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Theon Greyjoy got very, very drunk at Robb Stark’s 21st birthday party.
Before Ramsay, that wouldn’t have surprised anyone.
A lot of things had been different before Ramsay.
But change was a constant and everyone had got used to the fact that Theon rarely drank any more, and if he did, it tended to be in limited quantities. Somehow everyone now accepted Theon as designated driver, unlikely as that had once seemed.
But Theon knew everyone at Robb’s party and Jon had snuck him a couple of early shots and somehow, now, Theon was both very, very drunk and very, very determined to beat Jon at party games.
“That is,” said Arya, plopping down on the couch beside Sansa, nodding back at the table behind them, currently surrounded mostly by boys who were intently concentrating, “the most over the top game of drunk UNO I have ever seen.”
Sansa nodded and took another sip of her coke. Somehow she’d found herself quietly sitting alone on the couch in the middle of the madness of the party and had been enjoying the momentary peace. “I heard Jon shit-talking Theon.”
“Like a boss,” replied Arya. “I think he’s getting revenge for years of Theon shit-talking him. Now that Theon’s a lightweight.”
Sansa snorted, somewhat inelegantly. “They’ll be okay,” she said. “I’m fairly certain Robb will keep them from killing each other. Except maybe accidentally.”
Arya shrugged. “Figured so,” she said, then nodded at the drink in Sansa’s hand. “Does Mum know how much vodka you’ve got hiding in that coke?” she asked.
Sansa side-eyed Arya. “I’m not drunk, Arya,” she said.
“But you are drinking. Alcohol. Illegally,” replied Arya. “I could tell Mum.”
“Does she know you’ve got your bellybutton pierced?” replied Sansa. “Illegally?”
Arya glared at Sansa. “I never should have shown you that,” she grumbled.
Sansa shrugged. “Bran knew about it anyway. And he would have told me.”
“What’s it like?” Arya asked. “Being in your half of the family?”
“My half of the family?” Sansa raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The goody two shoes, follow all the rules, half of the family,” replied Arya. “You and Robb and Bran and Jon.”
“Jon doesn’t belong to that side of the family,” said Sansa and Arya looked surprised.
“You’re just saying that because Jon pisses you off,” she said.
“No,” said Sansa, thoughtfully, thinking about why she’d said that and Arya, somewhat surprisingly, waited until Sansa finally continued. “Jon thinks he follows the rules. He always does the good thing. The right thing. But he doesn’t want to do it because those are the rules. He doesn’t want there to be rules. He thinks everyone will do okay if you just let them do what they want. I think… I think he thinks what Aunt Lyanna did was romantic. Following her heart. Breaking all the rules. That she did the right thing, even if it ended badly, because his dad was a dick. I know he’s studying law, but I think he really wants to live in the wilderness and, I don’t know - study wolves, or something. He doesn’t really understand rules. Why they need to exist. It’s why he’s so utterly shit at cyvasse. I mean,” she shrugged and looked at Arya, “you wouldn’t be his favourite if he really wanted to follow all the rules,” and grinned as Arya faked a punch at her.
Arya looked back at the savage UNO game. “What about Theon, O slightly drunken oracle?” she asked. “What side does he belong to?”
Sansa looked back at the table, considered Theon for a while. “Theon didn’t know what the rules were,” she said finally, and her voice was almost sorrowful. “I know he always tried to make out he was the wild one before… before Ramsay, but I think he always wanted to do the right thing. But… his dad… He used to get punished, you know? For things that weren’t his fault. For things that wouldn’t be any kid’s fault. Just being a kid. His mum getting sick. His brothers dying. How do you know what the rules are, if they keep changing on you?”
“And now?” asked Arya, surprising Sansa, who wasn’t used to doing much other than fighting with her little sister.
“I think he’s worked out his own rules now,” said Sansa, taking another sip of her drink. “I think… I think he learned what it’s like being someone who treats other people like things. And he worked out he didn’t want to be that kind of person.”
Arya, who’d been too young to really understand what was going on when Theon had gone away, leaned forward suddenly. “What did Ramsay do to him, Sansa?” she asked. She shrugged at Sansa’s look. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m too young to know.”
Sansa looked down at her drink and then gave Arya an apologetic glance. “It’s not my story to tell,” she said. “It’s Theon’s. You should ask him.”
Arya shot a glare at the UNO table. “He won’t tell me,” she grumbled. “He thinks I’m a fucking weirdo.”
“Well, to be fair,” replied Sansa. “That’s probably because sometimes you’re a fucking weirdo.” She made a face at Arya as the glare was transferred to her and then both of them suddenly burst into laughter. They leaned back into the couch together, relaxing side by side. “It’s okay being on the boring side of the family, Arya,” said Sansa. “Maybe you should try it sometime. Though there’s probably not enough body piercings and tattoos for you.”
“You know Rickon’s already designed his first tattoo?” replied Arya and grinned at Sansa as she sat up and glared at her little sister.
“He’s ten, Arya!” gasped Sansa.
“He’s not going to get it until he’s eighteen, Sansa!” Arya mimicked Sansa’s shocked tone and then suddenly she looked serious again. “What’s it like with Harry? The golden boy. To your golden girl. Now you’re sleeping with him.” She rolled her eyes as Sansa glared at her. “It’s not like we don’t all go to the same school,” she said. “And Harry told his mates that he’d bagged you and they told their sisters, who told me.”
For an instant, shame lanced through Sansa at the thought that Harry had said he’d “bagged her” but then her instinct to see the best side of her boyfriend kicked in. After all, she’d told Jeyne she’d slept with Harry, who’d probably told Jon, who’d probably told Robb, who’d probably told Talisa. Right? And teenage boys - Harry probably hadn’t said that. Just his mates, who didn’t care what it sounded like, they’d probably said that. Harry wouldn’t say that about her, would he?
“It’s good,” said Sansa, and her smile at Arya nearly wasn’t fake. “Really good.”
Arya arched an eyebrow at Sansa. “You know you can’t lie to me, Sansa,” she said, far too sceptically for a 15 and a bit year old.
Sansa looked down at her drink, took another sip of it. She wasn’t sure why she was suddenly telling Arya things she hadn’t told anyone else, but maybe it was the vodka. Bad vodka. Naughty vodka, thought Sansa. She opened her mouth to fib again, but what she heard coming out was, “It’s okay. I guess. I mean, Harry’s nice. He tries to be nice. But he’s… he’s… He tries. But he doesn’t… talk to me much. About what I like.” Sansa squared her shoulders up determinedly. “It’s my fault. He’s had other girls. I never… I’m not very good at it, I think. I don’t know how to ask. But it’s getting better. It’ll get better. Once I’m better at it.”
She was saved from looking at Arya by the sounds of her name being mentioned at the UNO table, and she and Arya simultaneously looking in that direction.
It was Theon who was talking, leaning intently forward and glaring at Harry Hardyng. “Don’t,” he was saying, enunciating very carefully, “ever shit-talk Sansa.”
“I’m not shit-talking Sansa,” said Harry, in his lazy voice, his golden grin definitely shit-eating. “Just saying you aren’t telling the truth when you say you wouldn’t want to hit it. Everyone wants to hit that. You’re just jealous that I’m hitting it.””
Theon’s intense glare was joined by Robb’s, but her brother didn’t manage to get a word in, as Theon leaned even further forward. “Don’t say shit like that about Sansa, Harry. Ever. Not when I can hear you. Not when anyone can hear you.”
“Leave it be, Theon” said Jeyne from her perch on Jon’s lap, keeping to her eternal role of peacekeeper. “He heard what you said.”
Theon continued glaring but Harry’s smile widened and he shot a grateful glance at Jeyne, who reddened slightly and ducked her face down, leaning into Jon’s chest. Harry swung his smile around to aim it at Sansa, and it widened as he saw her looking at him, her answering small, tight smile. He tilted his knee wide, patted it, inviting Sansa to join him. She stood and Harry’s glance at Theon was triumphant. It dripped off his face as Sansa got up and went past the table to the kitchen and came back with a tall glass of water, which she placed in front of Theon.
“You should have some water,” she said to Theon, who had glared at Harry the whole time she was gone, but whose gaze softened as it swung around and landed on her.
“Sansa,” said Theon expansively. “Your boyfriend is a dick. Can I shoot him in the butt for you?”
“No, Theon,” said Sansa patiently. “You can’t shoot him in the butt.”
“Could totally shoot him in the butt,” responded Theon, somewhere between charming and sullen.
It had been the oddest outcome of his time with Ramsay: after the last operation had failed and they’d finally amputated his little finger, his physiotherapist had suggested Theon take up archery as a way to build his grip and confidence in the altered mechanics of his hand. He’d turned out to be a natural at it and an increasing number of University medals were now littering his room.
“Physically, you could totally shoot him in the butt,” replied Sansa. “Morally and legally, not so much,” and Jon added a “very true” in law student support of her position.
Theon reached up, took Sansa’s right hand suddenly. “Don’t ever let him talk shit about you, Sansa. Don’t let anyone talk shit about you. Ever.”
“He’s just a bit drunk and silly and boasting, Theon,” replied Sansa. “Just drink some water.”
“You’re going to be Queen of all Westeros one day, Sans,” said Theon, solemnly. “No-one should talk shit about the Queen of all Westeros.”
Sansa smiled down at Theon. “I don’t want to be Queen of all Westeros, Theon,” she said.
“Queen in the North, then,” replied Theon and then, unexpectedly, pressed his lips to the back of Sansa’s hand, looking up at her through the fall of curls on his forehead.
She stared down at him in shock as she felt the warmth of his lips, the touch of his breath on the back of her hand. She expected to see mockery in his eyes, or drunken amusement at least, but while his lips touched to her skin, there was nothing but devoted adoration in his eyes.
“My Queen in the North,” he whispered as he lifted his mouth from her hand. “Remember when you’re Queen that I was always nice to you, even when I was very, very, very, very,” Theon stopped and considered carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration and then added decisively, “ very drunk.”
“I promise, Theon,” said Sansa and crossed her heart solemnly. “Now drink some water.”
“You are utterly shitfaced, little brother,” said Yara, from her seat next to Theon. “If you don’t drink the water, I’m cutting you off the bourbon,” and Sansa took the opportunity of Theon turning to glare at his sister to take her hand back and make her way round to Harry, who smirked at Theon as Sansa settled on his knee.
Sansa knew that Harry kissed her then to make sure that Theon and everyone understood that she was his, to mark her as his own and dutifully she kissed him back hard, letting him have his moment of triumph.
But even as Harry’s mouth pressed almost bruisingly on her own, Sansa felt only the soft brush of Theon’s lips against the back of her hand, and it was the heat of that memory that made her shudder in Harry’s arms.