Greyjoys knew rebellion, and though they had yet to win one, it was a subject on which they had plenty first-hand knowledge.
And Theon did rebel—by obeying Lady Stark in the way of his own choosing.
Theon waited until the last moment to take his place between Jon and Jory. When Lady Stark looked back and saw what Theon wore, the woman's glower could have rusted armor. Theon bit back a defiant grin. Even if Catelyn wanted to send him back to change, it was too late.
Theon was going to get away with proudly, unashamedly, wearing Daenerys Targaryen's black royal dress—trousers, heeled boots, and all.
Theon had planned to wear the dress if Robb sent him to treat with Balon Greyjoy. The Dragon Queen looked incredibly impressive to Theon when she wore it, and he hoped to steal some of that luster for himself when he stood before his father again. To feel like he had three dragons at his back, and nothing in the world to fear.
The best part about wearing the royal dress was that it belonged to a Targaryen. One of the dragonspawn Robert Baratheon so deeply despised. Theon would be flaunting it right in front of his face, and the man would never know it—because he would be long dead before Daenerys flew Drogon over Westeros.
"Where have you been?" Jon whispered from the corner of his mouth. Then glancing side-ways down at Theon, Jon asked: "What are you wearing?"
Theon peered over at Jon and flipped one of the skirt's splits up with his hand and waved it. "What? Still counts as a dress. See?"
"Lady Stark is going to kill you."
"Aye, but she'll be too busy kissing royal ass today to worry herself about an Ironborn whore any time soon," Theon said through clenched teeth as he stared at Lady Stark's rigid back.
"What—"
The rumble of dozens of horse hooves beating against the dirt signaled the arrival of the royal procession, and armored men on horses thundered towards them. Half carried banners for House Baratheon, and the other half carried for House Lannister. As more and more newcomers arrived nearly every inhabitant of Winterfell looked on with overwhelming awe. Theon had been taken by all the grandeur the first time too, but now all he could see when he looked at the men in white cloaks and shining golden armor marching through Winterfell was death and betrayal. Interlopers who only came to destroy and corrupt his home with the poison they brought with them from King's Landing.
When the king finally appeared before the Starks riding in on his black steed, Lord Stark knelt, and all of Winterfell followed suit. Kneeling to Baratheon made Theon sick, but he bent the knee all the same. After the king allowed everyone to stand, Theon focused his attention away from Baratheon and on the rest of the royal family.
Lannisters were all younger than the first time Theon laid eyes on them. Joffrey's regressed age was the most disconcerting. The oldest of the Lannister twin's children was no longer Robb or Jon's peer, Joffrey appeared to be closer to Sansa's age of one and ten instead. Theon had to admit, even knowing what cruelties the boy was capable of, it was hard to recognize the rot beneath Joffrey's boyish appearance.
When Robert demanded Lord Stark take him to the crypts, the receiving line broke apart, leaving those in attendance not named Stark free to go where they pleased. Theon wasted little time sauntering away, but not before once again defiantly meeting Lady Stark's furious stare. A stare that told Theon he would pay for wearing something so inappropriate in front of the royal family, but Theon cared not. He dipped into a perfect curtsy, then straightened and walked away with his head held high and ignored the stares Daenerys's clothes attracted.
"Quinn!"
Theon stopped and turned around just as Jon caught up to him. It made Theon feel uncomfortable how young Jon appeared groomed and clean-shaven. He looked as he did when he was twelve.
"What were you talking about back there? Who called you a whore?" Jon growled. When Jon was angry, which was often, his voice deepened and sounded like Lord Stark's more every day.
"No one called me a whore," Theon answered truthfully.
Only implied it.
"Then why—?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm just in ill-temper, I suppose."
"Did a foul mood make you dress like that?" Jon asked his eyes sliding down and up Theon's dress as well as the rest of him.
Theon smiled knowingly. "Have complaints about the way I'm dressed do you, Jon? What don't you like?"
"I didn't mean—I do like—!" Jon said, looking very abashed.
"Don't worry about it, Jon."
Theon turned to go back to his chambers to wait out the rest of the day until the feast. He didn't want to encounter the king or any of his ilk until then. Just knowing these people were in Winterfell did little to put Theon at ease.
"Quinn, wait."
When Theon turned around Jon was looking at him with those dark gray eyes that were filled with nervous energy, and his mouth was slightly parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn't force the words to come out. When Jon licked his lips, Theon had to turn away.
"Tonight, at the feast, I would like to be your first dance partner," Jon said.
Surprised, Theon looked at Jon with confusion. "The feast? But Lady—"
Theon glanced behind Jon and over at Lady Stark who was trying to engage in small talk with the queen, but Queen Cersei's bored expression made it clear she had no desire to say more than a few polite words to hold up her end of the conversation. Lady Stark knew what a cold shoulder looked like and most certainly noticed the queen's floundering interest. Catelyn was a well-trained lady, however, and valiantly kept up all the niceties expected of her with admirable perseverance and a well-mannered smile.
She hasn't told Jon she doesn't want him at the feast yet, Theon realized.
Theon looked back at Jon's hopeful expression, and he had to fight to keep his own expression from showing the pity he felt for him because he knew Jon wouldn't want any part of Theon feeling sorry for him.
Theon grabbed Jon's hand. "Come with me," he said and began pulling Jon through the castle grounds, towards the godswood.
As they neared the godswood, Jon rubbed the pad of his callused thumb against the heel of Theon's palm, and a shiver went up Theon's spine. Theon almost pulled his hand free; the words Lady Stark's said to him in the solar was still fresh in his thoughts.
Once he and Jon were deep enough into the woods they stopped in front of a lone Soldier pine that was surrounded by wilting hawthorns trees. The ground was carpeted with the white petals, and small blood-red fruit from the hawthorns crunched and squished under their boots. Theon let go of Jon's hand and made sure to walk a few steps away before he turned to face him. He put one arm behind his back and gripped it above the elbow with his other hand and squeezed tightly. He'd not have any more awkward too close for comfort moments this time.
"Jon, Lady Stark won't allow you to attend the feast tonight."
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
"Then why have me…" Theon watched Jon's face go from disbelief to weary acceptance in such a short span Theon nearly missed the transition. "Of course not. What was I thinking, fool that I am?"
Is this when he decides to go to the Wall? Is being turned aside for this damnable feast the final insult Jon cannot bear? Theon wondered.
"You are no fool to want to be with your family, Jon."
Jon hardly looks convinced, but he nods, with a look so somber it's like looking at Lord Stark. Theon hates seeing the raw, naked pain in Jon's eyes. He used to think he could ease Jon's unhappiness with boundless kindness, but despite his best efforts, Jon has become the sulky, love-starved boy Theon knew from before. The sweet, shy smiles Theon used to draw from Jon when they were children were precious and rarely seen now. And every whispered slight, from any direction, cuts the boy deep—and Lady Stark cuts the deepest without saying a word.
"How about I meet you back here for that dance?" Theon offers.
Instead of brightening with a smile, Jon's face darkens with a scowl.
"Away from where anyone else can see," Jon said, and his words sound like an accusation.
"Jon—"
"You'll dance with Robb in the Great Hall, won't you?" Jon asked.
"Jon, don't," Theon said, near to pleading.
Jon took a step closer—his gaze was intense and penetrating, and Theon wants to crawl into himself to hide from it.
"You know how I feel about you."
"I know you're too young," Theon said, jutting out his chin and shaking his head, "and you don't know what you want."
Jon came closer and slowly raised his hand towards Theon. His gaze studied Theon's face, watching for any indication he will avoid Jon's touch. When Theon doesn't flinch away, Jon brushed Theon's hair back, his long callused fingers brushing over the shell of Theon's ear, then down his neck. Theon held his breath and suppressed a shudder—he couldn't let himself react to Jon's touch. Because if he does, Theon knows they will be lost.
Jon lowered his arm and said, "Don't tell me what I want."
Jon looked at Theon, his eyes glittering with defiance—daring Theon to contradict what he said. There was such weight to Jon's stare, far too heavy for Theon to endure—he broke first and turned away.
"Do you feel anything for me?" Jon asked.
"I—I…" Theon stammered, his heart thundering his chest.
Jon hastens to him, his hands cradling Theon's face as he leans in closer. Theon can smell leather, wolf fur, and Jon's skin. Theon looked up into Jon's eyes and saw in them hunger for the words he longed to hear, and the fear he wouldn't.
"Tell me you don't feel for me the way I feel for you, and I will trouble you no more."
As Jon leans in closer, Theon feels his breasts heaving against the solid wall that is Jon's chest. His eyes flick down to Jon's lush, pink lips as they come closer and closer to his own. Jon's breath puffing out warm and gentle against Theon's mouth.
Theon parts his lips and closes them again, not knowing what to say, or what to do to stop what was about to happen without hurting Jon. But stop it he must. Theon cannot allow it to go any further.
"You're like a brother to me," Theon said, and Jon's lips freeze so close to Theon's Theon can almost taste them.
Jon pulled back, and before he turned away Theon saw the look on his beautiful face. The hurt, the complete destruction of his hope—and it shredded Theon's insides.
"So be it," Jon says softly before he stiffly marches away, and leaves Theon standing alone in the godswood.
When he's sure Jon is gone, Theon turned to the pine bowed his head, and braced his arms against its trunk. While he tries to catch his breath, his fingers claw at the dry, rough bark until his nails become jagged and almost crack. Theon's heart isn't racing anymore—instead, it feels like an excruciating lump of flesh constricting tighter and tighter in his chest. He put his trembling hand to where he felt the pain and curled his fingers into a fist and pressed it against his breast.
Gods, it hurts!
Theon doesn't notice he's crying until the tears on his face are chilled by the cold in the air.
I had to. I had to!
The thought screams through Theon's mind even as his heart rebels against the idea he ever needed to hurt Jon—not after all Jon had done for him.
I can't keep him here. I have no other choice. I have to let him go.
Theon lowered his hands from the pine and wiped away his cold tears. He straightened and waited until his chest didn't feel so tight, and he when he could breathe without needing to swallow back sobs. Then he turned and slowly made his way out of the godswood.