Harrylee94: Thanks for a stark raving-mad review! I'm pleased you've enjoyed the tale so much so far. By the way, I have a special treat. Since you were the only reviewer, I've decided to dedicate this chapter to a very special someone: me.

Enjoy!

-TFOTN


Chapter Seven

There had been a flurry of ravens passing back and forth between Seagard and King's Landing. Each had been addressed to Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King and Lord of Casterly Rock, and each had been answered by Kevan Lannister, the newly appointed Master of Laws. When Theon's party, accompanied by Lord Rickard Karstark and Ser Wendel Manderly for the North, and Lord Marq Piper and Tytos Blackwood for the Riverlands. Each brought with them men of their respective houses, like the white sunburst of House Karstark or the teal merman of White Harbor and House Manderly.

When the party reached Riverrun, they were instructed to stop and await a raven indicating it would be safe to continue to the capital.

While there, Theon learned much of the previous prosecution of the war. Stannis Baratheon had proclaimed himself King of Westeros and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms from his seat on Dragonstone, adopted the teachings of the Red God of the Far East, and laid siege to King's Landing. He'd nearly taken the city too, and would have were it not for the timely arrival of Tywin Lannister and the remaining armies of the West. About that same time, the Lannisters learned of their twin defeats at Oxcross and Lannisport, the deaths of Ser Stafford and Ser Daven, and the imprisonment and humiliation of other Lannister relations. (Theon was a little embarrassed but primarily amused to learn that his conquest of Tywin's niece was joked about throughout every holdfast and town south of the Neck).

However, following the fracturing of Renly Baratheon's forces, Mace Tyrell had gone to the capital. In return for his nearly hundred-thousand strong army, he had been named Master of Ships, his son Loras had been named Lord-Commander of the Kingsguard with Jaime's death, and his daughter Margaery would be married to the Lannister king.

The host of the Reach still remained encamped upon the Roseroad, as Prince Doran had called his gathered his banners at the fortress of Kingsgrave in the Prince's Pass. Despite numerous missives sent via raven to Sunspear by both sides, the Dornish had maintained a stubborn silence, much to the ire of Tywin and Robb both. The Lannister-Tyrell alliance obviously had much cementing to do, as Lord Mace refused to move so long as sixty thousand Dornishmen remained encamped so close to his lands.

No one had heard from the Vale in some time. Petyr Baelish had been sent on behalf of the Iron Throne to pursue Lysa Arryn's allegiance, but no more than that was known.

And always there were rumors of a queen with dragons and a Dothraki horde beyond the sea, coming to take vengeance on those who had dispossessed her family.

Theon wasn't sure how much mind to pay to talk of dragons, but the prospect of facing an army nearly twice the size of the entirety of the Westermen under arms at the onset of the war was frightening. His time in King's Landing could prove to be very interesting, presuming he got inside with his head attached to his neck.

Soon, the raven came, with Lord Kevan promising the safety of a delegation from the Lord of Winterfell. The party, significantly larger than that which had debarked at Seagard, set off for the Capital.


When they finally reached the end of the Kingsroad and the gate to King's Landing, Theon was sorely sick of his companions.

Weeks spent riding and subtly changing the subject when Karstark brought up the marital status of the Iron King and that of his daughter Alys was maddening enough. However, Ser Wendel proved to be a walrus-mustached fool who complained about the heat of the mild autumn air and the increasingly poor fare as the distance between intact inns grew as they traveled deeper into the devastated Riverlands. Blackwood said little, which didn't bother Theon, but after a while Marq Piper's constant conversation seemed to go nowhere save discussing the best way to kill Lannisters. Though entertaining at first, one could only spend so many hours debating whether or not decapitation was too merciful and end for a Westerlander. Victarion was little help, as he spent the entire ride struggling to contain his anger at being sent as an errand boy – one who might be killed for his message.

Theon was just spoiling for a fight. However, he had a job to do, first.

The banner of the kraken was raised above the others. A kraken with a crown. Theon hoped it would give that little shit in Maegor's holdfast something to piss himself over. Behind it rose others: the banner of the King in the North, the Tully trout, and the banners of houses Blackwood and Piper. The Karstark sunburst and Manderly merman fluttered nearby, Theon was sure.

The Goldcloak captain atop the battlements seemed nothing if not shocked. He scrambled down to the gate winch, and the gate creeped slowly open. He and half a dozen pikemen in the uniform of the City Watch stepped out cautiously. The captain cleared his throat. "The Lord Hand…sent express orders that you be escorted to the Red Keep." His eyes fixed on Theon fearfully. "Are you…are you Theon Turncloak?"

Victarion let loose a booming guffaw. Theon felt like hitting his uncle. He didn't, though. "I am Theon Greyjoy, Master of Pyke, King of the Iron Islands, and Reaver of the West. And this," he said, patting Lionsbane's hilt, "is the sword killed Jaime Lannister. Now. Take me to the Keep."


They were an impressive sight, Theon was sure. They paraded through the streets of King's Landing like conquering heroes, surrounded by throngs of smallfolk, eager to see the men who had so humiliated their masters. Men-at-arms made bawdy jokes and offered crude compliments to any woman who caught their fancy, and boasted of their deeds to any man in the uniform of the Watch.

After who knew how damned long, their escort arrived at the gates of the Red Keep. The Goldcloaks forced the lackwit guardsmen to step aside and make way for the procession. Two by two, the Ironborn, Northmen, and Riverlords filed into the Red Keep: first Theon and Victarion, then Karstark and Manderly, with Piper and Blackwood following after, and their respective standard-bearers trailing them.

As they entered the throne room, it seemed the place was already full to the bursting. Men and women in the colors of House Lannister and various houses sworn to the West thronged the walls; it seemed a mass exodus had occurred after the Greyjoy invasion. Theon saw nobles from the Reach, including Mace Tyrell himself, the fat fool. There were lords from the Crownlands, and even some of the Stormlords who had broken with Stannis or remained with Renly until his death.

Upon the Iron Throne sat Joffrey Baratheon, a tall, blond boy, slightly younger than Robb, but with a very irritating air of arrogance. Theon barely suppressed a snigger.

Glancing around, he saw the remaining members of the Lannister family: Lord Tywin, as Hand of the King, stood to his right, and Ser Kevan just beyond him. The dwarf, Tyrion, skulked somewhere in the shadows: rumor had him gravely injured, but alive. To Joffrey's left stood the Queen Regent, Cersei Lannister. Theon felt himself stir at the very sight of her, recalling nights spent imagining what it would be like to-

He shook his head slightly. Time for that later.

Theon happened to lay eyes upon Joffrey's queen-to-be, Margaery Tyrell. She was a very lovely girl, he thought, long brown hair and brown eyes, though not the great beauty she'd been made out to be. Still, very pretty.

He heard a sharp cry from the audience, and turned to see a whirl of skirts and the flash of auburn Tully hair. A knight in the white of the Kingsguard quite ungently returned her to her place with the royal family.

Sansa Stark was looking as beautiful as ever, though she looked none too happy to see him. Waves a rage and pain radiated across her lovely face, until she regained her composure and maintained an icy calm. Still, Theon thought, if looks could kill, he would be a dead man.

Joffrey seemed to take some perverse delight in keeping his former bride-to-be nearby. A petty crime among monstrous ones, to be sure.

A hush came over the gathered nobility as they suddenly became aware of their presence. Theon could feel the weight of the eyes upon him as the collective gaze swept from the banners to the Driftwood Crown, to Theon himself, and finally to Lionsbane resting at his hip. He stepped forward, his uncle slightly to the side, and drew Lionsbane, sliding the steel from its sheath, and set its tip against the cold stone floor, resting his hands upon the pommel. Theon grinned, then, and the Iron King thought the Lannisters might faint from fright.

Cersei immediately raised a finger and screeched, "KILL HIM!"

Theon's earlier arousal quickly dissipated. What a bitch, he thought sourly.

However, in the face of her demand, he remained perfectly still. Despite their great number, none of the lords or even the knights of the Kingsguard dared move. That was the blade that had ended the old Lord Commander, after all.

Ser Kevan quickly headed her off. "Enough of that! These men have come under a banner of peace. We will not affront the laws of both gods and men."

"This peacemaker killed my brother, your nephew, burned Lannisport to the ground, and even now passes Cerenna around for the amusement of his blackguards, and you wish to talk?!" Cersei screamed, seeming ready to tear out her hair by the roots.

Tywin stepped in, eyes and voice colder than the heart of a winter night. "You will be silent." He shot Joffrey a pre-emptive glare, cowing any foolish outburst from him. "Your Grace. I will handle this."

Joffrey squirmed under his grandfather's scrutiny, but otherwise said nothing, folding his arms and falling into a sullen pout. Cersei, amazingly, seemed to react in a similar fashion.

Tywin's gaze flicked back to the rebel delegation. For a long time, he did nothing but stare Theon in the eyes. He did his best to hold it, and was almost relieved when he spoke. "So," he said, in a voice barely above a whisper, but that could clearly be heard in every ear in the throne room, "you are the infamous Theon Turncloak, King of the Iron Islands, Ravager of the West, and," he added, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "the wielder of 'Lionsbane'."

A slow smile crossed Theon's face. "Aye," he replied, "Lionsbane is my blade." He offered a sweeping, mocking bow to Joffrey. "Your Grace," he said, barely suppressing the laughter in his voice, "my compliments. I bid you greetings, from one monarch to another."

Joffrey blinked, apparently unused to such acknowledgement. "Greyjoy." His tone was one of wary surprise. "You've caused a lot of trouble for my Grandfather."

"Have I?" Theon inquired playfully. "That's unfortunate. It appalls me to think that my presence could be anything less than pleasant."

The normally unreadable and stoic plane of Lord Tywin's face trembled slightly, as though he were repressing a scowl. He must be uncommonly angry. Kevan hurriedly stepped in. "Your Grace. I believe we were to discuss the very criminal acts committed by the Greyjoys: who are, in point of fact, rebelling against the rule of your Crown."

"And why are you wearing a crown anyway, Greyjoy?" Joffrey whined. "I am the only king in Westeros!"

"Actually…" Theon began, and raised one hand. "There is you. Me." He ticked off two fingers. "Stark. And the Baratheon brothers. Five Kings." His hand was open now, every digit extended. "Well, Stern Stannis saw to the good king Renly, so…" He retracted his thumb. "Now, I never paid much attention to the Stark's maester when I was supposed to be learning my sums, but that looks an awful lot like four." Theon paused. "Should I count them aloud for Your Grace?"

That brought a gentle titter from the gathered nobility. He even saw the little lady Tyrell hiding a smile. Theon winked, and the Rose Queen blushed to the roots of her brown hair.

The Lions were not so amused. Tywin, legend told, could not abide the laughter of others, and the insolence this boy spawned by pirates, who had killed his elder son, was showing had him virtually chomping at the bit to wrap his hands about Theon's neck and have done with it. Cersei managed to maintain an icy calm, as though she were unaware of his presence altogether. Joffrey, though, was livid. Having finally figured out the whole discussion was a barb aimed at him, and not having missed the Iron King's blatant flirtation with his betrothed, the boy-king rose from the Iron Throne quickly…and yelped as he cut himself on the ancient edges of one of the swords constituting the enormous steel seat. A man unworthy of the throne shall spill his blood upon it, Theon thought. Blood welled from a rent in his sleeve. He hissed in pain, and a nearby servant offered a handkerchief. The King of Westeros snatched it angrily, and pressed it to his 'wound', apparently fighting back tears.

Theon took the opportunity to continue. "So, Your Grace, it is evident that you are not the only monarch reigning in the Seven Kingdoms. However, I have come from Robb Stark, King in the North and of the Trident and the West with the authority of his plenipotentiary." Lord Karstaark snorted in amusement, as Robb had certainly done no such thing, but the Lannisters did not need to know that. Ignoring this interruption, the Iron King continued. "I have been instructed to find a peaceful resolution to this conflict that has gripped the continent."

Joffrey started to deny any wish to end the fighting, save with the complete and utter destruction of every rebel House, and the total removal of the Houses Stark, Greyjoy, and Tully from every record, when Ser Kevan spoke up. "Your Grace. Perhaps we should not be so hasty in our judgment. This war has been very costly, and its continued prosecution may not be in the best interest of your people."

"I believe you mean to say, Ser Kevan, is that you fear the Young Wolf may yet again outwit generals thrice his age, and that I might add more of your family's names to the list of those whom Lionsbane has claimed." Theon paused, as the throne room descended into a kind of shocked silence. Lord Blackwood gave him a sharp look, as if he might have gone too far, but his uncle and Marq Piper seemed to be approving, so he thought nothing else of it. "Regardless, Ser, the Kingdom of the North and that of the Iron Islands is offering you this chance to make peace, and beg our forgiveness for your murder of Eddard Stark, for Gregor Clegane's burning of the Riverlands, and for whatever part House Lannister played in the death of Robert Baratheon."

There was a sharp intake of breath as the throngs of lords, ladies, knights, squires, pages, and various others heard each new charge. With a devilish grin, Theon provided one further addendum. "Oh, I almost forgot. We'll probably want the Queen Regent and His Grace executed, she for her adultery and the incestuous conception of His Grace, Joffrey Waters, and the Bastard King for being a bastard. And starting the war."

Victarion burst out laughing, a great, rumbling guffaw, but he was the only one who looked amused. Joffrey had turned an alarming shade of purple, and Tywin looked not far behind him. Theon thought that little was more frightening than a furious Cersei Lannister, and she looked ready to burst. Even Ser Kevan, the voice of reason, looked as though he wanted little more than to reach for his sword and cut the arrogant little prick from Pyke down to size. Or, more likely, have someone do it for him.

Even Mace Tyrell looked more than a little upset, though Theon thought it more likely because he was afraid that he might encounter some very uncomfortable fate if he failed to feel the same sort of fury his masters did.

Theon stood there, waiting patiently and tapping one finger against the pommel of his sword, just to infuriate someone further. After a few moments he declared, "If His Grace would like to withdraw and discuss the terms provided, I would be willing to await his decision."

Joffrey shouted back, "Terms? I will accept no terms other than your head, and that of Robb Stark! In fact, I want yours now. Someone send for Ser Ilyn!"

Tywin had enough, evidently. He said in a calm, cold voice, "King Theon. We will return in a few moments. Please excuse His Grace. He is suffering from bouts with unsteady bowels. Grand Maester Pycelle will confirm this." With that, he swept away, dragging a very displeased grandson in his wake. Ser Kevan followed after him, ignoring Theon altogether. Cersei graced him with one last malevolent glare, and glided from the throne room, after her father, son, and uncle.

When they were gone, the crowd stood around, quite unsure of what they were to do. Theon turned to his uncle, and they both doubled over with laughter. Soon the two Riverlords and Lord Karstark joined in, and the entire rebel party was wheezing and laughing and slapping one another on the back, with the exception of Ser Manderly; he had long before gone in search of refreshment, and even now the son of Lord Lamprey was gulping down copious quantities of the Arbor's finest, obviously intended for the royal table, and now descending into the Northern knight's gullet.

After a few moments of standing around pointlessly, Mace Tyrell approached the little ambassadorial group, accompanied by the famous Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell, and his sister, Margaery. Lord Mace seemed all too eager to please, now that he was no longer in Lord Tywin's sight. Ser Loras looked unimpressed with the man who had slain the Kingslayer, whilst the Bastard King's betrothed…

Theon thought she was blushing, though he didn't think he'd done anything which might warrant such a response. After all, he had only winked. Maybe he just was as attractive to the opposite sex as he boasted to everyone around the tables in the alehouses? It's a possibility.

He did look rather dashing with a crown, he supposed.

The Fat Flower disturbed his thoughts. "Your Grace. That is, my Lord…Erm, King Theon…Ah, Lord Greyjoy…" The man seemed unable to decide what would be appropriate.

This went on for a few moments, until Theon stopped him. "Lord Mace. King Theon, or Your Grace will do."

"As you say, Your Grace." Tyrell huffed and puffed, as though he were constantly out of breath. Theon supposed he would be too, if he had to carry around a bulk the likes of Mace Tyrell. "If you might permit my saying so, you certainly put on an impressive display."

"You have my thanks, Lord Tyrell," Theon answered cordially. "Of course, with most Westermen, the sight of Lionsbane is usually enough to insure proper respect is accorded."

Ser Loras snorted derisively. "Such a storied blade. Tell me, do you joust? Or have you ever even seen a tourney? I cannot imagine having not done so. Surely even you Ironborn savages do know something of chivalry?"

Lord Mace looked as though he might actually strike his youngest son for his not-so veiled attempt at insulting a visiting monarch, though Ser Loras pointedly ignored him. Lady Margaery, on the other hand, seemed…curious to hear what the Ravager of the West might have to say.

Theon did not respond immediately, but instead turned aside slightly, allowing Victarion into the small circle. "Uncle, when did you kill your first man?"

The Iron Captain replied gruffly, "When I had my first woman. Shortly after my thirteenth name-day."

"And had you ever fought in a tourney? Or learned to joust?"

"Fightin' is about killing. Not prancing around in painted armor and playing games. As for jousting…what damned fool came up with that idea?" Victarion asked, a trifle upset.

Theon waved him off. "It's nothing of consequence, Uncle. But you've been most helpful." As Victarion turned away, Theon asked, "So, Ser Loras. How many battles have you won? How many men have you killed in the heat of the fighting?" After a moment of silence, he laughed and answered for him. "Don't be modest. You've felled hundreds of men and knights by the score, I'm sure."

Suitably chastened, Ser Loras stood there quietly.

How many idiots like him are there, here, anyway? Theon wondered. The thought of any further conversations with foppish fools like the Knight of Flowers made him ill. How long has it been since I had a real fight? Two months? In Lannisport?

He wasn't sure. But, he had little time to dwell on that fact, as Lord Mace was looking at him expectantly. Theon inquired, "Was there something you wanted, Lord Tyrell?"

Mace blinked. Obviously unused to such straightforward talk, he seemed more than a little put off. That did not slow him for long, though. "Forgive me for asking, Your Grace, but did you mean all of those things you said? That is, your demands."

"Well, of course not. Some of them were pretty ludicrous." Theon paused, as if thinking. "I may relent on the demand for Cersei Lannister's head. Robb might settle for her exile, instead."

Tyrell paled, and dabbed at perspiration on his forehead. Margaery simply looked up at him, those doe's eyes of hers staring through fluttering eyelashes. Well, he had demanded the head of her betrothed.

Mace finally recovered himself. "I…Ah, I see. But surely you must have some greater desire for peace than that. I'm certain the Iron Throne would be willing to offer other…rewards, should you relent in some of your more…permanent demands."

"You mean that little shit's life?" Theon laughed, but there was no mirth in his eyes. "Do I need to list his crimes for you, my Lord? Where should I begin?"

"And what of your own crimes, Turncloak?" A small voice chimed in. Theon realized it was Margaery. She had a rather lovely voice. Though, he could detect a distinct edge to it, and that innocent look was gone from her face. "They say you killed and raped your way through Lannisport, after you butchered Ser Jaime, and took another of Joffrey's relations as your personal whore," she spat. Fiery, this one. Rather spirited.

The Iron King eyed her closely, and carefully asked, "What else do 'they' say, my Lady?"

"They say name you kinslayer, that you killed your own uncle for your crown, and your sister when she challenged your claim." She met his eyes, not blinking. "They also say you murdered two boys, the brothers of my friend, of your liege-lord."

He sighed, and rubbed one hand against his chin. "Aye, 'they' say that. But 'they' also say Lord Tywin shits gold, and I don't know about you, but I find that hard to believe." He took a deep breath. "If that were true, that I had betrayed Stark, why would I be here with his bannermen on his behalf?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It seems unlikely they would welcome you so readily. But the entire world knows the Kraken banner was planted with the corpses. You cannot deny that." She frowned. "And your sister and uncle?"

Theon nodded. "Aye, this is true. I killed Euron Crow's Eye. But he was a madman, ready to kill me for being Balon's son and true heir. As for Asha…she fled, after attempting to murder me. It was she who sacked Winterfell, and claimed Bran and Rickon Stark."

The Rose of Highgarden's eyes softened and she pressed one tiny hand to his cheek. "I…forgive me. I forgot myself, Your Grace. It's just…I had to know. She had to." She shook her head to someone standing among the crowd, but behind Theon.

He frowned. "What is it? Who are you talking-" Theon turned around slightly, and was cut off as a surprisingly light person leapt into his arms.

His shout of outrage was muffled as a shock of auburn hair whipped about in his face. He instinctively took hold of this sobbing, clutching girl in his arms. He had never, in all his time at Winterfell, experienced or witnessed such a show of affection, or perhaps desperation, from icily polite Sansa Stark, but that could have had to do with the murder of her father, or her proximity to Joffrey Waters.

She was weeping uncontrollably, her tiny body spasming against his. Theon Greyjoy really wasn't sure what to do, so he awkwardly held her and murmured, "There, there."


When Sansa had regained some measure of composure, Theon gripped her hand gently and gave it a squeeze. "I know that, while I was your father's ward, I was, perhaps…unkind to you, and am not likely your favorite person right now. That probably won't change once I return you to Robb. But for now…know that what I do, I do to get you out of this place."

He meant to pull away, but she leaned forward to press a chaste kiss against Theon's cheek, and whispered, "You came to save me when no one else did. You are my knight, just like in the stories."

He smiled slightly. "You forget, Highness, that I'm not a knight." He paused, grinning. "I am a handsome king with a famous sword, though." He glanced back over his shoulder, where the Tyrells stood watching them. As was the entirety of the court. Theon imagined he must make for a grand show. "Your friend, Lady Tyrell. She's very nice."

Sansa giggled softly. "Yes, she is indeed. When she was engaged to Joff, Margaery was my guardian angel. He never dared misbehave when she was around." She looked up at Theon curiously. "Why so interested?"

"Well, I am a King, you know. And I will need a Queen at some point." He eyed the Tyrell girl long enough to cause her to blush. "And she is rather…pretty."

Sansa smacked his hand subtly. "She is betrothed. To Joff! He would kill you!"

"The Lannisters have tried before," he murmured. "I'm not impressed. Now, would you care to join me?" He proffered an arm, which Sansa carefully took. Theon made his way back to the Tyrells. "Lord Mace. I'm sure you know Her Highness, Princess Sansa, heir to the throne of the North." He bowed stiffly, unsure of how to react to her newly recognized title. He glanced over at a door leading to the royal apartments, which opened, so Theon raised his voice and said, "I would like to invite you, and your children, to dine with my party this evening."

Mace Tyrell, eager to toady up as always, bubbled happily, "Your Grace, it would be our singular honor!"

The entire room froze as those words left his mouth. Mace shuffled slightly, and his jaw dropped in horror as he realized the magnitude of his error.

He was looking right at the entire remaining Lannister family, having returned from their deliberations.

They looked none too happy, either.

Naturally, Theon stepped forward and offered yet another sweeping bow. "My Lords and Lady of House Lannister! Thank you for gracing us with your presence once again. Now that you've discussed my initial demands, Princess Stark and I would be more than pleased to hear your counter-proposal." He took Margaery's hand in his, and pressed his lips against the knuckles. Theeon said in a soft voice, just loud enough for anyone to hear, "Until tonight, sweetling."

Joffrey looked ready to step down and start throwing punches at the Greyjoy upstart who dared flirt with his betrothed and flaunt himself with Sansa Stark, another sore spot for the blond-haired bastard boy.

Instead, Ser Kevan intervened. "King Greyjoy. His Grace has prepared a series of terms that we believe would be more appropriate."

Theon nodded. "I'm listening."

"First and foremost is the recognition of Joffrey Baratheon as the one True King of Westeros, and the pledges of yourself, Robb Stark, and every other lord in rebellion that you will swear fealty to a representative of the King. Secondly, the city of Lannisport and fortress of Casterly Rock, along with all other holdings in the Westerlands, shall be returned to House Lannister. The captives taken by the men of the Iron Islands shall be returned, unharmed, and all men who participated in the raping shall be castrated, and the murderers beheaded."

Theon chuckled quietly, "Do you want my head or my balls? Make up your mind, damnit!"

Kevan ignored this, though the nobility tittered softly. Even Margaery Tyrell showed him a shy smile. Kevan continued, "The sword Ice will be returned to House Stark, and all prisoners held by each side shall be released. Every house in rebellion shall send one child to be fostered here at court. Robb Stark shall give up his falsely assumed throne, but shall be allowed to remain at his seat of Winterfell. The title of Warden, however, will pass to a House His Grace deems more deserving. And finally, Greyjoy, you shall face punishment for your crimes of murdering he Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the sack of a city home to half a million souls, the defilement of the Lady Cerenna Lannister, as well as a number of charges of other murders, thefts, arson, and piracy."

The Iron King blinked, and Victarion whistled. Theon cleared his throat. "Well, that's quite a list. I've got to say, I've impressed myself this time." Another laugh from the hall. "Though, I'm not sure I would call what I did with 'Renna 'defilement'. I actually had to tell her to stop keening my name so loudly, or else we'd wake the whole damned castle!"

The throne room broke out in uproarious laughter. Most of the lords, save for the Westermen, hardly bothered to disguise their mirth. Tywin's gaze bored into him balefully, but he was having far too much fun. "As for the rest, Ser Kevan, who do you think is winning this war, anyway? Last time I checked, you'd yet to win a single battle. And how is the war with Stannis coming along?" Theon stopped for a second, letting it sink in. "So I've got an offer for you, and a very generous one at that. You give me Lord Eddard's sword, Princess Sansa, Harrion Karstark and Ser Manderly's brother, and I'll consider writing to Good King Robb and asking him nicely to return the Rock. We can talk about that little shit's head later." Theon indicated Joffrey with a slight nod of his head. Then, he turned his gaze to Lord Tywin, eyes ablaze. "Lord Tywin. I've had enough of the games. You will make peace, and on our terms, or every man north of the God's Eye is going to come marching down the Kingsroad and show you what a fucking mess you started when you decided to call your banners."

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Tywin Lannister's mouth. "You wish to play this game, boy?" He asked in a deadly whisper. "The only true mistake that occurred was made when you chose not to save yourself the trouble and die on the end of Jaime's sword."

"As you say, Lord Tywin. And I am sure I will pay for that day, when I cut down your son. The one that wasn't a dwarf," Theon said, words dripping with malice. "But until that day comes, you'll get on your knees and make sure you've damned-well done everything that I ask."

Though he waved it away dismissively, Theon could tell the old bastard was worried. Or maybe not. Still, Tywin stood up and announced, "Ser Meryn. Ser Boros. Bring Ser Manderly and Lord Karstark's son here." The two Kingsguard departed, headed in the direction of the cells. He turned to the shadows. "Ser Ilyn."

The tall, gaunt man approached. He seemed furious. His mouth opened, and he made that horrible clacking sound with the stump of his tongue.

Lord Tywin sighed. "The sword, Ser Ilyn. Your King requires this of you."

The King's Justice might have been carved from stone. He slowly reached behind his back to seize the hilt with both hands, and slid the beautiful Valyrian-steel blade from its sheath. Theon had always been somewhat in awe of those blades. He had seen the Harlaw blade, Nightfall, and the deadly grace with which Ser Harras wielded it. They really were miraculous weapons.

Ser Ilyn placed the flat of the blade on his outstretched hands, and presented it to Theon. He dipped his head slightly, as if meekly following a command, but Payne fixed him with a sinister gaze, eyes gleaming balefully. He really hates me.

Theon gestured sharply, and Lord Karstark stepped forward to accept the sword. He took it, settled the leather sheath across his back, before returning Ice to its scabbard.

Abruptly, Tywin announced, "His Grace is feeling indisposed. We will retire, now. You have our leave to depart." Theon raised an eyebrow, and the King's Hand spun about on his heel and marched out, back stiff as a board.

Ser Kevan followed after him, but first paused to murmur, "We will receive you first, in the morning, to discuss additional terms."

Theon inclined his head politely. "You have my thanks."

The last of the Lannisters departed. The Queen Regent stopped to whisper some verbal venom in Theon's ear, but Victarion intercepted her. He fixed her with an impudent grin, eyes slowly sliding from head to toe. "You know, I do love my women with golden hair and big tits," he said bawdily.

Cersei stood there for a moment, meeting his gaze. Victarion began to lean in for a kiss, when suddenly he stumbled backward, a resounding crack filling the room, and a livid red imprint forming on his Ironborn cheek where she had slapped him.

Victarion lifted his own hand to rub the site of the blow. He grunted irritably, "Ouch."

With a deceptively innocent smile, she murmured sweetly, "Try that again, my Lord Greyjoy, and I'll tear off your balls myself."

"I've got to say, I love your spirit." Victarion grabbed one arm roughly in his enormously powerful hands. "But in the end, woman, I would break you." He released her, then, and proceeded to ignore her as thoroughly as one ignores or simply does not notice a rug. Cersei's green eyes were aflame, but she just stormed away in a huff, displeased with being miffed in such a manner.

With royal family gone, Rickard Karstark came to clap Theon heavily on the back. The hoary Lord of Karhold grunted, "Well done, lad. That is, Your Grace." He cleared his throat. "I believe I owe you yet another debt. You avenged one son, and return the other to me. You';ll have to give me a chance to settle the score."

Ser Wylis nodded. "Aye. Wendel and I are indebted to you, Your Grace. Should you ever have need of our swords, or our words, we are at your disposal."

Marq Piper shrugged. "I don't mean to go swearing fealty to you, Greyjoy, but seeing a Lannister or three taken down a peg…that alone made this journey worthwhile."

"That was ill done." Tytos Blackwood interjected. The serious-looking Riverlord seemed rather upset. "We did not come to insult the Lannisters and spur them to further action, but make peace. I think you should count yourself lucky not to have lost all our heads!"

"Oh, shut your trap, Blackwood. Tywin Lannister won't make peace. Can you see him surrendering? Ever?" The Lord of Pinkmaiden snorted. "The point was to see how desperate they are for this war to be over. And Tywin isn't quite so frantic as we'd hoped."

Lord Tytos looked as though he wanted to argue with Piper, but he thought better of it, and held his tongue.

As the party grew quiet, the knights of the Kingsguard entered, dragging a very filthy looking Harrion Karstark, and half-starved Ser Wendel Manderly in their wake. Lord Rickard ran to his son, shoving aside Ser Boros and Ser Meryn. Ser Wylis was only a few steps behind him, embracing his brother in a great bear hug. Lord Karstark placed his arm about Harrion's shoulders, and the four walked back to where their men-at-arms and fellow rebel lords stood.

Theon reached over to squeeze Sansa's hand encouragingly. He murmured, "Don't worry, Stark. I'll have you out of here in a week, at the very most." Raising his voice, he called out to Mace, "Lord Tyrell! I look forward to seeing you at my table." His eyes met the Rose Queen's. "My Lady. Until tonight."


There was something wrong behind the walls of Pyke.

Aeron the Damphair, servant of the Drowned God, youngest brother of Balon Greyjoy, and now Castellan of his nephew's seat, woke from dreams of death and slaughter.

He ascended the stairwell to his king's chambers, where he had received word that the foolish boy was going to provoke the Lion once again – this time, in its den.

Aeron Greyjoy was not a fool. He was a servant of the Drowned God, and he knew that many mocked him as mad, or even possessed by spirits. But he had learned that the God acted in strange ways; an important revelation could come in the form of a stomach ache.

So his grip around the hilt of his belt knife tightened as he threw open the door to Theon's rooms.

A dark shape lay upon the coverlets. He saw a fan of golden hair. His woman. Heaving a sigh of relief, Aeron stepped into the bedchamber. He called out softly, "Child, is all well?"

The Lannister girl did not reply. He strode over to the side of the bed. He pressed his hand to her cheek, and felt something wet.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the Damphair witnessed a new level of horror.

Cerenna Lannister's eyes stared unblinking up at the ceiling, her mouth wide, and frozen in terror. A narrow, red smile opened across her throat, stretching from ear to ear. But that wasn't want really shocked Aeron Greyjoy.

A bloody crater sat where her stomach might have been, entrails scattered across the lower bed sheets. He had seen men killed in war, but this…he thought he might vomit.

A dark chortling erupted from the shadows. Figures emerged from the darkness, surrounding him and sliding the door shut, leaving Aeron isolated. Someone the Damphair had never thought to see again swayed towards her, carrying a bloody bundle in her arms. Asha Greyjoy, the exiled Daughter of the Kraken, smiled maliciously at her horrified uncle. "Dear Uncle Aeron. Would you like to see my baby nephew?" She held up the tiny wad in her arms.

Aeron thought he might faint. "You…cut the child from her womb? But she is barely two moons…" He trailed off. "This is depravity on a new level, Asha. There will be no forgiveness for you. You really shouldn't have hurt the girl. Your brother will be very upset."

"Oh, I imagine he'll be devastated. Mad with rage, in fact. Of course, he'll have more to mourn than his slut and her bastard." She gestured sharply to one of the shadows, and Aeron heard the sliding of steel across leather.

He waved his arms in front of him, "Damn it all to storms! Ironborn shall not shed the blood of Ironborn, nor kin of their own! Have you forgotten everything that you have known?!"

"Perhaps you're right." She turned back to the men. "Lorren, end him. I want his guts draped across the threshold before dawn." Her footsteps grew fainter as she left the room, heading for the study.

Aeron lashed out about himself with his dirk, and bellowed a war shout as he felt his blade catch flesh. Driving it with every ounce of his being, he hacked and stabbed the body in front of him, diving atop it and pummeling what he though was the head with his left fist. The man beneath him went limp, and Greyjoy started to rise when a cold, metal tip pierced through his breastbone. He tried to turn his head, but the weight of the steel through his chest was too much. His attacker tried to pull it back out through his back, but it caught on his spine. A boot was pressed against the small of his back, and the sword yanked roughly from him.

Aeron felt his life pouring out of him. Blood dribbled forth from his lips, and he fell forward. The last thing he saw was the Lannister girl's blank, vacant, dead stare. He hoped he would not leave behind something so blatantly lifeless.