Theon
"Treason? Sansa wrote this?"
The sound of Robb's voice sent a chill on Theon's back, an already cold voice due to the strong accent of the North made colder by fury. The Heir to Pyke and future Lord of the Iron Islands kept his head down, gaze fixed on his meal. He could feel the direwolves stirring, see their hackles raising. Beside him, little Bran was watching his brother attentively, a harsh look on his eyes.
"It is your sister's hand, but the Queen's words. You're summoned to King's Landing to pay fealty to the new King." Maester Luwin stammered. The old man's voice shook a little, just as it always did when he talked to the Heir of Winterfell.
"The new King?" Jon Snow asked with a snort, Stark eyes watching the parchment on his brother's hand with disdain.
"More like the cunt." Howland Snow added, his black direwolf growling. He reached down to it, clenching the fur on its neck, making Shadow growl deeper.
Robb ignored the twins. "Joffrey puts my father in chains, now he wants his arse kissed?"
"This is a royal command, my Lord." Luwin explained. "Should you refuse…"
"Oh, I won't refuse." Robb replied with a snarl. Theon would swear on his life, that the air got colder at that moment. "His Grace summons me to King's Landing, I'll go to King's Landing. But not alone. Call the banners, Luwin. We'll torch our way to King's Landing and put it to the sword. I'll place Joffrey's head on a pike myself."
Jon and Howland smiled. Wicked, savage grins that Theon had grown used to seeing. Even Bran, a boy of merely seven was grinning, already as much of a Stark as his brothers. Theon shared a despairing look with the Maester. Sweet, old Luwin, who had come from the reach, who didn't understand the ways of the North. Just like Theon. Just like Catelyn Tully.
Just like Eddard Stark, raised by honorable Jon Arryn. As high as honor Ned had rose, a northern only in name, but his sons…they were like the Starks of old. All the noble houses in the North loved Eddard Stark, but they were completely devoted to Robb Stark, and Jon and Howland Snow. The Red, White, and Black Wolves of Winterfell.
"All of them, my Lord?"
"They're all sworn to Winterfell. And they will all relish in the fight." Robb said simply. Luwin nodded before leaving, his chain tinkling with his steps. Theon almost wanted to beg the Maester to take him with him.
"Are you scared, Robb?" Bran asked, in a strange moment of seriousness from the boy. Every eye was drawn to Robb's stoic face. His blue eyes cold, as harsh as winter storms. Theon had heard legends about the eyes of the Others, bluer than the sky, colder than the worst blizzard. Eyes that meant death. He could not help but feel the legend was based on Robb's own blue eyes.
"I am." Robb said solemnly. "But my rage outweighs it. Charging Father of treason? Against the son of Robert Baratheon?"
"We'll show this southern king what happens when you mess with the Starks of Winterfell." Howland said, purple eyes almost glowing. "Who knows, maybe even you'll kill your first man, Bran!"
Jon snorted. "Bran will stay here, Howland. He will be the Stark in Winterfell."
"I know that, cunt. I meant in execution."
"I would like that." Bran said, yearningly, the same way he would ask another piece of dessert, or another lesson in swordplay. It was almost cute, and it made Theon's stomach churn. A boy of barely seven, dreaming on making the snow run red. "Too bad Father took Ice with him."
"We'll get it back, brother." Robb vowed, placing his hand on Bran's shoulder. "We'll get mother and father back, and the girls too." Bran made a face, but he kept quiet.
"Father shouldn't have become Hand of the King." Howland said with a sigh. "His honor doomed him."
Jon shook his head. "He must have tried something, though. Something merciful. He should have dealt with them as a Stark. Kill the Lannisters and be done with it."
"He was soft." Robb said in a low voice, almost a whisper. A soft, terrifying whisper that froze the blood of grown men when they heard it. "Almost a soft as you, aye, Greyjoy? You'll come down to King's Landing with us. One whisper from your father, and I cut your head off. Before sailing to the Iron Islands and break your fleet in your shores."
Theon nodded meekly, gathering the plates, leaving the brothers to their own. Like a servant. The Heir to House Greyjoy, a man grown, scared of a child of four and ten.
"Not any child." Theon would mutter to himself, on the days he felt braver than he was. "A Stark. The Stark in Winterfell."
Eddard Stark had been an Arryn in all but name, and that had kept the Realms together after the Rebellion. However, Theon knew that his children would burn the Six Southern Kingdoms to the ground if The North benefitted from it. They were of the blood of Cregan Stark, the man that had put the realms through the ringer after the Dance of the Dragons. Jon and Howland Snow were The Hungry Wolf and the Bloody Blade, reborn. And Robb Stark, the Red Wolf, was the worst of them all.
Theon almost felt pity for the Westerlands. House Lannister fate was set, and the Starks of Winterfell wouldn't rest until every man, woman and child that bore the name laid under the ground.
Winter was coming for the south.