He finds Septa Mordane in her quarters. The door to the septa's cell was open, as she packed what appeared to be the last of her belongings into one of two tan, leather-skinned chests that sat near the door. Two burley Winterfell servants stood outside the room waiting to carry the chests to the caravan.
"Lady Quenlyn," Mordane said, a faint look of surprise on her wrinkled face when she noticed Theon.
Septa looks Theon over with the grace of one who has refined her ability to take in the entirety of someone's appearance without looking rude, but the woman's eyes crinkle for an instant and betray what she thinks when she sees Theon.
Theon knows he still looks terrible. A single night of restless sleep nor the paints and powders he applied can entirely conceal how disturbingly narrow his cheeks are, or the dark, sunken skin around his eyes, nor his sickly gray complexion. Theon's black cloak and gown at least conceal how thin he's become.
"Septa Mordane," Theon says awkwardly, grateful he's clutching the case he's brought with him. His hands would be shaking otherwise, and he wouldn't be able to stop them.
"Well, don't just stand there gawking, come inside," Mordane says, though her tone isn't as biting as her words. Theon stepped into the room with a stiff gait not as confident as he'd been before he left his quarters.
Theon had come to respect Mordane over the years. He'd also depended on her in many ways, though the septa had kept him at arm's length. Her duty was to Sansa and Arya first and foremost, and Theon's shaky relationship with Lady Stark made Mordane cautious about how friendly she was to him in the open. Theon understood and he too held himself distant from Mordane, fully aware of the limitations of their connection. But now she journeyed to King's Landing, and Theon couldn't act as though what awaited Mordane mattered not to him—that his heart did not ache.
"This is a surprise. I was certain I'd not see you again before leaving Winterfell," Mordane said, her tone stern but Theon saw a flicker of concern in her stone gray eyes, and it warmed him.
"Thought you'd seen the back of me for the last time, had you?" Theon said, trying for his usual glibness. "Sorry to say, but you must suffer my impertinence a few moments longer."
"Gods be good," Mordane said with a long-suffering sigh.
Theon came deeper into the room, walking past Mordane and over to the humble little bed pushed into the corner of the chambers. The case he held near covered half the bed's surface when he placed it on top.
"What's this?" Mordane asked joining Theon by the bed.
"I wanted to gift you these before you off to the capital," Theon replied as he unlatched the case and swung the lid open.
Carefully he laid out three silk twill robes with matching habits on the bed. One set is a light amethyst, the second a deep burgundy red. The last is white and a gentle powder blue, similar to the robe and habits Mordane normally wore. The robes are simply made, put together with more twill than silk, for Theon knows no septa, and certainly not Mordane would wear anything as extravagant pure silken robes. The twill weave makes up the entirety of the tunics, so they are firm and heavy, but the wimples are fine silk—soft, light, and breathable.
Mordane looked away from the robes and at Theon. "You made them yourself?"
"I did."
"I—I cannot accept these," Mordane says. "It would be unseemly for godsworn to wear such finery."
"You speak as though they are trimmed in gold and sparkle with rubies," Theon replied with a wry smile. "I took great care to keep their design tasteful and modest."
Mordane ran her hand over the burgundy robe and Theon noticed the corner of the woman's mouth tick upward just for a second.
"I suppose I could wear them on special occasions."
Mordane turned to Theon, and he thought he might have seen the glimmering of tears, but the shine disappears after the woman blinks twice. Still, Mordane's expression relaxes, and the gentleness of it smooths her wrinkles, and she looks almost as young as when Theon first met her.
"These are wonderful gifts, thank you."
"You are very welcome. Please consider them an offering to make up for my unladylike behavior over the years."
"And what recompense will you offer for aiding in Lady Arya's unladylike conduct?" Mordane asked, shooting a quick glance at the case on the bed, and what lie inside.
"I don't know what you mean," Theon said, failing to hold back a grin.
Mordane pursed her thin lips and peered at Theon with an edge of disapproval. "Honestly, it's a wonder you've become half a decent lady, insolent as you are."
The smile on Theon's face melted and tears burned in his eyes. "Aye, and I have you most to thank for that."
"Lady Quenlyn—"
"Septa Mordane, will you allow me to embrace you?"
Theon's chest clenches when it looks as though Mordane will refuse, and he steels himself. The woman owes him nothing and Theon knows it. So, when she gives him a curt nod, Theon's vision blurs with grateful tears.
As he hugs Mordane, Theon tries only to think of how she smells like burning candles and dry wool. She feels surprisingly warm and plump in his arms, and it reminds him of his mother before the Rebellion. Before the terror and grief sapped away her strength and winnowed her down to a thin, cold shadow of the woman she once was. Most of all, Mordane feels alive. So very alive, and it's how Theon wants to always remember her.
When they come apart and Mordane grips Theon's forearms and holds him still before he can pull fully away.
"Tell me true, Quinn," Mordane said, and Theon flinched. Surprised to hear the woman use his nickname. Something she's never done before.
"Why do you act as though you will never see me again, girl?"
Because I won't, Theon thinks, but locks the words behind his lips, though he can't stop the tears in his eyes from escaping.
"No, no, I—it's just… it will be years before we meet again. It saddens me. That's all," Theon said.
"You aren't the liar you think you are, girl," Mordane said then raised her hand when Theon started to protest. "I will pry no further, but whatever your troubles, Quenlyn, know that I believe you are equal to meet them."
Theon pulled Mordane into another embrace and squeezed for all he was worth.
"Enough of that," Mordane said, gently pushing Theon back, but it doesn't hurt—he knows he might never have let the woman go otherwise. "I must finish packing. I've kept these men waiting long enough."
"Then I will leave you to it, Septa Mordane," Theon said with far more poise than he felt.
"Farewell, lady Quenlyn."
"Farewell."
Half of the king's host had already filed out of Winterfell, including King Robert himself and the rest of the royal family. Who remained consisted mostly of a few stray Red Cloaks on horses lagging behind those who'd gone ahead, and the hundred or so from Winterfell who would take the journey to King's Landing and make up the Stark's household in the capital.
Theon carried the varnished box in arms as he maneuvered through the throng, searching the busy crowd for dark, messy braids. When Theon found Arya, the girl stood near a wagon three times as tall as she was, and she watched two Gray Cloaks load chests onto the bed one after another. Nymeria sat on her haunches not far from Arya, looking on with less interest than her young master showed.
"Arya," Theon hailed as he approached.
When Arya turned to look at him, Theon noticed the girl's face light up for just a moment before closing down just as quickly.
"Are… Are you feeling better?" Arya asked with cautious hesitation in her voice.
Theon smiled. "Yes, I am," he answered with a firm nod.
Theon knew why Arya was wary of him. He'd known what Arya and all the Stark children had gone through before Lord Stark, Sansa, and Arya left for King's Landing. Robb spoke on how his mother was too distracted by Bran's injury to give her daughters a heartfelt goodbye. The grieving woman in her own way was near as gone from the world as Bran was after his fall. Arya tried to tell Theon the night before, but he hadn't remembered and he didn't listen. Too caught up in his own guilt and sorrow to notice the girl was also hurting. He'd let her down.
Theon knelt and put the case on the ground. When he opened it, he revealed child-sized all-black, training leathers. There was also a black hooded cloak and a belt with two detachable sheaths inside: one for a short sword, the other for a knife.
"These are for you," Theon said.
Arya dropped to her knees in front of the case and Theon. "Truly?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise and delight.
"Yes."
"They're just like yours," Arya said.
Almost. Theon made Arya's training clothes roomier than his had been and added four long splits to form a half kilt around the waist of the trousers. The training leathers looked more akin to Robb and Jon's than to Theon's.
Arya snatched up the belt and attached leather sheaths with a little gasp. "Why have you given me these?" she asked.
Theon gave the girl a sly grin. "Well, you never know. Mayhap Lord Stark will let you train with a sword one day. Or a needle."
"How did you—?" Arya gasped, but Theon held his finger to his lips.
Arya grinned before she threw herself against Theon and wrapped her thin little arms around his neck.
"Thank you!"
"You're welcome." Theon curled his arms around the girl and held her tightly. "I will miss you."
"I'll miss you, too."
Theon pulled back and place his palm against Arya's cheek and locked eyes with the girl. "And I love you very, very much," he said, and speaking words he hasn't said to anyone since he left the Iron Islands don't feel like the wind. He meant them with his whole heart and hoped to say them again to Arya one day.
Theon set the girl aside, reached down and closed the case then stood and handed it to her. "Now hurry. Put this with the rest of your things before the wagon leaves," Theon said.
Arya nodded then took off toward the wagon only to halt partway. She turned around and trotted back to Theon, her cheeks glowed red as she gazed up at him shyly under her eyelashes. She took a deep breath then blurted out in a rush of words: "I love you too!"
Still flushing furiously, Arya turned and ran to the wagon. She placed the case inside one of the chests yet to be loaded then called out to Nymeria and hurried toward the stables. The tearful smile on Theon's face faded when he saw the girl join her father, who held two horses, one a white stallion, and the other a young brown pony, by their reins. Lord Stark's grim expression softened at Arya's approach—his tired face for just a few moments free of worry and sadness.
Theon watched Eddard lift Arya and place her on the pony before climbing onto his stallion. The pair guided their steeds over to join the retinue filing out of Winterfell through the East Gate. As they passed by, Arya waved to Theon, and he waved back. Lord Stark caught Theon's eye and inclined his head. Ignoring the pang in his gut, Theon forced his lips into a rickety smile, bowed his head, and gave Lord Stark a deep curtsy.
It wasn't goodbye enough, but it was more than what he and Eddard shared the first time. Theon had been glad to see the man gone from Winterfell then; relieved not to feel the cold shadow of Ice hovering over his neck for the first time in years.
I should have tried to give the man a better send-off this time around, Theon thought, guilty conscious be damned! Because like Mordane, and Jory, and so many others—too many others—Theon would never see Lord Stark again. And Theon would mourn the man, in his own way, just as deeply.
Theon raised his head and watched the two Starks, and Nymeria, who loped behind Arya's nervous little pony until all three moved past the gate. Theon folded his forearms over his stomach and made himself breathe slowly, so he could control the dreadful panic welling up inside him. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to imagine anything other than visions of burned heads on pikes lined up along the walls of Traitors Walk.
"We'll see them again."
Theon opened his eyes and turned to see Jon standing beside him. Jon was staring at the gate Eddard and Arya went through, his expression deceivingly stolid, yet his Stark gray eyes betrayed unmistakable tenderness.
"You—You… You're here?" Theon said.
Jon turned to Theon, the warmth in his stare when he watched Arya and Lord Stark leave dimmed noticeably.
"Where else would I be?" Jon said.
Before Theon could think of something to say, Jon gave him a polite nod, the rebuke in it clear, before he turned and started to walk away. Theon wanted to call to Jon, to say goodbye, or say he was sorry, but part of him knew he should let what happened between them lie. He was right to do what he did in the godswood. If Theon had let his feelings run wild, it would have been a mistake that could have cost both their lives and doomed the entire realm.
I did the right thing, Theon assured himself. I have to believe I did the right thing.
Maybe, one day, after Jon comes back from the Wall Theon could try to make things better between them a—
Rickon smashed into Jon's leg then curled his tiny arms around Jon's knee. Shaggydog, already twice the little boy's size, trailed behind him like a shadow. He clung to his brother's leg and stared up at Jon with a playful grin on his round, freckled face.
"Hey, there," Jon said as he reached down and lifted the two-year-old into his arms. "Old Nan is supposed to be looking after you."
Rickon shook his head. "Wanna play," he said.
"Well, let's find Ghost, and then we can all play together," Jon replied bumping his forehead playfully against Rickon's.
Rickon laughed and nodded. It was as Jon was walking away, Shaggydog on his heels when Theon noticed how Jon was dressed. Jon wasn't wearing what he'd worn the day he left Winterfell the last time. He didn't wear the Stark's familiar leathers and armor, instead, he donned a black quilted leather jerkin, black trousers, boiled leather boots, and a dark gray, fur-line cloak. Jon wasn't outfitted for the long, cold journey to the Wall. Theon swept his gaze over the immediate area and didn't see Jon's stallion, which should be nearby waiting to be saddled and loaded with supplies.
"What is happening?" Theon whispered.
Where else would I be?
Jon isn't leaving Winterfell, Theon realized in such a daze of confusion that the sensation made his head swim.
"What is happening?"