Chapter Text
Ned looked grim. Even more grim than he usually did. Theon shifted uncomfortably, unsure as to why the Lord of Winterfell had requested his presence.
“I received word from your father this morning,” Ned finally said.
“Oh?” Theon replied. He didn’t much like to think about his father,
Ned cleared his throat uncomfortably, “He writes to inform us that he’s arranged for you to be married.”
“Married?” Theon wrinkled his nose, “To who?”
Ned sighed, “Ramsay Bolton.“
“Roose Bolton’s son?” Theon gasped in disbelief, “But he’s a bastard!”
“He was recently legitimized by the crown,” Ned replied, “He’s an alpha, and his father and your father are looking to solidify their ties.”
Theon stared at Ned, agape. He’d heard tales of the bastard of the Dreadfort. Everyone had. They said he skinned a prisoner every day to keep his spirits up. They said he hunted girls and whores for sport and let his dogs tear them apart once they were caught. Who knew what he would do to Theon?
“He can’t hurt you,” Ned said, as if reading Theon’s thoughts, “He needs you. You legitimize his status as a high born. This marriage will be the only thing that keeps him from returning to a bastard in his father’s eyes.”
Theon nodded and tried not to look as scared as he felt.
—
“What’s with you?” Jon asked him, “You haven’t made fun of me once today.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Theon asked dryly, “I’m to be a married man soon. My father sent a raven this morning.”
“What?” Jon asked, “To who?”
Theon swallowed, “To-“
“RAMSAY SNOW?!” A voice screamed. It was Robb running up to him and Jon, eyes wide and frenzied.
“BALON GREYJOY’S MARRYING YOU OFF TO RAMSAY FUCKING SNOW?!” Robb yelled.
“Calm down, Robb. There’s no need to yell. We’re right here,” Theon said, trying to keep his voice casual, “And I suppose it’s Ramsay Bolton now.”
“No way,” Robb shook his head, “I’m not letting them marry my best friend to that monster. My father can’t let this happen.”
“Your father doesn’t have a say in it,” Theon replied.
“I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Jon added.
“HE SKINS PEOPLE, JON,” Robb shrieked, “HE’S GONNA SKIN THEON AND MAKE A CAPE OUT OF HIS SKIN.”
“Fuck, keep your voice down,” Jon replied, “Those are all rumors, anyhow. I’m sure there’s no merit to them. People say what they will about bastards.”
“Besides,” he continued, turning towards Theon, “He can’t hurt you. You’re well above his status. He’s a bastard, only recently legitimized, of a house that fights for the title of second most dominant house in the north alongside the Umbers and the Karstarks. You’re Balon Greyjoy’s last living son and only omega, and the Greyjoys are one of the nine great houses. Ramsay needs you.”
“He only needs the parts that make babies,” Robb grumbled.
“You’re not helping!” Jon slapped Robb on the arm.
“We have to assume the worst here! I don’t want my best friend to get eaten by dogs!”
“You’re going to scare him! At least try and be optimistic!”
“Optimistic? That’s rich coming from you, Snow.”
“Oh, come on-“
Theon tuned out their bickering.
He only needs the parts that make babies.
He suppressed a shiver.
—
“I hear we’re both being married off to monsters,” Sansa said to him later at dinner.
“You’re not that mad about marrying Joffrey, and you know it,” Theon replied, “You get to be queen someday, and your girlfriend’s down in the south. If you disliked the idea, you’d have had your father break off the engagement.”
“He’s still a beast,” Sansa shrugged, “But beasts can be tamed.”
“You’ll be too busy sticking your face up Margaery Tyrell’s cunt to do much taming,” Theon snorted.
Sansa blushed furiously and smacked him on the shoulder.
“All I’m saying,” she said, face still reddened, “Is that I think you can handle this. You get every girl you meet tripping all over themselves to be with you. How’s Ramsay Bolton any different?”
“Ramsay Bolton’s not a girl,” Theon responded, taking a sip of his wine.
“No,” Sansa said, “He’s an alpha. They think with their pricks and nothing more. And so do you! If anyone can get a handle on Ramsay, it’s you.”
Ignoring the obvious insult, Theon rolled his eyes, “If you say so.”
—
They rode down to the Dreadfort two days later. Balon and Roose were quite eager to get this all squared away. Theon supposed Roose wanted this done before Balon could change his mind about giving his son away to Roose’s beast of a bastard. The thought made Theon snort. Balon Greyjoy could care less who his son married as long as he was a lord whose castle resided far far away from the Iron Islands.
“I heard he’s seven feet tall and has blood red eyes,” Arya whispered as they rode.
“Arya,” Jon sighed.
“I heard he wears clothes made out of people’s skin and drinks their blood,” Rickon chimed in.
“Stop it,” Jon said, “He’s going to be Theon’s husband. Be nice.”
Catelyn had stayed behind, but all of the Stark children had insisted on coming with Theon and Ned. Theon kind of wished they hadn’t. He didn’t want them to see him getting married. He still broiled in shame over his omega nature. His brothers and his sister were all strong, proud alphas, and he was the only omega in the family. He was a good hunter and excellent with a bow and arrow. He fucked girls regularly and did all the things his father would expect of a good alpha son. He didn’t want to be an omega. He’d never been with a man, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be some lord’s silent lady, obeying his husband’s every order and pulling down his britches at his command.
“It’s alright,” Theon said casually, “I’m just annoyed I might have to be a little more discreet with the girls I’ll have as I will have a husband. But I’m sure the Dreadfort has some lovely wenches, and I think I’ve gone through just about all of them at Winterfell.”
Robb snorted. Jon looked at him sadly. Jon could always tell what he was thinking. Jon could tell what everyone was thinking. He looked away. He didn’t want Jon’s pity.
As it turned out, Ramsay Bolton was not a seven-foot-tall giant with red eyes and a cape made of human skin. He was about the same height as Theon actually. He was a fair amount broader, but Theon was lanky and thin, and Ramsay wasn’t any bigger than Jon. He had short hair, and features that reminded Theon of an elf. He wasn’t bad looking by any standards, honestly, a fact that Theon took a little bit of superficial relief in. At least he would have a handsome husband. Appearances could be kept up.
“My lord,” Theon bowed, trying to keep his voice steady, “A pleasure to meet you.”
“My lady,” Ramsay smiled at him, “The pleasure is mine.” His voice was pleasant, and he bent down to kiss Theon’s hand, but his eyes were dark and cold, hiding unknown depths. Theon shivered.
“Theon, I’m afraid your father couldn’t make it to greet you today, but he will be arriving tomorrow,” Roose said to him. Theon smiled and nodded. He didn’t mind. He didn’t think he could handle his father and the Boltons in one day.
Roose turned to Ned, “Lord Stark. Let me show you and your children to your chambers.”
Ramsay smiled at Theon again, the smile of a predator.
“Come, my lady,” he said, “Let me show you around your new home.”
He offered his arm. Theon took it and forced a smile back, shoving his dread deep down inside of him as they walked inside the castle.