Chapter Text
He stared the Night King in the eye; eyes as ancient and cold as the North itself. He felt nothing but a searing so hot it was almost cold spread through his abdomen.
You're a good man, Theon.
It meant something, to hear Bran say it. After everything he had ever done, after every wrong he had committed. He hoped somehow this might mean something, give them just a bit more time to get to Bran. Jon would. Arya would. Daenerys would. He's my brother. He has to live.
For the other brothers he betrayed and could not save, he had to live.
He did not notice the moment he fell to the ground, frozen solid under foot of the Night King, but he could die knowing he finally had done something right. I'm Theon.
He had no fear any longer, not of death, not after he had decided that doing what was right was the only way he could find out what it meant to be Theon again.
Theon heard something shatter in the distance, like the ice of a river breaking apart. He could not see any longer, his mind floating on calm waters. I'm ready, he thought.
"There you are, lad, up you go," a voice in the dark said. Someone took his arm and lifted him to his feet. He shook his head, blinking away the black. Somehow he did not hurt.
"Lord... Stark?" he asked, his voice faltering in awe. There he was, standing as though it were the last day he had seen him, handing him his riding gloves and sword as he left for King's Landing. Someone was calling his name in the distance, but he could not pay it mind when tears welled in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."
Eddard's smile was sad and he shook his head. "Come, son."
He was a boy of eight again and he fell against Lord Stark, his strong arms wrapped around him, the way he had always imagined. A hand on his shoulder startled him and when he released Lord Eddard, it was the blue eyes of his oldest son Theon saw. Robb.
"Now and always," Robb said, squeezing his shoulder and pulling him into a gentle kiss. "Be the man I always knew you could be. It's not the right time. Treat her well."
"But I've gone... I'm dead." Theon gaped at him, glancing at his body growing colder and colder beside them.
The sound of water took over the icy wind and his attention turned to the godswood hot springs. A dark figure rose from the steam. It was Death, and it was old. It was The Drowned God. "I have use for you yet. What is dead may never die."
"But rises again, harder and stronger," Theon finished.
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He woke with a gasp, his entire body shuddering in the cold. People were around him. He curled in on himself, coughing and sputtering against the chill.
"You're alive," Arya said, disbelieving, her hands touching the molted wound on his stomach where the spear pierced him. The splintered wood lay discarded next to her, along with his armor. He spit the blood from his mouth, but somehow he no longer bled.
"Good," Bran said, in that way he did. Jon Snow stumbled next to him, blood and grime covering every inch of him. He put his hands on Theon's face in wonder, glancing at Arya and Bran. "It's warmer, inside. We should gather the survivors."
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Many had died. Most, had died. Even in the crypts, they were attacked, he heard tale, in and out of his dreams. Brienne of Tarth shared the room with him, reluctant to stay in bed despite the severity of her wounds. Jaime Lannister would argue with her, and she would return to her bed. Theon pretended he heard nothing.
I'm Theon.
"I thought you were dead," Sansa said when he finally woke. Tears were in her eyes, such beautiful blue eyes she shared with her brother. Robb.
"Sansa," he said, reaching for her, voice rasping from disuse. His gloves were gone, but he did not mind. She was alive, and that mattered more than anything else. "I saw Robb. And your father."
"He's your father, too, Theon," she smiled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "What did they tell you?"
"The Drowned God needs me. He saved me. But they said... they forgave me."
"Good," Sansa said, brushing the curls from his forehead. "Then it's settled. You've run into enough stupid battles to prove yourself a good man. You can be smarter now."
"Sansa... can I stay?" It was a foolish question, but he needed to hear it, the way he needed to see Robb again. The way he needed a father's love his whole life. The way he wanted someone to notice him, not as the little unwanted one, not as the ward, not as the turncloak, but notice him. Theon.
Her smile was warmer than summers past. "Theon, this is your home. You will stay as long as you like."
"With you."
"I felt so useless in those crypts. I wanted to do something, anything to help. I thought I might die actually using a dagger. What would mother say?" She shook her head, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. "I decided something, after speaking with Tyrion. I decided that I wouldn't let you go again."
He stared at her, remembering everything that had happened between them. He remembered the girl she was, the woman she became, the Queen she would one day make. He did not deserve her, but he would give her everything left of his wrecked body and soul. He had always wondered what it would be like, to have a home. She held his hand in hers and smiled at him. This is what it feels like.
"Then it's decided. I'm home."