A furor of shouts after the warning horns sounded from the East Gate drew Theon's attention away from Rickon and the Frey boys.

Theon had been watching the boys play from the overlook since the Frey boys were released from their lessons with Maester Luwin and pulled Rickon along to frolic with them. For a very brief while they'd played Come into My Castle until the Frey boys realized getting Rickon to follow lordly courtesies when prompted was closer to the work of herding an unruly cat than a game. So, they began playing hide the treasure. Theon did not look closely at what they used for treasure.

Normally Theon would keep some stitching or a book in hand when he watched Rickon at play, but who the youngest Stark caroused with of late made Theon too on edge to concentrate on much else. Though as the weeks passed, the knot in his belly was loosened and was none as tight as it had been when the two Frey boys first arrived at Winterfell.

They were well behaved and minded their elders, and Luwin said the boys did not complain during their lessons. Rickon liked them, though their presence meant Shaggy, and Summer as well had to be kept in the godswood. And from all Theon could tell the Frey boys enjoyed Rickon's company as well. They didn't even mind the boy was barely half their age.

The only person they did not get on with was Bran. And Bran did not like them in turn. Theon was unsure where the rebuff began between the lads, but at first glance, it seemed an instant dislike going both ways. Still, Bran's aversion does not heat the air the way his lingering animosity toward Theon did, so there was a chance the boys might find common ground someday, as the Freys if all went well, would be fostered in Winterfell for years to come.

Despite all that made him and Bran at odds, that Bran could not find rapport with the Freys, saddened Theon. Bran's crippling had stolen much from the boy, and so had the responsibility of becoming Lord, and now Prince of Winterfell. It would have been wonderful if he found kinship with boys his age and rediscovered his childhood. For too long Bran's closest companions had been Summer, Osha, Luwin, and in a way, Hodor.

Theon's concern, and in truth, his guilt was eased when Bran's isolation ended after he began spending time with the Reeds siblings, who'd come to the harvest feast in their Lord Father's stead. Then to the surprise of all, chose to remain in Winterfell after the festival ended. Crannogmen were not known to long stray far from the swamps they guarded so diligently, but stay the Reed children did.

Over the weeks, when it was clearer to him the Freys meant no harm, Theon became less inclined to hold their name against them. They were but boys. Even if they'd been at the Twins when Robb and Lady Stark were killed, neither would have been old enough to take part and unlikely to have known of the plot at all.

What kept Theon's nerves bothered about the boys, was Big and Little Walder Frey weren't supposed to be there.

Many concessions were made when Lady Stark treated with Walder Frey near the start of the war. The bargains made most heavily favored the river lord, Theon remembered that much. But these boys had not been made Catelyn's wards, and nor were they in Winterfell when Theon took the castle.

Sometimes it brings a shiver to Theon's spine to wonder what he might have thought to do with them had they been in Winterfell then. Them and the Reeds. It's all he can do to keep away his imaginings on what Ramsay would have done to them—to Meera Reed. Just the thought of such horrors brought tears to Theon's eyes and made sick climb up his gorge.

Despite the Freys presence being such a large, unexpected change, Theon couldn't help but feel a sort of uneasy wonderment. A hope—which was most terrible of all. Walder Frey's grandsons quartered in Winterfell could restrain the Lord of the Twins hand should he act to betray Robb again. A dark thought to be sure, but one Theon could not help but have and was ashamed of having.

"You boys stay where you are!" Theon shouted before the three boys could set foot out of the Courtyard and bolt towards the commotion.

While the boys grumbled, Theon made his way down from the overlook and followed behind several guardsmen hurrying through the Courtyard. A dozen guardsmen crowded around the gate as it was opened. Theon stood back and waited to see what caused the men on the castle wall overlooking the gate to sound their horns. Several minutes passed, and by then Ser Rodrik had come to investigate.

"What's going on here?"

"Ser, a man in Stark colors was seen crawling up the path to the gate," a guardsman replied. "We sent men to bring him inside."

Less than a minute later two mounted guardsmen rode through the open gate with a very battered and bloody man wearing dirty and torn Winterfell regalia who lay stomach down over the saddle of a third steed. Despite the distance between them and his rough appearance Theon recognized the man's profile at once.

"Is he alive?" Rodrik asked one of the men who brought Wyn inside.

"Aye, ser. Just barely."

"Get him to the maester! And where's Hollis?"

"Down in the armory doing inventory," replied one of the guardsmen who hadn't wandered off back to his position once they saw Wyn still lived.

"Fetch him."

"Aye, ser."

Guardsmen carefully lowered Wyn from the horse and carried him away to Luwin's tower. Theon watched them pass by as he made his way to Ser Rodrik. Wyn was unconscious, and upon a closer look, Theon saw he had more than cuts and bruises. He was too thin in the face; starved. And though Wyn's visage was bruised and marred with grime, his lips stood out—bloodless and cracked from thirst. His head's dark hair was matted with mud and dry blackened blood, which surrounded a terrible gash from his temple and over the top of his skull. A tuft of hair hung oddly from his head, covering his ear; but it wasn't hair, it was a flap of skin. Whatever blow Wyn took had scalped him. Wyn had lost all the toes on his right foot. Half those on his left were brown and black with cold rot.

Sickened, Theon joined Ser Rodrik and the guardsmen who brought Wyn in as they dismounted.

"Did he say what happened to the men he rode out with?" Theon asked.

"No, milady. He lost his senses soon as he saw us ride up to him."

Theon and Ser Rodrik shared a look.

"The wildings you were worried about?" the knight asked, the look in his eye was probing as he stared at Theon.

Theon clenched his teeth and swallowed.

No. It's him. I know it's him.

The paranoia that made Theon push a larger escort upon Lady Hornwood was already beginning to broil in his gut again, but he couldn't let his fear show, not now. It would do naught but reveal the panic and unsound nature Rodrik looked to see in him.

"Mayhaps," Theon said evenly, masking his escalating fear, "but a dozen armored, mounted men-at-arms taken by starving men covered in animal skins, armed with sticks and stone axes? No, Wyn and the rest won't be felled easily by such."

"They might if the enemy force was big enough," Ser Rodrik said, though from the knight's tone he was only speaking in possibilities and wasn't much wedded to his own theory.

"So large a force would number two dozen, at least, and so many are unlikely to have gone unnoticed this close to Winterfell," Theon said.

Wildings going so far to the northeast, closer to the Wall, and the heavily patrolled Kingsroad, wasn't worth mentioning.

"They'd need to feed themselves, in such large numbers," Theon went on to say. "There'd be reports of massive thefts and attacks. The wilding reports we've gotten came from villages and holds hundreds of miles apart, and none claimed to see groups numbering more than five or six. There's little chance such disparate and distant groups merged to muster a force large enough to take our men, and the half dozen with Lady Hornwood."

Ser Rodrik was staring, and so were nearby guardsmen who'd overheard Theon's argument. Theon looked away and pretended to straighten his shawl. Mortified that he'd mindlessly overstepped himself by voicing any opinion on battle strategy.

"Mayhaps," Rodrik said at least, but his stare was no less questioning.

Theon swallowed, and quickly changed the subject.

"We should send a raven to Lady Donella to uncover a timeline of events."

Rodrik nodded then turned to interrogate the guardsmen who had been waiting to give more detailed reports, however brief. Hopeful his mistake would soon be forgotten, Theon turned on his heel and made his way towards the maester's tower.

Theon found the maester tending to Wyn, who lie still and unconscious on one of two extra featherbeds in the tower Luwin used to treat those with serious injuries who needed constant care. A dark gray linen sheet covered Wyn from the waist down and mercifully hid the missing digits on one of his feet, and gangrenous toes on the other.

In the minutes it took Theon to finish conversing with Ser Rodrik and making his way to the tower, Luwin had already cleaned and stitched the tear in Wyn's scalp. The maester was now cleaning Wyn's face and bare emaciated chest of dirt and blood so he could treat the less severe cuts and abrasions he found under the grime marking the man's body.

Theon had been right in thinking Wyn had eaten very little in many days—possibly weeks. Men who trained as rigorously with swords and poleaxes as the guardsmen in Winterfell did have to build heavy muscle to do so effectively. But there was no muscle on Wyn's arms or his ribcage, nor the thinnest layer of fat. And the man's belly was so narrow and concave that his hipbones protruded sharply under pale paper-thin skin.

The state Wyn was in was all too familiar to Theon.

Not days, then. Weeks… Perhaps. Near long as it takes to reach Winterfell from Hornwood lands injured and on foot…

"Maester Luwin."

"My lady," Luwin greeted turning from the injured guardsman.

"Did he say anything before you gave him milk of the poppy?"

"There was no need for poppy. Poor lad remained gone to the world and made nary a sound as I stitched his wound."

"Small mercy."

Luwin hummed as he cleaned a weeping cut on Wyn's shoulder with boiled water and a splash of red wine or vinegar.

"When do you suppose he will be ready to talk?"

"Not for some time, I should think. He's starved. I've no doubt desperation had him eating snow for water, and it only made his thirst worse." Luwin shook his head. "Two days. Perhaps a sennight if he's unable to take in enough food and water."

Theon nodded, though the maester's attention remained fixed on Wyn's injuries. "When you've done what you can for him, I want to send a raven to Hornwood."

Luwin looked away from his charge, his gaze fixed on Theon now. The look he gave was not unlike the one Rodrik showed Theon earlier. Theon stilled his expression again. Luwin had also been present when Theon pushed Lady Hornwood to take Ramsay's threat more seriously.

"Very well. I shall be done here shortly then I will join you in the rookery."

Theon nodded. He gave Wyn one last look and then left the maester to his work.

Wyn's mysterious return was the talk of the castle, and rumors about the disappearance of the eleven men with him were rampant. Some said wildings, others were certain a pack of direwolves are what caught them on their mounts, dragging man and horse down together before devouring the whole lot. It was even said Lannister men caught them after sneaking past the frogmen and Moat Cailin somehow.

Theon kept his peace, but he knew the truth. The iron ball in his belly and the chill in his bones told him what—who—took those men, though it made no sense to believe the terrified whispers in his head. But what the whispers said would not stop winding around and around in his thoughts.

Because Theon knew him.

Lady Hornwood—all of them—spoke his name as though he were merely a nuisance—a spur in their boots. A buzzing fly easily swatted away with an irritated wave of their hand. But Theon knew what Ramsay really was. Yes, he did.

Ramsay was the merry laughter after the knife was sunk in your back. He was the maggot squirming and feasting in a festering wound. Ramsay was the lie told and the promise broken.

Theon knew him.

There was much on Theon's mind. Events and duties he thought of great import before he first heard of the Hornwood crisis and the monster that stalked around the edges of it. There were the Frey boys who, until Lady Stark returned, were Theon's to foster in her stead. Also, the harvest feast had brought many a noble, including Lady Hornwood, to Winterfell.

Theon had of course aided Lady Stark in preparing harvest feasts once he was old enough to be of use, but the real work of organizing them Theon soon learned was pure madness. It was worse even than when Robb called his banners, when only a handful of lords and their retainers needed attention and tending to. But the harvest feast Bran wanted to be held in Winterfell had brought dozens of demanding highborn lords, their families, and attendants, to Winterfell.

Theon understood the importance of the harvest feast. Nevertheless, awareness of its importance didn't stop him from futilely grumbling over the cost. He couldn't complain to Bran, or rather wouldn't, as the feast was the newly crowned prince's idea. And Ser Rodrik had little to do with the festival other than securing the castle once the endless parade of highborn began prancing through the gates looking to beggar Winterfell with their excess and gluttony.

With no other sympathetic ears to pull, it was Maester Luwin who Theon squawked to over every groat spent. If he wasn't complaining, then Theon was begging Luwin to convince Bran to shorten the harvest feast by a sennight. That would shave fifty dragons from their expenses—which was desperately needed because the feast was nothing but expense.

When his whining and begging also did not bear fruit, Theon began concocting schemes to cut corners until, finally, Luwin had enough and firmly explained what Theon already knew but wanted to deny: holding the feast was simply and unavoidably the price the highest of nobility paid. One that needed to be paid more than ever now that Robb was King in the North, and Bran the Prince of Winterfell. So, Theon put his head down and swallowed all the blood that had come from biting his tongue, and did his duty.

Getting the guest houses and rooms ready for all the houses was a challenge by itself. Theon had to ensure certain families were placed strategically to avoid unfortunate interactions. A surprising number of northern Houses remained at odds though their fathers and sons shed blood and fought side-by-side in the south.

Theon kept an eagle eye on food stores. The nightly feasts were expected to be lavish, but Theon made sure just enough was put out for the castle's guests, which numbered three hundred at last count, without unnecessary waste. He shamelessly carried a pen and ledger with him everywhere and with ink-stained fingers took note of every expenditure, so he knew what had to be restocked once the feast was over and done. He nursed the hope that by the end of it all, Winterfell might come away from the harvest feast slightly disheveled, yet not ravished.

Then Lord Wyman Manderly arrived. The harvest feast had continued apace for nearly a sennight before then, drawing lords and ladies from throughout the North to travel to Winterfell. Some had come with small to moderate-sized entourages. Lady Donella of Hornwood only brought with her a contingent of six men-at-arms. Lord Manderly, however, pulled an army of knights, squires, pages, lesser gentry, heralds, musicians, and a juggler, of all things, in with him from White Harbor.

Theon almost wept as he watched the parade of mouths come into the castle. The hit to their purse and stores… At least half a year of food, drink, and feed will be gone in a turn of the moon! On and on, Manderly's procession came until Theon wanted to scream to the guardsmen at the gate to shut the damn thing and bar it tight.

"The fest will pay for itself in many ways," Luwin said later after listening to Theon grumble in the privacy of Lady Stark's solar.

"But have you seen the horde Lord Manderly brings with him from White Harbor!"

"Yes. Quite difficult to miss," Luwin said dryly. "It is a show of wealth and plenty. Lord Wyman has clearly set hungry eyes on Hornwood."

"From the look of him, the man has been hungry his entire life!" Theon sneered contemptuously.

Luwin sent a disapproving stare at Theon over the desk between them.

"Lady Quenlyn, frustrated though you may be, that was most unbecoming of you to say."

Chastened, Theon lowered his head. The maester was right.

Lord Manderly while loud and indulgent, had been a gracious guest. Other Northern Lords weren't eager to treat Theon with more than the barest respect, most having endured a long history of the Ironborn raids on their lands. Lord Manderly, perhaps because White Harbor never suffered such attacks, was nothing but courteous and even friendly towards Theon. Even if the Lord of White Harbor had not been kinder, Theon still should not speak of the man so poorly.

Theon never met Wyman Manderly in the time before, but he had met the man's sons. Theon didn't think much of Ser Wylis, but his brother Ser Wendel a grim and steely-eyed man, had been a fine knight and bowman, especially for a man of his girth. Theon never knew what became of Wylis Manderly, but Wendel died at the Twins with Robb.

Most tellingly, Wyman Manderly never fought for the Boltons and was second, after Lyanna Mormont, to declare Jon King in the North.

"My sincerest apologies, Maester."

Luwin gave a short nod before he continued.

"I remind, Lord Manderly did not come empty-handed. He brought many gifts to our new prince: silverworks, beeswax candles, and whale oil. Even reams of parchment and several barrels of ink. Most generous for a guest."

"And the promise of ships," Theon added.

Buried in sums and ledgers as he was, even Theon heard about Wyman's ambitious offer to construct a fleet of Northern ships.

Luwin nodded again.

"And the promise of ships. If his proposal is genuine then we can spare a few months' worths of our store. Lord Wyman would curry great favor should he succeed, and King Robb would make good use of a renewed Northern fleet.

"But as I said, I do think the largest matter on Lord Manderly's mind is the Hornwood seat and its landholdings. If he can convince Lady Hornwood to wed himself, or one of his sons, White Harbor's wealth and influence will grow significantly."

"Other lords saw the same opportunity," Theon said, thinking of how Lady Hornwood was never short on suitors when in public. Lords circled the woman like sharks swarmed a wounded whale. All seeking either the Lady's hand or to press their claims to Hornwood's seat, however tenuous those claims might be. "I wonder… Did Lord Manderly expect so much competition?"

Perhaps Lord Manderly hadn't come with a hundred and a half months to feed just to drive Theon into a copper-pinching madness?

"He did. Lord Manderly is no fool. He has seen too often how war deprives houses of heirs, and the chaos that results," Luwin said.

The old maester sighed.

"In a time of such tragedy, must we always endure this frenzy of ambition and greed?"

"It's the way of the world," Theon said softly, remembering Donella's son, Daryn Hornwood. A brave lad. He defended Robb fiercely in the Whispering Wood until Jaime Lannister's blade cut him down.

"So, it is. So, it is."

The day before Lady Hornwood was to leave Winterfell, the noblewoman approached Theon, Luwin, and Ser Rodrik in the Great Hall as they broke their fasts and discussed among themselves how to reshuffle guards and other resources now that the feast was coming to an end.

Theon had of course greeted the lady when she came into the castle and even spoke at length with her as he arranged quarters for her and her men-at-arms. But beyond exchanging exacting courtesies when they crossed paths, Theon and Lady Hornwood rarely spoke. So, when Lady Donella joined them at the high table, Theon was under no impression the woman had come to make small talk with him, and only gave half his attention to the conversation the woman started. All knew Lady Donella was only there for Ser Rodrik.

Lady Donella dominated the conversation as she made one last effort to have Ser Rodrik marry her. Donella did not plead, she was a Lady of some standing and too prideful to beg. She only laid hints and insinuations to make her wishes known, and yet gave no quarter to Ser Rodrik who tried, gently, to turn aside Lady Donella's subtle prodding that she would welcome a proposal from him.

"Perhaps, My Lady, we can send word to the King so he can arrange an appropriate match," Luwin said.

Theon looked up from the plate of biscuits and bowl of porridge in front of him to note Lady Hornwood's reaction. From what little Theon knew of Hornwood's dilemma, the woman and her house were in a tenuous position with their line of succession broken by the untimely deaths of Lord Hornwood and their only offspring, Daryn, who'd been felled by Ser Jaime Lannister. Despite this, many a lord, including the very ostentatious Wyman Manderly, had been soundly rebuffed by Lady Donella.

Lord Hornwood's base-born son who was currently fostered at Deepwood Motte, was put forth by Bran, but Donella's strong reluctance, and distaste, for the idea, were well-known and Bran was not one to use a heavy hand.

Donella gave the maester a canny stare before she smiled politely and said, "I'm sure our new king could make great use of Hornwood lands to secure his rule. Particularly with certain river lords who look northward with covetous eyes."

"My Lady—" Luwin began to protest, but Donella held up her hand.

"And I am not unwilling to submit to the possibility. Indeed, I would be honored. But the King in the North fights a war far from these lands—it may be months or longer before he negotiates a suitable marriage, and I have little time left to settle my house's affairs."

Or you could have Robb legitimize your lord husband's bastard with the stroke of a pen, Theon thought but did not say aloud.

"You are young yet, My Lady," Rodrik said.

Lady Hornwood responded to the knight's compliment with a wisp of smile and a shallow dip of her chin.

"Thank you, ser, but who can say what the future holds? And there is the matter of Bolton's bastard. He cloaks himself in his mummer's nobility and amasses soldiers on our borders. And deigns not to explain why. As though his treachery were not obvious. The fool's ambition outstrips his—"

"What did you say?" Theon asked through strangled breath.

Luwin, Rodrik, and Donella turned to look at him.

"Lady Quenlyn?" said Luwin.

"What about Lord Bolton's bastard?"

When Lady Hornwood made to leave Winterfell the following day, Theon was waiting at the East Gate with a dozen armed and mounted guardsmen. He knew he was overstepping his authority and risked insulting Donella in doing so, but there was no inch of him that was not crying out in warning.

Maybe Theon was too fearful of what did not need to be feared? Why did only the mention of Ramsay have him seeing moon-gray eyes and silver blades glimmering in every dark corner?

Am I still so craven? Still so ruined?

But… I know Him.

When Lady Hornwood arrived at the gate, she and Ser Rodrik walked arm in arm. The woman's thin arm tucked comfortably around the knight's mailed elbow. Theon wondered for a moment if Lady Donella had broken through to Rodrik and convinced him to marry her. Or was the knight simply being gallant as he saw Lady Hornwood away?

Trailing at a respectful distance behind Rodrik and Lady Donella was her men-at-arms, all six armed and armored. The approaching group halted when they noticed their path was blocked. It spoke to the power of guest's rights the Hornwood men did not react with alarm or suspicion at the unexpected armed reception.

Theon began holding his breath and only took in air when his vision began to blur. While he was alone and facing away from the men-at-arms Theon didn't have to hide the way his breath hit the wintery air and visibly billowed from his nose rapidly. But with Lady Donella and Ser Rodrik in front of him, Theon knew he had to mask just how fearful he was. If he was thought out of control, even vaguely so, his plot would fail.

"Lady Greyjoy, what is the meaning of this?" Lady Donella asked.

"These are dangerous times. Wildlings stalk the North and have been known to attack unwary travelers. So, as a courtesy, I offer these men-at-arms to bolster your own until your return to Hornwood."

Lady Donella and Ser Rodrik were neither fooled. Theon's near-rant as they broke their fasts the day before was not so soon forgotten.

"While more protection traveling is greatly appreciated, lady Quenlyn," Lady Donella said, condescension lacing her courteous words like gentle poison, "I shall not need them. My men are more than capable of protecting me on our journey home."

The Hornwood guardsmen nodded in agreement. Several even glared up at the Winterfell guards who sat stiff-backed on their mounts. The Hornwood men were no more pleased than their Lady to receive aid where none was asked for.

"I have no doubt your men possess great skill and bravery," Theon replied.

"The twelve men-at-arms behind you speak otherwise."

"I assure My Lady, they are only meant to be a precaution, not a slight."

"A precaution against what?"

"Wildlings, as I said."

Lady Hornwood's lips thinned as she restrained a frown.

"You've said. Am I to believe your…shall we say, vehemence over Bolton's bastard has evaporated overnight?"

"I admit, I may have overacted to the news of Snow massing of troops along your borders."

Why can't you see? If Ramsay allows you to see what one hand is doing, then it is the other you must watch!

"And your suggestion Ramsay Snow could be so bold as to attack a lady of high birth, a folly even Lord Bolton himself would never dare, was that an overreaction as well?"

You know him not! He would dare all and everything to feed his appetites for blood and power. No title, be it Lady or King, will protect you from Master's black ambition! Theon wanted to howl his quiet warning into the world but kept his demeanor composed when he answered Lady Donella's question.

"It was. And I apologize deeply for my course behavior yestermorn."

Bemusement crinkled the corners of Donella's eyes and frowned her lips before she turned to Ser Rodrik.

"I know not what to make of Lady Greyjoy's reversal and cannot tell if her offer of these men into my host is sincere. What say you, ser? Is her reasoning sound?"

"It is true wildling sightings have increased of late," Ser Rodrik said, staring at Theon with eyes also harboring confusion and doubt. "So many men gone to war has emboldened them."

"Bold enough to attack six well-equipped soldiers on horseback?"

Ser Rodrik had turned to Lady Hornwood when she asked this, then turned back to look at Theon as he considered his response. As Rodrik appraised him, Theon could only hope the knight saw no reason, past or present to doubt his soundness.

"Wildlings did dare attack Prince Bran and King Robb some time ago. Even after being made aware of the young lords' nobility. Within sight of Winterfell no less. Lady Greyjoy herself was almost taken away by them. Perhaps it is not unwise to take precautions."

Theon could have run to Ser Rodrik and kissed the man silly.

"I had no idea!" Lady Hornwood exclaimed. "How harrowing for you, lady Quenlyn. I do hope you escaped the ordeal unharmed."

"Thank you for your concern, My Lady. I did come away unscathed, thanks in no small part to the brave guardsmen of Winterfell."

Rodrik looked as if he wanted to refute Theon's claim but stilled his tongue. The expression that settled on the knight's face told Theon he would be answering a lot of questions once Lady Hornwood was gone.

"It is I who should be grateful for your concern. I shall gladly accept these men-at-arms into my escort," said Lady Hornwood before offering Theon a sincere and gracious nod.

Tears stung Theon's eyes and he smiled to disguise them. He watched Lady Hornwood say her last farewells to Ser Rodrik before she and her men went to their horses. After one of her men-at-arms helped her into the saddle, Donella caught Theon's eye.

"Farewell, lady Greyjoy."

"And to you, My Lady," Theon returned with a slow, graceful head bow.

Then he watched as Lady Hornwood, encircled with a dozen and half guardians trot out of Winterfell through the East Gate. The beating of Theon's heart slowed until he could no longer feel it hammering inside his chest. And the fear that had quickened his blood was replaced drop by drop with gladness.

Because, just this once, Theon had not failed.

Only Theon did fail. Twelve more men had not been enough. All sending the guardsmen had done was get eleven of them killed.

Wyn regained his senses three days after he dragged himself barefoot across eighty leagues of snow from Hornwood back to Winterfell. Luwin, Theon, and Ser Rodrik surrounded the foot of Wyn's bed as they each peppered the guardsman with questions. Though Luwin was more there to monitor Wyn's condition than to interrogate him.

Theon stood in the middle of the other two men; Luwin was to his right and Ser Rodrik to his left. Theon wore a long black cloak that could, and did, shroud him from head to toe. It hid how uncontrollably his arms and hands shook, and how his chest heaved as Wyn recounted step-by-step Ramsay's ambush.

Ramsay's forces took the escort shortly after they crossed the Stark/Hornwood border. A large group of men wearing no colors rode them down just before sundown. Half Lady Hornwood's escort had men and horses brought down with arrows, and in the ensuing chaos and confusion that followed, the Bolton men charged in and took the rest down in with swords and poleaxes.

Ramsay had planned well.

Wyn had been fortunate enough not to lose his mount to an arrow, but less lucky when the following charge led to a poleaxe splitting his helm.

"I got a bit lucky again because the cunts—pardon my language—didn't finish me off after the blow sent me to the ground."

Wyn's voice had begun to rasp, and he slowly took a sip of watered-down wine fortified with a drop or two of poppy milk, from the cup in his hand.

The guardsman looked much better now. Luwin's expert mending had been neat, and his hair made the stitching in Wyn's scalp invisible. Wyn's lips were no longer pale and cracked, and color had returned to his skin. But there remained unhealthy thinness on his face. His sunken eye-sockets and hollow cheeks gave away he'd been starved for a good while. Luwin also said Wyn may still lose three toes on his left foot, but the cold rot had been halted and posed no danger of spreading further.

"Must 'ave thought with all the blood gushed out me that I was dead. So, I got to listen to 'em butchering everyone around me. Took their time doin' the ones trapped under their horses."

"And you did not see a sigil or colors?" Ser Rodrik asked.

"No, ser, nothing like. Dressed all in black, they were. They hardly spoke, neither, except to laugh when someone started begging to be spared."

"What of Lady Hornwood? Did you see what happened to her?" Theon asked with a shiver in his voice.

Theon was cold. The inside of the maester's tower was warm from the hearth and candles, and Theon's fur-lined cloak was wrapped tightly around him. And yet he still could not feel warm.

"Soon as we knew we was under attack with bows, the rest of us who survived the arrow volley tried to cover her escape. The inner guard, all the Hornwood men, crowded around the lady so no bolts hit her and tried to ride away. They didn't get far before two dozen more marauders came storming out from the tree line and crashed into them from the side."

"What happened to Lady Hornwood? Was she injured?" asked Luwin.

"Can't say, maester, that's when I got knocked down. By the time my head stopped ringing and I could hear or see anything clear it was mostly over. Just them slitting throats and stealing valuables. One had come over and pulled the armor off me and stole my boots. Thank the gods when he took my gauntlets, he left my gloves."

Theon followed Wyn's gaze as he looked down at his uncovered feet. The right was bandaged, more a stump now. His left foot was yellow, and the toes were swollen with blackened nails.

"What did you see or hear as they were leaving?" Ser Rodrik asked grimly.

Wyn took another sip of wine.

"Not much. Was keeping my head down. I did hear someone call out to find the horses before it turned dark."

Theon eyed Wyn and turned over every word of the story he told of the attack on Lady Hornwood and her escort. The swift brutality of the first ambush and how it obscured the second was the embodiment of Ramsay's animal cunning. Theon could believe all of it was true.

Yet…

It would take a hardy, willful man to walk then crawl eighty leagues through snow, wilderness, and wild beasts. Were Wyn's toes truly lost to gangrene? Had Ramsay been so negligent in leaving a witness to Lady Donella's abduction?

Theon stared hard at Wyn's thin, hungry face. What creature might Ramsay crave into being with weeks at his disposal? What lies might Master tell with the tongue of a man who learned quickly not to test him?

"How long was it before you were able to move freely?" Theon asked.

"They was gone by nightfall, and then I tried to climb to my feet." Wyn paused. "When I finally could, I looked for survivors."

Wyn shivered and lifted the cup of wine to his lips. He took a deeper swallow before he continued.

"I knew there wouldn't be none, but I looked anyways. Wish I hadn't. The cunts—pardon my language again, milady—when they finished a man, they didn't just slit their throats, they—"

"Carved them out," Theon said, watching Wyn's expressions closely.

Wyn looked at Theon and nodded soberly. "Aye, milady. In chunks of flesh."

"And you didn't find Lady Hornwood?" asked Ser Rodrik.

Wyn shook his head.

"When I made over to where the ambush hit them, I didn't find her body."

"She was taken, then," Ser Rodrik said.

"By whom? For what reason? Ransom?" asked Luwin.

Rodrik brought his hand up to his chin and stroked his tied whiskers. "Not wildlings. These had horses enough for thirty or more riders. Bandits, perhaps, who are unaware of Lady Hornwood's situation."

"Precious few would be willing to pay for her return," Luwin agreed. "Unless Lady Hornwood's abductors somehow know Lady Donella and Lord Manderly are cousins. He might be willing to put up a substantial sum to secure her release."

"Before we can guess at any motives we must first discover the true identity of who took her." Rodrik suddenly looked over at Theon. "What say you, lady Quenlyn?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Theon held Ser Rodrik's gaze. In the knight's tone, Theon heard another question unspoken beneath the first. Theon returned his attention to Wyn, who looked on at their conversation with a somewhat bland expression.

"I believe you know what I say, ser," Theon said.

"You still believe Ramsay Snow would be mad enough to do such a thing."

At the mention of Ramsay, Wyn did not flinch. He showed little reaction except for faint puzzlement. Theon waited another few moments to see if the guardsman would take another sip of water and use the cup to hide twitching lips or a nervous swallow.

"I do," Theon responded at last after Wyn's expression and cup remained unmoved.

"Again: to what end? What has he to gain from taking Lady Donella?" Luwin said.

Theon did not wish to wonder what Ramsay wanted to do with Lady Hornwood, who while past childbearing age, was still a handsome woman. Wondering would only make him remember dogs snarling, wet tearing sounds, and girls screaming. Of Lady Sansa weeping on her mother and father's marital bed…

Theon stiffened and his gaze shot to the maester. "He wants Hornwood."

"I—" Luwin's eyes widened, and his wrinkled brow climbed to his tonsured scalp. "He would not dare!"

"Snow would not dare what?" Ser Rodrik asked.

"Lady Quenlyn suggests Ramsay Snow has wedded Lady Hornwood."

Theon nodded.

"Aye, Maester Luwin," Theon said, his fingers clawing at his arms so hard he felt welts burgeon painfully on his skin. "The very night he took her."

Master does not like to be kept waiting.