CHAPTER 23 | GODS HELP YOU

THE Northern lords had a feast outside, and cheers erupted from all of their mouths from the grog they chugged. Robb and Freya arrived in his tent together, and as soon as they were engulfed in it's warmth, Robb began to shed off his cloak. Freya held hers around herself tighter.

Robb then turned, the candle light reflecting shades of yellow on his features. "What's wrong?"

Freya's crazed eyes shifted left and right before resting on her now-husband. (Gods, did she feel the puke crawling up her throat?) Her feet didn't move from their spot. "I'm not fucking you," she said, quite bluntly.

Robb laughed softly as he tugged off his boots. "I never asked you to."

Her eyes went wide. Was this – was Robb Stark being nice to her? He had been for the last couple of weeks, but in this moment, Freya truly saw how he didn't even dare to pressure her. She slowly took off her cloak, watching him tear off another layer, leaving him in only his pants and linen shirt. Freya looked down at his bed, which was a level up to her cot. "Are we ..." Their eyes met then. "Are we sleeping in the same bed?"

"I suppose we shall," he muttered. "You don't have to, but my tent is now ours. We share it, as husband and wife."

Freya put up a hand. "Don't say that."

She began to try to relieve herself from the dress that consumed her. Selene had ended up leaving a night gown for her in Robb's tent, and Freya couldn't help but sigh at the gesture. She played with the ties in the back, but found that she could not reach them. "Let me," he said, walking up to her back and undoing the ties of her gown. He pulled through each of the laces, and Freya could feel his breath on her back. She closed her eyes, feeling her mouth wobble.

"You're not used to this, are you?" Robb asked, shedding the dress from her torso. "You know, being around men."

"I've been around men my whole life, Stark." She sneered, stepping out of the dress in all her bareness. She pulled her nightgown over her head, but when she opened her eyes, she noticed Robb had helped her put it on. "I've been naked in front of men too. It's not that I'm not used to this."

Robb watched her pick the dress from the ground and begin to fold it. "Then what is it?" He persisted. "You've never been ... deflowered?"

Freya only glared at him.

"Gods, Greyjoy, you're older than me!" He didn't want to laugh, but he was sure that his exclamation came out that way. "And you've never been with a man? Never had one proposal?"

She sighed, and though she knew his tone came out mockingly, she guessed he didn't mean it. "I've had proposals galore since I'd been born." Freya laid her gown on a hassock and turned to Robb, who sat on his mattress. "When I was young, I used to sing outside my windows of Pyke. They said my voice was lovely, and it would entrance sailors, who would ask for my hand once I came of age and was legitimized. They all called me a siren. But neither I, nor my father, accepted any proposal."

"Why?" Robb furrowed his brow. "You could be a Princess right now of some large castle, dedicated to some large house."

"I didn't want that," she shrugged. "I didn't want to become a Queen either, and yet here we are."

Robb frowned as Freya began to approach the bed. Her night gown hung loose on her shoulders, making a huge difference from the gown she had been wearing just an hour ago. He stood, blowing out a few candles that littered the tent, before slipping underneath the covers of his bed. Freya pulled the blankets over herself, feeling the cold space in between their two bodies. They both had their backs turned to each other, and she realized that this definitely wasn't the wedding night that Robb had probably dreamed of.

"Robb?" She called.

"You didn't call me Stark." He chuckled. "Yes?"

Freya clutched the pillow that her head laid on. "What are you going to tell your men about this night tomorrow?"

"Nothing."

She then spun around in the bed to look at him, noticing he was doing the same for her. Even in the darkness, his Tully blue eyes shown. "I respect you, Freya. Maybe more now then I ever had. I know this was exactly what you didn't want, but you did it anyways for the victory of war. I respect you, as a co-leader and a Queen."

Freya nodded slowly, turning around in her spot. She stared at the candle on her side for a long while, until she eventually fell asleep.

•••

Theon had officially taken over Winterfell. He made all the commoners gather in the village square, just to hear that Lord Bran Stark had yielded the castle to him. Finally, this was Theon's moment of glory. He smiled proudly towards his crowd of subjects, if only his sister could see him now. No, not Yara. His real sister, his partner – Freya. But alas, she was still playing hostage in Robb's army, and here was Theon, conquering castles and the like. Even Selene was back there with her, and though he felt bad that his promise had faltered, he knew this was what he wanted over women.

He heard his name being called as the doors to Winterfell opened. In walked two of his soldiers, along with Rodrik Cassel, who was dragged by their sides. They had apparently caught him on the way back from Torrhen's Square, meaning that he had left Lady Stark's side. Dried blood ran down his face as it twisted in torment.

Theon approached the man, cocking his head to the side. "Ser Rodrik, it grieves me that we meet as foes."

Rodrik's face had a frown that would never leave. "It grieves me you've less honor than a back alley whore." He replied, his voice full of hostility. "You were raised here under this roof. These people are your people."

"They are not my people!"

Rodrik exclaimed, "King Robb thought of you as a brother!"

"My brothers are dead." Theon spat. "They died fighting Stark men. Men like you."

"Aye, they died fighting in a war your father started." Rodrik countered, struggling against the men that bound him. "Lord Stark raised both you and your sister among his own children."

Theon poked his chest roughly. "Among them, but not one of them." His face grew red with anger as rain poured down on their heads. "We were hostages taken from our own home. I'm surprised my sister is still there, fighting beside them as if she's equal."

"You both were equal! Can't you see, you greedy Lord!" Rodrik shouted. "If Lord Stark were alive to see this –"

"He's not. He's dead." Theon released a scoff. "The Seven Kingdoms are at war, and Winterfell is mine."

Rodrik pulled himself closer to Theon's face, growling, "I should have put a sword in your belly, instead of in your hand."

"You served this house faithfully, old man." The younger lord nodded. "But keep talking and I'll –"

Rodrik interrupted by suddenly spitting in his face. One of the Greyjoy men hit the back of Rodrik's head, pushing him to the ground. Mud became tangled in his hair as they lifted his head up. Theon screamed. "Take him to the cells! Lock him up –"

"My prince!" Dagmer, Theon's partner, exclaimed. "You cannot let this stand. He must pay."

Theon glanced to Dagmer. "I'll lock him in a cell until he rots!"

"No," Dagmer argued, "he has to pay the iron price. They'll never respect you while he lives."

Theon slowly glanced down at Rodrik, before then casting his eyes to little Bran and Rickon. Theon nodded his head at his partner's words. "Ser Rodrik," he shouted, "I sentence you to death!"

"NO!" Bran bellowed as his brother began to cry. The crowd of commoners erupted in screams. "You said no harm would come to them if I yielded!"

Rickon rubbed at his eyes, sobbing into them more than he should. Osha cradled him in her arms tightly. "Freya wouldn't have let this happen!" He cried loudly, and this sparked Theon's attention. He dare they mention his sister in that manner.

"The old man couldn't keep his mouth shut!" Theon reprimanded.

Maester Luwin appeared at Theon's side, advising him softly, "I urge you not to make a hasty decision."

"He disrespected me in front of my men." Theon debated in an angry tone. "That was his decision, not mine! And the boys mentioned my sister, who is still a hostage to the Starks!"

"He is worth more to you alive than dead. Your sister is not a hostage." Luwin replied, in a much more calming voice. "Please, Theon, think what you do."

Theon exhaled slowly before glancing at Dagmer. "You'll address me as Prince Theon, or you'll be next."

Maester Luwin's hand fell from his shoulder as Dagmer shouted, "Come!" The guards dragged Rodrik over to a wooden pike. They laid his head down on it as the Stark boys pled for mercy. Dagmer pulled out his sword to kill him.

"He who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Rodrik repeated Ned Stark's famous words as he stared at Theon. "Coward."

Theon then pulled his sword from it's sheath. He stalked closer to his head.

"STOP! STOP RIGHT NOW!" Bran yelled from the top of his lungs. "WE SHALL TELL ROBB! WE SHALL TELL YOUR SISTER!"

Theon's face twisted. "You don't give commands anymore, little Lord."

"Hush now, child," Rodrik smiled to Bran, despite his circumstances. "I'm off to see your father."

Theon readied his sword above Rodrik's head. The shouts from the commoners grew louder in his ears, but Theon did not have an ounce of regret. "Any last words, old man?"

"King Robb and Queen Freya will be incredibly disappointed in you," Rodrik muttered, causing Theon's face to fall. "Gods help you, Theon Greyjoy. Now you are truly lost."

The sword was swung. Blood was shed. Soon enough, Rodrik Cassel's head flew to the muddy ground of Winterfell.

•••

A/N: Forgot to mention it in the last chapter but I have a Jaime Lannister fic out now!!!!