Theon

Yara was safe, but broken. Euron, in his typical fashion had dubbed his sister what he called an 'honorary member of the crew.' Theon approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. He understood that fear. That someone was constantly out to get you. Or betray you. Slit your throat.

"We're almost there, Yara."

She turned to him as he spoke. His sister had made a considerable effort to spit in the face of weakness whenever possible, and this proved it. She didn't need her tongue to convey a message, or give an order. Euron may have taken her tongue, but she still had a voice, and if looks could kill, Yara could have done the job for him.

His Uncle was dead. Killed by his own axe.

The battle earned him more scars. It was quite the feat, really. Theon wasn't sure how he'd made it out alive. A cut began at his collarbone, and ended mid chest. Had his uncle not been more exhausted before the final blow was struck, Theon might not have made it out alive.

Yara's hand reached out and squeezed his shoulder as Winterfell came into view. Even though he had seen it come and go, something about that Castle was chilling. Beyond the winds of winter that he could only assume was part of it's namesake.

"It's amazing, isn't it? How it looks like it has been here for thousands of years."

Yara nodded, taking it all in, even though it hadn't been the first time.

Winterfell never failed to captivate. It may be a frozen pile of shit, but it was as strong as the people who inhabited the walls inside.

Welcome home, Theon.

He blinked. A voice that he hadn't heard in a long time. One that he thought he'd never hear again. The few times he'd heard it, Theon chalked it up to lack of sleep, intermingled with torture.

'Robb?' He mouthed the words, not daring to speak them aloud.

His eyes glanced first to the crypts, and then remembered that his friends bones did not lay there.

What was the legend again? That the kings of Winterfell lay buried amongst stone and swords to keep them from raising from their graves? Old Nan had told him that story over a hundred times, but Theon didn't even believe in Gods, no less ghosts.

Robb had been a king, buried without his sword. Did that mean he still wandered the icy halls if Theon's mind wasn't having a go at him?

As the gates opened, he breathed in deeply. It still smelled the same, looked the same. His gaze found the banner flapped in the wind, danged from the ramparts.

The Stark banner. Not a Bolton. But a Direwolf.

"Winter is coming, he whispered. Yara nudged him gently, and kissed the top of his head.

She couldn't say it, but he heard her voice in his head.

Welcome home, little brother.

"This way, Yara."

He lead her to the great hall. It was quiet, A few people here and there, but nobody had come to greet them. Theon hadn't expected such. This was Jon's castle now. Jon and Sansa's.

"Theon?"

He turned around, to see a flash of red hair, and beautiful blue eyes. The sounds of her heels hitting the stone floor as she approached filled his ears.

She smelled of winter, lemon, and roses as their arms wrapped around one another.

"Sansa…"

She was breathing hard, and holding back tears. A gloved hand reached up to cup her face.

"Theon," Sansa sobbed, into his chest. He felt eyes on him, but rubbed her back. His chin came to rest on the top of her head.

"I'm so sorry."

"For what?" She gazed back up at him, eyes red and puffy from the sudden onset of tears.

"Leaving." His gloved hand reached up again, and wiped the tears that stained her cheeks. Sansa shook her head.

"You're home now. That's what is important."

"Ahem." Theon hadn't noticed Jon Snow in the corner. The sudden sound made the both of them jump.

"Jon?"

"Hello, Theon." The new King in the North turned to gaze at Yara.

"You must be Yara. I'm glad your brother's rescue mission was a success." His sister smiled, and held out her and. Theon watched as Jon took it. A firm grip. He trusted her.

"I'm afraid we're running out of space here. The Dothraki are camped out-"

"Jon," Sansa cut in, with a look. Apparently it was enough to silence him, because Jon bowed his head.

"They can stay with me. I've only one bed but I've plenty of floor space." After her eyes skimmed over the other iron born men, though she seemed to reconsider.

"However the rest of the crew… We can make arrangements within the castle walls for them, surely? Or perhaps they'd prefer to stay near your ships?"

Theon saw his sister smirking, and nudged her gently, and shook his head in a silent reprimand.

"Thank you, Sansa."

"You're welcome."

He turned back to the crew that had followed in behind him. Their judgmental eyes scammed over the castle. Theon didn't know what they were thinking.

Maybe they were thinking about how it could have been theirs at one time. Another time. If Theon had managed to actually hold the castle.

"I'll go see what we can do." Jon nodded once more to them, eyes the tiniest bit squinted. He was suspicious of him. Theon couldn't blame him. It wouldn't be the first time Theon would have to prove himself, an it certainly wouldn't be the last.

His mind traveled back to that day on the beach.

"We're done with all that." In the most commanding voice he could muster.

"Who says we are?"

"Yara Did. She made a pledge."

The moment when he'd earned the respect of the iron born men. He may not be fit to rule, but they would be left in good hands with Yara. They'd chosen to follow Theon only because he'd earned it. The iron born way, for the final time. Now was the time for new the Army of The Undead allowed them to live that long, anyway.

Arrangements were made, and the crew seemed happy. Or at the very least content with arrangement. Jon had offered them salt and Bread at the table. A custom that promised safety.

Yara sat with her crew, drinking, and smiling as if everything was fine, and normal. She was tough. A true Ironborn leader.

Sansa came to sit beside him and sipped her tea quietly.

"I never thought I'd see you again…" Her voice was distant, but not cold. Theon brought his eyes up to look at hers. They weren't sad. Quite the opposite. They were sparkling and alive now that they weren't puffy and red from crying.

"I'm here now."

"You are."

Sansa was smiling a him, and he could't help but smile back. The last he'd seen her, she'd been stripped of all the joy in her life. It was a relief to see a genuine smile on her lips. It made his heart flutter. She'd grown up quite a bit, Gone was the naive, slightly bratty, child.

"You're finally the Lady of Winterfell."

"Does that bother you?"

"No," Theon chuckled. "Not in the slightest, Lady Stark."

Sansa continued to smile before taking a sip of her tea. Arya playfully loaded a spoon at the edge of the table, but quickly shoved it in her mouth once Sansa had followed his gaze. He laughed more.

"Some things never change."

Sansa placed her tea down on the table.

"She's still annoying… But things are getting better.

"I'm glad." Theon took a sip of his ale, and shook his head.

Sansa's hand found his as it rested on the table. Their fingers interlocked.

"Theon," Sansa whispered. "I've missed you."