Chapter Text
“You can’t take him!” Theon winced at the tight hold his sister had on him, yanking him back from the men that had sacked their home. “He’s sick, you’re just gonna get ‘im killed!”
“I am not,” he protested, scratching Asha’s arms to be released.
“You are too!”
Asha was three years older than him but they were the same height. Sadly, she was stronger than he was so it made it impossible to escape from her grasp. Not that he was trying all that hard. He didn’t want to be taken from Pyke by a bunch of strange men that killed his brothers.
Stranger still was the glint of light over their heads marking their names that Theon had long since learned to ignore. He tended to see things that weren’t there but he wasn’t sick. None of the maesters that he had been brought to when he was younger could determine an illness and all insisted that the sea had blinded him. He could see just fine, only saw other things as well. It had been tricky learning to look at people’s faces instead of over their heads.
“Let your brother go, Asha.” Uncle Euron’s cool voice only served to remind them all that their father was trapped in the Sea Tower speaking with the king. “Now.”
“No!” His sister held him tighter and even tried to take a step back from the unknown men. “They’re not taking my baby brother.”
“He’ll come to no harm in Winterfell.” One of the men, Lord Eddard Stark, held out his hand to him and Asha. Icy gray eyes showed no warmth despite trying to get two children to place a modicum of trust in him.
“You’re bad at this,” Asha snapped. “Why would I trust you?”
Theon rolled his eyes and stomped his foot down on her own to get her to release him. The moment her arms loosened, he was pushing against them to stumble right into Lord Stark’s outstretched hand. Asha cursed and reached out to smack him with one hand and grab his seal skin coat with the other. Uncle Euron swept in to pick her up by her waist to make sure she couldn’t reach him.
“Best take the boy,” his uncle said, “before Asha rallies the Drowned God to her cause.”
He had always liked Uncle Euron. Victarion was too bitter and Aeron drank too much. But Euron was fun. Laughed and played games with him and Asha when they were younger. Theon’s favorite thing was when he would get to see both of his uncle’s eyes. The smiling one and the crow. It always made him feel like his own screwed up eyes weren’t a curse.
They had the same eyes, actually. Father had almost been convinced that he was Euron’s instead of his own because of it. One bright blue and the other black as the night. Theon did feel a bit more like Uncle Euron’s son than his father’s but that simply wasn’t true. His uncle would have told him.
“Keep your head on, little crow,” Uncle Euron told him, reaching out his free hand to pat his head, “I expect you to best me at somethin’ when we meet again.”
“I will!” Theon vowed, unconsciously lifting on his toes to press into his uncle’s hand.
“Come along,” Lord Stark said, steering him away from his family.
Lights floated above the heads of the soldiers as he was walked through them but Theon did his best to ignore them. Catching a few names before he caught himself looking over them instead of at them like a normal person. It was better to not read their names. He wouldn’t mess up and say such things before they’d been introduced if he didn’t look.
It was cold up north. Snow covered the ground despite it being spring. Theon kicked at the powder that was up to his knees and often found himself being plucked out of the mess by someone. Then sat by the fire where he had disappeared from when they made camp. They were close to Winterfell according to Lord Stark, at most another couple days. It had steadily gotten colder but he was rather warm in his seal skin coat. It was meant to withstand the cold winds between the Towers of Pyke and the frozen sea.
Theon packed snow between his gloves to make a ball to add to the small pile he had been making. Snow was pushed into piles then connected by walls to keep the snowballs he made contained. Little towers were placed on the mounds from icicles he took off the low hanging tree branches; before he was once more dragged back to the fire.
Tree needles were twisted together into people that he stuck into the snow walls for sentinels. He managed to dig up a few rocks to make a barrier to keep the snow castle away from the fire that he packed with more snow. Once that was completed he slipped away from the fire to make away with a whetstone from one of the men that wasn’t looking. He moved the snowballs around to place the stone in the middle of the pile before it covering it up. The castle was set up but Theon didn’t know what do now. Asha wasn’t around to play Kraken’s Nest.
“Preparing for a fight?” Someone asked, crouching down next to him. “That’s quite the pile of snowballs, lad.”
“It’s twenty,” Theon boasted proudly. “There’s always twenty.”
“Oh?” Ser Rodrik Cassel took a knee instead of crouching. “Why twenty?”
“Because kraken’s always have twenty eggs.”
That was common knowledge. Even babes knew that. Uncle Euron claimed to have raided a kraken’s nest once in his youth and made off with one of the eggs before he was caught. He had said that he hatched the egg himself in the shallows under Pyke and that the kraken was his friend now. Asha said that it wasn’t true but Theon didn’t think their uncle was lying. There had always been a little kraken mark next to his name over his head that no one else had.
“Do they now?” Ser Rodrik asked, reaching out to pick up one of the tree needle sentinels. “These your bannermen?”
“No,” Theon took the sentinel from the man and put it back, “they’re nest guardians. My uncle always said that where the Drowned God had mermaids, the krakens had the mermen. That they were used to protect their nests from raiders. Or sharks.”
“And this is your kraken nest.” It was a statement not a question.
“It is.”
Theon fixed another sentinel before crossing his arms on his knees. He didn’t know what else to do. If he ever got bored at home he could bother Asha or Dagmer. Or his mother. And if they weren’t available he could have always found Uncle Aeron drunk in the Great Hall.
“It’ll get easier, lad,” Ser Rodrik said, “once you’ve got the Stark boys to play with and the young lads training for the guard.”
“Will I train too?” He asked, looking at the man. He knew he was the master-at-arms for Winterfell, it was part of the light over his head. Just like he knew that Lord Stark was Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. “I know how to thrown an axe and shoot a bow!”
“Oh, you’ll be trainin’ no doubt. Learning the sword with the boys.” A hand patted his shoulder. “You’ll have to leave the axe throwing behind, I’m afraid I ain’t the best to teach you that.”
That was disappointing but Theon brushed it aside. It wasn’t like he was very good at it to begin with. He was better with a bow.
Winterfell was pleasantly warm. Lord Stark had introduced him to his sons upon their arrival but he hadn’t allowed them to truly meet. Theon was handed off to a servant to placed in a room under one of the turrets that was away from the Stark children. That hadn’t been said but each door that he passed had a name and lock symbol on them to tell him what they were and if he could enter them. No one else was really nearby. Only empty rooms for visiting lords or ladies.
Theon didn’t really mind being away from everyone else. His room back in the Sea Tower was an entire floor above his sister’s and four over his brothers’. It had been chosen when he was little to keep him away from everyone else in case his illness was contagious.
He truly met the Stark children at supper. There were three and a half of them and a cousin. Robb and Jon were the oldest at seven and six, Sansa was four, Arya was two, and Lady Stark had a baby. Theon couldn’t help reading their names over their heads to get an understanding of their placements in Winterfell like he had done everyone else. It’s what left him staring at Jon next to him.
Over the six year old’s head were silvery white words naming Prince Jon Targaryen, Second Heir to the Iron Throne and Seven Kingdoms. Theon glanced over at Robb to read his name and titles. In the same script and color was Robb Stark, Heir to Winterfell. He scratched at his nose and looked back at Jon’s words. Everyone knew that the Targaryens were dead. Most of them anyway. Uncle Euron said that King Aerys’ youngest children lived in Pentos but there were no living Targaryens in Westeros. Everyone knew that.
“What’re you looking at?” Prince Jon asked, lifting his shoulders up to his ears with the question.
“Erm, nothing, my prince,” Theon mumbled, feeling wholly uncomfortable next to the prince. What if his manners offended him? Mother always told him that he took much after Uncle Aeron and was more fit to eat with drunks in the tavern. Lovingly, of course.
“What was that?” The prince tilted his head in confusion, trying to catch his eyes despite how Theon was avoiding him.
“I said: nothing,” he mumbled a little louder.
Gray eyes finally caught his avoidant gaze and Theon had to scold himself to stop from looking away again. He didn’t think princes would like being avoided. King Robert had barely looked at him or Asha but Prince Jon was actively trying to catch his eyes. What if he had the Targaryen madness that Uncle Victarion had talked about?
“Your eyes look funny,” Prince Jon stated.
“Jon.” There was a scolding sigh of the prince’s name from Lord Stark. “It’s impolite to make comments on another’s appearance. Apologize.”
“Sorry,” the prince apologized, looking down at his plate.
“It’s okay,” Theon said, “everyone back home says they’re creepy.” He picked apart a soft roll. “My uncle has the same thing but he always covers one of his eyes. People say his blue is his smiling eye, it’s the one he shows when he’s not mad.” His left hand was used to cover his blue eye as he talked. “His black eye is his crow’s eye. That’s the one no one likes when it’s showing.”
He dropped his hand to use both of them to mash the ripped part bread into the broth left of his soup. Then his left hand picked up the spoon to scoop out the soggy bread and set it on the plate next to the bowl. Once the bowl was empty and mostly clean he grabbed the clay cup partially full of water to pour it all inside. The spoon was dipped into the water then drawn along the rim of the bowl to leave it glistening. He set the spoon aside to lift the plate and slide the soggy soup bread into the water before covering it all with the plate.
“What are you doing, child?” Lady Stark asked sharply. “Were you never taught to not play with your food?”
“No?” Theon glanced over that lady of the castle then back at the plate covered bowl. “It’s an offering. Uncle Euron always says that giving the wet bread to the water will appease the sea serpents living in the caverns connecting the Iron Islands.”
“Well, there are certainly no sea serpents in the caves under Winterfell,” Lord Stark said, “so perhaps it would best to leave that custom for the Iron Islands.”
“But it’s already made.”
Theon picked up the offering and held it close to his chest. What was he supposed to do with it now? He knew there was no sea to give it to but surely there were critters in the caves that needed appeasement. Uncle Euron said there were always beasts older than the First Men and Andals living in the lands and under the sea and that it was best to make friends with them. Or at least not become their enemy.
“It’s alright, lad,” Lord Stark said, “you can leave the offering in the godswood, if you’d like.”
“Are there beasts living there?” Theon asked, unwilling to part with the offering.
“Only those of a forest.” At his sour look, the lord shook his head with a vaguely amused glint in gray eyes. “The godswood holds the heart tree that the old gods use to keep watch over the north. Offerings aren’t necessary to appease them or ask for their favor but some of the First Men were known to do so.”
Olds gods. Theon looked down at his offering then at Lord Stark then back again. It wasn’t to a beast but surely it would work the same. He was stuck in this place so it wouldn’t be a bad idea to not make an enemy of the gods here. Uncle Euron never spoke much of gods but he had mentioned that there were more than those of Westeros. And that it was likely best to err on the side of caution when in their lands. Even for reavers and pirates.
Theon gave a nod to Lord Stark. He would give the offering to the old gods to appease them. If he was given the chance he would find the caves under Winterfell to appease the beasts down there too.
Theon knew that he wasn’t old enough to understand everything and that unless he became a maester there would be things he would never know. But it didn’t make him any less confused and frustrated about the things that seemed wrong to him. No one treated the prince like a prince. Lady Stark didn’t even glance at him most days and some of the guardsmen looked down on him for something. They called him Snow too and he didn’t understand.
When he went to try being polite and courteous like his mother and Uncle Rodrik had taught him should any of the royal family visit, he got strange looks. Like he was doing something wrong. Which wasn’t an unusual thing because back home he was strange like his uncle and often fumbled. It left him uncomfortable here and more so when Prince Jon would call him weird for how he tried to be polite.
It didn’t make any sense. So much so that Theon sought out Lord Stark to figure it all out. If anyone would know that was happening it would be the lord of this castle, surely. His father had known everything that happened at Pyke and the Iron Islands. And if he didn’t then his uncles did.
“Lord Stark?” Theon peered through the doorway into the solar but didn’t step inside. The door didn’t have a lock symbol on it but that didn’t mean he was allowed inside necessarily. He had made that mistake with his father one too many times. “Can I ask you about something?” Questions were a smart man’s best weapon his Uncle Rodrik used to say and he had a lot of questions.
“Come inside,” Lord Stark said without looking up from a book in front of him on the table. Theon slipped into the solar with a close of the door behind him. “What’s your question?”
“Why is the prince called Snow?” Theon asked, inching towards the solar table.
Lord Stark’s hand froze in the movement to turn a page of the book before it resumed a moment later. “Is that some sort of riddle?” He asked in return. “I’m afraid I’ve never been very good at riddles. You might find Maester Luwin better fit for such a question.”
“I meant Prince Jon,” he clarified. That brought another pause to the lord. “Everyone calls him Snow.”
“Jon is no prince,” Lord Stark said, “he is my natural born son.”
Theon stared at the lord then looked up at the writing over his head. It was a dark red like most of the men in Winterfell; like those back home had been. Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. The sight had him shaking his head.
“No he’s not.” He knew what natural born names looked like. They didn’t have titles or well known family names. “He’s-”
“Jon is my son,” Lord Stark cut him off coldly. Gray eyes were ice in their stare pinned on him. “I don’t know where you got the notion that he’s a prince but he is not.” Theon bit his tongue to avoid arguing. “Take your jests and child’s fantasies back to the training yard, Theon. And do not bring this up again. With myself or Jon.”
The sharp dismissal had Theon lowering his head and apologizing. No one liked hearing what he had to say about what he saw. It had been a mistake forgetting that this wasn’t Pyke and that the people here didn’t know or understand his sight.
His strange sight didn’t lend him any help in Winterfell. In fact, it tended to make things harder than living at Pyke. Almost everyone was wary of him and as he got older, the more he saw and the less they liked to see in return. Lord Stark in particular had been cold after that day in his solar and Lady Catelyn had never liked him; less so after he put an offering in her sept to the Seven. The only one that really seemed to like him was Robb.
That was his best friend. He had tried with Jon but the prince had never liked him. None of the other Stark kids did either. The girls thought he was weird like their cousin did and as Bran got older he said that his eyes creeped him out. Theon had taken to wearing his hair long enough to hide one of his eyes when a visiting lord or lady came to Winterfell to avoid disturbing them. It made him realize why Uncle Euron always had an eye patch. It got less stares and questions.
One thing that Theon still hadn’t gotten used to about his vision was how it gotten queer even to him. The names, titles, and locked rooms had been familiar for many years but the slow bleed of other things had him questioning the nature of what he saw. In the low left side of his vision there was a constantly moving map like he had one held up at all times that followed where he went. From all around Winterfell to the wolfswood. It would even change when he stepped into the crypts or the hot spring caves. He never got lost again, that was for sure.
Possibly just as strange was how he could look long enough at someone had get a glimpse into how well they liked him. It had been an accident at first when he was five and ten and staring a serving girl’s breasts. Mika never acknowledged him but between blinks he caught a glimpse of a gray bar under her name. He hadn’t understood what it was at first. Not until he was watching Robb sparring with Prince Jon and a partially full green bar had appeared under his name; and a nearly entirely gray one under Prince Jon’s.
It took him almost an entire year to figure out what it meant. But it made it easier to judge who he should avoid and who genuinely liked him here. Which only seemed to be Robb. The sting of that had simmered for years and even at nine and ten it was still sharp in his chest.
The wolfswood was a place that was almost entirely uncovered on his corner map. When it first appeared places had been shrouded in gray mist until he stumbled upon the areas. With how often he went out hunting or riding it was no surprise that only the most outer edges of the map were still in mist. Places close to Deepwood Motte and beyond Winterfell’s borders. All it took was a thought for the map to expand like it was being rolled out for him to see it and farther still to see all of the North. He didn’t like doing it. It made him feel…wrong.
It was left to move with him as he traveled with the party to the deserter execution. He had been to a few of these. It didn’t really make carrying around Ice any easier when the Valyrian steel glimmered with the same cold glare as Lord Stark. He had known the weapon’s name before it was told him and if he tried he could read the fancy script detailing the deeds it had done over the centuries as the Stark family sword.
He could do that with a lot of objects but he didn’t like doing it. Not often. Not after Maester Luwin had interrogated him over something he mentioned during one of his last lessons. He knew things he shouldn’t know, like always.
The deserter of the Night’s Watch was easily struck down by Ice. Lord Stark held the sword back out to him even as Theon nudged at the dead man’s head with his foot. Their names didn’t leave even after death. They only went gray or black to mark them as deceased. And like every other severed head before, he stuck his foot through the name to check once more that it couldn’t be interacted with.
The dead stag and direwolf didn’t concern him much but he was interested in the direwolf pups that Robb and Prince Jon found. They had their own little lights over their heads. Question marks instead of names and titles. And when they were picked up Theon watched direwolf markers appear next to the Stark boys’ names along with Prince Jon’s. Companion marks. His uncle Euron had a kraken one. It must mean that he hadn’t been lying about hatching one and befriending it.
Two of the pups were handed to him to be brought back to Winterfell while Robb and Prince Jon got the last of them. There were six. One for each Stark child. They were bigger than regular pups and wriggly so Theon had to hold them close to his chest to avoid dropping them on the ride. Knowing that they were companions had something a little bitter filling his chest. If he had been back home he might have been able to find a companion of his own like Uncle Euron. Or at least had the option. Here, though, he wasn’t allowed more than chances to befriend the cats in the kitchens and cellars.
The pups grew fast. Most of their names had been revealed and only Bran’s pup remained shrouded in mystery. They got their own markers on the his map like their companions and the important people of Winterfell. Those had made it easy to avoid people he didn’t want to interact with. Even if had gotten Robb looking at him strangely when he made the mistake of commenting on Ser Rodrik being around a corner and wanting to avoid a scolding.
Robb was the only one that really knew anything about his sight. The only one Theon felt close enough to talk to about it even if he was certain that his best friend didn’t believe him. He at least didn’t call him crazy to his face. Only gave him side-long glances when he did something or said a thing that he shouldn’t have.
The day those of King’s Landing were to arrive in Winterfell, Theon had been forced to stand behind the Stark family with Prince Jon. He didn’t have much interest in the royal family or the Kingsguard. Perhaps he could find someone of interest in the tagalongs every caravan got, in the singers at the end of the train. But until then - and until the evening feast - he was forced to wait and watch. To read names as they appeared and take note of the new markers on his map of each one of importance.
Mismatched eyes trailed over the king and queen without much interest. They paused at the three golden haired children that were coming out of the carriage. Joffrey Lannister, Myrcella Lannister, Tommen Lannister. No titles despite being the royal children nor did they carry their father’s name.
“Why’re they Lannisters?” Theon mumbled to himself as he leaned over Robb’s shoulder to get a better look.
“What?” Robb turned his head towards him but he hardly noticed. “Is this another one of your cryptic riddles? They’re Lannisters because their mother is queen.”
“A lioness and her cubs.” But there was no stag to them.
There was a sigh from Robb and an elbow being driven into his chest to get him to lean back and be appropriate. Theon rubbed at the sore spot without looking away from the names. If he had learned anything from his sight, it was that people carried their father’s name or a bastard one. Only the smallfolk bastards didn’t have family names.
It was no concern of his, though. He looked over the Kingsguard that had joined the royal caravan to protect the royal family with notes of their names and titles. They were about what he expected. Knights and what not. He lost interest in the men and let his eyes rove over the stragglers coming into Winterfell. His left hand curled into a fist at one of the names over a man carrying a lute.
“Two kings, a prince, and three bastards,” Theon hummed to himself.
“Stop it,” Robb hissed at him. A hand grabbed his arm as the greeting party started to dissolve. “This is why my siblings don’t like you. Be normal, please, Theon.”
“I’m just saying,” he muttered, shaking off the hand. He hadn’t looked away from the tall man and he found shrewd brown eyes looking at him in return. Mance Rayder, King Beyond the Wall and Deserter of the Night’s Watch. “You a bard?”
He pulled away from Robb to approach the king, casually looking over the old lute in his hands. The clothes he wore were faded and old, grays and browns of roughspun wool. Heavy black boots were covered in mud from the long walk. There was a sheepskin cloak around his shoulders. Undyed but well loved. Theon noted the dark red of his name with a cautious warning to himself to not make an enemy of him.
“Aye, can’t say I’m a good one,” Rayder laughed, “but no one’s complained yet.”
“I tried to learn once,” Theon admitted, nodding to the lute, “never could get the fingerings down right.” He shrugged with a light laugh at his own failings.
“Mayhaps you didn’t have the right teacher, lad.”
“You’re probably right.” Uncle Aeron was more drunk than sober and had spent those three months drinking more than teaching. “If…you’re not against it, I could pay for a lesson or two while you’re here.”
Rayder studied him for a long moment but Theon refused to buckle under the intelligent gaze. Obviously the king knew that this wasn’t just him looking for lute lessons but he didn’t give him any reason to be suspicious. He was just a hostage lordling looking for entertainment.
“Keep your coin, lad,” Rayder said with a hand grabbing his shoulder, “I’ll teach ya a thing or two.”
“It’d be much appreciated, your grace.”
He couldn’t help himself. His mother would have slapped him if she knew he had been speaking with a king and didn’t address him properly. Still, Theon kept it low to avoid being overheard. And when Rayder’s expression started to turn severe, he offered a grin and wink of his blue eye. It was the smiling eye for a reason.
Rayder narrowed his eyes but in a less than appropriate move lifted a glove covered hand to shove back the black hair covering Theon’s other eye. “Of course,” he scoffed, “Stormcrow’s little crow.” The hand was taken back and the sleek hair fell back into place. “He talks too much, that ironborn prick. Best keep quiet, lad.” Rayder grabbed his shoulder again but it was far more of a threat this time. “Your uncle and I have no bad blood, I’d like to keep it that way.”
“You’re older than he described,” Theon lied, casually lifting his hands to tie back his hair off his face. “Probably best to find a…more secluded place for those lute lessons, yeah?”
“Oh, aye,” Rayder laughed again, “you’re subtler than Stormcrow, that’s for sure.”
“Better to be subtle than an outcast.”
Not that he had managed that. Theon turned away from the king to make his way through the courtyard to the godswood where he knew no one else would be. His map of Winterfell was expanded to make sure he knew where everyone of import was. Everyone was going to be too busy with the royal family and Kingsguard to be in the godswood anyway.
The place never quite felt welcoming no matter how many offerings he had given to the heart tree. After a few months he had stopped all together. Not only was it not working, Lady Catelyn had grown increasingly irritated with the practice. He wasn’t meant to be in the godswood but nothing specifically said that he couldn’t. It was like the old gods were just expecting him to take the ill at ease feeling as a warning and disappear forever. Which wasn’t something he would do.
To spare himself the overbearing stare of the weirwood, he led Rayder to the hot springs in the back corner. This was his favorite place of the godswood. Mainly because if he swam down far enough he could find the underground tunnels that flowed into the hot springs beneath the castle. Robb swore up and down that he would get lost in there and drown but with the map he never did.
“How well can you hold your breath?” Theon asked offhandedly as he sat on at the edge of the steaming pool.
“Better than most, I suppose,” Rayder answered, sitting a little ways away. “I wouldn’t try drowning me, lad, you won’t make it out of this godswood alive if you do.”
“Doesn’t matter to me that you’re a Night’s Watch deserter,” he said, taking off his boots and stockings to put his feet in the hot water. “I only asked ‘cause these pools connect to the ones beneath the castle. Well beneath.” He looked over at the king that was watching him closely. “In case you need a quick escape or something from here.”
“Won’t need it if you keep quiet.”
That was reasonable. Theon nodded and leaned back on his hands to watch Rayder. “Are you really considered a king?” He asked, unable to hold his tongue. “Thought the wildlings didn’t have any of that. Rules and such.” Not that he knew a lot about wildlings.
“Not by anyone beyond the wall,” Rayder answered, “that’s a southern title.”
“What’s it like?” There was a wave of a hand for elaboration that had Theon blowing out a breath. “Living without…rules. Free.”
He never really felt like he was in a cage or chained down but he never fit in either. His sight made him too different. The older he got the more he understood why Uncle Euron spent more time on Silence and at sea than he did around others. No one looked at him funny on his own ship in the middle of the sea.
“Hard,” Rayder answered honestly, voice heavy and tired, “but fulfilling. The conditions are harsh and growing harsher but out there your life is your own.”
“Winter is coming then.” The Stark words weren’t his own but no summer could last forever. “How do you survive? With all the snow and ice? Don’t you get buried under storms and freeze to death?”
“The freefolk know how to survive,” was the reply. “You learn along the way.”
Theon watched the ripples in the hot spring when he moved his feet. It had been a while since he went swimming. Longer still since his last memory of racing the tide with Asha was fresh. He had gone swimming a few times in the river but even with the hot spring pouring into it the water got too cold in the later months of the year.
“You want freedom, lad?” Rayder asked, strumming the lute. “You could leave here with me at the end of this trip. Get you back to your uncle, if that’s your wish.”
“M’not meant for the cold.” Theon sighed and fell back into the wet leaves and stone. “As nice as freedom sounds.”
“Offer still stand. Stormcrow visits the Bay of Seals frequently enough.”
“I appreciate it, your grace,” he said, “but I’ll find him when I go home.” And after he had mastered something to best him at.
Mance Rayder left the day after Bran fell. Disappearing with a few others that hadn’t been part of the main caravan from King’s Landing. Theon hadn’t wanted him to leave but he knew that a man like Rayder could never stay. And once he was gone it was like it had been before. With everyone giving him a wide berth and pretending to not find him creepy.
Theon wasn’t sure how to feel about leaving Winterfell to fight at Robb’s side. He wasn’t the best swordsman and while his skill with a bow outshone everyone else, that didn’t mean he was ready to face Tywin Lannister’s soldiers. It felt like his duty to help Robb but there was little love lost for the cause. Lord Stark never liked him and neither had Sansa and Arya. It was only because of his love for his best friend that he wasn’t remaining behind with Ser Rodrik.
Parts of his map were uncovering with each mile and boundary line crossed to reveal more of the Neck and Riverlands. It almost felt like an unfair advantage to have the map in the dark of the Whispering Woods. Markers appeared for the enemy and even in the dark their names and titles glowed. White, yellow, and red. He had long since determined that the colors meant how well he could best them in a fight.
He wasn’t blind like those around him. High in the nightsky was the moon and stars but he didn’t need them to see his opponents. His sword cut down those carrying the Lannister marker before their names and clashed with those of yellow or red.
It was an easy enough victory. One that led into taking Riverrun back from Lannister hands. Theon was happier not on the battlefield but he went out when Robb did. But he wasn’t any happier in Riverrun. Everything here was grayed out and locked, and the people weren’t used to the look of him. They shied away and whispered behind his back. He had even overheard Edmure Tully asking Lady Stark why the northmen thought it a good idea to bring an ironborn to the Riverlands.
Betrayal was no easy thing to do. Theon still felt in his heart that he should stay sworn to Robb as king but he was a Greyjoy. His father had been colder than expected and Uncle Aeron was a priest now, and everything was changed but they were family and he was home. This was his duty, to them. Not the North.
“Like what you see?” A voice asked from behind him on the docks. Theon looked away from the longship that had been made for him to captain. “She’s a good one.”
“Mm, I’d imagine so.” He looked over the young woman with a glance at her name. “Just get in?”
“Drowned God, no,” she laughed, “I live with the shipmaker, new wife.”
Theon raised an eyebrow. “I highly doubt father would let you marry someone so lowly born,” he said, looking back at his new ship. “She needs a name but I’ve never been very good with them.”
“I thought for sure you didn’t recognize me,” Asha said, coming up at his left. “I doubt I would’ve known this was you without seeing your eyes.”
“You look like Ma,” he replied, “and your name is right there.”
He used his left hand to swipe over her head. Never in his life had he been uncertain on who someone was. Whether he remembered what they looked like or not. It was a curse as much as it was a boon. There was no catching him unaware with fake identities or hidden titles.
“Still seeing things then?” Asha asked, putting her elbow into his ribs.
“No cure for my eyes,” he replied.
“Should name her Sea Bitch,” his sister said casually. “Bet she’ll be the only good pussy you’ll find with those looks of yours.”
Theon snorted at the jab and turned away from the new named ship. “I’ve known a whore or two,” he said, walking down the docks for where Smiler was tied. “I fuck no different than any other man. Hells, I know a merchant’s daughter that liked my eyes.” Said merchant’s daughter was on the deck of her father’s ship and trying to flag him down. That he ignored.
“That thing?” Asha laughed and clapped him on the back with a heavy hand. “Guess you’ve got all the unique look a boring wench could want.”
“Lord Greyjoy-”
“Drowned God, shut up,” Theon muttered. Both to his sister and the wench on the boat. Not that she could hear. “I was going to offer you an easier ride up to Pyke but I’m not feeling nearly as generous as I was.”
“Oh, is little Lord Greyjoy upset?” His sister slipped her arm through his and pressed in close to his right side. “Forgive me, baby brother, I didn’t mean to offend your sensitive northern sensibilities.” The sarcasm was bordering on sickly sweet.
“Shut up,” he muttered again.
Asha’s laughter followed them all the way to Pyke. Her teasing and jesting didn’t rest even at supper. Theon retired early to the musty guest room in the Bloody Tower to avoid her humiliating him over something or another. And as annoying was it was, he was happy to see her. She was his last sibling and the closest he had been to.
It didn’t really register where it had all gone wrong. Huddle in the dark of a dungeon cell crying and blind. He knew he had fucked up, that he shouldn’t have done what he did, that due punishment always came. It didn’t stop useless eyes from spilling tears and his body shuddering with the force of the sobs. It was more than having his fingers flayed and he never would have thought something could be worse that agony.
Then Lord Ramsay had personally taken a spoon to his blue eye to pry it out of his skull because he said it mocked him. He struggled and sobbed on the cross but Skinner had held his head still to let Lord Ramsay do his work. And once that was gone and he was left puking on himself there had been a hum and hand grabbing his chin to force his head back. Thick blood dripped down his cheek and his vision was so blurry that he couldn’t truly make out the face in front of him.
“Better,” Lord Ramsay had said, “black suits you.” The tight hold on his chin disappeared and in the haze of minutes or hours, Theon was back in the dark of his cell. Blind without his map and left eye.
He knew Mance Rayder immediately. Lord Ramsay’s wedding had brought in singers and Reek had spotted him among the women. Only flickering names remained to be seen but he kept his head down most of the time anyway so it wasn’t noticed. Even dressed up in velvet again like a lord, he didn’t feel like one. Like who he used to be.
In the fall of late autumn snow kept those in Winterfell trapped. Reek did his best to avoid everyone but in one of his late night wanderings he found himself standing at the edge of the hot spring pools. It had been so long since he’d swam but he wasn’t allowed to do so. All he could do was watch the steam rise. And he knew he shouldn’t be out for too long and that Lord Ramsay expected him with the hounds in the morning, but still he stayed.
“Little crow.” The quiet voice didn’t have him lifting his head from the steam. “That is you, lad, I know it.” A heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and didn’t release him even after he flinched. “Lawed lands haven’t been kind in the last few years have they?”
Rayder was on his left. He couldn’t see him. Hear him, feel him, but never see again. Lord Ramsay had taken his smiling eye and his crow’s doesn’t work as well anymore without it.
“Let me see ya properly, lad,” Rayder said, tugging on his shoulder to turn him. A different hand grabbed his chin to force him to look up. “Took to wearing a patch like your uncle, I see.” The hand on his shoulder lifted to brush back white hair from his face then carefully lifted the black leather patch. “Let’s get your full sight back, little crow, you’re gonna need-” The king beyond the wall cut himself off. “Took a lot from ya, these years.”
The patch was set back over his empty eye socket with a somber air. He wanted to lower his head but the hand holding his chin refused to let him go. Rayder was frowning.
“Do you want freedom, little crow?” Rayder asked, voice heavy as he dropped a hand from his face. “I can give it to you. The permanent kind. Give ya a kindness for your uncle and you keeping your word.” There was a slow draw from a blade but Reek didn’t move. “Don’t worry about Arya, we’ll get her outta here.”
It was a kindness. A permanent chance at freedom that he had been too scared to take years ago when it was first offered. Rayder didn’t say anything as he brought the knife forward and Theon didn’t stop him.