Work Text:
Many things hurt her. Hurt her physically. Hurt her heart. But they were things she expected to hurt. To ache and burn. This hurt and she never thought it would. At least not so much. She looked down at it. Him. It. It was just a corpse now. Not him. That was what she tried to convince herself of to feel better, make it hurt less. But Gods, it hurt.
She fell to her knees and grabbed the corpse, lifting it up into her arms, hugging it, and crying. It was hard not to think of it as him. She cradled its head, squeezing its frail frame in her grasp. He'd never turned. She was grateful. He was human until the end and even after. Though that wasn't true. Not entirely. Sansa had seen him be less than human before the Night King had ever gotten close to the wall. Then he became human again and never looked back. She used to hate him, at least a little. Not for any real reason. It was just what she was supposed to do.
Before.
"I wanted you to live. I knew you wouldn't, but I wished you might. I didn't pray. They never listen to me."
He was Ironborn and he wasn't supposed to be here. So she hated him. What that really entailed was her never speaking to him or giving him the time of day, always talking over him, reminding him of his place every now and again. He was arrogant and a bit spoiled for his position anyway, but she was arrogant and spoiled too. It was always he and Robb, chasing each other back and forth like pups and when they chased each other to war, she thought nothing of it. Until she was given a real reason to hate him.
Traitor. Murderer. Monster. How she loathed the mere thought of him. There wasn't a day that went by that Sansa didn't recall how Theon Greyjoy had a hand in betraying Robb and killing her baby brothers, all for those stupid sea monsters. They didn't know him. They didn't raise him. They didn't feed and train and give him damn near whatever he liked. That wasn't the Greyjoys. That was the Starks. That was her father. And he betrayed them. For a dream. What they'd done for Theon had been real. All he had of that miserable rock was a memory. So her hatred, by then she had a lot of it, burned hot and bright for years and she was certain nothing could extinguish it except the death of those she hated.
Until she saw him.
And the flame got a little dimmer.
She wasn't sure what she was going to see in the kennels. What the point of this was. She wasn't easily scared like she used to be and she knew, as deranged as he was, Ramsay couldn't be rid of her yet. Not without a son. So she walked along the dark, damp stones, keeping a straight face even though everything smelled of dog, and looked. There wasn't another hound. There was a man. She hardly recognised him at first. It was dark and he was so skeletal and he curled up and cowered away. She wasn't sure. Even when she had her guess of who it was. Even when she saw his face. She wasn't sure. Or maybe she just wanted to be wrong. Maybe she wanted this pathetic thing, sitting in a kennel with other dogs, too afraid to look her in the eye, to not be Theon. And that struck her. Even though she despised him, this was somehow worse than what she'd imagined for him. Even though she told him later that was what he deserved. That she hoped it would happen to him again. She hadn't meant it. Not really.
Life had taken her to a lot of unexpected places. One destination she expected the least was kneeling in the snow, hardly even shivering, sobbing, holding the dead body of Theon Greyjoy. She was crying for him. She was sad because of him. Heartbroken that he was gone. It was curious when she thought about it. She couldn't think for too long. She was too hurt. In agony. When she had no one…he was it.
Sansa didn't want to look at him on her wedding night. No more than he wanted to look at her or even be in the same room. Ramsay's hand in her hair, gathering it and pulling it so tightly she thought it might come out at the roots, turning her head and pressing it against the bed so she was facing Theon. There was nothing to be said as far as gentleness when Ramsay was concerned. Saying it hurt was an understatement. She tried not to cry, but she couldn't help it. Even though she could hear Theon being berated for turning away, her eyes stayed closed. She thought about how pure and virtuous she remained. For it to end up being Ramsay. Of all people. "Open your eyes. We have an audience." He gave one firm tug to her hair and she could hear the tearing sound of her hair pulling from the scalp. Her eyes snapped open out of pure instinct and she saw him. Not Reek, like he swore up and down to be. She saw Theon. Still in there. Tears in his eyes even as he tried not to cry. The way he regarded her wasn't with pity, the way she'd been regarding him. It was with sympathy. Like he understood. Truly understood. That made it worse.
Sansa had detested Theon the Ironborn, the arrogant and spoiled ass who knew he was an heir and always held it with him, the man desperate to do anything to earn his place on that miserable salt rock. She'd detested him, but that was a man. Reek was nothing. Maybe even less than an animal. She was curious as to what had happened to him. To shatter him like that. So she asked. That hurt her then too. Which she certainly hadn't expected. He'd murdered her brothers and destroyed her home as far as she was concerned and thus deserved every ounce of suffering the world could give him. But it made her ill. To think of just one person putting up with all of that. Even if that person was Theon.
The way a weight lifted off of her chest when he told her he lied. She didn't even take time to feel guilty about the fact that she was technically rejoicing over two other innocent children's deaths. She didn't care. It meant her brothers were alive. She grabbed hold of him even though he tried to pull away and it was then that she could feel it. Sansa was a fighter when she had to be, but she certainly never yearned for it like Arya. So it stunned her how…weak he was. How easily she could hold him. At first, she thought he might've been too afraid to fight, but she could feel how he was just skin and bones. She gently held his face in her hands, feeling the anger slip away as she looked into his eyes and tried to plead with him, but he maybe wouldn't hear it. Just like before. She thought maybe he was too far gone. Ramsay owned him and he'd do whatever Ramsay wanted. Even if Ramsay wasn't around.
She thought about this.
Considered it.
But only for a second. He couldn't be. Not because she so desperately wanted Theon Greyjoy back. She could think of several other people she'd want back first. He couldn't be gone because she needed him. She needed him and it was as simple as that. He would be Theon before she was through with him, no matter how much he insisted otherwise.
She thought he was a pitiful help to have, but she'd helped him too and she wouldn't have blamed him for thinking the same about her. Neither one of them was the most heroic back when they saved one another. She wanted so badly to be angry at him that entire time. She was angry for a significant portion of that time. It was on and off. She wasn't blind though. He wasn't human then. He was a sorrowful little creature, less valuable than Ramsay's hounds. He cowered at everything, fearful that even the wind might be his lord and master returning.
Surviving the fall was convincing enough. For Theon. He wanted her to live now more than ever. It was why he held her hand in the cold with the frigid air rattling their lungs. Why he never left her. Not even once. Not even when she asked him to. "You can leave without me."
"I can't."
"I'm too slow and the hounds-"
"I won't let you go. Not long now." Not long now. He kept saying that as they ran. For hours. Not long now. She wasn't sure if he was saying it for her or for himself. Not long now. She clutched onto him like…well like her life depended on it. Her life depended on Theon Greyjoy. He was her lifeline in that sea of snow, but she knew she was his too. During one of their short pauses she burst into winded laughter and he stared at her in shock. "W-Why are you laughing?"
"I never thought I'd die with you of all people."
"Because you won't. I'll die before I let you die. I swear it."
She took off her glove, brushing her hand across the cold skin, dusting off the snowflakes from its beard and lashes. In death, he finally looked peaceful. Completely. Before everything he was always masquerading. Trying to brush off that he did feel some resentment at being Ned Stark's ward. That he never quite fit. That the Northmen always reminded him he was an Ironborn. Not a Northman. He pretended to be completely at peace with his state then, but he wasn't. Then it got worse and worse until he sunk to being subhuman and returned. He'd done right, but Sansa could always see it. His guilt. Like it was never enough. Like he would always be in the wrong. She always saw his face existing in some perpetual state of negative emotion. Not all corpses looked peaceful. His did though. And so Sansa smiled. A smile that quickly fell when she heard snow crunching behind her, she knew who it was before even a single word had been spoken.
"Are you ready?"
Sansa shook her head. It was subtle and soft, probably a wonder Jon saw it at all. So she spoke too, even though she sounded awful. "Not yet. I need to do something else."
"Alright. Come and find me."
"Mhm."
"I was grateful to him you know? For helping you escape Ramsay Bolton. Told him as much."
"We almost died out there in the cold. He was ready to die. To make it up to me. To our house." She kept brushing her fingers across the icy skin even though she could feel her hand getting colder by the second. He died making things right. But she knew it was probably best this way. For him at least. "He did…a lot. But he came around in the end. If you could forgive him we all should." He chuckled slightly at that. It got her to laugh through her tears too. Everyone knew how stubborn Sansa was. Sansa included.
"I never told him that. Not like I wanted."
"He knew. We all did. You were kinder to him than the Greyjoys."
"For hardly any time." She shook her head, holding the corpse close to her chest, thinking about when they hid in the snow back then. Huddling together for warmth but hardly feeling any warmer. Jon placed a hand on her shoulder.
"For enough time. Just…come get me when you're ready."
"I will."
She knew she probably seemed insane, sitting in the snow, cradling a dead body like a child. The dead body of a man most people hated. Or used to hate. Herself included. She didn't talk too much about what she and Theon went through together. What brought her to trust him again. Not to Jon or Arya or Brienne. No one. Not really. She figured it didn't matter how much anyone really knew. Everyone knew enough and everyone respected Theon for all the enough they knew. So people tried not to look at her when they had to walk past, everyone had other things to attend to anyway. So did she. She stayed for a little while longer, having no real way of knowing how long for sure. Then she whispered to him. It. Him.
"The you from before would've made fun of me for crying over you. …Thank you. You did it. You did right in the end. I…love you and I forgive you. And if we were keeping the crypt, I'd probably put you there. It's sort of ruined now. Jon says there's nothing after…so I guess this is more for me than it is for you. I'll know one day."
Sansa put her glove back on, laying the body on the ground gingerly. She leaned down and kissed his forehead before standing, brushing the snow off her dress, and walking off to find Jon.