Chapter Text
Jon
Jon wasn’t surprised when Lord Stark told him he was to sit with the servants, it wasn’t the first time. It was predictable and lacked subtlety. At least he got some bitter satisfaction from the way his Father seemed to be embarrassed when asking him. That was his real nature, a stain in Lord Stark’s honor.
However, he was truly surprised when Greyjoy decided to join him. Was he that drunk already? Jon was feeding Ghost under the table and talking to Uncle Benjen when the tall maiden, the final transformation of Theon, had come to sit next to him. She was wearing an elaborated blueish dress, with details in dark red. Uncle Benjen, who had been sitting next to him moved to give space to Theon.
“Is that Lady Stark’s dress?” Jon asked, “Or Sansa’s?”
Greyjoy smiled at him with a scorn.
“Neither. My tits are too big right now, they had to make special clothes for me”.
Jon's gaze immediately fell on her bosom. It wasn’t that big, but definitely bigger than Lady Stark’s and Sansa’s. Not that he had been staring at theirs, it was just… oh for the Gods’ sake, he was wasted.
But he was still conscious. And quite aware of the fact that all gazes on the table, and some beyond, were lingering on the new girl. Some of the men looked hungry, and not precisely for food. A burly man who was sitting in front of her clutching a huge jug of wine was shamelessly ogling her cleavage. One more gulp and he would possibly start drooling over the table.
“What are you doing here?” Jon couldn’t comprehend why Greyjoy would decide to sit with him without being forced to.
Theon came closer, whispering in his ear, hot breath smelling of wine.
“I don’t need to give you any explanations, Snow, but if you insist… I rather drink myself to death before having to eat with the royalty.”
Jon didn’t know what to say to that. The royal family was… a weird group. The two little kids were adorable, but Prince Joffrey looked like a brat. As to the Queen, she was an incredibly beautiful woman, just like the songs said. Perhaps even more. The King, well…
“My lady, maybe this is not the right place for a young woman to be…” Uncle Benjen said.
“I am not a lady!”
“Huh… then you have fooled me, because you certainly have the things ladies usually have.”
“If you call me lady again, I will kick you under the table… and you too, Snow.”
“What did I do?” Jon certainly hadn’t call Theon a lady, had he…?
“Your dog is annoying me, I’ll kick him too!”
Jon bent to take a look at Ghost (“he’s not a dog, dammit”), and saw that the pup was trying to get under Theon’s dress. Was he cold or he thought he would find food there?
After a couple of drinks, everything seemed to be so funny. And blurry. But mostly, funny. Theon snapping at Uncle Benjen, who was teasing him about his lady-like shape. Ghost trying to climb into his lap after being cruelly rejected by the Ironborn. The stupid song coming from the other side of the Hall. Everything was hilarious.
Until Theon stood abruptly, golden goblet in her hand.
“For the Iron Islands!”
Now, Jon was kind of wasted but he knew that was a bad idea. He was a little bit surprised that everyone on the table were cheering, even his uncle. He really didn’t know much about the Greyjoy rebellion, but he was sure a lot of people had died because of the Ironborn. They weren’t particularly loved among the Seven Kingdoms.
Father wouldn’t like this. He had to stop Theon from generating trouble, she was going to get another scar in that pretty face or worse. For some reason, Jon didn’t like the idea of Lady Stark slapping Theon again. So, he grabbed her dress trying to get her to sit and stop blabbering about all the good things of those shitty islands. As if.
Luckily, it wasn’t too difficult, seemingly Greyjoy couldn’t even remain on her feet without swinging like a boat trapped in a dock during a storm.
The feast continued its frenetic rhythm of drinking, laughter and music. Everybody seemed to forget the incident. Jon was so drunk that he even forgot he was supposed to hate Theon, because that was the way things worked between them: a continuous fight, mostly silent on his side. The Ironborn, easily irascible, would scream at him over the most ridiculous things, often reminding him of his place as a bastard. As if he needed someone to remind him of that, he was sure most people in Winterfell didn’t even know his first name.
At that moment, however, and with warm wine running through his veins, he couldn’t bring himself to hate anyone.
“What is wrong with you, Snow?” asked Theon. “You’re smiling like an imbecile.”
Jon didn’t know how to retaliate to that, so he just kept his shiny smile while caressing Ghost’s head, who was sleeping peacefully in his lap.
Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and when he turned around he was face to face with Robb, who was kneeling on the floor, and showed signs of being even more inebriated than him.
“What are you… doing here?” he asked, words slurring heavily on his tongue.
“Yes, Robb. This is no place for the heir of Winterfell. Go back to your seat next to the princess or Lord Stark will come for you.” How could Theon sound so serious and collected when a moment ago she couldn’t maintain her balance?
The Iron Lady appeared to be immune to the consumption of wine.
“What did you call me, bastard?”
Oops. He said that out loud.
She kicked him, really hard. Jon almost jumped from the pain, but he couldn’t stop laughing anyway. Robb joined him, and that only increased Theon’s anger.
“Shut up, both of you! Shut up right now or I will kill you!”
Then, she stood up with all her remaining dignity and when Jon thought she was going to follow through her threat, preparing himself for a punch to the nose, she just turned around and walked towards the stairs. But she didn’t go far.
A hand, coming from nowhere, was suddenly on her butt. It wasn’t a spank, the owner of the hand, a young boy who Jon didn’t know, was grabbing and squeezing her butt cheeks.
The expression on Theon’s delicate face before she delivered the punch was priceless. It was really him, behind all those softer feminine lines. The poor guy was already on the floor but the Ironborn didn’t stop kicking him until Uncle Benjen grabbed her from the waist.
Jon and Robb weren’t laughing anymore. Actually, everyone was silent. The King himself started to come closer, with Lord and Lady Stark by his side. This is the part where I run. Jon was trying to find a way out, but it was too late. Soon, there was a circle of unfriendly people surrounding them.
“What is the meaning of this, Theon?”
Lord Stark was so livid that he apparently forgot the new name. Nobody seemed to care about it, though.
“He touched me!”
As soon as she said that, and Jon saw Prince Joffrey’s face, he knew that the person lying on the floor was a dead man. He also knew that there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he tried to look away and prayed for his father to show mercy.
Effectively, he did. The poor boy was begging for his life, but everyone seemed deaf. Except Lord Stark, who ended up convincing the rest that it was, partly at least, Theon’s fault for sitting with the men.
After that, Theon faded away, disappearing in the middle of whispering voices and leaving behind an image of dark blue and red fury imprinted on Jon’s mind.