Ramsay's letter frightened her and while she knew better than to show any outward emotions, it had been impossible to remain entirely calm.

Ramsay had taken Rickon. They had to march on Winterfell now if her little brother were to have any chances of survival. And yet, no matter how fast they got there, no matter how many men they managed to assemble, it felt like a hopeless task. A person could be alive and breathing one second and dead and still the very next. Ramsay would love to play such a game. She glanced at Jon. He looked as troubled and withdrawn as ever. She knew it wasn't fair to expect that he knew exactly what to do in order to save Rickon. Jon had seen battles and horrors and deaths in the years they had been apart, but she wondered if he truly understood the mad, unpredictable danger that was Ramsay Bolton. But how could he? She hadn't told him. Couldn't tell him how it had really been at Winterfell. Couldn't tell anyone, at all.

Jon felt sorry for her, of course, but he didn't have an inkling of what it meant to be Ramsay Bolton's captive.

They rose and left the long table. The letter had brought back too many memories about unwanted touches, and she found herself once again wishing that Theon hadn't left. After all, he knew. He understood.

She went back to her room alone and found it as dark and uninviting as ever. She had been at the stronghold for some time by now, but there were nearly no signs of her living here except for her embroidery placed in a basket by the window. Jon had remembered that she liked needlework and had brought supplies with him from Mole's Town.

She knelt in front of her small fireplace. The fire had mostly died out with only glowing, orange embers remaining. There were no handmaids at Castle Black and though the watchers served her as best they could, they didn't think of helping her with such ordinary tasks as keeping a fire burning inside her room. They did, however, bring her the necessary firewood and for that she was grateful. Besides, complaining or acting helpless was out of the question and so she had to get the fire going on her own. She was getting very good at it, too. There was something very satisfactory in watching a flame suddenly jump from a piece of wood that had until then been a cold and dead thing. The fire would spread and grow stronger and take on a brilliant life of its own and it felt reassuring.

She sat down on her cot and continued watching the flames dance. They contrasted starkly to all the black and grey in the room, casting golden shapes over straight, functional lines on the few pieces of furniture, making them appear curvy and cosy. She gathered her shawl a bit closer around her shoulders and basked in the heat against her face. As dire a place as it was, Castle Black was infinitely better than what Winterfell had become in the clutches of Ramsay and Roose.

She thought of Lady Walda. She had never presumed to like the woman nor had she ever welcomed Walda's awkward attempts at making conversation. After the wedding, all contact with Roose's wife had ceased and Sansa's entire world had consisted of only Ramsay, and Theon. A heavy pang ran through her. Roose Bolton had been a horrible, murderous traitor, but he was intelligent and calculating instead of cruel and insane. Ramsay longed to be like his father but he lacked the brains. That meant that Ramsay wouldn't think twice about murdering Rickon. Poor Rickon, trapped with this monster with no one to help him, and no one to care for him. Not even the ruined wreck that had been Theon. Even though she had hated Theon to begin with, and even though he had been nearly out of his mind at the time, she had still taken comfort in his presence. In his own backward way, Theon had cared about her, although he had been much too cowed to help her. Until the moment, when he did, of course. But there would be no such person around for Rickon, and it saddened her.

How long had Ramsay held her brother captive? How much damage had he already inflicted on her little brother? She felt her throat constrict. Rickon had been such a tiny boy when she had left Winterfell along with Arya and Father and she kept seeing unwanted images of Ramsay hurting that little boy inside her mind, but she knew that her memory of Rickon was only an illusion. He was probably as tall as Bran now, perhaps taller. Her mother always used to say that Rickon was the spitting image of Sansa when she was his age. For all she knew, he might be a tall, and gangly teen by now. It made her want to cry that she simply didn't know. Those past years had ruined her family; there were so many gone: executed, butchered, or lost. But crying never did anything good. She had to focus and concentrate on those who remained alive.

If Rickon lived, then perhaps Bran did as well. She felt certain Ramsay would have mentioned Bran in his letter, if he had seen her other brother, not to mention if he had caught and killed him. Ever since Theon had confessed to her that he hadn't killed Bran and Rickon, she had dreamed of seeing her brothers again. She knew Theon would want that, too. He seemed to be full of nothing but regrets for what he had inadvertedly, or directly caused. Telling Theon that Rickon lived would have to wait of course. Besides all she could tell him was that Rickon lived for now. The knowledge of Rickon being in the clutches of Ramsay would hurt Theon just as much as it did Sansa because he knew exactly what could happen to Rickon. Besides, Theon was in Essos now as per his letter from months ago. Sansa did not know much about this Daenerys Targaryen whom he had allied himself and his sister with. She knew that Daenerys was the daughter of the mad King Aegon and his wife Rhaella, who had also been Aegon's blood sister. But like most of Westeros' population Sansa had been unaware of the fact that the princess had survived after Robert's Rebellion. There were stories, of course. Of how Daenerys had been born at Dragonstone and how her mother had died shortly after giving birth to Daenerys. Daenerys would be only a bit older than Sansa, yet somehow she had managed to make herself queen and gather an army and a fleet far away from her homeland, preparing to return to Westeros and take back the seven kingdoms. In other words, she would have to be a truly formidable woman. And Lord Tyrion was with her. He was a kind man despite his family tree. He would be a wise Hand for any ruler.

Some said Daenerys had dragons, but Theon's letter hadn't mentioned anything about such creatures. If Daenerys did have dragons though, no one stood a chance against her. Whether she would be a good ruler or not was impossible to say. Theon's letter had said that she was a righteous woman, but many people believed themselves "righteous" as they killed and maimed and and all who disagreed with them. Still, she would trust Theon's judgement. To be sure, Daenerys would have to be if not a good ruler, then a better ruler than Joffrey had been.

Joffrey and his nightmare of a mother, and his coldhearted grandfather didn't care about anything but their own power. That family had caused her father's death and they were behind the assassinations of Robb and Mother. The Boltons might have swung their swords and wielded their knives and Walder Frey broken all guest rights as he let his men join in on the slaughter, but none of these men would have dared lifting so much as a finger against her family, had they not been backed by the Lannisters. She would see Ramsay dead and Walder Frey as well, but she would rejoice just as greatly once the Lannisters had been removed from their positions of power in Westeros.

Tommen Lannister was king now. She bore the boy no ill will, but in truth, she didn't know him very well. As a boy king, it was likely that his life would be spared. Margaery's too, she hoped. Cersei though, Cercei's head would roll just as Father's had.

She wished that she could write Theon a letter just to let him know that she too was still alive. She knew he would want to hear it. But there was no sure way of knowing where he was now or how to reach him. She would welcome any help they could get, and Theon had been willing to sacrifice himself for her. At the time, she had been too afraid and too tired to think much about it, but afterwards, she had understood what he had been willing to do for her. He was just a husk of man, really, but he was one of the bravest men she knew. And his loyalty was hers until his dying breath, she didn't doubt it. She had no room for hatred or animosity as far as Theon was concerned anymore. Her father would have been beheaded no matter what Theon had done. Robb and Mother would have been killed. She knew that Theon would feel responsible if Rickon died in the hands of Ramsay. But had Theon not taken Winterfell and caused her brothers to flee, then both of them would have been murdered or tortured by Ramsay a long time ago.

No, Sansa couldn't blame Theon for what had happened to her family, nor for what Ramsay would or wouldn't do to Rickon.

Weeks passed with too little progress. Rallying forces to win back Winterfell turned out to be a slow, and difficult affair.

Not many Northerners believed that her family was a force to be reckoned with anymore. Not many felt they owed the Starks any support or loyalty at all. Jon and Sansa had often been met with disdain and even hatred. People felt that the Starks had let the North down and it angered and frustrated her. After all, her father had had no choice but to go with the king. What happened afterwards had been unpredictable and unthinkable. How could Robb not go south to seek revenge for their family?

And as precious time went by, it seemed less and less likely, that Rickon was still alive.

"Oh, the Seven and the Drowned god himself," Theon groaned as he felt his sister ease up. "please, don't stop!"

Yara's laugh was loud and delighted.

"Issuing commands, are we? Well, this is the first self-indulgent order I've ever heard that I'm more than happy to oblige!"

Theon sighed into the pillow, and felt a small smile tug at his lips. He turned his head away from Yara before she could see it, and sobered up.

He couldn't fool Yara, of course. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Yara's voice continued warmly close to his ear, "but I've been rubbing your back for nearly half an hour. My hands are sore, my shoulders ache and despite my pains, I find myself unable to deny you. That's not very fair, you know."

Before he could turn around and apologize, Yara gripped his shoulders and stilled him. Not roughly, but enough so that he couldn't easily move. She loosened her hands almost immediately and bent down and kissed the nape of his neck. It made him shiver a bit, and she smoothed the sensation away with her warm, steady fingers. It felt nice despite the calloused skin on her fingertips.

Yara was very good at caring for him. And she was much more tactile than he would have expected. They used to have that in common.

He could almost hear the smile in her voice as she continued,

"Stay! I will count to three hundred. And slowly. But that will be the end of it for tonight."

He made a sound in reply and closed his eyes, enjoying his sister's ministrations and almost without feeling guilty about them, either.

Things had been better after Lord Tyrion had offered him his friendship. Not that he talked much more with anyone than he did before, but it seemed as if there was a different look in Daenerys' eyes whenever he met her questioning gaze, and Lord Tyrion would smile at him from time to time. So would others. He still hadn't found it in himself to return the smiles - a smile out in public seemed like something he couldn't have, and so, he only nodded, but it did feel good to know that people didn't seem to hate him. Not that he deserved affection or trust from anyone. But of course, Yara wouldn't have it when he succumbed to these kind of self-loathing reflections. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to read his inner thoughts. She scolded him when he was taken by self-hatred. She told him he was being too hard on himself. Just like Tyrion. It was all very kind of them.

But of course, more important matters than his well-being were at hand. By now, they were approaching the capital of the seven kingdoms. In less than a week, their fleet would attack King's Landing.

The remaining allied fleet had joined them as they had passed by Dorne. The plan was to attack the ships presumably waiting for them inside Blackwater Bay as swiftly and as mercilessly as possible and then divide their fleet into three sections, manning any usable enemy ships left. Two parts of the ships would be retreating to the Gullet, making sure no other ships could enter Blackwater Bay until power within the capital had been secured, and order restored. The other part of the ships would remain in King's Landing's port after having brought Daenerys and her army of Dothrakis and Unsullied ashore. Should a hasty retreat become necessary, those ships should be able to carry thousands of men. It would be crowded and dangerous but still possible.

The ships on Blackwater Bay would be guarding the Gullet and Dragonstone, and would be ready to intercept and destroy Euron's fleet, should their uncle be on his way.

It seemed unlikely that Euron would try to fight them this far away from Pyke. After all, their combined fleet was vast, and Euron's would be less than half their size. Building new ships not only required felling trees inland, it also required moving the heavy lumber to the rocky shores to the ironborn ship builders. In other words, doubling or increasing his fleet required time Euron didn't have. It certainly required much more time than just the mere four months which had gone by since Yara and Theon left the iron islands with a good part of the royal fleet. It had taken Theon's grandfather several years to build that Fleet.

However, it was possible that their uncle realized that he had to act swiftly. He could very well have decided to sail out with whatever ships he had left almost immediately after their escape. After all there was still a large amount of ships and crews supporting Euron in the waters surrounding the Iron Islands and anyone knew that at sea, one ironborn sailor was as effective and dangerous as twice the number from any other seafaring nation in Westeros. In other words, Euron was still a force to be reckoned with.

If Euron had remained at Pyke however, once King's Landing belonged to Daenerys, the dragon queen would travel east and north with them to the Iron Islands and help Yara take back the Seastone Chair.

And then, when it was all over, and he had kept his promise to Yara, Theon would ask Daenerys to help him restore Winterfell to its rightful owners. Yara had no interest in Winterfell or in any such quest of his, but Daenerys needed Winterfell to support her in the North.

The Starks had always resided at Winterfell, keeping law and order in this part of the realm, making sure the North supported the reigning king or queen. Theon hadn't spoken to his sister about this wish of his yet but it stood to reason that Daenerys would not accept an ally of the Lannisters to be in control of the North. Theon only wished they could go there sooner but naturally, that was not possible.

A week later, the attack on King's Landing began.

It was a rather anticlimactic event, as it ended much sooner and much easier than they had expected. The Queen's Guard, as well as the city's foot soldiers not to mention the citizens of King's Landing seemed almost relieved to lay down their arms and submit to Daenerys and her Allies. Only a few offered any token resistance and those who did were all killed off swiftly.

It turned out that a queen who was willing to not only kill her own enemies, but also relatives by marriage, let alone hundreds of innocent bystanders was not a queen people wanted to follow or fight for. Rumor had it, Cersei had even pushed out her own son, young King Tommen from the tower window in order to get the Iron Throne to herself. But prior to her public execution which took place within days after the final fights had ended, the two Lannister siblings seemed to find some semblance of mutual respect and understanding as Lord Tyrion announced to the thousands who were gathered to witness the execution that above all, Cersei was a mother. A good mother who would never harm her own children and never had. And that he hoped would she would be reunited with all of her children in the afterlife. The queen died as dignified as one could possibly die.

The following weeks seemed to go by in a flurry of new alliances, meetings, and assignments, all of which were conveyed to Theon and Yara out at sea. The two of them were onboard Black Wind, anchored out at Blackwater Bay with their separated fleet. Euron had not appeared and Yara was eager to find him and end him. Theon was more than willing to oblige. The further north they went, the closer he was to being able to help Sansa get back Winterfell.

The intel from King's Landing was sent to them by ravens on a near daily basis. The clever, and well-trained birds landed effortlessly on the railing, immediately demanding and receiving small treats before acquiescing to letting go of the scrolls tied to their legs. Once every week, a smaller ship arrived, carrying fresh food, news, as well as crew members returning from their permitted leave ashore. The ship ferried back and forth between King's Landing and their tall ships, each week taking or bringing provisions and sailors. The supplies were distributed between their ships using their own smaller rowing boats.

Yara never allowed more than a score of men in total to pay a visit to King's Landing but the crews seemed well pleased and sorted out among themselves who were to go from each of their ships. There were never any complaints.

This morning, Theon was up on deck all by himself when the raven came. The sun had only just begun to rise and while there was a man in the main mast keeping watch, everyone else were still asleep. Theon enjoyed these quiet mornings where all he had to do was stare at the ocean or the sky and inhale the fresh sea air. He was in a better mood than he had been for a long time as he approached the black bird.

He hadn't prepared for an early messenger however, and the bird was clearly displeased with the lack of treats but after getting nipped in his fingers and pecked alarmingly close to his eyes, he managed to free the letter from the cranky raven's legs. The bird cawed and basked its wings in annoyance and resumed to its perch on the railing where its odd eyes blinked at Theon. He would have to go find it something to eat.

He unrolled the scroll. The letter was from Lord Varys. It was just a few words, but they made Theon's blood run cold: One of Varys' spies in the North had stumbled upon a group of Umbers heading towards Winterfell. With them they had a young boy, a woman and a direwolf. The boy had identified himself as Rickon Stark and he was treated like an honored and welcomed guest by the group of men, the message said.

Thoughts raced through Theon's mind. Of course, Rickon would trust the Umbers. Last Hearth had always been loyal to Rickon's family. But would they still be loyal now? To whom? Theon recalled a previous message from Varys which had informed them of Greatjon Umber's death of natural causes. Theon didn't know his son Smalljon Umber well. Could the Umbers' loyalty to House Stark have changed in the years gone by? Wouldn't it have had to change with the remaining Starks either missing or powerless? Theon had heard Roose Bolton tell Ramsay how Robb had executed Lord Rickard Karstark for murdering two young Lannister cousins. Theon would have never thought that the Karstarks would go against Robb's orders but they did and killed children doing so. He closed his eyes and chased the image of the two dead children in the courtyard away. He was no better than Lord Karstark whom Robb had executed... Robb had executed Lord Karstark and as a result, the remaining Karstarks had turned away from the Starks and joined the Lannisters and the Boltons.

If he could turn, if Karstarks could turn then surely Umbers could too for much less reason.

His thoughts went further back. Rickon and Bran had most likely ventured north with Osha and Hodor those long years ago just as he had expected them to. But it was clear by now that they had never reached Jon. For years, Theon had feared that they simply hadn't survived since the Boltons never received any words or news about them. Now that he knew that at least one of the Stark brothers had survived, it stood to reason that somehow, the four of them had managed to cross the Wall and venture into Wildling country. That was where that woman, Osha, came from. Thon had been so angry with himself for being fooled by her but very soon, all he felt was relief. Osha was smart. She was a survivor. She would know how to keep all of them alive and well hidden and she had done it well. But their escape from the North into Wildling territory meant that what happened south of the Wall would most likely be unbeknownst to Bran and Rickon. Something had occured that had caused them to become separated, and it would make perfect sense for Osha and Rickon to think of the Umbers as allies.

Sadly, it made even more sense to Theon that the Umbers, as soon as they had identified the boy, would deliver Rickon to the new lord of Winterfell. Whoever was Warden of the North ruled the North. There were no one else left to support but House Bolton.

It was impossible to say whether Rickon was already in the clutches of Ramsay. The news Varys had received could be weeks old already but with any luck, it was just a few days old. Ravens were swift messengers.

Theon's thoughts raced. The ship from King's Landing would arrive later that same day, he knew.

He went below deck to the galley where he found some bread and a piece of raw cod. He filled a small bowl with water and returned to the deck, carrying the treats. He watched in silence as the bird picked the food apart.

"I've a message for you," he told it when it was done. "Wait here."

It tilted its head and stared at him with its glassy, seemingly unseeing eyes. Then it almost huffed, ruffled its feathers and flew up and landed on one of the outstretched sail ropes. As it settled, it tugged its head under one wing, indicating that it had understood his order and would nap for a bit as he prepared his letter.

Sansa,

Rickon has been found by the Umbers. I believe they will deliver him to Winterfell. Trust me when I tell you, that I will do whatever I can to keep Rickon from harm. I will travel north as swiftly as I can.

I have a boon to ask of you. I understand if you will choose not to grant it, but I have no choice but to ask this of you: There is a woman by the name of Ea. When Winterfell belongs to House Stark again, please offer her a position as a maid. She has a young son. I should like to see them safe from harm and the boy grow up to serve House Stark. Queen Daenerys will know where to find them.

Theon