Theon's hands shake uncontrollably for the first time when he's nine and ten, after Robb, Jon, and Bran bring back six direwolves.
Theon couldn't have known they'd gone out with Lord Stark to the execution. He wasn't Ned's squire, and had never laid a hand on Ice, nor witnessed Stark wield the greatsword as Warden of the North. As a young woman, Theon was largely removed from the grislier aspects of men's purview.
In truth, Theon had little to do with the day-to-day happenings in Winterfell from either end of the gender scale of late. Lady Stark didn't involve him in her Lady's work of running the household, and Theon was too highborn to do work below his station. With so little expected of him, Theon often wondered if his life now is what it's like to be a queen?
Typically, Theon practiced the lute—another indulgence on Lord Stark's part—and singing. His skill with the instrument was coming along splendidly, but his singing—well, Theon chose to spare the denizens of Winterfell and sang alone, deep in the godswood. Theon developed other hobbies, too. More distractions, really, now that he couldn't find them in whores and drink. Not that he had the coin to spare on either.
Theon spent his modest stipend on fabric, and very little else. The rest he saved. He already had ten pouches of gold and silver coins stashed away, more than enough to run to Essos and settle in Braavos, or one of the other free cities, like Pentos. But most likely Braavos, when the time came.
Theon also used some of his free time to study High Valyrian with Maester Luwin. Theon didn't need to be fluent to get by in Essos—the common tongue was spoken in Braavos and Pantos—but he wanted as many ways to fit in as possible in his arsenal. The learning was slow going because the old maester was only teaching Theon the half-dead language to humor him, and out of pity—but still, Theon was grateful the man had agreed to teach him at all.
It was after leaving the maester when Theon went looking for Robb and Jon in the training yard that day. Bran had been joining their drills recently, and Theon liked to watch all the boys train together. Something else Theon never did the first time. He'd been jealous of Robb spending time with his siblings and was too much of an ass to admit he wanted to join them.
When he didn't find the boys in the training yard, Theon asked a guard where they might be and was told they'd gone out with their father to execute a Night's Watch deserter. Theon nodded and started to walk away, not thinking much of it; deserters were a common enough occurrence. But then he noticed Lady Stark standing in the courtyard watching the gates with a fretful look about her.
It'd been a long time since he and Lady Stark dealt with one another intimately. Theon avoided the woman as often as he could, but he still knew the Lady's face well enough to see how deeply uneasy she was, and he'd only seen her look so once before. It was after Lord Stark took Robb—and Jon—to witness their first execution.
Theon staggered, and nearly dropped to his knees. That execution was supposed to be years away when Robb and Jon were six and ten, and Bran was ten, not eight. Theon looked at Lady Stark and imagined they both now wore similar expressions, and for the same reasons.
I thought… I thought we had more time.
Theon stood in the Courtyard waiting for the Starks to ride through the gates, praying he was wrong about what Bran going to the execution foretold. First through the Hunter's Gate was Robb and Lord Stark, then Jon and Bran, followed by Jory and Ser Rodrik along with a dozen guardsmen. Theon held his breath and made sure he was leaning against the nearest wall for support, and when he saw Robb was carrying three direwolf cubs wrapped in his cloak, Grey Wind, Lady, and Shaggydog, Theon would have collapsed if not for the wall.
Lady Stark had been waiting as well. When Bran rode in clutching Summer in his arms, she rushed over to see if he'd been ill-affected by the execution. Lord Stark dismounted and retreated to the godswood to clean Ice as he always did after taking a man's head with the greatsword. Robb and Jon dismounted as well, then hurried off to deliver the direwolves to the rest of their siblings.
Theon put his arms behind his back and pressed his hands between the cold stones in the wall and his backside to stop them from shaking. Theon didn't keep track of how long he stood perched against the stone wall, his only thoughts were of the raven that would soon arrive, and the dreadful events the message it carried would set into motion. Theon only emerges from his fog of impending doom after Jon comes over with Ghost wrapped loosely in his fur-lined cloak.
"You know I'd've brought you a direwolf too if there had been more," Jon said as he held the unnamed Ghost against his chest. "Sure, you don't want…"
Jon held the wolf cub out to Theon.
Theon smiled and shook his head. "I'm sure. He's yours, Jon," he said.
Jon's taller than Theon now, not by a lot, but Theon has to tip-toe to look Jon straight in the eye. Jon also has the faint beginnings of dark stubble growing under his chin and around his mouth. Jon is nearly a grown man, Theon thinks, and soon he'll be off to the Wall.
Very soon.
Theon clenched his hands to stop his fingers' involuntary twitching only to have his arms start to tremor instead. He wished he'd worn a cloak so he could cover them.
The weather's getting cold enough, he thought.
"Maybe I'll get myself a cat," Theon says, all smiles. He can feel the shaking climb up his arms and into his shoulders. "Could always use a little more pussy around here."
Theon laughs wickedly when Jon ducks his head—and he's delighted to see Jon's lips stretch into a smile. Turning until they're standing side-by-side, Theon playfully bumped Jon's shoulder with his. Mildly annoyed the boy's shoulders are already broader and more solid than Theon's ever were. Girl or boy.
"So, what are you going to name him?" Theon asked, looking at Ghost look back at him from beneath Jon's cloak.
"I dunno. Thinking Ghost. Maybe," Jon said.
Theon hummed and looked up at him. "Good…"
'Name' sticks in Theon's throat when sees Jon staring back at him with unmistakable lust in his dark eyes. Theon swallows and tries to lob a jape or some casual comment that will douse the fire burning in Jon's gaze, but not one spring to mind. Theon is learning he no longer knows how to fend against the desire Jon has for him—it's grown too fierce, too insistent, and Theon can't scoff and call it youthful fancy, because Jon isn't a little boy anymore.
When Ghost yipped, they both blinked, causing the moment to collapse into an awkward silence. This is getting out of hand, Theon thinks, as he starts to breathe again. He extricates himself from Jon's side and steps back in front of him.
Jon cleared his throat and gave Theon a shy smile. "I better find Ghost here something to eat," he said.
As Jon walked away Theon glared at the boy's back. "Don't you try that shy, innocent shit with me, Jon Snow!" he said under his breath.
Theon shook his head then retreated to his room before he had a run-in with Robb as well. He didn't think his constitution could endure another mooning Stark boy. Not today.
The announcement was made the next day: the king and half his court traveled the King's Road for Winterfell. The excitement that overtook the castle most certainly didn't hold any sway over Theon. He wanted nothing to do with the royal visit. He wanted nothing to do with the king.
Theon, even knowing the man's fate, deeply hated Robert Baratheon.
Almost as much as he hated…
"Yes, you will attend the feast held in the king's honor!" Lady Stark said. Her words were said through teeth clenched so tightly Theon knew the woman was trying hard not to raise her voice.
"I will not, My Lady," Theon persisted.
Theon stood—he'll never willing sit in this room again—before Catelyn Stark in her solar wearing his best armor: he'd worn his blackest, most unwelcoming dress and his heaviest matching cloak. He wore his hair up in a neat bun instead of the loose fashion he normally preferred. Theon had no intention of standing before Lady Stark looking like an unrefined Ironborn wench. He was here to show the woman just how serious he was about avoiding her cunt of a king.
Lady Stark's eyes flashed with anger, but when she next spoke her voice was calm and even. "You will. And you will stand with the rest of this household to welcome His Grace and the royal family."
Theon raised his chin and tried to channel every ounce of Lady Sansa he could as he stared down at Lady Stark.
"That man—"
"His Grace," Catelyn snapped the correction at Theon.
Theon couldn't stop himself from letting out an unladylike snort—there was nothing graceful about the so-called king fast approaching Winterfell. At Lady Stark's disapproving glare, Theon turned his head away and tried to regain control of his reactions. Turning back, he let out a short breath before he continued.
"His Grace stole me from my home, my family, for no good cause! My father already bent the knee, and still, the king demanded I be taken as a hostage out of pure spite. I will not break bread with such a vicious man."
Lady Stark leaned back in her chair and appraised Theon with a look that made him wary. Catelyn placed her hand on a stack of correspondence on her desk. Other familiar documents covered the desk's surface—scrolls, notebooks, and loose sheets of parchment paper with sums and lists of inventories meticulously inscribed on them. Catelyn tapped her index finger as she appraised Theon with sharp, blue eyes.
"Lord Stark also had a hand in taking you from your precious islands," Catelyn said finally. "Do you hold animosity towards my Lord husband as well?"
Theon looked down at the floor to hide the hurt and guilt he felt at Catelyn's accusation, then he lifted his head and met the woman's eyes and quickly recognized the danger he saw in them. He knew any wrong words might open the gates of hell should he speak them.
"Lord Stark did as his king commanded. I hold no resentment toward him, nor any of his kin."
Catelyn's finger stopped tapping and she suddenly leaned forward again. "You say so, yet here you stand threatening to bring shame to his house!" she said.
"I've done no such thing, My Lady!"
"Oh, but haven't you?"
Catelyn rose from her chair and came around her crowded desk, the hem of her dark green dress dragging across the floor behind her until she stood next to Theon. When he turned so they could face each other, Theon met the woman's hostile glare steady on, determined not to let her cow him. It wasn't easy. Though he was taller than Lady Stark, to Theon the woman was a giant peering down at him from on high.
"What do you think will happen should the king take offense at your absence?"
If Theon recalled the original feast correctly, Baratheon got himself too drunk to take much notice of anything that didn't fill his bloated belly or didn't have tits.
The last is all the more reason to avoid the heartless twat, Theon thought.
"I am sure he will take no notice of my absence, My Lady," Theon said.
Lady Stark smiled suddenly, but it didn't touch her eyes. "But you said it yourself: he had you taken to humiliate Balon Greyjoy and the Ironborn, surely he'll want to see the results of his commandment."
"Lady Stark, I—"
Theon stopped as the cruel, unspoken implication of Catelyn's words settled in: To see you suffering. What stung more was the satisfied look on the woman's face when she saw her barb stick.
"That was unworthy of you, My Lady," Theon said, barely above a whisper.
Catelyn's smile wavered before her expression went very cold and very still.
"Unworthy? It is you who are unworthy, lady Quenlyn. It is you who has taken advantage of the leeway my husband affords you by grasping above your station!"
"Oh. So, that's what this is about," Theon said. "This is about Robb."
Lady Stark shook her head sharply before turning her back to Theon. When she turned back around, she looked better composed, but there was still a bitter tightness around her mouth.
"I am not blind. I see how he looks at you. And how you look at him."
Theon closed his hands around his gown's skirt and squeezed the rough fabric in his fists. He understands Lady Stark's suspicions and cannot fault her words. Robb, who's four and ten, looks at Theon like he wants to give Theon flower crowns and recite poetry at him like the romantic heroes in Old Nan's stories. Theon pretends not to notice any of it—pretends he doesn't…
"My Lady—"
"Do you deny what is obvious for all to see?"
"Robb is a boy," Theon rallied. "I am a woman grown. To accuse me of trying to seduce your son is beneath even you."
"How dare you!" Catelyn hissed.
"I have kept my distance, have I not?" Theon asked. "What else would you have me do?"
"I would have you not act like a slattern when you're with Jon Snow!"
Theon flinched as if he'd been struck. "I beg your pardon?"
"You claim to be a woman grown, yet you play childish games when you use one brother to inflame the jealousies of the other," Lady Stark said.
Theon shook his head and leaned away as if doing so would help him to escape Catelyn's words.
"I would never—"
"You would never!" Lady Stark mocked. "What? Use the bastard to lure the trueborn heir into your bed?"
"I would never hurt Jon that way!" Theon said, fuming.
"No, you only use the poor boy to hurt his brother."
"Poor boy?" Theon snorts back with reckless scorn in his voice. "Do not speak as if you give a single greasy fuck about Jon!"
The slap sends an explosion of pain throughout the left side of Theon's face, and the impact almost knocks him off-balance. If he'd been thinking clearly, if he hadn't lost his temper, he would have seen the blow coming and braced himself. If he'd been thinking at all he would not have said anything to provoke Lady Stark in the first place. It was a mistake. Even now, she could have him locked away, or caned for speaking to her so.
"Your vulgarity will not be tolerated here!" Lady Stark snarled in Theon's face. A seething rage flamed brightly in her eyes. "I care because bastard or not he is the son of the Overlord of Winterfell! And I will not have someone like you make a mockery of that. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, My Lady," Theon said stiffly, and the words made the stinging in his cheek and jaw sizzle hot with pain.
"Now, get out," Lady Stark said, her tone dry as tinder, and with just as much potential to catch fire at the smallest spark.
Theon turned and headed for the door—his hands still twisted up in his skirt.
"And Quenlyn," Lady Stark said bringing Theon to a stop as his hand reached for the door. "You will be in line to meet the king's entry into Winterfell. You will attend the feast and shall not retire until I have given you leave to do so."
Theon swallowed, then:
"Yes, My Lady."