Theon

Theon felt the knot is his stomach now more than ever, riding along the last stretch of road leading into Winterfell. After docking in White Harbour, they were begrudgingly allowed rooms in the New Castle by Wyman Manderly's wife. As soon as all the ships were unloaded, they began the journey along the White Knife until it forked, continuing along the side of its tributary which started in the Wolfswood and cut across the Kingsroad, which was well travelled, with its sides being well-defined by a steep increase in the snow's height, making for the swiftest part of their journey from White Harbour.

They had arrived before Daenerys and Jaime Lannister. Theon saw not one Targaryen banner among the city of tents, pavilions and canopies that had sprouted up either side of the Kingsroad like a forest of many colours: white, black, gold, red, blue, grey, so on and so on. Hedge knights, freeriders and poorly-armed smallfolk sat around communal cookfires with pots of stew simmering above them. The whole realm has heard of what is happening, and those that can are answering the call to battle. At least with this turn out, we might actually stand a chance.

There were Lannister banners, but Theon knew they must have been from the footsoldiers Jaime Lannister had sent north from the Twins before he raced south to the Capital in order to neutralise Euron. But he failed that task. Euron is still at large and can still work toward his goals. Those had been unclear to Theon until Dickon Tarly had said Euron spoke of gaining eternal life by helping the White Walkers; the reason he wanted the dragons was so he could bring down the Wall.

Those that knew Theon, as well as the people he rode with at the head of the column, gave dirty, unfavourable looks. At least not all of them are aimed at me. Some are for Tyrion, some for Yara and the rest of us Ironborn. Tyrion rode beside Theon, having done so throughout the journey from White Harbour, looking like he was wrapped in a carpet, sitting in his custom saddle. He'd opted to wrap himself in a very thick cloak to keep the cold at bay, and – much like everyone else, Theon included – the dwarf had the lower half of his face wrapped in a scarf; it muffled all his words, so Tyrion did not talk as often as usual, which Theon was sad for. He'd come to quite like the dwarf since setting off from King's Landing. Lord Varys and Ellaria Sansa had been the only leaders of Daenerys' forces to opt for a carriage.

Joining them from White Harbour were those who'd fell in with the fleet at Dragonstone: the lords Montreys Velaryon and Selwyn Tarth, the knight Ser Justin Massey and Gyles Grafton, son to of the Lord of Gultown. All four of them were ahorse at the front of the column, beside Theon, Tyrion, Yara and the Sand Snakes. As they passed through Wintertown – which had become the place of residence for the highest ranking soldiers & knights – and looked upon the castle, Theon tightened his grip on the reins. I have not seen this place since I escaped alongside Sansa.

Sansa. If there was one crumb of gold in all this, it would be getting to see her again. He couldn't wait to see her healthy and safe, no longer fearing the possibility of being Ramsay's prisoner again. The same as me.

His horse was moving at a trot, and each hoof placed down in the snow was a step closer to Winterfell. His home. It was always my home, from the moment I became the ward of Eddard Stark. And that was a fact he was never going to let himself forget again, regardless of what scorn the northerners would give him. And I know what I'm going to do the moment I see her.

As they entered through the gates of the castle, Theon saw men at the bottom of a dry moat, lining the bottom of it with fire wood. That will be a perfect place for Tyrion to put his wildfire. The flamable substance was toward the back of the column for safety; if it went up in flames, it would be easy to continue along the road and get away from it.

A single horn blast signalled their arrival from atop one of the towers bordering the gate. The front of their column found what space they could in the courtyard. It was heavily occupied by soldiers running drills with young boys and girls. Yara was quick to dismount, as were the Sand Snakes, but Tyrion and Theon stayed ahorse. The dwarf pulled down his scarf.

"Finally, we're here," he said. "I should like to think we'll be staying for a long time before we move off again. I really would like to sleep in a bed for a few months, one that isn't rocking to and fro with the waves."

"You and me both, Tyrion," Theon managed, as he pulled down his own scarf. Greyjoy was much too occupied with scanning the archways leading in and out of the courtyard.

"Are you waiting for her before you dismount?" Tyrion asked. "I am as well. Being a dwarf, I value high vantage points more so than any person of normal stature." Theon did not reply, he was switching his attention between every possible place Sansa could emerge from. His scanning was rewarded by the sight of long, red hair.

The Queen in the North was walking in beside the tall, blonde lady who had saved them from Ramsay's men. Brienne. That was her name. Looking at the crowd, Theon noticed Lord Selwyn going toward them. Faintly, he heard Tarth say, "Brienne," as he wrapped his daughter in a hug, which was reciprocated. Sansa watched father and daughter embrace with a smile before switching her own attention to the rest of those who'd ridden in.

Their eyes met.

Immediately, she began walking toward him.

"Here she comes," Tyrion said. "Best behaviour, Greyjoy."

Theon dismounted in time to receive an embrace. He could not help wrapping his arms around her waist, feeling the warmth coming off her though the furs they were both wearing. She wore mainly grey, tunic and breeches, not a dress. He even felt the handle of a sword prodding into his stomach. He withdrew, looking down at her waist. There it was, an arming sword on a belt sitting above her hips.

"You're wearing a sword?" he said, unsure. She chuckled, wiping away tears Theon hadn't noticed before now.

"I've been learning to use it for a few months now," Sansa replied. "Jon started me on off, but I've mainly trained with Brienne because Jon's had to spend so much time away from the castle, seeing to matters which required his attention. But why is that what catches your attention?"

"I didn't expect it, as all, my– No, not my lady, Your Grace. You're a queen."

And there was a crown on her head to match the title. Sitting amongst her brilliant hair, shining in the light of what torches were burning nearby, it was a circlet of bronze, with iron half-circles surrounding the top edge. Now is better a time than any. Before she could get a reply in, Theon went down to one knee in front of her, staring at her boots.

"Sansa of House Stark," he began, "Lady of Winterfell and Queen of the North, I am but one man, still repairing himself from the damage done to him by his captor. Were it not for you, I doubt I would ever have escaped this place. What I am about to ask is only for myself, and not anyone else I have arrived with. Will you be so kind as to take me into the service of you and your husband, the King Jon of House Stark, so that I might find a place in the home and amongst the family I never realised I had until it was lost to me?"

He could feel the eyes of Tyrion, of Sansa. I care not if I look a fool, or if Tyrion's eyes are judging. Theon had been thinking of doing this since White Harbour.

"Theon." She sounded so happy, on the verge of tears. Kneeling herself, Sansa lifted his chin so he could look into her eyes. "Of course. You always have a place here in Winterfell. And you never have to kneel to me. Never." She took hold of his arm and the pair of them stood. Her hands then went to his shoudlers. "And I promise you, you are safe. No one will touch you while the White Walkers are still a threat. You have my word."

"And you have my word, Greyjoy," Tyrion said plainly, still on his horse. Theon turned round to look at him. "Daenerys will not be pleased to hear about your going over to Sansa's service, and I would have liked to have known before now, but I will do my best to rein in whatever anger she gets." He then shifted his gaze. "Now, Sansa, you didn't tell me you had the ability to disappear. One moment my nephew was choking to death, and the next you were not there. While I doubt it would've mattered either way, your absence made it extremely difficult to convince people of my innocence in Joffrey's murder."

"You'll forgive me, my lord," Sansa replied. "I did not intend for you to come to harm, though the man who smuggled me out of the city certainly did."

"Yes, Littlefinger. I heard tell from my dear brother that Littlefinger is short a head nowadays."

"He is nothing but ash lying underneath snow in the Wolfswood, my lord."

Tyrion smiled. "And that is all for the better. The last thing we need here would be a scheming worm."

"I fear you've brought more of those with you, yourself included. My husband has probably told your Queen, so I will tell you, her Hand." She'd clearly noted the hand pin holding up his cloak. "The North will not bend the knee to anyone sitting the Iron Throne, whoever it may be, so long as my husband and I are alive, and so long as our children wear the northern crown."

"Your husband. I mean to hear why you chose him, but for now, Your Grace, I would ask the man who just entered your service to help me down from my horse." Theon walked round his own horse to help Tyrion, setting the dwarf down on the snowy, stony ground. "Now, I do hope you have some refreshments prepared for us," he said to Sansa, clapping his hands together and rubbing them.

"In the hall, all you need to do is ask, and you will have all the wine you like, my lord," she told him.

Tyrion grinned. "Now that is just the thing I needed to hear, but before I venture there, I have to speak with a bald friend of mine." He walked off, waddling through the snow confidently.

"I never thought I would be pleased to see him," Sansa said before she turned back to Theon. "You will have your own chambers. We still have space to give rooms to the leaders of Jaime Lannister and Daenerys' armies, though you are one of our own men, so you need not worry about that. Is there any room you would like in particular?"

"Is my old one available?" Theon asked softly. "The one I stayed in before I rode south with your brother."

Sansa's brow furrowed as her eyes looked slightly up at nothing in particular. "I should have to ask Rygle, our steward," her eyes returned to him, "but it is yours if it is free."

"And where is Bran?" He spoke slowly.

"In the crypts. How do you know of him?"

"Varys still has spies up here."

She frowned. "I shall have to weed them out. I've my own ears and eyes about the castle. At first, I obtained them to deal with Littlefinger, but I'll be putting them back to use with today's arrival including who it does, though I have always disliked having to use them. The North shouldn't have to use spies and whisperers, but with southern players in Winterfell, we must play them at their own game."

"I promise you, I have not done what I have to spy for Varys."

She cupped the side of his face with one hand. "And I believe you, Theon. You'll have no suspicion from me, though our northern bannermen might. But you shouldn't worry about them, not right now. Go see Bran, I have other people to greet. Once you get down into the crypts, head in the direction of the godswood."

Theon gave her a nod. The two of them walked away from where they'd been. He remembered the castle well, so had no trouble finding the crypts' entrance. As expected, people who knew him gave him dirty looks, and he did his best to ignore them. He pulled his cloak tight, but if he was being honest, the cold felt homely. This is my home.

The crypts were mostly dark; torches did what they could to light the resting place of the Stark dead. The stone statues looked at him judgmentally as he walked between the rows of arches where they sat, stone direwolves at their feet. In their hands, they gripped iron swords, the oldest of which had been eaten away by rust. Theon remembered the old stories, that those swords kept the sprits of the dead locked in their tombs. Stories like that were why he never spent much time down here amongst the dead, and he didn't plan to, least not until he was dead himself. If Jon will allow it, I want to be buried here in the castle, maybe in these crypts, not just the lichyard.

Having followed Sansa instructions, Theon came to an arch guarded by a young man of black hair and not too far in age from him. He was with Brienne. The young man let him pass into the large chamber beyond the arch. The roof was made of soil, and the chamber was lit up by a few torches on the walls. At the very centre, a great collection of white roots tangled together to form a chair – no, a throne – and sitting on it was Bran, looking directly at him.

"Welcome home, Theon," he said, kindly. Theon could not help dropping to his knees.

"I'm sorry, Bran," he said. Tears were pricking his eyes. "I'm sorry, for all I did when I took this castle. The gods have seen me punished for it, as I'm sure Sansa has told you."

"I have seen for myself the torture inflicted on you," Bran said, plainly. Too plainly.

"What do you mean?"

Bran explained what he meant, detailing everything that happened between him departing Winterfell and his conversation with Theon happening right now. It disgusted Theon to hear that Rickon had gone to the Umbers for protection, only to be given to Ramsay as a prisoner and shot dead as a part of some stunt to provoke Jon into a stupid charge, but Bran reassured him that everything that happened to Rickon and himself after Winterfell wasn't his fault.

"I don't know what to say," Theon said at the end of it.

"You don't have to say anything. I have these abilities now, I've been using them to find what useful information I can. Jon's true parentage would have never been revealed were it not for these powers. But that is enough about that. Thank you for apologising for what you did. Whatever duties you have to attend to now, I would see to them."

"I've sworn myself to the service of Jon and Sansa, but I will still see if I'll be permitted any charge over the Ironborn."

"Good. I look forward to spending time with you, Theon. I want you to repair your bonds with the North."

"I hope to."