Work Text:
She was used to cold wind tugging violently at some loose strands of her red hair. The wind back home could be harsh, too, but the winds of the north never tasted like salt and never smelled like seaweed. It reminded her of Arya and of that time, many years ago, when she had been obsessed with the idea of becoming a seafarer and discovering what lies west of Westeros. Maybe this was what Arya was doing right now. A brief smile flashed across Sansa's face, when she allowed herself to hope Arya could be happy.
An almost black wave crashing hard into the ship pushed her thoughts overboard. Sansa just wanted to turn around and go below deck, when some dark shapes were suddenly emerging from the mist. Pyke. Massive walls on top of the highest cliffs she had ever seen. She remembered Theon talking about Pyke so many years ago back at Winterfell with fiery eyes and a cocky smile on his lips. As a child listening to his stories she had been imagining Pyke as a beautiful and mystic place. Looking at the eerie and bleak cliffs now made her understand that Theon's own memories back then had only been the blurred and glorified thoughts of a boy being robbed of his home.
Out of the corner of her eyes Sansa could see that Theon was approaching her slowly. She tried to find a glimpse of that fiery and cocky boy the maids at Winterfell had been talking about gigglingly with blushed faces. She couldn't find him, couldn't find anything in Theon's face, but that desperate expression that made him look like he was constantly on the verge of tears. Theon reached her, but he wasn't really paying attention to her presence. He was just staring at one of the bridges between the towers of Pyke.
During the crossing the Ironborn had been wildly speculating, how Balon Greyjoy managed to get himself killed. No one had been paying attention to the ragged strayer and the just as ragged girl by his side. They hadn't recognised the heir of the Iron Islands and the heir of Winterfell in them. Sansa couldn't blame the men. Only the ship's captain knew about their identities. One of Yara's men, who tried to rescue Theon from capture. He didn't ask any questions. He didn't ask for any payment. He just let them go aboard with an expression Sansa couldn't read on his rutted face. Was it disgust, was it pity, was it some sort of loyalty - she couldn't tell.
Just as no one had been paying attention to them during the crossing, no one was doing so now. The Ironborn busily carried barrels, boxes and bags along the pier. The ship had to be unloaded fast to bring its crew back onto the ocean in order to raid another coastal hamlet or whatever their next quest would look like. Sansa didn't want to know. She looked at Theon instead, waiting for him to make a move, to make any move at all. But he was just standing there at the pier, seemingly being completely lost in his own thoughts. Sansa couldn't bring herself to rush him. His last homecoming had led him into hell. For the past years she had been hating Theon for betraying Robb, for apparently killing Bran and Rickon. But during their journey to Pyke she began to understand that she never had been hating Theon as much as he hated himself. Hearing Theon frantically muttering Robb's name in his restless sleep had been keeping her awake many nights. And now he was back at the place, where his life had been starting to fall apart.
It took Theon what felt like hours to fight himself back into reality. Eventually, he led her away from the pier. Sansa suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to take his hand - she couldn't tell if she wanted to comfort him or herself - but before she could make a move, a glassy-eyed man blocked their way. He stumbled a little and the smell of ale was clinging to his dirty cloak. "No chance to get to the castle," he slurred. "No one's allowed up there while Kingsmoot. The fuck are you anyway?" Sansa felt Theon stiffen. She could see his muscles convulse painfully as he was searching for the strength to say his own name. She could also see his cracked lips mouthing Reek, before he shook his head slightly. "I-I am The-Theon Greyjoy, last living son of Balon Gre-Greyjoy," he said hesitantly. The man looked at them in disbelief for some seconds. Suddenly, he burst into laughter. A naughty laughter, causing large drops of spit to trickle down his chin. "Lad's been dead for years, " he chuckled, "better not crack that joke near Balon's daughter, if you don't wanna end up as fish bait." Bursting into laughter again, he walked past them towards the small tavern at the pier.
All the way up to the castle Theon was walking a few steps in front of Sansa. She felt that he wanted to be left alone. A couple of weeks ago he had told her about Yara coming to rescue him. His eyes had been full of guilt, of shame and of the same sorrow she always felt when she was thinking of her lost family. So, she walked silently behind him, thinking about the day she will come home to Winterfell with an army behind her. The North remembers and the Boltons will not stand a chance. She wanted herself and Theon to be the last thing Ramsay sees before dying. She knew her time will come - not today, but eventually.
To Sansa's surprise nobody asked for their names, when they entered the castle. She assumed that the captain had sent someone to inform Yara. Before entering the Great Hall of Pyke Theon turned around to shake his head in silence. She felt he was shivering heavily as she pulled him into a soft hug. Waiting outside, Sansa could hear Theon weep, she could hear his sister's furious words and she couldn't image Robb or Jon talking to her like that. Robb. Jon. Bran. Arya. Rickon. Sansa was far beyond missing them. To her, missing someone implied a slight chance of seing them again one day, but she has lost hope to meet her siblings ever again. She didn't even allow herself to think about it, since it made reality almost unbearable.
On the day of the Kingsmoot she woke up early and went to Theon's chamber to find some more hours of sleep by his side. Just as she had done during their journey through Westeros. When Theon had kept watch, she had been sleeping curled up against him - a warm, gloved hand stroking her back gently. At this morning his chamber was empty. She found him standing on a bridge and looking at the sea. It was a beautiful morning. A pink sun was rising and the ocean was perfectly calm. Soft mist was lapping around the cliffs, which looked rather green than grey today. She hadn't noticed the fine grass and small flowers growing through some cracks on the cliffs before. Years ago the boy with the fiery eyes and the cocky smile had been right, she thought, Pyke could be a beautiful and mystic place.
"Yara's going to be Queen of the Iron Islands," Theon said eventually. "She is going to help you get back Winterfell." Sansa gave him a genuine smile, even though he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were still firmly directed at the sea. It was only then that she noticed he wasn't wearing his gloves. His crippled fingers looked as they were still causing him horrible pain. Carefully, she took one of his hands and lifted it up to her lips. As he didn't flinch, she pressed a soft kiss on his bare skin. For a split-second Sansa could see a smile on his face, almost unnoticeable, and she knew, this was the first time he had been smiling in years.