Theon

"I still think we should wait," Theon muttered to himself as he pulled a clean tunic over his head. "There are more pressing matters that need attending."

That's what he'd tried to explain to Sansa, anyway. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't want to marry her, but in the grand scheme of things, this wedding seemed inappropriate.

But Sansa had been insistent. She had a way of convincing people, a trait she'd probably inherited from her mother. Maybe she thought if they didn't do it soon, they might never get the chance? Or before she other wedding could be arranged.

No, Jon wouldn't allow that to happen. He was smarter than that. He wouldn't use his sister as a pawn in someone else's game. He wasn't that type of person.

Yara thought the wedding would be better suited for Pyke. It would show the Iron Islands capable of alliances, just like the' great noble lords of Westeros' as she'd put it. Well, written it. She wanted to be in the conversations with Jon. Now that she couldn't speak, writing had become a habit for her. It got the point across. Jon had dismissed it anyway.

"A godswood wedding that is to take place in a matter of days just makes the most sense," He'd replied. "Not that I disagree with you, but to travel all the way to Pyke at the present is dangerous. I need my allies in Winterfell right now. If you'd like, after all this is over, and the dust has settled we can do another ceremony in Pyke. But given the circumstances, I do hope you understand why I'm so adamant about the wedding happening In Winterfell."

Yara gazed at him for a long while, before exchanging a look with Theon, and reluctantly nodding. A hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry if this is causing you trouble. Jon," Theon apologized. He'd been doing that a lot recently. Jon waved a hand at him. Sansa pouted at him from the corner of the room. But she did seem happy, despite the circumstances. He liked that. She seemed to be in much better spirits the past few , he was a nervous wreck abut it all.

But the nights he spent with Sansa calmed him. They supported, and understood one another. The nightmares were easier to bare. They were un-alone in their grief, and fear. Two haves made up one broken whole. They completed each other. That too, was undeniable.

It had taken some planning, but Theon and Sansa were going to be married in the Godswood that afternoon. He could tell that this was one of the less pressing matters on Jon's mind, and couldn't entirely blame him. The army of the dead were coming. That was an indisputable fact. It's what they should be preparing for. Not a afternoon wedding.

Sansa insisted that if a wedding was t be held in the godswood, it happen in daylight. Theon couldn't blame her. He'd been there on the worst night of Sansa's life… o force her to relive it again…

A shiver raked down his spine at the thought. He shook his head, as if to clear the memories from it.

This was different.

It had to be.

She wanted this, and so did he.

Sansa had ensured that anything that could possibly be a reminder of that night had been removed. He didn't know how she managed to sew something so quickly. Perhaps she'd been working on it for awhile? When Sansa had asked for his olive green cloak, he hadn't been sure why. Now, as he gazed at himself in the mirror, he understood. A cloak as black as night, adorned with both the Yellow Kraken of his house, and Stark Direwolves. Towards the edges, she'd even managed to embroider waves on the edges of his cloak to represent Pyke. He turned around suddenly when he noticed something in the reflection, and turned around suddenly.

"Theon," Robb gazed up at him. Transparent, wounded, a hole in his chest that didn't bleed, much to Theon's relief. He swallowed, unsure what to say.

"I didn't… Robb… I'm Sorry." This had to be an illusion. Something in his imagination. However, when Robb reached out, and touched his shoulder, his blood went as cold as ice. Not all that much different from when him and Sansa had crossed the river. Only this time, no water was present. This wasn't in his head. This was a ghost in Winterfell.

"I know, Theon." Robb's face was stern, but honest.

"Can you forgive me?"

Robb's eyes bore into his own.

"You declared me your brother, and then you turned on me. Why, Theon?"

His shoulders sagged.

"I should have died with you."

"You should have," Robb nodded before his face went soft. The transparent figure relaxed, and a faint smile appeared on his face. "Lucky for you I can't punish you for your crimes. But you've paid for them. You're not the same man who betrayed my family. That Theon died when he became Reek. I can't forgive the old Theon Greyjoy. But I can forgive the man who saved my sister."

"I don't-"

Robb raised his hands.

"I know, you don't want to be forgiven. I was there when you spoke with Jon. My senate is the same. I can't forgive you for everything Theon. But without you, Sansa wouldn't be here now. So, maybe ease up on yourself? Let yourself accept some of the forgiveness."

Theon stared at him, and sniffed. He wanted to embrace him. But he couldn't. Robb gazed at him, a bit more softly then Jon had back in Dragonstone.

"You are my brother, Now and always. Take care of her."

And just like that, Robb was gone as quickly as he'd come. Theon stared at the spot where Robb had been only moments before.

He jumped when a knock sounded at the door. It took him a moment to collect himself, and ape at his eyes before he crossed the room, and opened the smiled up at him, and entered the room. Holing up a much nicer brown knit tunic than the one he wore now.

"You spoil me," He laughed as he took the item from her. "I still don't know where you find the time to do all this."

Sansa shrugged humbly "I never work on one thing at a time. These are just things I happened to finish in time." Her lips pressed against his cheek. Soft and warm. Just like her.

"See you soon."

An hour later, He stood at the godswood. Yara stood next to him, standing at attention. The Maester waited with him under a weirwood tree. Snow had fallen from the night before glistened from the sun that peeked out from behind a greying sky. The Greyjoy soldiers scattered amongst the people of Winterfell. It was an odd sight to see. Some of Yara's men had followed their captain, and replaced the fishing jackets with thick fur cloaks over their armor.

Snow crunched in the distance and Theon turned towards the noise, and two figures came into view. Sansa's red hair blowed softly in the wind. It seemed she had also re used some of her old clothing. He recognized the soft blue pelt from the cloak she wore as a girl that draped neatly across her shoulders. The beautiful embroidered dire wolf held the cloak around her neck. The beads glittered softly, not unlike the snow on the ground. Theon had seen her wear the teal dress a few times, and smiled at the new additions to it. She had embroidered waves on the bottom of the skirt to match his cloak. She looked radiant.

Yara nudged him gently, and smiled. He chanced a glance at his sister and could read that look. It seemed to whisper 'You're a lucky man.'

He felt himself relax as he clasped his hands in front of him, and couldn't help but smile as she neared. Jon held her arm and paused. The Maester stepped forward, hands also folded at the front.

"Who comes before the old Gods this afternoon?"

Jon's eyes turned to the man.

"Sansa, of House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown. True born and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Theon swallowed hard. He too had once said the same words. But Tradition was tradition. And these were different times. So, he stepped forward, and nodded.

"Theon, of House Greyjoy. Last surviving Son of Balon Greyjoy. Brother of the heir to Pyke and the IronIslands. Who gives her?"

"Jon Snow. Her half brother."

"Lady Sansa, do you take this man?" She stepped forward, a smile spread across her flushed face.

"I take this man."

Jon stepped aside, and and nodded Theon. He wasn't smiling, but that was nothing new. Even at a wedding, he brooded.

There was no fear in her eyes. Her voice rang out, sure and steady.

She took Theon's gloved hand firmly in her own. Their fingers laced firmly together and turned towards the Maester.

She gazed up at him, the smile never once leaving her face. And when their lips met, Theon couldn't help but smile too. His forehead pressed into hers once they parted.

"I love you, Sansa." He whispered. It was the first time he'd said the words out loud.

As the crowed clapped quietly, his eyes were drawn to a tree. He followed Bran's gaze. He looked so small in that chair. But he was smiling at something. Far off in the distance somewhere, Ned's hand held Caitlyn's. Robb stood off in the distance. The woman standing beside them holding an infant must have been his wife.

"Sansa," he whispered, nodding towards the figures. But she only looked perplexed.

"What is it?"

He glanced back, and blinked.

"You can't see them?"

"See who?" Her eyes glanced over the crowd. "I see a lot of familiar faces, who are you referring to?"

His brows knit together.

"Arya looks like she's about to cause some trouble, doesn't she?"

Sansa smiled, and kissed his cheek.

"Doesn't she always?"

"Yes," He replied with a nervous laugh. "She sure does."

Bran's eyes turned on him, the faint smile still stretched across his face. There were lots of things that Bran Stark could see that most people couldn't. He was the Three Eyed Raven. Whatever that meant.

But as Bran nodded to him, he knew the figures smiling back at them weren't just his mind playing tricks on him.