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Theon followed dilligently after Jon, clutching his cloak to himself tightly. “That you do. Can’t rely on Ser Kingslayer for everything, aye?” He laughed aloud, a little surprised at himself. He’d scarce laughed this past decade.

 He’d felt like Theon in name only, but now, finally, with speaking with Arya and Robb and Jon and Ezzara, he felt as though he were a person once more.

“I spoke with Robb.” He said it suddenly, unsure as to Jon’s reaction. “He’s invited me to Winterfell. I’ll see about looking over the Winter Town while I’m there. Might be some boys want to see how much colder the North may get.”

Theon couldn’t meet Jon’s gaze, nor understand his hand upon his shoulder. “Aye, Lord Commander. I do my best to follow them, as best a twat can.” He paused, and finally looked straight at Jon.

“I want to do the best I can. I want to serve, as best I can.” He tried a closed mouth smile, inclining his head at Jon. “I trust you won’t have me mucking out the stables now, then though? They already say I’ve shit for honour; don’t want it all over my hands either.”

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“I can’t agree that they fear it too greatly, if that fear gives the Watch what we need. Just the right amount, I’d say.” Theon was not eager to meet death, in truth. He’d lived through too much, and owed penance to too many, to die at the end of a bandit’s spear or ice monster’s sword. He’d meet his end after a lifetime of service, or by the sharp end of a Stark blade. That was all he could do.

“Well, perhaps it only feels as though five hundred miles. I’m not a cartographer. But it is a two week’s ride, or so, should you spare the horse.” He smiled at her words. “I’ll keep an ear out for news of her death, and expect you then, aye?”

Theon raised his eyebrows.  He’d yet to be called ‘alright’. He’d called himself Sigrin to keep himself from being murdered in his bed, to keep the lords and ladies of the land from slamming their gates in his face on the grounds of his name. She was wrong. But he wouldn’t disabuse her of the notion that he wasn’t utter rubbish.

“I pray you’re right, on both accounts.” He scratched at his beard, thinking at her question. “About five-hundred miles. Not a trip to be made lightly. But I’m certain you’ve faced worse.”

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Theon was silent for a long moment, looking at Robb through the veil of tears, before nodding firmly. “I...I can do that, Robb. You’ll see me there soon, I imagine. The Wall is hungry, in all senses of the word, and Jon will have me south-bound right after I drop this bag of kittens at his feet. Wall’s hungrier for men than a whore’s cunt.” He snorted, then wiped at his wet nose with his glove.

“A damned shame our oaths keep us from your side. You know there is no place Jon and I would rather be.” He breathed in, and managed a smile at Robb; a mangled, broken thing, but a smile nonetheless. “I’ll make it back soon. Perhaps I’ll make the voyage with Jon. Have a proper go of things.”

A Throbbing Pain: Robb and Theon

None of this made sense. They didn’t hate him. They didn’t HATE him. It would have been better if they’d matched Theon’s thoughts; if Robb had spat in his face and got back on his horse. But this made everything worse; to know that they loved him so, that they’d cared for him so despite it all, despite everything that he’d done to them. 

“I’m sorry, Robb,” he whispered so softly he could scarce hear himself. Tears threatened to break free, but he choked them down furiously. He shouldn’t subject Robb to that; the man deserved better than the sight of weeping, pathetic Theon Greyjoy, although that was precisely what he felt at the moment, salty tears running into his beard.

“I know you can’t ever forgive me. I don’t want you to.” He put his hand to his eyes, the better to hide the tears that now streamed down his face, and Theon sighed, deeply. “I’m sorry; I’m such a cunt. Weeping like a washerwoman.” He laughed then, choking a sob. “If you’ll have me…if you’ll have me again, I’m your brother until my last breath, this black cloak be damned.”

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“I went to them! Willingly!” Ramsay’s voice had cracked his skull, was buzzing in his ears, crawling down his spine, and Theon had to shout to overcome it. When Ramsay touched him, it snapped him from his daze, and he stepped back again, the sword pointing at Ramsay now, from a safe distance.

But there was no such thing as safe distance from Ramsay, was there? Not at the Wall. Not the Riverlands, or Dorne, or the Vale or the North. Ramsay would find him. Ramsay would warp him, like old wood. “I won’t play the game. I’m NOT yours. I remember my NAME. You can flay me and flay them, but I still won’t be your bloody Reek.”

His other hand fumbled for Horse’s reins, trying to lead the animal back while keeping Ramsay off of him and his sword and eyes on the Bastard.

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Not again. Not. Again. His heart pounding, Theon stepped back as he drew his sword, his hands trembling. Ramsay’s words, each and every one, a knife in his flesh, the liquid terror of his presence filling the cracks and crevices of Theon’s skull. He was surprised, then, when his voice rang out, hard and true: “I’m Theon Greyjoy…of the Night’s Watch. I’m not your Reek. I never was.” Confident, bold words; far bolder than he felt. It would be easy to be Reek again. It would hurt, and he would die shrieking in agony; but he would die later, rather than sooner. But he’d die Theon before becoming Reek again. “I won’t let you take me. I won’t.”

‘’NO.’’ His voice would boom over to Theon at the incorrect words as he stepped closer. Watching as Theon drew his sword, he’d halt in reaching distance, stood silently staring for a couple of moments, ‘’you’re not playing the game correctly. You’re Reek, remember?’’

He’d let out a deep sigh. ‘’Say it again.’’ It was a shame that his plaything had decided to go on this path, but Ramsay would never let him go. As long as he lived he’d hunt out Theon until he was no more, nothing other than his Reek. ‘’You are Reek. You are mine.’’ 

‘’I’ll flay the entire fucking Night’s Watch…’’ He’d now step into Theon’s personal space. ‘’Because they took you.’’ He’d poke at Theon’s chest. ‘’From me.’’ And Ramsay didn’t like that, not at all. He didn’t like that Theon was pledging alliance to someone other than him.

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Theon couldn't meet Jon's gaze, nor understand his hand upon his shoulder. "Aye, Lord Commander. I do my best to follow them, as best a twat can." He paused, and finally looked straight at Jon.

"I want to do the best I can. I want to serve, as best I can." He tried a closed mouth smile, inclining his head at Jon. "I trust you won't have me mucking out the stables now, then though? They already say I've shit for honour; don't want it all over my hands either."

Theon was quiet as Jon spoke. Jon was wrong; the Starks could lock everything away, move past it, bury his past. But the boys he’d killed, the father and mother he’d slain, the dead of Winterfell…they would haunt him until his dying day. He could never forget them, and they could never forgive him. But Jon was right about one thing: he needed Theon. Or rather, he needed all the aid he could get, and that included him. “Aye, Lord Commander.” His words were quiet, but firm as he voiced his assent. “I am your sworn brother, as I’ve been all these years. As I should have been, the years before.”

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Not again. Not. Again. His heart pounding, Theon stepped back as he drew his sword, his hands trembling. Ramsay's words, each and every one, a knife in his flesh, the liquid terror of his presence filling the cracks and crevices of Theon's skull. He was surprised, then, when his voice rang out, hard and true: "I'm Theon Greyjoy...of the Night's Watch. I'm not your Reek. I never was." Confident, bold words; far bolder than he felt. It would be easy to be Reek again. It would hurt, and he would die shrieking in agony; but he would die later, rather than sooner. But he'd die Theon before becoming Reek again. "I won't let you take me. I won't."

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The woods were quiet as he steered Horse through the still trees; no wind nor beast disturbed the leaves, save Theon and his mount and the occasional fluttering bird.

He enjoyed these moments, truly. He’d known other men to seek out the company of others, after a trauma; to fill their heads and hearts with as much noise as they could, to drown out the past.

Not Theon.

Other people brought unkind words, unkind sounds; they made him think of knives and the rope, laughter unfit for anywhere but the depths of hell. They made him think of the whetstones squeal, of the sound of bone and blood.

He’d even begun to whistle, when he heard the sounds of others, not far. He dropped from Horse, sliding behind a nearby tree. Someone was coming up the path.

“Who’s there?” He called. “I’m a man of the Night’s Watch! I mean no harm.”

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The woods were quiet as he steered Horse through the still trees; no wind nor beast disturbed the leaves, save Theon and his mount and the occasional fluttering bird.

He enjoyed these moments, truly. He’d known other men to seek out the company of others, after a trauma; to fill their heads and hearts with as much noise as they could, to drown out the past.

Not Theon.

Other people brought unkind words, unkind sounds; they made him think of knives and the rope, laughter unfit for anywhere but the depths of hell. They made him think of the whetstones squeal, of the sound of bone and blood.

He’d even begun to whistle, when he heard the sounds of others, not far. He dropped from Horse, sliding behind a nearby tree. Someone was coming up the path.

“Who’s there?” He called. “I’m a man of the Night’s Watch! I mean no harm.”

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Theon raised his eyebrows.  He’d yet to be called ‘alright’. He’d called himself Sigrin to keep himself from being murdered in his bed, to keep the lords and ladies of the land from slamming their gates in his face on the grounds of his name. She was wrong. But he wouldn’t disabuse her of the notion that he wasn’t utter rubbish.

“I pray you’re right, on both accounts.” He scratched at his beard, thinking at her question. “About five-hundred miles. Not a trip to be made lightly. But I’m certain you’ve faced worse.”

“Maybe you are.” Theon nearly grinned at that. “I’m a proper bloody cunt, as it happens, but perhaps you’re right about the rulers. No one thinks wolves will come to their door until one is scratching at the planks, do they?”

He took another swig of wine, swishing it through his teeth before swallowing; it numbed the pain, which was always sound goal.

“You should see the Wall, if your king will allow it. It’s fit to freeze your teats off, but it’s a sight to itself.”

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Theon was quiet as Jon spoke. Jon was wrong; the Starks could lock everything away, move past it, bury his past. But the boys he'd killed, the father and mother he'd slain, the dead of Winterfell...they would haunt him until his dying day. He could never forget them, and they could never forgive him. But Jon was right about one thing: he needed Theon. Or rather, he needed all the aid he could get, and that included him. "Aye, Lord Commander." His words were quiet, but firm as he voiced his assent. "I am your sworn brother, as I've been all these years. As I should have been, the years before."

Theon sighed. So that was why. The same reasoning for Robb not mounting back up and leaving him in the road. He shook his head. He didn’t want to be forgiven, after all. He wanted to be hated by them as much as he hated himself.

“So you must have, Lord Commander. I trust you’d also heard of the things I’d done to Winterfell? To Bran and Rickon?” He frowned, deeply, his eyes tearing up in the cold and the wind atop the Wall. A good act did not wash out the bad. A good act did not wash out the bad.

“I did the least that could be done for them. That they’re alive and well speak to their own selves, not me.”

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“Maybe you are.” Theon nearly grinned at that. “I’m a proper bloody cunt, as it happens, but perhaps you’re right about the rulers. No one thinks wolves will come to their door until one is scratching at the planks, do they?”

He took another swig of wine, swishing it through his teeth before swallowing; it numbed the pain, which was always sound goal.

“You should see the Wall, if your king will allow it. It’s fit to freeze your teats off, but it’s a sight to itself.”

Theon shrugged. “You’re probably right. But they say they were defeated once before. Can’t say I’m confident that the Watch can do it for good this time, even with dragons. Though there will always be a need to be rid of traitors and bastards and extra mouths to feed.” His mouth tweaked at her defence of Harrold; she’d not even met the man and was already defending him. “You’ll do well at court. The Vale prizes loyalty and honour, or so I hear. I’m worthy of neither.”

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None of this made sense. They didn’t hate him. They didn’t HATE him. It would have been better if they’d matched Theon’s thoughts; if Robb had spat in his face and got back on his horse. But this made everything worse; to know that they loved him so, that they’d cared for him so despite it all, despite everything that he’d done to them. 

“I’m sorry, Robb,” he whispered so softly he could scarce hear himself. Tears threatened to break free, but he choked them down furiously. He shouldn’t subject Robb to that; the man deserved better than the sight of weeping, pathetic Theon Greyjoy, although that was precisely what he felt at the moment, salty tears running into his beard.

“I know you can’t ever forgive me. I don’t want you to.” He put his hand to his eyes, the better to hide the tears that now streamed down his face, and Theon sighed, deeply. “I’m sorry; I’m such a cunt. Weeping like a washerwoman.” He laughed then, choking a sob. “If you’ll have me...if you’ll have me again, I’m your brother until my last breath, this black cloak be damned.”

A Throbbing Pain: Robb and Theon

The heart of the first question. Winterfell haunted him; Winterfell was full of ghosts he’d made himself. It filled his dreams, it filled the long hours riding from kingdom to kingdom, thinking idly of Bran, Rickon, Ramsay, the boys he’d killed… Theon sighed. He’d not wished to speak of the past, but he owed it and more to Robb.

“I…did you great wrong, there. I did Winterfell a great wrong. I did myself wrong.” His boots pulled his gaze down like magnets. “Winterfell is not for me any longer. I should not see why I should be permitted to sleep beneath its roofs, feast within its halls. And I’d sooner not subject you and your brothers and sisters to me.” He licked his lips, but his tongue and throat were so dry, like a great thick stone stuffed in his mouth.

“Balon told me to reave, to take the North for the Greyjoys. To earn my way back into my family. And I did, for blood and pride and shame. I betrayed you. I betrayed the true family that kept me and clothed me and fed me and loved me more than Balon ever did or ever would.” When he looked back up at Robb, his eyes stung with tears. “Why should you look upon me in your home? Why should you forgive me and not take my head?”

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Theon sighed. So that was why. The same reasoning for Robb not mounting back up and leaving him in the road. He shook his head. He didn’t want to be forgiven, after all. He wanted to be hated by them as much as he hated himself.

“So you must have, Lord Commander. I trust you’d also heard of the things I’d done to Winterfell? To Bran and Rickon?” He frowned, deeply, his eyes tearing up in the cold and the wind atop the Wall. A good act did not wash out the bad. A good act did not wash out the bad.

“I did the least that could be done for them. That they’re alive and well speak to their own selves, not me.”

Theon paused. The Lord Commander had little reason to speak to him like this. Jon had little reason to speak to him like this. The man had scarce said two words to him in the past decade; he’d avoided him as best he could; no longer, evidently. “Aye, thank you, Lord Commander. The kings and queens seem eager to be rid of them, to speak the truth. Giving to the Watch seems to almost be prestigious, of late.”

When they were little, he and Theon had scarced managed not to murder each other. He’d been at times cruel, and smug, and unkind to Jon. He’d felt as though he had to compete with the boy for the Stark’s attention. He had been gentle, at times, but rarely. Why was Jon bringing this up now? “…Aye, Lord Commander. For my part, I’m pleased there’s a lift.”

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Theon shrugged. "You're probably right. But they say they were defeated once before. Can't say I'm confident that the Watch can do it for good this time, even with dragons. Though there will always be a need to be rid of traitors and bastards and extra mouths to feed." His mouth tweaked at her defence of Harrold; she'd not even met the man and was already defending him. "You'll do well at court. The Vale prizes loyalty and honour, or so I hear. I'm worthy of neither."

Theon laughed then, finally. “No, but I came to the Wall to be killed by monsters myself, as it would happen. I suppose if it be by fire or by ice, what difference would it make?”

It is your duty, after all, to live and die at your watch.

“To speak truly, I’d heard little of the sort from the Vale until Harrold’s crowning. Perhaps Daenerys learned her lesson in Mereen, and kept such news from passing beyond her kingdom or the victims.” Or perhaps Harrold’s Hand is a lying, clever little snake, as ever. It would not surprise him to hear that Littlefinger had been behind the rumours.

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Theon paused. The Lord Commander had little reason to speak to him like this. Jon had little reason to speak to him like this. The man had scarce said two words to him in the past decade; he'd avoided him as best he could; no longer, evidently. "Aye, thank you, Lord Commander. The kings and queens seem eager to be rid of them, to speak the truth. Giving to the Watch seems to almost be prestigious, of late."

When they were little, he and Theon had scarced managed not to murder each other. He'd been at times cruel, and smug, and unkind to Jon. He'd felt as though he had to compete with the boy for the Stark's attention. He had been gentle, at times, but rarely. Why was Jon bringing this up now? "...Aye, Lord Commander. For my part, I'm pleased there's a lift."

It was likely the most the Lord Commander had said to him since his arrival, at least in a personal sense. He paused for a moment, taking the man in.

The Watch had seemed much more appealing when Maester Luwin had suggested it; when Jon hadn’t been Lord Commander, when he’d has all his pieces, when the frigid air didn’t make each cut and scarred stump ache. He licked his lips before answering and instantly regretted it: the cold bit at his mouth and beard. “That’s…reassuring, Lord Commander.” It was not. At all. “I haven’t had much time on the Wall, in fact. My duty takes me South. Recruiting.” He cleared his throat as he joined Jon. “I find it makes my scars ache,” Theon muttered, looking over at the lands north of the North. “Mores the pity. It is…quite the view.”

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The heart of the first question. Winterfell haunted him; Winterfell was full of ghosts he'd made himself. It filled his dreams, it filled the long hours riding from kingdom to kingdom, thinking idly of Bran, Rickon, Ramsay, the boys he'd killed... Theon sighed. He'd not wished to speak of the past, but he owed it and more to Robb.

"I...did you great wrong, there. I did Winterfell a great wrong. I did myself wrong." His boots pulled his gaze down like magnets. "Winterfell is not for me any longer. I should not see why I should be permitted to sleep beneath its roofs, feast within its halls. And I'd sooner not subject you and your brothers and sisters to me." He licked his lips, but his tongue and throat were so dry, like a great thick stone stuffed in his mouth.

"Balon told me to reave, to take the North for the Greyjoys. To earn my way back into my family. And I did, for blood and pride and shame. I betrayed you. I betrayed the true family that kept me and clothed me and fed me and loved me more than Balon ever did or ever would." When he looked back up at Robb, his eyes stung with tears. "Why should you look upon me in your home? Why should you forgive me and not take my head?"

A Throbbing Pain: Robb and Theon

He smiled wanly at Robb. He knew why he asked. “Nearly…seven or eight years, now. I can still hold a bow, or a sword, but not near as well as I could. I am not as useful to the Watch as a crow on the Wall.” It embarrassed him, truly, to be set against other fighting men. He could still defend himself, but once he’d been an archer without compare, a fine swordsman. No longer. “I do seem to have some ability to convince lords and ladies to part with their bastards and rapers and unwanted extra mouths, though. After all, if one such as myself can do well in the Watch, a whole man could no doubt do better.” He tried to cut the bitterness out of his tone, but it was with difficulty. He wished for no pity. He deserved no pity.

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Theon laughed then, finally. "No, but I came to the Wall to be killed by monsters myself, as it would happen. I suppose if it be by fire or by ice, what difference would it make?"

It is your duty, after all, to live and die at your watch.

"To speak truly, I'd heard little of the sort from the Vale until Harrold's crowning. Perhaps Daenerys learned her lesson in Mereen, and kept such news from passing beyond her kingdom or the victims." Or perhaps Harrold's Hand is a lying, clever little snake, as ever. It would not surprise him to hear that Littlefinger had been behind the rumours.

Theon nodded. “Ez-arh-uh, any man that can even keep the bloody lizards from burning the Kingdom is worthy, fret you not. I worry they may not distinguish between a crow on the Wall and a black sheep in a field. We’ve troubles enough without monstrous dragons. His men say they grazed on the smallfolk and their herds like cattle on grass.” The thought of it sent a shudder through him. He’d witnessed a man be eaten by a bear, once. The thought of a dragon bearing down upon you was too much. “I’m but a recruiter, so it’s not my decision though. Should the Lord Commander order us to stand on the Wall with the bloody things, I shall. Perhaps I’ll broach the matter with His Grace the next I wander the Vale.”

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He smiled wanly at Robb. He knew why he asked. “Nearly…seven or eight years, now. I can still hold a bow, or a sword, but not near as well as I could. I am not as useful to the Watch as a crow on the Wall.” It embarrassed him, truly, to be set against other fighting men. He could still defend himself, but once he’d been an archer without compare, a fine swordsman. No longer. “I do seem to have some ability to convince lords and ladies to part with their bastards and rapers and unwanted extra mouths, though. After all, if one such as myself can do well in the Watch, a whole man could no doubt do better.” He tried to cut the bitterness out of his tone, but it was with difficulty. He wished for no pity. He deserved no pity.

A Throbbing Pain: Robb and Theon

“The man took his crown from under his elder brother, at her behest they say. Like his brother King Ironarse, he think the sun shines out of his prick. I think they’ve both forgotten that stags shit in the woods.” 

He chuckled then, his smile creeping back. When speaking with Robb, he could almost forget that Ramsey had held him not so long ago. That Ramsey had ever held him. Did Jeyne bring that news to him, as she’d said? They weren’t discussing the past though, and that was surely fine by Theon if it stayed that way.

“Gods be good. I’ll look to see if your next suit of plate has nipples, then.” Theon snorted. “The boy isn’t a bad sort, truly. I’m sure he’ll be more than pleased to help if he can.”