The Winter Witch

Part Three

III: II

Notes: A line Theon uses is from Netflix's The King (2019), said by John Falstaff. If you haven't watched it, I highly recommend the film as it was a very interesting take on Shakespeare's Henriad. I will admit I was not fond of Timothée Chalamet before watching this film, but he won me over.

Trigger warning: discussion of torture. Probably poorly-written PTSD as well.

With Daryn Hornwood on a brief honeymoon - a concept that was alien to the Westerosi across the continent but something Hermione pushed for, for the couple - Robb's guard was a bit bereft, especially with the upcoming mission.

Robb was despondent, with Hermione leaving shortly with a small handful of people, as well as Jon. While Jon maintained that he had a duty to do, especially as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and to prepare for Hermione's repair of the other towers for the wildlings, Robb was sure that Hermione could wait another week, or two, to journey to Skagos…

"But why can't I go?" whined Arya as they broke their fast that very morning, the family table suddenly fuller than it had been in years with not just the Stark siblings, but Hermione, and several of those Hermione had handpicked to join her to Skagos: Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, and the strange, towering woman with close-cropped hair that had joined Hermione, Brienne, Jaime and Arya in slaying wights at Castle Black.

Robb, at the head, shook his head. "Because a there must always be a Stark in Winterfell-"

"You're here," she continued petulantly, crossing her arms and slipping down in her seat with a scowl on her thin face.

"-and you're still in training to be my heir, should anything happen to me," continued Robb blithely, reaching for a bread roll, ignoring everyone else at the table.

"It's not fair," the youngest female Stark continued to mutter. "It's just not. Sansa is going on an adventure and I'm stuck here!"

"I'm not exactly pleased about going, Arya," replied the eldest female Stark, but her face was placid and Sansa's tone was carefully modulated to hide any emotion.

Robb shot her an apologetic look, his eldest sister sitting to his left and opposite Hermione who sat in the position of his right hand. "You know why you're going Sansa…"

"I do," the redhead nodded. "And I think it is a good idea. I just don't like the idea of being… in the field."

"At least you're not getting people following you around," grumbled Jon from the other end of the table, the all-black wardrobe of his making his already pale face paler and highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. He was sleeping poorly, with the new revelation of his parentage and what it meant to be the son of a Targaryen prince, who, by all accounts, kidnapped and raped his mother.

Robb's mouth twisted in compassion. "Is it really that bad?"

Jon nodded. "Here; not so much. But Sam's written that more and more people are showing up at Castle Black to help, but few are taking vows. I suppose I shouldn't be too upset - we do need all the people we can get to fight the Others, but…"

But. Robb's heart clenched in sympathy as Jon's dark eyes travelled to look down at his barely-touched plate of food.

"As Lord Commander, can't you send them away?" asked Sansa quietly, peering at her cousin from under her lashes.

Jon shook his head. "Death releases all Brothers from their vows. I died in that fire, or should have, and that was good enough for the vows to be broken. I am no longer the Lord Commander."

"Bollocks!" snapped Robb, causing Arya and Sansa to start and stare at their brother. "It's just a title, Jon. You can still wear that mantle. Why not take your vows again?"

"I-I could," he admitted, but a light blush appeared on his cheeks.

"Besides," continued Sansa, who couldn't see Jon's blush from where she sat, "If he was Lord Commander again, no one would push for him to be King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon's blush quickly bled from his cheeks as his face turned the colour of sour milk. "Don't remind me of that, please, Sansa."

Chortling, Arya happily reached for another cut of ham for her plate and gleefully told the table, "You're not the only one struggling with that."

"With what?" asked Robb.

"Potential kingship," the teen replied, vigorously cutting her meat now. "Gendry's having trouble too. He used to hide in the smithy, but people figured that. He's got a few Southerners following him around as well."

"Whatever for?" blinked Jon, eyes wide.

Sansa shot him a look. "Haven't you seen him recently? He's a splitting image of Renly Baratheon, and I'm sure if we knew him or Father was still around, he'd say he looks like Robert."

"He's Renly's bastard?" asked a confused Jon. "But I thought-"

"He's Robert's," sighed Sansa as she corrected him.

"Are there any other hidden royals masquerading as bastards that we should know of?" interjected Jaime Lannister for the first time since the conversation of Arya's joining them began. He had finished his meal in the meantime and was idly drumming his golden hand on the tabletop from his place next to Jon. Robb, who had seen more magic than the others, still watched in fascination as the gold rippled and glittered in the pale morning sunlight, despite the hand functioning as though it were flesh and blood. "Is Aegon Targaryen still alive? Didn't Llewellyn Martell have a secret paramour? What about a Dayne with their purple eyes? Perhaps a son of Arthur's? Any of those hiding in plain sight?"

An unbuttered and untoasted slice of bread hit Jaime in the side of his head, flopping down off his shoulder and onto the table, leaving the man sitting rigidly in his seat with a frozen, betrayed look in his green eyes as they darted toward the offending bread-thrower.

Hermione was still focused on her book at the table, leafing through the pages quickly as her eyes roved across the sentences, despite everyone seeing her bring her right hand down back under the table.

"You - You threw toast at me," sputtered Jaime, a comical, stupefied look on his face.

"Bread," replied the witch, but her tone was absent, like she was barely paying attention. "Don't be obtuse."

"Obtuse-!"

Robb sighed, loudly. "Hermione, love. No books at the table."

"Hmm?" Hermione's eyes slowly drew up as Robb leaned over, placing a hand over the page she was reading to capture her attention. Realizing she had fallen into her Hogwarts habits, Hermione cleared her throat and slammed the book shut with both hands. As she apologized, she floated the book from the table to her feet, where her beaded bag was waiting. "Sorry."

Robb took her hands in his, lacing their fingers as he smiled in response.

"Are all your meals this entertaining?" asked the woman with the close-cropped hair. She was leaning back in her chair, running a dagger under her nails as she picked out dirt. She was on Jon's other side.

"Only when with unsure company," rejoined Jaime, narrowing his eyes at the woman who sat opposite him at the table.

With furrowed brows, Robb looked between the two and the ill-disguised tension. He cleared his throat, but that did not break the two from their staring content. "Unsure company?"

Jaime didn't move his eyes from the now smirking woman.

"Don't you know who this is?" he began mockingly. "Your Highness, might I introduce Obara Sand, the eldest of Oberyn Martell's bastard daughters?"

"Oberyn Martell," murmured Robb, leaning back in his seat, while his siblings immediately stopped their good-natured bickering to fall silent and focus their interest on the newly-revealed bastard at the table. "The Prince of Dorne."

Obara tipped her head in Robb's direction in acknowledgement.

Hermione slowly inched her wand down her sleeve into her palm, in case she needed it, her eyes on the woman who saved her life at Castle Black.

"What brings Dorne to the North?" Robb finally asked, carefully.

Obara continued to pick at her nails, although they were short and blunt. Hermione's eyes were strangely focused on the sight of the Dornish woman's nimble fingers as they flicked and scraped around her cuticles. "I suppose you can lay the blame on your witch."

Hermione's eyes jerked away from Obara's hands to her face, just as Robb's hand twitched tightly around hers. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, due to your gift," said Obara with a nasty smirk on her face and her eyes glittering with amusement.

Gift? Hermione stared blankly at Obara for a long, long moment before realization dawned on her. "Oh. Ohhh…"

Glancing to her left at Robb, Hermione slightly cringed at the reminder of the aftermath of the Twins - and Gregor Clegane. With all that happened with Robb's disappearance, so many minutiae had fallen to the wayside in Hermione - and the Council's - decisions to move forward with their war effort. And it was easy to forget the Freys after what they had done to the combined Northern/Riverland host, even if Hermione had spared Olyvar Frey to play messenger.

Well, at least that was confirmation that he made it to Dorne with Clegane's head, thought Hermione idly, rolling her lower lip in and nibbling on it as she thought.

"Hermione?" Robb asked, although it was less of a question and more a demand for an explanation.

"Oh, I can answer for her," interjected Obara cheerfully with her teeth bared in a semblance of a smile, "as both my uncle and father were impressed with the Mountain's head."

"The Mountain's head?" sputtered Robb, cutting Hermione some serious side-eye; despite his gaze also landing on Sandor Clegane, who sat next to Hermione. However, he was hunched over, one arm wrapped around his breakfast plate and seemed to be concentrating on shovelling in as much food as he could; even still, his long black curtain of hair kept Robb from seeing if the mention of his older brother made the man tick.

"That was something you forgot to mention to me upon my return," muttered Robb lowly, leaning toward Hermione over the edge of the table so that his voice didn't travel.

Hermione chuckled weakly and shrugged one shoulder. "Sorry?"

Robb gave Hermione a very unimpressed look, but then Obara was speaking again and he turned his attention to her.

"The gift came without conditions, which was unusual in itself, so my father sent me north to suss out what the Winter Witch would want from Dorne," the woman said airily. "Except, when I arrived in Winterfell, I learned the Witch was not there."

Obara sent a mock glare at Hermione, who slouched in her seat under the weight of all eyes on her. "So it was on to Castle Black I went."

"Where we met," interjected Hermione quickly, hoping that was the end of that conversation.

Obara's grin was wide but not kind. "Yes, where I saved your life from that wight."

Yeah, thought Hermione, despite the cries of those around her for more detail of their witch being bested by something undead, that wasn't my best day.

Obara recounted Hermione's attack and lack of watching her back, leading her to being cornered by a wight and Obara's gallant saving of the corpse by spearing it through its head, ensuring Hermione was covered in its innards and blood. Even being reminded of that horrible evening at Castle Black, where the old magic of the Wall and Westeros had overcome her own innate magic, Hermione still made a face from the taste and smell of phantom blood.

"-but with the wights, I knew that whatever initial plan the Witch may have had would have changed," she was finishing, "and so I wrote my father and uncle immediately to inform them that the Long Night will return shortly."

"That's it?" asked a suspicious Jon slowly from the other head of the table.

Obara shook her head. "No. I also informed them of your newfound status."

An explosion of noise erupted around the table at that pronouncement:

"You can't be serious!"

"That just endangers Jon!"

"What were you thinking?"

"-It's clear she wasn't thinking, Arya-"

"Do you know what you have done?!"

Obara seemed unaffected by the verbal assault sent her way, leaning back in her chair. Clegane, at her side, seemed unaffected by the proximity to the shouting, merely curling his arm tighter around his plate and then shifting a bit so he was facing more toward Hermione.

"Prince Doran is an honourable man," declared Obara loudly, talking over both Robb and Jaime's loudest - and most vocal - insults. "My aunt was a Targaryen through marriage, and had her children lived, they, along with Jon, would have tied House Martell and House Stark together as half-siblings." She finished with a very pointed, "He is my cousin - just as he is yours."

That shut Robb up, as he snapped his mouth shut with a loud crack. Not quite cousins, more like second cousins, but still - the Martell's would be family...

His jaw was tense and he ground his teeth as he spoke through them, clenched, "And what are Dorne's intentions with this knowledge?"

Obara stared at Robb like he was dense and completely missed the point. "He is family. You are his family. And family is important to us in Dorne."

Robb blinked, his expression smoothing out to confusion. "I-"

Obara made a frustrated noise and shook her head. "Your troubles are our troubles, now. And we will support the North in the Long Night to come."

The confusion melted away to surprise. "You would? Dorne would?"

"Yes, of course," said Obara, with the air of someone who thought Robb was being particularly dense. "I expect that my sisters are already on their way. Perhaps my father, as well."

"I-" After a long moment, Robb closed his eyes and sighed. "Thank you, Obara."

The eldest Sand Snake huffed and returned to her dagger, which she had discarded at one point during the conversation.

Conversation lulled following that, and as Clegane scraped his fork tines against his plate, Robb realized that everyone had finished their meals and were just waiting to be dismissed. It was time for Hermione - and Sansa, Clegane, and the Lannister - to leave for Skagos to bring Rickon back. He could not delay it further; and there were several items on his agenda for the day that his council wanted approval of, leaving Robb to take one last look at those at the table with him.

Sansa was patiently waiting, with her hands clasped in her lap. Her blue eyes - the same shade and shape as his - were serene and calm. There was a part of her that was begging her older brother to trust in her, in their mission, and as loathe as he was to let her go, Sansa had more than earned the right to participate. She had spied in King's Landing while he left her there during his campaign, and although it was ill-timed and poorly done, she had wanted to help out those at Castle Black too, following Rayder's attack and then Stannis' arrival.

Arya was itching for activity, a scowl still on her face. Robb knew he'd have to keep her busy in the weeks that Sansa, Jon, the Lannister and Hermione were gone, as she often turned to them for entertainment as some point or another. Sparring with Brienne would be daily, and even if it pushed propriety out the window, Robb would have Gendry keep her company while hiding them both away somewhere.

Jaime Lannister - for he could no longer call the man 'Kingslayer,' after reading his confession to Aerys' death - was laconic in his chair, but the absent drumming of his fingers indicated his own anxiety and eagerness to be back in battle, especially with his new golden hand.

Jon was pale and sour-faced, most likely at the idea of returning to Castle Black without knowing his place. Was he the Lord Commander or heir apparent to the Seven Kingdoms? How would he be treated? How would he want to be treated? Robb and Jon had failed to set time aside to discuss their futures - as King in the North and the Riverlands, which had ceded from the Kingdom - and what that would be if Jon did become King. Or, perhaps, Jon was thinking of what lay beyond the wall…

Robb shook his head the tiniest bit. Bringing his family back together was important - not just for the pack, as Starks must remain together - but also for what was coming. The Long Night was the true enemy, and Robb wanting to delay their mission just because he wanted to keep his family close was counterproductive and selfish. He was a King and the needs of his realm came first.

So he found himself, shortly after breakfast, standing in the courtyard just outside the great hall, facing Sansa, Hermione, Lannister, Clegane, and Eddard Karstark.

He smiled tightly, but genuinely, at Sansa first, moving from his position with his guard at his back to sweep his sister into his arms for a crushing hug. "Be safe," he muttered into her hair. "Stay with your guard and do as Hermione tells you."

"I will, I promise," she whispered back, clutching just as tightly to him. "This won't be like last time."

Robb laughed. "Gods, I hope not."

He released her and then looked at Clegane and Edd, both positioned on either end of Sansa like bookends. The two were eyeing each other, their faces tight with tension. He sighed. Well, this will be interesting at least.

Jaime seemed interested in leaving immediately, fidgeting where he stood in the smallest of tells: the Lannister was clenching and unclenching his fingers around the pommel of his sword.

Robb then turned to Hermione, who quirked a tiny smile at him. "Hey."

"Hello," he said back, dropping his voice as he took a step toward her, making the smaller witch tilt her head back and up. Robb reached out a single gloved finger and touched her cheek lightly. "You'll promise to stay safe as well?"

"Might as well promise for the moon to stop rising," she replied back, but the tease was belied by the serious look in her amber-toned eyes. "It'll be fine. Everyone has individual Portkeys, and we'll take our time doing some reconnaissance before moving in to take Rickon."

"George once mentioned an excellent saying," began Robb with a sigh, "No plan survives first contact with the enemy."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "I mean, he's not wrong, but he was also quoting a movie."

Robb made a face. A movie?

But Hermione continued speaking. "Are the Skagosi our enemy now?"

Robb shook his head. "No. But… I don't imagine they'll be welcoming you with open arms, either. So… be safe. Be smart."

"Haven't you heard?" grinned Hermione. "I'm the smart one. We'll be fine. See you later, your Highness."

Then she muttered a phrase under her breath and the Portkeys activated, sending the group spinning away in a vortex of magic and space.

With a sigh, Robb muttered, "Goodbye, Hermione," and turned to face Arya and Brienne, with Obara wandering off, and the rest of the guard. With what they could easily see a false cheerfulness, Robb said, "So! Arya. First on our agenda today is to meet with the council…"

Arya groaned, loudly, but joined Robb as they entered Winterfell. Hermione had her mission and Robb had things to do - the Long Night would wait for no man or King.

It was bad enough that there had been no communication from those who went to Skagos for several weeks now, but when Robb finally did receive a raven, it had to be bad news - which led to where he was currently, staring at Cley Cerwyn as he apologetically stood in front of Robb's desk in his solar, a grimace on his face.

"I - Lord Cerwyn, I must have misheard you," began Robb, trying to compose himself. "Could you repeat that?"

The man squirmed a bit but sighed and dutifully recited, "We received a raven late last night that Lysa Arryn had passed early last week. Her husband is assuming the duties of the Vale as her son - your cousin Robyn Arryn - is too young and ah, in ill-health, to handle the duties of Warden of the East."

"And her husband is?" Robb prompted.

Cerwyn closed his eyes. "One Petyr Baelish, your Highness."

"Petyr Baelish. The same man who duelled my uncle Brandon for my mother's hand when they were younger?" asked Robb, reciting facts to keep himself from reacting. "The same man who hated my father and betrayed him, leading to his capture in King's Landing? And the same man who pleaded innocence to my mother at Renly's camp?" Robb heavily sat back in his chair. "Gods! So that's where the man has been hiding out this whole time since he left King's Landing. The Vale."

"Aye, your grace," the man said miserably. "I am sorry to deliver such news to you-"

"I think I was expecting it," replied Robb quietly, frowning. "Sansa warned me of the man."

"The Princess did?" asked Cerwyn, eyes wide in surprise. "She had interactions with him? Enough to know his character?"

Robb snorted. "Nothing complementary, I'll say that much. As it stands, Cerwyn, have ravens sent to the houses and towers along the Vale/Riverlands border. I don't know what Baelish might be planning, as he's been quiet this entire time, but I want to be made aware of the slightest movement made. If so much as a bush twitches, I want to know."

"It'll be done, your highness," said Cerwyn, bowing.

Robb peered at the man as he failed to leave. "Is there anything else?"

"Just the latest reports from the White Harbour on the export of the ice shipments to Essos," the Lord said, handing several rolls of parchment to the King. "Included are the preliminary grosses from the Mormonts and Umbers regarding their lumber production of the ice boxes, and a forward from Lord Edmure, regarding the recent produce harvest in the Riverlands."

"Are these numbers correct?" asked Robb, blinking and goggling at the sums.

"As far as I know, your highness," replied Cerwyn. "Is something the matter?"

"These numbers are phenomenal," replied an incredulous Robb, looking up at Cerwyn from the parchment. "I never thought to consider lumber and ice as exports - the need for it in Essos is staggering! And despite the grip of winter here in the North, it's just beginning to touch the Riverlands. The extra import of fresh vegetables will help bolster our stores."

"It'll probably be the last harvest," cautioned Cerwyn, "So finding alternatives to purchase from would be wise."

"Indeed," agreed Robb, nodding, "Perhaps some of our ships heading to Essos can make some tentative inquiries there? Or we could consider entering negotiations with Dorne, if Obara Sand is to be believed and Prince Oberyn is on his way."

"A solid idea." Cerwyn began to gather his belongings. "Unless you require anything else from me, your highness...?"

Robb shook his head, still slightly amazed at the figures. "No. No, thank you Lord Cerwyn, your work has been more than commendable in collecting this information and presenting it to me."

The Lord flushed with praise, bowed again and then left the room, leaving Robb alone. With a sigh, the King ran a hand through his hair and mentally ticked another box off from his to-do list; the next item was not something he was looking forward to, but something that needed to be done - and he had been putting it off for far too long as it was. It meant leaving his solar and collecting Grey Wind from his bedchambers on the way - which he promptly did so, waving away Smalljon and Robin Flint as his guards for this task.

The room that Robb made his way toward, with Grey Wind ambling at his side like they were going on a leisurely stroll, was well out of the way of most foot traffic, tucked in a small corner of Winterfell's many towers. The room he was heading toward was on the top floor of the tower, providing excellent views, but it also meant that there were numerous unused rooms below in the tower, now reconfigured for storage.

Two Winterfell guards, bored beyond belief given the dull, resigned looks on their faces, stood outside a closed door. They scrambled to attention when Robb appeared.

"Your Highness!" one gasped, straightening. He blinked a few times and then moved his eyes to the far fall opposite him.

"You can open the door," instructed Robb, his voice low. "I'm here to visit."

The other guard, who didn't speak, nodded and his hand went to the key ring on his waist, with a single key on it. Once he inserted the key into the lock and turned in, a loud click cut through the air.

"Should we accompany you, Your Highness?" asked the chatty guard.

Robb shook his head. "No. This… needs to be done in private."

The two guards shared a look, but the key holder pushed open the door. It swung open on loud and creaking hinges - should the person inside even try to leave through the door, the noise would be indicative of their plans.

Robb stepped through, Grey Wind at his heels.

The room was large and circular, with only one side of the tower's walls covered with long, thin windows. They were too thin for someone to slip out of it, but did offer a view of the Northern landscape, away from the majority of Winterfell and Winter Town's buildings. Thin streams of light filtered through the thin windows, casting long slivers of gold that flickered alongside a lit fireplace. It was there that Grey Wind ambled to, curling up on the floor near the fire and soaking up the warmth.

A single bed, with a reading table and chair made up the rest of the furniture in the room. The table was covered with books and parchment from the library, an inkwell and quill for notes, but those appeared unused.

On the bed, a man sat, his hands folded in his lap and his head bowed, his shoulders curled inward. His booted feet were planted firmly on the floor, and he wore nothing but simple, plain clothes: a tunic and trousers - a far cry from the elaborate clothing and fancy jewellery he preferred years ago.

When Robb had returned from Hermione's world, he had inquired about the prisoners they kept: Barbrey Dustin was still a guest of theirs, slightly mad with her panicked ravings of magic and ice (which Hermione, Bolton, and a few others refused to discuss, no matter how much Robb prodded, all with vaguely shifty looks); and this young man.

Who wasn't really a prisoner. But was. Robb shook his head. His predicament was a bit confusing, and coming to visit him was meant to clear that up.

"Theon," greeted Robb, his voice low and solemn.

The young man on the bed slowly raised his head, and Robb sucked in a sharp breath.

Theon! He thought, eyes wide as he took in the differences. When he sent Theon off to his father, so long ago now, he left a bright, vibrant young man - one who was arrogant and cocky, yes - but he was full of life.

Now though… the dusky dirty blond hair was streaked white in some places, aging Theon significantly past his late twenties. His cheeks were hollow and sunken, his cheekbones obvious against the stretched, shallow colour of his skin. There was a minor tremble in Theon that Robb didn't notice until he peered closer, and there were parts of his ears missing - like something had chewed on them.

He knew that Hermione had to heal Theon significantly when they found him, but still - this!

Theon's mouth twitched and Robb was unsure if he was going to smirk or frown. "Your Highness."

"I-" Robb's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he struggled to find something to say.

"It's been a long time," continued Theon, his voice soft and dull. His eyes slid up to look at Robb, and then placidly down to his lap once more. "Winterfell sounds busy."

"I - aye. It is," confirmed Robb, thrown by the conversation. He needed to regain his standing. He cleared his throat. "Do you know why I'm here?"

Theon gave a tiny, one-shouldered shrug. "No."

Frustration began to bubble in Robb's stomach. "Hermione said she found you in the dungeons when they reclaimed Winterfell from Ramsay Snow-"

Theon cringed and immediately flung himself to the floor, prostrating himself as he shivered and trembled, palms flat on the cold stone. Words were babbling from his mouth too quickly for Robb to follow or understand, so instead he stood there, completely thrown by Theon's behaviour.

Robb took a step closer to Theon. The sound was heavy on the floor, and Theon's body tightened in response. Robb froze.

"Theon," he whispered, eyes wide, "Theon, what happened to you?"

"Not Theon, not Theon," the man on the floor muttered. "Reek."

Robb frowned. Hermione had mentioned something of this-

"No," said Robb as it came to him. He crouched down, gentling his voice. "You're not Reek. Your name is Theon Greyjoy. Do you remember? Theon Greyjoy."

The muttering and trembling began to slow as Theon's breathing evened out. Slowly, as Robb repeated the same phrase over and over, did Theon begin to slide back into a kneeling position on the floor.

When Theon finally looked up, his eyes meeting Robb's, they were shuttered. There was a blush on Theon's cheeks, and his eyes were cagey when he glanced to the side. "Thank you, Your Highness."

The formality rankled at Robb, but when he went to help Theon stand, the other man jerked back like a wounded animal and all but clambered onto the bed to keep away from the man he once called "brother."

For a long time, Robb remained crouched on the floor, stunned at Theon's response to Ramsay's name. It wasn't pity that brewed in him, but rather a deep feeling of remorse and guilt.

"I did this," he whispered, finally, eyes closing as he rose from his crouch.

For the first time, there was emotion from Theon as he snorted. Robb's eyes flew open and landed on the man.

"Your fault?" asked Theon, a bit of heat in his voice. He shook his head, planting his trembling hands on the edge of the bed to push himself further back to lean against the headboard. He pulled a knee up and hugged it to his chest while the other lay straight on the bed. "You didn't do this to me."

Robb swallowed, keeping silent.

Theon continued. "I'm told I'm getting better," he explained, but there was a bitter, sarcastic tinge to his voice that was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time to Robb. "But it's likely I'll never be the same anymore. Not after-"

"I'm sorry."

Theon's chuckle was gravelly as he repeated, "For what? You didn't do this."

"I was the one who sent you away," replied Robb quietly as he moved to the chair at the table. There was a meter or two between the two men, but it felt more like an entire ocean by the time Robb sat.

"To my father," replied Theon, just as quietly as he played with a loose thread on his tunic. "Which I wanted. I hadn't seen him in… Gods. It must have been nearly a decade."

"And then?" asked Robb, trying to piece together things.

Theon shrugged. "I picked a side. Turns out it wasn't the right one."

The cavalier attitude stroked Robb's frustration and turned it into an inferno. The burst from him without warning, loud and clipped. "Why, Theon?! Why? You were my friend!"

Theon glanced at Robb and said, very quietly, "A King has no friends; only followers, and foe. And I… didn't want to be a follower."

Disbelief shot through Robb. "So you thought being my enemy would be better?"

"I-I made a mistake," began Theon, his eyes shifting away. "A terrible mistake -"

"I thought you killed my brothers!" bit out Robb, standing from his chair in a burst of movement. Robb's hands turned into fists, clenched at his side. It startled Theon. "They were your brothers, too! We took you in - raised you - treated you as part of our family-"

"I was never part of your family!" shouted back Theon, displaying the most emotion Robb had seen from him since he stepped into the room. The knee against his chest was dropped and Theon swung both legs around to put his feet on the floor as he faced Robb head-on. "I was a hostage! A reminder of my father's good behaviour lest he lost another son!"

Robb reeled back. "I never thought of you as such."

Bitterly, Theon breathed deeply through his nose, looking away. "It didn't matter if you did; that was the truth. And… And I couldn't bear it longer. So I - I did what I had to. I paid the iron price." He then turned back to face Robb, something earnest on his face. "But I - I couldn't kill them. Robb, I swear, I didn't kill them. I didn't kill Bran or Rickon-"

"I know."

"I- what? You know? They're-" Theon paused, his entire body stilling. Then, he asked very quietly, carefully, "What does this mean for us? For me?"

Robb slowly sat back down in his chair, feeling weary and the weight of more than his crown and nation on his shoulders. He let his hands dangle between his legs as he replied, just as quietly, "I don't know, Theon."

The two men were silent, both left looking at the other. In the space between them lay thousands of unsaid words, a symphony of regrets and fond memories that complicated their new positions.

Finally, Theon spoke. "Robb, I- I never should have betrayed you. I should have been at your side. At the Twins when-"

"Don't," the word was bit out by Robb, who closed his eyes and brought his hand up to rub at his nose. He sighed, tiredly. "Just- don't."

"I'm sorry." Theon's voice was very small when he spoke.

"So am I."

"What will you do with me?"

"I don't know," sighed Robb. He opened his eyes and they focused on Theon with laser-like intensity. "You betrayed the North. You betrayed my family, my trust. You betrayed me, your brother."

Theon swallowed thickly, the words stuttering as he spoke. "I would understand - if you - if you kill me- it's not less than what I deserve if it allows me to make up for what I did-"

Robb let a disgusted noise slip past his lips and rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up Theon."

Theon's mouth snapped shut.

How is it that even a few moments with Theon and we return to the young boys we were, snapping and japing and falling into easy conversation? mused Robb, the fondness for his friend warring with kingly decisions. Finally, Robb asked, "Have you healed?"

Theon hesitated. "I am - better -"

"Hermione was thorough. I was told what Ramsey Snow did to you."

Theon's body jerked; the same as it did earlier. "Master was-"

Robb grit his teeth. "You are your master, Theon. What he did was… evil."

Theon looked away, another flush high on his cheeks that curled up into the tips of his ears - well, the one ear.

Finally, Robb cleared his throat. "Have you heard the news?"

Confused, Theon felt the anger and shame flush from his body at the change in conversation, and he slowly shook his head.

Robb continued, "About the White Walkers?"

Theon blinked and then, weakly, joked, "I don't get out much these days."

Figures, thought Robb, rolling his eyes.

"What about them? They're just myths. Stories -"

"They're real."

Theon froze. "What?"

"They're real," repeated Robb quietly. He began to run one finger around the wood grain of the table. "When I was at Castle Black - the dead - they - they reanimated. They moved on their own. Killed others. I saw them with my own eyes."

Theon's jaw was unhinged as he gapped.

"There's a war coming," said Robb. "Between the living and the dead."

Something in Theon shifted: the look in his eyes, or the way he held his body. "What are you trying to say, Robb?"

"I want my friend at my side, Theon," replied Robb, looking up from the wood grain. He paused, swallowing a bit, and then admitted, "I miss him."

Something like regret passed across Theon's face. "…I'm not that man anymore. I can't be."

"I know."

The two fell into silence once more, and then Theon spoke. "I'm sorry."

A weak smile crossed Robb's lips as he shook his head. "No - No, don't. It's my fault - I should have realised - Hermione warned me -"

"Hermione? You've mentioned her a few times," there was a weak wiggle of Theon's eyebrows before they smoothed and he asked, "The witch?"

Robb nodded. "Yes."

"Is she as powerful as they say?" Theon asked. "I - I can barely remember - but the guards - they say she found me. In the dungeons. Healed me."

"She did," confirmed Robb.

"I owe her, then," mused Theon aloud, turning his eyes upward as he began to relax again, resting on one arm.

"She didn't do it for that," replied Robb, his voice a bit sharp.

"I know. But… still," said Theon, his voice turning pensive. "I-I can't fight at your side, Robb. You shouldn't honour me with that."

Robb watched Theon carefully as the man worked through what he wanted to say.

"But… but I want to earn your trust again. I... want to be the man you think I can be."

"Oh?" Robb's voice was deceptively light.

"Perhaps… perhaps I can thank the witch?" asked Theon, licking his lips nervously. "By being her guard?"

For a moment, Robb stared at him. Then, he doubled over, snorting with laughter, the noise breaking the stillness of the room to such a degree that Grey Wind looked up in annoyance from having his nap interrupted.

"What?" bit Theon, offended by Robb's response. "I - I can still shoot an arrow!" Then, he frowned and mumbled, "I think, anyway…"

Robb waved a weak hand in the air as he caught his breath. "Please, no, go ahead. Join Hermione's guard. It'll give the others a break and I'm sure they'd love the entertainment."

Theon blinked. "Entertainment?"

"Hermione has this neat trick - she can disappear and reappear wherever she wants," answered Robb, fondness creeping into his voice as he spoke about her. "And she hates having a guard - she's told me time and time again that she chafes under it. Often calls it 'babysitting duty.' So when the guards annoy her or she reaches the end of her patience with them, she tends to Apparate away somewhere opposite to her guards in Winterfell, leaving them chasing after her. It's a rather amusing game of hide and seek."

Theon stared at Robb with wide eyes. "Umm…"

However, Robb was warming up to the idea, leaning back in his chair to a lounging position as he continued, mirth in his voice. "Very well, Theon, if that's what you want. You can join Hermione's guard."

"Aren't you worried I'd betray you again?" asked Theon, his voice very carefully modulated.

Robb shook his head, a small, tight smile on his face. "No."

"Why not?"

Robb's smile turned predatory as he cheerfully replied, "Because Hermione'll turn you into a ferret if you annoy her, and will likely let Grey Wind play with you until you learned your lesson."

Theon's face rapidly paled.

Robb continued, as he stood from the chair, "I'll schedule you in once she returns from Skagos."

With a sharp whistle, Grey Wind stretched, his rear high in the air as he opened his wide jaw and lolled his tongue out through his yawn. The direwolf then slowly made his way to Robb, weaving a bit as he struggled to get out of a sleeping mindset and back into guarding his human.

The two then walked toward the door, leaving Theon panicking on the bed, frozen in place as he realized what he might have signed up for.

At the door, Robb paused while Grey Wind went ahead. His voice was loud enough that Theon heard it, despite not facing him. "Theon?"

The Ironborn looked up, catching Robb's gaze as the king glanced at him over his shoulder. The door to his room was partially open and he could see the presence of at least one guard standing outside of his room, hovering just partially out of sight.

"Despite how things are now - I did miss you. I missed our friendship," the King in the North admitted.

Theon's spine, once ramrod straight, curled in relief. "Me too."

"That said," continued Robb, his voice immediately turning icy - he was the King in the North now, and Winter was Coming - "Don't fuck this up. Because if you do, I will finish what Snow started. Do you understand?"

Theon, frozen, shivered. "Aye."

"Good," bit out Robb, and then the door to Theon's room slammed shut.

TBC...

Further Notes: I am not happy with this chapter. I've been stuck on a single scene that took place in the middle of this chapter with Hermione and the others in Skagos and it just wasn't coming. So I broke this chapter into two; right now, it's merely a stepping stone for future chapters, so if anything, consider it lead up for what's to come. In other words: a filler chapter.

Hopefully I'll have the next chapter out soon, but currently my parents are stuck in Central America with their flights cancelled on them twice. I'm not sure when, or if, they'll make it back and they're both in the 65+ category... so I'm kind of in a mindless loop of worried/goddamn boomers/stressed/worried, rinse and repeat.