Theon's POV

I wasn't sure what was causing my stomach to churn more: the fact that my father planned to give our lands to my sister or the fact that I had just propositioned my sister. I was torn between throwing up and murdering Yara – both seemed like viable options, but my father's adoration of her kept me in my place even after he had left the hall.

"You have been living with Stark brood, growing part of their family, forgetting the Iron Islands entirely. Look at you!" My sister exclaimed. "You look a direwolf with those furs."

"I'm not a Stark. I've always been a Greyjoy, but you lot gave me away. And now that I'm back, it's like I'm nothing to him. I am his only living son!"

"You need to stop crying like a child, Theon, and be the man you claim to be," Yara returned, her tone already sounded exhausted and chiding as though I were nine years old again.

"I don't need your advice!"

She cast her eyes to the sky and shook her head, "Then, let's not waste any more breath. Choose your side, Theon."

I could feel the steam pour out from my nose and mouth as I glared at her back. What did she know? I was forced out of Pyke by Robert Baratheon as penance for my father's crimes, and because of that, she stood to gain everything that was mine by right.

I led myself to the only path I truly remembered: the way back to my chamber. I opened the door to find that nothing had changed, but it had to be because nothing had been in it when I left. The Ironborn were just that – steely. There were no mementos or keepsakes like Ana or Robb had, nothing of sentimental value from parents, siblings, or friends. This room likely remained as it was simply because no one had been in here in years.

It was like I never existed to them. Did they even remember my brothers at this point? Was that something that ever crossed my father's mind?

The Iron Islands were colder than I remembered. It never seemed that way when I lived here. Everything felt different now, but I knew it was me who had changed, not them, and yet for some pathetic reason, this still felt like home.

The anger from my family's treatment of me was bubbling under the surface of my skin. I could leave tonight, but I did not want to give them the satisfaction. They had to realize what a mistake they made in casting me aside, putting Yara in my place. Who the hell thought that was a good idea?

My mind kept flitting between seething hatred towards my father and sister, and the overwhelming desire to show them that I was worth so much more than any of them. My father had failed at his rebellion, failed as a king. I wouldn't have made such a mistake. I would have been so much smarter than him.

But Ana and Robb needed me. They were relying on me to come back.

I sunk down onto my bed, wishing that I had someone to talk through this with. No one had come with me from Robb's men, and no one here was worth my time to speak to. I glanced towards the desk and was surprised to see a note lying there. Had I left something here as a child?

I stood quickly, walking towards my desk, but when I got there, I recognized a hand much different than mine. The script was smaller, more flourished, and I felt myself smiling. Until I read the damn message: Please do not do anything foolish.

I stared in disbelief at the so-called letter. What the hell was wrong with her? Robb sends me at nearly a month's journey to the home of my family, who could still want me for gods sake, and she chooses to send me a letter, telling me not to do anything stupid.

I swept my arm across the table, casting the note along with a book and an unlit candle onto the floor. The clanging of candleholder and the book grated against my ears. What the hell was Ana thinking? After all we had been through, I expected more; I wanted more. Hell, I deserved more!

I hardly slept that night, staring at the ceiling in this frigid place. I had no word from my supposed best friend. Ana was a bitch, and I apparently meant nothing to my father.

The idea of going back to the Riverlands seemed significantly less appealing than it had an hour ago. If I came back empty-handed…I could already hear the Greatjon's guffaws in my ear, see Willem's knowing smirk; they said when I left that I would not to succeed. Now, they would know as much. There would be no turning that around, but staying here, with my people, I would at least have a chance to do something else.

I could take a ship, begin to build our lands while everyone on land fought in the South to call themselves kings. It could be different here. I could make it different and prove who truly deserved the crown. I could make my own destiny in a way that I never would have the chance to under Robb.

Jaime's POV

"Step back, Kingslayer," the guard warned. His tone was snide now because he knew as well as I did that I couldn't fight anymore, not without my hand.

I wanted to slit his throat, but instead, I sat back, letting him bring in the rations I would barely eat. Why bother living when the only thing you live for is taken from you?

"We move at daybreak," the guard added.

He did not tell me where, not that it mattered. All I would hear from him was how many of my father's men were killed; nothing more. Analysa Stark would usually appear to give me actual information regarding the most recent battle. I knew the maps well enough to guess at where we were if I thought long enough about it, but Ana had not appeared for several days now. I was glad of it. Her insipid smile, trying to inspire some sort of emotion in me.

Instead, I sat watching the preparations, fading in and out. There was talk of longer travel this time, which must mean that the wolves had eradicated the vast majority of my family's forces. Every now and then, I would see a distant cousin, or someone who claimed to be, being moved and call out my name, but I was unclear of what he expected me to do for him. My family had not yet managed to get a trade for me. Their lives would be valued even less, unless news my hand had spread.

"How many are keeping an eye on him?"

It was Willem Samelson's voice that broke into my thoughts. Glancing up, the arrogant boy stood tall, casting an aggravated stare towards me.

"Just me, my lord," the guard answered him.

"I have great confidence in you, but I'd have more in three of you."

The guard furrowed his eyebrows in offense, "My lord, I can't imagine that we need so many men to watch him now."

"Sometimes a wounded animal is more dangerous than a healthy one."

"When did you begin to speak in sayings?" I called over to the boy.

Willem's eyes narrowed as he looked at me, "I suppose war has that effect on me."

I raised an eyebrow, "Odd…you Samelsons are a rare breed."

"As much as I enjoy our exchanges, I have work to do and the smell is getting to me."

"You need a stronger stomach."

"And you need a bath."

I scoffed as a smirk unwittingly came to my lips. He was a child, not nearly as strong as I used to be, but he reminded me of myself.

Willem strode off, looking rather pleased with his retort, and passed his little sister and the pretender to the throne. The direwolf walked with nearly as much pride as Willem.

"You'll see to the rations then," Robb asked.

Analysa nodded, "Yes, I think we should be fine until Riverrun, but I suppose that also depends on just how quickly we get there."

"And how many more prisoners we take," Robb added with a smirk.

Ana looked at the ground, smiling. She cast a soft gaze at her husband. "We have many skilled hands looking after both our men and our prisoners. This could work in your favor; in addition to being known as a fierce warrior, you will be known as a truly benevolent king, protecting all people."

"I will owe much of my reputation to you."

"I will not let you forget it," she returned, now smiling widely.

Robb reciprocated before pulling her into a deep kiss. It made me feel more ill than did the smell permeating around me.

Analysa walked away as Robb and his wolf took another turn.

"You do realize you're in a war," I called to her. "Not back in Winterfell."

"You have to take what moments of happiness you can," she answered simply. "You would act the same I should think with your…" She trailed off, her mouth opening just slightly before closing it resolutely, embarrassed to continue.

"My what?" I pressed, smirking now.

Analysa's face turned a light shade of red as her eyes avoided my gaze, but after hearing my chuckle, she looked back at me. "So we are speaking again?"

The smirk slid from my face. "Speaking does not mean we are best of friends as you seem to think."

"I never thought we—"

"—Of course you did. It is fruitless, though. We are on different sides, Analysa."

"You were the one who offered to teach me to fight, Jaime."

"I did. It was a mistake."

"Why did you do it then?" Her brown eyes gazed at me with curiosity.

I sighed, already regretting the fact that I demanded her attention. "Because I am clearly not as intelligent as I would like to think."

"That's not it." Her stern expression told me that she was not having my jokes.

"Because I felt I owed you something." I sighed at my own foolishness.

"And now, you do not think you owe me anything," she interpreted.

I threw a dark stare at her, feeling the anger boiling my blood as I reached for my missing limb. "You took my hand. I owe you nothing."

Ana let out a loud, angry sigh, "You would be dead by now if we didn't cut that from you!"

"So you think I owe you my life."

"I never said that!"

"No, you implied it!" The anger coursed through my veins, and I was standing on my feet before I knew what I was doing.

"Perhaps it was a mistake speaking again," Analysa returned.

"So why do you not walk away? Why do you keep standing there with that ridiculous positivity and hope, encouraging me to try to fight?"

She turned away, "I don't know…"

"You know what happens when I go free. If I meet your husband again, I will try to kill him. Hand or not, he is against my family, so I will try to kill him, and yet, you insist on being so pleasant?"

"Because you are not free. Because you are trapped, and because under different circumstances, I believe we could be friends. And," Analysa sighed in defeat. "Maybe I am a naïve girl as you said, who thinks if I am kind enough, you might not do terrible things to my family if given the opportunity."

I looked at her with pity, but she returned my gaze with surprising strength. She was naïve, believing that somehow a kind word would protect her husband, but that was love. She would try anything if it meant saving him.

"I am not a warrior like you," she added.

"No one is…but I'm not warrior anymore." I could hear the bitterness in my tone.

"You are not a warrior right now," she corrected. "And for my family's sake, I hope not ever again."

Analysa walked away after that challenge, but her words left me with a fire in my chest that I had not felt ever since my hand was cut off.

Theon's POV

The water poured over me as I kneeled in the sand.

"What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger," I swore as had all of the Ironborn before me.

Even saying the words, I felt stronger walking back to my room. These were my people. This was my destiny. I would take back what was rightfully mine, prove that my family were idiots for pushing me aside. They never would again after this, and I would have my future again, likely an even greater one now. I would be King of the Iron Islands, maybe more.

Back in my room, I started to prepare for the next day. I would take command of my first ship. I had not seen a boat in years, but I knew I would find my sea legs instantly. This was my birthright.

I kicked aside the book that still lay on the floor from the previous night, but something stopped me. There was a note only a few lines long, but the exact size of what I had cast aside yesterday. Picking it up, I turned it over to see Ana's handwritten note about not doing anything foolish. On the other side, her script said something very different:

Theon, I cannot imagine how difficult this is for you. It is equally hard for Robb and me not to have you here. I am begging you to please remember us. Come back to us. We miss you and need you. Love, Ana.

I stared at the page for a long time. So she hadn't entirely forgotten me. It did not change the fact that I could not have everything I wanted as Robb's right hand, but I did start to feel something that I was unaccustomed to: guilt.