471I had written a long note to explain the lack of updates but decided to delete it and just post the update. Thanks for your support and patience.
Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign
By Spectre4hire
26: Theon III & Robb IV
Theon:
It was a grey day when he saw his uncle's castle.
Theon recalled his mother taking him to visit her family's castle, a year or so before his father's rebellion. They had sailed on Lady Death, which had once been his mother's ship. She had given it over to a cousin after she married, but even though she was no longer its captain, it was she who the crew turned to for their journey. Theon had been her shadow, amazed at seeing this side of his mother, he had never seen before. At how she commanded the ship, and didn't shy away from working alongside her crew.
She was born to be on ships, he had thought, but father had confined her to the birthing bed.
Nymeria nudged him with her wet nose, and he found himself smiling, grateful for the wolf's constant presence. A strange thing, he mused, but there was something to the direwolf that he couldn't quite explain. These past few weeks of him and Nymeria made him better understand why the Starks were so close to theirs. He could feel the Bastard's eyes on him, but Theon kept looking forward.
Looking back meant thinking of Pyke, and what transpired at his family's castle. I didn't even recognize her. Thinking on his sister's corpse and looking down at her last smile. If it was not for her armor, Theon would've thought her a stranger and had kept walking. She was a stranger. He had his father to thank for that. Him and his damn rebellions, at Winterfell he longed for his return to the Iron Islands to shed the title of hostage and to retake his rightful place as Lord of Pyke, Lord Reaper of the Iron Islands. He wanted the glories of the titles and all the power that went with it. But none of it mattered now, if he couldn't save Arya.
The docks of Ten Towers reached out into the sea like outstretched wooden fingers. Theon saw his uncle was waiting for them, but it was who was standing beside him that kept his gaze. Arya, her dark hair was swaying in the breeze. A rush of relief washed over him upon seeing her. He had feared the worst when she had been taken, and he hadn't been alone in mulling over those miserable thoughts. From the corner of his vision, he saw Snow finally relax when he spotted his sister, who looked hale and was smiling at him. The tension had melted from the bastard's stiff posture, he'd not think to call him Snow.
Nymeria's tail was thumping hard against Theon's side, the direwolf happily howled at seeing Arya again. That was what made her look in their direction. She was grinning at them, but he suspected it was for her direwolf.
It seemed to take forever before they were finally off the ship and stepping onto the dock.
"We've been expecting you," Rodrik Harlaw's beard had been brown last Theon could remember, but now it had gone grey.
Theon's attention had shifted to Arya just in time to see her running right to Jon. He crushed that silver of jealousy that tried to worm its way inside him when he saw their reunion. Of course, she'd go to Snow first. Feeling a mite foolish for thinking otherwise. Not thinking, the traitorous thought lashed through him, hoping. And giving it that particular word didn't help to settle his turbulent feelings that came unbidden through him like a tempest.
"Theon?" Arya was now in front of him. Those grey eyes that made him think of the sea were on him and she was smiling. At him. "Thank you," and then she was hugging him.
He hugged her back, a bit awkwardly aware of the bastard's glare. "You trying to get Snow to stab me?" he japed, but inwardly he appreciated her embrace far more than he thought possible. It's because she's unharmed, he told himself.
Her eyes seemed to glisten before she shook her head. Her expression changed from something that had felt intimate to him, to something else, more open, and mirthful. "You went to the wrong castle."
The bastard laughed having made his way over to them and was hugging her again.
Theon took a step back, annoyed by Snow's interference, but he made sure not to let it show. He knew how much the bastard meant to Arya, which kept him from frowning or saying something that was bound to get him in trouble. He watched from a distance. Always at a distance, the bitter thought passed through him. At Winterfell he watched them all, the cold pangs that thrummed through him made the cold northern wind feel like a spring breeze.
One day, I'll be back at Pyke, and see my family again. That was what he told himself. Not knowing that his family craved freedom more than him. That they'd rather rebel than reunite with him. Dead, the truths were threatening to swell up and engulf him. That's how they wanted me.
"I know how much you tried, Theon," Arya's voice pulled him away from his dark musings.
She was crouched down in front of Nymeria, doing her best to hug her direwolf given Nymeria's massive size. When Arya turned to face him, she was worrying on her lip. "I saw you."
The words were as soft as a whisper, but they thundered in Theon's ears.
You saw me? Repeating them back, trying to puzzle what she could possibly mean. His frown didn't linger because other pieces seemed to fall into place, strange behaviors from her and her siblings that now made an even stranger amount of sense. He remembered Robb talking about dreams he had of Grey Wind, or when Rickon knew Theon had snuck off one night when he was supposedly asleep in his chambers, but Shaggy dog had seen me. There were other occurrences of Ghost and Lady and even Nymeria's own behavior made more sense these past few weeks with Arya's admission ringing through his head. What have I stumbled into with these Starks?
"Theon?" An unsure question, a frail word, the mounting apprehension behind his name.
"Yeah?" Looking at her, he was mindful of Snow's staring and that of his direwolf. That's just great, he mused, now the Bastard has two sets of eyes he can use to judge me. When he saw the touch of fear in her expression, he forgot all about Snow and his judging eyes. "Any other secrets you got?" He asked, his smile growing to reassure her he didn't think less of her for what she said.
"No," she said, putting more of her old self into her answer.
Theon had never seen a more welcoming sight.
Drained by his conversation with his uncle, Theon now found himself standing out on a balcony, staring out at the sea as it stretched out before him. He found solace here. The damp chill and salty scents welcomed him like a lost friend. He had forgotten how much he missed them until he was back in their presence. The sights and smells stirred something inside him that had long gone dormant all those years in Winterfell.
He had rejected his father in the end, but it couldn't lessen the unreachable sting dwelling within his chest at what his father had been ready to do to achieve his goals. Not just my father, but all of them. And their complete indifference towards him. They were all dead, but that hadn't cooled his anger, leaving his Uncle Rodrik to bear the brunt of it. The memory played before Theon, as if it was being projected on the calm waters below him.
In his uncle's solar, Rodrik's eyes shined with unshed tears when he learned of Asha's death. "I told Balon what you take with fire and steel you just as easily lose."
The reaction provoked the gnarled thing inside him. He'd shed no tears for me. It whispered. "And did you tell him what the Iron Throne would do to me if he rebelled?"
"He knew," His uncle didn't do him the courtesy of looking Theon in the eye when he answered.
They didn't care. The coldness sunk deeper inside him. My kin had already buried me. "As did you, Uncle."
He frowned, displeased at either the reminder or the blame that went with it. "I gave him my counsel," He said stiffly, "And your father chose differently."
"And you all followed," His stomach twisted. Lord Eddard Stark would never risk the lives of his sons or daughters for a crown or a chance of glory. He had seen that plainly enough in his time in the north. While my father was all too happy to. The wolves of Winterfell had made him feel more welcome as a hostage than his own blood. You're one of us, Arya's words came back to him, a needed balm. You're the sea wolf! And while she said that his father plotted and prepared for Theon's death.
"I'm bound to Pyke."
"And I was the heir to Pyke!" Theon nearly shouted, rising to his feet, his frustration flaring, melting away the cold frost around his heart so only the anger remained, smoldering through his veins. "I was a fucking hostage! And you'd have me killed all for my father's vain ambitions." His uncle tried to hide behind excuses, but it was plain for Theon, so he'd drag it out into the light if he had to, and make his uncle look. "But that didn't stop any of you from calling your ships and attacking!"
Uncle Rodrik frowned, plainly disliking Theon's tone and the accusations that came with it. "I'm sworn to Pyke." He said again.
A weak shield which Theon hammered away at with all his rage. "As was Baelor Blacktyde, but he sailed to find me to save me, while my own family condemned me to death."
"He was never fond of your father," Rodrik shifted in his seat, still deflecting, "he saw an opportunity, with you now that you're the Lord of Pyke."
A burst of mad mirth overcame Theon like a rising wave crashing onto a deck of a ship. His laughter seemed to alarm his uncle more than his previous accusations. "I'm the lord of nothing," the words a hollow puncturing end to his laughter. "King Stannis has cause to execute me," he spat, "I'm still a hostage to the crown."
His uncle puzzled over this unexpected development. "Surely the king," he began and then faltered, "but you came back-"
"Not on the King's orders," Theon cut in. "It was the bastard, Snow," he explained. "I went to him after learning of Arya's abduction, because I knew if I went anywhere else in the north, I knew what those lords would do to me." He had needed to survive, to tell Snow, to save Arya, but his father's actions still hung over him like Ice, Lord Stark's valyrian steel sword, raised and ready to come down on his neck.
His uncle searched Theon's expression for a long heartbeat, as if the answers were written on his face in dried ink like one of his uncle's favorite books. "What happens now?"
"You'll go to Pyke and assist Lord Blacktyde who's already there to insure the ironborn swear fealty to King Stannis," Theon had sent a raven to King's Landing before he had set sail to his uncle's castle and told him as much, watching his uncle's disbelief grow. "I'm going to King Stannis." It was something he had to do. "If the King plans to execute me for my family's treason, then I'll suggest Lord Blacktyde to replace my family as the next Lord of the Iron Islands. He stayed true to the Iron Throne when no other house did."
"You're going to King's Landing?" Rodrik repeated, dumbfounded.
"Yes," Theon answered firmly, "I'll not cower behind the walls and wait like my father did all those years ago."
Pictures passed through his mind of burning longships, ruined towns, dead ironborn strewn about, weeping orphans, and the screams of the women being raped. The angry army left them all in its wake, its wrath insatiable, as it was led by the crowned stag banners, with the loyal direwolf and vengeful lion trailing behind.
And then there was me, a cold and hungry boy, worrying in the dark, hiding with his mother and waiting for it all to end. Waiting to die. Because he wasn't strong like Asha or brave like his dead brothers, who gladly charged into the fight. They clung to swords and shields, while I clung to Mother's skirts. Would father have raised his banners if Maron had been the hostage at Winterfell and not Theon? Would father have condemned Asha to Ice if it had been her who had been given to the wolves, as hostage and bride?
Did no one care about me? The question was a cold creep that went up his back.
"Theon?"
He blinked away the memory with his uncle and turned to see Arya was approaching him. But she wasn't alone. His gaze went to the woman beside her. His heart twisted. "Mother?" His feet were moving on their own accord right to her. Just as hers went to him. The last time he had seen her were all those years ago as a boy when Lord Stark oversaw their parting. And now it was a different Stark who oversaw their reunion.
He instinctively stiffened when his mother reached out to touch his cheeks. A twinge of shame coiled through him at how much he welcomed her touch. He could hear his brother's mocking voices, their hurtful japes, and remember his father's cruelty. The old scars ached in memory, but her presence soothed them away. He felt Arya's eyes too. Watching him, watching them, but he didn't turn to her.
"My boy," Mother's voice was a fragile thread. "Is it really you, Theon?" Her wet eyes blinked up at him. Was she looking for the boy she lost? But the disbelief was already melting away, before he spoke, she already knew, and her face was shining because of it.
He swallowed hard to push the word out, "Mother." She collapsed into his arms, sobbing into his chest. For the first time in over ten years, Theon was able to see his mother, to hug her, and he finally felt wanted.
Robb:
"Your Grace," Robb faltered, I'm honored, I'm flattered, but he wasn't. He didn't want this, nor think he deserved it. His eyes went to father, who he felt was far more qualified for this prestigious position. He had won some battles, but this was different. This was ruling, which Robb was still learning to do from his father. He felt inadequate when it came to ruling Winterfell and the north, and this… was so much more.
His father's grey eyes met Robb. He gave the barest of nods while the look in his gaze helped to alleviate the doubt that coldly clustered inside him. "I'll be honored, Your Grace, to be your next Master of Laws." Thankfully, Father stepped in then, so neither the King nor the Hand saw him slump in his seat, feeling more like a boy than a king's counselor.
"Understandable," Stannis's Hand, Lord Davos spoke after father reminded them of Robb's wedding and how it was to be held at Winterfell.
But Robb was watching the king not his Hand, to him, King Stannis seemed almost reluctant, or annoyed, but perhaps Robb was wrong. He could not read the king well. And now I'm expected to be living in the city, serving him, and helping to rule the Seven Kingdoms.
Devan Seaworth, the king's squire stepped forward with a rather large bundle of papers shaking away Robb's stay thoughts to hear the king inform him of Robb's responsibilities to become familiar with his new role and what duties and expectations came with it. The hefty pile was heavier than he thought, but he accepted them graciously. "Thank you, Your Grace." This is enough reading material to get me to the Wall and back, he guessed. He wasn't tempted to peruse through it now, since he was expecting their meeting to come to an end.
But it didn't.
Instead, Lord Davos mentioned letters from the Wall and Winterfell that needed to be discussed and plans that had to be coordinated between the Iron Throne and the Lord of Winterfell. Dumbstruck, Robb listened of a tale that sounded from old Nan's stories. This is a story not news, he wanted to say, but he saw how serious King Stannis looked and of his father. The reports had come from his sister at Winterfell, from Domeric at Castle Black. His head spun as it tried to understand not just what they were saying, but what it meant.
The Others had returned. And they were on the march.
"This is a reward, Robb."
It didn't feel like one, but he knew to stay quiet. If the king wanted to reward me, he could've just sent me back to Winterfell. It was home Robb wanted to see, where he wanted to stay, but that choice was taken from him. King Stannis has asked Robb to serve, so he must serve. He felt the heavy task ahead of him in his hands, carrying back from his meeting with the king, the bundle of parchments he was expected to look over while away from the capital. He was glad to put it down on the table in his father's solar.
Despite his protest being done in silence, his father wasn't fooled. "You helped the king win his war, Robb," he said, "and I couldn't be anymore prouder of you."
His father's praise and the look in his eye was a greater reward than any king could give. "Thank you, Father." It was still his father he was trying to impress even in a role to serve the king, all he could think of was his father and trying to live up to his example.
"You may find that this new role will prove to be a boon in your marriage."
Marriage. The war was over, but he felt like his wedding was its true conclusion. "How?"
"You'll be here together in a city of strangers," he said, making Robb wonder how this was supposed to help him or his marriage. "Who better to trust, who better to turn to than your wife, Robb? Your success is her success. Your trials are her trials. You two will face these obstacles together and everything else the capital and the court can throw at you."
United, he saw sense in his father's words, but it all trailed away as his father continued.
"And your stay in the capital may end up being brief," Father said stonily. They weren't said as a comfort, but as a reminder of what was coming.
"The Others," Robb muttered, still in disbelief at what he learned and heard. "So you believe?" He knew the question was foolish after the meeting they had had with the king, where peace with the wildlings was discussed and the large influx of new Watch recruits from the war, but it was his last vestige of hope that this wasn't possible, that it was all a mistake.
"Yes," Father's grimness made Robb's stomach drop. "They are real. And they are coming."
The road to Riverrun was supposed to be a long one, but it ended far too quickly for Robb as he soon found himself riding into the castle, where his family was waiting for him. Where she was waiting for him. The observation brought a slither of discomfort through him, but he only got a passing glance at her as Rickon barreled into his arms. Part tackle, part hug, but Robb welcomed it and him with a laugh. Amazed at how much his brother had grown since he last saw him only a few months past.
Shaggy dog and Grey Wind had their own reunion, yipping loudly and playfully.
Mother scolded Rickon, but it was half-heartedly as she was quickly distracted by father, who made his own show of embracing his wife. Robb was grateful for his younger brother's interference, allowing him a chance to gather his thoughts and his courage before having to face her.
"You'll be as tall as an Umber when you're done," He tousled his brother's hair.
Rickon grinned, before standing on his toes wanting to add another inch or two to his growing frame.
He chuckled, but the mirth didn't stay with him, knowing what he had to do next. I'm braver in battle than this, Robb realized, as he turned to her. This woman who he made and unmade a thousand times since he was told of her existence, of his responsibility, of their betrothal. She was wearing a grey wool dress with a black trim. Opals were sewn into it, in odd patterns. It took him a second to understand they were made to resemble runes, a trait her family was famous for throughout the Seven Kingdoms. It was on their armor, their banners, their clothes.
It was a heartbeat of inspection before his eyes traveled upwards away from her dress and onto her face where their eyes touched. Hers were a striking blue-greyish color. Their gazes stayed on another, heartbeats of searching and judging and he felt a stab of relief to learn that she didn't come up wanting. She had a round, pretty face with a small nose and full mouth. Her hair was as black as a raven's wing and fell down her back in a dark curtain.
Someone off to the side and out of view, cleared their throat, prompting Robb to remember his manners. "My lady," he said into the awkward silence that had fallen over their encounter. Both of them keenly aware of all the stares they were receiving from those still gathered in the yard.
He bowed while she curtseyed hers more polished than his stiff bow. He then took her offered hand and placed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles, looking up to see a bit of red touch her cheeks. "I hope you find me a satisfying match," he said in jest, but the mirthful tone couldn't alleviate the turmoil that frothed within like a bubbling cauldron.
"I do," she said with a light smile that melted away the shyness of her features. "And I hope to make you very happy, my lord." The sincerity that came with her earlier smile, slightly faltered, sounding stilted, rehearsed.
Her father's words, or her septa's, Robb remembered the manners and courtesies Septa Mordane made them remember and parrot to each other when they were younger. Robb didn't see duplicity, only an aching rawness that he felt too due to their situation and obligation. They had been just words for so long, he thought, until now, here he was saying them to the woman he was to marry. Their match was political, but he didn't want their marriage to be a formal setting where they spoke to one another like visiting nobles instead of as husband and wife. "It would make me happy for you to call me, Robb."
She nodded, "You may call me Ysilla."
Before he could, Grey Wind padded over to them. He saw her instinctively tense, but he didn't think less of her for it. The direwolf was a fearsome beast who sent brave men on the battlefield fleeing and screaming. "He won't hurt you," he said, before adding, "Ysilla." Grey Wind was a part of Robb, and to deny the wolf, was to deny himself. A marriage between them would be doomed if his betrothed rejected Grey Wind or the direwolf her.
Despite that innate bond, the direwolves still mostly thought and acted on their own accord but more importantly made their own judgments on those they met based on some instinctive sense that Robb could neither name nor describe. Slipping himself into his wolf's mind was like dipping into the hot pools back at Winterfell, but here the ripples that moved in its wake were senses and thoughts that they shared. And with such clarity, he was confident in knowing she was safe.
"What's his name?" she asked with only a slight change in her voice as the nearing direwolf was now wholly focused on her.
"Grey Wind," Robb answered, thinking she must have already known that, but he appreciated the gesture.
Ysilla steadied herself and nodded before holding out her hand to the curious direwolf who had to lower its large head to sniff her outstretched fingers. She let out a shaky laugh at the direwolf's hot huff of breath, coating her fingers before licking them. The action released the evident tension in her back as her posture loosened and her smile became more certain. "He's fantastic," Grey Wind, perfectly aware of the compliment, acted accordingly earning a disbelieving chuckle out of her. "But also very intimidating," she admitted, before dropping her gaze, afraid she may have given offense.
"Only to our enemies," he assured her, watching her now begin to pet Grey Wind's massive head.
"Well," Mother said, interrupting the moment between the two of them. "As deserving as Grey Wind is to such praise," she said dryly. "There are still plenty of things we need to do and discuss before we return to Winterfell."
Ysilla had been judged and she had passed. It was the best start he could've hoped for, Grey Wind's approval allowed that sliver of hope within him to grow that perhaps this match, their marriage could work.
A/N: At a certain point, I just decided I had to release this chapter and just told myself I could always come back to tweak/and rewrite it.
So Theon's really gone through the ringer these past couple chapters. I wanted hopefully to capture the range of emotions he's struggling with and trying to come to grips with it. Fairly or unfairly, he lashed out at his uncle. A reminder we're in his biased POV which is also the reason why he suggests Blacktyde instead of Harlaw to succeed the Greyjoys if they're deposed b/c even though the Harlaw's claim is likely better/stronger, he's pissed at his uncle. And wants to reward the ally who helped him, and not the one who left him to die.
I went back and forth for a good while on which POV we'd get for the eventual Robb and Ysilla meeting. Robb? Ysilla? An outsider POV? It eventually fell on Robb, but more should be seen/explored in the coming chapters as their wedding draws near.
Until next time,
-Spectre4hire