Weapons of the North

Artillery

Due to copper being relatively rare, Theon had to push the North into inventing the puddling process for creating wrought iron on an industrial scale. As a result, the cannons are made of wrought iron for the most part:

3-Inch Ordnance Rifle (The Storm Hammer Mk. I-III)

Based off the US Army's 3 Inch Ordnance cannon from the Civil War, the Storm Hammer is the most accurate and longest ranged artillery piece in the North's arsenal. Made of wrought iron and produced in large numbers, it is used primarily with the army due to it's light weight and reliability. It is also assigned to militia and mobile fire teams in small numbers. Modifications to it by Theon include a spring-based suspension system to allow it to be transported over rough terrain more easily, and a gear-based locking mechanism that allows it to adjust it's angle to increase range and accuracy.

The Twelve Pound "Brandon Burner Mk I and II"

Based off of the Dalgren naval guns of the American Civil War, these cannons fire twelve pound projectiles and can load a wide variety of ordnance, from grapeshot to chain. They are primarily used aboard warships but are also assigned to castles and coastal defense. They are smaller than the Dalgrens of our world due to the technology limitations, but thanks to a complex locking gear system they can be lifted or lowered to fire a variety of ordnance at several different elevations. This allows them to be used against almost any threat, though transporting them on land is slow and difficult.

12 Pound Mountain Gun "The Goat Gun"

The most common piece of field artillery in the Army of the North's possession, the little Goat Guns are based off of the successful M1841 Mountain Howitzers. Small, smoothbore cannons, they lack range but can be placed on almost any terrain and transported in pieces by horses or even men. Greatjon Umber has been able to wield one of these heavy guns like a rifle, though without much accuracy. King Robb has assigned guns like these to "packs" of Northern cavalry. With reconnaissance from hot air balloon spotters, the Army of the North is able to quickly deploy artillery in the field, hit enemy forces, and then move quickly to launch another attack before the Lannisters can respond. They do see use on merchant ships as they are cheaper than the Brandon Burners.

12 and 24 pound "RavenDrop" Mortar

Heavily based on the Coehorn Mortar, the Ravendrop is a simple but reliable mortar that allows for launching projectiles behind fortifications, and for some field use. Accuracy is improved with signalling from spotter balloons, and the mortars themselves are light enough to be carried by two men (though four is much more common).

As with all weapons manufactured by the Steel, Arms and Artillery Guilds, the components are standardized as much as possible to make mass production easier.

Hand weapons

AC 297 Thunderarm (Rifled Musket)

Essentially a copy of the Springfield Model 1863, thanks to the quick advancement of metallurgy in the North rifled muskets firing Minie Ball-type ammunition have become very common. The Thunderarm is slightly shorter than the Springfield, but still retains a bayonet attachment to allow Northern soldiers to defend themselves. It also allowed the Northerners to pose as mere pikemen, bringing unwary mounted knights in to sure killing range. They are also employed by the newly formed "Dragoon Packs", units of mounted knights trained to use muskets and maintain mobility.

The Thunderarm comes in a larger number of variants, built under license by a variety of Guild and House jointly-owned ventures across the North. These variants come in different lengths, some with mountings for sites, some with mountings for tripods, others with options for steel plating to make the weapon more useful for melee combat. All can fire ball ammunition if necessary, or Minie-ball ammunition (though the latter is usually preferred).

AC 295 Stormcrow (Unrifled Musket)

A smoothbore muzzle-loading musket, and the first mass produced firearm ever created on Planetos, the Stormcrow is based upon the famous Brown Bess Land Pattern musket used by the British Empire, but has a few features of the French Modele 1777 musket in terms of reliability. It's range is, at best, 100 meters if you are a very, very good shot and/or very lucky. It was mass produced and introduced to the North as a "test run" firearm, to give the quickly evolving society experience with handling them. While a number are in use with the modern Army of the North, the majority have been replaced with Thunderarms, or converted into sawed-off shotguns for cavalry or close range use. Civilian use is still very popular, and has been growing slowly in the Riverlands and the Vale. Heavily modified and customized muskets were sold to rich families in the South as hunting tools and decorative items, but never in very large numbers.

AC 297 Whistler Sharpshooting Rifle

Heavily based on the Whitworth rifle that was popular with Confederate sharpshooters and the French in the 1860s, the Whistler has a hexagonal shaped barrel and a matching bullet. The range of the rifle, in combination with a scope, is effective out to around 1000 yards. Due to it's construction, however, Whistlers are much more expensive and harder to mass produce. As a result, they are usually only assigned to the best shots in the Northern Army (or lords who can afford to purchase them). Sharpshooters are spread out with companies across the Army of the North, acting as snipers and spotters.

AC 298 Viper Shotgun

With barrels originally based off the Thunderarm, the Viper is the first double-barreled shotgun produced on Planetos. Like most other firearms produced by the North, it is available in multiple lengths to suit different purposes. The majority of the weapons are in use with the Army of the North's cavalry, the Fleet of the North's Boarders, and the "Breechers": Troops trained to use explosives (lethal and non-lethal) grappling hooks, crossbows and small group tactics to take over fortifications from the inside or rescue/take hostages. Thanks to the explosion of salt mining in the Saltpans, Rock Salt ammunition is an option for the weapon as well.

Evolving from the Arbalests, the Bolton forces use these weapons to the exception of any others, especially with their infamous "Flaying Round Packages".

Mustang Revolver

The first true revolver gun (and first true "repeater" weapon), the Mustang has so far been produced in small numbers due to the mechanical complexity involved in it's creation. As a result, the Mustang is generally reserved for nobles and are often customized based on house or personal preference. It is based on the Spiller and Burr revolver, churned out in large numbers for the Confederacy during the American Civil War. It was chosen for the ease of manufacture and basic reliability.

AC 299 "Snowstorm" Revolver

The second type of revolver created, heavily based on the Remington Model 1858 revolver. Much sturdier and more reliable than the Mustang, it is primarily used by House Stark and those associated with it. Lord Eddard Stark had a revolver of this model named "Blizzard", while King Robb Stark uses two: "White Wind" and "Black Wind".

AC 295 Thundercloud Muzzle-loading Pistol

Based heavily on the Chatellerault Model 1822 pistol, the Thundercloud is the most common firearm in Westeros (and has even found being used in Essos by particularly savvy pirates and bandits). Short ranged, light, coming in multiple barrel lengths with multiple ammunition types, it has spread across the North and even the poorest smallfolk in the North have gotten their hands on at least one. They have become popular with bandits and raiders in the Riverlands. Their handles are customized by almost everyone who gets one, ranging from wolf's heads among Stark Bannermen, to women among the Night's Watch.

AC 299 Bolton Steelstorm "Gatling Gun"

Based on the original Gatling gun first employed during the Civil War, despite the complexity of the engineering the Gatling Gun has become fairly common for the Northern Navy and for special Army of the North forces, the Boltons in particular. Mounted like a cannon, or mounted on a turret on a war wagon or warship, the rapid fire Steelstorm is a fearsome weapon of terror and war

XVII: Sansa's Light and Dark

AC 299, King's Landing, Red Keep

Tyrion had become her virtual bodyguard these last few weeks, and Sansa Stark was grateful for it. She'd treated the dwarf with almost nothing but polite disdain when she'd first met him in Winterfell: Now, she was the prisoner of his family and he was the kindest person to her.

Well, aside from Petyr Baelish, but that always carried the undercurrent of something... Unpleasant.

His companion Bronn wasn't too bad. He was crude, and vulgar, and crass-But he was clever, and honest to her at least. Tyrion too, though he was more polite and more cultured.

"The maesters say we could replicate the thunderarms relatively easily," Tyrion said, reading a few notes sent from the maesters themselves. He rolled his eyes. "'Relatively', indeed... Even Lannister smiths would find it hard to make these things."

"And even if you could, we'd still be outnumbered and be handin' the fuckin' things to men who don't know how to use 'em," Bronn commented, "up against men who do. The maester might as well have wiped his arse with that paper and sent it to you."

Sansa couldn't help her snicker at that. She did get a smile from Tyrion.

"Least his arse has good handwriting," Tyrion lamented. He sighed and held his temples. "I'm not particularly broken up about the loss of the Mountain, but the fact of the matter is that his army is gone. Robb could move on us at any moment... And the Ironborn attacks haven't been particularly noteworthy to divert his attention."

"Probably logistics," Bronn said. Tyrion looked up, and nodded as the head of the City Watch continued. "He's kicked your father's army's arses so hard, and moved so fast, his supplies ain't caught up yet. I've seen those thunderarms in action-Ya gotta get yer men rounds, powder, replacement parts... To say nothing of food, clothing, medicine, mail from home..." The sellsword smirked, "Yer literally runnin' faster than he can keep up."

"Something to be said for speed," Tyrion observed dryly. "He'll probably try diplomacy at this stage... He wants independence for the North, not the Iron Throne..." Tyrion looked over at Sansa, "unless he has some hidden depths of ambition?"

Sansa knew that revealing information was dangerous-It had gotten her father killed. She'd been so foolish... But maybe she could help her brother in this. As much as she didn't want Tyrion or Bronn killed, she didn't want them to win.

"My brother would only take the Iron Throne if he felt he was duty bound to do so," she said carefully. Tyrion laughed softly.

"A typical Stark..." He seemed to say it to her as much as about Robb, "which is not particularly helpful..."

"It is as helpful as I can be, my Lord," Sansa said softly. Bronn snickered. Tyrion sighed.

"Fair enough," the Hand of the King muttered. "Our biggest problem right now is Renly or Stannis... Both have enough power to lay siege, and are in a position to do it. If they can stop their bickering long enough. Unlikely, given their personalities."

"So basically, King's Landing is only not under siege because two brothers are fightin' over their armies like toys, and our armies are runnin' faster than their pursuers can keep up," Bronn surmised, pouring himself some wine and drinking it down. "Mmph... And what do we have?"

"Captured arms from the North, without the training or supplies needed to use them," Tyrion said. He noted Sansa's wince, and he sighed. "I am sorry for that, Lady Sansa. I truly am..."

"I know," Sansa said quietly. Tyrion looked back.

"My father's host split off... We've bolstered the defenses at least a bit," Tyrion said with a sigh, "but not enough against determined assault..." He scratched his chin. "And all the sellswords in the world can't help if they just get picked off from range."

"How'd the Squid manage that, anyway?" Bronn asked. "Knights have enough umbrage when it comes to crossbows..." He looked to Sansa, "how'd yer father convince the proud North to take up thunderarms?"

Sansa worried her lower lip, considering... "I didn't pay much attention to such things growing up," she admitted. "But... There was a lot of excitement over having the power of the old thunder gods in your hands... In making fire and steel our servants..." She shrugged. "They were things my older brothers and younger sister loved. So... I didn't pay much attention."

"Understandable," Tyrion said, his eyes peering into hers. She had to look away, but he didn't press further. "That's irrelevant though. At this moment, they have them and in abundance... As well as balloons to spy over hills on us. Have you ever been on a balloon, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa nodded. "I have... I wanted to take a picture of Winterfell, so Theon took me up in one of them..." She smiled and sighed. "He said he hoped men would one day fly through the air, like birds. And even sail between the stars in the heavens..."

"Sounds like he wanted t' start a nest wit' you," Bronn snickered. Sansa blushed furiously, as Tyrion tutted.

"Bronn! Really... Saying such things to a lady of Lady Stark's station! So very inappropriate," he said. "Besides, squids don't form nests. He'd be shooting his seed at her like bullets. Get your foul analogies in order."

Sansa covered her face as Bronn laughed out loud. Tyrion laughed a bit himself, before the weight of his duties reappeared.

"Well... Dorne is unlikely to help, even after giving them a princess. The Vale has so far said nothing... The Reach has sided with Renly..." He sighed. "Our list of options grows thin..."

"Could always ask the Targaryan girl for help," suggested Bronn. Tyrion snorted.

"And I thought things couldn't get any worse..."

"Good afternoon, my lord, my lady," Varys said, the eunuch coming in with a genial smile. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but the King wished to see Lady Sansa."

Sansa and Tyrion both stiffened. Varys smiled kindly.

"The Hound will be in attendance, Lord Tyrion. And the Queen has promised he will be on his best behavior," he said silkily.

"... Well I wanted to take a break, how about you Bronn?" Tyrion asked. The sellsword nodded.

"Eh, why not. Maybe the King's got a new collection of puppies he wants to murder in front of us."

"That's my joke," Tyrion grumbled.

As it turned out, Joffrey did not have dead puppies. He had pictures, and letters, and froth at the corners of his lips.

"YOU-YOUR BROTHER KEEPS SUCH MONSTERS AROUND?!" Joffrey bellowed from the Iron Throne, throwing the letters and pictures to the steps beneath them. Tyrion gingerly reached down to pick one up, as did Sansa. Tyrion winced, and raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, the Crimson Fucker," he said with a nod. "What are these of? They look like... Arms." He tilted his head. "Arranged to spell out 'I'LL KILL YOU'."

"And countless other depravities and monstrosities!" Joffrey seethed. He glared death at Sansa. "ALL MAKING THREATS AGAINST MY ROYAL LIFE!" He tossed another photo, and Sansa picked it up. She studied it. "WELL?! WHAT HAVE YOU TO SAY, TRAITOR?!"

Sansa looked at the photo. Ramsay was cheerfully smiling, his new... Flamethrower, she think he called it? On his back and in his hands. It was bulky, and required you to wind up some kind of pump before use-She did remember Ramsay showing it off to Theon. He'd been so happy, so cheerful... And Theon had been a bit disturbed and she didn't know why.

Well, seeing that he'd used the flamethrower to burn a bandit alive, she now saw all too well. A bandit with a sign reading "I thought I was a clever bandit, but I really wasn't."

"WELL?!" Joffrey nearly shrieked. Sansa looked up, and put herself in the mind of the cold, cold North. Her face was expressionless.

"It appears, my beloved fiance, that Ramsay Snow's photography has gotten better," she said carefully. She shrugged. "Not much better, but at least you can read the words on this one." She set the picture down, and brushed her dress off. She stood silently, as Joffrey stared at her in incomprehensible rage and confusion.

"If you'll permit us to leave, your Grace," Tyrion said politely, "I have much planning to do for the defenses of this city, and Lady Sansa has been... Very helpful in that regard," he said, looking to Cersei. The Queen Mother grimaced, but nodded to her son. Joffrey scowled.

"... Fine," he seethed. "Get out!"

Tyrion, Sansa and Bronn bowed, and headed out. Tyrion looked at Sansa as they exited the throne room, her face still icy cold. The dwarf managed a small smirk.

"I said it before, and I'll say it again," he murmured. "You will yet survive us all, Lady Stark."

"I intend to," Sansa said, just as softly.

XVIII: Diplomatic Relations, Part 1

AC 299, The Riverlands, Seagard Castle

I stayed so busy during the ride to Seagard, I barely remember any of it. Riding past supply trains of men, horses and carriages. Stopping by an inn and giving them a generous amount of money because a stray cannon shot had hit their garden. Sending letters and messages constantly by Raven...

It almost felt like I was texting and emailing again. Only instead of with electronics crapping out, I had to deal with ravens crapping on my shoulders or paper.

Yeah, you Sprint guys feel pretty lucky right now, huh?

But! Three and a half days of hard riding, and barely resting, got me and my small party up to Seagard. I greeted Lord Jason Mallister, and inquired about how his crews were coming along with their cannons. Apparently they'd sunk about six Ironborn ships before the rest had gotten the message and fled. I met up with a few of the gunnery trainers, and the manager and representative of the Arms Making Guild-Anari Leygood, who was getting no end of lewd jokes about her last name.

She sucked it up though... No wait, that sounds worse. She didn't take it lying down... Better?

Anyway, I told them I'd be meeting a ship on the coast that evening, and to look out for my signal fires. They complied, though Lord Jason was wondering if he could come himself. I thanked him, but said I had to come alone. I gave him a few other instructions, which made him much happier. I then wrote them down and gave them to Leygood, to make absolutely sure the Mallisters didn't mess up.

It wasn't out of disrespect to them, mind you. I just didn't want this to go badly...

And so there I was, the sun setting in front of me, the waves gently lapping against the beach, the sea air in my lungs... Alone... On a beach, with three big torches lit and burning proudly.

My cloak was waving in the wind, and I had my arms crossed over my chest to make myself look heroic. Might as well make a good first impression, right?

By and by, I spied a rowboat making it's way to the beach. There was a Myr flag flying from it, all right-With the faint outline of a white kraken on the flag's whipping fabric. A few men in cloaks were aboard, all armed, all looking around warily. There was one form in a cloak, smaller than the others, who sat in the back until the boat touched the shore. This figure stepped out of the boat with practiced grace, tall leather boots protecting her legs.

She looked to me, and pulled off her cowl to give me an infuriatingly smug smile.

"Good evenin', little brother," Asha Greyjoy greeted me, walking up to the dry shore. She raised an eyebrow. "You trying to impress me?"

I shrugged. "Are you?"

"Not particularly," she said. I lowered my arms and smiled.

"Then I wasn't trying hard enough," I said. We stared at each other, a bit awkwardly. She covered it up with some bluster, and a smirk.

"You've made quite the name for yourself," she said. "The genius... The Merchant of Death... The Artist of Doom..."

"I don't paint enough for that last one to count," I said with a shrug. My sister laughed deep in her belly, shaking her head.

"A court jester, too! Any end to your talents?" She laughed.

"I do okay," I said with a shrug. Asha shook her head, and sighed.

"... Been a long time," she said. "Felt longer... Like you're not... Not the boy who left Pyke."

I shrugged back, with a wry smile. "I'm not," I said. "Now... What can I do for you, dear sister?"

"Not here," she said, shaking her head. "We can't talk here."

I stared at her. "Right... Go with the pirate princess to her boat. What could possibly go wrong with that?"

"Don't trust me?" Asha asked.

"We are technically at war," I pointed out. Asha smirked.

"Not with each other."

"Yes, with each other," I said flatly. Asha's eyes widened a bit.

"So... You admit to being a Northerner, over an Ironman?" She asked.

"I don't know... What reason do I have to claim to be an Ironman?" I asked. I spread my arms out. "Would my inventing, my efforts have been appreciated at all back on Pyke? Would Father have given me the same authority and means to do good as Ned Stark? Would I have the same brothers, sisters-family- as I do in the Starks?"

"Don't," said a gravely voice from the boat, "don't mention brothers... And family... In the same breath as Stark around me, boy."

Asha's eyes widened, as did mine. A grizzled man took off his helmet, and came ashore from the boat. His eyes were like hard iron as they bored into mine. His hair was windswept and gray, over skin made hard and wrinkled by the sun and breeze.

The rest of the men came ashore, save for two at the oars. They brandished weapons at myself and Asha. My sister actually looked surprised.

"Father?!" She gasped. Balon Greyjoy shook his head.

"You're too young yet to double cross me," he said flatly, and his eyes locked onto me. "And you... You're not nearly as clever as they say you are, boy."

"

Nice to see you too, Father," I said with a sigh.

XIX: Diplomatic Relations, Part 2

AC 299, The Riverlands, Seagard Castle

My father... My real father... God, it was so hard to keep track of it all. It was as though every memory I had of myself was rising up, up, up now that I'd pushed the world to... A certain level. Like I'd been allowed to remember who I was, after doing penance as Theon Greyjoy.

Anyway... My real father could be hard to get along with. We were both stubborn people, with high intelligence, and different ideas about how to get things done. And even if I agreed with him on a number of points, we fought a LOT.

But ultimately, I respected him because I recognized his position. He loved me, and did everything in his power to help me. He made mistakes but I saw where his intentions were and I loved him for that. Even if we disagreed, I saw he was only trying to do his best for me. And I was lucky to have a dad who didn't become so self-involved he ignored me, or one so inadequate he abused me. We had our problems, but he was my father and I was his son.

With Ned Stark... It was a similar relationship, though more difficult. Lord Stark was exacting, tough, and uncompromising. But I only had to convince him of the merits of my ideas, and he was behind me all the way. He pointed out the difficulties in securing alliances, how hard it would be to do this or that... But I did so much, and the more I did the more he trusted me. And even though I would never be the swordsman or tactician Robb would be, or the tracker or leader Jon could be... I was the kind of warrior and leader people needed when they had to put things together. When they wanted to build things. I pushed the grand ideas, but I figured out who would handle the details and keep the numbers straight. I could figure out what people really wanted and figure out ways to give it to them, while showing them the benefits of working together. And Ned Stark saw that in me, and let me push it to the point I had mills across the North and courts of law and even a bank improving the lives of everyone.

He didn't understand everything I created... But he saw the value in it if I saw the value in it.

Maybe I couldn't inspire men to follow me into battle as easily as Robb or Jon, and I'd never begrudge them that. Maybe I couldn't defeat every menace with a sword... And maybe, as Eddard Stark said frequently, I talked too much. But he saw the value in me, and pushed me to realize it in my own way. Ned Stark was a good father, and a great man. And if I had taken a savage satisfaction in avenging him... So be it. It proved how good a father he was to me.

Balon Greyjoy... However...

"It figures that the only good seed I had went into your brothers," the Lord of Pyke sneered as he glared at me. Asha and I were surrounded by the Ironmen, each with a weapon out. Not to strike me down, I hoped... But they were ready to stop any sudden movements. My hands were clasped in irons in front of me, a bit too tightly. Might have been my gloves, hard to say...

"One of you... Taken from me and turned into this... Greenlander," Balon sniffed, "and the other... A treacherous whore!"

"I was trying to get him to come back to our side, Father!" Asha protested angrily. Balon shook his head.

"By usurping me? By lying to me? You would have my lost heir give you the Islands, would you?!" He spat. "Why else would you meet him in secret?! Why else would you hide this from me!"

"We are losing this war, Father," Asha tried. "All thanks to Theon!" She held her bound hands up to me. "What could compel him more than family?! To return to our side, to give us the power of thunder and steel?!"

Balon glared at her, and then turned his glare at me. "Well boy...? What have you to say?" He hissed. "Some pitiful excuse about salt and iron still flowing through your veins?"

"From a technical point of view," I said, glancing at one of the swords pointed my way, "it is. Blood's chock full of iron and salt. So congratulations, you got that dead on."

Asha stared at me like I had gone mad. I just kept talking.

"Problem is... That's all you got right," I said flatly. Balon snorted.

"So you are a Greenlander... My own blood-!"

"Your own blood? Since when have you cared about your own blood?" I demanded angrily, and Balon's eyes widened. "I was a spare! My older brothers, you sent them off to die pointlessly!"

"It was not pointless!" Snarled Balon. "It is the Iron Way! The way of the Drowned God, the way of-!"

"Of a pitiful, pathetic old man who tries to revive glories that only existed in your mind!" I snarled back. "Your reaving and pillaging and raping, what has it accomplished?! Nothing! The last time you tried this, you bent the knee and thousands of innocent people, including my two brothers, died!Now, you tried it again... And what happened? You've been defeated!" I shook my head. "And now, you try to bring back the son you abandoned to the Starks to get me to help you?"

"What good is your help?! I wouldn't want your help anymore, you worthless whore!" Balon seethed back, spitting his angry words. "You tinker and fiddle and have those coward's weapons to hide behind-"

"Says the coward who wants those coward's weapons to slaughter innocent men, women and children for stupid reasons!" I snarled back.

"It... It's how our family does things, how it's always done things-" Asha tried, maybe trying to get on Balon's good side, maybe trying to help me. I didn't care.

"SHUT! UP!" I shouted. I pointed my finger in Balon's face. "I remember your long, useless silences. How you just ignored me. For ten years, I sent ravens and letters and you said nothing! And now, you come back and shout at me and demand I save you when it's your own stupid, foolish pride that got you into this war?! Attacking and murdering the people I care for?!" I shook my head. "Do you see the problem with this?"

Balon seethed. "How dare you-!"

"Of course you don't!" I shouted back at him. "You can't! You're no king, no warrior, no noble. You just can't stand that the rest of the world is leaving you and your shitty society behind! 'We do not sow'-It sums it up perfectly! You build nothing, you create nothing, you inspire nothing. You are nothing, Balon Greyjoy! Especially not my father!"

He smacked me then. I felt a tooth loosen. I slowly turned back and wiped the blood from my mouth.

"Touched a nerve there?" I asked.

"Get on the boat," he snarled. "I'll get your secrets if I have to beat them out of you."

"I wouldn't," I said, even as the guards seized me. "I WOULDN'T! Not unless you all want to be dead in the next fifty seconds! Forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven..."

"Get on the boat!" One of the sailors growled, even as I kept counting.

"Wait! Why are you counting? What is it?" Asha asked desperately, as she was carried along too. I just kept counting, smirking at Balon. When I got to thirty-five, he paused the guards trying to shove me into the boat.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Oh, I'm counting down until the cannons fire on us," I said with a bright smile, which I made as manic as possible. The eyes of every Ironborn there widened, almost comically.

"Cann-?"

"If I don't sent up the appropriate signal in... Oh... Twenty-eight seconds," I said, "House Mallister's cannons will open up on this position. All of them. We all die."

"You're bluffing," Balon seethed, glaring at me, daring me to admit to lying. I just smiled back. "What's the signal?!"

"Nah, don't think I'll tell you," I said.

"You'll die too!" Balon seethed.

"Yes... And I still win," I said with a grin. "Can you say the same?"

He and his guards seized me, and shoved me back onto the beach. My shackles were undone. "Make the signal!"

"All right, all right," I sighed. I rummaged in my pockets, and produced two basic flares. They were primitive, but effective... And labelled the same way. "Huh..."

"Wha-What's wrong?! Send the signal!" Balon nearly shrieked. "SEND IT!"

"Well, I think the green flare says 'Everything's fine', and the red flare says 'Open fire', but I can't remember which is which," I admitted, raising my eyebrows and shrugging helplessly. "Bit of a bother, huh?"

Balon's eyes were bulging. He looked fit to have a heart attack. His loyal Ironborn were already fleeing along the beach, as fast as they could go. Asha was lying in the boat, struggling to get free.

"SEND IT YOU LUNATIC!" Balon screamed. I lifted up the flares... And then dropped them on the sand.

"Oops," I said dully. "Butterfingers."

Balon seized the flares, and frantically ignited the first one he could... Which burned red. His jaw dropped and he looked to the sky in terror. Asha sucked in a deep breath, and looked at the sky as thought expecting death.

"Three... Two... One," I counted down. Several shots rang out, booming across the sands... I pulled my pocket watch out, and smiled. "Right on time."

Balon opened his eyes. "... Wha...?"

Three figures emerged in the direction the Ironborn had fled, resembling nothing so much as walking piles of seaweed. They got into range of the flare, and pulled the seaweed from their heads-Revealing three women, one a little older than I, and the others a little younger.

"Mission accomplished, Lord Theon," reported Meera Reed, her cheeks red and an Ironrath repeater rifle in her hand. The other women, looking a bit greasy and built like a UFC champion fighter, nodded with a similar firearm held close to her chest. The last one was tall, long black haired, thin, and stoic.

"Iron Men are dealt with. Four dead, the others surrendered," Nyla Crag, the heavily built one, said. I nodded.

"Good work," I said. "Meera, you had better get back to the caravan. Your dad will be expecting you soon."

Meera huffed. "You sound like me brother," she said, but she headed off. I turned to my stunned father, still on his knees in the sand.

"... You tricked me," he said softly.

"They call me the clever... I should live up to the name," I said, as the two Crannogwomen bound him. I looked over at my sister, still in the boat. "Take him to the castle. I'm sure Lord Jason will be very happy to meet him, face to face."

Balon snarled after me. "YOU... YOU'RE DAMNED, THEON GREYJOY! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE! NO HEIR! YOU ARE DISOWNED, CAST OUT FOREVER-!"

"I DON'T CARE~!" I shouted back in a sing song tone. I walked back to my sister, and sat on the edge of the boat. She stared back at me.

"... So... Now what?" She asked. I sighed, and looked out at the darkening horizon. The Ironborn ship might still be there, might not. Maybe my sister had taken the wrong ship to be so easily deceived, maybe not.

"Now... I'm going to have a long conversation with my sister," I said. Asha stared at me.

"You're mad."

"Probably," I said with a smile, "but if we're going to be working together, it helps to know each other better."

"... And you expect me to work with you after that?" Asha asked flatly.

"Would you prefer to work against me?" I asked, just as flatly. She looked suspiciously around at any other piles of seaweed in the area... And looked back at me. She sighed.

"So... Where would you like to begin?" She asked. "And can I get these irons off?"

"One step at a time, sister dear."

Asha snorted. "Perverted Greenlander."

"Do I look like a Lannister to you?"