Prologue
A/N: Alright so this idea came to me recently and I couldn't help but give it a go. This story will eventually get to show territory, but takes place from the Greyjoy Rebellion. It's a period I haven't seen a lot of OC fics deal with, so I don't really know how popular this will be, but I thought I'd give it a go.
Lotta's ultimate pairing is going to be either Jaime Lannister or Oberyn Martell, but I haven't decided which just yet.
Please note that this prologue is flashforward, and events will start several months before this.
289AC
The bell of the Booming Tower rang out across Seagard for the first time in three hundred years as silent tears tracked down Lotta Greyjoy's cheeks. The harsh sea breeze whipped her blonde hair across her face, and she closed her eyes and listened to the cries of the gulls overhead. The taste of salt and blood mingled on her lips, the dagger in her hand gripped with trembling fingers.
On the blue-grey sea, frothing white like a rabid dog's maw, the six longships and two war galleys of Jason Mallister bobbed on the tide, exchanging cannonfire with some of the Greyjoy fleet. The black and gold colours billowed in the breeze as the Greyjoy ships rocked violently, some of them beginning to turn about in retreat.
Hours before at dawn, the ships had been sighted on the horizon, and it became apparent that the Greyjoys intended to take Seagard. Lotta hadn't imagined it was all about her, but she thought perhaps her presence at her husband's castle contributed to her family laying siege. After her departure from the Iron Islands, they had viewed her with nothing more than contempt. To them, she was no longer ironborn.
At Lotta's feet lay two corpses. She imagined that if she touched their flesh, they would still be warm beneath her fingertips. The sight of them both made fresh tears sting at her eyes.
The first was Lotta's twin brother, Rodrik Greyjoy, his sharp features cruel even in death. Balon's heir, younger than Lotta by a matter of minutes. He had been the one to lead the assault on Seagard. Part of Lotta had wondered, in his final moments, if they would leave the world together as they had come into it together. But once Rodrik had stilled, eyes glassing over, Lotta continued to draw breath.
The second was Lotta's husband, Patrek Mallister. They had wed in the months following Robert's Rebellion, when she had been sixteen and he eighteen. What made her press her hands over her mouth to suppress a sob was the knowledge that Patrek would never live to see their son grow up. Florian, who was three years old. Florian, who was in Pyke.
Would she ever see her son again? Lotta fought back a wave of panic at the idea that perhaps Florian too would be a price she must pay for her role in all of this.
Lotta's blue eyes cast skyward, at the gunmetal grey clouds promising a storm. Maybe the rain would wash off all of the blood on her face, her hands, her clothes. A rising sense of despair and grief churned inside her, boiling up beyond the walls of restraint she'd carefully constructed.
She had wanted peace, and she'd got war. She had wanted her family to survive this, but she was surrounded by death. Was this what she got, a fitting punishment for a woman who'd forsaken the Drowned God for the Faith of the Seven? She had lost her twin and her husband, and yet for some reason, it felt worse that she was still alive.
"Fuck!" Lotta screamed above the crash of the waves. She tossed the bloody dagger in her hand with all of her might, watching it disappear beneath the swell of the sea. The black sails of the Greyjoy ships grew hazy as they headed for the horizon, blanketed by a thin mist of rain that had started to sprinkle down.
In the bay, she could hear the cheers of the House Mallister men. She did not think they would be so full of merriment once they learned the fate of their heir. Lotta did not have the strength to take the two men back to the castle, and so she waited by the shore with the ocean lapping gently at her bare feet. Part of her wanted to wade in and submerge herself, never to rise, but that was not the fate the Drowned God had chosen for her today.
Lotta's eyes flicked down to Rodrik, his throat slashed up into a bloody smile, and Patrek, a sword still protruding from his chest. Hours before, she remembered how he had caressed her cheek and told her everything would be fine, that the Greyjoys would never take Seagard. He had been right, but at what cost?
They had won the battle for Seagard, but she had lost everything.
The bell in the Booming Tower finally stopped ringing.