It happened overnight. Or it happened over days, months—years—who knows? Theon didn't, because he isn't very clever after all.
When Theon was three and ten, Lady Stark looks at him as she did during his previous life: with disgust and mistrust
At times, Theon felt eyes heavy on his back and he would turn to see Catelyn gaze at him with barely concealed disdain. While she was never overly loving towards him, the woman had always been genteel to Theon over the years. The sudden change made him wondered if maybe somehow Lady Stark, the one from his former time and place, was sent back like he was. But after a moment, the Lady's unfavorable look would turn calm, and then she would go about her business.
Theon would chide himself for being paranoid afterward every incident. Because If Catelyn Stark—any Catelyn Stark—knew what he'd done to her family, to her home, she wouldn't settle for glaring daggers, she'd bury a very real blade in his chest.
Not long after Theon began noticing Lady Stark's ill-hidden animosity towards him, she summoned him to her solar.
Lady Stark's solar, unlike Lord Stark's, was the heart of Winterfell. Lord Stark's solar was a place of contemplation for the lord and a space where he could hold sensitive meetings and conversations in relative isolation. Catelyn's solar is a place where important decisions were made about the day-to-day operations of the castle. Theon spent many hours here learning how to read and write inventories, calculate food stores, and how to keep track of which servants did which jobs, and how much they were paid to do them. Often, he would just sit in the chair in front of Lady Stark's desk and listen as the woman explained yearly crop reports for hours and hours.
Lady Stark's tutelage took up the majority of Theon's daily routine. And rightly so. Learning to run a large household like Winterfell was much harder than Theon thought it would be. It required great attention to detail and the foresight to anticipate unforeseen disruptions that could endanger the survival of everyone in the castle. Managing resources, people, and so many other details were difficult to grasp—as difficult as any spot of warcraft Theon had to learn from Ser Rodrik in his previous life. There had been so much to take in, Theon finally understood why Yara was still learning to manage the Pyke at the feet of their mother even as the Rebellion raged.
So, when Lady Stark called Theon in and told him she no longer intended to instruct him on how to manage Winterfell, Theon was caught completely off-guard.
"But... Have I really learned all I need to—"
"For three years I have educated you on how to run a household," Catelyn interrupted. "If you haven't learned what you need to know by now, then you've done nothing but waste my time and yours."
The chill in Lady Stark's tone rendered Theon wide-eyed and speechless.
"However, you will continue your lessons with Septa Mordane every day as usual," Lady Stark said as she also fixed her icy glare at him, her tone not one degree warmer. "But we are done here."
Theon nodded stiffly. "Yes, My Lady."
"You may leave."
Theon slowly stood up and did just that. His mind and heart racing as he wondered what he'd done to make Lady Stark turn against him so savagely.
Theon resolved not to let Catelyn's dismissal twist him up inside as he would have done in his previous life. He instead chose to make the best of the situation. He went to his chambers and for the first time in years, unpacked his practice sword and bow. There would be no better time to ask Lord Stark to allow him to train with them.
Theon decided to make his request in the Great Hall the following day after Lord Stark broke his fast. Eddard's moods were lighter after taking meals with his family. At least, it was the only time Theon ever saw the man smile.
Theon sat at the high table, nervously picking at his morning meal. Only a day had passed since Lady Stark dismissed him, and the chill in their relationship had not become any warmer. Theon was glad, at least, the woman ignored him as they broke their fasts. He had Arya to thank as the three name days old kept doing everything with the food in front of her except put it in her mouth.
Sansa sat beside Theon eating quietly with all the grace and poise her younger sister would continue to lack for years to come. Robb and Jon sat together on the opposite end of the banquet table. Jon seemed to be happy Lady Stark ignored him as well. Usually, he tried to disappear during meals, but that morning he smiled and even laughed with Robb as they watched Arya attempts to shovel food into her mouth with chubby, uncoordinated hands.
Once the meal ended, Robb and Jon went off to see Ser Rodrik in the training yard, while Sansa hurried to meet Septa Mordane. Lady Stark gathered Arya up and left to get the toddler cleaned up, and then check on baby Bran in the nursery. When Lord Stark took his leave as well, Theon hurried to catch the man before he left the Great Hall.
Though his relationship with Eddard wasn't nearly as complicated as it had been when Theon was a boy, Theon didn't feel as at ease around Lord Stark, either. This Eddard Stark never attempted to act fatherly towards Quenlyn, and mainly left "her" upbringing to Septa and Lady Stark. Thus, Theon rarely interacted with Stark, and when he did, their interactions tended to be awkward and overly formal.
"Lord Stark," Theon said.
Eddard stopped and turned around as Theon hurried up to him. Theon froze, balking when he saw Lord Stark look at him with all the interest a Lannister shows a bent copper coin on the ground. Stark had grown a bread over the past year, and the newly grown whiskers made him look more like the man Theon knew from before. Which did little to ease Theon's ability to feel relaxed around him.
"What is it, Quenlyn?"
"I want to ask for your permission to use the training yard so that I may practice there with a sword and bow," Theon said.
Eddard frowned. "I do not think that is appropriate," he said.
"May I ask why?" Theon asked though he knew exactly why Eddard thought Theon training was improper. Theon also knew if he wanted to change Lord Stark's mind, he needed to fight and not let the man's words go unchallenged.
"It is my responsibility to see to it you acquire the necessary skills to become a proper lady," Lord Stark replied stiffly. That he made no mention of Lady Stark meant Eddard already knew she'd excused herself from the job.
For a moment Theon considered asking Lord Stark what he thought about Catelyn more or less washing her hands of Theon.
"I promise training won't interfere with my lessons with Septa," Theon said instead.
"That is not the issue, Quenlyn. Weapons are not like dolls. They are not toys."
Theon's jaw clenched, but he managed to reply mildly. "I am well aware of that, Lord Stark."
"Are you?" Stark said. "You could hurt yourself, or others."
"I've trained using a practice sword and a bow before, and I didn't hurt anyone."
"Where?"
"Back home," Theon said.
For the first time, Lord Stark's expression changed from hard indifference to nakedly suspicious.
"And your mother and father allowed this?"
When Theon didn't answer, Lord Stark crossed his arms. Now the look on Eddard's face was the expression that often inspired fear and uncertainty in Theon, even when it wasn't directed at him. It was the emotionless mask Stark wore when he saddled a horse, or when he swung Ice down on someone's neck.
"You did so in secret, then," Eddard said.
Theon did not look away when he answered, but it was a near thing. "Yes, with Yara—my sister," he said.
Lord Stark made a noise that sounded part growl and part hum. "Why not do the same here?"
Theon could have done exactly that, but Robb and Jon, now eight name days, lacked any ability to lie or keep secrets. And Theon knew he wouldn't be able to hide his training from the boys—they spent almost all their free time together. Theon had no intention of that changing anytime soon.
"Since I've come to Winterfell, I've given you no reason to distrust me," Theon said. "And I don't want to start by hiding things from you, Lord Stark."
That shall come soon enough.
Theon shoved the thought away. There was nothing he could do about it. What use was there in dwelling on things he had no will to change?
Lord Stark stared at him silently. Theon fidgeted under the man's scrutiny and gripped two handfuls of his green kirtles as he waited for Eddard's judgment.
"Very well. You may use the training yard," Eddard said finally.
Theon grinned. "Thank you, My Lord!"
Eddard put up his hand and said, "You may not ask Ser Rodrik or any of the men to train with you. Nor are you allowed to train with Robb and Jon. You are to vacate the yard if anyone else needs to use it. Do you understand?"
Theon nodded. It was a better arrangement than he could have hoped for. "I do, My Lord."
"I do not want to hear from Septa Mordane that you neglected her lessons. If I do…"
"You will not, Lord Stark," Theon said solemnly.
Eddard cocked an eyebrow. "And where are you supposed to be at this very moment?"
"Er… After I leave here, I will go to Septa Mordane for my lessons right away!" Theon said quickly.
Lord Stark hummed. "See that you do," he said and then he strode away.
Just as Theon let out a happy sigh, Eddard turned back and looked at Theon with an expression that might have been melancholic. Or perhaps regretful. Whatever the look was, Theon had never seen it on man's face before—during either of his lives.
"I will have Ser Rodrik provide you with training leathers. You are to only wear them when you train in the yard. Nowhere else."
"Yes, My Lord."
Lord Stark held his stare on Theon for a moment longer before he turned and left the Hall. Right on his heels, Theon ran to the Great with an enormous smile on his face. Now all he need do was get out of lessons early and restart his training as soon as possible.
Easy.
"Lady Quenlyn," Mordane said, putting special emphasis on 'lady' using a tone that indicated she thought adding it before Theon's name strained the limits of formality. "Courtly manners are the cornerstone of a Lady's education; you must learn this!"
Theon knew he most certainly did not need to learn anything of the sort. "I am Ironborn, Septa, I don't need to learn about Greenlander's empty niceties," Theon said. "It'd more useful to learn how to bake bread, or milk a cow, than learn to pretend I like some stuck-up prat at some shitty court!"
Septa's eyes blazed at him before she sent a quick glance over to Sansa, now six name days, sat quietly in the chair across from Theon. The needlepoint canvas across her knees and thighs was forgotten as she raptly watched Theon and Mordane argue, her bright blue eyes darting from one to the other.
"Back to your needlepoint, lady Sansa!"
When Sansa hurried back to her needlework, Mordane turned an angry stare at Theon, the gray wimple framing her face made the septa's frown incredibly menacing.
"You are not too old to have your knuckles whacked, young lady!" Septa said. "And I'll not have you speak that way in front of lady Sansa! Your crass behavior may have been accepted elsewhere, but it is not acceptable here! I will expel you from this lesson…"
Septa narrowed her eyes at Theon.
"You little… A valiant effort, but you'll not escape your lessons so easily this time, lady Quenlyn!"
Theon bit back a curse. He'd been found out! Had he used the crude language gambit one time too many?
"I don't know what you mean, Septa Mordane!" Theon exclaimed as he tried to look the very picture of child-like innocence. "I was only—"
"Trying to play me for a fool?"
Theon shook his head. "No! No, of course not! I was just saying—"
"Never mind," Septa snapped. "Since you were excused from your lessons on the Great Houses of the South the past sennight, I think we shall make up for what you've missed. For the rest of the day, and into the night, if need be."
Theon suppressed a groan as the likelihood of restarting his training any time soon diminished. Fully aware arguing with Septa was not going to get him where he wanted to be, Theon plastered a polite smile on his face. He also mirrored the woman's tight sitting posture and clasped his hands on his lap.
"Yes, Septa."
Mordane nodded sharply. "Now. Recite all the major houses of the Riverlands in order of importance, please, followed by The Reach."
And with that, all hope Theon had of restarting his training that day vanished.
"And Father really says it's all right for you to use a sword?"
"He did."
"But you're a girl!"
Theon lowered his practice sword and turned to Robb. He and Jon sat on water barrels, well back from where Theon practiced. Lord Stark had made his orders very clear they couldn't train with Theon, but they were allowed to watch.
"And you are being very loud. Hush."
"But you're doing it wrong! I can show you how to do it much better!"
Theon lowered his sword and turned to Robb ready to snap at the boy. Theon's frustration at his diminished swordsmanship fueling the annoyance he felt at Robb's outburst.
Robb looked less like Rickon now. Most of his baby fat melted away over the past year and left behind sharper, stouter features. His shock of red hair had become curlier, and darker as well. So dark it looked auburn but could glow blood-red in the right light.
The earnestness on Robb's face made Theon's flare of annoyance evaporate, and instead, he smiled at the boy and shrugged.
"I'm just rusty is all," Theon said.
"Looks to me, girl, you've never held a sword in your life!" Ser Rodrik said.
Ser Rodrik had been observing Theon from the high deck overlooking the training yard, smith, and animal pens. The quartermaster had made his disapproval of Theon using the training yard clear when he gave Theon the training leathers. He also let Theon know in no uncertain terms he would, "Put a stop to your nonsense," if it looked like Theon was going to hurt himself.
Several guards laughed, but Theon ignored them, but said to Ser Rodrik, "I have held a sword before, Ser Rodrik, but not since I came to Winterfell."
Ser Rodrik grunted and said no more, but his sour expression spoke volumes. Theon turned his attention back to the target and began hacking away at it. He didn't need anyone to tell him he was handling his sword wrong. His grip felt weak, and he couldn't keep his wrist properly aligned. Every time he struck the target, the impact was painful, and it felt like he'd lose his grip on the sword. But most of all, Theon was tired. He hadn't been at it for more than half an hour, and his arm was already sore. He was sweating heavily, and his skin felt overheated and tacky in his leathers.
After a few more minutes of hacking and slashing at the target, Ser Rodrik bellowed for Theon to stop.
"All right, enough of this!" Ser Rodrik said. "You'll break your blasted wrist if you keep bashing away like that!"
"I can show her how to hold the sword!" Robb said, hopping off the barrel he was sitting on.
"Hold your place and your tongue, boy!" Ser Rodrik said then eyed Theon. "If I don't see some evidence you deserve to use my training yard soon, girl, I don't care what Lord Stark says, I'll send you back to Mordane to learn your curtsies."
Theon's ears were burning with embarrassment, and this time the laughter from the men watching got to him.
"Use your bow, Quinn," Jon said softly from beside Robb, his expression solemn as ever.
Jon had grown out of his puppy fat as well, but his face had retained a slightly elfin quality. He'd grown out his hair, which only served to make him look even more like a girl. But if Theon looked closely enough, he could see the young man Jon would become in a few short years.
Theon shot a grateful look at the boy. Of course! Three years or a thousand, using a bow would always be second nature to Theon. Even losing nearly half the fingers on his hands had not stolen his skill with a bow.
After placing the practice sword on one of the racks, Theon picked up his bow and a quiver of arrows.
Theon paced back 20 yards from one of the three bull's eye targets in the training yard. Twenty yards was a good range to start as a beginner—it would be impossible for Theon to miss the target at that distance. Theon looked up at Ser Rodrik glaring down at him from the upper deck, then at the half dozen guards and soldiers watching, waiting to see him fail.
Theon slung the quiver onto his back and moved back 40 yards from the target.
"What are you playing at, girl?" Rodrik said.
When he nocked an arrow into his bow the fatigue in Theon's entire body melted away. The bow, unlike the practice sword, felt like it was part of him, and drawing back the string was like breathing. Theon adjusted for the wind, took a breath, loosed the arrow as he exhaled, and his body relaxed. The instant he sent the arrow flying Theon smiled. He knew.
Dead center.
"So, you have some luck on—" Ser Rodrik said.
Theon nocked a second arrow and buried it next to the first arrow, not an inch apart. The third arrow split the second down the middle. The fourth split the first arrow.
Theon looked up at Ser Rodrik. The knight's face was sour as ever, but when he met Theon's gaze the man nodded.
Theon grinned and looked over at Robb and Jon. Robb was staring at the target with utter shock. Jon was looking at Theon, grinning from ear to ear. That smile alone made landing every arrow worth it.