The Kraken's Redemption

Obligatory Disclaimer: You know the drill. I do not own Game of Thrones. It belongs to George R. R. Martin and HBO.

Heavy spoilers for ACOK and ASOS. Deviates into serious AU territory from ACOK

I.

Theon was afraid, and out of options. Old Maester Luwin was right in the fact that he'd signed his own death warrant with the taking of Winterfell with nothing more than a skeleton crew to manage it. Foolish. The move had been sheer suicide. Emotions that he couldn't quite identify surged through him. He knew his father would be ashamed if he turned tail and ran. Salt and iron was in his blood, and the Greyjoys were never given the things they had. They always took it by force. It was his right. Or so he'd been raised to believe.

However, a worm of fear curled in his gut at the thought of the North rising up in retaliation for what he'd done, after betraying the family that had taken him in and raised him as one of their own. Even though he had been a prisoner of war, he couldn't deny that the Starks had been kind to him and treated him well. He'd learned the arts of archery, swordplay, and horseback riding alongside Jon and Robb, and Robb came to consider him a trusted friend, perhaps even a brother. And though he would never admit it, when he saw the care, warmth, love, and affection that Ned Stark had showed his children, he'd often felt the sting of envy. His own father had had no room in his heart for such sentiments. The Iron Islands were a hard place that bred even harder men.

Robb would not hesitate to take his head and hold it aloft before his army, and he knew that it would be Robb himself who took it.

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

Ned Stark's words echoed through his head and his mouth went dry, knowing that Robb would abide by that very same creed. It was decided, then. Theon knew that there was no way he'd win this, no way that he could ever live to claim his birthright as heir to the Iron Islands after proving to his father that he was worthy to carry the title, rather than his sister Asha. His heart still stung at the bitter memory of his father sneering at him about how living amongst the wolves had made him soft and weak. Nothing had happened the way he'd envisioned it, and he came to the bitter realization that he'd never have the respect of his father nor his sister.

He would flee North, to the Wall and take the black.

As he began packing things for the road so that he could slip out under the cover of darkness while Winterfell lay in ruins. Guilt stabbed and prickled at him, as he thought of all he'd done, all the crimes he'd committed, and he did his best to shove it aside, along with the rising bile at the back of his throat. After all, he told himself, war makes monsters out of men.

Theon had been told that the Night's Watch was an honorable order where men had served for centuries. However, he knew that he was taking the coward's way out.

He couldn't find it within himself to give a damn.

Theon crept into the stables with a traveling sack of what he was able to carry-sword, a dagger, clothes, some hard cheese and apples, some sausage, and some oatbread.

He was relieved that the stables had been somewhat spared, thinking that perhaps the Seven had granted him a small reprieve in this nightmare. (He expected no such mercy from the Drowned God, after all.) He saddled Smiler and lead the black stallion into the stable yard, the beast's breath steaming in the chill night air. The bit jangled in his mouth and he danced and snorted. Theon cursed the animal, but was able to mount him without much trouble. He then drove his heels hard into Smiler's sides, and the warhorse took off at a swift gallop and Theon left Winterfell forever, leaving his men to their fate at the hands of the Northmen.

He did not look back.

II.

Theon galloped for days, pushing Smiler to the very limits of his stamina. He had been taught that it was dangerous to push a horse so hard and so fast, since it could have very well ruined Smiler, but Theon had no other choice. To stop too long meant death. He only stopped to rest when he was sure that he was not being followed. His skills as a hunter and a tracker when he would stalk game had served him well, and he'd managed to avoid his pursuers thus far. However, he was much like a hunted animal himself, and he knew that he could not rest easy nor long until he was at the Wall, and thus beyond reach of the justice and angry retribution of the Northmen.

After five days of hard riding, the Wall was finally in sight. Theon felt something in him loosen with relief, and he trotted Smiler up to the gates, the black stallion now well lathered and exhausted.

A watchman saw his approach, and after a short wait, the gate was opened for him, much to his surprise. He wondered how often it was that men fled here seeking sanctuary in order to take the black. A fair many, he imagined.

Theon rode into the stable yard of Castle Black and dismounted, exhaustion and weariness seeping into his bones. He was surprised to find that there seemed to be few men about. He would have expected far more activity than this, men milling about either patrolling the walls, or sparring in the practice yard. He had heard that the Night's Watch had fallen into decline, but he didn't realize that their numbers had become so dire.

A tall, muscular man wearing the apron of a blacksmith came out to greet him. He was missing an arm. "And who are you?" he asked.

Theon stood up to his full height. "I'm Theon Greyjoy. I've come to take the black."

The man nodded. This boy was an Iron Islander then. Though this wasn't exactly common, he'd seen a few desperate men in his time, looking to escape the repercussions for their crimes by joining the watch.

"My name's Donal Noye. We could always use more men. I'm sure you'll be welcomed by the Lord Commander when he returns. He's away at the moment, and I'm acting as commander in his stead."

Theon simply nodded. "Is Jon Snow with him?"

The blacksmith nodded. "Most of our best men went north of the wall. Don't know when they'll be back. In the meantime, you'll be set up with food and lodging. You'll be able to take your oaths soon enough."

And so it was that Theon's life at the Wall began.

III.

Time passed, and Theon busied himself with chopping wood, keeping watch in the castle, and sparring with some of the other men. He was undoubtedly the best archer among them, and he enjoyed showing off his considerable skill with the bow. While he was competent enough with a sword, Theon prided himself on his ability to put an arrow into a man's eye from one hundred yards away.

He befriended some of the other men, some of his old charm seeming to return to him, along with his easy, lazy smile. While the Wall was a harsh place, being in the company of others made the unforgiving cold a little easier to bear.

However, in the dark of night, Theon's conscience came back to haunt him in the form of dreams. Brief flashes; the brutal, gruesome execution of Rodrik Cassel. Winterfell, now nothing more a smoking ruin as Ramsay Bolton put it to the torch, the stench of burning flesh and shrieks of terrified horses, the murder of the miller's boys, passing them off as Bran and Rickon...so many faces. Faces that'd he'd seen daily for the past nine years.

He often woke up drenched in sweat, shaking and trembling. At times, he wept, the guilt surging through him violently.

He told Maester Aemon of his troubled sleep, of the nightmares that plagued him, and the old milky-eyed man gave him a flask of dream wine. "This should bring peace to your sleep. Remember, just one sip before bed, no more," he cautioned.

Theon nodded as he accepted it, his throat dry.

"If I may ask Theon, what are these dreams that trouble you so?" The aged Maester groped about until he found some herbs that he needed, and began to grind them in a mortar and pestle.

Theon swallowed thickly, debating whether or not to tell him. "It's a long story," he said simply.

"I have time, if you wish to tell it," said Aemon.

That was enough. Theon's resistance broke, and he confessed everything. How Robb had sent him to request aid for his campaign against the Lannisters in revenge for Ned Stark's death, and how his father had mocked and derided him, and he'd left the islands in humiliation. He told of how he'd planned to seize Winterfell in order to prove himself to his father, that he was still an Iron Islander. That he was still a kraken and not one of the wolves. He spoke of how he'd tried to make an example of Rodrik Cassel in an effort to strike fear and respect into Winterfell's denizens, and how when Bran and Rickon had escaped he'd ordered two young boys murdered and then dressed in their clothes, their charred corpses hung from the gates.

When Theon had finished, he was choking back tears while Aemon patiently listened without saying a word.

"They're out there somewhere alive. I just don't know where," he scrubbed a hand over his face, his entire frame a study in tortured guilt.

"Perhaps you may still yet be able to set things right with Robb and Lady Stark."

Theon looked at him incredulously, wondering if the old man had gone truly senile or completely mad. Or both.

"How-"

Aemon cut him off. "You know what you must do. Send a raven to Robb. Tell him the truth about everything, that his brothers have escaped and may yet still live."

Theon clutched the dream wine in one hand, deep in thought. The Maester was right. Though he knew that Robb would never forgive him, there was no forgiveness for all he'd done to the Stark family, perhaps...perhaps this, at least, he could make right, and absolve a few of his many sins.

Theon left the old Maester to his puttering. He had a letter to write.

But first, he would need to summon his courage.

IV.

Theon sat at the desk in the rookery, a piece of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell set out before him, inhaling and exhaling a breath to steel himself for the task to come. The ravens cackled, chortled, and cawed, hopping about in their cages restlessly.

Robb,

I have a confession to make to you. Bran and Rickon weren't killed. They managed to escape from Winterfell. I had two boys that were near their ages killed and then burned the bodies. I don't know where they are, but I know they are with the Wildling woman, Osha. I believe that they're both still alive, somewhere. /i

He paused. He knew that Robb wouldn't accept an apology, no matter how groveling it might have been. He was a coward and a traitor, and in one fell swoop he'd gone from being Robb's trusted friend, to an enemy that was perhaps even more hated than Joffrey, the cruel boy king that had murdered his father.

I'm at the Wall. I plan to join the Night's Watch and take the black. I haven't seen Jon yet. I imagine he'll be rather shocked to see me here.

It was here where Theon reflected on how much he missed a woman's touch. Forced celibacy was one of the more unpleasant aspects of being a member of the Watch.

That is all. I know there is nothing I can say that will make you forgive me for what I've done, but I hope that I can at least make this one thing right. When I die, it will be the Gods that judge me.

Theon

He blew on the ink to dry it, and then placed the message into a tube. Maester Aemon removed a raven from one of the cages, secured the message with surprising dexterity despite his trembling hands and blind eyes, and released the bird into the cold air.

Theon's sleep was less troubled after that.

V.

When the bedraggled survivors from the expedition North of the Wall returned, Jon Snow was not among them. Nor was the Lord Commander. Theon and the others learned of the Old Bear's fate from Edd, Grenn, and Pyp; all friends of Jon. Apparently, Jon had become a turncloak himself and joined the Wildlings. Theon wondered to himself if he'd taken up with some woman.

Time passed, and Theon, though he wasn't an official brother of the watch yet, became familiar with Edd, Pypp, and Grenn. They ate together, drank together, and at times watched the Wall together.

A few days later, Jon returned, and Castle Black was in an uproar. He was weak and feverish with an arrow in his leg, seeming to barely cling to life. His wounds were treated and dressed, and Maester Aemon made sure that he had ample milk of the poppy. When Jon had recovered some, he was astonished to see Theon sitting at the end of his bed in his room wearing a strange, rueful half-smile.

"What in the seven hells are you doing here?" asked Jon in disbelief.

Theon resisted the temptation to snort. "I thought it was obvious. I've come to take the black."

Jon's eyebrows shot up, as if he wondered if all the seven hells had just frozen over. "You? I would think that the Wall would melt before you'd join us. Unless..." Jon trailed off.

The smile fell from Theon's face, and his expression became grave. Jon felt a cold, hard knot settle into his gut. "What did you do?"

Theon told him, and when he'd finished his long tale, he couldn't bring himself to look Jon in the eye.

There was nothing to break the silence that followed save Jon's loud breaths. Fury radiated off of him in thick waves. Then he said, in a low, quiet voice, "If I had my sword and the strength to do it, I would kill you right here and now."

When he met Jon's dark grey eyes, they were as cold and pitiless as a winter storm.

Without another word, Theon turned and left, closing the door to Jon's quarters quietly behind him.

VI.

As time passed, and Jon took the lead in garrisoning the Wall against the coming Wildling onslaught, Theon was able to put the services of his bow and arrow to use. He stood atop the wall with Satin and Edd, and they fired arrows into the Wildlings, Theon feeling a wild thrill running through him as the heat of battle made his blood sing. iThis/i is what he lived for. Fighting, killing, and fucking. Well. At least he was able to do the first two. He felt a surge of triumph as one of his arrows hit the eye of a giant. While it wasn't enough to fell the beast, it was enough to cause it some pain and half blind it.

The battle was long, brutal, and bloody. Good men were lost, including Donal Noye. Jon's lover, Ygritte, had also been killed in the melee. He solemnly burned her body, setting up a separate funeral pyre for her. Theon kept his careful distance from the grieving Jon, knowing that their alliance was an uneasy one at best. While Jon would likely never entirely forgive Theon, he would acknowledge him as a brother of the Watch in all but name for the moment until he could truly be sworn in.

There was much debate, and there were elections, and squabbling, and Jon was even briefly imprisoned and nearly hanged for his treason. However, the Seven smiled on Jon and he ended up being ultimately spared because of his actions during the Battle of Castle Black.

After the battle, Samwell Tarly returned, and he urged that a new Lord Commander be elected and swiftly, for everyone knew that the the Night's Watch needed to be brought back to a semblance of order once again.

Jon became the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Not bad for a northern born bastard,mused Theon.

VII.

Theon knelt before the heart tree in the godswood just outside of the Wall, having decided to recite his vows before the Old Gods.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all nights to come."

He rose to his feet, and Pypp and Grenn clapped him on the back, congratulating him. And Jon, though his face remained impassive, gave only a tiny, quiet nod. He was now a brother of the Watch, having left his old life and titles behind. But now he had friends, brothers, a family. No longer would he be rejected. He would live an honorable life of servitude to a cause that was higher and greater than himself.

Though it was not what he imagined what his life would be-he would never be Lord of the Iron Islands nor would he claim his birthright; he found that it was enough.