#theon greyjoy fic

[sinofwriting]

A Bastard - Theon Greyjoy (Part One)

Words: 7,203 Summary: She had to do this as much as she dreaded and hated it. But she would never forgive herself if something happened to him, her kraken on land.

Note(s): Thank you so much @nyctophilic0vitnir this fic would have never happened without you sending me a request for Daemon and I can't thank you enough for looking this over for me and all your suggestions.

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She could feel her hands shaking, fingers stiff as she kept on attempting to do her embroidery, but her mind was racing, stomach filled with dread. She hissed as the needle slips and pokes at her, drawing blood. Setting her embroidery down, she lifts her finger to her mouth, sucking at the spot where blood was rising for just a second. Standing, she smoothes her dress, before exiting her chambers. She had seeked solitude, but mayhaps she was in need of distraction.

She smiled as a half naked Rickon came barrelling down the halls and she could hear Lady Stark's exasperation, she quickly scoops the tiny boy up.

"What do I have here?" She gasps, purposely making her voice loud so Lady Stark can hear her and know that she has the whelp in her care. "Why, I think it's a wolf." "Wolf." He parrots back to her, grinning up at her and she can't help but return it.

Turning the corner, she smiles at Lady Stark, who is looking at her youngest with disapproval.

"Rickon Stark. You need a bath." "No!" He shouts, nearly deafening her ear. "It's alright, Lady Stark, I can give him a bath. Right Rickon?" He nods.

The older woman sighs, but nods. "I hope he'll behave for you. I nearly went to get Robb." "He'll be fine." She tells the woman, before moving inside of the room that Lady Stark normally gave Rickon bathes in.

As she carefully cleans the boy, her mind wanders. Wanders to Theon, to their babe that rests in her belly. It wanders to what she will have to do. For Lord and Lady Stark were kind and fair people for letting her stay with them for so long.

A fostering that had gone long when her parents died, but they wouldn't let her stay once they learned of her being with child.

And Theon, poor Theon. She feared often that he would be killed due to something his father did, but with this, she now feared that Lord Stark would kill him if he found out that he had fathered a child, a bastard, with a girl that was under his protection, his care.

Drying off the boy that's starting to fall asleep, she thinks of the letter that she had received from her uncle, her father's brother, a man she had never met. Offering for her to come home, to meet her father's family. She knew little of them. Her father had left Dorne when he was four and ten name days, and had only returned once, after meeting her mother to introduce her to his family before returning to what he had made his home.

She ached at the thought of her parents, at the little memories she had of them, having joined the Stark household when she was one and ten and now she was eight and ten. Scooping the boy up, she carefully makes her way to the nursery, setting him in his bed and covering him with furs before retreating back to her chambers.

She knew little of her father's family and little of Dorne, but what she did know was that bastards weren't treated like a shame there. Her jaw twitched at the reminder of Lady Stark's treatment to Jon. Her uncle himself in his letter told her of the eight daughters he had, all with the name Sand, the name bastards carried in Dorne.

It would not be shameful for her to have a bastard, her family would welcome her and her child. It's with that knowledge, that she begins to write a letter accepting his offer and telling him that she should arrive there within a moon or two's time, planning on leaving shortly after sending off her letter.

It would be costly to go to Dorne and she would need at least one guard, but she had more than enough coin to afford it. She had been given a sizable amount when her parents had died and she had earned more through carvings she did.

Rolling up her parchment, she moves from her chambers to Maester Luwin's room of sorts, knowing that his helper who mainly deals with the ravens will be there. Handing it to him, she offers a smile to the Maester before leaving to Lady Stark's solar, hoping that she will be there.

Knocking on the door, she waits to hear her say enter, before opening the door. "Lady Stark, I was hoping to have a meeting with yourself and Lord Stark." Her eyebrows furrow, eyes glancing down at the papers scattered on her desk, before nodding. "He's looking over some letters from his bannerman, no better time to talk to us than now." She tells her, standing. She offers the woman a nod of her head, before following her as she practically sweeps out of her solar and to her husband's.

Moments later, she carefully sits in front of the Starks. Lord Stark sitting while his wife stands beside him.

"I can never repay you for the kindness you've given me by letting me stay with your family." Lord Stark's frown deepens at her words. "Is everything alright?" "Of course, my lord. As you know I received a letter from my father's family just a couple of days ago. They asked if I'd like to go to what was my father's home, to stay with them, and get to know my kin."

He hums and she keeps her eyes on his face and not the distressed Lady Stark's.

"They are your family, your blood and kin. I suppose you want to go?" "Yes, my lord. I have loved my time at Winterfell, but I think it's time for me to go home. To go to Dorne." The words leave something akin to ash in her mouth. She had never been to Dorne, but she knew that she needed to call it home, for it would be home soon enough.

"I ask not for coin to get there, but only your helping in procuring a guard on my journey there. I will pay for their services myself, both the journey there and back." He makes another hum. "I can get you a guard, but I will pay for their services. For until you are in Dorne, you are still under my care and protection."

"Ned," Lady Stark hisses, but he pays her no mind.

"When will you leave?" "I hope in a few days time. I have already sent a letter back saying that I'd be leaving soon." "You are eager." He notes. "I am my lord." "I can't stop you, but just know that you will always be welcomed at Winterfell no matter what." "Thank you." She murmurs, standing as he waves a hand to dismiss her. "I'll have someone to be your guard by supper, you will leave in two days time." She nods, another murmur of thanks leaving her before she leaves the solar.

Relief and dread war within her at Lord Stark's easy acceptance of her wanting to leave. And she's ashamed that most of her dread is only because it means leaving Theon.

She loved the Starks and Winterfell. She'd miss the wildness of Arya, Jon's solemness, and Old Nan's stories, but she would miss Theon most of all. She'd miss his stories from home, about his sisters and mother.

The tales from the Ironborn. About the drowned god that he still thought of as his. And his japes that nearly went too far, especially with little Arya, but he always cared to make sure he never made her cry. And she knew that it was him teaching her archery. He was the best in the North, possibly all of Westeros, with a bow. She felt a pang in her heart as realized what she'd be depriving him and their babe of.

It made supper rough as she avoided his eyes and told the Stark children that she'd be leaving in two days. Robb had tried to deny it, Sansa had immediately teared up, and poor little Bran had thrown himself into her arms, soaking her dress with his tears as Arya also attached herself to her, telling her that she wasn't allowed to leave.

Jon had stayed silent but she could see the stricken look on his face at her news. Theon had attempted to ask her what she meant, but she ignored him, using the excuse of soothing Bran, who was surely crying himself dry.

"I received a letter from my father's brother, asking if I'd like to come home. I accepted, I've always wanted to know my father's family, and even as a babe I never met them." She tells them a certain truth in the words.

None of them like it, Arya especially, but a look from their father stills their tongues.

She doesn't however know why - as the castle goes quiet - that she's surprised when Theon slips into her chambers. Her whispered hiss of his name doesn't earn her that cocky grin that it always has.

Instead, he looks at her with pain, a strange solemn look on his face, one that fits Jon much better.

"You never told me you got a letter."

She winces at his words. She hadn't even planned on replying to the letter, at least not this soon. But she had missed her last two moon's blood and her breasts were a bit more sensitive and swollen, something Theon had noticed and enjoyed.

And sure enough, when she snuck away early in the morning to visit the midwife that lived in Wintertown, she confirmed her suspicions and fears, she was with child. And suddenly that letter had become her solution.

"I hadn't thought of it much." Half truths always made better lies. "Just like you didn't think to tell me that you're leaving? You've never spoken of wanting to go to Dorne." "No, but I have of wanting to know more about my father, his family, where he was born. I know only the little of Dorne that has been told to the both of us when learning. That is it. You are lucky enough to know the history of the Iron Islands, your family, the tales that have been around longer than we can imagine. I know none of that. You know who is your uncle, cousin, aunt, because you met them, you have seen their faces, however long ago it was. I have never met anyone in my family. My father married my mother, a ward, who had no family, and now I have the chance to meet family, be with them. Tell me you wouldn't do the same?"

He looks away from her, unable to deny it. She sighs, moving to him and taking his face between her palms, looking in his eyes.

"It's not that I wanted to hurt you, I just feared your reaction. Not because you would ever harm me," she quickly says, seeing his stricken face. "But because of your hurt, your pain. I never wanted to be the source of that." Something softens in him at her words, she can see it in his eyes and the line of his shoulders.

"I wish I could come with you."

She aches at those words, because she too wished it. She wished more that they could marry in the Godswood, could stay with the Starks as they had their babe. But she would even love it if Theon could come with her, could join her in Dorne.

The ache nearly makes her tell him, nearly makes her grab his hand and place where she would one day swell with his child, but she's reminded that for all their kindness, Theon is hostage here at Winterfell with the Starks.

They may treat him well and close to a child of their own, but he is a hostage who needs to be careful of what they do. That knowledge makes her keep her mouth quiet. She wanted him to know, but it would most likely cost him his life if not their babe's.

When she wakes early the next morning and sits where the boys spar, she's not surprised when Jon and Ghost join her, the latter climbing into her lap, still just small enough to do so, but she imagined that soon he'd be too large to fit in any lap.

"It won't be the same here."

She turns to look at him, "I will miss you, Jon. You truly are a brother to me."

And he was. She loved the Stark children, but Jon held a special place in her heart, her little brother though not by bond or blood.

He ducks his head at her words, "As you are a sister to me." She smiles, leaning her head to briefly rest on his shoulder.

"I'll miss you, Jon Snow. You'll have to write to me. More than once a moon." She insists, but he doesn't say anything, suddenly looking nervous, and Ghost gives a small whine. "I actually wanted to ask to go with you." Her jaw drops slightly.

"To be your sworn shield. You'll have the title of Princess there, and even if you didn't you'd be on the other side of Westeros, a place where you've never been with people you don't know. I'd like to protect you, to be there for you."

"Jon," she starts, wanting to accept her offer, no matter how selfish it would to accept it, just so she could have someone she knew with her, her brother with her, but she knows of his want to join the night's watch, to be at the wall, though a good measure of that desire is because he is not a trueborn son.

"I can't. You've wanted to go to the wall and to be part of the Night's Watch for so long now. And Lord Stark," she shakes her head. "He already doesn't want you to leave and go all that way to the wall. You think he'd let you go with me to Dorne? And what about Robb, Arya, and Bran? Little Rickon? They'd miss their brother."

"They'll miss you." "They will and I'll miss them." "So you'll let me?" "Jon," she sighs, but suddenly he's standing, a sword at his hip that she hadn't noticed before and then he's unsheathing the sword and carefully kneeling in front of her with the sword in his hands. Ghost leaps off her lap, sitting beside his master, as if he's trying to copy Jon.

"I offer my protection, Lady and soon to be Princess Martell. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I will keep your secrets as my own. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Her eyes are wide and she should urge him to get up, to not offer such a thing. But if she couldn't have Theon with her, maybe she could have her brother.

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."

He does with a stunned look and his hands shake as he sheathed his sword and she rises with him, quickly taking him into her arms.

"You are my sworn shield now, little brother. Shall we never be parted and you never in harm's way be put." "Aye," his voice is thick.

"I thought you'd say no, tell me off, or go to Lord Stark." She squeezes him tight before stepping away. "I'm afraid for Lord Stark that I'm too selfish and I wanted a comfort from the home I've known for so long to my new one. You are lucky, however, that it will be Lord Stark you answer to and that honor is important to him as are oaths. It is only because of that, that the oath we just made will not be broken by his word." "Aye." He agrees.

With his new oath in mind, she returns to her chambers and quickly starts to embroider a sunspear with the color of Snows and a few spots of yellow thread, signaling his status as her sworn shield with this cloak.

She had intended to give it to Arya, in an effort to help make her actually stay in her lessons with her gone. Hoping that her words of someone needing to provide Jon with a cloak and other clothes would stay her a little bit, but it was far too important for Jon to have this cloak now.

She vows to instead talk to Theon, to strike a deal between him and Arya, where he will continue to teach her archery and even some swordplay as long as she attends her lessons.

She manages to finish just before breakfast begins, quickly giving it to Jon and ushering him to put it on as they make their way to the hall. Slipping into the hall, she makes sure to stand tall, chin out slightly. It wouldn't due to seem ashamed of her decision.

Lord Stark ends up taking it better than she had thought. He even looks relieved when Jon repeats his vow. Lady Stark's mouth is pinched, but there's a looseness to her shoulders. She had been trying to get Jon away from Winterfell for years now, since before she had even arrived, if servants were to be believed.

Arya is upset, blaming her mother for her favorite sibling's departure. Robb is also upset, but he's quiet after Lord Stark tells him that he can't accompany them on their journey to Dorne.

Sansa looks relieved, while Bran looks excited, making Jon repeat his vow over and over, knowing that it's close to a knight's oath.

Theon, though, her Kraken on land, his reaction sends a pang to her heart and tears to her eyes. His anguish and hurt that he had shown before wiping it clear and nudging Robb, trying to distract him from his upset.

It makes her want to reach out to him, to hold his hand in hers, makes her want to reach down and cup the soon to be growing swell of her belly. She wants to explain why she said yes, even though she doesn't have too.

In her chambers later in the day with only candle light to help her as she finishes packing, she doesn't startle at the sound of the door opening nor at the arms that wrap themselves around her middle though it does make her stiffen and she's happy that Theon just registers it as surprise, murmuring an "It's me" in her ear.

"I will miss you." She sighs. He presses a kiss to the shell of her ear. "I will miss you as well."

"Will you write me?" The question leaves her lips before she can think and embarrassment fills her.

"I'm sorry," she begins to apologize, but before she can continue, Theon's turning her around, so they're facing each other, his brow furrowed. "Of course, I'll write you. You must know that I'm fond of you, my lady." "I do." She had never doubted that.

"I just, I know that your correspondence is always read before and I would understand if you didn't want anyone to know that you were fond of me." She rests her hand on his chest.

"I would hate for you to be punished because of me." "I will take any and every punishment if it means I can write to you." He swears and she can't stop the tears that spill from her eyes. "Careful," she warns, ignoring his concern for her tears. "You sound as if you want me as a salt wife." "I'd have you as my only wife." His words have her freezing, the ache in her heart turning to a stabbing pain.

"You can't mean that." She whispers. "Of course I mean it." He scoffs. "Theon, I'm leaving in the morning, you can not tell me that you wish to wed me." "But I do. I do wish to wed you! I would have asked for your hand on your six and ten name day if I could. Make no mistake in thinking that I didn't like sneaking into your chambers in the dead of night and sneaking kisses in the godswood when no one is around, but I will always regret that I could not court you. I wish to marry you, I have since before we first kissed."

His words make her weak, her head spins and her stomach turns. She had thought him fond of her, liking her, but figured that he'd go back to the brothels when she left, much like he did before she turned six and ten.

But he wanted to marry her, something she had thought only she wanted. And more than that, she could feel blood rush to her cheeks, he had wanted to court her, properly court her.

Theon Greyjoy, a nasty boy, who teased Sansa about loving the idea of knights and princesses and true love, had wanted to court her. She wished not for the first time and not for the last that he was just being fostered with the Starks and not a hostage due to his father's actions.

A man who as he had grown older and never heard from, wanted to be the opposite of. He wanted a ship, yes, and to live by the sea, but he didn't want salt wives and more children than he could name.

"I wish for all that too." She hesitates, but lifts her hand to cup his face. "I wish you could come with me. Dorne, I think they would treat you well." "I just want it to treat you well." "Write me, often. And," she pauses, heart aching, but she couldn't ask him to stay true to her, not when she wasn't telling him the real reason for her leaving. Not when now she knew that he would insist on joining her, insist on her hand, and for his insistence, he'd lose his head.

"When I leave, I'd like you to seek out others for pleasure." "What?" "Theon," she pleads. "It is because I love you, that I ask you of this, though it pains me." Tears slip down her face. "We may never see each other again, or it could be many moons. I would not want you to stop seeking pleasure from someone else just because of me." "And if I only want you?" She closes her eyes, "I can not make you do anything. I just ask that if you feel the urge that you don't feel like you've forsaken me by acting on it." "I don't know if I could ever feel want for another woman after lying with you, for I haven't since." "Theon," "I'm telling you the truth, my Lady, that is all." She nods, but doesn't say anything else, exhaustion weighing heavy on her mind and body.

He must see it, because he quickly ushers her into bed and under the covers, not paying attention to her protests of needing to finish packing. He just throws her a look and then does it for her.

And she watches him with heavy eyes, as he goes around her room and makes sure all of her things are packed away. He then latches her trunk before joining her in the bed, ushering her into his arms, and she should protest, but he radiates warmth and she wants one more night of being held by the man she loves.

—

The memory of Theon holding her close and his words of wanting her for more than just the space between her thighs, tempers her through the journey to Dorne.

Her guard's scoffing, his muttered words of "Bastard" to Jon, his fearful looks to Ghost, and his lustful looks to her, finally prove too much as they get to only a few more days of riding to Dorne.

Snapping at him to leave and tossing him a bag of coin, unwilling to hear him call Jon a bastard again. He tries to protest, but a look to Jon has him pulling his sword and the guard leaves, pushing his horse fast.

"Was that a wise decision?" Jon asks, sheathing his sword and pointing for Ghost to sit, as soon as they can no longer hear the sound of his horses hooves. "If I had to hear him call you a bastard again, I would have taken your sword and killed him myself." Jon's eyes go wide at her words and he gives a nod. "Understood, my lady."

She wrinkles her nose at the address, but before she can say anything, she feels her stomach turn, and she pushes away from her horse she was just about to mount again, getting sick in the bushes.

As she heaves, she feels Jon gently rub her back.

"We should find a maester. You are not well." She shakes her head, standing straight and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I am fine." "You are sick." He insists. "I am fine." She repeats, turning to face him. She then lets herself finally place a hand on her stomach, where she has started to swell.

"I'm with child, Jon. It disagrees with travel." His eyes are wide and they flicker between her face and where her hand rests.

"With child?" "Yes." "But," he blinks. "That's why you wanted to leave." She swallows roughly, but nods. "Yes." "You never said." "I wanted to sooner, but I didn't trust the guard that Lord Stark sent with us." "But you are well?" She smiles at him, fondness striking her for his concern over her.

"I am. I will need to see a midwife when we get to Dorne, but I am well." "Why not a maester?" "I trust a midwife more. They usually themselves have had a child. Though, if my uncle isn't opposed and he is the one to meet us, I will ask him if he'd be willing to check me. According to rumors, he trained to be a maester."

"The red viper?" "It would make sense for him to have some sort of training if he's as good with poisons as stories are to be believed." "You would trust the red viper to check on you?" "He is family. And Dorne doesn't hurt children, even while still in the womb."

Her words still his tongue, but as they cross into Dorne and reach Sandstone, they are quickly approached by a man and his guard, and she can see his hand on the pommel of his sword, Ghost tenses by her side, following Jon's orders to protect her.

Lowering into a curtsey, she keeps it a bit longer than she's ever had.

"Prince Oberyn," Jon lets out a little breath, and she can see from the corner of her eye his knuckles turning white as his grip on his sword tightens, but he too bows.

"I thank you for your invitation and hospitality. This is my sworn shield and a man I'm honored to call my brother, Jon Snow." She stops curtseying, but keeps her head tilted down, not willing to believe that just because she was family meant she could get away with disrespect.

She hears him chuckle, a nice sound that has her shoulders relaxing.

"You are much like your mother." He steps closer, using a finger to raise her head so they are looking eye to eye. "But there is much of your father in you." Those words are quiet, solemn and she can't help but reach up and gently squeeze his wrist. "He talked fondly of you, Prince Oberyn, my father. Called you a rascal, but you were his favorite brother." He smiles at her, "I would love to hear you tell that to Doran. He'd refuse to believe it. And please call me Oberyn or Uncle. None of this prince business." He waves his hand at word prince, stepping away from her and she can see Jon finally relax his grip. "Of course, Uncle."

He beams at the title, and it makes her heart ache, remembering the loss of her Aunt, his sister, and her children, his niece and nephew.

She knew Prince Doran had children, but they were older, hadn't been considered children for years. And while she didn't remember everything her father had told her about his favorite brother, he had made it clear that he loved children. To see them just be children, untainted by the horrors of life.

Oberyn turns his attention to her brother.

"Jon Snow, you are Ned Stark's boy." Her eyes narrow at the way he paused before saying Lord Stark's name. It was odd and made her itch to know why he did it.

"I thank you for guarding our Princess back to us. You will be treated well here in Dorne." Jon casts a look at her, but nods. "Thank you, Prince Oberyn." "Of course. Now," He claps his hands together and turns his attention back to her.

"I've rented a few rooms for us, you look like you need some rest." His words are firm but filled with concern and it makes her swallow roughly.

"She's been sick since we left Stoney Sept." "Jon," she warns, "I told you I am well." He goes to say something, but he looks around and stops, jaw clenching. "I won't hold my tongue when we are in private." She reaches over to him and grasps his arm, "I don't expect you to."

She's aware of the keen eyes of Oberyn and his guard, but she doesn't take away her hand. She would not hide her affections for Jon like she had been forced to in Winterfell. He had gone long enough without much affection, and she wouldn't let her words of reassuring that Dorne would be good for him fail.

"Let us get to the rooms where we can talk in private." "Thank you."

Her, Jon, and Ghost follow the Prince and his guard, Daemon, to an inn, and she has to stop herself from giggling at Jon's expression when he realizes that it's next to a brothel.

"Breathe, Jon." She whispers to him, as they enter the inn, after pausing to give coin to a servant from the inn to bring their trunks up. "Dorne is a much different place." "It's the middle of the day." He hisses, eyes darting around. "People want pleasure during all times of the day, not just night." He gapes at her, before his nose wrinkles. "Disgusting." He mutters and she can't stop her laugh at that.

Not noticing how it catches the attention of her uncle and his guard, but Jon doesn't miss it and he doesn't know how to feel about the red viper and the way his gaze rests on his sister.

Was he looking at her in hunger because she was all he had of his brother? Because she was family that he'd never gotten to know, when so much of it had been ripped away? Or was it something else? Something more Targaryen of nature?

She was a beautiful woman and he'd seen many of men look at her with a hungry gaze. Robb had even looked once or twice. He'd have to look to see what sort of relationships the Martells had.

He was sure a marriage to a cousin or two was in practice, as it was nearly everywhere, but he needed to know if they too practiced the wedding of siblings, or if it was only Prince Oberyn who was of unnatural inclinations.

Heading up the stairs, Oberyn gestures to one of the rooms. "This for you, Niece. And there's a door connecting the room next to yours, for your guard. Daemon and I are in this room." He opens the door across from her.

"Please come in and sit while your trunks are brought up and the owner finds a lady to wait on you." She frowns at the words. "I'm quite fine without a maid to help me." "You are a princess. At Sunspear, Doran already has two picked to help you." She has to tighten her hands into fist so they don't go to rest on her belly.

"I've never had ladies to help me. I suppose I'll have to get used to the idea." Her quiet words make him frown and he gestures for Daemon to stand by the door.

"I'd like to talk about your sickness. You say you're well, but you've been sick for half your journey." She looks nervously at the door that's still open.

"Daemon may leave if you aren't comfortable." Oberyn says, misinterpreting her glance. "No," she shakes her head. "It's fine if he stays. I don't mind. I just prefer the door is closed." Before she can finish the last word, the door is closed and Daemon stands just beside it.

"Thank you, Ser." He smiles at her, "Most welcome, Princess."

She looks around the room, bright and filled with color. "May I sit?" She asks, gesturing at the chaise close to the writing desk that sits near the middle of the room. "Please."

Sitting down, she lets out a sigh at the feeling of sitting on something soft for the first time since they had left Winterfell. She smiles as Ghost trots over to her, sitting by her feet.

"I'm not sick." She states, chin out. Oberyn seems amused by her words, leaning against the desk. "Yet, according to the man who has vowed to protect you, you've been sick since Stoney Sept." "I'm afraid I don't take well to traveling at the moment. The movement of the horse makes me nauseated." "I see. And if you were to ride in a carriage?" She grimaces before she can stop herself.

She had only traveled by carriage once, when her parents took her to Winterfell to be fostered and rocky movements of the carriage had made her miserable.

"I've never liked carriages either." He winks, before moving to sit beside her on the chaise.

"I don't know if your father ever told you, but I met you once. When you were just a babe."

She looks at him with wide eyes, not noticing how Jon has stepped forward, eyes glued to them, while Daemon has his eyes glued to Jon.

"You were the sweetest thing; I have eight daughters of my own and I still think you were the sweetest babe I've ever seen. You were quiet, startlingly so, but you always were looking around, eyes open. Your eyes are much like my sisters, your aunts. You have Elia's eyes." "I never knew." "I wouldn't expect you to.” His eyes are sad.

“Elia wanted to meet you, but your father and mother refused to go to King's Landing with you. So she asked me to see you in her stead. I had already planned on it, wanting to see my younger brother and his wife that had lured him away from Dorne. I visited and they still were trying to find a name for you." "Still?" "You were only a moon old, maybe two. They didn't settle on one until after I left. So while I was there, I called you Waterlily."

Her hand goes up to cup the one necklace she wore no matter what. Only taking it off when she bathed. Her father had gifted it to her before they left her at Winterfell. Pressing a kiss to her brow and calling her Waterlily for what would be the last time.

Tears prick her eyes at the memory, at the knowledge of how she got the nickname, and at hearing it after so long. "It was their name for me. Not the one just anyone used, but family."

He smiles at her, "I'm glad that our Waterlily has finally returned home."

Taking a breath, she lets her hand fall from where it was touching her necklace to her stomach. He had soothed her nerves with a story, with talks of her parents, and she felt ready.

"I'm with child." His eyes widen, but his smile doesn't fall or change.

"Ah, yes morning sickness is a strange thing for many women. And traveling on horse makes it worse?" She nods, "I didn't have it until we reached Stoney Sept and after that nearly every time I got off my horse I was getting sick." He frowns and gets up, gesturing for her to lay down.

"How many moons are you?" "I'm unsure. I haven't had my moon's blood for three moons though." "And I'm assuming before your journey you were still active?" Blood rushes to her face at the words, but she nods. "Yes."

He turns to look at Jon, nose slightly wrinkled. "I don't want to assume, but I have to ask, is the child yours?" Jon looks ill at the thought. "No, no. I'm her sworn shield."

His nose unwrinkles and he turns back to her. "I'm going to ask that you strip down to your shift so I can examine you. I want to see how far along you are and just check to see how the babe is doing. Is it alright for Jon and Daemon to stay in the room?"

She nods, but looks at Jon. "You can leave, Jon. I understand." He shakes his head. "I'm your guard, I'll stay." "Nothing untoward will happen." "I'll stay." He insists and she sighs, but gives up. Jon had the Stark stubbornness if she had ever seen it.

Standing up, she carefully reaches behind her and undoes her dress’ ties. Her left arm comes up to her chest, hugging the dress to her as she moves a bit further away from the chaise before taking it off fully. She murmurs a thank you when Oberyn takes the dress from her and lays it on the bed.

Laying back down on the chaise, she breathes a little easier. Her dress was a bit heavy and she knew that she'd have to buy some fabric soon to make dresses better suited for Dorne. She'd buy some more to make Jon things as well. He'd suffer in his current wear.

"How active were you exactly?" He asks, as he kneels beside the chaise, his eyes appraising the small swell of her stomach. "It matters?" "It will help. Activity affects your moon blood as soon as you have it." "I've been active since I was seven and ten," she starts, figuring he'll ask that as well. "As for how active." She spares a glance at Jon who's staring at the wall as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "For the last six moons, once a day about."

"Were you a heavy bleeder?" "Yes."

He frowns and his gaze moves from her stomach to a small box sitting next to him, full of different things she's seen Maester Luwin with.

"Is that bad?" "Not bad. It's common for Martell women. It can make birth a little messier, is all. And before or even after your moonblood stopped, did you notice any changes? In sleep, appetite, anything?" Blood rushes to her cheeks again as she remembers one change she had noticed nearly immediately. "My breasts became very sensitive."

He makes a humming noise and then gestures to her belly. "May I?" She nods.

She watches as he carefully rests a hand over the small swell of her belly, before moving his hand down to rest below it and he pushes up slightly, making her wince.

"Sorry." He murmurs. "It's alright."

He moves his hand up again and presses down just a light. As he continues to examine her, fingers gently poking at the swell of her belly, hand pushing on it from different angles, and fingers gently touching her hips, making them move and turn just a little.

"From experience I'd say you were six moons," her eyes widened at that. "But, from what I can feel and what you've told me, I'd say you're four months and with twins." Her hand comes to rest on her belly. "Twins?" He nods, standing.

"Twins. We haven't had them for awhile in the Martells. I don't know your mother's family." She shakes her head, "No twins." "And the father's?" "From what I know of the Greyjoys, they don't have twins." "Then you've been blessed by the gods. Twins are a blessing whether or not they've been had in a family before. We will have a feast to celebrate in Sunspear." Oberyn tells her, with a smile.

"Did you say Greyjoy?" "Jon," she sighs, sitting up. "Greyjoy? Theon Greyjoy? That's who got you with child?" "Yes."

"I should've killed him." "Jon," she scolds. "I'm a woman grown. I knew what I was getting into when Theon turned his attention to me." "And you wanted his attentions?" "Yes. If I had said no, Theon would've never touched me. He may say nasty things but he's a good man."

"And when will he be joining you? If he is such a good man?" Oberyn asks. Her jaw clenches and she looks away from Jon. "He won't be."

"He doesn't want anything to do with…" Jon trails off and then his features are twisted into a snarl. "And you call him a good man?"

"He won't be coming, because he doesn't know." Her words are firm and she looks at Oberyn, knowing it is to him and later Prince Doran, she will need to explain herself too.

"Theon Greyjoy is a hostage at Winterfell. He is treated well, allowed to take lessons with their heir and to eat with them, but he is a hostage. If his father does anything, he will be dead. And while at Winterfell I was under Lord Stark's protection, he takes honor and vows very seriously. He vowed to my father and mother to protect me like one of his own. If he had learned that Theon had any interest in me and then acted on it, he would've been punished. And if Lord Stark learns of Theon being my children's father, he will take his head. Regardless of what the Ironborn might do due to him taking Theon's head."

Oberyn looks at her, silent and nothing showing on his face before he nods, understanding clear in his eyes.

"You are smart. You love Theon and want him alive, but you also see that war would break out if Lord Stark was to take his head. Doran will like your counsel on a number of matters, I imagine. And neither I nor Ser Daemon will say anything about the father of your children. Doran will be the only other one to know."

"Jon?" She asks, voice quiet as she looks at a boy who looks more like a man than he should. "I vowed to keep your counsel and even If I hadn't I would never share something you want kept secret. No one will hear this from me." "Thank you." She whispers. "Thank you."

[peterjakes]

Theon Greyjoy - ‘they see right through me’

Theon Greyjoy survived The Long Night. He helped saved Winterfell. He has atoned. The Hero of the Godswood.

But things don't always go to plan. His uncle killed his sister, Yara. This can only mean one thing. Theon Greyjoy is Lord of The Iron Islands. The one thing he had always wanted as a boy, he now has. The one thing he doesn't want, he now has. The one thing he didn't believe he deserved, he now has.

But at what cost?

back when s8 aired, I had some thoughts about what would happen if yara died instead of theon (mostly bc of selfish reasons) but I thought it would be interesting to look at theon's potential feelings about this and possibly what would happen if he was named the last remaining heir of The Iron Islands

thanks for reading x

also posted on ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/45919603

Theon Greyjoy had, against all odds, survived the Long Night. He had survived the Godswood. Survived the Night King. He could go home. Wherever home was. Theon was still unsure of that. He had rescued his sister from his uncle, made sure the Iron Islands had its Queen. But then he had left her, for a place he never truly believed he would set foot in again. He had left his sister for Winterfell, to fight for the North, to fight for the Starks. Could Pyke ever be his home again? Would he want it to be? Being back at Winterfell, back at the place that caused so much anger and anguish in Theon, the place where he had destroyed so much, it brought up some strange memories, some strange feelings. Could Winterfell be his home? Could he stay here, a now honorary Northerner? Theon wasn’t so sure.  

Volunteering to protect Bran in the Godswood, Theon knew what that meant. He knew it had to be him. He had to make up for his crimes against Winterfell, against the Starks, against Bran himself. He was sure everyone else who had watched him say those words knew too. Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran. They all knew what it had meant. Theon didn’t want to be thanked. Didn’t want to be celebrated. It was what he had to do. For all of them. It was the only real way he could ever make it up to them. Not only for betraying them, their family, their brother, their mother, their father. But betraying himself. For believing he was anything but part of them. He was, in truth, he just hadn’t realised it yet.  

As Jon had said, Ned Stark was a part of him. But it wasn’t just him, it was all of the Starks. It was Jon, who had told him he was both a Greyjoy and a Stark. Who had forgiven him for what he had done. It was Sansa, who had embraced him with such kindness and warmth. Who had relied so heavily on him during Ramsey’s reign of terror and had forgiven him. It was even Bran, who didn’t seem like the young boy Theon had once terrorised, who had told Theon he was a good man. Who had thanked him. It was all of these moments, so important and perhaps maybe so insignificant to anyone else, that had made Theon realise something.  

He had done things, truly terrible things, to the Starks, to Winterfell and to the North. He didn’t deserve any kindness, any forgiveness. He just felt regret, remorse and guilt. Every single day. And every single night. But regardless of that, he had been forgiven. He had been rewarded with kindness. With something he never thought he would get. He had been redeemed. Even before he had stayed in the Godswood with the Iron Born. Before he pledged to fight for Winterfell. Before he had saved his sister. But Theon just hadn’t realised that yet. Theon had been given a second chance, more than once. Saving and getting Sansa to safety. Citing Yara as his Queen. Fighting for Winterfell. Theon had been given so much more than he believed he had deserved. The Theon Greyjoy who grew up at Winterfell no longer existed. Nor did the Theon who took Winterfell and betrayed the Starks. The Theon who was tortured by Ramsey, gone. Reek? Gone, gone. Theon Greyjoy had been reborn; he had been redeemed completely. Theon had survived, not just the Long Night. Not just his uncle. But every single thing that had led him to that moment in the Godswood, he had survived. He could do more than that now. He could live.  

It was his sister he’d wanted to see. Wanted to apologise again, although Theon wasn’t sure about what. He had left her, but she had allowed him to do that. He still felt some guilt. He was a Greyjoy, he had pledged to follow her, she was his Queen. But at that moment, going back to Winterfell was the most important thing for Theon. He had to face those ghosts one last time.  

But that wasn’t going to happen, not for Theon. It was late afternoon when Sansa had told him. She looked weary and tired, clearly things had not been going well in King’s Landing. But she didn’t mention that, only of Theon’s news.  

“Yara’s dead.”  

After those two words, everything else seemed to stop. Theon had stopped listening to Sansa, although he wasn’t sure she had said anything else. It was possible she let the news sit with Theon, let it sink in, until Theon finally realised what she had just told him. His vision became blurred, he could only see the red from Sansa’s hair in the distance, the black from her dress. Everything else was gone. His breathing seemed to pitch up and his blinking, could he blink? Theon wasn’t so sure. Theon had not been awake that long after the battle, he was supposed to recover, supposed to heal. But he could only think of one thing. His sister.

Theon was the one who was supposed to die. He was the one who would sacrifice himself, finally atoning for what he had done. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Yara...she couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t right. Everything that had happened had led to her ruling the Iron Islands, the way it was supposed to be. Theon was never sure whether he would be able to stand by her side, but now he never would. No one would. She had been taken, by the waves, by the sea. She had drowned, the gods had taken her. Never to be seen again. She had floated out into the distance, where Theon couldn’t reach her.  

Theon wasn’t going to pretend he and Yara had the best relationship. He didn’t remember much about her growing up. He’d told her she looked like a fat, little boy when he was taken from Pyke. As a baby he would cry and cry and cry. But Theon didn’t remember that. His memories of Pyke, his memories of his father, his mother, his brothers, his sister, even they were never clear enough. Everything was always over-clouded, overshadowed by the North. There were bits and pieces he would remember if he thought about it hard enough. His mother’s smile. His brother’s play fighting by the sea. A fat finger prodding him all over. His father’s angry expression. But nothing concrete. It didn’t matter. Theon wasn’t angry or upset. Those memories were not who he was. They didn’t define him. They never could.  

But the memories of Winterfell always seemed far clearer. Robb’s laughter at any of Theon’s jokes. His anger. Lord and Lady Stark, their stern faces. Arya practicing with Theon’s bow. Sansa and her long, auburn hair. Little Bran and Rickon. The Maester. Ser Rodrik. These memories were now ruined, however, by what Theon had done. Taking Winterfell. Beheading Ser Rodrik. Burning the two little bodies. And then Reek’s memories, they would always come back to him. The ones he thought for long he deserved. Maybe he still did. Ramsey’s strange touch. The scars. The smell. The kennels. The hounds. Sansa. Her wedding dress. That night. Betraying her again. Escaping. Letting her go.  

New memories sometimes found themselves in Theon’s mind. Returning to his sister. Travelling to Mereen. Standing by his sister’s side. Dragonstone. Jon’s kind words. Saving his sister. Winterfell. Sansa. The Godswood. Waking up, realizing he had made it. Theon’s memories had reborn; they had become something else.  He had been given the chance to make new ones. Whether that was on Pyke or somewhere else, Theon did not know. But perhaps he shouldn’t waste it. Yara would not want him to waste it. Even with everything that had happened, he was her brother, and she loved him, in her way.

Meeting her again after so long away, Theon hadn’t given the best impression of her younger brother. Thinking back to how he had acted then, Theon felt ashamed. He felt ashamed about so many things, still now, particularly about that time. He knew that feeling would never leave him. This was the price he must pay to live, the Iron Price. He knew that now, though he wasn’t sure whether he had accepted it. Did he deserve to live? Deserve to want to live? He had hurt so many people, including his sister. But he had come back to her, to the Iron Islands, to Pyke. He had named her as his Queen, supported her and escaped Euron with her. It was something, something Theon could hang onto. He would have to. There were not many happy memories between the two and now there wouldn’t be.

But none of that mattered now, not truly. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. Theon was alone in the world. The only Greyjoy left. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t be the last one, it should never have been him. Yara, it was supposed to be Yara. It should always have been Yara. She would have taken great pride in being the last one, she would have made sure all of Westeros remembered the Greyjoys, remembered the name. Theon knew he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t up to that. Yara and Theon were so different. He wasn’t her and she wasn’t him. He couldn’t do anything for her memory. Not one thing.  

It wasn’t until Sansa brought up the subject that Theon realised with both Yara and Euron gone, there was only one person left who could rule the Iron Islands. Theon. But no. Theon couldn’t. He wasn’t fit to rule. He didn’t deserve to rule. He didn’t want to. But he was the last Greyjoy left. He was the last link to his father. His father, Balon Greyjoy. His father, who had shipped him away to the North. His father, who had bent the knee. His father, who never seemed to have any love for Theon. His father, who named Yara as his heir. His father, who died alone. What a father he was. Jon had once told Theon that Ned Stark was more of a father than the Greyjoy Lord ever was. Theon’s real father had lost his head at King’s Landing. Wasn’t that what Theon had told Ramsey once? What connection did Theon have with his father? Not one that mattered. His connection was stronger with the Starks, with Winterfell and the North.  

Theon couldn’t rule, he just couldn’t. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be the reigning Lord over a place he could hardly remember. It was supposed to be Yara. They were supposed to have their Queen. Their first Queen. After everything, how could he go back? He couldn’t go back, not there. He didn’t deserve to go back. Theon spent so much of his life being torn between Winterfell and Pyke. He seemed to belong to neither, floating between the two. The Northerners always saw him as an outsider, a sheep in wolf clothing. And when he went back to Pyke, he didn’t belong there. He didn’t dress like the Iron Born, sound like the Iron Born, didn��t look like the Iron Born. He wasn’t Iron Born.

But how could he desert the Iron Born? The ones who were left. So many died as Theon should have in the Godswood. Yara had taken her remaining ships home or had intended to. She hadn’t made it. And Euron, he was gone too. Killed by Jaime Lannister. How was this possible? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Theon knew what had to happen. He had it all planned out in his head. His death, his sacrifice, was one of the first things he would have control over again. How could it have gone so wrong? And what about the Iron Born? The men who had followed Yara with no real idea how it would end for them. They didn’t want Theon as their ruler, they wanted Yara. What could Theon do for them? He wasn’t worthy of it. Wasn’t worthy of anything.  

Yara was sworn by duty to lead her men, the Iron Born to do what had to be done. It was something that Theon admired about her. She seemed to know what the right thing was to do, always. Whether anyone else thought it was right was another thing completely. Theon didn’t share that quality with his sister. There always seemed to be a choice he had to make, an impossible one. But maybe there wasn’t one now. The Iron Islands had been ruled by the Greyjoys for so long, would he really be the last Greyjoy? The one to end that. Yara had a duty. But she was gone. Was that duty now Theon’s?  

Self-doubt and self-hatred were only two feelings that occupied Theon. They had occupied him for so long now, they had become a part of him. These feelings were why Theon couldn’t do it, he couldn’t take his sisters place. He was not like Yara, he never was and never could be. Even when he would pretend, he and everyone else knew it was all a front, knew it was not real. How would Theon even rule? Could he even do it? Could he replace his sister? No, no one could. Theon had spent many years at Winterfell wishing to go home, knowing that when he returned, he would be treated like a King, the heir of the Iron Islands, they had been waiting for him. But that didn’t happen, of course it didn’t. He was a fool. A stupid, fool. But worse men had been a Lord of a great house. This didn’t make Theon feel any better, however. Just worse.

This did mean something, however. Theon could do home. His family home. Where he was born. Where he was supposed to grow up. But Pyke never truly felt like Theon’s home. There was a part of Theon that knew he couldn’t leave the Iron Islands. He couldn’t let the people, the Iron Born fend for themselves. But he didn’t want to leave the North now, not when he had come back. Winterfell didn’t feel like a home growing up, but Theon thought now that his younger self never allowed it to be a home. He didn’t even try. Even though Theon spent so many years wishing it was his home, wishing he was a real Northerner, wishing he was a Stark, he couldn’t let himself wish too much.

Theon had spent so many years at Winterfell. Those years under Ramsey’s belt didn’t make it feel like a home, but a nightmare. Regardless of that, there was someone at Winterfell who understood completely, who was probably dealing with the same feelings of confusion. Sansa. She was here, she was at Winterfell, she was surviving. If she could do it, why not Theon? Sansa had seemingly overcome everything that had happened to her. She had changed, it had made her who she was. She was strong. Stronger than Theon ever could be. She was healing. She had lost people too. She had lost siblings, just as Theon had. But she wasn’t the last Stark, she still had a family. Something Theon could only dream of.

But there was a family who would welcome Theon, maybe not with welcome arms, but still, they would want him. He had seemingly always been a part of this family, even when he didn’t believe it himself. He was part of this family when he first arrived in the North. When he would sit next to Robb in the great hall. When he would practice his archery in the courtyard. When he would tease little Arya. It was unconventional, that was true, but the Starks were more of a family than the Greyjoys ever were. They were not given the chance too. Two brothers dead. A mother dead. A father filled with so much hatred. And a sister…a sister. Gods, Theon didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t. How could they ever be a family? How could Theon ever have one? Theon wondered if he asked to stay at Winterfell, whether they would let him. Sansa, maybe. The way she hugged him tight when he arrived back, that seemed to signal something.

That sense of divided loyalty, that feeling Theon felt for almost all of his life, it wasn’t going to control Theon anymore. He didn’t have to choose. He was connected to both Pyke and Winterfell. To both the North and the Iron Islands. He was both a Greyjoy and a Stark. And he was going to be Lord of the Iron Islands whether he liked it or not. He knew this was what he had to do. Knew it was important. For Yara.

[selkiewife]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV) Relationship: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, Reek/Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark Characters: Theon Greyjoy, Reek (ASoIaF), Sansa Stark

Summary: 

Reek didn’t want to reek anymore, but stench seemed to have seeped into every crevices of the world. His nose couldn’t differentiate- or was it his brain that could no longer enjoy any pleasant sensation, or the mercy of neutrality and emptiness? Maybe there had never been anything that existed unsullied in the first place.

He didn’t know if she was the only pristine one or the most marred of them all, he just knew that she was different, to him. He didn’t know if beauty ever mattered, or if psychological wounds showed on a person at all. But he knew that his skin always felt coated in blood, and if it was his or not never mattered. And he knew that his family crest, either, both, could only be worthless and ugly. He also knew that his restlessness only ever hushed when he was with her. It was always her, wasn’t it?

It was funny, to only feel safe with the one person who had been as powerless as him through it all. Everything about life seemed funny these days, but Theon had forgotten how to laugh, too.

I read this yesterday and it is absolutely exquisite! I love the internal character study and the way the author takes the idea of reeking and smell and uses it as a metaphor for so much character exploration. I loved the idea of the “muddiness” of Theon’s identity and his constant questioning. It was so filled with angst and yet flowed so seamlessly into such a beautiful ending! Please read and give the author some love!

[weirwoodsea]

Take off your armor

Inspired by All Moments Pass by @attaining-fic THEONSA SOUPVERSARY 2024

[soup-in-my-fly]

UGH I COULDNT HELP but draw art for my own Thramsay fic (show & book versions)

They consume my every waking thought.

Also show!Theon with a purifier :3

Fic is literally just shameless smut with a sprinkle of plot and cringe writing. Read at ur own risk and DONT judge me for it IM VERY SELF AWARE!!!!!!!

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

I recently read your theon fic and it's so good!! If you're still taking requests, would you consider writing something for theon again? Maybe a childhood friends to lovers with a Stark reader? It can be as short or long as you want and feel free to make it smutty!! And again love your writing! Going through the rest of your GoT fics now hehe

Omission

Pairing: Theon Greyjoy x Stark!Reader

Warnings: smut cuz anon told me i could! 😂, implied sex work in the winter town, slightly manipulative reader? 🤔, cunnilingus, face riding, praise kink, first orgasms, secret relationship 🤫, nipple biting, implied childhood friends, mentions of periods, mentioned past face riding

Words: 2432

"Oh shut up, Robb." Giving your twin brother a harsh shove, Robb merely laughs at you as you pummel your gloved fists against his shoulders. "Now I know you're just teasing me."

"Sweet (y/n), do you really think I would lie to my dear twin?"

Your eyes round as you gape at him. "You lie to me on a daily basis, Robb Stark!" Dealing him another smack on the head, Robb pleads for mercy from your tiny fists of fury. Seeing that he's given up, you let your arms fall back to your side, glaring at him. "There's no way. I've seen the two of you sneaking out to the winter towns. Probably to the brothels."

"You think so little of us men, don't you." He sighs and leans his back against the ominous face of the heart tree. To southerners, the face may appear quite macabre with the streams of red that streak out of it's eyes. Having been around it since the day you were born, it was never something to fear. Something to cower away from.

The castle of Winterfell was always hustling and bustling with the work of the many hands that were required to smoothly run it. Along with those of the large Stark family. Eight children including the Greyjoy ward, Theon, had the halls filled with loud shouting, singing, or laughing.

Out in the personal godswood that your family possessed, you and your twin brother liked to get away just to catch up. He was heir of Winterfell being the first born boy. You were separated from him and given the education that any other prestigious young lady of Westeros received. Unfortunately you never had lessons that overlapped with one another, despite your many complaints to your parents.

And what was your dear brother divulging to you? The fact that your father's ward Theon was so obviously smitten with you that even you were aware of his affections. You'd indulge your brother though and pretend not to know a thing. You'll keep your knowledge to yourself and utilize later. Pretend that you hadn't just been making out with Theon just a few hours prior. Robb may be your other half, but this was a secret that you couldn't truly share with him and swore Theon to secrecy. No, Robb was too close to Ned. He could accidentally let something slip to indicate your true relationship with the kraken boy.

A potential suitor for you, the eldest of Ned's daughters, hadn't been discussed fully though you'd heard whispers from the maids and lords in the halls. Trying to guess who your father would give you away to. Theon would not be a candidate.

"I just thought you should know how he feels." Robb hums.

"You know nothing real can come from it." Pointing out, you feel something seize in your chest. It thickens your throat so that pushing out your words was a struggle. "Theon and I. . . Even if- and I'm not saying I like him that way- even if we got together father would never allow it."

He purses his lips in response. "If we bring up the case properly, I believe father will hear us out."

You shake your head. Robb was ever the optimist.

"Don't say anything about it to father." Simply telling him, you use the trunk of the tree to help yourself get up. The weight of your gown skirts tend to pull you down. In response, Robb gets up as well and helps to dust you off. "Please Robb. I don't want Theon getting in trouble." That was the last thing the two of you needed was Ned to increase his surveillance toward Theon. While he cared for the boy, he was always wary due to the Greyjoy Rebellion. They'd proven to be untrustworthy and Ned being a realist always held concern that Theon would grow to be just like Balon Greyjoy.

You didn't know the Lord of the Iron Islands and Theon didn't speak much about him but from what little you were able to gather, you'd say Theon would be nothing like his sire. Lord Ned already felt like Theon was a bad influence on Robb with his cocky attitude and cavalier nature. He did not desire any of his children to adopt those traits.

"Okay okay." He's holding your hand as the two of you trudge through snow to get back to the warmth of the castle. "But. . . do you think you can be a little nicer to him now that you know he holds a flame for you? It's bad enough Sansa and mother always treat him coldly."

Frowning you glance at him. "I'm always nice."

You hate how he rolls his Tully blue eyes. "You're always frigid when he's around. You weren't like that when we were all children. You used to hang off him. But you've changed since. . . since you flowered. . ."

Again he finds your hands smacking his arm. "Please don't EVER mention my cycles again." Your cheeks were burning, embarrassed that Robb was even aware when you'd had your first moonblood.

As you enter through the kitchens, Robb's laughter rings above the other chattering. "My apologies. I forget that you're a proper lady now. Like mother and Sansa." He fake curtsies and you have half the mind to kick his shin until your septa shows up; breathless like she's been running around all over Winterfell.

"There you are!" She hisses and stomps toward you.

Robb abandons you to flee and save himself.

Even with your slippers covering your feet, the piercing cold of the stone floor got past even the thickest of wool. Frozen toes were a small price to pay; especially when Theon will happily warm them up once you get to his room. There were a few obstacles you had to bypass in your route. Nothing you couldn't handle.

You'd made this journey many times in the past two years.

Robb wasn't being dramatic when he claimed your change toward Theon. From innocent children to teenagers, everything happened so fast that you weren't really able to comprehend what was going on with your own head. When Theon first arrived to your family, you were a small child. You and Robb grew attached to him immediately. For so long you saw him as a brother. Then it just stopped the moment you bled.

That's when you saw Theon. . . differently.

"I was wondering if you'd make it tonight." Barely stepping in front of his door but a second ago, you grin at his eagerness and let him pull you in. Quietly shutting his door as to not alarm anyone, Theon spins around and envelops you in his arms.

Nuzzling into the warmth of his chest, you sigh in contentment. All the stress of your day rolling right off of you. Even within the security of his room, you still kept your voice to barely above a whisper. "I thought about it. . . Robb's onto you, you know. I'm worried he'll discover the truth."

Theon sits you down on his bed, wrapping one of his fur blankets around you so that you could warm yourself up. Wandering off to the table in his room, he pours two chalices of wine. "Just tell him. I keep telling you he'd take the secret to his grave. Your brother would never risk getting you in that much trouble."

"Not consciously." Pulling the fur tighter, you focus on the softness. "He might imply something to our father in his attempt to help us. Robb thinks our lord father can be reasoned with about a relationship between the two of us."

He's quiet with his back turned to you, busying himself with stoking the fire in the hearth. You watch shadows cast by the fire dance along the broad width of his shoulders.

"Why wouldn't your father marry you to me?" Theon asks after a moment of quiet contemplation. When he faces you again, there's a streak of hurt in his eyes that makes your stomach drop. "It would strengthen bonds between the north and the Iron Islands. And I can't imagine you marrying anyone else but me. I knew from the moment we met that you would be my bride."

Any other time you might have laughed at the idea. Empathetic, you rise from the bed and float over to him; caressing his stubbled cheeks with both of your hands and drawing him closer. In a perfect world MAYBE your father would have considered marrying you off to the last surviving Greyjoy son. His blood was too precious to him though and you knew Ned would only ever choose a husband for you that hailed from the north. Especially since he knew Robb would raise hell if you were given to any other kingdom in Westeros. It was only right that twins stay together after all.

You know how to pull his mind away from such unpleasantness. If you fell victim to those thoughts. . . it would only make your life miserable. The way you handled your reality may not be healthy and this certainly should be addressed, but you were too scared to discuss it. Cowardice you knew it was. You covered it up with saccharine kisses that coaxed Theon to lower his guard.

Your world was full of lies. Perhaps not outright lies, but you were still omitting the truth to your entire family.

If it meant keeping Theon's kisses all to yourself, you didn't feel too bad about it.

This discussion would be brought up again in the future. That was inescapable. You rue the day when Ned finally decided on your husband. Theon would raise hell. You'd hold it off for as long as possible. The maiden in you wanted to believe in this fantasy that Theon thought would come true. Far more happy than what was in store for you in your future.

Having to bend slightly over your short form (you hated how much taller Sansa was than you. It wasn't fair. You were older than her yet you barely were an inch taller than Arya!), once both of you break the kiss for much needed air, Theon presses his forehead against your's, his nose brushing against you're cheek similar to the barn cat that you liked to cuddle with. Rubbing his scent onto you as a claim.

Swiftly his hands grab at your rear as he hoists you up into his arms, forcing you to wrap your legs around him for stability. His lips trail kisses along your neck up to the juncture of your neck.

"Do you remember when I first took you?" Theon asks, lips moving against your skin.

Your fingers curl, dragging him closer to you. If you truly could have things your way, you'd never let him go. Freezing the moment to never ending stillness. It was a selfish want, but you didn't care for you truly loved Theon; even if you could never say it out loud to him. If you did then he would do everything and anything to make sure you were wed to him. You didn't doubt that treason would be one of those options. You'd seen it in his eyes before when you let the discussion of getting married went on for too long. You couldn't indulge him.

How could you not remember the day he pierced your maidenhead? The very same day you broke down to him, admitting that you were uncontrollably attracted to him. Longing and desire replaced the once childish adoration you held for him. Ever since your first cycle, it was like your entire body was on fire when Theon was remotely near you.

When you admitted everything, Theon took you back to his room and. . . well. . . From between your legs he spouted nonstop words of adoration and utter devotion to you, his beloved Lady of the North. He confessed to going to the brothels in the winter towns but only so that he could learn how to please you in the bed in order to win you over. How else would he be able to compete against all the other lords that would come calling?

Honestly, you barely heard most of the words he was saying above the roaring of your heartbeat in your ears. A surprise that no one heard you screaming when you had your first climax. Terrified at first and not understanding what was happening to you, Theon ever so softly coaxed you with his tongue and soft touches until you relaxed and came. He encouraged you to shove your cunt into his face (his words, not your's). Even if you were afraid that you would suffocate him or break his nose. That would only make him more persistent. Your face was beaming bright red when he positions your entire body over his face and with the sheer strength of his arms, dips you up and down onto his tongue.

Theon folded you into positions you'd never imagined following that first encounter. From that moment on, you were his. And you couldn't imagine anyone else touching you like Theon did. When his fingers roamed over your skin, it was like he was reading from a book. All your sweet spots spelled out just for him in invisible ink.

From your hooded expression, Theon came to the proper conclusion that you did indeed remember that day which makes his lips curl into a wicked grin. His pupils are clearly blown out in the pools of blue.

Taking care to lay you down gently onto the surface of his bed, the furs around your shoulders fall and splay around you, revealing your nightgown and the small peaks of your erect nipples grazing against your shift.

Theon captures a nipple that poked from your shift. His front teeth softly put pressure making you mewl and writhe under him. You feel a hand glide up your thigh until it rests on your naked hip. "I think of it as the happiest day of my life. Not just because I finally got to fuck you, but also because you said you had feelings for me as I did for you."

Familiar warmth pushes past your lower lips that have you gasping and attempting to arch your back, but Theon makes sure you can't squirm.

Over the blood rushing through your ears and the numbing of your brain as he pumps his fingers in and out while easily sliding in a second and third one; you caught the low whisper of his voice.

"Whatever it takes. I'll make you my bride."

[lycorim]

Really liked the lines for this one, so have both versions :)

[This is an extremely belated companion piece for a fic of mine that I randomly got re-inspired by]

[hd-junglebook]

From Beyond The Wall

Part 1

The wind begins to howl mournfully, swirling snowflakes dancing in the air like lost spirits. The mountain remained still as night began to fall, leaving the brothers of the nights watch in the darkness of the north.

The fire crackles weakly, struggling against the encroaching cold, casting long shadows that flicker and dance across the frozen ground.

"Can you feel it, Jon?" one brother mutters, his teeth chattering as he huddles closer to the feeble warmth.

"A storm's coming. I can smell it in the air." Jon, his cloak pulled tight around him, nods solemnly. "Aye, a blizzard's upon us. We'll need to find better shelter if we're to survive the night."

In the cover of darkness beyond the glow of the fire, Y/n and her group lurk like shadows, their breath forming wisps of vapor in the frigid air. Ygritte, her fiery hair barely visible in the dim light, leans in close to Y/n, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We strike now, while they're weak and unprepared," she says, her blue eyes gleaming with determination. "We'll catch them by surprise, before the blizzard engulfs us all."

Y/n nods, her fingers tightening around the reins of her white horse, its breath steaming in the cold night air. "Agreed. Move on my signal.”

Y/n continue to watch in silence, glancing between the brothers and the free folk. She nodded to Ygritte, grasping her bow from the leather pouch. Y/n and her group emerge from the darkness, the crunch of snow beneath their boots muffled by the howling wind.

The brothers of the Night's Watch startle at the sudden onslaught, scrambling for their weapons as Y/n's group descends upon them like a winter storm unleashed.

"Take no prisoners!" Ygritte's voice rings out above the chaos, her bow singing as she looses arrow after arrow into the heart of the fray. the blizzard finally descends in full force, swallowing the scene in a swirling white blanket of snow and ice.

After a few minutes of the bloody onslaught Jon realizes his efforts were pointless as he is now surrounded.

Confused and heaving out heavy breaths he looks around to grasp his situation. He pauses mid turn at the sight of Y/n dismounting her horse gracefully, still holding her bow.

“Hold.” she raises her hand, signaling for them to hold their fire. The clash of swords and the cries of men fade into the background as Jon's gaze meets hers, his eyes locked on her figure clad in a fur cloak and a dress as white as the snow.

She approaches Jon with purpose, her footsteps leaving shallow imprints in the fresh snow. The wind tugs at her cloak, sending strands of hair swirling around her face like tendrils of shadow.

“Who are you?” he mumbles out, trying to find the words. He raises his hands slowly, his eyes flicking between Y/n and the members of her group surrounding him.

Y/n's lips curl into a confident smile as she keeps her arrow trained on Jon. "I am Y/n, Princess of the Free Folk," she declares, her voice ringing out clear despite the howling wind.

Jon's eyes widen in surprise at her proclamation, a flicker of realization dawning in his expression. He lowers his hands slowly, his gaze never leaving Y/n's face. "Princess of the Free Folk," he repeats, as if testing the words on his tongue.

Y/n nods, her grip tightening on her bow. "Indeed. And now, I command you to throw down your weapon and stand," she orders, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Jon hesitates for a moment, his gaze darting between Y/n and the looming figures of her group. But then, with a resigned sigh, he unclasps his sword belt and lets it fall to the ground with a heavy thud.

He stands tall, meeting Y/n's gaze, she studies Jon Snow intently as he stands before her, his demeanor composed despite the circumstances. "And who are you, truly?" Y/n asks, her voice softened but still firm.

Jon's gaze remains fixed on her, his expression unreadable behind the mask of snowflakes that cling to his beard. "I am Jon Snow, a brother of the Night's Watch," he replies. A laugh escapes her at the name. “Mhmm snow. You’re a Stark. Ned Starks bastard son.”

Hearing her call his name and addressing him as a Stark made his heart skip a beat. Yet he remained cautious, seeing how easily the wildings obeyed her. “I am…How did you know?” he asked, as he slowly took a step back.

“It’s not me who knows, its my brother. what business does the Night's Watch have this far beyond the Wall? Us wildings? White walkers?” He nods to both causing her to sigh.

Y/n turns to her companions, her gaze sweeping over them with authority. "Tie him up. We're bringing him home," she commands, her voice firm and resolute.

He is stunned by her order, his body freezes still where he stands. The wildlings nod in silent acknowledgment, swiftly moving to obey Y/n's orders.

They bind Jon Snow's hands tightly with rope, ensuring he poses no immediate threat as they prepare to escort him back to their camp.

Y/n's eyes then find Ygritte, who stands nearby, her bow at the ready. "Ygritte, you'll watch him from now on," Y/n instructs, her voice carrying a note of trust.

"Make sure he doesn't try anything foolish." They hand the rope to Ygritte, who accepts it with a nod of gratitude.

With a swift motion, she mounts her horse, her cloak billowing behind her like a banner of authority. As she settles into the saddle, her eyes meet Jon's, and there's a flicker of something unspoken between them, a tension that crackles in the frigid air like lightning.

"Let's go," she commands, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "We have to make it back before dawn."

Jon's heart races as he watches her, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. A sudden chill runs through his back, he struggles against his restraints, approaching your horse slowly. “You really won’t say anything, huh? Just going to tie me up and drag me with you.”

Y/n meets his gaze, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “That’s how I like my men, Snow.” She stated with a devious grin. A cold look appears on his face immediately realizing what she meant by those words. Yet all he can do is be silent and follow behind you, keeping up as his body is pushed every which way by the pelting snow.

…

They finally reach the Wildling camp, Y/n dismounts her horse with a graceful ease and gives her horse a gentle pat on the neck, murmuring words of gratitude as she glances toward the towering big tent that serves as the heart of their encampment.

The women of the camp emerged from their makeshift shelters, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they danced with their children under the fading light of the day.

Giants lumbered about, their massive forms silhouetted against the twilight sky as they worked alongside the Free Folk, tending to the needs of the camp with quiet efficiency.

With a nod to Ygritte, who stands by Jon Snow's side with a watchful gaze, Y/n orders, "Bring the crow with you." she takes hold of Jon's arm, guiding him towards the tent alongside her.

Pushing open the flap of the tent, Y/n steps inside, the warmth of the fire within enveloping her like a comforting embrace.

Ygritte and Jon enter behind her, Y/n's gaze sweeps over the assembled group, taking in the familiar faces of her companions, as well as the curious glances directed towards their captive.

“Oh dear brother. I have a gift.” Mance, ever the troubadour, sat in a corner, his fingers strumming a haunting melody on his lute, the notes drifting through the air like whispers on the wind, weaving a tale of a Dornish woman's forbidden love.

He departs from his pregnant wife’s side. "What's this?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over Ygritte, Rattleshirt, and the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "A crow?"

“Ygritte found the crow, Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell!” she introduced. “Release him.” With a collective nod, Ygritte moves to obey, her hands deftly untying the ropes that bind Jon's wrists before pushing him forward.

Mance's piercing blue eyes fix on Jon, assessing him with a shrewd intensity. "A crow," he remarks, his voice low and measured. "What brings you so far beyond your Wall?"

Jon meets Mance's gaze with a steady stare, his jaw set with determination. "I seek answers," he replies, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "Answers about the darkness that threatens to engulf us all."

Mance nods thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. "And what answers do you hope to find here, among the Free Folk?"

Jon's gaze flickers with resolve as he speaks. "I seek allies," he declares, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "Allies in the fight against the true enemy, the Night King and his army of the dead."

A murmur ripples through the gathered Wildlings at Jon's words, their faces reflecting a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. Mance, however, remains impassive, his gaze fixed on Jon with a calculating intensity.

"Allies," he repeats, his voice echoing in the tense silence of the tent. "The Night's Watch and the Free Folk, united against a common foe. A bold proposition, Jon Snow. But one that may yet prove to be our salvation."

…

The conversation with Mance concludes and the orders are given, Y/n watches as Ygritte leads Jon Snow and his direwolf away from the tent.

With a heavy sigh, Y/n turns away, her steps leading her back to her own tent. She sheds her fur cloak with a weary grace, allowing it to fall to the ground as she settles onto the floor, her legs crossed beneath her.

Closing her eyes, Y/n takes a deep breath, centering herself before allowing her mind to drift into the depths of warging. As her consciousness expands, she feels the pull of the nearby animals, their instincts calling out to her in the darkness.

With a gentle push, Y/n's spirit leaves her body, merging with that of a nearby fox. She feels the rush of freedom as she darts through the snow-covered landscape, her senses heightened by the wildness of her new form.

She approaches the bodies of the fallen Black Brothers, a sudden movement jolts her back to reality. The fox springs back in fear, its eyes locking with those of a figure rising from the snow.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she stares into the ice-blue eyes of the reanimated corpse. The corpse lunges forward as it reaches out with cold dead hands.

With a burst of speed, the fox races southward, its breath coming in ragged gasps as it flees from the looming threat. Y/n's eyes snap open abruptly, her breath coming out raggedly as she sits up. She dons her fur cloak once more, the fabric billowing around her like a protective barrier against the biting cold.

Rushing from her tent, Y/n heads straight for Mance, her footsteps quick and purposeful in the snow. She finds him surrounded by his advisors, deep in conversation about their next move. "Mance, we need to leave now," Y/n declares, her voice urgent as she approaches him.

Mance turns to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "We've just arrived at our camp. Surely we can afford to rest for a while."

But Y/n shakes her head adamantly, her eyes flashing with determination. "No, Mance. We can't afford to stay here any longer, thinking about Dalla" she insists, her voice unwavering.

Mance studies her for a moment, weighing her words carefully. But then, with a resigned sigh, he nods in reluctant agreement. "Very well, Y/n," he concedes, "We'll leave in a few days."

…

Y/n stood before the gathered clans, her hair blowing in the biting gusts as she surveyed the uneasy faces staring back at her.

"As you know, the white walkers arise once more from the dead," she called out, her voice carrying over the murmurs that rippled through the crowd. "As your Princess, I swear to lead you safely to the Wall."

She continued, her tone firm, "My brother has brought together the Free Folk like no one has before." Gesturing to Mance, who stood with his wife behind her, she emphasized, "But winter is coming—the harshest in memory. The dead will rise to join the White Walkers' army. They will not wait for spring!"

The truth of her words sank in among the Free Folk, glances exchanged as the severity of the situation settled upon them. Mance stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"The princess speaks true," he declared, his voice carrying authority. "The Wall is our only refuge against the storm. We must begin the march at once... before it is too late."

Agreement murmured through the clans, and Y/n nodded gratefully to Mance. Drawing her furs tighter against the cold, she caught sight of Jon Snow, his gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before flickering away.

…

In the wake of her stirring speech, preparations for the journey to the Wall began in earnest. The clans bustled with activity, packing supplies, sharpening weapons, and tending to their families in anticipation of the arduous trek ahead.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silvery light over the rugged landscape, and the distant howls of wolves echoed through the valleys.

It was there, in the quiet stillness of the night, that Y/n encountered her brother's pregnant wife once more. She stood alone, her silhouette outlined against the moonlit horizon, a solitary figure in the darkness.

"Are you all right?" Y/n asked softly as she turned to face her, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Y/n walked closer to where she was standing, her boots crunching on the frozen ground. "I'm fine," she replied curtly.

Y/n studied her for a moment, sensing the weight of her burden in the lines of her face and the tension in her shoulders. There was a distance between them, a chasm that seemed insurmountable.

"I wanted to thank you," Y/n said earnestly, breaking the silence that hung heavy between them. "For standing with me back there. Your support means more to me than you know."

Her gaze softened, a flicker of warmth in the depths of her eyes. "You don't have to thank me," she replied, her voice gentle. "We're in this together, whether we like it or not." There was a moment of quiet understanding between them as they stood together beneath the starlit sky.

…

give me some feedback, i'd like to know if this sucks lol

[h3llrac3r]

˗ˏˋ For all eternity ´ˎ˗

Theon Greyjoy x stark!reader oneshot

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Warnings: angst, veeery briefly mentioned light smut, death, hurt no comfort, violence, lil bit of gore/ blood ? kinda cringe honestly, Horrible writing, 08x03 spoilers but I changed the episode's plot a little

Summary: I guess there’s nothing more romantic than dying in your lovers arms <3

Word count: ~ 2.6k

A/N: my first fanfic!! English is not my first language so excuse any mistakes. enjoyyy the angst babies <3

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The Godswood. Considerably the most beautiful place in all of Winterfell. It had an almost calming effect on you. The beautiful weirwood tree with its blood red leaves, surrounded by more trees and bushes. It’d look even more serene in winter. The painting worthy beauty of the snow silently falling from an endless gloomy sky, coating the world in a small layer of cold white. Sometimes you’d sit on one of the center tree’s branches with a paper and feather in hand, painting the snowflakes that landed on the back of your hand before they would melt away on your warm skin in a matter of seconds. You also loved the stillness of the forest. If you ever felt like you needed space from everything and everyone around you, you’d simply go out and sit with the trees. You’d see your younger self running, chasing your siblings around the tree in the center and laughing together when one of you would trip.

Theon would always know to find you there. If you’d let him, he’d sit with you and just listen. You knew he really cared. Theon was the only person, other than your siblings, you could trust with anything. He truly loved you with all his heart and you loved him. You tried hard to hide it in the beginning, knowing your Father would not be happy if you married Theon rather than a successful, rich king like the other noble girls did.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

Robb and Jon knew the second they saw Theon and you talking together in the Godswood. They knew by the way he looked at you and how his eyes would linger on yours. They knew by the way his hand would brushed against yours or how he would blush every time your name came up. Jon especially knew when Theon stopped bedding every woman that stepped foot into the Winterfell castle. He only had eyes for you and he made sure you knew that every single day.

'The prettiest Stark' he would call you. Robb always acted dramatically offended every time he’d overhear Theon say it. It was no use trying to hide your feelings from another. So you didn’t.

You still vividly remember the first time you kissed him. It was the night of your 19th Name day. He took you back to your room and wanted to say goodnight as you leaned into him, lips meeting. His eyes widened in surprise for a few seconds but he melted into you right away. God, he’s been wanting that for a very long time. His hand cupped your cheek as the both of you stumbled into your chamber. He started messily taking off your clothes and gently laid you down on your bed, continuing to kiss you. Looking back, that night feels almost like a hazy dream. Like something you wanted for so long and then you finally got it.

Theon taught you how to fight, even though your father strictly forbid it, saying “it isn’t Lady like to wield swords and fight men”. Theon didn’t care about what other people thought of him, as long as he was yours.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

Now everything seemed like a distant memory. What once was, can never be again. You knew you would die tonight. You knew and you were prepared. Your last night with your Ironborn lover was filled with nothing but love. You made sure every inch of his body knew you were grateful for him. Kissing him everywhere from his head down to his neck, hips and thighs. You didn’t want a single inch of him to not feel worshipped and longed for.

After hours and hours of fighting for not only your life but that of the people you loved, you were now standing back to back with Theon, trying everything to protect your brother Bran from the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead, who you were completely surrounded by. They took small steps towards the two of you, slowly caging you in further. Frantically looking around, you swung your sword in a way of trying to tell them to stay away.

They all suddenly stopped.

Your wide eyes looked back at Theon confused, your brows furrowing.

“What are they doing?” He asked you with a two thousand yard stare,

You shrugged your shoulders at his question.

Then all of a sudden there was movement. Some of the Dead opened the circle they surrounded you in to show you who was leading the attack. The White Walkers. At least a dozen of them. This was it. This was the moment your entire life led up to… your death. It seemed almost ironic that it was in the Godswood. A place you've cherished ever since you were a little child. Oh how naïve you were then, you thought. Little Y/N would never understand what was about to happen but neither would you, probably.

You stared at the Knight King only a couple of feet away from you, him staring back at you. He didn’t speak, determination set deep in his cold, blue, piercing eyes. He wants to kill Bran and everything that stood in his way; to erase everything that had to do with the past. Everything that you were or ever will be. You couldn’t let him. You had to win this fight or die trying.

Theon was close by your side. You shared a look. It spoke more than thousand words or thousand languages. A look that said 'You know what’s coming next. Please, don’t be scared, I’m here with you.'

“Thank you.” You heard Bran say behind you, both Theon and you turning around.

“You are a good man, Theon. Take good care of my sister.” Theon nodded at him, his eyes welling up.

“In another lifetime.” You turned to look at Theon with teary eyes to see him already looking at you. “What a time it has been with you”

All you wanted to do now was crash your lips against Theon’s and give him a kiss that would last all eternity. A loud selfish voice in your head told you to just grab his hand and run far, far, far away from here. Leave everyone behind to be with Theon.

‘Run. Run now, before it’s too late. You’re not dead yet.‘

The voice spoke again and as much as you might’ve wanted to, you couldn’t. You couldn’t break now. Thousands of men gave their life to protect Bran. It wouldn’t be fair to either them, nor your beloved brother or your other siblings. Hell, you didn’t even know wether they were still alive. They might already all be part of the Dead, long forgotten and coming to tear you apart and make you join them. To say that you were scared was an underestimation. You thought you were prepared to give your life but now standing face to face with death, everything felt so helpless.

“My heart is yours forever, Theon Greyjoy” you said as you turned your face away from him and set your eyes on the White Walkers before you. You wondered if that right there was the last time you’d ever look at Theon. You didn’t want to think about it, it hurt too much.

Your grip around your dragon glass sword tightened, as you gritted your teeth and began to walk towards the Knight King with big strides. Time seemed to slow down as Theon watched you leap at the Leader of the Dead. He whispered silent prayers.

"Let her be okay and let them take me instead." He repeated it like a mantra.

You let out a scream as the blade of your sword came inches from piercing his icy blue skin. He looked deep into your eyes, as his hand found it’s way to your neck, before your weapon could ever come in contact with his skin. Your body was dangling in the air, your feet kicking wildly like a deer caught in a trap, desperate for an escape. A small smile of triumph appeared on the White Walkers lips when you dropped your sword. You let out a strangled choke as his second hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air. You tried clawing at his hands and face but no use. You were soon to join his Army of the Dead.

Theon watched frozen in horror as the Knight King slowly but surely started suffocating you. Without one more moment of hesitance he charged at the creature that was about to take you from him. Everything happened in the matter of seconds. You were roughly tossed aside and immediately took a deep breath as you felt the cold winter air enter your lungs again. A feeling you almost thought forgotten in the previous moments. Having hit your head while being tossed to the side, you were feeling disoriented and dizzy for a few short moments. The metallic taste in your mouth made you spit. The red seeping into the white of the snowy forest ground.

A loud squelch sound snapped you back into reality. Your head shot up as your eyes widen in horror. You watched as the Knight King plunged Theon’s broken spear into his abdomen. A place where your body rested on top of, only a few hours prior. You let out a gut wrenching scream as your tears spilled freely from your eyes. Theon’s eyes locked with yours. You could see his trembling lips parting, trying to tell you something before blood spilled from his mouth.

He started coughing and you didn’t waste a second in picking up a dragon glass dagger from one of the dead soldiers around you and running up to the King once more. This time you managed to catch him off guard and sinked the dagger deep into the left side of his neck. You twisted it, before pulling it out and ramming it back in his throat again. The Night King roared in pain, which almost sounded like a wounded animal. But no pain of his would ever compare to losing Theon. You, along with every soldier of the Army of the Dead fell to the ground. You watched as every single White Walker turned into icy shards, perishing completely.

You killed the Knight King, all the other White Walkers, the Army of the Dead and saved Bran. You did what you were supposed to. You saved the seven kingdoms. But you couldn't think about that right now. Not when Theon was bleeding out just a few feet from you. None of it will ever matter if he’s not by your side.

He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die.

You kept repeating those 3 words in your head over and over, trying hard to convince yourself that everything was just a cruel nightmare.

You called out his name as you ran to his side, gently picking up his head and placing it on your thighs.

"I'm here with you. Don't you worry, You'll be alright" You told him as you caressed his cheek. He looked up at you through teary eyes, knowing his end was near. His brows scrunched up in pain and he coughed up more of his blood. You started applying pressure to his stab wound, just like Brienne always taught you. Her words rang through your head 'Y/N, if you ever get hurt, you need to stop the bleeding, as best as you can. Stop the bleeding, stay awake and get help.'

"HELP ME PLEASE. SOMEONE, oh god- I NEED HELP!!" you screamed as loud as you could, hoping someone- anyone would hear your desperate cries.

"You need to stay awake for me, okay? We'll be alright, i just need you to hold on a little longer. I promise you will be okay, i promise you..." But your words rang hollow. You felt Theon's bloody hand on your cheek and you looked at him. Really looked at him. He is tired. His face pale, his eyes glassy and his hand shaking. He just smiled at you and gripped your face a bit tighter, fearing he would lose the feeling in his hands soon as they slightly began to tingle. Your face, now covered in his blood from his hand, leaned into his touch. You kissed his hand.

"I don't- I can't lose you, Theon. I can't."

"shhh. It's alright Y/N. I promise you I’ll find you in every lifetime…"

“No, you don’t need to. You have me in this lifetime-“

His smile never faltered.

“I love you, Theon.” You said, the world becoming a blur through teary eyes.

You leaned down to kiss him. You didn’t want it to be your last kiss. You thought about all the lasts you experienced in the past days without even knowing it. Yesterday was the last time you would fall asleep and wake up next to him. Two days ago was the last time you would ever draw him. Three days ago was the last time he would ever pick your favourite flowers for you. He would never attend another one of your Name days or train with you, sing, dance, laugh or cry with you. You noticed how short-lived your time with him was. If you wouldn’t have been so fucking stubborn, you could’ve told him how you felt sooner. You could’ve had him longer. You should’ve never allowed him to fight for Winterfell. He should’ve stayed on the Iron Islands with Yara. He should’ve left you to die here. You deserved it, not him.

He still held your face in his hands, tears falling down his cheeks.

“I love you. You are the best thing that has happened to me. I do not regret a thing- whe- when everything I did…led me into your arms.”

He was slowly choking on his own blood as he continued to cough violently, the red spilling from his lips.

You helplessly looked around, sobbing, screaming, waiting for a miracle to happen, but no god answered.

You cradled him in your arms, slowly rocking him back and fourth like a mother would with her child. You hand caressed his hair and his face and you forced yourself to smile at him

“It’s okay, it’s okay, my love. You can let go now. I’m safe.”

Every word broke you more than the last but that’s what he needed to hear. You are safe. You did it. You’ve won. Like Bran said, he’ll take care of you now, just not from here but rather from above.

You felt his body go limp in your arms. His eyes lost that little twinkle he always had, when looking at you. They were still open as he slowly grew colder in your arms. His usually rosy, warm skin turned into a soft blue beneath your fingertips. He no longer looked alive.

Your head sank into his chest as you sobbed your heart out. You screamed his name.

You faintly heard someone call out your name.

“Y/N? Y/N! Oh gods!” The voice turned into two voices. You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder and turned around to see Jon and Arya.

“Jon?” Your voice hoarse from all the screaming. “Jon, he’s dead,” you said without any emotion. You felt numb. Jon took you into his arms. Sansa came running to you and stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth in shock.

Jon apologized over and over, crying for the both of you. Sansa and Jon pulled you away from Theon’s body and hugged you again.

Theon Greyjoy was gone for all eternity and nothing could ever bring him back.

[deadgirlwalked]

Sometimes its just a girl and her omegaverse! Bolton!Ward Theon AU that lives in her head rentfree against the world

[asa-writes]

Dreams - Masterlist

They all need each other, though each in their own seperate way. Growing up and loving in times of war isn't easy at all. Especially when you have to fight for the lives of the people you thought you loved - when you have to abandon everything for the greater good, when you have to choose between sexual, familiar and romantic love.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings and General Tags under the cut.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapters:

1 - Jon ¦ 2 - Robb ¦ 3 - Lucie ¦ 4 - Robb ¦ 5 - Jon ¦ 6 - Lucie ¦ 7 - Jon ¦ 8 - Robb ¦ 9 - Lucie ¦ 10 - Jon ¦ 11 - Lucie ¦ 12 - Robb ¦ 13 - Jon ¦ 14 - Lucie ¦ 15 - Jon ¦ 16 - Robb ¦ 17 - Lucie ¦ 18 - Robb ¦ 19 - Jon ¦ 20 - Lucie ¦ 21 - Robb ¦ 22 - Jon ¦ 23 - Lucie ¦ 24 - Theon ¦ 25 - Jon ¦ 26 - Lucie ¦ 27 - Theon ¦ 28 - Jon ¦ 29 - Lucie ¦ 30 - Theon ¦ 31 - Robb ¦ 32 - Jon ¦ 33 - Lucie ¦ 34 - Jon ¦ 35 - (surprise) ¦ 36 - Jon ¦ 37 - Lucie ¦

Drabbles and One-Shots:

"My Sweet" - Robb Stark x Lucie Templeton

Also available on:

Archive of our Own and Wattpad

Warnings / Tags: Canon Divergence - AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Misogyny, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon, Alcohol, Drugs, Age Difference, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, War, Forced Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Pregnancy, Character death, Child Death, Age Play, Bondage, Masochism, Edging, Derogatory Language, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Unplanned Pregnany, Breeding Kink, Masturbation, Hunting, Underage Sex (Canon-Typical)

[valinoar]

a burning hill.

in which theon’s grins are for robb, and jon’s shame belongs to him alone.

theon greyjoy x jon snow. character study. 696 words

[myrxellabaratheon]

I’m definitely not Stannis n. 1 fan for a moltitudine of reasons, but what I resent him the most is killing Renly (and using Edric’s blood to do it) when he was THIS close to allying himself with Robb.

Not only because I really think Renly was of all the Baratheons the one who’d made the best king but because he and Robb had a great chance of winning the War of the Five Kings with minimal loss in terms of both men and alliances.

And also because think about Renly on the Iron Throne with Loras as his Hand and Robb as King in the North with Theon as either his Hand or as Prince of the Iron Islands BUT Renly legalize gay weddings!

[selkiewife]

I am so interested in the fact that Ramsay, who was himself a miller’s son (his mother was the miller’s wife), chooses the miller’s sons from Acorn Water to pass off as Bran and Rickon in A Clash of Kings. Yet we don’t find that out Ramsay was also a miller’s boy until this conversation Theon has with Roose:

(TW: Rape, Murder, general fucked-upness):

“...This miller's marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day.

A year later this same wench had the impudence to turn up at the Dreadfort with a squalling, red-faced monster that she claimed was my own get. I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes. She told me that when her dead husband's brother saw those eyes, he beat her bloody and drove her from the mill. That annoyed me, so I gave her the mill and had the brother's tongue cut out, to make certain he did not go running to Winterfell with tales that might disturb Lord Rickard. Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." 

~ A Dance with Dragons, Reek III

It just makes me wonder. Most likely Ramsay chose the miller’s boys to pass off as Bran and Rickon because they were convenient. But the idea that Ramsay himself was also a miller’s boy who was originally dismissed as nothing by his father, adds another layer. And I keep turning it around in my head. Is Ramsay forcing a parallel between Theon and Roose so that he can punish Theon the way he can’t punish his father? Did Ramsay know that Theon had slept with the miller’s wife? Apparently Ramsay stops at the mill with Ser Rodrik when he is still posing as Reek and she sells them hay for their horses. Even if Ramsay didn’t know of the tryst between Theon and the miller’s wife, he at least sets Theon up to dismiss the miller’s sons as worthless, just as he had been dismissed. Obviously, Ramsay also views the lives of the miller’s sons as worthless as well. But, there is something there I think? Maybe? some subconscious desire to set Theon up to play the role of his father and then to cut him down for it and make him as worthless as Ramsay himself was once treated? 

There are other parallels and anti-parallels between Theon and Roose- Theon’s ACOK’s arc paralleling Roose’s ADWD’s arc. Theon mocking Roose at Robb’s councils turning into Roose mocking Theon in ADWD, and Theon’s premature aging vs Roose never seeming to age- @amuelia has a wonderful artwork about this! Could the miller’s sons be another parallel? I don’t know... thoughts? Tell me even even you disagree completely! I just want to talk about it lol. 

[istaricelebelasse]

Theon Greyjoy dies with his king.

Theon Greyjoy dies choking on his own blood at a wedding. He dies trying to reach his king, his brother, his friend. Cut down by a man he had trusted to watch his back, even as he laughed at him.

(In every universe it is a Bolton who betrays him.)

Theon Greyjoy dies. The last son of Balon Greyjoy, a hostage for his father’s behaviour.

A hostage no more.

Balon had already mourned once for the child torn away from him. He does not mourn again.

Instead he raises his banners and uses the death to lead his people to war. (Even Tywin Lannister cannot say it is unfounded.)

His only heir is his daughter, and he names her as such even as he chides and mocks her for mourning her last brother. He was already dead, didn’t she know?

The death makes no difference to Alannys. Only that she will see her son sooner.

Theon Greyjoy dies at a wedding.

[alleyskywalker]

do you have any theyne fic recs? I already went through your entire catalogue and I am unwell 😭

gfnsjlkgf I knowwww, there are really not enough Theyne fics! (If by my catalogue you mean what I have up on AO3 for them...somehow it's only like 4 fics?/ I gotta find a way to write more for them.) Anyway, really wish I was better at bookmarking/remembering the fics I've read lol. But here are some truly amazing ones ❤

Take My Hand as the Sun Descends by MymbleHowl / @st-clements-steps (E; 9,266)

So anyone who knows me knows I'm not into porn like at all but DAMN this fic is just so good in every way, including the sex. Just brilliant characterization and a happy ending post-canon. Just everything you could want for this ship.

Afterlife by silverapples (M; 49,711)

The theyne novel we all need in our lives. This one starts more immediately post-canon so there's lots of angst. Theon and Jeyne go through this absolutely excruciating (in the best way) roller coaster of learning to live again (especially Theon), falling in love, going home, falling apart, and ending up together again. Tender and romantic and frustrating at times where you just want to shake them (especially Theon lol) but so good in the end.

a sparrow alighted upon our shoulder by oceaniads / @oceaniads (T; 3,053)

Beautiful and sweet fic. If you're looking for fluff with Theon and Jeyne happily married, this is the one! A fic for the shipper's soul, so to speak :D

Stormwatching by cealtrachs (G; 932)

This one's more gen, but it can easily be read as ship (and they're married so....) Gorgeously written, with lovely domesticity and care and friendship.

waltzing with the open sea by oceansoflove (T; 4,352)

So, just as I'm not a porn person, I'm also generally not a modern AU person, but I really loved this fic. It's probably my fave theyne modern AU. The writing/style is wonderful and if you're looking for an angst with a happy ending modern teenage romance AU, this is the one!