to White Harbor she’d left Rickon on his own. A solution arrived unexpectedly when, after a few harried calls, Uncle Brynden offered to take Rickon for the remainder of the summer and make sure he finished his courses. Once he knew Arya and Gendry were alright, Rickon, of course, found the whole thing hysterical.
Cat then surprised them all by announcing that she would be staying in White Harbor for the summer, and furthermore taking an indefinite sabbatical from her work to focus on her mental health. Even with her emotional declaration to do better, a part of Sansa hadn’t truly believed she’d follow through. But in typical Catelyn Tully-Stark fashion, once she committed to something she fully threw herself into it, and in the weeks to come it wasn’t unusual to see her nose-deep in books about grief and life after spousal-loss. They talked long into the nights about how much they all missed Ned, with Sansa finally telling her mother and sister about the nightmares she still had of the accident. She was surprised by how much it helped to admit it. The three of them even discussed bringing some of Ned’s cremains with them next year, so that a piece of him could rest in the house that held so many family memories.
It wasn’t a cure-all for the years of unaddressed grief and trauma, but it was a much needed start.
As for Sansa, despite the terror of the recent events, she found herself holding unexpectedly together. All the stress and uncertainty seemed so much more manageable, because through it all she had Theon. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that he had become her emotional rock, the steady constant that helped her navigate the growing pains that came with caring for two injured housemates and adjusting to her mother’s newfound devotion to mental health.
Truthfully, she actually felt a little guilty about how much she leaned on him, worrying that maybe he’d grow tired of how needy she was, and admitted it as much one day. Ironically, she actually was actively leaning on him at the time, the both of them squeezed into the hammock with her sitting between his legs, back against his chest. Theon was engrossed in one of the terrible paperback bodice-rippers his mother loved (Alannys always had a seemingly endless supply of them available, many of which had migrated over to the beach house over the years: Jon claimed he only read them ironically, while Robb insisted it was the storylines that caught his attention- only Theon fully admitted to reading them for the smut) and Sansa had been looking over her emails when the thought struck her.
When she voiced this, Theon barely glanced away from his book. “Maybe I’ll go skydiving tomorrow.” She blinked, thrown off by this completely unrelated statement.
“Um, aren’t you scared of heights?”
“Oh yeah, terrified; I just thought we were talking about dumb shit I’d never do.”
Sansa huffed and rolled her eyes. “Come on, I’m serious!”
“So am I,” he replied evenly. “We’ve known each other basically all our lives, I knew what I was signing up for. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
“I guess I just worry that I’m being unfair to you. That you’ll get tired of me being so needy.”
“Stark, if we ever broke up, the very last reason would be because I got tired of you. I was always a bit of a screw up, even before the drugs. With you, I’m the kind of person I never thought I could be, the kind of person you deserve. I actually like who I am when we’re together, and you-” he hesitated then, his heart thumping wildly against her back, “well, the way I feel about you is way more than just like.” Sansa smiled down at her lap, out of Theon’s sight, as she read between the lines of his statement: it was far too early in a relationship to say those three words, but when the time came…
“I way more than like you, too,” she replied, squeezing his hand where it rested on her hip.
“Right then,” he said decisively, sounding uncannily like Dagmer, and returned to his smut. He was trying to act like it didn’t faze him, but she knew how hard it was for him to trust people, to believe in his own self-worth: and here he had handed his heart to her on a platter, not just willingly but gladly, knowing it was safe with her.
It was that faith that gave her the courage to finally click send on her acceptance email to Highgarden, along with apologies for taking so long to respond. Judging by the reply she got barely an hour later from her soon-to-be advisor, all was forgiven.
The next week, they held a belated celebration to mark Theon’s one year of sobriety. He only felt comfortable inviting a few people, those being his parents and Yara, and Sansa. Seeing how intimate the event was she told him she understood if he’d rather keep it to just family, but he insisted he wanted her there.
Alannys was- predictably- in tears when Theon received his chip, as was- less predictably- Yara. His family also gave him a small wearable totem, a carved piece of driftwood traditionally given to those ironborn who survived great calamities, as a reminder of their endurance. He’d kept up a good front while getting the chip, but this caused his stoic front to break and he buried his face in his dad’s collar, prompting a family hug that Alannys pulled Sansa into.
Afterwards they met up at the beach house with the rest of the Starks, plus Gendry and the Seaworths, for dinner; Arya’s friends from town also showed up, along with Yara’s girlfriend who brought with her a fragrant pot-roast she’d learned to cook abroad, sans the traditional horse meat. It was just like the kind of chaotic potluck dinners they used to have every summer, so much so it hurt to remember that Ned wasn’t there with them. It was a good sort of hurt, though, the kind that allowed her to still make jokes with Arya about the constipated faces their dad would have made at having to talk to so many people all evening long.
As much as she was enjoying the party, Sansa was pleased when Theon pulled her aside to talk privately. She was expecting him to want to sneak in a quickie, but the way he ran nervous fingers through his hair told her he didn’t have sex on the brain. He lead them down to the waterfront and they stood hand-in-hand, barefoot in the surf, while she waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts.
“You know how my Aunt Gwyn owns a shipping company?” he started. Sansa actually hadn’t known that; Alannys barely talked about her sister, not because they didn’t love each other, but because they had so little in common she rarely came up in conversation. She gave a noncommittal shrug, urging him to continue.
“Well, after her husband died she started expanding into the commercial industry, tourism and stuff. She just closed the sale on a marina in Highgarden, and she wants me to work for her.”
Sansa pulled back in surprise, though she kept her hand in his. “How long have you known about this?”
“A couple weeks, technically, but she only offered me the job a few days ago,” he admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier and impact your choice on the program.”
Well, she couldn’t fault him for that, although it raised concerns of her own. There was no way she’d let him make such a huge decision on her behalf. “Does my acceptance have any sway on this for you?”
Theon’s characteristic smirk had crept back onto his face. “Being in the same city as you would be a nice perk, but no. I know I’m mostly getting the job because of nepotism, but I think I could be good at it. There’d be some managerial stuff- though, I’d get to spend most of my time on the river. Plus, it’s a chance to get away from White Harbor, start somewhere fresh.”
“When would you start?”
“Three months from now.”
“Oh.” Her heart sank. She hadn’t even realized she’d already begun to get excited about the idea of him being so close. Three months felt like forever- then again, they’d waited for each other before, for her to be ready to admit her feelings, for him to reach his one year marker. Maybe this would be proof of what she already knew in her heart: that they could make it in the real world, that they weren’t just a summer romance. But still…
Theon tapped his finger on her temple affectionately. “I can hear you overthinking it, spill.”
“What if we can’t do this?”
“Then it won’t be for lack of trying. I told you before, Sans, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Sansa smiled despite herself; there wasn’t a world where she’d ever let this boy go either. “Alright, then, guess we’re doing this.”
The ocean waves lapped at their ankles, and with the sounds of their families laughing in the background, she leaned in and met his lips halfway.
Three Months Later
Sansa has to fight to keep herself from looking at the clock. Normally she looked forward to her therapy sessions with Dr. Tarth, if less out of a sense of an enjoyment and more for the biweekly catharsis they brought. It had taken some time to shop around for a therapist that fit, but Ros had assured her that it was worth the effort; Sansa hadn’t been quite so convinced of that, until she met Brienne. The two of them had clicked instantly, as Brienne was only recently out of her own graduate school experience and could relate. Since then, she had proven to be a godsend.
The adjustment to school and being in a new city had been harder than Sansa had anticipated. On top of the workload, Highgarden in the late fall was stifling, the heat and muggy air a far cry from the North, or the Vale where she went to undergrad. Some days she found herself holed up inside for ages due to a combination of being swamped by work and just being unwilling to face the weather outside. It helped that she had a good flatmate, Elinor, whom she’d quickly become friends with. She’d already found a mentor in her program advisor Professor Martell, an eccentric Dornishman whose love for epic poetry was only eclipsed by his penchant for bragging about the achievements of his wife and (almost absurd) number of daughters.
“You seem distracted, Sansa, is something on your mind?” Brienne asks, not unkindly.
“Things are fine,” she replies, offhanded.
“How did things go the last time you talked to your mum?”
“Alright.” At Brienne’s suggestion, she’d set up a standing weekly video call with her family to help ease the separation anxiety. There’d been struggles, as she’d been afraid of, but Catelyn was continuing to do the work of recovery and they had both begun to adjust to the change. And if Rickon gave her the occasional status update… well, it was about time the Stark siblings unionized.
“And how’s your sister?” Sansa smiles as she thinks of the picture Arya had sent last week from Braavos of her pointing at between the Titan’s legs and making a lewd facial expression. No surprise, her sister had taken to life abroad with the same self-assuredness she approached most adventures; she’d promised their mother she’d be careful, but Arya’s idea of being careful tended to differ from most people’s.
“The same.”
Brienne hums. “Sansa, I don’t mean to sound petty, but is there somewhere else you have to be? You just seem awfully interested in my clock over there.”
Sansa flushes with embarrassment at having been caught watching the time. “Ah, sorry. You’re right, I’m kinda distracted today. My boyfriend’s train is getting in this evening. It’ll be the first time we’ve seen each other in person since the summer.”
“Right; Theon, was it?” Brienne says, pretending to look over her notes, a trick that Sansa had long since caught on to but indulged.
“Yep. He’s starting work at his aunt’s new marina next week.”
“And you’re nervous about seeing him again?” Brienne prompts.
“Excited,” Sansa corrects, although there was possibly some truth in what her therapist said.
“You can be both at the same time.”
Damn, she’d got her there. “I suppose. I told you how we met, right?”
“I believe you put it as, ‘not-quite-childhood-sweethearts.’”
“Something like that. I dunno, we’ve just- we’ve known each other so long, but our relationship is still so new. I can’t help but wonder…” She trails off, hoping Brienne would let it lie; of course, her therapist does no such thing, instead waiting for her to continue.
Finally, Sansa asks, “Are we crazy, trying to do this? What if what we have can only exist in White Harbor?”
Brienne settles her notepad to the side and leans in, the ultimate sign that she’s about to drop a major therapist bomb. “Sansa, it’s not about what I think, or what anyone else does for that matter. What matters is how sure you feel about your relationship. I can’t answer that for you, but I can tell that from what you’ve told me, you and this boy are crazy about each other. You should never let something good slip by because you’re afraid.”
And hadn’t Theon said something similar to her about Highgarden all those months ago? She’d gotten this far on that, and maybe this next step wasn’t that out of reach either.
After therapy Sansa made a grocery run, both due to need and to distract herself from watching the clock; Theon’s train would get there when it got there, and obsessing over the time wouldn’t change that. One upside to living in such a busy city was that the grocers tended to be much closer, especially in an area mainly populated by students; downside was there was never anywhere by her flat to park, and she often ended up having to load up her arms with groceries and ended up with weird red lines on her shoulders and inner arms.
The other option is to make multiple trips, and like hells was that happening.
Having huffed and puffed her way up to her flat, Sansa struggled to fish out her key and turn it without dropping one of her bags. She successfully made it inside and started to unload her purchases, only to shriek and almost drop the milk when she realized there was someone else there.
“Woah, hey! Not exactly the welcome I was expecting,” came a familiar voice.
It was Theon. Here, in her flat, in Highgarden. Several hours ahead of schedule.
“Ah, care to lower your weapon? I’m unarmed,” he quips. Sansa realizes then that she’d been wielding the milk jug like she was preparing to take someone out with it, and slowly sets it on the counter. It was then she also realized that she’s wearing shorts and a ratty tee- a far cry from the cute sundress she’d picked out for this reunion- and she’d worked up quite a sweat in just the walk from her car to her flat. Pieces of hair had fallen out of her ponytail and were sticking to her face; she’d cut her hair to her shoulders in an attempt to deal with the Highgarden heat, not realizing how damn impossible it would be to style it. She also probably doesn’t smell too great.
All in all, not exactly how she’d expected this to go.
“Your train wasn’t supposed to get here until the evening,” she says dumbly.
“It got here early.”
“I was going to pick you up.”
“I got a cab. D’you need help with any of those?”
“How did you even get in?”
“Your flatmate let me in before she left- seriously, you want some help with the bags?” He moves to take the groceries and she lets him, her heat-addled brain still trying to catch up with the fact that her dreams (some of them nightmares) about their perfect reunion had completely disappeared.
“I probably stink horribly!”
Theon shrugs. “Probably, but I’ve been on a train for seven hours, I can’t tell. Your hair looks even cuter in person.”
“I-I…”
Gods, what was she doing? Every petty concern she’d had about seeing him again simply melted away. Sansa dropped the last bag and threw herself at him. Theon caught her and lifted her up, her legs going around his waist as he laughed and spun them both around.
“I had a whole plan! I was going to have a stereo, and- and balloons! And a glittery sign with your name on it!”
“I never say no to glitter.”
“You are- the most- infuriating man-” she declares between kisses.
“But I’m your man,” Theon says cheekily.
He was definitely right about that; good thing she wouldn’t have it any other way.