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She’d been given every assurance, watched them swear allegiance under the eyes of both the old gods and the new, but despite it all, even the ten years he’d been their foster, Catelyn Stark could not shake the dark feeling in her gut. Her son Robb had ignored her counsel, finding the suggestion absurd and he often tried to distance himself from her nowadays now that he must act the part of lord and king instead of her son. Yes Theon Greyjoy had fought for them. Yes he had saved Bran from a wildling attack and was like a brother to Robb, the two newar inseparable for the better part of a decade, but he was still a Greyjoy and a kraken’s tentacles were not known to let go easily.

A part of her wanted Robb to be right, that the treaty would work and Theon’s father, Balon, would send his fleet to blindside the Lannisters at Casterly Rock, but Cat had grown doubtful most plans of late, especially ones filled with nothing but blind trust and words. Perhaps she was letting the nasty business with her sister color her thoughts again, but every second she knew brought him closer to the shores of Pyke and Robb didn’t know Balon Greyjoy.

He had never forgiven the Starks for their part in putting an end to his rebellion, and the lives of his two oldest sons as well. And the people of the Iron Islands rarely forgot a slight. There was little to do there but pray for a few crops to grow on the stony soil and nurse their grievances at night with their cups. Seven hells, how could her son be such a genius in battle yet a naive fool in politics?

“It’s his father, from Ned.” She had loved him, believing his honor would shield him and her daughters from danger, but all she’d done was send him to an early grave and her daughters to the clutches of the Lannisters. Her gods had offered little enough to help him, but they had never been his gods and she knew they were not Robb’s either, the boy more comfortable in the godwood than a sept, in the company of the great weirwood of Winterfell. She beseeched those gods now.

For hours she knelt, praying for his safety, for Greyjoy not to betray them, for their victory in the coming battles. “If not for me then for Ned” she begged, feeling half a fool as her knees eventually bloodied from the pebbled stones in the godswood, the scars on her hand throbbing. A thin trickle of blood snaked its way down the loamy earth, flowing into a white root. Giving one last final cry to the gods, Cat waited, as if the terrible red face carved into the white bark of the weirwood would answer her.

For a moment there was an unnatural silence, the wind stilled as the blood rivulet was absorbed into the roots, the tree drinking freely of the small gift before a sudden gust sent the whole forest shivering, the ancient branches of the weirwood erupting in dance. A single red leaf fell, the hand shaped leaf gliding down to rest in line with her bent forehead. Cat contemplated the leaf for a spell before another gust sent a shiver through her. She took it as a sign to leave and slowly dragged herself off the ground, her legs weak and numb while she leaned against a nearby sentinel, waiting for the feeling to return to them.

It was out of her hands now. All she could do was pray that the gods had heard her and would protect Tess from her father. At least they hadn’t used the Frey ship offered. Lord Frey had only given up on Robb marrying his daughter when she’d mentioned his betrothal to Greyjoy and while he’d reluctantly accepted Edmure and Arya to be wed, she doubted he’d be all that upset if her son was freed up by a sudden accident at sea. How Balon would react to his daughter’s love for a Stark was already treacherous enough but she-

Catelyn paused for a second, something queer about the last few thoughts that nagged at the corners of her mind. She almost found it too, the image of a handsome youth with a teasing grin like he knew something you didn’t coming to the front, his face framed with a crop of black hair and his body bedecked in a black doublet with a golden kraken, but who was he? She’d swear it was one of Tess’s brothers, yet she’d been raising Robb in Winterfell when Robert and Ned had stormed the islands and had never even seen them from afar. The person bothered her, yet every time she thought of him something seemed off, his chest fuller, hair longer, face softer. Eventually the madness left her and all she could see was the arrogant beauty that had been their foster for ten years.

She must be getting tired if she was starting to confuse her future daughter-in-law with someone else, but she’d been run down by her worries and the war. Perhaps a few hours of rest would do her some good, though she’d ask the maesters to draft her a potion for dreamless sleep, her nights now filled with nightmares of Ned, Arya and Sansa. As she left the godwood a great gust ran through the forest once more, the limbs of the heart tree rattling until a sliver of bark was spirited away, flying amongst the wind as the gust ran East, towards the shore where it’d turn into a bellow, then a squall, the sliver of weirwood hurtling towards a ship many leagues away still, but growing closer by the second.

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It’d been years since he’d been on a proper ship, but the rolling of the deck, the taste of salt that coated his tongue every time he smiled, it felt like home to Theon. True, it was hardly a real ship, closer to a skiff  with extra storage than the longships and war flotillas he longed for, yet he enjoyed how it made the strength of the ocean come through all the better. It was a rough day, whitecaps frothing around the trading gallery like some rabid animal, yet the choppy waters and great bellows from the East meant he would reach the shores of Harlaw, Old Wyk and Pyke sooner. He wondered what kind of reception awaited him upon his return, the thought of the people gathering around to see their lord’s heir return exciting him, yet not half as much as the coiled letter he had stamped and resting in his doublet’s inner pocket.

He would be king. Sure he’d have to suffer through however long his lord father remained as regent, but this letter would ally their houses together and the Greyjoys would once again be free to reave and spread their empire along southern shores. And for once he’d truly be respected. Aye he had always been a welcome member of the stark household, but he had also always been a hostage, the last surviving son who had been picked up and brought back to ensure his father wouldn’t attempt another rebellion. Robb had always been a true friend, and it was not as if the other people around him were unkind. He’d whored and hunted and drank till he was well in his cups with most of them, even taken a few of the common girls’s maidenheads, but there was always that distance that snuck in between the drinks and laughter; the unease of a traitor’s brood being amongst them. Well there would be no more doubts after he led the sortie against Casterly Rock and he’d be richer than all the other kingdom’s combined.

The setting sun brought back his smirk, the large red disk slowly sinking beneath the waves on the horizon, like the sun itself was being pulled into the domain of the Drowned God. Soon the light would die out and when it rose back up tomorrow it’d be his sun, the dawn of a new era. And what is dead may never die. The old prayer came back to him then, and he laughed at how fitting it was, but the Drowned God had lost its appeal over the years, though he’d be wise to keep his disdain well hidden amongst the superstitious lot of his home. His victories would be his own and the gods could look for their credit from other me-

It was a sudden squall, a hearty wind driving the seafoam up and onto the deck, the drops glistening against the setting sun like falling rubies. Theon gripped the guardrail tightly as the wind gusted around him, crew members calling out orders around him as they struggled to keep the sail from tearing in the midst of the gust’s claws, others cursing as they stumbled against it. He thought of Grey Wind as the monstrous current seemed to howl endlessly, his grip tightening until he felt a sharp prick against his fingers, cursing as a splinter lodged itself into the ring finger of his left hand. Cursing he let go of the rail, a brief spasm of panic fading with the wind as the sailors let out a relieved sigh, the momentary mayhem passed.

Once they had gone back to work, Theon waited a few more seconds, not wanting anyone to notice as he carefully inspected his hand. Splinters were a common enough occurence on most ships, but if he were to lead his own fleet he would have to avoid any behavior that’d betray nervousness or give rise to any claims of a ship rejecting his standing as captain. He quickly pried it out, a small bead of blood following it as he inspected the sliver before discarding it.

It was odd in a few ways. The wood was white and didn’t have the normal water logged tempering most ship planks would get after a few voyages. Furthermore the color made no sense, the planks of the ship the usual trunk brown and mossy green and the painted hull of the trading ship a vibrant blue with gold lettering and black trim. But it was still just wood. The mystique was only enough to act as a passing fancy, and once it had fully passed Theon flicked it overboard, not even bothering to watch it fly off. He flexed his fingers, the area where he’d been pricked throbbing every few seconds, but he doubted it was serious. He scratched at his chin as the last of the sun sunk down and the reds and yellows of the sky began to gain purple tints to them, and as the sun sank so too did his stubble, the itch he had felt not residing until his cheeks and chin were as smooth as a eunech’s.

He stood there watching the waves until the captain fetched him for dinner, showing him as much courtesy as he could, though Theon knew he probably despised him after he’d deflowered his daughter and taken her again and again every night, though it wasn’t his fault she couldn’t keep her mouth shut whenever she had him in her. He swaggered down to the mess hall as only a prince can, idly scratching at his hands and wrists, occasionally elsewhere as the decent coating of hair along his arms chest and legs thinned. By the time the first course, a cold leek soup filled with Dornish vegetables around sawed chunks of Myrish bread, was served a thin pool of shed hair had rained down on the boards below with a few of the wiry black hairs finding refuge in the lining of his boots, though the slight prickles and irritation were lost on him while the captain’s daughter kept trying to lean towards him, her hand sometimes groping for his thigh, her father staring daggers through his honor as a host much to Theon’s amusement.

Despite this, throughout the meal he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, his clothing feeling queer against his skin and he found his usual hearty appetite much abated. By the time they’d brought out the main course of a roasted lamb garnished with cloves, mint and lemon, he could only stomach a few small bites before picking at an onion, steaming in the juices of the succulent haunch in front of him. Deciding he was just anxious about their landfall, Theon excused himself and let the first mate have his portion much to their delight. Theon sidestepped a wiry black ship cat with a large brown rat in it’s mouth, apparently wanting to enjoy dinner with the crew before he heard someone shoo it away, and retired to his cabin.

His quarters were the captain’s usual space as befit his nobility, appreciating the empty space as he undid the lacing on his boots and shook them out, surprised at the hair that fell.

“Let the others take his cats!” No wonder he’d been feeling strange, the damn things were shedding all over the place!. He’d have a few words with the captain in the morning before he set out to the castle. Quickly he undid his breeches, his doublet, almost throwing it over a chair before remembering his precious cargo. He paused, carefully setting it down, cursing his own foolishness. This entire trip could be rendered useless if he broke the seal prematurely. The last thing his father would need was another excuse to doubt Robb and call off the proposed coupling of their houses through marr-

He paused a long second, trying to clear his memory, something not quite adding up to him. He’d been in the room when they’d drafted it and Theon knew for a fact that the sealed letter declared Balon King and him an heir to the throne and of the proposed alliance of Greyjoy and Stark through marriage. The last part though stuck in his gullet like rotted meat. Who was getting married? It wasn’t Asha, he knew damn well it wasn’t her, yet there was a gap in his mind. He recalled the moment it’d been decided, his heart swelling as he’d swooned with excitement… No that had to be wrong.

Swooning was for one of those naive high born ladies like Sansa with their head in the clouds, and while he’d definitely take her over her sister he’d never cared for her in a way that’d make his heart beat fast. Wait why was he even considering this? It wasn’t like he was getting married, was he? He thought back to the council before his departure, remembering Lady Stark pursing her lips over him going, that bitch still untrusting of him even though he and Robb were… what were they?

He was beginning to consider Robb in a different light the more his thoughts lingered on him. Robb was a great fighter obviously and a tactical genius, yet more than the battles Theon could clearly picture’s Robb’s muscles, his strong arms swinging a greatsword one-handed, the steely glare in his eyes.The Stark in him was strong and domineering, but there was a Tully tenderness to him as well that always made Theon want to cup his cheek and let hi-

“M’lord? Are you feeling well?” Theon lost track of that thought, wondering when she’d barged in, but happy to see her. He could feel tension building in his loins and he had a need to release it.

“It’s your grace. Don’t forget that.” He motioned her overThat happiness soon died as nothing she did could properly rouse him, his manhood soft even as she took it in her mouth. She’d been a virgin when he’d taken her at the start of their journey and it was made all the more apparent as she made a mummer’s farce of it, not that he’d cared the last few days, though he’d never taken enough of an interest in her to commit her name to memory. But it was more than disappointment he was almost feeling critical, years of technique and skill coming to him as his mouth opened, his mind on his first time.

He remembered it well. They’d been hunting in the wolf’s wood before his horse had caught on a large mud patch, the mare sliding as he tumbled from it in an embarrassed heap. But all of that left him when he’d been offered a hand and had seen the hard outline in his breeches. Theon licked his lips at the memory, the chapped lines leaving as they plumped. The thought finally stirred something below, a half moaned “Robb” leaving his lips as his pubic hair receded into a tidy patch. When he realized what he’d said he pushed her head away, nervous she’d heard him.

“I’m sorry m’lo- m’grace. Did I do something to offe-”

“I need to have some rest woman. Leave.”

“I promise I can do better. I could be one of your salt wi-”

“JUST GO!” She scurried away after that to her own quarters sobbing. Strangely though her sorrow died out quickly as she reached her bed, the last few days a haze. When she drifted off to sleep she could only remember pleasing someone vaguely and by the time she’d awake on the morrow her nights with Theon will have faded like the morning mists. For Theon though the night was just beginning.

He couldn’t get Robb out of his mind now, the captain’s daughter forgotten. Just imagining him brought his cock to attention, the arousal undeniable, yet a part of him was reluctant. There was something very wrong about this wasn’t there? Yet it made perfect sense to him the more his mind wandered. Robb who’d always been his best friend. Robb who’d grown up with him. Robb who’d been nearly inseparable from him for the last ten years. His heart was pounding faster as the memories came to him unabated, his relationship with Robb growing closer by the thought.

They were eating together, hunting together, doing *other* things in the godswood, not that Robb’s lady mother had ever suspected their times out were anything more than hunting trips until the proposal. Though what those *other* things were exactly eluded him now. His lust was conflicted, so many queer thoughts filling his head that seemed to go against what he knew, yet as the hardness between his legs throbbed with desire it became harder to tell which memories were the strange ones. A hand trailed down towards his own manhood, yet when he began stroking it was not his own cock he imagined, but Robb’s.

Suddenly he remembered that day again, not in the wolfswood, but the godswood, being helped off the ground when he had seen Robb’s stiffness pressing against his breeches. He didn’t know what madness had taken over him, but he’d rebuffed the hand and grabbed the other limb reaching out. Robb’s protests had quieted down soon enough once the lacing had been undone and his hands were around it, but it was the first of many pleasures they’d take in the woods. But something irked Theon, the hands in his memories were not the rough calloused things he had currently wrapped around his shaft.

The prick from earlier throbbed, a warm heat filling the flesh as the fingers jerked around, first the left then the right as hard skin melted down to something softer and smooth as sin. The bones were all snapping and compressing, the nails shedding the layer of grime they’d acquired over the course of the voyage while lengthening, long enough to scratch flesh but not too long as to affect the notching of an arrow. The softness became apparent almost immediately to his dick, each stroke better than the last, but soon his fingers were moving in odd ways, a newfound dexterity and muscle memory filling them as they lengthened and his palms shrank to a properly dainty size. Yes **these** were the hands that had pleasured Robb countless times, Theon’s groans taking a quavering tone as he pleasured himself, his strong rowing arms losing some of their strength as with each pass of his oar the shape became more lithe, his arms gaining a softness they’d never had before as fat surrounded the muscle, though he still had plenty of strength to spare after the change.

It seemed as if one set of perverse thoughts led him onto the next, years rewritten as their forays with each other grew more daring and reckless. It added a certain spice to be more flagrant with time, the best probably when he’d gotten him off during that feast when King Robert had come. By that point they’d known each other intimately for years and it thrilled Theon whenever Robb had to give a half muttered courtesy, any bumps in his speech written off as just nerves. It did help to have the fastest fingers in Winterfell as the other archers said, though they weren’t always fast enough.

He smirked recalling the time when Lord Stark had almost caught them in the godswood having fun behind the great heart tree, though thankfully prayer gave her an excuse for why she’d been kneeling and Robb had fallen quick enough to his own, his legs clenched together to hide the fact that his cock was still out. Though the thought of kneeling led Theon to lick his lips, the chapness leaving them as fat plumped them a good deal, all the better to cradle a cock. His jaw hung partially slack, the desire to suck on something evident as he nibbled at a lip, the contours of his jaw softening with every nervous pull. Gods he missed Robb, even now he could imagine his king’s manhood stiff and pushing, his nostrils flaring at the image, the smell nearly palpable in his memories.

Said nostrils soon retracted, the hard jut of his nose that stood out amongst his face like the islands of his birth soon eroded down to a thin knife of a thing, eyes watering as they reflected the light of his cabin’s candles, their shapes angling down while growing larger, more expressive. He was starting to work himself into a frenzy now, his cheeks working up and down as his tongue rolled against a phantom cock, his cheekbones snapping down to refined elegance while his eyebrows plucked themselves into the finest arches for the finest archer.

He grunted at first, then moaned, imagining the head of Robb’s cock slamming against the back of his throat, each imagined thrust sending a gurgled moan from his throat, his Adam’s Apple flattening. Soon a high quavering note left his throat, the last bite of his apple gone down the slender slope of his neck while a great pressure built below. He pumped twice, the first making his back arch as his shoulders convulsed, the obstinate bone snapping like crow’s nests in a typhoon, his frame now sloped and curved, a good deal less broad. The second pump sent him over the edge, a feminine groan signalling release as his finely kept crop of hair burst from his scalp in waves of silky dark locks, glistening with sweat.

Below the peaks of his pleasure finally crashed a great load bellowing from him as enough seed to fill a garden spurted from his cock. He groaned, each release emptying him as he rubbed the area below his navel, his abs flattening with every pulse. Soon enough he lay panting, a deep emptiness aching from below as his cock stood strong. A few stray beads of release rose and fell on his stomach, his finger tracing around them as his waist bent inwards with every breath in until his lanky warrior’s frame touted sensuous curves that petered out disappointingly to his square mannish hips.

Still the aching need remained, that great release only a prelude to what he wanted, needed. Theon wondered why the sight of his cock repulsed him so, his old tool of self satisfaction now feeling inadequate for his needs as the longing only grew. It was a terrible thing, a pit in his belly that demanded to be filled. He had felt this before, cursing Robb in the same breath that he lusted after him, his Northern honor keeping him away from Theon’s maidenhead, the lust in his head already too strong for him to notice the odd contradiction in that statement and what he was beginning to fondle again.

Yes it was hard to keep his so called “purity” intact yet Theon had somehow held off though they had come close a few times. It was in the godswood again, most of their milestones always seemed to happen within sight of the great heart tree it seemed to Theon, after getting him hard Theon had rubbed his sex against the hardness below. They had come so close at that moment, she could see the give in his eyes as she swaddled his Stark sword between her thighs, leading the tip towards her aching gap, yet even then he had pulled back at the last second, taking a cold dive in the pool to clear his mind while she had been left unsatisfied and desperate to be taken. She? The word hung there for a second, the sound of it not ringing quite right in her head but once the thought had been sounded she could think of nothing else to describe herself and it only felt more fitting as she rubbed her legs together, the tension returning as her cock remained hard.

Biting her lip, Theon imagined that day as if Robb had taken her, the eyes of the godswood on them, but for all she cared the old gods could watch all they wanted; the only wood she cared about was between Robb’s thighs. She groaned, seeing him take her roughly, his hard length slamming into her from behind as he spared her no mercy, the roughness only adding to the pleasure as his body slammed against the swell of her rump. She had moved to a facedown position on the bed, grinding her cock against the mattress as her gyrating body soon gained the jiggle she imagined in her fantasy.

Her thighs and buttocks swelled like they’d caught wind, the soft skin soon squished against her manhood as it was torturously buffeted by the warm smoothness. The sensations in her ass were doubled as the shaking of it seemed to add to her masturbations, her own hand spanking the flesh as she felt it expand to a full heart shape. Her thighs had seemed to run out of room to grow, her cock suffocating as she tried to spread her legs a little wider. With two great pops her square hips splashed outwards to a womanly roundness, her figure nearly complete as she squealed, pausing her grinding as she remembered how that night ended, her feet twitching as they crackled into the arched dainty heels of a lady.

Yes it was all coming back to her now, how he had sullenly talked of his honor and how she couldn’t tempt him like that until they had announced their plans with his lord father and had been bonded under the old gods and the new as one house. Yes it was all lovely to her ears and usually she held herself back, but she wanted him. Her whole body wanted him. She made it as clear as she could to break through to that thick Stark skull of his how badly she needed him in her. He said he couldn’t do it yet when he came towards her, but he mentioned of a few things he’d heard around the castle that some men did with their wives and before she could ask his mouth had been at her nipples.

Theon swore he could feel it still, her nipples puckering up as they grew large and sensitive, her hands rushing to tweak them as her body bucked joyously. Robb had teased them with his teeth, nipping at the flesh like a direwolf pup while his hands had groped and tweaked the other. She felt it all then as the flesh swelled, the pull like a lover’s mouth as they filled with fat and the pleasure grew. Many of the girls at Winterfell had shot her jealous looks when her body had developed full and strong, her hunger on the battlefield equal to her hunger in the bedroom. As the mounds finished the last of their swelling she shrieked, her cock unloading another round as the release made her body shake, her balls shriveling up some as load after load shot out of her, her releases growing stronger.

And still she wasn’t satisfied, her body on fire from the transformation, the swelling emptiness now filling her body with its longing. She needed more than just fantasy to fulfill her, but she couldn’t pleasure herself it was too risky. The only person allowed to take her Maidenhead was Robb and she intended to have it happen. But she needed to quell this lust. She didn’t care who she had to beg so she went in line, the drowned god, the seven, the old gods, anyone who could take care of the want in her that seemed to be drowning her. To her relief the old gods answered with the final change.

Theon’s squeaks of ecstasy rebounded off the confines of the cabin, her manhood quivering as her seed spurted once more, weaker this time as the release ran more clear than white, her balls nearly spent. The hands of the old gods were nearly done with their work, but everything that had come before paled once Theon felt them wrap around her aroused cock and push. For a second it stood tall and obstinate against the assault, before spurting weakly with the first inward thrust of it. As the flesh between her legs began to part queer pleasures the likes of which she’d never felt or imagined spread throughout her, her mind filled with thoughts of Robb as her own length filled her below.

It was everything Theos had dreamed of as she swore she felt Robb thrusting into her, another inch plunged into her forming cavern, the lips pulling in her cock at a steady pace now. Just when she thought she could bare it no more, a spasm wracked her loins, fleshy tubes wrapping around her balls like the arms of a kraken, jerking them into the maw above. She was nearly crying in ecstasy, screaming for Robb and not caring who heard her as the last male seed she’d ever produce leaked in fits and spurts from her cock, her non groping hand rushing down to usher it in, guide the flesh to the aching emptiness between her legs.

The last few inches offered no resistance, her fingers quickly forcing it in her as she could feel it burrow deeper and deeper into her loins, every last inch of her body boiling with a desperate need for climax, her fingers diving in deeper and deeper until she had to stop, a part of her worried about her modesty. Her former cock had no need for any of that, the foreskin separating into a thin flap of hard skin while the rest of it pushed in, filling her loins and carving a tunnel towards her womb, the edge of an orgasm nearly driving her mad with lust until with a wet squelch like the sound of a wave slapping skin it finally inverted and she bit down hard on her pillow, muffling her moans of release as hot clear juices ran down her thighs.

Tess was left panting on the soiled sheets, a few shudders running through her as she basked in the feelings. She carefully poked a nail further, nervous with how hard she’d fucked herself before sighing in relief and just a hint of arousal as she felt her maidenhead untarnished and whole. There were a few shadows near the bottom of her door, her moans had attracted a few curious shiphands she was sure, but she didn’t mind. It made her feel wanted. She knew Robb loved how she moaned and shrieked, the feeling of his tongue on her breasts or carefully probing below warming her even now, though what she craved was the first thrust of his manhood on their wedding night.

Hopefully her father would yield to the plan. Surely he’d be able to look past the sleights of the past for this bonding of their houses. If not… well she’d find a way. Her maidenhead was a trophy she wanted to give away quickly and her father could complain all he wanted once she was Queen of the North to all the fish and stones of the Iron Island. All she needed were his ships.