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Chapter Text

Theon liked hunting, he was good at it, one of the most skilled archers in Winterfell. He’d argue he was the best, but that was mostly just for show. The Ironborn were proud, so he tried to be, too. He’s just not always sure if he’s worth the pride he boasts. 

He’d lived in Winterfell for years, to the point where it felt more like his home than his real home, the Iron Islands, yet he still felt like an outsider. Robb was more a brother to him than his real brothers, as were Bran and Rickon, even Jon, but that was just it. They weren’t his brothers. He wasn’t a Stark. And he never would be, no matter how badly he wished it. Jon was a bastard, a Snow, and Lady Catelyn may carry evident disdain for him, Lord Eddard, however, loved Jon as much as the rest of his children, and so Jon’s place in Winterfell would always be more solid than Theon’s. It wasn’t his place, it was his prison. He was a prisoner here, a hostage. He’d never be anything more. 

So even though he liked hunting, he didn’t particularly like hunting when it was with Lord Eddard, his sons, and the rest of the hunting party, even if it was only them and the Cassels. Maybe if it was just Robb with him, he wouldn’t mind, but with everyone else around, he didn’t really get to hunt, he got to trail behind Lord Eddard’s shadow, carrying his great sword, Ice, should the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North ever need it. It was the same sword that would be used to kill him, if his father ever attempted to revolt again. Theon was forced to walk around carrying his impending death. Where was the pride in that? He knew Lord Eddard liked him, and that he had no desire to kill him, but he also knew that he would, if duty called for him to, which is why Theon knew he would never belong in Winterfell, he was disposable. A pawn in someone else’s game as opposed to a player of his own.

This particular hunt seemed to be like any other, only Bran was with them this time, which wasn’t a normality. Theon was walking alongside Jory Cassel, carrying Ice and watching Robb, Jon, and Bran chat, quiet yet happy. He wishes he could walk with them, be one of them.

He’s distracted when the hunting group stumbles upon a dead stag, torn inside out and partly eaten.

“A mountain lion?” Theon wonders.

Lord Stark shakes his head. “There are no mountain lions in these parts,” he says and then reaches for Ice and walks off in the direction the stag would have come from. 

A little ways past the stag they stumble upon another creature, just as dead as the stag. A direwolf, Theon realizes, and Lord Eddard confirms it. It’s traveled too far south and now lies dead, it’s pups.

“There are no direwolves south of the wall,” Robb says.

“Now there are five,” Jon interjects. Jon picks one of the puppies up and turns to Bran. “Do you want to hold it?”

Bran takes the wolf and holds it to his chest. “Where will they go? Their mother’s dead.”

“They don’t belong down here,” Ser Rodrik says.

“A quick death,” Lord Eddard decides. “They won’t survive without their mother.”  Theon draws his dagger and reaches for the wolf Bran’s holding.

“Right, give it here,” he says, taking it.

“No!” Bran yells just as the pup whines. Theon doesn’t want to kill them, but he must do as Lord Stark commands. He’ll make it quick and painless.

“Put away your blade,” Robb commands him.

“I serve your father, not you!” Theon quips back.

“Please Father!” Bran begs.

“I’m sorry Bran,” Lord Eddard says, beginning to walk away.

“Lord Stark,” Jon says, causing everyone to freeze. “There are five pups, one for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them.”

Theon looks down at the golden brown-grey wolf in his hand. Even as a pup it does like it was made for a Stark. Fierce, loyal creature that it is. Would that krakens were like that as well, he’d have one he’s sure. But krakens are much less a pet than a direwolf would be. Theon looks to Lord Stark for his decision. As does Robb and everyone else.

“You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.” Lord Stark says. Theon puts away his blade and hands the puppy back to Bran. Jon picks up another wolf and hands it to Theon, and then he picks up another for himself to hold. Robb grabs the remaining two, and they’re about to head off, when Jon hears a noise, stopping in his tracks. He leans down and picks up a six wolf, white as snow with bright red eyes.

“An albino,” Theon remarks. “That one’s yours, Snow.” Jon shoots him a look and Theon rolls his eyes, turning and walking off. He makes it about 10 steps before he hears a puppy whine, and he turns around confused, because it doesn’t sound like it came from any of the pups behind him. He hears the noise again and looks to his side, standing in the river, separated from his siblings, is a seventh wolf pup.

It has charcoal grey fur, with streaks and speckles of black that give it the appearance of seasmoke on a stormy day back in Pyke. Theon shifts the direwolf he’s holding to his other arm and picks up this new one, marveling at his eyes. His left eye is seagreen, slightly darker than his own eyes, but his right eye is a dark, golden amber, same as all the other wolves save for the black and white ones Jon is holding. 

“That one must be yours, Theon!” Bran says excitedly, before anyone else can say otherwise. Theon looks to Lord Stark for approval, and Lord Stark nods his head ever-so-slightly. Theon takes another look at the wolf in his arm, his wolf. A direwolf may be the sigil of house Stark, but this direwolf was his, Theon Greyjoy’s. For the first time in his life he didn’t feel like a hostage in the cold, dark North. He felt like a Stark, someone meant to be here, someone worthy of a pet so grand as his pup would grow to be. Straightening his posture so he stood taller, a smirk on his lips, his eyes happy and carefree, it was the first time he ever felt true pride. Pride worthy of an Ironborn, worthy of an Ironborn heir for that matter, for that’s what he was. The Prince of Pyke. 

It was strange, how in one moment he could feel both like a true Stark and a Greyjoy.

Chapter Text

The boys carry the direwolves the entire walk back to Winterfell. With Lord Eddard and the Cassels riding back, and leading the other horses back, too. Bran was too paranoid for them to ride while carrying the puppies, should they accidentally drop one, so now Theon was stuck walking back. They were miles from the castle, it would take nearly an hour, but Lord Stark had agreed to Bran’s request that the four boys walk, so that’s what Theon was doing. If he were a more humble lad, he’d be grateful Bran included him as one of the boys. He was grateful that Bran had thought the seventh wolf should be his, with no hesitation.

The other wolf he’s carrying, besides his own, is the smallest of the litter. Soft and clean, with a smooth light grey coat and bright amber eyes. She’s the calmest, most poised of all the pups, and because of that Robb thinks she should go to Sansa.

“This one will be Arya’s,” Robb says, emphasizing the direwolf in his right arm. The black wolf, with the thick, bedraggled coat and encapsulating emerald green eyes, is squirming uncontrollably in Jon’s hold, and Jon nods in agreement.

“This one is definitely Rickon’s.”

“What should we name them?” Bran asks excitedly. 

“Let’s not rush the names, Bran.” Robb tells him. “We’ll think of them in time.”

The rest of the walk is fairly quiet. Bran is still chatting excitedly but the older boys aren’t talking. By the time they get to the Hunter’s Gate at Winterfell, Arya and Rickon are waiting for them eagerly. The two siblings start running towards them when they see the boys approaching, wolves in arms.

“What are you holding?” Arya yells, grabbing Rickon’s hand and pulling him along so he runs faster. “Father said you had a surprise–Oh!” She squeals, when she sees what they’re holding.

“Are they ours? Which one’s for me?” She asks excitedly.

“Here, Arya,” Robb says, and Arya lets go of Rickon’s hand and rushes to Robb’s side, eagerly taking the wolf pup from him. “They’re direwolves. One for each of us.”

“Here, Rick,” Jon says, setting the black pup on the ground and motioning for Rickon to come over. The little boy does, crouching to the ground and hugging the direwolf happily.

“Even Theon?” Arya asks, surprised.

“He’s one of us,” Bran reasons with a shrug. He walks over to Arya’s side and shows her his wolf, which is a golden brown grey in comparison to Arya and Robb’s wolves smokey grey, though they all have the same amber eyes as the little one he’s still holding.

“Where’s your sister?” Theon asks Arya. 

She doesn’t look up from Bran’s direwolf, whose face she’s stroking lovingly. “She’s waiting inside ‘like a Lady should,’” Arya mimics. “Said she’ll see the surprise when you all come inside.”

“You better take it to her,” Robb says. “She’ll be sad to know she missed out on meeting the pup sooner.”

“Why can’t you take it to her,” Theon suggests. Why is it his errand to run, just because he’s the one holding the pup? It’s not his pup. She’s not his sister. Robb looks at him annoyed, and is about to reach out for the puppy so he can take it inside and bring it to his sister, but Theon doesn’t want him to win this one, so he turns away and starts walking closer to the Hunter’s Gate. “No, no, Stark. You missed your chance. I’ll bring it to her.”

“How kind of you, Theon.” Robb jests as Theon walks away.

He finds Sansa in the great hall, sitting and talking quietly with Septa Mordane. She gasps when she sees him, or rather, what he’s holding.

“Theon!” She says excitedly, Theon’s taken aback. He can’t remember the last time she’d called him by his given name. She was so obsessed with proper titles, always calling him ‘Lord Greyjoy.’ Somewhere between her exclamation and her abrupt standing up, she remembers her etiquette and walks towards him with a dignified grace. 

Theon gently places the small, dove grey pup in her arms, and then adjusts his hold on his own puppy, holding it closer to him.

“She’s darling!” Sansa exclaims.

“A perfect lady,” Theon agrees absentmindedly. He’s more focused on his own wolf. He’s still mesmerized by his dual colored eyes. None of the other wolves have it, only his. 

Sansa looks over at him again and seems to notice his wolf. “You have one too?” She asks.

Theon nods. “And all of your siblings do.” He tells her, as Sansa cuddles her puppy closer to her chest with one arm and then reaches out and strokes Theon’s puppy’s face with her other hand. 

“Even Jon?” She asks, smiling when Theon’s wolf nuzzles into her hand.

“Even Jon.” Theon replies. 

Sansa looks up at him and into his eyes. “Where are the others?”

“Outside.” 

Sansa stops petting the wolf and hooks her arm through Theon’s free one. “Lead the way please, Lord Greyjoy.”

Theon chuckles, and then leads them back out the Hunter’s Gate, where the remaining Stark siblings are still standing in a half circle with their pups.

“Oh! How precious!” Sansa squeals, when she spots the other wolves. She drops Theon’s arm and rushes to Robb and Jon and pets each of their wolves. 

The seven of them are late to dinner, much to Lady Stark’s chagrin. And they all rush through their meals, sending Arya and Robb to ask Lord Eddard to excuse them early so they can go see their pups, all of whom they had to leave in the kennels. Lord Stark agrees, but tells them not to expect it to be the rule every night. They all rush off to the kennels eagerly, except for Sansa, who insists on putting her cloak on first, before heading outside. Sansa sits on the cold cobblestone ground, her legs crossed and her dove grey pup composed in her lap. Rickon sits beside her, but with much less grace, as he wrestles his puppy. Theon, Jon, and Robb each take turns throwing a stick for their wolves to fetch. Robb’s wolf is the fastest, always first to reach the stick and the first to come back to the three of them. Arya and Bran are standing nearby and trying to teach their pups to sit.

“I think I’ll call her Lady,” Sansa announces. “Doesn’t she just look like a perfect little lady?”

“She sure does, Sansa,” Robb agrees.

“It’s a pretty name,” Jon tells her. “What will you name yours, Arya?” Jon asks, walking over and tugging on his littlest sister’s loose braid playfully.

“Nothing so prim like that. I think perhaps I’ll name her Nymeria, after the warrior queen.” Arya decides. 

“Mine will be Grey Wind,” Robb says next. “For his coloring, and also because he’s the fastest. What about you, Bran?”

“I…I don’t know yet.” Bran tells him.

They stay outside with the wolves for a long time despite the cold, only coming in when Lady Catelyn comes to collect Rickon for bed. They all go inside, to save Rickon from throwing a tantrum, and they leave the wolves in the kennels, per Lady Stark’s insistence. Robb is tasked with putting Arya and Bran to bed, and Jon scurries off because he doesn’t want to linger by Lady Catelyn, so Theon is begrudgingly given the task of walking Sansa back to her chambers. He says begrudgingly because not only would he rather not, but it seems as though Lady Catelyn would rather someone else did, too. Theon tries not to let Lady Stark’s disdain for him annoy him. She’s always carried it, and at least she doesn’t hate him the way she hates Jon. She merely distrusts him, because of his family. It’s not much better, but it is a difference. It does, however, contribute to his not wanting to escort Sansa around. Sansa, for her part, doesn’t seem to care, she just takes Theon’s offered arm and lets him lead her inside.

“Your comment earlier gave me the idea for Lady’s name, so thank you, though I do think it is very fitting. She’s so calm and quiet, good and proper.”

“I guess.”

“What will you name yours, Lord Greyjoy?” She asks. “I must say, yours has the prettiest eyes! Or perhaps the most bewitching, for Rickon’s wolf has gorgeous eyes, too. As shiny as emeralds. Why do you suppose your direwolf has two different colored eyes?”

“I believe it is simply a genetic mutation, my lady.” Theon tells her, turning down towards her hall.

“Oh. Just so. Have you decided on a name?”

“Not yet,” he tells her.

“Hmmm, well, I’m sure you’ll think of something well suited. And besides Robb, none of the boys have named theirs, so really there’s no rush.” They come to a halt, having reached her chamber door. “Perhaps I can help you think of one, since you helped me with mine? Inadvertently, of course, but still.” She smiles at him hopefully.

“Sure, my lady,” Theon tells her, even though he probably won’t use any of her suggestions. If he tells her no, she’ll be sad, and if she’s sad, she may cry. He hates when women cry.

“Okay, great! Goodnight, Lord Greyjoy.” She says, squeezing his arm and then dropping it. Theon opens her door and she steps inside, turning back to look at him.

“Goodnight, Lady Sansa,” he tells her. He closes her door and then heads off in the direction of his own chamber, but he pauses when he’s at his door. He stands there, frozen still for several moments, before deciding to hell with it and going back outside. To the kennels. To his wolf. And the others too, he supposes.

Theon walks through the grounds of Winterfell in the cold, chilly darkness of the night. The only light being the faint glow of the stars scattered about the sky. He has no lantern with him, but he knows where he’s going. He’s not lost. He has the stars to guide him. Captains have used stars as maps since the beginning of time, it’s a rather common practice in the Iron Islands. His home. His Uncle Victarion was the one to teach him how to read the stars, and how to make a map of them. He reaches the kennels in no time.

His wolf pup appears to be waiting for him right by the gate, causing Theon to smile. He reaches through the iron bars and strokes his wolf’s face, and his wolf nuzzles into his hand. The other wolves crowd around his own, and Theon extends his hand to pet them, too. Grey Wind and Lady and Jon and Rickon’s unnamed wolves are all there, and that makes Theon pause. Two of them are missing, Nymeria and Bran’s nameless pup. 

“Nymeria!” Theon calls out, for he doesn’t know how to summon the other one. No response. No sound or movement. He tries to peer into the back of the kennels but it’s too dark to see, there are no stars to light up the cage. “Nymeria!” He calls out again.

“Shh!” A voice hisses. 

Theon turns around and sees Arya emerge from the shadows, Nymeria in her arms. Bran emerges right behind her, his wolf in one arm and a dimly lit lantern in the other. 

“What are you two doing up?” Theon asks, trying to mimic Lord Eddard’s authoritative voice. He thinks he’s semi successful, for Bran does look a little guilty. Arya just looks caught.

“We wanted to see our wolves,” Arya says, shrugging. “What are you doing up?”

“The same,” Theon says. He turns back to the kennel gate and opens it enough to grab his wolf without letting any of the other wolves loose. “Does Robb know you’re out here?” He asks, as the three of them all sit down on the cobblestone just outside the kennel, their wolves in their laps.

“No. He put us to bed and we snuck out the window.”

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Bran asks worriedly.

“Not as long as you don’t tell your lord father that I’m here, too.”

“Okay,” Bran agrees, happily petting the wolf in his lap. 

“Have you thought of a name yet?” He asks Bran, nudging his side.

“No. It has to be a good name. Jon hasn’t named his either, he says it’s an important decision. Have you named yours?”

Theon shakes his head. He and Bran shift their attention back to the wolves in their lap, much like Arya’s doing. 

Theon ponders a name for his wolf. Like Bran said, it’s an important decision. It needs to fit him. It needs to reflect his wolf’s personality. Grey Wind was fast, fierce, and fearless, the leader of the pack, and his name exemplified that. Nymeria, named after the warrior queen, was the beta to Grey Wind’s alpha. Just as fierce and protective. Sansa’s Lady may be the smallest and perhaps the omega of the pack, but she was as sweet as honey and calm and composed. A perfect lady, which is what made her name so fitting. He hadn’t known his wolf for long, but he felt like he knew him well. His wolf was aloof to everyone but him, which meant he was loyal. Loyalty was important, and hard to come by, too. Theon couldn’t think of anyone who was undoubtedly and truly loyal to him, other than his wolf. His wolf was strong and agile, a little restless, but Theon found that comforting, because at times he felt restless too. He was his wolf. His wolf was him. Theon wasn’t a Stark but the direwolf in his lap was his own. It belonged to him. The sigil of house Stark, it belonged to Winterfell, the North, and to Theon Greyjoy, heir of the Iron Islands. Theon wanted his wolf to have a name that could carry all that weight with the stoic strength of a North and the pride of a worthy Ironborn.

Chapter Text

Months had passed. Jon Arryn was dead. King Robert and his party were on their way to Winterfell. If rumors were true, he was coming to ask Lord Eddard to be his new hand. He could tell Lord Stark was not too thrilled at the concept, but he would be far too honorbound not to accept. 

Theon was leaving a visit with Ros. He was in a bit of a hurry, because Lord Eddard wanted to meet with him before lunch.

“I’ll come see you again at the end of the week,” Theon tells Ros with a smirk.

“I look forward to it,” she coos.

Theon winks in response and then exits the brothel.

Seasmoke is waiting for him, hiding in the shadows of the forest. After Theon’s mounted his horse and headed off in the direction of Winterfell, his wolf emerges and trails after him, breaking into a gallop when Theon urges his horse into one. 

He’d chosen the name Seasmoke after careful consideration. Not only was the wolf the color of seasmoke, but Theon felt the name fit his personality, too. His wolf was like the sea, wild and free and a lover of water, always eager to swim in the White Knife. So eager that Theon had started to take him there at least once a week, whenever he could get away for long enough. But his wolf was of the North, a loyal pup, and stoic and brave and strong. He and Robb had taken their wolves hunting on several occasions, just the two of them, and while Seasmoke wasn’t as fast or agile as Greywind, he was stealthy and elusive, and that’s where ‘smoke’ came into the name.

He’d never admit it, but he’d gotten the idea for Seasmoke’s name after a suggestion from Sansa. All throughout the first week of having the wolves, Sansa pulled him aside sporadically to give him different name suggestions. First it was boring names like Prince, and Ash, or Shadow. Theon had rejected those names as politely as he could, and Sansa seemed to take the hint. She didn’t give him any more name suggestions for the second week that followed. But by that point everyone else had named their wolves, even Jon, who had been so indecisive when it came to naming Ghost. Sansa had suggested that perhaps he name it after something from home, like Seaform or Seastorm. Theon didn’t hate either of those names, but they didn’t sound right, either. He’d thanked her for those suggestions, but told her he needed to ponder it some more. That night, he was thinking of his homeland, of the sea and the salt and the rocks, when he looked to the side and out his window, and saw the smoke rising from the firepit in the courtyard. And then it came to him. Smoke. Sea. Seasmoke. The name matched the wolf’s eyes, too. The coastal and sunkissed hue of his seagreen eye, and the fiery, smoky amber-brown hue of the other. When the name came to him, he thought it was perfect, and he was eager to tell someone! His first thought was to tell Sansa, for next to him she seemed the most invested in what his wolf would be called. But while the night was young enough for her to still be awake, it was late enough that it would be far too improper to seek her out. If anyone saw, Lady Catelyn would find out and she’d scold him for it, even if he had no ill intentions. It wouldn’t matter. Lady Stark never seemed to trust him unless it was with simple, meaningless matters.

He decided he’d tell her the next morning. He found her in the great hall at breakfast, sitting at a table with little Rickon. He approached the table and took the seat next to her, surprising her apparently, by her rosy cheeks. 

“Good morning Lady Sansa, Rickon,” Theon had greeted. 

“Good morning Theon,” Rickon says tiredly, stuffing a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. 

“Good morning, Lord Greyjoy,” Sansa smiles.

“I think you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve decided on a name for my wolf.” Theon tells her.

“Really?” She squeals, grabbing onto his arm in excitement. “What is it?”

“Seasmoke,” Theon says proudly.

“Seasmoke,” She echoes, testing the name on her tongue. “I like it. It’s rather fitting.”

“I think so, too.”

“Perhaps you and Seasmoke can accompany Lady and I on a walk this morning? Robb normally takes me but he’s with Father doing something, and Jon’s running errands.”

“Sure, my lady,” Theon agrees nonchalantly. He’d rather practice some swordfighting, but with Robb and Jon both busy he wouldn’t have a good sparring partner anyway.

So that morning he’d taken Sansa and their wolves on a walk, and the entire time, Sansa had babbled about Prince Joffrey and how he’d be coming to Winterfell soon. She was so in love with the prince, and she’d never even met him. Sure, if the rumors were true the prince was rather handsome, and he was heir to the Iron Throne, which Theon knew as the Prince of Pyke, worked well with women, both the ladies and the whores alike. So he understood why Sansa might be interested in the prince. But he didn’t understand the infatuation she held for him. What if he turned out to be a bore? Or a nuisance? Or downright evil? She probably wouldn’t even care. 

She would care most likely. Theon knew that. Sansa was more than just a pretty face. She was a little naive, but beyond that she was sweet and kind. She would care if the prince was not all she talked him up to be. But Theon had heard her ramble on about the prince everyday for the last month (yes, that’s how long he’d been having to accompany her on these morning walks, apparently Robb and Jon were always busy in the mornings), and he’d reached the point where he didn’t care. He just wanted her to stop talking, and he couldn’t think of an appropriate way to shut her up.

The Prince and the King and all the rest of them were still over a month from reaching them, and Theon did not think he could put up with her talking about the prince for that much longer. Drowned God! She’d probably talk about him even more once he got here. Maybe not? At least, with the prince here, Sansa would have someone else to accompany her on her walks.

Pulled from his thoughts by the sight of Winterfell’s gates, Theon remembers the task at hand, Lord Eddard wishes to speak to him.

He quickly untacks and grooms his horse, and gives Seasmoke a quick brushing as well, before rushing off to Lord Stark’s solar. He was running late. Not too late, only about five minutes, but Lord Stark was the kind who cared for silly little things like punctuality.

He’s just exited the stables when he’s stopped by none other than Sansa. 

“Lord Greyjoy!” She calls out, rushing over to his side. Jeyne is with her, as is Lady. Theon has no choice but to stop and talk to them.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Jeyne,” he greets.

“You weren’t around for our walk this morning.” She tells him.

That wasn’t an oversight on his part. It’s why he’d gone to Ros at such an early hour compared to normal. He much preferred her company, for she never did much talking. “Aye. I’m sorry, my lady. I had other matters to attend to. I figured Robb or Jon might take you instead. Did they?” He prays that one of them did, perhaps it will become a routine for them and Theon won’t have to hear any more about the prince.

“Oh! No. I didn’t ask them. I just figured you and I could go after dinner. Unless…you have other matters to attend to?” She asks, her voice hopeful and kind.

Great. Just great. How can he say no to that? “Sure, my lady. I’m sure Seasmoke would like that. Now I must be going. I’m supposed to meet your lord father, and I am running late.”

“Okay,” Sansa smiles. She and Jeyne each give Seasmoke a quick stroke of his fur. “I’ll see you later, Lord Greyjoy!” She says smiling, before linking arms with Jeyne and rushing off, the two of them in a fit of giggles. He wonders what they’re laughing about, but he doesn’t have time to think about it. Now he really is running late. He hastily walks to Lord Stark’s solar.

Knocking on the door, Lord Eddard calls out, “Come in.”

Theon opens the door and steps inside, Seasmoke at his heel. “You wished to see me, my lord?”

“You’re late. Again.” Lord Eddard reprimands gently.

“Yes, my lord. I had to put away my horse.”

Lord Stark nods, accepting that excuse. “King Robert will be here in less than two moons time,” he says, as if Theon didn’t already know that. “Do you know why he’s coming?”

Theon hesitates. He does know, but he’s not sure if he’s supposed to. “To ask you to be his new hand. Now that Jon Arryn is dead.”

Lord Eddard nods again. “Lady Stark wants me to say no.”

That surprises Theon. Being hand to the king would be a great honor. And Starks’ love their honor. Lady Catelyn may not have been born a Stark but she certainly was one by now, after years of marriage and five kids. “Will you say no?” Theon asks, adding quickly, “my lord.”

Now it’s Lord Eddard’s turn to hesitate, though his expression stays the same, Theon can hear the hesitation in his breath. “That decision remains to be made.” He stands up from his chair and walks over to Seasmoke, crouching down, he holds out his hand for the wolf to sniff, and then pets the wolf once he’s gotten approval. “If I do go, would you like to come with me?”

Theon’s not sure he heard him right. “To–to…King’s Landing?”

Lord Eddard looks at him and nods. “You’re getting older. Soon you’ll be too old to be a ward. I can’t send you home, Robert would never allow it, but perhaps you’d like to be somewhere other than Winterfell?”

Seasmoke lets out a distasteful huff, and Theon grins down at his wolf. “I don’t think Seasmoke would fare well in the South.” He says, though now that he thinks about it, maybe he would. They would be closer to water. Theon could take the wolf out to sea everyday if he wanted.

Lord Eddard nods. “Perhaps you’re right. Think about it though, it’s your decision. But there’s still plenty of time to decide.”

“And you might say no,” Theon adds.

Lord Eddard looks taken aback, momentarily confused, and then nods, unconvincingly. “Right. Yes. You can go now, Theon. But for Catelyn’s sake please don’t be late to dinner.”

“Yes, my lord.” Theon says, before turning and leading Seasmoke out of the solar. Lord Eddard seems to have already made his choice. He will be going South when King Robert asks him to. But what will Theon do? He’s not so sure. He’s never had such an important choice of his own before.

That night at dinner, Theon arrives on time, just as he said he would. He sits next to Robb and Jon and the three of them goof off. He thinks about telling them that he may go to King’s Landing, but he’s not sure he wants them to know. He thinks they wouldn’t want him to go, simply because they themselves cannot, and Theon doesn’t want the choice taken away from him. It’s his choice. Lord Eddard said as much. 

When dinner is finished, Theon stays back and has some ale with Robb in hopes that Sansa will forget about their walk, and or see that he’s busy and therefore not wait for him. But alas, she lingers in the great hall, too. At first Jeyne is with her, and the two girls chat quietly amongst themselves, but then, after Jeyne leaves, Sansa still stays at her seat. Eventually, Robb gets up to leave, too, for he has an early morning with his father, and Theon tries to slip out with him, of course, Sansa stops him.

“Lord Greyjoy!” She calls out. Robb gives Theon a weird look but Theon just shrugs it off and Robb doesn’t do anything more. Theon turns to face Sansa, who is smiling at him brightly. “Are you ready for our walk, now?” She asks excitedly.

“Sure, my lady. We’ll have to make it short, though. I don’t believe your parents would care for you to be outside alone this late.” He offers Sansa his arm and then the two of them head towards the kennels.

“I’m not alone, I’m with you.” 

“Yes, but given my reputation I fear your lady mother would find that even less comforting.”

“Oh.” Sansa says, and her eyes grow distant as she thinks over what he’s implying. 

They reach the kennels, and Lady and Seasmoke are the only wolves still there, for all of the others collected their wolves after dinner. Sansa puts a leash on Lady, but Theon doesn’t put one on Seasmoke. He never has. He wants his wolf to feel free. He has thought about getting a collar for his wolf, though. Sansa has made one for Lady, Summer, and Ghost. Robb and Arya didn’t want collars for their direwolves, with Arya stating that Nymeria is not a pet but rather a companion (and Robb agreeing with her), and while Rickon was too young to care, Shaggydog had refused to wear the one Sansa made him. Sansa hadn’t offered to make one for Seasmoke, though.

“How was your day, Lord Greyjoy? Was your morning errands pleasant?”

“Morning errands?” Theon asks, confused.

“The reason you missed our walk,” Sansa clarifies.

“Oh, right.” Theon says. He smiles when he remembers his morning tumble with Ros. It was very pleasant. “My errands were good. How was your day, my lady?”

“It was good! I’m working on a dress to wear when the prince is here! What do you suppose the prince’s favorite color is? I want to make another dress that he’ll especially like!”

“I have no idea,” he says dryly, already growing bored.

“Well what’s your favorite color? Perhaps it’s the same as the prince?”

“My favorite color is blue.”

“Really?” She asks, surprised. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps because of the sea, though I do think the sea is more green than blue.”

They pass a winter rose bush, and Sansa delicately reaches out to one of the flowers. “Do you mean a blue like this? Or lighter or darker?” She asks.

“I like all shades, but this one’s nice. Here,” he says. He hands her the lantern he’s holding, for the sun had set during dinner and they needed something to guide their walk, and pulls out his pocket knife. He cuts the rose at the stem and then uses the knife to cut away the excess leaves, before handing it to Sansa. “For you,” he says, taking the lantern back. She’s got a strange look in her eyes, almost doe-like and a little too intense. He blames it on the dim light of the lantern, he’s just not seeing things properly, but he quickly looks away whatever the reason.

“Thank you,” She tells him sweetly. She puts the rose in the same hand that holds Lady’s leash and then rehooks her free hand through Theon’s arm, even though he hadn’t offered it to her again. They resume their walk. “Why did my father wish to speak with you?” She asks, after a minute passes in silence.

“He wanted to know if I wanted to accompany him, should he go South.” Theon tells her. He finds it odd that he doesn’t want to keep it a secret from her like he did Robb and Jon.

“To King’s Landing! Theon, you have to go!” She says excitedly.

“Why?” He asks, curious to her reasoning.

“You could make friends with the prince! He’s not much younger than you!”

Drowned God! He curses mentally. “That’s not a big concern of mine.” He tells her.

“Why not?”

Theon shakes his head, unwilling to answer. “I have been thinking I may say yes.” He confesses. “It would be nice to see somewhere new. And given how close King’s Landing is to the sea, it may feel more like home. But I don’t know. I haven’t made up my mind. And your lord father may not go either,” he lies on that last note. He thinks it better to keep Lord Stark’s decision on the down low since he hasn’t announced it yet, and the King hasn’t even technically asked.

“Well I think you should go,” Sansa tells him.

“Eager to get rid of me, my lady?” He asks jokingly. 

“Of course not!” She’s quick to say. “I’m hoping to go, too. Even if only for a little while. If things go well I could be Queen there someday. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She smiles.

Theon turns them back in the direction of the castle. He’s had enough of this conversation. “I have an early morning, my lady. Robb wanted to fence.”

“Oh. Okay. Can I expect you for our walk tomorrow?”

Theon sighs. “Sure.”

“Great!” 

He drops her and Lady off at Sansa’s chambers and then brings Seasmoke back to his own. He readies for bed and then lies awake, thinking over his decision. He still has time to decide, that much is certain, but he’s not sure. He had been thinking he wanted to go, but now that Sansa agrees with him, he’s second guessing the decision. What’s really there for him, in King’s Landing, other than the sea? Perhaps when he gets there he could smuggle a ship and sail away, just him and Seasmoke, and perhaps a pretty girl to keep his bed warm. He pictures a girl with fiery red hair, dressed in nothing but winter roses in her hair. The girl he’s imagining doesn’t look like Ros. She doesn’t look like anyone he knows, but somehow the look of her feels right, as does the idea of answering to no one. For out there on the sea, he would no longer be Lord Eddard’s ward. He wouldn’t even be heir to the Iron Islands. Out there on the sea, he’d be free.

Chapter Text

Theon wakes early the next morning to spar with Robb. He dresses in one of his regular tunics, black with a golden kraken embroidered on the chest. He runs his fingers through his hair, but doesn’t bother to comb it, for it will just get messed up as he spars. He leaves his room in a quiet scurry, Seasmoke on his heels. It’s early enough yet that only the necessary servants are up, and Theon doesn’t want to wake anyone else in the castle. He goes outside and Robb is already there, waiting for him, Grey Wind at his side.

“Morning Theon,” Robb greets.

“Morning,” Theon says back, unsheathing his sword as Robb does the same. “Are you ready?”

“Always,” Robb tells him with a sleepy, yet content, smile. 

The two boys spar for nearly an hour, while the two direwolves sit patiently and watch. They go back in fourth consistently on who has the upper hand, but Theon ends it while he’s in the lead in terms of points, as is his way. Robb lets him, for he knows the sparring will never end if he doesn’t.

Now lightly dripping with sweat, they then take their direwolves on a run in the Wolfswood. Drenched when they return, Theon goes back to his chambers with the intent to truly freshen up. The castle is almost entirely awake now, and he orders a bath from one of the servants, who promises to bring it to him within the hour. Needing to kill the time until then, Theon brushes Seasmoke until his coat is all bright and shiny and new again. 

By the time Theon walks to the great hall to break his fast, he and his wolf are entirely presentable. Fresh and clean, hair combed. Theon’s in a new tunic, still black with a golden kraken, but most of his tunics are like that. He’s got on a fresh pair of trousers, too. He sees Robb, Bran, and Arya all sitting at one of the tables, and makes his way to join them. Seasmoke rushes ahead of him so that he can reach his siblings sooner, and cozies down at the foot of the table by Nymeria.

Theon takes that as a sign and plops down next to Arya. “Hey little horseface,” he says, giving an affectionate tug on her braid, already coming loose despite the early hours of the day.

“Don’t call me that!” Arya quips, flinging her spoon of porridge at him.

“Arya!” Sansa chides, as she comes up to the table as well. She takes a seat next to Robb and across from Theon. “That was neither nice nor ladylike. Apologize to Lord Greyjoy right now!”

“It’s alright, my lady. It’s my fault. I antagonized her." Theon excuses. He doesn’t want to hear the two girls squabble at this hour. It would hurt his ears. 

“You look pretty, Sansa.” Robb tells her.

“Very pretty,” Bran adds, mimicking Robb and then looking at him for reassurance.

Theon looks over at Sansa and sees her dressed in a blue gown. Not a new one, though. No. She’s had this one for a while. It’s pretty, sure, it brings out her eyes, but Theon doesn’t think it’s anything special, in the sense that it’s nothing different. 

“Thank you!” Sansa says, beaming. She turns her head to look at her brothers as she thanks them, and as she does, Theon sees what’s different. She’s braided her hair out of her face and woven the winter rose from the night before into it. Sansa looks over at Theon and smiles at him expectantly. Theon’s not sure why.

He turns back to his plate and picks it up, starting to fill it with food.

Sansa’s face sours momentarily, but when Theon looks back at her, offering her the bread basket, a smile comes to her lips and she grabs a roll. “Thank you, Lord Greyjoy.”

“Sure.” Theon says, grabbing one for himself and taking a large bite of it.

“Can we go for our walk a little after we break our fast? I need to check with my mother on a matter?” Sansa asks, as she daintily slices her roll before spreading some jam on it.

“Sure.” Theon says with the slightest eyeroll. Robb’s foot stomps on his under the table and Theon winces, covering it up with a grunt and then shooting Robb a glare. Robb shoots one back.

The rest of breakfast passes with easy conversation involving everyone at the table. When it is done, Sansa excuses herself and Bran goes with her, so that they can both see their lady mother. Arya runs off in search of Jon, leaving Robb and Theon in the great hall.

“What was that for?” Theon asks.

“You need to be nicer to Sansa,” Robb chides.

“How was I being mean?”

“You didn’t compliment her.”

“She’s worn that dress before!”

“But her hair was different!”

“So?” 

“So, that matters to her.” Robb argues.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Theon shrugs.

Robb sighs, and Theon can tell he doesn’t want to be having this argument any more than Theon does, so Theon’s not sure why they’re having it. “Just, be nicer to her. Please. Compliment her the next time you see her.”

Theon rolls his eyes but nods. “Sure, Stark.” Robb turns to leave and Grey Wind follows after him. Theon steals two pieces of meat and then whistles Seasmoke and calls Lady over, for apparently Lady doesn’t come when whistled to, and then feeds them each a piece before taking them outside and waiting for Sansa.

She comes outside about 20 minutes later. A cloak on her shoulders even though the air is only a little brisk. Lady’s leash is in her hands and she ties it to her when she reaches them. 

“Are you ready, Lord Greyjoy?” Sansa asks quietly.

“Yes,” he says, offering her his arm and a small smile, for Robb’s sake. She takes his arm and he leads her away.

“The prince will be here in a matter of weeks!” Sansa says brightly.

Theon’s smile falls. Great, he thinks, this again. “That he will be, my lady.” Theon agrees, trying to mask the dryness in his tone.

“I’ve started on the blue dress! And I think I’ll make a purple one, too. But I also want to make a red and blue one and embroider it with trout so I can wear it when we pass through the Riverlands! I suppose I’ll start on that one next!”

“So it’s been confirmed you can go, then?” Theon asks.

“Well…King Robert hasn’t asked, and Father hasn’t accepted, so not exactly. But Mother says if Father is persuaded to go then I can go with him! How exciting is that?”

Trying to be kind, Theon considers this. He supposes it would be exciting from Sansa’s point of view. He himself is fairly excited to go, though he’ll hate to leave behind Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Ros, too, for that matter. Though there will be new whores in King’s Landing. Exotic ones.

“Lord Greyjoy, may I ask for your advice?” Sansa asks shyly.

“On what, my lady?”

“On how to catch a man’s attention?”

“A man?” Theon questions further. If Sansa’s fallen for some commoner he’ll have to report it to Lord Stark. 

“Oh, um, you know…the Prince.”

Oh. Right. “Right, of course.”

“So how would I do it?”

“I think your lord father will be angry if I give you advice in that regard.” Theon tells her.

“He doesn’t have to know.”

“Even if I were to give you my opinion, all men are different,” Theon tries to excuse. 

“Theon, please.” Sansa begs. “What would work on–on you?”

Theon stops walking, bringing Sansa and the wolves to a halt as well. Sansa’s looking at him expectantly and Theon thinks it over. Telling her will be the only way to get her to stop pestering him, and Lord Stark wouldn’t find out if he gave her advice, so really there’s no true harm in it.

“Flattery is nice.” Theon says. “To peak a man’s interest. But if you want him to stay interested it’s better to play hard-to-get.”

“Hard to get?” Sansa questions. Theon nods and starts walking again, leading Sansa along with him and the wolves start up their gait as well. 

“Don’t be too interested. It’s needy and clingy and no man wants that.”

“So I need to peak his interest without being too interested? How do I do that?” 

“Compliment him, but don’t seek him out everyday. Maybe more like once or twice a week?”

“But how will he be interested in me if he doesn’t see me?” She asks worriedly.

“He’ll see you all the time. The Prince is coming here, to your home, and then you’ll be travelling to his home together, too. So you’ll see each other a lot naturally. But when you’re not naturally together, spend time away from him, and if he likes you, he’ll think of you when you’re gone and be more interested when you’re back with him.”

“Does that really work?”

Theon nods. “Works with me.” Which is mostly true. He always craves a visit with Ros more the longer it’s been between visits.

“Are you courting a lady?” Sansa asks, her voice frantic.

Theon scoffs. “No, of course not.” He tells her laughing. 

“Oh. Good.” She says, smiling.

Theon laughs again. “Why is that good?”

“...because…um…well you’ll be travelling soon. It would be horrible to leave her behind.”

“Sure.” Theon agrees with a shrug.

Minutes upon minutes pass and they finish their walk in silence, and Theon brings her back to her chambers. 

“Same time tomorrow, my lady?” Theon asks.

Sansa smiles widely, but then tempers it a little. “No. That’s alright. We don’t have to walk everyday. I–I’ll need to spend more time sewing if I want to make all my dresses before the journey. Maybe next week, Lord Greyjoy.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Theon says, successfully hiding how pleased he is to hear that. He turns around and is about to leave until he remembers he promised Robb he’d pay her a compliment. He turns back around and says, “You look very pretty today, Lady Sansa. I like the flower in your hair.” Sansa beams at him in response, but she doesn’t say anything so he turns back around. Sansa stops him from leaving.

“I love your tunic, Lord Greyjoy. It makes you rather handsome.”

Theon coughs to cover a laugh. It’s such a silly compliment. “Good day, my lady.” He tells her, winking and then walking away. Seasmoke runs after him after saying goodbye to Lady, and Theon strokes his fur. “What do you say we go to the White Knife, huh boy?”

Seasmoke lets out an appreciative bark and Theon smiles.

Lord Stark hadn’t mentioned needing Theon at all today, and Theon had planned to spend the better part of the day with Ros, but he saw her yesterday and would really rather take Seasmoke out. He rushes to the stables and quickly saddles his horse. He’s about to leave when Arya stops him.

“Where are you going?” She asks, intrigued. She and Nymeria had been running about the grounds and she saw him heading for the East Gate.

“To the white knife. Seasmoke likes to swim.” Theon says, climbing atop his horse. 

“Can Nymeria and I come?” Arya asks excitedly.

Theon scoffs, shaking his head. “Sorry Arya. But what would your lord father say?”

Just then, Lord Stark emerges from the guards hall and calls out, “What would I say to what?’

“Theon’s taking Seasmoke to the white knife. May Nymeria and I go with him, Father? Please!” Arya begs. “Nymeria’s never swam before! She needs to learn.”

“All wolves know how to swim, Arya. They don’t need to be taught.” Theon tells her. Arya looks to him with surprise, but then looks back at her father.

“She’s never swam!” She says again. “Please!”

“What lessons did your mother and Septa Mordane have for you today?” Lord Eddard asks.

“I did my arithmetic. And history with Bran and Maester Luwin. All I’d miss is my sewing and I’ll do it double tomorrow. I promise.”

Ned considers this, and then smiles down at his daughter, affectionately stroking her hair. “Very well. But listen to Theon, and be kind to your Septa tomorrow in your lessons.”

“Thank you!” Arya says happily. She gives Lord Stark a tight hug and then he helps lift her onto Theon’s horse.

Theon’s a little annoyed. He’d been hoping it would just be him and Seasmoke for the day, but at the very least Arya is better company than Sansa. She doesn’t rattle on about a prince every second of the day. In fact, for the entire ride to the white knife, Arya doesn’t say a thing. She’s quiet as a mouse and looking around in every direction. Theon had forgotten that while he’s the hostage here, Arya leaves the walls of Winterfell far more infrequently than he does. 

When they get to the river, Theon dismounts the horse and then helps Arya down, before tying it up to a nearby tree, keeping it close enough to the river that it can drink from it.

“Nymeria!” Arya calls out. Theon turns around to see that Nymeria wasted no time in following after Seasmoke and jumping in the river, wading downstream. “Come back!”

“Relax, Arya. She won’t go far. And if she does, she’ll come back. Seasmoke always does.”

“Does Seasmoke really love the water?” Arya asks.

Theon nods. 

“As much as you?” 

Theon nods again. “My wolf is very similar to me. Almost as if we’re the same.”

Arya smiles, and nods her own head in agreement. “Nymeria too! She’s just like me! Or at the very least she’s the only one who understands me. The only one that likes me.”

“That’s not true, Arya. I like you.”

“You called me horseface this morning!” Arya says, sticking her tongue out at him. 

Theon grimaces. “I was only teasing, little Stark. Your face looks nothing like a horse.” He looks from Arya and his tied up horse and shakes his head, to further prove his point. 

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Lighten up. You tease me all the time, which isn’t very ladylike, you know?”

“Ladies cannot start fights but they can finish them!”

Theon laughs. “Where’d you hear that?”

“From me. I heard it from me.” Arya says proudly. “But I still don’t like it, all the teasing. You don’t tease Sansa.”

“That’s because Lady Sansa,” he says dramatically. “Used to throw a fit when I would. You’re much more agreeable. It’s like you said, you finish the fight when provoked. It makes it more fun to tease you. But I’ll stop if you’d like, Lady Arya.”

Arya smiles, and nods her head. “I would. But don’t call me a lady. It sounds weird when you say it.” 

Theon nods in agreement and turns away, taking off his tunic so he can get in the water and swim. Arya does the same, stripping to her underclothes, and by the time she’s in the water Nymeria and Seasmoke are wading back towards them, splashing the water with their tails happily.

He and Arya swim with the wolves for hours, until Theon sees the sun’s position in the sky and realizes what time it is. The two of them dry off the best they can and then rush back to Winterfell. They get home with time to spare, and go their separate ways, Arya running off to find her little brothers and Theon off in search of Robb and Jon. 

At dinner, Arya tells everyone about hers, Theon’s, and the wolves’ river adventure, and it results in Bran and Rickon, and even Robb, begging to all go tomorrow. Theon’s annoyed. Not with Arya but with the fact that she blabbed and ruined his and Seasmoke’s river time. He’s growing more and more glad for when he’ll be in King’s Landing and will have the entire ocean at his disposal. It’s much easier to share an ocean.

Chapter Text

The day had arrived. King Robert and his family would be arriving in Winterfell today. Though the time was uncertain. After midday, most likely, if all the ravens were correct. Because of this, Theon wakes early to spar with Robb, Jon, and Jory.

He bests Jon with a sword, but not Robb or Jory. But then they switch to archery, and Theon outshines them all. As is way, always, with a bow at least. When they finish up, Theon is tasked with putting away all the arrows.

“Remember to go see Tommy later, boys,” Jory calls out over his shoulder. “Lady Stark wants you all presentable when the King arrives.”

Theon rolls his eyes at Robb and Jon avoids both of their gazes.

“Yes, Jory, we’ll remember.” Robb promises. 

The three boys soon disperse so that they can all clean themselves up before they link up again and go. Tommy shaves all their beards, and gives Robb and Theon a haircut, but not Jon, who refuses to let the shears anywhere near his head of curls. Theon and Robb both tease him for it. 

When they get back to Winterfell, Robb has to go find Lord Stark, bringing Grey Wind with him as he does, and Jon wants to hide, for Lady Stark is moving around all about the castle today, and he doesn’t want her to see him. He runs off to the stables, Ghost in tow. Theon and Seasmoke meander inside slowly, with Theon unsure of what to do. He supposes he could go look for Robb and Lord Stark and offer his assistance, but then Lord Stark would actually give him a task. 

He looks out the window and into the training yard, where he sees Bran and Arya dueling with practice swords. They must have snuck out there once they saw the boys leave. Arya is winning, but only because she’s older and more experienced, and she’s doing a good job of not beating Bran too hard, giving him chances to fight back. Theon gets the urge to rush out and join them, and Seasmoke does as well it seems, for Nymeria and Summer are both out there watching their owners. But Theon’s all clean and presentable now, if he goes out there and joins them, even if it’s just to watch them and give them pointers, he’ll get far too rowdy and have to compose his looks again. He won’t want to do that. 

Looking down at his wolf, he strokes his fur and whispers, “Go, boy,” because Seasmoke is not under the same obligations as he and deserves the opportunity to run off with his siblings. Perhaps later tonight Theon will have another dream of Seasmoke, and it will feel as though he was able to play with all of them.

Those dreams had been happening rather sporadically, it seemed. Dreams where he looked at the world through the eyes of his direwolf. Dreams where it seemed he was his direwolf himself. Nothing exciting ever happened in those dreams. It would just be Theon, or Seasmoke, rather, lying in the kennels with all the other wolves. More often than not Lady was at his side, but sometimes Nymeria seemed to seek him out, too. One time, when he took all the Starks to the White Knife, he dozed off and woke in the river, as Seasmoke, swimming beside Nymeria and Grey Wind. But after blinking several times, Theon seemed to come back to himself, his body his own, slouched against the tree he’d chosen to lean against.

He wasn’t sure what to make of those dreams, but he didn’t mind them. They were better than the dreams he sometimes had of Pyke. Of his fathers failed rebellion. Ever since he was a boy, fresh and new in Winterfell, he would have dreams of all the gore and bloodshed, of Lord Stark pulling him from his sister, of his mother screaming and crying, of his father watching him be carried away and doing nothing to stop it. He hated those dreams. He’d take the wolf ones over those any day.

Theon’s pulled from his thoughts by Lady Stark, who has made her way to this side of the castle, Rickon in her arms and Maester Luwin following close behind her. 

“Theon!” She calls out when she sees him. “Have you seen Lord Stark?”

“I believe he’s in his solar, my lady. That’s where Robb went to meet him no more than 10 minutes ago.” He tells her. She nods in response.

“I need to go find him.” Lady Stark says. She looks out the window and sees Bran and Arya playing and smiles a slight smile, before turning back towards Theon and walking more towards him. “Will you please go round up those two and send them to Sansa for her to help them get ready?” She asks, handing off a half sleeping, half staring off into space, Rickon. 

It’s better and easier than any task Lord Stark might give him. “Sure, my lady. Is Sansa in her chambers?”

“Yes. Jeyne and Beth are with her, I believe they’re all deciding what dress she should wear when the prince comes.” Lady Stark sounds just as bothered as Theon feels at the mention of the prince, and the two of them share a knowing look of annoyance, before Theon heads outside to talk to Bran and Arya. 

“Bran! Arya! Your lady mother wants you to go see Sansa and get ready for the King’s arrival.” He yells. The two of them reluctantly toss their practice swords to the side.

“Do we have to? He may not be here for hours yet.” Arya whines.

Theon shrugs his shoulders and playfully tugs on her hair, “Sorry Arya, those were the orders.” He’s about to leave them be, but realizes if he does that then they’ll just go back to their sword fight, so he herds them toward the castle, forcing them to go inside. 

When they reach Sansa’s door, Theon debates knocking, but Bran just opens it and steps inside.

“Hey Sansa! Jeyne! Beth!” Bran says, happily greeting all of them. “Mother says you have to help us get ready?”

“Oh! Yes!” Sansa says, turning towards them and smiling at her little brother. When she sees little Rickon, she rushes over and takes him from Theon’s arms, giving Theon a small, shy smile as she does. “Mother laid your outfits out last night, so run off to your rooms and put them on, then come back and I’ll fix all of your hair.”

Arya and Bran both seem to pout at this, but Sansa fixes them a stern look and so they go. She hands Rickon off to Jeyne, who says she’ll help the boys get ready, and then Beth runs after Arya to go with her, leaving just Sansa and Theon alone. Theon curses to himself for missing the prime opportunity to leave, for Sansa’s looking at him expectantly now, and so he knows he can’t just slip out.

“That’s a lovely dress, my lady,” Theon compliments, catching himself of guard by saying it as he does. It’s a pale blue dress with long sleeves and blue fabric rosebuds along the neckline. It must be one of the new ones she’d been working on because Theon’s never seen it before. Her hair is braided out of her face and she’s got a cluster of smaller winter rosebuds tied with a blue ribbon at the back of her hair.

Sansa smiles, her cheeks rosy and sweet. She does a little spin to show off the whole outfit, and Theon can’t help but grin at that. She looks absolutely radiant with giddy happiness. It’s an innocence Theon himself had long since lost, but it’s refreshing to see it in someone as good and sweet as Sansa.

Theon, Bran, and Arya had all left their wolves outside, but Lady is resting gracefully on the edge of Sansa’s bed, a matching ribbon tied in a bow around her neck with a winter rose secured to it, too. Unsure what else to do, Theon walks over and strokes Lady’s fur, with Lady leaning into his touch and letting out a pleased humming sound. He hadn’t seen Lady in days, not really, because he and Sansa hadn’t been going on their morning walks. He was surprised to realize he missed the wolf, and bewildered to realize he might have actually started to miss Sansa, too. 

“Do you think the prince will like it?” Sansa asks happily. Whatever fondness he’d been feeling for Sansa, or her company rather, vanishes at the mention of the prince. Why can’t the two of them ever talk about anything else? He much rather her talk about her sewing than him. Even if she talked about something as mundane as thread color, Theon’s convinced it would be far more interesting. 

“I’m sure the prince will find you rather infatuating, my lady.” Theon tells her, his mind bored. 

Sansa beams at the thought, and does another happy twirl, though Theon finds this one much less endearing. He’s trying to think of an excuse to leave, perhaps he can offer his services to Lord Stark after all, when Sansa talks about something other than the prince. Something far more intriguing.

“I have something for you.” She says sweetly, a light blush on her cheeks and a shy smile to match. 

“You do?” Theon asks, unable to stop his curiosity. 

She nods and walks to her dresser, opening one of the top drawers and pulling out a small piece of fabric, folded neatly. She hands it to him and then waits for him to unfold it, which he does.

It’s a white handkerchief, slightly larger than any other one he has, and far prettier, too. Sansa had taken the time to embroider it. If the handkerchief was rotated so that it was shaped like a diamond, on the bottom she had embroidered his family sigil, a golden kraken, on either side of it were four golden stripes trailing upwards. When they got to the left and right corners, the gold stripes turned to silver and trailed all the way up to the top, where the Stark direwolf sigil was embroidered. At the center of the cloth was Seasmoke, an exact likeness as far as Theon could tell. It was just his wolf’s head, but Sansa had matched the thread to his fur perfectly. And the eyes are perfect matches, too. The stormy seagreen of the left and the golden amber of the right. It’s the nicest handkerchief Theon’s ever owned, and perhaps the best gift he’s ever been given. It’s certainly far too nice to use. He delicately folds it back up and tucks it into the pocket of his doublet.

“It’s beautiful, Sansa. Thank you!” He tells her earnestly. 

Sansa glows at the praise. “My pleasure, my lord. I wanted to thank you for your advice the other day, it’s really helped me think about things.”

“Still going after the prince, aye?” Theon teases, feeling far too content to care if she takes offense. 

Sansa blushes darker and nods her head ever so slightly.

Theon chuckles, and shakes his head letting her know he meant no harm by it. “You certainly couldn’t do better than him. You’d be Queen of Westeros. I can think of no one better suited for the role.”

“Really?” She asks in disbelief.

“Really.” 

Arya comes running back into the room, Beth chasing after her at a much more ladylike pace. Her dress is on but the buttons at the back are done unevenly, and her loose braid keeps catching on the buttons, causing her to nearly yank her hair out when she comes to a halt back in Sansa’s room.

“Arya!” Sansa chides, Theon forgotten. Sansa fixes Arya’s dress and then has her sit down so she can do her hair, all the while telling her how she better be much more behaved when the king and prince arrive, and Theon takes the opportunity to slip out of the room. 

It’s nearing midday, and Lord Eddard will probably send for him soon enough, so to save him the trouble Theon heads straight to his solar, asking how he can be of service.

By the time Bran comes to collect himself, Robb, and Lord Stark, Theon is quite ready for the day to be over, but there’s still hours yet. He does as Lord Stark commands and lines up with the rest of the Stark family and all of Winterfell’s servants and attendants, as they await to greet the King and his royal ensemble. 

Theon takes his place next to Jory and behind Robb, whispering different jokes, made of rumors he’s heard of the King and all the Lannisters, until Jory tells him to stop. They all wait a long time for the King, but alas, he arrives.

The King takes time to greet each of the Starks, but no one else, before deciding he must rush off to the crypts. The Queen protests, but Theon’s glad the King ignores her, for he’s ready to go back inside. All the Starks are tasked with entertaining the princes and princess, and Jon seems to disappear to who knows where. Before Sansa enters the castle, on the arm of the prince no less, just as she hoped, she looks back at Theon, who smiles at her, as if to say congratulations! You got what you wanted! And she smiles back. Radiates is perhaps a better description. She’s so happy to be with the prince. Theon doesn’t quite understand it, but he doesn’t really care to. He hasn’t exchanged any words with the prince, but he could tell the moment he laid eyes on him that he doesn’t like him one bit. He could follow after the Starks, Robb certainly wouldn’t mind, but he doesn’t particularly want to.

If he didn’t think Lord Stark would notice, Theon would take Seasmoke from the kennels and ride to the White Knife. But Lord Stark would notice, he always seemed to notice him, even though Theon felt as though he intentionally ignored what he saw, good or bad, most of the time. It felt as if Lord Stark cared for him, but didn’t want to care for him, so he decided not to and that was that. It was surely more complex than that, but at its core, that’s what it felt like. 

Theon wondered if there was a way to change all that. If something could be done to make Ned truly care for him. When Theon was younger, he used to hope that Lord Eddard would marry him to Sansa and claim him for a son, but Theon realized how childish that dream was, and Sansa clearly had no interest in him. Perhaps there was another way? Perhaps if his father died and the threat of his obedience to the crown didn’t loom between Ned and Theon, everything would be different? There was no way to know for certain. Not unless his father actually died. Sometimes Theon wondered what it would be like if his father did die. It would make him Lord of the Iron Islands. He could go back there. See his mother and sister. See all of his aunts and uncles. He didn’t necessarily wish his father dead. It was only a thought. A strong desire to see them all again and feel whole. Feel like he belonged. Now that he had Seasmoke he felt more complete, but he still didn’t feel like he belonged. Not in Winterfell. He probably wouldn’t belong in Pyke, either. He’s been gone too long. Perhaps it would be better to never go back? Maybe I’ll find my purpose in King’s Landing? Theon wonders to himself. No, he chides, my purpose is being Heir of the Iron Islands. It is my home. I am an Ironborn. It was the truth, on a factual level, but on a more emotional level it scared himself to admit that none of it felt true.

He can’t sneak off to the White Knife, but some quiet scenery could be good. He feels the urge to be by the water, and the closest he has to that is the small pool in the Godswood, so he grabs Seasmoke from the kennels and that's where they go. He’s not too familiar with the Old Gods, and though he doesn’t really care for them he doesn’t want to disrespect them, so he doesn’t actually go in the pool nor does he let Seasmoke. The two of them just perch on the edge and Theon contemplate life. His life. His choices. The ones that were made for him and the ones he may make for himself. Seasmoke, the ever loyal companion that he is, stays at Theon’s side, his head laying in his lap, content with the absentminded pets Theon’s giving him.

Chapter Text

Theon was putting his horse, Smiler, on a picket line near the river so that he could drink and rest while the travel party stopped for a quick breather. He was hoping to have a moment alone. He should have known better than to hope. His peace and quiet barely lasts two minutes.

“She’s been a nuisance all morning!” Sansa whines, walking up to Theon with Lady on her leash. Seasmoke perks up at the sight of Lady, and rushes over to greet his sister.

“Who has, my lady?” Theon asks absentmindedly as he ruffles through his pack and grabs an apple for Smiler. 

“Arya! She’s being totally improper, and in front of the Queen and Princess Myrcella, no less! It’s embarrassing.”

“What has she been doing?” Theon asks. They’re not even to Riverrun yet. If Sansa and Arya are already fighting, it’s going to make for a long, long trip. He grabs a knife from his belt and cuts the apple in half. Feeding half to Smiler, and then cutting a piece out of his half and handing it to Sansa.

“Thank you.” Sansa smiles, taking the slice. Her calm demeanor vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “She’s been swinging her feet, and playing with her hair, and nudging Myrcella’s arm as she tries to work on her sampler. It’s horrible! She won’t stop! I asked her to and she stuck her tongue out at me! Father even took her side!”

Theon rolls his eyes. He doubts Lord Stark took any side, and rather chose to remain impartial, but there’s nothing Theon could say to convince Sansa of this. He’s not sure he cares to.

“I’ll take care of Arya, my lady.” 

“Really?” Sansa asks excitedly.

“Sure.” He takes another bite of his apple and then breaks the remainder in two. Handing one piece to Lady and one piece to Seasmoke. He sees the soldiers begin to rally up, and he offers Sansa his arm. “Let’s get you back to the wheelhouse. We’ll resume the journey soon.”

Sansa nods and takes his arm. “We need to stop at the wheelhouse with the kennel, it’s where Nymeria and Lady have been riding.” Sansa tells him.

The thought makes Theon frown. Lady and Nymeria cooped up all day, and will be for moons. He doesn’t like it. “No need.” He tells Sansa. “The wolves can run behind me with Seasmoke.”

“Is that safe?” Sansa worries.

“They’re not the type of creatures to be locked up all day. They’ll grow restless.”

They’ve reached the royal wheelhouse and Theon begrudgingly bows his head at the Queen, Princess Myrcella at her side. Arya and Prince Tommen are out of the wheelhouse and petting Nymeria. Arya smiles at him when she sees him, and Theon winks at her in return, before turning his attention back to Sansa and helping her step up into the wheelhouse. 

“Come, Tommen.” The Queen says. Tommen frowns, gives Nymeria one last pet, and rushes over. Arya follows behind slowly. Theon grabs her hand and stops her. “You’re with me, little Stark.”

“Really?” Her eyes light up.

“Just for today.” He says, when he sees the Queen make a face a mixture of relief and disgust. “Best be well behaved or your father may not allow it tomorrow.” He whispers. Arya nods eagerly. She waves goodbye to Tommen and then pulls Theon away quickly, the three wolves trailing after them.

“He’s so pretty!” Arya grins, petting Smiler when she reaches him. “I want a horse.”

Theon chuckles, undoing the picket line and packing it away. “You want a lot of things.” he grabs the waterskin and drinks the last of it, before handing it over. “Fill it, please.” 

Arya takes it and rushes to the river’s edge. Small yellow flowers line the river banks. Theon’s never seen them before. They certainly don’t line the White Knife. The North must be too cold for it. They're like little drops of sunshine, shining bright in the reflection of the water, and they make Theon smile for an unnecessary and inexplicable reason.

He picks a handful of them. Arya sees him do this, and begins to pick some as well. “Can we pick those?” She asks, pointing to some arrowheads growing out of the water. Theon knows those flowers well, they grow in the shallows of Pyke. They’re his favorite, not that anyone cares enough to know. Something about them, the symmetry of the flower, the sharp point of the leaves, the smoothness and clarity of the white petals. He’s not sure what it is exactly, but the flower brings great comfort to him. He nods his head at Arya and grabs his knife. They have thicker stalks, so it’s easier to cut them. He cuts three, but then remembers they need to get a move on.

“Time to go,” He says, tugging on Arya’s braid as he passes her. They need something to secure the flowers, so Arya pulls the ribbon from her braid and ties the bouquet, tucking it in Theon’s saddle pack so that it won’t get smushed. Soldiers and all the wheelhouses have started to move, so he quickly swings Arya up and over, setting her on the saddle, and then climbs up behind her.

They fall in line with Lord Stark, Jory, the King, the Kingslayer, and the Prince. Lord Eddard gives them a glance and sighs, but his eyes are laughing, happy.

“Why’s she riding?” The Prince accuses. “Ladies are supposed to stay in the wheelhouse.”

“Not all ladies!” Arya quips, quieting when her father shoots her a look.

“Relax, Joffrey. She’s fine. Lyanna liked riding, too. Remember, Ned?” The King defends.

Lord Stark nods. “Of course I do, Robert.” 

Theon zones out all the conversation around him, making sure he has a secure hold on Arya but other than that not caring too much and letting Smiler take the lead. He knows he shouldn’t, you’re not supposed to give horses the control, but Smiler’s being extra gentle with Arya astride him, so Theon deems it fine. 

Eventually, they fall out of line with all of them and begin to ride, fast and free, Theon encouraging Smiler into a graceful trollop. Arya’s hair, now loose from its braid, catches in the wind and blows in Theon’s face, so he makes a mental note that if she does ride with him tomorrow she’ll keep her hair up.

When it’s time to make camp for the evening, Arya is so happy she can barely contain her excitement. 

“Can we ride again tomorrow?” She asks, bouncing up and down and circling Theon like a cat weaves between a person’s feet. “Please! Please?”

“Assuming your father doesn’t say you can’t. But keep your hair up tomorrow.” He tells her. Arya runs her hands through her to smooth it. It helps some. Theon smiles at her. She reminds him of Asha, but different, too. Asha was older than him, and more bossy. Arya has her spirit, and her temperament too, but she’s less commanding, more open to listening. Theon likes to think Asha would be like Arya if she were younger than him. Perhaps he’ll have to settle for having Arya as his little sister figure, lest he never see Asha again. When I’m Lord of the Iron Islands I’ll see her, Theon reminds himself. Sometimes he forgets. He forgets his future, his fate, because he’s too caught up in the present. He’s not like Robb. He’s not constantly being molded into his future role. He'll be thrown into it. One day, near or far, whenever the drowned god deems his lord father’s time is up. He wonders just when that day will be. He worries for his future sometimes, when his mind has time to drift. His call to the sea is undeniable, but sometimes he wonders if the Iron Islands is truly his home. If Lord of Pyke is truly his destined place in the world. He’s been away so long, he’s not sure he’d fit into the role. The mold that was forged for his brothers first, not him. How is he supposed to fit when he hasn’t even seen his home in a decade? Will everything fall into place? When he has too much time he wonders if he has any place in the world at all. He’s fortunate that too much time is hard to come by.

He grabs the flowers, and pulls one of the yellow ones free of the ribbon, tucking it behind Arya’s ear. 

She scrunches her nose at him. “Can I give the flowers to Father?” She asks.

Theon laughs. “Sure.” He shrugs, but not before pulling one of the arrowhead flowers free for himself to keep. 

“Thanks!” She says, running off, Seasmoke and Nymeria following after her. Lady, for some reason, remains with him. “I’ll see you at supper, Theon!” Arya yells over her shoulder.

Theon smiles, and then smiles wider when he sees Smiler, the irony of it all. He un-tacks his horse, and then Jory and Lord Stark’s horses, too. Brushing them down when he hears light, poised footsteps approach him.

“Lord Greyjoy!” Sansa calls out, her voice a singsong tune of grace and beauty.

“Lady Sansa.” Theon greets, not bothering to pull his eyes from Jory’s horse as he brushes it.

“Thank you for taking Arya.”

“It’s no bother. I enjoy her company. Though, I fear we’ll all be paying for it at supper. She probably won’t stop talking about it.”

“She can be a real chatterbox sometimes.” Sansa agrees with an annoyed expression.

Theon bites his tongue. The Stark sisters are more alike than they realize. He doesn’t mention how he’d much rather hear Arya talk of horses than her talk of the prince. Speaking of the devil,

“Lady Sansa. There you are!” The Prince calls out, walking towards her with a ugly look on his face. Sansa must not see it, she beams back at him. “I was hoping we could take a walk before dinner.”

“Of course, my prince.” Sansa smiles. “I’ll see you later, my lord.” Sansa tells Theon, before eagerly rushing off. She shares that trait with Arya, too, it seems. The desire for better company than himself. She brings Lady with her, leaving Theon all alone, save for the horse.

With only the horses for company, he spends extra time and care with them, not going to dinner until he absolutely must. He’s dreading dinner. It’s always crowded, and the food is bland, and without Robb he finds there’s no good company. 

“Theon!” Arya calls out happily, waving him over as she sits with the wolves. Normally Theon sat with Jory and Lord Stark, but he wasn’t expected (though allowed was probably the better word) to talk with them. He’s more than welcome to talk with those two though. He walks towards them, quickening his pace when she pats the spot beside. Sansa shoots him a look from where she sits with the royal children and Jeyne, but he shrugs at her, unaware of what she’s getting at.

“Father loved the flowers.” Arya tells him happily. “I want to pick him some more tomorrow.”

“We’ll pick some flowers every time we see a new one, but if there’s just more yellow ones we’ll hold off. We don’t want to have too many. It’s a waste.”

Arya pouts, but agrees with him. “Okay. Wait. Where’s your flower?” She asks.

He pulls the arrowhead from his pocket and shows her. She takes it from him and tucks it into the front pocket of his doublet. “There. We match!” Arya gleams. “Sansa was jealous of my flower, I think! She wouldn’t stop looking at it!” Arya says happily.

Theon ignores the fact that Sansa was probably more worried about Arya’s unruly hair. He ignores the fact that Arya’s flower is yellow and his is white. Instead he focuses on how easily Arya said they match. And he remembers how quickly Bran declared Seasmoke his. Perhaps he does have a place in the world. A place with the Starks. He did own a direwolf, after all. Would that it only be that simple?