FIC: Child of Flames and Winter (Theon/Sansa) for thepiratequeen
Recipient: thepiratequeen
Title: Child of Flames and Winter
Author: perch
Rating: PG
Pairing: Theon/Sansa
Word Count: 1,029
Summary: It was the beginning of the long summer when the laughing boy first met her.
Warnings: PG for a slightly suggestive themes between a child and teenager. I'm rating it higher to be on the safe side since Sansa is only 11 in this. I tried to keep Sansa and Theon as in character as possible.
She was only two when he came, from a place of sea and rebellion to her land of winter. She was a child of two, precious and first born of the daughters and fed on the sweet milk of dreams and chivalry.
The child of winter's stern protector, her father, was the same man who brought home a dark laughing boy of ten named Theon. This boy sat cold and shivering on the back of a horse, looking at the hard landscape of white and gray that was now his home and the man that was not his father, but his warden and laughed.
It was Theon's gift that he could craft a smile even during the cruelest actions, his lips slightly mocking. It was a year before he saw his first beheading of a traitor beside the seven year old sons of Eddard Stark. By then Theon had established his place in the household, ward and hostage goes behind the heir apparent, a laughing Robb, but before the bastard, quiet Jon.
It was a year before he was allowed near the small girl that he called flame, or fire girl, little dancing flame. A child, shy and graceful even in her toddling steps who came to him with huge depthless blue eyes and crackling hair. A lonely little girl barely bigger than his knee who was no longer as sought out by her Mother now tending another girl, a smaller girl with dark hair and darker eyes.
Sansa could always be lured away by a story and had taken to following him for a brief time before being swept away on stories and dreams. And Theon enjoyed watching her grow and sit listening in rapt fascination to tales of knights recited by the hands of her old nurse. By the time she was four she knew that it was improper for a lady to be alone with a man that was not her brother or her servant.
By five she could curtsy, with the shaking legs of the newly inducted and her sewing and music were commencing, driving the boys from the keep to avoid the cacophony of untried fingers on strings.
She got better, though it took years.
By eight Sansa had bled for the first time and started to change, drawing Theon's eyes to her as her body lost the weight of childhood. These were the days when around each corner he would inexplicably stumble into Jon, whose eyes were ever watchful. This was also the time when Sansa followed him around again and it was in this mismatched line of brother and sister always around him like ghosts that Theon began to feel trapped.
When Sansa turned nine Theon met his first working woman and learned rough and crude arts on her pallet. He laughed in her arms until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and said, "Now isn't this the way it should be after all?"
When Sansa was eleven Theon found her one day pouring over a book, her eyes too wide for her face and he deftly slipped the tome from her fingers.
"What's this you're so caught up in milady," he asked her, skimming the page she was on, "So this is the part where a Knight asks his Lady for a kiss?" Theon stared over the book in mock shock at a blushing Sansa.
"We're at the time of kisses now, Sansa what would your Mother say," he asks and Sansa's cheeks deepen.
"It's not like that Theon, only look he asks to kiss her hand after having won many tournaments," she defends, reaching for the book.
Leaning close Theon whispers, "Kisses can be dangerous things."
"A Knight would never ask a Lady for those kinds of kisses," Sansa whispers back, her breath too close to Theon's, "not until they were married at least."
"At least," Theon echoed, bringing his face closer still, "but Sansa, how would you know about kissing?"
Sansa didn't swallow though her throat was papery dry as it was unfit for a lady. She did not protest his closeness, though it was too close for propriety. After all he was Theon, the boy she'd known since she was two, her father's ward and hostage. These were important facts.
Important words she was not to forget.
Theon moved closer still and Sansa had a brief moment of panic, blurting out the word knights as Theon gently tapped her head with the book and pulled back.
"You have dangerous eyes Sansa," he said before handing her the volume, "It is my solemn advice as your elder to advise you against thinking about kisses, you're years too young for them."
"I'm eleven; I'm old enough to be betrothed!"
"But not old enough to wed," Theon said and laughed, turning away from her to go and meet her brothers. Sansa stared after him, clutching the book to her body for a brief moment before also turning and walking away.
Later when she was alone and quiet in her chambers she looked at herself in the mirror she'd taken from her mother's room and stared at her face, her shoulders, and her chest. At the newly developed lines of her body that seemed to change each day and thought about Theon and how he'd grown and roughened over the past years.
Sansa stared at herself in the mirror and touched her lips, tracing their outline.
"I wonder what a kiss feels like," she whispered, before she turned away from herself and slept.
In the woods Theon was quiet next to Robb and Jon, a fact they quickly noticed.
"What's got you down," Robb asked, smacking his friend on the shoulder, "don't tell me you were turned down today?"
Theon merely laughed and continued deeper in the woods, his hands slightly too tight on the reins. Jon stared at his hands until Theon relaxed, starting a ribald tale of his adventures that day sneaking into town. In Theon's mind he remembered the whore, a pale washed up thing of watered blue eyes and stringy orange hair and slight body and said, "She was a buxom young maid, blonde of course…".
Title: Child of Flames and Winter
Author: perch
Rating: PG
Pairing: Theon/Sansa
Word Count: 1,029
Summary: It was the beginning of the long summer when the laughing boy first met her.
Warnings: PG for a slightly suggestive themes between a child and teenager. I'm rating it higher to be on the safe side since Sansa is only 11 in this. I tried to keep Sansa and Theon as in character as possible.
She was only two when he came, from a place of sea and rebellion to her land of winter. She was a child of two, precious and first born of the daughters and fed on the sweet milk of dreams and chivalry.
The child of winter's stern protector, her father, was the same man who brought home a dark laughing boy of ten named Theon. This boy sat cold and shivering on the back of a horse, looking at the hard landscape of white and gray that was now his home and the man that was not his father, but his warden and laughed.
It was Theon's gift that he could craft a smile even during the cruelest actions, his lips slightly mocking. It was a year before he saw his first beheading of a traitor beside the seven year old sons of Eddard Stark. By then Theon had established his place in the household, ward and hostage goes behind the heir apparent, a laughing Robb, but before the bastard, quiet Jon.
It was a year before he was allowed near the small girl that he called flame, or fire girl, little dancing flame. A child, shy and graceful even in her toddling steps who came to him with huge depthless blue eyes and crackling hair. A lonely little girl barely bigger than his knee who was no longer as sought out by her Mother now tending another girl, a smaller girl with dark hair and darker eyes.
Sansa could always be lured away by a story and had taken to following him for a brief time before being swept away on stories and dreams. And Theon enjoyed watching her grow and sit listening in rapt fascination to tales of knights recited by the hands of her old nurse. By the time she was four she knew that it was improper for a lady to be alone with a man that was not her brother or her servant.
By five she could curtsy, with the shaking legs of the newly inducted and her sewing and music were commencing, driving the boys from the keep to avoid the cacophony of untried fingers on strings.
She got better, though it took years.
By eight Sansa had bled for the first time and started to change, drawing Theon's eyes to her as her body lost the weight of childhood. These were the days when around each corner he would inexplicably stumble into Jon, whose eyes were ever watchful. This was also the time when Sansa followed him around again and it was in this mismatched line of brother and sister always around him like ghosts that Theon began to feel trapped.
When Sansa turned nine Theon met his first working woman and learned rough and crude arts on her pallet. He laughed in her arms until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and said, "Now isn't this the way it should be after all?"
When Sansa was eleven Theon found her one day pouring over a book, her eyes too wide for her face and he deftly slipped the tome from her fingers.
"What's this you're so caught up in milady," he asked her, skimming the page she was on, "So this is the part where a Knight asks his Lady for a kiss?" Theon stared over the book in mock shock at a blushing Sansa.
"We're at the time of kisses now, Sansa what would your Mother say," he asks and Sansa's cheeks deepen.
"It's not like that Theon, only look he asks to kiss her hand after having won many tournaments," she defends, reaching for the book.
Leaning close Theon whispers, "Kisses can be dangerous things."
"A Knight would never ask a Lady for those kinds of kisses," Sansa whispers back, her breath too close to Theon's, "not until they were married at least."
"At least," Theon echoed, bringing his face closer still, "but Sansa, how would you know about kissing?"
Sansa didn't swallow though her throat was papery dry as it was unfit for a lady. She did not protest his closeness, though it was too close for propriety. After all he was Theon, the boy she'd known since she was two, her father's ward and hostage. These were important facts.
Important words she was not to forget.
Theon moved closer still and Sansa had a brief moment of panic, blurting out the word knights as Theon gently tapped her head with the book and pulled back.
"You have dangerous eyes Sansa," he said before handing her the volume, "It is my solemn advice as your elder to advise you against thinking about kisses, you're years too young for them."
"I'm eleven; I'm old enough to be betrothed!"
"But not old enough to wed," Theon said and laughed, turning away from her to go and meet her brothers. Sansa stared after him, clutching the book to her body for a brief moment before also turning and walking away.
Later when she was alone and quiet in her chambers she looked at herself in the mirror she'd taken from her mother's room and stared at her face, her shoulders, and her chest. At the newly developed lines of her body that seemed to change each day and thought about Theon and how he'd grown and roughened over the past years.
Sansa stared at herself in the mirror and touched her lips, tracing their outline.
"I wonder what a kiss feels like," she whispered, before she turned away from herself and slept.
In the woods Theon was quiet next to Robb and Jon, a fact they quickly noticed.
"What's got you down," Robb asked, smacking his friend on the shoulder, "don't tell me you were turned down today?"
Theon merely laughed and continued deeper in the woods, his hands slightly too tight on the reins. Jon stared at his hands until Theon relaxed, starting a ribald tale of his adventures that day sneaking into town. In Theon's mind he remembered the whore, a pale washed up thing of watered blue eyes and stringy orange hair and slight body and said, "She was a buxom young maid, blonde of course…".