CHAPTER 7 | AN IMP'S GIFT

ROBB Stark's head was completely stuck in his own ass.

He thought he was so high and mighty, being the "Lord of Winterfell" while his parents were off. Freya was sick of him ordering her around, and half the time, she didn't do what he asked. He eventually stopped asking her to feed Bran every morning, because she never had the time to anyways. She loved Bran Stark, but she wasn't a servant. That's what Old Nan was for.

But of course, Theon followed Robb and did whatever he said, and this was why he was dragging his sister with him to find Bran. Freya told Robb that she was a ward to his father and not him, and yet she was still being thrust into his orders. To say she was sick of it would be an understatement.

Not only that, but Freya had been in a mood since her visit with Maester Luwin. The news had been weighing on her mind for days. She hadn't told Selene yet, or maybe she never would. She didn't know if she'd tell anyone. Marriage had never been her favorite subject, but it was surely out of her hands now. Ladies were seen as successor-makers to lords, and if she couldn't produce that, then she was nothing to a man. Not that she exactly cared anyway, but she did yearn for the touch of a babe of her own. Recently, she had been using Rickon as a gateway to that feeling.

Freya had only wanted to spend her morning training, but she was forced out of that activity by her brother, and also the arrival of an important figure. She heard Tyrion Lannister had yet again arrived at Winterfell's gates, and she was a bit curious as to why.

She carried Rickon with her, for the little boy wanted to see his brother who had never left his room since the accident. Whenever he saw Bran, a huge smile appeared on his face that wouldn't leave. Freya felt like crying – and she had never been much of a crier – when she saw his expression, because she knew she'd never seen one of her own.

Theon pushed open the door to Bran's chambers, earning a growl from Summer. Theon's boots clicked against the stone floor. "We have visitors."

"I don't want to see anyone."

Old Nan sat in the corner by the hearth, knitting herself a new scarf. Freya was sure she had twenty.

Freya held up Rickon. "Not even your brother?" Bran's expression softened at the smile on his little brother's face.

"If I was cooped up all day with no one but this old bat for company, I'd go mad." Theon said, earning a jab in the gut from his sister.

Freya scoffed, turning back to Bran. "You don't have a choice. Neither of us do, actually. Your older brother is waiting."

"I don't want to go," Bran muttered.

"Neither do I. But Robb's Lord of Winterfell, which means I do what he says and you do what I say." Theon replied, causing Freya to roll her eyes at the statement. "Hodor! Help Bran down the hall."

Just then, a giant-like man, known around Winterfell as Hodor, meandered into Bran's room. "Hodor," he said towards Theon's order. The giant looked to Freya, who smiled at him.

Freya patted his back. "It's nice to see you out, Hodor. I feel as if you barely venture."

"Hodor," he grinned, lifting Bran from his bed.

•••

"I must say I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit."

Tyrion Lannister clasped his hands around each other as Ser Yoren from the Night's Watch shifted his footing. Robb Stark sat in the high chair in the Winterfell common room with Maester Luwin by his side, both looking down at Tyrion with malice in their eyes.

"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome at Winterfell." Robb replied sternly.

Tyrion furrowed his brow. "Any man of the Night's Watch, but not I. Eh, boy?"

"I'm not your boy, Lannister." Robb snarled. "I'm Lord of Winterfell while my father is away."

The large doors of the banquet room stormed open, with Hodor leading as Bran Stark clutched himself in his giant arms. Theon and Freya followed, who, on the way towards this hall, placed Rickon back in his chambers with his handmaiden for a nap.

"So it's true," Tyrion said in awe. "Hello, Bran. Do you remember anything about what happened?"

Maester Luwin ended up answering, "He has no memory of that day."

Tyrion was on the verge of responding, but Robb asked, "Why are you here?"

"Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel?" Tyrion questioned to Bran. "My neck is beginning to hurt."

"Kneel, Hodor." Bran ordered, to which he did.

Tyrion stared at the young boy with interest, causing Freya to be on-edge. "Do you like to ride, Bran?"

"Yes," Bran nodded before adding, "well, I mean, I did like to."

"The boy has lost the use of his legs," the maester explained.

Tyrion almost laughed. "What of it? With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride."

"He's not a cripple," Freya finally spoke up. Theon hesitantly slipped his arm around her own, and she guessed it was a gesture that said for her to quiet.

"Then I'm not a dwarf. My father will rejoice to hear it." He handed Bran a scroll, to which he opened. "I have a gift for you. Give that to your saddler. He'll provide the rest. You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reins and to the boy's voice."

Tyrion provided Bran with plans to craft a saddle especially for him. It was amazing how he constructed it, and this showed a lot of his character to Freya. She knew Bran appreciated the gesture, but he almost didn't quite believe in this moment. "Will I really be able to ride?" He asked.

"You will." Tyrion nodded, making Bran smile. "On horseback you will be as tall as any of them."

Robb narrowed his eyes. "Is this some kind of trick? Why do you want to help him?"

Tyrion smiled towards Bran. "I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things."

Freya was surprised to see Robb's anger fade, but his angst – per usual – still remained in his response: "You've done my brother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

"Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark." Tyrion replied, turning around to follow his Lannister guards. "There's a brothel outside your walls. There I'll find a bed and both of us can sleep easier."

Theon laughed, beginning to trail Tyrion outside. Freya yanked on his arm. "Do not instigate him, brother."

"Then do not follow, sister." He countered as he continued to walk outside the common room.

Freya followed regardless, because if she didn't, her brother would surely slip in shit – figuratively and literally. She scuffed her shoes in dirt as they walked towards the ground of Winterfell, watching Lord Tyrion receive help from his guards to get on his horse. Freya secured her fur cloak around her shoulders as her brother slipped gloves on his hands, calling out to Tyrion, "Couldn't resist some Northern ass? If you like redheads, ask for Ros."

"Can you, please, shut up," Freya scoffed, refusing to hear of her brother's visits to the brothel.

"Come to see me off, Lord and Lady Greyjoy? Kind of you." Tyrion looked off at the castle. "Your master doesn't seem to like Lannisters."

Freya held her head up. "He appreciates your gesture on the inside, Lord Tyrion." She said, hating that she had to make up for Robb's own mistake. "And he is not our master."

"No, Lady Freya, I do not deem Lord Stark as your master in the slightest. Your brother, however ..." Tyrion shrugged, causing Freya to laugh. "What happened here? Where is Lady Stark? Why didn't she receive me?"

"She wasn't feeling well," Theon smirked, and his sister shook her head. He couldn't lie for shit.

Tyrion wrinkled his nose. "She's not in Winterfell, is she? Where did she go?"

"My Lady's whereabouts –"

"My Lady?" Tyrion chuckled. "Your loyalty to your captors, Lord Theon, is touching. Tell me, how do you think Balon Greyjoy would feel if he could see his only surviving son has turned lackey?"

Freya's expression fell. Was this little lord really trying to insult her family? Now she was reminded of why her father had never been a fan of Lannisters. "We never had a choice," she sneered at Tyrion, her eyes turning deadly. "We will take back the Iron Islands someday."

"I'm sure you will, bastard." Tyrion paused for a moment. "No, wait – former bastard. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I've been treated the same as you."

Freya's blood began to boil. She grabbed the hilt of her sword, threatening to take another step forward. Tyrion's guards shifted as she exclaimed, "Listen here, Imp –" She did not have the time to finish her sentence, for her brother was pulling her back.

"I still remember seeing my father's fleet burn in Lannisport. I believe your uncles were responsible?" Tyrion sighed, not bothered by Freya's anger.

"Must have been a pretty sight," Theon smirked.

Tyrion nodded. "Nothing prettier than watching sailors burn alive. Yes, a great victory for your people. Shame how it all turned out."

"We were outnumbered ten to one," Freya scowled in his direction.

"A stupid rebellion then. I suppose your father realized that when your brothers died in battle." The Lannister frowned. "Now here you two are. Lord Theon, an enemy's squire, and Lady Freya, an ex-bastard with no hope for marriage."

The mention of Rodrik and Maron set her anger ablaze. Freya grabbed for her sword again, but was stopped by Theon's hand blocking her. "Careful, Imp," he warned. "People who threaten me or my sister don't usually live to see the next day."

The Lannister guards' eyes were on them then, their hands lowered to the hilt of their swords. No one dared to move, but Freya's own glare was locked with one of the guards, and she refused to let her anger go. She like Tyrion Lannister, but maybe now he was showing his true colors.

"I've offended you both. Forgive me, it's been a rough morning. Anyway, don't despair. I'm a constant disappointment to my own father and I've learned to live with it." Tyrion reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, throwing it Theon's way. "Your next tumble with Ros is on me. I'll try not to wear her out."

With that, Tyrion Lannister rode out of Winterfell.