FIC: Little Brother (Asha, Theon/Jeyne) for envielestrange
Recipient: envielestrange
Title: Little Brother
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: mild “Arya”/Theon, though the story is told entirely from Asha’s POV
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: This thing that stood before her was barely human. He was a skeleton, his skin hanging loose off his bones. His face was gaunt and drawn, as if he’d lived a thousand years and more.
Author’s Note: Thanks so much to my beta, J! envielestrange, I really hope you like this. It certainly turned out differently from what I had originally intended. I also somehow accidentally a whole Justin/Asha /o\ idk idk… The opening paragraphs are from ADWD.
The bathtub scene was inspired by envielestrange’s beautiful artwork found here: here by a certain recipient.
.::.
A girl and an old man, thought Asha, as the two were dumped rudely in the snow before her. The girl was shivering violently, even in her furs. If she had not been so frightened, she might even have been pretty, though the top of her nose was black with frostbite. The old man…no one would ever think him comely. She had seen scarecrows with more flesh. His face was a skull, his hair bone-white and filthy. And he stank. Just the sight of him filled Asha with revulsion.
He raised his eyes. “Sister. See. This time I knew you.”
Asha’s heart skipped a beat. “Theon?”
His lips skinned back in what might have been a grin. Half his teeth were gone, and half of those still left him were broken and splintered. “Theon,” he repeated. “My name is Theon. You have to know your name.”
.::.
They were all of them ushered towards the king’s tower in a jumble of chaos and shouting. Suggs had gripped Asha’s upper arm and dragged her along. Behind her, Theon was all but carrying the shivering girl as they struggled through the thick snow. The Braavosi, Tycho Nestoris, was ahead of her, along with Tris and Qarl and the rest of her men. A number of others-king’s men and queen’s men, northern and southron alike-had attached themselves to the growing mass escorting the new arrivals to the king, including Ser Justin, who had situated himself on Asha’s left.
They reached the tower and there was more shouting and confusion. Ser Justin craned his neck, trying to see above the heads of the other men. Somehow, the She-Bear had found Asha amongst the disorder, barreling her way into the center of the crowd.
“What’s going on?” she yelled into Asha’s ear, but before Asha could respond, King Stannis appeared in the doorway, frowning. A few of his men hurried up to him, along with the Braavosi, and one of them whispered fervently in his ear. The king’s expression didn’t change, but after a moment, his eyes found hers, and they were cold.
The king whispered back some instructions to his men and then disappeared back into the tower. Tycho Nestoris followed him, then a few of Stannis’ advisors, and finally, Asha found herself being herded inside. There was a shriek behind her, and Asha knew that Theon and the girl were also heading into the tower.
They climbed the stairs quickly, higher and higher, until they reached the king’s solar. Asha, Theon, the girl, and the Braavosi were led into the room by Ser Godry Farring and Suggs, who still hadn’t let go of Asha, who then left, leaving the four of them alone.
There was a fire blazing in the hearth and Asha stared at it, wondering what the king could possibly see when he gazed into its flames. Was he seeking knowledge of the future? the past? Did he honestly believe that he could overcome Winterfell and the rest of Westeros just by watching as fire consumed some wood?
A whimpering noise broke through Asha’s reverie, and she turned to see the shivering girl on her knees, weeping into her hands. She watched in amazement and disbelief as Theon knelt down beside the girl and cradled her in his arms. Asha was reminded starkly of the arrogant boy who had fondled her while they rode towards Pyke what felt like a lifetime ago. That boy was dead, though, and in his place stood a ghost.
Just then the door opened and King Stannis stepped into the room. Asha could see several pairs of eyes glaring into the room before Stannis slammed the door in their faces. The Braavosi swept his ridiculous hat off his head and bowed deeply.
“Your Grace,” he said. Stannis looked at him for a moment, then eyed the two kneeling figures on the floor, before settling his icy gaze on Asha.
Asha curtsied awkwardly. The room was hot and as the feeling returned to her limbs she could feel every stab of pain radiating from her ankle. “Your Grace.”
Stannis’ eyes flicked back over to Theon and the girl. “Is it true, then?” he asked. “Is this Theon Greyjoy, the man the northerners call Theon Turncloak?”
Her brother flinched badly at the moniker but otherwise stayed silent. “It is my brother, Your Grace,” said Asha in his place. “He has changed some since I last saw him, but he is my kin…” She swallowed thickly. “And…my liege lord, as well. The true heir of the Iron Islands.”
Stannis frowned. “And the girl?”
He only got another whimper in return. Theon, though, got awkwardly to his feet and murmured, “This is Arya of House Stark, Your Grace.” She girl sobbed softly and clung to Theon’s leg. Theon looked down at her with such compassion that Asha almost felt as if she had walked in on them during an intimate moment.
“And who are you?” the king barked, causing both Asha and the Braavosi to jump.
Fumbling with his hat, he bowed again and said, “Your Grace, I am Tycho Nestoris. I represent the interests of the Iron Bank of Braavos.” He arched an eyebrow and Stannis crossed his arms across his chest.
“Indeed,” was all the king said, though. His eyes darted between the Braavosi, Theon and the Stark girl, and Asha. “There are brothers of the Night’s Watch with you,” he said to Tycho Nestoris. “What news from Lord Commander Snow?”
Theon raised his head sharply. The heat of the room was making Asha dizzy and she had trouble concentrating on the Braavosi’s words, though. Her ankle throbbed and she suddenly became acutely aware of the situation. Her brother was alive. How much of the Theon she once knew remained, however, she couldn’t begin to guess. More importantly, she thought, feeling both guilty and invigorated at the same time, he was the rightful heir to the Iron Islands. And he hadn’t been present at the King’s Moot. Euron Crow’s Eye could be disposed…
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was so different. Theon’s body had wasted away since the last time she’d seen him. He’d been healthy, if not stressed and paranoid. He’d had hair and teeth and fingers. He had been whole. This thing that stood before her was barely human. He was a skeleton, his skin hanging loose off his bones. His face was gaunt and drawn, as if he’d lived a thousand years and more. What happened to you, Theon? she thought.
Stannis’ voice drew her back to the present. “Where is this letter?” he demanded.
“It arrived at Deepwood Motte before I made it to the castle,” said Tycho Nestoris. “From there it traveled to Umber’s men outside Winterfell. It was then given to the two black brothers who were riding with me to deliver to you.” With that, the banker withdrew a flattened scroll from his furs and handed it to the king with a flourish. “I can attest to the letter’s contents, Your Grace,” he said, “as I was there when these shocking events took place.”
Stannis tore the letter from the Braavosi’s hands, unfurled it, and began to read. The further he got along, however, the thinner his lips got. His eyes seemed to turn black with anger. Asha could hear him grinding his jaw from where she stood near the fire. “You, with me,” he said to the banker, then glared at Asha. “You stay here with them.” He gestured toward Theon and the girl. “My men will be outside standing guard.” With that, he and the Braavosi swept out of the room, leaving Asha alone with her brother and a whimpering young girl.
Theon sank slowly to the floor and allowed the Stark girl to curl up beside him. He began rocking them back and forth and Asha was sure she had never seen such a thing in her life.
Her ankle throbbed again. With a wince, Asha hobbled over to a chair and sat down gratefully. She wondered vaguely if she’d ever be able to walk without pain again.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat in that chair, but some time had passed when there was a loud, sharp rap on the door. Before any of them could say a thing, the door was opening and the She-Bear and two other women were struggling into the room carrying a large tub between them. Behind them were several men carrying buckets of steaming water.
“His Grace ordered a hot bath for Lady Arya,” said the She-Bear, letting the tub drop to the floor with a loud thump. She appeared disgruntled at having been put up to such a task. She eyed the girl cowering on the floor with a mixture of disgust and pity. She reserved her glare of hatred for Theon.
“Turncloak,” she growled. “I’m to take you downstairs to be placed into the custody of His Grace.”
Theon nodded dully and went to rise, but the girl sobbed loudly and clung even more desperately to Theon. “N-No!” she blubbered. “Please stay!”
“I have to go now,” Theon mumbled, but she just shook her head and cried louder.
Asha got up and limped over to the She-Bear. The other two women were filling up the tub with the hot water and Asha half wished the bath were for her. “My brother isn’t going to escape in his condition,” she said softly to Alysane Mormont. “It’s clear he is a comfort to Lady Arya. Let him remain with her while she bathes. Perhaps she’ll be calm enough by then to let him go.”
Mormont raised her eyebrows. “You want me to defy a direct order from His Grace?” she said incredulously. “And for him? Do you know what he did?”
Asha looked over her shoulder. Theon was trying to get Arya to stand. “I know,” she murmured.
“The North remembers,” said Mormont harshly. Asha had no doubt about that.
“Tell His Grace that Lady Arya refused to allow Theon to leave her presence. That she would not allow her rescuer and protector out of her sight.”
Mormont grunted, but after a few moments she gave a curt nod and left the room, dragging the two women with her. Asha stared at the closed door, waiting, but when it became clear that no one was coming back, she went over to her brother and the girl.
“She needs a bath,” said Asha to Theon. “And a maester, for the frostbite. As do you, I’m sure.”
“Bath first,” Theon muttered. He had managed to get the girl to stand and was struggling with his maimed hands to untie the laces of her garments.
“I’ll do that,” said Asha, brushing away Theon’s fingers. But as soon as Asha removed Lady Arya’s clothes, she wished she hadn’t. The girl was covered in bruised, rashes, scratches, and bite marks, not to mention the discoloration of frostbite to her extremities.
Asha bit her lip hard. She was beginning to understand the sheer monstrosity that was Ramsay Bolton. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get you into the bath. It might hurt at first, the heat, but it’ll feel really good after a little bit.” Arya seemed barely able to move, though, so Theon gently cradled her in his arms and carried her unsteadily over to the tub, where he then lowered her into the water. Arya gasped and squealed a little, but it only took a few moments before she was sinking further down into the water, her head lolling back against the edge of the tub.
“There’s no soap,” said Theon, startling Asha. “Nor fresh clothes.”
“Right.” Asha swallowed and edged towards the door. The guards nearly pounced on her as soon as she opened it, but once she explained the situation, one of them went off in search of the necessities. She avoided looking at the remaining guard and Asha was beyond relieved when the other one returned several minutes later with a bundle of clothes, soap, and the news that a maester would be coming soon. Asha hurried back inside and then stopped dead.
The Stark girl was leaning forward in the bath, her hair hanging limply around her sad, tear-stained face. Though he wasn’t in the tub, Theon sat slightly behind her, his left arm running up and down the girl’s back in soothing circles. He was still fully clothed, his elbow soaked from the water. As Asha watched them, Theon leaned forward and rested his forehead against the back of her head.
“I have soap,” said Asha, and her voice sounded loud and intrusive. Theon moved away from the girl and held out a hand. Asha silently handed him the soap and a washrag, and then hurried to the fireplace, away from the two ghosts sitting in the middle of the room.
.::.
They all wanted him dead. The Northerners because of Winterfell and the two Stark boys, the king and queen’s men because they wanted a sacrifice, and the southron lords because they craved death and violence. The only problem seemed to be the Lady Arya, who screamed and kicked and bit any time they threatened to remove Theon from her presence. Finally, it was agreed upon that her brother would remain alive so long as Arya Stark and the heir to the Iron Islands were useful to them.
Only a few days had passed since Theon was suddenly thrust back into Asha’s life, but it felt as if several lifetimes had come and gone in that short time. Stannis remained entrenched in his tower surrounded by his many advisors, with the notable exception of Arnolf Karstark, who made his displeasure known far and wide.
“This is absurd!” he would bluster. “I’m the Lord of Karhold!” But his protestations fell on deaf ears.
Lady Arya was moved to a smaller room below Stannis’ in the tower, and after a series of outbursts, Theon was allowed to stay with her. That had not sat well with the North lords, but Stannis ignored them, too, and the only other person that Lady Arya allowed into her chamber besides the king was Asha herself.
The longhall felt especially hostile the fifth day after everything changed. Karstark’s men were being openly antagonistic towards everybody. Suggs leered at Asha with even more ferocity. Ser Justin Massey avoided her at every corner. And her own men-Tris and Qarl and all the rest-were forbidden to talk to anyone. They weren’t Stannis’ prisoners (Yet, thought Asha), but they certainly weren’t welcome guests, either.
Asha approached the serving tables. “Have a plate made up for the Lady Arya,” she said, “and two more for myself and my brother.” The serving boy glared at her but began making up the plates and tray so that Asha could carry it up the tower.
“Need help?” asked Alysane Mormont, attaching herself to Asha’s hip. The She-Bear had been acting the strangest of all-she was being amiable now. Asha supposed it was to get closer to the Stark girl.
Together, the two of them carried the trays laden with food and water out of the hall, into the snow that never stopped, and then into the welcoming warmth of the king’s watchtower. “I doubt she’ll want to see you,” Asha huffed as they climbed the stairs. Mormont merely shrugged and continued on. When they reached the landing, the two guardsmen standing outside Lady Arya’s room opened the doors for them.
Inside was dark and stifling warm. Theon and Lady Arya were curled up on the bed, Theon’s long arms wrapped protectively around her. Asha looked away, placing the tray on a table near the fire. There was a rustling noise and soon Theon was standing beside her, looking down at the meager food offerings. Asha held her breath, trying not to be too obvious about it, but Theon reeked. She had no idea how the Stark girl handled the smell.
Theon refused to wash himself, though, refused even to remove his rancid, tattered clothes. He appeared to care only for Arya Stark, doting on her, protecting her, bathing her, feeding her, treating her frostbite.
“Horsemeat?” he asked, lifting up a slice of meat.
“What else?” Asha muttered.
Aly Mormont crossed her beefy arms and frowned. “You should be grateful we’re feeding your sorry arse at all, Turncloak,” she said. Asha looked at Theon, hoping he’d say something, anything, that would remind her of the boy she once knew.
But that boy was dead now. This new Theon stayed silent, and Asha found herself snapping, “Leave him alone.”
Mormont scowled at her. “Stay out of this.”
“His Grace wants my brother alive,” Asha said, stepping close to the She-Bear. “So you and your lords and knights, king’s men and queen’s men, all of you can call off the assassins and find something else to do with your time, like fucking each other to death.” Asha then lifted up a tankard of water and slammed it back down onto the table. With a yelp, Arya Stark woke and upon seeing the She-Bear, began to scream at her to get out. Mormont glared hard at Asha and Theon, then swept out of the room.
Theon had hobbled over to the bed and was comforting the girl, who was crying into his arms. Asha found herself inexplicably annoyed by the girl’s whimpers and hysterical fits. No doubt she had undergone a significant amount of horror at the hands of the Boltons, but Theon had survived, hadn’t he? And wasn’t Arya Stark supposed to be the wild wolf girl of the bunch? The strong one? The complete opposite of her beautiful older sister?
Irritated, Asha placed the now half-empty tankard back into the serving tray and brought it over to the bed. The girl had stopped crying, though her face was red and blotchy. She had probably been pretty once, before Ramsay Bolton and the harsh winter had eaten away at her face and body.
“They want you dead,” said Asha bluntly.
Arya glared at her and gripped one of Theon’s ruined hands in her own. “They can’t have him,” she said, the most coherent Asha had heard her sound since her arrival. “He’s mine.”
“I don’t think the wants of a thirteen-year-old girl will hold much sway over the bloodlust the Northerners have for my sweet brother,” Asha retorted. “Since you’ve seem to have forgotten it, must I remind you that he took Winterfell by force, killed half the garrison, murdered your brothers, then set the castle to the torch?” By the end of her speech, Asha was shouting and Arya was curled into herself, rocking back and forth on the bed, sobbing.
“No brothers,” she hiccupped into her arms. “No brothers, no father, no one, no one, no one, only Theon, only Theon…” She wept loudly and Asha couldn’t stand it anymore. The room was suffocating her and with one last disgusted look at the weepy mess on the bed, she stormed out of the room and past the two startled guards at the door.
“Wait just a minute!” one of them shouted, but Asha ignored them, hurrying down the stairs and into the fresh winter snow. The cold blasted her in the face when she burst out of the tower, the wind stinging her eyes. It was storming worse than ever, and Asha could barely see three feet in front of her.
Winter is here, she thought, and then had to laugh. It seemed like the Starks had the right of it all along.
.::.
More days passed. With the snow now falling continuously, Asha began losing track of time. She couldn’t tell night from day, and that seemed to be playing havoc on the sanity of the southron Lords and their men. There had been several incidences of infighting, and just the day before two men had fought and died, their spilt blood already being covered by a blanket of snow by the time they were found. Karstark’s men were especially affected, which Asha thought odd, since they were of the North. It was obvious Karstark had fallen out of favor with the king, though why, Asha didn’t know.
The longhall was buzzing with activity when she arrived. She was waiting in the line for some inedible horse to bring to the Lady Arya when Ser Justin Massey hurried up to her and pulled her aside.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, struggling to break free of the knight’s grasp.
Ser Justin just shook his head and despite her best efforts, Asha couldn’t break free from his grip. “Stop it,” he snapped, when she tried to dig her heels into the ground. “I have to warn you.”
They reached the end of the longhall near the entrance. Men were walking in and out, sending a blast of freezing wind straight through Asha’s bones.
“Shut up and listen to me,” said Ser Justin when Asha opened her mouth. She glared at him and longed for her axe. “There will be another burning tomorrow night.”
Asha rolled her eyes. “Why is that cause for your alarm? They’re somewhat common around here-”
“It’ll be the final sacrifice and then we’re to march on Winterfell.” Ser Justin gripped her by her upper arms. “Word has it that the burnings will be someone of great value.” His eyes bored into hers and Asha suddenly understood.
“You think it’s to be me,” she said slowly. She shrugged off his hands and looked away from Ser Justin’s earnest eyes. It wasn’t entirely a surprise. She had expected this for sometime now. But to have it confirmed…
Asha looked back at Ser Justin and frowned. “Why are you telling me this? Why commit treason for me?” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “What about my men?” she asked. “Does the king wish to burn them as well?”
“I don’t know,” said Ser Justin. His eyes flickered nervously around the longhall. “I only know that some of the king’s men were gathering enough wood to burn-well, more than just one person.”
Swearing, Asha shoved past Ser Justin and stalked out of the hall. She thought she heard Ser Justin call her name, but Asha hurried as fast as she could through the snow, which was falling more thickly than ever. She had no idea where her men were, but she longed to see Qarl and Tris one last time, to warn them, to give them a chance to choose their own fates.
But she didn’t know where her men were. Defeated, Asha slowed and came to a stop. As the cold began to creep through her clothes, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky. The snowflakes stung her skin, seeped into her coat, into her bones, into her very soul.
Asha heard him coming before she saw him. Ser Justin stepped up beside her. “You’ll freeze to death out here,” he said.
“I hear it’s like falling asleep,” said Asha. She could feel the weight of Justin’s eyes on her. “And much less painful than being burned alive.”
Justin moaned softly. “Don’t say that. Asha, look at me.”
“No,” she murmured. Ser Justin’s voice was too loud. There was a strange sort of peace coming over her, then, and he was ruining it. If it was her last night alive then she wasn’t going to spend it with Ser Justin or anyone else who wasn’t her own.
“Come away with me,” he begged, and Asha had to laugh at that. She looked at him, into his ridiculously hopeful eyes, at his frost-bitten nose, at his chapped lips, and she smiled.
She didn’t answer him, but she knew he wasn’t being serious. He knew he wasn’t being serious. They stood together for a while longer yet, watching the snow blanket the earth around them
.::.
The tower was quiet as Asha made her way up the stairs. Her ankle still ached, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. There was only one guard outside Lady Arya’s room, which Asha thought was odd, but he didn’t even glance her way as she went inside.
Arya was sleeping fitfully on the large bed that had been moved closer to the hearth. Theon was sitting at the foot of the bed, staring into the blazing fire. Asha went over to him and joined him on the floor.
“I remember when you were born,” she said, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. “Well, I mostly remember our mother screaming and the blood.”
Theon’s lips curled ever so slightly. “You were an ugly pink thing,” Asha continued. “Squalling louder than the storm that had been raging all day and night of your birth. I hated you immediately.”
That earned her a snort. Arya then thrashed suddenly on the bed; Theon was nearly on his feet when she calmed down again. It wasn’t until several moments later that he was able to tear his gaze away from the girl.
Asha bit her lip, feeling uncomfortable. It was obvious to her that Theon cared-possibly too much-about Arya Stark, and for the thousandth time she had to physically hold back from asking Theon what had happened to him at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. Somehow she knew that he would never be able to talk about the horrors he had gone through.
“I think they’re going to burn me tomorrow,” she whispered into the dark.
Theon cocked his head to the side. It was Asha’s turn to look away. “The king’s not going to burn you,” he said, sounding oddly confident.
Asha raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You sound so sure of that.”
“Trust me,” murmured Theon. And to her surprise, Asha did.
.::.
Karstark was sobbing as they dragged him towards the pyre. He swore profanities at the king as they tied him to the wood. He shrieked and begged for his life as they began lighting the torches. When the fire began creeping up his legs, his screams turned into one long miserable wail that stretched out into the night.
Theon stood beside her, watching the spectacle with blank eyes. Asha inhaled deeply, then choked as the smoke and ash filled her lungs. Stannis stood several feet away, watching as Karstark’s body burned alongside his highest-ranking men. Beside him was Lady Arya, meek and thin and dull-eyed.
“You can never have her, you know,” said Asha, stepping as close to Theon as her nose could handle. “She’s a highborn lady and once her husband is dead, they surely won’t allow Theon Turncloak to marry her.”
Theon smirked, and Asha was nearly taken aback at seeing such a familiar expression on his face after so long. “I have no designs on the Lady Arya,” he said. Asha eyed him suspiciously but let the matter drop-for the moment.
“We march on Winterfell tomorrow,” he said some time later as the fire began to die. He turned and looked at her. “Will you be by my side, sister?”
Asha lightly touched the axe that was attached to her belt. On the other side of the pyre, Karstark’s men were pledging their allegiance to the king and some even to the god R’hllor. Ser Justin hovered at the king’s side, though every once in a while Asha could feel his eyes on her.
“I shall not leave you again, brother,” she said. With one last glance at the king, Asha turned away and made her way towards the longhall with Theon by her side. Her men were waiting for her.
Title: Little Brother
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: mild “Arya”/Theon, though the story is told entirely from Asha’s POV
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: This thing that stood before her was barely human. He was a skeleton, his skin hanging loose off his bones. His face was gaunt and drawn, as if he’d lived a thousand years and more.
Author’s Note: Thanks so much to my beta, J! envielestrange, I really hope you like this. It certainly turned out differently from what I had originally intended. I also somehow accidentally a whole Justin/Asha /o\ idk idk… The opening paragraphs are from ADWD.
The bathtub scene was inspired by envielestrange’s beautiful artwork found here: here by a certain recipient.
.::.
A girl and an old man, thought Asha, as the two were dumped rudely in the snow before her. The girl was shivering violently, even in her furs. If she had not been so frightened, she might even have been pretty, though the top of her nose was black with frostbite. The old man…no one would ever think him comely. She had seen scarecrows with more flesh. His face was a skull, his hair bone-white and filthy. And he stank. Just the sight of him filled Asha with revulsion.
He raised his eyes. “Sister. See. This time I knew you.”
Asha’s heart skipped a beat. “Theon?”
His lips skinned back in what might have been a grin. Half his teeth were gone, and half of those still left him were broken and splintered. “Theon,” he repeated. “My name is Theon. You have to know your name.”
.::.
They were all of them ushered towards the king’s tower in a jumble of chaos and shouting. Suggs had gripped Asha’s upper arm and dragged her along. Behind her, Theon was all but carrying the shivering girl as they struggled through the thick snow. The Braavosi, Tycho Nestoris, was ahead of her, along with Tris and Qarl and the rest of her men. A number of others-king’s men and queen’s men, northern and southron alike-had attached themselves to the growing mass escorting the new arrivals to the king, including Ser Justin, who had situated himself on Asha’s left.
They reached the tower and there was more shouting and confusion. Ser Justin craned his neck, trying to see above the heads of the other men. Somehow, the She-Bear had found Asha amongst the disorder, barreling her way into the center of the crowd.
“What’s going on?” she yelled into Asha’s ear, but before Asha could respond, King Stannis appeared in the doorway, frowning. A few of his men hurried up to him, along with the Braavosi, and one of them whispered fervently in his ear. The king’s expression didn’t change, but after a moment, his eyes found hers, and they were cold.
The king whispered back some instructions to his men and then disappeared back into the tower. Tycho Nestoris followed him, then a few of Stannis’ advisors, and finally, Asha found herself being herded inside. There was a shriek behind her, and Asha knew that Theon and the girl were also heading into the tower.
They climbed the stairs quickly, higher and higher, until they reached the king’s solar. Asha, Theon, the girl, and the Braavosi were led into the room by Ser Godry Farring and Suggs, who still hadn’t let go of Asha, who then left, leaving the four of them alone.
There was a fire blazing in the hearth and Asha stared at it, wondering what the king could possibly see when he gazed into its flames. Was he seeking knowledge of the future? the past? Did he honestly believe that he could overcome Winterfell and the rest of Westeros just by watching as fire consumed some wood?
A whimpering noise broke through Asha’s reverie, and she turned to see the shivering girl on her knees, weeping into her hands. She watched in amazement and disbelief as Theon knelt down beside the girl and cradled her in his arms. Asha was reminded starkly of the arrogant boy who had fondled her while they rode towards Pyke what felt like a lifetime ago. That boy was dead, though, and in his place stood a ghost.
Just then the door opened and King Stannis stepped into the room. Asha could see several pairs of eyes glaring into the room before Stannis slammed the door in their faces. The Braavosi swept his ridiculous hat off his head and bowed deeply.
“Your Grace,” he said. Stannis looked at him for a moment, then eyed the two kneeling figures on the floor, before settling his icy gaze on Asha.
Asha curtsied awkwardly. The room was hot and as the feeling returned to her limbs she could feel every stab of pain radiating from her ankle. “Your Grace.”
Stannis’ eyes flicked back over to Theon and the girl. “Is it true, then?” he asked. “Is this Theon Greyjoy, the man the northerners call Theon Turncloak?”
Her brother flinched badly at the moniker but otherwise stayed silent. “It is my brother, Your Grace,” said Asha in his place. “He has changed some since I last saw him, but he is my kin…” She swallowed thickly. “And…my liege lord, as well. The true heir of the Iron Islands.”
Stannis frowned. “And the girl?”
He only got another whimper in return. Theon, though, got awkwardly to his feet and murmured, “This is Arya of House Stark, Your Grace.” She girl sobbed softly and clung to Theon’s leg. Theon looked down at her with such compassion that Asha almost felt as if she had walked in on them during an intimate moment.
“And who are you?” the king barked, causing both Asha and the Braavosi to jump.
Fumbling with his hat, he bowed again and said, “Your Grace, I am Tycho Nestoris. I represent the interests of the Iron Bank of Braavos.” He arched an eyebrow and Stannis crossed his arms across his chest.
“Indeed,” was all the king said, though. His eyes darted between the Braavosi, Theon and the Stark girl, and Asha. “There are brothers of the Night’s Watch with you,” he said to Tycho Nestoris. “What news from Lord Commander Snow?”
Theon raised his head sharply. The heat of the room was making Asha dizzy and she had trouble concentrating on the Braavosi’s words, though. Her ankle throbbed and she suddenly became acutely aware of the situation. Her brother was alive. How much of the Theon she once knew remained, however, she couldn’t begin to guess. More importantly, she thought, feeling both guilty and invigorated at the same time, he was the rightful heir to the Iron Islands. And he hadn’t been present at the King’s Moot. Euron Crow’s Eye could be disposed…
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was so different. Theon’s body had wasted away since the last time she’d seen him. He’d been healthy, if not stressed and paranoid. He’d had hair and teeth and fingers. He had been whole. This thing that stood before her was barely human. He was a skeleton, his skin hanging loose off his bones. His face was gaunt and drawn, as if he’d lived a thousand years and more. What happened to you, Theon? she thought.
Stannis’ voice drew her back to the present. “Where is this letter?” he demanded.
“It arrived at Deepwood Motte before I made it to the castle,” said Tycho Nestoris. “From there it traveled to Umber’s men outside Winterfell. It was then given to the two black brothers who were riding with me to deliver to you.” With that, the banker withdrew a flattened scroll from his furs and handed it to the king with a flourish. “I can attest to the letter’s contents, Your Grace,” he said, “as I was there when these shocking events took place.”
Stannis tore the letter from the Braavosi’s hands, unfurled it, and began to read. The further he got along, however, the thinner his lips got. His eyes seemed to turn black with anger. Asha could hear him grinding his jaw from where she stood near the fire. “You, with me,” he said to the banker, then glared at Asha. “You stay here with them.” He gestured toward Theon and the girl. “My men will be outside standing guard.” With that, he and the Braavosi swept out of the room, leaving Asha alone with her brother and a whimpering young girl.
Theon sank slowly to the floor and allowed the Stark girl to curl up beside him. He began rocking them back and forth and Asha was sure she had never seen such a thing in her life.
Her ankle throbbed again. With a wince, Asha hobbled over to a chair and sat down gratefully. She wondered vaguely if she’d ever be able to walk without pain again.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat in that chair, but some time had passed when there was a loud, sharp rap on the door. Before any of them could say a thing, the door was opening and the She-Bear and two other women were struggling into the room carrying a large tub between them. Behind them were several men carrying buckets of steaming water.
“His Grace ordered a hot bath for Lady Arya,” said the She-Bear, letting the tub drop to the floor with a loud thump. She appeared disgruntled at having been put up to such a task. She eyed the girl cowering on the floor with a mixture of disgust and pity. She reserved her glare of hatred for Theon.
“Turncloak,” she growled. “I’m to take you downstairs to be placed into the custody of His Grace.”
Theon nodded dully and went to rise, but the girl sobbed loudly and clung even more desperately to Theon. “N-No!” she blubbered. “Please stay!”
“I have to go now,” Theon mumbled, but she just shook her head and cried louder.
Asha got up and limped over to the She-Bear. The other two women were filling up the tub with the hot water and Asha half wished the bath were for her. “My brother isn’t going to escape in his condition,” she said softly to Alysane Mormont. “It’s clear he is a comfort to Lady Arya. Let him remain with her while she bathes. Perhaps she’ll be calm enough by then to let him go.”
Mormont raised her eyebrows. “You want me to defy a direct order from His Grace?” she said incredulously. “And for him? Do you know what he did?”
Asha looked over her shoulder. Theon was trying to get Arya to stand. “I know,” she murmured.
“The North remembers,” said Mormont harshly. Asha had no doubt about that.
“Tell His Grace that Lady Arya refused to allow Theon to leave her presence. That she would not allow her rescuer and protector out of her sight.”
Mormont grunted, but after a few moments she gave a curt nod and left the room, dragging the two women with her. Asha stared at the closed door, waiting, but when it became clear that no one was coming back, she went over to her brother and the girl.
“She needs a bath,” said Asha to Theon. “And a maester, for the frostbite. As do you, I’m sure.”
“Bath first,” Theon muttered. He had managed to get the girl to stand and was struggling with his maimed hands to untie the laces of her garments.
“I’ll do that,” said Asha, brushing away Theon’s fingers. But as soon as Asha removed Lady Arya’s clothes, she wished she hadn’t. The girl was covered in bruised, rashes, scratches, and bite marks, not to mention the discoloration of frostbite to her extremities.
Asha bit her lip hard. She was beginning to understand the sheer monstrosity that was Ramsay Bolton. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get you into the bath. It might hurt at first, the heat, but it’ll feel really good after a little bit.” Arya seemed barely able to move, though, so Theon gently cradled her in his arms and carried her unsteadily over to the tub, where he then lowered her into the water. Arya gasped and squealed a little, but it only took a few moments before she was sinking further down into the water, her head lolling back against the edge of the tub.
“There’s no soap,” said Theon, startling Asha. “Nor fresh clothes.”
“Right.” Asha swallowed and edged towards the door. The guards nearly pounced on her as soon as she opened it, but once she explained the situation, one of them went off in search of the necessities. She avoided looking at the remaining guard and Asha was beyond relieved when the other one returned several minutes later with a bundle of clothes, soap, and the news that a maester would be coming soon. Asha hurried back inside and then stopped dead.
The Stark girl was leaning forward in the bath, her hair hanging limply around her sad, tear-stained face. Though he wasn’t in the tub, Theon sat slightly behind her, his left arm running up and down the girl’s back in soothing circles. He was still fully clothed, his elbow soaked from the water. As Asha watched them, Theon leaned forward and rested his forehead against the back of her head.
“I have soap,” said Asha, and her voice sounded loud and intrusive. Theon moved away from the girl and held out a hand. Asha silently handed him the soap and a washrag, and then hurried to the fireplace, away from the two ghosts sitting in the middle of the room.
.::.
They all wanted him dead. The Northerners because of Winterfell and the two Stark boys, the king and queen’s men because they wanted a sacrifice, and the southron lords because they craved death and violence. The only problem seemed to be the Lady Arya, who screamed and kicked and bit any time they threatened to remove Theon from her presence. Finally, it was agreed upon that her brother would remain alive so long as Arya Stark and the heir to the Iron Islands were useful to them.
Only a few days had passed since Theon was suddenly thrust back into Asha’s life, but it felt as if several lifetimes had come and gone in that short time. Stannis remained entrenched in his tower surrounded by his many advisors, with the notable exception of Arnolf Karstark, who made his displeasure known far and wide.
“This is absurd!” he would bluster. “I’m the Lord of Karhold!” But his protestations fell on deaf ears.
Lady Arya was moved to a smaller room below Stannis’ in the tower, and after a series of outbursts, Theon was allowed to stay with her. That had not sat well with the North lords, but Stannis ignored them, too, and the only other person that Lady Arya allowed into her chamber besides the king was Asha herself.
The longhall felt especially hostile the fifth day after everything changed. Karstark’s men were being openly antagonistic towards everybody. Suggs leered at Asha with even more ferocity. Ser Justin Massey avoided her at every corner. And her own men-Tris and Qarl and all the rest-were forbidden to talk to anyone. They weren’t Stannis’ prisoners (Yet, thought Asha), but they certainly weren’t welcome guests, either.
Asha approached the serving tables. “Have a plate made up for the Lady Arya,” she said, “and two more for myself and my brother.” The serving boy glared at her but began making up the plates and tray so that Asha could carry it up the tower.
“Need help?” asked Alysane Mormont, attaching herself to Asha’s hip. The She-Bear had been acting the strangest of all-she was being amiable now. Asha supposed it was to get closer to the Stark girl.
Together, the two of them carried the trays laden with food and water out of the hall, into the snow that never stopped, and then into the welcoming warmth of the king’s watchtower. “I doubt she’ll want to see you,” Asha huffed as they climbed the stairs. Mormont merely shrugged and continued on. When they reached the landing, the two guardsmen standing outside Lady Arya’s room opened the doors for them.
Inside was dark and stifling warm. Theon and Lady Arya were curled up on the bed, Theon’s long arms wrapped protectively around her. Asha looked away, placing the tray on a table near the fire. There was a rustling noise and soon Theon was standing beside her, looking down at the meager food offerings. Asha held her breath, trying not to be too obvious about it, but Theon reeked. She had no idea how the Stark girl handled the smell.
Theon refused to wash himself, though, refused even to remove his rancid, tattered clothes. He appeared to care only for Arya Stark, doting on her, protecting her, bathing her, feeding her, treating her frostbite.
“Horsemeat?” he asked, lifting up a slice of meat.
“What else?” Asha muttered.
Aly Mormont crossed her beefy arms and frowned. “You should be grateful we’re feeding your sorry arse at all, Turncloak,” she said. Asha looked at Theon, hoping he’d say something, anything, that would remind her of the boy she once knew.
But that boy was dead now. This new Theon stayed silent, and Asha found herself snapping, “Leave him alone.”
Mormont scowled at her. “Stay out of this.”
“His Grace wants my brother alive,” Asha said, stepping close to the She-Bear. “So you and your lords and knights, king’s men and queen’s men, all of you can call off the assassins and find something else to do with your time, like fucking each other to death.” Asha then lifted up a tankard of water and slammed it back down onto the table. With a yelp, Arya Stark woke and upon seeing the She-Bear, began to scream at her to get out. Mormont glared hard at Asha and Theon, then swept out of the room.
Theon had hobbled over to the bed and was comforting the girl, who was crying into his arms. Asha found herself inexplicably annoyed by the girl’s whimpers and hysterical fits. No doubt she had undergone a significant amount of horror at the hands of the Boltons, but Theon had survived, hadn’t he? And wasn’t Arya Stark supposed to be the wild wolf girl of the bunch? The strong one? The complete opposite of her beautiful older sister?
Irritated, Asha placed the now half-empty tankard back into the serving tray and brought it over to the bed. The girl had stopped crying, though her face was red and blotchy. She had probably been pretty once, before Ramsay Bolton and the harsh winter had eaten away at her face and body.
“They want you dead,” said Asha bluntly.
Arya glared at her and gripped one of Theon’s ruined hands in her own. “They can’t have him,” she said, the most coherent Asha had heard her sound since her arrival. “He’s mine.”
“I don’t think the wants of a thirteen-year-old girl will hold much sway over the bloodlust the Northerners have for my sweet brother,” Asha retorted. “Since you’ve seem to have forgotten it, must I remind you that he took Winterfell by force, killed half the garrison, murdered your brothers, then set the castle to the torch?” By the end of her speech, Asha was shouting and Arya was curled into herself, rocking back and forth on the bed, sobbing.
“No brothers,” she hiccupped into her arms. “No brothers, no father, no one, no one, no one, only Theon, only Theon…” She wept loudly and Asha couldn’t stand it anymore. The room was suffocating her and with one last disgusted look at the weepy mess on the bed, she stormed out of the room and past the two startled guards at the door.
“Wait just a minute!” one of them shouted, but Asha ignored them, hurrying down the stairs and into the fresh winter snow. The cold blasted her in the face when she burst out of the tower, the wind stinging her eyes. It was storming worse than ever, and Asha could barely see three feet in front of her.
Winter is here, she thought, and then had to laugh. It seemed like the Starks had the right of it all along.
.::.
More days passed. With the snow now falling continuously, Asha began losing track of time. She couldn’t tell night from day, and that seemed to be playing havoc on the sanity of the southron Lords and their men. There had been several incidences of infighting, and just the day before two men had fought and died, their spilt blood already being covered by a blanket of snow by the time they were found. Karstark’s men were especially affected, which Asha thought odd, since they were of the North. It was obvious Karstark had fallen out of favor with the king, though why, Asha didn’t know.
The longhall was buzzing with activity when she arrived. She was waiting in the line for some inedible horse to bring to the Lady Arya when Ser Justin Massey hurried up to her and pulled her aside.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, struggling to break free of the knight’s grasp.
Ser Justin just shook his head and despite her best efforts, Asha couldn’t break free from his grip. “Stop it,” he snapped, when she tried to dig her heels into the ground. “I have to warn you.”
They reached the end of the longhall near the entrance. Men were walking in and out, sending a blast of freezing wind straight through Asha’s bones.
“Shut up and listen to me,” said Ser Justin when Asha opened her mouth. She glared at him and longed for her axe. “There will be another burning tomorrow night.”
Asha rolled her eyes. “Why is that cause for your alarm? They’re somewhat common around here-”
“It’ll be the final sacrifice and then we’re to march on Winterfell.” Ser Justin gripped her by her upper arms. “Word has it that the burnings will be someone of great value.” His eyes bored into hers and Asha suddenly understood.
“You think it’s to be me,” she said slowly. She shrugged off his hands and looked away from Ser Justin’s earnest eyes. It wasn’t entirely a surprise. She had expected this for sometime now. But to have it confirmed…
Asha looked back at Ser Justin and frowned. “Why are you telling me this? Why commit treason for me?” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “What about my men?” she asked. “Does the king wish to burn them as well?”
“I don’t know,” said Ser Justin. His eyes flickered nervously around the longhall. “I only know that some of the king’s men were gathering enough wood to burn-well, more than just one person.”
Swearing, Asha shoved past Ser Justin and stalked out of the hall. She thought she heard Ser Justin call her name, but Asha hurried as fast as she could through the snow, which was falling more thickly than ever. She had no idea where her men were, but she longed to see Qarl and Tris one last time, to warn them, to give them a chance to choose their own fates.
But she didn’t know where her men were. Defeated, Asha slowed and came to a stop. As the cold began to creep through her clothes, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the sky. The snowflakes stung her skin, seeped into her coat, into her bones, into her very soul.
Asha heard him coming before she saw him. Ser Justin stepped up beside her. “You’ll freeze to death out here,” he said.
“I hear it’s like falling asleep,” said Asha. She could feel the weight of Justin’s eyes on her. “And much less painful than being burned alive.”
Justin moaned softly. “Don’t say that. Asha, look at me.”
“No,” she murmured. Ser Justin’s voice was too loud. There was a strange sort of peace coming over her, then, and he was ruining it. If it was her last night alive then she wasn’t going to spend it with Ser Justin or anyone else who wasn’t her own.
“Come away with me,” he begged, and Asha had to laugh at that. She looked at him, into his ridiculously hopeful eyes, at his frost-bitten nose, at his chapped lips, and she smiled.
She didn’t answer him, but she knew he wasn’t being serious. He knew he wasn’t being serious. They stood together for a while longer yet, watching the snow blanket the earth around them
.::.
The tower was quiet as Asha made her way up the stairs. Her ankle still ached, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. There was only one guard outside Lady Arya’s room, which Asha thought was odd, but he didn’t even glance her way as she went inside.
Arya was sleeping fitfully on the large bed that had been moved closer to the hearth. Theon was sitting at the foot of the bed, staring into the blazing fire. Asha went over to him and joined him on the floor.
“I remember when you were born,” she said, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. “Well, I mostly remember our mother screaming and the blood.”
Theon’s lips curled ever so slightly. “You were an ugly pink thing,” Asha continued. “Squalling louder than the storm that had been raging all day and night of your birth. I hated you immediately.”
That earned her a snort. Arya then thrashed suddenly on the bed; Theon was nearly on his feet when she calmed down again. It wasn’t until several moments later that he was able to tear his gaze away from the girl.
Asha bit her lip, feeling uncomfortable. It was obvious to her that Theon cared-possibly too much-about Arya Stark, and for the thousandth time she had to physically hold back from asking Theon what had happened to him at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. Somehow she knew that he would never be able to talk about the horrors he had gone through.
“I think they’re going to burn me tomorrow,” she whispered into the dark.
Theon cocked his head to the side. It was Asha’s turn to look away. “The king’s not going to burn you,” he said, sounding oddly confident.
Asha raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You sound so sure of that.”
“Trust me,” murmured Theon. And to her surprise, Asha did.
.::.
Karstark was sobbing as they dragged him towards the pyre. He swore profanities at the king as they tied him to the wood. He shrieked and begged for his life as they began lighting the torches. When the fire began creeping up his legs, his screams turned into one long miserable wail that stretched out into the night.
Theon stood beside her, watching the spectacle with blank eyes. Asha inhaled deeply, then choked as the smoke and ash filled her lungs. Stannis stood several feet away, watching as Karstark’s body burned alongside his highest-ranking men. Beside him was Lady Arya, meek and thin and dull-eyed.
“You can never have her, you know,” said Asha, stepping as close to Theon as her nose could handle. “She’s a highborn lady and once her husband is dead, they surely won’t allow Theon Turncloak to marry her.”
Theon smirked, and Asha was nearly taken aback at seeing such a familiar expression on his face after so long. “I have no designs on the Lady Arya,” he said. Asha eyed him suspiciously but let the matter drop-for the moment.
“We march on Winterfell tomorrow,” he said some time later as the fire began to die. He turned and looked at her. “Will you be by my side, sister?”
Asha lightly touched the axe that was attached to her belt. On the other side of the pyre, Karstark’s men were pledging their allegiance to the king and some even to the god R’hllor. Ser Justin hovered at the king’s side, though every once in a while Asha could feel his eyes on her.
“I shall not leave you again, brother,” she said. With one last glance at the king, Asha turned away and made her way towards the longhall with Theon by her side. Her men were waiting for her.