He's glad that they came back safe and unharmed. Jon especially. He couldn't bare it if something had happened to him. I promised her. But Howland had protected him all this time.

Robb and Theon. Perhaps it would have been better to have him fostered. Theon had been a good friend but Robb would practically turn into a different person around him, and would do anything for him. He thinks of him like a brother, like I do about Robert. But Theon can be a craven in certain manners, particularly now. And he would disregard anything involving him.

"Theon's my friend. I was helping him"

"And what of Jon?" Ned said. "Do you believe that it is right for Theon to apologize through you than do it himself?"

"N-No. B-But Theon ju -"

"Theon is a man grown who should know to accept the consequences rather than avoid them"

"He's my friend. Like a brother. You wouldn't understand," Robb says bitterly. "You'd bed duty and honor like a woman if you could."

It's ironic, really, that what keeps Ned from chastising Robb for his words is the fact that he does understand, and quite well. He knows what it means to do what to protect those you love. To do what is right. He knows what it is to be haunted by the choices you've made, by the rumors so complex that you have trouble knowing what's true. If he closes his eyes, he can still see her own eyes as if no time has passed, the color of violets in spring, a purple so startling and lovely that by the time a man was done staring at them he'd already fallen in love with no hope for escape. He sees her falling in his dreams sometimes, even still, even as happy as he is with Cat. He sees her body tumbling through the air only to be swallowed by surf and he knows he did not do right by her, no matter what lies are true and which truths are false.

"I understand what it means to protect someone. To care for someone. But Theon is to accept the responsibilities of his actions. They do not fall on you"

In that moment he hated Jon. Jon was everything he imagined a brother to be. Kind, loyal, caring, protective.

He would do anything for his brother. Because he was his brother, as much as Bran and Rickon.

But he could not help but feel a little bit jealous. He was the heir to the Winterfell and the North. He is a Stark yet he looks nothing like one. He could act like one all he likes but he could never look like one. It was the one thing he ever remembered asking the Seven one day when he was eight years old.

But neither the Seven or the Old Gods answered. They saw fit for him to inherit his mother's looks. Her fiery-red hair and crystal blue eyes. He cried to his father once and hung his head in shame that he didn't look like him. But he assured him that that his grandmother; Arya's namesake, bore the same kind of hair. Many of the mountain clans called "kissed by fire" because it is considered lucky.

Yet, he could not help but feel pangs of jealousy. Jealous that Jon immediately had their father's graces. Jealous that he looks like their father. Jealous that he was and had more of their father in him than Robb could ever try to. And then he felt himself hating himself for wanting nothing more than to name him the Bastard of Winterfell under his breath like his mother would do when she was in her chambers.

He couldn't believe it. He had to apologize. Apologize to the frogeaters. And apologize to the Bastard of Winterfell. The Bastard should be easier to apologize to.

"OY! Snow!" Theon called out.

He turned his head. Gods, he hates that. That bastard thinks he's better than him. He could see the smugness in his face. Long, solemn, and guarded - a true Stark.

"What is it?"

"I've come to you in sight of Gods and men to ask your forgiveness."

"I'd believe it if you didn't sound like someone being murdered"

"Doesn't matter. I'm a lord. You're nothing"

"I'd rather be nothing than a prideful undeserving get like you"

He then sauntered over him. Theon said rather snidely, "You could be named mud, you could be the greatest swordsman that ever lived. But know and remember this; you'll never be the Lord of Winterfell."

However, Jon Snow simply retorted, "Neither will you."

No one knew just how Theon desperately wanted to become a Stark. And here was a mere child - bastard, looking and acting more of a Stark than he would ever be.

"I heard that the Greyjoy boy had lost to him!"

"He used trickery! He was raised by those frog-eaters!"

"It was a fair fight! Hullen, Desmond, and Tomard saw it themselves!"

He couldn't help but feel his chest swell with pride as he overheard the servants exclaim on how he beat the heir of the Iron Islands.

"Well, what did you expect from the nephew of Ser Arthur Dayne?!"

Arthur Dayne? He had only heard his name once from Howland. Arthur Dayne, the famed Sword of the Morning. The most true knight of the Mad King's kingsguard.

"Do you really believe that he's actually the child of Lord Stark and Lady Ashara?"

Lady Ashara? He had heard that name too. Howland told him about her. He had saw her when he attended the Tourney at Harrenhal. The sister to the famed Sword of the Morning. Her hair sleek and dark as a raven's wing and her eyes so beautifully haunting and a resplendent violet colour.

"I heard from Desmond that he's so graceful in his movement, that it was like he was dancing or something. I know it irritated the Ironborn arsehole!"

Up until now, he had never heard a single word about his mother. He asked Howland about her once but he simply told him that she was a beautiful maiden with the most kindest heart. Now he just had to know, just who was she? Did she know about him? Did she care? Did she love Lord Stark? Does she love me?