Chapter One
"Theon?" I call out nervously; my brother should be in here, Damon said he was... "Theon, it's Saski. Where are you?"
The great hall is dark, the sky outside gives no light, the sun shining weakly through the dense grey clouds, the snow falling steadily, a swirling white mass. I don't like it here.
This is The home of Starks, even the land is grey and white, Stark colours. We are miles inland, there are no ships, no ocean, and no way for the drowned god to hear our pleas; this is no place for ironborn.
"Theon?!" I call out in frustration, surely if he was here then the candles would be lit, and the great hearth. It is cold and dark, and deathly quiet.
"Sister," A voice calls out from behind me, I twirl around, feeling uncomfortable in this strange place. Theon stands in the doorway, snowflakes settling on his thick ash brown hair, his face is hard and stern, and his mouth a cruel line.
I look at him warily, he seems changed, even more so than he was when I saw him a moon's turn ago.
"Theon." I say softly and walk over to him, "Have you brought men? It was Asha I sent for, I did not know that you had men who would follow you; we need strong iron born warriors to defend my castle."
I sigh, "This is no place for us Theon, we are miles inland with no ships, the drowned god is too far away. This land has been the home of Starks for a thousand years; come home Theon, you have raided and shown the Northmen that we are strong, but this is not your castle to keep."
He frowns, "I am prince of Winterfell now Saski. And I will hold it until my last breath." I cross my arms, "You are a fool Theon Greyjoy. But if you wish to die so far from home, so be it. I will not lead others to die with you." His face turns dark with rage and for a moment I think that he will strike me.
"Go then." He says in a cold voice, "Run back to father." I look at him pleadingly, "Theon. You are my only brother and father's only son. You have proved yourself, just come home, come home Theon!"
He looks away, his arms folded across his chest. I look up at him sadly, my older brother, I never knew him, not really, and I fear that now I shall never see him again.
"Then I will leave on the morrow, please, think about this. Robb Stark is not likely to forget the murder of his little brothers, and the Northmen will defeat you easily." I sigh, looking sadly out the large bow windows of the great hall; the glass is tinted white with frost. I look out at the courtyard, a swirling cloud of grey and white, with the castle garrison looming behind, a dark shadow with two small heads mounted on its peak.
"Winter has come." I say quietly, my brother still silent and still as a statue, I turn back and I think there are tears in his eyes, but he walks away before I can be sure.
O/O/O/O/O
The next day we leave for Pyke, my brother doesn't say farewell, in fact he seems to have disappeared since our talk the eve before.
I ride into the snow, it fell thick last night and the wind whips through my coats and chills me to my soul. I look back sadly at Winterfell as I head back onto the winding stony road, I wonder if I will ever see Theon again. Then I turn my back on that quiet depressing castle, and our party rides swiftly for the shore.
As we head through the wolfswood, tall sentinel pines standing straight and dark above us, looming tall and strong, I hear the distant howl of a wolf, and I shiver.
But my men ride silently and I hurry to the front of the group, soon we are out of the woods and into the stony rolling hills with their tall grass, so faded and ghostly it looks more grey than green, I can't see the ocean yet, it will be a week's ride before we reach our ships, and another two months to return to Pyke.
I see a wolf on the crest of a far off hill, it stands so large that it is more the size of a horse than a dog, but as it tilts it head to the pale sky and echoes a mournful, terrible howl, so loud that it vibrates through every stone and each blade of grass seems to ripple as one, there is no mistaking that the creature is a direwolf, and that omen makes my heart sink.
O/O/O/O/O
My place is on a ship.
As I stand on the deck of Silent Tide, I feel free and happy. As each wave slaps against the hull and the spray half soaks me with its freezing splatters, I have never felt more alive.
But, as Pyke looms closer on the horizon I can't help but feel dread. My father has a terrible rage, and though he named Theon as a Stark, I know that he will mourn, and my poor sick mother... Asha, well, Asha is Asha, it's impossible to tell how she'll react, but Theon is a fool.
If he claims to be ironborn, then why stay there, in the place he named his prison, the place haunted by memories and shadows of a childhood with no love or true friendship.
True, my brother has become arrogant and cruel, but he is still my brother, no matter what our father and Asha might say.
Soon we are there, anchors dropped and row boats launched.
My men love me, but they do not respect me as they would my brother, if he weren't a fool. I am a girl of seventeen, and they are ironborn warriors. I earned their respect with my strength at command; I got that from my father. He always said that I was a born leader, I know how to make people love me, and I have a way with words, that was one of the only times that father complimented me.
He does not often let you know that he is proud of you, other than that I have only heard him praise my sister for her skills at swordplay, and me for my archery.
But I will have to face him now with my failure, and I am hardly expecting compliments.
O/O/O/O/O
"Come in." He calls in a stern voice; I nervously enter, feeling a child again in front of him.
"Did your brother return with you?" He barks, I shake my head, "He called himself the prince of Winterfell, and he refused to come home." My father frowns, "The fool is home; he lived there all his life. That's more of a home for him than here." I cross my arms, "He… he killed the Stark boys."
That seems to surprise my father, he looks at me in confusion so I continue, "Brandon and Rickon Stark, the youngest two, he put their heads on spikes."
My father smiles grimly, "You mean the three year old and the seven year old cripple." I nod, he laughs, a cruel hard laugh, "That's my boy." He says in a disgusted tone.
I sigh and look out the window at the stony shore far below, "Well go on then, get out of here girl." I bow my head and turn to go, he sits down and puts his head in his hands.
So I leave, closing the heavy oak door and half running back down the winding stone stairs, to the training yard. I go to the weapon racks, with Asha gone and almost all the men off raiding, the yard is empty. I grab my bow, it's the most precious thing I own, Asha has her swords and I have my arrows.
The bow is from across the narrow sea, I can't remember where, it's real dragon bone, making it ten times stronger than an ordinary Westerosi wooden bow, and with it I can shoot an arrow so fast that you barely have time to blink before you're dead.
I don't like killing though; Asha is just like father; hacking and slashing and raiding. I bet my sister has killed at least two hundred men, I've only killed five, and just one was with my bow.
The first three were would-be rapists; two stable boys the first time, and a sailor the second. I carry a little dagger with me at all times, iron with an ivory handle, it's much more useful than a bow when you're dealing with rapists; usually the cravens are too close for you to use a bow on them.
The fourth time it was with my bow, he was a prisoner trying to escape, father shot at him and missed, so I shot and hit.
Father was furious at me, said I made him look a fool, but the man would have escaped if I hadn't.
And the final time was with my dagger, he was one of my men, attacked by muggers in the dead of night, they carried him back to his home and I went to see him the next day.
He begged for mercy, "Let me die from steel, not fading away in my sleep." He gasped, crazed with fever, so I slit his throat and had his body carried into the sea.
When I shoot I feel like I'm in another world.
Everything goes quiet; it's just the twang of my finger on the bowstring and the distant crashing of the waves.
I think that was what felt the most wrong about Winterfell; there were no waves. Ever since I was a babe, the water pounding against the rocks has been my lullaby, the steady breaking waves, and the falling clumps of cliff and howl of the wind across the bay.
To me, Winterfell was dead, without the sound of waves I felt vulnerable, alone.
I guess Theon's used to it though; used to the silence and the snow.