Disclaimer: I know. Another one? Honestly, this story came to me after re-reading the books. I'm now a bit more interested in House Greyjoy, and I think they deserve a little more love. The FC I'm using is Dilraba Dilmurat because I think we need more WoC fics. As I'm sure you all know, I own nothing! Not an absolute thing. GRRM does as well as HBO, I suppose you can say.

NESTA

289 AL

"Will the Drowned God protect them?"

Having been awake since dawn, she had gazed out the window solemnly as the clouds gathered slowly but surely. They were dark, unyielding, and they smothered the orange, Summer sun and usurped the skies. The air became thicker and saltier than usual, stronger in smell from being carried by the gale that sung harshly. The sea storm made her feel uneasy, mostly because her uncle spoke of victories and independence as it raged on. His exact words were: "Pyke will return to its former glory again" and "all will know the King of the Iron Islands again". Nesta hadn't truly understood what he truly meant by any of that. All she knew was that when her uncle had that odd gleam in his eyes, it had meant something serious. And whatever that serious thing was, she had hoped to avoid it for it roused a sense of dread in her.

"Do you want Him to protect them?" An answer wasn't given to her first question, and so she pursued to ask him another. She was bent on being answered in some way. Her eyes tore away from the window to look up at her beloved Theon. He was her fourth eldest cousin as well as the only boy one that she held love for. "Do you want the Drowned God to take them, Theon?" He kept quiet, his eyes vacant as he stared out into the sea. Why wouldn't he speak? She couldn't understand why he remained so silent. What was so wrong about what she asked him? "I hope He takes them," she said about her own kin, of both Maron and Rodrik. "I hope the Drowned God takes them into the sea and never gives them back."

Theon suddenly gripped her shoulders, forcing her to face him as he shook her wildly. "Shut up!" he shouted, startling her. "Don't say things like that!" His eyes were narrowed, his face twisting itself into a scowl. "What if someone hears you? What if my father had heard you say that?" Nesta became wide-eyed, only briefly before drawing in her lips to lick them. Her eyes fell in shame, or so she pretended to feel such a thing. She had not once thought that she could've been heard by someone. Quite frankly, she had not been thinking much at all. She had always been the kind to act before thought; impulsive, this girl of seven was. "He'll be furious if he knew you wanted their death. He'll hit you, do you understand?" Theon shook her again, making sure the words sank in. "He'll hit you," he stressed.

It was true. Her uncle adored Maron and Rodrik, his eldest boys, the true iron sons that any ironer could ever pray to the god for. If he heard her words, he would be enraged and like Theon had said, he'd strike her with his hand. A hand to temper her mouth, he'd say. A woman should know her place, he'd say also. Balon was a strict man with a heart like a maelstrom. If he found fault, he took action and all his actions did not rely on just words. Nesta loved him little. He never gave her a reason to love him and she was sure it was not her love that he wanted, only her respect. Perhaps not even that. Why would he care what a salt-child thinks?

"But Maron and Rodrik are cruel," Nesta's voice was low, a poor attempt to be careful of who could be around to hear them. She would not back down from her feelings, no matter the cost. "They beat you, Theon. Won't things be better with them gone?"

Her cousin smiled before hauling her close, his small body a comfort when days were confusing or sad. She looked for comfort in Theon, and she looked for strength in Yara. "I'll be fine, Nessie." Her arms wrapped themselves around him, her face pressing into the middle of his chest. He was lying, she knew, but she wasn't feeling so bold to call him out on it right now. "Rodrik and Maron only do that to make a man of me. Ironborn can't be weak; we must know pain so that we can give it. You can't give what you don't understand, you hear?"

She heard him. She just couldn't understand and more so, she hadn't like that he came to Maron and Rodrik's defense. She would've rather him agree with her. She would rather him be honest as he usually is with her. Seeing as steadfast he was with what he thought, Nesta merely nodded her head so that Theon wouldn't be frustrated with her opposing views. Neither did she want to hear him say that she doesn't understand anything because she's a girl or because she's a salt-child. Everyone just didn't understand how clearly she understood what happened around her, though she had discovered posing as ignorant worked greatly in her favor… Most of the time.

Theon soon took her hand, holding it tight as he led her out of the middle hall. "My father says we aren't to leave the Sea Tower," he explained to her. She wanted to ask why but kept quiet. 'If that's what my father says then that's what my father says, Nesta. Stop questioning everything', she was certain he would say. Theon was obedient to his father by an absolute fault. Only a few times would he rebel, and she noticed Balon rather liked him better when he did.

"Where is Yara?" she asked, curious of her only girl cousin whereabouts.

"In her chambers," he answered. "Where you should also be." The corners of her lips dipped down into a frown. She didn't want to be in her chambers. She wanted to be with Theon and Yara. She wanted to play games or do something that would keep her from lessons with the priest. The priest was a scraggly man with a voice so monotone that it could put one to sleep. She would rather read than hear his voice for what felt like torturous hours on end.

"And where are you going?" Nesta inquired, wondering if he would be truthful. Sometimes Theon liked to run off, chasing after the legs of adults because he liked to be apart of something. He didn't like her clutching his leg all the time, even if he did enjoy the adoration she felt for him because he knew more and was older. Theon liked attention, but enjoyed it better when it suited certain needs at certain times.

"I want to see if we can see any battling in the sea from here." Theon's excitement hadn't rubbed off on her. It only served to deepen the dread she had been feeling for a while.

"Why would there be battling? Who is fighting?" Her cousin rolled his eyes, hand fiercely tugging hers to make her pick up the pace.

"Us! We're battling, the ironmen! We're fighting King Robert." His voice rose a pitch, tongue eager to waggle about all that he knew. "My father is King of the Iron Islands now and he will not bow down to the Usurper! These are our islands, why should that man rule over it? We helped him to a throne and it's only right that we have ours again."

None of this made much sense. The Usurper was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and Balon helped him be. Why rebel? Why did Balon feel the need to make the Islands their own kingdom again? "And my father is out there? He's battling King Robert's men at sea?"

Theon nodded, making her heart want to sink down into her stomach. "He's commanding the Iron Fleet," Nesta swallowed thickly, her hands wanting to latch onto something. Her father was at the helm of the fleet in the middle of the sea. Drowned God, protect him, she thought. She had to pray for him, but how can she? She wasn't allowed to leave the Sea Tower and pray in the sea waters. How can the Drowned God feel her sincerity from here? "I heard he burned the Lannisters' entire fleet."

Now she understood why her father left without explanation. He had left at dawn a fortnight and some days ago, having come to her room to bid her farewell while she wished him safe sailing. He had promised her that he would return with a gift, something from a place she had not been to yet. Through yearning and excitement, Nesta woke up every dawn and would peer out the window waiting for his ship to return to Pyke's shores. It was why she was awake now, just to be disappointed that he had not yet returned.

He was an odd man, her father, that is. Nesta had heard stories of him that would make a girl clutch her sheets tight in fright but when she was with him, he was calm and sporadically affectionate. He would carry her, never faltering in strength from the weight and height she gained as the years passed, and they would walk on the beach of Pyke. Sometimes he'd take her on his ship and they'd sail across Ironman's bay to Seagard and he would let her take what she wanted. He would also tell her plenty of stories, too. All those stories were of the sea, of the great krakens, of all their glory. He did not have the tongue to tell them well like her favorite uncle, Aeron, but she loved hearing them all the same.

"He burned the ships of the lions?" Nesta felt pride swell within her. Tywin Lannister was a name she knew, a name that provoked fear within those that knew of what happened to House Reyne. It led her to wonder how the mighty and proud lion-lord of Casterly Rock took to losing against the ironborn. "So my father is fine, then? He's still… alive?"

"Of course," Theon said with ease but that ease soon faltered, becoming something else. "But I don't know what happened at Fair Isles. I hear we lost that fight."

Her heart throbbed, almost painfully. Her father was still out at sea and if he had lost then that could mean his ship had been torn apart, sunken into the unforgiving sea or possibly went up in flames. The Drowned God could've taken him and nobody had not yet known. She didn't want the Drowned God to have her father. He couldn't have him. "Want to come with me?" asked Theon.

Nesta shook her head, her hands gathering the skirts of her dress. Her knuckles were pale from clutching so tightly and she felt herself wanting to cry out of anxiety. Theon was lucky his father was home. He had nothing to worry about. If her father was dead then what would become of her? No mother, no father, and of the salt… Balon could throw her wherever he wanted and to whomever he pleased.

"No," her voice softened to a whisper. "I don't want to see." Her cousin's expression had changed, his eyes lost that excitement they held and melted with concern. "I'll go back to my bedchambers."

It must've been shocking or why else would he'd look at her so bug-eyed? It was rare for her to do as she should and for her to be so willing? She must've really shocked him. "Uncle Victarion will be fine," he tried to reassure her. It hadn't worked. It hadn't even helped for a second. "You know our words, Nesta. What did the priest tell him? What does he tell all o' us during the ritual?"

"What is dead may never die," Nesta recited the words she has heard repeatedly and has kept faith to. "But rises again, harder and stronger."

With a sharp nod, her cousin gave her a grin that was contagious. As she said, Theon brings her comfort. They had been so blissfully unaware, not knowing for a single moment that King Robert Baratheon and Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell would land on their shores and tear their lives apart.

JAIME

289 AL

He remembered the day Robert first brought her into the Red Keep. Nesta was a short thing; chubby-faced and only of age seven. Her little feet practically dragged as she walked alongside Robert and Ser Barristan with her eyes staring down at the pale floors of the castle. Not once did she look up. It was almost as if she thought she would shatter to pieces if she had. Jaime thought her too young to know of pride, for most would've kept their chins up; Cersei as a girl that age certainly would have. He had been wrong, though. The girl knew of pride, but she was of mind to know when it was wise to show it and wise to hide it.

They kept her in the Maidenvault, away from the royal family while simultaneously close. Living just as lavishly as them, too. It was strange, for a ward, to be given that luxury and yet Robert made it so without argument. Jaime couldn't count on one hand when Robert made much sense to him anyhow, so he didn't feel much inclined to care of why Robert was so adamant with this decision. What Jaime had understood was that the girl was a glorified prisoner. They would wreath her in silks, bathe her in waters with those overwhelming flowery scents, and let her eat food that a pisspoor man in Flea Bottom couldn't handle on his palate. Tended to like a lady, dressed in silks, but shackled with invisible chains of gold.

For a fortnight, she wailed hours on end in her bedchambers. Whenever his shift caused him to pass her door or keep watch of her due to the change of rounds, he could hear the high-pitched sounds that would make a man think ghosts roamed. She would cry all day and all night, but when she was made to leave her chambers, she would not so much as whimper. Her eyes would be red, brimmed with tears and puffy. Her little hands would practically smash away the stains of tears and the back of her sleeves used to wipe her nose. The girl would look as if she would faint, having cried herself to the point of pure exhaustion, but the look in her eyes would say otherwise. She was not a broken, homesick girl. Instead, she was a girl who would so proudly not let her emotions be laid bare to the open world and would hide them away behind closed doors.

And for some reason, her actions felt familiar to him.

He kept his distance, reasonably so, since he felt such strange familiarity of her actions stir something in him. Jaime could not be bothered by such emotions, mostly because something like that feels more like a chore than anything else. He also set his life on this routine that became natural to him since Robert became king and he did not need a single thing to ruin it. Of course, that had all changed in just a matter of a month. The young iron child had become interesting to him again.

The first time he had seen her smile was when she first met Tyrion.

"What do you make of King Robert's little Greyjoy ward?" His little brother had asked him as they ambled down the dimly-lit halls of the keep to the Maidenvault. "I hear she doesn't bear the look of a Greyjoy at all."

"What's there to make of a child?" Jaime replied, expression borderline bored and confused. "She doesn't. Most likely has a foreign mother." It wasn't much of a surprise. Foreigners were of abundance in harbor cities and since the Iron Islands were so close to Seagard and even of Old Town, it wasn't hard to assume that her mother unfortunately got herself tangled with the likes of the reapers and sea raiders that were the ironborn.

Tyrion hummed in thought, his curiosity obviously piqued. "Did she come in shouting of the wrath of her Drowned God? I can't imagine our king would've taken kindly to that."

It would've been a rather humorous sight and certainly not as depressing as how she actually entered the keep. Jaime might've liked her more if she fought Robert and shouted curses, yelling about some odd god that only stays at the bottom of the sea. "I wish she did." Tyrion also looked disappointed but not enough to be deterred from wanting to see this little ironer.

Their steps slowed until they stood before the two, tall and carved doors of the Maidenvault. Jaime raised a fist, knocking twice at the door before taking a few steps back. They waited, hearing the sounds of hesitant yet shuffling feet. The girl was by her lonesome today, the septa having not visited her yet for lessons, and so he supposed she was wary that company had come to see her.

The door opened, just a crack, after a few short minutes. All that could be seen was one big and brown eye that searched for who knocked before eventually meeting his gaze. She stared him for a solid minute before opening the door further. Nesta must've gotten used to him or so it would seem, for she trusted him enough to further open the door than to shut it close. They had never spoken to one another but more often than not, they were almost if not always together for some reason or another. Her eyes soon fell to Tyrion, who she happened to be taller then.

"You must be Nesta. I've been most eager to meet you," his brother had said. "Your father has made quite the impression on mine. Such a strange impression that I fear that's why you're here in the first place."

The girl said nothing, she only stared. "Forgive me, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Tyrion Lannister, if you haven't heard of me yet; brother of Queen Cersei, brother of Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard, and son of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock." He always had to go the extra mile, Jaime mused. As if the girl cared about all those things or hadn't known any of that already.

Her eyes looked at Tyrion from head-to-toe and back again. "You're little to be a man," was all she had bothered to say, completely ignoring everything that was just said.

Jaime found himself rather annoyed, truly, by this child's lack of respect than of her small understanding. She was but a girl, of course, and might've never laid her eyes on a man of Tyrion's stature before. It still hadn't made it right that she would speak such words without thought. Despite his feelings on the matter, Jaime kept himself tight lipped. The need to defend his little brother was nestled inside his chest, though the fierce protectiveness he held for Tyrion was beginning to wane due to the knowledge that he shouldn't verbally combat with a child of seven. None of that hadn't stopped him for being so tempted to, however.

Tyrion's response was not out of the norm for him. His brother always did fashion himself as witty. "Why yes, I'm a small man; a dwarf, many would say."

He continued to watch, his green eyes steadily peering out of their corners as he crossed his arms over his chest. The iron girl's head fell in a curious tilt before she spoke again; "Then what do you say?" she asked him. "If that's what many would say of you then what do you say of yourself?"

One of Jaime's fine and golden eyebrows had rose, curiosity brewing while Tyrion looked rather… dumbfounded. So rarely could his brother be taken by surprise to the point a response wasn't immediate. For a few seconds, silence settled and then Tyrion gathered himself again. "I would say that I'm just as any man," he replied. "Just smaller than most."

The corners of her pink lips twitched, almost as if she meant to fight the smile that tried to take shape. "Then you're just a man as any man, just smaller than most."

Tyrion, unnaturally so, was quiet for a moment. Then it came, the sound of a familiar chuckle that Jaime had not been expecting. "I think I rather like you, Nesta Greyjoy."

The girl's expression gave nothing away, at least not to Jaime. "If you like me then take me from here." Jaime's brows both shot up, surprised by her bold words. Tyrion, surprised as well, made the same expression. He then turned to look at him before looking back at Nesta, almost if to ask if he had heard her say that.

"I suppose you are tired of the Maidenvault," Tyrion said with amusement. "I'm sure you won't be missed here and the king will find no fault in me taking you. Come, little Nesta Greyjoy, let's take a walk." Nesta's lips quirked in a joyful smile. It was as if Tyrion were some savior, taking her away from the awful prison and to the outside world. One should assume it was, Jaime suspected. This place was like a prison; a pretty prison but a prison nonetheless.

Her little feet quickly shuffled across the floor, her small legs hurrying her on until she and Tyrion fell in step with one another.

And soon, when the distance was of his choosing, Jaime Lannister had followed behind.

298 AL

Even now, Jaime was following behind Nesta Greyjoy as she moseyed down the hall of the Red Keep.

Warm sunlight shone through the halls, casting squares onto the honeyed wine-colored floor and reflecting onto several objects in the hall which decorated its otherwise simplicity. The curtains, sheer and opaque, billowed as the Summer breeze swam through. The morning is a sight to behold, if you'd care for that sort of thing, and it's a morning that doesn't make one think that a man has just died.

The chorus of heavy bells that sung of mourning had rang throughout the keep and the entirety of King's Landing, allowing no soul alive to forget that the old Hand of the King has perished. He wasn't meant to forget, but Jaime had not a care in the world that Lord Jon Arryn was dead. At this time, he was supposed to be searching for Cersei, knowing very well that she was anxious because Jon Arryn was sticking his nose in what wasn't rightfully any of his business. It was a relief to know he was gone, and so Jaime found there to be nothing to fear. His twin, however, was always paranoid; he knew better than to think that her mind wasn't scrambled with nonsensical thoughts that Jon Arryn might've told someone about them.

But Nesta Greyjoy was someone he had to keep an eye on. After all, this girl had ruined what little peace he had known, if what he could call anything in this life of his any sort of inkling of peaceful. Nesta and Tyrion were twice as troublesome together, and equal parts aggravating once separated. Both his brother and the king's ward had become inseparable in over a span of nine years and Jaime, more often than not, was left to clean up the messes they made along the way. He supposed it was his fault since Jaime had been willing than he had been resisting. Tyrion was a given, but Nesta…

Nesta was no longer seven. No longer that child that amused him by pretending to behave older than her years. She was now five-and-ten on the short journey of six-and-ten sometime soon. Jaime just isn't one to remember name days. Her chubby face had slimmed and now her face was small and revealed its gentle structure that was overly feminine, no parts handsome. She was tall, almost to his shoulder at least when she once reached only his hips, and svelte. The girl blossomed prettily, only physically in Jaime's eyes. Nesta had men entranced as soon as they saw her large brown eyes that nearly took up most of her face, but it was when she opened her mouth that all the charm she held had turn into dust.

There was no denying she was of the ironborn. She was proud, iron-willed, and she lacked couth most if not all the time. Her honesty was sometimes so brutal and more than that, she was downright mischievous. The septa couldn't change her. In fact, Jaime was more than sure that the septa gave up when the girl reached the age of ten. It left him to wonder if Tyrion or himself was to blame for this; they spoke to her as if they forgot they were in the presence of a girl, always upfront, and telling her what she inquired without considering her age to be a tender issue. She was not Myrcella nor Tommen, meaning that what was supposed to be the blushing maiden or a naïve baby prince as their titles called for was lost on her. She was a ward, and a Greyjoy; vulgarity was in their blood, or so it was taught.

Robert had even taken a liking to her. The both of them would drink and laugh louder than anyone else in the Great Hall. She also goes hunting with him, too; something Jaime hated more than anything else since he would be tasked to tag-along. He was tired of watching them hunt their boars, but he found Nesta's skill in archery to be a little fascinating. She could've picked any weapon but she had chose the bow all because she said it reminded her of her cousin. "My cousin, Theon, he's an archer. I used to like to watch him while he practiced. He would leave the training ring with his fingers bleeding, never quite satisfied until he met his target more than once." The fondness in her eyes, the gentlest smile she could muster, all of it reminded him of when he once looked up to the men he idolized in his youth.

"I'm sure your king is drowning his sorrows," Jaime initiated the conversation, knowing Nesta was aware of him.

"When does he not drown his sorrows?" Nesta shot back. "Lord Arryn was like a father to him."

"He was old enough to be his father, too." He supposed his sarcastic remark was insensitive, but when had Jaime ever cared about sensitivity? "The man was old. He was bound to die one of these days."

"I know," Nesta's gait had changed, there was a jig to her steps now. "It just seems strange to me that a healthy man suddenly becomes a sick man and then he's dead in such a short, short time." Jaime agreed but he wouldn't say anything. Jon Arryn's death didn't seem natural in any sense, and that's saying something since the most unnatural people breathed in this keep. "Someone must've wanted him quiet, don't you think?"

Does she…? No, there isn't any way possible of her knowing and Jon Arryn, if he knew a thing, wouldn't have revealed it to Nesta of all people. The strike of fear that quickly pulsed just as quickly mellowed, his calm facade never faltering. "There's a lot to keep quiet about here. He was the Hand. I'm sure he knew plenty of damning things about everyone here. Wouldn't have someone quieted him sooner if that were the reason?" Jaime replied.

"True." He watched as she took hold of her grey skirts, swishing them childishly. "But maybe what he knew was something that simply could not be ignored."

Locking his jaw, Jaime found himself becoming like his sister; instantly paranoid. "Is there something you know that you're not telling me, Nesta?"

She paused, her hands having stopped their mindless play with her dress. "I tell you everything, don't I, Ser Jaime?" He hated it. That glint in her eyes, that roguish grin on her face, and none of it is even before his very eyes but he knows she's making that face. "I just like to see you squirm."

"I'm not squirming." Grinding his teeth, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. "The day I tremble under your words is the day Robert favors water over wine." Nesta laughed, and the sound of it grated his nerves further. "But you should be happy, knowing who the next Hand will be." Her laughter had died down, little by little, and she had finally turned around so that their eyes could meet. She didn't know? Hadn't even guessed from the likes of it. The corner of his mouth lifted, a smirk revealed. "In no time, the king will take us all to that barren wasteland they call the North to beg Ned Stark to take Arryn's place."

He expected for her to be overjoyed. If Robert rode to the North, it was likely he'd bring her along, and in the end she'd be reunited with the cousin she hasn't seen in years. That very same cousin she held a lot of love for and spoke plenty about. But excitement didn't awash her face. Her eyes were wide still and her emotions seemed all over the place. Nesta, for once since he known her, had nothing to say and soon sharply turned and hurried away as if she needed to sort herself out in solitude.

THEON

It nearly made him jump, the sound of a log shifting and settling itself in the fire. Just that sound, simple and familiar, had his heart ready to fly out of its cage. He was excited, terrified, and nearly overwhelmed by the idea that his little cousin was riding north, to Winterfell. It'll be the first time in a long time that Theon would see someone from home again. It had been despairing when it was told that he wasn't allowed to write letters to Pyke or King's Landing because they hadn't trust that the letters would be innocent, thinking he would stupidly write up some plots that anyone could easily read. As if Theon had the power to orchestrate another rebellion while surrounded by Starks in the first place.

He still could remember the day Robert Baratheon decided that one hostage wouldn't be enough. It made sense to him now, why the king took her. It was mostly to appease Tywin Lannister after the devastating loss of his fleet for Robert still owed the man a great deal and marrying his daughter had not quite fulfilled the debt. Nesta was also valuable in other ways, surely capable of marrying anyone that Robert or Tywin could concoct was an ideal match to keep her father under control. Yara was the luckiest one of them all and Theon wondered if she ever felt guilty about that luck. He doubted she did in some ways, Yara knew there was nothing could be done. Not only that, their father lost so they had to suffer the consequences; he had to reap what he sowed.

"You alright?" Robb's voice tore himself from out of his head. Theon's eyes, that were staring absently at the hearth, had finally lifted to see the eyes of his best friend, his foster brother. He had not told Robb much about the little cousin he thinks plenty about. Yara's name left his lips often, but the little salt-girl that used to clutch his leg, he would rather keep selfishly to himself. "You've been staring at the fire since I told you the King will arrive here in a few days."

"She'll be here too, won't she?" Robb didn't need to figure out who it was that he had meant. The way his expression changed into one of sympathy was enough to tell him that. "I haven't seen her in nine years… Will I even recognize her? She was more than a cousin to me, Robb. She was—" he paused and then shook his head before he corrected himself, "she is like a little sister. Just as important to me as Sansa and Arya are to you."

"I doubt the king would keep his ward in King's Landing. I think he has the heart to let her see her cousin after so long," said Robb, attempting his best to calm his frayed nerves. "You once told me her mother was a YiTish woman, didn't you? Shouldn't that make her easy to find in a crowd? No one would look quite like her, now would they?" he jested a little, if only to cheer him up. It worked for Theon smirked and did his best not to chuckle at the very obvious fact. Was his anxiety making him stupid? It certainly felt like it.

Nesta had never known her mother but Theon had, if only for a short while. She was tall and lanky, her hair the color of a raven's wing as it cascaded down to her hips. Her face was round, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and her nose thin and pointed. She was a beauty, and many of the ironmen had praised Victarion on her capture and the marriage. She had been brought to Pyke battle-tired and half-starved. The woman unwillingly accepting her fate once she discovered there was no way she could leave once her feet touched Pyke's shores. She was said to have died from childbed fever, or at least that's what his Uncle Aeron had explained to him.

"If the King had any heart at all, he would've let her stay in Pyke with her father." Theon hadn't meant to say that. He wanted to swallow those words and yet the ease of being with his best friend made him spit them out. He controlled the panic he felt and then looked to Robb, who had an expression he couldn't quite read. Theon had guessed that Robb was going to make up some excuse, for his father had been there when Robert decided that Nesta would be taken as well. Lord Stark had disapproved, thinking that taking the only heir to the Iron Islands was enough. He also hadn't seem too keen that Robert wanted to curry more favor with the Lannisters.

"What's done is done," Robb replied. "There's nothing you can change except to rebuild what time has taken."

Setting his jaw, Theon nodded quietly, knowing there was too much truth in that. All the resentment he harbored would probably never know an end, but he could fix one thing. He could have Nesta love him again, if she even still cared. It was easy to think she had forgotten all about him, wanting to have no memories of Pyke because they were painful. Theon had tried to forget and failed, but maybe Nesta had been stronger than him in that regard. No, he suddenly thought. She would never forget Pyke. She would never forget her father or Yara… She would never forget me.

"Get some sleep, will you? Who knows when the king will show and Nesta will think we've tortured you if you stand out there with your eyes all black." Robb clapped his shoulder after his kind advice before leaving him alone in the Great Hall. Everyone had already left, but he sat there by himself as he tried to think less of a girl of seven who once looked at him with nothing but love in her eyes.

A/N: How was it? I'm not sure who I'm gonna pair Nesta with and I'm probably gonna leave that up to the readers, possibly through a poll if I'm stuck. For now, I'm just exploring relationships for her so that everyone can see who meshes well with her. I also added time stamps since Nesta's first POV is when she was seven, which is nine years before the start of the series.