Round 4 - Prompt Post
Welcome to Round 4 of You Win or You Die - A Song of Ice and Fire Kink Meme!
This post is now CLOSED FOR PROMPTING!
It is still open for fills and feedback.
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This post is now CLOSED FOR PROMPTING!
It is still open for fills and feedback.
( Read more... )
Bran rode off happily and she turned to Robb, the two alone.
“You ought to do something about the Lannisters,” she said. Robb’s lips thinned. “They attacked your father and they might have been the ones who hurt Bran. You need to strike.”
“It's not your house,” Robb said. "It's none of your concern." She nearly punched him.
“When I’m your wife I’ll shut you up properly,” she grumbled to herself.
“When you’re my wife you’ll do your duties, as will I,” Robb replied. Theon only sighed. “Where’s Bran?”
They both looked round but Bran had disappeared from the little clearing he’d headed for. Robb nearly panicked - he was being aggravatingly overprotective of the boy - and Theon assured him he'd probably just wandered off. They split up, Theon taking out her bow and quietly notching an arrow. She listened to the woods, listened for anything besides birds and animals tromping through dirt, and it occurred to her how unnatural this was. On Pyke, there had been no trees.
She heard a shout and turned toward it, moving cautiously. She soon came upon a rather messy situation, Robb glaring at some ragged man holding a sword to Bran. There was a woman as well, and a few dead men.
Robb wouldn’t dare act while his brother was in harm’s way. Theon raised her bow and looked at the man’s thick neck. A vein pulsed on its side, steady as a beating drum.
She let go.
The arrow struck true, piercing the man’s throat, and blood gushed from his neck. Robb quickly lunged for his brother and the man fell, writhing as he bled to death. The woman, whoever she was, fell on her knees.
“Hello, dear,” Theon grinned. Bran was looking at her, eyes wide, and she felt a surge of satisfaction. Robb thought otherwise.
“You could have hit him!” Robb shouted, and Theon’s satisfaction quickly swelled to rage.
“I didn’t,” she snapped, but Robb wasn’t done.
“What if he’d moved?” he demanded, nearly spitting as Bran clutched at his neck. “What if he’d seen you, or you’d hit Bran? You didn’t have the right -”
“Well fine, dear,” she snarled. “Next time I won’t save your brother’s life, and the Others can take you both!” She stalked off, fuming even as Robb shouted behind her.
--
She’d been seething for maybe an hour when her betrothed opened the door to her chambers.
“What do you want?” she growled. He looked embarrassed as he shut the door, crossing to sit beside her on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” Robb said awkwardly. He tentatively reached for Theon’s hand and she moved it. He withdrew his hand, looking down. “You…you did what you had to. So, thank you.”
“Get out,” she snapped but he didn’t (he never listened).
“I’m sorry,” Robb repeated. He took her hand, squeezing it tight. “And thank you.”
“Idiot,” she muttered, but she didn’t move her hand away.
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Has Balon heard of the betrothal yet?
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Though that doesn't mean he likes it. *muhahahaha*
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“Hello,” she greeted Dacey after the meet. Dacey was enormously tall and had a strange grace to her. Even in her mail she looked a lady. “I’m Theon Greyjoy.”
“The fiancée,” Dacey nodded. Her eyes went over Theon’s body and she smiled tightly. “How good are you with a sword?”
“I’m decent,” Theon shrugged. “I prefer arrows.”
“No good,” Dacey said. She raised her mace and allowed Theon to touch its iron spikes. “When you kill a man, you have to feel it.”
“Steel or wood, they die all the same.” Theon grinned. “Very easily.”
Dacey smiled back.
--
Theon found herself often shadowing Robb, counseling him when the lords would let her. Other times she was with Lady Stark or with Dacey. She enjoyed Dacey's company, another woman who loved the fight. They taught each other tricks and gossiped about which man they thought the best fighter.
"Eddard Karstark is handy with his sword," Dacey said. Theon watched him with a frown. "I think he'll kill many a Lannister."
"He's boneheaded," Theon sighed. His movements were strong but he lacked instinct. "Robb's got strategy over all of them. He's got his mother's wits."
"And his father's sigil," Dacey said in a low voice. Grey Wind was trotting across the yard, frightening away a flock of crows. "They call him the Young Wolf, you know."
"Young Wolf." Theon laughed, her voice echoing in the air. "It suits him."
"They have a name for us too," Dacey whispered. Theon looked to her and she grinned wide. "The Iron Bitches."
Their laughter frightened away any crows that remained.
--
It had taken a long bout of negotiation and scheming, but they were finally ready to take on Jaime Lannister. The Whispering Wood did not look welcoming to Theon, but she bit back that thought as she rode with Robb’s seleceted guard. The older lords were arguing in the back, and quite a few looked over to her and Dacey.
“Is there a problem my lords?” she asked pleasantly. A few of them looked up guiltily and then one of them voiced, “There is only…perhaps my lady should let a man take her stand with the Young Wolf.”
Ah. Dacey snorted in a very unladylike manner and Theon inwardly agreed. Outwardly, she smiled.
“Does it sting the honor of your houses to let women ride?” she asked. The man flinched. “My betrothed goes to war, should I not be by his side?”
“A woman’s place is in the home,” another lord said. He clapped his hand on his son’s shoulder, a stocky man who was fumbling with his sword. “It is not right for you to take the brunt of battle.”
“Nothing would please me more than to debate the weak nature of women, my lords,” Theon said curtly. “But my place is in battle. And if you seek to stop me, the Lannisters will have a few less men to raise swords against.” Some of the lords stared at her, horrified and angry, but the Greatjon bellowed loud with laughter.
“You have a winter heart, my lady!” he roared jovially. “Perhaps you’ll show these southron fools what a real warrior is.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she smiled. Some of the lords still muttered but no one raised dissent. Dacey elbowed her with a laugh and they rode forward.
But in the thick of the woods, waiting for Lannister and his men, Theon felt a sudden fear crawl into her heart. She could hear soft, labored breaths around her, the breaths of men in wait, and she knew she would not hear some of them ever again.
I am Theon Greyjoy, daughter of Balon Greyjoy. I am the betrothed of Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, heir of Winterfell. I am Ironborn and I will pay the iron price. A horn blew, and then another, then another. Armored men and horses came forward and with a cry, Theon flew.
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(Love all your fills btw.)
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(and awww, thank you!)
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“He’s my liege lord and I’ll do what he says.” Dacey glanced back at Theon and smirked. “Do you want to see the Kingslayer?”
No. Theon had seen quite enough of the Kingslayer in battle, his golden armor gleaming silver beneath the moon. She’d watch him face defeat and charge toward Robb, merciless as he cut his way to her betrothed.
“ROBB!” she’d screamed, unleashing arrow after arrow without a second thought. One of them had hit the Kingslayer’s shoulder, snapping in half and blinding him. They captured him soon enough to save Robb’s life but not the lives of others.
“Sure,” Theon said, shrugging. Dacey hooked their arms together and they walked through the camp, nodding at various bannermen on the way. Dacey whispered that this one and that one were hoping for her hand and Theon roared with laughter.
A few pace from the Kingslayer’s pen, Lord Bolton stopped them.
“I’m afraid your betrothed has commanded you be kept from the prisoner,” he told Theon softly. She scoffed.
“What? Why?” She peered around him at the man, filthy and ragged and the complete opposite of one of Sansa’s dream knights. He smirked at her.
“You’ll have to ask him,” Bolton said politely. Theon frowned.
--
Theon volunteered twice to help guard the Kinglsayer, and twice her offer was rejected. When she finally confronted Robb, he flushed.
“I don’t want him to hurt you,” Robb said. Theon stared. “It's, I don’t think you’re weak, I just -”
“He’s made threats,” Dacey shrugged. She was picking at her nails with a knife. “Creative ones too, he sang a song about stealing you from Robb and hanging your body from the highest turret of Casterly Rock.”
“Did it rhyme?”
“Quite well. Perhaps we should commission the Kingslayer as a minstrel while we eat off his father’s land.” Theon laughed and Robb only scowled. Having the Kingslayer weighed on him, she knew. A Lannister so close to him, so untouchable in their desperate need of leverage…
“I hear he’s very handsome,” Theon drawled. Robb’s head shot up and he squinted at her. “There are so many songs of his valor and beauty.”
“Men shouldn’t be beautiful,” Dacey snorted. She glanced at her newly cleansed nails. “But I’ll admit he’s something. He fights so well, did you see when he -”
“Can you gossip elsewhere?” Robb burst out, blushing with annoyance. Theon bit back a grin.
“Forgive me, my lord. I forget myself.” At least he was relieving his stress, in what little way he could. “Perhaps we could -”
“My lord!” A Frey bannerman burst in, looking panicked. “A raven for you.” Robb rose and for some reason, Theon felt dread trickle down her throat.
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“Where is Robb?” Theon asked. He’d stormed away a while ago and it occurred to her she should be with him. A man pointed her toward the woods and she walked, dazed with confusion.
She had not loved Lord Stark but part of her had wanted to. She’d sometimes daydreamed of her wedding to Robb, or more the part after where she would look to Lord Stark and he would clasp her hand in his own, take her as kin. It had been a stupid dream but the memory of it made her sad.
She heard a thwack and she drew her sword. “Robb?”
The noise continued so she followed it to find her betrothed, heaving with breath as he raked a tree with his sword. The blows were sloppy, meaningless, each swing accompanied by a wail that seemed to stab her.
“Robb!” she called; he didn’t hear, smashing his sword again and again and again. “Robb, stop!”
He looked up and she was pained by the redness of his eyes, pained by tears that had long dried and the hopeless young way he looked at her.
She glanced at his arm. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Robb glanced at his sword as if noticing its weight for the first time and dropped it, his arm falling boneless to his side. He looked back at her and the raw emotion on his face struck her harder than any sword could. Somehow she found strength to walk to him, but when she got there she was helpless to act. In her faded memories of home, her father berated any tears and her mother…what had her mother done?
Theon held Robb’s face as gently as she could, rubbing beneath his eyes with her thumbs.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. His chin quivered and he grasped at her hands, fingers curling against her own in a cage. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll kill them,” he gasped, and his eyes closed as he leaked out a sob. “I’ll kill them all.”
With the tip of her finger she caught a curl of his hair, tugging it gently so he looked at her.
“I’ll kill them too,” she promised, and Robb wept.
--
Robb was quiet as they talked, debating which self-proclaimed king they would stand for. Under the table Theon held Robb’s hand tight. Down the table, Lord Bracken was saying they should declare for Renly.
“Renly is not the king,” Robb said. It was the first he’d spoken in hours. Immediately the lords argued, their voices growing louder and louder. Suddenly the Greatjon banged his fist on the table.
“Here’s what I say to these two kings!” he roared, and he spat down hard. Someone gasped. “Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong. Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to and now the dragons are dead.”
What is dead may never die, Theon thought, but she said nothing. The Greatjon drew his sword and pointed it right at Robb.
“There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to. The King in the North!”
Lord Karstark stood. “I’ll have peace on those terms. their red castle, and their iron chair too.” He knelt, to Theon’s utter shock. “The King in the North.”
“King in the North!” The Greatjon roared again, and Robb rose from his seat. Theon sat frozen, unable to believe the shout ringing through her ears. King in the North.
She looked to Robb, who didn’t look shocked. Just cold and noble, heartless and strong. In a sudden strike of madness she thought, He is a king.
Robb held out his hand to her, and she blinked. She and Robb didn't show affection, not ever; they were bound but they didn't love each other, not like that.
He needed her. Theon took his hand and stood beside him, tall and proud as the shouts rang out in the night.
“King in the North!”
“King in the North!”
"King in the North!"
“King in the North,” she murmured, and she squeezed his fingers tight.
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Why shouldn’t she? she thought bitterly. She knows him most, he’s more than a king to her. It burned her how these lords put him on a pedestal she was sure he’d one day slip from, and her fool of a fiancé would drag her down with him.
“Theon,” a voice called; Dacey. “The king demands your presence.”
“The king can stuff it,” she muttered, but rose all the same. Dacey frowned at her insubordination. Dacey’s devotion to Robb had tripled since his crowning and though Theon loved her, she found it increasingly irritating. “Don’t make faces, it makes you ugly.”
“I was born this ugly,” Dacey said loftily. They shared a laugh at that, though their amusement faded as they came upon Robb’s tent. Theon braced herself as she entered alone.
Robb was at the table, squinting at a large map. It was well-used and curling, with delicate spots of age (distantly, she remembered a similar map hanging in Maester Luwin’s study). When he looked up at her he gave a small, tense smile.
“Your Grace,” she said with a mocking curtsy. Robb didn’t laugh. “You called for me?”
“Yes. I have…” His voice faltered. “I have need for you.”
Theon stared a moment before breaking out a grin. Oh. “Why my beloved, I would have thought to wait for the wedding what with your honor and all.” She leaned over the table suggestively, leering. He didn’t smile.
“I want you to sail to Pyke,” Robb said bluntly. Theon froze. “Have your father rouse the Iron Islands for our cause.”
“Pyke,” she repeated flatly. The memory of harsh waves and cruel black rocks came to her, of wet sand hard beneath her feet. “You - you want me to go home.”
“I want you to ask your father’s help,” Robb said solemnly. He looked ever the king, with his piercing blue eyes and the sharp cut of his mouth. “I want you to get us ships, and raise our numbers.”
“I’ll do it,” she said quickly, feeling sick. She tried to remember her father’s face, her mother and sister and her two dead brothers, but all she could think of was the black banner with the kraken. In her mind it looked ominous and cruel, but it also looked achingly familiar.
Robb approached her, taking her hand.
“I trust you,” he said quietly, and he leaned forward to kiss her. It was their first kiss and she wasn’t impressed, Robb too chaste to do more than press their lips together. But she couldn’t find the words to tease him, her throat swollen tight and her stomach churning. “You leave at dawn.”
“Alone?” she managed to ask. Robb frowned.
“I’d prefer you went with a guard, and I know the lords will as well.”
“Dacey.”
“A male guard,” he said gently. Theon rolled her eyes. “Dacey is strong, but the older lords will want -”
“Yes, yes, I’m of the frailer sex and I need a man to protect me, I know.”
“I didn’t say that,” Robb reminded. She snorted.
“That’s because you know I’ll hit you.”
“You can’t anymore, I’m the king,” he grinned. They both chuckled, though Theon found it hard to laugh. She was going to Pyke, to the sea. She’d dreamed of it for years and now…and now…
She was Theon Greyjoy, queen to-be of the North, and she was going home.
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She inhaled the salt air and sighed.
Theon hadn’t seen the sea since she was a child, brought to Winterfell by Lord Stark after her father’s rebellion. When she was given paper she drew ships on murky waters and sometimes krakens and mermaids and her uncle Euron sailing away. Paper couldn’t give her the smell of salt, the spray of water, the wind against her neck.
All of it felt so familiar, so real, and she never felt more alive than the second those sails snapped out and she felt wood creak beneath her boots. The sea was freedom, the sea was home.
I must never go far from the sea again, she thought, ignoring for a moment that she was bound to Robb and the North.
“My lady,” a voice croaked. She looked to her guard. “How much…longer?”
Cley Cerwyn looked ill, to her amusement. She couldn’t blame him, any mainlander would be sick at the unsteady swerve of the ship. But she loved it, how it rocked her like a mother, how it moved softly and calmly.
“We’ll be there soon,” she promised him. He gave her a watery smile and ran to vomit.
--
Pyke was a cold, twisted little rock and Cley gaped at it in horror. Theon laughed.
“My lady,” he stammered. “Your home is, ah, lovely.”
“Spare me your flatteries,” Theon snorted. “The Islands are hard and unforgiving lands.”
“Much unlike you,” Cley wheedled and she grinned at him.
“Indeed. I’m going to head straight for my father’s castle, but you can feel free to find somewhere to eat. Lordsport should have plenty of hospitality for its one weary traveler.”
“My lady, I should -”
“I go alone,” she said firmly. She wanted to see her family, she wanted to be held by her mother without prying eyes. Cley nodded reluctantly and she smiled. “Hide any trinkets or jewelry you may have. The Ironborn can sniff out mainlanders and if they kill you, they get your spoils.”
“I’ll just have to kill them back,” Cley said solemnly. She knew she liked him.
--
As she approached the cliffs a woman approached her, riding a dark horse. She was older than Theon, pretty with the typical Ironborn grimness in her face. “Going up to see Lord Greyjoy?”
“Yes,” Theon said, biting back the scream she wanted to say. He’s my father, I’m Thea, Thea of House Greyjoy. “I have business with him.”
“So do I,” the woman said loftily, then grinned wide. “Did you think you could fool me, little sister?”
“Asha?” Theon asked incredulously. The woman smirked.
“Thea.” She hadn’t been Thea in a long time, but she didn’t say that. She just looked at the woman who was her sister, or at least had been many years ago. Her last memory of Asha was a sullen goodbye, a light push that had sent her sprawling into Lord Stark’s waiting arms. She’d been skinny, just on the cusp of womanhood.
"Hello, sister," Theon said. Asha laughed and it reminded Theon of sharks.
"Hello," she said, gesturing grandly. "Welcome home."
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“Congratulations on your betrothal,” Asha said. Theon couldn’t tell if she was being sincere. “You’re going to be a queen.”
“I’d rather not,” Theon said. Asha smirked. “How is Mother?”
“Not well,” Asha confessed. “She’s gone back to Harlaw.”
“Oh.” Harlaw was a day’s sail from Pyke and Theon didn’t have time to waste on visiting. It was disappointing, she had hoped to see her mother. “I see.”
“What does it matter to you?” Asha sniffed. “You’re going to be queen, remember?”
“Queen in the North,” Theon said gloomily. She liked the north in a way, but Pyke was home. She felt the difference with every breath. “Will Father give you Pyke?”
“Seems so,” Asha drawled. “And the men of the Iron Islands won’t be having a say in that.”
“I’m glad for you,” Theon said sincerely. It chafed for sure, but she never would have been heir even if she stayed. Asha gave her a look. “Truly.”
If Asha believed her, she didn’t say. She only opened the great big doors, creaking in their might, to reveal the great hall. At the end of it in his high chair was the Lord Reaper of Pyke, Balon Greyjoy himself.
He was old now, older than she remembered. His hair was longer too, almost to his waist with small flecks of white in the deep gray. But his hard black eyes were familiar, as was the hard cut of his mouth.
“Thea,” he said coldly. Theon shivered at his voice. “You’re here.”
“I go by Theon now,” she said softly. Her father stood from his chair and walked down to her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. She straightened her back and watched him. “Father, I…”
“What is dead may never die,” he said suddenly.
“What is dead may never die,” she repeated, confused. His black eyes narrowed further.
“But you did die,” he croaked. Theon blanched. He stepped close and grabbed her face, his fingers squeezing her cheeks hard. “You and my sons.”
“I’m not dead,” Theon managed to say, and he turned away. “Father, I bring you a question from my betrothed.”
“A boy and a fool.”
“Will you aid us?” she asked, heart sinking. Seeing him now, she was sure of the answer. “Will you help us fight the Lannisters?”
“What need have I for a boy king?” her father spat. “I would be a better king than he.”
“You can be. He’ll leave you to do as you like, all you have to do -”
“…is bend the knee?” he asked, deadly soft. Theon snapped her mouth shut. “Do you think me some craven fool? Have you forgotten who you are?”
“Pray tell me,” Theon snapped. Asha narrowed her eyes in warning and her father swerved, nearly crashing into her.
“You are Ironborn,” he hissed. His hands were on her arms, fingers digging into skin. It hurt, but not nearly enough as the disgust and disappointment in his face. “You take and you pay with the iron price, have you forgotten?”
“You paid your failed rebellion with my brothers,” Theon said softly. “Or have you forgotten?”
He hit her. Her cheek flamed with pain and she nearly fell into the table, angry tears at her eyes. She didn’t cry, Ironborn didn’t cry.
Theon straightened to look at her father and smiled thinly.
“I’ll be sure to tell Robb your regards.”
“You’d choose them over us?” he thundered, and whatever calm Theon had left broke within her.
“You gave me away!” she snarled. Her father froze, looking like she’d slapped him. She wished she had. “I was your daughter, your youngest! You told me ‘your name is Theon now’, and you shipped me off to Ned Stark like some dog you didn’t want! Don’t you lecture me on family.”
Her chest was heaving, her breath gone from her with her anger. Now she just felt empty, and cold. “You gave me away,” she repeated, and she thought he looked almost sad. “And now you curse me for coming home.”
She waited for him to say something, anything. Instead she watched him walk away and she wasn’t surprised, not even angry. She felt empty, like the tide had come and washed her heart away. She closed her eyes and blew out a hard breath. When she opened them her sister was looking at her.
“You’d have our father bow to your other family?” Asha asked cuttingly. No.
“I have no family,” Theon told her. Something flickered in Asha’s eyes but Theon ignored it and walked away.
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