What is up my dudes? New chapter for ya, I hope you enjoy. Originally I planned to include the coming of the king in this chapter but upon finishing the scene I decided to end it here. Please tell me what you think, I love reviews. I think what I'm most concerned about at this point is the proper execution of Theon's character and the nuance of making an OC that is not a Mary Sue and yet has a strong chemistry with our man of the hour. You guys will have to tell me what you think about that so far, I know its hard to get to know a character with only a few chapters but I appreciate your opinions. Happy reading!
-Seven-
Theon
Theon bristled as Robb's mocking laugh broke his concentration yet again. He lowered his bow, glaring at the young lord with open irritation.
"Do you mind, Stark? I am rather busy at the moment." Robb wore a smarmy little smirk that was utterly foreign on his face; even his wolf pup seemed to be laughing at him.
"You weren't too busy last evening. Giggling like a maid, you were! Who knew that Boltons could be such good company?" Theon groaned low in his throat. Even if his teasing was well-meant, it was wearing his patience thinner by the second. Granted, he was no longer the butt of every joke, but that did not stop the insolent looks from the household guards, or the indignant glares from the maids with whom he'd indulged in a tryst or two.
At least he could boast a pretty bride.
"Watch your tongue, Stark. Before I pin you to the wall by your surcoat." Robb only laughed, despite the long bow leveled squarely at his chest.
"I would love to see you try," His expression softened, then, to one of brotherly understanding, "She is lovely, isn't she?"
Theon issued a rather self-conscious laugh, but did not negate the truth of the statement. Pryskilla Bolton was any man's fantasy, and she was his. That was more than he could say for any kitchen wench or prostitute. And the truth was, he found he liked her company, even if their interactions had been limited to a tiny conversation during supper. She was young and privileged and highborn, but not simpering, like so many of the maidens he knew. He had never particularly enjoyed unassertive women with air for brains - no challenge to be had there.
"Like a picture of springtime." He said with pride and Robb chuckled.
"Have you seen Jon anywhere? I wanted to spar with him before the King arrives." Theon shook his head. He suspected that the bastard was making himself scarce while the Boltons were here. It was understandable. Frankly, if Theon had an excuse to avoid the Leech Lord he would take it without question.
"He's probably lurking about the Godswood. You know how he is." He didn't try to disguise the disdain in his voice. Theon held little love for Ned Stark's bastard, mostly for the sake of his being just that – a bastard. In Theon's opinion, a baseborn son should not walk equal to a trueborn one.
"You're probably right," Robb concurred, "Speaking of which, weren't you supposed to take the Bolton girl around the keep this morning?"
"Aye," He slung his quiver over his shoulder, preparing to go, "That I am." Theon was unsettled by Robb's smirk, which looked so uncannily like one of his own, "Now what?"
"If you require a chaperone, I would be happy to be of service," He stated, cheeky as could be, and Theon scowled darkly at him.
"No, Robb. Thank you. Septa Mordane will do just fine."
"Then I suppose you don't need me to remind you to keep your hands to yourself!" He yelled at Theon's retreating back. A party of Stark guards led by Jory Cassel promptly burst out laughing, making him hot with anger and embarrassment.
The raucous sound chased him all the way into the armory and then into the keep, causing a deep resentment to roil in his gut. Why should he have to endure their jeers, their disrespect? Would they have taunted Robb so? Never, never.
And so it was, that he arrived at Lady Bolton's door, simmering with pent up rage and practically spoiling for a fight. He rapped at the door, much harder than necessary, but he was too incensed to care, either about that or the rudeness of showing up at a lady's chambers without first composing oneself. A wide-eyed maid he did not recognize pulled it open at once, revealing the modest chambers Lord Stark had lent to Lady Bolton, as well as the lady herself, who sat primly at a desk drafting a letter. She looked up at once, meeting his eyes with her unsettling pale ones. Theon was relieved when his thoughts were only derailed for but a moment before he remembered himself and his purpose.
"My lady, I believe you were promised a tour of Winterfell." He flashed his most winsome smile, an attempt to account for his rather impolite entrance. In return, Lady Bolton raised a friendly brow and swept her gaze from his face to his feet and back up again, making him feel stripped and bare. Momentarily, Theon berated himself viciously for not freshening up first. In his haste, the thought had slipped his mind.
"That you did, my lord. Give me a moment and I shall be happy to accompany you," she motioned to her maid, "Sela, if you would play chaperone, please."
"That won't be necessary, my lady. I've already asked Septa Mordane if she would be kind enough to fill the position."
"In that case, lead on, my lord," she rose, and Theon took the opportunity to survey her as she had him. To his relief, she was dressed casually as well in a gown of thick cobalt wool that covered her from neck to toe with her hair loose about her shoulders. Even unpainted and unadorned, she managed to look stately, and Theon could not help the surge of pride he felt as she took his arm and allowed him to lead her down the hall to where the imposing Septa waited.
"Tell me, how do you find Winterfell?" said he, after a moment. Lady Bolton looked up at him, her brow raised again. She had heard his sarcasm.
"How well can you find a place where no one affords you their trust?" Her voice was whispery, but firm. Not unlike Lord Bolton's, only much less ominous. Theon did not know quite what to say on that count. Frankly, it was rather unsettling how much her sentiment mirrored his own, "Though, it would be quite foolish if they did, don't you think?"
"I do not know. Are you planning to have them massacred, my lady?" Theon jested, feeling more at ease.
"If I were, I would not tell you, my lord." The subtle upturn of her lips was wry with playful humor and Theon found himself smirking as well, surprised by the ease with which they got along but liking it all the same. In his mind, Robb's voice echoed teasingly. Who knew that Bolton's could be such good company?
Septa Mordane, stern and disapproving as ever when something was to do with Theon, joined them when they reached the great hall. She frowned at their familiarity, the way Lady Bolton's eyes were full of him, the rogue son of another rogue. Let her be offended, he thought. The old bat.
"Where shall we go first?"
"That depends. Do you prefer death or flowers?" Theon joked dryly and was rewarded with a tinkling chuckle.
"What kind of question is that, my lord?" His only response was a vague smirk, "If I say death where will you take me?"
"The crypts."
"How charming. Is that where the Starks bring all their guests? Or do you intend to do away with me?" That is the least of the things I would like to do with you, he thought. As if sensing his train of thought, the septa sent him a glare.
"I jest, my lady. I was thinking we would start indoors and work our way out."
"Not out-of-doors?" Theon curled his lip. He had no wish to go on parade for Robb and Jory's fucking band of mummers.
"Decidedly not."
"Then, I am at your mercy, my lord. I am afraid my sense of direction is rather lacking when it comes to labyrinthine halls." Theon quite liked the idea of having the pretty Bolton girl at his mercy. The thought of her opening her legs for him and only him was very attractive indeed.
The two traversed Winterfell's many corridors and various rooms for perhaps an hour, maybe more. Theon certainly wasn't keeping track of time, and neither was the Bolton heiress. They talked of everything and nothing, but Theon found that, for once, small talk did not bore him to tears, even if it was a little bland. Every so often he shot a glare in the direction of Septa Mordane, whose watchful eye had not strayed for an instant, preventing him from broaching any topic of true interest. Or better yet, dispense with the talking and abscond to a quiet corner for the remainder of the morning.
With that in mind, Theon resolved to find every last staircase in Winterfell. Hopefully the old bat would tire and leave them in peace long enough to make a quick escape. But, no matter how many stairs he traversed, the woman stubbornly insisted on keeping up, and Theon was left begrudgingly impressed by her fortitude. Lady Bolton, on the other hand, seemed not to have caught on to his scheme, but the look she gave him when he insisted on showing her the rookery at the top of the maester's turret was enough to melt steel. He desisted after that. Though, as fortune would have it, Arya Stark chose that moment to dash past, hair in tangles and clothing muddied, causing them all to pause in astonishment.
"Arya!" Septa Mordane barked and without so much as a look their way, chased after Lord Stark's wild daughter, leaving the Ironborn lord and his lady quite alone.
"My word! Is she always like that?" Lady Bolton broke away from him to watch the fleeing hellion.
"Arya? Or Septa Mordane?"
"Lady Arya." Theon chuckled.
"I am afraid so," as an afterthought, he added, "And this is good behavior."
"Lady Catelyn will not be pleased."
"She is scarcely ever pleased with that girl." He shook his head in mock exasperation. Truthfully, after to Robb, Arya was his next favorite of the Stark children. She had guts, and her fantasies were not nearly as sickening as her sister's.
"She seldom seems pleased with anyone." Theon was silent for a moment, taking in her thoughtful demeanor.
"Perhaps you're right," he offered his hand to her again, "Come, my lady, there is still more to go."
"Shouldn't we wait for Septa Mordane?" Theon scoffed.
"By the time she finishes wrestling Arya the royal party will already be on their way back to King's Landing," he chuckled at his own joke, but took measures to assuage any remaining uncertainty on her part, "We can go outdoors, if you wish. It is more interesting out there anyway."
"That would be lovely, my lord."
"Theon."
"Pardon?"
"When we are alone, I would have you call me by my name." Pride swelled in his chest when he caught sight of her delighted smile, and Theon wondered how such a lovely creature could possibly be the fruit of Roose Bolton's loins. She was nothing like him.
"Only if you promise to do the same." Theon smirked, full to bursting with self-assuredness. With a bold hand, he brushed his fingers along her jaw, leaving a trail of flushed skin in his wake that betrayed her interest. Pale eyes were fixed upon him, shocked and unsure – but willing, most of all.
"I would be glad to," was his response, uttered in low, dusky tones. He meant to entice and charm her, possibly steal a kiss. Surely her virginal nature would not alienate her from such a harmless little gesture? Not even Sansa would be so frigid.
"Theon?"
Gods damn you to the furthest reaches of every hell in existence, Jon Snow.
"What do you want, Snow?" He did not give him the respect of looking him in the eye. Rather he remained facing his pretty Bolton bride, whose posture had grown stiff and formal while any trace of lightheartedness flew from her eyes, leaving them icy and contentious. Before Jon could say anything for himself, she stepped around him, superior, cold and vicious.
"You're Lord Stark's bastard." Her voice cut deep as any blade, and Jon recoiled a step beneath the force of her censure. He looked unsure, glancing Theon's way more than once as he searched for the proper answer.
"Yes, my lady, I am."
"What is your name, bastard?" she uttered in the whispery tones of her father. Theon was astounded by the depth of her hostility, but then he remembered. A bastard murdered her brother. Of course she hates him. To Jon's credit, he neither flinched nor hesitated, and Theon was almost inclined to pity him. In truth, he was quite enjoying watching the exchange.
"Jon Snow, my lady."
"And what are your ambitions, Jon Snow?" A threat lay there, amongst the softly spoken words, that only a fool would have a mind not to heed. Theon came to stand beside his furious bride-to-be, his smile out in full force against the boy, who looked between the two of them with simmering misgiving.
"I seek nothing that is beyond the constraints of my station," he uttered lowly, "my lady."
The air crackled with electric silence as bastard and Bolton stared each other down, until, at last, Jon averted his gaze. Lady Bolton rolled her shoulders back, sensing she had won. Victory suited her well
"Never cross my path again, bastard."
"I will make sure of it, my lady," Theon heard clearly the note of flippant defiance but did not address it as Jon turned to him, "The king will be arriving soon, Lord Stark has instructed us to prepare."
Theon watched as he stalked off, no doubt searching for a place to sulk, and only once he was out of sight did he turn to Lady Bolton, a smile, ever infallible, upon his lips.
"Pray I never find myself on the wrong end of your wrath, my lady," he joked.
"Refrain from siring a bastard and you never will." She said, though it was only partly in jest. There was a certain darkness in her tone, like a bitter poison swirling amongst sweet wine that was as gut-wrenching as it was intoxicating.
