A/N: I haven't gotten too far into the series (past Theon's death) and haven't written or read any fanfiction for this fandom before, so please pardon (or correct) any inaccuracies! This is for the lovely Sydney as part of the fic exchange at the forum Caesar's Palace.

The sunlight filtered through the fog of the autumn morning and a reflected ray shone on a lone cricket chirping on the lawn. He sang a bright tune to a sad song, as if calling to the birds to come get him. But what found him may have been worse.

A little boy crouched over the ground on his knees and elbows, and put his face so close to the grass that his nose was buried in it. The dew seeped through his trousers and wet his knees and was breathed up his nose. This little boy was playing a game, and he hated to lose.

He stretched out his arms and with a thumb and a forefinger he pinched the grasshopper, bringing it into his palms. He closed his hands with a snap.

"Got you."

…

Theon and Robb were hoped to be friends when Theon was first brought to Winterfell, but they didn't live up to expectations, for a few reasons. One, Theon hated him (sort of). Two, Robb didn't notice.

"I bet you can't catch me."

They played like wolves, barking and biting, but just for play (mostly for play). Theon scrambled to his feet. He wasn't ever fast; he was smaller than Robb, slower than Robb, slimmer than Robb, less than Robb, why couldn't he be home, less than Robb, less than…

He turned the corner and trapped his prey against a wall.

"Got you."

And that's the story of how Theon got a black eye and didn't even win the game anyway.

Being friends with Theon came easier to little Robb after that incident, and Theon slowly melted into the role.

...

"I'm going to be a lord, you know," Theon said casually one afternoon, leaning against their tree, his short legs just standing higher than the curled, trunk-like root.

"Me too," Robb said, sitting on the arch of the root, his toes just touching the ground. He didn't look up from his practice sword. He had just gotten it the day before and had been polishing it since morning. Theon had tried desperately to get his attention for hours, but Robb's attention would not waver, and his only words were brief and hushed. Theon breathed out a little heavier than he should have and cringed when it came out a sigh. Theon had never heard Robb sigh as loudly as he just did, and Theon assumed that was because Robb is being raised as a proper lordling. He could be a proper lordling, too. Theon stood a little straighter.

…

The two boys usually caught each other's eyes at the dinner table, and Theon humored humself that he knew what Robb was thinking. He knew when Robb was interested in the conversation that his father Lord Stark was having and he knew when Robb felt the exact opposite. One particular evening, the two boys followed the general routine. Theon felt he looked practically grown up in his best silk attire, and he was trying to be entertained by cutting his steak into very small pieces before chewing it as slowly as he could. Theon lookked up and met Robb, who was staring straight at him, first seeming to say, "What are you doing?" And then Theon with a start realized that he couldn't exactly decipher what Robb's eyes were saying.

…

Robb laughed as Jon chased him around the field, raising his knees high to swim through the golden fields of wheat. The sun was setting behind them, and their long shadows waved with the wheat that were blowing in the slight breeze that ushered in the evening. The ripe stalks snapped under their trampling feet, and Robb had created swirls and patterns in this poor farmer's crop. Lord Stark for sure would be angry when he heard about this.

"Charge!" Theon shouted, raising his wooden sword above his head and following after the tumbling boys as fast as he could. Today, Robb was playing the role of captive, and it looked like Jon had Robb caught.

Theon reached them and pointed the point of his sword at Robb's throat. "Sentence, execution by death for escaping your cell."

As Grey Wind bound over, his yapping audible over the exclamations of the three boys, Robb pushed Jon off him and snorted. "Execution by death?"

Theon raised his chin a little higher and tried to backtrack. "Well, the outcome is the same whether it's by hanging or beheading."

…

Theon's head lifts wearily from his chest as he stares at the side of the tent. It bears the profile of his scrawny shadow and the uncomfortably wooden chair he's sitting on. He frowns, imagining what Robb is doing a few meters away in his own tent with all his bannermen huddled around a map. Things are different now, he thinks.