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The ground is covered in thick, freshly fallen snow, feeling soft to Theon’s knees when he goes down on them. It’s still snowing, tiny flakes dancing around the three men standing to the side. Jon is in the center, his face grave, his shoulders a little hunched as if he can feel the weirwoods staring at him. He’s flanked by Edd on his right and Sam on his left, both wearing solemn expressions. Edd’s arm is still in a sling, but Sam is holding a jug with a lid. Wine, maybe, for afterwards. Or perhaps it’s empty and ready for his blood as a sacrifice to the Old Gods, Theon thinks with a touch of humour.
He’s nervous. This is what he wanted, what he begged Jon to let him do, but now that the time has come it’s a lot scarier than he thought.
“Night gathers, and now my watch begins.”
The first sentence is familiar. Everyone knows the vow of the Night’s Watch. But it’s not the Watch’s oath that Theon is taking.
“I shall stand with my brothers until the dawn is here.”
He’d wanted to take the oath, the real oath. No matter the harshness of winter or life on the Wall, this is where they took him in. This is where he gets fed and clothed, where he sleeps in a chamber warmed by the fire never going out in the fireplace. This is where he was granted life. A chance to start over.
“I shall pledge my strength and valour to the Watch.”
Theon swallows, his gaze straying to the weirwood in the centre of the grove, the bloody face in the bark. It should be laughing at him, at the pretentiousness of his words. What strength can he give? What valour does he possess? He’d said as much to Sam, who had been writing the oath for him, but had only gotten a poignant look and a heavy sigh in return. Then Sam had underlined the words.
“I shall not fight for glory or fame, nor personal gain.”
It seems dishonest, this line. He doesn’t care for glory or fame, not anymore. His name is notorious enough, Theon Turncloak, although no one calls him this at the Wall anymore. But there’s a lot to gain for him by staying here.
“I shall not falter in the face of danger, I shall not flee from enemy nor death.”
There’s only one danger left that scares him, only one enemy he fears. Death would be welcomed as a friend if his path ever brought him back to Ramsay. At least Jon’s monsters aren’t human.
“I stand as a sword in the darkness.”
Not, I am the sword in the darkness. He’s not joining the Watch, not really. Jon had been adamant about that.
The day might come when the world is at peace again, when the night is over and the summer returns. I won’t have you chained to the Watch when you might want to go home that day.
Home… what is home?
“I stand among the Watchers on the Wall.”
One of them, in a way, but not forever. Not for life. It’s not what Theon would have chosen for himself, but the thought that Jon thinks of his life as something still worthwhile brings tears to Theon’s eyes. He blinks them away. This is far from over yet.
“I stand as a shield that guards the realms of men.”
He can hear Jon exhaling a shuddery breath at that line, and goosebumps prickle over Theon’s skin. A shield… aye, Jon is his shield. His presence feels like protective armour, like a warm cloak around Theon’s shoulders. It’s still hard to believe at times, but it is what it is.
It’s time to say the last lines, and Theon shivers when he says them in his head. They’re Sam’s words, but they are also his.
“I pledge my service to the Night’s Watch and my brothers…”
Jon accepts the jug from Sam, stepping forward. His eyes are hooded, his mouth a tight line.
“...for as long as the Dark Night lasts.”
Silence follows Theon’s words, only the wind whispers in the leaves. He waits for Jon to tell him to rise, but nothing happens, and after a while the fear comes back. What if his oath isn’t accepted? What if it’s not enough, not what Jon wants? What if he changed his mind, reluctant to take on the burden that–
“Theon Greyjoy,” Jon says into Theon’s thoughts. “May the Old Gods be witness to your vow. May the Drowned God be by your side in the battles to come.”
Jon uncorks the jug, their eyes meet – Theon’s head tilts back on its own and he closes his eyes just in time for the cool water to hit his forehead. Rivulets roll down his cheeks, gathering in the corners of his mouth and tasting of salt.
Sea water.
“Rise as a brother to the Watch,” Jon says, and then he suddenly smiles, holding out his hand to Theon. Theon takes it.
Jon’s arms come around him in a hesitant gesture, the lightest of touches. Sam’s embrace just feels warm, as warm as Edd’s brisk, one-armed hug.
“Welcome, brother,” Sam beams as he collects the now empty jug from Jon. “We’ll see you at the castle!”
With that he tows a bemused Edd away with him, towards the gate. Theon looks after them, grateful to Sam for helping him get this moment with Jon alone. There are things he needs to say to him in private.
“Welcome,” Jon echoes Sam’s words, but he doesn’t call Theon his brother. He’s still smiling, but his eyes are guarded, wary. “You’re wet.”
“What? Oh…” Theon reaches up to his hair, smoothing a wet strand behind his ear. “You spilled water on me.” He can still taste the salt, and it makes him smile. “Where the fuck did you get sea water from?”
“I had Cotter Pyke send it from Eastwatch.” Jon shrugs. “I don’t know a lot about Ironborn custom, but I thought it couldn’t hurt.”
“Aye, it – thank you.” Theon swallows, trying to find the courage for what he wants to say. “Jon, there’s something–”
Jon’s eyes widen a fraction. “Aye?”
Strength and valour.
“I want to make a pledge,” Theon says, casting his eyes down.
“You just made one.” Jon sounds surprised.
“To you.” There’s silence, and Theon can’t bear it. “I vow to–”
“Wait.” Jon raises a hand. He suddenly looks very tired. “There’s no need for any of that. You already proved where your loyalty lies by taking an oath to the Watch. You swore you’ll fight for the living. That should be enough.”
But it isn’t. It’s nowhere near enough, and Theon struggles to find a way to put it into words. Aye, it’s been the Watch that has given him food and shelter, the clothes on his back. It had been Sam who had treated his teeth, his wounds. But Jon has given him so much more.
“I stand with the Watch because it’s the right thing to do. The Others are the enemy we need to defeat.” Theon swallows, gathers his courage. “But it’s you I want to be sworn to. Not the Lord Commander, just you.”
“Why me?” Jon’s gaze is hard, the grey in his eyes like steel. Just like his father’s eyes. “Is this because of Winterfell? Because of Bran and Rickon?” His mouth tightens. “Or is it because of Robb?”
It’s the first time the name falls between them, and it hurts. Theon looks down. There’s a hint of truth to Jon’s words, but it’s not the main reason.
“I don’t want to be your token Stark you think you can use to rectify past mistakes.” Jon’s voice is cool. “What you did can’t be undone.”
“I know. That’s not what I want.” Theon’s eyes start to fill with tears.
“Then tell me, Theon. Why me?”
Because you remembered the man I used to be. Because you called me by my name.
Because you gave me the chance to be who I want to be.
Because you touch my hand and I’m home.
“Because you care,” he says, the whisper barely louder than his thoughts. “Because my life is worth something to you.”
“But–” Jon sounds so confused, all coolness gone from his voice, and Theon dares to look up. “That’s just what being human means. That’s nothing – nothing special.”
Theon smiles at that, a bitter smile. “It is extraordinary. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but it is.”
“Still…” Jon shifts, his brows gathering. His hand twitches. “It shouldn’t matter what I think. What anyone thinks. Your life should be worth living for yourself.”
“I want to live. I want to make amends for what I did.”
Theon lifts his head, looking past Jon at the weirwoods. They are silent, but in his mind he can still hear his name in the wind driving through the red leaves in Winterfell’s heart tree. He can still feel the sense of wonder, the hope that mayhaps there’s something out there for him. Something important. And mayhaps this something led him here.
“I want to do the right thing. Choose the right path.” Theon takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders. “But most of all I want to stay with you. You’re worth following, Jon.”
Jon’s face is unreadable, but finally he nods, an almost unnoticeable movement of his head. “Take your vow then.”
“I place my trust in you, Jon Snow.” Theon’s voice sounds too quiet in the silent grove. He clears his throat. “Whatever service you may need from me, it is yours. Whatever I can do to aid you in your fight for the living, or in your search for your family, I will.”
Jon’s hand twitches again.
“I shall shield your back and never leave your side…” Theon swallows. “...unless you send me away.”
Jon takes a half step, closer to Theon.
“I took a vow to the Watch, but it’s you I stand with, Jon Snow.”
Jon’s hand grazes Theon’s, the ghost of a touch.
“You gave me another chance. You saw the man I could be. The man I want to be.”
Their fingers link.
“And until his last day, that man will be yours.”
Darkness is starting to settle, and the wind picks up. Neither of them moves, but for once Theon doesn’t feel the cold.
“I accept your vow.” Jon’s gaze is earnest, the grip of his fingers gentle. “Thank you.”
Theon tries to smile, his heart beating fast. He starts to move back, but Jon doesn’t let go.
“We’re not done here.” Jon lifts his head, looking up at Theon. There’s a twinkle in his eye that catches Theon by surprise. “I have something to say to you as well.”
Theon’s heart skips a beat.
“I place my trust in you, Theon Greyjoy.”
Theon shivers as he listens to the echo of his own words.
“We’ll find my brothers, my sisters, and we’ll fight for the living. I shall not send you from my side…” Jon’s mouth quirks up. “...unless you wish for it.”
“Never then,” Theon says without thinking.
It makes Jon’s smile widen.
“Stubborn prick,” he mutters, his eyes warm. “Do you accept my vow then?”
They’re standing so close, their hands still linked, and Theon feels very warm.
“I do,” he says, his eyes falling shut when Jon’s lips find his.
It feels like a seal to their pledges, a gesture of faith and trust. It is so, so sweet.
“Let’s go back,” Jon finally murmurs, moving back. His cheeks are red, his eyes molten steel. “I long for the fireplace in our chambers.”
“Aye, my lord,” Theon says, his chest tightening when Jon huffs at the words. “Let’s go home.”