I saw this prompt and HAD to do it. Jon/Theon is seriously growing on me.

Enjoy! xoxo

Theon had been south of the Wall several times before. He was the stealthiest one in his small gang, and deadly with a bow and arrow. His group travelled around a lot, and he'd always be sent on private, solo missions; sometimes it was to steal a few horses, or take out a small party of travellers and take their provisions, his arrows raining down on them from high in the trees.

He was also skilled with a boat and sails, from being born near the sea; everyone called him The Kraken, for his love of the sea; his sister Asha always laughed at him for that. Sometimes one of the boats from the Night's Watch would stray too far, and he and his friends would be able to pull it in in time and keep it for themselves. He had been to Skagos once or twice, and on the second trip there, he had come too close for comfort to some Crows.

Mance Rayder had noticed Theon's skills, and paid close attention to him ever since he was a young lad. It was the King beyond the Wall who gave him his first bow, and the first to teach him how to shoot. His father disapproved of Theon's closeness to Mance, but the king had always been more of a father to Theon than Balon ever was.

Mance was trying to pull him away from his small group, he knew. Mance had often said how much he needed a man such as him in his force. Theon helped him out and went on scouting missions with him once in awhile, but he'd usually make up an excuse and bail out; as distant as he and his father were, he still didn't want to disappoint him.

Theon had been south of the Wall several times before, but none of his previous trips had made him as nervous as this one. A strange mix of adrenaline, excitement and fear pumped through his veins and pounded in his heart. King Robert's arrival in Winterfell was news to all, and it was all anyone could talk about. He was surprised and incredibly honored when Mance asked him to accompany him and a small troop to Winterfell; he wasn't planning an attack, although he wanted information.

Despite his father's protests and threats, Theon went with the king anyway. Mance thrust a flute in one of his hands, and a dirk in the other; they were to be posing as travelling singers, but he could never be too careful. Theon didn't know how to play the flute, but he doubted he'd have to.

Winterfell was big, old and grey, but Theon couldn't help but feel in awe when he saw it. He had heard tales about Bran the Builder, and the legacy that the castle held. He held his breath as they entered the gates, for a part of him felt as if they would be caught any moment. He expected a sword in his back after one of the guards looked at him for too long, but it didn't come.

Theon hopped off his horse and joined Mance and the others in the stables, his mount following him with every jerk to the reins. "Just stay close to me and you'll be fine," Mance muttered to him, helping him put the horse in one of the empty stalls.

"I'm not nervous," Theon spluttered, clenching his jaw defiantly.

Mance chuckled quietly. "Lad, you're sweating like a pig." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Come, now. Let's have a walk, see what we're dealing with." The other wildlings followed their king, but Theon trailed behind. He was the youngest in the group, and the one with the most admiration for Winterfell.

By the time Theon and the wildlings had been admitted into Winterfell, all the important guests had already been escorted to their temporary chambers. The courtyard was rather empty, save for a few servants scurrying around. Theon eventually split off from the group and went to look around on his own.

He came across a training area, where a couple of young lads were training. An older man with thick white whiskers was watching them, shouting both praise and instructions at the boys. Sounds of panting and grunting mixed with the clanging of steel, the plethora of sounds echoing in the training yard.

Theon knew one of the boys- the taller of the two- to be Robb Stark. The smaller boy was turned away from him, but could see that he was winning the spar; Robb was retreating backwards, attempting to block the swings of the other boy's sword. Nonetheless, Eddard's heir still had a grin on his face.

The smaller lad whacked Robb once, in the shoulder, twice, in the belly, and a third time, on the back of his knee. Stark stumbled and lost his balance for a moment, which the raven-haired boy took advantage of; he pushed him to the ground, both of them laughing all the while.

"Do you yield?" Theon's mouth dropped open; the voice was distinctly feminine.

Robb laughed again. "I don't have another choice, do I?" The girl chuckled and helped him to his feet. Theon was rooted in place, simply watching the scene; he couldn't take his eyes off this mystery woman. He inhaled a sharp intake of breath when the girl pulled her hair out of her bun and shook out her long raven locks.

The two went to the armoury, arm in arm, their red faces painted with sweat, but smiling all the while. Theon felt a burning stab of jealousy in his gut; why did Robb get to have that raven-haired beauty and not him? Because Robb Stark is heir to Winterfell, and you're just a wildling who shouldn't even fucking be here.

Theon's mood brightened when he saw the girl leave the armoury on her own; she was still slightly red-faced, but now wore a lovely light blue dress that hugged her in all the right places. Straightening his back, he took a deep breath and marched over to her. "My lady," he called, remembering to act polite and courteous; here, he was not a wildling. "I could not help but admire your beauty from afar." He bowed low, his cloak sweeping out behind him.

The girl smiled sweetly at him, and Theon couldn't help but wonder if she had been told this and proposed before. "Thank you, ser, although I should be going by now..." She tilted her head towards the castle for emphasis. She curtsied, her hair falling in front of her face. Theon remembered the stupid mating rituals of Westerosi customs; he couldn't just knock her to the ground and fuck her senseless.

He followed her, unable to let her go that easily. "My lady, I wish to escort you to the feast tonight." His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

She looked slightly uneasy, but she hid it well. "Ser, I do not even know your name, nor you mine."

"We'll have the whole night to make acquaintances." He grinned, leering at her. She flushed and looked away. She gnawed on her lip, which drew Theon's gaze there; he noticed how lovely, full and pink they were, and he wanted nothing but to crush his lips against hers.

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Robb Stark. "Joanna?" He rushed to the girl's side, and Theon realized how terrible the scene must have looked; a stranger tightly gripping the arm of Robb's woman. "What's going on? Who's he?" He glared accusingly at Theon. "Jo, is he hurting-"

"Robb, everything's fine," she cut him off, looking rather annoyed. Wait…Joanna? Joanna Snow? Fuck. Just your luck, Theon. You fall for Eddard Stark's daughter.

"We should get ready for the feast," Robb declared, gently pulling his half-sister away from Theon. "I suppose we'll see you tonight, Ser…"

"Theon."

"Right. Ser Theon." The heir to Winterfell nodded and began walking away from him, Joanna in tow. Theon didn't miss the glare Robb gave him from over his shoulder, but he didn't miss the sympathetic smile from Joanna either.

Theon walked around the castle grounds, running by different scenarios in his head. He could kill Robb, but then he'd be killed, too. Or perhaps he could ask Lord Stark for his bastard daughter's hand in marriage…but they'd eventually find out that he's a wildling, and they'd kill him.

Mance noticed his anxiousness at the feast that night. "You alright, lad?" he asked, pouring another cup of watered down wine for each of them. "You seem…off." He slid the cup to Theon, who took it gratefully.

"I hate these stupid Southern customs," Theon muttered, nursing the mug of wine. Mance only chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Our way is so much simpler."

"Is there a girl?" Reluctantly, Theon nodded. "She'll come around." Theon almost laughed at that; he wasn't talking about some barmaid or kitchen wench. This was Joanna Snow; she had Stark blood, and no doubt there'd be war if something happened to her.

He looked up and saw Joanna laughing and dancing with Robb, huge grins plastered on both of their faces. The wildling felt jealousy burn inside him, coiling in his belly and tasting like bile in his throat. That should be him dancing with her, him making her laugh and smile like she was having the time of her life. Hell, she probably was; Robb was everything he was not, and it seemed that Joanna much preferred to have a Robb than a Theon.

Robb Stark already had everything, so why should he need Joanna?

Theon decided that he was going to steal Joanna Snow.

Breathless and red-faced, Joanna left her half-brother, going to sit down. She wasn't allowed to sit at the high table- which made no sense to Theon, because after all, she was Lord Stark's daughter- so she sat with the squires and lowborn at the table near the back. Theon was at the other end of the table, and he wanted to go ask her for a dance, but Mance began talking to him before he had a chance.

When he looked back, Joanna was gone. He craned his neck and looked around for her, but there was no sign of the raven-haired beauty. He saw the back door open, and decided to investigate. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and stepped out into the chilly night time air, his breath coming out in puffs of white.

Joanna was hitting a dummy in the training yard with her practice sword, cursing loudly with each swing. Theon was certain the dummy would collapse and break into pieces at any moment, with the way the girl was going at it. "My lady," he called, walking up to her, "are you alright?"

She whipped her head around, surprise and fear evident on her face. She relaxed slightly when she saw that it was only him, but there was still a nervous air about her. "Good evening, ser." She curtsied, the sword still in one hand. "Forgive me, I did not know you were here."

"It's quite alright, my lady." Subtly, he checked to make sure that his sword and his dagger were on his belt. "Is there anything I can do to help?" He flicked his eyes to the side and saw the nearby stables; sword, knife, horse, check. Now all he needed was the girl.

"I'm fine, thank you." She tossed the sword from one hand to another. "Please, just go and enjoy the feast." She forced a smile and set the sword next to the dummy.

"I think I would enjoy time with you more, my lady." He took a step closer to her, a small smirk playing on his lips. "A horse ride, perhaps?"

"I-it's quite late, ser. And the Wolfswood are dangerous in the dark-"

"You have me." He took another few steps and interlaced his fingers with hers. "You'll be quite safe with me, I promise." She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off when Theon wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her onto his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?" she screeched, punctuating each word with a punch to his back and a kick to his chest.

"It's how we do things up north, sweetling." He swung up onto the horse and sat Joanna in front of him. He tied her wrists with a piece of rope he had found, and made sure to cover her screaming mouth with his hand. He winced whenever she bit his fingers, but he would not yield. She was his now, and he wouldn't let her go so easily.

They stopped at a small cave in the middle of the Wolfswood when it got too dark for him to see. He could smell rain, too, and he was sure that a storm was brewing. He tied the horse to a tree and led Joanna into the cave, despite her squirming. As he predicted, the rain began to pour down, soaking them in mere moments. They ducked inside the shelter as a clap of thunder echoed in their ears.

"You're a bloody idiot, you know," Joanna spat as Theon untied her wrists. She rubbed the rope burns, scowling. "My father and brother will see that I'm gone, find you by morning, and cut your damn head off."

Theon rolled his eyes and gathered wooden twigs and branches scattered around the cave. He made a neat pile in between him and Joanna and started a fire. "What makes you so sure of that?"

Snow allowed herself a triumphant grin. "I have a direwolf." He tensed at that, his body freezing in place. What the fuck's a direwolf doing south of the Wall? "Ghost will lead them to me." She kept away from both him and the fire, leaning against the stone wall.

"You Southerners do things so stupidly," he scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.

"Southerners? I'll have you know, I am of the North, with the blood of the First Men-"

"Anything south of the Wall is south." He smirked a little, warming his hands by the fire. "Do you give that speech to anyone who tries to steal you?"

"No one's been stupid enough to steal me," she huffed.

"Or brave enough."

She smiled icily. "I know the difference between stupidity and bravery, and you're not the latter." He noticed her shivering, hugging herself to stop the tremors. "Stop staring at me," she snapped.

"You're cold."

"I'm fine."

"You're fucking shaking. Come by the fire. It's warmer."

"I told you, I'm fine-"

"Don't make me drag you over here."

"You already dragged me away from my home; I think that's enough for today." She looked away, her jaw clenched tightly. Her small frame continued to wrack with shudders, but she was too damn stubborn for her own good. Way to pick 'em, Theon.

"Take off your clothes," he commanded.

"What-"

"They're soaked right through; you'll catch a death of a cold if you keep them on." He sighed deeply when she didn't budge. "Take them off and come by the fire." He laid his cloak down next to the fire, hoping it would dry sooner rather than later.

Joanna muttered something incoherent to Theon. "What was that?"

"I said don't look," she repeated, her voice cracking. He saw pure fear and loathing in her eyes, the guilt stinging him like a slap to the face. He swallowed his remorse and nodded his head, looking away from the girl. He focused on a stone on the ground, taking tiny peeks at Joanna every once in awhile, the temptation too much to resist.

He heard her moving closer to the fire and tilted his head slightly towards her. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her clad in only her underclothes, not leaving much to the imagination. The tight corset hugged her curves, and he found himself transfixed.

"Aren't you going to take yours off, too?"

A slow grin spread on his face. "Is that a come on, my lady?"

Her face flushed a lovely shade of crimson, her eyes widening in horror. "I-I only m-meant-"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I know what you meant. It's called a joke; I'm not sure if you have those in that bleak castle of yours." Her lips were pressed firmly into a tight line, stoic. "You can look, if you'd like," Theon teased, tugging off his boots.

"Nothing would bring me greater displeasure," she muttered under her breath, staring into the flames. Theon merely smiled at her stubborn attitude and took off the rest of his drenched clothing.

"I didn't think wildlings wore smallclothes," Joanna mused quietly.

"I'm flattered that you were looking," the wildling shot back, smirking. Her flushed complexion only became brighter. "There's a lot you don't know about us." He laid his clothes by the fire.

"I'm not sure I want to find out."

He grinned at her. "Come on, my lady; it's a learning experience."

She sighed. "So what are you going to do now? Fuck me until I'm raw and then leave me to die?" Is that all she thinks of me?

"Such uncouth language for a noble lady," he said instead, his smile straining. I bet she wouldn't mind getting fucked by her pretty little lordling, he thought bitterly.

"I'm hardly a noble lady."

"Then you shouldn't mind getting stolen."

She gaped at him. "Just because I'm not a noble and true-born daughter does not mean that I'm…I'm…"

"Some whore?" he supplied, his eyebrows raised. Joanna's lips curled into a snarl and she whacked him in the chest, knocking the breath from him, and gave a slap to the face that made him recoil. "My lady likes it rough, so it seems," he sneered, rubbing his sore jaw.

"Do not call me a whore," she ordered, her voice steady despite her shaking form. "I will not be one and bring another bastard into this world." She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. "It's a terrible life for a child."

"Your mother was a whore?" Theon asked quietly. His hand moved on its own accord and reached out, interlacing his fingers with Joanna's.

"I don't know." She ran her fingers through her damp hair, and the wildling wondered absentmindedly how her locks would feel in between his fingers. "I don't know who she is, or who she was. She could have been a noble lady, or a whore, or a fisherman's wife for all I know."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm sure." He didn't miss the roll of her eyes.

"North of the Wall, we don't care about if you're a bastard or not." He offered a small smile but she did not return it. He squeezed her hand and pulled her a bit closer to him. She looked up at him with wide, unsure eyes, a piercing grey. "You love him…don't you?" he murmured, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.

"If the 'him' you're talking about is my brother, then you're insane." The corners of her mouth tugged upwards. Theon closed the space between them, tilting her chin up to meet his lips. She hesitated at first, but gently kissed back after a short beat. She let out a tiny moan when his tongue parted her lips, making him hard in an instant.

He laid her down on his cloak, his lips never leaving hers. Her slim fingers knotted in his hair and held him close as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulders, sucking at the porcelain skin. He unlaced her corset and pulled off her smallclothes, tossing them into an unwanted pile. The shadows and flames made her skin glow, and she seemed almost inhuman and unreal.

He wriggled out of his own smallclothes and knelt in between her bent knees, laving her nipples with his tongue. She moaned and writhed under him, tugging insistently on his hair. "You're mine," he growled, pressing a kiss to her belly. He slipped a finger inside her wetness, groaning softly at the feel of her around him.

"I'm yours," she panted, arching her back. Theon spread her legs further and looked at her for approval. She nodded, her tongue darting out to lick her dry lips. He moved to lie on his belly between her legs, his mouth planting kisses on her inner thighs. He could feel the cold hard ground on the lower half of his body- where he was off the cloak-, but he couldn't care less right now; not when he had Joanna was making the most delicious noises under him.

She peaked with a shout, with her heel digging into his back and her fingers knotted in his hair. He eased her through the aftershocks, gently kissing and licking at her cunt. "Theon," she breathed out, pushing him away, "it's too much. I-I can't-"

"Shh, shh, sweetling." He kissed his way up her body, his fingers soothingly stroking her long curly hair. "You're beautiful," he murmured, pecking her forehead. He settled in between her legs, hesitating. "Is it-"

"It's fine." She reached up and met his lips with hers. "I'm yours." She gave him a small smile and wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist.

Joanna cried out in pain when he first entered her, breaking her maidenhead. Theon wiped away her tears and refused to move, until she began rocking her hips against his. They found a rhythm soon enough, and her quiet sobs soon turned into moans and whimpers of pleasure.

She rolled them over so she was on top, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He watched her in admiration as she moved on top of him, his hands finding her hips. She kissed him fiercely, her lips tasting of wine, lemon and cinnamon.

Joanna tumbled over the edge and Theon followed right after, his teeth sinking into her lower lip with a deep growl. She collapsed on his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

"I'm going to die tomorrow," he whispered into the silence, realization dawning on him. The Starks would come and kill him on sight, if he was lucky. If not, it would be a tortuous, slow and painful death for dishonoring Joanna.

"No you won't."

"I will. Both you and I know it."

"I won't let them kill you." She craned her neck to look at him, her hand cupping his cheek. "I'm yours and you're mine. You stole me and that's that."

"You're a stubborn thing, aren't you?"

She smiled and pecked him on the lips. "Says the one who stole me." She rested her forehead against his. "Say it. I said it."

His lips tugged upward at the corners. "I am yours, and you are mine." They kissed again, oblivious to the rain pouring outside the shelter. "Now and always," he breathed.

"Now and always."