Theon Greyjoy X Fem!Reader

Fate

Theon Greyjoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Robert’s rebellion and the extinction of the Targaryen house, House Stark decides it shall take part in one of its oldest traditions in which, on the eighteenth name day of the the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, a tournament shall be hell for her hand. Noble men from all corners of the seven kingdoms travel to Winterfell to compete, including your childhood friend Theon Greyjoy. However, anyone who believes that you are to let yourself be married off without a fight is in for a rude awakening. Loosely based off of the Disney animated movie ‘Brave.’

Warnings: Smut, MDNI (18+)

Part One

Word Count: 1,461

“In accordance with one of the eldest traditions of House Stark, from the days of its sovereignty over the North of Westeros, on the eighteenth nameday of the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, a tournament shall be held. Any heir of nobility, affluence, and honor set to inherit their lord father’s seat is permitted to compete in the event for the daughter of Winterfell’s hand, of which shall be determined by she.”

The words of your father echoing out through the great hall made your heart drop into your stomach. In air in your chest escaped you, a tight pain replacing it, squeezing at your throat. Your lips parted as your law slacked in astonishment, eyes wide as all of the rest in the hall turned to you.

You wanted to scream, cry, argue, anything, but you found your tongue dry and your throat unable to utter a word. Your older brother, Robb, however, spoke for you.

“You cannot be serious, father? You wish to marry her to a random stranger!” He argued, shaking his head.

Sansa smiled at you, attempting to calm your nerves. “I find it terribly romantic,” she spoke.

“Then you do it!” You yelled out at her, finally finding your words. If you were able to think straight, you may feel guilty for yelling at your younger sister who was only trying to lighten your suddenly dark mood. You turned to your father, glaring and squeezing your fists. “I am not a prize to be won! I am the eldest daughter of Winterfell and I wish to choose who I marry.”

Eddard Stark looked at his daughter a bit solemnly, feeling a tad bit of guilt for allowing Catelyn to talk him into adhering to this ancient Northern tradition. It had not been utilized for decades, so he did not know why they needed to start it again now.

Except, deep down, he did. The North had given many men and resources to the rebellion that Eddard had decided to back. The rebellion had divided the seven kingdoms. Eddard knew that this competition would not only bring the noble houses together, but it would promote trade and investments in the North and House Stark.

Eddard didn’t want to use his daughter as a pawn, but he thought this could also be an opportunity for her. You had always loved Winterfell and the North, but you wanted to explore and see the rest of the seven kingdoms. You wanted to fall in love and live somewhere new, have a life of your own separate from your family and the North. This competition was the best way to explore all of your options.

“You will choose the tournament in which the men compete,” Eddard spoke, hoping that it would satisfy his daughter even if only the tiniest bit. He was very wrong, however, as your face grew more red.

“You wish for me to sit obediently and choose a game for stubborn, stupid men to play? A game that will determine the course of the rest of my life?” You yelled at him, even shocking your mother with your blind rage. You let out a huff, calming yourself to a light seething. “I will find a way out of this,” you promised, stomping out of the great hall.

You raced to the stables, grabbing hold of your bow and quiver that you had stashed outside of your horse’s stall from the day before. You saddled your stallion as quickly as you could, muttering angrily to yourself as you went. You then mounted the beast, patting his side with urgency to let him know you needed him to run as fast as he could, the two of you racing into the forests of Winterfell. You knocked an arrow on your bow, drawing back the string and aiming at your first target.

Theon treaded quietly through the tall grass, his fingertips brushing the green weeds. You knew it was him coming up behind you without even turning. He was, in fact, the only person that knew of this spot. Your little clearing at the edge of the woods that looked out over a meadow which expanded for miles.

It had been only your spot for a long time, until one day you had been so upset that you had stayed there for a full day, sunrise to sunset. Your family had been so worried that they all went looking for you themselves. Theon had found you first, following your archery targets that trailed through the forest on its trees.

“I won’t do it, Theon,” you spoke, biting back the new round of tears that threatened to spill. You had just managed to stop crying. “I won’t let some pompous, shrewd, half wit marry me. I will find a way out of this.”

Theon sat down beside you in the grass, letting out all of his worries and stress out in a long breath as you leaned your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and leaving a soft kiss on the top of your head.

Your relationship with Theon had always been a complicated one, from the moment he was brought home as a ward-slash-prisoner by your father. You had never treated him as anything less than family, though, which created a very close and unbreakable bond between the two of you.

Sometimes you would fantasize about your father and mother marrying you off to him, becoming the Princess of Pyke and living on the sea. However, your mother made it very clear that Theon would not be marrying any Stark daughter. Catelyn barely tolerated him being your friend, she would die if she found out there was a hidden romance.

You knew that she had nothing to be worried about, though. Theon Greyjoy would never see you as anything other than a slightly younger sister. And you would never see him as anything more than a slightly older brother-slash-hostage, of a sort. Or so Theon told himself.

“Who knows, princess, you could meet the love of your life through this tournament,” he spoke, his voice sounding more sad than he meant it too. You did not notice, though. “All of the young, noble men of the seven kingdoms competing for your hand could bring you a bit of fun.”

You scrunched up your nose, looking at him. He hated how adorable he found your expression. You shook your head, pressing your cheek to his arm and staring up at him with wide eyes, lashes fluttering sweetly. He would die for you if you demanded it while looking at him like that.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” you spoke.

“I know-” he smirked amusingly before leaning in to you closer, lowering his voice. “-princess.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing off of him with a scoff. Allowing your shoulders to rest against one another’s comfortably as you fiddled with the long grass.

A calm moment of silence passed between you two, the breeze dancing through grass, kicking up the sweet smell of spring Earth that you loved about the North so much. The South smelled much too floral for your liking. The North smelled like the real outdoors, the land you loved so much.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” you spoke sadly, staring at your hands as they fiddled with a stem, frowning.

Theon looked over at you, watching as the wind blew around the wisps of hair that had escaped your messy braid, making you look exactly how you were always meant to: wild and free. He admired it, admired you.

“Me too,” he breathed out. “That place doesn’t really feel like my home anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” you frowned even more, feeling guilty for ripping this boy away from his home and his family, a thing in which of course had no hand. “Pyke will always be your home.”

Theon shook his head, picking a flower from nearby and tucking it behind your ear, smiling as you turned to look at him. “My home is right here,” he spoke, so softly that you wondered if you had imagined it.

Your breath caught in your chest and, for a moment, you could have sworn that Theon looked down at your lips.

“I will be back with you in a fortnight,” his voice seemingly cementing the statement in stone. “I promise, princess.”

Theon Greyjoy left for his home of the Iron Isles the next day. A fortnight passed and you waited at the gates for him, but he did not come. You waited each day for a week, asking your father about when he would return. However, you were met with silence every time.

Part two coming soon!!