Chapter 10

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Chapter 10

Theon Greyjoy

The silence was awkward, eerily so.

Whilst Theon stood in Robb's private quarters, the latter simply sat with his direwolf at his side, silently staring at him.

"Why?" Theon urged himself to speak, the question stuck in his mind ever since he leant of his friend's betrayal, he belayed his desire to ask it due to other circumstances, yet this is the first time since news of Ned Stark's capture that they were face to face in privacy.

"Why what, Theon?"

"Why do you betray me so?" His voice turns angry, accusatory. "First you ignore me, then you order your men to defend the western shore, as if I wasn't here! Now you call me to your room like a common servant."

Theon was ready to scream once more, noticing that his outburst affected Robb none.

"You knew my father." Robb suddenly speaks. "You may not have liked him, but you knew him, Theon. Tell me, had I been sent as a hostage to another castle, what would happen? Would he do as your own and... ignore me for the rest of my days? Or would he send letters, think of ways to visit, anything, anything to keep in touch?"

Theon's eyes widened in shock.

"Eight years, Theon." He says. "For eight years, the so called Balon Greyjoy sent no letter, no name day gift, as if he had abandoned you, do you think my father would do the same? No, do you think any man's rightful sire would do so?" He continues. "I asked Ser Wendel Manderly and Lord Halys Hornwood to gather a host and prepare to defend our shores because while I trust you, Theon, you are not your father; you are not the Lord of the Iron Islands."

Theon's mind was blown away by thoughts buried deep into his own psyche, to be fair; the absence of any contact with his homeland had cut deep, and is something that he always felt insecure about.

"Bring them in!" Robb exclaimed.

At his words, a couple of men came in, holding several tarps filled to the brim with pieces of armor, swords, boots, and gold and silver.

"What is this?" Theon asks.

"You are to go back home, with my father dead, I am no longer obliged to keep you as a hostage, nor do I desire to do so." Robb speaks. "You will be stripped of your current belongings, from today hence, you shall only keep what you have won, following what your people call the Iron Price."

The words were too much, too fast. "All my belongings? My armor, my gold, my bow?!"

"I'd let you have them, Theon." Robb says. "Yet what do you think the stubborn, sour, Balon Greyjoy would think if you'd come before him a man wearing garments given to you by another, instead of ones taken by your own hand? I enjoy it even less than you do, yet I only do this for your own sake."

In hindsight, Theon should have thought of it first, the shock blew the emotions out of him, allowing himself to calm down and think for once.

"You wish to establish an alliance with the Iron Islands?" He asks.

Robb shakes his head. "No, not only will many of my lords balk at the idea, but I do not wish for your father to get unnecessarily offended at what he may perceive to be a boy attempting to order him around." He explains. "All you have to do, Theon, is be a dutiful son, tell him about what you saw, our plans, our defenses, and let him come to his own decision."

Robb stands up and walks up to him, staring Theon in the eyes with his new, unfeeling eyes, and puts a hand over his shoulder. "It is my belief that your father will come to the right choice."

Theon ponders for a while, and Robb leaves him to stew. Finally, Theon looks to Robb and speaks. "How much for a ride to Seaguard and a ship back home?" He asks.

Robb doesn't smile, but Theon was sure he wanted to.

Sansa Stark

These past few weeks were heaven sent, ever since those sinfully good news arrived.

'To think I'd ever find getting confined in my quarters pleasurable.' She thinks.

Apparently, after securing consecutive victories against the Lannister army and the capture of Ser Jaime Lannister, her brother had sent a scathing letter to Tywin Lannister, demanding that if she were to be hurt, he would inflict worse to the King's uncle.

Joffrey was enraged, obviously, and attempted to do so anyway. But Queen Cersei had somehow convinced him of otherwise, fully trusting Robb's threats.

Honestly, she could not reconcile her image of Robb, kind, quick to smile, and witty, to his new reputation, the Wolf Lord, or the Ice Lord, they call him in hushed whispers and feared tone. Yet she found it logical, if she could change from her naïve self, then surely her brother can also do the same.

Not much came to her ears, lately; the Queen seemed to think that if she cannot torture her with beatings and humiliation, then she'd do so with loneliness.

Nowadays, all she'd do with her time is sit next to her window and stare longingly at the sky. Ser Clegane called her a bird in a cage, it was true, she'd stare at the pigeons and crows all day, dreaming to share their gift of flight, to be as free as the winds in the sky.

Her mouth couldn't help but circle in a yawn, it is awfully late and sunset was some hours ago.

She made for her bed, laying on it peacefully and hugging her pillow tightly, time for bed.

'I hope I don't get… any… nightmares…' She thought.

*-*-*

"…-ter."

"…-ister."

"SISTER!"

She came to suddenly, her eyes abruptly open to the sight of fog, fog everywhere.

She frantically turns around. "Where am I?!" She screams. "Who is this?!"

Suddenly, something grabs her arm and pulls her back. She swiftly turns around, finding the scenery had changed, everywhere she looked, there was nothing but white, looking like purest snow.

"Sansa." Her brothers voice was a whisper in her ear.

She furtively turns around, only to come across her brother's form.

His unfamiliar cold eyes held a seed of warmth within them.

"Sansa, I am glad to see you're well, all things considered."

"Robb…?" She wondered, turning around the white space in wonder. "This is a dream, isn't it?"

Her brother's ghost nods ever so slightly. "In a manner of speaking." He answers. "Yet it doesn't make any of this less real."

"H-How?"

For the first time in a long while, Sansa glimpses a glimmer of her brother's old smiles on his face. "There is much hidden within our bloodline, Sansa." He says. "We come from the oldest line of the first men alive, our ancestors worshipped the Old Gods who were a Living Force on their own, and granted us gifts that are finally resurfacing after thousands of years. The Direwolves, Sansa, the Direwolves were a sign."

"My gifts manifested differently, coming with its own burdens, yet gifting me with knowledge." He bitterly explains. "One of these gifts allows me to… connect with people that share a bloodline with me through dreams, yet you were the only one I could reach."

"What about the others? Bran, Rickon, Arya- Oh, Arya is not-"

"I know." Robb interrupts. "I cannot communicate with the others due to their own connection with their wolves." The explanation drives a deep wedge into Sansa's heart, yet she firms her resolve and listens. "But that doesn't mean I do not know their whereabouts, Arya is on her way to me as we speak."

Before she could say anything, Robb grabs her gently by the shoulders and speak quickly. "Listen, I do not have much time, and I can only do this every one or two weeks, what I need you to do right now is follow my instructions when you wake up. In order to make sure they stop touching you, I had to allude to my knowledge of Arya's escape, and in order for them to not try again, I will need you to help."

Sansa nods resolutely. "Tell me what I need to do."

"Good." He nods. "Now, I need you to…"

*-*-*

"Close your eyes, and take a deep breath."

After a couple of minutes of drowsiness and outright shock, Sansa finally managed to bring herself together.

She still was convinced that what happened in her dreams was fake, yet there was this deep, nagging feeling deep inside her thoughts that finally caused her to try to follow her imaginary brother's instructions.

So she laid down in a sleeping position, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

"Inhale until you feel full, then exhale until empty, repeat that motion until you start feeling lightheaded."

So she did, after a while, she felt her constant nervousness abate, causing her to decide to continue this exercise even if it turned out futile.

"Now, I want you to imagine an animal you see frequently. It must be small and not particularly smart, bigger than a cockroach yet tinier than a cat. Imagine its color, its shape and size, how it would feel to become that animal, how do they see, hear or taste? Delve deeper into the details until whatever creature you choose would almost seem real, almost at the palm of your hand."

Her mind couldn't help but shift toward the pigeons, beautiful and elegant, and most importantly, free. They were the combination of what the naïve Sansa sought to be, and the fulfillment of today's desires, to be able to fly away from her troubles and reunite with her family.

It didn't take long, in her mind she imagined the cute little pigeon that would perch on her window stool and stare at the city like he owned it, and it would just sit there, without moving without making a sound, simply watching.

And after a while, just like Robb said, it was as if she was staring that pigeon straight in the eyes, she could smell his feathers, feel the wind under his wings as he glided around the castle.

"What do I do next?" Sansa had asked Robb in the dream.

Robb's face tinged with resolve. "You Push."

One moment she was here, the other she was at the aforementioned window. Except, everything was different.

The city was somewhat blurry yet incredibly vivid with color, and without prompting from herself she felt herself fall for a split second, before a very unfamiliar feeling of appendages slapping the wind was followed by a rise in height.

'I am into the pigeon's mind!' She incredulously thought.

Once she realized her situation, her new companion's presence felt extremely vivid. She could instinctively tell that its will was so insignificant it couldn't even notice her presence, that at any moment in time she could enforce her will upon it, controlling its actions like a puppet.

"Last thing, Sansa." Robb had said. "Warging is a responsibility as much as it is a gift, if you are to use it; you need to keep in mind that you are the interloper, and that whatever uses you might find of the gift, they should not go against the natural order. Be kind, but cautious." His last words were barely a whisper, as his silhouette slowly dissipated into the white background.

She mentally shook her head, and instead of enforcing her will, she thought to plant thoughts in the pigeon's mind, to fly as high and as fast as it could.

The bird quickly did so, careening through the sky like a most graceful dancer, sending a jolt of joy to her heart.

For the next couple of hours, if someone had visited her chambers, they would have only seen a woman with eyes white as milk giggling like a child who heard the funniest jape.