Chapter Text
The raid had gone poorly. Some of their men were dead, but all Theon could think about was how angry Ramsay would be. He’d take it out on Theon later. Tonight, probably.
—You’re trembling, Theon. Are you frightened? That’s cute.—
From his lookout position behind the bunker, Theon shuddered and for a second, merely a second, thought about running. Maybe nobody would miss him in the aftermath of the raid, while Ramsay and their remaining men slunk off to lick their wounds. By the time Ramsay came for him, he could be long gone.
Long gone to where, though? It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. Just take off, maybe in the middle of the night or when Ramsay was passed out from too much drinking after a successful raid. But these were fleeting thoughts, meant to escape the heat of the moment. After Ramsay was done here, things would go back to calm, and Theon would be left wondering what situation would be preferable to this. He was a decent scavenger, but he wouldn’t last a day in the Wastes on his own. And if he ran across a rival band of raiders, they’d gut him and leave him for dead…or worse.
Still, knowing his options, when he saw Ramsay emerge from the warehouse, his remaining crew in tow, the look of pure rage on his blood-soaked face sent Theon scrambling behind the bunker for cover. Ramsay would find a way to blame this one him—he hadn’t been doing his job properly, he hadn’t alerted them about the extra men, he had wanted them to fail.
—You wanted me to fail, is that it, Theon? Look at me. Look at me when I’m talking to you!—
He squeezed his eyes shut and flattened himself against the bunker’s siding. For some reason, the way the boards dug into his back was comforting, grounding. Somewhere, someone was screaming. It might have been him, for all he knew. That happened sometimes. He wouldn’t be aware that he was screaming until later, when his throat hurt too much to even take water.
But no, it didn’t seem to be him. This screaming was full of impotent rage, more of a howling really, with the gnashing of teeth. Maybe. It wasn’t close by and it was getting farther away. Quieter. Tapering off. Like the roar of a train as it sped down the tracks from you.
And then there was another noise. A click. Near. Very near.
He opened his eyes to the muzzle of a shotgun pointed at his face. The man who held it had very red hair. That was the thing he noticed when he looked up. Red hair and serious blue eyes trained right on him. He looked ready to shoot, but he hadn’t shot yet, had actually cocked his gun to draw Theon’s attention when it would have been easier to just kill him right out.
“You with them?” Redhead asked.
Theon swallowed and nodded, feeling about as meek as he’d ever felt.
“You their lookout?”
Theon nodded again.
“Didn’t do a very good job, did you?”
His shook his head in agreement. Ramsay would be angry. If he ever saw Ramsay again.
“We killed three of your men,” Redhead went on. “I don’t want to add another to that count, but I will unless you leave. Now.”
Theon looked up into those serious eyes again to see if he had heard right. The intention behind those words was still there, but why? Why would he just let Theon leave like that? Why give him the option?
“What’s wrong with you?” Redhead demanded, jerking his gun and causing Theon to flinch. “You want another hole in your face? Get going.”
“Please don’t shoot me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Please don’t…make me...” The words dribbled out, like he didn’t quite know what to say.
The tip of the gun lowered a fraction of an inch. Redhead cocked his head and studied him sideways, no doubt taking in Theon’s un-tattered clothes, clean-shaven face, and generally un-slovenly appearance with skepticism. Ramsay really did take care of him. When he wasn’t angry.
“Who gave you that black eye?”
Theon looked at the ground.
“Was it one of our people?”
Theon didn’t answer.
“Are you with them? Really?” Redhead asked.
“I…”
“I won’t make you go back.” The gun shifted and Redhead was holding out his hand, offering to help him up. “You’ll be safe here. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”
God, was this guy serious? A bruised eye was nothing. In truth, he’d completely forgotten he’d had it. His fingertips brushed it now to feel the dull throb it had faded into, not remembering why Ramsay had hit him. “I’m not weak,” he muttered. “I’ve taken worse. I don’t need your protection.” Why was he arguing? Redhead could just take up the gun again and shoot him. In fact, Theon had probably given him the perfect opening to.
But Redhead just sighed, like his arm was getting tired being held out like that. “You shouldn’t have to take anything from your own tribe.”
Tribe? He’d never heard it described like that. Probably because it was the last word that came to mind when describing Ramsay’s gang, right after “family.”
“Look, I’m not offering protection. I’m just offering…” He paused to think about it for a second. His eyes moved up and away as he contemplated. Stupid. Theon could have rushed him then, wrestled the gun out of his hands, and escaped. “An alternative.”
So why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he escaped when he’d had the chance? Or…was this the chance now? To escape Ramsay?
The hand was still being offered, and without knowing exactly why, Theon reached out and took it. Redhead hauled him to his feet. Standing, he could tell redhead wasn’t that much taller than him, not as tall as Ramsay, anyway. Maybe he could fight this guy off if he changed his mind. He hadn’t been lying about not being weak. It was just…few people were as strong as Ramsay, either.
“You have a name?” Redhead asked.
“Theon.”
Redhead smiled. With their hands clasped, it was almost like a formal handshake, a business deal. “I’m Robb,” he said. “Welcome to Winterfell Tribe.”