Part 40; To Split the Past Apart.

It's funny how seeing you

gives me both joy and sadness

at the same time.

Theon

Cold wind whipped through the chamber and sent chills straight up Theon's spine. When he thought about tomorrow morning—standing out in the courtyard alongside Sansa and Little Robb to receive Yara and her Iron-born soldiers—his mind shut down. And fear crept in.

What if Yara no longer accepted him as her brother? After all the things he had done?

If he peaked into the back of his mind—deep into Reek's memories—he could clearly see the vision of Yara in an attempt to secure his rescue, pleading for him to run with her. Sometimes, he wished he had gone.

'Why did I have to fuck it all up?' He thought to himself. His heart scourged the cage of his chest and streaks of tears stained his cheeks.

Sansa and Robb slept unaware that he would acquire no sleep tonight. There was too much guilt that had been built up over all these years about Yara.

He missed the sea—his people. But he never admitted how much he loved Yara. He had found memories of her as a child. Happy moments of childhood bliss that were now muddled around the edges in his mind. What if she never forgave him?

Sickness bubbled in his stomach and after an unspecified amount of time worrying—he decided to get up. He crossed the room and settled near the dying embers of the fireplace. Listened to the crackle and pulse as he strained to pull the memories forward.

He wanted to remember times that were better. Moments in his history where he did not feel the burn of self-hatred most of the days of his life. When his body was unmarked with scars from torture and brutality—when his heart did not beat with fear and uncertainty—and when his eyes would meet with the fiery little red-haired Stark girl that could climb beneath his skin and burrow a home there.

Those times—were the best times.

And everything else—was simply after.

Sometimes, he could not even look in a mirror without Ramsay in the back of his mind whispering: 'What is your name, Reek?'

He wanted to scream at that voice; scream that he was never Reek. He was always Theon.

But Reek existed now. Reek was real.

Reek had been Ramsay's and now was made Sansa's by design.

Her kindness had drawn him out of the shadows and pulled him into the light of day where the sun could shine again. Where he could draw back a bow's string and release the wood of an arrow into a target.

He practiced every day. He wanted to be as he was before—his missing fingers hindered his usage of his hands. Whilst the stretched and torn muscles in his shoulders (from his time spent on a saltire) hindered the movement of his shoulders. He would never be so agile as he was before, but the Maester reassured him that he would shoot a deer again—if he strengthened his arms.

In silence, Theon touched his remaining fingers to his thumb. Felt the twinge of movement in his forearm and watched the muscles work to accomplish the feat. He exercised that way, multiple times through a day. Sometimes, without conscious knowledge he was even doing so. He would feel Sansa's hand entwine with his and she would work a gentle thumb into the kinks in his joints and be reminded that he was fidgeting again when she offered him a calming smile.

The same smile she would give him tomorrow as he stood alongside her and awaited Yara's entrance.

The mere thought made his stomach sink with dread. Skin crawl and ache with the few precious memories he had of his elder sister.

What must she think of him now?

Her letters were short and scratched in a hurry. Her tone never inclined one way or the other. She seemed indifferent, sometimes even icy. Stiff. There were no terms of endearment. No writings that told she still loved him. It was such a small thing—but he took notice. He always disregarded the letters in his mind as rushed and thoughtless—it was easier.

Easier than believing she might actually hate him. Despise him for what he did. No matter how long he stared at these chamber walls he could not convince himself otherwise. Why would she still harbor affection for him? Sure, she came when Sansa called—because she thought he would never awaken again. Those circumstances were far different than a mere visit whilst he was conscious and aware of her presence.

She had always been prickly—even as a child—and she showed her affection sparingly to those who she deemed worthy. He no longer felt worthy. How could he make up for the men she lost in her failed rescue?

He stayed on the settee, until the morning streams of light shone into their chambers and birds tweeted sweet melodies in the spring breeze. Until soft footfalls came across the stone and a small form settled alongside him on the settee. He felt the warm press of his son as he pushed his face up into the nook of his arm.

Instinctively, Theon draped his arm around Robb's shoulder.

"Morning Daddy…" Robb rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Aunt Yara is coming today." All little Robb had wanted to talk about for the past week was Yara's impending visit. He was practically bouncing off the castle walls with excitement. Every servant, every knight—every single person in the castle—had been chattered on to about Yara, by Robb.

"Yeah she is." Theon acknowledged and kissed the top of Robb's head. Robb nuzzled in closer and sighed as he tucked his feet underneath his bottom.

"Shouldn't you be happier, Daddy? Don't you miss your sister?" Theon's stomach turned over and ached deep in the pit.

"Course I do. There are just…things in my past. Things I have done…" His voice trailed off. He lost himself again to the memories—until Robb piped up again.

"Like what kind of things?"

He blinked and swallowed the lump that rose and lodged in the base of his throat. "Nothing that you need to be concerned with…" He blinked back tears and couldn't look at his son.

"She's your big sister…won't she forgive you for them?" Sometimes, Theon forgot just how innocent Robb was.

"Iron-Born are not built that way, Robb. They do not forgive easily, nor do they forget." Robb seemed to consider what Theon told him for a moment. His brow furrowed.

"Are you that way, Daddy? You are Iron-Born, too."

Theon stiffened slightly. He tried to forgive those that could be forgiven. He would love and forgive Sansa for any wrong she committed against him. But Theon no longer considered himself Iron-Born. For him—everything was different now.

"I came into this world as Iron-Born, but I will die a Northerner. I was raised on these lands, under Sansa's Father. I learned everything from him, from the time I was ten." Theon could see Ned just in his mind's eye. A smile brimming at the corners of his mouth. "So, no. I am not like the Iron-Born. I suppose I lost that." The truth of things pained him. He didn't like to think about what he lost when he was raised on these grounds. Only what he gained, in Sansa. In Ned who was kind and fair to him, despite everything his family had done.

"Oh." Robb seemed troubled by his choice in words and (being more alert now) sat up, only to scoot to the edge of the settee. "Have you always loved Mum?"

Theon was taken aback by the question and his face flamed with heat. But he answered with the truth. "Always. I have always loved Sansa." In quiet reflection his eyes sought the red-haired lump underneath the covers. Curled inward and still fast asleep clear across the room.

"As long as you have Mum then even if Aunt Yara cannot forgive you, you still have someone. You still have me. I love you, Daddy." Robb peered up at him with rounded blue-optics and Theon's heart melted.

"I know I do." He managed to croak out. "I love you too Robb."

Hours passed and the castle was bustling with life. Servants rushed in every direction lighting every candle on the elegant wooden-carved chandeliers. Hanging decorative streams weaved from grasses and plants. Preparing the night's feast and cleaning the chambers Yara and her people would be housed in.

Jon appeared genuinely aggravated with the strain of preparing to receive such a vast amount of people at once. Alysia took over midway when she thought Jon might actually work himself into a frenzy over the minute tedious details.

Theon removed and polished his armor several times over unwilling to appear unkempt when he first laid eyes on his sister again. He was polishing it for the fifth time when he felt arms encircle his waist.

"Robb told me I would find you here." Sansa's breath tickled his ear and he twitched, reflexively.

"Did he?" The bones in his hand began to ache as he scrubbed harder against the metal. Part of him believed if he only made it glisten a little bit more it would change the way of things. And Yara might respect him more.

"Theon…"

He scrubbed harder until he thought his hand might break.

"Stop, Sweetheart please…" Her hand rested on his and he finally allowed it to still. His breath ragged and cramps rushed up his forearm into his shoulder.

"What is this about? Hm? Your armor is clean. It was probably clean the second time you scrubbed it." She pressed mindful kisses to his neck and over his now aching shoulder blade.

He was silent. And his stomach gouged with hurt.

Sansa was undeterred. She pulled his breastplate from his trembling hands and carefully planted it on the floor before straddling his waist. The wood of the chair creaked under their weight. Her hands cupped his cheeks and forced their eyes to meet.

"You can tell me anything. You know that." Her thumbs brushed at his stubbled cheeks. "So, tell me what has made you revert this way…" He remembered cleaning vigorously when he was under Ramsay's control. Remembered the fear in Reek's heart every time his Master was close. It sent nervous ticks and cleaning habits into a manic frenzy.

"What if Yara cannot forgive me? What if she hates me…?" His voice wracked with tremors and he felt like a scared child. It sounded childish when he said it out loud. Which was precisely why, he kept the thoughts to himself.

Sansa didn't smile, only frowned. Leaned in and kissed him softly.

He returned the kiss and felt his pulse lower. Heart simmering to little beats in his chest.

"I told you that Yara came to visit you during the time while you were comatose…" Her gentle tone resonated in her ocean eyes. "I never told you, however, that Yara was scared when she saw you. She doesn't think I saw, but she pleaded with you to wake up. Yara still loves you, Theon. When she saw you like that…I have never seen her waver ever once the way she did when she stepped in this room." Theon's skin rippled with emotion.

"She was…?" Disbelief echoed in his words and Sansa merely nodded in confirmation.

"She was." She reached down and collected the breastplate off the stone floor. "So why don't you put this on, and come down to the courtyard with me. She should be here any minute."

By the time he was fully attired and stood in a straight line in order to receive Yara and her Iron-Born crew, his stomach was in tight confined knots and sweat had built on his forehead in little beads.

Sansa's hand brushed his in a gesture of understanding which loosened his muscles at least minutely.

When the gates drew open his back felt rigid as he straightened his shoulders. It was a reflex to stand a little taller. Sea-green eyes fell to the black stallion she rode in on. Her men followed closely behind but Theon's eyes only sought hers. Even as she climbed down from her stead and strolled toward the line of reception waiting to greet her—Theon didn't blink—didn't even move.

Not until she surprised him by grasping his arm and drawing him in for a hug. Shock wrought through his system and he stood stiffly for several seconds as he processed what had just transpired before he returned the hug.

He was accustomed to gentle touches from Sansa and Robb. No one else hugged him or really came within ten feet of him unless they had to.

He could smell sweat and fire ash on her skin. Feel the warmth that seeped out from underneath her armor. There was dirt and exhaustion written into her features. Scattered over her skin and he could see it in the cracks of her armor.

When she drew back, he could feel every eye in the courtyard on him. Even Jon's.

He met Yara's gaze levelly the way he was trained as a child.

"It is good to see you up and around, Brother. Last I saw you; you were frail and thin." Her tone was low, yet even. As if she did not desire to be heard by those that stood nearby. It was uncomely for a guest to address anyone other than the Lord of the castle foremost, prior to deferring to others in the yard, but under the circumstances—no one dare interrupted.

He bowed his head in a stiff manner. "I am well now, my Lady."

Her eyebrow quirked, "Lady? Am I not your sister still, Little Brother?" Amusement lit in her eye and Theon blushed.

"Of course, you are."

She made a noise in her throat and Robb stepped forward a wide smile on his face.

"Aunt Yara!" Apparently, he couldn't contain his excitement any longer. He had been squirming where he stood ever since she stepped through the gate. "I can't believe you are finally here!" He launched into her arms and she laughed in the back of her throat.

"I am, little one." She mused in agreement and finally managed to unlatch his arms from around her middle.

Little Robb put a massive smile on his face and stepped back into line as he noticed the pointed stare Jon was giving him.

Yara finally headed to the front of the procession and greeted Jon (as was customary) and greeted down the line. Alysia, Alren, Brant, Little Clara—then Sansa—and finally back to Theon himself.

"I have someone who wants to meet you, Brother." Yara's tone was curbed with a sly smile. Theon inclined his head and furrowed his brows. Nervously flicking his eyes to Sansa—whom shrugged.

"Someone wants to meet me…?" He repeated the words back to her in a questioning manner. Why would anyone care to meet him?

He was finally loose and no longer stiff—he could no longer recall why he was so afraid to greet her in the first place.

"Colton?" Yara's head turned back and for the first time—Theon noticed the man stood a few yards back from Yara sandy-brown curls dusted his shoulders and a wicked spark shone in emerald eyes nearly overshadowed by his pronounced jawline and confident stance. Theon took a step back out of instinct and Sansa too went completely still alongside him.

Neither of them breathed through their jolt of shock.

Colton stepped forward his shoulders squared only to bow his head, first as Sansa—then at Theon. "My Lord, I have waited a long time to make your acquaintance. My name is Colton Pyke. My mother was Lilliyan Lanser and I believe you to be my father."

Theon's heart was rampant in his chest—his eyes bulged and he looked from Yara to Colton in one swift jilt of his head—and everything else faded from view. All he could see—was Colton.

And he was petrified. He felt the push of release in the back of his mind—and let it happen.