AN: I really do not know what I wrote to provoke the two massive essays on ASOIAF in the reviews, but I welcome it...

It might seem out of place, but all of this has a place in the narrative.

Options and Opportunities

Chapter III

Roadkill

The North was a cold, hard, barren place.

The sun showed its face, but it seemed to be a massive tease, going out for ten minutes, before coming back in for an hour, in a sort of cycle, and the winds chilled the bone... And we barely had furs to cover us - only our neck and upper back. Not including our fur boots, that did admittedly seem to be doing their job well.

No wonder most Northmen were stronger and tougher than Southerners - this place is harsh, even relative to Pyke. No wonder most of them seemed grim - this place was grim.

But, it had some sort of ethereal beauty about it that I felt had something to do with the blood of the First Men, the innate magic in their veins, and nearly the whole North itself, with the power in the weir wood trees, and the long-lost children of the forest beyond the Wall... Even the Others, if Martin's source material came up correct.

Nobody had really noticed my fascination with the North, and I hoped that it stayed relatively unknown until only the bannermen of Wintefell remained - I didn't trust anybody at the moment.

I didn't particularly do anything when we stopped, mostly observing what happened, and more importantly, how the Northmen talked to one another. If I could successfully integrate myself, I could eventually hold a certain amount of power.

After all, the Starks had proven how foreigners died whenever they didn't adapt to their new environments, I thought darkly to myself.

There was also the fact that I was too tired to actually properly do much else. I could swing a sword sure, but it'd be a waste to show off whatever I knew to near absolute strangers.

No, it'd be best to do it behind Winterfell's walls, where I at least, had a 50% chance of being safe at all times...

If anything ever went according to plan, I thought derisively, remembering the fact that I was in an alternate universe.

We eventually managed to only become approximately three thousand Stark men, before becoming merely twenty upon nearing Winterfell, and Winter Town. The others had ridden ahead to greet their families.

A sudden shout alerted me to one of the Stark men, falling to an arrow that had struck him right in the eye. I quickly grabbed my sword from the sheath on my waist, even as the Stark men were dying left and right.

I grabbed Asha's arm, my eyes wide. "Get to Winterfell. Alert them to an attack on the Lord and his hostage."

"I'm not leaving you Theon." She protested, her eyes fearful but blazing.

"You're not - you're getting help against an unwinnable battle, proving your worth to the Starks and the North. I'm staying because it shows that I'm courageous in the face of death, you get me?" I retorted, feeling slightly uneasy about making my intentions sound so manipulative.

I squashed it, even though traces remained in my heart. I needed to be focused.

"I'm -" She tried to protest again, but she could see my point.

I capitalized on that.

"Just... Please?" I pleaded, feeling sick about how I was playing this.

I squashed it again.

She reluctantly nodded, before sprinting towards the trees, whilst I inhaled, a determined look entering my face as I managed to crouch behind a rock, peaking out to see Ned Stark managing to fight off three wildlings by himself.

I immediately noticed one of the Free Folk notch an arrow, and seeing that it was aimed towards Asha, sprinted towards them, my sword stabbing into her throat before she could see me properly. Taking the bow from her corpse, I took an arrow from her old quiver and fired, hitting one in the sword arm, giving one of the Stark men enough chance to cut his head off.

A loud shout of exertion sounded out, and I stared upon the form of a massive six-foot man wielding a massive axe, cleave two men into four pieces with a mighty swing of his axe and stare right at me - no, the woman that I had just killed and then at my bloody sword.

"YOU!"

I could barely contain my whimper as he started charging towards me, faster than I thought a man like that could move. His axe swung, and I hastily blocked, the force nearly making my arm collapse.

He backhanded me, and I barely managed to push myself to avoid the axe that threatened to cut my head in half.

He was too fast, and I wasn't skilled enough to be able to try to get the upper hand.

It made me angry to the core. So fucking angry that I couldn't see anybody else apart from him.

My swings became wilder, stronger, more focused.

I was dodging things that I simply couldn't have otherwise.

And then my sword struck his throat, just as an arrow slammed into my shoulder and I staggered backwards, stumbling on the snow-covered roots and branches, nearly falling to the ground, which would have ended badly for me.

I managed to settle behind a tree, narrowly avoiding another arrow that would've skewered my leg - an even worse injury, especially in what was essentially the Middle Ages, even if there was magic in this version.

Blood hadn't pooled from my shoulder injury, and I decided to keep the arrow in there, in case I started bleeding out if I did. I flinched, as blood started pouring from the left side of my stomach, an injury that I hadn't even noticed that I had received during my fight.

I placed my hand over it, whilst my other hand hastily grabbed my knife, and cut a bit of my clothing off, placing it against the wound as tightly as I could.

"There he is!" A voice shouted out, as I tried as hard as I could to stay conscious.

I've lost quite a bit of blood there, haven't I?

"He saved the lord, didn'he? Killed their leader..."

I eventually heard concerned shouting, a familiar voice making its way through the buzz, and my closed eyes, as I lapsed between conscious and unconscious.

And then I finally succumbed to the darkness, shouting echoing my ears.