Theon

Theon thought he'd never be this glad to be in the North again, but anything would be better than the voyage they had just been on. White Harbour's docks sat either side of the mouth of the White Knife, stretching a mile upriver and probably much further. The city itself sat east of the river, with a set of walls separating an inner city from the outer city. While it wasn't even near the size of King's Landing, it was an impressive city nonetheless, with many buildings made from whitewashed stone with steeply-pitched roofs.

And every person here who knows of what I've done will want me dead, Theon thought grimly, standing at the bow of his & Yara's ship, on the forecastle. With every day of the voyage that passed, the knot that was Theon's stomach grew tighter. Sailing the Bite, he had sent his lunch over the rails twice, into the black waters. Normally, he was never seasick.

I know what waits for me at Winterfell. With Jon being King in the North, and him meeting Daenerys at some point or another, Theon suspected it would be agreed he would be executed, if only for Daenerys to show she was willing to cooperate with the North when the time came for them to squabble over lands and who falls under whose rule. Throughout the journey, he'd been steeling himself to accept such a fate with dignity. Not even Sansa's words will be able to quench the desire of the northern lords to see me beheaded for my wrongdoings against the North. It was a sad thought, but it would not do to get his own hopes up.

There had been little joy on the voyage from King's Landing, all things considered. Winter storms had thrown them to and fro as they passed across the opening of the Bay of Crabs, throwing them all out of formation. It had been a miracle none of the ships carrying wildfire had gone up in flames. They were all at the back of the fleet, spaced out to prevent a fire spreading more quickly. Passing the Vale hadn't been easy either. Because they were closer to land, they caught the edges of the snows which were plaguing it. By the end of the second day, they stopped bothering to clear it off the deck. "If a man slips over, he slips," Yara told the crew bluntly. "You know the snow's there, so be bloody careful moving about the deck." The Bite had been the best stretch of the voyage, though it was still plagued with storms. And the snow had been horrid, starting two days out from White Harbour, and still having not stopped.

And the worse thing of all was the sun's neglecting to rise, making navigation even harder. Theon knew what it was the moment he found out, being woken by Yara, who was acting her own sort of hysterical. It is the Long Night, Theon knew, remembering Old Nan and her stories. It is real and it is on us. Jon is right, the White Walkers are real, and we are going to fight them.

Passing Dragonstone, the ships loyal to the North which they told to return to the island – Velaryon, Grafton, Massey & Tarth – rejoined them, alongside a group of ships transporting a load of Dragonglass. As they came upon White Harbour, those ships raced to the front of the fleet and were already docked, unloading their cargo and men.

Other than wildfire, they were transporting the Dornish soldiers, which brought with it Ellaria Sand. The Dornishwoman made a habit of visiting Yara near every day; usually when she and Theon were settling down before heading to bed. The two siblings shared a cabin where they would eat meals, take moments to rest during the day and sleep at night in separate beds. Theon didn't care much that Yara preferred the company of women, but it did annoy him that she would indulge in her preferred company with him still in the room.

Near every night Ellaria Sand would visit, because all of Daenerys' military leaders and advisors were on the same ship, entering the cabin that the siblings shared and proceeding to climb in bed with Yara. Thankfully, Theon was able to get off to sleep despite how loud they were, facing the opposite way. Other times he would step out onto the snowy deck and enjoy the saltly, sea air as much as he could, while the night crew saw to their duties. The cold would creep in on Theon's bones, so he always kept his black wool cloak tight around him, the hood pulled over his head.

But that was only on clear nights, which were few and far between. When it was pissing it down, Theon would make the journey to the front cabin, walking along the port side of the main deck, where Tyrion Lannister and Varys the Spider were staying the voyage.

One night in particular, early in the journey, Theon entered – unannounced & uninvited – to find the pair sharing a wooden goblet of wine. There was no shock, or particular surprise, in reaction to Theon entering of his own accord; only a low effort greeting from the pair.

"What are you two drinking wine over?" Theon asked, pulling out a chair to seat himself at the table where the pair drank.

"What we intend to do once in Winterfell," Tyrion answered. "I believe the first the thing I will do is speak to my old wife, and ask if she is interested if re-establishing our marriage."

"Are you sure, my lord?" Theon said. "I doubt she will, if my judgement is worth anything."

"Of course it is, Greyjoy," Tyrion told him, reaching out to pat his upper arm. "And I fear you might be right, but it is my job as the Queen's Hand to help build alliances, and if I can achieve that by convincing Sansa to make our marriage genuine, then that will make the North a firm friend, although it is mostly wishful thinking. I will also be having to see that the wildfire is properly sorted. I fear I am the most qualified person to."

Varys sipped his wine before following. "I mean to speak to the King in the North and gauge what sort of ruler he is," he said. "My northern birds managed to sing a few songs about Jon Stark, and they upheld everything the Lady Olenna's spies have told her. It would seem he's well received by the people, high and lowborn alike. Though some birds told me, soon before we left the city, that Jon Stark took two month-long trips away from the castle, leaving his sister to rule in his stead, one journey being to the Wall, the other being to see Ser Jaime."

Tyrion took a sip of wine. "That is intriguing. He trusts her enough to rule."

"She is castellan of the castle, my birds told me, by the will of His Grace. All in all, Jon Stark relies on his sister a great deal, and I suppose it makes a lot of sense; she is a woman grown, and at the very least smart enough to learn her way around a records book. Prince Bran is crippled, and still a boy, yet he's married."

Theon had known Bran was still alive, Varys had told him in the city. What the Spider hadn't told him about was Bran's being married, so it caught him by surprise. "Married? To who? He'd be four and ten now, if I remember properly."

"Meera Reed, daughter of Howland Reed, a lord who has been filling the role of advisor to Jon and Sansa Stark."

"What was the latest news you got of the North's situation?" Tyrion asked.

"That Jon Stark has called his banners to marshal at the caslte, in reaction to the Red Comet crashing into the moon."

"Great," Theon said, sadly. "They'll all be calling for my head."

"Don't worry, Greyjoy, the northerners have been given reason to hate nearly everyone that is moving north on the Kingsroad & in this fleet," Tyrion said, patting as high as he could on Theon's arm. "There'll be too many people to direct their anger at to single you out."

"But not every one of us was a ward of their previous lord, who betrayed their previous King and burned two innocent boys in the place of two of their princes. The same ward whose taking of their castle allowed for another traitor to claim the North unchallenged."

"Yes," Tyrion said in an awkward high pitch, "not all of us are directly responsible for that amount of wrong done to the North, but let's not forget that Jon has forgiven my brother for all the wrong he's done to House Stark, at least for now, and I doubt he'd be stupid enough to behead one of the leaders of a force coming to his aid."

"I suppose you're right," Theon admitted quietly.

"I'm sure Princess Sansa's word will be enough to protect you from the anger of her bannermen," Varys said. "Her words in Jon Stark's ears will likely ensure your safety, at least until the enemy he is gathering us to fight is defeated."

"Thank you for failing to make me feel better about the fact I wronged the people who treated me like family," Theon sighed. Tyrion frowned, as did Varys, a pity present in their expressions that Theon neither wanted nor thought he deserved.

As they entered White Harbour's docks, Theon's ship was quick to find an empty pier and come in alongside it. They were close to where the Velaryon ships had docked. The ropes were thrown over board to those on the wooden walkway, and the gangplank was slid out as well. Crew members began to make their way off the ship. Alongside Yara, Tyrion, Varys, Ellaria and the Sand Snakes, Theon made his way down the gangplank, on to the pier. There were northmen on guard, and they clearly knew who he was, giving him dirty looks as he stood there in Greyjoy colours.

They walked along the pier to a main walkway sitting just off the bank of the river. Looking downriver, Theon saw the chests of dragonglass being wheeled off the docks. Tyrion joined him, huffing. "No welcome, committee," he said. "I'm disappointed."

"Perhaps there's one waiting for us in the New Castle," Theon said. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Manderlys have orders to let us stay the night in the castle."

"I hope so. I don't fancy being immediately on the road after weeks on a ship."

It was only then that Theon noticed the woman walking toward the pair of them, wearing a thick, brown cloak over a winter dress. She looked middle-aged. No sooner was she upon them did she strike Tyrion across the face.

"That is for my son, Imp," she spat.

Tyrion hadn't been phased by the strike, he only looked up at her and asked, "And who might you be, my lady?"

"Marya Seaworth, my husband and son were in Stannis' fleet when you used the wildfire."

"My lady, I was only doing my duty to protect my family and city. Surely, you can understand that?"

"Of course, I do, I'm not a child, but you still killed my son."

"And I'm sorry, Lady Seaworth, truly I am. If I could bring your son back, I would. But that sort of power belongs only to the gods, and seeing as it has been, what, three years, just under, if they were going to do it, they would have by now."

"And it's a shame you've avoided their punishment for so long, Imp."

"Lannister," said a gruff voice behind them. Tyrion and Theon turned. In the corner of his eye, Theon saw Lady Seaworth walk away. "I am the Dockmaster, and I was given this letter to give to the highest ranking among the Dragon Queen's people."

"Then you're in luck, you've found him," Tyrion said, reaching out a hand to take the letter.

"Who is it from?" Theon asked as Tyrion inspected the tightly rolled parchment and the Dockmaster walked away to shout orders. The scroll was sealed by white wax.

"Jon and a lord named Howland Reed." He cracked open the wax and began reading as Yara walked up to them from the pier.

"Are you going to help us unload the boat, brother?" she asked. "Or are you going to stand here doing nothing?"

"Fuck me with a spear!" Tyrion exclaimed from in-between them.

Looking down, Yara said, "I'll ask one of the guards for theirs."

"Oh, don't be so stupid, woman, you know I'm not being serious." Tyrion handed her the scroll. "Read that, and you'll be using the spear yourself."

Theon watched his sister's eyes skim over the paper. "You're bloody right, Lannister." She handed the letter to Theon. He skimmed through it while Yara walked but down the pier, probably to tell others what it had said.

"Gods!" Theon let out. "Jon's the bastard of Rhaegar and has married Sansa." He didn't know quite how to take the news. But I know that this will mean hell to pay once Daenerys finds out.

"Yes," Tyrion confirmed, massaging his forehead as if he had a headache. "Gods, did his brain get left behind when he died." Theon had learned those rumours were true when he was introduced to the Lady Melisandre by Daenerys, after the fleet had docked outside King's Landing. "This can only go badly."

"I doubt he would tell this as a lie," Theon said carefully, as he rolled the scroll back up.

"I doubt it as well. He stands nothing to gain from it at this point in time, other than Daenerys as a political enemy. Why are Starks so fucking obsessed with telling the truth?"

"Perhaps it is because he has already told his bannermen, and the news being public in Winterfell will only mean that Daenerys will hear it eventually, so it is better he does it early."

"Yes, that would be his reasoning. If he has sent us a letter, then he has gone to meet her at Moat Cailin and escort her through the North. Otherwise, I would expect we would've been told when we arrived in Winterfell and met him. So, Daenerys already knows, or is going to soon, when she reaches the fortress in the Neck." Tyrion hit himself hard on the thigh. "Jorah has to be the person advising her, and only him. The Walkers take me for not supervising the wildfire on the Kingsroad."

"How badly do you expect her to react, Tyrion?" Theon asked.

"I cannot say, Theon. She might be gravely insulted, she might think he's lying and demand proof, she might trust his word, and she might even try to have him killed. I don't know. I don't know what Jorah has been telling her during their journey. All I know is that Jon might have competely crippled any chance of him surviving much longer after the White Walkers are dealt with."

"And if he gets Sansa with child, or has already got her so. . ." He couldn't bear to say the rest.

"Yes. I fear the same, Greyjoy. We best hope it doesn't come to that."