All rights belong to GRRM
Theon IV
Theon breathed slowly as he hid next to the giant tree, his eyes locked on the small trail in front of him. He and 200 other ironborn were currently set on either side of the track, waiting for the northern force currently marching through the forest.
Theon had displayed scouts to the north, east, and south as he moved east towards Winterfell. Thankfully, his caution had paid off. He had received reports that a large force, perhaps 500 men, were currently marching double-time towards the Stoney Shore and the two forces were currently on a collision course.
What had worried Theon was who was leading the force. It was Ser Rodrik Cassel, that much was painfully obvious. When his scouts had described who was at the head of the army, Theon knew instantly who it was. He was not pleased with seeing the old knight again. He thought that he was still in the south at Riverrun, where Lady Stark would no doubt be. Perhaps Robb had sent the knight north when he had heard of the ironborn attack, but there was no way the Cassel had made it north so quickly.
There was also another man who rode with Ser Rodrik, which Theon guessed was Cley Cerwyn, based on the tabard that the man wore. Cley was a good warrior and man. He would be a tough bastard to bring down.
Theon had set his men amongst the trees where the enemy would be coming through. Dagmer was nearby Theon, an old, battered fog horn in his hand. It would be what signaled the attack.
As the opposing force got closer, Theon began to hear them. Ser Rodrik did not quiet his men, whose voices could be heard well down the trail. Apparently, the old knight felt confident in the Wolfswood, which was understandable. Not many would assume that the ironborn would be so far inland.
But Theon wasn't like more ironborn.
Theon eased the bow off his shoulder, drawing an arrow as well. All around him, the forest shifted as men made their weapons available, grinning fiercely. They were used to swift and bloody surprise attacks, sneaking up on unsuspecting towns and villages and hitting them when they were unprepared. This was their style of fighting.
Theon sighed quietly, shifting so that his pant leg, his knee already drenched with mud and water, was a little more comfortable. He and his men had been hidden for at least an hour, waiting for the enemy.
Finally, just like at the Whispering Wood, Theon began to hear the light thunder of horse hooves pounding on the trail. It was not like the rolling thunder, the sound that had heralded the arrival of the Blackfish and the Kingslayer, along with their hundreds of men. This was more like surf slamming onto the coast during a storm.
Finally, the northern host rounded the bend and came into view, marching at a brisk pace. At their head, just as was reported, was Ser Rodrik and Cley Cerwyn, both speaking in hushed tones.
Ser Rodrik wore ringmail armor with a longsword and dagger at his side. On his head was his steel helm, the same one Theon remembered Arya wearing when King Robert entered Winterfell.
Seeing the man again was more of a sad occasion rather than a shocking event. Theon didn't want to kill the knight, but he knew it would end up happening. Everyone in this host needed to be killed so that Theon's attack on Winterfell wasn't exposed.
Cley Cerwyn certainly looked like a man ready for war. He wore plaited leather with steel pauldrons and a steel gorget. A tabard bearing the twin axes of House Cerwyn covered his torso. At his side, he wore a broadsword and had a heater shield strapped to the saddle of his horse.
Theon glanced at Dagmer Cleftjaw, who looked excited with the impending battle. He was confident that his and Theon's crews of hardened ironborn would be more than a match for the green boys and old men that Robb left to garrison Winterfell.
Theon turned his attention back to the enemy as they were about to pass Theon's position. He nodded to Dagmer, who put the horn up to his lips and blew, the low and mournful note penetrating the forest.
Theon stood quickly, his hand coming back to his face as he drew his arrow, aiming for Ser Rodrick, who had drawn his sword. Theon had a clear shot to put an arrow through the old knight's face, but in the last second, he changed his mind. He swung his aim and fired, watching as the arrow went cleanly through Cley Cerwyn's throat.
The northern host fell to confusion as arrows came from the shadows, striking down northerners where they stood. Within a few moments, more than 50 northerners had been either killed or wounded by the first volley, but the arrows did not stop.
Ser Rodrik attempted to regain control of his men, but that's when Dagmer and the infantry struck. The old raider roared and ran from his hiding spot, as dozens of ironborn ran out of the woods, waving their axes and swords over their heads. From the east and south came more raiders as Theon's trap came together.
The son of Balon Greyjoy continued to casually fire arrow after arrow into the mass of Northmen as they tried to form a defensive formation, but it did little when the ironborn finally got to them, cutting down the still confused Northmen.
With the northern infantry distracted, Theon turned his attention to the cavalry, who was cutting down the Northmen with ease. With the last of his quiver, he put down a dozen horses, taking careful aim to place arrows right behind the left shoulders of the beasts. Other archers began to follow his lead as well, turning the horses into pin cushions until they were unable to stand, causing their riders to be thrown into the mud, creating easy targets for the riders.
With no more arrows, Theon drew his sword and jogged towards the fight, crossing the last few meters at a sprint as he entered the fray, his sword rising and falling as he carved a swath through the infantry. He didn't bother looking into their faces, there was a good chance a few of them actually knew who he was.
The faces he did see where of old men, with grey beards and slow reflexes, and young boys, whose eyes were filled with fear. Theon ignored it all, intent on putting down the man in front of him.
The next hour was a blur the Theon, who continued to cut through the northern host, his sword, face, and armor becoming splattered with gore. It was not a massacre, like at the Whispering Wood, but it was clear who was winning. For every ironborn that was cut down, two or three more Northmen were cut down in turn. And now that the archers had run out of arrows, they too joined the fray, adding to the carnage.
In a moment of clarity, Theon heard the roar of Dagmer as he fought someone, spitting curses and abuse. Theon disengaged both mentally and physically from the fight, trying to find where the old raider was.
He found him where the head of the host used to be. Ser Rodrik fought next to his downed horse, his face and armor covered with mud and blood from where he had fallen. But it was evident that he had claimed his fair share of kills, a half dozen fallen ironborn around his feet paying testament to the fact.
The Ser Rodrik fought Dagmer, the two old warriors showing that time did not hold them back. Dagmer fought with his usual blend of strength and abuse, bashing at the knight with his battleaxe, while Ser Rodrik fought with controlled fury, moving with agility that belonged to men half his age.
Theon began to move towards the fight, slowly at first but began to pick up the pace. He cut down any man that got in his way, his eyes trained on the fight in front of him. However, he continued to be stopped by Northmen who recognized Theon as the leader of the enemy. None of them caused Theon much trouble. Theon had already fought in a battle and a number of minor scuffles. He was more than a match for his opponents.
Dagmer stepped to the side to avoid a strike from Ser Rodrik, and with a mighty roar, he brought his axe down on the knight's wrist, chopping off the man's hand. Rodrik, to his credit, did not cry out. He looked at the stump of his hand, falling to his knees before the old raider.
Dagmer smiled grimly, hefting his axe. "Well fought," he said, before binging his axe down in a savage strike, cleanly cutting through flesh and bone as he took the knight's head off.
Theon reached Dagmer just as Rodrik's head rolled to a stop in the mud. His eyes didn't leave the head, staring at it with an unknown emotion. He didn't know whether to feel sad, happy, or angry. Maybe he was feeling a mixture of both. He wasn't sure.
Dagmer clapped Theon on the shoulder, turning him so that they were both watching the last of the northern host be put to the sword. The ground was littered with dead, but it was obvious that the majority were northerners. The raiders walked among the dead, putting the injured to the sword, helping their comrades where they could.
"Well done lad." Dagmer laughed. "We certainly fucked them up!"
Theon nodded, his eyes roaming the bodies, noticing for the first time faces that he used to know. He used to train with some of those men, he grew up being protected by them and now, because of him, they were dead. They had families and children.
But Theon had gone too far. He had gone too far when he had killed Tallhart back at the village on the coast. He was committed to attacking Winterfell, and he had no choice but the keep moving forward.
"Collect whatever arrows you can, clean your weapons, and take what you need," Theon said, taking charge once more. "We leave in an hour. We have a castle to take!"
