Disclaimer: ASOIAF, GoT, whatevs, is not mine. I am borrowing the characters and their world.
Summary:
AU. First Part of a Trilogy, telling the story of Cadenzsa Forel, Syrio Forel's only child.
Cadenzsa's mother has decided it is time for her child to marry. Since no man in Braavos would dare touch her for fear of her father's sword - and Cadenzsa's, of course - the clever Syrio has relocated to Westeros in hopes of finding a man deeming worthy of his precious only daughter.
He has gone to King's Landing to find a Lord, or a Prince, or a Knight that will give Cadenzsa the life of adventure that she deserves. Cadenzsa, the clever girl, has decided to sail first to the North, and travel down through Westeros, in order to see the land for herself, and to learn of its people. She finds herself, though, soon stuck in the Hold of Winterfell, prey to the charms of the three young men that live there.
Robb
It would seem that the time of day when Robb and Theon supped together was the time of day to best receive ravens with troubling news. The first of the two was from Pyke, the Iron Islands, sealed with a dull black tallow and stamped with the Greyjoy's Krakken. Robb had grown up knowing the Greyjoy Krakken as the ruler of the Iron Islands, a strange and dangerous place full of strange and dangerous Ironborn men. His father had told him that these men kept neither the Old Gods nor the Seven, and held to their axes and songs and ships as dearly as the North kept its honor and duty. He had heard that they had spent their Old Days ravaging the western coasts, raping and pillaging and burning everything down. Theon was the first Ironborn that Robb had ever seen. He thought at first he was to be afraid of him, but his father had told him to treat the boy well, as a friend. His father never liked to talk about his battles, but Robb learned that should the Greyjoys rise in revolt again, Eddard Stark was to cut off Theon's head.
The seal was unbroken, which was odd, considering the Maester had every right to read and keep the letters, for he was sworn to Winterfell. But it was unbroken when it met Robb's hands, and he felt Theon's eyes on it. Robb sat next to him. His palms were clammy; this letter held Robb's future.
"You open it," said Robb to Theon. "You haven't heard from your family at all. You deserve the first honor."
Theon smiled and took the letter. He fingered the black tallow Krakken and a smile Robb hadn't ever seen before graced Theon's full lips, and he watched the apple of his pale throat swallow. He held onto the letter for a while, and then lifted it to his nose to inhale. Theon then broke the seal and unfurled the paper. An unreadable expression came on the Ironborn's face, and a frown then furrowed his brow.
"What's wrong?" asked Robb after quite a long time.
"It's from my sister," said Theon, his eyes still fixed on the parchment and ink. "I would recognize her hand anywhere; she has always crosses her 't's very high."
"Well, what news, now, Theon?"
Theon gave Robb an unsure look. "It says: "Dear Robb Stark, this is what I think of your terms: you are a giant, veiny cock. Asha Greyjoy." And the word 'Greyjoy' us underlined very, very harshly."
Robb stood in shock, as if the letter was a slap across the face. Maester Luwin didn't gasp, but he guffawed a'plenty. "She wrote that?!" asked Robb.
Theon gulped, his mouth obviously a little dry. "Well, she wrote the first part, and then - " he turned the letter around to show Robb and Maester Luwin "-she then drew a picture of a giant, veiny cock and wrote the word "you" on it." And, true to Theon's word, the parchment was smeared with the inked drawing of a veiny, erect cock, with the word "you", indeed, written on the shaft. Robb shook his head in horror. "It's quite a good drawing, in truth, and if she really knows that much of what a cock looks like, she's probably not as virtuous as you might want for a bride..." Theon began to laugh.
"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" demanded Robb. "Without her, and I, the only alliance with the Iron Islands is you and Sansa!"
The Ironborn shrugged and sat down, holding his head and staring at the letter. "Had I not learned to find humor in unpleasant situations, my Lord, I might have gone mad years ago."
"My Lord," said Maester Luwin, "I believe that this is a more-important matter, if I may." And he handed Robb the second letter. Robb read over Sansa's words, disbelief growing, and anger swelling in his heart. "'Treason?' Sansa wrote this?!"
"It is your sister's hand," answered Maester Luwin, "but the Queen's words. You are summoned to King's Landing to pledge fealty to the new king."
"Joffrey puts my father in chains and wants his ass kissed?!"
"This is a Royal Command, my Lord," answered Maester Luwin. "To refuse it would be treason-"
"Oh, I'll ride to King's Landing," said Robb as he crumpled the paper in his hands. "But not alone... Call the banners."
Robb felt the warmth of Theon's smirk. "All of them, my Lord?" queried the Maester.
"They've all sworn to defend my father, have they not?" Robb's stomach felt tight.
"They have."
"I will see what their words are worth."
Maester Luwin's face changed; he knew what this meant. With the attempt on Bran's life committed, and Ser Jaime attacking Lord Stark in King's Landing's streets, the wounds against the North were beginning to cut too deep. Eddard Stark was the warden of the North, and now Hand of the King. Robb Stark was now Lord and Warden of the North, and as a Lord and Warden of the North, and as a Stark of Winterfell, he had to look out for his family. His family needed him; his Northmen needed him. He sat.
"Are you afraid?" came Theon's voice.
Robb felt himself shaking, and when he raised his hand and lowered his blue eyes to look he saw it quivering like a dying leaf on a branch. "I must be," he said with a trembling throat.
Smiling, always smiling, Theon said: "Good."
"Why is that good?"
"It means you're not stupid." Doubtless, it was a jape, was it not? Theon must have been mad to jape at such a thing as war. But Theon was a man-grown who had seen much more war and bloodshed than Robb ever had. Theon was a captive of the North, and had seen his two elder brothers slain, and his castle broken down brick by brick. Theon had known war and bloodshed while Robb was still playing with toy swords and wooden horses in Winterfell; Theon had seen a flaming sword cut off a man's head while Robb sat in his mother's lap and she lulled him to sleep. Theon was Ironborn, and Robb was a Stark of Winterfell. Theon was Robb's brother, if not in blood. Gods be good, Theon, do you know what to do? What's in your head? Mewled Robb to himself on the insides of his heart.
That night, he called his bannermen to Winterfell under the guise of a feast, for the Lannisters had spies everywhere, he was sure. He called the Glovers, the Umbers, Karstark and more...it was all becoming more and more real. But what of his Winterfell? His castle? Who would watch over it and its people? His mother was gone, riding down to King's Landing, and his father was playing as the Hand of the King, while circled with treacherous golden lions. In a moment of weakness, Robb summoned Theon to his room.
"No matter how much I drink," said Robb, pouring his dearest friend a goblet of wine "I still can't..." He faltered.
"I know. War is no easy thing."
Robb sat. Theon took his wine and sat down to watch the fire with him. "I need to ask you something," said the wolf pup, Grey Wind sitting contentedly at his feet. "And I need you to tell me the truth."
Theon, of course thinking he was having a bit of a go at him, leaned back and said: "I wouldn't lie to you, Lord Stark."
There was a very long pause. Robb watched the glimmer of the crackling fires dance over the rim of his goblet. The dark red wine looked very much like, in that moment, the black pool in the Godswood that reflected the great Weirwood tree, his father's tree. Robb drank. Theon drank. He would be marching off to War before the fortnight was up, and the men in the North were behind him. He hadn't ever thought of it before that night, but what if the shoe were on the other foot, and Theon's father had fostered Robb as his honored guest. Would Robb be treated as well? Would Robb be the same man? He began to wonder if Theon was truly the man that he thought he was, and not just some product of the North. Robb began to wonder what Theon would be like if he hadn't grown up with him, but instead be a true Ironborn, like his father wanted him to be.
Doubtless, his father missed him dearly. Doubtless, his father loved him beyond measure, for had he not he would have not stayed quiet in the Iron Islands for so long. Balon Greyjoy was once a name whispered to Robb via Old Nan's bedtime stories, along with othersuch Ironborn men, said to come and sack and reave and pillage in the night, especially if he was naughty and rose from his bed before the morn was up. Doubtless, Theon's father wanted to see him back in the Kingdom of the Iron Islands, safe and sound. So he would convince his daughter to wed Robb and bring peace between the kingdoms; Theon and he would be brothers. Theon was only a shy few years his elder, and Robb was sure he wouldn't mind a twenty-something woman for a bride. Thing was, would she mind him at his sixteen years?
"Well?" Robb looked up at Theon's voice. "Going to ask me?"
He laughed a little, and drank his wine. It was a Dornish red, and Robb wasn't sure if he liked it or not. Theon seemed to be enjoying it some. "Your sister..."
"Don't fret over it, Lord Stark," said Theon. "The Greyjoys have always been a rough bunch, more frank and snark than even the Starks, if you can imagine it." Smiling, always smiling. How can someone smile so much? "We are hard people, but a wise people at that. My father told me on the day that Pyke fell that he who kneels may rise again with a sword in his hand. Him who does not kneel will die, stiff and straight-legged. I would hope that my father is still the wise man I remembered, and will yield to make peace with the islands and the Greenlands."
"Do you reckon you could write to him yourself? Perhaps even write to your sister and ask her?"
"Aye, I could, if I wanted to risk more than I am already." Robb frowned in confusion. "You don't understand, do you? The impolite truth of me is that I am a hostage. This means, while I am an 'honored guest' here, I have no contact with my real family. I'm forbidden to write them, see them, ever. Not until my father dies, and I return there. I'll be Lord there, and I'll have my home back, but not until my father lies cold-dead at the bottom of the sea." Theon drank. Robb drank, too.
Robb thought of what it might truly mean for Theon to be in the Iron Islands as their Lord. He would do nothing about it, in truth, but he would miss his friend dearly. Someday, he reckoned, they'd see each other again when the time came, when Theon and Robb both wed and they had their own little Lordlings running about. Asha was out of the question, it would have seemed, and Theon was so in love with Cadenzsa Forel that he wouldn't ever marry any other. He did wonder, though, how one can claim to love someone if they hadn't any slight bedding every whore, kitchen wench, milkmaid, and all that came across their path. If Theon and Cadenzsa had truly consummated their love, wouldn't that mean faithfulness on both accounts should be held?
"It's been months," said Theon, then. "And we're about to march off to War, soon." He sighed. "Perhaps I should send another raven for Cadenzsa..."
A sharp pain came into Robb's throat, and he drank his wine to swallow it, but the pain was still there. "How long does it take for a raven to reach King's Landing?"
"I don't know," said the Ironborn Lord, thumbing the rim of his wine goblet. "She might be as far as Dorne, by now, for all I know. But it shouldn't be taking her this long to write me back."
"Give her a chance, Theon!" gasped Robb. "If she's down in Dorne then that means that she's with someone else." His friend shot an icy glance at him, as if he had struck him hard across the face. "She's got quite a bit to offer, and she's from a very good name with a very good standing in Essos."
"In Essos, Robb. What good is an Essosi's land and titles and wealth in Westeros? Everyone's afraid of her in Braavos. She's got to come back to me. She has to." He snorted through his nose and went back to looking at the fire. He then stood and began to pace, back and forth, and then stopped at the mantle, trying to lean as casually as possible, but just looking rather stiff-legged and uncomfortable. "I offer her a place on the Iron Islands as my Lady, and somebody that will truly love her. What more could she possibly want? She doesn't even like the idea of power. She just wants to spend all of her time lounging and Dancing and swimming. Where else to do that but an island? Where else to be happy than with a family? My family?"
There was a very long pause. The silence felt quite loud for young Lord Stark could feel it in his throat. "I'm your family," offered Robb, when what he had truly meant to say was 'I love you.' Theon must have seen the tremble of Robb's lip, the welling in his eyes, for his handsome face softened and he set his goblet down on the stone mantle. In two steps he crossed to Robb and bent down, taking his face in both of his hands. And Theon smiled.
"No matter what happens, I am your brother," he said, his mossy breath brushing gently against Robb's lashes. "now and always."
"Now and always," he whispered. His eyes were so blue, like the sea, Robb imagined. In his naivety, Robb had imagined that Theon would always be there, at his side, holding his hand, being his elder brother. Robb had taken Theon for granted, but he was of the North, of quiet, stone-faced, stoic and sober men. He would never tell him how much he wanted him to stay. Theon loved Cadenzsa, and the words of love he would say to her would never be said to Robb. In truth, he was better off forgetting about it. It was probably a mistake, that night, anyhow; they were both drunk. Robb hadn't ever even been with a girl before; he hadn't even kissed one before.
The next night they rode out. Robb said his goodbyes to Bran, who though he had begged him to come with, Robb knew it could not be.
"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell" he had told his baby brother, who he loved so much. Robb was going to bring his mother back. Robb was going to march on King's Landing. Robb was going to war.
The Glovers marched, the Karstark's marched...as they went on, more and more bannermen joined in. They marched south to the Riverlands. Soon, twenty-thousand strong were marching behind Robb, calling him The Young Wolf, with Grey Wind at his side, and how he had won supporters despite his youth. The Starks, he had heard whispered, have always had a way of inspiring unerring loyalty. He supposed, however, that the power of the Starks was only held in the North, for his father rotted in a cell beneath the Red Keep, and he wondered how many days it would be before his head was taken.
And then the air became hostile. Robb had convinced Roose Bolton and his bannermen to join in on the bloodshed, too, of course, but the real battle would begin soon. Riverrun had been besieged by a host led by Jaime Lannister; another force, led by Tywin Lannister, came from the South. Robb split his forces, wisely, and so it came that Roose Bolton proved quite useful, and loyal.
And then they reached the Twins, by the Green Fork. They camped, or rather waited, Theon artfully shooting down each raven that Lord Walder Frey sent out. The Freys were a treacherous, new-made House, by many respects, and - in truth - nobody wanted anything to do with them. Ancient Walder Frey was the epicenter of many a jape and jest whispered at court, for his weaselly face and bedding girl after girl after girl. He'd laid dead seven wives, at least, hadn't he? Eight? Each one of them generations younger than he, and all dead before he. Of course, if Robb was a girl, he might die just from the thought of his withered old cock coming near.
Another raven flew out. Theon's arrow shot straight and true, and the raven fell dead. There was no archer half-so skilled as Theon, and when he went and handed it to Robb. He sighed. "It's a birthday message to his grand-niece Walda," Robb said."
"Or so Walder Frey would have you think," said Theon, not smiling this time.
"Keep shooting them down," commanded Lady Stark, to which Theon nodded. "We can't risk Lord Walder sending word of your movements to the Lannisters."
Robb was growing more and more annoyed, but his annoyance would not make the banks of the river join, or the gates open to his twenty-thousand strong. "He's Grandfather's bannerman. We can't expect his support?"
"Expect nothing of Walder Frey and you'll be surprised," announced Greatjon Umber, standing a full head taller than Ser Rodrik. "Look," he said, and rising above the grass from far away were two men on horseback holding banners, approaching the twenty-thousand strong of Robb's Northmen.
The young Lord Stark gulped, tightening his fist, listening to the sound of his own heart and the soft leather of his glove squeaking against its own skin. "My father rots in a dungeon," spat he, "how long before they take his head? We need to cross the Trident, and we need to do it now."
"Just march up to the gate and tell him you're crossing," insisted Theon. "We've got five times his numbers. You can take the Twins, if you have to." Ever the Ironborn, Theon was eager to get his sword wet, his arrows piercing someone's heart. There were at least a dozen arrows stuck into the soft ground near his feet, all ready to shoot down the ravens, or any of Walder Frey's soldiers. Why so blood-thirsty? His father had done so much to gentle Theon's heart, but with each enemy dead, his smiles grew more and more malicious. 'The Iron Islands is a cruel place, and cruel places breed cruel men,' his father's voice rang in his head. But Theon was not cruel. Cadenzsa would not love a cruel man, nor would Robb...
"Not in time," added Robb's uncle. "Tywin Lannister marches North as we speak."
"The Freys have held the Crossing for six-hundred years, and in those six-hundred years they have never failed to exact their toll," said his mother. The Freys...a minor house, at best, thought Robb. In the North, this would not be a problem; the damn Riverlands... He exchanged a knowing glance with Theon, who seemed to hear his every thought.
"Have my horse saddled and ready," announced Robb in a soft and low voice.
"Enter the Twins alone and he'll have you sold to the Lannisters as he likes!" scolded Uncle Blackfish.
"Or throw you in a dungeon," reminded Theon, his eyes squinting a little from the angle of the bright sun. "Or slit your throat." The Frey's flag-holders were coming closer.
"My father," began Robb, "would do whatever it took to secure the Crossing. What ever it took," he insisted again, looking to his family. Ser Rodrik remained silent; his mother's Tully-blue eyes locked on the ever-closer-coming horsemen. If I'm going to win this, I can't have other men bargaining for me."
"I agree," said his mother, just then, nodding her head. "I'll go-"
"You can't!" came a chorus of the men's voices around her.
"I have known Lord Walder since I was a girl," she insisted. "He would never harm me."
"Unless there was a profit in it..." grumbled Lord Umber.
The Frey's banner-holders came on their brown-colored mounts. "We couldn't help but notice you seem to be shooting all of our ravens down," announced one of them, who lacked very much any sight of a chin.
"And we couldn't help but notice that your gates are locked tight to the North," announced Theon. "Regardless of your allegiance to the Tullys."
"Exactly," said the second one. "Tully."
"And I am a Tully," said Lady Cat, stepping forward. "And I wish for a personal audience with Walder Frey."
"Lord Walder Frey is wedded already, missus, to a woman far younger-"
"Hold your tongue, you little twat, or lose it!" barked Lord Umber.
"My mother is to be granted safe passage into the castle," warned Robb, "and tell Lord Frey that he has Northmen, twenty-thousand strong, that will see to that, waiting to knock on his gates." Gods, even his banner-holders look like damn ferrets, thought Robb.
And after a few more pleasantries, if you could call them that, Robb's mother rode on her horse between the two men towards the Twins. Robb huffed through his nose and waited. For hours, he waited. And after hours, his Lady Mother came back, with a bit of a sullen look on her face. She came into the tent.
"Mother!" said Robb with a gasp. "You were in there for so long.."
Lady Catelyn gulped. "Lord Frey," she began, "will allow us to Cross, for a price."
"And that price is?" asked Robb, eager.
"That, when the fighting is done, you will marry one of his daughters." Robb blinked in shock. Aghast, he wanted to remain optimistic about the situation - for, after all, he had gained an ally and the safe passage towards Tywin's armies, but Greyjoy's quietly laughing smile told Robb that it was a match made in Seven Hells indeed. He knew what every girl in the Seven Kingdom's looked like, it seemed at times.
"Which one?" asked Robb.
"Which ever you like. I could choose for you-"
"I will choose my ownbride," insisted Robb with his wolf-blood flaring. There was a long pause. "Did you see any of them?"
"Some of them, I assume," said Lady Catelyn. "There were many."
"And?" asked Robb.
There was another long, uncomfortable pause. "...One of them, Robb, could be..." He flared out his nose and turned away. "Robb, listen, I heard of your plots with Asha Greyjoy. It is a poor match." And his mother gave Theon a rather unreadable look. "We can negotiate it all after the fighting is done. The Lannisters still have your sisters, and the sooner we get Sansa back, the sooner a better match can be made to bring peace to the Kingdoms."
Gods, thought Robb. Gods, why? I'll do it, if I must. If this is what it takes, I will pay this price. Please, just make her a little pretty to look at. He found himself praying as he went to sleep that night. She doesn't have to be the greatest beauty in the land. But I do have to look at her once in a while. And then a Raven found itself on his bedpost. The raven cawed and cawed, and as Robb woke up to see the raven was real, it said:
"Tay-yahn. Tay-yahn," it cawed.
"'Tay-yon?'" He rose and held his hand out to the Raven, who kept on cawing that same strange-sounding name.
"Tay-ahn. Tay-yahn Greyjoy."
Robb's heart beat hard suddenly, and a wave of shock. Lady Forel! She could never say Theon with her Bravos tongue, could she? She always called him Tay-ahn. Robb was so excited that he only shielded himself from the summer snows with a robe. He ran to Theon's tent, which was only the next one down, the raven on Robb's heels.
"Theon!" he called as he opened the flap, finding Theon hunched over a parchment, doubtlessly writing a letter to his love. He had written her so many letters, at least two-dozen by this point, and all of them had been without any answer, until now. "Theon, the raven! The raven from Cadenzsa."
"What?" cracked the Ironborn's voice.
"Tay-ahn. Tay-yahn Greyjoy."
"That's me!" gasped Theon, a smile on his lips that was so full of excitement and happiness that Robb had completely forgotten about his ill-fate. The raven came towards him, and Theon's deft fingers unfurled the letter. The seal was a red wax, and Theon quickly broke it. He came and paced as he read, and then he stopped. Robb frowned, and Theon's face slowly fell from a smile, into shrugging shoulders, and then his face twisted into what Robb thought would be tears. He then crumpled the letter and threw it to the ground, and stormed out of the tent, barefoot.
Robb was shocked. He quickly knelt and retrieved the crumpled parchment. It smelled of jasmine flowers, and as he sat on Theon's bed, he read:
"My Sun and Stars,
This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but I must tell you farewell. Goodbye. And, no, I cannot marry you.
I am in Dorne, which is why I did not write you sooner. I am to wed Prince Quentyn Martell, and become a Princess of Dorne. It is the best possible match for me in all of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, and it is my hope that you can someday be happy for me.
In Braavos, there is an old legend about a Red Thread of Fate. The Gods tie red threads between those that are destined to meet. The thread can tangle, it can snag, but it can never be cut or never can break. I thought once that, and I still do think, that you and I are bound by that thread on our little fingers, and even though nothing will come of it, please know that the time I have spent with you had filled my heart with a joy that Time would lie down and be still for.
Forget me, my Sun and Stars. Forget you knew me, and forget you knew my name. Life will be better suited to you, should you forget me.
If you must, however, remember anything ever had I told you or said, remember only that you have a heart greater than mine, and a spirit stronger than mine ever will be. You have a strength in you upon which you have never drawn.
Never let them break you. Never let them take you of your perfect personality.
Goodbye, my Sun and Stars. Forever.
Cadenzsa."
Robb thought for a moment that the stains on the papers were Cadenzsa's tears, but he soon realized that they were his own, weeping for the loss of hope for Theon's future, and his own.