The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

65.

Massey

"Theon," I muttered, quickening my pace to reach his side. "Slow down."

"We've likely already missed the beginning," he replied, only adjusting his stride enough to match mine.

"Beginning of what?"

   "They're laying forth the final battle plans," he explained, his tone dripping with the same resignation that I felt at the news.

   "They're close, then?" I asked, my eyes darting around to the yard full of people. The weapons built so hurriedly that were meant to keep us safe. The men and women who'd ridden here and taken up arms to protect us. The children, some without even one parent, who were soon to soothe one another in the crypts while the fighting sounded above them. Suddenly, everything felt much more real.

   They're all so brave. What am I?

   Theon looked back to me a moment as we finally reached the cracked door, giving a stifled nod and sigh.

"Theon," I said once more, grabbing his wrist gently before he could go inside. "We must speak after this."

He nodded stiffly again, beckoning me to the room that held all of the other lords and ladies that were meant to hear the news. Including Broden, whose side I joined along the table they'd all gathered at as they took turns speaking of the plans. Occasionally, I'd look to Theon across from me, my mind wandering even then to what he was thinking— where he stood with me.

   As they all spoke, the guilt I felt for what I took as my own inaction only grew. We had children— actual children preparing to fight this battle alongside seasoned warriors and mothers who'd never even held a weapon until called upon by their King to do so. As my mind drifted, I did my best to refocus on what was before me.

   "We're not leaving you alone out there," a voice rang out in regard to Bran, snapping me back to the conversation.

   "He won't be," Theon cut in meekly, looking like he was unsure of the truth behind his own words before his gaze landed on Bran. "I'll stay with him. With the Ironborn. I took this castle from you...let me defend you now."

   His voice caught my attention, but his words kept it. He meant to be the last line of defense against the Night King. If everyone in Winterfell fell protecting Bran, he'd be the last. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

   Brave as ever, I thought. Ramsay did not strip him of that.

   "We'll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can," Davos announced, breaking the silence lingering from Theon's offer.

   "When the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls to give you the signal to light the torch," Lord Tyrion went on.

    But, the Queen then spoke over Tyrion. "Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own. You'll be in the crypt."

   "Your Grace...I have fought before. I can do it again, alongside men and women risking their lives."

   "There are thousands of men, and only one of you. You can't fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You're here because of your mind. If we survive, I'll need it."

   Tyrion dropped his head, recognizing that he had been overruled. After a bit more deliberation, there seemed to be nothing left to say.

   Yet, Tormund found the words. "We're all going to die. But, at least we'll die together."

   Arya and I exchanged glances across the table, mine far more anxious than her's.

   "Let's all get some rest," Jon said with finality, dismissing the room.