The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

58.

  

Massey

It wasn't until they'd brought Rickon's body inside the castle walls that Sansa told me of Maester Luwin's death. She didn't know much detail. Only that he was gone, and that she didn't know where his body had wound up. I buried thoughts of Ramsay threatening to feed Jon to his hounds, thinking hopefully that the thought of that being Luwin's fate was too heinous a notion even for Ramsay. Osha had met her end at Ramsay's hand as well, and there was still no sign of Bran. Hodor, either. We mourned for each of them. They laid sweet Rickon to rest in the crypts, next to his father, and we did what we could to remember Osha and Maester Luwin.

   Weeks passed slowly. A white raven had arrived, bringing news that everyone in the North already knew. Winter had come.

   I found myself in the Godswood more mornings than not, grateful to be back where I had a tree to sit beneath. Every inch of the grounds held a memory for me, whether wonderful or terrible. Each tucked away corner, each winding hall, each stone making up the walls. Sansa had attempted to have me set up in a room much closer to her's, but I'd taken to sleeping in my old chambers, where I felt most at home. My belongings returned to the same places they were when I first arrived years ago, save for my lack of trunks. I'd tried sleeping in the room I'd shared with Theon, but it felt so vast and empty now. I'd written once to him, only to tell him where I was if he so wished to see me. I'd heard nothing back.

   It seemed everyone under Jon's rule took issue with someone else there. Thankfully, they all accepted Jon as King of the North, a title he seemed hesitant to accept. Mostly, it was the lords of the Northern houses who acted cold toward the Free Folk. Jon did his best to unite them, but it wasn't without effort. When everyone appeared to accept, or at least not outwardly doubt, the threat of the Walkers, the plot to guard the North against them was set in motion. As I was told before, it was imperative that we possess some amount of dragonglass. As much as we could acquire, with as many people to wield it that we could gather. That much stood uncontested, but that wasn't the case when it came to the Umbers and the Karstarks.

Sansa had suggested that the two castles be awarded to more loyal families, ones that supported the Starks in their fight against Ramsay. And, she said as much, right there in front of everyone. Jon, however, did not share her view.

"The Umbers and the Karstarks have fought beside the Stark's for centuries," he argued. "They've kept faith for generation after generation."

"And then, they broke faith," Sansa reminded him without missing a beat.

"I'm not going to strip these families of their ancestral homes because of the crimes of a few reckless sons."

Jon's harsh tone made me wince a bit. I stood, my back against the cold stone wall, off to the side of the hall. It was strange to be back with Jon holding council where his father once sat with his family. That seemed a lifetime ago.

"So, there's no punishment for treason, and no reward for loyalty?"

A long, tense moment passed before Jon spoke again. "The punishment for treason is death. Smalljon Umber died on the field of battle. Harold Karstark died on the field of battle."

"They died fighting for Ramsay. Give the castles to the families of the men who died fighting for you," she added, her voice less suggesting and more demanding as the men around the room began pounding the tables in agreement.

Jon stood his ground, not backing down on his ruling for even a second. I pushed off of the wall, stepping out to gain a better view as Jon called for Ned Umber and Alys Karstark to approach. He sought their loyalty, and they gave their pledges. A new lord and a new lady. The room erupted again in stomps and bangs of approval.