Theon did all he could to not dwell on the bleakness the future held.
He used the training yard until he was ready to collapse with exhaustion. When he wasn't training, he took lessons with Luwin for however long the old maester would allow him to camp in his tower. If the maester was too busy managing Winterfell in Lady Stark's stead Theon played his lute, or he read, or he sewed—he tried everything to distract himself and keep his fears from spinning out of control and ruling him once more. Yet his thoughts always strayed to what awaited beyond the Wall.
Too clearly did he remember the mindless stampede of the undead as they tried to overwhelm Theon and the Ironborn fighting beside him and strike Bran Stark down. As the hours went by there had been so many corpses scattered throughout the godswood, Theon lost count. Then the Night King and his White Walkers came. Theon will never forget how the Night King's soulless, pitiless eyes burned like smoldering blue coals as he looked through Theon to the wheelchair-bound prize behind him.
Theon remembered the broken lance shoved through his gut…
The horrors of that night will be a sweet dream if there's no one to warn the realm of the Others coming and rally the North to fight them. Theon knew he could not do it himself, and, by the Drowned God, did he want to warn any who would listen. But who would believe such mad ravings from one such as him? He was naught but a hostage, and a woman for all that. In the eyes of those Theon needed to warn he would look to be little more than a hysterical woman fearful of shadows, snarks, and grumpkins.
No. It had to be Jon. Jon Snow needed to be on the Wall if any of them were to survive, of that Theon was sure.
Jon, who earned the respect of not just the North, but also the free folk. Only Jon could win the love of Queen Daenerys and gather her armies and dragons to his cause. And those were just the deeds Theon knew of. There were rumors of Jon performing feats even greater.
Theon heard nothing about them from Jon. They did not speak on it at Dragonstone, nor when Theon returned to Winterfell after he rescued Yara from their uncle. Jon only spoke to him as they planned the Ironborn's defense of Bran in the godswood. Beyond that, they did not converse at all. Jon may have accepted Theon's presence in Winterfell, but his acceptance was tentative at best. Neither warm nor cold, just the mild middle between Lady Sansa's sweet kindness, and Arya's icy tolerance.
Few spoke to Theon after he returned to Winterfell to fight for the living. Fewer still could stand to be near him, let alone gossip with him, but Theon learned well how to make himself invisible. He skulked in and out of the shadows, unseen and silent as he overheard splinters of the stories told of Jon's exploits on the Wall and beyond. From Whitetree to Storrold's Point.
The free folk spoke of how Jon allowed them to cross the Wall to safety by the tens of thousands after the massacre at Hardhome, somehow repudiating millennia of animosity between the wildlings and the Watch. None had been more vocal than the ginger, half-giant wildling who swore Jon had even risen from the dead to protect them. Theon also listened to Jon's black brothers tell of his fraught rise to Lord Commander. How, without Jon's leadership, they would have died many times over, and the Wall lost long before the Night King claimed Daenerys's dragon.
What happens to all that now? Theon had no idea, and the terrible uncertainty of it near drove him to madness. So much so that when the catspaw attacked Lady Stark in Bran's room Theon barely took notice. He'd assumed the woman escaped with only deep cuts on her hands same as last time. That she was meant to survive. But when Lady Stark called them together a day later to announce her departure from Winterfell and he saw how the nature of Catelyn's injury changed, Theon was confronted with his blunder.
Theon was confused as to why Catelyn summoned him with the others. Of what use was he to the situation Catelyn was about to set into motion? The woman trusted 'Quenlyn' less than she trusted Theon.
Theon did remember, however vaguely, Lady Stark's request to meet with himself, Robb, Maester Luwin, and Ser Rodrik in that other time. He'd felt honored to be included at the time, but had come to understand he was summoned to the meeting only because Catelyn knew Robb would tell him all that was said anyway. Theon could only think the same was true now as he and Jon followed the well-worn path through the godswood to the small clearing where the conspiratorial gathering was to take place. They walked there in silence, and despite their recent falling out, Theon desperately wanted to ask Jon why he stayed in Winterfell. But he didn't know if Jon ever considered going to the Wall in the first place, and Theon feared such a question could unbalance his relationship with Jon even further.
He and Jon were last to arrive, and the same players stood in the clearing not far from the weirwood tree. Lady Stark stood before the others, elevated by a small mound of earth raised by the roots of a fallen tree covered in vibrant green moss. As he approached the group, Theon nodded to Robb who gazed back with expressionless eyes and a blank face. They had not spoken since the night in Lichyard, and the bitter pit Theon had dug between them seemed a valley-wide. Theon quickly looked away and greeted the others with nods as well, as much out of courtesy as an excuse to not look at blue eyes that stared right through him.
After Lady Stark swore all present to secrecy, she recounted the murder attempt in Bran's room. Theon listened, the woman's words becoming more familiar the more she spoke, until she began to describe the moments before the catspaw attacked her.
"The man stunk of horses," Catelyn said. "If not for the smell of him, I would not have noticed his presence until it was too late."
Lady Stark unconsciously brought her hand to her throat, drawing Theon's attention to the wrappings around her neck, which were well-hidden by the high collar of her gown and fur stole. Theon looked to her hands and expected to see them wrapped in bandages as well, but Lady Stark's pale, delicate hands were undamaged. That wasn't right.
In truth, Theon had all but forgotten the attack on Lady Stark and Bran. A lot that happened before the war, before Ramsay, seemed far away and hazy in his memory. Even the recent assassination attempt after it was done only sparked a distant recollection. After the attack Theon felt little need to berate himself for not recalling in time—it wasn't as though he could have prevented it from happening anyway. Except more things changed that shouldn't have.
Before, Lady Stark cut her hands to the bone when she caught the Valarian knife with her bare hands to stop the killer from opening her throat. Fierce as she was, the shock and blood loss had laid Catelyn out for days. Yet here they all stood, only a day later instead of four, and Lady Stark would carry a scar on her neck and not on her hands for the rest of her life.
First Jon and now Lady Stark afflicted with a far more dangerous injury…
Should I have anticipated more changes? Was I too careless? Theon felt a chill run through him and fixed his gaze on the white bandages around Catelyn's neck. What if she had died? Theon covered his mouth as heat and bile bubbled in the pit of his stomach. What if the killer had gotten to Bran?
No. No. Summer was there. The direwolf would protect Bran just as before and did this time. It was cold comfort to think so, but it was comfort nevertheless, and Theon held it tightly.
I forgot. Stranger take me! Because I forgot, Catelyn might have died. I mustn't allow something like it to happen a—
"Lady Quenlyn!"
Theon's head snapped up at the sound of Lady Stark's raised voice. The woman's gaze bore into him, clearly displeased at being ignored. "While I am away from Winterfell, you will make yourself useful and take over household duties. With Maester Luwin's guidance."
Theon let his hand drop from his mouth. "Y-Yes, My Lady. I will do my—"
"It's too dangerous, Mother! And what about Bran?" Robb said.
Catelyn sighed, the pain spelled out with every new line on her face, written in the language of little sleep and endless worry, was easily read.
"I have done everything I can for Bran," Lady Stark said. "I have prayed to the Seven for a month. His life is in the hands of the gods and Maester Luwin. I have other children to think of now and they are left wide open to Lannister scheming. I must go."
That seemed to put an end to the meeting and Maester Luwin took Catelyn's hand as she stepped from the mound. Then her gaze fell on Jon, who stood well back from the circle of them. Lady Stark's brow furrowed deeply, and her lips tightened bitterly. For a tense moment, Theon did not think the woman would speak to Jon.
"I expect you to make yourself useful as well," Lady Stark said to Jon as she strolled past without looking at him.
"Yes, Lady Stark," Jon replied stiffly.
Ser Rodrik and Luwin followed Lady Stark, leaving Theon, Robb, and Jon alone in the small clearing.
Robb's face was constricted into a mask of fury. His eyes did not just blaze with anger, but doubt and fear as well. It made him look so much younger than his fourteen, soon fifteen years, at that moment.
"Robb, I just want to say—"
Robb's gaze shifted to Theon and the rage in his eyes seemed to ignite and glow even hotter.
"I have no time for you!" Robb barked before he turned and stalked away with enough speed to billow his cloak. "Come on, Jon."
Jon's eyes met Theon's before he gave a brief nod, but his head did not come back up as he turned and followed behind Robb.
Theon gritted his teeth and squeezed his hands into tight fists while he watched them go. He would not cry. He refused to allow himself to even feel like crying.
"This is what you wanted," he said to the empty clearing. "Will you weep like a babe now that you finally did something full right? Take your bow, oh, Prince of Winterfell."
Theon giggled to himself and bent at the hips the way a mummer did at the end of a stageplay, then he straightened and took his time following the path out of the godswood.
Lady Stark is twelve days gone from Winterfell when Bran awoke. Theon cannot remember if it is the same as before, but what is the same is Bran cannot make use of his legs. And the boy still names his direwolf Summer.
Theon used Lady Stark's command to manage Winterfell to avoid visits to Bran after he wakes. He could have saved the boy and didn't, and his shame was too tall a mountain to overcome. So, he sat behind Lady Stark's desk, ignoring the indignity he felt breaking the oath he swore to himself to never sit in the room again and buried himself in the work she left behind.
Rarely he did leave the solar, when he did, it was to shadow Maester Luwin and learn from him. Catelyn had taught Theon most of what was required to run Winterfell in times of peace but taught him almost nothing when it came to preparing the castle for war. Preparations Luwin had quietly begun making, though he had said nothing of it to Robb.
"If Lady Stark is correct, and she and Lord Stark uncover a plot in the capital, then it is only a matter of time before the realm is at war again," Luwin said. "We must prepare for any eventuality. Let us pray to all the gods, old and new, I'm just being a paranoid old fool."
Luwin gave Theon many books to review concerning sieges and long-term rationing after they were finished with their daily tasks. When Theon was done with those lessons, Luwin tested him on what he learned. If Theon did well enough, he was given more books and the process began anew.
Theon lost himself in the routine of reading books and taking notes to memorize what he needed to know. Even going so far as to take all his meals in the solar. The monotony of it was soothing and calmed the bellicose hum of disquiet in his head.
What finally broke the comfort of Theon's delightful tedium was Tyrion Lannister's return to Winterfell.
When Jon came to pull Theon away from their work, Theon was behind Lady Stark's desk, and Maester Luwin sat opposite him listing from memory potential staff to replace those gone to King's Landing. Theon assented or vetoed Luwin's suggestions based on the coin in Winterfell's treasury. He'd had to refuse a good number of Luwin's recommendations thus far because too many would have to be transplanted from distant holds and towns. The cost of hiring them on top of transporting them to Winterfell was extravagant. Too extravagant, especially with war just on the horizon.
"I understand the need to keep our spending low, lady Quenlyn, but much-needed labor is not getting done in the castle. The longer it's put off the more difficult and more expensive it will be to right in the future," Luwin said.
Theon nodded. "I agree, Maester Luwin," he said, "but if we can find replacement staff locally for a third of the cost of hiring them afield, should we not make the effort to search harder? I balk at throwing nearly a hundred Dragons into the sea with a long winter, and likely war, so near. Better to spend bolstering our granaries and larders, I say."
"I hear archmaester Ch'Vyalthan's words coming out of your mouth, my lady," Luwin said. "Perhaps I should not have given you his works to study. He did tend to be alarmist."
"You yourself suggested we should prepare for every eventuality, maester," Theon reminded him.
Luwin sighed. "Yes, but the skilled workers we require to keep Winterfell operating smoothly are not here, that is the truth of it. And there is no time to develop said workers. To delay much longer—"
A knock at the door interrupted the discussion. When Theon called for the newcomer to enter, Jon stepped into the solar. He was donned in a black leather cuirass layered over a dark grey wool tunic. Jon's banded trousers were also black, and so were his boots. The black cloak he wore over the rest had thick brown wolf fur around its collar.
"Pardon the interruption, lady Quenlyn, but your presence is required to welcome a guest when they reached Winterfell's walls."
"Who is this guest?" Luwin asked.
"Lord Tyrion Lannister. He and his men ride through winter town and fast approach the castle," Jon answered.
Theon stilled in his chair. Tyrion Lannister. He should have expected the man's return but had forgotten it like he forgot the catspaw in Bran's room. Lord Tyrion's arrival meant the spark that would set the Riverlands on fire was only days away. A sennight at most.
"What need have you of me?" Theon asked with a steadiness he did not feel.
Jon seemed reluctant to meet Theon's eyes before he said, "Lord Robb… requests you act as Lady of Winterfell in Lady Stark's stead."
"What?" Theon asked, shocked.
Robb could have asked him to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Theon would find it less implausible. Managing the household hidden away in Lady Stark's solar was one thing, but Lady of Winterfell? Preposterous!
"I see," Luwin said.
Theon swung his gaze over to the maester. "I do not! It's ridiculous to ask such thing of me!"
Jon cleared his throat, drawing Theon's attention back to him. "Robb was not asking," he said.
Theon narrowed his eyes at Jon. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, lady Quenlyn, Master Robb is acting Lord of Winterfell, and you, as are we all, are compelled to obey his commands," Maester Luwin said.
Theon had known that. Of course, he did, because he'd been here before. It had rankled then, suddenly going from Robb's friend and equal down to his servant. Bound to obey his orders. Theon did not feel the burn of it as deeply now, not like last time, but it would take some getting used to being subordinate to Robb again.
Theon let his stare linger on Luwin. He thought of Ser Rodrik, too. Both men were more than twice Lord Stark's age and obeyed him with pride and distinction. Theon would do no less for Robb.
"Aye," Theon conceded. "But I still don't understand why he demands this of me."
"As a lord himself, and the son of a Lord Paramount, as well as brother to the Queen, Tyrion Lannister is to be afforded certain venerations. At the very least he must be received into Winterfell by one of equal standing to himself," Luwin said.
Yes, lord Tyrion is sure to be very impressed by a glorified hostage! Theon thought snidely.
"Else lord Tyrion might have more reason to suspect Lady Stark isn't in Winterfell," Jon added.
Theon nodded. They'd attempted a similar ruse last time, and Tyrion saw through their flimsy tale in an instant. It did not help a whit he already despised Theon and would not have believed the Ironborn if he swore the sky was blue. Theon had little reason to believe Tyrion will fall for their tricks this time either.
Still, a dangerous thought came to Theon. This meeting with Tyrion Lannister did offer an opportunity, one he could not dismiss. Not after Lady Stark's encounter with the catspaw showed him the events he once believed inviolate, could change without warning, with or without his interference.
"I am to tell him Lady Stark has taken ill, then," Theon said.
"He may accept such an explanation for her inattention, but try to avoid mentioning Lady Stark at all if you are able," Luwin suggested.
Theon nodded again as he stood. He smoothed out his skirt and cloak then walked over to Jon. It was the nearest he'd been to Jon since the day Lord Stark left with the king's host. It was fortunate, perhaps, that he was too nervous over his upcoming encounter with lord Tyrion to focus on the awkwardness between them.
"Lord Robb wants you to join him in the Great Hall as well, Maester Luwin," Jon said as they were leaving.
"Of course, of course."
Theon and Jon, as well as half a dozen guardsmen, stood ready to receive lord Tyrion at the East Gate. Still dreading his arrival, Theon hoped Tyrion stopped in winter town and had a tumble with Ros, or one of the other bawds, first. Anything to delay what could easily turn into a disastrous meeting, if the past is truly prologue. But the gods were not kind: twenty minutes later Tyrion and his three sworn swords rode into Winterfell.
Theon wasn't surprised to see a recognizable, but a much younger version of Tyrion ride towards them. Hardly four or five name days older than Theon, Tyrion had a disarmingly boyish look to him. Theon hoped this youthful version of Tyrion Lannister was far less prickly than the one he remembered.
The dwarf and his men drew closer and came to a stop more than an average man's length away, but none of the four dismounted. Tyrion favored Jon with a short nod of greeting before his green eyes, bright with interest, homed in on Theon. A surprised, but appreciative expression brightened the Lannister's face.
"Lord Snow, how good to see you again. And who may I ask is this vision of loveliness who stands before us?"
"Welcome back to Winterfell, lord Tyrion," Jon said. "May I introduce lady Quenlyn Greyjoy."
Tyrion tilted his head and leaned back in his modified saddle as Theon dipped into a low curtsey.
"Lord Tyrion, it is my most humble pleasure to welcome you into Winterfell," Theon said before he straightened and presented his most dazzling smile. The one Septa Mordane had him practice in front of the mirror a thousand times until it didn't look so feral.
"My lady, I heard tales of your beauty, but I am stunned to find the stories did not do you justice!"
"You are too kind, my lord," Theon said through clenched teeth. He had the feeling Tyrion was spreading a field of manure with his compliments since the man was not near so kind the first time they met.
"Not at all! Oh, where are my manners?" Tyrion said before he swept his arm towards one of the mounted men behind him. An older man with straight brown hair that went to his shoulders, and deep laugh-lines around the corners of his dark eyes, a broad nose, and a graying beard. "This is Yoren, a brother of the Night's Watch."
"Milady," Yoren said, nodding to Theon before he offered a shallower nod to Jon.
"Any man of the Night's Watch is most welcome in Winterfell, master Yoren," Theon said.
"Many thanks, milady."
"Now, I would like to speak with Robb Stark," Tyrion said. "There are important matters I would like to discuss."
After guest rights were granted to Tyrion, Yoren, and the sworn swords in the form of bread drenched in honey, Theon led them to the Great Hall. Jon parted from them to retrieve Bran at Robb's request. Theon glanced back at Tyrion, sure to smile each time, to see if there was a shift in the man's mood. But the dwarf's mien remained pleasant, even jovial, as the group came upon the large, heavy door to the Hall.
Robb and Luwin were sat at the high table when the small group entered. Robb was in full Stark regalia, and Luwin wore his normal maester's robe and chain. A dozen guardsmen lined the room, each armored and armed with swords and shields. Robb's sword, unsheathed, was laid over his armored knees.
"Lord Tyrion," Robb said and bowed his head stiffly. The only thing stiffer was Robb's following words. "What brings you to Winterfell?"
Tyrion craned his head to his left and then to his right, his gaze landing on every guard in the Hall. "I do recall receiving a much warmer welcome last I was here," the Lannister said, his tone as light as when he spoke with Theon and Jon at the gate.
"Lord Tyrion," Theon interjected before Robb could respond to Tyrion's observation. "You may remember when you first entered the Great hall, most here were quite drunk."
Tyrion looked up at Theon with a lopsided grin. "Ha! True enough. I may have been deep in my cups as well."
"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome as a guest here," Robb said with a respectful nod to Yoren who stood next to Tyrion.
Theon's eyes darted up to the high table then back to Tyrion. The words being exchanged between the two were starting to sound distressingly familiar. This was not going to end well, just as he thought.
The Lannister's grin shrank but did not go away as he peered intently at Robb. "So, I've heard. Any man of the Night's Watch, but not I? How curious."
"Why are you here?" Robb rumbled as he glared down at Tyrion.
"As Lord of Winterfell, you would do well to learn a Lord's curtesy, boy," Tyrion replied, all pretense at light-heartedness gone from him. Theon closed his eyes and tried not to sigh too heavily as he recalled Robb's next words exactly.
"I'm not your boy, Lannister!"
It was thankfully a moment later Jon entered the Great Hall carrying Bran in his arms.
"So, it's true," Tyrion said quietly as Jon brought Bran over to stand before the dwarf.
Theon forced himself to look on, though he wanted to put his gaze anywhere but on Bran and his limp, enfeebled legs.
"Hello, Bran. Do you remember anything about your fall?" Tyrion asked.
"He has no memory of that day," Maester Luwin said.
Tyrion's eyes studied Bran for a long moment. "Do you like to ride, Bran?" he asked.
"Yes," Bran said. "Well, I mean, I did like to."
"The boy has lost the use of his legs, lord Tyrion," said Luwin with a hint of impatience and condescension.
Tyrion craned his head in the maester's direction. "What of it? With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride," Tyrion said with a gruff, irritated tone.
"I'm not a cripple!" Bran protested loudly.
"Then I'm not a dwarf!" Tyrion scoffed. "My father will rejoice to hear it."
Tyrion reach under his cloak and revealed a rolled scroll bound by a ribbon, then handed it to the boy.
"I have a gift for you. Give that to your saddler. He'll provide the rest." Tyrion directed the rest at the high table as Bran unfurled the scroll. "You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reins and to the boy's voice."
Bran looked up from the unrolled scroll in his hands, his eyes bright and hopeful when he said: "Will I really be able to ride once more?"
"You will. On horseback, you will be as tall as any of them!" Tyrion replied with a proud grin.
"Is this some kind of trick?" Robb said. "Why do you want to help him?"
Tyrion's expression turned sour again and he glared up at Robb. "I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things."
Robb's expression softened slightly as he took in Tyrion's words. "You've done my brother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours," he said.
"Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark," Tyrion snapped. "There's a brothel outside your walls. There I'll find a bed and both of us can sleep easier."
"You are in the presence of a lady, lord Tyrion," Robb growled back. "Mind your tongue!"
"Forgive me, lady Greyjoy. I meant no disrespect," Tyrion said before offering an apologetic bow.
"Think nothing of it, my Lord. Please reconsider staying in Winterfell, at least for tonight," Theon said, hoping to salvage something from this benighted reunion.
"Alas, my lady, no. Though I may be a lowly, ill-mannered imp, I do know when to take a hint."
With that, Tyrion turned and strolled unhurriedly out of the Hall, his sworn swords trailing behind him. Theon cast a glance at Robb, who sat glaring furiously at the little man's retreating back. Theon then caught Luwin's eye and when the maester gave him a subtle nod, Theon turned and rushed to catch up to the Lannister.
Tyrion and his men were already astride their horses and aimed at the gate when Theon intercepted them. He wanted to try one more time to ease tensions, and convince Tyrion to spend a few days in Winterfell, perhaps even a sennight. Theon was certain doing so would not violate the demon's non-interference rules. He was asked to act as Lady of Winterfell, after all. It was his duty to do as Lady Stark would in this situation, and to Theon that meant upholding decorum to the best of his ability.
"Lord Tyrion, again, won't you reconsider. Lord Stark—Robb—truly offers the hospitality of Winterfell to you and your men for as long as you wish to stay within its walls," Theon said, demurely clasping his hands over his abdomen the way he was taught.
"Does he?"
"Yes."
"I am far less convinced of that, my lady. Your Lord Robb doesn't seem to like Lannisters very much."
"I assure you that is not the case."
Tyrion tilted his head to the side before a sly little smile found his lips. "Alright, my lady, I shall consider remaining in Winterfell," he said.
"Thank you, my—"
"If you answer one simple question to my satisfaction."
"If I can, I will."
"Why was Lady Stark not here to receive me?"
"She's not been feeling well," Theon said and was not surprised by Tyrion's reply.
"Come now, lady Greyjoy. She's not in Winterfell, is she? Where did she go?"
"That's three questions, lord Tyrion," Theon said, and the man chuckled. "And you are mistaken. No one spent more time at Bran's bedside than My Lady. Day and night with little rest. Now that he has recovered, she needs time to recover her strength as well."
"As you did?"
"I'm sorry? What do you mean?"
"As I recall, you fell ill recently, did you not? Same malady?"
"I… um… I… That was… Not… I..." Theon said sputtered, confused as to why Tyrion would have noticed or cared about such a thing.
"You are quite fetching when caught off guard, lady Quenlyn," Tyrion said grinning broadly. "Forgive me: I did not mean to pry. Never mind, then. I shall take my leave. When you see Lady Stark next, please tell her I wish her a speedy recovery."
Knowing he'd lost the encounter and would not convince Tyrion to remain in the castle, Theon closed his mouth, nodded, and stepped aside. Tyrion's expression sobered and he returned the nod, then with gentle command spurred his horse forward. Theon's hands trembled as he watched Tyrion and his sworn swords exit Winterfell.