Theon had not seen Winterfell in what felt like forever, but in truth, it had only been just under a year. It had changed so much since he'd last seen the castle, it looked hollow and lonely. No inhabitants whatsoever; no Catelyn to round the younger ones up, no Robb or Jon training with him, and no Sansa watching him shoot arrows with adoration in her eyes. It felt dreadful, but he knew what he had to do.

Meanwhile, Rickon and Bran could see the Greyjoys coming, though they didn't know why. The shorter boy who could stand on his own two feet smiled brightly.

"Bran! Bran! Uncle Theon's coming back! Do you see him? Uncle Theon!" The eight-year-old exclaimed happily. "I bet he's gonna help us take care of Winterfell while Robb's gone! I betcha he is!"

"I don't know," Responded the older Stark, as Hodor lifted him onto his back so he could get a better view. "I don't have the best feeling about this,"

For a boy of twelve, Bran was a smart child. He could sense danger, in a way, and he somehow knew that what Theon was doing was not helping them watch over Winterfell. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, even Summer began to act anxious.

"We should go to the courtyard," Rickon said, grabbing Shaggydog's leash. "Go say hello n' that!"

Bran sighed and had Hodor follow Rickon down, their direwolves following quickly behind.

There they saw the ironborn's raiding party, and fear became more than apparent in Bran's eyes. He knew exactly what was happening, but it seemed Rickon didn't.

"Uncle Theon!" The smallest Stark ran to him and hugged his leg, "I missed you! Did Robb send you?"

Theon was silent.

"Uncle Theon?" Rickon was confused, and began to back away.

"Run now, if you know what's good for you," Theon hissed. "I don't want to spill children's blood,"

Bran looked down at his brother.

"Rickon, we need to leave, we need to leave now," Bran was practically begging his brother to leave the castle.

"B-But uncle Theon…h-how could…you…" The youngest pup began to sob, but followed Hodor and his direwolves outside the castle's walls, into the woods. Niether boy knew where he was headed, only that they couldn't stay here. Theon was no longer a Stark to them, that was for certain.

Meanwhile, the ironborn made quick work of killing all who fought back at them, and taking what riches they could. Theon would have been lying if he told himself that he didn't enjoy slaughtering guards and taking their gold; more spoils for the glory of the Drowned God. He wasn't just doing this for his father, but for his god. It felt good to finally be accepted into ironborn society instead of just being an inbetween, he was finally someone to them.

The men had finished their bloodshed and stood in the courtyard, seemingly waiting for their prince to speak. He smirked a little as he heard a final gurgled cry of pain from a northern soldier.

"They say an ironborn man is worth twelve from the mainland," He spoke, smirking to himself. It was like he'd forgotten what this castle once meant to him. He didn't even realize that the window he stood below had been his when he lived here. "You think they're right, men?"

"Aye!" They were riled up already, and it seemed hearing their future king only roused them more.

"This day we have shown the Starks that we bow to none by the Drowned God. We will return to Pyke as the greatest of heroes. They'll tell our stories until the Iron Islands have sunk beneath the sea, no man or woman or child will have not heard of us! Mothers will name their sons for us! Girls will think of us with their lovers inside of them!"

A horn was blown in a tower above them, prompting Theon to take out his bow and arrow and shoot at him.

"And when we die, the Drowned God will welcome us into his watery halls as the strongest Ironborn he's ever known! What is dead may never die!"

However Theon's speech was suddenly cut short when he was hit on the back of the head with a speak—naturally not by the blade, as he was just unconscious.

"I thought he'd never shut up," Muttered one of the soldiers.

"Well, it was a good speech," A figure passed through the crowd holding a large sack of coins, dressed in black and red. "I commend him, really, I couldn't rouse the armies of house Bolton so quickly myself,"

"Whatever, bastard, here's your bitch," The solider handed him his prize, and the bastard handed him the gold.

"We're going to have fun together, Reek, we are," Ramsay smirked and took the unconscious ironborn with him, beginning to the day's journey to the Dreadfort.

Word had traveled to King's Landing on the sacking of Winterfell, as stories like that don't happen so frequently. Wails of heartbreak could be heard from the chambers of Sansa Stark.

"How could he, how could he!" She sobbed, holding Lady close to her. "I thought he loved me, I thought he cared about us!"

Lady licked her master's cheek, trying to comfort her. Sansa just clung to her.

"How am I supposed to go on…knowing he did this…" The redhead asked nobody in particular. "I loved him…I loved him so much Lady…"

She tried to calm her tears and looked at her little balcony and stood up, completely silent. She walked there and looked down at the drop, contemplating if the fall would kill her. She knew that a similar fall, or rather, push, had only paralyzed Bran. Gods though she longed to die right now. She was likely never going to see her family again, her father was murdered right before her eyes. She was in a place where everyone wants her dead anyways, and now her only love had betrayed house Stark and by proxy, her. He didn't love her anymore, and now she felt like there was truly nothing left.

Sansa stood on the railing now, still faced with a decision. The sky was so beautiful tonight, the sky speckled with shimmering stars, the full moon rising above the sea. What a lovely night to die.

Just as the red wolf was going to allow herself to fall, Margaery Tyrell walked in and gasped in shock to see what her friend was doing.

"Sansa!" She practically had a heart attack, "What're you doing? Are you mad? Come down from there!"

The Tyrell rushed to her and Sansa came down, hugging her friend and sobbing bitterly once more.

"What's the matter, dear? Do you want to talk about it?" She inquired, stroking her fiery hair.

Sansa just shook her head, sniffling and just buring her face into the taller female's chest.

"You don't need to say anything if you don't want to, Sansa, just let it out…" Margaery said softly, her words soothing and gentle as a mother's.

"I don't know what to do, Margaery, I've lost him…" The Stark girl whined. "He doesn't love me anymore…"

"Who's this he?" Margaery asked, bringing Sansa to the bed and sitting down beside her.

"Theon Greyjoy…" Sansa whimpered. "I adored him, Margaery, and he betrayed us,"

"Oh, oh, I see," The Tyrell's face fell a little. She remembered when she believed in true love as a little girl. Despite being only one year older than Sansa, she had to mature much faster. She was to be the queen, after all. "It's alright, men are quite awful dear,"

"He wasn't supposed to be awful, I thought he would be different, I really did," The redhead whimpered. "I adored him, I did, I wanted to devote everything to him,"

"Sansa, listen to me…" Margaery gently turned Sansa's chin up to look at her and ran her fingers through her hair. "Life is not a song, sweetling…"

She began to sob once more, for she fully understood what Margaery meant. Her song has not begun when she kissed Theon outside in the courtyard so long ago; it was coming to an end.