Theon wanted to apologize to Bran. He felt the need deep in his bones every time he looked at the boy. And as the days passed the need rose higher and stronger within him until Theon was sure he could mount and ride it across the world.

Theon did not believe he could justify what he'd said and done, but he hoped to at least explain himself. To tell Bran the malicious words he said about him to Stiv, were never in Theon's heart. But most of all, Theon did not want to wait so long to offer his apology. That's what he did in the time before. His shame held him back from making his amends until his final and desperate moments of life, as the White Walkers slowly slouched towards Bran in the godswood. And coward that he was, it was only then, before he fell to the Night King when Theon found the courage to apologize for all he'd stolen from the boy and his family. All the while fearing more than death itself Bran would not accept his repentance.

Theon did not want to wait so long again, but he was not blind. He knew his presence still irritated Bran greatly. Though outwardly the boy rarely let it show.

Of late, Bran had begun to venture from his rooms and uphold his duties as Lord of Winterfell, but it was not without some hesitancy on his part. Bran became restless listening to small folk and lesser lord who needed him to hear their troubles and solve them. Bran presented an open and friendly demeanor in their company, more so than Lord Stark ever did, in Theon's opinion, but the effort did seem to wear on the boy after a while.

To Theon, however, Bran made no show of openness nor kindness. And although he'd invited Theon to sit at his right hand during his audiences—likely because he'd seen his mother sitting next to Lord Stark similarly—Bran was cordial, but little else. So, Theon took his notes and answered what few questions the vassals asked him, but for the most part, he kept his head down and tried not to call too much attention to himself. But his desire to make things right with Bran never wavered.

The day Theon decided to put forth his apologies, Bran, Theon, and Maester Luwin had sat through more than four hours of grievances and petitions. Rickon was also supposed to sit through the audience, but it was near impossible to keep the boy still while the responsible, yet boring work of ruling went on. Instead, Rickon ran about the Great Hall and looked for any fun distraction. Shaggydog had to be confined in the kennels while so many from outside Winterfell assembled in the Hall. Most of them weren't used to a meat-eating beast Shaggy's size and were terrified of the direwolf.

That day Rickon scampered around the Hall trying to start fights with guardsmen by whacking their armor with a stick he found lying around somewhere. Bellowing at the top of his lungs: "Have at thee, brigand!" after every other dull, clanging blow against a guard's tasset. Where he learned such a phrase, Theon had no idea.

Too often Theon had to drop what he was doing to hiss at Rickon to be quiet and stop being a nuisance, while the visiting vassals guffawed and snickered at the boy's antics. After the fifth time Rickon disrupted the meeting, Theon, fed up, left the high table, stalked through dozens of amused farmers and local merchants, and pulled the boy away from a guardsman mid-swing. He then pried the stick out of Rickon's tiny hand and marched back to the table with the boy tucked under his arm. As Theon retook his seat, he leaned the stick against the table, then placed Rickon on his lap. He had to hold the wriggling boy down by wrapping his arms around him tightly.

"Let me be a knight!" Rickon bellowed or tried to bellow, but his shout was more of a shrill cry than anything booming.

"You a knight? My arse! Knights are quiet and dignified. You are neither!" Theon scolded as he glared down at the top of Rickon's head.

Theon's words seemed to give Rickon some pause. He stopped struggling to free himself and fell into a thoughtful silence. But Theon knew by now a quiet and ponderous Rickon rarely led to any good outcome.

"Then I should become a sellsword and a scallywag!" Rickon said.

"No, you should not!" Theon shouted, scandalized to hear such words come from the boy.

Honestly, where is he getting these silly notions from?

"Will so!" Rickon insisted. "Men shall fear me!"

Theon snorted and a wry smile twisted his lips. "Oh, truly," he said. "Will they fear you as deeply as you fear bathing?"

"Yes!" Rickon erupted at once, Theon's sardonic wit flying entirely over his head.

"Now you listen here—"

An outburst of laughter made Theon look away from the boy in his lap and stare owlishly at a room full of grinning people who just watched him quarrel with a child—and lose. Theon also realized how foolish he sounded reprimanding Rickon for being too noisy and disruptive yet engaged in a very loud back-and-forth with the boy that also brought the gathering to a stand-still.

While a blush crept up Theon's neck, Rickon looked around and started laughing uproariously too, because he saw everyone else was. Including Bran. Even Maester Luwin hid a smile behind his hand.

Once the laughter died down, Bran continued receiving supplicants with no more distractions. Though Theon still felt embarrassed by his public outburst, he also felt somewhat heartened. Because Bran had joined the laughter echoing in the Great Hall—and Theon, at least in part, was the reason Bran experienced a moment of joy, however briefly.

Perhaps, Theon hoped, he might inspire feelings other than wroth in Bran. Perhaps there was even a chance Bran was willing to entertain Theon's apology as well. Mayhap there can be a gentle peace between them again.

With Rickon under control, the audience continued and proceeded smoothly until the last vassal was heard. When Luwin called an end to the gathering the Hall began to clear out, and Bran called Hodor to him and prepared to leave as well. Seeing his chance, Theon whispered to Rickon to wait for him outside and the little hellion leaped off Theon's lap and ran from the Hall in a mad dash.

"My Lord… Bran?" Theon called out as Hodor effortlessly lifted the boy out of his chair.

"Hodor, wait," Bran said before Hodor carried him away, then he turned a stare at Theon that was somehow both blank, yet expectant.

Theon stood, holding the memory of Bran's laughter in his thoughts, and pulled hope and courage from the image.

"If I may have a moment of your time. I-I want… Need… to offer my deepest—"

"Forgive me, lady Quenlyn," Bran interrupted, "it has been a long day and I would like to rest before supper. Can this not wait until—"

"Yes! Yes, of course," Theon said quickly. "I did not mean to—it can wait, certainly. Do not let me delay you any further."

The bland expression on Bran's face did not change when he gave Theon a nod. As Theon watched Hodor carry Bran away, he refused to let the brief and lukewarm conversation with Bran deter him. He would give the young Stark the apology he'd been owed at long last.

It was obvious Osha did not care overmuch for Shaggydog. The woman's eyes never looked long away from the black-furred beast even when Shaggy wandered around snapping his massive jaws at blades of grass. Or loped behind Rickon while the boy did his best to find trouble and make a jaunty leap head-first into it. Theon found the wildling's nerves amusing because the woman had yet to notice that because Rickon liked her, Shaggy did as well. Which meant she had little to fear from the direwolf.

Despite her fears, Osha kept company with Theon, Rickon, and Shaggydog most nights after her duties in the kitchens were done. The lot of them even shared meals tucked away in the sitting room buried deep in the Great Keep. And when Rickon drifted off to sleep, Theon and Osha traded stories. Or at least Osha pretended to recount her life beyond the Wall.

Theon knew little about the Free Folk, but he did understand enough about them to know they were not a people quickest to trust, and whatever friendship developing between he and Osha was young yet. It was also obvious Osha wanted to ingratiate herself, not only to Theon but to Bran as well. The wildling hoped to earn the confidence of the "Lord and Lady of Winterfell" to sooner escape her bondage. Theon did nothing to discourage Osha's efforts as he knew no harm would come of them. Theon saw in the time before Osha's scheme would only chain her to the Starks and Winterfell more heavily than the irons already binding her.

"I hear milady and the wee little lord had words today," Osha said as she entered the sitting room where Theon sat before a small fire in the hearth as he mended a tear in one of Rickon's cloaks. Said cloak laying over his lap and knees like a small blanket.

Theon stopped stitching, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Ever since the audience everywhere he went people would snicker or cry out 'Have at thee!" It was all in good fun, Theon knew, but he didn't like being reminded he'd been easily out-witted by a three-year-old.

When he opened his eyes, Theon watched Osha saunter into the room. The ball and chain around her ankle loudly scraped along the stone floor until she took a seat in the chair opposite him. The wildling smirked at the pinched expression on Theon's face before she mockingly crossed her unbound ankle behind the manacled one, and her hands daintily rested one over the other on her lap. Mirroring perfectly how Theon was sat.

"I had not thought it possible to communicate sarcasm through the simple act of sitting," Theon said to the wildling. "Though it seems you found a way."

"Am I not crossing me legs proper, my lady?" Osha asked, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

Cheeky bint!

Another pinch tightened Theon's lips, and he once again hoped Septa Mordane could hear his silent apology for all the trouble he'd given her over the years.

Theon knew when Osha asked to be taught etiquette the wildling woman wasn't terribly interested in learning the manners of kneelers, but he still set aside a little time each day to teach Osha the basics of behaving like a lady. After a week, Osha openly mocked every courtesy Theon showed her how to perform and called them a fool's waste of time. But she was a surprisingly astute student and Theon rarely needed to spend more than a few hours schooling the wildling on any one lesson. Yet, Osha was never shy about taking every opportunity to express her utter contempt for kneeler refinements.

"Flawlessly," Theon said as he resumed sewing. His tone was terse but he was far less annoyed than he pretended to be. "Come for another lesson, then?"

"Nay, milady," Osha replied. "There's something I've been wantin' to speak with you about. For a long time now, I think."

More than Osha's words caught Theon's attention and made him look up from his needle and thread. Osha's low, sultry timbre sounded different than it normally did—she sounded younger; almost vulnerable. Though no weakness showed on the wildling's current expression, which was heavily guarded.

"I am at your disposal," Theon responded gently, yet just as guarded.

Osha eyed him for a few moments before she uncrossed her ankles, but her posture became more rigid not less.

"Where's the little lordling?" Osha asked suddenly.

"Bed. Seems a full belly after running around like a mad lad hitting people with sticks all day was enough to put an end to Rickon's unruliness," Theon said.

Osha nodded. "Aye. Aye… That's good. What I'm about to say is not for the ears of younglings. Lady Quenlyn, what do you know about the dark things that lie beyond the Wall?"

Theon tried not to show a reaction. Osha was sharp and missed little, even a single nervous twitch might alert the wildling. Theon bunched the fabric of Rickon's cloak and pushed the sewing needle into the folds. He'd end up pricking himself if he tried to keep sewing normally during this conversation.

Theon brought his attention back to Osha. "Hardly anything before coming to the Greenlands, and naught but Old Nan's stories since then," Theon said.

It wasn't true. Nan didn't care much for Theon. Her grandson had been killed during the Greyjoy rebellion, and while the woman behaved as expected toward her so-called betters, Old Nan hardly spoke a word around Theon unless he happened to be with one of the Stark children. It was the same in the other time as well, only Theon hadn't really cared enough to notice the woman's aversion towards him.

Perhaps feigning ignorance of what lurked beyond the Wall would serve better Theon if he wanted to keep his secrets from Osha. But Theon wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hide what he knew from her. There were still matters he was uncertain of, and the wildling could confirm them if Theon was open with her.

"What have you heard?" Osha asked quietly, her eyes intent and piercing as she held Theon's gaze with her own.

"Hard to believe things: Giants twelve feet tall. Ice spiders and mammoths. The Others," Theon said, careful to keep his tone mild.

Osha nodded once more. Her gaze was still very intense. "You believe any of it?" she asked.

"I think those legends must have been true once. Why else would Bran the Builder and the First Men raise the Wall?"

Osha's lips curled into a wry smile. "I thought it was to keep us wildings out?"

Theon returned a wider smile and said, "You're not so impressive as all that to warrant building a wall three hundred miles long and seven hundred feet tall."

Osha's smile thinned. "No. No, we're not. But there are… terrible things what walk beyond the Wall they were right to keep out. Dead things."

Theon looked down at his lap to hide any dread that may have shown in his eyes.

He'd hoped… So much had changed. Why not this?

"You've seen them? These dead things?" Theon asked.

"I had a man once, a good man," Osha said in place of an answer to Theon's question. "Bruni his name was. I was his and he was mine. But one night Bruni disappears. People said he left me. But I knew him. He'd never leave me. Not for long."

Osha's eyes were unfocused and she was lost in thought for a few moments before she continued.

"I knew he'd come back. And he did." Osha's eyes found Theon's again. "He came in through the back of the hut. Only it wasn't Bruni. His skin was pale, like a dead man's. His eyes bluer than clear sky."

Theon's hands clutched the cloak under his hands, and he did not flinch when the needle pricked his finger. He swallowed then uncurled his hand. The point of the needle slid out and blood welled on the tip of his finger.

"He came at me as I lay abed. Grabbed me by the neck and squeezed so hard I could feel the life slipping out of me. I don't know how I got the knife under my pillow. But when I did, I stuck it deep into his heart, and he hardly seemed to notice." Osha's eyes shined in the firelit, dark and beautiful as ever. Daring Theon to call her a liar with words or a look. When Theon did neither, she went on.

"His hands loosened around my neck though, just long enough to push him away. I knew what I needed to do. If I didn't, I was dead. I ran out the way he came in, fore I did, I knocked over the fire pit and the furs and skins went up quickly. Our hut burnt down with him inside.

"I didn't ask the Gods what it meant. I didn't need to. I already knew. It meant the North was no place for men to be. Not anymore."

The crackling of the logs burning in the fire filled the silence that followed Osha's tale. Theon felt his half-digested supper turn in his belly. How much time remained, he wondered, until countless blue eyes, pale as the blue sky washed over the Winterfell? Crashing against its walls in a wave of cold, undead flesh?

Years? Tomorrow? Never?

"Do you believe my words?" Osha asked.

Theon knew the wildling's story was true, every word, but was reluctant to tell her so. He did not know if there was a price to pay should he acknowledge the truth. The demon's promise of death and horror still waited invisible in the dark.

"Why did you tell me of this?" Theon asked.

"So, you can warn that young Stark Lord of yours!" Osha exclaimed as she leaned forward in her chair. "Tell 'em to turn his army to the North and fight the real enemy!"

"You overestimate my influence over Robb," Theon told her gently. "Even if I did hold such sway, no one south of the Wall wants to believe such horrors still exist."

"You don't believe me," Osha said, angry. Disgusted.

Theon did not reply. Not right away, but he did stare into Osha's furious eyes and wonder.

Theon didn't know Osha's fate after she left Winterfell with Bran, Rickon, and Hodor. Rickon fell into Ramsay's clutches, and Bran returned from beyond the Wall strange and unknowable. Osha and Hodor, of them Theon heard no word. Perhaps they both died beyond the Wall protecting Bran? Theon prayed they were not with Rickon when he became Ramsay's prisoner. Theon did not think he could bear the weight of that sin as well. Did not knowing for certain give him a way to speak freely with Osha?

"I believe you," Theon answered finally.

"If you believe I speak the truth, then—"

Theon shook his head. "No. None would believe, not without seeing a wight with their own eyes."

Osha jumped to her feet and the chain attached to her ankle chattered against the floor. "You don't believe me, is what you mean!"

"He didn't smell dead, your Bruni," Theon said, and Osha's eyes widened at his words. "He smelled like cold made alive. Like ice."

Theon gazed into the fire as he rubbed the tip of his bleeding finger together against his thumb. His blood felt warm and sticky.

"Their eyes are like the clear blue sky, aye, but at the center of them are points of blackest night. Emptiness. A great nothing."

"How can you know this?" Osha asked in a hushed voice.

Theon looked at the woman. The blood between his fingers was dry and tacky now.

"It does not matter," Theon said. "Wights cannot pass the Wall. Not on their own. That's all that matters."

Unless something else has changed…

Osha sat and stared at Theon with probing eyes. "How can you know such things?" she asked.

Theon shook his head again. He dared not say more than what he already has about the Others. But he can address the fear he sees in Osha. Fear for herself and the worry she has for her people.

"The Free Folk will escape over the Wall long before the wights find a way."

It wasn't the same surprise Osha showed when Theon described her wight husband that widened the wildling's eyes this time. The look that passed over Osha's face was alarm. Theon's mention of her people breaching the Wall was far more frightening to her.

"Why—"

"Haven't I warned anyone?" Theon shrugged. "None would believe that, either."

Osha looked away and Theon could only imagine what thoughts swam through the wildling's head. If she had a knife, would she slit Theon's throat to make sure he couldn't tell anyone about the free folks' plan to escape over the Wall? Theon stood.

"It's late. I think I shall retire. Good night, Osha."

"Wait," the wildling replied as Theon gathered his needles, threads, and Rickon's not yet mended cloak.

"There's no more to discuss."

Osha said nothing for a few moments before she asked: "Does my people invading your lands not worry you?"

Theon knew he should fear tens of thousands of Free Folk encroaching on the realm, but their number joining the army of the undead frightened him more. For all his words of confidence to Osha about White Walkers having no way past the Wall, he could not truly know for certain. Indeed, Theon has learned over two brief lifetimes that he knows hardly anything at all.

"It does. And it will beget yet more chaos and conflict in a land already ravaged by war on many fronts."

And more to come, Theon thought, knowing his father's rebellion would begin in a year's time.

"But how can I begrudge the Free Folk their will to survive?"

Osha looked at Theon with suspicion clouding her eyes and she again made no reply. Theon also could not begrudge the woman her doubts. The animosity that has thrived between their peoples for thousands of years would not give way to mercy and compassion so easily. No one who has lived and been bloodied by this often bleak, unforgiving world would be fool enough to believe it could.

"Good night, Osha," Theon said again before he abandoned the wilding to her fears and doubts.

Theon was pleased Bran's audience with the small folk had gone more smoothly the following day. Due in no small part to finding a suitable distraction for Rickon. Theon glanced away from his notes and saw the little boy busy doodling on a sheet of parchment with a stick of charcoal wrapped in twine that kept ash residue somewhat contained to the paper.

By the time the meeting started to wind to its end, Rickon had whittled the stack of paper in front of him down to only a few sheets. Theon would remember to bring more paper and an extra stick or two of charcoal next time. It wasn't unthinkable future audiences might last longer, and he quite appreciated being able to focus on his duties instead of chasing after Rickon.

The last vassal lord who came before Bran claimed to need masons to repair his holdfast. It was easy to dislike the Lord Landranach. The man spoke as though all the world had gone out of its way to disappoint him and deprive him of due. One might believe the man thought he was Warden of the North, so dense was Landranach's air of entitlement.

"The walls of my Holdfast will not stand the winter. The stones were last mortared in the time of King Aerys, and I'm afraid the masons today are not fit to carry their fathers' hammers.

"When I was a boy, I remember seeing them put up a new tower at Torrhen's Square in a summer. Men worked back then…"

Theon suppressed an irritated sigh.

Gods be good. The man does so love the sound of his own voice!

"Maintenance of a Holdfast generally falls to the lord of that Holdfast," Luwin said with admirable patience after Lord Leadranach's complaints finally ended.

At that, Landranach balked and sputtered out, "Generally, yes, but I've sent all the young men off to fight Robb Stark's war!"

The murmurs of agreement echoing in the Great Hall caught Theon's attention. At yesterday's audience, no one expressed anything less than full support of Robb marching his host south, but Lord Leadranach openly voicing his discontent seemed to have emboldened his fellows to reveal theirs.

"King Robb," Bran said, his tone quickly silencing the mutterings in the Hall. "And it's not his war. He didn't choose it."

"Maybe not, My Lord, but he called in his Banners and took the men," Landranach barreled on, perhaps too foolish or too arrogant to heed the warning in Bran's voice.

"The Lannisters injured and imprisoned my father, your liege lord. They murdered members of his household and hold my sisters hostage. Do you remember your vows, Ser?" Bran asked, the anger leeching into his voice was quiet, but obvious.

Landranach's eyes went wide when he finally noticed Bran's wroth. "Of-of course I remember!" Landranach exclaimed.

"We can spare four masons for a week, My Lord," Luwin said. "Will that be sufficient to repair your walls?"

"I-I ... I believe it will," Landranach stammered before he gave a short bow and backed away into the thin crowd that remained in the Hall.

"We didn't want him here all day, did we?" Theon heard Luwin say under his breath to Bran.

"I didn't like the way he was talking about Robb," Bran replied, his voice also quiet, but still hot with anger.

"Nor did I."

Theon did not care for the lord's arrogant and near mutinous insolence either, but Landranach's belly-aching did call attention to a serious problem they all overlooked. Or rather chose to ignore. The absence of skilled journeymen and masters near brought all of Winterfell to a stand-still, and soon the same will happen to the North at large.

The disruption won't end with run-down keeps in need of repairs. In the coming weeks and months, new crops will need to be harvested and distributed to holds spread out hundreds of miles apart. It's time-consuming and labor-intensive work, and without able-bodied men to carry it out, food stores everywhere will be severely affected. Losing even a fraction of the expected yields would be disastrous, especially after Robb commandeered a great deal of food and feed for his army when he marched south. Smaller holds and villages constantly on the razor's edge of having enough to survive even without winter looming, were going to be hit hard if they did not receive aid before the first heavy snows fell. When traveling long distances became difficult, if not impossible.

As Bran and Maester Luwin whispered among themselves, Theon started making a list of ways to consolidate the North's remaining manpower. He'd have the rest of the day to think on solutions before the next council meeting on the marrow. And with Bran being amicable of late, Theon thought there was even a good chance his ideas would be considered.

"This gathering is adjourned," Luwin said once he and Bran finished their quiet conversation.

With that people began to slowly exit the Hall. Theon stood and gathered his pen, ink, and paper, his thoughts still half occupied with the manpower shortage issue when he turned to Rickon to get him ready to leave the Hall as well.

"Wait," Bran said, drawing the attention of all remaining in the Great Hall. "Another petitioner waits to be heard."

Bran turned and looked at Theon.

"My Lord?"

Bran almost smiled; Theon saw it just barely move his lips. "Didn't you say you wanted to ask something from me yesterday?" he asked.

"I don't understand…"

Theon gasped as if a powerful blow struck him in the solar plexus because he understood very well what Bran's Stark gray eyes coldly boring into him meant.

"Stand before me, lady Greyjoy, I would hear you," Bran said.

Theon wanted to plead to the boy to not make him do this, but for all Bran Stark looks, it was his mother's immovable hate that looked back at Theon.

Theon placed his things back on the table and then walked on legs made of lead as he went to stand in front of the high table. Hatred was gone from Bran's face, only a cold mask covered it now. Maester Luwin swung his gaze between Bran and Theon, confusion on his wizened face. Rickon remained occupied with his scribblings thank the Gods.

"What was it you wanted to say to me, lady Quenlyn?" Bran asked.

"To… T-To—"

"Please speak so I may hear your words clearly, my lady," Bran said.

"I wanted to apologize for the words I spoke in the wolfswood, My Lord," Theon said, raising his voice.

"Lord Brandon, what is this—" Maester Luwin began, but was interrupted when Bran silenced him with a raised hand.

"What words?" Bran asked, his gaze cutting into Theon.

"Unseemly words said in haste. I did not mean them."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," said Bran as if truly baffled. "What were these words? I would hear them."

"Bran—" Theon's voice cracked as tears burned his eyes and blurred his vision.

Rickon looked up from his drawing. Desperation had raised Theon's voice attracting the boy's attention. Theon looked at Rickon and smiled reassuringly even though it almost made his lids squeeze the tears from his eyes. Theon lifted his chin, a silent command to keep drawing. Rickon gave a bored sigh but did as he was bid.

Theon straightened his back and returned his own attention to Bran, who showed no sign he'd changed his mind about his demand to hear Theon repeat what was said in the godswood.

So, Theon gave the boy what he wanted. Theon's voice was steady throughout, and strong enough to carry through the Hall. But deep inside, he was hallowed to his bones. His skin felt paper-thin. One could tear a hole to the heart of him with but a word. Bran will do it with two.

The murmurs in the Hall began to quiet midway through Theon's telling, and by the time he was done only the sound of Rickon's charcoal stick scratching over parchment was heard.

"How brave of you," Bran said.

Theon understood this game and knew what response he was supposed to give.

"How so, My Lord?"

"You offered yourself to that wilding to save me. To think you would give your body in service to House Stark. How brave."

Theon's eyes moved to Rickon, but the boy didn't hear or wasn't paying attention to what anyone was saying. Luwin sat very still and stared at his hands folded on the table. Theon did not fault the maester's silent inaction, for it was not his place to speak counter to his Lord.

"I… Yes…"

"And the things you had to say about me—"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? Why?"

"I was wrong to have said those words."

"Again, I ask why? It was the truth, wasn't it?"

Theon didn't know what answer Bran wanted to hear. Maybe there was none he was meant to give. So, Theon said nothing.

"I've been told I should be grateful—that I should thank you for your clever words," Bran said with an airy easiness that fooled no one who heard it.

"No," Theon gasped. The word cut his tongue like a shard of glass.

"No? Well, I give it anyway: Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, My Lord," Theon replied and then no longer had the strength to meet Bran's ruthless gaze. Staring at the floor, Theon asked: "May I go?"

"Of course."

Theon went back to the high table and once again began gathering his writing material as well as Rickon's, placing all except the pen and charcoal sticks inside the ledger he wrote his notes in. Rickon, eager to leave the Hall and go find excitement, took Theon's free hand and hopped down from his chair.

"I wanna play with Shaggydog now!"

"Yes, yes," Theon said with a smile that felt pinned to his face with needles.

When Theon stepped down from the dais, he lifted Rickon up, making the boy laugh. And as he lowered Rickon to the floor, Theon prepared himself to face the people in the Hall, but no eyes accusatory or pitying met his. The Hall was nearly empty. Only a half dozen guardsmen remained. The visiting lords and smallfolk must have slipped out while Theon humiliated himself before Bran.

Theon walked stiff-backed towards the Hall's door, Rickon's tiny hand was clasped in his as the boy hummed tunelessly to himself, already thinking about the fun he and Shaggy were going to have in the godswood. Theon thought he might quite like to join them. When the guard standing at the door opened it from them, Theon quietly offered his thanks, before Rickon, eager to reunite with Shaggy, impatiently dragged Theon out of the Hall.

Two days later, news of Lord Eddard Stark's death reached Winterfell.

When Theon arrived at Rickon's rooms to wake the boy and ready him for the day, he discovered him fully clothed and about to leave his chambers with Shaggy.

"Am I still slumbering in my featherbed?" Theon drawled. "Rickon Stark up and about on his own? At dawn no less? Surely, I must be dreaming."

The teasing smile on Theon's face faded when he noticed not only did Rickon appear downcast, but so did Shaggydog. The direwolf's massive head hung so low, Shaggy's nose seemed stuck to the floor as he trailed behind Rickon. Rickon's head was bowed too. His arms were stiff at his sides, and his hands were squeezed into fists.

"Rickon, what's wrong?" Theon asked when the boy tried to brush past him and leave the chamber.

Shaggy mewled behind Rickon but the boy himself remained silent. Theon crouched until he was at eye level with Rickon. Or would have been if the boy's head wasn't still bowed.

"Rickon?"

"I want to go see my Da… Father."

"Your Lord Father is away. You know that."

Rickon shook his head. "He's not. I saw him. He's in the dark place."

"Dark… Where is that?"

Rickon's shoulders jerked up and then dropped slowly, his eyes still downturned. Theon curled his forefinger and placed it under the boy's chin, then gently lifted his head until he could look into Rickon's bright, blues eyes.

"Show me, lad."

Theon followed Rickon and Shaggy out of the Keep and through the Courtyard. It was early yet, but few in Winterfell slept past dawn, and many had begun their day's work. It had been two days since Bran thanked Theon in the Hall, and as Theon passed by residents of Winterfell, he saw either looks of pity or wariness. Those wary did not know where Theon stood now that Bran's animosity towards him was known. Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin still openly deferred to Theon when it came to performing his duties, but all knew he did not have the ear of their liege lord. Which severely weakened whatever authority Theon's position as acting Lady of Winterfell had given him.

Theon leaned into his strengths and pretended not to notice the stares and kept following Rickon and Shaggydog until they came to the gates leading into the Lichyard. Theon at first thought Rickon intended to visit Lady's grave, but the boy didn't even glance at the graveyard. Rickon continued forward until they came to a small tower with a large heavy door made of ironwood. Rickon had brought them to the Crypt of Winterfell.

"Help me," Rickon said as he reached for the thick, iron ring handle on the door. Theon added his hand and arm, and they wrenched the door open together.

Theon took two burning torches off the walls at the top of the narrow staircase that led down into the Crypts. He handed one to Rickon then they started down the winding stone steps. The Crypts were well kept though few visited the vast chambers beneath the castle. The ironwood doors hinges did not creak because they were oiled, and the caretakers made sure lit torches hung on the damp, mossy walls throughout the immediate chamber above the deeper levels of the Crypt where the old Kings of Winter and Lords were laid to their final rest.

It was cold, colder than it was out of doors. Theon looked down at Rickon and decided it was time to make the boy a new, longer cloak. But for now, Rickon's blue wool tunic and dark brown trousers, along with his fur-lined boots would protect him well enough from the deep chill inside the Crypt.

"Where are the spiders and rats?" Rickon asked. "Nan says they grow big as hounds down here. But I don't see them anywhere!"

Theon smiled and shook his head at the boy's pouty disappointment.

The first floor was empty. Only granite pillars filled the space. The pillars stretched up to the vaulted ceiling braced with thick beams of ironwood and weirwood. Rickon took them down to the next floor, where no torches hung on the walls, only candles. There they came upon the gray tombs of fallen Starks.

"I saw my Father here… Somewhere," Rickon said swinging his torch about, casting an orange-yellow glow over more granite pillars between which statues of men in armor with stern faces sat on thrones of stone. Each held real iron swords clutched in their fists and massive stone direwolves stood guard beside them.

Some were mangy with beards, and others were smooth as a green boy but all the stone men had a similar look to them. The Stark look of long lean faces with strong, sharp cheekbones and jawlines. Even the man with whom he shared a name, the one Theon liked to pretend he was named after, even his starved, thin face was recognizably Stark.

One statue did not depict a man in armor, nor did it carry a sword. The carving was of a slender young woman that stood on a pedestal. She held no blade. Her right hand rested on her shoulder and the left was open and outstretched as if to welcome. She wore a thin wreath of flowers over her carefully etched hair, and a sad smile touched her lips. A stone direwolf stood guard at her side as well.

"Here," Rickon said.

Theon looked away from the statue of the young woman and saw Rickon standing between two pillars where no tomb had been placed.

"Rickon, your father isn't there," Theon replied, the dust in the crypt made his voice dry and raspy, and his eyes water.

"But I saw him."

"When?"

"Last night, when I was sleeping."

"You… You saw him in a dream?"

Rickon nodded.

"Lad, do you know what this place is for?"

Rickon looked to each of the nearest statues before his gaze returned to Theon. "It's where people come to sleep forever. Do you think Da is coming here to sleep too?"

Theon closed his eyes and swallowed a wail before it could climb up his throat. Theon dropped his torch and fell back against one of the pillars next to Lyanna Stark's tomb and slid down it until he was sitting on the cold, stone floor. His hands clutched at his chest and stomach.

Mordane.

Lord Stark.

Gone.

Gone for certain.

Theon felt tiny fingers brush against his cheek, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Rickon and Shaggydog on either side of him. The direwolf's green eyes stared at him with uncanny feeling before he laid down and rested his massive head on Theon's knees.

"What's wrong?" Rickon asked, still wiping away Theon's tears.

Theon pulled the boy to him and began to sob.

They were still wrapped around each other underneath Lyanna Stark's tomb when Bran, Osha, Maester Luwin, and Summer came upon them.

Theon was singing because it was better than crying. He sang every happy song he knew the words to, even the dirty shanties because they made Rickon laugh. Theon thought his singing didn't sound so terrible in the echoing halls of the Crypt. Or maybe he didn't care if his singing offended the ears of long-dead kings and Lords?

"Lady Quenlyn. Master Rickon," Maester Luwin called out to them.

Theon stopped singing and he looked over at the newcomers as they marched closer. Luwin led the way and was holding up a torch, Osha followed behind him as she carried Bran in her arms. Bringing up the rear, lingering in the shadows the light from Luwin's torch did not quite reach, was Summer. The direwolf was almost as big as Shaggydog, and his head came up well past Osha's waist.

"What are you two—three—doin' down here?" Osha said.

Theon briefly met Bran's eyes before he looked away. The voice he used to sing with just moments before had fled him. It was Rickon who answered.

"I saw Da come here."

"Rickon, Father's not here," Bran said.

"Not yet. But Quinn says he's coming home like he promised then he'll go to sleep."

Theon felt the eyes of the others on him, but he still could not bear to look up from the floor.

"Rickon," Bran said, "would you like to come with me?"

"No. I like it here."

"It's dark here. And cold."

"I'm not afraid. Quinn's here and so's Shaggydog. And I have to wait for Da, besides."

"You can wait with me, then," Bran said, and Theon heard impatience begin to edge into his voice. "We'll wait together, you and me and our wolves."

"Well, okay," Rickon replied. "Will you come too, Quinn?"

Theon turned a quick smile at the boy. "No. No, I think I should remain here. You go on with Shaggy."

Theon's false smile became real when Rickon's brow furrowed just the way Lord Stark and Jon's did when they didn't like what they heard.

"But—" Rickon started, but Luwin interrupted.

"Lady Quenlyn, please join us outside. We can all await Lord Stark's return in my tower."

Theon nodded. What else could he do? He could think of no good reason to refuse. None that did not have the stink of cowardice.

That night, after the wolves howled and a raven with bloody wings flew into Luwin's tower, Theon watched two boys cling to each other and weep