I have a major soft spot for theonsa and wrote a little drabble for them! I posted it on Ao3 and I’ll post it below too. Thank you for reading! ✌💙
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“Do you see how blue her eyes are?” Sansa asked, cradling their daughter against her breast.
Theon lay behind his wife, allowing her to rest against his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he hid a smile, as he kissed the top of her head. “Tully blue,” he murmured.
Both were enraptured with their daughter, named Catelyn after the mother that Sansa had so dearly loved. “She has your nose, I think,” Sansa said softly, and Theon felt his heart stutter inside his chest, “And your pretty curls.”
Neither of them, the Queen in the North nor her loyal Hand reflected on the night that that saw the creation of their daughter. Theon swallowed thickly, his eyes closing as memories came unbidden to him.
He was Reek then, and Sansa -
Sansa was Ramsay’s wife and had suffered as no other woman had. Towards the end, Ramsay had delighted at forcing her to lie with the man she’d once considered a brother, the man that had betrayed her family and now knelt at the feet of her cruel master, her husband, who often laid with her too.
Ramsay had never gone through on his threat to castrate Reek, and Sansa had confessed that she was pregnant shortly after Ramsay’s death. Only they both knew the last time that she had laid with them both, and there was a possibility, a chance –
Of something that Sansa couldn’t ever consider, nor begin to accept -
“Theon?”
He blinked, immediately loosening his grip on his wife’s nightgown. She never knew a harsh word from him nor the cut of his hand. He cherished her beyond reason, the sight of the winter queen and her consort walking hand in hand, a frequent sight amidst Winterfell’s court. They often had private moments together, whether in their chambers or the sept, and none but Catelyn’s nurse would disturb them.
They both lavished love upon their daughter, as the halls of Winterfell came alive once more. Sansa was a natural as a mother, though she often had to reassure Theon when their daughter sneezed or fell when she attempted to toddle toward them, on her unsteady feet. She was the fruit of their love, the testament to the close relationship between them.
And there were nights still when Theon took Sansa gently in their bed, and she whispered in his ear that she dreamed of more children. She wanted a family once more; the rest of the Starks gone and buried, all but Jon who lived beyond the Wall, after the death of the Dragon Queen.
“She’s beautiful,” he said, glancing down at their daughter. She had the beginning of dark locks, ones as curly as his own, while she inherited her mother’s docile nature. “And she’s ours.”
Sansa nodded, and he knew that she was pleased.
Happy, even.
“I’ll always keep her safe,” he added, and Sansa tilted her head up toward him. She pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw as if she knew the direction of his thoughts. “No,” she said lightly, yet as seriously and earnestly as if she was praying to the Stranger. “We both will, my love. We’ll keep her safe, and never allow her to suffer as we have,” and Theon knew she spoke the truth.
