The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

40.

Massey

Days turned to weeks as correspondence from Theon dwindled. The last I'd heard, they had set off for the Twins, presumably in an attempt to cross before Tywin Lannister's army met them with the water to his back instead. What few ravens I did receive were sparse with details and mostly just expressing how he wished to see me. Longing for our bed or not, I got the sense that he found purpose alongside Robb out there. I tried to remind myself that he was content out there each time I found myself up late with worry. A similar letter from Robb let Bran know that their mother and Rodrik had joined their camp, much to Bran and Rickon's chagrin.

Maester Luwin stayed glued to Bran's side so long as he was not absolutely needed elsewhere, as did Hodor. Osha was even becoming more involved with daily life in the castle. She earned more trust and less constraints as the days went on.

Rickon spent most of his time running around with Shaggydog, avoiding Bran and all of the responsibilities he'd inherited. He was more bored than anything else. The poor boy stood in a host of men near the armory who were paying him no mind. He was only discernible in the herd by the wolf at his feet. I inched through the crowd until my hand found Rickon's shoulder.

   "Come with me," I said with a nod of my head.

   He gave no protest, trailing alongside me until we reached the first wall of the glass gardens. I ushered him inside with Shaggydog in tow, and with the shut of the door behind us, the instant peace found me once again. In the flurry of activity that Winterfell so often was these days, the garden had become my sanctuary.

   "What are we doing in here?" Rickon asked as he strolled down the first path before him leisurely, poking and flicking leaves along the way.

   "This," I started dramatically as I followed behind him, "is where I come to hide."

   "Hide from what?"

   "Everything. Everyone. Well, apart from you now. I've let you in."

   "You haven't let me in. I live here."

   "That's a fair point, I suppose."

   "It's hot," he moaned, pulling at his coat.

   "It has to be for the plants to grow properly."

   "It's boring."

   "It doesn't have to be," I objected as we walked toward the back corner of the garden. "Look. I've cleared this section out. I was going to plant some cranberries, but I thought maybe you'd like to try."

   He looked from the dirt up to me, then back at the dirt. "Cranberries?"

   "Or whatever you'd like," I laughed, tousling his already messy hair around. "Come on, let's find some things you'd like to grow."

   Half reluctantly, he silently led me up and down the aisles until he had decided on a handful of things he'd deemed exciting enough to plant. Some blackberries, admittedly at my recommendation. Mint, because he liked the taste. Marigolds, because he knew that I liked them. And a pumpkin, solely to see if he could actually grow one. I assisted him in getting all of them into the ground, choosing the soil and taking our time. I sat back to let him take charge, Shaggydog resting his head in my lap where we both sat in the dirt as I stroked his black fur. With inquiries about the garden peppered in between, we spoke mostly of his mother as we worked. The pain he felt was palpable, even if he had grown used to her absence. The boy needed his mother. No matter what depths of my mind I searched, I could never find the right words to comfort him in that matter. We had all expected her return after Lord Tyrion escaped his trial at the Eyrie, and she left a hole far too large to fill. Rickon was nearly finished when he turned to face me with heavy eyes and asked a question I wasn't prepared to answer.