-Two-
Theon
"Showoff." Theon grinned at an indignant Robb Stark before letting another arrow fly. It stuck dead center in the target ten yards away.
"Come, come, now, Robb. I cannot help that I am better." The young lord and his bastard brother shared a look of exasperation.
"Your arrogance will be the death of you one day, Greyjoy." Jon Snow proclaimed. Theon turned to issue a biting retort when a rather pretty servant girl flitted into the training ground and curtsied before them.
"My Lord Greyjoy, Lord Stark requires you presence." Theon exhaled irritably, but spared one last smarmy glance at Jon Snow and a friendly pat on the rear for the servant girl before turning and marching into the keep.
It was not often that Lord Stark requested an audience with Theon alone, unless of course it was to chastise him for his dalliances in the town or with one of the maids. By now Lord Stark had to realize that such empty threats did not work on him anymore; he suspected the only purpose they served these days was in pacifying Lady Catelyn. She held a particular distaste for him, ever since he made the unfortunate mistake of describing one of his latest conquests to Robb. He rolled his eyes at the memory – Robb had asked, after all.
In any case, it came as quite a surprise, then, when he reached Lord Stark's solar and found not an irate Lady Catelyn, but the Leech Lord watching him with an unimpressed expression. Theon faltered, glancing between the two northern lords. What is this?
"So you are Theon Greyjoy." The Leech Lord sneered, looking him up and down as though he were a prized horse ready for barter. Theon's hackles rose, along with the hairs at the nape of his neck, and he decided in that moment that he deeply disliked Roose Bolton.
"I am, my lord," he said, making a conscious effort not to let his voice waver, and then acknowledged Lord Stark, "Did you have need of me?"
"Yes, Theon. Please, come in," Stark glanced at Roose Bolton and back at Theon, who was feeling more confused by the second, "There is something we must discuss."
"Of course, Lord Stark."
"Theon, you are a man grown, which means there are certain duties you must assume for yourself and your house," Stark paused a moment, as though uncomfortable with what he had to say next, "Chief among them is the obligation to marry."
Theon felt his eyes widen and the pit of his stomach drop into his bowels. A betrothal. Stark meant to marry him off! Swiftly, his shock turned to an intense feeling of betrayal that pierced him from navel to neck.
"To whom?" he demanded. What noble family in their right mind would have the son of reaver and a pillager, a disgraced rebel who'd practically been neutered by the very family before him? It was insane! Unless… unless Stark meant to marry him to one of his own daughters. Theon rid himself of that notion immediately. Catelyn would never allow it.
"To my daughter, Lady Pryskilla Bolton." The Leech Lord's voice washed over him like a cold draught and Theon was rendered still as a statue. They want me to marry a Bolton? Was this a jape? No doubt the wench would be as unsightly and unsettling as her father, most likely with the personality of a rabid dog. She will probably try and bite my cock off the first night!
"My lord, I'm afraid I don't understand." Ned Stark looked at him with something akin to pity, only confirming Theon's suspicions.
"Lady Pryskilla is Lord Bolton's last surviving child, and you are the heir to Pyke. It would be ideal."
"My father will never agree to this!" Theon's mouth worked faster than his mind and the desperate protest came pouring out in full force.
"He might. Nothing is set in stone, you have to understand. It is only a proposal," Lord Stark said as though it were in any way reasonable, "The Dreadfort would have an heir, as will the Iron Islands, along with a sizeable dowry to go with it. And," he glanced at Bolton, "Once you sire said heir, you will be allowed to go home."
That silenced the protest on his tongue.
"Back to the Iron Islands?" He murmured.
"Yes, if that is your desire." The two lords looked at him steadily, gauging his reaction. Home. I could go home. He thought. Theon would be remiss to say that such a thing was not one of his most fervent wishes. He longed to be among his own people. Where no one would look at him with suspicion and distrust in their eyes. Where he could become his own man, away from the yoke of House Stark, even if it meant a marriage to the Leech Lord's daughter. But there must be a catch, he thought. There always is.
"And if my father doesn't agree?" Stark glanced downward, almost apologetically.
"Then you would have to remain here."
"So you mean to blackmail him?" Theon accused, angry again.
"If that is what it takes, then so be it." Lord Bolton said coldly, "We have already dispatched a raven."
Jon
Their swordplay was interrupted when a furious Theon picked up a sword of live steel and began hacking away at a practice dummy. His dark eyes were narrowed and full of rage, his swings erratic but full of a brutality which Jon had never thought him capable. Robb halted in his movements to watch the half-crazed Ironborn.
"What in the seven hells has gotten into you, lad?" Rodrick Cassel roared, halfway between astounded and amused. Theon didn't answer him, only redoubled his efforts and severed the dummy's head with a single swing. He stood there panting and sweaty, despite the cold air, and none of the murder seemed to had dissipated from his gaze.
"Ser Rodrick, may we conclude our training for the day?" Robb inquired, ever respectful. Winterfell's man-at-arms huffed and rolled his eyes, but appeared to agree.
"Fine, but expect me to push you twice as hard on the morrow."
"I will." Robb answered for them both, and waited for Ser Rodrick to leave before turning to Theon. Robb had always been closer to him than Jon ever would, or wanted to be, and he approached carefully, keeping out of range of his sword.
"Theon? What happened? What did father want?" Theon only sneered and sheathed his sword.
"He intends to marry me off, to a Bolton." Robb's eyes rounded, while Jon fought off the urge to laugh. He would never let Greyjoy live this one down.
"You're betrothed?"
"As good as, Lord Stark," He said nastily, "To some dead-eyed, Bolton tart!" Better than one of my sisters, Jon thought.
"But… how can that be? Lord Bolton only had one son."
"Evidently he has a daughter as well, and I am to be her lucky groom." Theon gestured dramatically, prompting Jon to roll his eyes.
"Surely it cannot be all bad. You could always take a lover…"
"That's not the point, Robb," Theon scoffed and shook his head derisively, "He's going to blackmail my father. If he doesn't agree to the match, then I stay here forever." The young lord of Winterfell pulled his head back in shock, while his bastard brother disguised a roll of his eyes. What did you expect, Greyjoy? Your father is one of the most unreasonable men in the seven kingdoms, of course Lord Stark has to be tough.
Asha
It was an exceptionally soggy day in Pyke when Lord Stark's letter arrived. Asha Greyjoy looked flatly at the snarling direwolf imprinted in the wax, something derisive and wrathful in her gaze. The last time they had heard from the Starks was when they stormed the keep, killed two of her brothers, and dragged the third, crying and screaming, into one of the king's ships to be raised a hostage. The jealous, secret part of Asha thought it might have been for the best; Theon was always the weakest of Balon's children, a constant tag-a-long, even when their brothers tormented him – and, more importantly, it meant that Asha was now next in line to take over lordship of the Iron Islands. But that did by no means indicate that she was at ease with the situation. Forget the humiliation, the blight upon their pride - Theon, weak though he might've been, was still a Greyjoy. He belonged to the sea like a bird to the sky, and trying to keep him from it was tantamount to blasphemy. Fucking greenlanders.
"You best take that to your father now, girl." The old maester barked gruffly and Asha realized how long she'd been standing there, glaring at a piece of paper. She jerked her head and stalked off.
Balon Greyjoy sat recalcitrant and brooding in his throne, glaring with fierce eyes at nothing in particular. He seemed shrunken, somehow, with age or with the pressure of lording over a stony, infertile, land mass full to the brim with hardened sailors spoiling for a fight. It was anyone's guess, really.
"Father, I have a letter from the Starks."
"Is that so?" He said with little enthusiasm and much disdain, "Give it here." Asha presented the yet-unopened missive which was promptly snatched from her hand and torn open. His eyes flew over Lord Stark's neat script, initially dismissive but Asha saw, quite clearly, his expression grow dark and murderous like a storm on the horizon. Asha knew that look well. He had worn it only once, after Rodrik and Maron were slain, and it was something one never forgot. Asha's mind leaped from one dire conclusion to the next. Was Theon dead? Had he escaped? Did he whelp a bastard on one of the Stark daughters?
"What does he say, father?" When Balon said nothing Asha boldly approached, "What has happened?" Her father's voice was a guttural snarl.
"It would seem that the honorable Lord Stark is not so honorable after all. He means to force my hand. In exchange for Theon's return, the bastard would have him married to a Northern girl. If I refuse, Theon remains a hostage."
Asha was thunderstruck.
"What?" The Starks were threatening to keep her brother a prisoner forever? What gall! What fucking nerve! "He has no right! We must put a stop to this! Theon belongs to us!"
"No." Asha stilled at her father's reply. There was an icy coldness in his voice that sent a chill down her spine.
"Father?"
"I will not compromise with a Stark. Let them marry him off. Theon belongs to them now."
"But he is your son! My brother-"
"He is no son of mine!" Balon rose abruptly. In his anger, he was anything but shrunken. He was the Lord of the Iron Islands, restored to full potency and Asha was forced to back down, reluctant though she was.
"Theon is dead to us now. Best you forget him." Asha stared in open mouth shock.
"But-
"We will speak on this no more. Now leave me be." She narrowed her eyes, feeling numb and the weight of words unspoken hanging heavily over her tongue. On wooden legs she turned and exited the room.