Theon I
He looked through the window of the Dreadfort, surveying all he could see and was content in the knowledge that soon it would be his. At least most of it would be. He sauntered lazily out of his featherbed as a lad of six and ten namedays was wont to do so.
As he gave a quick glance around the bedchambers that he occupied something strange caught his eye; a gaunt brown haired man stared at him with dull steel-grey eyes.
His long hair was a shade of dark brown reminiscent of fertile soil. He remembered the way some of the sons of father's bannermen would mock him relentlessly about his looks or his figure. As Theon looked at himself, he supposed that they had a certain point.
He thought to himself of when his mother would call him 'slender' he thought it more truthful to call it 'skinny'.
He believed, that he was truly different to most Northern men in where the muscles were the main feature to which everything else played second fiddle. He saw himself as a thinking man, and if he was forced to fall back on violence he could use his speed to outmaneuver his opponents before slipping a blade in where their armor couldn't defend, all the while using his agility so get out the way from their attacks.
He lifted up some strands that were starting to get in the way of his sight and simply moved them behind an ear. He felt his chin and gave a little smirk as he felt sharp pricks that signified the beginning of a good northern beard.
A soft whine emanated throughout the room, making Theon's small smirk shift into something similar to something that one could mistake for a smile.
"Here boy," At the words, a gray wolf rose on the side of his bed and walked to his master. Theon turned slowly to greet the creature and crouched. He laughed as the beast licked his face and hands even as he scratched the fur of his oldest friend.
"Ahh,- Stop 'silver,- Haha- Come'on now stop it-" It took a while but the direwolf pup eventually stopped. Theon took a good look at his partner; the beast had a silky gray fur and his eyes were an almost magical molten gold that showed off the intelligence of the beast. He had been given the beast as a gift on his tenth nameday. Naming him Quicksilver; Partly for his shiny coat and partly of his incredible speed that was evident even when he was younger
The keeping of a direwolf was a Stark tradition that had been begun when the Children of the Forest had gifted such beasts to the children of Brandon the Builder as a show of friendship between the First Men of House Stark and the Children.
Theon rose from his earlier his position as he walked to his closet which held the attire he was intended to wear for the occasion. His wolf was lying on the floor, looking at him curiously wondering what strange human custom was about to occur.
Within the closet, there was a mannequin upon which lay the clothes the prince was indeed to wear. It was... different from anything than Theon had ever seen previously. Putting it simply it was ceremonial armor which was controversial in the north, due to a lack of practical usage.
Upon the person, was a white long sleeve breeches and tunic, then a light silver cuirass was tight fitting decorated with howling gray wolves, the silver gauntlets (also having more gray wolves) adorned went as far as the knuckles and forearms. On the legs, were silver greaves (with more bloody wolves) that went from the top of the ankle to the top of the knee. Upon the head, there was a band of bronze and iron that went around the skull it had another fucking gray wolf at the fore.
To be fair to the smith that designed the ornament, the crown was fairly simple and to the liking of Theon as made it clear to even the biggest town fools who the Prince of Winter was. And finally upon the shoulders was a wolf's pelt, which the standard attire for all northern nobility of the time.
As it would take a while for the prince to completely finish, he began pondering of how he got to this stage of a wedding. He thought to months earlier, to the wedding of his elder brother and what made himself and his recently married brother to march from the Rills to the Wolfswood.
Then to the Dreadfort to kill the Boltons as for burning Winterfell to the ground for the second gods-damned time. He was certain that Bran wouldn't hesitate to kill any of the flayers he found; man, woman, and child.
But instead, he had been convinced to settle some kind of peace Theon remembered how sick the thought was to him that made him spit. Making peace with those that had burned his mother and father, the bastards that had raped his people.
After witnessing the flayed innocents, their horrified faces which would stay there, forever. People who had sworn fealty to his House, to his blood. And he had failed them.
He had failed his duty.
That thought alone made it impossible to visualize any kind of peace that didn't involve the annihilation of an entire House.
Theon believed that his brother shared similar views which made it possible to create the thought that their nuncle Rickard had spun some sorcery on his king.
The entire point of rallying an army, calling your allies and beating your plowshare into a sword, was to kill Boltons. Not make some half-hearted peace with those thrice-damned flayers which would be forgotten before the turn of the century, but let it never be said that Theon would forget his duty to his brother.
He didn't care much for his uncle or the rest of the nameless bastards whom he shared a second name with bar Bran and their parents to honest. That was another difficult topic to talk about, just another of many in his life.
It was only them he could have said he loved with his full heart. Ever since finding out about their deaths he had just been meandering through life; killing and fucking. Nothing else really didn't matter.
He remembered how their uncle had talked them into making peace with the flayed man when it would have been simpler make him extinct just like the other houses that refused to kneel to the wolf. It wouldn't have been the first time House Stark had put a down a House root and stem.
Theon sneered as he thought how much of craven their uncle feared the reaction the rest of the northern houses would have. Like the wolf cared what the inferior beasts thought of it.
After the Wolf King of Winter, Brandon Stark IX the Bloody Wolf had beaten the Red King Royce Bolton IV's army,(gods doesn't it sound like something out of a song?).
As it was Theon who had commanded the army. Theon fed the captured monarch's pale body to his direwolf in front of the Bolton's sons as vengeance for the dead of a burnt Winterfell. Vengeance for his mother and his father.
They had half of all the highborn sworn to the Redarm, flayed (to imitate their Bolton masters) and other half were stripped of whatever they were wearing and wore the skins of their flayed comrades for warmth on the way to the Wall. 'That should send them a reminder of why they don't fuck with the wolf.' Theon thought to himself darkly.
They kept the majority of the Redarm's soldiers on his orders, for later use keeping them as prisoners for the meantime. Theon remembered how he laughed himself stupid when the youngest Bolton started crying like an old woman at his father's death.
Despite the humor, when he found the runt's shrill little sobs irritating, without warning he grabbed the boy's head and gouged out his eyes with thumbs. he told him to carry the eyeballs in his hands and if he dropped either one of the bloody balls, he'd saw one of his brother's arms off and make him eat it.
After that little... performance the runt and his brothers kept real quiet all the way there. Strangely enough, nobody made a noise in his presence.
When they eventually reached the Dreadfort, hell fire was rained immediately as soon as the fort was within range. The missiles used were some of the foot soldiers that survived the battle lit aflame and sent 'home'. Theon was advised by his commanders that a two-year siege last the last one was... unsustainable.
Their stratagem was to make irregular attacks on a near-daily occurrence on the gates and walls of the keep usually on simultaneously so as to force the defenders of the fort were to spread their men too thin and confuse them.
This strategy cost them far more men than a regular siege ever would but it surely gave them the stronghold quicker than any expected. The siege lasted 2 months before the eastern gates gave way to the battering ram and in came the wolves slaughtering man any brave or fool enough to try and stop their bloody revenge. But they didn't account for any woman who stood in our way.
In front of the doors to the throne room, Selene Bolton stood defiantly her pale skin and hair as black as sin. Her eyes though were what made her the 'beauty of the north', they were a pale silver some men they were rumored to glow in a certain light. She stood not five steps away from Theon.
Theon snorted inwardly at those rumors, thinking; 'what could pretty eyes do against a raper or a mutilater? Make it all the more satisfying for him'.
His brother came from the rear alongside the other commanders and their bodyguards, to stand beside him. Bran was a man grown and had his own young pretty wife from the Rills, but he was still a man and men still had a cock.
His King stared at her hungrily and it looked unsure that he wouldn't take her as a prize then and there, Starks had done it before. At this point, Theon had lost all interest with having a staring contest with the stupid but rather pretty girl.
With his dripping scarlet sword, he made to strike her down. He took a step forward, taking malicious glee as her pale eyes widened in fear only to be stopped by a hand from his King next to him.
Selene regained her composure quickly, stating a warning "Try that again and-" "And what fair maiden? Shall House Bolton raise an army of Others?" Theon japed at her. His men taking a laugh at her expense.
The girl didn't enjoy the jape as much. Theon continued "Perhaps Lady Bolton would raise an army from her loins alone, I'm sure the good men here would be glad to assist her." A mighty roar from the men to his back showed support.
The lady's cheeks blushed from either embarrassment or rage, but despite that her words were calm and biting. "Should any man try such acts upon myself or any within my protection, they shall find themselves dead."
To this, most of the cheers had stopped. Say whatever you want about the Boltons they knew how to put the fear of the gods in a man.
Satisfied by the response she continued, staring at army before her with fear "Our bannermen on the coast have told us about Andal army from the sea by the Weeping Water." This wasn't the first time House Stark had heard of the Andals, they had killed the First Men Kings of the Riverlands and the Vale. They had proven themselves, terrors, to even the Children of the Forest, the Battle of the Red Lake had proven that.
Judging from her tone the severity of the tone apparently, the blonde haired blue-eyed cunts planned to something similar to the Winterlands.
Theon had heard of the Andals from some southron travelers and traders mostly whores and refugees who had come North. They thought that Westeros was some kind of 'holy land' given to them by their seven bastard gods.
They had gone around burning the weirwoods and killing the children of the forest calling them 'heathens' and 'pagans'. They had gone around raping and killing any of those who lived in lands previously.
They were so terrible that some of the First Men clans had banded together with the children of the forest to fight them and yet still lost. They weren't good news to put it plainly.
With this news, Bran decided on a hasty peace, and terms were decided between him and the flayed girl acting as the head of her House. It was moderated by Rickard and the Maester of the Dreadfort, an old fart who seemed a short trip away from death.
Theon felt that they could kill the Boltons, raze the Dreadfort and still be strong enough to throw the Andals back into the sea. But he was kept out of it and so entertained himself with some of the more pretty camp followers to pass the time.
By the evening of the same day, he was called to a room occupied by my brother and uncle, they seemed to be a deep conversation, they didn't even notice that he had entered the room until he had been forced to cough loudly to alert them of his presence.
"Ah, Theon there you are. Sorry there brother for the wait we were a little preoccupied" Bran said with a sheepish smirk. Theon responded quickly "It's alright, my lords.
"Why have you called me to this chamber? Have you made peace with the Boltons yet? The men are expecting a battle with the Andals, have you gotten any information on them?" Theon despite his experience was still a pup.
"Enough boy! We'll tell you when we're damn good and ready!" Uncle responds tiredly his hands cradling his head, a finger on each side rubbing soothing circles into his temples. Despite his little rant, Theon has some measure of pity for the man.
Knowing that he had probably been working through the night not only writing up the various terms and conditions but also thinking up battle strategies for the inevitable battle with the Andals. Despite the fact that such actions were for Theon's.
There Theon takes a quick glance around the solar of the late King Bolton, there were several wineskins and casks of ale, papers strewn about some screwed up, some torn to tiny pieces. Theon takes a more critical look as some of them not enough to be perceived by the two men before him.
Spying on building plans for a ruined Winterfell, a northern fleet on both sides of the north and some kind of greatsword? Strange man, well that's the blood of Bran the Builder for you.
"Uncle! That's quite enough from you!" Bran snarls at the man, his face scrunched up to make some sort of menacing scowl, he turns to Theon and softens, walking towards him and putting a friendly arm around the Prince's shoulder the King walks towards the most cluttered table, with his younger brother reluctantly following him.
"Theon there's no need of titles here you're amongst kin." finding it endearing that he'd try to defend his brother like that Theon gives is brother a warm smile.
Rickard sighs and sits back in his chair, his hands now gripping the armrests as he mutters grimly "Bran, can you just tell him why he's here",
"Aye, such knowledge wouldn't be amiss" his brother respond.
To that Bran simply hands him a piece of parchment, quickly reading it all the while glossing over most of it. Most of it's the usual crap of House so and so swearing fealty to House Stark, and recognizes them as the ruling house of the Winterlands, swearing to give them a regular tribute/token of fealty in the form of gold for their coffers, food for their stores and men for their wars.
I look up and ask "What's so special about this that I'd need to be made aware of?" Bran smiles sadly at me and says "read the last few lines"
So he does and eyes widen in shock. "Marriage?" spitting the word like it was a curse. "To the Boltons who killed our father? To those who burned our mother? How could you Bran?!" roaring at him, betrayal burning in his eyes and hate smoldering on his tongue.
"Don't forget who your king is, Theon!" Rickard replied jumping on his feet, his fists balled up, his eyes narrowed ready to defend his king as if Bran was some ill-born green boy that needed defending. Bran merely waves him down then turns to face his brothers as their eyes meet his with pity and sorrow and Theon's expecting an answer for this perceived slight.
When Bran speaks he sounds older with a weight to him that makes his shoulders sag, this is what they must mean by the 'burdens of the crown'. The physical change he takes makes the angry fire within his brother weaken, the words he says next kills it completely.
"Brother, the Boltons are the strongest house in the western side of our country. With their aid, no one would dare challenge us for fear of being flayed. If we make their house extinct or exile them, we would have no strongholds able to throw back the Andals; you know how they work they spread like a disease once they have a toehold in the land. We can't let that happen." his words though quiet leave an impact on his brother that impacts like an Umber's fist.
With silence as the only response Bran takes it as acceptance of his words and continues, "Also when we fought the Redarm, it wasn't his full strength, barely under half of his horse" Uncle snorts saying "The fool thought that he'd just pop in, burn the place then fuck off into the bloody sunset".
Theon remembered, even more as earlier in the year; how much had happened and why. The Redarm probably heard that most of the men of Winterfell had gone to witness Bran's wedding to the eldest daughter of the House Ryder which was part of the agreement to end the bloody war we had with them and to bring them under Stark rule.
In actuality, it had been a series of wars that had lasted nearly four hundred years, in where most of the Barrow Kings had been slain. The last of the Barrow Kings to survive the war being House Ryder who would gain the lands that had once belonged to their rivals.
When they heard about that a Bolton host was marching on Winterfell, concluded the wedding quickly and had the Ryders call their banners such as the Glenmore's and the Ryswells, as well as having their Maester send ravens to their vassals; Tallharts, Glovers and Blackwoods commanding them to rally their men and to meet them on the way.
By the time they made it to Winterfell two weeks later it was too late. Winterfell was a smoking ruin but they had an army some seventeen two thousand men stong and ready for battle.
The specifics of the hosts being; ten thousand infantry, two thousand archers, and five thousand horse. Their army was strong and had made good progress at this point, we could see the smoke no doubt from Winterfell, the very sight making Theon's wolfsblood boil. But focusing his anger for the battle ahead.
As they approached the enemy host, they found them still encamped on the banks of the rushing White Knife on a slight incline as they were in on one of the smaller Sheepstead Hills as it was still early morning. Their host was small three thousand horse or so, making sense as they want to make a quick job of it then hide behind the walls of the Dreadfort.
The Stark army surrounded them. Killing their sentries and as they did so. two thousand swords with the two thousand archers supporting from behind them on the higher Sheepstead Hills to the north, two thousand swords east with the five thousand horse in front of them to the east hiding in the Wolfswood and to the south were four thousand swords within visible sight of them.
The eastern host was to be led by Theon, his orders were to march at the Boltons in a quick march either to force them into a confrontation where their horses would be sandwiched by our own cavalry or scare them into running further into the hills where our archers would decimate them and allow the infantry to clean up the rest. There was no escape for the Boltons, and there would be no mercy for them either.
Beliving it to be humorous to wake the bastards up and watch them run about like headless chickens, to that he commanded that the horns blown for an hour, had the men to south start banging their swords on their shields, singing bawdy songs and stamping their feet as we marched in line.
The Bolton host woke up and tried to prepare themselves somehow, most of them were naked and were scrambling about. At this point, they were only minutes away from being within spitting distance of the flayed men.
Royce Bolton had rallied his panicking army and seemed to be preparing for a charge against the oncoming Starks before they were too close. To counter his tactic we stopped our march and had the men lock shields, sheath swords and stick the spears outwards going in between the holes/gaps left over by the shields. The pointy end being pointed at the enemy.
The Bolton cavalry began their charge; it'd be a short one due to the distance. Roughly little more than a half a minute before they hit the Stark troops. Hearing some men make their peace with the gods and to that, the Hungry Wolf smiled and roared "TODAY, BOYS DIE AND MEN WILL STAND ABOVE THEM, and VICTORS AND CHAMPIONS! ARE WE MEN OR ARE WE BOYS?!" "MEN!" I heard the reply across the line but it wasn't everyone, "VICTORS OR DEAD?!" "VICTORS" the shout of 4000 men shook the oncoming Bolton cavalry.
A good number of them died immediately on their spears, but the sheer force and speed broke the shield wall killing many of the men in the front lines. It was only through luck and skill that Theon survived. They had fulfilled their roles though and held them long enough for our cavalry to smash them in the back.
Nothing made him smile more than when he was wading through blood and bodies, killing men then decorating himself with their slick, sticky blood. It probably said something about-about a man on how being so close to death made him feel more alive than anything else he knew.
They lost some three thousand men to the Boltons, most of it being the infantry, but Boltons had suffered greatly, the majority of their men dead and remainder captured. The dead bodies of the opposing side from the battle were to the tossed into the river; the men nickname it the Red Rush.
Theon reminisced on all of this as he walked to the godswood for his marriage. Remembering how the Boltons could still call on near 10,000 men, which they would aid the Stark troops battle the Andals and send them to their seven hells.
The wedding was quick, witnessed by all the highborn men and women available on short notice making an audience of a good fifty. The feast afterward was small but it does the job of making everyone drunk and well-fed.
When Theon believes it is the right moment to take his wife to their chambers so as to consummate the marriage and conceive heirs, he grabs wife roughly and slings her over his shoulder as she was little more than a bag of potatoes.
He laughs as Selene's screams in shock and she makes cute yelps and threats to him as they make their way. Taking a final swig of ale with his free hand and then striding towards his chambers, smiling a little more as he thinks of the night he'll be having.
He enters the chamber and throws her roughly onto the soft bed. She's lies there, panting as if tired. She seems little ruffled but keeping most of her composure.
When she fully recovers she looks expectantly at her husband, there's some hate in those eyes but it's mostly curiosity. "So this is going to happen," she says dejectedly.
"What did you expect to happen? Your mad father burned my home to the ground and killed our kin." Laughing at the woman, as his words making her frown deeper as takes the words in.
"I expected you, your fool brother and the rest of you damned dogs to burn with them" her words were harsh and truthful. I just grin maliciously and pull her into me, my kisses were harsh and I grabbed her roughly.
He takes her like he would a whore or a wolf would take his bitch; quick, rough and only caring for his wants. Her screams add another layer of exhilaration that pushes him to more violence.
Unlike a good whore, she fights back scratching at her husband's face and back. He growls like the sigil of his House and starts biting at her neck, forcing moans and screams from her.
By the dawn of the next day, he's already putting his royal outfit on but catches a sight of his wife waking up.
"What're you doing?" she asks sleepily, "Preparing for an execution" she looks up at the man confused, "Who's?" she asks suspiciously.
"Your brothers", she thinks to herself for a while as he prepares to leave the room she says "Wait!" jumping from their bed.
"Give me five minutes, I want to be there", he shrug and leans against the wall watching her nude form scramble to pick up clothes and clean herself up from the last night.
AN
Please tell me if there are grammar or spelling problems or if you have an idea for the plot or an OC character you'd want in the story PM me.