Chapter 3: Ned II

The ride back to Winterfell was mostly uneventful. They all kept a close eye on Theon, even Rodrick and Jory. The boy had yet to say a word that wasn't to himself, muttered too quietly for any of them to hear clearly. It worried Ned immensely. Ward or not, Ned cared deeply for Theon's wellbeing, and not only because of his own compassion. Should Balon's heir suffer harm under Ned's care, it could provide the Ironborn with a justification for war, or at least retaliatory raiding. It would be a conflict the North would win, but not before too many lives would be lost.

Ned had seen men come back from the brink of death before. Near drownings, blows to the head, loss of blood, infection and fever, wars were rife with times to earn a glancing blow from the Stranger's boney fist. And many of those men were left changed. Maesters called it permanent cerebral damage. Ned was never one for the healing arts, but as far as he knew, dying could harm the mind's inner workings, changing people fundamentally. And even those who suffered no physical wounds were often left haunted, as he was. The clash of swords still took him to the Trident some days, Catelyn's soothing touch the only way to let him focus on the present.

Theon had not seen battle, but clearly he was not well. Death had been close, and before that he had convulsed in such a way that Ned suspected some sort of illness. If it was true, Theon would need a maester's medicines, or even a healer attendant to watch him.

Certainly he'll need something for that strange cough. A visit by Chayle wouldn't hurt either…

As the gates of the ancient Stark hold opened, Ned thought of what to say to Maester Luwin and Septon Chayle. Ned glanced at Bran, who, as everyone dismounted, eyed Theon warrily. He would have to ask Septa Mordane to speak to the boy too, to ease his mind about Theon's ramblings of death from earlier.

First rambling deserters, now this. Troubles breed like rats. The maester and the septons will hopefully handle things. If the Gods are forgiving, this will all be forgotten in a few days.

Ned walked up to Jon and waved him close. He spoke softly. "I want you to help Rodrick take the pups to the kennels for now. Then I need you to take Bran and find the Septa. She'll be able to settle him."

Jon gave a nod, eyes full of eager conviction. Any chance to prove himself to Ned, even in the smallest ways, was something he craved. It made Ned proud to know Jon was dutiful, but it also saddened him to see the boy act so servile.

Lyanna would have my head if she saw her son holding his head so low. She strutted with pride of royalty all her life. If only he could know… But it isn't safe. Not yet…

"Of course, father," Jon said. Without hesitation he took the pups Rob and Jory were carrying, and gestured to Rodrick to follow him as he did. "We'll get them in the kennels before Lord Stark's children claim them. Bran, come with us. You can pick which one is your favorite!" he said warmly, and the pups' wriggling and yelping seem to get the boy to smile back.

As they left, Ned watched Robb help Theon stay steady. Not that Theon needed said help, but Robb was wary enough that he refused to leave him be. "Robb," he said to them, "Make certain that he gets to his room safe. Theon, I want you to rest. I'll visit you soon." The boys both murmured their assent.

"Jory," Ned called as he faced the proud knight.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Tell the Maester to meet me outside Theon's room in a few minutes. I need to clean my sword," he said. It was a well known ritual to most who lived in Winterfell. Eddard Stark always sat beneath the heart tree of the godswood and cleaned Ice if it ever tasted blood. It was partly a matter of habit, partly a time for prayer, and partly a chance for contemplation.

"At once, Lord Stark."

Ned let Jory leave before he began to walk to the godswood. Of course, he'd only taken a few steps when he saw the Septon walking by. "Chayle!" he called out, and the young priest spun on his heel. The energetic man smiled at Ned and walked closer to him.

"Ah, Lord Stark! I had heard you would be back soon. Dealing with deserters is always a dreadful, if necessary, affair." The priest looked down at Ice, which Ned held in his hand, fingers tight on the scabbard. "Might I convince you to maintain your blade in the Sept? I assure you, the Seven will bless its steel all the same."

Ned smiled wryly. "I appreciate the offer. But I prefer the open air. There is another matter, however," he added, growing more serious.

"What is it you need, my lord?" Chayle asked, brow furrowing.

"Theon Greyjoy, my ward. He… had some kind of convulsion on the road. He fell into a river, and nearly drowned to death. Since then he has been… odd."

"Odd?"

"Muttering, mostly. But he also shouted at Bran, talking about the boy being dead. And his eyes… It's like he's seeing things for the first time in ages, things and people that he sees every day. I am going to have Luwin examine him but I thought perhaps you could offer your counsel as well."

Chayle frowned and tapped his chin. "Of course… I will say that it is concerning. I am reminded of readings about—Well, I am getting ahead of myself," Chayle said. "But it is something I will take seriously. I will come by his room tonight to speak with him and offer blessings."

"Thank you, Septon," Ned said, though now he was only more concerned. He bid the man farewell and continued to the godswood. As Ned sat, his face was creased with lines of worry. He had only just begun to wipe down and oil Ice when he glanced up to see Catelyn approaching. In her hand, he could see a small scroll, likely fresh from a raven's leg.

Troubles breed like rats…

Chapter 3: Theon IV

Even as he sipped his water, Theon had no idea what to say. Being confronted so immediately wasn't going to be easy, he knew. When the door opened and the septon sat down and began to speak, Theon had yet to think of a good response to satiate Luwin's curiosity. The best ideas were to either remain silent like he was too traumatized to say anything, or to try and walk back everything. Perhaps he could mention he heard someone talk about in the courtyard?

No… That's not something that would be known to the servants before Lord Stark himself.

Yet he had to give an answer, and it couldn't be the whole truth. Getting prodded by maesters in training while the North froze over was not abidable. Not only would it mean the death of everyone, but he had a gut feeling that the Drowned God would offer little mercy to someone who failed him so quickly and utterly.

Wait. The Drowned God. I can just tell the truth. Just not the whole of it.

It dawned on him just how he might find a means out of this. A means that would allow him to speak freely, and yet be expected not to explain himself. A means by which he could be derided as mad, and yet still roam as he pleased wherever he was needed. There was only one kind of madman that the world could abide: a zealot.

It was perfect. Piety and prophecy were seen as oft being hand in hand. People could dismiss any of his odd behavior as a result of faith gone too far. And he could choose to hold back, operating as cryptically or openly as he wanted based on the 'clarity' of his 'visions'. It was such a simple, straightforward solution. It also opened the door for finding some assistance, and from the only people who could help him decipher the Drowned God's words.

When Chayle offered his aid, Theon couldn't help but laugh. They were wrong. Maybe their gods were real but the Old Gods, the Seven, they were nothing compared to the Drowned God. If they were, then why hadn't they been the ones to send him? The poor priest worshipped false weaklings, and he couldn't help but find it humorous.

"Not your Seven-faced God," he said, and he couldn't hide his amusement.

"P-pardon?" Chayle asked.

I drowned you, Chayle. I drowned you. At least that means you got to enter the Hall. I bet it was quite a shock.

"It was not your New God that showed me anything. Not the Father, the Smith, or the Warrior. Not the Mother, the Maiden, or the Crone. Not even the Stranger, or any other mask of your green land god." His convictions were true as he spoke. How could he not believe? Pretending to be a zealot wouldn't be hard, not when he had something more than faith, but proof of his deity. Green lands, that was a term he made himself slip in. Just to twist the knife, to drive how little he thought of the Seven. He had a role to play now, and he would play this one well.

"I need guidance, but not from a septon. I need a raven sent to Pyke. I need a Drowned Man." Any would do really. His uncle taught them all to be as fanatical as he was. Theon didn't think much of such fanaticism before. Even now, he doubted they fully grasped everything. Why would a being like the one he basked before care for things like letting a woman captain? Why would it care if an infant is plunged into the waves or dipped into a bucket?

But they would believe him, understand him even. Not that they would learn everything, no. Just the most simple of things, and he certainly would not tell them of returning from death. Yet they might know the meaning of the cryptic words that still echoed in his skull.

Drown the world. Right what gods have ruined. And He Who Brings the Storm… I must understand it all.

He then looked at Robb and decided, however, that it wouldn't be wrong to try and relive the good moments of his old life. Theon sighed.

"I… I think I need to lie down," he said. Luwin nodded, while Chayle was too shocked and confused to move. Yet with a hand on his shoulder, Luwin urges the septon to leave. Robb was the last, stopping at the door.

"Theon… Are you going to be alright?"

He smiled. A true, genuine smile. "I think so. I know it must sound insane, Robb. But I promise, everything is going to be OK this time. You and I… We're going to change the world together someday."

Robb gave him another concerned, forced smile. "R-right. Well, I'll let you rest."

Robb left and Theon let out a breath. He felt at ease, even at peace. He had a plan. Find guidance through the Drowned Men, claim himself blessed with murky visions and gut feelings by his Lord God, and above all keep Robb safe. Lord Stark would either be convinced not to go to King's Landing, or Theon could offer him warnings. All would be well.

"I thought he was never going to leave," said a familiar voice. Theon's eyes snapped open. In the chair where Robb had sat was a young man. Slope-shouldered, broad-nosed, and fat-lipped, hair cut as though he were attempting to be refined.

"N-no," Theon whispered, unable to scream as fear closed his throat.

"Are you two lovers? Or is all this saccharine sappiness coming from feelings repressed?" the man mocked.

"No… It can't be you…"

"Oh but, it is, Reek. It is," said Ramsay Snow, rising from his chair to stalk closer to Theon's bed. "Did you miss me?"

[A/N]: This chapter was originally going to be longer but I just felt this was a better stopping point. The next chapter will come much sooner, and be longer. What would have been the back end of this chapter will start the next. And to be clear, the scene with Ned occured before the end of the last chapter. I wanted to explore Ned's mind a bit, as he is important to Theon's story. I hope you all enjoy!