THEON

You are not Reek anymore. You are Theon Greyjoy, of the Iron Islands. Sansa Stark's words echoed inside Theon's mind as he wandered aimlessly through the woods that bordered Winterfell's estate. It had been easy enough for Sansa to convince poor Theon to help her.

She had…she had forgiven him when one of the guards had dragged Theon in to visit Lady Stark, telling the boy to exchange his last words with the Lady of Winterfell, and something within Theon had changed, shifted his personality, and he could not—would not—allow them to murder Lady Sansa like this. Not after everything that happened. Sansa had said he could prove his loyalty this way, if he was able to venture out undetected and tell Ramsay what has happened.

All he had to do was sneak into the woods and find Master. A relatively easy enough task, and no one had even noticed Theon slip out the crypts, having managed to sneak the guard's key to his cell into his tunic pocket when the guard, Mikael, had come into poor Theon's cage for his third beating. Or had that been his fourth?

Honestly, after the first couple, he kind of lost count. "You must go," Sansa had urged poor Theon. "You can do this, Theon. You are a lord of the Iron Islands. No coward are you. The Theon I know would not turn away a cry for help from a friend."

A friend. Lady Sansa had called Theon a friend… He remembered how he had shot her a kind, awkward sort of half little smile, and, with a newfound feeling of warmth and relief welling deep within his chest, and he could remember speaking to Lady Sansa, telling her of how he had not murdered her brothers. He had promised he'd help.

"Stick to the edge of the woods," Sansa had instructed. "When you find my husband, tell him that I sent for you, and that his lord father means to kill us. He shall not hurt you; I can promise you that, Theon. And if he does," she had answered, lifting her chin to meet Theon's gaze, and even Theon was surprised to see the anger, the Wildfire starting to burn and scorch in her blue eyes. "Then he should have me to deal with, but first, you must find him, or all of our efforts will have been for naught. Milord Ramsay was following the north path of the godswoods. If you go now and hurry, you should be able to find them. He was traveling with a party of three or four, and one of them is going to be that treacherous little worm, Aleyn," she'd growled through gritted teeth.

Theon, true to his word to stay safe, kept to the woods that lay at the edge of Winterfell's borders as he descended into the dark woods, walking down the dirt paths, feeling rough cracks and twigs through the thin soles of his boots. The wind which carried the bitter winter breeze moved as though Theon were not there at all, as if he were a ghost and nothing more. Through the canopy of the trees came an eerie melancholy sort of a tune, all of it with as much flow as winter ice.

And all at once, Theon felt like the very air that surrounded him in these unfamiliar accursed woods that he was sure to get lost in if he could not find his way felt like water, and he felt as though he were drowning in this sea of indifference, desperate to swim up beyond the cloudy night skies to the bright stars above. Theon exhaled a slightly shaking breath through his nose, his lips parted open slightly as he breathed in cold bursts of fresh air. Theon lifted his head to the heavens above and shot a quick prayer to the gods, praying for any one of them to send him some guidance.

Taking another deep breath to steel his nerves, Theon stared at the path at his feet, as it led into the darkness of the woods. Yet follow it he had to, for the sake of his and Sansa's own lives, and to ensure Ramsay learned the truth, of which he had probably long suspected, though even Theon had thought that Lord Roose would not stoop so low as to lust after his own bastard's son's wife.

And so, his freezing feet followed the narrow strip of naked earth among the giants of root and leaf. Theon let his hands ghost against the gnarled bark as Theon passed each tree, which seemed more giant to him than the previous one he passed. Theon could swear the trees were talking to each other, as their trunks and limbs seemed to sway in the breeze, making low groaning sounds.

He shuddered and shook his head vehemently to try to rid his mind of such thoughts. Trees can't talk. It's these damned cursed woods. It's affected my mind. Grow up, Theon scolded himself, feeling his fingers curl into a tight protective fist over the strap of his satchel. It felt as though the trees' gentle spirits were trying to soothe his own.

For this was their world as the trees stretched towards the light they never would see and yet they sensed, and Theon knew to get anywhere, he would have to do the same. To open up his mind and his other senses. To sound, to aroma, and listen so very carefully to every instinct.

With a startled cry of surprise, Theon let out a yelp of fear as he stumbled over what appeared to be a twisted tree root, or more likely, if he was being honest with himself, it was probably his own mutilated foot. It was kind of hard for him to walk with only a few toes. Ramsay, during the early days of Theon's imprisonment, had seen fit to relieve him of a few of his appendages. The roots in these woods appeared to at times, have a mind of their own, at least, Theon's overactive imagination was leading him to believe that.

It had to have been at least an hour since he had parted ways with Lady Stark and bade his friend a temporary farewell, and it seemed like he had been lost in this forsaken forest for quite some time now. Time did not flow clearly here. The tree branches above Theon's head were so thick that even now he could no longer tell if it was night or day. Everything here was so incredibly disorienting. Something was certainly off about these woods, though what it was, even Theon could not formulate an apt response in his mind as to why the forest was making him feel the way that it was.

Though if Theon were being completely honest with himself, he had perhaps been overconfident in his initial assessment that he could easily make his way through the forest, as long as she stayed on the path. That was easy. Theon had been confident that as long as he followed the dirt path in the woods that (hopefully) headed towards wherever Master happened to be, then Theon would be safe and just fine.

But now…he was most assuredly not fine.

These goddamned woods made no sense at all, and Theon very quickly into his journey soon found himself lost. Lost, alone, and very much frightened and afraid, thinking that it was probably only a matter of time before Lord Roose discovered Theon's absence and would send a scouting company of his best men after him to ensure he didn't reach Ramsay in time. Stepping into the woods robbed the broken and battered man of the Iron Islands of one sense and heightened all the others.

It was disorienting to be almost blinded but given the ears of a wolf and…oh, wolves! There was rumored to be wolves in this forest, ones who wouldn't hesitate to eat Theon alive if given the chance should he have the unfortunate luck to stumble across one of them, and he didn't exactly have any kind of weapon to defend himself.

Even the soft susurration of the branches felt heavy in poor Theon's ears. His sense of smell was sensitized, the loam in the earth and the decomposing of the fall leaves that fell from their branches to join their fallen brethren on the ground made the atmosphere in the woods close and thick. The blackness nurtured within Theon a horrible sense of claustrophobia inside him, though the woodland seemed to stretch on for miles with seemingly no end in sight for the broken and battered lost young man wandering aimlessly, occasionally murmuring to himself under his breath.

The narrow path that Theon had chosen to follow, which was made uneven by the knotted roots that crossed it, branched at intervals. There was no map for Theon to follow, but even if he had been in possession of one, the perpetual dark would have prevented the boy from using it to guide his way out of this forsaken place.

The barren branches of the trees spiked into the sky—no sign of life other than Theon to be found anywhere, a fact which greatly unnerved her. It was so dark, as he reached out a hand in front of him, blindly groping in the hopes he would find something—anything to rest his hand upon and guide his way, Theon could barely see where he was going. There was only the sound of the rustling branches and the eerie howl of the wind at his back.

Theon did not know what lay ahead of him in this dark forest, or what new life awaited her once he found Master and warned him. Would this newfound change in Ramsay be enough, his love for Sansa, if he could even call what Master felt for his wife that, be enough to set Theon free? Could Lady Stark ensure that happened?

Theon shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. He didn't know for sure, and he wouldn't unless he found Lord Ramsay in time. But what he did know was that it wasn't going to be a pleasant journey. Theon stifled a groan as he forced himself to take one step forward, and then another. His feet fucking hurt, screaming within his boots, the forming blisters on the backs of his heels begging the young man to stop and rest for a moment, and he felt tired, so incredibly exhausted, stressed, and quite frankly, overwhelmed. But Theon felt a surge of determination course through his veins and he clenched his jaw shut.

You promised Lady Stark that you would help her. She has forgiven you. Now is not the time to go back on your promise. Theon narrowed his eyes as he looked ahead, straining to see any signs of life ahead that he could spot, and…wait. Wait a second. "Is that a light?" Theon breathed. It was quite dim, but it did seem to be there, perhaps a fellow traveler camping. For a moment, he felt exhilarated. Seven hells, the gods were kind to him, for they had provided for Theon a way out of these cursed woods. It was a light. A real, honest-to-goodness light. That was his way out, it just had to be. There could be no other explanation.

Theon was not entirely sure if he had spoken out loud to himself just now or if he'd had another inner musing again, but it mattered not. Theon Greyjoy decided to follow the light and make his way towards it and see where it led. "Maybe it's Master setting up camp." He bit his bottom lip in anticipation and closed his eyes.

Fuck. The one time I actually hope to encounter Ramsay. Never thought that I would see this day, he thought, somewhat angrily.

Theon clung to that flicker of hope that burned bright within him chest as he inched his way towards the light carefully, trying to be mindful to not let his small satchel snag on any outstretched, groping tree limbs. Theon furrowed his brows into a frown as he continued staring at that strange light. But from which direction was it coming from? Was the thing he was so enamored with even a light guiding the way at all? It was difficult for Theon to tell, but it was still there. If these woods were somehow magic and cursed, then the forest was doing an excellent job of playing tricks upon Theon's somewhat susceptible and imaginative mind. But he just had to know.

The light grew blindingly brighter as the young man advanced upon the light, coming to a clearing of sorts. But what in seven hells was it? Moonlight? A campfire from a band of pilgrims or travelers? Fireflies? Theon sighed, letting out a cry of frustration as he hoped it was not just his overactive mind playing tricks on him in its emotionally compromised state. He had already given up so much this eve. He had not relished the thought of leaving Lady Sansa alone in the company of Lord Roose and his guards, but she had insisted that she would be fine, though Theon had heard the crack in her voice.

Theon could tell Lady Stark had been frightened, but there was a fierce determination in her cobalt blue eyes, the shadow of a Wolf. And it was then that Theon knew that Lady Sansa would be fine to hold her own for an hour or two while he combed the godswoods in search of Lord Bolton. Theon felt the wind tousle his wavy brown hair into buoyant curls.

"H—hello?" he called out timidly, cupping his hands around his face. Theon still could not see the source of this mysterious light that had led him into the clearing, and was seemingly getting further away from him, no matter how many steps forward he could feel his footfalls taking him, apparently no longer taking directions from him mind and walking towards the light of their own accord. "Hello?" Theon shouted. There was no answer.

Theon frowned, feeling his shoulders slump in defeat. "Perhaps it was the moon, then." Theon's eyes caught the soft tumble of movement as his gaze followed a single red and brown leaf as it tumbled to the ground, drifting almost impossibly slowly from the branches just above his head that he had to duck to avoid getting hit by. Theon tiredly shook his head and blinked his heavily-lidded eyes, trying to clear the swirling haze of black mists from his vision.

"Hello?" Theon tried again. "Is someone out there?" Theon called out in an uncertain voice. "Please! I—I'm lost!"

Silence. Silence gnawed at his insides. Silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. The silence was like a gaping void, needing to be filled with sounds, words, anything. The silence was poisonous in its nothingness. Silence clung to Theon like a poisonous cloud that at any moment could choke the life from Theon. Silence seeped into the broken man's every pore, like a poison slowly paralyzing Theon from either speech or movement.

All Theon could hear in response to his pleading calls were the sound of his own breaths, that sounded much too slow for his own comfort. Was he really breathing that slowly? Theon was going to most assuredly die if he kept on like this. He could feel himself as he inhaled a sharp breath of cold winter air, attempting to force air to return to his lungs to ensure his breathing rate (and his heart rate) returned to something that resembled normalcy. Theon felt like he was hyperventilating right now.

The thoughts began accelerating inside Theon's head. The boy wanted them to slow so he could breathe but they won't. His breaths came in short, painful gasps and Theon suddenly felt like he was on the verge of passing out from sheer exertion and stress. The boy could swear he could feel his heart hammering inside his chest like it belonged to a rabbit running for its skin. An invisible hand clamped over Theon's mouth, just as an equally ghostly surge of adrenaline pierced the young man's already fragile heart, unloading in an instant. Theon could feel his ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate his lungs, begging for air.

Gods, why couldn't he breathe? Was he even still alive? There was a distance in Theon's eyes as they glossed over, straining for any further signs of that mysterious light that had led him into the forest clearing, but none came to him. Theon's head felt like a myriad of fears rapidly spiraling out of his control, each one pushing his mind into a horrible blackness.

Theon wanted to run. He needed to freeze. Sounds that were nearby suddenly sounded far off in the distance. As if he were no longer in the body that currently rested against the bark of an old oak tree as he slumped to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and trying to curl into himself for warmth as much as he possibly could.

His voice came out thin and distant as he let out a low whimper. "What…no…I—I'm lost…that's…not…right." Theon knew he was breathing all wrong, beginning to gasp like there was not enough air in these woods for him. Adrenaline flooded the young man's system. It pumped and beat within his veins like it was trying to escape. Theon thought his heart would explode; his eyes wide with fear at the current state of his predicament.

Fucking great. He had failed Lady Sansa. The one chance to prove his worth to her and he'd fucked this up too. He was lost. His body either wanted to run deeper into the heart of the godswoods, to try to seek shelter for the night, or back towards the way he had come and hope that Theon could find his way back to the pathway from there, but there was only one thing he could do. Pray that nothing found him and killed him. Especially not the wolves.

Theon swallowed hard. Theon could feel the adrenaline surging so fast that he almost vomited, able to taste the saliva thickening in the back of his throat and coating his tongue, beads of sweat trickling down his brow. The young broken man from the Iron Islands could feel the sweat drench his skin and he let out another whimper of fear, wishing with all his might that he would have stayed. At least there, he could have had a chance of protecting Sansa.

"At least I'd still be with you," Theon whispered, hating hearing the crack in his voice as he let himself cry.

His fingers curled into a fist, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. Poor Theon could not hear his rapid breathing, but he could feel the air flooding in and out of his lungs, though it felt like he was not breathing at all to him. Fear churned his stomach into intense cramps, engulfing his conscience and knocking all other thoughts aside. It overwhelmed his body, making it feel drastically exhausted, even more so than he already knew it to be.

Theon Greyjoy was lost in the woods, with no one coming to his aid to help guide him and light the path forward towards Lord Ramsay. All he was left with was this insurmountable fear, which created an uncomfortable pit deep within his stomach.

However, most of all, his fear was making him calm, and that was what scared Theon the most. For if he could not find a way to located Lord Ramsay, then Sansa Stark of Winterfell would burn.