[ she wants to shout at him in return, but she lets him speak his piece, lets him get it all out, everything that he believes — he calls Jon a liar, and Sansa squeezes her hand into a fist so tight that her fingernails dig into her palm. how stupid; Jon is many things,and there are many decisions of his she might critique... but a liar? no. he's the farthest from a liar as can be. and if Theon can't even see that, just how badly has his mind twisted? how much damage has all of this done?

her lips press together into a tight line as she looks at his bandaged finger. so in the end... she hadn't been able to protect him from Ramsay. maybe it had been arrogance, to think she could, when she'd only barely been able to protect herself.

but he speaks of killing, then, and finally her restraint snaps. ]

Killed him? Theon, do you hear yourself? Killed Ramsay, you? You couldn't do it before, you couldn't do it now! None of you could. Not you, not Jon, not Stannis. All of you underestimated him. You're an idiot if you think he didn't have a hold on you — can't you see that he still has? By making you believe he was telling the truth! Even now you defend him, defend your own choices! If you could have killed him, you should have. And you didn't.

[ she breathes in through her nose, breathes out. ] I fed him to his own dogs, did you know? He hadn't fed them for a week. I left him there, gave him no burial. He deserved none then, he deserves none now.