"Theon is alive and here?!" she screamed at the fucking bastard King in front of her.
"He is. He was captured by Roose Bolton's bastard and turned into a sort of slave. But now he is here at Winterfell and he shall answer for his crimes to me."
Asha saw red. She wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off of the faces of the fucking bastard and his cunt of a sister. Her hands were closed into tight fists and the veins in her neck were standing out she muscles were clenched so tightly. Through gritted teeth and in a low menacing voice Asha said, "You fucking bastard. You knew Theon was here, yet you said nothing. My last living brother and you didn't even have the common decency to tell me you had him."
Asha felt her hands twitch towards the dagger that was laying on the table between them. A moment, that's all it would take. One moment, a blink of an eye, and the King in the North would be dead and the North thrown into chaos once again. She'd follow him in death of course, but in that moment, it was worth it. She never got the chance to grasp the dagger. Before she could even blink, the King's massive white direwolf was on the table between them with his teeth bared and his hackles raised. The wolf was practically daring her to pick up the knife.
She slowly eased her hands down to her sides and forced herself to open her fists. It was only then that she looked around and saw that every man and some of the ladies, including the King's sister, had hands on their swords. And in some cases, those swords were already half drawn. Everyone in the room looked like they were ready to spring forward and cut her down. Except the man sitting across from here. Jon Stark only looked at her with those hard, cold eyes of his. He looked to be as relaxed as he could be. What kind of man has the balls to sit there that calm when the person opposite him plainly wants him dead?
Jon said, "My Lady, you are free to reach for that knife anytime you wish. But know that either my sister or my Lord's Bannermen or Ghost will cut you to pieces before that blade ever pierces my flesh. No, I didn't tell you about Theon because this is the exact reaction I expected you to have. If I was sitting where you are now and you told me you were holding one of my brothers or sisters, I would react much as you have. But I might have actually grasped the knife, I tend to be a bit hotblooded at times."
Asha took a slow deep breath. She felt like she was on the deck of a ship that was both on fire and sinking. Make the wrong decisions, and she'd either burn or drown. Maybe both. Asha took one more breath before replying. She said, "I want to see my brother."
"As you wish. I'll bring you to him myself. Though I warn you, he is not like you remembered him. When I saw him in the yard, I scarce recognized him. His hair is white, his skin is pale and thin, and the Bastard of Bolton mutilated him."
"You're kind to warn me," Asha replied with her disdain for Jon dripping from every word. "Now take me to my brother."
Jon nodded, stood and said, "This way." When several of the Northmen made as if to follow, the King told them, "No, Ser Marlon. An escort won't be necessary. I thank you for your concern, but Lady Greyjoy is now under the protection of Guest Right, and while I would never trust a Frey to honor it, I believe I can trust Lady Asha. At least until she gets what she wants."
Sneering at the White Harbor Knight, Asha told him, "I'll not harm your precious King. Not yet, at least."
More than a few scowls were sent her way at her last remark, but fuck them. She was Ironborn, and the opinion of greenlanders meant little and less to her. The King, with his direwolf at his side, had already turned from her and began to head back out into the courtyard from the still being repaired Great Hall. At least her little brother had done something right and burned the castle rather than let the greenlanders retake it.
It was at least a quarter of an hour before she and Jon reached one of the entrances to the cellars. And it was long minutes more before they reached the bared stairwell down into Winterfell's dungeons. During their walk, Asha had to marvel at the sheer scope of the provisions stored here. There were mountains of bagged wheat, barley and oats. She could smell hops when she passed by one dark alcove. In another, she saw barrels upon barrels of salted meats. Down a hallway, she saw bags full of dried fruit stacked along both walls and climbing nearly to the arched ceilings far above her head.
The Stark words came back to her then. "Winter is Coming." For these men, those were more than words. It was a warning. It must take years to fill larders of this size. She could only begin to imagine the work that had gone into...
Asha shook her head. She was letting her mind wander. Mainly because she didn't know what to say to Theon. She could offer hope of escape, but that was a vain hope at best. Even if she could manage it herself, she'd never get down here to free Theon, get back to the courtyard, then make it outside the walls before the hue and cry went up. But what else could she tell him? To die well? For she knew what the King intended for him. No matter what Theon said on the morrow, by the day's end, his head would be mounted on a spike. Though, perhaps...
"Lady Greyjoy!"
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had failed to notice that the King was no longer walking, but had stopped before a heavy door built of ironwood, barred with iron and bronze and guarded by two men armed with short swords, spears and shields. She said, "Sorry, Your Grace. You were saying?"
Jon looked at her through slitted eyes. Finally Jon told her, "I said, your brother is through here," as he gestured at the now open door. "You will want to take a torch with you, there's no light down there. Your brother is at the end, on the left."
"You put him in a black cell?!"
"Be grateful that I didn't have him thrown into an oubliette. This is better than he deserves after what he did to my family. On the morrow, he will answer to me for the murder of my brothers Bran and Rickon. For the murder of my father's household. For the burning of Winterfell. And for treason."
"What treason? My brother was a hostage to your House. What did you expect? That he would defy his own father and Liege Lord?"
"Theon swore his sword to my brother, Robb. He was one of the first to bend the knee to him and proclaim him King in the North. He called Robb, "brother." And for that, Lady Greyjoy, he will die. Go. See your kin. I'll wait here for your return. And before you try to help him escape, know that this is the only way in or out of these cells."
Asha angrily grabbed the torch that one of the guards had offered her and began her long march to find her brother. She went down and down again before she finally came upon the end of the row of cells. The sheer size of the cells amazed her, as if she needed any more of a reminder that the Kings of Winter used to be far harder men and they would not have built so many cells unless they had intended to fill them.
When she peered through the bars of the cell, she was shocked at what she saw. She wasn't looking at a man, she was looking at a walking corpse. The, thing, that looked back at her through half covered, dead eyes was gaunt, with white hair that looked like brittle straw. It was missing fingers and it's arms and legs were bent and twisted. And the smell! It was horrid. Asha was no stranger to battlefields and their aftermath, when bodies grew bloated and turned green with rot, but the stench rising from the creature in the cell was enough to gag a dead man.
This was not her brother, could not be her brother. Theon was only two-and-twenty. The creature that looked out at her had to have seen at least sixty namedays. But even as she looked with disgust at what that bastard Stark had tried to pass off as her brother, she saw a light return to the eyes that stared at her. A single word escaped the captive's lips. "Asha?"
"A neat trick. Stark warn you that I was coming? Who are you?"
She a look a panic cross the man's face before he said, "Reek. My name is Reek. It rhymes with meek. But...But I used to be Theon Greyjoy."
The creature shook his head harshly and banged it into the wall behind him once, twice, a third time. When it looked back at her, the look of panic was gone. Instead was one of resolve, mixed with agony and acceptance. He said, "Asha, it's me, Theon. Or what's left of me, rather. Reek was what Ramsay called me. Reek was who I became to survive. Please, tell me you're real. Please tell me that I'm not imagining you here."
"How in the name of the Drowned God are you Theon? You're too old."
"Theon" gave a weak smile. Gods, his teeth had been shattered. Dagmer had a prettier smile than this pathetic creature. It told her, "I'm not. I'm what's left of Theon. Ramsay broke me. He broke me into a thousand pieces. What you see is what I was able to put back together. I'm both Theon and Reek. I've kept Reek at bay for weeks getting Jeyne here, I don't have the strength to keep him away much more."
"You're not Theon. I refuse to believe it. If you're really Theon, prove it."
A flash of panic crossed "Theon's" face again and he grimaced. It was a moment before he answered her. "I tried to fondle you on the ride to Pyke when I thought you were a shipbuilder's wife. I tried to fuck you."
Asha was shocked. Theon is the only one who would know that. "How..."
"I told you, Ramsay broke me. He flayed me alive, he took my fingers, my toes, my teeth, he shattered my cheekbone. He tortured me until I broke. I became Reek to get it to stop." Theon paused for a minute, and when he continued, he had a quizzical look on his face. "Why are you here? How are you here?"
"The bloody Blackfish captured me on the Stony Shore. He and that bitch she-bear, Alysane Mormont. They butchered us and burned my ships. That doesn't matter. Listen to me Theon, on the morrow, the King in the North intends to have you brought before him to answer for whatever crimes he claims you to have committed."
Theon just grinned with his shattered mouth. He said, "Do you think I don't know that? I've been a deadman ever since you urged me to leave Winterfell all those many moons ago and I refused. Jon wants blood, it won't matter what I say. He'll have my blood, one way or another."
"No, he won't. I negotiated a treaty with him. Any Ironborn that asks to take the Black is to be allowed to, no questions asked. Even if he finds you guilty in a trial, he has to allow you to take the Black if you ask. He can't take your head unless you give it to him Theon. Don't give it to him, brother. True, any trial will be a farce and he'll find you guilty and condemn you to death. But if you ask to take the Black, he has to let you."
"Why? Jon wants me dead, he almost killed me in the yard. He won't let me take the Black."
"Damn it, Theon! Stop with this bullshit! It's a chance to live, damn it! I've already brokered a deal with Stark. He has to let you take the Black or be damned as an Oathbreaker!"
After a pause punctuated by a sigh, Asha finished, "If you don't want to take the Black, at least demand a trial by combat then. Stark has to grant it, you're the son of a King."
Theon actually laughed at that before holding up his mangled hands. "Sister, look at me! Do I look like I can wield a sword? Jon was always the best of us with a sword growing up and I doubt he's gotten worse over the years. I have two fingers on my right hand, I can barely grasp a sword anymore, I surely can't wield one in a duel."
"So ask for a champion then! I'll fight for you! Or Qarl will. You remember Qarl the Maid? He was captured with me. You know he's the finest swordsman in the Iron Islands. I would trust him against any of the greenlanders. If he wins, you go free. If he loses, you take the Black. Either way, you live. Seven Hells, send a raven for Dagmer at Torrhen's Square if you want. You know that old fighter would gladly fight for you."
The silence stretched between them for what felt like hours. Finally the shattered shell of Theon said, "Fine. I'll request trial by combat. But I want either you or Dagmer to be my champion, not Qarl."
"Done, brother. Just say the word and I'll step forward to fight for you."
Asha's torch started to flicker and Theon told her, "You should go before that burns out. It's a long way back to the undervault from here."
"Stay strong, Theon. What is dead may never die."
The smile Theon gave her was a sad one. It troubled her, but she couldn't put her finger on why. "What is dead may never die, sister. But rises harder and stronger."
Asha turned and began the long climb out of Winterfell's dungeons. When she reached the door to the undervault, she saw Jon Stark and his direwolf lounging by the door. The King was sitting on, of all things, a sack of beans. He said, "Satisfied, My Lady?"
"What did that bastard do to my brother?"
"Much and more, Lady Greyjoy. My sister told me some of it, relaying what Theon told her. Some of it you can see for yourself." Gesturing to his side with a nod of his head, Jon continued, "This is Maester Vyman. You may remember him from your journey here with Ser Brynden? I asked him to examine Theon. My Lady, Theon will die on the morrow. But I will not have it be said that House Stark neglected or tortured him prior to his death. Longclaw will make swift work of him. He'll feel no pain when I remove his head."
"Theon is Ironborn. By your own words, you are required to allow him to take the Black if he chooses it. 'Any man who has reason to fear retribution for his actions in the North will be allowed to take the Black with no questions asked and the North will not seek any vengeance.' Those were your words less than an hour ago, Your Grace. 'Any man.' And Theon is a man. Either you allow him to take the Black, or be cursed as an Oathbreaker. Come to think of it, how are you King again? I thought men of the Night's Watch abandon all claims to titles or crowns? Isn't there some kind of oath involved, something about how only death will end your watch?"
She could see the anger in Jon's eyes. The fucking bastard had been so smug and sure of himself that he'd allowed himself to fuck up. She could see him cursing himself for a fool for not excepting Theon from his "peace terms." Now he would be forced to allow Theon to take the Black and she wouldn't have to watch her brother lose his head. Asha allowed herself a small grin. This was the smallest of wins, but it was a win for her. After everything she had suffered through, she would take it.
"Fine," Jon barked out. "If that turncloak asks to take the Black, I'll allow it. He won't survive long on the Wall anyway." Looking at one of the guards, Jon said, "Lothar, show Lady Greyjoy out of the undervault please. Ser Marlon will likely be waiting for her. Ask him to escort Lady Asha to her rooms and keep her there under guard until Theon Turncloak's trial tomorrow."
"At once, Your Grace. My Lady?"
As Asha walked off, she could hear Jon cursing himself bitterly. She smiled again, but quickly found her smile disappearing. She had just inadvertently taught the young King in the North a lesson about negotiation. He wouldn't make a mistake like that again. And he was unlikely to ever put much faith in her as ruler of the Iron Islands either. In his eyes, she had goaded him into making an error. But in the end, she had just made Jon Stark that much more dangerous in the future. Perhaps now it was her turn to curse herself?
The night that passed was a sleepless one for her. Worry for Theon and for all the rest of her men in the North robbed her of sleep when she needed it most. She somehow doubted that Stark would allow her to send a raven to Torrhen's Square to ask Dagmer to come fight for Theon. Asha wondered who she would fight? If she had any coin, she'd put her money on one of the Mormont bitches. Probably Dacey. She'd heard tales of her ferocity in battle. But a battle is one thing, a duel was completely different. One thing she was certain of, Jon wouldn't fight her himself, he was too "honorable" to fight someone so "clearly" outmatched in a trial by combat.
When the dawn came, she broke her fast on the porridge and bread fried in bacon fat that was brought to her before preparing herself to fight. She used the bath that was in her room to clean herself. If she was injured, but didn't die in the duel, she didn't want the wound to fester after. She'd seen too many wounds turn foul on men who didn't bathe before battle.
It wasn't long after she finished her preparations that there was a knock at her door and she found the formidable Ser Marlon Manderly awaiting her. Unlike yesterday when he was in court apparel, this morning he was armored in a suit of full plate that was polished so brightly it looked like silver. His armor was engraved with intertwined mermen and tridents. His teal green cloak was clasped by twin sultry mermaids, one on each shoulder. His helm, which he held at his side in his left arm was wound about with seaweed made of silver and gold. When he spoke, it was with a voice full of authority. He said, "Lady Greyjoy, by the command of His Grace, King Jon of House Stark, you are to accompany me to the Great Hall to bear witness to the trial of the traitor and turncloak, Theon Greyjoy. My men and I will escort you there presently."
Asha only nodded and made her way out of her rooms, more a cell really she thought, and down to the Great Hall. The Hall had been almost completely cleared, except for the Throne of Winter at the far end on a raised dias. The room was filled with Lords and Ladies from nearly all of the parts of the North that had declared for House Stark.
From the front of the Hall, a grizzled man in armor banged a pike on the stone floor several times. A hush fell over the Great Hall before the man called out in a strong voice, "My Lords, My Ladies, Princess Arya of House Stark." The little princess entered the room looking very different than she had the night before. She was dressed in a slim gown of white satin and velvet with a grey direwolf on the breast. The dress looked like it had been hastily altered to ease movement and agility for the girl wearing it. Around her waist, she wore a swordbelt with a thin sword on her right hip. The poor girl looked massively uncomfortable.
The pike beat on the floor again and the guard called out, "His Grace, Jon of the House Stark, Third of his Name, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North and of the Trident!" At that, the Great Hall erupted as the Lords and Knights pounded their fists against their breastplates and more than a few shouts of "The King in the North!" were heard. There was no denying it, these men were proud to have a King of their own once again after, to hear them tell it, "Bending their necks to a Southorn yoke."
The young King was dressed in much the same fashion as yesterday. He wore the grey and white of his House, though this morning, he was clearly wearing at least partial plate armor and the tunic that covered his breastplate was white velvet, trimmed in ermine, with a grey running direwolf on it. On his head, he wore what she had heard was called the Crown of Winter. All iron and beaten bronze. Across his back, he wore the bastard sword that he had called Longclaw yesterday. She had heard talk of that as well. A gift from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Valyrian Steel, supposedly. She watched the King sit upon his throne and look out over his leal subjects and prisoners alike, for several of her highborn Ironborn were also present. In a commanding tone, Jon said, "Bring in the prisoner."
The doors behind her swung open and, surrounded by four guards wearing the Stark's sigil on their grey cloaks, in hobbled Theon. It took an age for him to reach the bottom of the dias. Once he had, he resolutely looked at the floor before him and refused to meet the gaze of the man he was raised beside. She could see the hate in Jon's face as he looked down at the man he considered a traitor.
With no warning, Jon said, "Theon Greyjoy, also known as Theon Turncloak, you are called before me to answer for your crimes. As King in the North, I hereby charge you with commiting treason against your King, Robb Stark, whom you swore fealty and obedience to, and then betrayed. I charge you with the murder of my brothers, Prince Brandon Stark and Prince Rickon Stark, and with the mutilation of their bodies. I charge you with the destruction of Winterfell when you put the castle to the torch when confronted with men under the command of Ser Rodrick Cassel. I charge you with the murder of my Father, Lord Eddard Stark's, household here at Winterfell. How do you answer these charges?"
The entire Hall was silent as they waited to hear what Theon would say. She could feel an ugliness in the air. These men wanted her brother dead. They wanted blood. What would happen when Jon sent Theon to the Wall instead. With baited breath, she waited for Theon to answer. All she could hear was his sniffling as he fought himself to answer.
Finally, Theon spoke. For the first time since he entered the Hall, Theon looked up at Jon on the Throne of Winter and said, "I request trial by combat, Your Grace."
Jon seemed almost taken aback by the request. At first. But then a hungry gleam entered his eyes and he said, "That is your right. Very well. You have requested trial by combat, that is what you shall receive. Do you wish to request a champion or will you fight yourself? Though I warn you now, you or your champion will fight me to determine your guilt or innocence."
Asha was preparing to step forward once her brother named her as champion when Theon said, "No, Your Grace. I require no champion."
Asha was stunned. No champion? What madness was this? Theon was in no shape to fight! Surely, Jon must know that?
"As you wish, Turncloak. Are you fit to fight? I'll not have it said that I fought you unfairly."
"Yes, Your Grace. I'm fit. I wish to have my trial today."
"So be it." Jon Stark rose from his throne and said for all to hear, "Theon Turncloak has requested trial by combat and refused a champion. We shall adjourn for the nonce and reconvene in the courtyard in one hour for the trial. Ser Marlon, see to it that Greyjoy is armed and armored as he wishes."
With that, Jon turned and walked off the dias and back the way he had come, surrounded by Dacey Mormont, Smalljon Umber, his sister and several others that she didn't recognize. Asha pushed her way through the throng in the Great Hall towards where Theon was being escorted to the armory. When she reached them, the guards allowed her through to speak to her brother. Asha cuffed him about the ear and said to him, "What did you do that for? All you had to do was plead guilty and ask to take the Black. Why are you fighting him yourself? You know you can't swing a sword, not with a mangled sword hand!"
Theon looked at her sadly before giving her a sad smile with his ruined mouth. He said, "It's what I wanted, Asha. I don't want to live anymore. I'm a ruin, inside and out. Ramsay ruined my body and my mind."
Theon paused and then said, "I deserve this, Asha. I didn't kill Bran or Rickon. But I killed two farm boys and burned their bodies to hide it and make people think I did. I did swear fealty to Robb, then I broke my oath to him and took his castle and killed his people. I killed my own friends. I didn't kill all the people of Winterfell, and I didn't burn the castle. That was Ramsay. But I've done much and more that is deserving of death."
"That's no excuse to just die, Theon! Name a champion! You've done bad things? Grow up! This was war! No one's hands are free of blood! You're not guilty of the worst of the charges! Don't do this!"
Another sad smile crossed Theon's face and he said, "Asha, I want to die. I'm in constant pain, my body is destroyed and I don't even have control over my own mind. Please, just let me die. It's what I want. And at least I get to die as a warrior, with a sword in my hand instead of bent over a block waiting for a sword or axe to cut my head off."
Asha put out a hand to stop the small procession, put both hands on her brother's shoulders one last time, looked deep into his eyes and told him, "Then die well, my brother. What is dead may never die."
"What is dead may never die."
"But grows harder and stronger."
She stepped to the side and watched forlornly as Theon was led away to the armory where he would be armored in ringmail and boiled leather with a halfhelm on his head, a light shield of pine strapped to his arm and an arming sword was placed on his hip. When he was led back out to the courtyard, Asha gave him her own cloak to wear so that he might go to the Halls of the Drowned God wearing the Kraken of their House.
Asha wished she could say that Theon acquitted himself well in the fight that followed, but he was nearly as weak as a newborn lamb and just as clumsy. Jon had done what he could to make the fight more fair, she granted him that. He had removed his plate and was armored only in silvered ringmail and boiled leather, with Longclaw in one hand and a shield in the other. He even let Theon attack first, if that's what you could call what Theon did anyway. Theon swung his sword once, then twice, then Jon put an end to the fight when he knocked the sword from Theon's hand, smashed him with his shield, which knocked Theon to his knees, then drove his sword down through Theon's neck into his chest. He twisted the blade and ripped it free. Theon was dead before his body hit the ground. But on his face was a small smile. He had finally found the release he yearned for.
Asha forced herself to watch it all. In years to come, Maesters would likely record only that Theon Turncloak, formerly Theon Greyjoy, had requested trial by combat and been defeated. But she would remember. Theon had died an Ironborn, welcoming death with a sword in his hand. As she turned away from the scene before her, she whispered, "Goodbye Theon. What is dead may never die."