Theon shook her limp body, screaming, "Arella! You dumb bastard, wake up!"
He picked her up from the ground and walked her over to his bed, watching her lifeless body drop down more or less, weightlessly, onto the large bed covered in furs; Theon grabbed one of the blankets and covered her up, stroking her hair, and calling for Measter Luwin.
When the old man finally appeared, he scrutinized Theon with weary old eyes; he must have woken the man from his sleep. He didn't care thought, someone needed to help her, someone.
"Theon, it's the dead of night, you'll need your rest for what is about to come from your enemies….what have you done to her?"
The measter lurched to the bedside and pulled the furs off Arella, pressing on her wound, glaring up at Theon with eyes filled with doubt, saying, "Her and her mother were great friends of the Starks' and she considered you a great friend, has every memory left from your mind?"
Theon couldn't take it any longer; he grabbed the old man by his measter chains and screamed, "I wasn't the one that did this to her! It was….it was…."
"One of your men?" he asked, looking deep into Theon's shadowed eyes. "Is that what you mean to say?"
"Yes! Yes…it is," he leaned onto the wall and felt his knees trembling and sweat coursing down his brow. He looked at Measter Luwin and then quickly to the flames, saying, "Just help her, so she can leave my bed…"
He heard Measter Luwin sigh quietly as he tore her white robe in two, looking at her festered wound that was bleeding completely and entirely all over his bed sheets; he looked at her face, for he was unable to look at that wound without gagging. She looked so weak sprawled out on his bed, her face had nearly gone completely white, save the purple bags that had formed beneath her beautiful blue eyes.
The measter stood up and walked out of the room, murmuring quietly before he left, "She needs bandages and the milk of the poppy, I'll soon return."
Theon sighed heavily and ambled restlessly around his bedchambers, unsure as to what he should do with himself. This was his fault, he knew, he was spoiling all the great relationships he once had. Robb hated him now, the brother he once had…..NO! Robb wasn't his brother, he had brother's all ready, and they had been killed by that stupid Stark that had been beheaded by that rash Lannister scum that was King of the Seven Kingdoms.
But not for long, Theon thought, staring into the flames when he heard Arella groan heavily behind him.
He stumbled to her, grabbing her hands and looking right in her eyes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, watching with sad eyes as she grunted and grabbed her stomach.
"As if…..you care," she whimpered inaudibly, gripping onto her stomach and weeping feebly.
Theon smiled weakly at her, not knowing what else to do, since honestly the only thing consistent about him was his smile; no matter what happened that smile could always find a way to appear.
"If I didn't care, would you still be in here cluttering my bedroom? Would I call the Measter in to help you?"
Arella glared at him through heavy black lashes, saying, "Where are Bran and Rickon, Theon?"
"In their bedchambers, where else?" he said simply, shrugging his shoulders and smirking at her as she sat up; her strength was coming back to her.
She stared at the wall, confusion filling her eyes; she murmured, "I just had the strangest dream. I dreamt that Bran and Rickon ran off with Hodor, a wilding girl, and those frog-eating people. That's strange, isn't it?"
"Don't believe in those sorts of dreams, Arella, they mean nothing more than those stupid songs Sansa listens to."
Arella smirked softly, whispering, "But some of those songs are true, Theon…. I mean….Your grace."
The door crashed open and Measter Luwin came stumbling in with his bandages and other things. "Ahhh, you've woken Arella, that's a wonderful sight to see. Just let me get you bandage up and you can go back to your mother."
Theon saw Arella's eyes shift downward when he mentioned her mother, and he couldn't help but stroke her hand graciously to calm her forming tears.
The Measter cleaned up the wound and wiped away all the blood. He placed the bandages around her waist to cover the wound wholly until she lay there calmly, with the only remembrance of the blood on her white robe and his sheets.
"Now drink this," he handed her the milk of the poppy, but she refused saying, "I don't need that, Measter, I've gotten wounded many times and I never before needed that, so I don't need that now."
Measter Luwin shrugged his shoulders and patted her back, saying, "I know others from different lands may think it's strange the way the Starks' have threated you, full of grace and kindness, but I'm happy for it. You have taught those Stark children many things men like me don't even know."
Arella smiled up at the old man and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, saying, "And you have taught me many things as well, Measter Luwin, and I'm grateful for those many things, for as you said, in different lands I would be nothing more than a bastard whore in a brothel."
The old man left moments later with a smile on his face. Theon didn't know how Arella could do that; make people so cheerful when things were crashing down around them, but she has always been that way, and perhaps that's why she was more than just a tavern wench he could lay with every now and then, but a friend he has grown beside since the beginning of his imprisonment.
He remembered the first time he met her; it had been a week after Lord Eddard brought him to Winterfell. She had been young then, around six, with short black hair and large blue eyes. She had been a skinny little thing, if he remembered correctly; she had resembled the body build of Arya. She had run over to him, even though the guards had told her not to. She had pushed one guard down and tackled Theon, tickling him chaotically until Lord Eddard pulled her off him, a smile plastered upon his face.
"You're a silly little thing, aren't you?" he had laughed, setting her down, feet away from Theon. She had laughed hysterically and went to go play in the stables with her fellow northern bastard Jon Snow.
"Theon, what are you thinking about?"
He shook his head and came back to the now and met her eyes, saying, "Nothing of great import, Arella."
