Yowza. You guys rocked my pants off last chapter with all those reviews! That was amazing sauce. And I mean it. Pants literally came off. Anyway, I don't want to make this too long but I did have a question from a reader (darkwolf76.) Well, actually I'm kind of going to give you a cop out because you're first question should be answered more in this chapter (it's also stated in previous chapters, mainly chapter one but it's been a hella long time since I updated so I totally get it) and the whole Jeyne/Talisa thing will appear more next chapter. I told you it would be a bunch of cop out. And thank you so much for telling me about the third person situation going on last chapter! I actually feel more comfortable writing in it (and most of my other stories are in that POV) but Willa just had to be difficult.
Chapter Seven: The Blood of Freys
I couldn't think of a single thing that I could do to sway the attention of the Wolf King.
Our halls, usually dimmed to an almost depressing hue blazed with the flames of a thousand torches and servants rushed here and there as they prepared for an even grander display than the previous night.
"Lady Frey!" I fought off the grimace, turning to one of the serving maids with a serene smile. She was out of breath before she reached me, her face reddened and sweaty from the run from the boiling kitchens to my hallway. "Lady Frey - we have - we have tried to prepare the meal for tonight but some of our girls are missing. Gone since last night! We are becoming wor-"
"Oh what an utter mess," I murmured, rolling my eyes as I lifted my voluminous skirts away from my feet.
Yet again, my maids had forced me to change. It was becoming more than a chore, turning into something akin to torture. Every dress seemed to grow in volume and become more and more tedious to keep clean. At the moment, I was trying to see around the poof of my sleeves. Apparently, the dressmaker had thought that since the shoulders would be exposed all the way to just above my elbows, that he could make the rest as big as he wanted. That fashioned with the ridiculous manner that the bosom slipped up to form a choker - I was going mad. Everywhere I went, I could be heard shuffling about in this blue monstrosity with it's overzealous silver embroideries.
"Lady Frey-"
"I will find you your maids," I sighed, already making my way down the steps to the hall that held all the guest bedchambers that the Twins had to offer.
"Oh thank you, my Lady!" the serving woman gushed, hiking up her skirt as she dashed back to do whatever she had run from.
There were many things that could be expected when men, hungry from war and starved for the gentle comfort of a woman. In nine months, I was certain that the cry of a new babe would come from more than one room. But for the moment, the problem fell solely on me. And I was more than a bit agitated.
"Who the bloody hell is knocking at my door when I just went to fucking sleep?" Behind the thick doors, I could hear the clatter and rustle of sheets as - I'm sure - the man who was so enthused by my arrival shuffled from bed.
And then the more delightful sound of an ass being slapped and a woman squeaking out a giggle.
"Stay like that, you naughty little slut."
How utterly delightful.
I forced a serene smile as the door was finally opened. Standing in the entrance was a rather tall man who had a wild mess of blondish-brown curls. Deep circles marred his eyes, making him look far from the age that I guessed he was. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to be thankful that he had seen fit to throw on a pair of trousers.
"Well, hello there." By the silky smile that was curling his lips and the way that he was leaning towards me, I had the strange impression that he thought I was here for darker motives. "Have you come to join or…?"
"Come back to bed, Theon," the voice from deep within the bedroom followed by an even sleepier sounding agreement. Oh goodie. Two maids in one go.
"Lord Greyjoy," the man corrected absently, his eyes still on me.
Lord Greyjoy - Ward to the Starks. Yes, I had heard of him, if a bit vaguely. His triumph had been a mere footnote in the war. From a young age he had been sent to the Starks in a sort of hostage agreement between the ironborns and the Starks. Although it didn't look like a hostage situation to me at the moment. After Lord Eddard Stark's execution in King's Landing, he had apparently pledge his loyalties to Lord Robb Stark. In an attempt to gain the fleets of the ironborns, he traveled to his father's keeps where… I gave him another once over, ignoring how it made his smirk grow. Rumors swirled about what occurred within those walls but within a month Lord Balon Greyjoy had mysteriously died and in his stead his daughter had taken the Salt Throne.
It had shaken the mainlands, sending my father into howling fits of rage and outward mockery. A Queen to rule the Salt Islands - how fitting, he had yapped.
"Lord Greyjoy," I whispered soothingly, dipping into a deep curtsy as I kept my smile in place. "I assume that your night went well?"
"It would have gone smoother if you had been there," he stated with a suave smile. Oh dear.
I coughed, my smile strained. "Yes… Well… I have come to ask-"
"What is your name?" He suddenly broke in and I resisted the urge to snap at him as my temper flared. It was so like a man to think that his cock outweighed the problems of my sex.
Instead, I dipped into another curtsy. "Will Frey of the House of the Twins."
"Lady Willa Frey…" he whispered and I glanced up curiously to see his features crinkled in dull recognition. Curious… Swiftly, he grabbed up a shirt from the ground and threw it on. "Has Robb sent you?"
I blinked. And then blinked again. Who in the world..? Did he mean King Robb Stark? The Young Wolf? Why in the world would he think that I was here on his behalf?
"I sent a message with one of your uglier maids to tell him that I would be in the garden at dawn and it is hardly that time." He shuffled around further, searching for something.
"It is far past noon, Lord Greyjoy," I informed him blandly, sending a critical eye to my maids who had gathered together on the rumpled bed. Guilt would have been a good word to describe their expressions. Guilt and a little bit of fear. My lips thinned and I snapped a finger, sending a pointed glance to the rumpled dresses on the floor. As they hurriedly followed my unspoken instructions, I turned back to the ironborn as he swore, crouching to look beneath a chest at the foot of his bed.
"Well, that's just bloody brilliant," he hissed, finally finding a single boot somewhere in the far corner. "Was he mad? Was Lady Stark there?"
"I have no clue what you're speaking of, Lord Greyjoy," I finally answered growing bored with the man's nonsense. Deftly, I moved to the side as my maids stumbled around me and into the hall, trying hurriedly to look like they had not just fucked one of the King's most trusted advisors and confidantes. Sending a withering look his way, I straightened to my full height as he pulled another boot from somewhere under the bed sheets. "I merely came to retrieve some of my maids. I really have no quarrel with who you decide to sink your cock into, My Lord but please do not disrupt the running of my House with your petty needs." I gave him a cold smile. "It would bother me greatly," I said before I shut the door quietly behind me.
"Oh, My Lady - we did not realize-" I quickly silenced the maid with a hand, sighing wearily. I despised cleaning up the messes made by such - frankly disgusting acts of lust. The emotion was beyond me - further than that, it disgusted me. It looked like the greasy hands of my father - the times that he had laid a hand too close to Roslins butt or looked too long at Derwa's rather impressive bosom. I shivered, remembering the drunken nights when he had slipped into our hallways, his shadow darkening the cracks around my doors as I shivered in my bed.
"Where are the others?" I asked flatly, regaining myself. Meekly, they pointed to a few doors, naming some of our honored guests in quietly miserable voices. It was always best to go with the higher ranking men and women in the Houses first. For a moment, I mulled over going to Lord Stark's room before I remembered suddenly our earlier meeting. There was a slim chance that he had left a serving wench in his room alone.
But there was something else - a sudden emotions that caused me to hesitate and jerk back from the thought like a hot iron had grazed me.
My eyes wandered to stare out the stained glass of the hall windows, the water beyond a brilliant reflection of the setting sun, dipping with colors of deep, pumpkin with a mixture of garnet swirling to splash up to the shore.
I had felt this before. When I was a child. It was how I used to view a young boy - the stable master's son. He used to clean and brush Merigold. I had admired him in a way that bordered on treacherous. Every day I would walk down to visit my horse. And to visit him. After Merigold was killed, in all rights I had no reason to go but still, in the dewy evenings, I would find my feet leading me there.
We never touched. He never gave me hope nor did I utter a word of my hidden admirations - my secret hopes. I kept them inside of me like a nasty little creature that needed to be beat down at night, chastised away from the false hope I gave it every time I went to see him - this miracle boy who had grabbed at my heart so suddenly.
And then one day… Well, he grew up. I never asked for his heart so why did I expect anything? But in the way that a child naively loves another, I loved him and perhaps that was why it was so crushing. Seeing him with the baker's daughter. And then the kennel master's. And then finally a noblewoman who had visited the Twins. They came and went and I stayed.
Somehow that had been worse. Like something holy and pure being soiled in a way that I could never know.
Why did that come to mind? I wondered, brows furrowing before turning away from the waters outside of the Twins.
Within the hour, I had rounded up at least ten serving ladies from the bedrooms of our honored guests, each more slovenly and rude than the last. I even had the utter joy of finding one of my sisters curled up in a side stairway with a skinny little squire boy curled on top of her. By the end, I felt dirty like I had tripped and fallen into the mud.
"There's my favorite sister."
It was nearing the evening celebration and I was afraid that I would feel like curdled milk all the way through the dinner and into the wee hours of the night. Which was an utterly delightful prospect.
Corlin looked dashing in a tunic of silver, lined with a cerulean blue that matched his undershirt and offset the brown of his trousers and boots. For a moment, my eyes tiredly worked around the color. I thought… It looked oddly familiar…
White teeth flashed sarcastically. "Cute dress."
"Oh bloody hell." We were wearing the same confounded colors, by the Seven. I was going to butcher someone. Hand me a dressing maid and I would strangle them myself. I wanted to tear the confounded thing off right in the middle of the hall.
My brother tsked playfully, chucking my chin as I stared balefully down at the fabric that I had fisted in my hands. "Queen's shouldn't use such language."
"BY THE SEVEN, DAMN THE CROWN! I DO NOT WISH FOR IT!" I had yelled it - my words echoing down the halls and filling all the spaces. I hadn't meant to but I had - My hands grasped at my mouth, unwanted tears filling my eyes as my brother visibly paled.
Treachery. If anyone had heard-
Nails bit into my arm as Corlin yanked me into the nearest room, closing it softly but quickly before locking it and rounding on me. "Have you lost your wits, sister?"
"Corlin-" I was crying, shaking as I stared down at my hands. I was breaking and I didn't know why. Why was I crying so? I never cried. "Cortlin - I - I'm so sorry."
For a moment, I just stood there like a fool, sobbing for no reason but feeling so utterly broken and - and scared.
"If I hug you, you won't hit me will you?" Silently, I shook my head, a part of my brain seizing around itself as strong, warm arms engulfed me, my brothers quiet voice shushing me as I sobbed all over his wonderful tunic.
I wasn't sure how long we stood in that room - a minute, an hour, a day? All I knew, was that for a brief moment I felt like myself again - whole and untouched by the outside world. For a moment, there had been no war and there was no king only Corlin and I, still children, hiding from our father after mother had died and he had become mean and drunken.
"I cannot become Queen," I whispered into Corlin's chest, finally speaking the words that had been haunting me.
"Is that what this is about?" He pulled away from me, crouching to meet my eyes with his own critical ones. "You are afraid of the crown."
"I'm afraid of what it will do to me," I admitted, pressing tiredly at my now swollen lids. "They spoke of the old Queen - Lady Cersei. They call her the Mad Queen of the South. When her children died in the WAR-"
"Wildfire," Corlin whispered, his face sinking into a solemn mask.
The words from the ravens at King's Landing had come to us late. No one cared to tell the Twins what had happened in a war that we had so minorly assisted in. But what had come, had been horrific.
King Stark had worked his way to the South, slaughtering the Lannister army while reinforcing his own with every victory. He gathered the allies of the South and the deserters as well when famine struck with a vengeance. The North knew how to survive when the crops ran dry and the waters separated us from supplies but King's Landing rarely felt that ache. Soldiers came if only to fill the ache in their bellies.
And with famine and weakness come disease. Such horrid disease that even the Highgardens recoiled from its bitter touch. Jaime Lannister had already been captured and executed by the Stark armies and with no other choice Tywin Lannister took to the fields to try and command his war back into order. Somehow, I was sure that he may have been able to do just that if not for the tragedies that took place in the South while he was away.
Poison and murder had filled the Great Halls. First the young King Joffrey and then Lady Cersei's betrothed, Lord Loras Tyrell. Madness had filled the walls. Just like that, the Tyrell's head turned their vicious eyes to the Lannisters. In the dead of night, Margaery Tyrell was gone, spirited away in the dark of the night to sit, colding and watch the battle from the depths of The Reach with her grandmother.
It was of little use.
With betrayal comes rage and I was not sure that any fury could be as great as the one of a mother that had lost her two children. The Lannisters needed to act quickly if they wanted to keep their ground. They had more troops than the Tyrell's and by all accounts, Lord Stark was far enough away that they could make a risk.
As acting king, the decision fell to the only surviving member of both the Baratheon and Lannister bloodline: Lord Tommen - a fatal choice by the Lannisters.
Tommen, Cersei's youngest had fallen in love. He stopped eating. He stopped speaking. And eventually, he jumped from the windows of his bedroom. The sentimental act of a boy who should never have been involved in war. Enraged, Cersei sent her troops to raid the High Gardens, a calculated risk that paid off in some ways but ultimately destroyed the Lannister's hold on the South.
Highgarden was lost. Olenna and Margaery Tyrell were slaughtered and their lands plundered. But Cersei lost more. As the war in The Reach went on, it became painfully clear that Cersei had spread her army too far. She could defend King's Landing but with no reinforcements she would fall.
She prayed. She sat in the halls that used to be her families and she prayed.
Tywin Lannister fell.
No one would be coming to her defense - not even her own blood, Tyrion Lannister. She was alone and she was too clever not to realize just that. Mad with grief, she took the supply of wildfire that had been held in the keep since the Battle of the Blackwater and she burned more than half the city to the ground.
When Lord Stark had finally reached King's Landing there was nothing more than rubble and the ever burning flames of wildfire, licking away at anything that dared to breath and live. His hopes of finding his sister, Sansa Stark growing duller and duller in the face of such utter carnage. They had said that it had taken weeks to choke the fire and more deaths than anyone could have imagined.
But with it something bright and unexpected came. For once, the Seven Kingdoms had to unite - if only for a short stint - so that wildfire wouldn't engulf the lands.
And then reluctantly, painfully Tyrion Lannister had come to own the title of King in the South, if only due to his diplomatic ties with Lord Stark and a few other key players through the war. However, heavier than even that was his knowledge that Sansa Stark had been secreted away to the Vale.
"I am not afraid of going mad," I whispered, searching for some way to explain. "I am not Cersei Lannister." Desperate, I pressed a the soles of my hands into my eyes until I felt a dull sting. "I am afraid of a different kind of insanity."
"Madness does not run in our blood, Wil-" I jerked away from his touch, baring my teeth as another wave of tears stung my eyes.
"Does it not?" I hissed. "Is it not madness that brought Sherei - poor, little Sherei who has not even bled yet - to stand in front of a King so that he might try to wed her? Anyone else - anyone of the men who stand beside our father - would have taken her if she was offered. Is that not a sickness that runs in our blood? A sickness that has poisoned our father and corrupted us into a House that is too below the people of the Seven Kingdoms to even consider? We are slimy - a disgrace to the nobility around us." My eyes searched over his face as a sort of guilt clouded his eyes. "You have seen him. You know that if a girl of only ten and two was offered to him - he would have her. Will you tell me that we are not corrupt?"
Suddenly, his jaw set. "You are scared."
My heart fluttered. "I-"
"Do you think he is like this?" I blinked, jerking back as if he had struck me. Amber eyes blazed down at me.
"All men are the same," I finally forced out, looking away as a flash of pain jolted across his face. "When he grows tired of me, he will find another. He will bed her and impregnate her and then force me to sit and watch as her sons play with my children - the ones he gave me just as he gave another. And I will end up a wicked, cruel shell of myself."
I shut my eyes, flashes of all my previous mothers striking painfully across my mind. They had despised my brother and I for the simple fact that father had shown us a little less hatred and spite than our siblings. And the mothers - they always knew as I did not. The burning hatred that I saw in their eyes when they looked upon me was something that I could not mistake - always there when he set me on his lap or held me a little too long. As if I wanted him to touch me as he pleased - stare at me as he used to look upon our mother.
"Then you will call me." I blinked, turning sharply to stare up at my brother as he gave me a confident smirk. "You will send the fastest raven and I will ride to you on the fastest steed and beat your husband so soundly that he won't even be able to look in the direction of another female for he will not be able to see."
I didn't know what to say. He looked so confident - so sure that he would always be there. And somehow that made me a little bit more confident too.
"You are daft," I finally choked out, trying to force down my resulting smile. Somehow, someway… I felt safer. I felt like there wasn't as much darkness or fear in the world anymore.
"And you are a crybaby," he countered. "Honestly, it's utterly embarrassing. Look at yourself, sister. It'll be a wonder that Lord Stark even looks in your direction with how ugly you look at the mom - OW!"
Sniffing, I stepped past him and out into the hall as he clutched his side. Honestly, it was only a little tap. What a wimp.
"You always were soft, brother," I murmured, looking as dignified as I could as I walked slowly down the hall. "That talk was nonsense for he will not pick me. Forget it."
"Denial is a pretty kingdom," my brother mused thoughtfully as we made our way down the hall. "But I do not feel the need to live there with you."
"He will choose another," I said simply, forcing myself to think of all my other sisters - and their many, many virtues.
"I seem to remember a conversation that went exactly like this," he said, his eyes going to the Heavens thoughtfully. "Strange…"
"You bore me," I snapped. "Run along and join our brothers. I'm sure their recounting all the virtues of our sisters to the King as we speak."
"They are quite meddlesome." A sudden smile lit his face. "Would you like me to speak of you, my dearest sister? She likes to order people around, Your Grace. No. No. It might sound bad now but get her in your keep and she will have that place running smoothly in no time at all. Not too shabby, eh?"
"Absolutely marvelous." I murmured, eyes already intent on a maid heading swiftly in my direction. Briefly, I remembered his earlier words and coughed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "And...Thank you… For - you know… earlier."
His smile softened and for a moment I returned it.
"Don't be afraid of the unnecessary, bird brains," he murmured, tugging at a stand of hair that had escaped my braided bun. For a moment, the briefest flit of emotions ran across his face. He looked sad - heartbreakingly sad as if something had just been taken from him… But that was only a moment and then it was gone as if it had never existed in the first place. His grin grew.
"I fear nothing," I sniffed, returning his grin with a mischievous one of my own.
"Perhaps when Lord Stark asks for your hand tonight, you will simply turn to stone and then we might be able to have a living statue in the Twins with a plaque that reads: Here rests the woman who feared nothing." His brows furrowed before he shrugged. "I'm sure a painting of the moment will do though."
"You put too much faith in petty gossip," I growled, sending him a withering glare. It was easier to deny it than to face the wilting truth. The Young Wolf had already told me that he would ask for my hand. There was no denying it. But I could always hope. Maybe Derwa had wooed him through some form of trickery at some point in the day.
There was always one bit of hope - no matter how small it may seem.
I was utterly wrong.
"Look upon each other and say the words."
I felt dizzy. Sick to my stomach dizzy.
It had all happened so quickly, almost like for a brief moment the Gods had pumped my life full of adrenaline, making everything go in hyper speed. And I was left, cocooned in shock, staring dimly from the body of a stranger.
Ah, yes. That's where it all started. For a brief moment, I had forgotten.
Everything had gone correctly. For a moment, with how much Derwa and the King were speaking I had hoped. And then the halls had grown silent and my father had roared, bellowing with drunken indignation for Lord Stark to pick. Time slowed. Voices grew to mere scrapes against wood because he was turning to me - turning so slowly that I thought that he would never get to where he wanted to be.
But then those piercing eyes were staring so intently, no humor, no more mockery, just a seriousness that made me step back.
"Lady Willa Frey, may I have your hand in marriage?" His lips were soft and sure as they pressed to my knuckles, the scruff of his beard tickling my skin. Briefly, his eyes drifted up to meet mine, a flicker of that mischief - so familiar now - sparking to life.
Had I said no? I suddenly thought, my mind spinning.
"Father." I blinked up, so startled that I was staring into the grey of Lord Stark's eyes that my hand jerked, nearly yanking away from his. Luckily, he had a strong grip and his big bear of a hand was nearly swallowing mine. Bear bastard.
So that was a no. I had definitely said yes. "Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger."
Our words blended steadily, his voice, so much stronger and deeper than mine almost seeming to cradle mine. Had it been a day? I glanced down, taking in the fact that I had definitely been changed into the most gaudy gown that I had ever worn. Maybe it had been a day. In the end, did it really matter? I was living a nightmare, trapped inside a jar of honey, flailing about for some way to end it.
"I am hers, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days."
And then his lips brushed mine, his stubble scratching for a moment before a hand cupped my cheek and drew me in closer. I felt his lashes brush my cheek as he closed his eyes for the briefest moment.
I kept mine open, too stunned by the sudden mind-numbing realization that I was married. I was married to the King of the North, the Young Wolf, the man that would have a million songs written about him.
"I'm sorry." It was a sudden whisper, something that made me blink as Lord Stark pulled away, his eyes never meeting mine. Had he said that? It was so soft that perhaps I had been mistaken. But surely his lips had moved ever so softly against mine.
"LET THE FREY'S AND STARK'S BE UNITED!" My father howled, jolting forward to slap Joyeuse's butt, sending her jerking forward. The hall exploded in cheers.
Numbly, I searched through the crowd, desperately looking - Corlin. He stood beside my other brothers, a stark, lonely figure, utterly still in a wave of color. My brother. Something bitter filled my mouth. A sudden sorrow that I hadn't thought of before. His eyes drifted shut, his face turning away as he tried to hide away the pain and sadness.
Everything had changed.
Last chapter you guys were freaking amazing cinnamon buns of awesomeness with all the reviews you gave me! That is honestly why I got this chapter out so quickly. So yeah, definitely keep it coming please. And please, please, please favorite and follow if you want to see more.