Oxcross, 299 AC
They toasted their victory with the spoils of war.
The men who fought on foot were served as much ale and beer as they could stand, their lords and knights treated themselves to Stafford Lannister's private stores of wine - Arbor golds and Dornish reds, the sweet and the sour. The dead man would never drink them again.
"The Lion will be wroth," Elsa told Theon as he pressed a cup of spiced hippocrass into her hands. "Stafford Lannister was his wife's brother." Tywin Lannister had loved his wife well, theirs was a story that had written itself into many a pretty ballad. At the very least, the slaughter of a member of his family would be an affront to his pride.
"Let him be." Theon was unconcerned. "Robb will beard him in his den as he did this one."
Over the laughter and the drunken merriment, she could hear a singer. His voice was clear and true as he played before the boy king. A boy only in years, Elsa corrected herself. He had proven himself, every battle he had fought had ended in a decisive victory. "And the stars in the night were the eyes of his wolf, and the wind itself was their song."
"You proved your mettle today, my lady," the Greyjoy told her.
She ducked her head. "I did as I was bid. The victory was Robb Stark's."
"He will want to thank you."
"He will want to press more burdens on my back," she said wryly. That was the way of kings. The world could be run no other way. "And then more and more, until I break."
"Robb isn't like that-"
"The boy you knew might not have been," she said, thinking him quite a child. "But the king you know is a different man." That might give him something to chew on.
"He is sending an envoy to the Iron Islands," Theon said conversationally. "To my lord father."
His grey eyes were thoughtful when she looked up into them. "But it is not you whom he sends."
"No." He smiled as though it were no concern of his, a playful smile, even teasing. "His lady mother advised him against it. She thought I might turn traitor, even though I have been his brother in all but name since he was four." He shrugged. "Anyway, he needs me here. He promises me a more fitting command and more men to lead. Robett Glover will serve in the Iron Islands."
She knew the tall, proud lordling a little. He had a way with words and he was not unintelligent. "A measured choice," she agreed. "But he will serve in your place. Who better to treat with a man than his son?" She was planting doubts in fertile soil, she knew. This was a proud boy, quick to take umbrage, still uncertain of his place in the world. But she was Robb Stark's vassal only in name - he had no hold of her loyalty in heart and soul. He might win a hundred battles, but that did not mean winning the war.
And I must do what is best for Arendelle. Always.
"I will have no sons," her father had told her when she was nine. Her mother had miscarried yet again. It happened every year or so and Elsa was used to it. Every time her mother emerged from her chamber a little paler, a little smaller and more shrunken. A little quieter. Soon she would disappear, it seemed to Elsa, more wraith than woman. "You are my heir, Elsa."
"Mamma could still have another baby." She had said it without much hope but it was what was expected of her. A good daughter prayed for brothers who would carry on the family name.
But her father had shaken his head. "No. Another birth would be her death." Tears filled his eyes, the first she had ever seen. "I love her, Elsa. I could not do that to her." She had squeezed his hand and that had seemed to bring him comfort. "You must be my son for me, little Elsa. You are strong and brave and clever, but you must be more. And you must do what is best for Arendelle. Always. No matter your fears or doubts, no matter what other ties men might claim to have on you, you must always think first of Arendelle."
"I promise, Papa," she had vowed, as solemn as only a nine-year-old could be. "I promise."
She had failed Arendelle once already. When Anna had married Hans, she had been glad to shift the reins of power over to him. Why? Was it because she feared herself too weak - as Hans had subtly managed to suggest? Or was it because she knew herself to be too strong to live among the world of common men? Hans was not the man she had hoped he would be, not the man he had pretended to be. He hurt her sister. He was spoiled and cunning and fixated only on luxury and outward appearances. He was no good for Arendelle.
When this war is done, whether for good or ill, I will have him put down, she thought. I will not fail Arendelle again.
Theon Greyjoy tried to laugh her words off. "My father will not know me," he said. "I was his boy as long as I was Ned Stark's."
"Did you love the Stark like a father then?"
"I liked him well enough." Theon shrugged. "He was a fair guardian and not unkind. His lady wife though, cold as a fish that one. Ice chip eyes always watching me, as though she was afraid I'd corrupt her sons or rape her daughters the moment her back was turned." He licked his lips. "The girl Sansa, Robb's sister, she was shaping up to be a pretty one. Wouldn't mind taking her to wife."
Elsa laughed. "You must be mad if you think Robb Stark would give you his sister."
Theon scowled at her. "I'll be Lord of the Iron Islands one day," he told her. "In the old days, we were kings so there's as much royal blood in my veins as in his. And he needs his father to win his war."
"Then go ask him," she taunted him. "Ask him to give you his sweet maiden sister if she's ever rescued from King's Landing." He never will, she knew. He needs a princess to make an alliance. To make friends out of foes, just as he did when he promised his sister Arya to the Freys. He already feels himself so sure of Theon Greyjoy's loyalty that he will never give him the girl. And in that he is wrong. The wolf and the squid might be friends but they will never be brothers.
King Robb summoned her. "You fought courageously today, my lady."
"I did not fight at all, Your Grace," she said, curtsying. "I had a ring of men all around me to keep me safe." They had not really tested her powers, as though they were unsure of how best to use her. All she was asked to do was harry the Lannister forces as she thought best. Flying spikes of ice had served, she saw no reason to exert herself for a battle in whose outcome she had little interest. In truth it had been more of a rout than a battle after Robb Stark had sent his wolf in and the horses had gone mad when they'd caught his scent. The cavalry had been sent in afterwards.
"Nevertheless, I thank you. Your strength and courage awes you and your grace and beauty is a delight to us all." Pretty words, empty southron chivalry that his mamma must have thought him. She was northwoman, they did not soften her. His men raised their cups to her and gave a rousing cheer and she suffered through the embarrassment of it with a polite smile. One of the Umbers eyed her hungrily, no doubt he thought that she would make him a strong, splendid wife. No doubt he thought her 'spirited', feisty perhaps - a delightful handful in the sheets. She was not spirited. She was only herself.
"I must beg your aid once more, my lady."
"I am your vassal, sire," she said, unsmiling. "It is my duty to serve you."
But it was not always so, she thought bleakly. Her father had told her, Arendelle had not always been in thrall to Winterfell. Once, in the days of the long winter, they had been kings. They had knelt to neither Stark nor Bolton, indeed they had been more than men. And we were smitten down in our pride, she remembered him ending the story. Always sadly, always wearily. And a curse was laid upon our house. That was her story, a story that the maesters did not know. A story that this Stark, raised on his southron mother's milk and fairytales, did not know.
"You will ride west with me."
"As you say, sire. Might I ask where?"
He smiled at her, he had been preparing for this moment she realized. She was only an excuse. "Casterly Rock," he said, milking the moment for all its glory. "We will pierce the lion's heart." And the clamor that exploded, with men yelling and cheering and fists and mugs smashed on tables, was like to blow her ears off.
He was sulking as he took his leave. He had not asked her to see him off, indeed he had not even told her that he was going away, but she had wanted to come.
Well, cannot a woman have an eye for a comely man? She had defended herself in her own mind. Not that it mattered - who was there to gainsay her? She was sovereign Lady of Arendelle, not some frail girl who must always be attended by a chaperone. She might do as she pleased.
Word traveled like wildfire in a camp. Everyone knew that Robb Stark had sent Theon Greyjoy off to the coast, along with Glover and Karstark, to raid along the coast. And some, like her, knew that he did not like it one bit. He thinks it beneath him, she knew. To harry and raid peasants, like a common brigand. He hungers for a greater part of the glory. Robb Stark should have seen it. But he was barely sixteen, he could not see everything. And the cooler, wiser heads who gave him counsel - they must have seen it. But they were northmen. They did not like the Ironborn. Perhaps they felt it suitable that an Ironborn raid the coast, as his ancestors had done for a thousand years - perhaps it gave them satisfaction to decide that there was nothing more that he was worthy of.
We carry our prejudices with us, wherever we go, she thought. The grudges our fathers nursed over cups of wine and passed on to us when we were children and they did not think we were listening. The sorrows and secret shames our mothers clutched to their hearts and whispered to us even as they sung us lullabies. They cling to us like our shadows. The gods knew that she did.
Theon Greyjoy made a dashing figure, all in black armor and about to mount his fine black stallion. Yes, she thought, this was a man that a woman might be glad to rest her eye on. And if she were not a lady-
He did not acknowledge her, even though he had seen her. "I came to wish you luck," she told him, neatly sidestepping the men who bustled all around them. Men off to war, many of them to their deaths no doubt.
He scowled at her. "There's no luck needed in what I'm going to be doing," he told her. "Nor skill either. Burning haystacks and cows and raping village girls."
From the embroidered pouch she wore at her belt, she slid out a sliver of obsidian. Good luck, her father had always told her. It was tradition. Obsidian was as common as iron on Arendelle. Men and women, high and low, wore slivers of it on chains or in rings for luck. It was a pretty thing of course, sharp and glossy-black, but people outside Arendelle (and many in) always wondered just why it was considered lucky. Not her.
"Keep it for my sake," she told him and pressed it within his hand. "I would hate to see anything spoil that pretty face of yours."
A spark of amusement glittered in his eyes for a moment. "So would I, my lady," he said. "What else would I woo you with? Surely not my wit, for I have none."
She stepped closer to him, close enough to cup his chin in her hand if she dared. Close enough that she had taken another step, he would have met her lips with his. If she dared.
She did not. She stepped back, which seemed to amuse him even more. "I wish you luck," she said mechanically, feeling her cheeks heat. She was blushing.
He raised her fingers to his lips. "Chivalry is good sport, my lady," he told her. "For you rather more than for me, I fear though. Meet me again when you have a little less to say."
"I do not stand for impertinence," she told him coldly, turning away. "Not from boys." He might be a pretty lad but his crudeness was not as engaging as he thought it.
The Greatjon had been watching her, she saw as she hurried away, clutching a fistful of her cloak tightly. "Do you stand it from men then?" he called after her. His men laughed.
She stopped and tried to clutch at the ragged scraps of her dignity. Oh she had been a fool indeed. And worse, there had been witnesses. "I know no men who are worthy of the name," she said, head held high. "Not since my father died."
The Greatjon laughed, so loud and hearty she was sure that it must have been heard all over the camp. It was more a battle-cry than a laugh, really. "Little girl," he said. She was a tall woman but he must have been one of the tallest men in the Seven Kingdoms, well over seven feet high. More horse than man. "Little girl, you've never known a man." He had the audacity to wink at her. "But have no fear, I'll teach you."
A/N: Yes, I know that Robb went to the Crag after Oxcross... and in this fanfic I'm having him go to Casterly Rock. Because in this fanfic he has Elsa.