Chapter Text
It still felt like a dream. And didn’t feel any less like a dream when the carriage pulled around to reveal the Winter Palace—an enormous white tree, as thick around and as tall as a tower. Its branches alone were larger than the house Theon’s family had owned in Ramsgate. Lights from a multitude of windows showed the tree was alive from the inside.
Robb helped him down from the carriage, just as a light snow began to fall, bringing with it a rain of red leaves from the branches. Theon shivered, and Robb drew him in close, throwing a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders. “We will get you something warmer to wear,” the Winter Prince of the Seelie said, referring to the old burlap sack. “But first, we must introduce you to my parents.”
He trailed off, not quite able to disguise the uncertainty on his face. He looked back towards the carriage, where Sansa and Jon were exiting after them. Sansa had a similar grim expression on her face, and Jon…well, it was difficult to say, because he was always grim.
“I’m sure they will love you,” Robb concluded.
Theon gripped the cloak tightly, wishing he could disappear into it.
Robb gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “You don’t need to worry,” he said. “You’re under my protection now.”
“Our protection,” Sansa amended as she and Jon joined them.
Together, they made their way up the shallow steps to the grand entrance. The doors parted before them, as if by fairy magic. Within, the great tree had been hollowed out, leaving an intimidating hall for them to enter into. Their footsteps echoed off the solidly wooden floors—wood, Theon realized, left from the tree’s original trunk. Floating chandeliers illuminated every line in its grain. A twin set of helix staircases wound upwards to either side of them, and striding down those stairs, with the click of high-heeled shoes on wooden steps, appeared the fae couple he had seen at the Queen’s ball.
The woman had Robb’s red hair and wore a dress of fish scales. She appeared largely human, save for the faint lines on either side of her straight nose. Given that she was a river fairy, Theon supposed they might be gills. The man wore all black and carried his head in the crook of his arm. Dark smoke billowed from the stump of his neck. Theon recognized him as a Dullahan from his mother’s many stories about the fae, remembering that they rode humans down on deserted roads and lopped off their heads.
Neither one of them was smiling.
With Robb standing rigidly on one side of him and Sansa on the other, he felt as if he were under guard. Like royalty. Or a prisoner.
“Theon,” Robb said, with a slight incline of his head, “may I introduce Duke Eddard Stark and Duchess Catelyn Tully of the Seelie Court.”
Theon bowed, trying not to think of how Queen Cersei had sneered at his curtsey.
“Mother, Father.” Robb took a deep breath. “This is Theon Greyjoy.”
“The man who saved me from the mortals,” Sansa added.
“Saved you from the mortals?” the duchess said. She leaned in close; the tiny gills on her nose flared. “He is a mortal.”
The duke held his head aloft, moving it up and down to study Theon. “He smells of mortal rot.”
“He’s been mistreated,” Sansa said, “just as I was mistreated at the hands of the mortals.”
“I suppose that would explain his bedraggled appearance,” the duke noted, and Theon shrank in on himself, more than ever aware of his state of undress.
“He seeks asylum here at the Winter Palace,” Robb said.
“Absolutely not,” the duchess answered huffily.
“We are not in the business of taking in stray mortals,” the duke agreed.
Jon stepped forward and put a sincere hand to his chest. “Please, Duke, Duchess. I grew up with this man. I can vouch for his character.”
What character? Theon thought. The petulant brat who swatted away your every attempt to befriend him? He bit the inside of his cheek. For whatever reason, Jon wanted to help him. He shouldn’t question it.
“Of course you would vouch for him,” the duchess said. “You are a mortal sympathizer.”
“Mother, you forget yourself,” Robb said. “You are speaking to your Crown Prince.”
The duchess drew her lips into a tight line. “Begging pardon, Your Highness, but you do not know our family’s history with mortals.”
“Theon has helped our family,” Robb said. “Now he needs our help.”
“He saved my life,” Sansa said, her voice suddenly sharp enough to cut through the air. “Or perhaps you’ve forgotten. After all, you don’t have to see this every time you look in that precious mirror of yours.” She pulled the collar of her dress down enough to expose the ring of charred flesh around her throat. She still bore the marks from Baelish’s shackles.
The duchess quite visibly flinched.
Theon realized that he needed to speak on his own behalf. It took all of his will power to lift his head and meet their gazes. “Duke, Duchess,” he began.
Their glowing eyes bored into him, more curious than scrutinizing. No one reprimanded him for overstepping his bounds, though, so he continued.
“If I had never helped you daughter, I would likely never have met the man who held me prisoner for twenty mortal years, the same man who…” His voice broke, and he had to close his eyes. He didn’t wish them to know how Ramsay had debased him, how he had debased himself before Ramsay. “That being said, I do not regret helping her. And I would gladly do it again, even knowing…”
He trailed off and opened his eyes to see the two of them studying him with quizzical expressions. A moment of confused silence passed, in which nobody seemed to breathe. Granted, some of those present didn’t need to breathe.
At last, the duchess’s gills flared again and she turned her unnerving gaze back to Robb. “Get him situated for the time being, but keep him out of my sight until I’ve had proper time to deliberate.” And she gathered up her skirts and skittered off like an angry crab.
The duke turned his head—using his hands—towards Theon. “She likes you.”
“She does?”
He shrugged his shoulders, which looked odd with no head attached. “If she didn’t, you’d be dead now.”
Theon smiled nervously, unsure if that was a joke or not.
“Well, the wife has spoken,” the duke announced. “You’re welcome to stay at the Winter Palace.” His face grew grim for a moment, and Theon saw a distinct resemblance to Jon there—not surprising, since the duke was his uncle. “But if I catch you up to any mischief, I’ll have your spine for my new whip. Understood?”
Theon nodded quickly. “Understood.”
The duke laughed. “Only joking, of course. Welcome, and make yourself at home.” With a bow, he followed after his wife.
Theon nearly jumped when Robb clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Father has a terrible sense of humor.”
“Speaking of which…” Sansa gathered herself and clipped after her parents. “I will have to inform the palace of your presence and that you are to remain unharmed,” she stated, “including any manner of prank and trick. There are leprechauns about, after all.”
“And I…” Jon scratched at the back of his head. “I suppose I will inform Queen Danaerys that the matter with the mortal at her ball has been dealt with.” He turned to go.
“You’re leaving?” Theon felt a distinct spike of panic.
Jon turned back, a look of surprise on his face. “I’ll be back.”
“He lives here more than at the Queen’s palace,” Robb said. “Shall I show you to your room? You must be very tired.”
Theon nodded.
Robb steered Theon towards one of the staircases with a gentle hand on his elbow. It was a long climb, but despite the weariness in his bones and the ache in his bandaged foot, he found it no great effort. By the time they reached the top, Theon thought for certain they must be among the branches. The hallway was round, the grain smooth where it had been carved out of the tree. The path was wide and bright and smelled of oak. Much different than the Dreafort, he mused.
They reached an ornately engraved door that also looked to have been carved from the tree’s wood. “This will be your room,” Robb said and pushed the door open.
Within lay a lavish room, all the furniture carved out of the walls themselves from the same white wood. Scenes of fairies and wild animals engaged in combat graced the walls, chiseled with skilled hands. The bed was piled high with furs, and a fire raged in the fireplace—Theon hoped the purple flames meant it was enchanted and not in danger of setting everything in this room ablaze.
Someone had left the wardrobe doors open, and Theon spied an array of fine clothing hanging there. “Please pick something that suits you,” Robb said, noticing his gaze. “Everything in this room is for your use.”
Theon took a few tentative steps forward. He felt a great…something growing in his chest, but he couldn’t name it. Mostly he felt overwhelmed.
“I hope you will be comfortable here,” Robb said.
“I’m sure I will,” he responded numbly.
“Are you hungry? I can have something brought up for you.”
Theon didn’t know how to respond. Such a simple question, and yet the answer terrified him.
“Nothing enchanted, of course,” Robb added hurriedly. “Perhaps some bread and a warm soup?”
“Yes.” That sounded nice. “Please.”
“I’ll have someone bring it up.”
“Thank you,” Theon murmured.
He swallowed around the dryness in his throat. His eyes met Robb’s, and for a moment, time stood still. The air between them crackled with a something that, again, Theon could not name. He watched, almost as if in slow motion, as Robb leaned in, and was certain he meant to close the distance between them, to take him in his arms and kiss him. Theon’s pulse pounded in the hollow of his throat as he waited.
But then Robb merely bowed at the waist. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”
“I will,” Theon agreed absently, but Robb was already heading from the room, almost as if he were in a hurry to leave.