Theon stood over the boy and his direwolf and smothered a smile. Theon had given Rickon charcoal from Mikken's forge and plenty of paper to occupy him, but at some point, the boy fell asleep on top of Shaggy. His small form draped backward over the direwolf. A worn-down charcoal stick still clutched in his little pink fingers. Sheets of paper, some blank some not, were scattered about the floor around them. Rickon's mouth was parted slightly as he snored softly.
Shaggydog was sleeping as well, or perhaps just dozing. In the weeks since Rickon came under his watch, The black direwolf increased its size by at least a third. The beast was big enough now that there was no danger of Rickon's head scraping against the floor.
"Silly boy," Theon said.
He wanted to be irritated, but Theon was more envious Rickon could find slumber so easily, as it did not come effortlessly to Theon these days. And he would welcome sleep greatly. To sprawl, boneless, and careless of where he lay the way Rickon has.
At first, Theon had little trouble resting unlike most denizens in the North who were fearful after sending their husbands, fathers, and sons to war. Many of those fighting men were unlikely to ever return home and would have their bones abandoned on some faraway battlefield. No more than carrion—a feast for crows.
There was no doubt many in the North who stared longingly towards the south found little rest at night. But sleep had always been a refuge for Theon, and he had no trouble finding comfort and safety there. Sleep gave him permission not to think. It was a state where fear and uncertainty could not reach him.
Theon also understood war. He knew it well enough to swing arms and add to its heartless brutality. Men and women were cut down, justly or not every day such conflict raged. And none were spared. Not even children. To Theon, war was too familiar to ever lose sleep over.
Or so he thought.
From the start, Theon never once thought Robb or Jon would not fall in battle. He believed different fates awaited the boys and so experienced little trepidation when they marched south. In the other time, Robb never lost a battle. So elegant and clever were the tactics Robb used against the Lannister forces the Young Wolf made defeating Jaime Lannister look as though it were child's play. Robb's success even got him crowned King in the North, and Theon believed Robb would prove just as successful now as then…
But what of Jon? What fate awaited Jon Snow in the Riverlands, where, with his own eyes, Theon saw men cut down like chaffs of wheat by the thousands on the battlefield? Theon's waking mind did not want to acknowledge Jon could be one of them, but his dreams—his nightmares—reminded Theon the future he remembered had been thrown far off course and was no shield against the cold, pitiless now.
His boys weren't safe. Theon had been a fool to believe otherwise. But when has he been anything else but a fool?
Theon dreamed of the Whispering Wood where Robb's first true victory over Lannister forces occurred. In the dream, he saw Ser Jaime Lannister naught but flick his arm and slice through dozens of men to reach Robb. Before the kingslayer came within swords-reach of Robb, Jon reached the Lannister first.
Theon tried similarly to meet the kingslayer in the battle of the Whispering Wood. Thirsty for glory and honor, he wanted to be the man to take down Jaime Lannister. To not just be blooded in battle, but to have his name spoken in the same breath as Ser Barristan the Bold, Cregan Stark, and even The Sword of the Morning himself, Ser Arthur Dayne.
As a man, Theon had been a fair swordsman—skilled enough to fend off and kill untrained and con-scripted Lannister soldiers easily. But in truth, he was no more capable of defeating Jaime Lannister then as he is now. Had he confronted Jaime Lannister before the young lion was disarmed and subdued, a Greyjoy corpse would have joined the Karstark, the Hornwood, and the dozen other Northmen who fell, cold and dead in the king slayer's wake.
The Jon in Theon's dream was also good with a blade, even better than Robb. But in any reality, Ser Jaime Lannister was a prodigy when it came to the sword, and the phantom kingslayer used his legendary skill to cleave Jon in half. Spilling Jon's blood, shit, and entrails into a steaming pile of gore onto the ground. Before he woke up screaming, Theon saw Jon laid out and his Stark gray eyes turn black, the light in them gone forever.
Awakened, the sweat drenching Theon's trembling body was humid and hot, yet he felt as if ice water flowed down his spine and pooled in his bowels. His teeth chattered until he thought they might shatter into shards in his mouth as he tried to catch his breath. Theon could not shake the terror the nightmare instilled within him, and he hasn't had a full night's rest since.
Theon crouched and unfurled Rickon's fingers from around the charcoal and slipped it into his dress's hidden pocket. He wiped his smudged hand on his hip, not worried about leaving visible stains—wearing all black did have its advantages after all. He slipped his hands under Rickon's waist and gently hoisted the boy off the mound of black fur he made his bed. The scattered paper on the floor could wait until later.
"Up you go," Theon said shifting the boy around until they were chest to chest, and Rickon's head rested against his shoulder. Theon nudged Shaggy's side with his toe, stirring the beast awake. Shaggy lifted his head and looked at Theon before showing a truly frightening yawn, made less so when his tongue ended up hanging half out of his mouth.
"Come on, then, make yourself useful. I need an escort back to this one's rooms," Theon said.
Shaggy uttered a sound closer to a growl than a bark before rising to his legs and following Theon out of the solar. As they made their way down the Keep, Rickon came to briefly and curled his arms around Theon's neck. By the time they came to Rickon's chambers Theon's eyes had stopped watering.
Once inside, Theon laid the boy on the bed and took off his shoes. Then he untied Rickon's waist-length cloak and removed both it and the boy's tunic with a few tugs. It certainly was easier to strip the boy as he slept than wrangling him into his clothes in the mornings. Theon wished he asked Jon how he'd done it without just giving up and letting Rickon run around Winterfell in his small clothes every day. Theon might have surrendered to such an impulse if he wasn't certain the boy would go starkers if given the opportunity.
Once Rickon was tucked away, Shaggy leaped onto the bed and wrapped his enormous bulk around the boy like a black crescent moon. Theon didn't think Lady Stark would appreciate the beast sharing her son's feather bed, but he'd given up trying to get the direwolf to stop sleeping next to Rickon a week into watching over him. Theon caressed the boy's smooth forehead, brushing his soft red curls down. Theon hesitated, as he had for many nights now before he pressed his lips against Rickon's temple. His gaze then turned towards Shaggy and saw the beast's burning green eyes were already closed, and a low steady rumbling sound came from his chest. Theon smiled and rubbed the snoring direwolf between his alert, upright ears.
After putting away Rickon's cloak and tunic to be washed, Theon snuffed all but one of the lit candles in the candelabra on the wall beside the door with his fingers before quietly exiting the chambers. Though he and Rickon had taken supper in the solar, Theon only had a light meal of roasted tomatoes with melted cheese, and a slice of honey cake—well, half a slice of honey cake, as Theon had little natural defense against pleading Stark children—and a cup of ale. He was still a bit hungry. Supper was yet being served in the Great Hall and Theon hoped he could grab another helping of roasted tomatoes before it was gone, else he would have to be satisfied with bread and soup.
When Theon entered the Hall, it was bustling with diners. Several dozen men and women were eating at the low tables, mostly guardsmen and servants, but Theon saw small folk from winter town mingled among them. The high table sat empty and would remain so as long as Bran stayed reclusive. Only coming among the people when his duties as Lord absolutely demanded it.
Theon's eyes and ears found Hallis Mollen quickly. Hal used the large lungs in his large chest to be the loudest man in the Hall, almost shouting as he boisterously cajoled and gossiped with the guardsmen surrounding him at one of the low tables. He must have been running his mouth more than eating because a whole roasted chicken sat untouched on the plate in front of the guard captain. And Theon would wager Hal was on his third cup of wine going by how loud he was.
Sitting at one of the other low tables was Osha. She sat isolated at one end of the table while other servants held the other. She kept her head down and focused on devouring every bite and spoonful of the meal before her. A ball and chain were attached to her leg, half concealed by the hem of her simple gray linen dress which had replaced the leather and furs she wore circumventing the Wall with her companions. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was no longer a filthy, matted mess—now it was clean and neatly if reluctantly, groomed.
The wildling had yet to be accepted by the denizens of Winterfell, but she didn't seem bothered by her isolation. Why should she? The free folk had no more love for the kneelers below the Wall than they had for the free folk. But Osha would be accepted, even trusted at some point. When Theon took the castle, the woman was unchained, and she'd grown close enough to Bran and Rickon to risk her life and help them escape.
Hal and several guardsmen stood to welcome Theon with bows and 'milady's' which Theon politely accepted before going to the table where Osha sat. Food was set out, including the roasted tomatoes Theon wanted. Theon also plied his plate with two thick slices of maslin bread.
He'd acquired a taste for the bread during his time in Dreadfort. It was so cheap to produce Roose Bolton thought nothing of giving out free loaves to his poorest vassals once a week. The bread kept well, too, lasting more than a week before turning moldy. It'd go stale, but after a dunk into broth or a few drops of warm water, the bread became chewy but edible. Theon often squirreled it away for when Ramsay forgot to feed him.
When Theon sat opposite Osha he noticed the Hall grow quieter. The wildling looked up from her plate and squinted at Theon with cold suspicion in her eyes. Though they had not seen much of each other since the wolfswood, it was clear the wildling remembered the nature of their first meeting. Theon had forgotten the wildling woman was pretty. A wonder such a thing could slip his memory, considering she was the last woman Theon had lain with before Ramsay's knife did its work.
Theon smiled at her then dug into a tomato on his plate. Conversation in the Hall resumed, and Theon and Osha ignored each other as they supped. When the wilding woman finished her meal, she stood and headed out of the Hall. The restraint around her ankle clanked and thudded on the stone floor as she walked. Theon had another helping of tomatoes with a cup of ale before he gathered up both his and Osha's plates and utensils and stacked them for the kitchen staff when they came to retrieve them for washing.
After returning a round of goodnights to those in the Hall, Theon exited the Hall as well. He felt surprisingly light-hearted as he returned to Lady Stark's solar, he even hummed tunelessly to himself as he picked up Rickon's drawings. He smiled at one picture Rickon drew that had Theon, armored in a heavy black gown and mounted on Shaggydog while brandishing a bow and arrow. Theon placed it and the other drawings in a drawer before sitting down to finish going over the castle's inventory one last time.
Osha found Theon, Rickon, and Shaggy in one of Winterfell's sitting rooms a few days later. The three sat near a roaring blaze in the fireplace. Theon sat in a well-cushioned chair, while Rickon and the direwolf both lie on their bellies on top of a brown bearskin rug.
Theon played his lute for the pair as Rickon kicked his little legs and stared up at Theon captivated. His blue eyes twinkled brightly in the firelight. Shaggydog seemed just as mesmerized, though despite losing his wariness of the beast, the way Shaggy's green eyes peered at Theon unblinkingly was still a bit unnerving.
When Theon struck the last chord to the song he'd been playing, Rickon smacked his hands against the fur and demanded Theon play another song. Theon did not mind this. Few things calmed Rickon enough to get him to stay still, and Theon's playing the lute was one of them.
"Well, what would you like to hear?" Theon asked indulgently. Rickon grinned wolfishly and Theon quickly realized his mistake. He'd been too relaxed, and it'd made him careless around the boy.
"Oh, no," Theon said.
"Sing Whalerman!"
Theon groaned. Truly, the boy must be tone-deaf! There was no other explanation for why he was happy to listen to Theon's caterwauling!
"How about I play—"
Rickon smacked his hands against the fur with every: "Sing! Sing! Sing!"
Shaggy lifted his head and added rumbling barks to his master's chant.
"Alright, then! Settle down!"
Rickon giggled and made himself comfortable on the fur, eager to listen to Theon's performance.
Thank the gods the boy isn't one for sweet, merry ballads. I really don't want to try and croon my way through those. The whole castle will be down here trying to tear my throat out for daring to sing so poorly. My tongue too for good measure!
Theon was a better singer than when he first started playing the lute but singing long, high notes made his voice warble like two cats fucking. Then he'd run out of breath trying to recapture the note and hold it steady and end up sounding like a dying cat. Despite Theon's inability to carry a tune, Rickon never seemed to notice. He'd just kicked his legs, rest his chin on his palms and smile through every cracked note that came screeching out of Theon's mouth.
Only because you're a cute little bugger! Do you have any idea how embarrassing a singing voice like mine is?
As Theon sang the final note, he could tell Rickon was ready to ask for another song the moment he stopped—he'd probably ask to hear another fast ditty and Theon cut the boy off before he could.
"No. It's bedtime for you!"
"One more. One more. Please!" Rickon said, stretching out the 'please.' Theon was done for when Shaggy once again joined in and began mewling like a cub. At Theon's sigh, Rickon knew he'd won and settled back down on the rug.
Theon sang a slower song this time and narrowed his eyes at Rickon when the boy reared up to protest. Not too young to understand when he was pushing his luck, Rickon saw the look on Theon's face and wisely decided to save his strength for a later battle. One he'd have to win if he didn't want to go to bed.
Theon sang about Jenny Oldstones. There were no exciting battles in Jenny of Oldstones to rile up Rickon's blood. And Theon could get away with singing with a deeper timbre and avoid high notes. By the end—Theon repeated a verse or two just in case—the song's melancholy had done its work. Rickon had fallen asleep, the side of his face buried in the bearskin rug, and Shaggy was deeply slumbered beside him.
Theon stood and placed his lute on the chair. He'd intended to take Rickon back to his rooms, but it was too soon to move the boy. Better to let Rickon drift deeper into slumber before he moved him.
Instead, Theon stretched out next to Rickon and put his arm over the boy. His hand ended up buried in Shaggy's stiff mane where he felt the beast's powerful breathing under his palm. Before he knew it, Theon had fallen asleep surrounded by the scent of lime, tallow, and wolf fur.
"You're a better liar than I thought, milady," the voice that woke Theon said. "I'll give ya that much."
Theon blinked and lifted his head. First, his eyes focused on the diminished flames in the fireplace before he looked over to see who'd spoken. It was Osha. She still wore a gray linen dress, slippers, and the ball and chain around her ankle. The wildling woman had taken a seat in the chair opposite the one Theon sat in when he sang to Rickon and Shaggy.
You really are lovely, Theon almost said aloud after noting how the dying firelight favored Osha's tan skin, dark blue eyes, and full lips.
"Was any of what you told Stiv true?"
Theon rose into a sitting position and propped himself up with his arms before he replied to the wildling. "I always wondered who he was to you. Stiv and the other one."
Osha didn't smile, but Theon thought he saw the stoniness in the woman's face soften if only slightly.
"Him and Wallen was Night's Watch deserters, hill folk before that. Said they knew enough about the south to keep us alive." Osha shrugged. "T'weren't rapers, so I figured I wouldn't get bent over every day I traveled with 'em. Ain't no small thing in this world when a woman can trust a man not to force himself on her."
Theon glanced down at Rickon to make sure the boy still slumbered.
"Don't worry, not lookin' to offend your little one's delicate ears with unpleasant talk," Osha said with what looked like a genuine smile. There was a hint of mocking around its edges though.
Theon held the woman's stare for a moment before folding up his legs and wrapping his arms around them. "Are you sorry Stiv's dead, then?" he asked.
Robb executed Stiv after a brief trial that would have gone even shorter had they known he was a Night's Watch deserter. Unlike Osha, the man wasn't offered a chance to serve the Starks and Winterfell. When he cut Bran and threatened to kill the boy, and Robb as well, his fate was sealed.
Osha shrugged again. "I told 'im your little Stark boy was more useful to us alive."
Theon fought back a smile but did say aloud half the thought that almost birth it: "You are clever."
No wonder you fooled an idiot like me so easily, was the other half he did not say.
"Are you really their hostage?" Osha asked, ignoring Theon's compliment.
"I am," Theon replied with a nod.
Osha glanced down at Rickon and jerked her chin at the boy. "You love them. Him, at least."
Theon squeezed his arms around his legs tighter and didn't respond to the wilding's assertion.
Osha studied Theon for several heartbeats. "The older ones, gone off to fight the wrong war, have you bedded them?"
Theon almost choked. "No!" After another quick glance at Rickon Theon continued more softly, "No, of course not!"
Theon's hasty response amused the wildling and she smiled with teeth. Theon realized he was seeing a true smile on Osha's face, and the honesty of it made her more beautiful. The smirk that followed it was less attractive.
"Sorry. I did not mean to offend, milady. I've just seen the way they look at ya. It's misleadin'"
"And misled you are. They are as brothers to me," Theon said, though his protest had trailed off weak and frail by the end.
"If my brothers looked at me that way, I'd stab 'em."