I want to say a big thank you to all my reviewers. Your continued support really does help keep me plugging away at this story. So thank you very much and love to you all.

Another long chapter, so here we go...

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Fate Worse Than Death

First light crept over Winterfell as pale as the corpses awaiting burial. Mikken from the forge. Poxy Tym from the household guard. A stable boy Robb barely even knew. Even Gage the Cook. Cley Cerwyn, Bran's little friend, was set to be despatched to his own ancestral seat. Another, Kyra the kitchen-maid, had been hanged for collaboration. The others, however, awaited graves in the lichyard reserved for Winterfell's most faithful servants, shrouded in the banner of their master. A master that, Robb felt acutely, had let them down in their darkest hour. Ever since learning of the dead, guilt had gnawed at him as corrosive as rust. Had he not been a foolish boy playing at Kings, this would never have happened. It was a burden of guilt he would carry for the rest of his days.

Sat beneath the ruby boughs of the weirwood, Robb prayed for the forgiveness of his ancestors as he polished Ice with an old oil cloth. Already the blade glimmered in the early gloom, but he barely seemed to notice. He had passed the sentence, now he knew he had to swing the sword. Only the shuffling footsteps of his remaining household, filling the courtyard beyond, brought him out of his prayers and meditations. He set down his oil cloth, glancing towards the source of the commotion and realised it was time. As soon as Ice was sheathed at his back, he touched the face of the weirwood as one last gesture of penitence, before setting his mind to the grim task ahead.

Although only a short walk from the godswood to the courtyard, every step was leaden and weighted by his own reluctance. He had asked himself time again, would he do to Jon or Bran what he was about to do to Theon? The honest answer was no, but then neither Jon nor Bran would do to him what Theon had. Now the dead servants of Winterfell, and the murdered boys Greyjoy wanted to palm off as Bran and Rickon, all compelled him to answer their deaths with the blood of the one responsible.

When he entered the courtyard, he found himself face to face with the entire household, who all knelt at the sight of him. All of them had come out to see the traitor's end, grim faced and tight lipped. The dull light made them all look as grey and forbidding as their reputations suggested. Robb bid them rise, his tone as solemn as his mood. It was only then that Maester Luwin broke ranks and joined Robb in the middle of the courtyard.

"Your Grace. Someone's been stealing from the kitchen supplies and the staff are fearful of Ironborn in hiding, like that assassin who tried to kill your brother," he said. "Best get this over and done with then conduct a full search of the castle."

Robb nodded his agreement. The majority of his men were out searching for Bran and Rickon, but he could manage Winterfell perfectly well with those who remained.

"I'll see to it, I promise," he replied. "Have the prisoner brought out now."

Luwin nodded his understanding before turning away, both he and his heavy chain clanking off towards the dungeons.

Even as he gave the order, Robb's mouth ran dry and his heart palpitated. But he steeled himself, straightening his furs and reaching for Ice to stay focused. Meanwhile, the household backed up against the walls of the keep as though afraid of getting too close to the traitor, as if treachery were a contagion. When Theon was led out, shackled at the hands and feet, a murmur of discontent rose from the crowd. By this time, Robb stood tall with Ice held before him, point to the ground and his hands resting on the pommel. He did not waver as Theon was knelt before him, dressed in a roughspun tunic of grey and barefoot. Two guards kept a hand on each of his shoulders, pinning him down. As pitiful as the sight was, Robb was hardened to it. When he spoke, he did so loud for everyone to hear.

"I, Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, by laws of the old gods have sentenced you to death for the crime of high treason." He paused to allow time for the sentence to hit home with the condemned man. Theon flinched, his soon to be removed head lowered as if his brain had been replaced with lead. "If you have any final words, speak now."

There was no immediate reply. But Theon lifted his head at last, his gaze meeting Robb's for the first time since Winterfell was taken back. His breathing was laboured, rasping audibly from his lungs. The fear in his eyes clear as day.

"I-I beseech your grace's pardon," Theon stammered, chains rattling as he shifted his position. "I know my guilt as well as anyone here. But grant me this last request, and I can give you something far more valuable than my life."

Robb was in no mood to hear it. He tightened his grip on Ice's hilt, raising the great sword and lining it up against Greyjoy's neck. As the steel touched exposed flesh, the kneeling man trembled violently.

"I can give you my sister," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Asha is heir presumptive to the Iron Islands, Your Grace. Grant me a stay of execution and I will deliver her straight into your hands."

Robb gulped heavily as his sword hand relaxed of its own accord. But his head screamed at him to deliver the blow and be done with it. "My brother is riding in from Deepwood Motte with a host of Glovers and Umbers. If Asha is out there, they will capture her for me."

Theon was thinking fast now, physically twitching beneath the men holding him down. "If," he repeated, emphasising the uncertainty of that word. "Whereas I can deliver her to you with not a drop of blood spilt for either of our houses."

"You would betray your own blood?" Robb asked, doubtfully.

Their voices lowered, the assembled crowds could not hear what passed between them and were now growing restive. One or two even murmured to each other, wondering what the hold-up was.

"I would give her as hostage to end the enmity between our houses," Theon replied, brow tightening as his desperation grew.

"You would sacrifice her freedom to save your own skin, you mean," Rob countered. "You do yourself no favours-"

"I do this thing to die with honour!" Theon cut in angrily, causing his guards to clamp down harder on him. "I beseech you, listen-"

"I am duty bound to listen to your final words and this I have done," replied Robb, forcing himself to remain calm and composed. "Now I sentence you to die."

He renewed his grip on Ice's hilt, bringing the edge back to Theon's neck. But this time, the Ironborn did not flinch or back down. "Then these are my final words. Asha is coming here with a host of men. Take down your direwolf banners and put the kraken in their place. Make it seem as if I still hold this castle. Dress me in my own clothes and give me my bow. I ask for no arrows, just the bow. Let me go to the ramparts of the castle and bid her enter. She will be walking straight into a trap. Please Robb, for the sake of everything we once meant to each other, let me recover this one shred of grace before you take my head."

Seeing sense in the plan, Robb faltered again, letting the edge of the sword fall away. Before anyone thought him craven, he called to Lord Karstark for advice. When he repeated Theon's plan, he deferred to the older man.

"It depends on how many men she's bringing," Karstark spoke low in Robb's ear. "Our numbers are lessened by the search for your grace's brothers."

"All we need is Asha," Robb stated. "If there are more than fifty men with her we can get him-" he pointed to Theon, still kneeling on the cold ground. "He can tell her to enter alone. Once she's through those gates, she's ours. The others will be forced to turn back, retreating into Jon and Lord Glover's approaching lines."

Lord Rickard nodded. "What have you got to lose?" he asked, rhetorically. "If you kill him now, there's a chance you'll never get Asha. If he's right and he plays his part, you could have Balon over a barrel of his own making. Furthermore, once she's here and in your custody, you can execute that piece of shit anyway. Either way, you win Your Grace."

"People will think me craven!" Robb retorted. "I passed the sentence, but failed to carry it out."

Rickard planted a gauntleted hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the crowd firmly. "Look at what you could gain from keeping him alive for just a few more days. With Asha a hostage for Balon's good behaviour, you could stop all Ironborn attacks for good. If you let this chance slip, that opportunity will be missed. Don't be blinded by your own pride and definitely don't be ruled by the bloodlust of others."

Thanking him for his counsel, Robb returned to declare the stay of execution to the crowd at large. It was met instantly with a dissatisfied murmur, but that soon died away and the air was filled with the sound of feet shuffling back indoors. Meanwhile, Robb remained with Theon and his guards. Remembering Lord Karstark's words, he sealed his deal with Theon.

"You'll never recover a shred of honour with me, Greyjoy, no matter what you do," he admitted. "Even if your plan succeeds I will be compelled to execute you, regardless."

Theon lowered his head, sheepish as a spanked toddler. "I know you will treat Asha with honour, as your father did me."

"Asha will not be my hostage," Robb clarified. "She will be Lord Glover's, seeing as it was his castle she took. However, I will intercede on her behalf and request that Lord Glover treat her with dignity."

Without waiting for an answer, nor any other reaction from Theon, Robb turned on heels and strode away. The sun was up fully now, bathing the courtyard in bright, cold light. Theon called to him, but it was cut off mid-word as the guards dragged him away, still chained.

"Your Grace!"

A woman's voice cut over the rattle of the prisoner's chains. Robb halted in his tracks, frowning as the voice called out again.

"Your Grace, in the crypts!"

He turned around again, to where he could see the face of Osha the Wilding peeking through a crack in the door of the crypt. Realising it was really him, she became emboldened. Robb's heartbeat raced, not daring to believe what he wanted to believe. His first step was hesitant, almost tentative. But then he broke into a run, closing the gap between them.

"The little Princes," she said, coming up to meet him. "Fear not, my lord, I have the little lords safe and sound. I was just coming up to steal some food from the kitchens."

Robb wanted to kiss her, but was cut off as someone small and light darted out from behind her, clinging tightly to his legs. He looked down to see Rickon hugging his lower leg as if his life depended on it. Realising it wasn't a dream, tears of relief and joy sprang unbidden to his eyes.

"What do you think, Lady Stark?" Margaery stood aside as her handmaid drew down the dustcover. Revealed, was a full length gown of white silk and ivory samite, lined with fine brushed ermine. The bodice was decorated with seed pearls and white diamonds, but none of it was ostentatious or overdone.

"I thought Jon would feel more affinity with the direwolf of House Stark, so I embroidered that on one side of bodice, rather than the three-headed dragon," she explained.

Catelyn hadn't noticed it at first, but it was picked in fine silver threads that caught the light. Opposite was a rose of House Tyrell picked out in threads of shimmering pale gold. Given that Jon's parentage was still secret, the three-headed dragon was ill-advised for reasons beyond personal affinity anyway.

"It's beautiful, you're so very talented," she remarked, daring to run one hand down the front. The fabric was the finest in the seven kingdoms. "This will be for the ceremony in Winterfell, I take it?"

Margaery nodded, causing a soft golden curl to fall from behind her ear. "I don't know much of the Old Gods, but I want to learn before the wedding. I suppose there must be a lot to take in."

"There really isn't," Catelyn assured her. "All you need do is show up, with your father to give you away. Jon will be waiting beneath the weirwood already. A challenge will be called out and all you need do is answer and declare your purpose before the old gods. A few simple vows will be exchanged and you will be wedded before the old gods. I will teach you the words before we get there."

Margaery thanked her, looking relieved. "I suppose you had to have two weddings as well?"

"It wasn't required but, like yourself, I wanted to do it. The old gods and the old ways will always matter to the people of the north," she explained. "But be assured they will also be open to your own faith, so long as it is not pushed on them. Which I know you wouldn't do, anyway."

"Of course not," Margaery assured her. "Would you care to join my grandmother and I for a drink? My father has news for us all."

Catelyn accepted, gladly. They had reached Stony Sept the day before, heralding the end of the longest and most strenuous leg of their journey. After this, they were bound for Pink Maiden then, finally, Riverrun where they would be joined up with the Northern host. In the long, tiring months since Renly died, Catelyn had doubted her efforts many times. Now, it seemed as if it was all coming together much too nicely.

Once in the solar of the Castle they had commandeered, she and Margaery found Lady Olenna already seated and engaged in pleasant conversation with her son and daughter in law. Ser Loras and Garlan were looking on in silence. However, when Lady Stark and Margaery entered, the talkers quietened down and a steward drew out vacant seats at the table for them.

"Welcome, Lady Stark," said Mace Tyrell. "My Maester says a raven came for you today. There's also one Lady Alysanne Mormont requesting an audience."

Catelyn thought she had misheard. "Alysanne Mormont? She should be on Bear Island."

Mace shrugged. "She has Randyll Tarly's son with her, too. Very strange set up, if I say so myself. Anyway, they're lodged comfortably and await your pleasure."

She thanked him. "And the raven?"

Before she even finished asking the question a soft-footed Tyrell servant materialised at her side. In his hands he held a small roll of parchment, which she took and read in silence. Once finished, she crumpled it in her fist as though trying to make it vanish, like one of those old mummer's tricks. When it did not vanish, she opened her fist and read the letter again. Noticing her untoward behaviour, the Tyrells all tilted their heads and gave her strange looks.

"It's Petyr Baelish," she said, voice uncharacteristically high.

The strange looks gave way to worried frowns of consternation.

"He's married my sister!" she exclaimed.

Mace choked, Maragery's eyes widened and Ser Garlan sat back in his seat looking thoughtful.

"Forgive me, Lady Stark, your sister is Lysa Arryn?" he asked, brow knotting. "Lady of the Vale, right?"

Cat nodded. "I mean, he's known Lysa since we were all children together at Riverrun. But…."

Her words trailed off as her head reeled again.

"I think he's married the Vale more than your sister, Lady Stark," Margaery suggested.

"I think Margaery has the right of it," Olenna concurred, squeezing her granddaughter's hand. "I hear the boy is sickly and weak. Which means he is open to influence and Petyr Baelish knows how to 'influence' people."

"He also knows how to survive," Mace observed. "You'll notice how Lysa still hasn't openly declared for anyone? Cersei means to have the Vale, but with our forces joining the northern forces, Baelish will know the Queen mother has the losing hand. But until that final declaration is made, Lysa and the boy could send their troops either way, with or without Baelish's approval."

"Should we send an envoy to the Eyrie?" asked Loras. "And please, I am not volunteering."

"Good, because we wouldn't let you even if you were," Olenna retorted. "Lady Stark, you've fallen rather silent. What say you to my grandson's proposal?"

Most of the exchange had gone over her head, as she lost herself in her own musings. Her thoughts had taken her somewhere rather unexpected.

"Instinctively, I agree," she replied. "But, now that Ser Cortnay Penrose is dead and Storm's End has finally yielded to Stannis, is it not in our interests to make sure Stannis is defeated? I would rather face the Lannisters than that Red Priestess of his." She recalled the murderous shadow, fearing for Robb's life.

"Oh, he will be defeated. And as for that priestess…" Mace Tyrell replied, but then tailed off. "With or without the Vale, the Lannisters will win. I hear the Imp has a number of tricks up his sleeve and Tywin is once more on the move. He's left Harranhal in the hands of Ser Steffon Lannister, from what I hear. Stannis will never get past Lord Tywin himself."

Catelyn had her doubts. But, she kept them to herself. "Then send the envoy. I would much rather have the Vale on our side, instead of taking the risk of sending them to defeat Stannis for us and then joining us in the Riverlands. Cersei would find a way of keeping them in King's Landing."

"If there was someone more trustworthy than Petyr bloody Baelish in charge," Ser Loras cut in, bitterly. "Then that would be workable. Alas, it is not. Anyway, I want the pleasure of killing Stannis Baratheon myself."

Catelyn sighed, remembering the newly blossomed blood feud between the two men. Once more, she kept silent to avoid damaging Loras' pride.

"Tomorrow we leave for Pink Maiden," Olenna reminded them. "When we leave, we send Randyll Tarly as envoy to the Eyrie. That should put the shits up both Lysa and Baelish!"

Mention of Lord Tarly reminded Catelyn that both his son and Lady Alysanne Mormont were awaiting an audience with her. As such, she rose and bid farewell to the Tyrells. Still tired from the long stretch between Bitterbridge and Stony Sept, however, she was tired and needed her bed anyway. Mercifully, the audience with the two newcomers was short, if not a little unexpected.

The fat boy cowered as she entered, while Lady Alysanne apologised for his skittishness.

"We were hoping for an audience with Lady Alerie, of House Hightower. But when I heard you were here, Lady Stark, I thought I'd try you first. Do you know where either Jorah Mormont, or his former wife, is?"

Catelyn smiled. "As it happens, yes I do."

The fat boy's face lit up in a wide beam. Alysanne almost fainted with relief. Catelyn smiled, just going along with the strange request and then bidding them both a fond farewell. As the boy turned his back, she noticed he had the ancestral sword Longclaw sheathed at his back. Strange and stranger, she thought to herself.

Something was amiss. Jon could feel it in the air. Then, as he approached Winterfell at the head of the host, he saw the Greyjoy banners hanging from the castle ramparts. Pulling on the reins of his horse, he wheeled around and waited for Lord Glover to catch him up. In his haste to get back to Winterfell, he had ridden well ahead and now regretted it. Even the outriders, whose job it was to warn them of things like this in advance, were trailing behind him.

"Lord Glover," he called out, cantering back the way he had come. "Dip banners, something's not right."

Glover frowned, dismounted his destrier and approached on foot. He frowned as he noted the krakens adorning the curtain walls of Winterfell. "This cannot be right. The raven stated the Ironborn deserted Winterfell as soon as King Robb showed his face."

They had even met with Ironborn in retreat from Winterfell, corroborating the message brought by the raven. In exchange for the truth they were sent on their way unchallenged. If they looked through the far-eye now, however, they could even see people outside the curtain walls bearing the kraken banner waiting to be admitted.

Jon's stomach churned as he imagined the possibilities. "We know Asha Greyjoy left Deepwood over a week ago. Maybe she brought so many men that she's been able to retake Winterfell?"

"Pray it isn't so, boy. If Robb was still in there when they retook the castle, there's no way he's alive now."

"We form up and storm the castle then," Jon insisted.

"That may have worked in Deepwood, but it won't in Winterfell," Glover cautioned him. "Not with walls that thick and no one to sneak us inside."

Jon cursed, feeling like a cat tied to a stick – helpless and out of control. He dismounted his horse, then paced an agitated circle, thinking furiously on what they could do, even if it was ultimately useless. Then, it occurred to him: "If we get our archers to pick off the Ironborn patrolling the ramparts, it will demoralise them if nothing else."

Glover shrugged. "It's better than doing nothing."

Robb held his breath as he and his men ducked out of sight around the courtyard. He himself slumped down behind two conveniently placed hay carts. Others were circling the walls, making sure Asha and her men would be surrounded as soon as they entered the castle gates, cutting off her escape. Meanwhile, two Stark men were dressed in Greyjoy livery and accompanying Theon to the Castle ramparts to speak with Asha. One false move and they would cut his throat.

He closed his eyes and gripped the hilt of his fighting sword as Theon's voice called out:

"It is my sister. Raise the portcullis and lower the drawbridge!"

But as he did so, another message was passed down the ranks of Stark and Karstark men: Jon and the Glovers had been spotted barely a half mile away and had ceased their advance. Robb cursed under his breath. Jon did know what was happening and would think the castle had been retaken. If they launched an attack, it would draw Asha and her men away from Winterfell and out of their clutches.

He cleared his mind and focused on the creaking of the drawbridge as it lowered. Hurry up, he silently implored, just get her in here! He didn't care about the men, he just needed Asha inside the walls and unable to get out again, and it seemed like the drawbridge was taking its own sweet time. But before Theon and his guards had even left the ramparts, the first of the Glover and Umber arrows had come soaring over the castle walls.

"Shit!" he hissed low.

"What the fuck was that?" a woman yelled.

"We're under attack!" Theon called. "Get everyone inside, now!"

Horses clattered over the drawbridge, the Ironborn running into their trap. Robb breathed a sigh of relief, men hidden all around him arming themselves ready to spring the surprise as soon as the drawbridge was brought up again. He just waited for Theon's second signal.

"Drop the portcullis!" the Ironborn called. "Raise the drawbridge!"

"There's only twenty of them, Your Grace," a Karstark man whispered in his ear. "This is almost too easy, but for your damn brother!"

More arrows were sailing over the walls, landing at their feet and one almost pierced Robb's hauberk, but he managed to wriggle out of the way in time.

"Someone send Luwin out under a peace banner now!" he ordered, jumping to his feet.

When he appeared, the rest of the Stark men followed suit, with weapons drawn and trained on the Ironborn. Asha stood in the middle, dirk raised, dumbly staring at them all for several long moments before realising what had happened. She turned to her brother and fixed him with a look of deepest loathing.

"Theon, you cunt!" she spat at him. "You absolute cunt!"

The Stark guards disguised as Ironborn tore off their liveries as if they were burning their skin. Without wasting time, they marched Theon away again, disarming him completely and removing his armour. Meanwhile, the Ironborn were surrounded and stuck. Robb stepped forward, sending up a silent prayer of thanks now that the arrows had stopped since there was no one left on the ramparts to fire at.

"Your men can leave in peace," he assured Asha Greyjoy. "But you are now a prisoner of Lord Glover of Deepwood Motte. You will be lodged in our cells until he arrives. I advise you to discharge your men peacefully."

"I hope your dick reaches your arse, Stark," Asha retorted. "Makes it easier for you to go fuck yourself!"

As much as she cursed them, she was given no choice as Stark and Karstarks fell on her, immobilising her in front of her own men. All twenty of them. The Ironborn tried to put up a fight for Asha's sake, but the pikemen made short work of them, and those who held back soon saw the sense in retreating. As they went, Robb made sure they had a message to give to Balon. "Tell him, if another Ironborn ever sets foot on my lands again, Asha's head will be trebucheted over the sea into his lap, and his shitty islands be damned!"

The skirmish was over in seconds. The "siege" took another hour, until the confusion was cleared up and Jon and his men realised the Greyjoy banners were just a ruse. Then Robb was able to safely leave the keep, to greet his brother and give him the triumphant return he deserved.

That evening, with the Ironborn truly defeated and enough hostages to cripple Balon for good, they feasted in the Great Hall. For the first time since Lord Eddard's death, Robb felt like he had earned his place in the high seat. He had Bran at his left, Rickon at his right. Osha, now a free woman and proud owner of her own small holding, was feasting alongside them. Jon was chatting animatedly with Meera Reed, who had come from Greywater Watch and helped hide the boys in the crypts. Her brother, Jojen, conferred quietly with Bran, a strange and withdrawn look in his moss-green eyes.

The Greyjoy banners had been piled up in the courtyard and burned. Their prisoners locked in cells beneath the castle, under constant guard. Already, Glover was arranging for Asha Greyjoy to be held securely at Deepwood Motte. No doubt, it seemed like poetic justice to that family. However, in the meantime, Asha and Theon occupied cells next to each other, where the guards reported a constant stream of recrimination and insults from Asha, directed at her brother. Theon was reported to be silent and withdrawn.

Soon, Robb lost his appetite. He collected his sword and walked to the cells, instructing one of his household guards to go on ahead and move the sister. He wanted to speak with Theon without interruption.

He was curled up tight in the far corner of the cell. The only source of light was an oil lantern hanging on the wall beyond the barred door. But Robb could see in clearly enough. However, he unlocked the door. The scraping of the rusty deadlock set his teeth on edge and startled the prisoner. Robb thought he was napping, but when Theon sat up he had tears in his eyes. Tears he swiped at hastily with the sleeve of his roughspun tunic.

Robb watched him, attempting to summon even a trace of sadness or affection for him. Nothing came. Meanwhile, Theon sat up, his bottom in the dirty rushes lining the floor. To be safe, Robb gripped the pommel of his sword as he entered the cell. The sudden movement caused Theon to shrink back as if he'd been struck.

"Why did you do it?" asked Robb, genuinely curious. "What did I do to you that warranted such treachery?"

Theon looked up, almost imploringly. He opened his mouth, as if to reply, but it seemed he was struck dumb at the last minute. Robb was not about to let him off the hook.

"You were like a brother to me. Why did you betray me? Why did you kill people you grew up with?" His lack of emotion drained all tone from his voice. Flat and dead, seeing Theon like this left him empty.

But the guilt was written all over Theon's face. His whole body sagged, as if buckling under the weight of his own betrayal.

"Th-they rejected m-me," he stammered in response. But then he drew a deep breath, gathering his wits to form a proper answer. "He threw your offer in the fire, burned it before my eyes, and denounced me as a traitor to the Ironborn. My own father..."

"And you found Asha had been raised up in your place," Robb put in, guessing at the truth. "We took you from your home, so you took ours from us as revenge."

Slowly, Theon lifted his head to meet his gaze, grey on blue. For all Robb's living memory, there had been a smug superiority in those eyes. Now there was only an empty grey pit where that arrogance should be. He was less than a shadow.

"I did it prove myself worthy in my father's eyes," Theon added. "I thought he would love me again."

"I doubt he ever loved you in the first place," Robb jibed. He understood why Theon did it, but that didn't mean he had to forgive it or even be nice about it.

The hate in those words didn't seem to deepen Theon's anguish. It was as if he already knew the truth of it. Again, he lowered his eyes and peered at the dirty rushes he was sitting in, without actually seeing them. His mind was elsewhere.

"Will you do it now?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Robb knew he meant the execution, so he drew Ice and let the Valyrian steel drink the light of the lantern. Gripping the handle with both hands, he used it to tilt Theon's chin up. In response, the Ironborn got to his knees and straightened his back, ready for the stroke of the sword. He looked to Robb and drew a deep, steadying breath. In the end, he prepared to meet his death with dignity.

"In return for Asha, you promised me a clean death," he said, drawing on all his courage in his final moments. "My final words are only to beseech you to remember that promise and strike true, Your Grace."

Robb gripped the sword, pressing the edge of the blade into the soft flesh of Theon's throat. The stroke aligned, Theon braced himself again, directing his gaze towards the bars of the door. His hands folded behind his back like a penitent child, then whispered beneath his breath: "what is dead may never die…"

Robb held the sword in place, steadying his grip. "But you need not die today, Theon Greyjoy."

The breath hitched in Theon's throat, but he dared not speak. So Robb continued: "You have dishonoured yourself irrevocably in the eyes of the whole North and now you have done the same to your kin. Your one hope of recovery lies at Castle Black. Join the Night's Watch, Theon. Take the black and then you have one last chance to redeem yourself. Be the shield that guards the realms of men."

Robb kept Ice pressed against Theon's throat, who turned his eyes towards him, still not daring to believe a reprieve had come. But, if Robb heard it true, a fate worse than death awaited him beyond the Wall.

"Y-your Grace," Theon stammered, at length. "I will; I swear to you … I will fight night and day to atone-"

"And rest assured," Robb cut in. "That if you dessert the Watch or flee before you arrive, I will show you no mercy."

"I won't!" he insisted, urgency in his voice. "I swear, I will take the black to atone for all that I have done. I promise you."

"Ramsay Bolton wanted me to turn you over to him, so he could peel the skin off your body while you still lived." Although Ramsay had not said as much, it was what he was infamous for. So Robb ran with it, not even knowing whether those rumours were true. "One foot out of line, and I will make sure you fall right in his hands, Theon. So you make sure you honour the vow of the Night's Watch and honour it good."

Robb took one last, lingering look at Theon and sheathed Ice. Everything that needed to be said had been said, as well as done. He turned and walked away, rejoining his family in the Great Hall of Winterfell. In the background, he was dimly aware of the disgraced Ironborn's body racking sobs.

Thank you again for reading. Reviews would be lovely, if you have a minute.

Apologies for the long chapter, but I wanted this part dealt with so things can really get moving again. Next chapter will be a bit of a time jump, just to avoid lots of "travel" bits in which nothing can realistically happen. We will meet again at Riverrun! Thank you again, and take care. Until next time.