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Chapter Text

Theon scowled as he watched her swing her sword swiping the dummy sending straw stuffing across the snowy ground.

“But don’t ironborn girls practice swordplay?” Robb asked next to him, his eyes never left his bastard sister.

“Some,” Theon hesitated, “they practice archery. Anyways she’s not ironborn.”

At that moment Lyarra Stark struck the dummy with such force it fell from the post it was on. She looked at her sword hand and grinned, then looked up, finding them and waving enthusiastically.

Robb smirked, “no, she’s of the north.”

Theon sighed and followed the young heir down to the yard. He watched the half siblings hug, Robb clutched the girl's shoulder offering her quiet pointers on form.

She was 14 and had only recently begun lessons, though she had picked up a sword far before that. She was good, that frustrated Theon.

“Theon what do you think?”

He blinked out of his daze, “huh?”

“You could help her with her archery?”

He glanced at Lyarra who was looking towards Robb, discomfort clearly showing on her flushed face. “I don’t think he wants that Robb,” her voice was quiet but hard. She held no love for Theon, he knew that. He didn’t care.

Theon smirked, “I’d rather not teach a bastard girl to lose an arrow. If you're interested in learning other things I’m always available though.” He sent her a wink.

She blushed hard and her eyebrows drew together. She looked beyond miffed, Robb simply rolled his eyes and gave her some kind words before walking with Theon back into the castle. Grey Wind fell in pace.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Robb said.

Theon turned to look at Robb, he looked displeased but not angry. Robb was used to Theon making those sorts of comments, but Theon knew if he ever really pursued the girl Robb would not hesitate to kill him. Nor would his father.

“It’s not my fault she’s such a prude,” Theon sighed before quietly adding “makes me doubt her mother being a whore.”

Robb stopped in his tracks, Theon stilled as well, cursing himself. Robb looked back at him, his eyes cold, grey wind growling beside him. Theon raised his arms, surrendering to Robb. Robb seemed to accept this, then stalked away.

Theon kicked one of the ornate decorative tables that flanked the stone walls. Through his stiff boots he only felt a slight sting, still he groaned out of frustration rather than pain.

Ever since he had arrived in this place he had been sucking up to that boy heir. It wasn’t that he disliked Robb, he just hated feeling second to him. Theon was a prince of the iron island, an heir as well, he bowed to no man.

He stopped by the kitchens where he rifled through drawers bulling out a handle of wine, strong wine. Not the good tasting kind but the kind that made you for all your troubles.

“M’lord,” a serving girl exclaimed as she saw him stumbling out of the kitchens. He had already had a fair few gulps of wine. She glanced at the wine in his hand.

He internally groaned, it wouldn’t be good if she was one of lady Starks girls. That woman hated when he took wine.

He studied the girl, she was pretty in a common sort of way. Plain but nice. He knew her vaugly, though he had fucked so many girls in the castle it was hard to tell who was who.

But when he looked her in the eyes he could tell, if he hadn’t fucked her already she definitely wanted it. He trapped her against the wall using his free hand to hike up her skirt groaning her thigh. “I’m busy darling,” he whispered in her ear causing her to shudder, “but another time. So long as you don’t tell.” He nodded subtly, with that he released her and sauntered away.

Upon arriving at his quarters he quickly drowned in wine. He found himself draped over his furs by the fire, eyes half lidded staring not at the ceiling but beyond it. In his eyes he saw the open ocean, the bitter cold of sea breeze and the harsh sound of lapping waves. Salt so thick on the surfaces it broke hinges.

It was times like this he thought fondly on his home, though he hadn’t considered running away since he was young. Back then it was all he thought about, going back home to his mother and siblings… sibling.

They would celebrate his return and raise him up as prince. The same way the folks of winterfell cheered for Robb. His mother would hug him like Lady Stark hugged Robb. His sister would kiss him on the cheek the way Lyarra kissed Robb.

Though he wasn’t stupid enough to imagine his father patting him on the back the way Nedd did to his son. He wouldn’t delude himself like that.

He drifted to sleep with thoughts of dark blue water.

His head jolted up at the sound of a loud bang, he shivered. His fire had gone out, only red embers glowed, they offered no warmth.

“What~” he slurred, head aching.

His door slammed open, “Gods you're drunk.” A female voice said, “of course you’re drunk.” Hands grabbed him by the armpits lifting him into a sitting position.

“I’m not drunk, I'm hung over,” he clutched his aching head.

“Is that why you weren’t at dinner last night?” She glared down at him harshly, her eyes so grey they looked silver, nearly purple.

“What’s the issue with skipping dinner? And why are you here?” His eyes narrowed. She never visited his chambers, not voluntarily.

“The king is coming,” she said flatly. So flatly he thought she was being sarcastic.

“Huh?”

“Jon Arryn has died, the king is on his way. Lord father will surely be made hand,” she glanced away towards his open window which reflected the bright white light from the summer snow. She then glanced back at him, “I’m here to take you to Lord Starks solar. We are all to go. I’m sure we’ll all be getting little speeches about good behavior.”

Theon groaned, falling back onto the furs, his shock of the king's visit had been swiftly replaced with resentment. He was no stark child, he had no use for Lord Stark's lectures. Still he was obligated.

He stood, cracking his back before glancing at Lyarra. “You’re going to stay to watch me change?” He smirked, “I don’t mind.”

She grunted then exited, giving him space.

Lord Stark's lecture was far from brief. He gave Theon a look that said he knew what he was doing last night, that he knew Theon had groped the girl in the hallway, and stolen the wine, and drunk the wine.

Theon always felt that Lord Stark could see his sins, his fears and secrets. He hated that about the man, he felt so guilty around him.

He went on to speak at length about the royal visit and who would be there and what would be expected. It sounded rehearsed which made sense, he had repeated the same words six times that day to his children.

He was sure the true born kids didn’t get the bit about keeping away from the royal family. He expected that, they queen probably didn’t want the son of a traitor running amuck around her kids. It wasn’t like he cared, he didn’t want to be near those babies either.

He was told to be kind when he was with them, to treat them with respect. Theon had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, as if he didn’t know these things. As if he needed to be told not to insult the kids to their faces.

The part that made him really angry was when he was told he’d be keeping an eye on Lyarra. The fucking bastard.

He stomped at of the room in the most polite manner he could while being this angry.

He was a Greyjoy prince, they had been kings, they were pillagers, they were royalty. Now he was put on the level of a bastard bitch.

He groaned, palming his face. Perhaps he should be flattered, Lyarra was clearly Lord Starks favorite child.

“You look upset,” Theon looked up to see Robb, “did he tell you something that bad?”

Theon rolled his eyes, “nothing I didn’t expect. And you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Be kind the the little princes, escort the princess if she needs it, no rude comments. Apparently I’m sitting with the princess during the first feast, she’s six. What am I meant to talk to her about-“

Robb went on and on complaining. Theon didn’t get it, the privileged asshole. At least he was being made to babysit a princess, not a bastard.

Robb stopped his complaints when they saw Lyarra storming out of Lord Starks solar, seemingly crying.

Robb stood, as if to go after his sister. Theon shook his head “you know her she’s always sulking, let her. As for us,” Theon stood as well, “I need to kill something, let’s hunt.”

Weeks later he walked the castle, the king was set to arrive in only days. Robb had been busier than usual. He was often with his mother getting new clothes or with father being shown the ins and outs of being a lord.

Everyone knew that by the end of the king's visit Lord Stark would be gone, going south with him. Robb was already growing harder, losing his boyish fun qualities and turning into a real lord. It was annoying.

He heard the whipping noise of an arrow being loosed. Glancing down he saw Lyarra Snow in the yard. She was hitting the target, though not precisely.

Theon grinned, then walk down into the yard. Ghost stared at him menacingly. He hesitated slightly seeing the wolf’s bear teeth, but still he pressed forward grabbing Lyarra’s waist and whispering in her ear, “you’re holding it wrong.”

She stumbled forward pushing him away from her, he laughed loudly.

“What’s your problem,” she stomped, “don’t you have something better to do.”

Theon shrugged, “Robb is busy with his mom.”

That made Lyarra’s face soften, she too was upset about her siblings' time being occupied by planning for the king's visit, that was clear.

For a moment they were silent. Theon glanced at her, her eyes were grey. So grey they shined silver and reflected purple. Her hair was dark and that contrasted to her ghostly skin with its slight olive tint. Her dress was nice but dirty from her time in the yard practicing, and her neckline was lower cut showing she was less highborn. Lady Stark would never ornate her with the same beauty she used on her precious daughters.

Lyarra leaned towards him raising her eyebrow, “well?”

“What?”

“You said I was doing it wrong? What is right then?” Her tone was begrudging, he was shocked she was accepting his help at all.

Theon grinned, “well your shoulder is too high,” he moved her arms into a shooting position.

“And your hits need to be more sideface, like swordplay,” he took her hips and turned them. At this she growled, ghost approached as well, Theon quickly dropped his touch. “Loose the arrow faster, don’t hold it for so long.”

At that she let go, as expected it landed straight on the target. She seemed surprised when she looked back at him, like she had expected him to lead her astray. She didn’t bother thanking him though as she grabbed another arrow from the quiver and repeated her actions. This time it landed in an outer ring.

Theon smirked, “no one gets it a hundred percent of the time. Besides me.” She groaned in response.

She walked to the target gathering her arrows, when she turned back to Theon she asked, “I thought you hated women training in the art of war. You said as much to me when I started training with Jory.”

Theon shrugged, “if you’re going to do it you might as well do it right.”

She practiced for a bit longer, Theon watched occasionally adding in his corrections. Lyarra's frustration was clear, eventually she chose to cool down sitting a foot or so away from Theon.

“So you got the same speech then? The be quiet and be kind sort of thing?” Theon asked. They had been discussing the coming storm from the south.

Lyarra snorted, “more like make yourself invisible. I’m sure Lady Stark would have had me sent away if allowed. I am a stain in the household.” Her words were quiet, she wouldn’t usually be so honest to Theon like this. He was sure she was just frustrated, she hardly had anyone else to speak to.

He was the only person in the household who wouldn’t be inclined to report her complaints back to the lady of the house. He often felt that pressure, never allowed to tell the truth of how he felt. They were birds of a feather in that way, neither would ever belong.

“Is that why you ran away crying, bit dramatic. What were you hoping you’d get to dance with the little prince,” Theon chuckled.

Lyarra glared, her eyes told him to watch himself. He didn’t care about that, the bastard couldn’t threaten him no matter how much her lord father loved her. It was the wolf, Ghost, snapping his jaws at him that made him jump. Lyarra smirked at his fear, he grimaced back at her.

Theon watched the dire wolf stalk back to its owner. He remembered finding the thing in the brush, a runt far from the rest of the litter. Theon had printed to kill the thing, it was small and unlikely to live. Robb insisted it go to his bastard sister. Now, it seemed just to spite Theon, the wolf had grown larger than all its siblings. He’d also grown more fierce.

The most aggressive wolf was Rickon's shaggydog, that creature was easy to handle. It growled loudly and made it clear when it would lunge. Lyarra’s wolf was different, the thing was quick and quiet. It gave no warning before it lunged, it was like her, triggered by a hair.

Lyarra scratched behind the wolf’s ear which had rested its head in her lap, all the while watching Theon with his dangerous pink eyes.

“Don’t look at him like that, he wouldn’t hurt anyone for no reason,” Lyarra stated as the wolf further nuzzling into her hand.

Theon grunted, “I don’t know why you all are allowed to keep those creatures around, they are wild.”

Lyarra rolled her eyes, “you wouldn’t keep the symbol of your house? A cute squid as a pet if the opportunity came up?”

“First of all it's a kraken not a squid, the difference is significant. Second of all,” Theon smirked “I wouldn’t keep a kraken as a pet because I am the kraken.”

She seemed amused by this, “that’s so stupid.”

Their conversation was shockingly pleasant, that wasn’t common for the two of them. Usually they couldn’t go two full sentences without throwing japes at each other. Perhaps it was the absence of Robb in both their current lives, but they got along.

Eventually Theon was asked to help in the armory, and Lyarra left to the crypts. The place she was most often found besides the godswood.

Less than a month after the announcement of the king's visit he arrived. The court was large, Theon was placed towards the front not with the Stark family but near them.

The royal family was attractive, the queen was beautiful, any man could see that. Still he was never keen on blond hair.

The youngest prince and princess were mere babes, still chubby with childhood. The crown prince was handsome in the most irritating way, he glanced at Sansa who was clearly swooning. They were all bright blond and green eyed, not an ounce of the king in their looks.

He quickly moved his eyes to the kingslayer who stood behind the queen, along with the hound, the Lannister’s dog. The kingslayer was handsome, and an older version of his nephew. He didn’t seem like he’d be so fierce in battle. The hound did seem a killer.

The king was a different matter entirely, he greeted Lord Stark like a brother as Theon assessed him. He was fat, and tall.

Theon could see a ghost of a young handsome lord in his bearded face, but now that was only a shadow. Theon could smell the strong wine and perfume wafting off him as he greeted each Stark child. He did not smell of a warrior.

The king ruffled Bran’s hair but he did not look at the boy. Theon followed his eyes. His gaze was fixated on Lyarra, who stood near the rest of Winterfell's court.

Theon glanced over at Robb, their eyes locked. He could practically hear what Robb was thinking as the king moved towards his half sister.

Suddenly he understood why he was told to keep an eye on her as the king caressed Lyarra’s hair whispering a ghost of a name into her ear. Nedd Stark was afraid the king would try to fuck his bastard daughter. Theon was supposed to keep him away.

Before the king did anything regretful Lord Stark moved forward proposing they visit the crypts. King Robert reluctantly agreed, his hungry eyes lingered on Lyarra though.

As the court dispersed, Lyarra walked swiftly in the direction of the godswood. Robb went to follow her but his mother pulled him back whispering something in his ear. He was probably being forced to entertain the guests. He sent a pleading look towards Theon though.

Theon breathed out, he hated going to the godswood, it wasn’t his place to be. And he was sure Lyarra didn’t want his comfort, he didn’t know what he could give her. Still Robb's look was desperate, so he did as he was bid. Of his own free will of course, not because he was asked.

He hesitated as he approached the heart tree she was curled under. He kept enough distance that the bright red leaves were not above him.

“What do you want?” She asked, her distance was far enough it was difficult to hear.

“Robb wanted me to check on you,” he stated awkwardly.

“He said that?” She sounded unconvinced.

“No… but he implied it.”

“What? And you just did it? I didn’t know you followed his orders like that.”

Theon clenched his fist, “I’m not following his orders, you know nothing. I’m doing this of my own free will.”

Lyarra snorted before sneering at him, her direwolf bared his teeth. “The Greyjoy heir, so desperate to please his wolf oppressors. What happened to Greyjoy pride Theon.”

“Shut up you bastard bitch! God why do I even try to help you,” he stormed out of the godswood. He felt a sting as he went back to the castle, but refused to believe it was shame or regret.

He had tried to help the girl, even though it wasn’t his job. Out of the goodness of his heart he tried to comfort her, yet she snapped at him and refused his assistance.

“You did talk to her right? I haven’t seen her yet,” Robb asked. This was the first moment in the whole day he had gotten away from his mother and the rest of the royal court.

“Yea, she was still angry though. She just needs time to cool off,” he lied.

“Robb,” a voice rung out. The two boys turned to see a handsome dark haired tall man. He had the distinct long face of the stark and a dark beard around his mouth.

“Uncle Benjen!” Robb said, “are you here for the feast? I didn’t know you’d be coming.”

“Yes, only briefly though. We’re gathering some men for the wall, of course I also wanted to visit.” He ruffled Robb’s hair, he didn’t acknowledge Theon. “Where’s Lya?”

Of course, Theon thought to himself, Benjen Stark’s favoritism towards the bastard girl was even more evident then Lord Starks. He was sure if the girl was a man he would sweep her off to take the black.

“I haven’t seen her but she’s likely in her room getting ready for the feast, or in the godswood.”

“Will she be sitting at the head table with all of you,” Benjen asked. Though Theon was sure he already knew the answer.

“No,” Robb answered awkwardly, “my mother wouldn’t allow it. She’ll be sitting with the serving girls.”

Benjen nodded lowly before taking his leave.

“It’s like he wants to shove my mothers prejudice in my face,” Robb scowled once he left.

“He probably does.” Theon snorted, “I don’t know what he’s expecting though. It’s not like she’d be allowed to sit up near the royals. Either way seeing how the king looks at her I doubt she’d want to be around him.”

The feast was boring. Theon didn’t sit at the head table but close to it, he did walk in with the rest of the Starks though. He was in perfect view to see little Rickon run over to his bastard sister as they walked in. Theon had to tear him away from Lyarra and lead him instead up to the head table despite his complaining.

The food was good and the music lively, but still he felt incomplete. He didn’t belong in this place.

Theon remembered when he was a child, his father would complain about the greenlanders feasts. How they ate the food they farmed themselves. There was no pride in that, he’d say, ironborn do not sow, they take. The old way.

Theon remembered his uncles, no nonsense Victarion would hate this king. Aeron would love this however, he was always joyous. Uncle Euron was a blur.

His brothers would have been all over the greenland madens, showing them the ironborn ways.

Like always the drunker he got the more he thought of home, his real home. A thousand miles away.

Soon the feast ended and Theon stumbled back to his room, he was glad he had no obligation to entertain the royal family unlike Robb.

“Yes… darling,” he heard a moan around a corner. He smirked at the sound, yet he wondered who would be doing such things in this area of the castle. They were close to the Stark siblings' quarters, nearest to Lyarra’s room, which was also near Theon’s room.

He turned the corner curious to see but also not making his staring too obvious. What he saw made bile swirl in his stomach.

It was the king.

The king and Lyarra.

Theon made his jokes but he was no fool, Lyarra was not a whore. She was a good girl, not the type to seduce a man. Theon doubted she’d ever even kissed a man.

Currently her face was turned away from king Robert who was slobbering on her face. Occasionally he whispered a soft “Lyanna.” His hand was on her thigh, her dress was lifted, it drifted further up. Tears fell from her eyes.

Neither seemed to notice his presence.

Theon was unsure of what to do. Just like her he was unable to tell the king no. He was a king who could easily kill Theon with no consequences. Or kill Lyarra.

But as he stood there he gradually got the feeling he couldn’t do anything. Before he could even think or consider what he was doing or why he was doing it he was yanking the king off her.

He seemed dazed, then angry. Theon didn’t have time to look at Lyarra, too focused on the king's response.

“Whaa irs the menin-g of thiss?” The king slurred.

Theon’s breath caught in his throat, his hands shook. He suddenly felt like such an idiot, why would he stop the man? Why would he care so much? Why wouldn’t he just let the man have his way with the bastard?

As quick as he could he thought up a response, he grabbed Lyarra’s hand, still not looking at her. “Lord Stark requested you, he said it’s quite important. Something in the yard.”

The king, still in a daze, scowled yet he did not yell, or accuse Theon of lying. Instead he nodded and stumbled down the hallway.

Theon then dragged Lyarra away, taking her into his room. His breath was ragged as he slammed the door locking it behind him. Normally them in a room alone together with the door locked would be a large issue, he couldn’t seem to care.

“Why would you do that!?” Lyarra cried, her hands ran through her hair. “You lied to him, he’ll have your head. Oh god… he’ll have my head.”

Theon slumped down against the wall, face in his hands groaning, “gods would you shut up. It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.” He tried to convince himself, “he’s drunk. He won’t remember this in the morning.”

“And when he reaches the yard and lord stark isn’t there for him?” Her voice was thick with emotion.

“He won’t make it,” Theon shook his head, still breathing heavily, “he’s so drunk. He’ll collapse before he gets there. He’ll wake up and he won’t remember what happened.”

For a moment they both breathed processing what had happened.

He could hear Lyarra quietly crying, slowly she sniffled, wiping the tears away. She blew her nose in her furs, any other time he’d be angry, but currently she looked how he felt.

Gradually her crying fizzled out. “Thank you,” she whispered so quiet he might’ve not heard.

Theon nodded.

They sit together for a while, Lyarra moves to the bed. Settling down into it.

This is bad, forget the king killing him, if Lord Stark or Robb knew she was here they would kill Theon themselves.

“You should go, people will think the wrong thing.”

“I want to stay.” She then added, “please.”

Theon understood, she thought the king would come for her in the night. Slip into her bed and have his way with her. Then there would be no one to stumble upon them and save her, she would be at his mercy.

“Okay,” just like when he jumped in to pull the king off her he didn’t know why he did it. Why he let her stay despite how badly it could end for the both of them. But he did.

“I want ghost.”

Theon snorted, “no way I’m sleeping with that thing near me.”

She sent him a piercing glare, and he relented.

He went down to the stables to get her wolf. As he walked he passed by the king slumped over in the hallway. “Thank the gods,” he whispered under his breath.

Ghost was hesitant to follow the Greyjoy. “C’mon stupid thing, your owner wants you.” The direwolf looked at him as he spoke, he seemed to understand what Theon said as he then began to follow.

Upon getting into the room the wolf jumped onto the bed and cuddled into Lyarra’s side in the middle of Theon’s bed. Theon sighed then laid next to the wolf at the edge of the bed.

Somehow he found sleep easily, wolves were quite warm.

The royal court had spent nearly a month at Winterfell. Lyarra had been coming into the room the whole time. It would be late, she would sneak down the hall and enter his room not bothering to knock.

Originally he had been angry, but gradually he accepted it. She was scared, a part of him was glad she chose him to go to.

They never did anything, Theon didn’t expect that, instead they slept the wolf in between the two. Sometimes they sat up awake but they never spoke in depth, it was often a comfortable silence between the two.

Lyarra had assured him no one seen her come into his room. But the second week of the royal visit he was called to lord Starks solar. He knew something was wrong.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered to himself as he walked up the stairs to the office.

The room's door was slightly open. He was prepared to step inside, wiping his sweat slick hands on his trousers. But he stopped when he heard voices. He cursed himself choosing instead to stand and wait for Lord Stark to be done with his meeting.

“I don’t want her here,” it was the distinct voice of Lady Stark. He tried not to overhear too much, still the door was open and their voices were not quite.

“She won’t belong in kings landing, her siblings will be fine. Sansa will love it, Arya can learn to accept it, Bran dreams of being a knight, she won’t ever be accepted like they will. There is no place for bastards in kings landing.” Lord Stark sounded stern, perhaps angry.

They were speaking about Lyarra, Theon realized.

“If you can’t take her south, send her somewhere, anywhere else. I’ve been speaking with Roose Bolton, he has a bastard son. She could live in the Dreadfort, she’d stayed in the north.” Lady Stark sounded desperate.

“You what…” Lord Stark was seething, Theon had never heard him so angry. “Leave me, do not speak of this again. Lyarra will remain safe and in Winterfell.”

Next thing he knew Lady Stark was storming out of the office, still graceful in her anger. When she saw Theon waiting by the door she glared, as if he was a cockroach.

After waiting a moment he heard Lord Stark's voice, “come in Theon.”

Theon came in awkwardly, Lord Stark motioned for Theon to sit. Which he did.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Lord Stark asked, he still seemed to have lingering anger from his previous conversation.

“I can guess,” Theon cringed at his response, he hadn’t meant to sound so bratty.

Lord Stark didn't bother to correct his behavior, instead he sighed. He glanced out the window, not looking at Theon.

As he waited for the man’s response he became more anxious. “We haven’t done anything,” he said quickly, not breathing between the words. He then took a moment to calm before repeating, “she’s just scared. The ki- something happened and she just didn’t want to be alone. We haven’t done anything my lord. Nothing at all, she is a maiden, this I know.”

Lord Stark sighed, “I had thought- I had thought he wouldn’t do it. I had thought he had too much respect for the memory of my sister.”

Lord Stark looked melancholy, his anger from before was gone. “He didn’t do it, he was drunk. I stopped him. She was just scared he’d come into her room.”

“Thank you Theon, truly, you are good for this family. We’ll be leaving south soon enough, please continue to look after her.” Theon could sob, he had never experienced such praise from the man.

“But,” Lord Stark continued, “she is not yours to take. She is not yours, you are not married, if I found you have taken her in such a way you will not be forgiven.”

Theon nodded, he had known this.

After the conversation Bran fell from the Tower. Theon had been with a serving girl at the time. Due to Lyarra’s nighttime visits he hadn’t had the opportunity to go about his normal proclivities. He had been trying to satiate his needs when one of the guards came to Theon telling him of the fall.

Like Lyarra he wasn’t allowed in to the boys sickroom, it was worse for her he imagined. She was his sister and she wasn’t allowed to see him.

Theon remembered when Bran was born, it was hard to imagine the boy could possibly die before him.

Lyarra was quiet, her eyes wet but hidden under her dark hair which fell around her face. “Will he be okay?” She asked looking up at Maester Lewin who was approaching the two from the room the family was in.

“If he lives through the night the likelihood is higher. He avoided crushing any important organs, his legs broke the fall saving the rest of him.”

“That’s good,” she said.

Theon didn’t agree, he’d rather be dead than lose a piece of himself like that. A crippled man was no man. He refrained from saying that.

That night Lyarra came to him drunk, she had told him Lady Stark had said ‘it should have been you,’ to her. Ghost slept on the floor that night.

Soon enough the royals were leaving the Winterfell, as well as Lord Stark and the Stark girls. Rickon cried as he clutched onto Lyarra who was holding him. Lady Stark was absent, choosing instead to sit by her son's side. Robb kept a brave face, Theon knew he must be frightened. He was so good at hiding it you couldn’t tell.

Lyarra had stopped sleeping in his room once the royals left. He had forgotten what it was like to sleep alone, he had hardly got any sleep at all. The next night he chose to cover the gaping hole in his bed with a serving girl. He still could not find peace as the girl slept beside him.

“I can’t do it anymore, she just sits inside that damn room all day. She should know she isn’t helping anyone by sitting there.” Robb growled as he looked through the harvest logs.

Theon turned his head from his own logs, he had been helping Robb with his duties as Lord. “You need to relax, maybe we should take a trip to winter town. A pretty whore would do you good.”

Robb shook his head, “maybe that helps you but it doesn’t make me feel better.” Robb ran his hand through his bright auburn hair, “Lyarra’s also been absent. She spends all her time in the damn crypts. Rickon has started following her down there.”

Theon nodded, the youngest Stark had been trailing after the bastard girl constantly. He had even taken to calling her mother, it made sense in the current moment she was more of a mother to him than a lady Stark.

“It’ll work itself out, I mean with Nymeria biting the prince who knows. One more incident like that and Lord Stark will be tossed back north.”

“Maybe,” Robb sighed, writing something on the parchment, “I’d like that.”

In early evening he saw Lyarra make her way to the library tower from the crypts, Ghost in toe. He hadn’t seen her in a while, she avoided both him and Robb only really interacting with Rickon. He had figured it was because she was upset about Bran’s injuries. She had been clutching some sort of sack when he saw her.

Later that night a fire was set, he was one of the first to see it being called by the distressed howls of the wolves. “Someone get Robb! Lya’s in there!” He’d cried.

The rest was a blur, Robb had appeared next to him. They had carried water with barrels from the pools in the wolf’s wood. It wasn’t enough, the fire burned the tower to ash. It left nothing but lumps of burnt books and wood.

Robb had collapsed to the floor gasping. Theon’s face was wet, he looked up expecting rain but the sky was clear and the stars were shining. He touched his cheek and found that he too was crying.

Ron had crawled towards the rubble, the embers were still glowing. Despite this he moved the hot rubble wincing as it burnt his hands.

After a while of this Theon snapped himself out of his daze and moved to join Robb. The first book he grabbed was still smoking, it seared his hand but he needed to do this. He moved through the rubble looking for any sign of the bastard girl.

Someone had grabbed Robb next to him who was sobbing. They were explaining something to Robb, something about his mother and brother. Theon continued to toss away the charred items.

As he sifted through the soot he heard a cry. It was melodic, something he had never heard, like a song lost to a time long before.

Theon hadn't even realized Robb was gone along with nearly everyone else. They had gone to see to Lady Stark and Bran who had nearly then murdered. Theon had not noticed.

He was the only one who saw Lyarra, she sat up in the ashes her body coated in it. Her hair was burnt away, her breasts bare, she was beautiful.

Most shocking were the three small winged creatures holding onto her body. They were crying out as they suckled on her teats like children. One nuzzled her head lovingly.

They stared at each other, too shocked to move.

Chapter Text

“This is real,” he said, his eyes wide as he entered his fathers solar, his own solar since his father had left. Inside he saw Theon and his sister sitting uncomfortably close. Theon was speaking to her with wide eyes and a low voice. Lyarra was nodding to whatever he was saying, she looked sullen. Her hair was gone, her bare scalp covered in a wool knit scarf.

In the corner stood Maester Lewin, the maester looked uncomfortable. Next to him was Ser Rodrik who looked similarly stressed.

He turned as he heard a loud gasp behind him. His mother was staring shocked at the three scaled creatures in Lyarra’s lap.

“Mother close the door,” Robb snapped at her. She did as he bid, using her non injured hand.

Robb looked to the maester, searching for answers. The maester seemed to sense his questions before he asked them. “They seem to be dragons my lord.”

Greywind growled, voicing Robb’s upset, he could see that. He turned to Theon and Lyarra, “Lya,” his voice softened, “what happened?” He pleaded with her.

Lyarra fiddled with the white and gold dragon, the dragon opened its mouth to suckle on two of her fingers. “I found what I thought were stones in the crypts.”

“They seemed,” she hesitated, “they seemed to call to me. I heard voices, I thought I was going crazy. I had chosen to take them to the library tower to look through the tomes to see what they were. Then the fire started.”

She took a shaky breath in, Theon of all people rubbed her back in comfort. It made Robb uncomfortable.

“Ghost was with me, he melted before me. But I didn’t. When I got up I saw Theon,” he glanced at the man in question, “and the dragons,” she referred down to the beasts in her lap.

Robb had difficulty wrapping his head around the whole thing. There had been dragon eggs in the crypts of Winterfell. His half sister had hatched dragon eggs she had gotten from the crypts of Winterfell.

“since the dance of the dragons,” Maester Lewin began, “the relationship between the Targaryens and Starks had been strong. Up until your uncle and grandfather were burned of course. It was said there were dragon eggs gifted to the Starks during the height of the Targaryen rule. I thought them just stories.”

“Clearly they weren’t,” Rodrik grunted.

“Clearly,” Robb agreed, “but how could a Stark hatch a dragon.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them.

“I am no Stark,” Lyarra cut through the silence.

Robb shook his head, “that’s wrong, I know you. You're a wolf, you're every bit the Stark I am, a blind man could see that.”

“She’s right my lord,” the maester said, “she must have some sort of Targaryen blood in her. Clearly it’s strong.”

He looked back at his mother, she was crying. He moved towards her, taking the knife from her hand, the Valyrian steel knife she had been cut with.

“This knife was used in an attempt to kill my brother. The fire Lya was caught in was meant to be a destruction from that…. The evidence points to the Lannisters.”

“The hair,” his mother whispered behind him.

“Yes,” he continued “in the tower Bran fell from there was blond hair. Lannister blond, there's a possibility he was thrown.”

Rodrik nodded, “it seems likely.”

“You must confirm this theory, and ask about the parentage of mis Lyarra. The only option I see is someone going south to ask in person. This is too private to send as a raven.”

Robb nodded at the maesters input.

“Benjen…”

Robb turned to his mother who had spoken, she was wiping the lingering tears from her eyes. “Your uncle Benjen would know of Lyarra’s parentage. I’m sure of that.”

She paused, “as for going south, I will take the burden on myself.”

“Mother no,” Robb said. Rickon needed his mother, the poor boy got so little of her as it was. Plus she was a woman, that long road would not suit her. If she was attacked on the way, or attacked once in kings landing what would she do?

She shook her head, “I must do this. There is nothing you can tell me to steer me away from my decision.”

“If you must then take me with you,” Ser Rodrik said, dropping to his knee.

Robb felt passed up, he was the lord of Winterfell yet he hadn’t known his sister had been cracking open dragon eggs. He was the lord of Winterfell yet he couldn’t stop his mother from leaving on a dangerous journey. He was the lord of Winterfell yet he could not focus on this important conversation while his best friend caressed his half sister's hand. Despite all this he could see no other option then to go with where he was being led.

“Yes Ser Rodrik, protect her and your message.” He sighed, “make no mention of the dragons to anyone.”

They nodded understanding the issues that would arise from the kingdom being aware that dragons were back in Westeros. Worse, the king learned of this. Winterfell would be leveled under his wrath.

“And Benjen Stark?” The maester questioned.

“We can go,” Robb glanced up at Theon who had finally opened his mouth. Robb had never seen him so quiet before, he hadn’t realized how uncomfortable the ironborn’s silence had made him.

“What?” He asked.

“The dragons can’t be seen in Winterfell, but they can’t be trapped inside.” Lyarra began as she stroked the red dragon, “not many people are on the road north to the wall. They’d have a space to fly, they wouldn’t be trapped and they wouldn’t be seen. Plus we’d get the answers from Benjen.”

Robb ran his hand through his hair anxiously, this option was good. It made sense, it was logical, but looking at how Lya and Theon’s shoulders touched he couldn’t let it happen. “And what of the people who are on the way?”

“We wouldn’t take the king's road,” Theon added.

Robb shook his head, “I could go wit-“

Maester Lewin butt in, “my Lord, you must stay in Winterfell. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

Robb wanted to be angry but he knew it was true. He could not travel with them, and sending more people with them would draw too much attention.

“Ok… alright,” Robb nodded.

His mother was ready in just a few hours, they had found a fast ship ready to leave for kings landing that day.

His mother was eager to get out of Winterfell it seemed. she hadn’t gone to see the dragons or Lyarra since the meeting in the solar. Maester Lewin had been in and out of Lyarra’s room all day studying them. Robb had been as well, fascinated by the creatures.

“Are you sure this is all you need?” Robb questioned looking at her bags. She had packed light, that was a good thing. Still her leaving made him nervous. With both his parents gone he’d have no one to turn to when things went wrong.

“Yes,” she said, “the ship will be fast, we must arrive before them, or soon after they do. We need answers, your father might need to return with me for his safety.”

Robb nodded gravely. He knew his mother wanted her Lord husband back home but her saying that was not motivated by that want.

Robb wasn’t stupid, people had already begun to talk of the dragon's song. The fluttering on wings and the unburnt bastard girl. If these rumors reached king's landing his father was as good as dead.

The implication he laid with a bastard Targaryen then housed the product of the coupling in his home would be treason. He knew the thought hurt his mother.

Plus the ordeal with Bran was eerie, whoever hired the killer would not give up so easily surely. And if they went after one Stark how likely were they to go after another.

Together they visited Bran, his mother offered the boys a few quiet prayers and a kiss on the head.

His mother hugged him tight before she left on the ship. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t.

She offered Rickon the same, he struggled out of her grasp. He was sobbing.

As they boarded the boat Rickon screamed attempting to escape from Robb’s arms and join them.

A week later Lyarra and Theon were prepared for their own trip north. It had been a difficult week in a way he was glad that Lyarra was leaving so soon with her dragons. They were amazing creatures, but their songs were loud. They were not the most conspicuous of pets.

Lyarra had been placed in a separate wing of the castle with them, one the servants were now not allowed to enter. Meat was brought to them as needed, and it was often needed.

Robb didn’t know if it was normal but they ate a lot and were growing fast. In just the week they were the size of small hounds.

Lyarra spent most of her time in her new room with her dragons, she was often wearing black. She was mourning her lost wolf he knew. He couldn’t imagine losing greywind, their direwolves were a part of them.

He knocked on her door and was greeted with the screeches of dragons and Lyarra’s shushing.

“Are you okay Lya?” He asked, she was feeding the dragons, tossing them meat which they then burned. The maester had told them that, that dragons are cooked meat only.

“I’m alright, just not ready to leave really,” she grabbed another piece and tossed it. “And Bran will be alright?”

“Yes, he’s getting better every day. He’s a fighter, a knight, I’m sure he’ll be alright.” Robb went to sit on the bed beside her, she watched as the green and the white dragon fought over the meat. “Have you named them yet?”

Lya shook her head, “Maester Lewin says they should have Valyrian names as Valyrian creatures. Me and Theon have been going through a book of some old names from the times of dragon riders. I just haven’t found something that stuck.”

Ghost's name had come so easily to her, he wondered if lingering thoughts of him stopped her from naming the beasts his blood had been used to hatch.

“Theon’s been helping you?” He tried to keep his voice amused though bitterness cut through it. “It was my understanding you two hated each other."

Lyarra shifted awkwardly in her seat, “ it’s not that that’s changed. I guess, we just found some sort of common ground.” She looked up at him, “isn’t that what you always wanted? For us to get along?”

Robb glanced away, looking not at her but at the green dragon who was chewing on its wing “I guess…”

It was true he had always begged them to be friends, he hated being the middleman between the two. But they were both stubborn creatures.

It just made him uncomfortable how quickly it had happened, and right under his nose. Ever since he became lord he had become detached from those around him. No more training in the yard or going out with Theon or playing pranks with Lyarra. Now this place was not just his home but his responsibility.

His father had made it clear he had to grow up, become a man. He hadn’t realized that would mean not even noticing his two best friends becoming friends themselves.

“Do you want to touch him?” Lyarra’s words snapped him out of his daze.

“What?” Robb glanced around. He realized she had probably thought his unfocused eyes staring at her dragon was a sign of interest.

He looked at her warily. He did want to touch them, the skin of a real dragon. But still he hesitated.

His uncle and grandfather had been killed by dragons, burned. Not these sort, the human dragons, the Targaryens. He felt reservations about embracing a creature of a house that should be his enemy. Yet still, what young boy didn’t dream of having a dragon.

Lyarra didn’t seem to hold these reservations as she stroked the white dragon's cheek lovingly.

He hesitantly reached his hand out, she grabbed it with her own soft hand and guided him to the creature. He splayed his fingers out over the abdomen of the thing.

The creature was hot, scorching. The warmth felt odd on his hands, still raw from when he dug through the embers of the library tower to find a sister who he had thought was dead.

It felt magical. Just like he imagined when he was a boy.

For a moment he could delude himself, think that he too was a dragon. That one of these dragons was meant for him to ride. That he was no lord of Winterfell, but, like his sister, a descendent of some bastard Targaryen who had no family and no duty.

Alas, he knew who he was.

He was a Stark… and a Tully. And his Tully words haunted him.

They snuck the dragons out of the castle and away from winter town in large baskets placed on a carriage. He had specifically chosen a carriage with a broken wheel hoping the squeaking would drown out the noises of the dragons whining.

Theon was there already waiting to leave on the outskirts of town. With him were two horses, the strong sort equipped for long journeys.

“Normally it would take two weeks. I’m sure we could get there faster,” Theon said, attempting to add the final saddlebag to his horse.

“We shouldn’t worry so much about that,” Lyarra said, taking the creatures out of their cages and strapping them instead to harnesses attached to her horse. The horse shifted uncontrollably as the dragons clung to it, yet it did not buck. “It’s more important to keep them away from people and happy. Getting to castle black is a secondary issue.”

Robb wanted to disagree but he knew that was right. When she did get back she’d most likely not be able to keep the creatures in the castle secretly any longer. They will have gotten bigger at that point. This trip was less about reaching Benjen and finding out Lyarra’s parentage and more about ridding the castle of dragons for a few months.

“She’s right,” he sighed, “take your time. Don’t push yourselves. Hopefully by the time you're back we’ll have a more… permanent solution.”

He found he was relenting many of his wants despite being lord of Winterfell. He had of recently developed a new sort of respect for his father. He used to think his father was free to do anything he pleased.

As Lyarra struggled to snap the dragons into their harnesses and leashes he moved his attention to Theon. Theon was furiously speaking to his horse that was refusing to stand still while he placed his saddle bag on. His fluffy black hair was whipping in the cold morning wind, his olive skin was pink on the nose and cheeks.

“Frusterated?” Robb asked as he approached his friend smiling.

“These damn creatures,” Theon slammed the bag on the floor, “ironborn have no use for horses. Our only steeds are our longships. Faster than a thousand horses,” he mumbled angrily.

Robb smiled, he found Theon’s anger endearing. “I’ll miss having you as an advisor in Winterfell. Everyone will be gone.”

Theon smirked, “don’t be too scared little Robb. Birdies must leave the nest eventually, and wolves the teat.” His voice was mocking.

Robb rolled his eyes, “what? Are you the teat in this example.”

They laughed together like they had as boys, though many still saw them as boys.

As their laughter died Theon touched his shoulder, “don’t go to war while I’m away.”

Robb’s smile fell, “you think there will be war?” He tried to keep his voice from wavering. War was the worst outcome in his mind. War would destroy them.

“Your mother rides against the queen's family, we carry with us the symbol of the regime the king toppled.” Robb knew what Theon was saying, they might not be able to avoid the unfortunate.

“We would not ride without you,” Robb looked him in the eyes. Theon was a brother to him, he would be the first one to know if the Starks called their banners.

Theon smiled, more genuine than his usual smirk. As he turned away the nagging feeling returned, he grabbed Theon and turned him around again. The black haired man seemed confused by this.

“Lyarra-“ he hesitated, “you will be alone together.”

He looked Theon in the eye, he saw him raise his brows understanding the implications. Then Theon scowled, “you Starks,” he groaned lowly.

Robb’s eyes widened, so his Lord father had spoken to Theon about the same thing? Why, he wondered, he had never thought them close before this point. It bothered Robb that he had been so unaware of this relationship.

Robb released him, “just… I know what ironborn are like-“

Theon bared his teeth in anger at the statement. Robb didn’t understand, he was the one that would go on and on about ironborn exploits.

“Do not bed my sister,” Robb's words were plain so they would not be construed. This was an order as a lord, his first real order to Theon as lord.

“I wouldn’t do that,” his voice was low. He paused after, he didn’t seem to believe his own words.

“And don’t let her die,” he added, not acknowledging Theon’s words.

Theon looked like he wanted to argue. He didn’t though, he simply nodded, turned away, and got on his horse.

Robb moved to his sister, hugging her goodbye. He made a final glance at the dragons. The red was flying, testing the length of the lead. The white was curled up on the saddle between his sister's legs. The final was sitting on the rear of the horse watching the horses tail twitch.

Lya dipped down from the top of the horse kissing him on the cheek and whispering to him. “I will return, make sure you are here when I come back.”

They rode off together. Robb wanted to yell, to tell them they should come back. Duty told him not to, so he turned back and mounted his own horse riding back to Winterfell.

At the gates he saw Rickon and a snarling Shaggydog. Upon seeing Greywind Shaggydog calmed entering a more submissive pose, licking his lips.

Rickon ran to him as he dismounted, grabbing his legs. “Lyaa!” He cried.

Robb frowned, Rickon was close with his big sister. Recently even more so than his mother, now they both are gone.

“She’ll be back,” Robb reassured him, “she’ll be back,” he reassured himself.

“The accounts need looking over, and some have come from villages further north seeking refuge from wildling raids. The Umbers ask for men too for the same purpose, wildlings are coming down more than usual.”

Robb could hardly process the maesters words. Rickon still clung to him crying, his horse huffed next to him, his thick clothing felt restricting. “Not now, I want to see my brother.”

Robb walked quickly, handing his horse off to a stable boy and entering the castle. The maester stumbled behind him, “you're still following?” Robb questioned.

“My lord… about your sister,”

Robb raised his eyebrow, he could guess the sister Measter Lewin was referring to by his tone.

“I suspect,” his voice was low. So low that even right next to his ear Robb could hardly hear it. “she has the look of your aunt. A bastard or not, people may rally behind her, she has the three dragons same as the conqueror." With that he left leaving Robb to process his cryptic words.

He sat by Brans sickbed contemplating what had been said.

He was beginning to understand, if Lyarra was truly the child born of rape between Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark they would have been traitors from the very beginning. Since his father brought the babe home.

If that was the case there was no hope to come out of this peacefully. The king would level the world to kill the spawn of the man he despised. The physical manifestation of the rape of the woman he loved.

They would have to go to war. And the maester was suggesting installing Lyarra on the throne.

Chapter Text

Theon’s hands held the reins loosely, his horse was not relenting to his control. The roan horse was a rude thing but it had been the only horse sturdy enough for the trip besides the one Lyarra had.

Normally Theon would have forced the horse to obey, the burns on his hands did allow him to grip the reins any tighter than he already was. The skin on his hands was raw and peeling, he had covered it in gauze and cream provided by the maester. Despite all that and the coolness in the air his hands still burned.

“We should switch horses,” Theon said as his horse backed up instead of going forward. He kicked the creature's sides yet it did not relent.

Lyarra gave him an accusatory look, turning her own horse around to watch him struggle. “Not a chance, Blanket is the only one that can handle the dragons around her.”

Blanket was Lyarra’s horse; she had been named for the coloring in her back that mimicked a white blanket across the brown horse. One of the stable masters' sons had named the girl.

She was a good hardy steed that did not scare easily. She was much preferable to the damn thing Theon was riding.

“I could ride with the dragons,” Theon said as he finally got the horse to bolt forward. A bit too fast it seemed as he was thrown back in the saddle at the force. Lyarra had to motion for Blanket to move into a canter to catch up with him.

She was simply laughing carefree beside him as he bounced on the saddle going fully with the horse's whims.

They had been riding for nearly a full day, the light was golden and they had been scanning for a good place to stop for a while. Despite the many hours they had been on the road they had not gotten far, though it was difficult to tell as they were so far from the main road they saw no familiar landmarks.

“We should stop here,” Lyarra said, slowing down.

“Really?” He replied. The forest was dingy and cold, the horses' hooves sunk into the muddy ground with each step.

He wished they could go to an inn, drink a flagon of wine, eat a chicken. With the dragons they wouldn’t be able to have that comfort the whole trip however. Instead they’d have to camp in the northern cold.

Lyarra shrugged, “the sun is setting and the forest is a good cover.” She raised her brow at him seeing his discomfort, “don’t worry, it’s not all mud.”

Theon sighed sliding off his mount, the horse kicked and huffed as he did this. “Shut up,” he whispered at the creature, tying him up to a tree then removing the heavy gear from his back.

Lyarra was standing by her own horse whistling.

“You shouldn’t have let him out, they are wild, they may not come back.” Lyarra had been allowing each dragon off the leads one at a time through the day to spread their wings.

The red dragon would go farthest. He’d fly the highest and move far enough out that you could not longer see him. It made Theon anxious that someone would spot him. Perhaps think he was a bird of prey attempting to steal livestock and shoot him down.

The white dragon was different. Sometimes he won’t even fly when released from the lead, instead choosing to stay on Lyarra’s lap.

The green dragon was quick, it ran along the floor, and like a cat, it would bring them back small dead animals.

“I hatched them,” she assured him, “they will come back to me.”

He didn’t understand why she was so sure of herself. This was all happenstance, she hadn’t planned to hatch dragons, she hadn’t even realized they were eggs. Still she sounded like a skilled dragon rearer, like she had known what would happen, like it had been her destiny.

Seeing her emerge from the ashes like that he thought it might’ve been. She had looked like a goddess, unburnt.

He heard the flapping of wings and the red dragon landed atop her shoulders. He was already a bit big to perch there. “I told you he’d come back,” she winced, grabbing him and lowering him to the ground.

By the time they had set up camp the moon was already high in the sky. Theon was desperately trying to light the fire, and failing. Usually one of the servants would do this, tragically they had no servants here.

“Wait,” Lyarra said, having noticed him struggling.

“I can do it myself,” Theon scowled, going back to his unsuccessful attempts.

“I’ll show you something cool,” she crouched by the wood pile pushing him away with her palm. He huffed. She rolled her eyes.

She dragged over the white dragon who tilted his head at her curiously.

“Angos,” she said in butchered Valyrian.

The dragon made no movements.

Her eyes darted to Theon, Theon smirked at her, she growled then turned her attention back to the dragon. This time she spoke more clearly, “angos.”

The dragon turned to the pile of sticks and breathed hot fire onto it, orange and golden light overcame the tinder and they were bathed in light and warms. Theon moved towards the fire to warm himself, he had been so cold the newfound heat made his limbs sting.

“Where’d you learn that?” He asked her, she was rubbing her hands close to the fire also trying to catch the warmth.

“It was a command Rhaenys Targaryen used on her dragon to make her breathe fire. I figured I’d try it,” he scratched the green dragons back, “they seem to know the meaning naturally.”

“Maybe they can just read your mind,” Theon offered. He expected Lyarra to laugh off the option, instead she contemplated his words genuinely. “Maybe they can.”

That night they slept close to the fire, still they awoke to ashes and snow in the cold. After a few days they had given up and slept apart instead staying together for warmth. It helped in the night when the fire went out, they wouldn’t wake up as cold.

It had been the first time they had slept so close since the king's visit.

For Theon it was a comfort, he had been plagued with sleepless nights since she’d stopped visiting him. Now he could settle himself.

Asleep of the mushy cold ground covered in sleet he slept better than he had weeks before. Just because she was with him, though he wouldn’t admit that to her.

It was a week into their journey, they hadn’t made the best pace but they weren’t looking to make haste. Usually on the kings road it would take slightly less then a month. Their path, off the main roads and avoiding towns took nearly a week longer. Plus they made frequent stops due to his… horse issues.

Lyarra was tossing and turning. Theon squeezed his eyes shut, he wanted sleep. He thought of kicking her out of his mat when she leaned over him. Her chest pressed against his back and her lips grazed his ear. He shivered, eyes snapping open, ready to throw her off.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered, “come train with me.”

Theon groaned, he had expected something more scandalous. Though he wouldn’t have given in.

So there they stood, Theon groggy and tired, Lyarra smiling like a jackal, weapons drawn.

They parried, blocking each other easily. Theon moved lazily, but not stupidly. He knew she was good, and he knew he was more skilled at archery than swordplay.

Still Lyarra was better then he thought. He haden’t seen her practice in a while. It seems she had been steadily getting better.

She suddenly moved her sword to one hand and grabbed his arm with the other. She held the point of her blade to his throat.

He struggled in her grasp, she was stronger than he thought, however not letting go so easily. Her nails dug into his skin. It was dangerous, the move she had done, clearly the hand that held her sword was struggling to keep up as it still wavered near his throat.

“If I were really trying you’d be dead now.”

Theon felt suddenly invigorated, “you think?”

He swiped his leg behind her feet, sending her toppling to the floor. She broke through the icy layer on top of the snow that had fallen that morning and laid in it on her back. He stared down at her from above, smirking.

She was good but he was better.

Lyarra grunted then tossed one of her legs into the air, sending her knee right into his crotch. He gasped falling on top of her.

“You bitch,” he yelled, rolling off of her. He grabbed his sword swinging it towards where she lay.

She scrambled away, just nearly missing the sharp blade as it slammed into the snow. “You could’ve killed me,” she sounded offended as she launched at him again, sword in hand.

“You could’ve ruined my chances of having children,” he said as they parried a second time exchanging blows.

Lyarra’s movements were bold, this boldness was a sign of her being an amateur. Robb often was angered by the risky moves Theon would make, he would have a heart attack seeing how his sister fought.

Though her risks often paid off the same as Theon’s, unlike Theon she had very little combat experience. So for how often they succeeded, they failed the same amount.

This caught her in his trap easy as he had now disarmed her, tossing her sword away. The steel disappeared under the snow.

She looked at Theon, then glanced in the direction the sword fell.

Another issue with her never dealing with real combat scenarios was that her movements and tells were obvious. This being the case he was able to predict her diving for her sword based on the look.

He pinned her to the ground, straddling her back and holding her arms behind it.

She struggled against his grasp.

“Regretting waking me up?” Theon chuckled.

She didn’t respond, instead continuing to wiggle. After a few moments she gave up.

Theon thought he had won, he settled back loosening his grip, feeling self satisfied. That was until the red dragon came flying at him, claws out.

Theon yelled loud enough that birds flew from the trees, then stumbled off of Lyarra and backed against a tree. The dragon backed off upon seeing his fear.

He looked over to Lyarra, she was cackling, rolling in the snow. “That is so unfair,” Theon huffed.

They fell asleep easily after that, both worn out. Though in the morning waking was difficult and their bodies sore.

Theon woke at the sound of a cracking branch, he sat up. Lyarra slept soundly her back to him.

Theon listened hard but heard nothing further, he tried to convince himself it was just a forest creature but still.

After hearing no more sounds he laid his head back down. The feeling someone was watching them wouldn’t go away. He peered at the dragons and horses, they seemed antsy.

He chose to get out of the bed, not bothering to wake Lyarra up. This wasn’t a sure thing, more for his own peace of mind.

He stomped out the remaining embers of the fire, his eyes gradually adjusting to the moonlight. He grabbed his bow and then moved through the brush.

He heard rustling behind him and turned quickly, only to be greeted by a lizard face. The green dragon was following him.

He was a bit flattered, out of the three dragons this one seemed the warmest to him. Though the keening of the dragon was currently not helping him.

He turned around looking at the green creature, “that defeats the purpose of us trying to hide if you’re making all that noise.” He whispered, though clearly the thing didn’t understand.

The dragon chirped again, as if responding.

Theon rolled his eyes. He expected dragons to be some grand magical creatures, these ones didn’t live up to that expectation. The green one especially wasn’t the most clever, he’s routinely seen it chase after mice and chipmunks running across the forest floor. It’s as if he forgot he could fly.

As Theon heard another crunch he looked over the horizon expecting to see a deer. He gasped, instead he saw the outline of human figures. Two, tall, likely men.

The dragon trilled once more, his noises getting louder. Theon’s breath quickened as one of the shadowy figures turned in their direction.

Theon lunged at the dragon grabbing its neck and clamping his hand around his snout. The creature struggled in his grasp blowing hot air out his nose, the air was so hot it scalded his skin. Still he kept his grip firm.

The man who had turned continued to look in their direction. Theon knew in the dark he could not see them, however it felt he was looking right into the ironborn’s soul.

After what felt like forever the man turned around and walked away. Theon released the dragons snout and stood, he could still see the two men far into the forest.

He raised his bow and touched his quiver, if he killed them both now then they couldn’t bring anyone back if they did hear something. He hesitated however, if one was left alive, if he missed, he and Lyarra wouldn’t stand a chance.

Theon shook his head as he knocked the arrow, he would not miss.

He took a breath and then released.

One of the men dropped to the floor, quickly thereafter he knocked another one and shot. The next man fell.

Theon breathed a sigh of relief. Not that he had thought he would make it, but he was glad he had.

Though his relief was stopped short as one of the men stood. “Who did that!” The man yelled.

“Oh gods,” Theon whispered to himself.

The man was running away from him. Theon felt no solace in that, he was getting the rest of his party. They would be upon his and Lyarra’s camp on or before sunrise.

He ran back to camp glancing behind to make sure the green dragon was following. The second he got back he dropped down to where Lyarra was sleeping, grabbing her should he shook her awake. “Lya, Lya you have to get up.”

“Wha~” she blinked awake in a daze.

“Someone saw us we have to go, c'mon," he whispered to her. Then he released her and moved to packing their supplies, shoving everything into the bags and tossing them onto the horses.

Lyarra seemed to be confused, but once she fully realized what he had said she jumped to work as well.

They rode away minutes later both panting hard, their horses' hooves beating against the floor as they tried to distance themselves from their camp.

“What happened?” Lyarra asked once they finally reached a comfortable enough distance where they could slow down.

Theon cringed, he couldn’t tell her the truth. He had essentially led the men right to them, he had given the man a reason to find them by killing his travel companion.

“I heard a noise, I chose to follow but so did the green dragon. He made a noise and they looked over at us.”

Lyarra’s eyes widened, “did they see him?”

Theon shook his head. At least that was true.

Once they were midway through their second week of travel they reached the mountains. They had chosen to toe the line of the mountain clans territory instead of going into Umber land. They figured it would be easier to avoid people and towns.

After the previous scare they were more cautious than before.

The climbs were painful and finding flat land to sleep was difficult. The dragons seemed to like it though, being so far up.

Lyarra had taken to allowing all three of them entirely of their leads so they could fly together. Theon had his fears about this arrangement but she was certain no one would see. They were in the mountains after all, and the mountain tribes that might take notice would have no contact with the rest of the north. No way of spreading the information.

“We should’ve brought donkeys,” Theon complained as his horse stumbled on the rocks behind him. They routinely had to dismount their horses and lead them when the road got particularly dangerous.

It was already dark but they hadn't stopped to camp, in the mountains there was hardly any good land to camp.

He looked up to the sky, the clouds seemed to be parting. The clouds had been thick their whole travel, a side effect of the late summer sleets.

Upon the clouds parting the moonlight increased, along with the stars he saw a burning ball. Theon had known the word, a comet the maesters called it.

“Look,” Theon pointed to the sky.

Lyarra looked to the sky where he was pointing. She gasped upon seeing the comet, “it’s beautiful,” she whispered.

She had stopped in her tracks to stare, “a comet right? I’ve never seen one so bright.”

Theon nodded, “perhaps you caused it.”

Lyarra snorted in a very unladylike manner, “don’t be silly. I thought you weren’t so superstitious.” She continued leading her horse.

Theon smirked, “well ironborn are very connected to the mystical. We are not creatures of the earth you know, we come from the sea. The children of mermaids and the first men.”

Lyarra scoffed, “as if you really believe that.”

Theon didn’t, she was right, but he remembered the stories his mother would tell him. When his brothers went off to war she’d sleep by his bed and tell him of the great ancestors of the ironborn. How they were special. She’d tell him of the grey king in the age of hero’s, of his hundred sons. Or Harwyn Hardhand the king who captured the riverlands. When he had first seen Robb Stark he’d felt superiority whenever he thought of how his own ancestors dominated Robb’s.

They continued to travel the mountains getting little to no sleep each night. It was cold and the air was thin, when they did find places to sleep someone would need to stay awake to keep watch.

They were still far from the nights watch, more than a week away, probably more at the pace they were going. The direction they were going was west as they followed the mountains.

“Eventually we’ll have to veer away from the mountain and go east, we’re heading towards shadow tower rather than castle black right now.” Lyarra said as she read the map from atop her horse.

Theon reached for the map to see for himself and she turned back to hand it to him.

He confirmed what she had said, they were awhile west of the last hearth. If they had been taking the kings road they would have been passing through.

As Lyarra took the map back her horses foot caught. Blanket stumbled, Theon’s own horse reared back huffing.

“Oh shit,” Lyarra yelled as her horse fell. Theon gasped, throwing himself from the saddle to grab her hand and pull her off her own seat as her horse fell down the mountain.

Theon looked over the ledge, it wasn’t a terribly long way down but it was far too steep for either of them to climb down with a sure chance of coming back up. Blanket groaned from the ground below, her legs were probably broken, there was no chance of her continuing the journey. She would now be food for the shadow cats.

He turned his attention to Lyarra, she was clutching her leg slumped against a rock on the floor. “Aaaa~” she cried, sucking in a pained breath.

Theon crouched down next to her. Delicately he touched her ankle pushing up the baggy pants she used to ride.

She seethed as he did this, he could tell why. Her ankle looked raw and swollen, it was bent at an awkward angle.

As the day turned to night they were still there, Theon had tied the wound using some fabric from a sack. He was no maester though, he couldn’t do it properly.

“Does it look better,” her voice was ragged.

Theon looked down again, it didn’t, it could very well be broken. He couldn’t be sure.

“We should go into town, some town.”

“No!” Her voice was raised and her reply was quick, “no” she repeated softer.

“We need a maester,” he glanced at his own horse who was struggling against the lead that tied it. Much of the food was on Lyarra’s horse, the dragons brought prey but not much. Especially in the mountains most of what they had been eating was the cured meat they had brought from Winterfell.

They needed more food. They needed another horse, Theon’s wouldn’t tolerate carrying two people for long. And Lyarra wouldn’t be able to walk on her own if his assessment of her ankle was right.

Plus they needed a maester. The worst outcome of this would be Lyarra catching a chill in the mountains and growing ill, or the wound festering. They needed medicine.

Theon turned to her, “you don’t have to agree with me but we do need to go to town. Either way, what will you do to stop me? We're taking my horse, I’m the only one here who can walk, or hunt, or set up camp currently.”

She scowled, “you're the worst… we won’t find a maester in some random town. This is the far north, most villages here are made up of less than fifty people. They have nothing but homes and woods to hunt.”

Theon nodded, “we’ll go to Last Hearth. It’s just west of here.”

“You're joking,” she laughed but did not sound amused, “there are hundreds of people at last hearth. It’s the home of a major house.” She winced through her words.

“Yes, hundreds of people and a maester. You might not be named Stark but you are still a Stark in blood. They won’t turn you away.”

Lyarra shook her head, “my dragons.”

He hadn’t really considered them, right now there was an issue more pressing, Lya’s health. Theon sank down next to her, together they watched the dragons fly above.

“What would be the big issue with them knowing,” Theon said after a long while.

She responded with an accusatory look, as if he was betraying her. “They could kill them, the dragons are small enough to be killed by just a single human. Or maybe they’d turn us into the king.”

Theon shook his head, “they are loyal to your father and brother. The Starks are their liege lords, they wouldn’t betray that. You should know best, northerners and their honor.”

She looked at him, their eyes locked, she seemed scared. Like she was asking him for help, for answers, a clear path.

He stood, then dipped down to pick her up. She complained as he carried her bridal style without warning, placing her onto his horse. “Shut up,” he told the horse as it huffed at the added weight.

He untied the steed, got on behind her, then spurred the horse along.

“It shouldn’t take more than four days to get to the last hearth. If we keep a good pace and don’t take frequent stops he can get there in three,” he said as they galloped out of the mountains. The dragons sung above them, their shadows following the horse on the ground.

They rode through most of the night and the next day not encountering anyone. They passed through a few towns but all were abandoned, likely due to wildling raids.

After a while Lyarra had drifted asleep against his chest as he rode. Theon wished he could do the same but that was not an option.

They had planned to stop earlier but Lyarra had spotted Last River on the horizon and so they pushed all the way there. With that they were only a day out from last hearth. It had taken them about a day and a half to travel all that way.

The easiest way to get there for where they were was to travel along the river the next day. Lyarra insisted that they didn’t, that someone would spot the dragons as the river was riddled with small keeps.

“The Umbers will see them anyways, what’s the issue with the small folk seeing them,” Theon said as he tended to the fire.

“You say we can trust the Umbers,” Lyarra started from where she lay, “I agree with that. But we cannot trust the small folk, they will talk and spread the news.”

Theon sighed but reluctantly agreed, he really just didn’t want to take the long way around. His horse was already huffing on the floor looking near collapse. They had been traveling for nearly a month even before the day's hard push. By the time they got to the Umbers the thing would probably be dead.

Theon just hoped he was right about the Umbers staying loyal and offering them shelter and horses and food.

“Come here,” Lyarra whispered. Theon looked up to see the white dragon tugging along a carcass.

His eyes widened upon seeing what it was carrying, a deer. A small one but still a deer.

They had gotten bigger, it was hard to tell when you were with them every day but they really had. The red was the biggest and the white the smallest. Though it seemed even the smallest dragon was not large enough to kill and carry a deer.

“He’s the size of Ghost now you know,” she said sadly as she began to skin the deer from where she sat.

Theon looked at the white dragon, it seemed she was right.

“He would bring me his kills too you know, I’d let him out in the wolf’s wood and he’d come back with game. I’d always give them to the kitchens, they were so grateful."

Out of all the Stark children Lyarra had been closest with her direwolf. Perhaps a part of that was the fact that she was never separated from ghost by Lady Stark. Theon had often seen the lady telling off her children for keeping their wolves in the castle.

Theon didn’t know what to tell her, how to comfort her or if he could comfort her at all. “He isn't gone,” Theon said, “he died in sacrifice to birth your dragons. He is reincarnated in your dragons.”

She smiled as she handed him the deer parts, “you wouldn't let them kill my dragons right? Or take them away?”

Theon didn’t even know why she had to ask. He was their when she stepped out of the fire, her only cover over her nude bodies being her dragons. “I would be there for you in whatever way I could.”

He knew in the event the Umbers did turn of them he would have no chance, Lyarra couldnt help defend them she was injured. Theon was proud of his skills but that was a situation he was not confident he could get out of. Still his words rung true.

They slept on one mat that night as Lyarra’s had left them along with her horse.

In the morning they continued, Lyarra seemed fatigued. Theon hoped it wasent due to a oncoming infection but looking at her swollen ankle he knew he was probably wrong. Her face was red and her breath ragged as they reached the outskirts of the forest Last Hearth was housed in.

You could hardly see what was in front of you through the large cedar, laurel, and fir trees. Lyarra kept the dragons close. The white one sat on her lap, his horse seemed to only accept this as it was too tired to care. The other two dragons flew through the trees never going more than two yards ahead.

They avoided any buildings they saw and soon they laid eyes upon the keep. It was wooden, large but flat, none of the high spires of Winterfell. Thick walls flanked the building, like any good castle it was heavily manned with archers at the top of the walls. Though they didnt seem to be paying very close attention, not anticipating any sort of attack.

They could see the gates and the large men manning the gates, “how should we approach?" HE asked Lyarra.

“Well I can't walk up on my own,” she referenced her bum leg, “our best bet would be riding up and explaining who we are right?” She looked back to him for confirmation. He really couldn't say what the right decision was.

Lyarra did have that particular Stark look but since her hair was singed it was harder to tell. It had gradually grown back, now reaching her ears. But still he doubted they would simply belive the two travelars words. And he had no clue how they would react to the dragons.

“I think it's our only option.” She nodded, upon her confirmation he pushed his horse foreward. The red and green dragon trailing behind them and the white dragon keening on her lap.

Chapter Text

Lyarra’s ankle ached, the pain was fire traveling up her leg. She felt useless as she was trucked along on Theon’s horse. She felt like she had failed Robb.

As they approached Last Hearth she couldn’t help but feel foreboding. She imagined everything that could go wrong, they could kill her dragons. They could kill her, or Theon. They could send them to the king. Gods the king. Fuck the king.

She looked up at Theon contemplating telling him to turn around. But they were already here.

She wasn’t stupid, her head was hot and her leg was only getting worse. She was sleeping more and getting out of breath easier. If they turned back now, went back to Winterfell or continued on to castle black she might not make it.

The line of trees stopped only a few yards from the castle, her stomach dipped with anxiety as they crossed the cover of trees.

For a moment it seemed no one noticed their approach. Theon relaxed slightly, she was inclined to agree, ideally they’d be allowed to stroll in no questions asked.

“Who goes there!” One of the men atop the tower yelled causing the guards at the gate to finally notice them.

Theon stopped the horse a few feet away from the entrance, close enough they could speak with the guards. Their steel was drawn, they seemed calm. They probably hadn’t noticed the dragons yet.

Theon looked at her, she took a shaky breath in. “I’m Lyarra Snow, bastard daughter of Ned Stark.” Her voice was raw, she sounded as terrible as she felt. “With me is Theon Greyjoy, ward of house Stark.” Theon tensed behind her and the mention of his wardship, he was always uncomfortable about the topic.

The guards looked at each other, clearly hesitant to believe them. She understood after their month of travel they didn’t quite look like high class individuals.

The guards seemed to exchange words, one nodded as the other went through the gate. Presumably to get a superior. The guard that remained approached them cautiously, sword still drawn.

“Lyarra Snow you say?” He asked, he inspected their clothes and horse, hopefully seeing their fine quality.

She nodded, “and Theon Greyjoy. We were traveling to castle black but encountered an issue. I am injured and we seek a maester and perhaps a horse. If you would be so kind.”

“Alright,” the guard moved to take the reins to lead the horse. As he did this the white dragon on her lap shifted. He was getting big to sit on the saddle with her, his tail and a majority of his body hung off the horse. Lyarra had covered him in cloth but with his movements the cloth fell off of him.

She saw the exact moment the guard noticed him. His face morphed, from confusion to fear, he screeched falling back onto the floor and scrambling away.

The guards on the walls seemed to notice his distress and started yelling at themselves, asking what was happening. She looked over to see their arrows knocked, all pointed at them.

At the same time the other two dragons that had been hanging back in the trees flew out to protect her.

This in turn caused their horse to rear, causing both Lyarra and Theon to fall off. Lyarra fell directly on top of Theon as their horse began to run.

She hissed from the pain of falling again on her bad ankle. She felt a trickle of blood pool in her boot, her eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Why dug her thumb into the palm of her hand trying to bring herself out of the pain and into reality. She opened her eyes to see the dragons shrieking at the guards who had surrounded them.

Her back was pressed against Theon’s chest, he looked horrified by the events that just occurred. She was inclined to agree, what had happened was quite close to the worst case scenario.

A great lumbering figure pushed through the guards. He was huge and looked off to the north, he had a thick black beard and long black hare. He stood proud and hardly flinched at the sight of three growling dragons. His clothing was ordained with the sigil of a roaring giant breaking chains on a flame red backdrop.

“Lord Umber?” She winced.

He shook his head, a smile on his face, “his son. I have heard tales of your beauty lady snow. Your father has spoken of you often, you are just as he says.”

Her eyes widened, “thank the gods,” she whispered, dropping her head. She hadn't thought they’d believe her, she nearly sobbed in relief.

The guards dropped their weapons at this lord's words.

The Smalljon reached out a hand, as if to help her up. Her dragons responded with snapping and flames. He simply laughed, a bold man.

She reached up taking his hand, she lost her balance as she was taken to her feet. But she caught herself managing to balance on her good leg.

“She’s injured,” Theon said behind her.

The smalljon nodded, she yelled as she was picked up by the man without warning. He looked down at the dragons that were watching him wearily, “will they burn me if I take you away?”

She winced once more, “I don’t think so?”

She sent Theon a few nervous glances as they were guided into Last Hearth. In her case carried, the dragons crawled beside drawing curious eyes.

This wasn’t her ideal way of doing things but it was much preferable to them all being killed.

He took them to the great hall of the keep, again it was all wooden with ornate carvings and a few iron accents and stuffed carcasses of animals as decor.

In the center of the room sat a grand wooden throne, somehow larger than the huge man who sat in it. The greatjon, Lyarra assumed.

Lyarra was set on her feet, she stayed leaning against the Smalljon however for support. Her dragons sat on the floor around her.

She gulped before she began to speak, “my lord Umber we come here from Winterfell. I am Lyarra Snow, my traveling companion is Theon Greyjoy, we came upon troubles in our travels and sought out Last Hearth for assistance.” Her head was bowed in respect.

The greatjon was silent, then like his son he laughed, loud as thunder. “No mention of the dragons at your feet? The last time we had a dragon in Last Hearth was 240 years ago. It is a famous story told among the people here, the lady Queen Alysanne Targaryen flew her silverwing to the wall and stopped here along her path. I never thought to expect such a thing again, in my lifetime especially.”

The greatjon moved from his chair strutting down to where they stood. She shook slightly as he stopped directly in front of her, he was larger than his son and just as fierce looking. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace, she went along with it awkwardly. Relived, they seemed to be accepted here.

When he moved back he studied her face, “the last time I saw you you were a little baby.” He laughed, “it was the end of a war and Ned came back with a donnish wet nurse, and in her arms a little bundle. You were a pretty baby and you’ve grown into a pretty young woman,” he ruffled her hair, “you even kept the short hair.” He threw his head back laughing at his own joke.

She laughed anxiously, as did Theon.

“You need a maester?” He questioned.

She nodded.

“Good thing we have one, my son can take you to him. As for your little pets,” she frowned at his assessment of her dragons, they were more like children than pets. Like ghost was, they were a piece of her.

“They will stay with me,” she said firmly. This was not something she would budge on, her dragons would stay with her and if not her Theon.

Again the two Umber men laughed, “you are a stark. Fierce girl.”

In the end he allowed her to keep them and did not struggle against her decision. She was shocked by that, Last Hearth was the worst sort of place to house dragons. It was all wood, and wood burned, and dragons breathed fire. The trust he had in her was a shock.

She supposed Theon was right, northerners were loyal.

She spent the rest of the day in the maesters chambers, her dragons curled up on the floor and around her bed.

The maester was kind and gentle as he examined her ankle. “Is it broken?” Theon asked from next to her. He had stuck with her despite being invited elsewhere, Lyarra suspected he felt out of place in the north.

Here especially surrounded by northern lords who hardly acknowledged him. Most of the men here knew people who had died in the Greyjoy rebellion, they held no love for Greyjoy’s.

“Yes, the bone seems to be fractured,” the old man said slowly. She winced as he prodded at her swollen ankle.

“The surface wound you sustained during the incident also seems to have fallen to a mild infection,” he said as he pushed on the cut that leaked blood and puss. She cringed.

“I will apply creams and wraps to heal the infection first, then once that is gone we can heal the break.” He made it all sound so easy.

She was glad he seemed to know what he was doing, Theon surely didn’t. Despite her protests he had wrapped the wound in a cut up dirty sack. Though she couldn’t fault him for trying, at least he hadn’t just left her there to die.

After her examination the men left and some serving girls brought a bath. She hadn’t expected such hospitality but she was glad for it, her father was well loved among his bannermen clearly.

The girl tasked with filling the tub was too scared to enter the room. She whispered apologies as she creeped in oozing fear, it was the dragons she feared, Lyarra realized.

Once the girl finished filling the tub she made a motion to help Lyarra undress. Lya shook her head, “don’t worry I can do it myself.” She felt the need to release her from her obligation, clearly the serving girl was too fearful to be in the room with her dragons.

The girl tried to argue, assuring her she could do the work.

“Don’t worry, really,” Lya said, “I prefer to bathe on my own.”

After much convincing the girl reluctantly agreed and stepped out. Lyarra undressed, tossing her mud covered clothes onto the floor. She then hopped to the tub.

The maneuver to get in was awkward as she could put no weight on her ankle, for a moment she wished she’d kept the serving girl for a while longer. But she managed, sinking into the lukewarm water.

She sighed, finally feeling she could relax.

The white dragon chirped moving towards her and resting his head upon her chest in the tub. She stroked his scaly skin feeling her fingers catch on each bump. She knew she shouldn’t have favorites but he truly was hers.

He reminded her the most of ghost. It was more than just his coloring, but his personality. He was sweet, cuddly, and quiet, but fierce at the drop of the hat.

She traced the patterns on his opalescent scales as she closed her eyes. Slowly she drifted to sleep.

She woke to a knock at the door and her red dragon growling. She tried to lift herself out of the tub to no avail, her ankle would not let her.

“Yes?” She asked.

The same serving girl from before peaked her head into the room, “I just wanted to check on you m’lady. We found you clothes, these should fit. Tell me if I can be of assistance.”

The girl turned to leave but before she could Lyarra said, “Theon.” She cleared her throat, “if you could please grab me Greyjoy, I mean.”

The serving girl blushed, then nodded and ran off. Lyarra blushed as well, realizing she might have gotten the wrong impression.

Soon thereafter Theon was shoved into the room, he looked peeved. “You can’t just send serving girls to pull me from my room. You have no right to boss me around lik-“ he stopped in his tracks as he saw her nude laying in the tub.

“Is this a trap?” He asked after a beat of silence.

This idiot, she thought to herself, “no. I’m injured. I can’t get out of the tub.”

Theon nodded gravely, then approached. He lifted her from the tub, his head turned away, not looking at her.

Lyarra was shocked, for someone so open in his sexual exploits he really could be so nervous around women. Or maybe he just didn’t like the look of her, he had had plenty of opportunities over the last months. Though she would’ve rejected him if he had advanced.

He handed her a towel and she quickly covered herself. “You could’ve asked for someone else you know,” Theon was pouting.

Lyarra raised her eyebrows, maybe he really did hate how she looked. She thought she was okay looking, she found herself a bit offended.

“Serving girls couldn’t lift me,” she mumbled. “ plus I haven’t been so keen on being nude around people since that whole… mishap with the king.” She released the information reluctantly.

Theon shifted his weight awkwardly, “I hadn't realized it had affected you so.” They hadn’t spoken about the incident, not even the day after. They had more or less reached a quiet understanding, she didn’t want to be alone and he didn’t mind her staying.

She shrugged, she wished it hadn't impacted her. She wished she didn’t care. Theon probably hadn’t even thought of that all since it happened.

Lyarra was angry that it had happened, that she let it happen.

Lyarra was upset because Ned and Robb, people she trusted the most. People who were supposed to protect her, didn’t come to her. Instead their ward who had always been rude and short with her had always to help,

Most of all she was scared it might happen again.

All of this felt shameful, she wished she could forget. She wished she wouldn’t be so angry, so impacted.

She called her nerves, slowing her breath and looking up at Theon.

Theon she didn’t mind, maybe it was because he had been there and seen the struggle. That he had helped her when no one else would.

He looked good, clean shaven, like her bathed and given new clothes. It was different then what he usually wore, none of his fine green clothes and kraken embroidered accents. He kept the gold chain around his neck though, and his hair was as windswept as ever.

“Are you gonna stand there and watch me get changed?” She smirked.

He took his leave, mumbling on the way out and she went to the task of putting on the gown without putting weight on her ankle. This task took an embarrassingly long amount of time, not once but twice Theon knocked on the door asking if she needed help.

The dress was nice, lined with fur, blue in color. It was slightly big but still she was surprised they had such clothing sitting around. She blushed thinking how she was borrowing some other noble girl's clothes. Sansa would be so upset if she had to give her clothes away to some dirty bastard traveler. Not that she’d blame her.

Theon knocked again, “are you done now?” He seemed upset, probably that she was taking so long.

“Yes,” she shuffled to the bed and sat down taking any pressure off her ankle.

Instead of just Theon walking in, he was coupled with the smalljon. “Hello my lord,” she went to stand but he laughed her off, motioning her to stay down. Along with them walked in the maester.

Her dragons moved off the floor and instead they crowded the bed with her to make room for the new people. She stroked the red one to comfort herself, it had become a bit of a habit. Something she had done with ghost as well.

“We plan to write to your brother,” the smalljon said. She nodded, glad they would finally get word to him. He probably thought they were still on the road, they’d be nearly at castle black by now.

The maester took out some parchment and wet his quill. He began to write the introduction to the letter, they settled on the words without fuss, allowing the smalljon to dictate most of it.

‘To the lord of the north and Winterfell Robb Stark,’ the letter began. ‘Your bastard sister was injured on the way to the wall. Her ankle is broken. They came to Last Hearth for safety tailed by three dragons. We have invited them into our home, given them food and shelter, and are planned to house them for as long as you think is acceptable. Jon ‘smalljon’ Umber son of Jon ‘greatjon’ umber, Lord of the Last Hearth.’

Theon and Lyarra accepted the contents of the letter. Before the maester left for the ravenry she stopped him. “My lord, might we also send a letter to my uncle at the wall. He was who we were meant to meet.”

The smalljon agreed with the choice and they crafted that letter as well.

‘To Benjen Stark of the nights watch, castle black,’ they wrote. ‘Your niece snow has been injured on a journey to meet you at the wall. She will be incapacitated for at least a month.’ The maester insisted this, ‘likely longer. Jon ‘smalljon’ Umber son of Jon ‘greatjon’ umber, Lord of the Last Hearth.’

The smalljon has asked why they were on the journey to the wall, and if they wanted to add the subject into the letter. Lyarra and Theon glanced at each other, then declined. Their journey was not meant to be known, though their secrets seemed to be seeping like water in a sieve.

With that he left them alone. Lyarra slumped into the bed laying with her dragons. Theon still in the room, “I wish we could’ve written those ourselves.”

Lyarra nodded lazily, “it makes sense. They’re sending it from their home, they have every right to know the contents of what we are saying.”

Theon huffed.

They ate a small meal together then Theon set off to his own room, reluctantly. She drifted to sleep grazed with warm dragon breath.

Days later there was a feast to celebrate their arrival. Lyarra thought it was really just an excuse to have a feast.

The night of the feast a fine pale blue dress lined with white rabbit fur was set out for her. It was better fit than the others she had been given, she had expected someone had tailored it.

She had asked smalljon a day prior and he had informed her the dresses had belonged to one of his sisters when they were younger.

She exited the room to see the smalljon waiting for her. “My lady snow,” she extended a hand to her which she took.

She glanced back at her dragons, hesitating to leave them alone. Since they had hatched they had been with her, but to show them to all those people would be terrible. Not that most of the last hearth wasn’t already gossiping about the three dragons in her room.

“You could bring them,” the smalljon clearly wanted her to say yes. She understood what the Umbers were doing, dragons were a valuable item. Even the information that they had, that dragons existed once again, was valuable.

They were trying to sweeten her, show her more kindness and respect than any bastard deserved. Not only would this put them in the good graces of their liege lord, but it might also gain them more access to her dragons.

Lyarra had thought them idiots, big strong idiots, but they were smarter than that.

Who was she to refuse.

“I guess I will,” she said, motioning for them to follow her. The smalljon smiled wide at this.

They saw Theon on the way to the great hall, he blanched when he noticed the dragons trailing them.

“Why?” He whispered to her.

Lyarra shrugged, “plenty of reasons. He offered, I wanted them to stay with me, everyone already knows.”

He seemed unconvinced but followed them reluctantly anyway.

As they entered every head turned to look at her, or rather the scaly beasts behind her.

She sat up front at the main table along with Theon and the rest of the Umbers. It was odd, she had never been allowed to sit up on the main table during feasts on orders of lady Stark. It felt slightly uncomfortable, it felt like everyone was looking at her.

The white dragon placed his head in her lap, she pet him lovingly. The greatjon did his speech, introducing her, and Theon… and the dragons. Then they brought out the food.

Along with the food a serving girl set out a plate of charred meat next to her, she laughed. They had expected her to bring the dragons, going so far as to have food ready for them. Perhaps she should feel offended by their presumption.

Next to her sat Theon who eyed her wearily as she began to toss the dragon's bits of meat.

Those in the hall stared in fascination as they fought over the food. Lyarra knew she shouldn’t be flaunting them so, but still there was something about the admiration she got that made her feel nice. She had always been the bastard, the forgotten one.

On the other side of her sat the smalljon, he watched in fascination with a large smile. They exchanged polite conversation, Lyarra thought the Umbers were a bit loud and rather perverse. At least when compared to those in Winterfell. In a way they reminded her of how she imagined the Greyjoys, Theon’s family.

She spoke briefly with Lord Umber's uncles. Like their nephew they were huge men, fierce looking.

Mors ‘crowfood’ Umber was the older of the two. He was drunk when she arrived, flipping up his eyepatch to show some pretty serving girls his dragon glass false eye. When she introduced herself he eyed her hungrily despite being twice her own lord fathers age.

Hother ‘whorsebane’ Umber was not too dissimilar. He had a big white beard and long white hair that was thinning on the top of his head. He had eyed her dragons far more than her unlike his brother.

“And how did you get them?” He had been the first to ask.

“I hatched them,” she responded simply. She figured there was no reason to try and dance around the issue.

She ended the night with a short dance, she felt obligated too as the guest. Though it wasn’t very elegant given she couldn’t put weight on one foot.

The smalljon was handsy. He reminded her of the king in the very worst ways, at least he was slightly more attractive.

After the dance she made her move to leave, he stopped her at the door. Lifting her hand to kiss it, “you are a bastard and I am an heir. We will never be married. But I wouldn’t mind some dragon riding bastard sons.” He laughed at his own words.

She nearly gagged.

“Right,” she said awkwardly, shifting her weight.

She walked to her room slowly, her dragons trailing after her nipping her feet. She paid them no attention, too deep in her thoughts.

She knew people would treat her differently because of her dragons. She chose to deceive herself by thinking that it would only change things slightly.

That they’d behave some sort of way no matter what. With or without her dragons he would have said some terrible thing to her. Like king Robert, she didn’t have dragons then and he still did what he did.

She hadn’t fully grasped how much it changed things, how much differently people saw her with them. How much it changed their perception of her.

In a way she liked it, Theon would call her egotistical or an attention seeker. After so long of being ignored it was flattering for people to really look, and stare in awe. The way they did with Robb or Sansa.

Still, in the end, they saw her as only a bastard. A bastard with dragons but a bastard nonetheless, smalljon had made that much clear with his words.

A day after the feast they received a letter telling them the king was dead.

Four days after that and nine days after their arrival they received a letter from Robb.

“Is it a response to our letter?” Theon asked as they walked with the maester to meet lord greatjon. He had a solar but apparently he doesn’t use it, instead they were to meet him in the yard.

“No,” the maester responded, “our letter has probably just arrived in Winterfell. This is likely concerning something else. We won’t know till we open it,” the old man smiled as they continued their walk. The maester was old and slow so she didn’t feel guilty for being so unhurried due to her injury.

She didn’t know why Robb would be writing to the Umbers. Perhaps he anticipated their trouble on the way to the wall and was writing them as relating to that. “Does your liege lord usually write?” She questioned.

“Not often, no. Your Lord father, Ned Stark, would write rarely. Words of congratulations for a marriage or a child, well wishes, or of course summons.”

She looked up to Theon wondering if he had any clues. He looked just as confused as she.

They stood anxiously as Lord Umber broke the seal of the letter and unraveled it.

The greatjon’s eyes lit up as he read the letter, he laughed loudly. She saw Theon lean in further to catch a glance.

“Your brother is a bold boy, this is a dangerous move. Rude of him to not consult us.”

She didn’t understand what he was saying. She took the letter as he handed it to her, ‘to the lords of the north’ it began. ‘Muster your swords and march south. Robb of house Stark, acting lord of Winterfell.’

Her eyes widened, she turned away forcing the letter into Theon’s hands. He quickly began to read, his face morphing as he did.

“It’s a call to arms,” she said aloud, trying to convince herself it wasn’t real.

“I had thought he would wait for us to get back,” Theon said, sounding slightly peeved. “Though I’m glad he has the balls to do it,” he said that part quieter. She still caught the words.

She couldn’t believe he was behaving so casually about this. Robb sought to take them to war.

“You know about this?” The greatjon had lost his amused tone. Instead he sounded serious, dangerous. “Does it have something to do with them,” he referred to the dragons behind her that were baring their teeth at each other.

She didn’t want to give away all that happened, she didn’t think it was her place. They had already revealed so much of their hand by showing the Umbers the dragons without Robb’s knowledge.

Theon seemed willing to supply the information however, “the Lannister most likely. They have thrown his brother from a tower crippling him. I’m sure he wants his revenge now that the king is dead.”

Lord Umber snorted, “and this green boy seeks to drag us into his pissing match.”

Lyarra shook her head, “Robb isn’t like that. He wouldn’t start a war over a vendetta. If he’s calling the banners he must have a good reason.”

She looked up to him, “you will answer the call?”

Lord Umber nodded, “he is my liege lord, I will. Even if he is a silly young boy, I’d like to hear what good reason he has for grabbing us away from our prepping for the winter.”

The greatjon stretched himself standing up straight showing the extent of his hugeness. He was as big as the Lannisters' dog, as big as hodor. “Plus,” he continued, “I haven’t been in a good war in a long while.”

“And what of us?” She questioned.

The maester stepped in to answer her, “we should get a response from the nights watch today or tomorrow. And a response from your brother not long after that.”

The greatjon confirmed this, “I told you when you arrived you are free to stay as long as you require. It will take us a month to gather our men and steel. By then you’ll have your responses, you may follow us south or continue on your path north to the wall.”

She sighed, it seemed reasonable, “alright.”

The maester had been right as two days after they received word from the nights watch. The maester delivered it to her and Theon directly.

“Open it up,” Theon leaned over her shoulder. Flinching slightly when the red dragon hissed at him.

It wasn’t long. “Lord Umber,” she read aloud, “we regret to inform you but Benjen Stark set out beyond the wall over a month ago now and…” she stopped, taking in the words.

“Keep reading,” Theon nudged her, upset at her stopping.

She shook herself out of her shock and continued to read, now more hesitant. “And he has not returned. We have set out search parties for him and they too have failed to return. We require more time to investigate the matter, we will update you when updates are needed.”

She gripped the paper harder, “to the Lady Snow we are sorry. We will continue to search for your uncle. He is just as much your family as ours. Signed Jeor Mormont, 997th lord commander of the nights watch.”

They were quiet as she thought over the words. She let the letter fall to the floor, she felt useless.

Benjen Stark was gone, not dead, she deluded herself. He wouldn’t die out there. He had told her so many times, he knew that land better than any man. He was second only to the halfhand when it came to navigation out beyond the wall, he had told her that when he came to Winterfell during the kings visit.

She looked up at Theon, “we should go north,” her voice was firm. “We have to go north. We can offer our assistance, we can help, and act as another search party. I can use the dragons, they can fly above and look for any signs of him.” She mile a minute not stopping to breathe.

Theon looked hesitant, “Lyarra stop. We can’t. The man is probably already gone.”

She shook her head, no he wasn’t, he was a man of the nights watch. He was a good man, good men didn’t die like that. Good men didn’t just go missing. Good men died honorably, they had songs sung about their death.

“You can’t help him, you can help Robb. He needs us now, we must to march south to meet him.”

“Shut up!” She yelled, “that isn’t true, you don’t know him. He wouldn’t just die, if he’s up there he’s trapped, he needs help.”

“You're being naive,” Theon growled, “we have a duty. You are part Stark don’t you have your honor. He is your brother, come when he calls.”

The red dragon growled, “our duty was our mission. And our mission was to go to Benjen Stark at the nights watch.”

Theon threw his hands up in frustration, “and Benjen Stark is gone. Things change, missions change, your duty is to your brother. Your duty stays the same.”

Lyarra laughed dryly, “what do you know of duty and honor Greyjoy? Stop talking like a dog, or do you really follow my brother's orders so keenly?”

Theon moved towards her threateningly but he was intercepted by her dragons spitting fire at him. He stumbled backwards, crashing into the door.

He pointed at her as he spoke, “we will be going south. I’m not killing myself in some suicide mission to fetch your dead uncle beyond the wall. If there's a war I plan to fight in it, I will not let Robb do all the work.” He then walked out of the room.

“Steal all the glory more like,” she said to herself, slumping back into her chair.

She knew Theon, he wanted gold and women and songs sung about him for years to come. He was that sort of person, desperate for attention and glory. So many were though, she wasn’t entirely excluded from the group.

Beyond glory she wanted to help Robb. She didn’t want to fight a war but she would gladly do it for her family. That’s what their father had taught them.

Still, she couldn’t escape the thought of her uncle, and of the north. The pit in her stomach grew when she thought of him beyond the wall.

Robb didn’t need them, she reasoned. They were two people out of the forty thousand swords the north could muster.

Then there were the dreams. The dreams she had been having since she had first found her dragon eggs. Dreams of dead men walking, of beings whose voices sounded like cracking ice, dreams of pale blue eyes, dreams of the wall.

She limped to her bed then pulled her green dragon towards her. “What am I to do,” she asked. He took up more than half the bed leaving no room for the other two dragons to climb on with them, and little room for herself.

Still she managed to fall into an early sleep, filling her mind with thoughts other than the dead.

A week went by, Theon and her did not speak. He seemed angry at her stubbornness as she was at his.

Then they got a response from Robb.

‘Lyarra, Theon,’ Robb had addressed the letter to them specifically. ‘I’m sorry your journey has gone awry. You might already know but Benjen is missing, we got the message a while before receiving yours. I’m sure your already aware that I've called the banners, I’m sorry Theon I know I promised I’d wait but something pressing has happened. The king has died and father has been imprisoned, said to be a traitor. I ask you please, Theon, Lyarra, come back home.’ It was signed with his name and titles.

“So that’s why he’s calling us all,” the greatjon scratched his beard.

“For good reason,” Mors said, “Ned Stark is a fine man. He is not the sort to betray the crown.”

The greatjon still seemed unconvinced, still the loyal man had spent tireless nights gathering men for his acting lord. Lyarra had seen it.

He was a proud man and surely would not abstain from his lord's calling while other men came.

“Well?” Theon said, walking behind her as she walked back to her room. “You have seen the letter, he’s asking for us specifically. You're going to say no?”

Lyarra stopped, then gripped her hair. It had grown below her chin.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had to go north. That something was happening and she had to fix it. But her father was in the king's landing cells, and her brother had asked for her help. She couldn’t just leave, no matter what her gut said.

“Okay.”

A week after the letter had arrived they were heading out of the last hearth. Leaving behind lord Mors and Hother to keep the last hearth.

Her ankle had healed mostly, she had been made to put plaster on it after the treatment to the infection. Now that the cast was off, it was still sore but not unbearable. She could ride on her horse alone at least.

She missed blanket but the mare the Umbers had given her was good as well. She was scared of the dragons like most of the horses were. Blanket hadn't been scared, she’d tolerated them beautifully.

She understood, they had grown much. For the last few days they hadn't even been able to come inside due to their size. The largest, the red dragon, stood as tall as a horse. The Umbers had been feeding them well.

Many of the men were fascinated by them, many feared them. The small folk particularly would run and yell upon seeing them. But the ones who had something to prove would stand tall, unwavering like lord greatjon and his son.

Lyarra had been withdrawn from Theon still, though she knew it wasn’t his fault. Robb had chosen to call the banners on his own, and for good reason.

They rode next to each other in silence, which she didn’t mind. Of course Theon had to say something though, “your foot still hurts?”

She sighed, there was no reason to stay angry, “no it’s better. Just feels odd.”

For a moment they were quiet.

“Are you upset still? That I insisted we go south to meet Robb?” He sounded irritated that he had to come to her, that he had to ask.

Lyarra looked down at her hands holding the reins. “No, I know I had to go. He asked me to. I’m just upset that somewhere my uncle is out there, beyond the wall, and I can’t help.”

Theon looked like he wanted to argue, she knew what he would say, Benjen was dead. All there was to find was a frozen body. But she knew that wasn’t true. He didn’t bother saying it aloud.

“It’ll be worth it for you when you see him I’m sure,” he sounded bitter and she wasn’t sure why.

“He asked for you as well, he values you just as highly,” she didn’t know why she felt the need to be kind and comfort him. But she did.

He looked at her, the emotions she saw in his dark sea green eyes made her blush. He always acted like he never got praised or comforted before. Though she supposed he really hadn't, for the last nine years he had been just as motherless as she was.

From there they got back their previous comfort with each other, picking up conversation more easily.

A few days in they were met with the Karstark’s party who were traveling down from Karhold. The meeting was purely accidental, she figured as much as the second they intersected with the group she heard Lord Umber yelling profanities at Lord Rickard Karstark.

Still the Karstarks joined them despite the tension. The first night of their arrival Lord Rickard found her in the camp along with his three sons.

“My lady Snow, you look just like your aunt Lyanna. She was truly a beauty, a winter rose.” She hated being compared to a dead woman, still he thanked him.

Then the burly man dipped his long face in solidarity. “I have heard of your Lord fathers imprisonment. It is completely unjustified, the Ned Stark I knew would never betray his king.”

“Thank you my Lord,” she said.

“I had also heard word of your dragons, it is of interest to many. You may not be named Stark but I still affirm me and my sons will protect you as we would any other Stark.”

She nearly teared up at the man’s words, “I’m grateful, my lord. Truly.”

On the last leg of their trip in between the Dreadfort and Winterfell Lyarra encountered her first real issue with the dragons.

She had been asleep in her tent when she heard the people screaming. It was the screeching of her dragons that really got her out of bed.

She rushed out to see her red and green dragons tearing open a horse. A horse that they were now a bit larger than.

The red dragon pulled on the back leg of the horse while the green dragon held the front leg not releasing. The horse meanwhile was screaming, a terrible noise.

Around them soldiers screamed, some had swords out pointing at the beasts, they were clearly too scared to do anything.

“My lady Snow, you are their master, make them stop! They have eaten four of our mounts. We can spare a few but not so many.” Lord Umber said, grabbing her shoulders, shaking her out of her daze.

She walked to her dragons trying to figure out how to settle them. It was difficult, they were large, tails whipping preventing her from getting too close.

The white dragon stayed out of the fight, staying behind her. His eyes trained on the dead horse carcass hungry.

As they finished devouring the horse Lyarra put her hands out attempting to calm them. The red dragon seemed to sense her thoughts, he stared at her wearily coming down from his high.

He blinked at her slowly then pressed his head against her hand. She sighed in relief, she hadn’t fully believed she could calm him. She didn’t fully know how she did it.

The green dragon was still thrashing however. As she approached him he roared, hearing his teeth at her. She could hear the crackling of sparks deep in his throat. She flinched, the audience around her did as well.

She wasn’t stupid, no matter how much time she spent with them. How sweet they could be, they were still wild.

As she tried to wrack her mind thinking of some sort of way to make him calm. However he just continued to agitate.

Suddenly the green dragon screeched, arrows were flying at him from the crowd. She looked over to see one of the Karstark men with a bow.

The arrows had done nothing but made him angry.

His mouth opened to the crowd, smoke pouring out. She was suddenly filled with dread. She could imagine it now, her dragon leveling the crowd with his flames. Reducing them to ash.

It was a nightmarish outcome.

“Daor!” She screamed rushing towards him, the Valyrian slipped out of her mouth like it was natural. She had learned it months prior in Winterfell. “Daor,” she repeated, turning his head towards her. “lykirī,” her voice was rushed, “please, be calm, lykirī.”

For a moment he turned back to the crowd, she could see him think. Before he took off flying away, pushing her to the floor with the force of the air from his wings. The other dragons followed suit.

Lyarra finally gave herself a moment to calm, to breathe.

“I’m sorry lady Snow,” Rickard Karstark said, approaching her. “My man should not have done that, he will be punished for it accordingly.”

Lyarra shook her head, “it’s ok, they are scared it’s only natural. I fear his actions could’ve made things much worse.”

She lifted herself off the ground, brushing the dirt off her slip. “I should be the one apologizing, they can be wild and difficult to control. I promise Winterfell will supply you with the horses you’ve lost.”

After nearly a month of travel they reached the gates of Winterfell. “Thank the gods, it thought we’d never come back” Theon said next to her. She couldn’t agree more, they were home.

She kicked her horse along speeding the mare up, Theon yelled behind her before doing the same himself.

The second she saw Robb standing at the gates she threw herself off her horse. Lyarra threw her arms around him pulling him into a tight hug. She knew it was improper but she just felt such relief.

After a squeeze they released each other. Robb turned to Theon who was just dismounting his horse and embraced him as well.

“Gods their a lot bigger now, no use in hiding I guess,” Robb exclaimed, staring at the three large dragons behind them.

She wished the three of them could have sat down and caught up but she knew not that all the Lords had arrived Robb would have to convene a meeting.

She turned away, ready to walk to her room. See Bran who she had been told had awakened, or perhaps little Rickon who was surely bigger now.

Robb stopped her though, grabbing her shoulder. “Stay,” he insisted, “join us.” He didn’t say it as if it was a good thing, but still she agreed. She didn’t mind joining their meeting though she was sure bastard girls were usually not invited.

She moved to sit in the corner of the room, away from the main table where the lords sat. Robb grabbed her hand leading her up to the head of the table by him and Theon.

She didn’t understand why he was doing this. She had always wondered what went on in a council room but it was very nerve racking having all the men stare at her.

She identified those she knew, Rickard Karstark, The greatjon. She vaguely recognized Lord Roose Bolton, he showed no emotion in his face. Lord Hornwood, Tallhart, and Cerwyn she recognized from their visits to Winterfell.

All were men except for one older woman. Maege Mormont, Lyarra realized, the she-bear of bear island. The lady Mormont sent her a warm smile, settling her nerves slightly.

“Do you know why he has me here?” She whispered to Theon.

Theon shrugged, he looked peeved, probably because Robb hadn't told him anything.

“My Lords,” the talking silenced as Robb used his most authoritative voice. He sounded like their father. “I have gathered us here because your liege lord, my father, has been wrongfully imprisoned by the Queen Lannister.” The lords reacted with jeers at the mention of the Lannisters.

“The same Queen that threw my eight year old brother from a tower crippling him.” More jeers followed.

“They have now laid siege to my mothers home, Riverrun. The river lords need us, if we do not help them they will be toppled. The next people the Lannisters will come for will be us, the north.”

Chatter started as he finished his speech. She looked to her brother, he always seemed so strong but she could see his nervousness.

“So you seek to rebel against the king,” lord Wyman Manderly of white harbor clarified through the chatter. The men silenced looking to Robb to either confirm or deny.

Her brother was silent for a moment, then he nodded, “yes.”

At that the northern men began to yell. Some in support, some against.

The greatjon stood from his seat, towering above everyone. “I will not,” he yelled, “march behind these Hornwood and Cerwyn children. We are Umbers greenboy.” He pulled his sword from its sheath.

Like that Greywind launched across the table, tackling the man to the floor. Robb himself seemed shocked by the direwolf’s actions.

But his face hardened soon thereafter, “my father taught me it was treason to bare steel against your liege lord. Though I’m sure the lord umber only meant to cut my meat for me.”

The greatjon stood, for a moment she thought he’d grow angry again, but then he threw his head back in a bold laugh.

This spread among the rest of the northern lords at the table.

“You are so like your sister I see,” he laughed.

The lords seemed to reach a consensus, they would follow their liege lord south.

“So then,” Lord Bolton's voice sounded, “if you purpose a rebellion you must also propose a king.”

She looked to Robb, just as curious as everyone else. Perhaps he would support lord Stannis, the late king's brother. He’d likely favor the north more than the Lannisters, he would have never imprisoned her father. Though she didn’t know what he would do about her dragons.

“I propose a queen not a king,” he then turned to look at her. He met her eyes with a hard gaze.

She looked around to see the rest of the lords looking at her as well, they looked as shocked as she felt.

“To the Dragon queen!” Lord Umber yelled.

Others joined, some more hesitantly, some loud. Lord Karstark and Umber the loudest.

She stepped back feeling her bad ankle buckle slightly. She reached back grabbing a hand, Theon’s hand. She looked up at him searching for answers in his eyes.

She was no queen, this came from nowhere, she couldn’t comprehend this. She was a bastard, a Snow. Robb hadn’t asked her, hadn’t even thought of her.

Her ears rung, quieting the cheering of the men around her.

“Oh my gods,” she whispered to herself.

Chapter Text

Lyarra looked like she was going to vomit as they began to chant.

He didn’t understand her issue, Robb had declared her Queen and somehow these northmen agreed with him.

Her eyes were dazed, she reached her hand back grabbing his own. He was sure she would have done that to anyone, to ground herself. She wasn’t doing it specifically because it was him, she just needed someone to hold.

He kept her hold, squeezing her hand slightly.

He looked to Robb as he held her hand. He looked proud of himself.

Suddenly he understood what Robb was doing, people had whispered about Lyarra’s parentage. They had been whispering since she hatched the dragons in Winterfell. The whispers followed them to the last hearth, then on the road with the Karstarks.

The big question wracking everyone’s mind was of her parentage.

Lyarra was clearly some sort of stark, she had the look, the face and the dark hair which had nearly grown to her shoulders. That was no question.

But, having hatched dragons, it stood to reason she must have been a Targaryen as well. The question was what Targaryen.

From Theon’s understanding by the time Lyarra was born many of the Targaryen’s were dead or dying. The Targaryen women were few and far between.

When she had first hatched the dragons, what they all assumed was Lord Stark had bedded some Targaryen bastard.

But what Robb was quietly proposing was Lyarra being the product of Lyanna and Rhaegar. The couple that had started a revolution themselves.

Whether this was all true or not remained to be seen, Theon knew Lady Stark wasn’t back yet from the south. Robb hadn’t outwardly stated anything either, though he implied it.

It didn’t seem he needed to state it for the lords to understand, they were quick to accept her despite not being certain of her parentage. What was certain is that she had dragons. And those with brains knew dragons won wars.

Once the excitement died down Lyarra was quick to grab Robb and Theon by the arm and drag them off to another room.

Robb looked confused, oddly bashful.

“Why would you do that?” She said the second she closed the door.

Robb looked from her to Theon, back and fourth. “He should leave,” Theon felt offended at his words, even though Robb was probably right. He had a feeling this wasn’t a conversation that really involved him.

“No,” Lyarra seethed, “you insist I’m your queen so as your queen I’m demanding he stay. And I’m commanding you to answer me. Why are you doing this?”

Theon smiled, if they weren’t in such a tense situation he would thank her.

Robb looked ready to argue but instead he began to defend himself, “You would not be allowed to live while a Baratheon sits the throne. No matter who’s up there, Joffrey, Stannis, Renley, even the little boy Tomen.”

Lyarra shook her head beginning to pace the room.

Robb continued, “All of them would benefit from your death, you would never be safe.”

“What about father?” Lyarra responded, “have you thought about him? What they might do to him while you're rebelling against the crown? And what of your sisters? Hm? Did they never cross your mind?”

Robb shook his head, “they are bargaining chips. They won’t be killed, they are too valuable as hostages. You don’t understand-“

“You say I don’t understand yet you tell me I’m meant to lead,” her voice was strained. As if she might cry. Theon stepped towards her on instinct, he stopped himself though.

“I’m telling you to be Queen not to lead,” Robb scoffed back at her.

“WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE QUEEN THEN!” She screamed back at him.

Theon worried the people outside might hear them at this rate.

“What do you think that means?” She repeated, “does it not mean to lead. To sacrifice for your people.”

“I know you, you are good. You want to help people, you want to lead. Hadn’t that been your dream, to be true born, to marry, to inherit, to be normal,” Robb moved towards her, she jerked herself back to avoid him.

“You think you know what I want but you don’t,” her voice was quiet, she looked at the floor.

Theon felt like he shouldn’t be watching this.

“I didn’t just do this for you,” Robb stood up straight, “you're selfish for thinking so. You have dragons, we are at war, my mothers lands are being burned as we speak. Whatever your reservations are, you will be our queen. There is no one else.”

Robb left at that.

Lyarra collapsed onto the floor.

“I don’t understand why this is happening,” she said. Theon didn’t understand why he was still in the room. He didn’t think he should be here, he didn’t know how to comfort her.

“Yes you do, you know what he’s trying to say,” he tried not to sound rude but he couldn’t help it. Lyarra wasn’t stupid, she must have realized the possible answer to the question of her parentage.

She shook her head. Like she didn’t want to believe what he was saying.

“You must understand, it’s a possibility,” he insisted.

She placed her head in her hands, curling in on herself. “That I might be the product of rape. Lyanna and Rhaegar's bastard child. That’s what you mean.”

Theon sat silent and awkward, she sounded gutted at the idea. “Why does this idea hurt you so?”

She looked at him with angry eyes, “what do you mean why does it bother me? The idea I’m a product of rape isn’t the kindest notion. The concept my father lied to me my whole life. The idea that the identity I have built for myself as a bastard stark of Winterfell might be wrong. That it might all be fake.”

Theon scowled, she was acting childish, “it wouldn’t be fake. Your experiences would still be real, you have acted as a sibling to the Starks for your whole life. Why would that change now?”

“And if you found out today you were not a Greyjoy but the child of, I don’t know, the Lannisters. Would that not bother you? Would that not change your perception of yourself? Would you not second guess yourself?” She sounded desperate to be beloved. To have someone affirm her pain.

He wasn’t sure. Would he?

He was a Greyjoy, a man of the iron islands. Bathed in salt he was the heir to the seastone chair. That was who he was.

He didn’t know how he might feel if he was told otherwise. Upset, perhaps. He wanted to think he wouldn’t care, but so much of his thoughts were consumed by his homeland. He didn’t know what he would do if he found out that was no longer his home.

“I guess I had known,” she continued her voice more quietly now, “for a while I suspected. Before the dragons. When the dreams started I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t want to believe it because I thought to acknowledge it would change a part of me.”

She looked up at him, tear filled eyes, “I am the daughter of Ned Stark aren’t I.”

He had never felt so close to her before. She was describing exactly how he had felt all these years living with the Starks.

The desperation to be accepted despite the fact that you know you don’t belong, you aren’t blood.

Suddenly it all felt so real. Her pain seemed tangible.

“Just as I am his son,” he responded.

She began to cry in earnest.

They stayed in Winterfell for less than a week gathering themselves and planning for their march.

Theon and Lyarra become closer while the siblings drifted apart. Theon ended up being their middleman, which he hated. He wondered if this was how Robb had felt all those years he had desperately tried to get them to be friends.

As Robb and Lyarra weren’t speaking, Theon became her proxy. More than that, many lords seemed to circumvent her entirely.

They took their issues straight to Robb. Robb would figure out a solution and then Theon would go to Lyarra to inform her of what had happened.

He would often find her in the godswood with the boys, Rickon and Bran. Or in the wolfswood with her dragons.

She would respond with a frown and a shrug and a quiet mumble of, “I’m their queen, they should’ve asked me.”

Theon wanted to say something desperately. To yell at them, tell them she was their queen and they should come to her first above anyone else.

He wanted to yell at her and tell her to stand up from herself. To take charge, to put them in their place as Robb had to the greatjon.

Part of him told himself he shouldn’t care, he was in the loop. He was in the fold. He was important for once, why should he care that she wasn’t.

But still her situation felt unjust to him.

Then again he had never really cared about justice.

It was clear despite their earlier declarations of fealty to the bastard girl most saw Robb as more the de facto leader. While Lyarra was more a means for them to gain power.

Nearly all the men seemed to see Lyarra as simply a puppet to be placed on the throne. He knew she resented the idea, the more she reclused herself the less they saw her as a real leader and the more they saw her as simply a means to an end.

“I didn’t choose this path,” she had said to him the day after they arrived, “they forced me into it. Now they won’t even let me fulfill the role.”

He wished he could advise her but he felt there was no advice he could give that she couldn’t think of on her own.

“Is our little queen alright?” The she bear had asked him after a war council the day before they were meant to ride south. A war council that, of course, had not involved their queen. “The girl ought to be here,” she added.

This was common, the lords knew he often was the one most often visiting Lyarra so they came to him with questions for her. He’d prefer not to be a messenger but did get a sense of pride from knowing he was so high up in the chain of command.

Before Theon could respond, Robb cut in, “she’s not aware of war and its facets. Don’t worry, she will agree with our council.”

The she bear seemed unconvinced.

“Don’t worry my lady Mormont, not all women are as hard as you. Lyarra is a pretty winter rose let her sit in the garden while we do the hard work,” Lord Umber said with a laugh.

Lady Mormont looked like she could bite his face off in that moment, knowing the northmen she very well might.

Theon couldn’t help but disagree in his mind. He had seen Lyarra fight, Robb had too. They knew who she was and she wasn’t the type to sit on the sidelines while someone else did the work.

“Wish her well when you visit her, tell her I’d enjoy her presence in the war council as our queen.”

Theon nodded at the ladies' words.

He first tried checking where the boys were, she was often with them. But alas he found Bran and Rickon in the godswood with their wolves, no sight of Lyarra.

He then trekked to the next place, he was sure she was there.

He found her in the wolfswood, the red dragon sat beside her while the white ran through the trees. “Where’s the green one?” She jumped looking back at him, she smiled upon seeing him. It made warmth grow in his stomach.

She pointed up to the sky, Theon nodded.

“You really ought to name them,” he said, approaching carefully. He could feel the red dragons gaze on him, their size made him nervous.

When they were little things they weren’t much of a bother. Now that it would take about two bites to eat him he was a bit worried.

“Maybe,” Lyarra said, petting her dragon and taking his attention off of Theon. This gave him a moment to sit beside her without such a fear of being eaten. “Maester Lewin gave me books to try and help but none of them seemed right.”

They sat in silence while they watched the white dragon. He was chasing a bunny around the trees. Despite its size it was quite graceful not bumping into the trees around him.

“Couldn’t he just burn it,” Theon said watching the white dragon snap his jaws at the bunny who had hidden in a hollowed out tree.

“I won’t allow them to blow fire. We are in the woods if he does the whole place would light up.”

Theon nodded, that was considerate. If he had dragons he probably wouldn’t have thought of that.

He turned to Lyarra, her hair fell around her face delicately. Its dark color made her skin seem that much paler.

“Maege Mormont asked for you,” Theon told her.

Lyarra perked up at that, “did she need something of me. Advice or anything like that?”

Theon cringed slightly. It was clear the girl really did want to help, despite not wanting the situation in the first place. “She asked me to wish you well.”

Lyarra’s face fell at that, she had probably hoped for something more significant.

“But,” Theon added, “she did mention she wanted you in the council.”

She slumped over setting her attention back on her dragon, “she might but most don’t. They value my supposed blood and my dragons but they don’t value my advice. If my brother won’t even listen to me why should these lords, most of whom don’t care for me.”

Theon scowled, “you need to take charge. What right do you have to say you want to rule if you don’t show them you can.”

She scoffed, “weren’t you the one who said the second you stepped in the iron island the people will follow their true king. Should they turn to me, shouldn’t they come to me.”

Theon shifted, “that’s different.”

She didn’t bother arguing, instead going back to her sulking. It reminded him of when they were kids, she was always sullen under Lady Stark’s gaze. She would sit on her own and interact very little when she was told off.

He hated seeing her returning to this after what he had seen of her while on their travels.

Their silence was comfortable but things seemed left unsaid.

After a long while Lyarra turned to him. For a moment they stared at each other, he waited for her to say something.

Suddenly he was on the ground, Lyarra on top of him, her lips on his. He began to kiss back despite his reservations, wrapping one hand behind her lower back and the other in her hair. She swung her legs around so she was straddling him on the forest floor as their wet kiss continued.

After what felt like ages, but still far too brief, she pulled away. He chased her lips as she pulled back.

There she sat above them breathing harshly, her eyes were dark and her cheeks flush. Together they sat in silence.

He looked down to her lips, wet and red, slightly parted. He knew this was wrong, two powerful men had warned him not to do this. But Ned Stark was imprisoned and Robb Stark never had to know.

Theon pulled her head back down, crashing their lips together again. He rolled them over so he was on top, his leg slotted between hers.

“Oh gods,” she groaned as he moved his lips from her mouth down to her throat.

She tasted better than any whore, perhaps it was the months he’d gone without sex. Or maybe it was the satisfaction of having someone that had been dangled out of reach. Either way there was something special about what the two of them had at this moment.

Theon was interrupted, pulled away from kissing her neck, at the screech of Lyarra’s white dragon. He jumped off her in fear at the noise, part of him thought the beast would burn him where he sat for what he did to their mother.

The dragon didn’t, it simply huffed.

Lyarra slowly shook herself out of her lust filled haze. “Oh, he caught the rabbit,” her voice was light and unbothered as if Theon hadn’t just taken what he was sure was her first kiss.

Theon turned to see she was right, the white dragon was nudging the rabbit towards the pair. As if to ask them to eat it. The thing had been nearly torn apart by the creator however.

“Do you think we should bring it to the kitchens?” She turned to him and asked.

Theon scowled, how could she be so casual. He was getting blue balls. He sighed and answered her, “it’s a bit chewed. I'm not sure they want meat covered in dragon spit.”

Lyarra shrugged, and turned back to her dragon, “angōs.”

The dragon burned the bunny to a crisp then gobbled it up in one bite.

She stood and began walking back to Winterfell, motioning for Theon to follow her.

He scowled, perhaps this is how all those serving girls felt whenever he would leave them after a conquest. He huffed thinking to himself, he never left those girls unsatisfied though.

As he returned to camp walking behind Lyarra he felt Robb’s gaze. Theon felt as if he was gazing into his souls. As if he knew that they did.

He continued to feel this way as they rode out.

He, Lyarra, and Robb led the front of the party. The dragons flew above and some of the more major lords followed behind them.

Theon stuck to Lyarra’s side as her de facto closest advisor. They had not acknowledged the kiss in the woods but their relationship hadn’t particularly changed.

Theon was left wanting and confused, he felt eerily like one of the maidens from Sansa’s romantic stories.

Lyarra and he sat together in the night at camp, they were on their way down to the neck stopping at castles and keeps in between. Though the nights were brief and mostly meant to give the horses a break and the soldiers a few hours of sleep.

“Lya,” they both looked up to see Robb standing above them. “We should talk,” his lips were pursed.

Lyarra looked annoyed but nodded, Theon walked with her to the tent Robb had been staying in. Robb gave him a questioning look as he stepped inside behind her, he didn’t stop Theon however.

The three of them sat in his tent together, Theon sunk into his seat. Lyarra sat straight up with her arms crossed, she was pouting.

“Lya,” Robb began, sitting across the two, “we are about to go into war.”

“Not that I’ve been consulted on that,” Lyarra mumbled. Robb probably didn’t hear as he continued to speak.

“You will be in danger, it is my advice, and the advice of the other Lords that you should choose a kingsguard.” Rob said before adding an awkward, “your grace,” to the end. Theon didn’t call her your grace, Theon didn’t even call her Queen. Though Theon had bent the knee like everyone else.

Lyarra seethed, “I’m your sister don’t call me that,” she insisted.

Robb sighed, “I know, I’m sorry.” He looked ashamed. “I know you told me you didn’t want this and I forced it on you. I’ve thought about it a lot, I know you're angry, I’m sorry I upset you. I’m trying to keep you out of all this, but still you need a kingsguard.”

Lyarra shoved her head in her hand and groaned, “stop saying you know how I feel. Stop assuming my thoughts.”

Theon frowned, he didn’t want to be caught up in another argument between the two. “Lya I agree, you should get a kingsguard. Or queensguard, I guess, people will be out to get you.”

“I have dragons to protect me,” she insisted, “I have you to protect me.”

Theon felt himself soften slightly, his face grew warm. Suddenly he wanted to throw her to the ground and kiss her face off, he’d been feeling like that a lot recently.

Robb cleared his throat, he looked upset, “you need a queensguard. I am insisting, I’ve picked a few out for you.”

The list Robb gave her included Eddard Karstark, Torrhen Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, the Smalljon Umber, Robin Flint and a few others.

Lyarra had insisted on adding the eldest Mormont daughter, citing she didn’t want to be surrounded by only men. Robb agreed.

Lyarra had also tried to convince him to include Theon. Robb disagreed, this made Theon uneasy. He felt like Robb knew something.

Though Theon suspected the reason the people who were chosen were chosen was based on the power their parents held politically. Theon, being ironborn, wasn’t so loved in the north.

All those chosen by Robb came from major houses that had everything to gain from cozying up to a queen.

Or marrying a queen.

The thought made him feel ill.

As they moved to leave together, Robb grabbed his arm and asked, “Since when do you call her Lya?”

Theon floundered, “she asked me too.”

Robb had seemed unconvinced.

Later that night he sat in his cot trying to fall asleep. He was lucky to get a tent of his own, most did not have the privilege.

He closed his eyes attempting to think of the waves to calm him into a sleep. “Theon,” he jerked up at the whisper.

At the entrance of the tent he saw a shadowy figure, Theon reached over and grabbed the knife by his bed. The figure approached and he tightened his grip on the knife.

“What are you gonna do with that thing?” The figure whispered.

He relaxed, dropping the knife, and rolling his eyes. “You really couldn’t announce yourself?”

Lyarra laughed, climbing onto his furs. “No I couldn’t have. You want everyone to know their queen is sneaking into the beds of strange men.”

Theon smirked, “I’m not strange. And it’s man not men, or are you doing this to others as well.”

Lyarra slithered her arms around his neck, “no just you.” She whispered, pulling him into a kiss.

They hadn't kissed since the day in the wolfswood. That was only a few days ago but he had been thinking about it since then. This one was just as good.

Theon cased her kisses and caressed her skin but in the end there was nothing done besides that. He didn’t understand her, clearly she wanted him, why did she hold herself back.

Still he accepted the outcome as they lay on the bed together talking. It wasn’t the ideal but he found he didn’t mind it.

“Why were you so upset about getting a queensguard? You’ll have a group of loyal men trailing around you keeping you safe, what’s so bad about that.” He was laying on his back staring at the ceiling.

“How do you know I was upset?” She was on her side looking at him. If he moved his head slightly their faces would be a breath apart.

“You weren’t hiding it so well.”

She hummed, sounding slightly annoyed. “I just wish I had been a part of the decision. I wish I had come to him with the idea before he came to me. I wish he had asked me who I wanted to place my queensguard. I hate how he always assumes he knows what I want.”

Robb was like that, Theon thought, he was caring but always thought he was right. He thought he knew what was going on in everyone else’s heads. He thought he could relate to everyone’s struggles and fix everyone’s issues.

“Ya, it bothers me too.”

Outside the frogs chirped, the neck had a different sound then the far north did. At Winterfell you heard the howling of wolves and eerie quiet. Snow made no noise as it fell.

The further south they went the more that changed, the animals were louder. Frogs and birds and the falling rain.

There was no silence in the south. There was no silence in iron islands either, always the noises of crashing waves and men screaming profanities.

“How did you feel about your brothers?” Her question seemed hesitant.

He understood why, he was shocked she’d even ask. Robb never mentioned Theon’s family, nor did any of the Starks. Theon’s family were traitors, they had killed northmen.

“Well,” he began, stroking her now mid length hair as he spoke. “My oldest brother was Rodrik, and then Maron was the next oldest. They were both a lot older than me, and they both died killing you greenlanders. They were-“

He hesitated.

They were mean. That’s how he remembered them. Rodrik drank and fucked often, he’d make Theon fight him. Really he’d beat Theon up as he had been only nine at the time.

Maron was all cruel japes and compulsive lies. He would blame the child Theon for every little problem.

“They were strong,” he told her, “and true ironborn.”

She sat up slightly looking him in the eyes, “but did you like them. Did you argue like this?”

Theon pursed his lips, “I don’t know. I was a kid, they were a lot older. I liked them enough, I guess we argued and fought. We were boys though, that’s normal. I didn’t know them well. I knew Asha better, my sister.”

“Do you think Robb still likes me?” She threw her head into the furs, muffling her voice.

Theon rolled his eyes, she was being stupid, “yes he still likes you. He’s doing all this to protect you.”

“He said he wasn’t,” she grumbled.

“He was lying.”

They slept next to each other that night. Before dawn Lyarra snuck out of his tent.

The next day they travel with the new kingsguard. Theon found himself increasingly irritated throughout the day.

The men were loud, as northerners were. The smalljon had greeted Lyarra warmly with a smile and a hug. He hadn’t spoken to Theon at all despite the month Theon had spent in his home. He didn't care for the Umbers.

Wendel Manderly was fat like his father, Theon hoped he wasn’t just there to appease the man who had given them nearly ten thousand swords. He didn’t seem particularly tough in Theon’s opinion.

Robin Flint was like Wendel in being of a mature age. And like Wendel in the way that Theon thought he could destroy him in a fight.

Torrhen Karstark was the youngest Karstark son. He was kind, at least to Lyarra. He kissed her hand. His older brother Eddard Karstark, named for Lord Stark, was the same with the girl. Theon had seen them spar on the way to Winterfell from the Last Hearth. They were capable.

Daryn Hornwood, he was an heir and only son to Halys Hornwood and the lady Donella Manderly. He was unremarkable.

Dacey Mormont was the one Lyarra got along best with. She was tall, possibly taller than Theon but he tried not to think about that. She was lanky and wore armor, though she wasn’t so bad looking. Half a year ago he probably would’ve tried to bed her, she didn’t seem like the type to fold easy.

She and Lyarra spoke enthusiastically leaving Theon to stare into space and attempt to keep up conversation with Robb and the rest of the men.

Theon fell into his bed that night. There would be no more Lyarra sneaking into her bed as now she had seven people guarding her tent in shifts.

He was finally drifting to sleep when he heard a distinct, “Theon” whispered from the back of his tent. He threw himself out of bed to see Lyarra Snow and Dacey Mormont.

“You're joking,” Theon whispered, he wished he could yell.

Lyarra looked back at Dacey, then to him, “she won’t stay, don't worry.”

“I’m not-“ Theon groaned, “she shouldn’t know about this. No one should know about this. Both of us would get in loads of trouble.”

“If that’s all I’ll be on my way my queen,” Dacey said, giving them a knowing smirk she then snuck out. It pissed Theon off.

“She could tell Robb,” Theon seethed.

Lyarra shook her head, “she won’t, he’s her lord, I’m her queen.”

“When did you become so keen on that title?”

“I’m not-“ she stuttered, “you're so quick to question everyone. Sometimes people are just good.” She laid down in the bed then patted it.

“I’m not a dog,” he said flatly.

She pouted.

“Fine.”

He laid with her and gradually moved past the anger. They spoke about everything and nothing. The weather, the queensguard, Robb, as always Lyarra was particularly interested in the Ironborn and their ways.

Theon indulged her feigning reluctance, underneath the surface he was excited to talk about his home. She made him feel proud of his heritage.

In Winterfell when he was a boy Lord and Lady stark only let him feel shame over that. Every mention of his home would earn him sour looks. He had been forced to believe that all he had ever known was evil.

He refused to bend to their will though and instead stayed strong in his heart. He knew he would one day return home.

He told Lyarra that much, and she listened and smiled stupidly and nodded. Like she couldn’t agree more.

They got to Moat Cailin two days later. It was surrounded by a vast swamp, bogs so deep some carriages and horses got stuck. Despite their struggle it was supposedly the safest way to travel through the swamp of the neck.

It was dilapidated and ugly, with broken towers. Those that did stand were covered in green moss and were sinking into the muddy ground below.

It was nothing compared to the vast spires of Winterfell.

He sat in on the war council, the men argued and he added in his advice when he thought necessary.

He was particularly offended when the greatjon said, “you are here to report back to the queen, not speak for her. Be silent Greyjoy.” The man spoke his name like it was a curse.

The man had been out to get him since he and Lyarra had first stepped foot in the last hearth.

Unlike usual, Robb had not defended him. Instead he gave Theon a cold stare. It sent a chill up his spine.

Once the meeting was adjourned Robb held Theon back. He tried to argue against it but was stuck, he couldn’t be seen yelling at a Stark in front of all these Northmen.

The second the men left Robb grabbed Theon by his shoulders and slammed him against the wall. “What the fuck!” He cried, struggling against the tightening grip.

Greywind snarled at him, teeth bear.

“What are you doing with my sister?” His voice was dangerous.

“I’m not-“ Theon began before getting cut off.

“Don’t lie to me, what are you doing with my sister?!” Robb yelled, next to him Greywind growled.

Theon grabbed his hands and used all his strength to throw Robb off of him. He caught his breath as Robb stumbled away.

“If you would just listen. I haven’t done anything. We haven’t done anything,” Theon insisted. He didn’t understand how Robb knew, was it Dacey? It had to have been Dacey.

“Then what is happening, I know that’s not nothing!” He yelled.

Theon threw his hands in the air in anger, “she’s lonely. You aren’t being a comfort to her, she just needs someone to talk to.”

He was telling the truth, Robb clearly didn’t believe it. “And how are you ‘comforting her’?”

Theon scoffed, “she comes to me, she talks to me, I’m not forcing her to do anything.”

“Oh,” Robb laughed humorlessly, “I know how women flock to you, Theon. You’ve made that clear enough through your many years of bragging. She is not some serving girl, she is not some whore, she is a part of our family. She is a queen.”

“It seems you’ve forgotten about the fact that she’s a queen as you haven’t invited her to a single war council.”

Robb looked insulted by his accusation, “she is welcome in anytime, she knows that. Plus she is just a girl, she doesn’t know the intricacies of war.”

Theon knew she was welcome, he had told her as much. She said she wanted them to need her, to come to her with their issues.

“She is, if I remember correctly, just a few months younger than you.” Theon pointed at him, shoving his finger into Robb’s chest. “And were you not the one who told me that she was ‘of the north’ and therefore had every right to practice swordplay.”

Robb shook his head, “wielding steel is different then fighting a war.” Greywind lunged at him causing him to stumble back.

“And fucking is different then kissing,” with that Theon left.

“Your bitch of a guard sold us out to your dick of a brother!” Theon said as he walked towards her.

She was sitting in the godswood with her dragons. Two of her queensguard, the smalljon and Rickard Karstark stood at the entrance. They were just far enough away they couldn’t hear.

“Don’t call her that! Or him for that matter. And what are you even talking about?” She quickly shifted to anger matching his energy.

Theon explained the accusations Robb has thrown at him.

“I know she didn’t do it, someone else must have seen me.” She said, her voice calmer after his explanation, “I’m sorry I didn’t think he’d do that.”

“You’re currently the only sister he has of course he’ll defend you like a beast.” Theon has calmed enough that his voice was at a normal volume. Still he felt angry and anxious. He wanted to hunt, to kill something.

They ended up taking their anger out on each other in the godswood, crossing swords. The lingering threat of Robb knowing something weighing down their every move.

Chapter Text

She flexed her hand around the grip of her sword before lunging again at Theon. Sparks flew as steel met steel. Her swords shook in her hand at the sheer pressure of the hit.

As Theon was recovering from the attack he left his right side unguarded. This gave her the perfect opportunity to strike his side. She used the flat end of her blade as to not slice him in half.

They had been at this for nearly two hours in the godswood, both were getting fatigued.

Theon stumbled to the ground, she stood above him, the point of her sword to his throat.

“I’m much better at archery,” he said, sounding frustrated.

She smiled, “and it seems now I’m much better at sword play.”

He stood dusting off the dirt and mud, “I wouldn’t say much better.” He looked her up and down, “but you're improving.”

Together they walked out of the godswood, her mind taken off their discovered affair. She knew it would be bad if people knew what they were doing but it wasn’t as if they had really done anything. Lyarra wouldn’t let it go that far.

And she strongly disagreed with Theon’s assertion that Dacey had been the one to tell Robb if their relationship.

The older girl had acted as a good friend and a listening ear since she arrived at Winterfell.

Growing up she had very few friends, she was a bastard and she wasn’t exactly friendly with other kids. She hung around Robb and Theon but being children and her being a girl they never really accepted her. At the time Theon would spew his insults and Robb would laugh and comfort her and tell her he didn’t really mean it.

As of recently things had changed. Arya had left, and Robb and her relationship had dwindled. The two siblings she was closest with were gone.

Theon had stepped in as some sort of companion, she didn’t know how she felt about him. She had kissed him in the wolfswood in a fit of emotion. She had been stressed and sad and angry, and she hadn’t expected it to be so good.

Then it just kept happening, and he seemed to want it. And she couldn’t deny herself. It was the one thing she had at the moment.

She knew Theon had his conquests, that ironborn could not stick to one woman. They were not so honorable. Robb would tell her that much.

Still she found comfort in him. She deluded herself into thinking he thought of her differently than all those other women. She was sure the serving girls he bedded thought the same about themselves.

Dacey seemed to understand her. The Mormonts were different, they thought women were the same as men. And therefore should be able to use men just the same as they used women.

Lyarra couldn’t agree more.

Dacey was the only one that really treated her like a queen. Someone of import.

Dacey treated her like she was smart, she asked Lyarra questions. She asked for her input.

Lyarra had been living unfulfilled since becoming a ‘queen’. In earnest she was no queen, she wasn’t being treated like one and she wasn’t behaving like one.

She had remembered the way Cersei looked, acted when she rode into Winterfell. She was a real queen, a bitch, but a true queen.

She spoke with confidence, people feared her, they came to her with their problems. Her men were loyal to her, not her brother, unlike Lyarra.

Lyarra’s whole story relied on her dragons and the claim Robb had made on her behalf. The assumption she was the child of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

An assumption that would either be confirmed or denied with the arrival of Catelyn Stark.

She arrived three days after they themselves had arrived in the moat. Robb escorted her into a room where all the lords were waiting with baited breath.

“I was sent south to speak with my lord husband,” Lady Catelyn said at the front of the room. “I was told the Lannisters had sent an assassin after my son. I was told I could come to Greywater Watch for answers about his… the child’s birth”

She refused to say bastard. She refused to call her his child, though she supposed if the rumors were true she really wouldn’t be. That thought made her feel ill.

“On the road north to the neck I was met with one Tyrion the imp Lannister, he was taken as my hostage in the eyrie. He won a trial by combat and was allowed to leave.” This resulted in jeers and yells from the crowd. Those cursing the imp, cursing the gods, and cursing the Lannisters.

She had spoken to the Lannister dwarf once during the feast. He had good advice, he was smart. Bran had told her the imp had given him a design for a saddle he could ride. He didn’t seem like the type to send a hired hand after an ill little boy.

“After I left the eyrie we met with one of the lord Reed's men. He gave me,” Catelyn reached into her pocket and grabbed a letter, “this sealed note.”

Lyarra didn’t even bother reaching out to receive the note, Lady Catelyn moved to hand it to her son anyway.

Robb glanced at her as if to ask if she wanted to read it herself. She waved him off, she wouldn’t be able to read that thing aloud without a waver of voice. No matter what the letter said.

Robb nodded and turned back to the paper. The lords stared with bated breath as he broke the lizard-lion seal.

“To my Lords Stark,” he began, his hands shaking, she realized. She understood if this didn’t say what he wanted it to, their whole claim would be based on a lie. “I acted as squire in Lord Eddard Stark’s party during the rebellion. We had journeyed south to find the lady Lyanna, we did find her in what Prince Rhaegar had named the tower of joy. Protecting the tower had been three kingsguard including one ser Arthur Dayne. Many of you know this story, I feel no need to tell this bit. Only me and Lord Eddard came out of the fight alive. Lord Stark had rushed up the tower to see his sister, I had followed. I found him cradling her, silent with grief, the only noise in the room was the crying of a babe. A babe she and the prince had named Visenya Targaryen.”

Robb’s whole body language relaxed as he finished reading, his gamble had paid off. “And it is sighed with Lord Holwland Reed's name and titles,” Robb finished.

She didn’t know what she expected but it wasn’t the eerie silence she got. Maybe cheers or jeers or anger or laughter. Everyone seemed too shocked for that.

She wasn’t a bastard.

They had been assuming she’d be some bastard Targaryen. A weak claim.

Robb had not only been correct about her being their child but he had under assumed. By all accounts she had always been the rightful heir to the throne. A true born daughter.

Her father had lied, Ned Stark had lied. Her biggest reservation over the whole thing had been the fact that she didn’t believe that man could lie. He was honorable. So honorable he had kept a bastard in his keep and raised her as his own.

So honorable it seemed that he betrayed the king for his sister. Was that honor?

Was it honor when he lied to the supposed daughter he had been charged with protecting. She shouldn’t be so angry, she knew this, he had saved her life. If the king had known she would’ve been killed. Still she felt a sort of resentment inside herself.

He knew she was the heir, a true princess and he had let her live in shame. He knew who she was and he had let lady Catelyn walk all over her, treating her like the dirt beneath her shoe.

She glanced over to see the woman in question, behind her stood her uncle the blackfish. Her face was turned away, her bright red hair covering her expression.

A sick part of Lyarra wanted to see Lady Catelyn’s shame filled face. She wanted Lady Stark to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. She wanted to deny her that forgiveness.

It was the same little voice that told her to burn her enemies. That told her to take charge, to act cruelly. The voice that told her to want, to win at any cost.

It was a voice she shoved deep down inside. That was the voice of the Targeryens, a voice that told her to spread fire and blood.

She looked away from the lady Stark to see a hundred eyes staring at her. They wanted her to speak but she had nothing to say. Her emotions were overwhelmed enough as it was. There was nothing she felt she could say.

Robb pushed her forward slightly, trying to encourage her to speak.

“My lords, I will be the queen you need in this time of strife. I promise to rule well and true, we will bring back my lord fa-“ she corrected herself, “my lord uncle. And my cousins.”

The crowd cheered, raising their swords and bending their knees.

Still she felt no more like a queen then she had just twenty minutes ago. She still did not feel like a queen when lord Rickard Karstark placed a crown of iron on her head.

The crown felt too heavy, it shifted on her head nearly falling off. She had to reach up and hold it to keep it on her head.

Robb hugged his mother once the rest of the men left. The only ones who remained in the room were herself, Robb, the blackfish, and Lady Stark.

“Was the journey alright for you?” Robb asked, he had always been a mama’s boy. He would run to her with all his problems. Lyarra had no such person to turn to.

“It was manageable, Ser Rodrik was helpful,” she said. She had still not acknowledged Lyarra.

“Where is he, I had thought to reward him,” Robb said.

“I sent him away to be with the boys. They are all alone, they need someone there,” she said.

They need you there, Lyarra thought bitterly. Rickon had kept calling her mother the last time he saw her. The boy was three and couldn’t tell who his mother was.

“They need you there,” Robb repeated the words from her head as if he had read her mind.

Lady Catelyn argued, citing Robb needed her as well. That he was going to war.

Lyarra wasn’t a mother, she wondered how she would behave in this situation. She wondered how the woman who apparently was her mother would have behaved.

Would Lyanna Stark insist on staying by her side? Would Lyanna Stark hug her and kiss her head and tell her everything would work out the way lady Stark did to her children.

She wondered if Lyanna Stark would shun her husband's bastard. If she would wish death upon them, if she would deny them comfort.

She supposed she’d never know.

Everyone seemed to remember her so glamorously. In so many people’s eyes she was some sort of goddess, immune to all lust and hatred and wrongness. A perfect being forever stuck at the age she died.

In truth her lord father, uncle, had always said she was most like Lyanna. She supposed in his own way he was leaving breadcrumbs for her to follow to the truth.

If that was even the truth, part of her still couldn’t fully believe.

“You’re grace,” the blackfish kneeled in front of her pulling her from her thoughts. “I am here to serve you.”

She thought of him oddly. He didn’t seem so terrible though he had been gazing at her all day, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She supposed Lady Stark must’ve told some evil tales of her husband's bastard.

“Thank you my lord,” Lyarra said awkwardly, bidding him to rise.

Lady Stark did not speak to her.

She didn’t bother to stay to watch the little Tully reunion. She felt unwanted in the room. She had walked to her own room in the dilapidated keep.

Right as she got the the door she got a better idea, Theon. He had left with the other lords. She haden’t visited him in a long while, being in a castle instead of tents made it harder to sneak about without being seen. Especially a castle she didn’t know.

Added onto that she had become more wary of people watching her. She knew it wasn’t Dacey that had told Robb, she had asked and the older girl denied.

Still it had to have been someone.

Despite her cautiousness she couldn’t find herself caring if anyone saw her now as she strutted to Theon’s room. People knew they were friendly, it was the middle of the day, not at all suspicious.

Her pace slowed as she saw someone in the path who would definitely care about her sneaking into a man’s room. Daytime or otherwise.

Lyarra pursed her lips, “Lady Stark.”

The lady frowned. She looked just as hesitant to speak to Lyarra as Lyarra felt talking to her. “Your grace I hope your journey found you well,” her voice was as kind and fake as always. It was the voice she had used on Cersei Lannister.

It wasn’t a voice Lyarra was used to. Lyarra was used to her unmasked disgust. No one cared if you were rude to a bastard, now that she was a queen it was different.

She wished she would be happy about that, but she didn’t feel it. She just felt anger that lady Stark seemed to ignore the many years of tension and hatred. She couldn’t help but let that anger seep out, “don’t pretend you're okay with this,” she spat.

“I am,” Lady Stark said politely, “the north has accepted you as their queen therefore you are my queen as well.”

Lyarra laughed and shook her head, people can’t just change like that. This wasn’t how this was all meant to happen, lady Stark was meant to come to her in tears, to grovel.

Though even then she didn’t know if that would make her feel better. It probably wouldn’t.

Lyarra suddenly didn’t want to see Theon. She suddenly didn’t want to see anyone. She wanted to be alone.

She turned to leave, as she did she heard lady Stark’s voice. “I’m sorry,” the voice was small. She hardly heard it.

She turned to see Lady Stark in the same position, however her previous high strung stance was gone. Instead she was hunched slightly, looking nervous. It made her look significantly younger.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. I was young and confronted with what I thought was the infidelity of my new husband. I could not embrace you no matter how I tried,” she said the words with shame.

Lyarra couldn’t believe the lady would admit wrongdoing. Still she couldn’t really believe the words.

The only reason Lady Stark was taking it all back now was because she had found out the truth. If that had never been revealed things would’ve stayed the same forever.

She left without acknowledging the woman’s words.

Lyarra sat in her room in quite discomfort after the events of the day. She was tired but it was too early to sleep.

Dacey stuck her head in the room right as she laid down. “My queen?”

Lyarra glanced at her confused, “yes?”

Dacey smirked, “I have been informed by my mother of a war council. If you would like to attend with me.”

Lyarra shot up, walking quickly to her side. She hadn’t been to a single war council, she knew she could barge in and being their queen they could rightfully kick her out. Still no one came to invite her, Robb didn’t even tell her when they were happening.

She felt as though he was purposely trying to cut her out of the bloody part of the process of getting her on the throne.

She would not play that game, now that she knew she was a true born heir there was no chance of getting out of this queen arrangement. If she would be queen, if people would die to put her on the throne she would be there with them.

“Did they ask for me?” She asked as she walked beside the tall girl. She knew the answer already, she just hoped it was different this time.

“Not exactly but I want you there, I’m asking for you” Dacey said proudly.

Lyarra snorted, just as she suspected.

The second they noticed her walking in they stood. She waved them off, “please don’t do that. I don’t need it.”

Robb looked awkward, confused, “why are you here?”

“I’m here to sit in on the war council,” she said, attempting to flex her queenly power as she sat next to Theon.

The council was dull, she added her input every once in a while but was treated to kind smiles and nods. Then her advice was not mentioned again, she knew she was green, she didn’t know battle. Neither did Robb though, they seemed to have a fine time listening to him.

She was hardly acknowledged until the mention of her dragons. “We could always just burn them,” lord Galbert Glover suggested, “we do have dragons.”

The men looked to her.

Lyarra scowled, “we do not have dragons. I have dragons. If what your planning is correct, to go riverrun and break the siege, you’ll be fighting in the woods. What do you expect, my lord, will happen when I set my dragons on the wood.”

The grown man was blushing, “it will burn.”

She smiled, she could hear Dacey sniggering next to her, “yes my lord. It would burn, as would everyone in it. Fire does not know friend from foe.”

After that the men looked too scared to speak to her. She shouldn’t have been so rude, she was just frustrated. They didn’t value her as a queen, they didn’t value her advice, they only valued her blood and dragons.

She didn’t go to Theon that night though Dacey offered to smuggle her over. She was busy thinking of the march they would go on. The battle that would happen in just two days.

When she was young her father, uncle, had told her stories. She had always been a quiet babe with no friends according to the men of Winterfell. She would sulk about, every once in a while Lord Stark would find her as she sulked and tell her stories.

One story that had stuck with her was the story of the night of the laughing tree.

It was the tourney at harrenhall, the very same tourney her apparent mother and father had met at. A crannogman, one of the swamp men that resided in the neck at greywater watch, had been mocked by a few squires of a few great knights.

The squires had been younger, none older than five and ten her father had told her. And the crannogman was already grown. Still they were bigger, stronger, and armed better.

The assailants had taken his spear and thrown him to the ground, they had mocked him.

The boys had squired for three knights, one from house Haigh, one from house Blount, and one from house Frey. During the first two days of the tournament all these knights had won their flowers earning praise.

On the last day of the tourney a mystery knight had appeared, his sigil was a white weirwood tree with a laughing red face.

The mystery knight challenged all three. He won taking their horses and armor as a reward. ‘They demanded their things back,’ Lord Stark would say smiling, ‘the knight said they ought to teach their rude squires some honor.’

Lyarra had desperately questioned him asking who the knight was. She could tell by the way he told the story he knew. He would smile and shake his head and tell her he couldn’t say.

Lyarra imagined herself in that place. The short knight in the mismatched armor, bearing a symbol she created herself, defending those who could not defend herself.

Her mind came back to a phrase she had thought of before, if people would die to put her on the throne she would be there with them. She had to be their with them.

Between the Moat and Riverrun stood the twins. If they didn’t go through the twins they would have to go a long way around through the kings road. That was something that couldn’t happen.

According to Lady Stark the old lord of the twins was unlikely to come to their aid easily. So there they sat debating who should convince him to open his gates.

“Lya,” Robb was pleading with her, “my mother knows this man.”

She didn’t understand his insistence, she was a queen. She couldn’t lead in battle according to him and now he was telling her she wasn’t allowed to treat with lords. What was she for than, she wondered.

“Not well,” she responded “when’s the last time you saw him, lady stark?”

The lady still could mot meet her eyes. She responded quietly “not since I was a child.”

Lyarra turned back to Robb, “I am your queen, I will go.”

“You could be killed, your grace, it would be safer for you to stay.” The greatjon said beside Robb.

Lord Karstark nodded, “you are the only one who can control the dragons and our only claim to the throne. You cannot die here.”

She shook her head, “I could collapse right here of illness, or be kicked by your horse. If you’re really so worried I’ll be killed then lock me in a tower.”

They seemed unconvinced, Robb especially.

“Theon can come with me,” she suggested.

Robb’s eyes widened, he looked like he had swallowed a lemon. “No, no, take one of your queensguard.”

She decided on Dacey and the smalljon. Dacey at her own urging and the smalljon at Robb’s. Lady Stark came with them as well, seeing as she was the only one who knew the man.

They rode to the gates, on their horses. She looked back, on the horizon she could see their army waiting to cross.

Above the army her dragons stood tall, they were growing fast. Unnaturally fast. Currently the largest was slightly larger than their tallest horse.

The gates opened to let them in and the archers atop the towers followed them with their eyes and bows.

They were taken into the hall, the old man Walder Frey was carried in by his sons. Lady Stark had told them of him, his age, his many wives and many children.

She hadn’t expected him to be that old however. He looked like a corpse, hardly alive.

“Well who is this?” His voice was raised and harsh, it held authority but also age.

“You speak to the lady Visenya Targeryen, the first and only queen of the seven kingdoms, the andals, the roynar, and the first men.” The smalljon announced, he sounded proud.

She cringed at the name that was not hers.

Walder Frey laughed, “queen,” he snorted followed by a sick sounding cough. “Queens and kings everywhere you look. I shit kings now, damn you all.”

Lyarra fisted her dark blue dress. They had hardly spoken to the man and she already hated him. Lady Stark took his words in stride, not flinching for a moment.

She doused him in flattery. He responded with mockery of her Tully maiden name.

Lyarra held no love for Catelyn Stark but still, Robb would have not stood for his mother being mocked. Lyarra would also not stand for it.

“My lord,” she stepped forward, using a voice loud enough the old man’s nearly deaf ears could hear.

“The little girl queen I see, I’ll say you're much prettier than those other so-called kings. I’ve just been remarried but they tend to drop like flies,” Lord Frey laughed.

She scowled at the implication, “my lord you may think me a pretender on the same level as the rest of the false kings but I tell you I am not. The blood in my veins is the blood of the dragon,” it felt wrong to say but it was necessary to prove her worth. “The men out there are usurpers to the throne.”

Lord Frey coughed, “little girl you do not remember the dragon. I remember the dragon, I remember Aegon the fifth. I remember Jaehaerys the third, and I remember the mad king Aerys. I held no love for any of those uppity dragon characters. They thought they were better than us all. They couldn’t even breed with us, only marrying into their Valyrian family. Now look where they are, in the dirt!” Lord Frey laughed once more as if he had told the funniest joke.

She didn’t know her family, he was right. She had never met a single Targaryen. She held no love for them either, the only thing that connected them was blood.

What she did feel kinship to was her dragons. She had been told stories of Aerys II, he was no dragon. She was a dragon.

“What would you have me do for you my lord, so that you might open your gates for our army.”

Lord Frey smiled, half his teeth gone from age, rotted out of his mouth. “It just so happens I have children for marrying. Here in front of me stands a queen, unmarried.”

“Your grace no,” Dacey spoke behind her. The others mirrored her, they did not want her to give into his demands.

She had seen these Frey boys, there was no chance she’d get stuck with one of them. She thought of Theon.

“I have a proposition for you, my lord Frey,” she felt something in her bones. A demanding feeling, flames under her skin.

A roar sounded from outside, lord Frey along with his children jumped in fear. She was sure the smalljon, Lady Stark, and Dacey had also flinched. Outside screams resounded.

“You are bed bound, are you not Lord Frey? It can be difficult to get up at such an old age, I understand. Since you can’t get up to see our army I have taken to bringing it to you.”

Pieces of the wall crumbled as talons dug into it, the face of her great red dragon peeked in. Screams could be heard from outside.

She moved to where her dragon had made the hole in the stone wall. He slithered inside, squeezing through the crack in the wall like a cat. He settled beside her as she pet his head. His eyes were trained on the old Lord Frey.

Lord Frey was clutching his chest, he looked like he might’ve been having a stroke.

“See, I am unlike those other Targeryens. I have dragons.” She traced his scales, “have you seen Harrenhal my lord?”

The Lord Frey was struck silent, none of the laughing and joking from before. He nodded.

“Harren the Black also stayed in his towers thinking he was immune to the wars outside. Aegon the conqueror used his dragons to melt his towers with him inside.” She smiled, “that was a larger dragon of course, but these are smaller towers. Would you like to test their firepower?”

Lord Frey let them in with little fuss from that point. He held a quiet scowl as they passed through his gates.

“You have made an enemy of house Frey,” Lady Stark said.

“They would have never been our ally, let them be our enemy,” Lyarra responded.

Some took the side of Lady Stark disagreeing with her decision to threaten the Frey’s. The Mormonts were one, Robb and the blackfish. Other as well, the Manderlays.

Many of the northerners supported her decision. They were harsh men who hated being mocked, the smalljon laughed when they walked away from the twins to inform the army they could pass.

He thought what she had done was a grand thing. His father and the Karstarks agreed enthusiastically. They had no patience for disrespect or lack of honor.

Either way they moved their army through.

“Did I make the right decision,” she asked Theon. She wasn’t so sure now, the Frey’s had few supporters she doubted they could rally enough people to betray her cause.

Still if given the option she knew they would join the Lannisters. For now, as they were surrounded by rivermen and Northmen, they would not dare.

“Of course, this is your job as queen. You must put those who doubt you in their place. Who will follow you if you allow disobedience and disrespect," Theon said.

They made their way to whispering wood while the Bolton broke off to go to where Tywin Lannister sat with his army. They set up camp just beyond the wood.

Robb and the rest of the lords intended for her and lady Stark to wait at the camp with some forty men protecting them.

Forty men for her to sneak past plus the two from her queensguard who hadn’t followed Robb into battle.

She hadn’t told a single person, not Theon, nor even Dacey. Theon would’ve stopped her, she knew this. Dacey might’ve agreed to help but she didn’t want to risk it. Either way both would be going off to fight with Robb.

She had stayed up late sneaking about gathering armor. She had her sword which was good enough, she took an amalgamation of various pieces of discarded armor she found. Perhaps some weren’t discarded but she was sure they wouldn’t be missed.

The armor fit loose when she tried it on. Some pieces were more worn, some pieces new. But it was good enough for her.

She had spent the night in her camp contemplating a sigil. Perhaps a wolf like Ghost?

Knowing what she knew now it didn’t seem right. Her direwolf had died as had her Stark identity. So she took her mud and on the chest plate drew a dragon. The mud dried white so the dragon shone on the dark metal chest plate.

Before the battle began she pulled on the arm of one of the men guarding her and lady Stark. “I’d like to be with my dragons,” she said.

He looked scared at his queens speaking to him, “your grace, Robb Stark has told me to keep you and lady Stark together, with us, for your safety.”

She raised her eyebrow, “and who is higher in the chain of command. Robb or your queen?”

The man sputtered, “you, your grace.”

The other guards had only questioned her in passing, about ten stayed with her and the dragons. The men got ready for was as she left to be with her dragons.

The guards watched her closely, not close enough. She slipped under the large wing on her green dragon and used it as cover to run out without eyes on her.

The green dragon had made a move to follow her, she pushed his head away, listening for him to go back with his brothers. He whined slightly but moved back.

She walked through the mud slipping into her tent. She put on her armor price by peace of her own, outside she heard the yelling of the people preparing for battle. Cheering, crying, praying, she hoped no one had noticed her leaving. At least not yet.

The armor was heavy, difficult to put on. She tied her hair tight into a bun before placing on her helmet.

The helm was too large. It limited her vision as she could only see through the small slit in the front. She steadied it on her head, holding it in place as she walked out the back of her tent.

She grabbed her horse and got on.

People ran about, some on horses, some on foot. In the distance she saw those she recognized, the Umbers, Robb, the rest.

“Are you in the van?” A man yelled at her from below.

She didn’t know what the van was, vanguard she guessed. Theon had briefly explained it was the first wave of soldiers. She knew Robb and Theon and much of her queensguard would be in the cavalry.

Robb would be in the west flank, from what they had said during the meeting Dacey took her too. They’d be going after the kingslayer.

The Mormonts and Umbers would be in the east and north. The blackfish would lure the Lannisters into the woods, then they’d attack from all sides.

She opened her mouth to speak and then realized the possible negative consequences of that. She nodded, she’d be with the first wave of men.

He pointed her west, where Robb was marching out to. She rode to where they were.

She should be scared, she knew that, but she just didn’t feel it. She felt giddy, she wondered if this was how Theon felt. She always judged how excited he got about death. But this feeling was addictive.

She tried to keep a low profile staying with the other mounted knights. She blended into the crowd as they marched into the woods.

There were no drums, no trumpets, their arrival was meant to be quiet. The Lannisters weren’t supposed to know how many they had.

She waited with baited breath. Near her some men were crying, some cursing themselves or their gods.

For a moment she thought about what would happen if she died. They would have no queen, her dragons no mother. Suddenly this decision felt stupid.

Stupid but still exciting.

Suddenly people were yelling, the men around her moving, she moved with the crowd. There was the slashing of swords followed by the screaming of men in agony.

Blood sprayed onto her helm as one of the men coming at her was cut in the throat. Suddenly her horse was falling to the floor. She jumped away as it crashed to the ground, rolling on the floor to avoid injuring her ankles. She had learned much since her time in the mountains.

She stumbled away from her horse to see the many men crashing against each other. Some small folk slashed wildly, the knights parleyed with each other. Both experienced and unexpected dropped.

Behind her someone screamed, snapping her back to reality, she moved quickly, slashing him. She hadn’t expected the man to drop so easy but he did. He laid writhing on the floor in agony, then he was still, eyes unblinking. He lay atop another dead body.

She had no time to stop and contemplate what had been done as someone else was now lunging at her. Unlike the man before this, this one was armored.

He wore Lannister red and seemed like he knew what he was doing. He was better than Theon, better than her.

She thought she might fail as he leaned into her with his blade. She could see his eyes through the slit of her helm, he looked angry. And confident.

The man’s eyes widened, someone had hit him from behind, she realized. She took the opportunity to throw his sword away stabbing him the the throat.

Her steel went red with blood, she lowered her sword realizing the head was stuck. She placed her boot on the corpse's chin pulling her steel out of the man.

She turned to parley with another knight. This one wasn’t as good as the last. He was overconfident though, she slid her sword through a break in his armor. He held the wound but didn’t go down.

Another man moved in on her right side. Now she dealt with two, one being injured, still it was more than she could handle.

She moved between the two trying to find some sort of opening. The injured man slashed her armor but it did not break through. She turned to him, kicking him to the floor, then shoving her sword through the same wound she had made before. This time deep enough to kill him.

She turned to the other man, he was dealing with one of their knights. She didn’t know which but he wore the Stark direwolf.

She went in to assist him, swinging her sword while his back was turned. She sliced through nearly half his neck, her sword stopped at the spine.

The Stark knight regarded her, then nodded, and turned to continue fighting.

It made her feel giddy.

“Damn!” She exclaimed as she felt a sharp sting in her shoulder. She turned to see the point of a bloody sword in her face.

She fought the sword away, her right shoulder ached. The man had slashed it between the gaps in her armor. Only a few hacks was all it took to send him to the ground.

She backed up into a tree clutching her bleeding shoulder. It was painful, her ankle injury in the mountains had been worse. If she could live with that she could live with this.

As she stood, her back to the tree, she felt a bang against her helm. She fell to the floor, landing atop a squishy body. She looked up the see a large man with a hammer, his arms were back, in a position to deal a finishing blow.

She closed her eyes waiting for it to come down on her chest.

It didn’t.

She looked up to see him their no longer, instead he was on the ground. An arrow where the slit on his own helm was. It had gone right through his eye.

She looked behind herself to see who had shot the arrow.

Despite being dazed from the blow to the head she was able to spot the archer a ways a way on the horizon. She nearly laughed, she knew that armor, that green cape, the kraken chest plate.

Theon had just saved her life and he didn’t even know it.

Seems the cavalry was here.

A figure that looked to be Robb moved to Theon. It seemed like they were speaking. Rob pointed and together with the rest of their crew they began to run.

They had spotted Jamie Lannister, she realized.

She stumbled to her feet, grabbed her sword which had fallen out of her hand, and ran to catch up to them.

She reached a break in the woods, in the center of the clearing Jamie Lannister was fighting a group of twelve men. And women including Dacey. One was already on the floor, she couldn’t tell who it was.

She ran towards them as she saw a Lannister man approaching one of the fighters behind. They were attempting to make an opening for the kingslayer to break free of those surrounding him, she realized.

She slashed the man once in the heel, he fell to the floor. Then she stuck her sword in his chest.

She turned to see the man she saved. Torrhen Karstark, she realized.

She looked at him with wide eyes, for a moment Lyarra thought he recognized her. But he soon turned back to the kingslayer.

She thought to help them, to try and vanquish ser Jamie. She knew by seeing him fighting she couldn’t, he was too good for her. He was better than all the men their combined.

She knew she would only be a hindrance if she tried to help.

She shook her head going after the other Lannister men who were attempting to surround them and free Jamie. She continued as she had, protecting those fighting the kingslayer against the attackers around them.

Next to her Greywind fought. He saved her a fare few times protecting her back as she parleyed with soldiers.

She could see the recognition in his eyes when he looked to her.

In the end she killed five more Lannister men before they were able to subdue the kingslayer. He was held on the ground by Dacey, stuck on his sword was the head of Daryn Hornwood.

They had only captured him because his sword got stuck.

The man on the ground was Eddard Karstark, his younger brother Torrhen collapsed over his body. He cradled it in his arms.

She thanked the gods Robb was okay.

They walked back in a group, in the center the shackled Jamie Lannister. She kept to the back, not taking off her helmet like the others.

The battlefield was riddled with bodies, some already had scavenging animals atop them. Crows and vultures making a feast of those who had lost.

Men screamed out for help. Some were being carried back to camp in gurneys. Some had limbs only attached by small pieces of flesh. Others wounds so deep you could see their internal organs.

There were old men in the crowds running back to camp, and young boys. All had been forced by their lords to fight in battles for people they didn’t know or care for.

It was gruesome but necessary for her to see, this was the price of her being queen. This is what it cost.

Was it worth it, she wondered.

Torrhen held his brother's body, he carried it back to his father. Lord Karstark turned away from the crowd as he was handed the corpse of his eldest son. His shoulders shook, he was crying.

They mourned for a moment.

One of the men who had been watching her ran up to Robb shaking his shoulder. “She’s missing,” Lyarra overheard him whisper, “the queen.”

Robb’s reaction was immediate, they exchanged in fierce quiet whispers as the kingslayer was handed off to someone else.

She considers her options, she could remain in quiet infamy like the knight of the laughing tree. Or she could reveal herself. Robb would be angry, but he could be angry.

“You saved my life,” Torrhen Karstark said, grabbing her hand. “Who are you good ser. You will surely be rewarded for how you helped us today.”

She would make all this pain worth it. She would rule well, here and now is where she would start.

She grabbed the large helm, removing it from her head.

The second he saw her face his eyes widened, he dropped to his knees in reverence. The other men looked to see what he was doing, upon seeing her they did the same.

She stepped forward, her hands were shaking. She wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

“I was raised,” she hesitated, she didn’t know if this was right to say. But she had to say it anyway. “I was raised a bastard, this is an outcome I had never thought to expect. No matter my name or my parentage, my siblings are Starks.” She looked to Robb, “I was raised by Starks, I will always be of the north. And I will always value the north. I am no mad king Targeryen, I will give you victory then I will give you peace. I promise to fight for you!”

Cheers broke out among them men, they drowned out the sounds of the cries of the injured. The yells of men in pain were covered by cries of “my queen.”

For a moment she could forget all the bodies in the woods.

For the first time since she had been crowned she truly felt like she fit the title.

Chapter Text

Robb burst into the tent, on the table was Lyarra. Her stolen armor riddled the floor in pieces, all covered in blood. Not her blood it seemed.

Her shirt was off, the only covering on her a strip of cloth around her chest. It was a compromising position to see his sister in. Or cousin as it were.

Around her was Torrhen Karstark, Theon Greyjoy, and Dacey Mormont.

The Mormont girl he didn’t mind. Theon Greyjoy and Torrhen Karstark were much more upsetting to him. Especially Theon who he had been told was sleeping with his sister, despite his adamant denial.

She had a wound in her shoulder, a slice that was being wrapped crudely. They would have to wait till they moved into Riverrun to visit a maester.

“Your head hurts?” He asked, she was clutching her hair.

“A little,” the woman attending to her walked away with a bow, “apparently I have a concussion.”

Theon reached out and grabbed her hand, he opened his mouth to say something.

“Theon-“ Robb interrupted before he even had a chance to speak. “Torrhen, why don’t you two leave. Dacey, you as well, I’d like to talk with my sister alone.”

“Cousin you mean,” Robb glared at her as she corrected him. He knew she made the same mistake.

The three soldiers left, Theon most hesitantly. After shooting him a harsh glare he ran off.

Robb wondered if he knew, knew what she was planning and let her nearly kill herself. “What were you thinking?” He asked once the curtains closed.

“I was thinking of proving myself as queen,” she sat up straight.

“You are queen. You have the blood. You have the name, even if you refuse to use it. You have dragons for the sake of the gods,” Robb’s arms swung wildly trying to prove his point.

“They respected what I represented, they respected to power my blood and dragons held. The power I could give to them. They didn’t believe in me as a person,” she seethed. “I proved otherwise. You saw them out there, they saw what I did, my dedication. They know I will fight and die for them. Now they believe in me not only as a symbol but as a person."

She was right, men had praised her. He couldn’t do the same.

“You could’ve died. Where would our claim be then?” He was irate.

She paused, then answered lightly “dead I believe."

He couldn’t believe her. She was joking. She could’ve died and she was joking about it. She could’ve died and everything would’ve fallen apart.

She sucked in a breath then spoke more genuinely. “You haven’t believed in me, nor has anyone else. I wanted to show you I could do it, I could sacrifice myself for this cause.”

“I believed in you. I named you as queen because I believed you could do it. I would’ve had otherwise.” He grabbed her hand, then settled down next to her in the bed.

“You never showed it,” she moved her hand away but didn’t push him out of the bed.

“I will now,” he leaned towards her, “what do you want.”

She bit her lip, “I want to be on the war council.”

Robb scowled, “you are on it.”

She huffed, “you know what I mean. I want to be invited, I want to have an active role.”

He hadn’t wanted that because he thought she didn’t want it. Or that she couldn’t handle it.

She had told him she didn’t want to be queen, he felt awful the day she had come home and he had presented the idea to the lords without asking her. He didn’t ask her first because he knew she’d say no, that she’d try to find another way. She was a northerner at heart, she would never want a southern crown.

He had to do it.

People would rally around a dragon, maester Lewin had told him that. It was true, he saw it here today.

“Any other demands?”

Her eyes narrowed, “anything and everything you do I need to be told. No more quiet meetings between you and the blackfish. Even if you don’t think I’ll understand, I want to know. I want to know why and how we are doing this.”

His great uncle was his informant. The things they spoke about he didn’t even tell many of the lords, they were attack plans.

He knew she was trustworthy, she wouldn’t destroy their chances at winning or sell them out. Still he hesitated in accepting.

“I’ll do that,” he began.

“But?”

“But, only if you stop seeing Theon.”

She shot up, stumbling and clutching her head. She paced the tent. “You can’t tell me to stop seeing him. He works with me, he helps me as an advisor. He’s valuable, the Greyjoy heir. He goes into battle with you, you want to… what? Send him away?”

She was angry, angry meant guilty, “you know what I mean. Stop seeing him in… that way.” He didn’t want to say it aloud.

“Why do you want to ruin this,” she was frenzied. Her earlier calmness and joy was gone.

“I’m not ruining anything. You hate Theon, why are you doing this in the first place?” Robb didn’t understand. They had grown up together, he was the one who would constantly try and force them together.

They hadn’t wanted to be friends then, he didn’t understand why they wanted to be more than that now. He didn’t understand why they kept it from him.

She gradually calmed herself down, she gave him a firm look. It was wild, like a cornered animal. “You really wish to know what happened.”

“Yes,” clearly he did. He could not think of a good enough explanation for all of this.

“It was during the king's visit. He had been… very forward. After the feast he cornered me in the hall,” he looked down at her lap awkwardly fillding with her thumbs.

Robb knew that. Robb knew where this was going.

“He had pushed me against the wall. He tried to-“

Robb didn’t want to hear this.

“You can imagine what he tried to do.” She paused,” Theon saw us, he lied for me. Told the king he was needed elsewhere.”

“He could have died for that,” Robb said

“He could’ve. We both could’ve. It’s a good thing that asshole collapsed in the hallway before he could find out he was lying. I went to his room with him.” She laughed, “it’s stupid, I know, but I was scared he’d come back. So I stayed with Theon. It wasn’t anything like that, it was protection, comfort. It just kept happening. But we haven’t done anything, and I can’t believe I have to convince my own brother of that.”

“Cousin you mean,” he replied lightly.

She laughed.

Robb still didn’t understand why he did it. He knew Theon wasn’t as bad as his mother made him out to be. He was ironborn for sure, the drinking, the sex, but Robb believed he could be as loyal as any Stark. He believed this despite the northern lords' assertion that the Greyjoy heir was a snake in the grass.

Still he wasn’t the type to risk his life for someone, definitely not a girl he seemingly couldn’t stand. “Why'd he do it?”

She shrugged, “I asked him the same thing. He said he didn’t know, he just did. I guess it’s an action before thoughts type of thing.”

“So does this mean you’re okay with me and Theon… swing each other," she asked.

He didn’t know.

The origins of their relationship seemed alright. He had imagined Theon crawling into her bed, taking her maidenhead. It was far more innocent than all that. In fact it seemed Theon had acted quite honorably.

Still she couldn’t shake the thought of them together, it was wrong. He knew they insisted nothing had happened, he trusted them. Lyarra at least. Who knows what would happen in the future.

If they did… do something. Anything. Everything could go down the drain.

“If you had a child-“

“We haven’t done anything like that! I’ve told you already,” she groaned in frustration.

“I’m saying in the future. If you did, by chance. You understand your no man. That could ruin you.”

She blushed, “I know I’m not stupid.”

He sighed, “you’ll never be able to marry.”

“Who said we wanted to?” She smiled at him.

He had assumed. Though it made sense love wasn’t like Theon, he threw himself at anything that moved. Lyarra was also not one for romance, she was always more the rugged type.

Still her response was very much like that of a queen. Bold and unbothered.

The medic was called back in and she finished her work. Robb stepped out as Lyarra got changed.

She had walked into the tent in bloody armor and walked out in a fine rabbit fur lined dress. “Well?”

Robb pursed his lips, “well what?”

“I thought I’d be involved in everything from now on. We have the kingslayer. Have you seen him yet?” She asked as she began to walk.

Torrhen Karstark, the smalljon Umber, and Dacey Mormont were quick to shuffle in behind them, Greywind as well. “No, he had not been spoken to.”

“Now is as good a time as ever,” she grinned at him, giddy.

The kingslayer was in chains on the mud floor.

”Are we going to Riverrun so soon?” He said cocky, “I quite enjoyed the great wide open, the riverlands are such a pretty place. Shame this will all be burned in a year. You didn’t actually think you would win this war?”

”That’s a lot of lip from a man in chains,” Robb growled back.

”And who are you?” The Lannister man said turning his attention to Lya.

”I’m the queen of the seven kingdom the roynar and the first men.”

”You’ve changed so much!” He laughed, “Last time I saw you you were blonde, and a fair bit older.”

”You have the pleasure to speak to Visenya Targaryen, true born daughter of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” Torrhen spoke proudly on behalf of his queen.

The Lannister laughed again. “I know that little lie you all have been spreading. It’s a shame to see their two names dragged through the mud.”

”As if you ever really cared for them kingslayer. You murdered Rhaegar’s father and allowed my mother to be kidnapped.”

”Oh so Prince Rhaegar is Rhaegar but Lyanna is mother. Why the distinction, I wonder. Perhaps the guilt of claiming the Targaryen name you have no right to.” He said it angrily. As if her claiming to be a Targaryen was personally insulting to him.

The dragons had a way of appearing behind them right when they were needed. He wondered if Lyarra had some sort of link to them, a kind of magic. He had heard stories that the Targaryens were more dragons than human. Lya never seemed that way, still she did not burn.

A hot breath brushed his back.

The kingslayers eyes went wide with fear. Robb truly believed in that moment the knight would wet himself.

He understood, he often felt the same way about the beasts. Lyarra insisted on keeping them around.

“Dragon.” The blonde man was still rearing in shock.

“Dragons,” Robb said, he emphasized the s, “we have three.” He knew they were Lyarra’s, still, every little boy dreamed of dragons. Now he could brag about having them on his side.

Lyarra smiled, “what were you saying about a false Targaryen claim?”

He blubbered, Robb could tell his eyes were still trained on the dragon's mouth. They weren’t so big to swallow a man whole yet but it only took one bite to bite off a man’s head.

Jamie Lannister was silent after that, despite the smalljon throwing insults. And Torrhen Karstark kicking him in the stomach multiple times, extremely angry about his elder brother's death. The kingslayer stayed quiet in contemplation.

It was satisfying to see a man full of quips suddenly silent. Still his silence made it much less fun to go after him, and far less easy to question him.

As they walked away he realized Lyarra was not following them. He looked back to see her exchanging a few quiet words with the kingslayer.

“What did you say to him?” Robb asked as she walked back to the group.

“Just some extra motivation, don’t worry,” she responded.

“Motivation to do what?”

She shrugged, “serve us.”

A few hours later they were making the march to Riverrun. He was born in Riverrun, he knew that, but still the place was unfamiliar to him.

The tumblestone and red fork rivers split around the castle. He could see the river road. Just a ways down you’d get right to lannisport the heart of the Lannister country.

It was smaller than Winterfell but the light red sandstone walls were more intricately carved. The north cared little for fancy embellishments.

His mother, himself, and Lyarra approached the gates. They were met with guardsmen wearing fish crested hems who escorted out his uncle, Edmure, and his great uncle Brynden.

“Father,” his mother asked desperately.

Robb knew his grandfather was unwell. He had been unwell for a long time.

“He’s ill, he wishes to see you,” Edmure said. He then turned to Robb. “Nephew,” he pulled Robb into a hug, “he’d like to see you as well.”

Edmure glanced awkwardly towards Lyarra, but said nothing. It seemed the scars from his fathers possible infidelity still run deep.

He didn’t understand the Tully’s lingering hesitance, especially his mother. He thought the second he read that letter aloud she would be elated to find out her husband didn’t break faith. He thought she would hug Lyarra crying, that she would be happy. He thought Lyarra would be happy too.

Both looked uncomfortable and unsatisfied at the information.

It should have fixed their relationship but instead it made it more complicated.

The first thing he did upon coming into Riverrun was go to see his grandfather with his mother and uncle. The blackfish didn’t come with them, according to his mother he had last left Riverrun on poor terms.

He had wanted to stay with Lyarra as she was organizing the people coming into Riverrun but she and his mother insisted he went to see Lord Hoster Tully.

The room smelled of sick. Not for lack of cleaning, there were many attendants outside and the room was spotless.

On the bed lay his lord grandfather.

His hair was grey, unlike Brendyn none of the Tully red remained. He was withered and thin. His blue eyes were pale.

His grandfather reached out upon seeing his mother. “Cat?” His voice wavered.

“Yes father, I’m here.” She held his hand and sat onto the bed with him. “Robb’s here too. My son.”

Lord Hoster’s eyes scanned the room, completely unseeing. They passed over Robb completely. His mother motioned for him to come forward.

He stepped up hesitantly, he didn’t like this. Any of this. He didn’t like to see people dying, especially people dying sick in bed. Seemed the worst way to die. Much better to go out like Eddard Karstark, in the midst of battle.

“Sweet boy,” his grandfather touched his hand. He was looking at him but Robb got the sense he wasn’t really seeing him.

Robb got the sense he was seeing someone else, long dead.

Robb pulled his hand away and got up to leave.

His mother tried to pull him back, he shook her off. He would go Lyarra, she probably needed help. If not her one of the lords.

There was no shame in aging, he knew that. To grow old is a blessing, his father often said. His father knew many who had died young. It seemed with the onset of this war Robb would also know many.

Still he couldn’t help but hate the thought of it. His own parents in that position, Lyarra, Theon, himself even.

When he got to the yard he saw men running around, horses being crowded into stables, tensions were not nearly as high as they had been before the battle.

“Did you see your grandfather,” his uncle asked, approaching him.

“Yes,” Robb responded, “you didn’t I noticed.”

“No I didn’t,” Robb got the sense he didn’t want to speak of it further. He vaguely knew about their family problems, many spoke of how the blackfish was an eternal bachelor.

“Where is Lyarra?” He asked.

“Our dragon queen is with the people helping organize,” Brendyn Tully had less reservations when it came to the new queen. Less than his mother and uncle at least.

“Take me to her?”

They found her setting up the barracks, she spoke enthusiastically with Theon. They were arguing it seemed.

A part of Robb was excited at seeing that. He knew now their relationship wasn’t as terrible as he first thought. At least Theon wasn’t taking advantage of her. Still he didn’t think they belonged together.

“Robb and the blackfish,” Theon noticed them first.

Lyarra then looked over, upon seeing Robb she lit up pulled him into a hug. She gave his great uncle a nod.

“Are things going well, your grace?” His uncle asked politely.

“Yes, I was wondering about the provisions in Riverrun. I’ve spoken to a few of the river lords and it seems most will be going home to protect their lands. So we’ll have less mouths to feed, still all these soldiers on top of planning for winter. I worry we might cripple Riverrun before winter even begins.”

“I don’t know of our food storages now,” he began, “When I still lived here we usually carried enough for about ten fortnights in the summer. More in the winter of course.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Theon said lowly.

“Oh please Theon,” she rolled her eyes.

“Robb will agree,” Theon looked up at him for support.

Robb didn’t know how he was supposed to agree when he didn’t know what he was agreeing with. He doubted he would agree with Theon if Lyarra didn’t. “What do you disagree on?”

“To let the river lords go back to their homes.” Theon said, “If we are attacked again-“

“We won’t be attacked again, not so soon.” Lyarra butt in.

“-But if we are, we'll need their protection. It would be best to keep them here.”

“They need to protect their home,” Lya said, she was frustrated.

“They need to protect their queen,” Theon was firm. Robb had half a mind to tell him not to speak to his queen like that.

Frankly, Robb didn’t know what to think. His mother had expressed the same idea, she thought all the men should stay in Riverrun with the order of keeping them safe. He understood the sentiment.

Though, he couldn’t imagine sitting around here while Winterfell was being attacked though. And not allowing these men to protect their homes might lead to resentment against their new queen.

“Their villages are being burned, they have every right to go back home to protect their people and property,” Robb finally responded after a good while of thinking it through.

“Thank you,” Lyarra said sweetly, Theon groaned. “We ought to tell them they're free to go.”

They meet with riverlords in the great hall. Lord Hoster, his grandfather, was absent. In his place his uncle.

Uncle Edmure seemed nervous sitting beside Lyarra in his fathers seat.

Lya for her part seemed calmer. She wore her iron crown that Robb had forged for her. It was embellished with three dragons.

There hadn’t been a formal meeting between them all. Some had already sworn allegiance to Lyarra in private conversations, some had not yet.

One by one the riverlords came up, the Mudds, the Fishers, the Blackwoods, the Mallisters, the Pipers, and all the others big and small. Even the Frey’s had sent an envoy with them. Each one bent the knee to her and swore fealty. They said brief words of praise to their new queen along with their oaths. Some spoke more empty than others.

As Jonos Bracken walked to the front he did not bend. Instead he stood proud and pointed at the front of the room where he stood with Lyarra. It was accusatory.

“We,” Lord Bracken began, “helped overthrow the Targaryens. Why should we now go back to one? Who’s to say you are different then the mad king who threatened to burn us?”

Northmen yelled demanding he take the statement back. Some River lords mumbled in agreement, even ones who already swore their oaths.

Robb understood, these people did not know his sister. He too would be hesitant to follow a woman he did not know. But faced with dragons most of these men had gone along despite their judgments.

“I'm not like the Targaryens you have seen before, my northerners know this better than anyone.” She said, her voice filled with the kind of authority you only had while a crown rested on your head. “They forgot you, they did not know their own country, all they knew was the south. We are seven kingdoms not one, I will gladly accept input from all my kingdoms. Riverlands included. And I will happily allow you all to go home and protect your land. In fact if it is necessary I will send extra soldiers with you.”

Robb moved to disagree with her but he stopped himself. Openly defying what she was saying would undermine her authority and lessen it in the eyes of the other lords. He kept quiet.

He didn’t agree with Theon that they should force the river lords to stay, he definitely didn’t agree with Lyarra that they should send their own people to help them.

The riverlords, however, accepted this enthusiastically. A few were slightly more hesitant than others.

Jonos Bracken bent the knee quick enough after that.

“You expect us to send our soldiers to protect the homes of these southern pounces,” lord umber said dangerously as he stalked towards his queen after the river lords had left.

Torrhen Karstark stood between the two ready to defend his queen. Greywind began to growl, lord Umber did not back down.

“I expect you to follow the orders of your queen,” she said, putting her hand up to tell those who were attempting to come to her defence to back off. “I know this isn’t ideal but they will not follow me if I allow their villages to burn down. I would have done the same for any of you.”

Robb spoke up in defence of her decision, “the faster they can drive the raiders out of their homes the faster they will come back here to help us when the real battles come. Make that your men’s goal, hold these river lords to their promises and bring them back.”

They did as their queen bid no matter how hesitant they seemed. Some riverlords left that night, some the next day. They didn’t take many northern men, the most were taken by the lords further south.

Robb sat in his room in Riverrun. He heard the rushing water from the rivers outside. His mother had described this to him fondly at Winterfell. About how the sounds of the water relaxed her.

He had often been told he was more Tully than Stark. He had the bright red hair and pale skin and blue eyes. He looked nothing of the north.

He suspected that was part of the reason his mother found Lyarra so intimidating. If she had children the chances were they would look more Stark than his own. If she had a boy, that Stark looking young boy could challenge succession, not unlike the Blackfyres.

She would never do this, he knew. His mother didn’t know that though. Either way she had embedded that sort of insecurity in him.

He knew he was of the north like his father, but he didn’t look it, and he wasn’t born there. The thought lingered as long as he had known how to think, did he really belong in Winterfell? Could he really be warden of the north?

Laying in this bed and hearing the river flow he was sure he could. None of this was right to him. The rain, the warmth, the stickiness of the humidity.

He heard a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

His mother peeked in, “can I come in?”

He didn’t want her to. He didn’t want a lecture. Still this was his mother who he loved, he nodded.

She went in and he made room for her on the bed, she sat beside him, “this was Edmure’s room when he was young you know.”

“It’s nice,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, large windows, fine plaster walls. None of the exposed Winterfell brick. It was nice but too different. “It’s a bit warm,” he added with a shrug.

She laughed at that, “warm? You’re too northern. Further south this weather is the coldest it gets even in the depth of winter.”

“Have you been?” He found himself asking.

“To where?”

“Further south, to the foot of dorne or the reach?” Robb had never been. He didn’t think he wanted to go, Sansa was the one who always dreamed of that.

“No,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ve traveled through the reach on the way to the crown lands though. When king Robert was crowned all the lords from all the lands came to swear feilty.” She paused, then changed the direction of conversation. “Your father has been all over, in times of war though. During those times I sat here, waiting for him to return.”

“Did he ever tell you stories of the war? Of his travels?” Robb had heard stories but all were lessons. Things his father would tell him to stop him or Lyarra from behaving poorly when they were young. When they goofed off instead of focusing on studies he would tell stories of men who goofed off in battle and got killed. Looking back on it now it made Robb laugh, they fell into line like little ducks after hearing those things.

“Less than he told you, probably.” She said softly, “he would try but I’d refuse to hear. I didn’t want anything to do with him for the first year of our marriage I regret to say.”

“Because you thought he had a bastard,” Robb said without a second thought. He cringed at it after.

“Because everyone knew he had a bastard.” Her voice was dry and filled with the lingering anger from her past, “it was a shame for myself far more than it was for him.”

“But he didn’t. He just wanted to keep his sisters child safe.”

“My good sister Lyanna.” She said fondly, “I didn’t know her very well. The last time we spoke I was still engaged to Brandon Stark. The last time we spoke was at the tourney of harrenhall.”

“Was she as beautiful as they say?”

“She looked like Lyarra. I'm not sure how no one ever noticed.”

Robb was surprised she said Lya’s name out loud. Growing up she never spoke it, even more recently she hesitated.

It was like what people thought of demons, that if you said their name out loud it would give them more power.

“Father never seemed the type to lie,” Robb said. He hadn’t expressed the thought to anyone but he could tell they were all thinking it.

“He never lied to me,” She insisted. “He would always say she is my blood. I’d ask who her mother was and he’d say she was important to me. I’d ask if he loved her and he’d say he’d cared for her. He never lied, just omitted truths.”

“Did you always want to marry him,” Robb knew she had been promised to his uncle Brandon Stark, Bran's namesake. But then his uncle died and her plans changed, or rather her fathers plans changed.

He felt like a silly little girl asking the question. Like Sansa. He couldn’t help it though, he was curious. Had she been wanting his father while promised to another?

She smiled, “I did my duty. We learned though, he tried very hard to be pleasant and kind. He built the sept for me in Winterfell when I missed home. Your father is a man of actions not words. Through his actions I came to love him.”

Robb hoped he found that, he knew nothing was ever that simple though. Even with his parents.

He slept dreaming of the Winterfell crypts. In them his father sat sharpening ice. He woke feeling weary.

They sat in the great hall of Riverrun in a war council, their numbers cut in half due to Lyarra’s order. An order he defended.

He was on Lyarra’s right side, lord Karstark on her right, behind her, Theon, Torrhen, and Dacey. The group of three had become a little personal guard beyond her queensguard. It made sense, the current ‘queensguard’, was only a temporary thing.

“Currently that snake Tywin is in harrenhal,” the greatjon growled. They were speaking of their next move in this conflict.

“And Lady Whent?” His sister asked. Ever the kind heart she worried for the lady’s safety.

“The lady is aged and last of her line, she had no men to keep it so she fled,” Lady Mormont said sadly. “The false king Joffery has labeled her a traitor and called for her death.”

“Could we spear any people to escort her here to Riverrun?” Lyarra replied.

“Possibly,” his uncle Edmure said, “but we stretch ourselves thin enough already.”

Lyarra nodded, “if we can we should. Harrenhal will be returned to her when we win the war.”

Hear hear’s sounded from the lords.

“What of the Bolton’s?” Robb asked. He had sent Roose to meet Lord Tywin in conflict with some troops. He had told the man to retreat quickly, as was his strategy.

“They settle near lord Tywin waiting for your word. The Lannisters cannot flee, they are cut off by us.”

“Good,” his plan had worked well but now was the difficult part. Waiting. “We should wait for our people to come back before we do anything harsh.”

He could see lord Karstark fuming beside Lyarra. He man had lost his eldest son and had nearly lost his only other son who had been saved only by Lyarra. He was antsy, Robb understood.

“Keep responding to the movements, take no direct action yet.” He asserted.

“And what of the two other kings?” Lyarra questioned. Both of the dead king Robert’s brothers had declared themselves kings despite being third and fourth in line respectively, and that was ignoring the little girl Marcella.

“Renly has Robert’s look and charisma,” Lord Glover began.

“The look of an old fat man?” Theon interrupted, snorting.

Both Robb and Lyarra glared back at him. He sent Lya a wink, Robb thought he might vomit in his mouth.

“No,” Lord Glover continued, annoyed, “the look of a young Robert. Great and strong and clean. He’s the type people follow and people are following. He’s gathered the storm lands and the reach. Highgarden has declared for him.”

“He has a worse claim than Stannis I thought.” Lyarra said, confused. She wasn’t worried about asking questions. Robb was grateful for that, she often asked aloud the things he was thinking in his head. “And he’s never been to war, my father- er- uncle told many stories of lord Stannis’s power in times of war.”

“The man might be war savvy but he holds no love in people’s hearts.” His uncle Brendyn said, “He has brought together some minor lords, Horpe, Peasbury, none major.”

Lord Umber let out a howl, “not even the man’s wife’s family has declared for him. How pitiful. I’ve known the man, he’s a hard ass but this is quite a sight.”

“He’s sworn to a false god and has a witch whispering in his ear. Many don’t see comfort in that,” one of the northern riverlords that stayed with them added his input.

“Your grace,” a man burst into the room out of breath holding a paper. “News,” his voice was grave. Dark wings dark words, Robb had seen the ravens flying.

Lyarra glanced around nervously, “I’ll have it,” she prompted him to read.

“Lord Stark… he has been killed on the steps of the sept of balor. Killed by the false king's command.”

There was silence, then realization, then pain.

“I don’t- I-,” Robb found himself blubbering. He didn’t have time to see if Lyarra was okay, or to ask if his mother was told yet. He simply stumbled out of the room.

This couldn’t be true.

His father was a valuable asset. He was a hostage, they couldn’t just kill him. They wouldn’t do that. Something had to be wrong, someone had to have lied. It made no sense.

And what of his sisters, there was no mention of Sansa and Arya. What of them? If they would go so far as to kill his father, what would they do to them?

He shook the thought away, the news must be wrong. His father could not be killed like that. Like a simple criminal.

He grabbed his swords and ran to the godswood. There was no heart tree, it had been cut down long ago. It wasn’t like home.

He found himself hacking at a tree, desperately trying to destroy the news he just heard.

He couldn’t stop the thoughts though, imagining his father on the sept. Being forced to his knees, his head on a block, a sword slicing through his neck.

Robb would kill them all. He’d destroy that fucking Lannister woman, he’d kill all the Lannisters. Their house would be crippled. He’d make that hellish child Joffrey feel as he felt in this moment. Like his world was falling to pieces.

“Robb,” he looked to see his mother approaching him. Tears streamed down her face.

She ran to him and pulled him into a hug, together they fell onto the floor.

He felt like a child as she held him close and rubbed his back softly. Everything felt wrong, his life felt empty.

They sat like that for a long while, ten minutes, maybe ten hours. He couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry, I came to mourn. I can go elsewhere,” he looked up to see Lyarra staring at them embracing. Like his mother her eyes were red and puffy from tears.

As she turned to leave his mother stopped her, “no.”

She opened her arms.

Lyarra’s eyes began to leak, she dropped to her knees with them and joined their hug.

Together in the godswood, as a family, they grieved.

Later that day they received a letter from Sansa telling them to give in. That her bastard sister was no queen, that they would be spared if they gave up now.

“They will not spare us,” Robb insisted. “They would never, if they did that to father,” Robb couldn’t bring himself to say killed.

“Me least of all,” Lyarra said thoughtfully. Sansa’s comments on her clearly hurt more than she let on. They had never been close but Sansa would voluntarily write such a thing.

“These are the queen's words, not my daughters.” His mother spoke as she reread the letter.

“She didn’t mention Arya.”

No one spoke of that further, they didn’t want to confront the possible reality.

His mother burned the letter, they did not mention it to the lords. It would be bad if they knew that a Stark girl had turned on their own family, it would make them look weak.

A few days later they were all in black and back on the war council. It had not convened since the death of his father.

They brought forth two lannister Frey boys, the children of Genna Lannister, Lord Tywin's sister, and Emmon Frey, second son of Walder Frey. The boys were being housed in the twins away from the rest of their family. Now they would be sent back as envoys.

“Should we really be sending for peace,” Theon said, annoyed. He wanted the fight, Robb knew. Now that his father was dead Robb wanted it too.

“It’s demands, they likely won’t do what we ask them. It’s to flex our power and show we will not bend to them,” Robb said. He still hadn’t really made up with Theon.

Lyarra was too overcome with grief to speak herself. Robb instead spoke in the council. He told the boys what to tell the queen when they saw her , “We demand that my father, Lord Stark’s, bones be returned to Winterfell. We demand his sword be returned along with my sisters. We demand that the false king Joffery step down from the throne and that his siblings and himself renounce their claim. We demand every person in kings landing bend the knee to Visenya Targeryen, one true queen of the seven kingdoms, ruler of the roynar, the andles, and the first men.”

The boys were sent off with a group of soldiers to protect them on the way to kings landing.

That night he walked the halls of Riverrun unable to sleep. He was haunted by dreams of wolves, of the crypts of Winterfell, of his father.

In the corner of his eye a white figure seeped past. He looked up confused at what he had seen. At first he thought it a ghost, but he shook off the childish thought. It was a person, someone sneaking through the halls.

He kept himself out of their view as he followed.

The person moved through the halls until they passed by one of the large windows that lined the walls. He realized as the light of the full moon hit the figure, it was Lyarra.

He followed her down the halls.

She walked, every once in a while turning to make sure she was alone. Eventually she stopped in front of the room. She didn’t knock, she simply opened it and walked in. It was Theon Greyjoy’s room

He knew he shouldn’t but he pressed his ear up to the door. He just needed to protect her, if Theon did something bad. If she needed help. He’d kill himself if he hadn't been there to help.

He heard rustling and suddenly found himself sweating. Then voices, he relaxed.

Their voices were soft but he could make out what they were saying.

“I could’ve spoken for you,” it was Theon.

“Robb’s a better public speaker, you would’ve said something bad. Gotten mad or added in some stupid flare,” Lyarra said. He could hear the fondness in her voice.

Robb was a bit flattered; she defended him to Theon.

“Ugh, you act like I’m so much worse then him. You like me better,” Theon sounded genuinely irritated. “Why didn’t you do it yourself?”

“Since father,” she paused, “since it happened they all look at me like I’m a whimpering maid.”

“You won’t prove them wrong if you don’t speak to them at all,” he insisted. Robb was inclined to agree.

“What are you suggesting? I rush back into battle,” he could hear her giggling.

“So I can save you again? Maybe you should. I like feeling like your hero. They’ll write songs about how I saved the queen, or how I did more than that to the queen.”

He heard more giggles and more rustling.

Part of him still wanted to burst in and demand they separate. Still they were happy and he hadn’t heard Lyarra laugh like that since their father died.

He let them be and went back to his room.

Chapter Text

Theon’s hand slid up Lyarra’s silky white slip. She batted his hands away then flipped them so she was on top.

She loved to do that, be on top.

She leaned down, passing by her lips and settling her mouth next to his ear. “Will you be a good boy for your queen?”

Theon scoffed, “seriously? I’m not gonna-“

She reached down grabbing his crotch, he whimpered, then blushed. Theon didn’t whimper and he didn’t blush, now he was.

Theon took the opportunity to flip them once more. This turned into a wrestle that was rather unsexy and more playful.

It wasn’t like they would’ve done anything. Lyarra was strict in the fact that she wouldn’t let him go all the way. He understood, still, he yearned. And Theon was not used to yearning.

He woke up alone, like usual.

He felt stupid even noticing it, if it was any other girl he wouldn’t have. He would’ve woken up without a second thought of the girl he fucked the night before. He cursed himself as he got dressed.

He opened his door to see the very woman he thought of outside. “Why do you even leave if I’m just going to meet you outside the second I wake up,” he sighed, stepping beside her as they began to walk.

“Don’t be stupid you know why,” she grabbed some bread from a maid going to the barracks to feed the men. The maid gave her a sweet bow.

They made their way to the great hall where breakfast was waiting.

Robb was staring at him, though it wasn’t as malicious as it had been before. Still the eyes on him didn’t make him feel pleasant.

“Is he okay with this now,” Theon whispered in Lyarra’s ear as subtly as possible. Robb wasn’t the only one watching and people were already talking about how familiar the two of them were.

“I don’t know if he’s okay with it but he understands it at least,” she whispered back.

Theon scowled. She had told him what had happened? It was her story to tell, he supposed.

He departed from her making the way to the table where her queensguard sat. Lya sat at the head table with her brother and lady stark. She looked uncomfortable next to all those Tully’s.

Torrhen was quick to make room for him. He wrapped one large arm around Theon’s neck.

“Greyjoy, we were just discussing something. I'd love to hear your input,” Torrhen said loudly.

Torrhen Karstark had been getting on his nerves since whispering wood. He was always around, near him and Lyarra. He acted like they were friends or something.

Still Theon put his usual smirk on his face, “what is it?”

“Our firsts?” The smalljon said, gulping down some wine. Every northern man drank in the morning, it was the same in the iron islands. From what he remembered.

“First what?” Theon grabbed himself some wine as well, “first fucks?”

The smalljon let out a howl of a laugh, “no our first kills. Though we can talk about fucks too. I was with a pretty girl that was coming down south with her family, looking for better opportunities. I was ten and four, she was ten and six. I swear her father might’ve killed me before he found out who I was. After he knew I was the future lord of the last hearth he was quick to apologize. Even offered me another round with his daughter.”

Theon remembered his first woman well. She had been older than him, like the smalljon’s. A serving girl at Winterfell. He had come back to his room from a feast to see the girl lying in his bed. He was ten and three and her fully grown.

She’d kissed him sweetly, gotten on her knees for him, called him lord. It had been three years since he came to Winterfell and he was upset and lonely. He had felt abandoned and the feeling of being with her made him whole once more.

It was not long till every person in the castle knew of what had happened.

She was quickly and quietly removed from the castle. He wasn’t sure if that was his fault or the fault of one of the many other men fucking her in the castle.

Soon after that he had been called to Lord Stark’s solar. He said he would not tolerate any more of Theon’s iron islands debouchery in his home.

Theon didn’t listen, of course, though he never brought his women from winter town back to the castle.

Torrhen told his story of his brother dragging him to a brothel on his fifteenth name day. His voice was melancholy. He quickly turned the subject back to death, asking the question of Theon again.

Theon wasn’t sure he remembered, they all blended into one. “Maybe- their was this time in the forest with Robb. A hunting trip. We saw some wildlings that had come from the wall camping, I managed to take them all out with my bow. Three men, three arrows.”

The men nodded accepting his response. “How old were you?” A Glover man asked.

“Thirteen? Maybe fourteen,” Theon shrugged.

“Didn’t stick in your mind too much?” The smalljon said, still smiling.

Theon shrugged again. He supposed it didn’t, he wasn’t even sure if that was the first time he killed a man. It never really seemed like a big deal.

“You want to know who my first was?” The smalljon leaned towards him. His eyes were suddenly dangerous.

Theon got the sense he really didn’t want to know.

“An ironborn lad during the rebellion. I was ten and four at the time when we were called to arms. I was on the coast with my father, we aren’t too far from there now. Seaguard. He was a young boy, tiny, came at me with everything he had but it wasn’t enough. Wonder if he was one of your sissy brothers.”

Theon’s face fell, he stood up so violently the bench buckled. The men around laughed at his anger.

He grabbed the smalljon's collar pulling him close, ooo’s and jeers resounded from the crowd. Theon ignored them.

“If you say something like that to me again you won’t live to see the winter.” He whispered in the man’s ear, “accidents happen at war all the time.”

The smalljon growled, grabbing his hands, “you wouldn’t dare Greyjoy.”

“You think I wouldn’t? Lya loves me, she wouldn’t bat an eye if I came back from the field alone. She would fawn over me and ask if I’m hurt,” Theon smirked.

“Don’t speak about my queen that way,” the smalljon through Theon's hands off his collar. The men around them egged them on, looking for a fight.

Theon was too angry to fight, and he wasn’t stupid. The smalljon was nearly seven foot, he’d lose in hand to hand.

He simply stomped away.

He was out of place in Riverrun, out of place in the north. He tilted his head back staring at the sky as he stepped into the yard. He started thinking of home, the ocean, as he found himself doing often recently.

The drizzle of rain felt familiar. It wasn’t salty though, Pyke was salty. Everything tasted of it, the salt lingered on your tongue. Sometimes he thought he still tasted it.

He spent much of the day in the yard with his bow hitting targets. He wished they were men, Umber men preferably.

“Thinking of killing someone,” a sweet voice said behind him.

He jumped, hitting far from the center. The arrow flew over the target, he swore he heard someone yell ‘ow’.

“I could’ve gotten that one,” he scowled, turning to the queen.

“You got the other ones, what’s one missed shot,” her smile was soft and her eyes had bags. Clearly she was coming to him to either complain or get her mind off things.

For a moment they stared at each other, he could feel her breath on him. She looked like she wanted to pounce.

“Why don’t we go see the dragons,” she grabbed his hand and led him out of the castle. They walked out of the castle, the guards giving them weary looks. Still they didn’t speak against their queen.

The dragons were in the whispering wood. Most of the bodies were gone, eaten by the wild animals, some eaten by the dragons.

Still pieces of war remained. Armor riddled the forest floor as well as bones. Banners too.

The dragons didn’t seem to mind as they flew between trees. They were adolescent and particularly playful, the green and red dragon chased each other as the white dragon sat by them.

Lya didn’t seem to mind either as she threw herself onto him. They kissed passionately.

Theon turned them over, hiking up her skirt as he licked down her throat. He found himself in the corner of her jaw sucking. She moaned, running her hands through his crop of hair.

He found her small cloth under her dress, he touched her over it. She wiggled underneath him, then pulled his hair lifting him so their mouths could meet once more.

She continued to move her hips against his fingers, whimpering in his mouth and he touched her expertly over her undergarments.

As they kissed he pushed her garments to the side. She grabbed his wrist and moved his hand back, “not under,” she said breathlessly against his lips.

He might’ve been annoyed but he had no time to be as she pulled him back down into another hot kiss.

Their fun ended with Theon cumming in his pants. He felt like a child, and an idiot. Lyarra didn’t care, she had no frame of reference for a good fuck. Theon knew how pathetic it was though.

Theon rolled onto his back on the mossy forest floor. “I need a bath,” he said panting.

“There's a stream near here.”

Theon groaned, “the water will be freezing. I’m not of the north and I don’t like to subject myself to mind bending cold.”

She didn’t respond.

He looked up to see her fully undressed. Her dress on the floor in a pile. Her skin looked like fresh milk, slightly flush from the cold. Her dark hair had grown to her shoulders, finally long enough to see it curling.

He smirked, “let’s go to the stream.”

The creek was as cold as he thought but after a bit of warming between the two of them it got more manageable.

After getting a bit warmer they sat in each other's arms, being soothed by the rushing water. “Why did you come to me?” He asked, running his hands through her hair.

“I come to you all the time and you don’t ask why then,” she shifted herself, snuggling deeper into his arms.

“I dunno,” he began to kiss down her face, “just a bit curious today I guess.”

Lyarra sighed, he wasn’t sure if it was in pleasure or frustration. “it’s that damn mountain.”

“Clegane?” He asked, then kissed down her neck and into her throat.

Lyarra nodded, “the very. There was a problem at Castle Darry.”

“I thought house Darry took it back from the Lannisters?” He asked continuing further down, reaching her breasts.

“They did, Clegane fell upon the castle though,” she groaned. “He killed the Darry line, and put the eight-year old heir to the sword.”

This really wasn’t the sort of thing he wanted to hear while pleasuring a woman. He took his mouth off her, “so that’s why you were upset?”

She pouted, “yes a bit.”

Theon smiled, “did I make it better.”

She bit her lip then said “I suppose so,” and kissed him once more.

They walked back into Riverrun with hair still wet, giggling. He was far more relaxed then when he left, she seemed it too.

The white dragon was following them, Lyarra insisted he was alright to stay in the yard. He wasn’t as prone to violence as the other two.

The guards stopped them at the door, they looked nervously between him, her and the dragon. “Your grace,” one stuttered out, “Lord Stark asked for you.”

She gave him a confused look. Theon didn’t understand either, lord Stark was dead.

“Robb Stark, the young wolf,” the guard clarified.

She audibly swallowed before nodding. They left the dragon in the yard and together they walked up to Lord Hoster Tully's solar. Though he wasn’t there of course, the man was in bed dying slowly.

The solar was crowded. Inside sat Robb, Lady Stark, Edmure Tully, Lord Karstark, the greatjon, and a man he recognized as Barristan Selmy.

Theon reached for his sword on his hip. Barristan Selmy was kingsguard for the previous king. He was a loyal man and Theon knew his loyalties lied with Robert Baratheon.

Lord Karstark glared at him, “hand off the sword boy. You couldn’t hurt him even if you tried.”

Theon scoffed, that asshole.

Ser Barristan was on his knees the second he saw Lyarra. Theon sneered, the last time he saw the girl in Winterfell he didn’t look twice. The supposed honorable man didn’t bother helping her against the king either.

“My queen,” the old man said, “I served your grandfather, and father as well. Rhaegar Targaryen was a good man. I remember your mother Lyanna as well, she was a wonderful woman. I failed them and your siblings, for that I will forever hate myself. I wish to fix my past mistakes, I promise to not let harm come to you if you do me the honor of placing me on your queensguard.”

Theon didn’t believe that for a second. He looked to Lyarra, she seemed surprised and confused, then her brown furrowed. “You failed to mention the part in which you served king Robert, the one responsible for their deaths.”

“That was a mistake your grace, one I’ve paid for dearly.”

“I don’t think so,” Lyarra said swiftly. “I don’t think that rebellion was a mistake. I think it was confused, based on false information, but I think it was necessary. From what my father told me the kingdoms would have burned under the mad king. Would you look at my Northmen and tell them they were mistaken for joining king Robert in that war?”

Barristan winced.

Theon was proud of her, she really knew how to stand up for herself. It turned him on.

Barristan didn’t have time to respond as she sent him out of the room. She looked to the others in the room next, “do you know why he’s here. I doubt he would have come just because he thought I had better claim.”

Robb nodded, “the false queen regent Cersei and her demon spawn sent him away. They said he was ‘too old’ for the kingsguard.”

The greatjon shook his head, “that man is the best fighter I’ve ever seen. His age might’ve slowed him down but I bet he’s still strong enough to topple most of our men.”

Lyarra ran her hand through her wet hair. She glanced at him, he could tell what she was thinking, she wanted to go back to the stream in the forest. He couldn’t agree more.

“What should I do,” she asked. She was looking at him but he knew the words were directed at rest of the room.

“Hes a good man, a great fighter. He’d be invaluable to our cause,” Lord Karstark insisted.

“He’s still come here only because he was thrown out of kingslanding. If they hadn’t sent him away he wouldn’t have shown up,” Lyarra said.

“He chose to come here,” Lady Stark spoke, “over Renly, and over Stannis. He chose our cause.”

Lyarra’s cause not yours, Theon thought bitterly. He didn’t know why Lady Stark was still around. She hated Theon, she hated Lya, and she had two young boys she could be taking care of back home.

“He’d be better with us than any of them. The kingslayer was bad enough in the battlefield,” Robb said, seconding his mother.

Lyarra nodded at this.

With that ser Barristan was called back in and declared a member of her queensguard. Theon knew he would be a pain to sneak around.

The men gradually came back from protecting their homes in the riverlands. Not many were lost as most of the problems stemmed from arsonists and small bands of raiders.

A few days after Ser Barristan arrived they were sat in the yard of Riverrun. Lyarra was sitting with some river children.

Many had come back with the soldiers seeking safety in Riverrun. Edmure Tully, acting lord of Riverrun, was too kind to turn them away. Lady Stark and a few others had argued against it but Lyarra turned them down, supporting the lord of Riverrun’s decision.

Lya seemed to be having fun with them as her white dragon danced in the air to the tune of children’s laughter.

Theon sat to Lya’s right, Ser Barristan to her left. “Your father loved to entertain the small folk too. He would go out in disguise into the streets and play songs for them,” he entertained her with stories of her dragon family.

Theon sighed, laying his head back onto the bench. The white dragon was leaping into the air, doing figure eights. He wasn’t sure how Lyarra taught him that, or if he just knew how to do it.

Every time the dragon swooped to the ground the children would yell with joy. When he flew back up to the clouds they would call out for him to come down once more.

A shadow appeared above his head suddenly blocking the view of the sky above. “Theon you ought to come with me,” it was Robb.

Theon sat up and looked back at him confused. Robb wore an expression of worry.

“Should I come too?” Lyarra said, moving to stand.

Robb shook his head, “don’t fret. I’ll come for you if we need you.”

She didn’t seem convinced but still turned herself back to the kids.

Theon moved fast to catch up to Robb, “what’s this about?”

Robb looked concerned, he didn’t answer. It made Theon slightly nauseous. He couldn’t think of a reason they would need him and not Lya with him.

He walked into a room with the greatjon, lord Karstark, the blackfish, and a few other notable lords. The group was similar to that of their war council.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, his mouth dry. He got an aching feeling in his gut, like the one he got before he was taken away from Pyke.

Since he was young every time lord Eddard called him into his solar Theon thought his father had rebelled. That they would take him outside and lop his head off and that would be that.

“It’s your father-“

He felt as though his worst fears were about to be realized. He knew Lyarra would never let that happen but that didn’t stop the fear.

“Your father,” Robb began, he was holding a letter with a kraken seal “he’s declared himself king and disinherited you.”

He didn’t know what to say. He snatched the letter from Robb’s hands and began to read.

The words boiled down to, ‘you and your wolf spawn are not allowed back in pyke.’ They thought him a traitor to the Greyjoy cause. They thought him too friendly with the enemy. They thought him a fucking wolf.

“They passed me up for succession,” he laughed. This couldn’t be real. None of this seemed real to him. “I need to go back to Pyke,” he had to defend himself. He’d kill his father if he had too. He’d do anything to prove himself.

He had salt in his veins.

He was a Greyjoy.

He’d take a horse, he’d find a boat. He’d ride day and night till he got to Pyke. He’d demand his place in their family back, he’d cut his way through if they tried to stop him from seeing his father. He’d hold this sword to his fathers throat, see if he thought of himself as king then.

He moved to leave but was blocked by the greatjon. He stared down at Theon like he was the mud on his shoe.

“You will not be leaving Greyjoy,” the man growled. His voice was heavy.

Theon laughed, “oh yes I will. I’m going home, try to stop me.” He attempted to shove past again but the huge stopped him.

Robb pulled him back before he pounced, “stop being stupid.” He sounded a lot like Sansa when he said that, “if you show up on that island they might kill you, we don’t have men to spare to send with you. Anyways we are already planning to march south. We will march on the westerlands and rig the Lannisters out, root and stem.”

Theon shook his head, “and what of my father on the coast? You think he’ll declare himself king and then sit there doing nothing?”

Robb scoffed, “we have people in the north to help with that.”

They were underestimating the iron born. They didn’t think the salt men were strong enough after their last defeat, Theon knew better. Knew his family would slice the north in half.

“Our enemies are to the south,” Robb insisted after seeing his hesitance, “Renly, Stannis, Joffery. The Baratheons are who we should focus on.”

Theon shook his head, they would tell him all this and then not allow him to do anything about it. He needed to go to Pyke and defend himself. His father was defaming him, taking away his titles.

They left him in the room to sulk. All exiting with thinly veiled threats. If he left he would not be welcomed back, that was being made clear enough.

He left for the kitchens in a daze, then he drowned himself in wine. Enough wine to kill a small man he was sure. Enough to make him numb.

He walked out of the kitchens folded over. His arms felt weak, and his stomach sloshed. The sun had long set and the large windows cascaded light from the moon.

He wanted a good fuck, he glanced at the ass of every serving wench that passed. It had been so long since they fucked something.

He thought of going into town, a nice brothel. Something to throw on a bed and have his way with. Lyarra wouldn’t agree with that, she valued her chastity too much.

He found himself, instead, walking to the queen quarters. He didn’t know why he turned to her when she wouldn’t give him what he wanted. Still, he did.

At the door stood Dacey Mormont and that ass Barristan. Ser Barristan’s hand shot to his sword as Theon approached, stumbling down the hall.

Barristan stopped him from entering, “the queen is asleep, she needs her rest. What do you need of her?”

Theon rolled his eyes, he took the job so seriously. He looked to Dacey for assistance.

She scowled and shooed him away.

Theon backed off, waiting in a corner at the edge of the hallway. He knew she would help though.

It was a whole twenty minutes of waiting before Dacey said, “Ser Barristan, I believe Torrhen wanted to start early on his shift.”

“I shouldn’t leave you,” the old man frowned. “The queen should have at least two guards at any time.”

“Really he’ll be here soon enough,” she said, motioning for him to leave.

Reluctantly Ser Barristan yielded to authority and left. Despite being the oldest and most experienced on Lya’s queensguard he still was the most green to the queen. Therefore he lacked authority.

Theon was quick to slide inside the room once he left. Dacey sent him a glare as he did so, he didn’t trust her but he knew she would sell out her queen. At least that’s what Lyarra insisted.

Theon opened the door with a slight creek. He snuck over to her bed and then collapsed into the bed with her.

She woke with a gasp as he pulled her into a sloppy kiss before she could say anything. Quickly she got over the confusion and kissed him back.

She pulled him off before giving him a dopey smile, “you’re very drunk.”

Her purple eyes were dark with lust. Suddenly he thought of home, and what he’d been told earlier. Lyarra always said she wanted to come to Pyke with him. Now they couldn’t. The people there hated him. He didn’t belong there. He didn’t belong anywhere.

“What’s wrong,” she dipped her thumb under his eye and wiped wetness across it.

He was crying, he realized.

“I need to go to Pyke,” he tried to sound strong but his voice wavered.

“Why?” She asked sweetly.

He told her the story, blubbering through, occasionally breaking to sob or suck in a pained breath.

He never cried, he hadn’t since he’d been taken away when he was ten. It felt lethargic, oddly soothing as she held him and rubbed his back.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said softly.

“I have to,” he insisted.

“Not without me then,” she tipped him back, rolling on top of him and straddling him with her thighs. She began to move his shirt up to kiss his abdomen.

Slowly she moved down further and further, he hadn’t gotten his dick sucked in a long time. He really needed it.

He grabbed her hair pulling her up to face him, she was trying to distract him. He wouldn’t stand this, he had to go home.

“No, you are our queen,” he was angry. “You have to stay here, I am their rightful lord. I’ll go and they’ll cast down my father. I’ll gain control of the island and the iron island will ride for you in battle. I’ll bring you a great fleet.”

She sighed, rolling off of him again and sitting up. She looked to him, doubtful, “they’ve renounced you Theon.” Her voice was sad, like what she was saying affected her just as much as him.

“You know how much I want to go back home. You want me to give that up?” His voice cracked.

“When I am queen,” she leaned over caressing his face, “when I sit the iron throne you will have your lordship and more. Be patient, don’t make harsh moves. I will visit Pyke with you one day.”

Theon pushed her off of him. He shook his head and stormed out. She tried to stop him but didn’t follow.

Dacey gave him another harsh look as he walked away.

He stumbled down the hall and ended up at the stables. He attempted to tack a horse to leave but in his daze he couldn’t.

He woke up in a pile of hay, the horse from the night before eating beside his head. He pushed the horse's big mouth ahead from his face.

After that he had stricter ‘security’, now a few men followed him closely. Eyes tracing his every move. They were ready to pounce if he tried to run back home.

He’d asked if Robb had directed them to do so and he said silent. If it had been him he’d take the blame for it. And Lya was acting quite suspicious.

“You told the guards to watch me?” He had pulled her into a nook of the castle.

She sighed, “I told them to keep you here. To keep you in line. I’m sorry for wanting to protect you.”

Theon turned around punching the stone behind him. It was painful, his knuckles bled, but it was nothing in comparison to the pain of not going home.

“You can’t keep me here,” he said, turning back to Lyarra, “I’m not the one you should be protecting. I should be protecting you. I can protect you against the ironborn.”

She scoffed loudly, “I’m your queen and I won’t go back on my decision. You need to wait, you cannot go to the iron islands. Not now at least.” With that she left.

Another week after that he left with Robb for the Westerlands. He didn’t ask Lyarra for permission, he didn’t think he needed to. It was his choice.

He needed to kill something and he needed to go to battle.

He hoped once they came back they would realize what an issue the ironborn would be and Lyarra would beg for his help.

Chapter Text

Catelyn sat at her fathers side. His hair was stark white, his lips parted and his breath was faint. He looked near death.

She couldn’t help but think of her son. The days she spent by Bran’s sickbed, desperately waiting for him to wake.

Now Bran was awake and she hadn’t even been there to see him.

She couldn’t think about that, Robb needed her. Her father needed her. Bran and Rickon had maester Lewin and Ser Rodrik there to protect them.

They were young and healthy. At least now that Bran was awake. They would be in this world for a long time. Her father wouldn’t, and she dreaded to think of what might happen to Robb in battle.

If he was injured, if she wasn’t near. She couldn’t imagine being sent a letter while at Winterfell that told her her eldest son had died. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.

She had hardly handled the news of Ned.

She grieved him every day and night. She wore only black and prayed in the sept every day.

She could see him when she closed her eyes, in her dreams and nightmares. She saw him in Robb and in Robb’s wolf. In her uncle and father.

She saw Ned in Lyarra.

“Robb left today,” she said quietly as she rubbed her fathers hand. He wasn’t listening, he was sleeping. She had wanted to cry when she saw him riding away to the west. Her tears had run dry.

“He’s a brave boy,” she kept speaking, “like his father. He stands tall, he didn’t even let me hug him goodbye. He’s a commander, he doesn’t want to seem like a sweet mamas boy in front of his soldiers.”

She remembered, though, when he was young. A babe at her breast. He cried often back then.

She didn’t think she’d seen him cry since he was a toddler. He’d matured into a man as cold as snow, like her father.

She remembered Ned’s reaction to seeing their first born. Catelyn had hardly known him at the time, she had presented the child to him with a curtsy and a quiet ‘your baby my lord.’

She had corrected her, telling her it was their baby. Then he took Robb into his arms and pressed his forehead against his sons.

Ned had been a good father to all their children. Even when Catelyn was sulking after learning of his bastard daughter. They didn’t sleep in the same room, she refused to be near Ned. He still snuck in the room to be with Robb. He’d sing the baby songs and tell him stories of war.

He’d been like that with all their children, every last one. It made her love being pregnant, having babies for him. She loved to see him so happy at what they created together.

She had hated seeing that same expression on his face when he looked at his bastard daughter. He was just as loving with her.

He was far more protective of her than any of their other kids. No matter how old she got she was always a babe in his eyes. Something to be coveted.

She had asked him after she had given birth to Sansa why he chose to keep the girl. In her postpartum stress the emotions she had about his bastard daughter had bubbled up again.

When he first came home from the war he would refuse to answer those questions.

When she asked with the baby Sansa in her arms he had finally given her an answer. He had said ‘I made a promise to her mother.’

Now she understood. He had made a promise to his sister. To protect her daughter.

Vesenya.

A cursed girl named for a cursed queen.

She couldn’t help but still feel the pain when she looked at the girl. The girl reminded her of how her husband had lied, and hadn't believed in her enough to tell her the truth.

The girl also reminded her of her shame. Of how she was so terrible to the daughter of her good sister Lyanna. She had told the girl she wished she had been in the place of Bran. She had told her good sister’s daughter she wished her dead.

She had to keep in mind, despite their differences Lyarra mourned Ned Stark the same as her.

She sulked as she continued to mumble bits of her day to her sleeping father.

“Cat,” her brother Edmure said, he moved next to her taking her hand from her father.

“What?” She looked up at him. He looked tired, and older than he was. He had grown a beard since they arrived in Riverrun, a thick patch of curls under his nose and lips.

Still she couldn’t imagine him as anything but a little child stumbling after her in the river.

“We need you,” he said pensively.

“For what?” They didn’t often call for her so when they did it made her worry.

“Stannis and Renly are moving in”, his voice was grave.

“Twords us? I thought they’d go to the Lannisters first. Or too each other?”

“You’re right they are going to meet eachother. But one will win, and whoever will win will be who we must face next.” It was an eerie statement.

“I still don’t see what I have to do with this.”

“Our queen thinks it might be good to offer an alliance with Renly.”

She didn’t understand, the girl queen never requested her.

“He had highgarden on his back, the largest of the armies in Westeros. We are made up of Northmen and River people. Those further south don’t think highly of us. If we convince Renly to give up the crown and we bring the reach into the fold we might have more power in the south. The Tyrell’s are well liked in the capital, if we have them with us getting the people of kings landing behind our claim will be no problem.

“Why am I needed?” She wanted to stay in Riverrun. She wanted to mourn.

“Lyarra doesn’t know Renly or any of the southern lords. She’s never met the man. You have,”

“I met him when he was only a boy,”

“Still it’s better than nothing. She wasn’t so keen on this either. That’s why I’m the one coming to ask you.

“Who will accompany us?

“Dacey Mormont and Ser Barristan along with a few other soldiers that didn’t go west with Robb’s army.” Her brother held her arm, “you’ll be okay. Renly wouldn’t harm an envoy.”

She wasn’t worried about her own safety.

The group he had said was out in the yard. Along with the group was a large dragon. The ugly green creature.

“This is coming with us?” She asked Ser Barristan.

“The queen has commanded it,” he said very seriously. He seemed just as weary of the creatures as she, though like everyone, curious.

“It will solidify my claim as genuine. Just saying I have Targaryen blood isn’t enough,” the girl queen said as she loaded her horse. A servant should be doing it for her, Catelyn thought.

It took them a week and a half to make their way down to bitterbridge where Renly and his host was.

The journey was unpleasant, the dragon sang loud during the night. Somehow it was worse than the howling of those direwolves.

The dragon had also eaten one of their horses. The horse had been brought to carry camping equipment. Tragically they had to leave the equipment behind.

The young queen was apologetic, but apologies didn’t fix what had happened. Plus she had hardly seemed upset by what happened as she and the Mormont girl tossed pieces of meat to the dragon. The dragon which was now the size of a tent.

On the horizon they saw the camp, a great host. Renly’s numbers were nearly a hundred thousand. Far more than them.

“There are no guards,” Ser Barristan said in disapproval. “Renly is a green boy, he places far too much value in his charisma and the size of his army.”

Catelyn couldn’t agree more. She thought Lord Stannis’s presence was far more formidable than Renly's.

The young queen and Mormont girl stayed back with her dragon while Catelyn and Ser Barristan approached the where King Renly was holding a little tourney. Ser Barristan had advised the queen against showing her hand so quickly, he said first they should try and do a good introduction, as to not get off on the wrong foot.

Lyarra had agreed reluctantly but had insisted if she deemed they ‘took too long’ she would come meet with Renly herself, dragon and all. Catelyn worried for that, she’d seen the disaster that was treating with the Frey’s.

Though Catelyn didn’t even know what she should say as she approached those gathered to watch the fighting. The stag king sat with his rose of a while. They made a handsome couple.

The girl was a Tyrell, young, about Lyarra’s age. She was as pretty too, light brown curls.

Renly looked like a young Robert. He was large with broad shoulders and fine black hair. His crown was shaped like antlers. He stood tall as he watched the men fight.

And fight they did, it was not Catelyn’s preference. She liked the fun of tourneys when she was young, the excitement, handsome knights, seeing people from far away lands. Now they reminded her of death and war.

After the winner was announced, an ill favored young woman, Renly made his speech. He praised the girl and gifted her a rainbow cloak, the cloak of his kingsguard. The girl blushed like a fresh maid, she was clearly in love. A shame.

After his speech Ser Barristan and herself walked into the yard to present themselves to Renly.

Renly's eyes widened upon seeing Berristan, “Ser Barristan! It is good to see you’ve joined us. I had been hoping for you to join our kingsguard. I knew you would pick the right king.”

Ser Barristan frowned, “I apologize lord Renly. I have already declared myself for a king, or rather a queen. I serve queen Visenya Targeryen, the true born child of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targeryen.” Renly laughed at Barristan’s words, Barristan continued “I come here with Lady Catelyn Stark, Ned Stark’s widow.”

Catelyn cringed at the word widow, still she stood tall and approached where Renly sat. “Lord Renly, we propose a truce between our side and yours. We have a common enemy, the Lannisters, with your help we can get them off the throne.”

Renly chuckled, “let me guess, all I have to do is give up my crown? I’m sorry Lady Catelyn that will not happen, though I promise to avenge your husband. He was a good man, despite the mistake he made of not backing my claim when I offered.”

Catelyn bristled at his words, “might we speak in private? I know it’s been long since I’ve seen you but I have known you Lord Renly, you are a reasonable man. A smart man.”

Renly smirked, “you wish to treat with me but where is this supposed dragon queen? I never heard any knew of Lyanna and Rhaegar having a child, nor of them getting married.”

“I can promise you she is who we say she is,” Catelyn said flatly.

The crowd laughed as if what she had said was the funniest joke they had ever heard.

“I remember you saying she was Ned Stark’s bastard,” Renly responded with some bite. Still he kept his levity.

The laugher continued from the surrounding Lords. Like Walder Frey, they were making fun of her. Then gradually that laughter turned into screams.

She turned to see the queen Lyarra and Dacey Mormont. Behind them the large Dragon.

Men fell on their behinds as they scrambled out of the way. Desperately they tried to move away from the beast.

“Lord Renly,” the young queen moved past Catelyn, not acknowledging her. “Why don’t we go speak somewhere?”

Renly was looking not at them but at the dragon, eyes filled with fear and fascination, he nodded at her words.

They ended up in a tent with Renly, Mace Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, Mathis Rowan, and Alester Florent. Along with them some knights, including the knight of flowers and the Tarth woman.

The young queen sat next to her, her head held high. She looked dangerous, like a dragon. Nothing like she had in Winterfell when she was young, when she was a bastard.

Catelyn swallowed thickly then turned her attention back to the Lords, they were quiet, still in shock she expected. She had been in shock for a long time after seeing those cursed creatures, and at that time they were as small as kittens.

“Dragons,” Lord Rowan broke the silence with one word.

That word opened the floodgates, how, where, when, why. The rumors of the dragons had spread far and wide but it was clear very few believed it.

They answered the questions as best they could while remaining vague.

Randyll Tarly, who had very few questions about the dragons, then spoke on a more serious topic. “You may be a dragon as you say, but they were overthrown. The Baratheon’s rule now.”

Lyarra scoffed, “not your Baratheon clearly, if he did he’d be sitting the Iron Throne and now out here entertaining you all.”

Catelyn wanted to slap her on the wrist and tell her to be more respectful. Alas the girl wasn’t her child, and therefore not hers to discipline.

“You, Lord Renly, have no right to the throne. I am the child of a dynasty, a dynasty that you all in the reach supported to the bitter end if my history is correct. Even if I wasn’t here, if I wasn’t the rightful heir, they're still your brother’s children. And even if they are bastards as you say, there is still your brother Stannis.” Lyarra’s voice was harsh, “your claim is the weakest out of all of us. Mine is not.”

Renly dismissed her, “you expect me to roll over for you my lady.” His tone was mocking, “I am a king as I have declared myself to be. I will not give that up so easily.”

Lyarra smiled, she looked so much like Lyanna when she did, “I don’t expect you to.” She stood and gestured to his men, “I expect them too. You have seen my dragon, he is not my biggest and yet he still grows larger every day. We have men, and we have a claim better than this. You were all loyal to the dragon, I am the dragon.”

She turned to leave and the Mormont girl followed her out.

Catelyn wanted to yell. The girl was too proud, she could have met lord Renly in the middle, they could have joined. Now she has set them up to steal a part of their host. To cause infighting within their camp.

This was meant to be talk of peace and she made it talk of war.

Catelyn stood and turned to the men. She wanted to apologize like she had so many times before. So often when people would visit Winterfell she found herself saying sorry for the actions of the bastard girl.

It was different now, she was a queen and to apologize on her behalf would be to undermine her.

Instead she gave a quick curtsy and followed the girl. “You should not have said that,” she couldn’t keep her opinions to herself as they walked, “Renly will be hostile to us now.”

The girl rolled her eyes, she never behaved like a lady. Her Sansa would never do such a thing.

“Renly was already our enemy,” Lyarra said, “power is addictive. He’s got a taste of it and I doubt he would’ve given it up and bent the knee. His bannermen still might.”

Catelyn wanted to be angry but she held her tongue. The days of yelling at this girl were over, now that would be considered treason.

That night, shockingly, they were still offered tents and a place at Renly’s table. Catelyn suspected it was the looming threat of a dragon. Tents burned, they might think if they didn’t let the group in that theirs would go up in flames.

Lyarra was silent as they sat at dinner. Catelyn made polite conversation with the lords, some she knew, many she didn’t. Those in the reach didn’t often go any farther north than Harrenhal.

They ate well and after as the young queen left for her tent she was motioned over by Renly. She had considered this might happen, Lyarra was too combative, she wasn’t. Renly probably wanted to play the odds with her.

She settled into his tent, the ugly Tarth woman was with him as a guard. With her, no one. It was a bad idea but any of the guards they brought along would probably report back to the young queen.

“Your queen is quite the girl. She has a bold mouth,” he ran his hands through his hair, “it mustn’t have been pleasant to have her as a bastard in your home.”

Catelyn winced, “she was never a bastard.”

Renly raised his brow, “did Ned Stark tell you? Did he explain he was harboring the child of the couple that had started a rebellion… No, you're too smart Lady Catelyn. If he had told you you would’ve had the child sent away. For the safety of yourself and your family.”

She clenched her first. He was right, she probably would have. That’s why Ned didn’t trust her, because she wasn’t trustworthy.

“She is no bastard.” Catelyn said proudly, “she is a queen, the queen the north and the riverlands have chosen.”

“Not the queen you chose?” Renly’s expression was humorous but dark.

Catelyn squinted, “I have bent the knee. She is my queen. She thinks you an enemy, I think we can see common ground.”

Renly smiled, he looked just like Robert, “I think the same. Which is why I am inviting the two of you to storms end.”

Catelyn’s face fell, “for what purpose?”

“It just so happens that my brother is laying siege to the castle. I will march my host to meet him, I invite you to join us. We have similar goals, there is no need to undermine each other. I see an alliance in our future.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded.

The queen was clearly upset in the morning when Catelyn told her off the conversation that took place the night before. She didn’t yell, simply glared and moved on.

It was took nearly a week to rally and march their way east to Storms end. The soldiers still ran in fear when they saw the dragon approaching, Lyarra didn’t bother telling the beast not to eat the horses, Renly didn’t bother demanding she did.

They traveled on horseback to go meet Stannis.

“You will bring the monster?” Renly chucked from his saddle. He seemed to want them to bring the dragons.

“He’s no monster. They say Stannis worships a god of fire, dragons are the only gods of fire.” Lyarra said then kicked her horse to ride further ahead.

Renly chuckled. He didn’t seem to take her seriously ever. Catelyn figured he probably saw her as a little girl. Still she was a little girl with a good claim and an army at her back.

Stannis sat atop a hill overlooking shipbreaker bay. He was as she remembered him, balding and harsh faced. He had no humor unlike his brothers, he was stern.

With him a small group of lords that support him, and a beautiful woman in red. His red priestess, Catelyn assumed.

The group's eyes widened as they saw Renly and Lyarra approach. Though what they really were shocked at was the dragon behind the group.

The red priestess looked contemplative, she stared at the queen with eyes that burrowed into her soul. Catelyn felt uneasy and she was not the one being watched.

“What is this brother?” Stannis’s voice was gruff.

Renly laughed, clearly he was getting the satisfaction of intimidating Stannis with dragons that were not his.

Lyarra cut him off before he could speak, “Lady Stark and I are here to watch, that is all. My dragon is here to protect us, we won’t get in the way of your discussions.”

Catelyn swore she saw Renly’s eye twitch, he clearly didn’t like being undermined.

Stannis’s words to his brother were harsh, they were words of war. Clearly whatever was said here would not change his mind, in his head he was the rightful king of the seven kingdoms.

To Catelyn he didn’t even seem enthused by the idea. It seemed a burden to him, something he didn’t want but felt obliged to have.

He was always a man of rule and law. The law said as the eldest in the line with no true born heirs he would take the crown.

Clearly things weren’t going to simply as Renly was here eating peaches and making quips.

“Please,” Catelyn could not contain her thoughts, “you are brothers, end this folly. You come from the same womb there is no reason to fight. We can all reach an agreement, a kinslayer is the worst thing you can be in the eyes of the gods.”

The men seemed far from convinced. She found her ideal plan of rallying the three rulers against the Lannisters falling through her fingers.

They could be matching on kingslanding now. With their men combined they would win easily, they could avenge Ned, and Bran. They could save her girls.

They didn’t.

They turned back around no closer to saving her children than before.

That night they met with Renly once more.

“We will march in the morning,” Renly said, gathering his things as he spoke. “I will have space for you. Far from the battle in safety of course, though I’ve been told of your promise on the battlefield Lyarra. If I might call you Lyarra.”

She seemed annoyed by the question. Catelyn agreed, he was meaning to slight her. She took it in stride though, “yes, you may,” her voice was pleasant.

If it had been Sansa in that situation she would have leaned over and praised her for keeping poised and controlled.

Renly grinned, “so you two will come watch. I wouldn’t mind you getting on that dragon and help Lya.”

“Don’t call me Lya,” her brown furrowed.

Catelyn cut in, “we will watch your battle, we will provide no help. If you wish for our help you must offer us treaty.”

Renly’s face kept bright, “alright. You can watch our army crush my brothers. Then I believe you all will come to your senses and realize I am just as much a ruler as you.”

The young queen did not respond.

Catelyn attempted to think of a world this would work. Lyarra was too stubborn, perhaps if Robb was here he would listen to her about treating with Renly.

Lyarra stood suddenly, “lord Renly, I am a young girl I fear I get anxious before a battle. Might I go rest before it begins.”

She was lying. Catelyn had seen her emerge from whispering wood covered in the blood of men. This girl was fierce if anything. She just didn’t want to be around him any longer.

Renly smirked, “I understand. Why doesn’t Brienne escort you to your tent.”

The girl put her hand up, “no thank you. Dacey is waiting for me outside, she’ll be enough.” With that she left, and once again Catelyn was alone in a room with Renly.

Lady Catelyn couldn’t say for sure how it happened.

She wasn’t sure if it was a dream, or nightmare, or vision.

Renly was on the ground, Renly was dead on the ground. The lady Brienne was over his body yelling, she had not stabbed him. “She hadn't stabbed him, it wasn’t her,” she insisted to the men who were now streaming into the room.

She really hadn't. It had been some sort of magic. She probably wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes.

Catelyn grabbed lady Brienne’s hand, “come.” She dragged her out of the tent.

The Mormont girl and the young queen had hardly made it a few feet from the room. “What happened?” Lyarra’s eyes were wide as she took in Brienne covered in blood. The Mormont girls hand was on her sword.

Brienne blubbered.

Catelyn answered for her, “Renly has been killed.”

The girls nodded at each other gravely then led them fast out of the camp. They looked guilty, Catelyn realized. The way the two girls were acting it seemed like they thought they were guilty.

“Did the big woman kill him,” Lyarra asked a day into their voyage back to Riverrun. They were alone by the fire, the dragon sleeping near. Brianne and Dacey had gone out hunting while Ser Barristan stood near for protection.

Catelyn realized she was speaking of Brienne.

She sat up a little straighter, “no,” she insisted. She knew it sounded crazy but she couldn’t tell anything but the truth, “a shadow, the shadow of Stannis Baratheon stabbed him in the back.”

Catelyn expected the girl to laugh, or to get angry and tell her not to lie. Instead she looked pensive.

“People won’t believe that,” her voice was quiet.

“You seem to believe it.”

The young queen then stood, “I’m not hungry. I’ll be going to sleep.”

“You have no Baratheon allies,” Brienne had asked the queen a few nights into their journey while they sat around the fire. “Forgive my presumption but who might be the lord of Storms end and the storm lands with no Baratheon’s my lady.” Brienne still did not call Lyarra queen.

“King Robert,” Catelyn could hear her discomfort saying that name, “told me of a bastard he had in storm’s end. You might know him, Edric Storm I believe.”

Catelyn knew the boy, not personally but she knew of him. He had been produced at Lord Stannis’s wedding, on Lord Stannis’s wedding bed. He was the product of Lord Stannis’s wife’s sister, a Florent girl, and king Robert.

Catelyn didn’t support bastards taking over what should be a true born heir's seat. She had feared that all her life. She had feared Lyarra might spread her legs and give birth to a boy and take what should be her children’s birthright away from them.

This was now her queen, and if her queen wanted to make a bastard lord of the storm lands she could do so.

They came back to deliver news of Renly’s death. They got in return news that Stannis had taken Storm's end.

Somehow the man had killed Cortnay Penrose who had been occupying the castle on behalf of the dead Renly Baratheon. He had died alone in his room by stabbing in the back according to the messengers.

Catelyn suspected whatever magic they had used before they had used again.

Within the fortnight the Rowan’s of Goldengrove and the Errol’s of Haystack Hall had come to pledge their allegiance to the new dragon queen.

According to them the other houses of the Reach had separated off, some going to Stannis, some staying in their place and declaring for no one.

Those left in Riverrun had cheered with the confidence that soon all those in the Reach would come to them.

Chapter Text

Theon had been uncooperative since they left Riverrun. He was sulking clearly.

Robb knew he was upset about his family, and even more so about the fact that Lya hadn’t let him leave. Lyarra had told him as much after Theon came asking if Robb had sent the guards to follow him.

He knew it was a necessary decision, Theon would have left. Robb wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t still. Every glance he sent at the horses gave Robb a shiver.

Part of the reason Robb had dragged him out of Riverrun was to prevent him from running off to Pyke.

He seemed to be basking in the violence of it all though. All the men were antsy for blood, it was a good way to take your mind off things they said.

Robb didn’t agree, he couldn’t stand the blood and the killing. It made him think of his father, and his sisters.

It made him think as well about his mother and Lya. Anything could be happening at Riverrun and he wouldn’t know until days after it happened.

The threat of siege had loomed over Riverrun even before he left. Lyarra and uncle Edmure had insisted they could handle it. They had come to the decision to take the Lannisters home base out and march on the westerlands.

Robb had supported the decision at the time, now as they travelled he wished he hadn't.

Somehow even more present in his mind was the worry of what his mother and Lyarra would do to each other.

Things weren’t like they had been when he was you get, it was different now. They had found more middle ground.

Still he wasn’t sure he could trust either of the women to be civil without him there.

“Thinking about women?” The smalljon asked riding beside him.

Robb gave him a look of confusion, “how did you know that?”

The smalljon threw his head back in a laugh, “no man looks so pensive unless he’s thinking of a woman or taking a shit.”

He rolled his eyes.

Theon would’ve found that funny, Robb thought.

He glanced over to where Theon rode. The salt man rode at the edge of the pack. Usually he’d ride by Robb but right now he was more distant. Besides Robb most of the northerners weren’t so keen to be near him. People in the north mistrusted him.

They were making their way down the river road, the air was thick and the water was running. It might’ve been pretty if there wasn’t the ever looming smoke on the horizon.

They reached Wayfarer’s Rest three days after leaving Riverrun, they could’ve been faster but the mount of men and tools kept them slow.

House Vance was hospitable but wary. They were the last defence against the west.

Many of the river lords, especially those close to the westerlands were not keen on the war that had been started. House Vance traded well with the western houses, they married into them, they were family with them.

Despite this they were sworn to the Tullys and therefore to Robb and Lyarra’s cause.

Still Robb wasn’t keen on staying longer than he had to. They would pass through briefly and continue on.

“We should keep heading down the river road straight to the Golden Tooth,” the greatjon said loudly pointing at the map. The man was good in battle but he was rash.

“We don’t have the men to take golden tooth,” Lord Karstark took the words out of his mouth.

“The lefford lord, Leo his name is, is away In Harrenhal with that bald Lannister Tywin. I heard a woman runs the keep as of current. Women are fickle creatures, she’ll give up to siege in a day.”

“Your queen is a woman, would you call her fickle,” Theon growled in the corner. However angry he was at Lyarra he would defend her. Robb admired him for that, a year or two ago he would be the one making fun of her. A year ago Robb wouldn’t be able to imagine Theon saying anything kind about any woman.

“The golden tooth is too strong, a siege might take months,” Robb said.

The golden tooth was the gateway to the westerlands, therefore it was heavily fortified. Even with most of their troops away to war with Tywin Lannister they still had everything going for them.

With the position they were in they could not spare months of time for a siege. If they strike they must do it quickly, taking whatever keep they take in a matter of days or weeks.

“And your suggestion instead?” They looked skeptical.

“Ashmark,” Robb pointed to the map, “take Ashmark and we have a foothold in the tumblestones. The keep is smaller, its men are gone off fighting for the Lannisters. We will take it in the night.”

His word was the word of the queen, the word of the queen was law. They continued to plan their siege of Ashmark as he directed.

It was nearly a week of travel through the tumblestones to get to the base of Ashmark. The whole while Robb had been plagued by wretched dreams.

Most were off his father, dark blood pooling at the base of his neck. His eyes were always glassy and he would not speak. He would only stare.

Others were of himself running through the woods. Or perhaps not him, something that felt like him.

Either way he’d wake sweating and stressed.

He got rid of those feeling when it came to battle though. They were unimportant.

His uncle Brynden had scouted at dusk the night before. He counted six thousand garrison and Marbrand men. The northerners and the river men far outmanned them.

Robb knew they were unlikely to fail. They had planned this, they were well stationed and prepared. Still no anxiety was ever so acute as the sort before a battle.

He pet Greywind’s fur, he was soft. He had slept in Robb’s bed nearly every night since they left Winterfell. It was a nice reminder of home.

He coveted his relationship with his direwolf, his sisters hadn’t been so lucky. He couldn’t imagine Sansa and Arya feeling all alone in kingslanding without the symbol of their house.

Sansa especially. She had been so close with her wolf lady.

Lyarra had been the same way. She was the only one of them that had been allowed to keep her wolf in her room. His mother had policed the girl less about it, or perhaps it was his father that insisted she did not rule over the snow girl.

Either way their pain had been inseparable. Lyarra had mourned the wolf as she might mourn a dead friend.

At least she got dragons in return, Sansa and Arya got nothing.

“Considering your final words Stark?” A voice sounded behind him, “don’t worry, I doubt we’ll die. The blackfish said six thousand right? It’s a shame really, like kicking a puppy.”

Robb looked up to see Theon, he still wore his kraken sigil. He still considered himself a squid even if the ironborn didn’t.

“When you say it like that it makes it sound like we’re doing something wrong,” Robb moved to the side, making space for Theon.

“I don’t think so,” Theon sat beside him, taking a big swig of wine. “The Lannisters killed your father. House Marbrand and every other awful house around here supported their choice. Whatever we do to them they had coming.”

He stuck the flagon of wine out offering it to Robb. Robb took it and drank. His father hardly drank, he wanted to be like his father.

“Winter is coming,” Robb said looking into the deep red of the wine. His father had said their house words so many times and they never did seem to stick. He wondered if Theon felt a connection to his house words, ‘we do not sow.’

“I thought you were upset with me?” Robb asked after they both had their fill of wine.

Theon stayed quiet.

He was so quiet Robb had thought he might not respond at all. Eventually he spoke, “I wasn’t upset at you. More at Lya.”

He went quiet again. He looked like he wanted to say more but was stopping himself.

Eventually he smirked, “I can’t stay too mad at her she’s a great lay.”

Robb tackled him before he could even comprehend what he was doing. He shoved Theon’s face into a dirt feeling expressly dizzy himself. Maybe he’d drunk more wine than he thought.

Theon kicked and clawed at his arms, Robb would have bruises on his arms. Theon kicked him in the stomach, launching him back onto the dirt. Then he heard laughing.

He sat up to see Theon sitting on the ground, covered in grime, cackling like a jackal.

Soon enough Robb was laughing too.

They talked like boys that night. He hadn't felt like this in a real long time. He had been so caught up in being a commander he often forgot what it was like to talk about normal things. About women and riding and hunting.

He often forgot what it was like to speak to people his age. Everyone around was so much older and more experienced. They expected him to be more than them, stronger, smarter, more mature.

He and Theon rode into battle together at dawn.

They took Ashmark swiftly, Greywind tore through the men like a storm. People ran when they saw the man and wolf together.

Robb did his own slaying, killing four men. Not all quite men, some younger. It pained him to walk the halls of the keep after they were done and see the faces of the dead riddling the halls.

It would pain him more to lose.

“To the young wolf!” His men praised him as he walked across the yard, “he has never lost a battle and he never will!” They chanted his name.

He could feel their energy radiating off of them, it gave him strength.

They had placed Damon Marbrand in chains in the dungeons of Ashmark. The old man looked pitiful in his sell, blood had dried into a crust on his brow from the wound on his forehead. He was mumbling about an Addam.

Addam was his son, a river lord had told him, he was away with the Lannisters in Harrenhal.

“Has he told you anything?” Robb asked the smalljon in the doorway.

The big man shook his head, “nothing more than nonsense.”

Robb sighed and stepped into the cell. It was dripping but colder than outside, in a way it was nice. The westerlands were warm, achingly so. He had shed most of his layers due to the heat.

“Lord Damon,” Robb squatted down next to the man. He lifted his head, his eyes glassy and unseeing. “We have taken your keep, we have lined the halls with the bodies of your men. A few live still, we will release them and you if you provide information for our cause.”

They wanted war planes, or information on when grain and gold were being transported. This man gave him none of that.

“A-addam,” he mumbled as he looked into Robb’s eyes. “Addam, addam, addam,” he repeated his son's name like a prayer.

Robb stood running his hands along his jaw where a beard had begun to grow. “What should we do with him?” He turned to his men.

“Kill him,” Theon said simply, staring at the man who was rocking on the floor, “it’d be a mercy. His head is already gone.” Theon nudged the man with his foot, he didn’t react, “hit too hard probably.”

The rest agreed. No one would pay for this man or trade for him. He was no valuable hostage

The smalljon made a move toward his sword, Robb motioned for him to stand down. His father had always said whoever passed the sentence must swing the sword.

It was done in the yard and was far less glamours then Robb might’ve thought. Ice had always seemed to slice so cleanly, perhaps it was the Valyrian steel, or the man swinging the sword.

Either way it was a messy ordeal for Robb, two hacks is what it took. Both done with great effort.

The men patted him on the back and praised his performance afterwards. They saw him as a great leader, he felt like no leader.

He had taken a man’s head who was as dull a hodor.

“You’re ready to go?” Robb asked.

The greatjon patted him on the back, “I am a man of a thousand battles boy. Of course I’m ready!” He laughed loudly.

The greatjon sounding, taking a chunk of his men to capture gold mines. He was to target mines in Castamere, Nunn’s Deep and Pendric Hills.

As they left Robb began to prepare his own side of the army. They’d take the Craig and get a port in the south to send supplies to.

“You don’t think the ironborn will pose an issue in that?” Theon asked his as they resided their horses a week after the greatjons leaving. Despite their making up Theon was still not being as cooperative.

“We’ll be fine, they are focused on going after the north. We have men in the north keeping them occupied. We’ll use our ports from the neck to send items back here.”

Theon didn’t seem to believe him. He thought highly of the men in his homeland, Robb understood why, Theon thought highly of himself.

Robb didn’t share this opinion. He had been told by his father and by his Northmen what the ironborn was. The sense he got was Theon was the best of them.

Most could not read, they hardly thought. They tended to make rash quick decisions. Robb was sure a rabbit could outsmart him, and he was no rabbit, he was a wolf.

“You heard they stormed deepwood moat. You know they are not some minor issue. This is my family, I know my family,” Theon insisted.

They had heard news of the ironborn taking deepwood moat in the north. They had also heard news they were being held back, at least enough that Robb didn’t feel the need to send people north.

Theon wasn’t supposed to know about that.

“Don’t worry so much,” Robb settled himself on his horse, “let’s take the Crag.”

It took three days to reach the Crag, like Ashmark they settled outside the night before. Usually Robb found sleep before a battle to be difficult. Somehow now he laid his head down and drifted immediately.

His feet were pounding against the ground and his breathe was ragged. There was a rustle in the leaves, he looked up to see a raven watching him.

He continued forward, the air was thick and far too hot and smelled of sat from the big water. It clouded his nose.

He made his way around the brick building holding his nose to the ground all the while. He had to find something for Robb.

Above him banners of six scallops, the men at the walls didn’t see him.

He put his head down again and ran. He ran through the ruins of the front of the castle and around the back. Every once in a while turning to sniff his surroundings, making sure he wasn’t followed.

Suddenly he caught a strong scent, a human scent. He followed it down to a cavern. A cavern that took him straight to the lower halls of the castle.

“Greywind, to me,” his head perked hearing his master's voice.

Robb woke in a sweat.

“Dreaming of a woman?” Theon asked, reaching his hand out. His face was basked in the early dawn light.

Robb took it and got to his feet. “No,” Robb swallowed thickly, “I think… I think we have a way into the Craig.”

They used the tunnel Greywind had founded and stormed the castle. While Greywind and Theon led a few hundred men through the small entrance, Robb stormed the gate.

In the fury he was hit with an arrow in the shoulder. He kept going through. It was painful but that didn’t mean he could stop.

Lyarra got injured too, he remembered, when she took the field. She killed four more men after that. He had to do the same.

By nightfall they had taken the Craig and the Westerling family as hostages. They were a poor house, unable to afford to maintain their own keep. Still they made valuable prisoners.

A week after they took the keep the lord, Gawen Westerling died in their position.

“What happened?” Robb seethed from his sickbed as he stared at the corpse of the man that had been brought to his room. He had to make sure what they said was correct, the man had died.

The guards shrugged.

Robb repeated his question, this time Greywind growled.

Theon took over the conversation speaking on behalf of the guards. “The cells are unkept. There's sickness in the walls and he’s already been injured in the battle. He’d been coughing up blood for days.”

Robb had been aware of that, he didn’t think it would end like this though. It wasn’t a large deal, the man had given them the bare minimum of answers and from Robb’s understanding both his sons and heirs were with Tywin Lannister. If he died it would be no big blow to them.

“Who else is in the dungeons?” Robb asked.

“His wife and daughter,” a guard answered.

He did not want them falling into the same fate. “Ask how they wish to lay him to rest and comply with their answers. After that, release them.”

Theon and the guards voiced their disapproval at the idea but Robb was quick to silence them. “They are women, what harm can they do? Now let me rest,” his head and shoulder pulsed. He could feel his heartbeat in them.

He woke to a hand on his arm. He shot up after seeing an unfamiliar face. It was a girl, cute enough, big doe eyes and curly brown hair. She was his age, “what are you doing?”

She looked apologetic, “I’m sorry, I’m meant to redress your wounds.” Her accent was western.

He laid back down and let her work. Her hands were gentle as she removed the old bandages and replaced them with new.

“Who are you?” He found himself asking on her second visit.

She seemed to hesitate before answering, “I’m Jeyne.” She left soon after passing by Theon who was walking in. Theon glanced at her as she left the room.

“Who’s that?” He asked, moving to sit by Robb’s bed.

Robb shrugged, “Jeyne. Nurse I guess.”

“Nicer clothes than any nurse I know,” Theon muttered.

“News?” Robb asked, sitting up. His arm was better but still painful.

Theon nodded, “the Umbers have taken a few gold mines and we’ve been transporting the gold north. There's been some resistance but not too much.”

“Good, that’s good,” Robb rolled his shoulder. Jeyne said it was good to move it, it increased blood flow and kept flexibility.

“Theirs another thing,” Theon continued, “Renly has died.”

Robb stopped moving, “is that why everyone was cheering in the yard?”

Theon nodded.

“Good then. Less work for us. Though he was far more likely to comply with us than Stannis.” His eyes widened, “what about my mom? And Lya?”

The two of them had gone down to treat with Renly. If Stannis came after Renly it was far from likely he would spare those two.

Theon put his hands up motioning for Robb to calm, “they’re okay. Don’t worry… it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Theirs been rumors,” Theon began, weary, “rumors your mother did it.”

Robb laughed, “theirs no way. You know her, she might be fierce with her words but she couldn’t hurt someone. She knew Renly when he was young.”

Theon nodded, “I said the same thing. Still that’s what people think. They think she conspired with one of his own kingsguard.”

Robb shook his head, “no, she would never. Lyarra could’ve if she was pushed to it. Not my mother though.”

For all his mothers harshness she always had a kind soul. She loved her children and her family fiercely. She might kill for them but not for no reason.

A few days after that he was walking on the coast. Jeyne said it was good to walk in the sun, that the sun and fresh air helped you heal.

He’d admit the sunset sea was pretty, still the climate so far south didn’t agree with him. Nor Greywind who panted as he walked beside Robb.

He saw Theon sitting on the sand letting the waves lap over his feet. He was staring at the boats in the distance.

Long ships.

Long ships from the iron islands.

“It’s a short way to the iron island from here, closest we’ve been actually,” Theon didn’t look to him as he spoke.

His voice was shockingly sad. It wasn’t normal, usually Theon always had a big snarky grin on his face. He joked about everything. It was odd to hear him so melancholy.

“You know you can’t leave.”

“Not now,” Theon said, “but when I do. I’m going to fucking show them what I am. I’m a kraken.”

Robb laughed quietly. They’d call Theon the squid when they were younger. Theon hated it, ‘I’m a kraken,’ he’d insist.

“Are you laughing at me,” Theon turned to him looking angry.

Robb nodded, smirking.

They fought and argued, in the end it was all fun. It reminded him of home, of the way things were. He desperately wished he could return to that.

That night Jeyne came to him again, “I don’t need my bandages changed. I’m alright.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” she whispered, climbing into his bed.

He had never laid with a woman who wasn’t a whore. Theon had brought him to wintertown the night of his fourteenth name day. ‘You’re a man now,’ Theon insisted, ‘time to really be one.’ He had shoved him into a room with a pretty woman. The woman had been good, great even. He felt guilty after though.

This was different and the same. Jeyne was less practiced, she clearly had no clue what she was doing. Still she was sweet, and pretty.

After as he laid in bed with her beside him he felt that lingering feeling of guilt. He shoved the feeling down.

He stroked her face as she stared at him with those big brown eyes. “My name,” she said softly, “it’s Jeyne.”

Robb snorted, “ I know.”

Jeyne looked sad, “no. It’s Jeyne Westerling.”

Robb sat up suddenly looking down at her with wide eyes. She seemed guilty.

He had thought something was odd, her clothes were nice. Not as nice as many western lords but the Westerling were not as rich as many western families.

She could read and held herself poised. He hadn’t had sex with some random nurse girl, he had had sex with a lady.

He had ruined her. She had been a maid and he bedded her.

If she got pregnant.

He thought of Lyarra for a moment. Of what she had to go through. Of her pain.

Within the week they were married in the sept of Craig under the faith of the seven. It wasn’t a northern marriage but it would do. He promised to care for her, but he couldn’t promise to love her.

She was sweet and kind. He hoped, like his parents, he would learn to love her. For now their marriage was duty and not love. He would not allow a woman to raise his bastard if she did fall pregnant.

His northern and river lords disagreed with what he had done. Theon especially, though he was no moral compass.

It seems she wasn’t pregnant, a week after their marriage and a month after their wedding she showed no signs.

“You married her for no reason,” Theon growled. He didn’t like the girl.

“Not no reason, I took her maidenhead, it was the least I could do. You wouldn’t understand that,” he whispered back.

Theon went to argue more but was stopped by Greywind nipping at him. He turned back to the other lords joining them.

“The Umbers have run the mines they took dry,” Lord Karstark said. He was the last to settle in for their war council. “We can take more,” he continued, “but they’ll need more men.”

“We can spare some, here we’re at an impasse. It’s best to continue on now that I’m healed,” Robb said. The Boltons had taken back Harrenhal, the Lannisters were on the run, there had been a siege attempt at Riverrun and apparently Edmure had fought it off.

They were winning. As much as Robb wanted to be happy about that it still stood no matter how many battles they won they still needed support. They were going for the iron throne. If they wanted that they needed ships and support from more than just the north and the riverlands.

“Perhaps we can pull back,” Lord Cerwyn spoke. “Gather our people, what we want is the throne, not just to toss the Lannisters off their seat.”

Lord Glover shook his head, “if we take their seat we take their home base. What we need is to march on the rock.”

Many of his men thought so. Taking Casterly Rock would mean everything. Still besides the Veil it was second only to Storms End in its ability to hold against a siege.

If they wished to take the Rock they’d need a long time, they would need supplies, and they wouldn’t be able to do it surrounded by enemies.

Plus the second Tywin Lannister caught wind of them taking his seat he’d send fury their way. No matter how many men they had they would not be able to defend against the Lannisters' full forces in the heart of their own territory.

“Has the queen sent back word?” He had asked her for her thoughts on how they should go forward. Whether they should continue through the westerlands capturing keeps and raiding mines, go back up the neck and regroup, or possibly march on kings landing.

The last one was a stretch but still possible. Stannis had been a looming threat there for a while, if he striked and failed they could easily come in and finish the job.

“No-“ Uncle Brynden began before someone burst into the room holding a letter. They seemed frazzled.

“Word from the queen?” He asked hopefully, he knew he was wrong by the look on their face. Terror.

“The ironborn have taken Winterfell.”

They moved out that night in a fury. Hooves beat on the ground as they rode. Robb rode the hardest far in front of the other leading the pack, he needed to get home.

Theon was not far behind him, he was going just as hard. He had every reason to be angry as well.

The rest of the troops were further back. They had left a few to guard the keeps they took but not many. It didn’t matter if they kept their hold in the west, nothing mattered if he couldn’t protect his home.

Jeyne had tried to convince him not to ride so hard. That he should rest, that his horse would be injured if he pushed it too hard. He didn’t listen, he was too worried.

It took them a week to get from the Crag to Riverrun, pushing all their horses as far as they could. They rode against the tumblestone.

By the time they reached sight of the red fork they were ten horses lighter and one man, all had died of being pushed too hard. Robb had hardly noticed.

When they approached the southern gates of Riverrun his mother and Lyarra were waiting for them along with Edmure, the greatjon, and smalljon.

He ran to his mother first, she was sobbing, it made him fear the worst. Bran and Rickon could have been killed.

He held her close to him as she sobbed, “what happened?” He asked his hands in her hair.

Her sobs were silent, “your grandfather has died.”

It was inevitable, he thought, but it only added to the pain that had been building. His father being killed, the girls being in kingslanding, now his brothers taken hostage in their own home. On top of everything it was all too much.

He held his mother close as she cried. He glanced over her head at Lyarra, she was silent but her eyes were sullen.

Robb moved over to her, grabbing her and kissing Lya on the head. He pulled her into an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He didn’t know why she was sorry. He nodded anyway.

They were pulled into a council near immediately. According to the Lords, the group of ironborn that had gone after Winterfell had done it against orders from what it seemed. They were led by a man named Dagmer Cleftjaw.

“I know the man,” Theon had said, “he was the master at arms in Pyke. Taught me to shoot an arrow. He’s a strong man but not a smart one.”

Apparently his sister, Asha, had come and brought men for this Cleftjaw fellow. Now they held the castle in full.

Theon flinched upon hearing his sister's name. Robb could see his discomfort.

He understood, if he were passed up in succession and Sansa took his place he wouldn’t be so keen.

The rest of the meeting Theon was quiet.

They held the funeral for his grandfather the next day. He was set out on the red fork and set ablaze as was Tully tradition, or at least he was meant to be.

Uncle Edmure, the new lord of the trident, was so deep in his sadness. Sobbing. He could not even knock the arrow.

His great uncle had to take over, he hit his target easily and Robb's grandfather went up in flames.

Chapter Text

“And the girl?” Lyarra asked, watching Robb at a distance.

They were sitting together at the feast after the funeral. She was meant to be at the front table but she said she didn’t belong. ‘The Tully’s mislike me, why should I involve myself in their grief. The grief of a man I never knew.’

Theon agreed. He still hadn't forgiven her for not letting him go home, but I told you so’s were a thing for later.

Plus he had missed her.

He had made up with Robb and they seemed back to normal but it wasn’t the same as what he and Lya had. Their conversations were different. He missed laying in bed together and talking about nothing.

He even dreamed of it. It was embarrassing, he used to just dream fucking pretty women, now he dreamed of talking with them.

“Jeyne Stark nee Westerling,” he responded, taking a swig of his wine, “his wife.”

She frowned, “I know that much.” She was watching the table, the Westerling girl was sitting awkwardly next to Robb. Lady Stark and the rest of the Tullys were essentially ignoring her, Theon felt a bit bad for the girl.

“I don’t know. She took care of him when he was injured at the Crag, I guess Robb must’ve seen the possibilities in the situation,” Theon smirked.

He might’ve done the same but he definitely wouldn’t have married the girl after. He had no clue what Robb was thinking.

The maid was sweet but she was no Lyarra. None of the fiery spirit or smart mouth, nor the breath taking beauty.

“I don’t believe that,” Lyarra scowled, “Robb would never take advantage of a girl.”

“Maybe she took advantage of him?” Theon laughed quietly. It was not a good thing to be seen laughing at a funeral.

Lyarra rolled her eyes.

Theon straightened up, “why are you so suspicious then?”

She fiddled with her drinking glass, “I’m not suspicious, I just wish he would’ve told me. He could’ve sent a letter.” Lya sighed, “she seems nice enough.”

They were quiet after that.

The rest of the hall was too, sans the people offering their respects to the Tully’s and the quiet sobs of those close to lord Hoster. Slowly people began to leave and the windows turned orange from the setting sun.

“Want to visit the dragons?” Lya whispered loud enough for him to hear but not Ser Barristan and Torrhen who sat behind them.

Theon smirked, “you’ll ditch your guard?”

Lyarra stuck out her tongue then stood and walked to her queensguard. She said something to them, the two men turned to follow but she batted them away insisting they didn’t. She sent him a wink as she walked out the door.

A bit later he walked out himself, he stopped at the front table to give his own respects first however. Lady Stark and Robb’s uncle took them kindly.

He met Lya outside in whispering wood. She was laying by the moss, her white dragon resting its head on her stomach. His head was the size of nearly half her body now, they became larger every day.

She looked graceful, her now long hair splayed out on the floor. Her dress was a dark seafoam color, it reminded him of the ocean.

A branch snapped under his foot causing her to look up.

“You’re not still mad at me are you?” She asked.

“I told you what I needed to do and you didn’t let me, now we reap the consequences,” he said lowly, still standing behind her.

Her brows furrowed, “I don’t think sending you to your death would’ve done anything. I stand by what I said.”

“As do I,” he kneeled to the ground and kissed her lips upside down.

It was nearly three months since they saw each other. She hadn’t changed, just as pretty, just as passionate.

She grabbed his head and pulled him closer. The position was awkward. He lifted himself to move to sit beside her but was confronted with the face of a dragon.

The thing snorted, sending its hot breath at him. It was hot enough to turn his skin red.

He gave Lyarra a pleading look, she laughed him off then cleared her voice, “jās.”

It was Valyrian, he realized, she had gotten better. Probably studying with the maester at Riverrun. It made sense, there wasn’t much else to do stuck in the castle surrounded by war.

The dragon huffed, not seeming to notice her words. She sat up slightly, “rybās, jās.”

“What does that mean,” he leaned to her and whispered as they both watched the dragon.

She hummed, “rybās is obey, and jās is move. He usually listens, better than the other two at least.”

The thing looked back at his brothers who were roaming the forest, then at Lya. It hesitated to leave.

“Dohaerās,” she said strongly.

It obeyed reluctantly, scurrying off into the forest.

“It’s an attractive language,” Theon said, sliding in next to her and capturing her lips. “Know anything more moody,” he asked as they separated, smirking.

She giggled, “no. You’d be shocked, not many maesters were recording Targaryen bedroom talk.”

He leaned over to her ear nibbling on it causing her to squeal. “That’s a shame,” he whispered, “I would’ve liked to hear some.”

She didn’t respond.

He wondered if he had somehow offended. She usually took his much harsher words in stride.

He pulled back to see her blushing. The girl was unpracticed, sure, but not often anxious. “Is something the matter?” He scowled.

She paused for a moment before speaking, “me and Dacey were talking…”

Theon rolled his eyes, “yes, girls often talk. What of it?”

She stalled, fiddling with the laces of his tunic. “Well…” She pursed her lips then grabbed the back of his neck moving his head down so his ear was next to her lips. “She said that there is something… pleasurable a man can do…” she swallowed thickly, “with his tongue.”

His eyes widened.

She wanted him to… he hadn’t expected her to ask that. She hadn't even let him touch under her small cloth.

He leaned back to look at her. Her grey purple eyes were hooded with lust but her blushing cheeks gave away her innocence.

He smiled wide, “that I can do.”

He lowered his head flipping up her black dress and taking her sex in his mouth. Theon went in full confidence, he was well practiced if anything. He was known to never leave a whore unsatisfied.

Though his Lya was no whore, he took special care with her.

She seemed to appreciate it as she writhed beneath him digging her hands into his hair and scratching his scalp.

Her voice sounded through the forest, loud groans and moans. She painted his name praising him like one of the gods.

Theon might have been worried about people hearing if he wasn’t too focused on making her feel as good as he possibly could.

She came with a shake and a sob.

He moved out from under her skirt to see her flush and panting. “Are you satisfied your grace,” he kissed her face, her slick still on his mouth.

She took a moment to breathe before laughing, “yes. I am lord Greyjoy.”

He shivered at the name. He didn’t care what his father said, he was a Greyjoy and his queen had made him lord of his house and the iron islands.

He kissed her once more, grinding into her over their clothes. He didn’t often feel such a way from simply giving a woman pleasure, perhaps Lyarra was different, he needed some release.

“I’m satisfied, but you aren’t,” she pushed his shoulders down to the ground and rolled on top of him. “Would you like me to fix that my Lord?”

His voice raised to a whine as she palmed his cock. He expected her to finish him like that, touches over his breeches, or a hand slipping under. What he didn’t expect was her to trail her tongue down and unlace them with her mouth.

She must be joking, he thought. They hadn’t done much more than touch over cloth and now on the day of a funeral after they hadn’t seen each other in months she wanted all this.

He looked down to see her looking up at him. She bit his small cloth with her teeth pulling it down and exposing him.

She seemed entirely serious.

He had no time to question as she dove in taking him in her mouth. He had been so repressed for so long not having a woman in full since the war started, over a year now, that he wasn’t even bothered by her lack of practice.

She was no expert as her teeth occasionally grazed him, still at some moments she could pass for one. The way her tongue moved against him, her hands at the base of him.

He had had whores better sure, but nothing compared to looking down and seeing that face.

Those eyes.

Nothing could ever compare to dragging his hands through her hair.

He could have no other woman in his life and be content with just this.

It was an embarrassingly short amount of time before he spilled in her mouth. He would’ve blamed it on his dry spell as of recent but he was in such a daze he couldn’t even speak.

He closed his eyes and leaned back into the grass. He could sleep here, content with her.

Lyarra moved up, laying beside him and tucking herself into his side. He wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her close.

“Was I okay?”

He smiled. None of the clever smirk that usually sat on his face, it was a dopey sort of smile. “Perfect, I bet you’ll never taste anything as good.”

She laughed, “I wouldn’t know I spat it out.”

He might’ve pushed her or said something snarky, instead he looked at her, his heart full. He kissed her kindly, the soft sort of kiss. The sort that said a thousand words in one action.

They both drifted to sleep on the forest floor.

“You’re lucky I found you and not the others,” a voice said. A woman’s voice.

He opened his eyes to see Lyarra sat up and stretching. He followed her eyes to Dacey Mormont, who looked quite displeased.

Lya yawned, “you’re right I feel lucky.” She didn’t sound very grateful, rather nutural actually. As if she could care less if they got caught.

If people were looking they had to have been gone for at least two hours. “How long were we gone?” He asked as he straightened out his clothes.

“Long enough for people to notice,” the Mormont girl grunted fussing over Lya.

Theon raised his eyebrows.

Seeming to sense his dissatisfaction at her response she clarified, “it’s two hours to dawn. A few more till we set off home.”

Home meant north.

He cursed himself, they had spent nearly the whole night in the wood. Robb would surely be angry. Though with what happened with his little wife he wasn’t such a saint.

By the time they got back their dawn council was already convening. They both stepped into the room flustered, hair frizzy and clothes ajar. Anyone with a brain would suspect something.

The lords made no fuss only took stock of them weary. Robb sent a particular gaze at Theon.

Theon sighed, even if he begrudgingly accepted their relationship he still didn’t support them being reckless.

Those who sat at the table were the usual suspects sans two new additions. At the very edge were a pair of fine looking men wearing expensive clothing, clothing clearly not sullied by war. Unlike the Northmen they wore no scars.

Theon sat near the guard while Lya took her place next to Robb. She settled herself into the chair adjusting the crown of her head. Theon heard Robb grunt slightly motioning to the two men.

“Ah, yes,” Lya said sitting straighter, “this is Mathis Rowan of the Rowans from goldengrove.”

The Rowan lord was short but fine looking, clean shaven and middle aged. His doublet was Snow White with the golden tree of house Rowan embroidered on it, not a bit out of place.

Theon didn’t know the man but he did know the Rowan’s were rich.

“And this,” Lyarra moved to refer to the other man, “is Sebastian Errol here to represent Lady of Haystack Hall Shyra Errol.”

The man was blond, he looked a bit more ready for a fight. Both didn’t particularly impress Theon.

Theon had seen tough men, the mountain, the greatjon. These men might be good strategists or thinkers but they were not tough.

The northern lords seemed as unempressed as Theon. The riverlords however welcomed them kindly, these were men they knew.

“These wusses, one sniff of a burning body and they’ll faint,” the smalljon muttered next to him to Torrhen.

Torrhen snorted quietly, “they won’t be in it. I fear the lord golden tree would rather sit at the edge of battle. It’s a good thing, it would be simply awful if he got blood on that pretty white jacket of his.”

“Simply awful,” the smalljon responded in a mocking tone.

Theon snickered beside them.

He knew they needed people from all over, Lyarra was the queen of all seven kingdoms and territories, not just the north and the trident. Still these Northmen were not ones to be told what to do by prissy southern lords. The ironborn felt the same about those on the mainland.

They soon enough fell into discussions to get things situated before they went north to defend Winterfell.

There had been no word of the boys, not since the castle had been captured. The room was silent with despair as they tackled the many things that could mean.

“The savages,” Tytos Blackwood spat, “they spare not even children.”

Theon’s eyebrow twitched.

He didn’t appreciate the unkind words coming from the lords. He also didn’t appreciate the accusations that they had killed the two young boys.

Theon knew Cleftjaw, he had been like a father to him. Cleftjaw was ironborn, sure, in love with glory, a brute, he did not slaughter kids.

Plus he would never be so stupid to do so. Even the dumbest, most illiterate of the salt men would know to keep the boys hostage.

The only way Theon could think they’d end up dead is if they nearly escaped and Asha and the Cleftjaw had no choice.

Bran and Rickon could be annoying, Rickon especially, but they couldn’t have caused much of a fuss. Rickon was no older than five and Bran was crippled. He’d be shocked to see them make a successful escape.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Lyarra sounded hopeful. Some may think naive.

“My queen,” Robb said. He tried not to call her by her first name on the council, even if he often did. “If the ironborn had Bran and Rickon they’d be flaunting them as hostages.”

Seems the whole room thought they were dead.

It was decided soon enough, their new southern lords and most of the rivermen would stay in the trident defending Riverrun.

The Northmen and some Tully men, at the insistence of Edmure, would go north to Winterfell to beat back the ironborn. His family.

The gold they had taken from the westerlands would be put into the Umbers and Manderlys building a fleet to protect them against attacks from the water. Whether that be the crowns ships, Stannis’s fleet, or the ironborn longships.

Lyarra left the room flanked by some lords speaking to her after the council. She sent Theon a remorseful look as she walked away with them.

Theon sighed and went to the yard to pack with the rest of the guard.

They were gone from Riverrun before nightfall, Theon rode beside Robb. Lady Stark on Robb’s other side. In front rode Lyarra, she led the flock.

Next to her was Jeyne Stark nee Westerling, the girls seemed to be exchanging polite conversation. Though every now and again he could see Lya’s shoulders sag. Clearly she wanted to like the girl but just couldn’t.

Theon didn’t feel the same. He was perfectly content never learning to like the girl. All she’d do was make kids for Robb.

Robb moved further away from his mother and pulled up near him. Their horses chuffed at each other, Theon’s particularly agitated. He always got stuck with the awful moody ones.

“What were you two doing before the meeting?” His face was full of judgment.

Theon scoffed, “I thought you were dealing with it.”

Robb kicked his leg, “I am but not everyone has to know about this. Keep it quiet or don’t do it at all.”

Theon sighed. His point was fair but that didn’t make it any less irritating.

“And what if you and your lady love,” Theon smirked at the blush that crossed Robb’s face. He and Lya could be so similar.

“We do well enough,” his voice wavered.

“No child yet?” It hadn’t been too long since they married but Theon knew Lady Stark was with child after the wedding night.

Robb scowled, “no, it isn’t for lack of trying though,” he insisted. “You sound like my mother,” he muttered.

“I was only teasing,” Theon smiled. Robb seemed so older sometimes but every once in a while he showed his true age.

Four days into their journey north they received word from Harrenhal of Tywin's retreat. According to Roose Bolton there was trouble in kings landing, Stannis. There had been a siege and a battle of the blackwater.

Both sides' fleets were completely destroyed but the battle was won when Tywin showed up backed by the fury of highgarden. They had even heard reports of Renly in his green armor taking the battlefield and fighting valiantly.

Lady Stark insisted that couldn’t be true. She and the big ugly woman had seen him die, they insisted.

The big Tarth woman said someone might’ve dawned his armor. Theon didn’t know what to believe, he didn’t particularly care either way.

Theon could see the relief in people’s faces as he walked the camp after the news had spread.

At any other time there would be drinking and cheering for the mutual suffering of their enemies, now was different. There was only so much attention they could focus down south, north where their thoughts and hearts were.

Plus there wasn’t much time for celebration with how chaotic their camps had been. They had been hurrying up the neck in a rush to get home, currently camping by oldstones.

People ran about the place stressed, upset, scared.

This worked to his advantage, it was far easier to sneak into Lya's tent when the whole place was in chaos.

“Mmm how’d you get in,” she smiled lazily as he climbed on top of her in her bed. She looked tired, he was tired too. Robb had been pushing them furiously, hardly stopping for rest. The stops they did take were brief. Lya had to command him as queen to give their army moments of rest.

“They are as tired as the rest of us, perhaps getting lazy,” he peppered her face with kisses, pecking her between each word. “You should really replace them. I’d protect you as good as twenty Barristan’s.”

She giggled, “sure you would,” her words were sarcastic.

He meant it though, if she gave him the chance he would. It didn’t sound so bad, he’d never marry but the kingsguard often fucked all the women they wanted. At this moment he only wanted one woman.

He could see himself by her side for the rest of his days. Living for her and protecting her. They’d sing songs about how dedicated he was.

He shook himself out of those thoughts as the removed clothing.

He would get his titles back and become lord of the iron island. Then he’d need his rock wife and children.

Once his duties were over with however he’d go back to his queen. He’d always go back to his queen.

He went to touch her over her cloth but she stopped him, grabbing his wrists. Perhaps she wanted his tongue again, he considered. That was fine with him, he knew he was talented.

“I want you…” she said, running her hand along his arm.

“What do you want?” He kissed down her chest making his way south.

She grabbed his chin and lifted his face so they could look each other in the eye. Once again she seemed nervous.

“I want all of you.”

His eyes widened. He wanted her too, sure, but she was no whore. She was a queen. She’d be married one day, and Robb’s warning. “We can’t do that.”

She scoffed and sat up slightly, “you are Theon Greyjoy,” she squished his cheeks in her hands. He felt like a child being scrutinized under her gaze. “Since when have you cared what is right or wrong? Since when have you cared what Robb or anyone else thinks?”

He paused.

Then chuckled.

She was right, he had taken many married women. He had never cared.

What had he become to be considering the morals of fucking a man’s wife. Not even. A man’s future wife.

He pushed her back down onto the bed and tore off her clothes all the while she laughed and squealed. He had a giddy feeling and he plunged a finger into her wet heat preparing her. She gasped and moaned underneath his control.

Whoever she had in the future would never compare to him, he thought as he pushed in another finger.

Whenever she lay with her future man her mind would be on him, he worked his fingers expertly making her writhe.

Whatever happened she would never forget Theon Greyjoy.

He finished preparing her and took a moment to admire. She was beautiful splayed out on the furs like that. More stunning than the maiden.

Her eyes were closed and her face flushed from bliss. Her mouth slightly open and panting. Her body soft, riddled with the evidence of their past coupling.

He felt a slight pain in his chest as he considered the fact that one day another man might see this sight. He had never thought of that before when laying with a woman.

No matter how great he was, how much she thought of him and wanted him there would always be someone else to have her in the end. Forever.

She cracked open her eyes. “Get on with it,” she urged him.

He smirked and did as she said, locking those thoughts in the recesses of his mind.

She was the best he had, that he was sure of.

Her heat was wet and tight, and she was vocal in her praise of his skill. Her words were involuntary most likely, the heat of the moment. Still he blushed when she cried he was ‘a gift from the gods,’ and ‘so big and good.’

She swore like a sailor as he took her, only shutting up when she pulled him into deep kisses.

He wasn’t much better, he’d admit. By the end of it he was practically crying from the pleasure of the thing.

He collapsed on top of her when he was done. She pushed him off causing him to roll next to her. They laid like that for an hour, perhaps more. Breathing deeply, thinking of what they had done.

“Was I okay?” He mimicked the words she had said to him in the whispering wood before they left.

She smiled wide, “good enough I suppose,” her words were sarcastic.

They laid with each other twice more before finally sleeping after Theon was fully worn out. By their last time Lyarra was on top taking full change, it was exactly as Theon had envisioned. She was far too perfect.

He woke up with a start, blown of horns from outside. The sign they would be cleaning up camp and moving out.

“You’re grace, we will be moving forward in an hour. Do you need help packing your things,” the voice of Torrhen Karstark spoke from outside the tent.

Theon panicked looking beside himself, Lya was still asleep. He shook her awake before pointing at the mouth of the tent.

“Yes?” She asked groggy, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

“I was just asking if you needed help packing the tent,” Torrhen repeated.

Her eyes widened and she pushed Theon off the bed. He landed on the ground with a thud, he had no time to be mad at her as he was struggling to get dressed.

As he got himself ready Lyarra did as well, all the while maintaining conversation with Torrhen outside.

A minute later Theon was tossed out of the back of the tent to scurry to his own tent. A far less grand thing situated near the younger lords and guard.

In three more days they had made it to the twins.

Three days of sneaking to and from Lya’s tent.

They tried everything, mouth, hands, every position. Every time he would leave the tent wanting more.

It wasn’t just the sex he craved however, they also laid and spoke. They held each other close and kissed each other softly.

He was less inclined to speak about the islands as he had done before. Instead she had taken to telling him stories, some were Sansa’s romance stories. Stories like Florian and Jonquil or Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen. Those two she was particularly keen on.

Some of her stories were from old Nan. Stories of the others or Stark kings of the past.

Theon had never cared for those stories in Winterfell, he thought them signs of his oppressors. Why would he celebrate the history of his captors?

Coming out of her mouth they were far more fascinating.

The twins looked the same as they had, the hole the great red dragon had made in the stone had been covered haphazardly with wooden planks.

This time the Frey’s insisted the dragons be kept far away. Two men argued with Lyarra and Robb a mile away from the twins.

“You must keep them here,” one balding Frey man said.

Dacey Mormont stepped up with her hand on the hilt of her sword, “who are you to demand this of your queen.”

The red dragon shook his head behind Lyarra and Robb, opening its mouth for a large yawn. The Frey man nearly fell to the ground as he flinched from the dragon’s movements.

Theon smirked at the man, they demanded the dragons be kept here yet how would they make that happen. They feared them so deeply they would not go within a yard of the beasts.

Lyarra batted the Mormont girl away, “if that’s what you insist I will comply.”

He suspected Lady Stark and the Blackfish had advised the queen to attempt to mend her relationship with the lord of the crossing. It made sense, if they were to keep going back and forth they would need him.

Still he hated bending to their will.

The Freys seemed smug as they rode down to the castle. They were over fifty men lighter as Lya insisted people stay back with the dragons.

Theon didn’t see why they needed such protection, the things were now large enough to eat a man whole nearly.

They entered the twins at dusk. Most of the men camping outside while the lords and queen went in.

Inside the great hall there was a feast already set, the old ugly Walder Frey sitting at the front table. He greeted them grandly, giving them a big fake smile and telling them to partake in food.

There was music and fun but Theon was more keen on shoveling food in his mouth. It had been a long time since he had such a meal, at Riverrun they had been conserving food due to the influx of small folk at soldiers taking refuge in the safety of the castle. Here it seemed they had no such concern.

The rest of the people seemed to have the same idea as the queensguard he sat with were also eating hastily with very little conversation.

At the head table Lya seemed irritated. She picked at her food as she spoke to Lord Walder. The smile on her face was so fake it looked painful.

She had told Theon of the last time she met the man, he seemed like a right dick. Shame such horrid people got so powerful.

Still the meat was good as the wine a fine vintage from the arbor. There was only so much complaining he could do.

An hour or two into the night she sent him a pleading look. He turned to the queensguard and stood, “I’m going to go take a piss.” They waved him off, paying no mind to his words.

He looked up to make sure Lya saw him leaving before he moved out to the halls. It didn’t take long to find a place secluded enough. Oddly the whole castle seemed quite empty sans the great hall. He supposed the rest were outside, still it made him weary.

There was no time for the feeling to linger and soon Lya joined him, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him.

They broke apart, panting.

“This whole thing is painful,” she said softly. She rested her head on his chest mumbling into it, “I wish we could just leave.”

He agreed.

Theon knew she meant move on, go further north, he wished they could leave entirely. He could take her back to his home in Pyke. Or they could go beyond the wall, or to Essos.

He wanted to leave it all behind. He’d be content to run away with her forever.

“It’s alright you’ll do your duty," he said, kissing her on the cheek, “then at night I’ll do mine. I still have plenty of you to explore.” He trailed his hands along her dress as he spoke, feeling the curves of her body.

“Mmm,” she hummed, “your duty to pleasure me. You talk like a whore.”

Theon blushed and removed his hands, “not like that. Don’t twist my words.”

She laughed sweetly and pecked him on the mouth. He grabbed the back of her head keeping her in place bringing them into another harsh kiss.

There was noise from the large hall. “The dancing must’ve started,” she said, panting, as they broke apart again.

He smirked, “should I waltz in there with you on my arm.” He picked her up, spinning her.

She giggled as he did so.

He wanted to do it. He knew they were joking but he genuinely did. Perhaps he could sneak in a dance, he reasoned. He’d need to get Robb to agree-

Lyarra’s head jerked away and she fell from his arms back to the floor.

“What?” He asked, confused.

“Did you hear that?” She said, her face twisted with worry.

“Hear what?” He moved slightly closer to where the feast was taking place. He did hear something, muffled shouting perhaps.

He took her arm, “it’s nothing, probably just the Glovers and Umbers, you know how they argue when given too much wine.” He tried to pull her back into a kiss but she pushed him away.

“I knew I should have listened, it’s just like with father and the eggs. I shouldn’t have ignored it,” she muttered nonsense.

He rubbed her skin attempting to soothe her when suddenly he heard a yell, “what do you think you’re doing.”

That was no Umber, he realized, that was Lady Stark.

They rushed to the hall to see the room in chaos. Around the room the Frey’s had arrows docked, ready to shoot.

Lady Stark had a sword to her throat, a tear of blood leaking down her throat. Robb was on the floor clutching his leg, it was covered in blood as if it had been hacked by a sword. Jeyne Westerling was on the floor unmoving.

At the front of the room sat Walder Frey looking smug, “good of you to join us pretty queen. Our festivities are only beginning and I feared you would not be here to see them.”

Before Lord Frey could continue his speech Dacey screamed running at him with a knife meant to cut meat. A hundred arrows flew at that moment, through it she stood, groggy but somehow alive. That didn’t last as she was hacked in the stomach by an axe wielding Frey.

Lya screamed beside him dropping to her knees

This started a chain of events, their men versus the Frey’s.

They were dragged away by the Smalljon who had flipped the table into a bit of a barricade. They hid behind it as arrows flew through the room.

Lya was ghostly white, a hand over her mouth. She looked ready to vomit.

Theon wanted to ask what had happened, what had led to this. He knew the answer though, the Frey’s had to have been planning this for a long time. They had brought them into their castle with the intention of slaughtering them all.

They had no weapons, no protection.

He shook himself out of the thoughts, it was no use worrying now. He had done battle, this was the same. He had to keep himself sane.

He glanced around spotting a Frey corpse. The man seemed to have fallen from his own house's arrows, he had a bow on him.

Theon jumped out narrowly dodging arrows as he quickly grabbed the bow and quiver off the dead body and threw himself back behind the table.

“Good,” the smalljon said looking at the bow he held, “use it.”

Theon nodded, he loosed the arrows at the rafters where the Frey bowmen sat. He knocked down one, then another, and another. Crouching down behind the table to knock after each loose.

On his fourth reload he noticed Torrhen joining them behind the table. He had dragged Robb’s body, he was covered in blood with arrows in his back and arms.

Robb didn’t look much better, his breaths were shallow and his face was pale.

Lyarra moved to him, tearing a strip of cloth from her dress and using it to tie the wound on his leg in an effort to stop the bleeding. She was sobbing as she did so.

The smalljon was defending them from attackers with a stolen sword. Torrhen was on the ground breathing deeply, forcing himself to stay awake.

Theon sat back up again continuing to take out Frey men as the smalljon watched his back.

Eventually he ran out of arrows and instead turned to taking them from the bodies of fallen men around them.

He recognized them, Donnel Locke, Owen Norrey. One particularly striking one was Wendel Manderly, Theon retrieved the arrow that had lodged itself right in his mouth.

He used it to kill the man who had sent to arrow originally.

On the floor the greatjon yelled, he had at least four arrows embedded into his flesh and still he ripped men limb from limb.

The she bear fought with vigor looking to avenge her fallen daughter.

Rickard Karstark also held his own well.

The best of them was Ser Barristan, the tales didn’t do him justice, he cut through the Frey men like butter. They surrounded him but none could come within a foot.

It seemed however many men they killed more would appear. The Frey’s had an abundance of people and their army was stuck outside, perhaps not even aware of the horrors going on within the castle.

As he turned back around to search for another arrow a bloody hand placed itself on his shoulder.

“You have to leave,” Lyarra said firmly.

Of course they had to leave, they all had to leave or they would be slaughtered. “How do you suppose we leave?” He yelled as he scoured the floor for more arrows. The large door to the great hall was closed and locked from the outside. Only a great force would open it. They could go out the other exits but those would take them further into the castle.

“Just listen to me!” She pulled Robb up and stuck him into the arms of a confused looking smalljon. Then she pulled Theon over to Torrhen and forced him to support the large man’s weight.

He had no time to think as the large door was broken down by the green dragon. He spared Lyarra a glance as he and the smalljon ran out the door, or rather, in his case, walked as he was weighed down by the heavy Karstark man.

She wasn’t looking at him, rather she was pressed against the dragon. His forehead against hers. As if communicating.

They were soon followed by Maege Mormont, the greatjon, who carried Lady Stark, along with a few other lords who ran behind them in an attempt to get outside.

Barristan soon next to him, panting. He was painted with blood, most other, some his own. There was a large gash in his shoulder. “Where is the queen?” He yelled to Theon.

Theon pointed back, his eyes widened as he saw her. She was on her dragon like a true Targaryen, and she was burning Lord Frey where he sat. His flesh melting from his bones.

Arrows shot at them, they were swiftly blocked by the wing of the dragon. He turned to the archers burning the walls. The smell of roasted humans permeated the air.

As they left the building they were met with more Frey’s.

Around them men battled, their army against the Frey’s and what seemed to be Lannister soldiers, though few. They had more in numbers but the Frey’s had the advantage in the fact that they surprised them.

No one had prepared for battle, their men were tired after many sleepless nights of travel. They didn’t have weapons prepared or armor on.

Ser Barristan and the Lady Mormont stepped up and began to cut them a path through the Frey’s. Though like inside no matter how many fell more seemed to appear.

They had hardly moved a few feet from the castle gate and the two already seemed out of energy. They were not so young to keep themselves going for so long. Plus they had all sustained major injury.

Theon winced as an arrow logged itself into his leg. He collapsed under the weight of the Karstark man, looking up to see his Frey assailant at a distance. The man was knocking another arrow, this one would kill.

A screech resounded from above causing the Frey man to jump, his arrow and bow fumbling to the ground. Their was then a burst of light and heat, the man went up in flames along with everything around him.

Theon looked to the sky to see the red and white dragons circling above burning everything below.

He pushed himself off the ground, “you better be thankful,” he mumbled as he wrapped a arm around Torrhen. Limping, he walked as fast as he could to safety.

Around people ran, fought, yelled. He didn’t even check to see if the others were following.

Men rolled on the ground, covered in bright orange flames. It wasn’t just Frey’s but Northmen too. Lya had once said ‘fire does not know friend from foe’, it seemed too real now.

He tripped over guts and half burned bodies as he made his way to safety. Only after he reached a hill a few yards from camp did he stop moving and collapsed on the ground.

He turned around to see the twins aflame, it was the largest pyre he had ever seen. The light so bright all the stars in the sky seemed to disappear.

He was alone sans Torrhen Karstark who was face down on the floor next to him. He wondered if everyone else was alive, Robb, Lady Stark, the smalljon, Lyarra.

He turned his attention to his led, he pulled the arrow out with a wince, then tore some cloth from his shirt and tied it up. It was a crude fix but it was better than nothing.

There were screams and the creaking of stone. He looked up to see the twins collapsing in on themselves. It released a large cloud of smoke and debris across the camp.

From the cloud emerged the green dragon, it was much too far to see Lyarra on his back. He hoped she was.

The dragon flew a distance and collapsed somewhere on the horizon.

Theon layed back in the grass and thought of the time they spent in the whispering wood. He wished to go back to that. He wished he had known. He wished to be home, Winterfell maybe. Anywhere but here.

The dragons sung in the distance.

Everything went dark.

“Greyjoy,” a foot nudged his side, “Greyjoy.”

It was bright, he blinked out the brightness to see a large figure. It was a woman, the she bear.

The old woman turned around “he’s alive,” she yelled.

He sat up with much effort, a piercing pain shooting through his foot. It reminded him of what had happened.

He looked down at the twins, the camp was ashes. The twins a pile of rubble and a broken bridge. The whole place was stained with red.

To his right were a ragged group. The greatjon was getting his wounds attended to.

Lady Stark was sitting, clutching her head and sobbing. Her neck was bandaged where a shallow gash sat underneath.

Maege Mormont had moved from him to Torrhen. The man looked worse for wear. The she bear attempted to shake him out of his slumber but he did not move.

“Dead," she said.

How long had the man been dead for, he wondered.

Ser Barristan had a compress on his shoulder, he was scanning the horizon. Robb laid at his feet asleep. His wound properly attended to and his chest falling up and down with his shallow breath.

Behind them the remains of their crippled army. They had won but what good was winning when this was the outcome.

“Where is Lyarra?” He asked the she bear.

The woman grunted and sent him an accusatory look. She was judging him for his closeness with Lya, he didn’t care.

She leaned down to him and said, “we aren’t sure. The dragon landed not too far. We found them but not her.”

She wanted to keep the information quiet, he realized. That made sense, the soldiers might panic if they realize their queen has gone missing. Or that they now had three dragons they could not control.

Theon knew she could not be dead though. She had survived the burning in the library tower. Fire like this would not kill her.

“You can stand?” Maege asked him.

He nodded, pulling himself to his feet. He kept most of his weight off his injured leg.

The greatjon attempted to join them but the Lady Mormont motioned him to sit. He was wounded worse than Theon, though he seemed in far better shape. Galbart Glover came with them as well, he was peppered with small cuts but worst was the his burnt hand wrapped in cloth. It reminded Theon of his own burnt palms, now long healed.

Together they made their way down to the ruins of the twins. The place was riddled with death, some killed with simple stab wounds, some so burnt you could not recognize them as human. Most Frey’s but many of their own as well.

Maege stopped, throwing her arms out to stop them as well.

Theon looked up to see the green dragon rifling through the ruins. The she bear was scared the thing would come after them.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” he found himself saying. He pushed past her and walked by the thing with no issues.

The two lords reluctantly followed, running bye the dragon.

The rubble still had lingering embers of fire, some stones had been so badly burnt they looked like melted wax.

“What are we looking for?” He asked, realizing he hadn’t before. If the dragon had landed further out beyond the river it seemed more logical to look there.

Maege sighed, “Jamie Lannister is gone. The queen will come back to us on her own, but the Lannister man will not. It’s best for us to know if he’s dead.”

That’s why Lady Stark had been so distressed most likely, if Jamie Lannister was dead so would her daughters be. It was hard for Theon to imagine Sansa and Arya dying in such a way. They were little kids. Girls.

They scoured through the rubble identifying corpses as they went.

Most notable was Lord Glover finding Rickard Karstark’s burnt corpse under a beam that had fallen. He had likely been trapped and unable to escape.

Another was himself finding the corpse of Robb’s wolf Greywind. The thing had been shot full of arrows in a pen.

Eventually they made their way to where Jamie had been held in the dungeons. The entrance was covered by debris, which they worked together to remove.

When they did walk down the stairs it was relatively untouched by the flames. The walls were covered in soot from the fires that had raged above but nothing was burned directly.

“He could still be alive still,” lord Glover said, touching the soot with his finger.

“Possibly,” Lady Mormont said, continuing down the hall, “but if he was down here he likely choked on the smoke and died.”

Neither was true, it turned out, as the cell was open. The floor was riddled with the bodies of the men who had been tasked with guarding the prisoner. However they had not died inhaling smoke rather their throats had been slit.

Theon limped towards the door of the cell, inspecting it. “The lock has been destroyed, possibly by a rock or the hilt of a sword,” he said to the others.

The cell was empty, no kingslayer. Alive or dead.

“Someone was here before the chaos, they released him.” Lady Mormont confirmed, “those must have been the Lannisters we saw.”

Lord Glover nodded, “at the feast right as the fighting was breaking out I heard one of the Frey men speak of how there were meant to be more Lannisters. Perhaps they were promised a larger host, but instead they sent just enough to rescue the kingslayer.”

“They likely had to switch plans due to Stannis’s attempt at taking Kings Landing,” Lady Mormont confirmed.

They went back to the hill to tell the Lords of what had happened, that the kingslayer had escaped with the enemy.

They saw, instead, lady stark screeching and sobbing held back by soldiers who were attempting to calm her. “That’s my baby!” She cried, “move that’s my little girl.”

Theon looked to where she was pointing to see a large man with a burn on half his face. The hound.

Next to him a little haggard looking girl, “Arya?” He said walking towards the girl. She had never liked Theon, they hardly spoke. She was one of the more annoying ones in the family.

Still ran towards him hugging him at the waist. He wrapped his arms around her back, doing the same.

He felt relieved. He moved her back and bent down to speak on her level. “What about Sansa?” He asked.

Arya shook her head, her eyes were welling with tears, “she’s still in the capital.”

Lady Stark ran to the girl and hugged her hard, holding her daughter against her chest and cradling her.

The soldiers looked to Theon confused. “This is Lady Stark’s daughter, Arya Stark.”

The guards eyes widened, they likely had thought the girl a random peasant. And lady Stark clouded by grief falling for the peasant girls ploy.

The family sat by Robb who was still sleeping due to the blood loss. The hound lingered in the camp awkwardly. He wanted his reward most likely.

As the family reunited all those able bodied enough went out in search of their queen. Most weren’t told they were looking for the queen, rather attempting to find survivors.

By dusk much hope was lost.

Their host had dwindled, to be sure, but they still had large numbers. They had scoured every bit of land in miles on either side of the river.

The thought lingered in his mind. She had been killed or taken.

He didn’t want it to be true but looking at the faces of the other lords they thought the same.Still they spent four more days recovering and searching, all for nothing.

The dragons hadn't moved, he’d hoped they might lead the group to their master. They did not. They did however cry, often lashing out at people. The red dragon had even burned one of their men as he had tried to make them move. After that no one went near the beasts.

During the nights they would screech loudly keeping the host awake. They were just as agitated as the rest of the army.

After the four days they reluctantly moved out.

Theon offered to stay and continue looking for Lyarra. He was ready to stay for as long as necessary tracking her down.

The lords forced him to follow however. The greatjon threatening to drag him out against his will if he didn’t comply.

So they left.

Robb was still asleep and was dragged on a wagon. Arya and Lady Stark sat alongside him, taking care of him.

The dragons followed for the most part, sometimes they would drift away in the sky but eventually they would come back. The white dragon particularly followed Theon crying behind him. It stressed him, reminding him of how he had abandoned Lyarra.

It was like the dragon was trying to tell him to turn back and help her.

They got to Winterfell haggard, the front of the castle covered in Stark and Bolton banners.

The castle had been taken for them by the Boltons. Specifically one ugly, fleshy, looking bastard and his nasty smelling companion. He bowed before Lady Stark presenting her with the castle.

Not only the castle but also ironborn in chains.

Only two, the rest had been killed. One was Cleftjaw, the old man cursed and spit at his feet when he saw Theon. The other was a girl, a girl he had been told was Asha.

She didn’t look like his Asha. His Asha was lanky with knobby knees who tended to be awkward.

He supposed they must have been different people. His Asha would never betray him and cut him out of his rightful heirship.

She looked at him like she hated him. Like he was lower than dirt.

Somehow that hurt him.

Chapter Text

She was falling.

Below her the grass and above her her green dragon.

He was framed by a sky full of stars. Vaguely fuzzy with the smoke coming off the buildings in the distance.

People were screaming, her dragons screeching, the crackling of flames. Together it made a song that sounded so familiar. She wondered if this was what Aegon the conqueror heard as he took Westeros. Or her namesake Visenya.

She hit the ground with a thud and the world went black.

She gasped, opening her eyes. She was laying in a wagon, it was day. She tried to move, her body ached.

The wagon rumbled slightly as it traveled.

Her hands were fastened with chains as were her feet. The chains were tight, they chafed against the delicate skin of her wrists.

Clearly she was not with her own host, unless they had decided to betray her.

She glanced around, taking her bearings. The air was wet and warm, she could hear the chirping of crickets. She must still be in the neck.

The son was stationed directly above her, it was around noon. Her mouth was dry and her belly empty, it had to have been more than a day since the twins.

She looked at the rest of the wagon. On top was hay, underneath armor and camping equipment. She recognized the tactic, they meant either to hide their valuables or to disguise their allegiances to passersby. The neck was at war, most in the northern towns supported her while the southern portions near the crow lands were more keen on the Baratheons.

Based on the reds of the armor she was traveling with Lannisters. It made sense they wouldn’t want to flaunt that. The Lannisters had burned and pillaged much of the neck, the small folk would not treat them kindly. They would likely reveal themselves as soldiers when they got out of hostile land.

She heard the faint sounds of voices and she quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep. She soon heard a horse chuff above her.

“You’re awake,” it was the voice of Jamie Lannister, “you don’t need to pretend to still be asleep. If you are awake I’ll get you food.”

Her eyes cracked open.

The kingslayer was on a pretty pale brown horse, he himself still had most of the scruff from his imprisonment. He still had his beard but it was trimmed and his golden hair was untangled.

She could still see the lingering bags under his eyes and his handsome face was still gaunt.

She sat up awkwardly, her tied hands making it difficult. “Water?” Her voice cracked, it sounded horrid and felt just as bad.

She didn’t want to take what he offered, she felt she had no other choice. Her head was reeling and she felt like she might pass out again.

He handed her his own flagon, she took it with no hesitation and began to drink. The more she drank the more thirsty she realized she was.

After draining the thing she took a moment to catch her breath.

He was looking her in the eyes like he expected her to ask how long it had been, she wanted to but she hated to indulge.

He could lie to her, he likely would. He could have poisoned that water for all she knew.

He had been her prisoner and although she had made certain he had drink and food she had never curbed his guards from throwing him around a little. He had killed those they knew in the battlefield, they deserved some sort of revenge.

Now she found herself greatly regretting that. It had never crossed her mind that they might switch positions.

She chose not to answer, instead dropping back down into the wagon.

“Four days,” Ser Jamie said, “it’s been four days since we took you at the twins. I suppose there are not much twins anymore as you toppled the towers.”

His voice was as cocky as ever.

She sighed, turning away from him. If it had been four days of her sleeping they’d be by the old stones. Rather, they’d be nearing the foot of the mountains in the veil as they’d likely be taking the kingsroad down on the east side of the green fork.

She didn’t sleep, it was bright and sunny and she could hear the guards laughing and joking around her, she could feel the kingslayers eyes on her. Instead she laid, contemplating escape.

Lyarra squeezed her eyes shut concentrating, attempting to feel what she felt before, to summon her dragons. She felt nothing but a dull sting in the back of her mind. She didn’t understand, ghost seemed to know just what she wanted when she wanted it.

The dragons did sometimes, but sometimes not. They didn’t listen perfectly and it seemed at the time and needed them most they didn’t hear her at all.

She couldn’t get them to come, not now at least.

Her people had to have realized she was gone, they would come looking for her. Robb was smart, he would be able to find out the kingslayer escaped, he’d be able to whittle down the suspects of those who had kidnapped her to the Lannister.

Still if they did make it to kings landing the only way she saw herself escaping was if they took the city or made a deal. They’d lost the kingslayer, their one bargaining chip, there would be no trading her. Their army was likely too wounded from the issue at the twins and the conflict in Winterfell, they could not siege.

They would take her to kingslanding and cut of her head as they had done to the man she called father.

A few hours later and her stomach was in pain. It had been bad before but after being awake she really began to notice. She had no time to admire the pretty oranges in the sky from the setting sun and she felt like her organs were eating themselves.

It was going to her head as well, she laid her head against the hay unable to keep it up on her own. It felt too heavy and her throat was thick again, she needed more water but would not ask.

“Well stop for camp here,” one of the men said. She hadn’t got a good look at them yet but she could distinguish at least four different voices.

The wagon was pulled over and she was dragged out by Ser Jamie. He took her by the arm not bothering to be gentle and pulled her onto the floor where a fire pit had already been created. She was surprised they’d risk fire, though it seemed like no one was coming to fetch Lya.

The men jeered upon seeing her, there were five not including Ser Jamie.

“You hadn’t told us the little dragon queen was awake,” one of the men said, snarky. She bared her teeth at him and he howled.

The group was mostly younger men though all seemed marked by battle. They wouldn’t be the easy type, her escape would not be so simple.

The oddest of the group was a big man with a burned left eye, in its place an empty pit. She had heard him mention his name as Timett one eye of the burned men. From his accent she could determine he was of the veil, a mountain savage likely. She had been told Lord Tyrion aligned with them, though she didn’t ask to confirm her suspicions.

The rest were standard knights, Lannister men. One was a member of the kingsguard she suspected as she had seen a white cloak in the back of the wagon under all the hay. Though she couldn’t tell which one, none she recognized.

“I saw no reason to,” Jamie said in response to the man, “it’s not as if she could ride all tied up.”

The men were quick to submit to him, they respected him. The mountain man was the only one among them who didn’t seem to care about their authority or conversation.

He set her down beside himself, his blade was on his hip, it looked sharp. If she ran he would be quick to cut her down.

The mountain man and another walked off to hunt for food as the rest settled in and tended the fire. It was nice, warm. They were headed south but still she felt a chill.

Winter was truly coming.

As they waited she learned the three that had stayed back identities as they spoke to each other.

One man that seemed to be no older than twenty four she heard referred to as Addam. The man was handsome, shoulder length copper hair, gallant, he looked like the sort of man Sansa would swoon over.

Another was referred to as Swann, Balon Swann she figured. She had heard of the man and had met his elder brother in the company of Renly Baratheon. He was young as well and fine enough. He was quiet though, and obedient to the others.

The last that had stayed back was named Rolder, she deduced. He talked less nobly and seemed to be of lower birth. His focus was also far more tuned into her.

The two that had left soon came back with a few rabbits. Her mouth watered as she watched the men skin and roast the animals, her stomach was so loud she could hear it over the crackling of the fire.

The men paid it no mind though, they continued to eat.

It was forty agonizing minutes of salivating over the rabbit dripping juice into the fire when she was taken mercy upon. Jamie handed her a piece and despite herself she took it and wolfed it down savoring its flavor.

It tasted like the best thing she had ever eaten.

Soon after the men settled into sleep. The first one on watch was the one who had gone off with the mountain man. She leaned back against a tree content to sit the night away, she had slept for four days despite the ache in her head she told herself she needed no more sleep.

“I saw the dragons, fierce things, shame you can’t control them,” the man said unprompted, scorching towards her.

Her brow twitched.

“I’m Lester,” the man continued, “and you claim to be a queen. I serve Lord Tywin but seeing you upon the thing’s back I thought of switching sides,” he laughed as he spoke.

She closed her eyes trying to block out his words, she didn’t understand why he was telling her this. Perhaps to curry favor in the event her dragons did heed her call? She couldn’t be sure, maybe he was trying to trick her.

Maybe he was trying to help her.

“It was truly fate when we found you collapsed after you fell off the beast,” she felt his hand brush against the skirt of her dress. “You were hardly alive. The gods wouldn’t have flung you off that thing and into our grasp if he didn’t think our cause was just.”

She had no time to feel upset about the fact that he would in fact not help her, she was too busy worrying about the hand that was moving itself north towards her knees.

She settled her breath keeping calm, if she kicked and screamed she might be knocked out once more. More sleep would mean less opportunity to eat and less opportunity to escape.

Maybe she could take his knife and stab him. The thought was a pipe dream, her hands were tied so tight and awkwardly.

Her mind raced faster as the hand reached her inner thigh, slinking its way further north.

The only person who had touched her their was Theon.

Theon and the king.

She had taken this sort of abuse by that man as a bastard in Winterfell. But she was no longer a bastard of Winterfell.

She was a queen.

She would not stand for this.

She threw herself away falling onto her back. She brought her knees to her chest and then released, kicking him straight in the knows with her bound feet.

Fuck the rest, the others take them. They could try and knock her out if they wanted too.

She would not be used in such a way, not as a queen.

He struggled on the ground then pounced back on top of her. His face was red with blood dripping from his nose. He was quick to wrap his hands around her neck and tighten.

It was odd, the lack of oxygen quickly spread through her body to her already aching mind. The blood from his nose dripped onto her face in rhythmic patterns as her vision began to fuzz.

She gasped as the pressure of her wind pipe released. She turned over, rolling onto her bound hands as she coughed up her dinner onto the floor.

The few bits of rabbit she had been allowed laid out in the fallen leaves.

She looked up to see her savior in Jamie Lannister. He was talking sternly to the Lester man, though she couldn’t understand the words. Her ears were ringing.

Jamie pointed away and the man sullenly walked to the outskirts of the fires glow and laid on the ground to sleep.

Jamie took his spot as watch.

He stared at where she still laid on the floor as she blinked the blur out of her eyes.

When she finally got a handle on her clouded mind she went back to her tree and rested her head against it. She breathed heavily.

It took a few more long moments before Ser Jamie spoke, “I’m sorry he attempted to defile you. That was not very honorable.”

Her eyes widened, “I didn’t think you cared for honor kingslayer.” He had always seemed to her to be one of the knights who cared least for that sort of thing. He had killed his king, the man he was sworn to protect.

“If you thought I was such a false knight why would you have offered me a place in your ranks,” he mumbled.

At first she sent him a confused glance, she didn’t remember that. Then she wracked her head looking for any truth in his words.

She had done that, she realized, when he had been freshly captured after the whispering wood. She had asked him where his true alliances lied, truly she just saw his abilities and thought him valuable. “I never really thought you’d take the offer, if you had I would have been suspicious.”

“As would your fellow northern lords. They could be cruel, you know,” he said. He didn’t sound genuine, he sounded sarcastic.

She scoffed at his words, but he continued, "I thought you were raised by the honorable Ned Stark. Shame, I’m sure he’d treat his prisoner well.

“He was a man of justice, you killed Eddard Karstark, you tried to kill Bran. Justice would have been putting you to the sword for your crimes,” she wasn’t sure how much she felt those words. That’s what all the men around her said though.

“And what off all those you killed at the twins,” his voice was oddly contemplative. “What sort of justice does a woman who commits a hundred murders deserve.”

She wasn’t sure. She remembered the screaming of the people. Watching them run like rats below her.

She remembered the pleasure she felt watching Walder Frey melt where he sat. The smell of it, charred hair and burning corpses.

She hadn’t known what happened fully, like she was overcome by the ghost of another. The action didn’t feel like her own.

“That’s not the same,” she reasoned to him, trying to convince herself. “They had broken guest right. Let us into their home and then tried to slaughter us. I delivered justice to them, I am guiltless.”

Theon would have told her that if she had went to him with her regrets. She couldn’t truly believe her own words though. It would’ve sounded truer from his mouth.

“Try and convince yourself that,” the kingslayer said, as if reading her conscience. His joking tone was gone.

“It seems like you’re trying to convince yourself of the same thing.” She tried to cling to his momentary insecurity. “Tell me what makes the kingslayer feel so guilty?”

She expected him to respond with some sort of terrible snarky comment. Instead he scooted closer to her. She leaned away slightly, being reminded of the Lester man before.

He made no move to touch her, instead he spoke staring into the now dwindling fire. “Do you feel any connection to your family?”

She didn’t understand… was it a trick question? “Yes, I grew up with them. Ned Stark was a father to me, your offspring and bitch sister killed him.” Her voice was filled with venom.

He reeled back from her words then scowled and gave her a threatening look, “you are my prisoner. Don’t speak ill of my sister or you will find yourself truly regretting it.”

She felt her words, no matter what he said she would always feel them. Cersei was evil, as was the boy king Joffery. She was no political master but she knew she would be better than them.

After long moments of awkward silence the kingslayer continued.

“That was not what I meant. The dragon side of your family,” his voice tettered out as he spoke. His words not confidently said.

She dulled, contemplating what to say. She wasn’t sure, sometimes she dreamed of them. Or what she thought was them.

She felt a connection to her dragons, but of course the Targaryen side of her family never knew dragons.

She grew up knowing these past kings as evil, terrible, they were overthrown for good reason. She grew up with the knowledge that Rhaegar stole her aunt and raped her, then killed her.

Ser Barristan had presented her a different idea of the man. He often spoke of Rhaegar to her, of his kindness and how the people loved him. Of how he lived his family and their history. Of how he loved his wife.

She always thought he couldn’t have loved her so much if he had abandoned her for another woman.

She knew he meant to flatter her with his words, entice her with his stories. Still he sounded true enough, they didn’t seem to be lies.

“They are dead, my Stark family is living,” she said to the kingslayer, looking into the fire like him.

“Rhaegar was a good man,” Ser Jamie mumbled, “I was a kingsguard. I knew him, I never believed he’d kidnap Lady Lyanna.”

He spoke of them with reverence and respect.

“You killed his father,” he killed her grandfather. He was a bad man, she had been told, but she would never have the opportunity to see that herself as he was dead. Him and her aunt and uncle, her siblings, her parents.

She wondered, for the first time, if she would have felt as close with her two half siblings as she did with her cousins. She wondered if the babe Aegon, murdered in his crib, would have been as kind as Robb. Or if Rhaenys would have been as romantic as Sansa.

“I had no choice,” the kingslayer said. He sounded broken, it seemed wrong coming from him. He was not a man known for regret or sadness.

“If you feel guilty then you do have a choice. If you feel guilt then there is something to be guilty over,” she thought of the twins and their destruction. Her stomach turned.

For a minute he was silent in contemplation, then he spoke, “I was in the great hall like all the other lords when your uncle and grandfather came, the Starks. He came north after hearing of your lady mother's abduction, he had said. He burst into the hall and yelled that Prince Rhaegar should ‘come out here to die.’ I was one of the men who arrested him then, he was big, it took about four of us. Later your Stark grandfather came and demanded a trial by combat. King Aerys complied, he chose fire as the champion of house Targeryen. Rickard Stark was tied above the flames and roasted like that rabbit we ate today. They kept his armor on, by the end the metal was red hot. Like an oven it had cooked him from inside. Your uncle Brandon was forced to watch, as were we all. He strangled himself while attempting to steal one of our swords to release his father. I remember watching his face turn blue and his body go limp. Later when the Lannister and Stark armies knocked at his door he repeated only these words, ‘burn them all, burn them all.’ He would have killed the city like he killed your grandfather if it hadn’t been for me.”

She had been aware that they had died but she never knew how. The story made her heart ache for the man she knew as her father. He’d been just a few years older than her when her when his brother and father died.

The story was sickening and it wasn’t one she wanted to hear.

“You’re telling me this because you want me to rid you of your guilt,” she said. “To forgive you on behalf of my family. I can’t do that. I cannot offer you forgiveness on behalf of those I never knew.”

“I wish,” she continued, “I could think of you more highly now. But you chose not to join my cause. The revival of the dragon. And you now chose to take me back with you to your false king. You might have done some good back then but now you do no good.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of his watch.

The others also didn’t bother trying to talk to her. They sent her weary glances, that was all.

She kept herself awake till dawn.

They rode out the next morning, this time she was sat on one of the knight's horses. Ser Addam, the red haired man’s mare.

He was kind about the ordeal saying, “sorry, since you’re awake we must watch you closer. Can’t have you jumping out of the wagon.”

It reminded her of her time with Theon when she was injured up north, somehow this was more uncomfortable. Then she didn’t mind resting her head against his chest and sinking into his warmth.

Now she awkwardly sat forward hoping to avoid touching the man. Her hands and feet bound, she rode side saddle, it was terribly uncomfortable.

At least this way she could see the terrain more clearly. It was pretty, mountains on one side, hills on the other. The green fork rushing over the horizon.

However the landscape was plagued with the remnants of war, buildings burned and smoke loomed. It reminded her of the twins.

They continued down the road, stopping when they could not go on longer. They passed small folk every once in a while, some fleeing the riverlands south. Some returning to the riverlands as the armies had backed off.

The people paid her no mind. Her clothes no longer looked like that of a queen, they were tattered and burned. The folks they passed probably just thought she was some sort of prostitute or thief they were taking to the capitol.

The first day was uneventful, Addam handed her some food and drink. She had taken to vomiting them back up at night in the morning, she wasn’t sure why but her stomach wasn’t letting her keep much of the food down.

Lester and Rolder would kick and drag her up insisting they shouldn't feed her if she couldn’t keep the food in her stomach.

Ser Addam and Ser Balon were a bit kinder about it, giving her extra water to try and settle her. Or maybe it wasn’t kindness, it wouldn’t be so pleasant to carry her on the horse if she was vomiting over the side the whole time.

The kingslayer had sent her glances. He didn’t bother speaking to her like he had before, no more apologies or snarky comments.

It was five more days when she finally talked to the man she was riding with. Maybe it was her fatigue or the pains in her body, or loneliness. Maybe she thought if she got close with him he’d help her leave. He seemed reasonable enough. Whatever prompted her she wasn’t sure.

“Who do you work for?” She asked him as she swayed on the saddle.

He sat up a bit straighter at her words, he didn’t expect her to speak. “I’m in the city watch, and I work for house Lannister.”

A straight answer and to the point. House Lannister could mean anyone. The mountain man worked for Tyrion, the Lester man worked for Lord Tywin. She got the sense Rolder was most loyal to the queen. Ser Balon and Ser Addam she wasn’t so sure.

“You seem of high blood, who is your family?” She had never gotten a full name from the man, he was clearly of noble birth.

He stilled, tightening his grip on the rheins. “My father was Damon Marbrand of Ashmark.”

Her eyes widened and she felt a little more light headed then before.

Theon had told her what happened in Ashmark. How the head of the house had taken an injury to his head. An injury so severe they ended up killing him.

It was a morbid story that Theon told with levity. He was the sort to laugh at death. He told her the man had repeated the name Addam over and over. That he had confused Robb with his son.

Ser Addam did look a bit like Robb.

“I’m sorry,” she felt no guilt for sending her army to the west and taking Ashmark. But she wasn’t being disingenuous. She did feel sorry that a man had lost his father, as she had lost the man who raised her.

“War is cruel,” Ser Addam said, “you all made it crueler.”

She wanted to ask what of the men he killed. What of their sons or their fathers. He was no Saint, no one in war was.

She didn’t ask it though, they continued their ride in silence.

Two more days and they saw a settlement, the palisade village, one of the men said. It meant they were growing closer to where the high road met the king's road. They were soon going to cross into the crow lands. Lannister lands.

It wasn’t long after that till they reached the trident.

It was getting hotter and the animals were changing. In the north they saw shadow cats and wolves and moose. Here there were a variety of little birds and deer, more delicate creatures.

By the time they got to Darry the men began to sport their Lannister colors and emblems. Those they passed now bowed in reverence to the knights, some tried to curry favor.

One or two even cried dragon queen when they saw her. She hadn’t expected people to recognize her, though she supposed the news of her capture had spread.

It was nearly three weeks after she was taken from the twins when they finally reached kings landing.

When they could finally see the capital on the horizon they were met with a group of kingsguard and city watchmen. They greeted the kingslayer and Balon Swann kindly, like brothers.

She was dragged off of Addam Marbrand’s horse with little care for how she might land. She crashed into the dirt below on her arm, it caused a harsh ache.

They ripped the binds off her wrists and feet to replace them with metal cuffs. The binds had been on for so long they had rubbed her skin raw, leaving red bleeding flesh behind.

She had no strength to struggle as she was tied behind a horse. They meant to parade her through the streets, to show her as a false queen. They’d bleed her of all her information then kill her.

She kneeled on the ground, unable to stand. So long of sitting awkwardly on a horse and eating only a few bites of food a day and made her weak.

They began to move, after a few miles they entered the city through the gate of the gods. It was incredible, a work of architectural beauty.

She had never thought this would be her first time seeing this city. Theon had told her how they would march into the city to people cheering her name and she would take her place on the throne. This was nothing like that.

They made their way down through the large street where a path had been cleared.

The city was dirty, people lined the streets watching her be dragged behind the knights and their horses. Some accosted her, yelling profanities. They screamed how they wanted to abuse her, take her in various ways.

Others yelled ‘dragon queen’ and praised her name, begging she forgive them or save them. That she bring her dragons to the city and burn the Lannisters. She tried to look through the crowds past all the hate filled glares and to those people. When her army came and took this city they would be rewarded.

They threw things, rotted food, mud, manure. The knights did nothing. That was fine, her dress was already ruined, it wasn’t so bad.

She looked up to where the kingslayer was looking to her. He seemed concerned.

She spit on the floor imagining that was him. The man said her parents were good. He regretted what happened to her family yet he let this happen. He would never change, he was no honorable man.

For a moment she fell, vomiting on the floor. They made no motion to stop, instead they continued the horses foreward dragging her body on the ground through her own sick.

It took all her strength to stand up and continue. Walking was better than dragging. She hoped he saw that and felt shame, he had put her in this situation.

Eventually they began to climb up on what she knew was argon’s high hill. High it was, the climb made her calves pulse with pain.

It was an aching ascent, she had spent hours walking the streets. Her body felt it but her mind didn’t, she felt like she was continuously blacking out and waking up in another area of the city surrounded by the same crowds.

She cleared her mind of the screaming insults by thinking of her family. Where was Robb she wondered, his wound had been bad. He had to be okay though.

She thought of Theon, had he gotten injured? The last time she saw him was when he was hauling Torrhen out of the twins.

And Torrhen. Gods. She knew Dacey was dead but at least he might be okay. They had been her trusted guards and true friends.

She thought of ghost, and her dragons. She again tried to summon them in her head, nothing came. For a moment she could delude herself, looking to the sky and seeing them on the horizon.

There were only clouds.

The dragging continued as they made their way up, she couldn’t keep pace with the horses and her raw feet slid against the stone floors. By the time they were on the steps of the red keep blood was seeping from the soles of her feet onto the floor.

At the top of the steps stood guards and a looming figure. He was an older man, bald headed, stern looking. She identified him as Tywin Lannister, the head of house Lannister.

The kingslayer went up the stairs to meet him, they didn’t greet each other like father and son. She could imagine seeing the man who raised her, Lord Stark.

If she saw him now she would run up and hug him tight, he’d probably kiss her face kindly and tell her everything was okay. A tear dripped down her face as she thought of him. He was killed in this city, in front of the same people who accosted her.

Ser Jamie and Lord Tywin did none of these things. They did not greet each other physically, only with words, and even those didn’t seem very kind.

She couldn’t imagine greeting her own child, if she ever lived to have one, so coldly after them being kidnapped.

She was dragged to her feet again by one of the guards and pulled into the large castle as the two Lannisters walked in front not sparing her a glance.

When they reached the great hall she was pushed onto the floor in front of the throne.

She blinked the blur out of her eyes to see the large chair riddled with melted metal. The swords stuck out like spikes, as if warning on lookers not to approach. On it sat the boy king, Joffery looked as she remembered, pretty as his mother with a smile as ugly as hers as well.

Next to him was that very mother, she looked stunning in her dark red gown. She gazed down at Lyarra in pure disdain.

Around them were various lords and ladies, most of whom she didn’t recognize. Her eyes widened when she did recognize the men of the Reach, the Tyrell’s and their lesser lords. She had met them when attempting to treat with Renly. They had chosen the side of the enemy.

She dug her nails in the palms of her hands. When she got out of this situation they would burn like the Frey’s.

The imp was nowhere to be found, it pained her. Out of all of them he was the one she thought might object to this treatment.

“The bastard queen,” Joffery yelled from upon his high seat. He had a big grin on his face. “See my lords,” he began to speak to the group gathered around the hall, “what happens when you defy the king.”

“I’ve brought someone to see you, bastard.” The boy king turned to where someone was being dragged through the crowd.

It was Sansa.

“Sansa,” she whispered with a shaky voice. She looked thinner than before, and older. She had always been tall but she had shot up significantly since Lyarra had last seen her.

Her hair was tied up in a pretty southern style but it had lost its sheen, now it was dull. Her skin was pale but Lya could see the ghosts of bruses on it, and the bags under her eyes showed how little she was sleeping.

Her blue eyes looked scared. They were wet with tears, she was crying.

Lyarra’s eyes pooled with tears and she trembled where she sat on the floor. She pulled towards the girl but was yanked back by the guards behind her.

She felt ashamed. The first time she was seeing her sister in two years and this is how she looked. Sansa probably hoped the next time they saw each other she would be rescued. Now they were both hostages. It was a thing that might make a girl lose all hope.

“See,” the boy king said to Sansa, “this is what will happen to all that northern scum. Soon I’ll have your brothers in here too, if the ironborn don’t deal with them first of course.”

Sansa said nothing, she dipped her head down so the fringe of her auburn hair hid her face. She had been beaten to submission.

Joffery stood at the throne, the swords behind his head acting as extensions of his stag crown. “I’m glad they took you all this way, I wanted to kill you myself. My sword,” he tore the blade from its scabbard. It was untouched, new and shiny, “is called hearteater. I meant to christen it with the blood of my uncle Stannis, you will be just as worthy.”

He moved to her with an intensity and giddiness that told her the second her head was lopped off he would giggle with joy. No one here would mourn her. She wondered if anyone in the crowd had mourned the man she called father when his head was cut off.

She wasn’t sure if she was ready to die. Robb probably would say he was, Lord Stark probably was. They were brave men, men who knew the value and fleetingness of life.

She thought she was ready to die. She had faced that possibility in whispering wood. She didn’t think it’d end like this. Bloody, beaten, humiliated on the floor. Killed by a boy no older than thirteen.

She looked to Sansa. Sansa’s face was being held by one of the kingsguard, they were forcing her to look at what was going to happen. They would force her watch her sister die.

At least one person would mourn her.

Or maybe she would be angry that Lyarra hadn’t helped her. They never really had gotten along. She wanted to go back and fix that now, hug Sansa tight the day she left. Even if the girl thought it was unpleasant being held by her bastard sister. She wanted to show her little sister how much she loved her.

Now she wouldn’t be able to do that.

She closed her eyes preparing herself for the cold kiss of the metal blade.

It never came.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she opened her eyes. It would have been a shameful way to die, suddenly with no preparation. Or maybe this was worse, the looming threat.

Lord Tywin was holding his grandson's arm. The boy king looked like he wanted to yell at him but he held it in. It seemed there was someone more powerful than the king here, clearly he was the real person in charge in this city.

“Perhaps,” the man began, “the king might think it smart to wait for the killing.”

Joffery paused, looking frustrated, before the levity returned to his face. “Of course, it would only be right to kill the bastard on the steps of the sept like her treasonous father. So all the people might see what became of the usurper.”

Tywin nodded with a polite smile. His plan most likely went beyond that. Why does he want to keep her alive? she wondered.

Then she really considered the situation they were in. It was precarious. Even if they didn’t have her to deal with anymore they would still have her people, her army, her dragons.

She had no successor if she did die here, they didn’t know that however. If Robb and Theon were smart they would name one soon. Her body was giving out, even if she wasn’t killed today or tomorrow by the boy king's hand it wouldn’t be long before she died in their captivity. That is if she found no out by then, her attempts on the journey went nowhere however.

She hoped those in the north and riverlands would know what to do. It was in their blood, they couldn’t give up, they had to keep fighting.

She was dragged away once more, using the last of her strength she reached out to Sansa. She wanted to tell her she’d try to keep fighting as well. She didn’t know if she could though and she didn’t want to lie.

She was tossed into a dungeon in Magor's holdfast, stripped of her garments, then drenched with buckets of water. The water was salty, cold and had a slightly foul odor to it. Still some of the caked on dirt was washed away.

Her cuffs were then bound to the wall. Her energy was entirely gone and she slumped against it, falling into a fitful sleep.

She woke up to the screeching of a door, she blinked the sleep out of her eyes and groaned at the aches in her body.

The figure in the door was small, a taller man next to him. The imp. His face was wrapped in bandages leaving a slit where his eyes were.

He stepped up and sat in front of her while the man behind him, his guard presumably, closed the door.

He set a plate in front of her. It was food, some sort of soggy mush and bread. Still food, it was probably better than most people in the city got.

She struggled against her cuffs to take it but they were too tight.

“Bronn, do you mind,” Tyrion tossed the man a key and he undid her chain. He then laid a cloak around her nude body, she had forgotten about that. The pain made the cold and shame difficult to feel. She didn’t bother saying thank you and she lunged forward to eat.

“I heard what my nephew tried to do, he’s an idiot, you’re far more valuable to them alive. I’m sorry I wasn’t there personally, my clansman told me of your arrival when my family didn’t bother.”

She stopped eating for a moment taking some deep breaths to attempt to settle the food. “I didn’t think you were so ashamed of yourself,” she probably shouldn’t have said it, currently he was her only hope. Still the bandages made her curious.

“A remnant of our grand battle,” he spoke as she went back to eating, “Stannis attacked the blackwater just a week before my brother was rescued and you were captured. We fended them back thanks to me, though no one here would tell you that. They are far more thankful to my lord father and those Tyrells.”

“The lady doesn’t want to hear this,” the man beside her said, Bronn his name was. “She probably wishes Stannis would have won.”

She placed down her now empty bowl and whipped her mouth with her hand. “He would’ve marched back up to us and given us the same treatment if he had won. Either option would have been bad, it is the better option that you live another day Lord Tyrion. Thank you for the food, I have not forgotten what you told me in Winterfell.”

Back then, when she was still a bastard, he had offered her kind words and advice. He had also on a few occasions helped her dodge the king's advances. He was a good man, still a Lannister.

“I don’t see that advice mattering much now to someone who claims to be a queen and true born heir to the Targaryen dynasty. A bold claim from a bastard,” Tyrion's voice was light.

She scowled and tried to sit up straighter and bring back some of her dignity. The pain didn’t let her. “I do not simply claim to be the heir, I am it. I’m sure your brother and Lannister soldiers have told tales of our dragons. My claim is as legitimate as they are.”

“Lannister soldiers also say Robb Stark rides into battle on a dire wolf, or that he transforms into one, or that he has the head of one.” His voice was sarcastic. “They say many things but the story never really stays consistent.”

“You are stupid not to believe them. When they come for me your city will burn,” she couldn’t believe the words herself at this point. She spent the whole month calling to no avail.

“It’s hard to believe that when you sit here in the dungeon and it hasn’t happened yet.” She made a motion to rebuttal when he cut her off, “that’s not to say I don’t believe you. I trust my brother and he did tell me tales. Fierce ones. You seem like a good queen, from what he says at least.”

“Such a good queen that he had to kidnap me. Such a good queen you all had to break guest right to get me here,” she spat.

“I played no part in that,” Tyrion growled, “it was a dirty trick by my father.”

He would have done the same, she thought. He was smart enough to know there wasn’t much other way. He was a kind man but he was no saint, he could be as cruel as the rest of them she was sure.

“What of them then,” Tyrion said after a beat of silence.

“What of what?” She asked.

“The dragons,” he insisted. He sounded like a little boy brimming with curiosity.

“They are fierce, and soft sometimes. In personality not feeling. Their skin is scaly and hard, arrows cannot pierce it. They listen to me, I have to speak in Valyrian. And they listen well,” that bit wasn’t entirely truthful. Still she had to present confidence. If she did get killed she had to make the Lannister too scared to march up to Winterfell and rip her family out. “They could destroy an army in battle all on their own.”

“You don’t use them in battle,” Tyrion stated.

“I don’t,” she agreed, “too much destruction,” she thought of the twins. Of what she had said so long ago before the whispering wood, fire does not know friend from foe. “I can’t promise that once I’m gone my successor won’t use them. They will be emboldened, they will burn you all.”

She was bluffing.

She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not with his covered face. He simply hummed.

“I will have people bring you food, and I’ll send a maester for you, one under my own control… and clothes as well.” Tyrion said, rising to leave.

“Sansa?” She asked, “Is there any way I could see Sansa?”

“I don’t know, I can try,” Tyrion then left with his sellsword in toe.

Chapter Text

It had been a fortnight since they arrived in Winterfell, nearly two months since the events at the Twins. Their losses were hefty and it weighed on the minds of everyone.

Arya practiced her swordplay in the yard beneath him. She moved unlike anyone he had seen before, it was different. It wasn’t quite what he’d identify as swordsmanship, more dance. It suited the little girl.

It felt odd, he had never really noticed her before. Long ago he had only concerned himself with Robb, now he and Arya were somewhat friendly.

She used to be a mean little creature, playing her pranks and what not. Now she was changed, for better or worse she was different.

Another glaring change was her dog, she had left Winterfell with a direwolf and returned with a hound.

Clegane had stuck with them even after being handed a hefty payment. He sat by the side of the yard eating his soup and occasionally yelling japes or corrections to the Stark girl.

Arya responded with her own rude words.

She talked like smallfolk, unrestrained and unrefined. Though she always had been rough around the edges.

She wasn’t the only person who changed though. He supposed he had changed too, he used to rip on Lya for practicing at the sword. She had softened him to the idea.

Arya looked up to where he stood watching her, finally realizing he was there. She raised her brow, then yelled up at him “is Robb doing better?”

He had told her that morning he’d go see Robb. When he tried Lady Stark was in the room, she had sent him a glare and he’d soon left having no time to check on the young lord's condition. Theon sighed, “I'll check now.”

She sent him a nod and turned back to her practice.

There wasn’t much to check, Robb had been asleep for a long while with no change. It was like what happened to Bran.

The maester said it was sepsis from infection though they had gotten past the worst of it it seemed. Maester Lewin had died in the ironborn siege, his replacement was not as competent in Theon’s opinion.

He walked the halls of Winterfell to the room where Robb lay sick. It felt so familiar to him, he hadn’t realized he would miss it. When he was a child it was a prison, but it was also stable. War was exciting but having his own room and bed was nice. It would be better if he could rest easy and not be raked with paranoia.

He peeked his head into the room like he had done that morning. Lady Stark is still in there. She had been there all day. He groaned internally.

The northern Lords treated her delicately. She was not only praying for this son but mourning two others, they’d say.

They had sent many search parties after the youngest two Starks to no avail. Bran and Rickon were gone.

Asha insisted they had escaped with the wolves but many of the northerners thought she was lying to save herself. They thought she killed them.

Theon couldn’t imagine his sister doing that. Then again his sister had changed a lot since he had seen her last when he was ten.

He knocked on the frame of the door to warn lady Stark he was there. She jumped slightly then glared back at him, he was interrupting her prayer.

“Arya wanted me to check on him,” Theon said, trying to sound strong. Lady Stark had always made him uncomfortable. Growing up in Winterfell he tried his best to avoid her, she saw him as a cockroach in her house. A vermin infesting the place.

Still he couldn’t let her push him away. Robb was his friend as much as he was her son, Theon had every right to see him.

She looked at him with harsh eyes and tight lips. “I will go to pray in the sept. I will be back in an hour.” That meant Theon should be gone from the room in an hour.

She pushed past him and moved down the hall with fury and grace. He turned his attention to Robb who was sleeping. His chest going up and down slightly with his shallow shaky breaths.

He took the seat the lady had been sitting in. The room was warm, heated by a roaring fire and the hot springs. Lady Stark had chosen the warmest room to keep her eldest son in while he recovered.

Theon thought Robb would’ve liked the cold rather than the warmth. He didn’t argue with their decision though.

Robb was thick with furs, completely covered. Theon could see the outline of his injured leg, raised to help with healing the maester said.

He remembered watching them mend the wound. At the twins temporary bandages had been placed, once they got to Winterfell they had to form a more permanent solution. At that point the rot had already set it.

The maester used everything, maggots first to clean the wound. They ate out the rot and left a gaping hole, so deep in places that you could see bone. Then they stitched the best they could.

Theon had been in the room to assist but at multiple moments he had to step out to be sick. The whole thing was ghastly.

Even after all that work the maester said he’d walk with a crutch for the rest of life in the best case. At the very least his other leg was okay.

Still they would never practice in the yard again nor would he be leading them into battle. Robb will be angry when he wakes up, Theon thought, if he wakes up.

Robb mumbled in his sleep furrowing his brow. “What?” Theon asked, smirking. At least he didn’t have to hear Robb whine about it all, not yet.

Theon wondered what he was dreaming of, or if he could dream at all in the state he was in. Maybe his wife? The girl was long dead, Theon didn’t care, he had never really liked her. Still Robb might be disappointed.

Maybe he was dreaming of some other girl, someone who had caught his eye. Theon often found himself dreaming of Lya.

He sighed.

Watching Robb sleep wasn’t so entertaining. He didn’t understand how Lady Stark and Arya could sit in the room with him for hours.

He stood, giving Robb one last glance before leaving.

He walked the halls, skulking, feeling like he needed to do something. Perhaps kill something. At times like this he’d go with Robb into the wolfswood and hunt. There was no one to hunt with now.

He’d been bored in Winterfell, it wasn’t as fun as it used to be. In some way he liked it, strange as it was.

Winterfell used to seem so drab, Pyke was what he dreamed of. Now all his memories of the place he used to consider home were shaded with grey.

Outside the dragons cried out.

Theon remembered what they used to sound like. As babes they’d sing beautiful songs, the most stunning he’d ever heard. That’s when they were with Lya, now they only cried in anguish. It was worse than the sobbing howls of the direwolves, when there still were wolves in Winterfell.

Looking out the window he saw yellow flames illuminating the white snow.

They’d been rowdy. More than rowdy, they’d been death machines. Horses, humans, they were the same. Not a single person could calm them the way Lyarra could.

There was talk to killing them he’d heard, thankfully the lords seemed to realize what a stupid idea that would be.

The dragons had been so bad they’d had to build huge chains to keep them from demolishing buildings and eating livestock. It was a massive expensive undertaking that multiple smiths had to facilitate.

More than a dozen men had been lost putting the chains around the dragon's necks.

Even now, subdued, they still caused issues. Without the presence of their master they were impossible. No one would ever be able to take control. Besides Lyarra there were no Targaryens. If Lya was really gone maybe they would have to kill the beasts.

If they did decide anything like that it wasn’t as if Theon would be told. He had been hung out to dry, not being consulted in any of this. Robb and Lyarra were the reason he attended council meetings. Now Rob was asleep and Lyarra… away. The northern lords did not bother clueing him in on their plots.

He passed the kitchens near the great hall as he walked through the castle. In his mind he could see little Rickon running past, Lyarra sweeping the boy off his feet and demanding he calm himself, Robb laughing at their antics. He wondered if that would ever be true again, he had taken it for granted back then.

Knowing his sister as she was now he knew that he had no true family back in Pyke. Balon Greyjoy had disowned him and left him to rot with the wolves while he played king. Ned Stark was a better father to him than that man had ever been. Asha had cursed his name and called him traitor, Robb was the only sibling he needed.

A few serving girls giggled as he walked by, probably girls he conquered. He wanted to look at them, hold them, and kiss them like he likely had in the past. Distract himself from this aching feeling inside.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t glance as he passed by.

Snow had begun to fall heavier on the windows, a chill blew through him.

“Greyjoy,” a fake cheery voice said beside him. Disgusting, Theon thought. The Bolton bastard. He flaunted Theon’s surname about as if to remind everyone what Theon was. The son of a traitor.

Theon sneered at the husky man, he was an heir, he hated how this bastard spoke on his level. He spoke like they were friends, the only reason he was allowed to stay in the castle was because he had been the main reason they had won it back.

Something about the man bothered him. Perhaps it was his pasty flesh, or wormy lips, or how he stank for being around his serving man. Whatever it was it made Theon feel ill.

He was reminded of all that time ago when he heard Lady and Lord Stark speaking of handing Lya off to a Bolton bastard. This very Bolton bastard.

To think of such a beautiful girl falling victim to this freak. To think of them in bed together.

Everything about the man made him sick.

“I’m busy,” Theon snarled. He walked slightly faster, he didn’t know where to.

The bastard simply laughed, “your lady sister has been asking for you.”

Theon grinded his teeth. Asha often asked for him, he’d come to her thinking she’d beg forgiveness just for her to spit on his boots and curse his name.

He ignored the bastards words and continued on as the Bolton son mocked him.

After a while longer of walking through the castle he finally settled on going into the woods himself. It was ill advised, lord Stark would often warn them to always take a partner into the wolfswood. Still he couldn’t wander the halls all day long.

“Greyjoy,” a voice said behind him.

He turned around ready to tell off the bastard for bothering him once more. Instead he was met with the looming figure of Maege Mormont.

Theon blushed slightly, he had really been prepared to yell at her.

“Lady Mormont?” He questioned. The she bear didn’t often have reason to speak to him, especially without Lya and Robb here.

“They require you in the council,” her voice was grave. Her eyes squinted, checking his reaction.

“Alright?” Theon answered wearily, confused.

The group was in lord Stark’s solar. A good place for a meeting but it seemed wrong given the lack of Starks in attendance.

He waited outside, hearing the voices within. Like so many times before he found himself quietly eavesdropping.

“Their’s no chance they’d keep her alive that long if she was captured. They have every reason to kill her and make an example out of her,” it was the voice of Wymar Manderlay. Why was the fat man talking about Lya? And why did they need Theon there to talk about the queen.

His stomach turned as the discussion continued. He didn’t know what was worse, the idea Lya could be dead or the idea she could be captured. Tortured.

He could not grieve her yet. Perhaps it was selfish of him to hope she was alive. Then he could save her, bring her home.

Maybe that’s why they were asking for him, some hope bubbled within, perhaps they wanted him to rescue the girl. He could do that, gods the kiss he’d give her when he saw her. The sex after that.

They’d sing songs about how brave he was to go after her. How he did it all on his own. He could see glory in his mind's eye.

After far too long Theon became frustrated and entered without being asked. These lords could do nothing to him anyways.

The guards were quick to draw blades as he entered without announcing himself, when they saw who it was the swords were sheathed.

“Oh, Greyjoy,” the voice was gruff and sullen, as if they didn’t care he had bursted into their council. They were the ones who asked for him.

Around the table sat Lord Manderlay, the greatjon Umber, Lord Glover, the new Lord Karstark and a few others. A notable group of northern Lords, along with them the blackfish.

“Lady Mormont said I was needed?” He stood up a bit straighter.

“Yes,” the fat Lord Manderlay tossed a scroll across the table. It rolled and landed in front of Theon, he unraveled it cautiously fearing the contents within.

Then he read.

‘Balon Greyjoy is dead.’

That was all it said.

No preface, no additions, no name or titles. A sample fact.

His father was dead.

It hurt, but maybe it didn’t, his eyes still stung. He had felt upset when Ned Stark died, maybe even sad.

This wasn’t that feeling.

This was rage.

He had been hoping to look that man in the face and tell him how wrong he was. There was so much he had wanted to say and now he’d never get to say it.

He’d wanted to say that Rodrik and Maron’s deaths were all his fault. That Theon’s own capture was all his fault.

Theon had wanted to be the one to stop his rebellion in its tracks with Lyarra on his arm. To prove how great he could be. How Balon stabbed himself in the foot by casting Theon away. He wanted to make his father regret.

“Is it credible?” Theon asked.

“Very,” the blackfish said.

“And how did it happen,” he really didn’t want to know.

“I heard he fell from a bridge over the water at Pyke,” the blackfish responded.

He remembered the bridges. The cliffs the castle on Pyke rested on were long eroded leaving large gaps between each building. To cross the gaps you had to walk these rickety bridges. When he was little Asha would run across them and make fun of Theon for being scared to step on them. The height made him queasy. One time Maron had locked him on one of the bridges, closing both doors so he couldn’t get back inside. He had sobbed while standing on the swinging bridge over the rushing waters.

Theon crumpled the parchment in his hand and laughed. It was all karma he supposed.

He wondered if the rest of his family was mourning, his uncles. They likely weren’t. They held respect for his father from what he remembered, never love though.

“You’ll tell your squid sister,” Lord Umber barked out the order.

“And then?” Theon asked. With his father dead the next in line would be him, but his father had him disinherited. That would mean the next in line was uncle Euron.

Theon couldn’t let that pass, the seastone chair was his by all right. Now was the best moment to go, to strike while the iron was hot.

“We will wait for the young wolf to wake to act,” lord Umber said with unwavering loyalty before any other lord could speak.

Theon scowled, this was a poor choice. They hadn’t listened to him when he said they shouldn’t write off his family. They regretted it then. They won’t listen to him now, they would regret that as well.

He couldn’t argue with these men though. There guards on his back and Robb was not here to fight for him.

He spun on his heels and sulked out of the room, the paper still in his grasp. He made his way down to the cells.

The place was dank, warmer than the rest of the building due to the hot springs but still you could see your breath in the air.

Asha looked ill, bruised and bloody. She breathed deeply with eyes closed, she looked a bit like their mother. Usually she was more like their father, cruel and unyielding.

The door slammed open and her eyes snapped awake, she looked frightened for a moment. But the second she saw him her mouth curled into a cruel smirk.

“Little Theon, what do you need now? Feeling like you chose the wrong side watching the wolves lick their wounds.” She spit on the floor, saliva tinged with red.

He scoffed, then tossed the letter down with force. As it hit the air it trickled delicately landing in front of her.

She raised a brow at him then took the note, struggling a bit against her chains as she did.

She took a moment to read it, once, then twice, her face had fallen. “This can’t be true,” her voice was weavering. Through sadness or fear he couldn’t tell.

“It is, reputable, very true,” Theon kept his chin held high.

“How?” She muttered to herself.

It was rhetorical question that he answered anyway, “fallen from a bridge. Landed into the rocky waters. Serves him right.”

“There must’ve been foul play, this couldn’t have happened,” she was in denial.

He hadn’t expected the news to impact her so greatly, she was never very sentimental. Then he realized why she might be so worried, without Balon there was no reason to keep her alive. The northern lords might well kill her.

He told himself he didn’t care about that.

“It’s true, that makes me lord,” he said with a hauty voice, really trying to rub it in.

“He disinherited you,” she seethed, “you are no Greyjoy. You are a wolf, you walk the Greenland and worship these false gods.”

Theon rolled his eyes, he worshiped no gods. “I will take Pyke by force if I must. It fell once to the forces of the north, it can happen again. If I ask I can get an army, whoever does not yield will be killed.”

“An army using the same forces that killed my brothers,” she spat.

He seethed, “our brothers. Yours and mine both. These wolves at my bidding are the only thing keeping you alive, keep that in mind the next time you insult me.”

It wasn’t necessarily true but she didn’t have to know that. What was true was that he held all the power.

“I need to go home,” she said, not looking at him but looking at the note still in her hands.

“What so you can take the throne yourself?” Theon’s voice was humorous, “Uncle Euron is before you in line, then Victarion, then Aeron. And I’m still here. Plan on killing us all and becoming a kinslayer? You want to rule the islands that bad?”

She scoffed, “Euron had been banished by our father, you would know that if you were there.”

“My coming to Winterfell was not of my own choice,” Theon yelled.

“Just because you selfishly want our fathers seat doesn’t mean I do. I know my people and I want them to be happy,” Asha said, she sounded like a pompous ass.

Theon laughed at that, the ironborn, happy? An absurd idea. What they wanted was blood and gold, they did not want to be content.

He smiled smugly, “Talk all you want Asha, a woman will never sit the seastone chair. I am its heir by right, I will take it if need be with an army at my command.”

She could struggle against it all she wanted but in the end he would be the one winning. Robb would wake and see reason, he’d give Theon the army he needed. Theon would take the iron islands back. One he did that he’d use those ships to sail into the black water, kill the Lannisters, and rescue his lady.

Things didn’t come so quickly, weeks passed with no change. Robb lay rotting in bed while Theon’s chances of ruling his ancestral seat dwindled.

He didn’t bother going back to Asha, she would only shove his failures in his face.

Theon tried to convince lords to rally people so he can go back to the iron islands on multiple occasions. All were shot down, most wouldn’t even bother listening.

“But they will give us ships and men,” Theon insisted, “we are crippled. We can use those ships to invade kings landing. You can rescue your queen with those ships.”

They didn’t listen.

They wouldn’t listen without Robb to back up his words. In a month Robb woke.

Theon heard of it from Lady Stark as he ate, not directly from her, he overheard her telling the great lords.

Theon ran up to the room as fast as he could. He burst into the room to see little Arya and Lady stark are sitting, crying over him. Robb himself looked dazed, he held them back despite that. Crying with them.

Theon stood awkwardly as the happy family reunited. Anxiously awaiting his turn to speak to Robb, eager to ask to travel to Pyke.

Robb looked to Theon after being smothered by the two women. He gave Theon a smile, looking thankful he was there. He was probably the only one in the room who thought so.

“We’re in Winterfell?” Robb asked, looking around the room confused.

“Yes my darling,” Lady Stark said, stoking his face sweetly, “you are home.”

“Are Bran and Rickon alright?” Robb asked as he was sat up by the maester. He winced and clutched his leg, probably in pain.

Lady Stark frowned, “don’t worry...”

Theon frowned, that was no real answer. Robb was grown and could handle the truth. “We sent search parties out to find them, no luck yet.” He said, “they have Hodor and a wildling maid woman with them.”

Robb nodded solemnly before raising his brows and looking up at them all in fear. “And Lya?” He asked.

“My young Lord Stark,” Lord Manderlay began, “our queen is indisposed-“

Theon butt in “my father is dead.” He moved towards Robb grabbing his hands, “give me leave, give me men, I will go to the islands. I will take back my seat and I will get us ships. Lyarra’s been taken by the Lannisters, we can use the ships.”

The greatjon pulled him away from Robb but Theon pushed forward, desperate.

Robb put his hand up as if to tell them to calm, and they did. It was something Ned Stark would have done.

For a moment there was silence as he thought, then he looked up to Theon, apologetic. “I don’t know, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“But I can save Lya,” Theon insisted. He sounded desperate.

“We will find a way,” Robb responded. He had grown paler, “his eyes squinting.”

Lady Stark stood, her chair screeching as she did. She looked to Theon, angry, "there will be no talk of this any longer. My son is ill, this can wait.”

It cannot wait, Theon thought.

Before he could argue Robb turned a ghostly white and doubled over, gagging. There was nothing to spill but the milk of the poppy that had been given to him.

With that Theon was forced out of the room, the door shutting behind him.

He slammed a hand against the wall, the stone stinging his knuckles. He had waited patiently just for that.

Perhaps it was the milk of the poppy that had addled his mind, he thought. Robb would have to let him go.

Or maybe it was the rest of them, his lady mother or the other lords. They didn’t trust Theon. Maybe they were influencing him.

The next three days he must have asked ten times, any moment he found himself with the young wolf. Robb would not give in, he insisted they would need to wait. That they would form a plan.

Robb wanted something sure, something safe. They had dealt with a huge loss to their men, he said, taking men away from Winterfell could spell disaster.

Theon didn’t belive that. By the time they had a plan Lya would be dead and the Iron Island would be under the command of one of his uncles.

Slowly his bargaining turned to anger.

Why’d he even need to ask the man, Robb was not his lord. He was his own Lord and Lya was his queen, he listened to her alone.

He made his way down to the dungeons in the dead at night, the only sound the snow falling and the dragons singing in the distance.

As he unlocked Asha’s cell she looked at him in confusion, he was met with resistance when he began to pull her from it.

“What sort of scheme is this baby brother, planning on killing me? Planning on becoming a kinslayer?” She struggled against him as he pulled her by her chains down the halls, checking each corridor as he did.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said quietly.

“So this is a secret,” she copied his whisper as he dragged her to the stables, “where’s your army little brother? Hmm? Where’s your wolves?”

He turned, pushing her against a wall and holding a knife to her neck. “I still hold the power here, don’t forget that. Now shut up, we are going home.”