DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 2 - CLASH OF THE KINGS

Sansa VII

The sound of a horn blowing pierced through the air, alerting Sansa to the arrival of newcomers. She emerged from her chambers to find Bran, his face flushed red with embarrassment, and Robb, looking sheepish. Bran hurried ahead, seeking refuge from the embarrassment of his previous peeping antics.

"Did you speak with him?" Sansa whispered to Robb as they descended the steps.

Robb nodded, his expression reflecting the mortification of the encounter. "Thank you for that. It was the most humiliating thing I've ever had to do."

"I'm certain Arya will top it," Sansa remarked with a smirk as they reached the courtyard.

A small crowd had gathered, their laughter echoing in the air. Among them were the familiar voices of Theon and Ygritte. Sansa manoeuvred through the throng until she spotted them, both wearing broad smiles.

Theon appeared different, his once short hair had now grown long, and a beard reminiscent of Jon's adorned his face. Sansa fought back a laugh; he didn't look absurd, but peculiar. Ygritte remained unchanged, though the scowl that often graced her features was absent. As her gaze settled on Theon, there was a hint of something in her eyes—affection, perhaps even love.

Sansa pondered the potential dynamic between Theon and Ygritte. With Theon holding a prominent position in their military ranks, a union between a Freefolk and a figure of high status in the North could improve relations between the Wildlings and Westeros. Although, she couldn't help but wonder what Jon's reaction would be, given his history with Ygritte. Would he feel a pang of jealousy toward Theon?

Sansa pushed aside such musings. Dwelling on insecurities about her relationship with Jon served no purpose. Despite their limited time together as a married couple, she needed to quell such doubts. Instead, she approached Theon and enveloped him in a hug.

"You look well," she complimented with a smile.

Theon's expression darkened. "You do not." His gaze lingered on the yellowing bruises marring her face.

"It's nothing," Sansa dismissed with a shake of her head.

"It doesn't appear to be nothing," Theon retorted, his tone sharp.

"She risked herself for the Freefolk," Tormund interjected, drawing attention to Sansa's bravery.

Both Theon and Ygritte exchanged surprised glances. Ygritte, Jon's former lover, had always regarded Sansa with disdain, but now her gaze held a sceptical edge.

"I wouldn't say that Tormund," Sansa admitted, her cheeks flushing.

"That evil fucker was targeting all the Freefolk women with hair like fire. Lady Whitestark thought she was his next victim. So she ventured down to the lake alone. She was right. The bastard tried to assault her, wielding a knife. If it weren't for the wolves, she'd be dead," Tormund recounted, prompting another blush from Sansa.

Theon's eyes widened. "The Boltons?" he inquired.

Sansa felt a surge of satisfaction wash over her. "It was worth every bruise," she smirked, relishing the thought of Ramsay's demise once more.

Tormund draped his arm around her, drawing her close. "She may appear delicate on the outside, but inside she's got the makings of a true warrior. All we need to do is ply her with sour goat's milk," he grinned.

Sansa shot Tormund a pointed look. "You only want me drunk on that stuff to settle your bet."

"Me?" he feigned innocence. "I would never." Laughter rippled through the courtyard.

Turning to Theon and Ygritte, Sansa offered, "I'll have the servants draw your baths. Your rooms are prepared and waiting."

"Um, Sansa, I mean, Lady Whitestark. Would you mind if Ygritte and I shared a room?" he inquired.