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I never want this moment to end, she thinks. The sea reflects the pink and orange and golden sky, streaked with clouds. Never has she seen so many sunrises, before she came to Harlaw. Never has she been so captivated by the glimmer of light in one man’s eyes. She shivers with her longing to swallow time.
She should know by now (but will never learn) that perfect moments aren’t meant to last. The glorious colors of dawn fade away. She listens for the song of the sea, paddling forward to catch a wave—almost, not quite, not yet…
Theon Greyjoy smiles at her with something like pride. “You’re getting close, Sansa. Keep listening. You’ll find your wave.”
~~~
Naturally, coming here was Robb’s idea. He’s always known what’s best for her—even when, for a long time, she didn’t want to listen. He said, “I know you want to start over, but having a familiar face around will make things easier. Theon will take care of you. He’s different now. Harlaw’s been good for him. I think it’ll be good for you too.”
So she showed up one day with a duffel bag, traveling light. It was low season in Harlaw, when only the locals stayed behind to chase the winter waves. Theon was waiting for her at the pier, lean and languid, with golden curls bleached near-white by the sun. She supposed he looked much the same as the last time she had seen him, years ago, but there was something different about him nonetheless. He had always been restless, jittery, wild, with a cigarette perpetually hanging out of his mouth—as if it were cool to have a death wish. As if nothing in the world mattered. Now, he looked solid—settled in his bones.
The old Theon would have sent a shit-eating grin her way, flirting to make her forget how he was born to be pitied. The new Theon stood there with his hands in his pockets, as still as she could ever remember seeing him. She watched light and shadow play over his face. This new Theon seemed like the kind of man to let someone draw their own conclusions about things he already knew. When he finally turned to face her, she wondered: had his eyes always held the ocean in their depths?
“Sansa Stark. I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
“Shows how much you know about me.”
The left side of his mouth curled up, just a little. Sansa was startled by the surge of comfort that washed over her at the sight. Robb was right. It’s good to see him again. Theon took her bag and gestured for her to follow. “Come on. It’s not too far. You better get used to walking because I don’t have a car. Everything I need is right here.”
~~~
A few nights after her arrival, they lay on the beach in front of his bungalow. She relished the sand beneath her skin, and the sky full of stars, and the rhythmic lap of the waves. Theon asked, “You used to hate the ocean. What changed?”
“I didn’t hate the ocean. I was afraid of it. It was too big for a girl like me to understand.”
“And now?”
“And now...I’m trying to build a new me. I figured I might as well start where the old me never would have.”
Theon was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “‘You can run past the ends of the world, but you’ll never outrun yourself.’ Someone told me that once. I’ll never forget it.”
“Was it Robb?”
Theon laughed. “No, but it sounds like something he’d say, doesn’t it?”
Sansa turned her head to look at Theon, but she couldn’t make out his face in the darkness. “So you were running away, and you ended up here?”
“Something like that.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No, I found something better. I found a way to be at peace with myself.”
“How?”
“I listened to the song of the sea.”
Sansa rolled her eyes. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
Theon chuckled. “You’ll see.”
~~~
Sansa couldn’t afford to buy a wetsuit from Theon’s surf shop, so he said she could work for him to pay it off. She was grateful that he didn’t make a big deal out of forcing her to accept his generosity. This new, more mature Theon probably understood the value in sweating to achieve something.
Every morning, they would paddle out while it was still dark. At first, they did nothing but sit outside the break, their boards rising and falling with each passing wave. Theon would explain to her how to read the ocean—how dangerous, and how lovely, it could be. Sansa could barely pay attention to these esoteric lessons. She wasn’t used to waking up so early, and she sometimes found herself nodding off while Theon was still speaking. He never reprimanded her or got impatient; when she woke, he would simply pick up where he left off.
After the sun came up, they would sit for a while longer, watching the colors bloom and fade. Sansa loved the way the sky lit up with a different painting every day, and she wondered why she had missed so many sunrises, sleeping in. They’d go back to the house and rinse off, though there was no point in trying to wash away the smell of the ocean. It clung to everything and everyone in Harlaw, indiscriminately. Sansa found some comfort in that.
She would make breakfast as Theon watched. She found his gaze unnerving at first, so intent and steadfast—so different from his old cocky skitter. But she got used to it, just as she got used to the smell of the ocean, and the early mornings, and their daily routine. In fact, she grew to love how he followed her with those seafoam eyes, though she didn’t admit this even to herself—not for a long time. (But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.)
~~~
Sometimes, as Sansa sat in the shop, waiting for infrequent customers, she would think about her family—how much they loved her and tried to help her, even when she pushed them away. She hadn’t told her parents she was coming to Harlaw, too afraid they would have asked her to go home instead. Bran and Rickon and Robb were all still in Winterfell, and Jon was only a few towns away. Arya was halfway around the world, training in Braavos, but she’d always been good about keeping in touch...
One night, in the local tiki bar, Sansa asked Theon, “Do you miss Robb?”
He took a sip of his beer and said, simply, “All the time.”
“Don’t you ever think about going back? To Winterfell?”
“My life is here now. Why would I go back?”
Sansa shrugged. “It just seems like you don’t have any friends here.” She colored at the bluntness of her words. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just...you and Robb used to be inseparable. I was jealous, you know. He was my brother, but he loved you best.”
Theon smiled, his gaze far away. “We had some good times, me and Robb. But as you know...things change. He’ll always be my best friend. But Winterfell isn’t home anymore. Not for me.”
“What about your sister? Where is she?”
“Asha? She lives on Pyke, only a short boat ride away. We had lunch last week while you were manning the shop.”
Surprised, Sansa murmured, “You never told me you saw your sister…”
Theon shrugged. “You never asked.”
“And what about your friends?”
Theon narrowed his eyes. Sansa barely managed to avoid squirming under the intensity of his gaze. “What’s with the third degree, Sans?”
“I guess...I just want to know if you’re happy here.”
She thought he could probably tell she was asking more for herself than for him. It was damn annoying how perceptive he could be these days. She was still getting used to the long silences—to this new Theon’s slow, measured way of speaking.
Finally, he said, “I am happy. It’s a different kind of happiness, though. Quieter. Less brash. As for my friends...I’m sure you’ll meet them one of these days.”
Sansa’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “So you’ve been hiding them from me?”
“Not exactly.”
Sansa leant forward. “What, do you have a secret girlfriend or something you’re scared to introduce me to?”
Theon considered her for a moment. “Why would I be scared of that?”
She felt the heat of the day sinking into her pale skin, a dull red blooming across her face and neck. (She knew the answer, and so did he. But neither of them were willing to speak the truth into existence. Almost, not quite, not yet…)
~~~
In the mornings, out past the break, Theon dispensed cryptic pearls of wisdom. He seemed determined to make her understand the ocean in a way she felt was beyond her capability. He was the most patient teacher she had ever had, but Sansa was fed up.
“The ocean will never give you anything you don’t earn. You’ll get spit up and tumbled around, and you just have to accept that this is how it’s gonna be, until you learn to listen to the song of the sea. Even people who’ve lived on the ocean all their lives know not to take its bounty for granted. There’s an old fisherman who lives on the wharf by the name of Urron. If you ask him, he’ll tell you stories you wouldn’t believe...You have to open your mind, your body, your breath. You have to attune all your senses with the living force that is the ocean, otherwise it will tear you apart. Sometimes I like to meditate on the water, feeling its immensity—"
Sansa interrupted, groaning, “Theon, I don’t care. I just want to learn how to surf. We’ve been coming out here for weeks, and I haven’t caught a single wave. Are you a monk of the ocean, or what? Can you teach me something useful for once?”
Braced for his ire as she was, Sansa was surprised when Theon laughed, tipping his head back. His golden curls glowed as they caught the sunlight, and she couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked—how unguarded, how serene.
“I’m no monk.” Something of his old charming smirk spread across his face, and into his eyes, smoldering with a peculiar heat. “All you had to do was ask. Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready.” She nodded, eager to begin her lessons in earnest.
~~~
Newly motivated by his pupil’s enthusiasm, Theon showed her where to position herself, when to start paddling, how to sense the power of a wave beneath her board. It was exhilarating to feel herself being pulled forward by such an ancient, mystical force. Though she didn’t want to admit it to Theon, she was starting to understand what he meant when he told her to “listen to the song of the sea.”
Theon helped her by pushing her onto waves, so she could feel what it was like. She even learned how to pop up into a half-standing, half-crouching position, with shaking legs and a pounding heart. She was never into sports when she was younger, never enjoyed the sweat or aching muscles that came with physical exertion. Now, she could see why Arya loved it so much. In those moments, body thrumming with energy, she felt so alive.
She still had a hard time catching a wave on her own—she would paddle and paddle, but the wave would leave her behind. She felt frustrated that she was still so weak. Theon, as sanguine as ever, told her, “You need to build up enough momentum so that the wave will catch you and bring you with it. Keep practicing. I know you’ll get it.”
Sansa wasn’t so sure. But if Theon believed in her so much, who was she to doubt him? She slowly learned to distinguish which waves she should paddle for, from which she shouldn’t; how to sit near the peak of the wave; how to paddle with commitment and desire. She even learned how it felt to wipe out, tumbling around and around, breathless and afraid, before bursting from the water with a gasp. Despite the slow going, she had never been more determined to master anything in her life. She would become a surfer, though it wouldn’t be easy. No, it wouldn’t be easy, but it would be exactly what she needed...to feel a sense of pride in herself.
~~~
One morning, Theon brought her to a different spot, one they had never been to before. There was a group of people out on the water already. Sansa hesitated to approach them, but was reassured by Theon’s nod of encouragement. They paddled up to the group.
A large YiTish man called to Theon, “Blondie! Where you been, brah?”
Theon sent him a shaka, then gestured toward Sansa. “I’ve been teaching my old friend Sansa how to surf. She’s staying with me in Ten Towers for a while.”
The YiTish man nodded at her. “Welcome, Sansa. You can call me Lo. Any friend of Blondie’s is a friend of mine. Come, join us. We don’t bite.”
Sansa smiled and sat back, watching everyone catch wave after wave, making powerful turns as they carved through the water. They were good. Damn good. Even Theon, whom she had seen surf before, seemed to kick it up a gear in the presence of others on his level.
The women in the group were just as aggressive as the men. One of them, petite and dark-skinned, dropped in on Lo as he was cutting across a wave. Everyone hooted as she and Lo rode the wave together. The mismatched pair slapped hands, laughing to themselves, as they veered back to the group.
Theon leaned over to Sansa and said, “That’s Xanda. She and Lo are always dropping in on each other. The rest of us think it’s like their version of foreplay. They’re an odd couple, but somehow they make it work...”
~~~
Later that day, she sat behind the shop counter and slathered aloe vera gel on her sunburnt skin. Emerging from the store room, Theon apologized: “Sorry, Sans. We should have come in earlier. You’re too pale to stay out in the sun that long.”
“It’s okay. You were having so much fun. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Theon came closer to inspect her face. He brought his thumb to her cheek to rub the last of the gel into her skin. “You missed a spot,” he murmured, voice deeper than usual.
Sansa’s lips parted at his featherlight touch. She stared up at him, standing almost between her legs, as he fingered a few strands of her long red hair.
“Do you think you’ll get a tan?” he asked.
She found it hard to gather her wits when she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Making a valiant effort, she mumbled, “I think that might be impossible.”
“You never know. Maybe Harlaw’s making a seawoman out of you.” He grinned at her then, rakish, like one of those thoughtless smiles he used to throw at pretty girls—no, this was different. This smile had a weight...
As his fingers dropped from her hair, and he walked away, Sansa thought to herself, Shit. Does he have any idea what he’s doing?
(Naturally, he did.)
~~~
The days passed, one after another, delineated by the rise and set of the sun, and the rise and fall of the sea. She learned to surf in the mornings, she worked during the day, and she spent the evenings with Theon and his motley crew, who accepted her without much question. In a way, they reminded her of her family, such different people brought together by one thing—blood, or passion.
After months of putting it off, Sansa called her parents one night. It was such a comfort to hear their voices again. She was reminded of when she was a child, and she refused to go to bed without getting tucked in by her mom or dad. Talking to them again felt like a kiss on her forehead, or a “Good night, my heart,” or a soothing touch from loving hands.
Her father asked, “How’s Theon? We haven’t seen him since he moved out there.”
Sansa replied, “He’s good. He’s different. He’s teaching me how to surf.”
Both her parents laughed at this. “I never thought I’d see the day you would willingly spend time in the ocean. But that boy’s always been persuasive,” her mother said.
“He’s not a boy anymore. He’s a man.” Sansa held her breath, cursing her inability to control her mouth in front of her parents.
To her great surprise, her mother chose not to comment. Instead, she said, “My babies have all grown up so fast. Robb met a new girl, and I think they’re getting serious. Not that he’s seen fit to introduce her to us yet…” Her mother huffed indignantly, before continuing: “Arya has a tournament coming up next month, though heaven knows I can’t stomach watching her fight. Of all things! Bran is doing well, spacey as always. Even Rickon’s going to leave us soon. Sansa, dear, when will you come back to see your poor mom and dad?”
“I don’t know...maybe after I’ve learned how to surf.”
Her mother sighed. “So we’ll be waiting a while then?”
Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the familiar exasperation in her mother’s voice. “Mom...you don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’m okay. I know it’s not the life you imagined for me, but...I’m happy here.”
This time, her father responded: “We’re proud of you, dear heart. Take as much time as you need. You’ll always have a home in Winterfell.”
She swallowed the lump threatening to come up. “I know, Dad. I know.”
~~~
As Sansa sat in the shop, her mind drifted...That morning’s sunrise had been particularly beautiful, and for the first time, she had felt like she belonged there, in the ocean. Like she was finally starting to understand the point of Theon’s meandering tales.
“Where’s Theon?”
Sansa raised her head. Standing in front of her was a sturdy woman with dark hair cut short and close to the scalp. She stared at Sansa expectantly, with an unnerving intensity.
“He’s giving a surf lesson to some kids. Out on the beach.”
The woman stared at her for way too long—what’s her problem?— then nodded and headed for the beach, taking long, purposeful strides. Sansa watched her go with some trepidation. Maybe she’s an old flame with a bone to pick? Not really Theon’s type though...
When Theon arrived back at the shop, with the short-haired woman dogging his steps, Sansa braced herself for fireworks. Instead, Theon smiled at her. “Sansa, this is my sister, Asha. Asha, this is Sansa Stark. She’s been helping me out at the shop.”
Asha stuck out her hand. “Pleasure.”
How can someone make the word “pleasure” sound so menacing? Sansa shook Asha’s hand, trying to match the firmness of her grip. “It’s so nice to meet you, finally. I’ve heard a lot of stories from Theon over the years.”
Asha’s haughty gaze swept over her again. “I’m sure you have.”
Theon elbowed his sister. “Come on, sis. Play nice. Sansa’s harmless, unlike you.”
“Hmm.” Asha continued to stare her down. Is she always this scary ?
(Much later, she’ll learn that Asha was only trying to guard her little brother’s heart. By then, she’ll feel comfortable enough to rib Asha over it. Theon will laugh and say, “Thanks, sis, but I don’t need protecting. Right, Sans?” The way she will look at him then, with such adoration, will be answer enough.)
~~~
“You’re getting close, Sansa. Keep listening. You’ll find your wave.”
She smiles back at Theon. A feeling of bittersweet pride washes over her. I will. If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after that. “Thank you, Theon. Thank you for believing in me.”
“I only helped you believe in yourself.”
That night, they walk to Lo’s house for a bonfire to commemorate the last of the low season. Soon, Harlaw will be swarming with visitors, and quiet moments like this will be hard to find. Theon and Sansa stroll next to each other at a languid pace, fingers brushing every now and then. It would be the easiest thing in the world to curl her fingers around his. But she waits. It’s like the moment before a wave, she thinks. Can’t start paddling too early.
Lo greets them with an exuberant hug, crushing them together with two beers at their backs. He hands the beers to them. “Ginger and Blondie, I’m so happy to see you in my humble abode. Come in, come in. The fire’s out back. Help yourselves to anything!” With one last parting shaka, he disappears.
“For such a big man, he sure moves fast,” Sansa remarks.
Theon pops the caps off their bottles. “You’ve seen him surf. Why are you surprised?”
They head out to the bonfire on the beach, where their friends sit, with food and drinks in hand. Music filters through janky speakers, but no one seems to mind. The roar of the ocean is all the music they need.
Theon’s fingers graze Sansa’s wrist, sending a thrill up her spine. “There’s Pol Gai. I gotta talk to him about our next shipment.” Sansa watches him sit next to a compact man. She looks around and takes a seat next to a slender woman with alluring almond eyes.
“Hey, Khiara. Been here long?”
Khiara shakes her head and holds up her bottle for Sansa to clink. She smirks sardonically. “Just enjoying the calm before the storm.”
“It’s so lovely right now. I can’t imagine this place full of crowds.”
Khiara cocks her head. “You sticking around then, to help out at the shop?”
Sansa nods. “Theon and I haven’t really talked about it, but...I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t.”
The fire throws flickering shadows over Khiara’s face. “What’s up with you and him anyway? You together or what?”
Sansa glances at Theon, still deep in conversation with Pol Gai. “Not exactly. We practically grew up together. He was my brother’s best friend. Still is, I guess.”
“I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
Sansa turns back to Khiara, who smiles, placating. “What was he like, when he was younger?”
Looking into the fire, Sansa reaches into the past. “He was a troublemaker. Kind of a punk, really. My brother Robb tempered his worst impulses, but...I don’t know, it was like...he was trying to prove something to himself. Like he had to be out of control to feel alive. I always wondered what Robb saw in him, why they were so close. Now I get it.”
Sansa shakes herself out of her memories. She asks Khiara, “Does that surprise you?”
“No. When he first got here...he was like that. Wild as the ocean. Charming as hell. He was a puzzle to figure out.” At the wistful tone of her voice, Sansa squints a little, feeling dread pool in her belly.
Khiara continues, “I thought I could get the measure of him, but he was slippery as an eel. So I backed away, and he let me. That was that. No hard feelings.”
At a loss for words, Sansa thinks, Why is she telling me this?
A ghost of a smile appears on Khiara’s lips. “Don’t worry your pretty red head about it. Like I said, I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. We’re cool now. And you look good together.”
Sansa takes a long pull on her beer. “Thanks, I guess.”
The two women sit in silence, gazing at the crackling fire. Then Khiara points to the ocean with her bottle. “You know what’s going to happen later, don’t you?”
Sansa shakes her head.
“We’re gonna paddle out for a midnight sesh.”
“Seriously? That seems dangerous.”
“It’s tradition. To celebrate the good times we’ve had, and the good times to come. All of us love the low season, but we wouldn’t survive without the high season. We need both. The ocean gives, and the ocean takes...We’ll go when the tide comes in. You gonna join us?”
Sansa thinks of what her younger self would have said, before she found out the hard way that the worst dangers lie in other people, not the indifference of the sea. She would have scoffed at the stupidity of laying her life on the line for a fleeting rush of adrenaline. Don’t be an idiot. What’s the point?
But Sansa’s not that girl anymore. And she knows now what she could never fathom then—it’s not about the adrenaline rush. It’s about freedom. In her acceptance of her lack of control, of forces beyond her comprehension, she can let go of everything—the pain scarring her past, her old girlish dreams...the doubt shadowing every decision. And from that void, painted in the colors of the sea, she will build a new self. A stronger self.
She nods at Khiara. “I’ll be there.”
So Sansa finds herself with everyone else, paddling out to sea. She looks behind her to see the bonfire still raging, red-hot in the darkness of the night. Theon, paddling at her side, smiles reassuringly. Sansa smiles back, suddenly caught up in the heady anticipation that has the whole group knifing through the water without a word. She can feel it in her bones—something magical is about to happen.
They stick together, navigating the darkness with senses on high alert. The light of the full moon casts an eerie glow over the cresting waves and the shadows of their bodies in motion. Every other sense is heightened by the absence of clear vision. Sansa can feel her heart beating in time with the steady strokes of her arms. The waves crashing all around them resound in the wired air. The group, led by Lo, comes to a stop.
Sansa peers backward, trying to make out the approaching swell, but it’s too dark. Suddenly terrified, she looks to the light of the bonfire to ground herself. If anything happens, we just have to make it back there. Back to the fire. They know what they’re doing. We’ll be fine.
A member of their group begins to paddle, but she can’t tell who it is. The wave leaves them behind. With every aborted attempt, Sansa is reminded that even people who’ve spent their entire lives on the water aren’t used to the darkness. They can’t see the waves either—they have to rely on feeling the surge of water beneath their boards to know when a wave is coming. Muscle memory. Every wave they’ve ever caught has been catalogued in their bodies, and only now, in the absence of light, do they have to call upon that ancient knowledge...their primordial understanding of the sea.
Finally, one of them succeeds, whooping with pure delight as they turn onto the dark face of the wave, just ahead of the whitewater chasing them down. Along with everyone else, Sansa cheers at the top of her lungs, heart thumping, fingers shaking. This is it. Now or never. Do or die.
Theon goes first, dancing through the water. Under the light of the moon, his body emerges in sections—first his arms, raised above his head, then his legs as he hits the lip of the wave, then his golden curls turned silver, and finally the contours of his back as he dives into the water. He paddles back to her, shaking the salt out of his eyes. She reaches out her hand for him to slap. “That was sick, Theon.”
He beams at her, as wild and eternal as the sea. “You’re up next. I know you can do it. You just have to believe.”
She nods at him, breathless and sparking with kinetic energy. Suddenly, she feels it—the rush of water under her board. This is it. This is my wave!
Sansa starts to paddle, with long powerful strokes, and everything else falls away. There is only this moment, this wave, this body, pulling her forward. The tail of her board rises up, and she paddles even harder, until she’s lifted up on the face of the wave, keeping her head low.
And then...and then, she’s flying. After two last furious strokes, she plants her hands on the board and pushes up, propelling her into a half-squat. Her feet grip the board with a surety she didn’t know she had, until now. A triumphant howl rips through her throat and into the air. Trembling with adrenaline, her body sings to be one with the ocean underneath.
This is what it means...to be free.
Sansa rides the wave until she can’t anymore. She leaps into the water, and laughs when she reemerges, body still abuzz with exhilaration. As she paddles back to the group, they all clap and cheer. Theon glows with pride. “Was that you, howling like a wolf?”
“I’m a Stark, aren’t I?”
Theon shakes his head. “How could I forget?”
Afterward, they all run onto the beach, clamoring like lunatics, back towards the bonfire. Sansa and Theon emerge last from the water. They drop their boards on the sand and unstrap. Together, they gaze at the moon, high in the sky, as if wondering what secrets the night can hide.
“Theon.” He looks at her with a smile like a drifting palm. “I heard it. I heard the song of the sea.”
“I know. You don’t need me anymore. The sea has given you its blessing.”
Sansa takes two steps forward, close enough to touch. She waits.
“I don’t need you, but I want you.”
The moonlight caresses the stark planes of his face. His eyes glimmer with a wild, impetuous kind of joy—so similar to the boy he used to be. But he’s a man now, and he knows it. Slowly, surely, he tips her chin up, with just two fingers and the lightest of touches. He leans in, slanting his head to the side, and his breath fans across her face. He waits.
She closes the distance between their lips, softly at first, then with a lightning sense of urgency. They fit together. It’s as simple as that. She tugs at his curls; he curls his fingers in her hair. Sighing into each other’s mouths, a dance of tongues. When did life become so sweet?
(It won’t always be smooth sailing. They’ll fight and have doubts and drift apart and back together—but all that will come later.) Now, in this moment, the most perfect they’ve ever known, Theon and Sansa lose themselves in each other. On a beach in Harlaw, under the light of the full moon, serenaded by the song of the sea…they are madly, deeply, incandescently in love.
(Will they ever know another way to be?)