A week after Tyrion Lannister rode away from winter town, riders returned Lady's bones to Winterfell.
Word came during their daily council meeting in the Great Hall, which consisted of Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, Theon, Robb, and Bran, who had recently begun joining them. The gatherings were usually brief, lasting less than an hour most days, rarely longer.
If Theon did not know what true torture was, he might have mistaken having to sit across from Robb Stark during the councils for its kin. He could not avoid the meetings, because as the interim Lady of Winterfell Theon was duty-bound to attend them. He might have tolerated the councils easier if by the end of them he didn't always have jangled nerves and deep, red, half-moon impressions from his fingernails on the inside of his palms.
Robb's hostility had reached the point where he talked around and over Theon, and if he spoke to Theon at all, he seemed not to have a relaxed word to say to him. Their conflict had become so blatant it even penetrated Bran's perpetual sullenness deeply enough for the boy to notice. So, Theon learned quickly to keep his own counsel and let Luwin or Ser Rodrik guide the topic of conversation, while he listened on quietly. Thus, leaving Robb free to ignore him without hindering the council's effectiveness. If Theon needed to discuss matters of true importance, then he went to Luwin and Rodrik later in private.
This method had worked well enough, and so far prevented their simmering tensions from completely disrupting the meetings. That is until they clashed over Robb wanting to hire a new steward suggested to him by Roose Bolton. Yet another change Theon could not discern the origin of.
Theon had no recollection of Roose ever making such an offer during the time before, but back then Theon had cared little about matters that did not concern him directly. He did remember Robb took on the role of steward until they headed south, whereupon Ser Rodrik became Winterfell's Castellon.
"My father and Roose Bolton fought side by side twice hence," Robb said in response to Theon's firm disagreement with hiring on Roose's man. Deigning to look at Theon for the first time since the council began. "House Bolton has been loyal to the Starks for a thousand years, I see no reason to discount nor mistrust Lord Bolton's nomination of the man Locke."
"This Locke holds no titles, Lord Stark," Theon said the words calmly, though he placed enough dangerous emphasis on 'Lord Stark,' to make Luwin and Ser Rodrik exchange nervous glances.
"What does that matter?" Robb said, a hint of warning in his voice because he too registered Theon's tone. "He's Bolton's Master at Arms, same as Ser Rodrik is to Winterfell. We need a steward and Lord Bolton swears the man competent to fill the position."
Theon glanced briefly to Ser Rodrik. "No disrespect meant to the ser, but Master at Arms is different from being steward," Theon said. "And you want to up jump this Locke and overlook someone of higher standing to run the Stark's seat of power?"
Robb's answering grin at once set Theon further on edge. "You didn't want to hire a lord from abroad because the expense of bringing them to Winterfell was too high. Now, you turn your nose up at taking in a qualified man who'll cost half as much." Robb shook his head. "This is very confusing. Are you still feeling unwell? Do you need to go lie down?"
For a long, tense minute no one spoke while Theon and Robb stared at each other. Theon glared at Robb who sat across from him, utterly relaxed in his father's chair. Looking at Theon with blue eyes that glimmered with mockery, and a careless grin on his face. Theon's posture was stiff as his body crackled and vibrated with bitterness, even as the heat of embarrassment radiated under every inch of his skin.
Robb so openly ridiculing the state Theon's black mood had put him in had struck a nerve made raw after Tyrion used the same to unbalance Theon. And on top of that, how well did the satisfied smirk on Robb's face remind Theon of Lady Stark's own. More mockery that poked and prodded at other stinging wounds left unhealed.
"Indeed, I am in good spirits and well-rested, My Lord Stark," Theon said finally, forcing a benign smile to his lips. "Though I do find the topic of hiring on Locke very tiresome."
The smirk on Robb's face melted as anger flashed in his eyes, and his lips thinned into a hard line. The arm he had resting on the high table tensed as he tightened his hand into a fist. Robb was angrier than Theon had ever seen him before, and Theon did not care one whit.
"If you wish to hire on Bolton's man, I, of course, cannot hinder your decision, My Lord," Theon went on to say, letting his smile turn sour as curdled milk. "However, I remind you many may see making Locke Winterfell's steward as an insult. Yes, as you say, the Boltons have been loyal, but more so than the Mormonts? The Reeds? The Umbers or Karstarks? The Manderlys, Glovers, and Cerwyns?"
Theon shook his head.
"No, I think not."
"Yet, you haven't gone to them, or any other house to find a steward," Robb charged. "Lord Bolton has—"
Theon knew he must be careful here. What he said next came to the razor's edge of breaking the demon's rules. But he was allowed to protect his own life was he not? Isn't that what the demon said?
Because Theon remembered Locke all too well.
Locke, as much as any man could be, was a friend to Ramsay Bolton. Even before he laid eyes on him, Theon heard Dreadfort servants say in hushed, terrified whispers how cruel and bloodthirsty the man had always been, and that his casual savagery was the sole reason Roose kept Locke on as one of his retainers. Locke also hated the highborn. He despised the airs they put on and how they looked down on commoners like himself. Theon suspected Locke had been closer to Ramsay than anyone else, despite Ramsay's half-noble birth, because they shared a passionate disdain for lords and ladies, and both took great pleasure in destroying them.
Theon would be a fool to allow a man Ramsay Snow saw as a kindred spirit anywhere near Winterfell, but if he went too far keeping Locke away, would the demon see it as meddling with fate? Or as Theon looking after his well-being? There was no way to really know, so he had to be mindful of where he trod
"The man has never been so accommodating before. Why now? What does he have to gain by recommending Locke to you?" Theon asked.
"How can you speak with such authority when it comes to the mind of Lord Bolton, and what motivates him?" Robb sneered.
Theon ignored Robb's upbraiding and decided to take a marginal risk. The gamble was small because Robb would need to send a raven to King's Landing if he wanted to disprove Theon's claims. Weeks would pass before a raven came back with a reply and whatever story Theon told Robb wouldn't matter; they'd have their steward by then.
"I know your father never trusted Roose Bolton to do more than the bare minimum to affirm his loyalty to House Stark."
Another assumption on Theon's part, but a reasonable one.
Roose and Ramsay spoke freely in front of Theon as they discussed their treacheries. They forgot he was in the room ofttimes. He was invisible to them when he scrubbed their floors, was cupbearer, or when he simply stood ready to obey whatever orders Ramsay gave him. In one such instance, Roose told Ramsay they never could have acted so boldly if Ned had been in the North. That Lord Stark would not have loosened Roose's chain and given him the freedom to maneuver as freely as Robb had.
"You know this, how?" Robb asked churlishly.
"I know it because your mother knew it," Theon replied with yet more conjecture.
Lady Stark was always careful to check and recheck the taxes and tributes the Bolton's paid to Winterfell and warned Theon to do the same. Theon did not know if Catelyn's distrust of Bolton came from her husband, but it was a fair wager they at least discussed whatever reservations either of them may have had about Roose with each other.
"Even if what you say is true, Maester Luwin still says you are no closer to agreeing on a new steward," Robb said. "If not Lord Bolton's man, then who?"
Theon let a smile play on his lips before he said, "Why not you, My Lord?"
Robb chortled rudely. "Me? That's your clever solution? That I should waste my time sitting around counting coppers and weighing every sack of grain that comes through Winterfell?"
Theon's smile went away. He hadn't expected Robb to dismiss his suggestion so easily. After all, Robb volunteered to stand in as Winterfell's steward last time. Theon also had had enough of Robb's insults, and all the petty contempt he'd been spewing for weeks now. It needed to stop. Theon's smile returned and this time he let it stretch close to a grin.
"Oh. Do you have something better to do, My Young Lord? Perhaps you feel stewardship is beyond your current abilities, is that it?" Theon asked, his voice sweet as honey. Then he leaned forward and curled his lips into a smile less sweet. "If that's the case, I'm sure Maester Luwin is more than willing to take you in hand and educate you in whatever knowledge you're still lacking."
Robb slammed his hand against the surface of the high table and shot to his feet. The sound of the impact cracked through the air and caused all, except Theon, to start in their chairs. Theon lifted his head and followed Robb's rise and stared unflinchingly into his face, which was flushed crimson in his fury.
For the span of a dozen heartbeats, Theon heard Robb breathing heavily from the other end of the table until he began to visibly calm himself. Once his breathing slowed, Robb's complexion returned to its normal paler hue. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, he looked down at Theon.
"Fine," he said before he stepped away from the high table. "I'll take on the stewardship of Winterfell."
Robb picked up a very confused-looking Bran and carried the boy away from the table and down the small flight of steps leading to the Great Hall's communal area. Then he turned his head to look at Theon again, his blue eyes so dark they appeared Stark gray.
"We'll do it your way. Like always."
Robb's footfalls echoed throughout the Hall as he marched stiffly towards the exit where a guardsman then opened the heavy wood and iron door and let the Stark boys outside. After the guard closed the door Theon leaned back in his chair. Robb's parting words were so unfair and so wrong, they were offensive. Theon should be boiling with outrage, but there was only a hollow feeling in his chest where his rage was supposed to be.
Luwin shifted in his chair and Theon dragged his gaze away from the door to look at the maester. He saw in Luwin's eyes his usual patience and composure; the very things neither Theon nor Robb had shown a shred of since the meeting began. The disgrace of acting so childishly is what finally opened the floodgates of emotion within Theon, and his cheeks turned hot and the muscles in his legs twitched as he fought the urge to escape and bound out of his chair like a spooked deer.
Theon glanced over at Ser Rodrik, whose stern visage expertly concealed whatever thoughts he fostered after watching the shameful display the so-called Lord and Lady Winterfell had shown him.
"Maester Luwin. Ser Rodrik. I must apologize," Theon said, hardly able to look either man in the eye. "Robb and I bickering so. How like children we must seem to you both."
"Tensions are high, lady Quenlyn," Luwin said. "We all feel it, Lord Robb perhaps more than most."
Theon looked down at his lap and nodded sheepishly. "I understand, and I will not add to his stress any further," Theon promised.
"At least a decision was made concerning the stewardship of Winterfell," Ser Rodrik said. "But we still need a master of horse and a new guard captain."
"Hallis Mollen," Theon said, grateful to change the subject. "He's loquacious, but he's also skilled, and commands enough respect to take over as the new captain. As for the master of horses, Joseth has shown he's ready to assume the position."
"Agreed," Maester Luwin said. "The work he's done training lord Brandon's yearling has been exemplary."
"Then if there are no other pressing matters, I believe we've concluded our business here today," Theon said.
Gods let there be no more pressing matters, Theon prayed, eager to flee the scene of his shameless immaturity.
When Luwin and Ser Rodrik shook their heads, the meeting mercifully came to an end, and Theon stood. Luwin and Ser Rodrik quickly got to their feet and murmured, "My lady" as he stepped away from the table. A recent occurrence, that, and ironically Theon did not care for it, and doubted he ever would.
After leaving the Great Hall, Theon went to find Robb so he could apologize. He'd meant it when he told Luwin and Ser Rodrik he wanted to ease tensions, or at least not to make it worse. Theon came upon Robb in the Yard. Robb, Bran—who was still held in Robb's arms—Jon, and Rickon were standing in front of four Winterfell guardsmen. One of the guards carried something wrapped up in a black shroud, and it did not take Theon long to understand what was inside the bundle when he saw Jon comforting Rickon as the toddler wept and clung to his leg.
Theon closed the distance until he could hear Robb interrogate the soldier holding Lady's remains. Robb wanted to know how Lady died on the King's Road and if anyone else had been hurt. Robb kept his voice level so as not to upset Bran and Rickon further, but Theon still heard anger and sadness in every word.
Theon continued to listen as the soldier explained the incident on the King's Road, a story Theon remembered with surprising clarity. The first time he heard the very same guard recount the incident on the King's Road Theon had felt an ill tiding. He'd thought being surrounded on all sides by Lannisters was not an enviable spot for the Starks to be in.
After the tale was told, Robb grimly announced Lady was to be buried on the morrow. It made sense Robb wanted to lay the direwolf to rest as soon as possible, but the speedy burial left Theon little time to find the proper stone and bring it to Mikken.
Best start now.
Theon left the Stark children to mourn and made his way into the godswood after taking a wheelbarrow from the stables with him. He searched for hours until he found the right-sized stone. A block of dark gray granite with a rectangular shape that was twice as wide as Theon's head, as long as his forearm, and thick as the widest part of horse's hoof. After scratching up his arms and palms putting the stone in the wheelbarrow, Theon hauled it back to the smithy.
While Mikken was no stonemason, he did have skill enough to chisel a word or two into stone. After Theon explained what he wanted done with the stone, the blacksmith, always a man of few words simply nodded and went to work fulfilling the commission. With his own work to do, Theon returned to Lady Stark's solar and took his supper there as well.
Before he retired, Theon checked in with Mikken to find out if the stone would be ready before Lady's burial the next day, and to his surprise, Mikken said the stone was already finished. If the speed of Mikken's work worried Theon at all, his worries were soon dispelled after the blacksmith showed what he'd done with the marker.
The weather was mild; milder than it had been for weeks, and the usual gray clouds that shrouded the north had scattered and allowed sunshine to break through and warm the air just enough to make it feel like the beginnings of an early spring. And though it was warmer than usual, the boys all wore full Stark regalia.
If Robb had an issue with Theon's presence, he did not say. Theon would not have left if he did. He wanted to be there for the boys—and he wanted to be there for Sansa as well.
When they journeyed to the Wall, shivering in freezing temperatures, and wading through knee-high snow, Sansa asked Theon to tell her about what life was like in Winterfell while she was in King's Landing before the war started. The last thing Theon ever wished to discuss was life in Winterfell before he captured it, but he sensed Sansa wanted—needed—to be reminded of a Winterfell that wasn't infested with Ramsay Bolton.
When Sansa asked about Lady's internment, Theon was flummoxed as to why. Until he remembered she never got the chance to visit Lady's grave, and that it was unlikely she ever would since there was no marker.
He told her where Lady was buried, and even as tears froze on her cold-blushed cheeks, Sansa smiled. Somehow she found solace in knowing Lady made it home and was laid to rest. At the time it made little sense to Theon that Sansa could be comforted by an outcome so bleak, but the grace she showed stuck with Theon to his dying day. And beyond.
It was late morning when Lady was buried in the Lichyard right where Theon remembered. Twenty paces from the old sallow. Robb and Jon dug the grave together. Bran and Rickon's crying and all four of their wolves' mournful mewling was the sad melody to the drumbeat of their shovels plunging into the half-frozen earth.
When they finished, Robb lowered the direwolf, still bundled, inside the deep indenture, and then Jon filled it in with dark, damp soil until the direwolf vanished underneath. None spoke and kept their prayers to themselves. Even Bran and Rickon. Though both boys did let out miserable sobs every so often.
A quarter of an hour went by before the Starks began to file out of the Lichyard. First Jon and Rickon, Ghost and Shaggy loping behind their masters like pitch and snow given form. Then Robb carried Bran away from the grave, and their direwolves followed closely on Robb's heels. Once he was sure the boys had gone, Theon stepped outside the gate to the Lichyard and saw Mikken waiting near the bridge between the Armory and the Great Keep. His long white stringy hair, gray beard, and craggy face were smudged all over with soot and ash, and so was his woolen tunic and heavy full-grain leather apron. To the point, they were soiled black with it. Next to Mikken was a wheelbarrow, and a stained tarp covered the load tray.
Theon waved Mikken over then motioned for the blacksmith to follow him into the Lichyard.
"Need help, m'lady?" Mikken asked after he wheeled the marker to Lady's grave mound, his voice deep and gravelly as ever.
Theon shook his head. In the godswood he'd been able to lift and place the stone into the wheelbarrow, so he should be able to place it on Lady's grave. And he did. He was a sweaty mess of trembling limbs and soiled skirt hem by the end, but he'd done it.
Lady's name was chiseled into the face of the dark granite. The lettering is surprisingly elegant for work done so quickly. Above Lady's name, Mikken also craved the cameo of a direwolf. Its head upturned as it howled at an unseen moon. He'd inlaid the outer lines of the silhouette with blue steel so dark it was closer to gray.
Theon had not asked the man to add the wolf. If he had thought to, he would have requested Mikken leaf the engraving with silver, or gold instead. But when he remembered how proud Sansa had become of her Northern roots, Theon thought Mikken was right to use steel. His Lady Sansa would have loved the simplicity of stone and steel far more than the extravagance of gold or silver.
"It's perfect. Thank you, Mikken," Theon said before he knelt and ran his fingers over the cameo and Lady's name. Mikken grunted then took himself and the wheelbarrow out of the Lichyard.
As the noon sun rose higher, the air grew colder, Theon had to shut his cloak against the chill. It was time to go. Theon stood but he did not stray away from Lady's grave and kept his gaze on its marker.
"Don't you worry none, Lady. Sansa can find you now," he said.