"Heh."

Theon felt a muscle in his right cheek twitch once he heard the ancient Lord of the Crossing smugly utter his favourite word.

"Heh."

At one glance at Robb, Theon could tell Lord Frey's constant hehs were getting on Robb's nerves. This is pointless! Robb's eyes seemed to be shouting. Every hour we spend here, every hour Lyarra is closer to being murdered! Was Robb in such a rush to rescue his sister like a knight in one of the southron songs or did he want to run as far away from Winterfell as he possibly can? Theon surmised – more of a guess really – that it was the latter option.

"Lord Frey," Robb spoke. "You requested to speak to us?"

The late Lord Walder Frey looked even more like a weasel than usual, with his wrinkles more prominent and his runny and clouded eyes smaller and squinty. It did not help either that Lord Frey seemed to have caught a cold as every heh was followed by a loud and disgusting sniffle.

"Robb Stark," Lord Frey said, wiping his weaselly nose with a filthy, crusty, old linen cloth. He sniffled and coughed. His eyes travelled to Theon and then rested on the one-eyed Umber giant. "I didn't say they could come," he said petulantly in a way that reminded Theon of Arthur Stark when he was younger.

"Osric Umber and Theon Greyjoy are my trusted commanders," Robb stated. "I told one of your knights that we all come or none at all. He agreed."

Lord Frey pulled himself up on his massive black chair and narrowed his eyes at him. "That knight is a fool then!" he spat, spit flying from his mouth. "Last time I saw you, Robb Stark, you were betrothed to a princess!" He smirked. "Now look at you…the widower of a bastard girl. Did she give you pups, Robb Stark? Are the pups now tainted with bastard blood and unable to marry high and might lords? Heh. Now you come creeping to my doorstep."

Theon glanced at Robb. Old Walder's mad. If Robb agreed, he hid it well behind a mask of impassiveness. When did Robb get so good at hiding his emotions? For as long as Theon knew him, Robb wasn't one to hide his emotions. Most lords of the North disliked concealing their true feelings – being believers in truth and all that – and some even considered hiding emotions as an act of evil. Not many still believed it evil these days. Theon looked at the Umber giant. Like him, Umber did not seem pleased at the prospect of listening to Lord Frey rant.

"We did not creep to your doorstep my lord," said Robb calmly. "We are on our way to Riverrun – where your soldiers should be too."

Lord Frey scowled. "Tullys, Baratheons, Targaryens…always commanding for men. I send them men as my father did before me and his father did before him, and what thanks does House Frey receive? Not even a smile!" His face screwed to the look of an extremely pissed weasel. "Why should I send my sons to die? Not a single one of you so-called great lords would bat an eyelid or care! Heh! 'What's a death of one Frey, eh?' they ask themselves." His eyes bulged out. "No! I have my troops summoned and here they are! For all to see!"

Theon arched an eyebrow. "What use is that?" he couldn't resist asking. Robb shot him a look. Be careful. "Do you want to be seen as cowards?" Theon went on, folding his arms. "Dying at home instead of a battlefield?" He stared boldly at old Walder as his eyes were fixed upon him. The Lord of the Twins pointed a skinny finger at Theon. "You are still a green boy," he sneered. "Fought in a few tourneys doesn't make you a man! Heh." He looked back at Robb. "You've seen blood. Even killed a few, haven't you?"

"I'm here out of courtesy," said Robb, his tone cold. "You asked to speak to me – I am here. I didn't come to listen to complaints."

The old weasel sniggered. "Complaints eh? Young people these days. Have no patience for anyone but themselves."

Like you? Theon held his tongue.

"There is a war," said Robb, gritting his teeth. "Excuse me for my bluntness my lord Frey, but I don't have the time to chat."

"You want your soldiers to reach Riverrun." Walder Frey smirked. "I'm Lord of the Crossing. I can assure you that it'll be quite a hefty toll all of you'll have to pay, especially with winter so close."

"Lord Frey, as it is a war, can paying a toll not wait?"

No! Theon wanted to holler once he saw the ambitious glint in Lord Frey's eye. A trap! This is what the old weasel wants to hear!

As if hearing Theon's thoughts, Robb continued, "If it's my word you might not trust, I'll swear an oath by the gods to pay the toll once the war is over. If you are that eager for gold and would prevent an army reaching the battlefield, I can tell you that my good-brother the king, will not appreciate it. You are aware that my sister is his queen, are you not? If this conversation is the cause of my sister and her unborn child's murders, it will not end well for House Frey."

The old weasel's nasally voice rose to an annoying squeak. "You dare threaten me? You are in mine own castle!"

Theon couldn't resist a sneer. Robb shot him a testy look.

"Young people," Lord Frey said, sighing heavily, his beady eyes fixed on Robb again. He sneezed. "So be it," he said, wiping his pink nose with the used cloth. "It is a war, as you say, Robb Stark." His eyes shone with distaste. "I'll grant you your crossing and you'll pay the toll the second this war ends." He paused. "However, I want more than your word for it." He gave Robb and Theon a toothless grin. "I'm an old man, and a pup or a squid's word doesn't mean much to me. You probably claim later that you gave me no word. Heh."

Theon shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like the way the weasel looked at him. What did he want? Am I to be another hostage? Theon grinded his teeth. Some of the Starks called him their guest – not much a better title than hostage. Being the hostage to the Starks was one thing – hostage to the Freys was another.

If Theon thought his tolerance for old Walder Frey was thinning considerably, the Umber giant had no drop of patience left.

"Enough riddles," Greatjon Umber snarled, taking a threatening step forward. "I've had enough of them!"

Ignoring him, old Frey announced, "I have unmarried sons and grandsons and many daughters and granddaughters to get rid of." He smirked. "If you're in need to cross my bridge numerous times in this war, I consider that a benefit that only a few worthy matches can bring. Heh."

Uneasy murmurs broke out in the huddle of northerners behind Theon, Stark and Umber. It seemed the thought of having Frey in-laws was disconcerting. The old weasel sat on his black chair, smiling nastily down at them.

Theon met Robb's troubled gaze. How many marriages could the weasel even extract from the northern lords over the use of a fucking bridge? Old Frey would want a Stark in-law for sure – that'd be something to gleefully boast about. Theon could already picture the rather frightening scene: Lord Frey cackling to anyone who'd listen about his good fortune, a grim-faced Robb sitting with the other half a dozen – if not more – Freys, his fat Frey wife sitting by his side, stuffing her face with cakes, and their litter of weaselly faced children running around, yelling and teasing their equally weaselly faced cousins. Robb must thank his gods that he'd not be required to live at the Twins with his squabbling in-laws-to-be.

"Their dowries are probably less than that of a goat," grumbled a tall man with a deeply-lined face and brown-grey hair. Theon remembered him to be Robett of House Glover from Deepwood Motte. It seems the rare feasts at Winterfell have at last, paid off. So many introductions, but at least I know who the lords of the North are. He did not know all the lords by face as well as Robb and probably Bran, but by sigil? Theon was proud to say he recognised all the northern houses.

"Lord Robett," said Robb warningly.

I'm sure each girl is worth more than a stoat. Theon kept his mouth shut. Even the tiniest of insults could saddle him with a fat Frey wife.

Osric One-Eyed crossed his arms. "I won't fuck a-"

"I won't mind a southron wife," interrupted Ser Donnel Locke. Theon couldn't help but arch an eyebrow in surprise. Wasn't there a tale about some Locke sent to the Wall after being beaten up for marrying a southron girl? Or was it the Wull woman that was left beyond the Wall for flirting with a southron knight?

"You'd marry a southron wench?" asked Osric sceptically.

"Why not?" said Theon breezily. The other northern lords glanced at him. "I've seen many southron maidens," he went on. "Some really know how to keep your bed warm at night."

"Theon," groaned Robb. "Now is not the time!"

The one-eyed Umber snickered. "I'd like to go home to a warm bed. Mayhap it is time for me to fulfil one of my duties to House Umber."

"Really?" said Theon, surprised.

Robb turned to the smirking Lord Frey. "Ser Donnel Locke and Osric Umber – two of the North's greatest generals – are willing to wed your daughters or your granddaughters. We wish to cross today."

Old Frey scratched his nose, the tip of it pink. "Only two lords, Robb Stark? For the use of my bridge throughout this war? Now that doesn't seem fair. Say I have a Stark in the family…" His voice trailed away as he gave Robb another sly smile. Theon bit his lip in annoyance. What was with this mad weasel insisting on being connected to the Starks through marriage? The Freys weren't even sworn to the Starks of Winterfell – they were bannermen to the Tullys.

"Is an Umber not good enough for the likes of you?" exploded Osric One-Eyed, his massive fingers curling into fists.

Theon stayed silent as Robb and old Walder kept haggling over the marriages and the damned bridge.

All this for a bloody bridge. It better be worth it.


"Can you believe the nerve of that man?" Robb hissed angrily as the hazy outline of the Twins had at last disappeared from sight. "He thinks he's the king! He extorted four marriage promises and I have to take his son Elmar as a squire! All for a bridge!"

"Weasels are weaselly," jested Theon. "It is in their nature to weasel what they want from us men. On the bright side, we can use the bridge anytime we wish in the time of war without paying the toll. You did specify to Frey that we can use it during and after the war to return home without paying the gold. Clever of you to extract the deal of trading grains and food with us in the winter too."

Robb didn't look appeased. "Four marriages!"

"Be happy you didn't have to marry a stoat. I swear that weaselly lord wanted you to marry that fat granddaughter of his."

Robb snorted. "If he had, he's too late. Osric One-Eyed claimed her. Not sure if he wanted her for her weight in silver or a comforter on his bed."

Theon sniggered. "Both are good reasons Stark. Reckon Donnel Locke's telling the truth about his reasons for wedding a Frey? To repopulate his noble house! A jape, isn't it?" He laughed so hard he almost fell off his horse. Finishing his laugh with a deep cackle, he was pleased to see Robb crack a genuine smile. He had not seen his foster brother truly smile in quite some time.

"Good to see both of you japing away." Osric One-Eyed rode up behind Theon and Robb. "I always like a good jape before marching into battle. So! What are the two of you jesting about eh?"

"Fucking girls," said Theon simply, ignoring a sharp hiss from Robb. "Robb is a northman to the bone – he said the prostitutes of the North are warm enough for him. I say otherwise. Northern girls are good in bed, but southron sluts?" He gave another chuckle. "Some can be as wild as wildlings."

"I've fucked wildlings before," said Umber thoughtfully. "Haven't really fucked a southron wench before. Does a crannogwoman count?"

Theon frowned. "How did you-"

"We're approaching Riverrun," Robb cut in swiftly. "I don't think the southron men will be happy overhearing your discussion on prostitutes. They might join in, but it will not be a good view on us northerners. They already think us savages of sorts – we don't want them viewing us in worse light."

"I don't give a fuck on what southroners think me," scoffed Osric One-Eyed. "If they think me a savage, I'll treat them the way a savage would."

"Southroners hate me anyway," said Theon, thinking of Hoster Tully, the heir of Riverrun, who reminded him of a bloodhound, always sniffing around when he was at court or attending important wedding festivities. "For the sole reason that I'm a Greyjoy of Pyke." He used to take pride in being an ironborn with ancestors who were notorious for their raids, but now? Southroners despised him because of the legendary ironborn raids; northerners still mistrusted him because he was ironborn; and the ironborn might not think him one of their own as they haven't seen or heard from him in years.

Theon felt a slight chill in his veins. I'm not a northerner or a southroner; not a man of the Iron Islands in the eyes of the other ironborn either. Who am I? He could continue calling himself an ironman, but he'd be lying to himself. He had not been a true ironborn since he was a boy of ten.

"Greyjoy! Stop thinking with your dick!"

Theon blinked. "I wasn't!" he protested as the one-eyed Umber laughed. Robb nodded slowly. He didn't look convinced.

Silence returned to the front of the party. Theon glanced around. The forest of trees that surrounded the path were coming to an end, leading to a big huddle of tents that encircled the grounds near the castle of Riverrun. The only music that could be presently heard were the dull crunches of the horse hooves stamping on the thick carpet of dead leaves fallen on the wide path from the trees.

Is she still there? Theon thought, as his eyes became infixed on the sandstone walls of Riverrun. His brown steed seemed to hesitate, pawing at the dirt with an unnaturally high whinny. Theon frowned and urged his horse to move a little bit closer to Robb's horse. Why is his own bloody horse afraid of Riverrun? Maybe it could already sense Lord Tully's fury. Smart horse. Theon forced himself to smile as Robb looked at him, concerned.

"Don't worry, Stark," said Theon as breezily as he could manage. "No trout has bested a kraken of yet."

Robb's expression only darkened. "It's no joking matter, Greyjoy. If Lord Tully catches sight of you, he might want to kill you for what you did – or didn't do – to his eldest daughter. How do you think your lord father would feel if someone had the gall to fuck your sister?"

Theon burst into laughter. "My sister? Asha? I say good luck to that man brave enough to fuck her! He'll probably have his balls chopped off by her! Besides, she isn't exactly pretty like-" He broke off. Like Melia.

"I hope you don't laugh your way to your own death," said Robb quietly. "Let's go. We need to meet up with the river lords as soon as we can to discuss what the plan of attack is and if any troops have been sent off yet. When it comes to battle, I want you to stay away from Lord Tully's men – stay with my men."

"Can't I lead a host of my own?"

Robb shook his head. "Father said for me to keep an eye on you."

Theon sighed, a cloud of gloom settling in his gut. Even in a time of war, it was apparent that he was still the Starks' 'guest'.


Though it was late afternoon by the time Theon dismounted and went with his foster brother and the northern lords into Riverrun's Great Hall, there was a host of soldiers in the courtyard preparing to leave. Some of the men had donned fish-crest helms – probably Tully guards.

One of the fish-crest helmed men walked up to Robb and Theon who stood at the back of the Great Hall awkwardly. "You must be some of the northern lords," he said politely. "A scout said he saw an army of northmen coming. My lord Tully is in his solar. Finalising plans I believe."

"Thank you," said Robb, nodding at the guard. "I'm afraid my lords and I aren't very familiar with Riverrun. I myself have only been here once, for the late Lord Hoster Tully's funeral, and that was a few years ago. By chance, are you and your men over there leaving for battle? I haven't received word from anyone here that we're to march off to war."

The guard hesitated. "Elwood can take you to the solar, my lords. Not all of us are to march into battle…yet. That's all I know." He turned and shouted, "Elwood! Come and escort these two men to Lord Tully's solar! They're Lord Tully's allies from the North!"

Another Tully guard hurried towards them, holding his battered helm. "Milord Tully will be expecting you milords," he said to Theon and Robb, giving them two respectable nods. "May I ask your names?"

"I am Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell," said Robb. He pointed at Theon. "He's my lord father's ward, Theon Greyjoy, heir to Pyke." Theon disliked the colder glance Elwood shot him, his eyes filled with mistrust. "That man over there is Lord Osric Umber," Theon added before Robb could. He nodded at Osric One-Eyed who was towering over a number of rivermen near the trestle tables. "One of the North's finest," Theon went on, enjoying the look of horror on Elwood's face. "It was said that once he was so provoked-"

"Ignore him," Robb interrupted, prodding Theon sharply in the ribs. "He has a great deal of enthusiasm in him when he describes our fellow lords."

Elwood nodded slowly, giving Theon an apprehensive look. "I…see. Well if you come with me milords, I'll take you to Lord Tully's solar."

"Lord Osric!" Robb called. Osric-One Eyed lumbered up to him, a slice of bread in one hand and a cup of ale in the other. Together, they – and Theon – went with Elwood through one of the three smaller doors in the Great Hall and up the spiral stairway to what was probably Riverrun's keep. Standing outside a door that was engraved with an old carving of a jumping fish were two more fish-crest helmed guards, one with a long grey beard and the other half a head shorter than Theon. The latter smiled at Elwood. "You haven't left yet, Elwood?"

"Not yet," answered Elwood. "I will in half an hour." He gestured to Theon and Robb, hesitating a little before pointing at Osric One-Eyed. "Here are the lords of the North – Lord Robb Stark, Lord Osric Umber and…" He faltered as he looked at Theon. "Lord Theon Greyjoy. They've just arrived from the North. Their soldiers and commanders are in the Great Hall with the troops from the Riverlands. Is the Lord Edmure presently occupied? I'm certain he'll be interested to meet his allies. Let them in, will you?"

The grey bearded guard pushed the door open. Theon waited for Robb and the Umber giant to go in before he entered the solar.

There he was, Theon's new enemy. Staring at a map on his table was the Lord of Riverrun. Lord Tully looked older and exhausted. His auburn hair was untidy, and his red beard longer than usual. His blue eyes screamed stress – they turned to anger the moment they landed on Theon.

"You!" the trout lord snarled, pointing a finger at Theon. "I've told you never to come within my sight again! Were your ears full of ale, Greyjoy?"

"This is war my lord," retorted Theon, crossing his arms. "You want all the aid you can get, don't you? You rather risk the chance of your nephew losing a battle due to wasting time arguing with me?"

Lord Tully scowled. "I swore by the gods that if I see you again, I'll kill you for deflowering my daughter." His eyes lingered on Robb before returning to Theon. "However, I have no desire to anger your northern…protector. You may drink or eat in my keep like the other soldiers only for the duration of the war but you will not go near or interact with any of my daughters. If I find out that I have another ruined daughter, courtesy of you, Greyjoy, I'll have your balls removed and have you sent to the Wall for your crimes. Are we clear?"

Theon wasn't afraid in the slightest of the trout's empty threats. He was worth much more in one piece and the Greyjoy heir of Pyke than a black brother with a few missing appendages.

"Are we clear?" the glowering Lord Tully repeated.

"Perfectly," said Theon calmly. As the Lord of Riverrun leant back in his chair, Theon made a silent vow to himself: I will see Lady Melia again. Even if it's for the final time.


I've been overseas for the last month hence the lack of updates. I know this is a late response: Padfoot67, Jon's wife is Val :)