Chapter Text
Theon picks up the call in between runs of League of Legends.
“Hey, Sansa.”
“Hi, Theon. How are you?”
“Unemployed. Apparently no one wants a good-for-nothing retail worker anymore. The job market is absolute shit.”
“Mhmm. And this has nothing to do with your record?”
“My juvenile record was expunged, excuse you.”
“Winterfell is a small town, Theon. The North remembers.”
Theon rolls his eyes. “I think it’s very rude you called just to nag me about my teenage shoplifting.”
“We both know shoplifting was the least of your crimes, but that’s not why I called. I wanted to ask if you could come down to K.L. for a few days? Say next month?”
Theon hums. “Do I have the physical ability to do that? Yes. Would you like to give me a reason why I should?”
“I’m seeing someone,” Sansa says, slightly nervous. “Have been for a while now, and I want you to meet her.”
Theon grins. “Sansa, that’s great! Of course, I want to meet her. I’ll ask Robb if he’s available—”
“Not Robb! Just… just you.”
Theon freezes, confused. He waits for Sansa to explain but the line remains awkwardly quiet. “Sansa?”
“Sorry,” she says. “I just want you to meet her before anyone else.”
“And I’m flattered, truly, but we both know I’m not usually your first choice for something like this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’m not offended. Just confused.”
There’s another sustained silence. But Theon feels like this one might actually be going somewhere, so he waits it out.
“Do you remember Joffrey?”
Bingo.
“Couldn’t forget the fucker if I tried.”
Sansa sighs. “Yeah, me neither. In the beginning, he was so handsome and charming and…” — another sigh — “Not the point. He was horrible and cruel and good at hiding it, but you hated him right off the bat.”
“Mmm, to be fair, I think Robb hated him before he even met the fucker. And Arya met him before me and talked a lot of shit about the guy. And Ned—”
“Theon.”
“Yeah?”
“Everyone else hated him because he was a pompous dick who always wore cashmere. You hated him because you knew.”
“Oh…” Right. There’s that. “This isn’t… I mean this girl you’re seeing isn’t like—”
“No! Gods, no. I-I don’t think so at least.”
Theon sits up straight. “What do you mean you don’t think so?”
Sansa inhales. Even through the connection, he can hear how it shakes. “I don’t, um, I don’t exactly trust my judgment anymore.”
“Sansa…”
“I know, okay? I know it’s not my fault and I couldn’t have known, but what I’m saying is that you did. You knew what he was.”
“After he’d started hurting you,” Theon argues.
“But you didn’t know that then. You only saw us together at dinner.”
“So?”
“So, you saw the warning signs that no one else did. You know what those beginning stages look like.”
“So do you.”
“I’m too close to it. I ignored Joffrey’s red flags for months because I was convinced he was the one. You would be an objective observer. That’s all I’m asking for.”
Theon sets the phone down and scrubs his hands over his face. He does one of the grounding exercises his therapist taught him before returning the phone to his ear. “Let me get this straight, you want me to come down there and investigate your relationship for any signs that your partner might become abusive.”
Even Sansa knows it sounds bad because she says, “I’ll take you around the city too.”
Theon does his best to speak gently. “Sansa, both of our therapists have emphasized how important it is for us to trust our own judgment. If we expect everyone to hurt us, we’ll never be vulnerable enough to develop meaningful relationships.”
“She asked me to move in with her, Theon.”
Shit. “Shit.”
There’s another shaky breath from the other side. “Yeah, shit. And the problem is that I really like her. I do. I’ve even told her I love her.”
Theon knows where this goes. He’d liked Ramsay a lot too, told him he loved him too, moved in with him too. And as soon as he did… shit meet fan, fan meet shit.
“I’ve been fighting the urge to run,” Sansa whispers, “because for the first time in so long I don’t want to. I want to be with her and live with her, but gods Theon — what if I’m wrong?”
Her question lingers in the space between.
Theon always did feel guilty about letting Joffrey slip through the cracks for so long.
“I’ll be there in two weeks,” he promises.
His plane flies into Robert Baratheon International Airport late Sunday evening. Theon doesn’t believe in “travel outfits”, so he dressed sharp as usual. His beard is trimmed, his chains perfectly layered. Yeah, he’s not the one who’s got to make a good impression, but he damn well will. Taking pride in the way he dresses was something he used to do a lot more as a teenager, and his therapist is always encouraging him to get back into it — both for the daddy issues and the Ramsay ones. Theon feels good. He’s ready for this.
The car that pulls up to the curb outside arrivals is nice. Sleek, low to the ground, upper class type shit. As soon as it stops, Sansa climbs out the passenger door and pulls him in for a hug. Theon can’t help but smile.
He was never close with his own sister. He’s not all that close to Sansa either — at least not in the shared interests and compatible personalities kind of way — but they do feel connected in a way that neither of them are with the other Starks. Robb says it’s the shared trauma, but that feels reductive. There’s an intimacy that comes from talking about the deep shit, the my-therapist-said-this-and-it-ruined-my-whole-day type shit. Theon cherishes that intimacy because he never had it with anyone else. Even if they don’t connect on a shallow level, Theon will always believe Sansa is more of a sibling to him than even Robb.
So when Sansa says, “It’s good to see you, Theon,” he knows she’s not lying.
“It’s good to see you too.”
They separate. Sansa glances over his face, his outfit. “You look good,” she says. “Like you used to in high school.”
“Are you saying I peaked in high school?”
Sansa rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t tempt me.”
Theon’s grin widens. He knows what she’s trying to say. Even if his mind has barely begun to recover from Ramsay, his body at least has. He’s no longer small and scrawny, dressed in ragged hand-me-downs from Robb. He’s clean, groomed, fit. He looks good and he fucking knows it.
Theon shrugs, all false modesty. “The ladies of Winterfell can’t get enough of me.”
“Don’t be gross, Theon.” But she can’t hide the smile on her face.
In his peripheral, Theon sees the driver-side door start to open. There’s about to be a third person in this conversation, so Theon nudges Sansa real quick and whispers, “You look good too.”
Sansa’s smile softens, and that’s all the catching up they get before Theon is face-to-face with Margaery Tyrell. And damn isn’t that a shock to the system? Margaery looks like she just walked off a movie set. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect accessories. She’s wearing a silk floral dress that’s straight from some designer brand’s summer collection with a pair of delicate sunglasses perched on top of her head.
Theon knew Sansa could pull, but she’s got more game than he gave her credit for. He reminds himself to buy her a drink later.
Margaery extends her hand, and Theon shakes it. Greetings are exchanged. There’s the classic “Sansa told me so much about you” small talk that comes with meeting the family. Eventually, they get his bags loaded into the trunk and pull away from the airport.
“So Theon,” Margaery says, “Sansa tells me you’re here to see the city. Anything in particular?”
Theon’s brain stutters for a moment before he realizes. Of course Sansa wouldn’t tell her the real reason he’s visiting. After a slightly too long pause, he replies, “Uh, just the city in general. The biggest city I’ve ever visited is Pyke, but I don’t think that really counts.”
“Well, K.L. is the largest city in Westeros.”
“Yeah, it’s a pretty big step up.” Theon glances at the skyline through the windshield. “I always thought Sansa was crazy for wanting to move here.”
“It’s not so bad,” Sansa says.
Margaery shakes her head. “Don’t listen to her. She was overwhelmed by it all too. Our first date, she was supposed to be showing me around, but she looked more shocked by what we saw than I did. Told me later that she never left campus once during college.”
Theon laughs which makes Margaery smile. Sansa huffs like she’s annoyed, but when Margaery holds her hand over the console Theon sees her smile in the rearview mirror.
Margaery tells more stories about Sansa’s small town culture shock. Most of which get an eye roll from Sansa and one she outright refutes. That leads into Margaery suggesting places in the city that Theon should visit.
It’s very easy to see the similarities between Margaery and Joffrey. They’re both southern, finely dressed, and pretty enough to be models. Theon never spoke to the fucker, but Sansa always said he was charming in the beginning. He can see that in Margaery too. Her every action is so charismatic that if Theon didn’t know better he’d hit on her himself. Margaery is more nouveau riche to Joffrey’s old money, but Theon likes that. Hell if he could afford it, he’d have a car like this too.
In the background, the last sunlight is dying on the western horizon, replaced by the glow of a city so big Theon can’t wrap his head around it. He gawks at the view while Margaery continues to carry the conversation effortlessly. Everything feels light and easy.
Theon doesn’t realize he’s being pulled in until he meets Sansa’s gaze in the rearview mirror. For a brief moment, everything about Margaery is tuned out. He sees only Sansa, and the look in her eyes reminds him of a much different night.
It was years ago. Theon was just getting his footing back in Winterfell after his relationship with Ramsay imploded. He was Robb’s best friend again, even though the Stark family still hated him for how he shattered their friendship the first time. Robb was letting him crash on the couch until his situation improved. Theon was shaky, but it was the first time in a long while that he’d felt free. The first time in an even longer time that he’d felt hopeful.
He didn’t want to have Christmas at the Starks. No one there liked him anymore, but Robb insisted. It was there, amid perfectly decorated halls and the magic of a white Christmas, that he first saw Joffrey Lannister.
Something was off from the start. The way Sansa rushed to take his coat maybe or the glare he sent her when she stepped on his leather shoes. Theon got the bad feeling in his throat. The one he always got when he didn’t do what Ramsay said. He avoided the greetings and hugs, and hid upstairs until Robb came to find him for dinner.
It only got worse. Little looks and flinches, the hesitancy in Sansa’s movements. He watched them and saw his past staring back. All throughout dinner the bad feeling grew.
So yes, Theon had known about Joffrey. He knew from that first meeting. But he was just getting his footing back in Winterfell, and he’d only told Robb about Ramsay, and the Starks all hated him.
He knew. And he said nothing for an entire month.
Theon breaks eye contact first. He stares out the window, looks at the skyscrapers, and reminds himself that he’s in King’s Landing not Winterfell. He has to remember why he’s here: to keep Sansa safe. Not to befriend Margaery. That means no languishing in his own bullshit and no getting pulled in by the rich girl charm.
Theon always felt guilty for how long he enabled Joffrey. For that extra month of pain Sansa endured. He’s going to make up for it this time.