Theon
The rocks dug into his arms, legs and back. It seemed whenever he moved, the seawater soaked into the scratches and stung like seven hells. More than once he cut a hand or foot fumbling through the dark, each wound stinging itself numb in moments. He had no way of knowing if he was heading in the right direction, if there was a right direction, but Theon had no intention of turning back. Nor of waiting here until the tide rises high enough that I can't steal a breath of air from the tops of these caverns. Thoughts of the others, of Asha and his lady mother and all the rest who might yet live kept him from sinking to tunnel's bottom and waiting for the end as well. Then he shook them from his mind. I've no need to worry about what might come after this, not when this will take whatever strength I have left to see finished. The cavern's pockets were growing smaller and the water colder both. Maybe I'm moving away from the island proper, then. How is it I can see and hear just fine and yet for all the good it does me I may well be blind and deaf? That lark made him grin despite himself, despite the ruin the Others had rained upon Ten Towers above. Knowing my luck, I'll spring straight up out of the pool I escaped down just to catch a cold-fingered fist in the face. He went back down, squinting in the dark. He could feel the water on his eyes, the salt in his wounds, but only a quick movement in the ink-blackness gave him pause. Another man might have panicked, have screamed out his last breath only for the water to fill his lungs. Theon swam for what he'd spotted, a hunch forming as he closed with the rock on the flooded tunnel's floor. The fishwaif stared up at him from behind it, bulging yellow eyes and all. No stink though, Theon thought. Even the eyes do not unnerve one so, down here where they belong. He went back up for another breath only to find the fishwaif tailing him closely, its body, so awkward and plodding on land, moving through the water without so much as a second thought. A she-fish, if Asha can be counted on to know as much, Theon mused. It, she, followed him all the way up to the cavern's top. Theon didn't waste breath on words. I'm soon to cease being so fascinating anyway, he thought. Especially when I've gone the way of Lord Balon. The fishwaif merely stared at him, the slits at the tip of her pointed head quivering. I wonder if we reek as badly in their nostrils as they do in ours. Then another head broke the surface, blonde of hair and grey of eye. There are worse ways for an ironborn to die than deep beneath the waves and in sight of a mermaid, Theon thought.
"Why have you stopped?" she asked. Theon blinked.
"Er, what?"
"Why have you stopped? You're almost there." Almost where?
"I'm not sure it's apparent to our friend, but you and your lot must know us leggy folk breathe air." Theon replied.
"They understand that just fine. You made it this far without much air, though."
"As far as a man in a desert might with a single waterskin." She huffed. Ass. How would she even know what a desert is? Even as his dry humor failed to amuse her, he felt her hand close around his.
"Deep breath." she said. Theon knew better than to protest, gulping as much air as his lungs could hold before she hauled him down. He did not bother to try keeping his eyes open, they were moving a deal faster than anyone borne to shore could swim and he was confident he'd only see a dark blur anyway. He kept his arms around her, almost like a dance. If I were dancing with a horse as well as riding it at the same time, anyway. Before Theon could do something stupid like bury his face in her front to stop his head whipping about, they broke the surface and he glimpsed the top of another cavern, stalactites glittering prettily down at him. A great big cavern, he saw, looking around to see the place the 'maid had brought him was big enough to hide a longship in with room to spare. And has. Uncle Rodrik's Sea Song rocked this way and that at the other end of the cave, just next to its low mouth. They must have put up the sail and taken the mast down to pass under. Theon wondered if such a trick would have worked on the Crow's Eye. No telling if he knows the Iron Islands' secrets as well as their lords. Either way, it appeared the Others did not. Or at least, haven't troubled to collapse the cavern on top of the Reader yet. Her hand found his face, warm and soft despite the wetness. He turned to her in surprise, eyes wide. I can't remember the last time I felt a woman's touch. "You need not fear your own kind." she said. "Kings and crowns and all the rest, they're nothing to us. If your aim is to cast the one down who calls himself Crow's Eye, know that will not serve the greater cause."
"Staying alive?" Theon asked, utterly befuddled. She looked as if she had not the words to say what was in her mind. "Beating back the cold, the snows, the dead. Serving the interests of your kind assembled." She made a circle with her finger in the small space of water between them.
"I could care less what Euron gets up to just now. It wasn't Euron peppering Ten Towers with volleys of frozen light." That answer did not please her, exactly, but Theon knew he was on the right track. She turned to Sea Song.
"Their work of ice has moved on, for now." To raid the other islands, no doubt. "When you get the deck beneath your feet, do not tarry. You must be gone by the time they return."
"You don't need to tell me twice. I plan to be quit of these islands but good as soon as I can. Asha-"
"-has gone beyond your reach. It isn't the mainland you're bound for just now." His mouth hung open like a cow mid-chew. She looked like she was on the verge of telling him more than she was meant to.
"What am I meant to do out in the middle of the sea?" Theon asked, baffled and a little irked. You lot beneath the waves are a close-mouthed crowd. Then he remembered one of the banners among the many he'd seen on the docks. A black ship before a red sun, on an orange sky. Farwynds of the Lonely Light, eight days' sail northwest of Great Wyk. Perhaps twice that from here. His brow furrowed. "We have enough on board just now without sailing blindly out to sea. The Others could find us at any moment, could catch us without a second thought." She furrowed her brow right back.
"I don't have the words, Greyjoy. If you go out there and see just what's going on, you'll be glad you did."
"I might suggest it to my uncle. Surely, it's the course that makes the least sense. Maybe the Others won't expect it, if nothing else."
"Whatever gets you to those far rocks. Especially if you can reach them without the enemy spotting you." Theon floated there, salt in his wounds, trying to work out what could be of such vital importance on the Lonely Light. Aside from its people, I suppose. The more we save, the fewer dead men there are. Mad they might be, but they're still ironborn. Theon's thoughts were interrupted by the fishwaif's restless croak. "As I said, Greyjoy, far you've come. Don't stop now." The mermaid said, diving gracefully out of sight. Once the tip of her kelp-green tail vanished, Theon gathered himself as best he could and moved across the cavern's length toward Sea Song, the fishwaif close behind.
The Damphair's mutterings were unmistakable, even heard at the water line. Well, at least he made it. I doubt he'll be of much use, though. There was no way by which he might scale Sea Song's hull, and Theon was musing on how he'd get aboard when the fishwaif simply started climbing up the ship's side, her clawed hands and feet finding easy purchase in the wood. A curious gurgle from on high advertised her reaching the deck, the crew's stifled curses perfectly welcome to Theon's ears. The cave was dim, the ceiling black, yet the fishwaif's yellow eyes shone in the darkness all the same when she peered over the side, joined by several people Theon couldn't make out.
"Who's down there?!" came the panicked whisper.
"Lower a rope and find out." Theon whispered back, as loud as he dared. The knot on rope's end neatly bounced off his head when it came down and so Theon had an aching skull when he pulled himself out of the water and onto Sea Song's deck. The maid's hands on his face was wonder enough but a pair of arms around him caught Theon so off-guard he thought for a moment he was about to catch a dagger in the gut.
"My boy." came Mother's mutter. Somewhat awkwardly, Theon brought his own arms to bear.
"We have to go." he said gently, but firmly.
"Go where, Theon? Anywhere we might go will catch the Others' wrath sooner or later." The Reader was a gray-brown shadow in the darkness, but up close Theon could see the man had come through the attack on Ten Towers in one piece.
"How the fuck did you make it to the water?" Theon asked. "The beaches were teeming with dead!"
"I suppose your fishy friends had yet to quit the shallows around Harlaw when the Others dumped their dead on them. While the lanky brutes tore the castle apart for booty, the tide came in. The dead may not drown, but they handle stumbling around in a vicious rip tide with singularly ill grace, still less when a few hundred angry fish-men are tearing them limb from limb. The dead men already moving inland took a bit of luck to bypass…well, more than a bit, but by the time we were in the thick of things it had become a proper feeding frenzy. After that, slipping Sea Song into one of Harlaw's harbor caverns was simple."
"You grey old bunch of goats snuck past a castle full of hulking raiders, ran to the docks through a mob of fish-men and dead men having at each other and managed to hide yourselves, ship and all, when at last the Others bothered to come looking?"
"Theon, look at us. We didn't run everywhere. Between the Damphair's ravings and four bad knees between Lanny and I, even a generous man would be pressed to call it 'running." Theon tried to wrap his mind around it. Aeron isn't even old, really, spending so long in the Crow's Eye's clutches has just addled him. There were other people working Sea Song's riggings, oars, rudder of course, but Theon could not well make them out and none of them came forward. Thralls, perhaps, or just smallfolk. He noticed too, the absence of his aunt Gwynesse. "Gwynny would not leave the castle." The Reader said, supposing what was on Theon's mind. "She told me that Ten Towers ought be hers, as she is seven years my elder. I bid her do with it what she would and took my leave of her and the castle both." Diminished as losing his sons in Lord Balon's rebellion had made him, the loss of his sister seemed to shrink him even more. I don't doubt that should he live another year, there will be more gray in his hair than brown.
"I'm sorry, Uncle." Theon said. The gods had seen fit to take Uncle Rodrik's wife and sons, visit not one but two half-mad sisters on him and when at last he'd made his peace with being their caretaker, it looked to be that even that pittance was not vouchsafed him. I should say something more, Theon thought. "I know you did all you could to steer Asha on the best course in the days leading to the kingsmoot. There's good Harlaw blood in her, tough like Mother and canny like you. It's not your fault, nor Mother's, that there's Greyjoy blood in her too, pigheaded and bold and reckless." Despite Theon's words, the Reader did not smile. I suppose life has had all the few smiles it will of Rodrik Harlaw.
After seeing his mother wrapped in a bit of worn sail to keep her warm as best she'd be, Theon told his uncles where they were headed.
"We know the Others are taking their time with the islands, tearing down strongholds and scouring our shores. They may have missed the Lonely Light, spit of rock that it is." he said, as if he believed in the madness tumbling out his face. "Even if they came upon it, so what? They'll have smashed it up and moved on, left anyone alive to die at winter's hand." That line of thinking made Theon wonder. The islands are no great prize, not truly. Jon Snow said they were interested in places were people gathered in number. To his mind Casterly Rock was just such a place, hanging with Lannisport like a pair of ripened peaches. Well within reach of a cold hand. Theon had no idea what sort of pace the ice-ship could manage but without need for sail, capable of moving underwater…They could be there anytime, I think. Best we get to the Lonely Light and back before the Others see fit to move still further south. That wasn't going to happen standing there and brooding, though. "Whatever remains of the Farwynds and their smallfolk will be much appreciated. Men to row, fight, work. Ships to carry us. No reason to leave coin on the table, Uncle." There was no rebuke from the Reader, who looked as if making it as far as he had had taken the greater part of what strength he possessed. "Get some sleep, you're dead on your feet. Keep my mother alive as well as you're able. The burden is not on your shoulders any longer, Reader. I'll carry us from here." Theon said, louder. A few short orders later and Sea Song was moving, slowly drifting toward the mouth of the cave. Toward the war. Toward waters full of fish-men and dead men and ice-ships that can race beneath the waves as deftly as atop them. He was tired, cold, hungry, but Theon could not find it in himself to be afraid. An eternity ago he had sat at Robb Stark's side, after they'd watched Maester Luwin loose Winterfell's ravens. Well, I must be stupid then, he thought. Once free of the cavern the air got ever colder, the winds fanged and fickle. Theon clenched his teeth as he took up a position by the helmsman, a greyhair so old Theon wondered if he'd reaved during Lord Quellon's time. The sky was filled with gray-black clouds, day or night irrelevant in the wake of the falling snow and frigid wind. "Get our spare sail over the deck." Theon said, intent on getting as many of them under a roof of sorts as possible. Forget the Others, we'll freeze to death in hours if we press on like this.
"Just how quick do you intend we get to the Lonely Light?"another man asked, looking on the wrong side of forty.
"Quick isn't the word. We just need to get there, and when we do, we do." Theon said, ignoring the man's impudent manner. Theon wondered if the man would dare to so much as look Asha in the eye. At least there's one person on this ship with venom in him yet, Theon thought, bringing out a torn bit of sail to put above his helmsman's head.
"Many thanks." The old man said, hands on the tiller with a not insignificant feel for the thing.
"You've been at Sea Song's rudder a good while."
"The Reader pulled me from the waters off Fair Isle when your father tried to win himself a crown. From that day I was a Harlaw man." And all it took was my uncle making a place for you on his ship. No knighting, no buxom young wife with a fat dowry. The more Theon thought on it, the less he thought of it. Buying allegiance, nothing more. I doubt the Starks of old brought the Mormonts, the Umbers, the Manderlys, the Reeds into the fold with pretty daughters and pots of gold. They lived for each other, fought for each other, died for each other. Small wonder the Andals never sniffed the north.
"Do you think they'll find us?" A soft, anxious voice called to Theon when he went under the makeshift roof on Sea Song's deck. He turned to see a young woman no older than seventeen eyeing him closely. The islands were in her face but her dirty blonde hair bespoke the westerlands, likely borne by such a woman, sired by a reaver. "No." Theon said. It didn't even feel like a lie.
"There's nothing to find out here, no one to chase. Aside from cold and hunger, I don't see us having much problem reaching the Lonely Light."
"And if we make it there? When we've got their seal-men and spotted whale wargs, what then?" Once, Theon would have laughed aloud at the stories of the Lonely Light. Once, I had ten fingers and might have married Ros just to please her- and to spite Lord Balon. He could see her as if she were standing in front of him, red hair and glorious bosom both. I might have kept her with me. Answered her jest with a "why not?", maybe given her a babe before I rode south with Robb. Like as not I'd have died at the Red Wedding, and what would have been so terrible about that? Might have been I could stick Roose Bolton before he could kill Robb. Only when she asked again did Theon jerk himself out of his waking dream.
"I think Casterly Rock. Jaime Lannister was dispatched from Dragonstone to neutralize Cersei and then bring the westerlands to bear. Assuming he's done that, the Rock is where he'll be. If nothing else we can stick to that part of the plan and take all those golden dunces north with us for the trip to Winterfell." She looked ready to press another query but the prickly man from before reappeared.
"Edyth, stop your bleating. You need something to do, go wait on Lady Alannys." At once the girl vanished, leaving Theon perched on a barrel with who must have been her father for company.
"She favors her mother, and she's lucky for that." Theon said flatly. "Your looks would do her no favors." The man gritted his teeth.
"She's mine own get and doesn't have sense to fill a shell."
"She's still alive. Sense or lacking it doesn't amount to much when the dead men have torn your guts out or some toothy brute's bitten your head off. And she's survived this long having you for a father. A person doesn't have to be iron to be hard." The man's mouth froze in a twist, as if he were lost for words. Likely he's never heard a compliment of her before, much less from a Greyjoy. Even a ruined one.
"You said the Rock."
"Aye, I did."
"Then all the rest, meeting all them lords on Dragonstone, you were there?"
"Asha was, she's the Greyjoy who matters now. I was there too, but only for lack of a better idea." And because hurling myself into the sea failed utterly to kill me.
"Are they soft, then, the greenlanders?"
"Depends on the greenlanders. I saw a man who could hammer the Lord Captain into squished squid with one arm, Dothraki screamers who wanted nothing less than to charge their queen's enemies with the beat of black dragon wings above them. I saw someone steal that same queen from that same dragon's clutches just to yank his tail." Despite the man's worn, wary face, he gave the same amazed expression Edyth had at the mention of dragons. "Aye, dragons. Two vanished shortly after we landed on Dragonstone but I saw them send ship after ship to the bottom of Slaver's Bay when battle joined out that way. White-and-gold, green-and-bronze, and the queen's own pet. Black as ebon pearl, he was. With eyes bright and dark at the same time, red that made blood look like milk, red that would shame a ruby." By the time Theon had finished, several other people had gathered 'round, listening with rapt ears.
"The Crow's Eye has a horn he claims can bind dragons to his will." Another voice, one free of the muttering that had of late occupied it. Theon turned to see the Damphair looking at him from the crowd. "Dragonbinder. I heard it. It was a scream, a laugh, a death-wail and a roar all at once. The man who blew it died, his insides cooked through."
"No doubt Euron's been many a place, plundered everywhere from one end of the world to the other. Not Valyria, though. I met the only person with enough of the Freehold's blood in her to count, and she didn't strike me as the kind of person who'd make a crutch for those not meant to fly to fly. It seems to me more likely that the Valyrians made such horns and spread tales of them to grow the lie. More likely, indeed, that they made horns that would slay the blower. A lesson, in their purple eyes, to those who would presume to join them in the sky."
The days passed slowly. Or so I suppose. Without the sun and moon to tell, it could be we're sailing straight on into the grey sky. As Theon had said, they saw no trace of an ice-ship, not even a normal iceberg drifting past. Every so often Aeron would come to Theon to warn him against the Crow's Eye and Theon would talk him off the plank, though it seemed a fool's task to hope the Damphair would lose his crippling fear of his elder brother. Once someone spills Euron's brains across Silence's red deck, Aeron will be alright. I was when news came to me that Jon had pulped Ramsay's worm face, that the Deadfort's own hounds had been loosed on him. A dead man, a fish-man, an Other, whoever. The Crow's Eye thinks himself a god in the making. Imagine the disappointment in his eyes when he's gutted in front of all his lackeys. Thinking on his uncles tempered his mood, and a supper of half-frozen salmon pulled from the sea did not help.
"Fresh, though," he said when he was presented with it, "and better by far than empty hooks." He clapped the lad who'd spent all day (night?) bundled up with his pole out off Sea Song's port side, the only angler who managed to fill his hook a quarter of his casts. "There's a bag of silver in this for you, boy. Do make sure you see it through." Theon said.
"Aye!" the lad cried, grinning despite his chattering teeth.
"Land!" came the cry, all eyes turning to the northwest. Theon squinted into the far darkness, at the slightly darker shape that loomed out of the gray world like a sea serpent bearing down on them. The Lonely Light was foremost among several other tiny islands that dotted around it, those same rocks coming into view as Sea Song got closer. A rat among moles, Theon opined. There were no trees on the windswept islands, no shelter but what could be built with supplies brought in from the Iron Islands proper. Themselves relying on what's brought from the mainland. What the fuck is anyone doing living out here? Even House Farwynd's seat was no more than a pittance of a stone tower with a whale oil beacon atop it. Seat, Theon thought derisively. Well, "seat" is relative. A privy is a seat as much any throne. The beacon had not gone out though, blazing forth like the sun when the sun itself would not show its face. Theon could hear too the barking of seals on the rocks, the very occasional huff of a spotted whale's blowhole out still further in the endless grey that had once been the Sunset Sea. Life rules here still, Theon thought, his feelings matching the relieved chatter on deck. More than one hand clapped him on the shoulder, deferent mumbles and impressed mutters. Now I just have to hope some sunken icy bastard hasn't followed us here, letting us press on if only to find out where we're heading, a place that they might have missed. They came up on the chief island's only dock, a dozen ships floating up and down the warped boards. Lord Gylbert Farwynd must have taken the greater portion of his strength to the kingsmoot. Gone to raid the Reach and sunk, kept about the islands and sunk, or else somewhere in this wide world I cannot guess.
With great effort Theon made it to the dock, after a harrowing descent down the gangplank all but blind in the grey darkness but when the beacon blazed overhead. Can't they see us? Why don't they keep the beacon on us so we can bloody see? The possibility that the Others had killed everyone after all crossed Theon's mind. They wouldn't have wasted a volley on this sorry pile of stones, anyhow. He was joined on the dock by the Damphair alone of his kin, intent it seemed on seeing for himself if the Crow's Eye had dug his claws in even here. All the better. Rodrik belongs with Mother. Someone who had come along to Theon's uneasiness croaked along behind him, it seemed unbothered by the unearthly look of the place they'd come to. She's getting bigger, if only just. Taller. Must be they grow quick. The fish-men didn't seem to spend much time as babes, if any, and certainly they weren't born helpless squalling pink things. Of course not. Who has time to spend learning to walk and talk when you're voracious fresh out of the womb, with a mouth full of needle teeth and claws to rend a man in twain? Theon let her go ahead, nostrils twitching, peering occasionally off the dock and down into the water. Only when it took them ten minutes to go ten feet did Theon try to spur her along.
"What is it?" Theon asked, trying to match the creature's tongue without unnerving those around him. She straightened up and turned, yellow bug-eyes locked on him. Obviously she understood but either growing up away from her kind had denied her the learning needed to reply in kind or she didn't think words were worth wasting on one among Theon's kind. "Get on, then, we're not staying long. I've got to find whoever's in charge, get their people rallied and get gone while our luck holds." For the first time Theon saw a fish-man make a face he recognized as the lipless mouth sealed shut in what might have been bemusement. Then her webbed hands flew out with truly astonishing force and Theon flew backward off the dock into the freezing water. Feeling like she'd snapped a rib he wormed to the surface, sucking in wind and crying out as his chest ached. Rough and tumble, hell, he thought, wheezing. There's wild and then there's savage. There was at least as much behind the fish-waif's hands, spindly limbs and all, than in a strong man striking the same blow. A loud bark made Theon freeze, a sleek powerful body slipping past him near enough to make him piss himself. A shark, he thought, until he saw the earth-brown body. The sea lion's almost wolfish head broke the surface, eyeing him warily with a knowing hazel gaze. "Oh, a fucking riot you are." Theon grumbled, still wincing as he put a hand up to haul himself up to the dock. He froze all over again when he found himself staring at a fur boot, his party encircled by several people dressed as well for winter as their visitors were not. Fur gloves, fur hoods, thick caps. Are these ironborn or are they northmen? He gulped and pulled himself up. "Pardon the intrusion. Uhh…" A mermaid told me to come see what you lot were all about. "The islands aren't safe for our people any longer. We came to take you with us, if you would."
"We won't." one woman grunted, stocky as any Mormont.
"You should." Theon replied, speaking before he really thought through angering an island full of hermits.
"What's out there's got no qualms about putting the Lonely Light out but good-"
"Only ones who needed that light have gone two year, now. More." Another islander, a man, interrupted. That Theon did not expect. Well, the Farwynds were always mad, none madder than the branch what rules these rocks.
"Two years? Who rules in Lord Gylbert's stead?" He got a few smiles in reply, even a snigger from a small girl hiding behind her mother. There are three women, four, to every man, Theon realized. Gylbert must have taken all the men when he went.
"Farwynd." the first woman said, smiling widely.
"Which one? Asha told me all three sons went with the father-" At his words the people of the Lonely Light laughed aloud, what men there were drowned out and how by the dozens of women's' voices.
"Sons and fathers. Fit for precious little."
"And what little that is, they oft call big." Another woman called, prompting a second round of laughter. Another hand, fair and soft, appeared from dock's edge. Theon moved to pull whoever else had been pushed off up but half a dozen fishing spears levelled at him, preventing his approach. From the freezing gray water came a woman, one unquestionably of the Lonely Light. Her hair was a deep brown Theon had recently become acquainted with, her eyes were a bright hazel he would not soon forget. The fishwaif gave a gurgle. Theon blurted it out before he could stop himself. "What the fuck?"
Of late, Theon had wondered if, ruined as he was, he would lose the ability to tell if a woman was beautiful. Not yet, he answered himself. She was taller than her fellows, clad in nothing where they were bundled as thickly as could be managed. Only when Theon continued to gape did angry muttering break out, several bundles held out from the crowd for the lady to take. Undoubtedly she was a lady, tall and lush where smallfolk were not. "I am Theon Greyjoy. Here to take you and yours to safety." he said, voice sounding weak and piping after all the laughter moments before. She didn't respond, instead looking at the members of Theon's party dismissively. Maybe I should have brought Mother.
"You are Lady Farwynd?" Her untroubled countenance hardened.
"Kelsie Farwynd, of the Lonely Light." She said it as if it were a put-down, something unsightly.
"Lord Gylbert was your father, I take it?" Kelsie blinked, turning to her people.
"Her uncle. Milady's mother, she were his elder sister." The short woman said, eyeing Theon with fresh contempt. He wondered if it were particularly wise to bring up the laws of succession just now. Aeron mumbled something and Theon elbowed him hard in his bony ribs.
"Damphair, it's time you got it through your sodden skull. Women rule beneath the waves. Mermaids, fish-heads, the Lady Farwynd. Your pissing about and splashing people with seawater's not about to change that and if you don't shut your teeth, you'll get a thrashing you more than have coming." Theon's words got mutters from the islanders, surprised it seemed to see someone from the wider world accept the truth. Fuck, she might have five or ten pounds on me. Never mind a seaweed-strangled scarecrow like the Damphair.
"I'm not here on Gylbert's behalf, Lady Kelsie." Theon said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm here on yours, and mine, and everyone's. Something has come, from the frigid waters of the furthest north. Our ships and castles are no defense against what they can bring to bear, the sea as it stands is wholly lost to us. The addled man who pressed for the Seastone Chair at the kingsmoot? There are dozens of petty lords just like him. Ladies, too, aye. Hundreds, all across the mainland. They don't care about anything but their purses and their privileges, least of all the smallfolk who make their cushy lives possible and fight their wars when they get into snits with each other. If nothing else, your worthy people look to you. You needn't feel your dry-land name is something belittling. Farwynd, of the Lonely Light. Their lady, their leader. I'm not here to dispute that in the least. I don't want to involve myself in your affairs any more than must be done. Just now, that means taking you and yours from a place you cannot leave should trouble come. Lovely as you are, I'd like there to be still more Farwynds in the world after you and never mind arse-headed orange banners with stupid black ships on them. A field of brown, maybe, with grey spots and twin hazel rings." He tried to find the Theon that had spoken to Seaworth's mermaid in the cavern near Dragonstone. Kelsie walked toward him, face set. This close, Theon could see her teeth were just a bit sharper than normal. As much beautiful woman as wild animal. Her hand came up and took his own, ripping off the cloth with a single motion. More than one person hissed in surprise at the sight, but Theon only pulled his other glove off, bringing his hands to bear. From the left, Ramsay had taken his little and middle finger. From the left, his pointer, middle and third. "I'm missing some toes as well, among other things." Theon said clearly. Kelsie, to his astonishment, moved her own flawless hands, soft despite her hard living, over his.
"I know your arms." she said finally. "A golden kraken, on a black sea." When she said no more, Theon only agreed.
"Aye."
"A kraken may lose its arms, did you know that?"
"Only too well." In the flesh, in the mind.
"Did you know that given time, its arms grow back?" Theon swallowed.
"Are we talking of sea monsters or something else, my lady?"
"One thing is the other, Theon Greyjoy." She closed her fingers around those he had left and did not recoil, did not shy away. Theon found himself finding the answer, too, to whether he had lost the ability to desire a woman. Not yet, he thought brusquely.
Sea Song pushed off a short hour later, the Farwynd ships keeping close. Kelsie Farwynd stayed close as well, untroubled by the cold. Like Mormont, Theon remembered.
"I suppose I see now what she meant." Theon said, when it was just the pair of them at the ship's prow.
"Who?"
"The mermaid in the cave on Harlaw. She said there was reason aplenty to come out to your islands. I thought…I don't know. That I'd find something more akin to a weapon, I suppose." He shrugged lamely. "Not that I'm much worth wasting a weapon worth wielding on." Kelsie didn't reply, squinting north.
"What is that?" she asked, pointing.
"Your pardon, my lady. I see nothing but gray sea and gray sk-" A plume of bluish-white light lit up the night, something unbearably bright at horizon's edge that gleamed brighter than the sun and had Theon blinking and stumbling about helplessly. He gripped the deck rail, waiting for the sound of grinding ice. When it did not come, he opened his eyes and looked north to see the light had yet to dim. At least now we can see, he thought. More plumes came and went, though they were nothing compared to the first. It looked, of all things, like the Others were trying to get an enormous fire going. Even as he tried to puzzle it out chaos reigned around him, people shouting on every deck to turn with all speed.
"No." Theon called, voice carrying to quiet the mob. What the fuck do you mean "no," Greyjoy? He stood on Sea Song's rail, hand on a rope, so all could see him. "The Farwynd ships, save the smallest, will sail for Casterly Rock following Sea Song, according to the original Dragonstone plan. I will press on alone with the remaining ship. Perhaps a single foundering ship will allay any suspicions of the Others' that there is still more prey in these waters." They looked at him as if he'd started gurgling again. "Before I thought we were far enough away from them that time was in abundance. Just now, I want you all to get gone as fast as can be managed. I'd rather lose one ship ready to be lost than thirteen, with all souls. I'll not have so many lives on my conscience." There I go again, blurting out whatever springs up in there. What kind of Iron islander am I? What kind of Greyjoy? Rather than debate with him they set to shuffling from ship to ship, Sea Song taking on as many as it would hold while the rest of the smallest ship's crew dispersed among the rest. Theon stepped briskly off the Reader's deck, swallowing as he took the measure of his new command. This would not have made it much further than beyond sight of the Lonely Light's beacon, let alone reach Casterly Rock. In short, it fit his purposes perfectly. He heard more people coming aboard, turned to see Kelsie Farwynd, the old helmsman and a few young men eager to leave boyhood behind on the deck. Bringing up the rear was the fishwaif. "My lady, I can ask no such thing of you-"
"As I recall, you didn't." she interrupted.
"What about your people?"
"They are in safe hands. Safer still if they were yours, missing fingers and all. As you're headed toward the danger though, not away, with you is not where they belong."
"Heading?" the greyhair asked, looking like he had more years to his name than all the young men put together.
"North." Theon replied, without the slightest bit of reservation. "We can't let them get up to their fuckery where we can't see it. It's time we pissed on something of theirs." The old man grinned, showing still more teeth than remained to Theon. The reaver beneath the grey hairs.
"Aye." he said, turning to the rudder. Again, he found himself alone with Kelsie Farwynd.
"It is as you said, my lady." he murmured, hand coming to rest on the mast. "My arms grow back."
