Theon Greyjoy lay upon his bed, covered in furs and sweat, in Winterfell. The fire in his chambers burned brightly, outshining the moonlight that beamed into his window, but was not the cause of his perspiring. The nine-year-old was sick, very sick; he had even over heard Maester Luwin telling Lady Stark the day before that he might not live through the fortnight if his fever continued to soar. Every cough racked his little body and he felt as if his lungs were made of iron as they shook in his chest. He had prayed to the Drowned God, the Old Gods, and the New Gods to take this ailment from him, but none of them heard his pleas. Now, he lay in his bed, wide awake despite the late hour, and prayed for whatever god was really in charge to take him swiftly.
Theon heard someone coming down the corridor, towards his room, but was too weak to raise his head and see who had just burst through the door. It was Robb, wearing his night clothes, and running barefoot against the cold, wooden floors. The little boy's eyes grew wide when he saw his companion shriveled up on the bed, looking close to death. His brown curls bounced as he ran to Theon and hopped up on the side of the bed. "Whoa, Theon," Robb breathed. "You look terrible."
Theon coughed and sputtered out, "Thank you, Robb. That's very comforting."
"Sorry. How do you feel?"
"I feel how I look. Your father is going to need a new ward."
"Do not say that, Theon. You will live."
"I do not feel that way. Death would be a blessing at this moment."
Across the castle, Lord Eddard Stark slept soundly in his chambers, with his wife, Lady Catelyn, held closely to his side. He lay wrapped in the warmth of his spouse, the furs draped over him, and the fire that roared across the room. He had known of Theon's illness as soon as it struck him a few days prior but was not aware that the child was currently looking upon the face of death.
Suddenly, a knock came from the door. Ned's eyes snapped open and he quickly rose; years of being a soldier taught him how to wake swiftly. He opened the door to see Maester Luwin in the doorway, looking concerned.
A hint of sleep still clung to the Warden of the North's voice as he asked, "Maester, what is it? One of the children?"
"No, my lord," Maester Luwin said quietly, trying not to wake Cat. "It's the Greyjoy boy. He grows sicker with every minute. I do not think he will be able to fight his fever much longer."
Ned let out a sigh, "Have you sent a raven to his father?"
"Yes, my lord. As soon as the boy grew ill, in fact. I offered to have the boy safely sent to Pyke, but Lord Greyjoy refused. He said no kraken is made weak by wolves, at least not one worth saving."
Ned put his head down at Balon Greyjoy's harsh words towards his own child and swiped a hand over his face. "Maester, take your leave; you need to rest. I'll sit with the boy. Thank you."
"Thank you, my lord," the old man said quietly as he bowed and made his way back down the corridor. Ned softly closed the door and began to dress. As he pulled his boots onto his feet, he thought about how much he loathed Balon Greyjoy. He was a man without honor, who was prone to disloyalty. Last year, after his rebellion had been put down, he sent Theon with Ned to be his ward in Winterfell. Ned couldn't even imagine giving up one of his children for the sake of keeping his titles and land; he would rather lose everything and keep his children close to him than the other way around.
As he made his way to Theon's chambers, he remembered the day that he left Pyke with Theon. Lord Greyjoy brought him down to the docks to send off his only living son. Ned recalled how the little boy began to cry for his father before being handed off to the Lord of Winterfell and how his father whipped him like a horse for his sobs. Lord Stark had to intervene the beating and remembered saying, "That is my ward you're beating, Lord Greyjoy. He is now under my protection, and I will not allow him to be harmed in this manner."
As Ned approached Theon's door, he prepared himself for what he was about to see. Even if Theon wasn't his son, no boy deserved to face death as if he were a man. Ned cared for Theon, even though the boy often kept to himself, opting to eat his meals in the kitchen with the servants, when Lord Stark had made it clear that there was a place for him at his table. He knew that Theon did not feel as if he fit in in the North and despite everything, missed his family.
Ned opened the door to see Robb, sitting on Theon's bed, chattering away. He didn't even notice his father enter. "Robb!" Ned exclaimed. "It's the middle of the night. Off to bed with you, son."
Robb's eyes widened at his father's command but did not voice his surprise or try to bargain. "Yes, Father," he said as he hopped off the bed and made his way out of Theon's chambers. Ned gently ruffled Robb's hair as the boy passed him on his way out; the boy was just like his father: he was constantly caring for everyone around him.
The former war hero approached Theon's bed and looked upon the child. The young boy shivered though his sweat, weakly looking up as his master lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. "My lord," the boy managed through his sore throat.
"Shh. Save your strength, boy. I just came to sit with you," Ned said gently.
"I do not have any strength left, Lord Stark." Theon's voice was barely a whisper.
"Aye, you do. You just do not know it yet. You see, you may not be a Stark, but you are a Northerner. Northerners are tough, cunning, and loyal; you are all of those things, therefore you are of the North." Theon let out a cough that caused him to coil and uncoil until his breath was returned to him; Ned grimaced at a child feeling such pain.
Ned waited until he heard Theon's shaky breath again before continuing, "But you see, there is one part of being a Northman that you have not mastered yet: we look out for each other. The people of the North care about their fellow countrymen and never fail to defend them. You have been a good ward to me, but I know you wish to be back in the Iron Islands. If you open your eyes, you could see that the North is ready to take her place in your heart as home, you just have to let her. As soon as you do that, she will provide for you."
Theon nodded wearily as Ned placed a calloused hand on his forehead. He gently wiped Theon's light brown hair, drenched in sweat, from his face. "Get some sleep, son," Ned whispered as he pulled the furs over the boy's body, up to his chin.
Ned rose from the bed and lowered himself into a chair by the fire, keeping an eye on Theon. He sat there for the rest of the night, listening to the child fighting to breathe and praying to the Old Gods that he would survive this fever.
A few weeks later, Ned Stark heard Robb and Theon laughing as they played in the great hall of the castle. There was a terrible rainstorm passing though, and Theon was not quite well enough to play in those conditions. Three days after Ned sat with the Greyjoy through the night, his fever broke and Maester Luwin said he would live. Five days after that, he returned to his duties as Lord Stark's ward. Now, he played with the little Lord Stark after his daily duties were done; the only remnants of his sickness came in the form of a light cough and a few sneezes. He was a boy again, no longer broken.
Ned entered the hall, causing the pair of nine-year-olds to halt their play, ready to hear whatever the Warden of the North had to say. The soldier gave a small smile as Robb ran a hand through his curls, pulling them from the drops of sweat on his forehead. "Robb, time for supper. Your mother is waiting."
Robb sprinted towards the door and dashed out before Ned could tell him not to run. His father chuckled as Theon turned towards the kitchen to have his meal. Before he could exit, Lord Stark heard a small voice behind him, "My lord, is there still a place for a Greyjoy at your table?"
Ned turned around to see Theon standing behind him, "No, there's not, boy." Theon lowered his head before Ned could finish. "But there is a seat for our fellow Northman."
Theon smiled up at his surrogate father and headed towards the Stark family dining hall. As the pair walked to supper, Ned ruffled Theon's hair like he always did to his other sons.