Sansa stepped inside her quarters, relishing the reassuring sound of the door closing behind her, the firm wood at her back.
A shape rose in the darkness.
Sansa grabbed for the nearest torch, about to call for guards–
The large figure stepped into the light.
Sansa stopped. "Brienne? Is anything the matter?"
The warrior woman wrung her hands, looking uncommonly nervous. "Lady Catelyn told me to come here, to you."
Sansa stepped closer. "My mother? Is she–"
"She's fine," Brienne said, and stopped. "I… The Tyrells…"
With a breath of relief, Sansa remembered. "They think you killed Renly."
Forlornly, Brienne nodded.
"Mother needs to hide you from them."
Brienne nodded again.
Sansa smiled, gesturing towards Brienne for reassurance. "She was right to send you to me. I know just the thing."
"Thank you, my lady," Brienne said with a heartbreaking amount of gratitude.
They took back passageways in the cavernous, labyrinth of a castle. Sansa had Brienne wait in one while Sansa stepped out to knock on the door of one of the finer rooms. It was late, and no response came. Sansa knocked again, more loudly.
Stomping feet could be heard on the other side. Finally, the door was flung open. "What in hell do you…"
Theon Greyjoy stood on the other side of the door, disheveled and freshly woken. He blinked at Sansa, who smiled innocently back.
"I thought I'd go on a walk through the castle," she said, sounding utterly guileless, despite the late hour. "Would you like to accompany me?"
He blinked stupidly at her. "Now?"
Sansa shrugged. "Well, if you're already awake…"
Rolling his eyes, he stepped back in to grab a plain cloak, flinging it around his shoulders. "Alright, lunatic. Go on your walk."
She smiled up at him, fighting her stomach's happy lurch as he couldn't resist smiling back.
"Enjoy your walk, my lord," a Stark guard called to Theon as he passed. The soldier flashed him a knowing smile.
Theon smirked back, thinking of darkened corners and Sansa trying to get him alone. "I think I will."
"In here," Sansa said, and ducked into a servants' entrance to the side passageways.
Theon eyed it skeptically before following her in.
Brienne waited on the other side.
Theon jumped backwards. "Seven hells–!"
Sansa clamped a hand over his mouth. Slowly, Theon calmed. He looked over at Sansa, realizing his night was not going to be as enjoyable as he'd hoped.
"That prisoner I had you look after," Sansa whispered, cautious, even in here. "Where is he?"
Theon jerked his head and the girls followed after. They had to go down two levels and across almost half the castle, but he led them to the door.
"There," Theon said, unlocking it and kicking it open.
Sansa finally flashed her own smile at him and not one she'd been faking for the guards. "Thank you, Theon. I'm sorry to have woken you."
His annoyed frown only deepened. "You're dismissing me? You tell me to be cautious, to look after the most dangerous man in the whole castle, to never be off my guard, and then you plan to enter his cell – for what? And with only her to look after you?"
Brienne glared at him. She'd beaten Theon every time they'd sparred, to be sure, but…
Sansa's smile only widened. "Please stay, then. Nothing would make me feel safer."
Theon had to look away, certain his face was turning red.
Sansa turned to Brienne. "I'm sure you can tell who this is."
Stepping into his cell, she let out a gasp. "It's the–"
"Yes," Sansa said. "But please assume every wall has ears. We can't trust anyone to watch over him, to make sure the secret isn't revealed."
Brienne turned to her in shock. "You'd trust me? My lady, you barely know me!"
Theon agreed wholeheartedly. He'd quite enjoyed being the only one Sansa could trust, even if he hadn't enjoyed bringing daily meals to the man who'd killed Lord Karstark.
"I know your loyalty cannot be bought or sold," Sansa replied seriously. "And I know how highly you value your honor. You have given me no reason to distrust you, Brienne. Please do me as much of the same courtesy as you can."
Brienne was silent for a long moment. The shape in the cell had barely stirred, even with the door opened. "He barely has a right hand and looks as if he hasn't been fed."
"He's been fed," Theon snarled, and gestured to the pile of moldy bread next to him. "Bastard hasn't bothered eating for days."
Brienne glared at Theon. "You haven't made him?"
"I'm not his mum," he snapped back. "We've all got better things to do than babysit a… a…" He couldn't properly insult the man without giving away his identity to those 'listening walls.' Theon was forced to break off, fuming.
The Kingslayer tilted his head, one eye opening to look up at Brienne as she towered over him. "You again," he croaked out.
"I see," Brienne softly said. "And hiding means I don't have better things to do than babysit."
"See that he's cared for, if you can," Sansa said. "Any food, medicine you need is yours, on my authority."
Theon glared at her, yet again. The prisoner was the Kingslayer. He didn't need bloody pampering, bloody attendants–
"I will, my lady," Brienne said seriously. "You can count on me."
Theon snorted. Sansa glared at him. As seriously as Brienne, Sansa replied, "You have my most heartfelt gratitude."
As they left Brienne behind and walked back into the upper levels of the castle, Theon couldn't help but ask, "What was that? You care an awful lot about a… well, you know what he is."
Sansa pursed her lips. "I'm not quite sure. There are situations where he could be useful, trusted, even, and situations where he, well… can't. I've no idea what this future holds. I dislike closing possibilities."
Theon shook his head. "I can't even begin to fathom the web you're weaving."
She smiled, grateful yet again for his unwavering support. "You're weaving it too, you know."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Am I? And what role am I weaving for myself?"
Her smile faltered.
Theon wrapped an arm around her, tucking her into his side. "No need to get all serious, Princess. As I said before: I'm perfectly fine not knowing."
She sighed, leaning into him. "Do you ever miss the woods? On the run, with no schemes or plots, just miles to go before us and a direwolf for company?"
"Every day," he replied. "All except the direwolf."
Sansa glared at him and Theon raised his hands in surrender. "Kidding! I love your direwolf; I owe her my life. Owe you my life? How does your bond work, anyway?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Sansa replied. "She tends to do what I want, if in her own way. I told her to look after you and Robb and I guess she knew you needed her more."
They entered a main hallway, a cluster of soldiers at one end discussing something avidly. Almost immediately, one spotted them and broke off to approach the couple.
"What now?" Theon muttered as Sansa stepped away from him, straightening to her full height with the air of a queen. It would have been more impressive if she hadn't been a head shorter than the approaching soldier. Theon had to repress his amusement.
"Princess," the soldier said, bowing to her. "Pardon the intrusion, my lady, but we've had a rider in the night and no one knows what to do with him. If we should wake up His Grace, or…?"
"I will handle it," Sansa said, and glanced at Theon.
He could tell when an issue would not be brief. "My lady," he said, and dismissed himself.
"My lord," Sansa replied.
Her eyes followed his back down the hallway.
The soldier cleared his throat.
"Lead me to him," she said with all the imperious tones of a princess.
He led her down the passageway and to the main hall, near the entry to the castle. Sansa frowned. If they'd kept the rider here, it meant they hadn't trusted him at all. Maybe she'd been foolish to accept responsibility without a single guard…
A scarred face she would recognize anywhere waited against the side of the hall, his eyes closed as he slept on despite the guards surrounding him, who clearly didn't know what to do with him.
"Sandor!" Sansa cried, and ran towards him.
He cracked one eye open and slowly rose to his feet. "Little Bird." The Hound gave a wry smile. "Seems you've found yourself a bigger cage."
The guards shifted uneasily, still standing between the pair.
"Step aside," Sansa said.
"Princess," one said, glancing nervously at the Hound. "You must not know who this is. He's dangerous, and–"
"Yes, I clearly don't know who he is, which is why I addressed him by name," she snapped, furious. "Step aside or I'll have your own names to give to my brother."
The soldiers parted, only daring to take a few steps away. The Hound eyed them with amusement.
"Leave us," Sansa snapped again.
"But, my lady–"
"Did I stutter?" she said, channeling every ounce of Cersei's authority.
With crisp bows, the soldiers exited the hall.
The Hound's amusement grew. "Seems the little bird's grown some claws."
"Fangs," Sansa corrected with a soft smile. "The little bird was always a wolf. Just sometimes, a bird's feathers are an easier way for even a wolf to hide."
"So it would seem."
He looked the same as always, if weary from dusty miles of travel on the road. She couldn't help but enjoy the familiar sight of him. Before Theon had rescued her from King's Landing, Sansa's plan had been to leave with the Hound during the Battle of the Blackwater. It hadn't been a solid plan, with no idea what her trip would be like or if he could protect her, but she had faith in him enough to try.
Before she could ask, the Hound explained, "I came to help you Starks kill my brother. Seems I didn't get here in time."
"The Stark soldiers didn't believe you when you told them that, did they?" Sansa replied. "I know you would have wanted to be there at his end–"
The Hound snorted. "I'm just glad I didn't have to kill the bastard myself. I'd like to shake the Viper's hand, if it's all the same to you, and then I'll be on my way."
"You'd be welcome to stay," Sansa said. "The Starks would welcome as skilled a fighter as yourself and–"
He shook his head, turning to leave. "You've seen how well the Starks would 'welcome' me. I've had my fill of swearing to lords. I won't spend another night serving in some damned castle–"
Sansa grabbed his arm. The Hound stopped, staring down at her. "Stay as my guest, then. At least until the wedding. As much meat and mead as you'd like."
He stared for a moment longer. Then, he pulled his arm away. "Better be good mead," he muttered, walking past her and into the castle.
...
"The Hound?" Theon muttered to her while breaking their fast the next morning. "Really, Sansa? I mean, my prisoner is one thing, but–"
"Yes, the Hound," she muttered back. Standing from her seat at one of the lesser tables in the great hall, she waved. "Sandor!"
Soldiers turned to stare at her. Even from across the hall, Theon could see as the Hound rolled his eyes at her antics. Yet nevertheless, he headed their way.
"You're building your own army," Theon muttered into his porridge.
Sansa froze, looking down at him. "What did you say?"
"Nothing."
"No, you didn't say nothing."
"You don't agree with Robb, is all," Theon said. "And you've got a shit ton of allies surrounding you, growing by the day. That's all."
She sank down next to him, wary of the ears surrounding them, even through the din and laughter. "You think I'm thwarting him?" she whispered.
Theon raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"
That stopped her more sharply than a slap. Was she? Sansa couldn't be sure, herself. What counted as trying to stop a mistake and what counted as plotting against her lord, her king, her brother?
The Hound dropped onto the seat across from them. "Miserable sacks of shit don't even give out ale for breakfast. Said I had to wait until dinner with the rest of them. What kind of–"
"Boy," Sansa called to a passing servant who stopped, bowing immediately. "An ale for my friend."
"Two," the Hound corrected.
"Three," Theon added, with a stubborn glare towards the Hound.
The servant looked between them and Sansa. She smiled. "You heard them."
"Yes, my lady." The servant bobbed and darted off. Less than a minute later, three ales were placed on their table.
"Would you look at that," the Hound said, picking up his frothing first. "Apparently it pays to know the sister of a king."
"Who would have thought a princess would came in handy?" Theon muttered sarcastically, taking a sip of his own.
They ate in silence for only a few moments before Lord Karstark stopped by their table. "My lady, there's a commotion at the gates. I think you'd better come quick."
Sansa was on her feet in an instant, everything short of running. Theon followed behind, strapping on his sword as they hurried. The Hound walked behind them all, his larger strides easily keeping pace.
Movement out a window caught Sansa's eye. She stopped to get a better look. A few hundred soldiers waited at the walls of Casterly, their flame-hearted Baratheon banners–
Sansa broke into a full-out run, her skirts gripped in fistfuls.
When she reached the top of the walls, out of breath, Robb already stood atop them, calling to the Baratheon soldiers below. "We've no business with you or your king," Robb declared. His archers surrounded him, arrows nocked and pointed at the waiting Baratheons. Stark men with pikes bristled on every inch of Casterly Rock's walls, as menacing a force as Sansa had ever seen.
Robb had 10,000 men inside this castle and another 70,000 outside of it. Davos had come with barely 200. If it came to fighting, it couldn't properly be called a battle. It would be a slaughter.
Oberyn reached for her as she ran past, snagging her arm. "It isn't safe, my lady, fighting could break out–"
She wrenched against his grip. "Unhand me!"
He did, stepping away and raising his hands in surrender. Whether it had more to do with respecting her wishes or the sudden arrival behind her of Theon and the Hound, she didn't care to say. Sansa raced past along the battlements.
"I didn't say I had business with you," Davos called up to Robb. "I said I had a gift for Lord Greyjoy. I think he'd very much prefer I give it to him."
"Is that so?" Robb called back. "And you think I'll let you inside to give it?"
"Well, it would be the courteous thing to do," Davos yelled in reply. "My throat is getting sore."
"Theon's here!" Sansa said, stumbling to a halt at Robb's side. His soldiers cast sideways glances at her; she ignored them.
Robb barely flicked his gaze toward her. "Not now." Pitching his voice louder, he continued, "And what does your King Stannis think of this gift?"
"Can't say as he liked giving it," Davos replied. He paused. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather talk inside?"
"Robb," Sansa said, more emphatically. "Listen to him, please. You don't want his terms shouted in front of all your men–"
That finally got Robb's attention. "Open the gates!"
Bolton looked over in sharp surprise as the gates began to rise. A moment later, he relaxed. "Of course. The Hand of the King will make a fine hostage."
"No," Robb replied easily and pitched his voice to carry. "Ser Davos is here under terms of negotiation. He has my full protection."
"Negotiation?" Umber said with distaste. "You can't seriously be telling me that the North won't last a single moon before giving up? Our blades haven't tasted Baratheon blood yet and–"
Robb looked as weary as Sansa felt. Baratheons had long been Stark allies, no matter what the Tyrells thought of Stannis. Robb spoke with his usual diplomacy. "Negotiation is far from surrender. Would you refuse a gift, Lord Umber, without first learning what it was?"
"I might," he muttered savagely. "If it came direct from the hand of one trying to kill me."
Robb took the final moment waiting for the gate to rise to glance towards Sansa.
"The deal I negotiated," she whispered quickly. "That won Stannis the Iron Throne."
Her brother's face hardened. "You play too many sides of this game, Sansa. They can't all win." He headed down the steps, his northern cloak flapping in the wind behind him.
"I know," she whispered to herself. "I just don't want ours to lose."
Theon tugged her down the steps after him. "Come on."
Again, the Hound followed behind without being asked. Sansa couldn't have been more grateful to both of them.
Robb, Sansa, Theon, the Hound, and Oberyn all waited in the courtyard as the portcullis raised its final inches. Around the edge of the courtyard, Stark soldiers prepared lances, the Tullys, Martells, and Tyrells among them reaching for spears and swords. Sansa shook her head. Preparation was one thing, but this was nothing short of intimidation.
Horse hooves clattered against the stone as Davos led his band inside. The Baratheons looked warily about them as they rode through the bristling soldiers, preparing to run them through. Davos dismounted at the far edge of the courtyard, walking easily on foot the rest of the way. His own soldiers started to follow; Davos waved them back.
"Well, I can't say as this was the reception I'd been expecting," the smuggler said, stretching out a hand.
Robb made no move.
Theon leaned forward, taking Davos's hand. "It is good to see you again, Ser Davos. But I don't think you've heard about our own armies and King Robb–"
"Declaring for King Stannis's throne?" Davos replied, shaking Theon's hand. "Aye, lad. I heard on the road. But a deal is a deal, and I gave Stannis's word." He glanced uneasily at the still silent Robb. "Unless the North wants to add 'dealbreaking' to 'rebellion.'"
"You are here under my protection, Ser Davos," Robb said. "I do not offer it lightly."
"I'm aware of that," Davos said with a wry chuckle. "If your men decide now's a good time to begin the crusade against my king, you'll be forced to avenge me. Mighty obliged."
Oberyn offered his hand to the smuggler. "I do not believe we've met, Ser Davos. Oberyn Martell."
"The Viper," Davos said, taking it. "Mighty fine job you did against the Mountain." His eyes flicked to the Hound, behind Sansa. "Begging your pardon, Clegane–"
"Why does everyone keep thinking I'd be mad?" the Hound replied. "I'm here with the bloody Starks, aren't I?"
Oberyn looked over at him, offering a nod. The Hound returned it.
"What gift do you bring us, Ser Davos?" Robb said, his frown almost permanent between his brows.
Davos frowned back. "The agreed upon one, of course."
A muscle twitched in Robb's jaw. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep his eyes locked on the smuggler, and not glaring at his sister. "Of course."
The doors to the castle opened. Margaery spilled forth, draped in wafting silks, Loras at her side. Her smile was radiant for her future husband, her eyes keen as they flicked over the positioning of the troops. And she was barely short of running across the courtyard to join the discussion. Of course she'd already heard about a Baratheon gift – and would be flatly against it.
"I hear congratulations are in order," Davos said, one eyebrow raised.
"Thank you, ser," Robb said, barely polite. "One moment." Grabbing Sansa's arm, he pulled her roughly aside.
"Do you see the positions you put me in?" he hissed at her through his smile.
"Theon said you'd be better off not knowing the details," Sansa whispered back. "If you'd wanted–"
Robb's eyes flicked to Margaery. She was almost to them. "Can I trust you?" he whispered.
The question stopped her cold. She'd deserved his mistrust. "Always, Robb," Sansa said – and meant it.
With a nod, he headed back to the group. Sansa followed warily behind.
"Margaery, my love," Robb said, bending to kiss her hand.
Margaery linked her arm through his, leaning against his shoulder. "Robb, dearest. I heard the strangest rumors about arrivals to our castle."
"They'd be correct. May I introduce you to Ser Davos Seaworth, Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon."
Loras's hand went to his sword. Margaery's eyebrow raised. "Indeed?"
"In the flesh," Davos said with a tight smile. "I believe it was your father's siege lines that I once smuggled onions through."
"It was," Loras said tensely.
Davos's smile tightened.
"Ser Davos has come for negotiations," Robb said to Margaery. "I'm sure we're all curious as to what he has to say. Sansa, will you see to his accommodations? I'm sure we'll have much to discuss in the upcoming days."
"Of course, your grace," Sansa meekly replied.
"I'm sure my father will have much to say to him," Margaery said dryly.
Robb laughed. "Of course. All in good time." He turned back toward the castle. Margaery, on his arm, was forced to turn with him. Robb continued, "Loras, you were saying your troops needed better access to grazing land?"
With a final glare at Davos, Loras followed after Robb. "Yes, your grace. When they try to feed the horses, they…" The Tyrells and Robb drifted back inside.
Robb had left Davos entirely to Sansa – and to whatever devious plans she chose to concoct. Her brother's faith in her left a warm glow in her chest.
"An odd man, your brother." Davos glanced down at Sansa. "Though kings often are."
"Of course, ser," Sansa said, still feigning meekness. Oberyn smirked at her ruse. "Would your men like to stay in the barracks or be shown to a clear patch of land?"
"The latter," Davos replied, following as she led him toward the castle through a different entrance from the Tyrells entirely. "Though I'll keep ten with me, if it won't offend you, Princess."
"Not at all!" Sansa said lightly. Davos gestured them over, some carrying boxes and crates.
Oberyn whistled and ten Martell soldiers fell out of position, joining them.
At Davos's questioning look, Oberyn explained. "I have little quarrel with your king and am not sworn to the other. If you do not object, Ser Davos, I believe a Martell guard will be… beneficial."
Davos raised an eyebrow. "Oddly enough, I have not the slightest objection."
Sansa showed him to his room, keeping Davos in a close portion of Casterly Rock to her own. While she trusted Robb and his word, she did not trust his bannermen to hold to it – even less, the bannermen of his Tyrell allies.
But she still needed privacy if she and Davos were to discuss anything. Outside his new rooms, Sansa turned to Oberyn. "My lords, if I might have a moment…"
Oberyn clapped the Hound on the shoulder. "I have a Dornish Red that I've been saving, if you'd care to share it with me."
The Hound raised an eyebrow, following after him without another word. The Martell soldiers remained outside as Davos, his men, Sansa, and Theon all walked into the room.
Davos turned to Theon, his eyes flicking uncertainly to Sansa. "Lord Greyjoy. May we… speak?"
Theon turned to her, confused. It took a moment before comprehension dawned. "Oh! Sansa's fine. You brought something for me?"
Davos nodded to his men. Two of them opened the largest crate. One reached inside, helping the dwarf to his feet. Sansa couldn't help but smile, recognizing Podrick underneath the Baratheon armor.
Tyrion blinked in the light of the room, shading his eyes with his hand. "Not how I'd imagined returning to the Rock. I hear I have you to thank for that, Lord Greyjoy."
Theon wasn't sure what to say. He gave a stiff nod. "You're welcome."
"I must say I was a bit puzzled, when hearing I was to be spared by King Stannis," Tyrion continued. "He certainly wanted to lop off my head for my crimes in aiding Lannisters, but apparently the Starks had made such an impression on him and as my safe return were their only terms…" Tyrion frowned in confusion at Theon. "I'm fairly sure that during my stay in Winterfell, I did nothing more significant than insult every single person there."
From the clench of Theon's jaw, he'd most certainly been one of them. "You did."
Tyrion waited. Nothing more followed. "...and you all like being insulted?"
Davos poured himself a goblet of wine from a pitcher on a side table. "The Starks gave us the knowledge of your defenses of King's Landing, Tyrion. Obviously they were grateful to you for that–"
"A stunning accomplishment, since I never gave it to them," Tyrion replied sharply.
Davos rolled his eyes; they'd clearly had plenty of time on the road to argue this point and come no closer to agreeing. "Or however they managed to get into Casterly–"
"A feat which I must again applaud them for making me complicit in, without any of my own involvement or consent."
Davos sighed. He offered goblets to Tyrion, Theon, and Sansa. "Your father won't see it that way."
Tyrion paused after accepting his goblet, staring down into its depths. "No, he most certainly will not," he whispered. He upended the goblet, finishing its contents in a long, single draught. He walked back to the table, pouring himself another.
"And, to business," Davos said, nodding at different soldiers. They brought forward the three remaining crates, unlatching their lids. Sansa couldn't repress her gasp. Dragonglass glittered inside, whole, in pieces, and all more beautiful to Sansa than if they'd been gems.
Davos glanced at her for the gasp, before turning back to Theon. "King Stannis was mighty grateful for the help you gave." Behind Davos, Tyrion snorted between drinks. "He wanted to express his gratitude in the way I told him you'd most appreciate." Davos glanced between Theon and Sansa. "This is… what you wanted?"
"Uh…" Theon tried desperately not to glance at Sansa. "...yes."
Sansa couldn't stop herself. "Is there more?"
"We've a whole island full of it, my lady," Davos replied. "I'd call it a useless rock, but that'd be an insult to rocks. We can't build with it, can't fight with it, can't trade with it… at least, couldn't until now. Stannis and I are both awfully curious as to why that is."
She kept up her polite smile, trying to decide what she could reveal. They needed Stannis's help against the dead, but the most likely outcome of telling Stannis about the dead was that she wouldn't be believed. Not yet. And then all Davos would be convinced of was the North's desperation for it in their lunacy. Especially with a war being declared, the only logical thing to do was then… to keep it from them.
Sansa batted her eyelashes, pulling on every ounce of innocence her fifteen-year-old self gave her. "I've a terrible liking for the stone, Ser Davos. My brother is kind enough to humor me and there are few places I can get it. I've a dream to cover all of Winterfell's towers in dragonglass. Just think of how it would glitter in the winter sun!"
Theon looked at her as if she'd gone insane.
Davos's smile was polite, if patronizing. "Of course, Princess. If that's all you need, then–"
"Oh, no, Ser," Sansa continued. "All Winterfell's towers. This would scarce be enough for a fraction of one. The North will gladly continue honoring our deal for more dragonglass."
Theon looked as if he wished he could die to escape the conversation.
Sansa never dropped her smile.
Davos frowned. "I… see. Well, then. Your brother would declare war on us, with one hand, and try to make a deal for dragonglass, on the other."
"I believe the deal has already been made, Ser," Sansa said. "That we could mine dragonglass from your island for a fair wage. And as you knew we were not bending the knee in this agreement, I fail to see how hostilities would change any portion of the deal."
Now Davos looked at her as if she'd gone insane. "You're asking us to allow men behind enemy lines, to our home castle, to mine a pretty rock for your towers?"
"I don't believe I'm asking anything," Sansa continued. "You said your king was grateful for our assistance. I expect him to hold to the word given in our deal for that assistance."
Behind Davos, Tyrion held his half-filled goblet, staring at Sansa as if she'd casually pulled off her skin and gone dancing around the room in her bones.
Davos's frown intensified. "King Stannis is as honorable a man as I've ever known or heard tale, but even he must balk at honoring such terms."
Sansa tilted her head. "Then it would be on him to provide adequate accommodation, would it not?" While Davos searched for words to respond to such demands, she continued. "I'm sure the North would be willing to accept dragonglass mined by your men, instead of ours. And instead of a fair wage, as was offered, we would double it – and pay the dragonglass's weight in Northern cedars. If that would be acceptable?"
Tyrion started laughing. And laughing. And couldn't stop. "You're all mad! I've been captured by one set of madmen and traded to ones even worse!" His laughter continued as he wiped at his eyes. "There are no plans for dragonglass towers in Winterfell, are there, Lady Sansa?"
Sansa paused. Well, it had been a stupid ruse, anway. "There are not."
Tyrion smiled. "And you're not about to let Davos here know what you actually want it for, are you?"
Sansa returned his smile. "I am not."
He nodded. "See, Ser Davos? Even the North can be reasonable."
Davos pulled his knuckle-less hand down his face. "Aye, we'll take useful cedars for useless rock."
"Even if we're at war?" Sansa pressed.
Davos gave her a wry grin. "Especially if we're at war, my lady. Those cedars will be bloody useful building ships to use against you."
Sansa nodded; it had been why she'd offered them. A few extra ships to fight would be nothing against having dragonglass to fight the undead. Additionally, if Daenerys eventually retook the ancestral Targaryen home of Dragonstone, Sansa would eat rusty nails not to have to negotiate with her for the dragonglass. Last time, her dragonglass had cost the King in the North bending the knee.
Every man in the room looked at Sansa like she was truly crazy. Theon shook his head.
Sansa didn't care. No matter what happened between Robb and Stannis, the North would have their dragonglass. She could only smile.
...
Theon found that the only thing that had changed for Robb, in taking Casterly Rock, was that he got to swap being ensconced in a command tent for being buried in an office – if a lavish one.
Theon knocked on the door as he entered and Robb waved him in with a hand, never stopping penning his missive.
"I take it negotiations with Davos went well?" Robb said, rolling the scroll and sealing it.
Theon paused. "We got the dragonglass, if that's what you mean."
Robb nodded. "Excellent."
Theon let out a breath; he'd been waiting for Robb's fury, had never expected him to understand Sansa's craziness. "Sansa traded cedars for it, though."
Robb glanced up sharply. "We'll need those. We can't give cedars away to our enemies, Davos will… ah." He broke off with a smile.
"Ah?"
Still smiling, Robb explained, "She gave Davos something he'd want, even during war, to make sure that nothing will stop them from shipping us dragonglass. Clever."
There was something truly terrifying about the Starks – doubly so when they worked together. Theon found he didn't even want to know why they cared so strongly about a stupid rock.
Robb unfurled another scroll, his eyes flicking through it. "Was that all? Or was there something else you wanted to tell me?"
Theon stepped closer. "Something Margaery said, actually."
Robb tensed. "Has she done something? I know they hate the Baratheons, but–"
"No. Just a phrase she said. 'Our castle.'"
Slowly, Robb set down the scroll.
"Casterly Rock," Theon clarified. "She was talking to you, and called it 'our castle.'"
"Yes," Robb replied with deliberation. "We took Casterly Rock. That makes it ours."
Theon stepped up to the desk. "You offered Casterly Rock to my father for his assistance."
"And he refused to give that assistance," Robb said.
"Ironborn aren't given things – they take them. My ironborn and I took Casterly Rock, according to the deal you made with my father."
Robb frowned at him. "You didn't take it alone, Theon. You let us in, you fought with the rest of us. Bravely, to be sure, but…"
Theon leaned down on Robb's desk. "Your offer to my father wasn't to take it alone. It was to work alongside you. Just as I did."
"You used Sansa's knowledge to be able to do that. You weren't coming with men and a fleet of ships–"
"And why do you think she gave that knowledge to me?" Theon could barely keep from getting heated. "You wanted an alliance with the ironborn. They won't take handouts and won't be treated as weak. If you still want that alliance, this is how it has to be. I took Casterly Rock. It's mine, Robb. "
Robb studied him for a long while, saying nothing, before he finally spoke. "I've been trying to figure out what to do with the Rock, actually."
Theon waited, unsure where Robb was going.
"I can't claim it myself, not while I still hold claim on Winterfell. I have to give it to a loyal bannerman, one who will hold it for me without question."
Theon's heart sped up. He would, obviously he would–
Robb gave a wry grin. "I'd been thinking that I was out of options. Thinking it would have to go to Umber or Bolton. And I trust their loyalty only as long as I can still see them." He paused, looking up at Theon. "But you've forgotten something, Theon."
Theon swallowed. "And what's that?"
Slowly, Robb rose to his feet. "That I have yet to reward you for rescuing my sister." Robb stretched out a hand. "Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Casterly Rock. There's a good sound to that, I think."
Theon took Robb's hand, able to do nothing but grin.