Two months had passed since your marriage to Robb Stark. Winter was coming, and your father needed an alliance with the North – and what better way than to marry his eldest daughter to the Young Wolf?
Following the Greyjoy rebellion instigated by your father, you, y/n Greyjoy, were taken hostage to Winterfell alongside your brother, Theon. You grew up as outsiders, a mere reminder of the rebellion. Born of iron and nothing more. But to the Starks, you were the best; they were like your brothers, and you would have protected them with your life, even though they always reminded you that you weren’t a Stark. Even so, to Robb Stark, you always belonged; you were his partner in all his escapades – you trained together, you studied together. And there, something more than friendship grew, more than brotherhood. Something that no one else could understand.
You’d dance with several men in a single night, longing to rest, to disappear, and to be the same invisible girl you used to be. And of course, there was Tyrion too. Lately, he’d been keeping to himself, getting drunk on wine at the balls and leaving early.
Theon crouched down in front of Rickon, handing him the black one. Then he turned to you, giving you the last one—identical to Robb’s. “Your wolf bit me the entire way here, Stark” Theon said in arrogant tone, though in his eyes you could see something else.