Chapter 15

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Chapter 15

Theon Greyjoy

He jumps out of the shabby ship, letting out a deep breath.

The smell of salt and stone, the blistering cold as the rough winds blow through his hair, it felt unfamiliar yet nostalgic. Theon would have hoped it would feel like home, yet it didn't.

'This is but Lordsport, maybe Pyke would feel different.' He thought.

"Who're you?" A bullish man in sailor's clothes asks.

He hadn't the time to send a letter to his father, so he wasn't received by anyone.

Theon puffed up his chest and took a deep breath. "I am Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy and heir of the Iron Islands, take me to my sire."

"What'dya talkin' about, lad?" The man laughs. "Tha Lord Reapa's be only havin' one spawn, and that be his daughter!"

He feels a sudden surge of heat to his ears, and before he'd realized he already unsheathed his sword and put it to the sailor's neck.

"Take that back!" He screams.

A couple of other sea men come close, his friends probably, and they each had weapons of their own, axes and hammers mostly.

"Ya better let go, lad." The man at his mercy speaks. "Or else I'd cut that hand off mesself."

Theon grunts, putting himself behind the man and securing his hold over him, he looks at the men slowly surrounding him.

"Another step, and he dies!" He screams. "Do you know who I am?! I'm Theon Greyjoy! The son of Balon Greyjoy, do you know the consequences of your actions?"

Most of them laugh, one of them, a slippery looking short man with a bald, scarred head and a smile that had too many fangs, comes forward.

"Words are wind, boy." His smirk turns predatory. "Do it, if yer such a man! Kill him, at least ye'll have done something with yer life!"

Theon couldn't think clearly anymore, staring at the derisive gaze of the men, compounded by the dismissal from people he'd expected to worship at his feet, the young man's mind went hazy from anger, fear, and shame.

Just as he'd tightened his grip in order to finish what he started, a steely voice echoes from the side.

"What is the matter here?" The voice was gravelly and deep, like sharpened iron.

Theon turns to find a large and powerful man, with a bull's broad chest, a boy's flat stomach, and huge hands. His hair is flecked with grey, and he wore heavy grey chain mail over boiled black leather.

"Uncle Victarion?" Theon exclaims.

The man's stony face squints at him for a second before realization creeps in. "Theon?" Victarion surprised, asks.

Theon let's out a silent sigh of relief. "You look the same as ever, nuncle." Theon's laugh and subsequent smirk comes out shaky, showing his nervousness.

"Cap'n!" The man on his hands exclaimed. "I dinnae start an'thing! T'was this brat."

'So they were my uncle's men, that's why they were so cocky…' Theon thought.

Feeling a renewed sense of confidence with his uncle's presence, Theon slaps his hostage's cheek lightly with his free hand.

"You insulted the heir of the Iron Islands, warrior or not, it was my duty to punish you."

"Let him go." Victarion says to Theon. "He sails the Iron Victory, if anyone's to punish him, it is me."

After a slight pause, Theon roughly pushes the man to the ground, raising both hands to indicate surrender. "Your men, your responsibility." He says.

Victarion nods before turning to the sailors. "Get ready, we sail on the morrow."

The men grumble while turning away, the short man who previously taunted Theon, however, laughs creepily. "Lil' boy's lucky he had an uncle to save 'im!" He exclaims.

And then the heat came back, having someone provoking him while alone is one thing, doing so in front of his uncle is another thing.

'Would Robb let someone talk to him like that?' He thought, and then inwardly chuckles. 'No one would dare.'

So Theon, showing skill developed after years and years of practice, swiftly grabs his sturdy bow and in a split second, one of his few arrows were lodged on the man's eyes.

He turns to his uncle, making his best effort at seeming nonchalant. "He had it coming." He says.

Victarion's form dwarves his as he walks to him, forcing Theon to look up at his face.

"Aye." A gauntleted fist found itself hitting his abdomen. "But he was one of my men."

Theon violently lurches forward, his face slamming into his uncle's chest as he wheezes from the force of the blow, saliva slipping off his face.

His uncle sharply grabs his shoulder and pulls him up. "You are a Greyjoy, and I would have killed that man myself for his disrespect, but you don't touch one of my men, not now, not ever. Understood?"

Theon nods amidst several coughs. "U-understood."

"I was heading to see your father anyway, follow."

Theon shakily nods again.

*-*-*

The path to Pyke was filled with silence and contemplation, his uncle wasn't one for words, and the previous scene replayed in Theon's head as they rode.

'Tha Lord Reapa's be only havin' one spawn, and that be his daughter.'

Those same words echoed in head again and again. If even common folk forgot about him, what of his own father? Did he come back to his homeland only to be spurned by his own family?

It brought great trepidation to his already fragile mind, but he somehow managed to not let that show, hiding behind his trademark smirk.

Finally, Pyke came to his sights.

Ancient Pyke was originally built on a cliff jutting out into the sea, but over time the cliff has eroded, leaving the castle's keeps and towers standing on three barren islands and a dozen small stacks of rock, surrounded by water. The towers are connected by swaying rope bridges. The keep, its towers, and walls are made of the same grey-black stone of which the rest of the island is composed. In the thousands of years the castle has stood, it has become covered with green lichen.

'A formidable castle worthy of kings in antiquity.' He thought. 'Yet all that remained were three bare and barren islands and a dozen towering stacks of rock that rose from the water like the pillars of some sea god's temple, while the angry waves foamed and crashed among them.'

The guards take no heed of him, yet they quickly open the door at the sight of his uncle.

They unhorse as they enter, allowing servants to lead their horses to the stable.

As they walk through the great keep toward where his father supposedly is, Theon couldn't help but gulp saliva from nervousness, finally, he was about to reunite with his father.

They found him sitting on a chair by the balcony, staring at the cliff side with a sour face on his face, as if it had offended him somehow.

"I'm here, brother." Victarion says, urging Balon to turn. "The fleet's at full force, should be ready to sail anytime."

"Then tomorrow we shall sail." He then turns to Theon, his gaze like pinpricks to his back.

The only thing that broke the silence was the crackling of the warming fire.

"So." Balon begins. "The Starks finally deign to return you to us." He says, his face sour and angry.

"I have come of my own volition." Theon forces himself to reply. "I wear nothing but what I have taken, just like the Old Ways, and I bring no message nor demands from Robb Stark. I came back... I came back to be home."

Theon can feel his eyes search his form, experience at divining Robb's emotions have allowed him to see the slightest bit of pride in them.

"We shall see." He turns to his brother. "Have the men get ready."

Victarion nods and leaves the place.

Balon turns to Theon, he clearly wants to speak yet he doesn't find the words, and Theon finds himself with the same predicament, finding themselves in an awkward silence.

Before anyone could break the silence, the doors open. Enters a lean and long legged woman, with dark eyes and black hair cut short. Her face is thin, with a big, sharp nose, and wind-chafed skin. On her neck is a faded pink scar.

Theon thinks her hawk-like nose is too big and sharp for her small face, but he feels that her wicked smile makes up for it. She wore a green leather jerkin covered with overlapping plates of steel, with a studded belt, and salt-stained high leather boots. Attached to her belt was a couple of throwing axes and a dirk.

There is a boldness to the way she walks; part saunter, part sway. And Theon couldn't help but feel confused at her presence.

"Asha!" His father exclaim.

Theon boggles, his eyes turning back and forth between his father and –apparently- his sister.

"That's Asha?" He points at her. "Last I saw her she was a skinny girl with knob knees and a face full of pimples!"

His sister's eyes glint with malice, yet she keeps her smirk true.

"Last I saw you; you were to be shipped to the Starks like a good hostage."

Theon bristles. "Stay your tongue!" He exclaims. "You may be my sister but that won't stop me from putting you on your place!"

Asha sputters, before guffaying so loud it echoed. "You? Teach me my place?! You're as soft as milk drinker, brother." She sneers. "I'd have a better chance drowning in a puddle!"

He growls, making to approach the woman, but is stopped by his father's hand.

"Tomorrow, you shall be ordained in the sea waters by Aerion, and I shall put you in charge of ten longships." He orders, completely ignoring the previous argument. "Your ships are to be under Asha's greater command, as she is to be second in command to your uncle."

"She is?!" He shouts. "But she is a woman!"

Balon tilts his head. "Are you saying that you will disobey my orders?"

Theon face goes red, but he keeps silent.

"Good." Balon takes that as agreement. "Your sister captains the Black Wind, and has raised many riches in the Old Way, you'd do well to listen to her."

He begrudgingly nods, making his best to ignore his sister's snort.

"Where shall we sail to?"

"The North." It was Asha who answers. "With your dear foster brother and his army south, it shall be left undefended and ripe for the plunder."

Theon blanches. "No! You cannot do that."

Balon sighs. "Then I am afraid my fears were true." He says. "The Starks have taken you away from us, and made you theirs." He sneers.

"Fuck the Starks!" His outburst shocks his father. "The moment Robb Stark raised his banners, he ordered his remaining lords to reinforce the Western Shore, and he only marched south with half his army, more than 20 000 more can be raised in the North."

"You will have us raid the north, expecting unprepared enemies? I am saying that it is the opposite, he has somehow expected you to strike, and if you do, it may very well be our doom!" He shouts at Balon. "Have you no scouts? How could you not know of this?"

Balon hesitates, turning to his daughter. "Is this true?" He asks.

Asha shrugs. "The North is large, our scouts do not like moving deep into their land because you never know when you'll find yourself in front of the enemy." She answers. "For all we know, he could be right, or he could be wrong."

Balon nods, turning back to Theon. "Are you sure? Did that whelp prepare for an attack, even when you were still in his hands?"

Theon firmly nods. "Robb is a changed man, he's cold as ice, and extremely calculating." He explains. "It is known within the north that he spurned me, disregarding my presence by fortifying the western shore. It built his legend, but it is also… It is the reason why I left."

His father stares quizzically at him for a while.

"Father, I have agreed with your plan to attack the north, but not entirely willingly." Asha interjects. "Even if we succeed, all our plunder is to be cobblestones, pinecones, and turnips. The North isn't rich, and while attacking them while unready is one thing, if they were prepared for our arrival… I don't think I could keep our men from deserting, if that happens."

Balon keeps staring at Theon, as if searching for falsehoods in his face.

And after agonizing seconds, he finally sighs.

"Very well." He says. "We leave the North alone."

Theon thought he saw sadness and anger in his father, it was reminiscent of the aftermath of the rebellion, a face filled with grief and anger, and loss.

Loss most of all.