All rights belong to GRRM

Theon III

Theon sat on an overturned crate, munching on an apple as his raiders finished stripping the village of anything of importance. Which was….nothing. They had attacked in the early dawn when everyone was still asleep, landing on the shores of the island and cutting down everyone in their path, grabbing women and children for salt-wives and thralls.

The raid hadn't lasted long. Those who didn't fight and weren't captured ran north towards Mormont Keep, most likely to get help, but Theon knew it would be no use. The Mormont's had always been one of the poorer houses of the North, and most of their warriors went south with Maege and Dacey Mormont. Theon had over 500 hundred raiders with him, eight ships full of men. Surely more than whatever force the Mormont's can put together.

Dagmer grunted as he sat down next to Theon, slapping him on the back. The master-at-arms of Pyke was an old, stout man with snow-white hair and beard. His fingers were adorned with an assortment of rings, all of which he earned through the iron price. A nasty scar split both his lips in two, the result of when a longaxe had nearly killed him as a child. Hence the name 'Cleftjaw'.

"Not bad, boy," he grunted, flicking the blood from his axe. "Now we just have to focus on taking the castle."

"We're not taking the castle," Theon said, shaking his head. "It's not worth our time."

Dagmer raised an eyebrow. "Your father said…." he began, but Theon cut him off.

"I know damn well what my father said. But I was raised in the North, my father wasn't." Theon snapped. "I am telling you, the island isn't worth our time. Look at what we got here. Salted pork, fish, and shitty furs. What do you think the castle has? I'll save you the time. Fucking nothing!"

Dagmer huffed. "Then what are we going to do?" he asked.

Theon looked down at his boots, seemingly building up his courage. "There's a castle a couple of miles inland, past Deepwood Motte. It'll be undefended," he said quietly.

"And what castle would that be Nephew?" the Damphair asked, walking up to Theon and Dagmer. Behind the priest stood his drowned men, a group of fanatics who worshipped the Drowned God as much as the Damphair did.

They all looked the same. Wild hair and beards, wrapped in seaweed like their leaders. They wore rough clothing, dyed blue, green, and brown. They each carried a heavy staff and wore animal skins full of seawater by their sides.

"Winterfell," Theon said, looking up at his uncle. "With my sister attacking Deepwood Motte and my uncle taking Torrhen's Square, reinforcements will come from Winterfell, leaving the castle undefended. I guarantee it."

"How the in the blazes are you planning on getting there boy?" the Damphair asked.

"We'll have to march through the Wolfwood, but I know the way," Theon said. "Winterfell has ten times the riches this barren speck of rock has. Father wants to get his revenge on the Starks, then why not take their damn castle."

Dagmer smiled, showing his approval for the plan. He clapped Theon on the back once again. "Not bad, boy," he said.

Theon looked at the Damphair, who still looked hesitant with Theon's plan. "Uncle, you don't have to come," he said. "I'll take my crew and the Cleftjaw's and head inland. You stay on the Stoney Shore and raid the fishing villages there."

Aeron frowned. "You're risking much, Nephew."

Theon stood up, standing chest to chest with uncle. "My father told you to watch me, Uncle. I am not a fucking boy still in his small clothes. If you want to stay here and try to take the bloody castle, then stay. I am going to take Winterfell and show my father that I am ironborn." he growled before shouldering his way past his uncle. "Men, let's go!" he shouted.

"What about the castle?" one man called, pointing towards the trail that led to Mormont Keep.

"Fuck it," Theon called back. "We have a much bigger prize to take."

"What's that?" one man asked.

Theon looked at the raider, glancing at the others who were all looking at him as well.

"Winterfell."

Line Break

The fishing village was much like the one Theon and his men had just raided. A little over a dozen huts huddled together around one meeting area. A couple of jetties reached out into the ocean, where the fishing vessels were docked.

It was a sad, sleepy little village that was similar to all the other villages that dotted the Stony Shore. It was the perfect place for the ironborn to raid.

Theon crouched on his ship, his eyes just above the bulwarks. Behind him, his men crouched as well, exchanging fierce grins with each other. This is what their way of life was; taking what they want from unsuspecting, and usually helpless, people through the iron prince.

When he judged that they were close enough, Theon stood up a little, still trying to remain hidden behind the side of the ship, and slid his sword from its sheath. The others shifted a little as well, making sure their weapons were at the ready.

Theon looked to his left and right, making sure that Dagmer and the Damphair were in line with his ship. He had sent his other five ships down the coast to another village, with orders to raid it and then meet back up with the Damhair.

When Theon felt the hull run up onto the sand, he leaped over the side of his ship, landing in the shallow water, spraying water when he landed.

"Come on lads!" Theon shouted, rushing towards the village.

A massive roar came from the ship as the ironborn came ashore, following their captain towards the village, waving their axes and swords in the air. Soon, their roar was matched by their fellow ironborn as the other two ships landed, the raiders rushing in the massacre.

Theon cut down the first man he saw, his sword carving through the man from shoulder to hip. He already knew it was a telling blow before the man hit the ground. He continued forward, striding to the center of the village as his men spread out around him, grabbing everything that wasn't nailed down.

Theon watched the chaos and carnage around him, feeling more than a little ashamed at what he was doing. Not for the first time since he had left Pyke, he wondered how he found himself where he was. Killing Northmen, raiding the North, betraying Robb. It was all confusing to Theon, but it never stopped him from trying to prove to his father, and himself, that he was ironborn.

A war horn sounded in the distance as a company of horsemen burst from the treeline a hundred yards from the village, riding full pelt towards the invading ironborn. One of the riders held a banner bearing the three trees of House Tallhart, masters of Torrhen's Square.

"On me!" Theon roared. "Archers!"

The raiders responded to Theon's call, forming a shield wall on his position as the archers began to fire at the charging cavalry. At first, their arrows thudded into the shields the enemy wore. Dagmer fixed that.

"Aim for their horses you cunts!" he shouted, marching up next to Theon, his axe dripping blood.

Soon, the cavalry began to thin as riders went down in an explosion of sand and horse. When they hit Theon and his men, there were no more than 20 of them, less than half of those who had emerged from the trees.

They killed many of Theon's men. The ironborn wore boiled leather and chainmail, which wasn't much protection against castle-forged steel, but the horsemen were horribly outnumbered. Riders were pulled from the saddle and thrown onto the sand, having the wind-driven from their bodies. But the discomfort didn't last long, as they usually found axes and knives driven into their bodies by three or four raiders.

One of the last men to be pulled from his horse was a young man, tall and broad-shouldered, with an abnormally thick neck. Theon recognized him instantly, as he had made fun of the boy on multiple occasions in the past.

"Wait!" Theon ordered, stopping the ironborn raider from killing the man. He walked up to the group as the man's helm was torn from his head. "Benfred Tallhart. You dumb fool!"

The young warrior narrowed his eyes as he glared at Theon, the hate radiating off him almost palpable. "Theon bloody Greyjoy. You traitorous fuck." he growled. "When I heard the ironborn were coming north, I should've known you would be leading them."

Theon glared at the young noble. "These are my people, Benfred. Where else would I be?"

"Lord Stark raised you as his own!" Benfred roared. "Robb treated you like a brother and this is how you repay him! Theon Greyjoy. Ha! Theon Turncloak!"

Theon leveled his sword at Benfred's throat, glaring at the northerner. "Watch your tongue man! I am the heir to Pyke!"

"You are a traitor, but I expected nothing less from a bloody Greyjoy," Benfred said, spitting at Theon. "I hope Robb cuts out your heart and feeds it to his wolf, you fucker! You never belonged in the North!"

Theon slapped the man with the flat of his blade, leaving a nasty cut on the boy's cheek. "Who is leading the northern reinforcements?" he asked.

Benfred remained silent, spitting at Theon once again. Once more, Theon hit the man with the flat of his blade, cutting him once more in the cheek.

"How many men are they leading?" he asked.

"You will not leave the North alive, traitor," Benfred growled.

Theon growled, clubbing the young noble in the head with his sword. Benfred rocked back from the force of the blow, but the two raiders holding him kept him still. Theon turned to his uncle, who was watching the altercation.

"Have him drowned," Theon ordered.

Aeron nodded and gestured for a couple of his fanatics to grab the northerner, who struggled mightily against his captors, but it was no use. He was dragged down to the beach and into the waves, the drowned men not stopping till they were knee-deep in water. That's when they shoved Benfred's head into the water, holding it there.

The young man tried to fight back, his shoulders and arms shaking violently until they suddenly went still, going slack in the hands of the drowned men. The priests kept the head underwater for a little while longer until they were sure that the boy was dead.

They shoved the boy into the water, watching as the waves took him away to the Drowned God.

Theon watched the death with a neutral look on his face, stunned with himself that he had just had the boy drowned. He remembered meeting the boy several times in the past when Ser Helman Tallhart would visit Winterfell or when Lord Stark would visit Torrhen's Square. He had always mocked the boy for the size of his neck, trying to see how angry he could get the boy.

Now Benfred Tallhart was dead, and Theon had killed him.

There was no turning back now, not for Theon. Benfred was right, history would no longer know him as Theon Greyjoy, ward to House Stark and heir to Pyke. He would be known as Theon the Turncloak, the man who broke his oath to the King in the North and attacked his former home.

A traitor.