As the Night King walked slowly into the clearing, it seemed to Theon that the Godswood had never been this quiet. Time seemed to slow down as the Night King came into view, his generals following like shadows behind him, encircling Theon and Bran and cutting off all means of escape. But Bran was crippled, unmoving, and as for Theon, the thought of running away never even occurred to him. If he’d been honest with himself, he had known all along that it would come to this. Perhaps he’d volunteered for this moment not for honor or valour, but simply because he deserved this- a chance to die for the family he’d once betrayed. His bow lay broken and useless in snow amidst the bodies of the Ironborn that had died fighting alongside him, his arrows all spent, and nothing but a spear in his hand. He thought the chill and the silence would be the last thing he knew, as he prepared to meet the final enemy. And then, Bran spoke.
‘Theon,’ he said softly, ‘You’re a good man. Thank you.’
And as Theon charged at Death, the last of Reek was vanquished within him. At long last, he knew who he was, where he belonged, and what mattered the most. Everything he did had brought him here to this moment, the brothers he had failed and the sisters he had saved, here with the boy who used to be Bran, who had given him the absolution he craved, here at the end of all things. He died Theon- Greyjoy- Stark, Ironborn and Northman, of the Old Gods and the Drowned, and above all- a good man.