Chapter Text
MERRICK
The courtyard of Winterfell had quieted, the crowd from the sparring match dispersing into the late afternoon chill.
Snow dusted the ground, catching the fading sunlight like scattered diamonds and the air carried the sharp bite of frost mixed with forge-smoke and hay.
Merrick stood near the armory, wiping sweat from his brow, his training sword sheathed and his leathers still dusted with snow from his bout with Theon. His broad chest heaved, the adrenaline of the fight still simmering but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in his blood.
Robb.The omega whose scent had hooked into Merrick’s instincts like a harpoon. It had been there since the moment he’d stepped into the Great Hall, those blue eyes locking onto his, stirring something primal and undeniable.
A mate bond, Theon had teased and Merrick hated how right his little brother might be.
Every glance at Robb, every whiff of that scent, made his control fray, his hands itching to reach out, to pin the king against the nearest wall and claim him, consequences be damned.
But Merrick was Ironborn, forged in salt and storm, not some rut-driven beast. And the courtyard, with its lingering guards and curious stablehands, wasn’t the place for such displays.
He’d seen the way Robb’s eyes had followed him during the spar, intense and unreadable, a flush on his cheeks that wasn’t from the cold.
The pull was mutual, Merrick knew it, felt it in the way his blood sang when Robb was near. But knowing didn’t make it easier to stay steady.
He caught sight of Robb now, standing alone near the kennels, speaking low to a grizzled master-at-arms. Grey Wind lounged at his feet, the direwolf’s amber eyes fixed on Merrick like a warning.
Robb dismissed the man with a nod, then turned, his gaze finding Merrick across the yard. The pull tightened, a rope yanking at his core, and Merrick’s boots moved before he could think, carrying him toward the king.
Robb straightened as Merrick approached, his posture regal but his eyes betraying a flicker of something - nervousness, maybe or the same restless instinct Merrick felt.
Grey Wind rose, shaking snow from his fur, his low rumble a quiet challenge.
Merrick stopped a respectful distance away, his alpha presence heavy in the air, though he kept it reined in.
“Your Grace,” Merrick said, his voice rough with the road and the fight but steady. “Thought we might talk. Just us.”
Robb’s lips parted, a breath escaping in a faint cloud of frost. “Merrick,” he said, his tone measured but warm, like a hearth behind a guarded door. “You’ve got a knack for drawing eyes. That spar with Theon was… impressive.”
Merrick’s mouth curved, a half-smile that showed teeth. “Impressive? I was holding back. Didn’t want to embarrass my little brother too badly in your yard.”
Robb’s laugh was soft, genuine, and it hit Merrick like a wave, warm and disarming. “Theon’s got enough ego to survive a bruise or two. But you… you fight like the sea itself. Relentless.”
Merrick’s chest tightened, the compliment stirring something dangerous.
Robb was handsome, gods, was he handsome. Those auburn curls catching the light, those blue eyes sharp as Tully rivers, that strong jaw softened by a flush that spoke of omega heat beneath the kingly mask.
But it wasn’t just looks. Robb was good, in a way Merrick hadn’t expected. Fair, steady, the kind of man who held a fractured North together with will and heart. Merrick had seen enough lords - Balon, Euron - to know goodness was rarer than Valyrian steel.
“Aye, the sea’s in my blood,” Merrick said, stepping closer, unable to help himself. Grey Wind’s ears flicked but the wolf didn’t move. “But I’m not here to drown anyone. Not unless they deserve it.”
Robb’s eyes narrowed, but there was a spark of amusement there, mingling with the tension. “Bold words for a Greyjoy in Winterfell. Your house hasn’t exactly won friends here.”
Merrick nodded, his gaze steady. “I know the history. Theon’s mistakes, My Father's wars. But I’m not them. I left Pyke to escape Euron’s madness, not add to it. I’m here for alliance, Robb. And maybe… something more.”
The words slipped out, raw and unguarded, and Merrick cursed himself. The pull was making him reckless, that scent clouding his head.
Robb’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly and Merrick saw it: the bond, tugging at them both, a current neither could ignore.
“Something more?” Robb echoed, his voice low, cautious, but there was a tremor in it, a crack in his kingly armor. He stepped closer, close enough that Merrick could feel the heat of him, the scent wrapping around him like a net. “What do you mean, Merrick?”
Merrick’s hands flexed, fighting the urge to reach out, to pull Robb against him and let instinct take over.
He could imagine it - pinning the omega to the stone wall behind them, tasting that scent at its source, claiming him under the open sky.
But the courtyard wasn’t empty, and Grey Wind’s watchful gaze was a reminder of Robb’s strength, king and omega both.
“You feel it too,” Merrick said, his voice a low rumble, almost a growl. “Don’t pretend you don’t. That pull. It’s been there since I walked into your hall, since I caught your scent. Pine, steel, snow, it’s in my blood now, Robb. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Robb’s cheeks flushed, his lips parting as if to deny it, but he didn’t. Grey Wind whined softly, nudging Robb’s leg, and the king rested a hand on the wolf’s head, grounding himself. “You’re bold,” he said finally, his voice steady but strained. “Too bold, maybe. I’m a king, Merrick. I don’t have the luxury of… feelings.”
Merrick’s grin was slow, dangerous, his alpha flaring at the challenge. “Feelings? Call it what it is, Your Grace. Instinct. A bond. You can’t outrun it any more than I can. I see it in your eyes, the way you’re looking at me now.”
Robb’s gaze flickered, caught between defiance and something softer, something that made Merrick’s heart pound. “You don’t know me,” Robb said, but his voice was quieter, less certain. “You’re a stranger, a Greyjoy. Why should I trust this… this pull?”
Merrick took another step, closing the gap until they were barely a breath apart, the air between them crackling. Grey Wind’s rumble deepened, but the wolf stayed put, sensing no threat, yet. “Because it’s real,” Merrick said, his voice low, intense. “I’ve sailed through storms, fought reavers, faced Euron’s lash. I know what’s worth fighting for. You’re not just a king, Robb. You’re… good. Fair. The kind of man who makes a man like me want to stay.”
Robb’s breath caught, his eyes searching Merrick’s face, blue meeting green like sky and sea.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured, but there was no conviction in it, only heat, the mate bond pulling them closer. “I have a realm to hold. Cersei, Euron, Daenerys, they’re all waiting for me to falter. I can’t afford… distractions.”
Merrick’s hand twitched, itching to touch, to trace the line of Robb’s jaw, to feel the pulse under his skin.
“Distraction?” he said, his voice dropping to a husky edge. “Is that what you call it when your blood’s singing, when every breath pulls you to me? I’m trying to keep my hands off you, Robb, but it’s a losing battle.”
Robb’s flush deepened, his omega scent spiking, wild and intoxicating, making Merrick’s head swim. “You’re impossible,” Robb said, a half-laugh breaking through but his eyes didn’t leave Merrick’s. “You walk in here, bloodied and bold, talking of alliances and… and this. What am I supposed to do with you?”
Merrick’s grin softened, his alpha edge giving way to something rawer. “Talk to me. Trust me, maybe. I’m not here to take, Robb. Not unless you want me to.”
The words hung between them, heavy with promise, the matebond a pulse in the air. Robb’s hand tightened on Grey Wind’s fur, the wolf’s eyes still locked on Merrick, a silent guardian. “Trust,” Robb said, his voice quiet but firm. “That’s not easily given in the North. Not to Ironborn.”
Merrick nodded, respecting the steel in Robb’s tone. “Then let me earn it. I’m not Balon, not Euron. I’m here to fight for something bigger than myself. For Daenerys, for the Islands, for… you, if you’ll let me.”
Robb’s eyes widened, the pull flaring in his gaze, but he stepped back, putting space between them. “You make it sound simple,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s not. I’m a king, Merrick. My people come first. Always.”
Merrick’s chest ached, the bond urging him to close the gap, but he stayed rooted. “I know. And that’s why I’m here. You’re a good man, Robb Stark. Better than most I’ve met. That’s worth fighting for, crown or no crown.”
Robb’s lips parted, a retort dying as their eyes locked again, the matebond a silent roar. Grey Wind rose, nudging Robb’s side, breaking the moment. Robb exhaled, running a hand through his curls. “We’ll talk more,” he said, his voice steadier now. “In the hall, with my council. About your alliance. About… everything.”
Merrick inclined his head, his grin returning, softer now. “As you say, Your Grace. But don’t think you can outrun this. The sea doesn’t let go once it’s got you.”
Robb’s laugh was quiet, almost reluctant, but it warmed the air. “You’re too bold for your own good, Greyjoy.”
“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” Merrick shot back, his voice teasing but laced with heat.
Robb turned to go, Grey Wind at his side, but he glanced back, his eyes lingering on Merrick’s. The pull was there, undeniable, a promise of storms to come.
Merrick watched him disappear into the keep, his own blood pounding, the scent of pine and steel lingering like a ghost.