Theon

Asleep or awake, it made no matter. Theon's days were spent in Casterly Rock's hall, poring over every map of the north House Lannister could bring to bear along with the westermen. His nights saw him return to Winterfell as it had been in boyhood, learning the geography of the north from Maester Luwin.

"We'll be at sea at least a week, and that's not accounting for the Others having their say in the meanwhile. They didn't build their ice-ships not to bugger us with them." Theon said grimly, arms crossed as he looked again and again from Casterly Rock to the North's southern coast. No matter how many times he went from one to the other, the distance between them did not change. And if I look too much longer it may well seem to bloody grow.

"If they show up and send us all to your wet god, there's not much point worrying about anything from there." Ser Addam Marbrand said from across the table.

"Aye. There's no reason to stop at the Rills anyhow, might be we could go a bit further inland on the Saltspear." Theon replied.

"What if they happen to freeze it behind us?" Lady Genna's weasel-faced whelp piped up.

"Let them. If they're freezing it behind us it means we made it that far in the first place- and we're not looking to turn around. Even if they lock the ships in the Saltspear's waters, well, more land to walk on, isn't it?"

"More than some of the cavalry garrisoning the Rock is heavy horse. Won't they go through the ice?" Lady Genna asked.

"No. The Others don't do half-measures when it comes to freezing things." Asha said grimly from Theon's shoulder. The warlock's piss the Crow's Eye had forced down her throat had her shivering nearly constantly and twitching like a snared hare, but what worried Theon most was the stifled sobbing he heard coming from her room most every night. Perhaps it's a mercy the Others may well kill us all. Theon had no wish to see his sister go the way of the Damphair, haunted by the memory of the Crow's Eye after years in his clutches.

"Once we make the Fever the water will be too shallow for an ice-ship to follow, which means we won't have to worry about them loosing gods-know-what on our heads while we're trying to disembark." Theon said.

"The luckiest of us, maybe. Those that make it that far still have a week and more's worth of marching north over the barrowlands to reach Winterfell." Ser Addam replied.

"Better than running aground on the Rills and making the march longer by half or worse still, Cape Kraken and the Flint Cliffs." The Others do have rather a gift for pissing on anything we try to do. "I think it's safe to assume a healthy number of our ships will get scattered. Storms, an ice-ship, some other horseshit cold mischief they've cooked up, what have you." Theon put his finger on the jut of land south of Blazewater Bay. "Getting dumped that far off course doesn't doom one, though. Just find the northern shore and follow it east to Moat Cailin, then straight north to Winterfell. We'll be coming at the castle from a hundred different ways in a hundred different bands, at least a few are bound to get through."

"Unless the dead stand so thick a charging bull couldn't get through. How do we even know there's anyone at Winterfell?" Lord Prester asked, his arms crossed.

"They're there, and doing better than we are." The sound of the Kingslayer's voice was like a tonic to the westermen, the lot of them losing their tired or grumpy or despondent affects at once. "I'll need your captains to come to the Golden Gallery." It took Theon a moment (and Asha's elbow in his ribs) to realize Lannister was talking to them. Wincing and rubbing his side, Theon nodded.

"More maps?" He heard more than one groan from the motley ironmen in attendance.

"Hells, no. Letters have never behaved for me as they do for my brother. I had something a little more tempting in mind."

It was one thing to jest that Lannisters ate off golden plates and shit in golden chamber pots. It was another entirely to see whole halls rotten with the yellow metal, tapestries boasting gold thread, maps in heavy gold frames. Even the stands the sets of golden plate armor were gold, to say nothing of the countless goblets, some of which sported thicker beards of jewels than a ship might of barnacles. Golden swords, golden halberds, chests of coins and rings and jewelry…

"No wonder you're all such pompous cunts." Lannister's sellsword-knight muttered.

"Beats being a penniless one." Lannister prodded one of the suits of armor while the gathered men gave a few chuckles. "There's bound to be some glass in here, somewhere. I'll never find it looking one-handed." He shook his head. "A shame you'll have to do the looking, Ser Bronn, in the company of these stout captains. Remember, gold's no good for fighting so try to leave anything too heavy. Anyone who lives can come back for the rest." He turned, then stopped. "Try and leave something for the men beneath you to find." There was a mad dash for the glittering gold, Ser Jaime Lannister showing no great concern that a pack of reavers was plundering the lauded treasures of House Lannister.

"I hope you know they may well leave the place completely empty. If not them, the deckhands and oarsmen to come after them." Theon said.

"I care. The party from Deep Den has still to arrive and we need someplace relatively clean to put them." The ravens had flown in the days prior, the group waiting for the Kingslayer's go-ahead now on their way to Casterly Rock, or so the last raven had said. Unless the cold monsters living in the mountains put an end to them. "Besides, treasure will only weigh them down. By the time we leave, everyone will have set their own little pile aside of anything too heavy to carry. I don't doubt the rings and brooches will accompany us north, but only a halfwit charges into battle carrying a golden halberd."

"Only a quarterwit forges one in the first place. You can spend gold coins. You can't spend gold breastplates." Theon replied.

"Not with that kind of narrow mind." Lannister waded into the chaos and returned with a gleaming breastplate complete with reliefs of lions on it. Hopeless.

"Here. Ask the next baker you see for a loaf of bread and give him that. See if he asks for coins instead."

The Golden Gallery took nearly a week to completely pick clean. As Lannister had predicted, even the poorest of those who'd taken their pick of the place saw fit to leave their plunder where they slept. In the meantime, the stragglers from Deep Den had arrived and even a few ships fleeing the Reach had made it to Lannisport. Though Lady Genna pursed her lips whenever she saw a reaver clad in all manner of jewels and carrying some golden weapon or other under an arm, the Kingslayer could not have minded less. Troublingly, the temptation of a castle of castles' worth of gold was not enough to get Asha to bestir herself, soon the focus of much of Theon's attention. He found her where he thought he might, wrapped in a thick blanket to keep out the chill the open curtains were doing perilously little to.

"Are you trying to catch your death?" Theon asked, yanking the curtains shut.

"Just keeping an eye out for trouble." she replied, voice slightly muffled. Theon didn't have to turn to see the uneaten meal beside her, the undrunk wine accompanying it. And this was Asha.

"I didn't know you could see in the dark."

"I didn't know you were my bloody mother."

"Where is Mother?"

"After so many years of him looking after her, I suppose she's taking a turn at looking after the Reader."

"And the Damphair?"

"As like to die tomorrow as live another fifty years, I should think. He's iron, after all."

"He may be iron, but he's not Harlaw." Theon frowned. There was nothing to be done for Aeron Greyjoy. Whatever had remained of the man after years of life as the Damphair, the Crow's Eye had peeled away. In the end, the ironborn could bear if he lived or died. Like me, I suppose. Jolly. The same could not be said of Asha. "Get somewhere you don't have to stay awake to keep a fire going in the hearth. The lads are a bit busy just now, so I've got a few moments to see to our elders. You've got naught to do but rest-"

"Why do you think I'm up here? The view? Like you said, I can hardly see in the dark. It's better than falling asleep, though." Theon mulled that over.

"Then try the Stone Garden."

"The godswood?"

"Aye. I can't guarantee something or other won't make mischief with your dreams but whatever it might be, it won't be the Crow's Eye." Asha turned away from him, as if embarrassed. "Go. See to yourself and I'll see to Mother and the others." Theon said. He pulled her from her chair, Asha wobbling a bit on her peg. She limped over to the door.

"I don't think I can fight like this, Theon." she said finally.

"I've not heard much of the Kingslayer's prowess since he lost a hand and he's still around. Besides, you're smart enough not to put yourselves in the disasters he always ends up neck-deep in." He gave her a moment, waiting for the sound of her peg tapping on the floor to recede before leaving himself. Some shape we're in. And we're planning on taking the fight to the Others.

Theon found his mother seated in a small library with her brother seated next to her. The Damphair was nowhere in sight, but that was hardly surprising. Probably down in the caverns, gargling seawater. The Glovers were present as well, Gawen in a seat of his own while Erena had a book open in her lap. She looked to be reading to Lord Rodrik before Theon interrupted.

"You lot look cozy."

"It's better than Black Wind's cabin." Erena said, huddling over her book.

"Don't let Asha hear you say that." And there's no guarantee the Others won't pound the Rock given half a chance. Certainly, there were enough people taking refuge within to tempt an assault from the cold ones. Maybe their attentions are dedicated elsewhere. Maybe we'll make it north unbothered after all. He snorted. And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow with all my fingers. "I only need borrow Lady Alannys for a moment." Uncle Rodrik nodded, rising with as much grace as an aging blind man could. It was just like the Crow's Eye to take the Reader's eyes. "We'll have to find you a new name, Uncle."

"You won't." Gawen cut in, grinning suddenly.

"Hm?"

"Lord Glover had rather a curious idea earlier." Rodrik said mildly. The northern boy lord looked at his feet.

"I, uhh, asked if the Reader needed candles. For reading. I didn't know Euron maimed him."

"If nothing else, I'll not need to scavenge for candles for reading at night anymore. Never mind the candles, my lord."

"Right. We thought we might poke up a parchment with a dagger so the Reader could read…after a fashion. With his fingers instead of his eyes."

"One doesn't need light, or eyes at all to read with one's fingers." The Reader seemed almost pleased.

"I'm sure the maesters have put together something or other of the sort." Theon mused, resolving to avoid any place books were kept in number for the rest of his days. They keep you cooking up the maddest things.

"Perhaps, but until we meet one who has, we'll keep on with our own." The Reader let the Glover children lead him from the library. Before Theon could so much as turn to face his mother she had her arms around him, cinched tight enough to crack a rib.

"Glad to see you're in good spirits, Mother."

"Hot food and a warm hearth will do wonders for anyone." She looked a decade younger than she had at Ten Towers.

"Not everyone. Asha, for one." Theon replied. She blinked at him as though he'd brought up a stranger. Has she forgotten she has a daughter? He wondered if they'd all mistaken her uplifted mood for something good when it was just the opposite. It would fit with everything else in this world going to shit.

Gently Theon sat her in a chair near the hearth and filled the one across from her. Even with his hands in hers her fingers dragged across his own, as if to keep him from sliding from her grip. Arms of the kraken indeed.

"Mother, Asha needs you now, not me." He watched the light flicker in her eyes when she found the not-there fingers his gloves were hiding. "I heard from the others about the kingsmoot. About what Asha said to all the assembled captains on Old Wyk. Making allies of the mainlanders and taking up on Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore. Hard lands, no doubt, but no harder than scratching a living from our spits of rock. The dragon queen wants to put an end to raiding and reaving anyhow. I don't care what the Damphair says about returning to the Old Way, with Others breaking the Iron Islands and dragons lairing on the mainland, there's little and less place for the ironmen of old." Not to mention the seas teeming with fucking man-fishes. He'd have to see about sniffing out where the fishwaif had gone, at that. "Either we hammer ourselves into something new or these coming days will be the last for our people." It was his turn to take her hands. "A smile and a kind from you would do just as much good for Asha as food and rest. Warlock piss poisons the spirit, not just the flesh." Mother blinked, looking uncertain. "I know she's pleased the Glovers have come this far, as a start. It could be their time at Ten Towers is the means by which the first step might be taken towards closeness with the northmen." He felt ten fingers beneath his own, yet he wondered if perhaps his own were stronger, maimed and all. Asha would take your death hard, that much I know. "Shall I take you to her?"

"I know the way." Mother said curtly, rising without aid. Though, whether she might indeed know where Asha was in the maze the lions had wormed into their Rock was another matter. He wanted to go after her, to make sure she reached his swaying sister, but there were a dozen other things more pressing that needed doing.

Though Aeron was indeed at water's edge, locked in some war of mutters with several other drowned priests, the fishwaif was nowhere to be found. That's queer. Theon felt a tendril of uncertainty twist in his gut. Maybe she just got bored and fucked off. Nothing much going on here to keep her attention, after all. The others of her kind had already gone. Once they'd pushed the Crow's Eye's black stone altar into the water, they had not returned. He was about to ask if the sea-drunk old crabs if they'd seen her, but the sound of the water lapping against the docks was soon giving him all sorts of unpleasant shivers. Unbidden, the word lurked just beneath the surface of his thoughts, like a shark hidden but for its fin. M'har. If he didn't live to figure out just what it meant, well, that wouldn't much bother Theon Greyjoy. I have more than enough to worry about without adding whatever that might be. Then his lips twitched. Before he could go gagging and gurgling away in the fishy tongue, he bit down on his cuff and waited for the madness to pass.

"Glllllllgh." he grunted through the cloth, though that was better by far than whatever he might have said. Air, he thought, and lots of it. On the way up to the top of the Rock he passed by several men lugging empty trunks between them. Westermen and ironmen both. "What are you lot about?" Theon asked.

"Ser Bronn pointed out to Ser Jaime that they found some of that dragonglass in a barrow somewhere in the hills."

"So?"

"Ser Jaime commands that we crack open every tomb in the Hall of Heroes to see to the bones of Lannisters of old within- and bring up any glass we find." Theon raised an eyebrow, turning to one of the ironmen among their number.

"Taking orders from the likes of the Kingslayer, eh?" The man grinned.

"Dead lions are as rich as live ones. Might be we find some gold among the bones, no one will much miss it. 'Specially not the Kingslayer."

"Well, sort out the bones before you go pulling rings off fingers or such- it might be you're in for a proper startling." I suppose it's too much to ask that one of you sorry louts manage to find anything better than a few arrowheads buried with the dead lions. He felt his gorge rising again. A few moments more and they won't need a dead man reaching for them to fill their pants. He pushed on upward, not stopping until he heard the winds blowing atop the Rock. Out in the cold gusts, whatever was going on seemed to be blown right out from between his ears. Good thing I won't much need to be near the sea in the coming days, he thought sourly. Something gleamed in the fresh few inches of snow, gold unmistakable against the endless white the world had become. Despite himself, Theon peeked once around to make sure no one was looking before he stooped to pick whatever it was up. It turned out to be a coin, though Theon couldn't begin to figure why someone would go to the trouble of climbing to the top of Casterly Rock to hide a single dragon. Idly he flipped it, realizing as it tumbled through the air that it wasn't a dragon at all. When it came to lay in his palm, Theon beheld a face in profile with neither hair nor beard. A powerful heavy brow hung over a mouth that was no more than a solemn line. It was heavier than a gold dragon of Westeros as well, with a half-sun half-crescent moon motif on its other side. Tiny lines ran around the edges of the coin as well, a sort of writing perhaps? A sudden warm draft from further up the Rock nearly had the coin flying out of Theon's hand, his humoring mood vanishing at the sight of the fishwaif standing stolidly between him and the Rock's peaks, her bug eyes locked on him. Oh, bugger.

"This is your doing, hm? Well, the first I've ever heard of a fish fishing for a man." Another warm draft from behind her had his eyes flicking to the path- and getting a low gurgle from her. "What's it to you, anyway? You belong in the water, there's no water this high up. Or were you just hankering for a peek at snow as it falls on land?" He got a bit of a start when she started waddling toward him, rigid and heedless of anything else around her. Her webbed hands came up and gave him a prod. Theon knew better than to protest in the Common Tongue, nor did he feel like waking up bound and gagged if he managed to bring up the fishy words from wherever they'd been shoved in his mind. Rather than let her push him all the way back down to the Rock's bowels, he turned and went of his own accord- noting that she kept close behind, gurgling whenever he turned to look.

I suppose it beats trying to talk to her. Theon spent the walk back down trying to puzzle out the coin instead. It was no Lannister coin, not from any age, its conspicuous lack of lions was hint enough of that. The sight of Mother and Asha sitting in front of the hall's hearth was enough to make him forget the coin, his mood bubbling back up. Nearby, Gawen Glover had a pile of books he'd plundered from some library or other, peeking through each and telling the Reader what each was about. Erena busied herself with building a little throne of the books, sitting on it and giggling to herself while Gawen grumbled.

"You missed the lads looting the Golden Gallery. They've moved on to the Hall of Heroes, but there's likely only to be slim pickings in comparison. Dead Lannisters may be richer than most live men, but live Lannisters are richer than anybody." Theon said, flipping the coin to Asha. She frowned into her palm.

"That's no dragonking's face."

"Not in the slightest. It doesn't have the Targaryen dragon on the back either." Theon remarked, shrugging as the Glovers came over for a look.

"What are all those scratches? Did you drop it?" Gawen asked, looking irritated. A Reader in the making, Theon mused. Erena meanwhile had gone pale, eyes wide at the sight of the profile on the coin.

"Like in the book!" she cried, baffling Theon. Asha took another look, less dismissive this time. "Where did this come from?" she asked.

"I found it in a garden atop the Rock. I figured someone hid it up there for safekeeping, having just plucked it from the Golden Gallery. It's no Westerosi dragon but gold is gold and Lannisters are Lannisters, no?"

"It's a head! Like the book!" Erena said again. Gawen put his forehead in his palm.

"If you start having nightmares about stupid head statues chasing you again, what are you going to tell the Others when you cross paths with them?"

"What the fuck are you all on about?" Theon asked.

"She found a book in the Book Tower that had pictures of stone heads in it, and the nightmares they gave her kept me up many a night." Gawen replied.

"They weren't stone! I told you, they were black!" That tugged at Theon's mind.

"Black like dragonglass?"

"Bugger the heads and what they were made of." Jaime Lannister's voice called from the hall's entrance.

"Buggering something made of dragonglass sounds perfectly awful, so I think I'll pass." Theon replied, Gawen snorting as he tried to hold back a laugh. "What's happened?"

"The people from Deep Den have begun to arrive. Westermen and men of the Reach."

"Ah. Battered, are they?" Lannister stepped over, hardly glancing at the coin.

"No. In fact, nothing came upon them at all." His expression was anything but relieved.

"Well, things have to go right at least once, right?"

"You and I have both taken it in the ear at the hands of the Others. Luck plays precious little part." Something's kept the cold monsters in the hills off these stragglers, something quite apart from us.

"Ah, maybe more than a little. Sure, they toss us about like a mutt might a rat but depending on what you land on once they let go, you can either run away or crawl."

"Dare I hope a surly northman was among the new arrivals?" Asha asked.

"Surly and northman mean the same thing." Lannister replied.

"What are you so surly about? Your helpless made it here unbothered, what's to find fault with? Might be one of your cold cats staked out a nice big territory and isn't suffering trespassers, even cold ones, regardless of the number of legs."

"We still have to make the voyage north, a chancy proposition with whatever destroyed Ten Towers prowling the waters between here and Blazewater Bay."

"It's only one ship. Enough of us ought get past it, the same as when we're on foot. A single Other's not going to stop an army, not without dead men doing the stopping for him."

"I'd rather not have to contend with them until we're on foot. Westermen know something of sailing, especially those born in Lannisport, but nobody's ever helmed a ship that can turn a castle into rubble. Just because we have the numbers doesn't mean we have to hand-feed ourselves to the Others until they're so glutted they can't effectively give chase."

That night's council revolved mostly around bringing the newcomers up to speed and ruminating on reports from Lannisport.

"The ships are as seaworthy as they can be made to be." The man was telling them, a representative sent from among the western captains. In short, there's nothing left but to raise sail. Just what was supposed to spur them into action was a mystery to Theon, though, and the ironmen were no more eager to sail north blindly than the westermen.

"Anybody know why that wee fish is lurking atop the Rock?" Some hayseed-called-knight named Ser Dewys asked, when the silence threatened to linger. While faces turned toward him, he shrugged. "I wanted to piss off the top, see if I could hear it hit the water."

"She didn't want me poking around too long up there either." Theon said.

"What the f-" Ser Dewys swallowed. "There's no water up there but the snow that clings to everything. What's a walking fish doing up there?" Theon spotted Asha's eyes flicker toward him.

"I'll go see if she'll come down for a bit of food. Someone should tell her we're working on clearing out anyway, she ought go back where she came from sooner rather than later. I doubt a fishwaif will much come in handy in the fighting on the northern shores." he said, throwing back a cup of some Arbor purple or other. He shuddered. If something is so sweet you can barely keep it down, is it sweet at all?

"Easy on that purple stuff. I swear it's at least half ink, I was in the privy a day and a night after a tankard." One iron captain was saying.

"Anyone would be, after a tankard of anything that isn't water." Another chimed in. Theon lurched out of the chair he'd only just filled, groaning audibly.

"Don't leave without me, I suppose." Then he was climbing up the endless stairs again, feeling his knees threaten to lock up and his back burn like he'd fallen asleep facing away from a hearth. Gods, I hate this Rock. It was almost a joy to get back out into the cold, the winds enough to numb his aching body. As expected, the fishwaif waited impassively some distance away from the garden's entrance, shuffling toward Theon as he came into view. His lip curled and his tongue seemed to tie up, as if resisting his attempt to speak the word aloud.

"M'har." The fishwaif stopped in her slimy tracks, heedless of the falling snow that stuck to her stinking scales. There's nobody around to hear, Theon reasoned. Nobody to go to pieces on hearing. "We're leaving soon." he said, some rebellious part of his brain throbbing angrily at the sound of the sea speech. "You should go back below the waves with your kind." Even if the finer points of his words were lost on her, Theon felt as though he got the idea across. The fishwaif's speech was much simpler.

"Go. Where?"

"North." Theon pointed. That didn't much please her.

"Deepest water. Cold and dark." Does she mean literally or figuratively?

"Cold and dark for certain. With Others about, what else is there to expect?"

"Teeth and spears do not hurt bones. Need something else."

"I'm all ears." Theon replied, a bit annoyedly. She turned to look up the path, gesturing with a webbed hand (claw?).

"Up there?"

"There." Theon moved past her, ignoring the sound of her waddling busily to keep up. He was too busy being mad about the prospect of yet another climb when suddenly the air grew warmer, the snow turning to a heavy mist. What the f- A rumbling snore further up had Theon's annoyance fleeing instantly, the onyx body looming large out of the mist a moment later. Instinctively he braced, but there was no forthcoming torrent of black fire. Another snore, and slowly a massive foot drug itself out from the mist and back in again. He might do.

"You might have said something earlier." Theon said after they'd retreated back down the path.

"Serpents are serpents, swim or fly. Angry when woken."

"They can't breathe fire under the waves, though, surely." That made the fishwaif gurgle.

"Serpent-breath is death, in water or in sky."

"How long has he been up there?" More gurgling, and Theon cursed himself. There was no sun nor moon to track the days at the bottom of the sea, after all. "Has he been there long?"

"Serpent came after all the rest, sleeping since."

"He got big." Theon said, stomach still quivering.

"Serpent eats, serpent grows."

"Well and good. We still need to figure out how to wake him up and pray he'll follow when we make the voyage."

"Waking easy. Living through waking, hard." Oh, really? I thought I'd just go up and poke him with a stick, get him off his scaled behind.

"You said there are serpents in the water, too."

"Serpents in water."

"Could one be lured somewhere? Not a pup, a big one. We saw a few of you bring a bloody big shark up alongside our ship…" The fishwaif made a noise that might have been a snort, had she been possessed of a nose.

"Serpents strong. Strong in body, strong in mind." Shit.

"Well, maybe one will come up for a look when the Others start making noise. Dragons get fearsome wroth when someone tries to horn in on what they consider theirs, sea serpents must be much the same." At least, the dragon queen does. I've not got much experience with the beasts proper, and I'm quite pleased about it. "At any rate, this will be just the thing to get us all moving. I doubt anyone is keen to linger much longer, especially with a bloody dragon dozing on top of us. You ought still get below, it will be safer for you there." Theon started at the top of the stairs that led down into the lion's maze. "And tell whoever's doing my head in that I'm not made of the sort of stuff to withstand such nonsense. I've dealt with more than my share of proper cunts above the waves, I don't need this 'M'har' piling it on."

"M'har is place, not person."

"What?"

"Is place. I go, stop it reaching out for you." Theon had no idea what to say to that.

"Uh, good. It would be appreciated." She waddled down the steps and into the darkness, leaving Theon to ponder just what the fuck he'd gotten himself embroiled in. Maybe I set more in motion chatting up that mermaid than I intended. Declared myself fair game for anyone with an interest in the world above the waves. At least he'd put an end to it. Or so I hope.

News that a dragon was napping atop his family home didn't provoke the gobsmacked reaction in Jaime Lannister it might have in another man. But then, he's made of stiffer stuff than most. He'd have to be, to live the life he has.

"So all that's left to be done is wake the black bastard up, then cast off and pray he follows. He followed the dragon queen's fleet all the way from Meereen to Dragonstone, surely he'll humor a quick jaunt north."

"Will you be the one going up and yanking his tail, then?" Lannister replied. Theon shrugged.

"I doubt we'll find someone with less sense than me."

"This is a shit idea." Ser Bronn of the Blackwater said, looking rather more like Theon supposed a man who's just heard a dragon is living on top of him should look.

"Ser Bronn has some ancillary concerns regarding the dragon's temperament."

"You mean Ser Bronn thinks we should pretend he's not up there until he goes away."

"Ser Bronn thinks that very thing." the knight said, snapping his fingers.

"Too bad for you a dragon isn't red spots on your cock. Wishful thinking won't make him suddenly disappear." Theon thought on it a moment. "Or the spots, at that."

"I'll pass on word that the ships should prepare to leave as soon as first light." Lannister said, looking untroubled. Which may or may not stand to reason. He's only ever had one woman, but from what I hear she wasn't so choosy. When no one moved for a moment, he cleared his throat. Wearily, Ser Bronn took his leave. Theon made to follow, wondering if the dragon might be a little less wroth depending on just what he was poked with, when Lannister spoke. "You seem a bit adrift. Even more so than usual."

"Oh? Apologies, I've just been through rather a lot."

"Haven't we all?" Lannister replied. "If you can't keep yourself from going to pieces, it stands to reason you can't contribute to getting us north."

"I'm beginning to think I've got little choice. But fighting a few dead men will be simple, after a fashion. Even dealing with whatever Others we come across, should we make it that far. Live or die, and that's the entire tale."

"You're no more a stranger to battle than I am. Those who've yet to partake fear dying in the clash, but you know as well as I do it's what comes after that has you sinking up to your waist. Complications, if you like. Complications like a castle full of Starks."

"You didn't grow up among them." Theon replied, before he could stop himself. "You didn't grow to manhood learning from Lord Eddard Stark."

"I crippled the son, the climber. Brandon. I killed my cousin when I thought it'd get me back to Cersei quicker." Lannister shrugged. "I killed Cersei herself when she tried to burn King's Landing down, just as was the case with Aerys. Despite all that, I stand here as nominal Lord of Casterly Rock, a state of things I cannot wait to piss away." He looked at the empty space where once his right hand had been. "If there was time for me, there's time for you."

Lannister's words tumbled in Theon's mind as the sounds of the man walking down the corridor receded. Time, he thought. Not enough to put it all aright, but then, all I need is time enough to see an end to the Others' mischief. For that he'd need to wake the dragon and plenty more besides. He couldn't afford to second-guess himself, even at his maddest- after all, the Old Way had crumpled before the Others' onslaught, it would take a different tack to catch them on the back foot. Even as he stood for the second time before the coiled body of the dragon, the whispers of a dozen people following him up the path. No doubt getting a few last bets in. Ah, who can fault them? It seemed to Theon that a fierce love of coin was something shared between ironmen and their hosts. If anything, Theon supposed he might have hedged against himself to make a few dragons off living through the next few minutes. Too late now. He held the spear in a single hand, not bothering to pull off its steel head. He's like to barely feel it as is. Just as he was deciding where to tickle the beast, a familiar glint came off the dark form through the mist. Once, twice, until it seemed the dragon was positively twinkling with specks of gold. Theon blinked, rubbing his eyes furiously. It's the cream one with the gold flecks. Theon got closer despite the rising heat in the air around the dragon, which he supposed explained why this place alone bore not a flake of snow. The black dragon's bulk was indeed flecked with gold, coins the like of which Theon had found before wedged here and there between the scales. As if he'd fallen asleep in a treasure vault. He was still ogling a crust of gold nuggets caught around the dragon's claw when a sharp snort took Theon's mind off treasure. Something moved in the mists beyond and the dragon's head came to bear, yawning widely and showing off teeth longer than daggers. More gold, coin and nuggets alike, glinted out from the beard of spikes that ran along the length of the dragon's jaw. What seemed to be a raw black sapphire the size of a chicken egg jutted off the left side of his chin the way a pimple would a man's. When the dragon's eyes opened they were even redder than Theon remembered, and so alive with inner fire he wondered if dragons could manage a fiery gaze to match their breath.

"You do cut rather a more impressive figure than your cousins beneath the waves." Theon said finally, a stifling snort enveloping in a dizzying miasma. "Full of piss and fire. Here to fight, as we two-legs sometimes say." Past the glint of gold and gems and the dragon's own eyes, Theon could see hair-thin scratches running down the dragon's snout, grooved like filigree across his shoulders and over his chest as more of him emerged from the mist, getting upright. Barely there and fading still. "Stick your nose somewhere you oughtn't? Or somewhere you ought've?" He slowly began to back away, thinking better of turning his back on the dragon. "Keep an eye on the boats. We'll be off in the coming days, maybe even hours now you're awake." Theon said, not turning away until the dragon was lost in the mist but for his scarlet eyes, blazing through the grey gloom. Theon found himself almost pitying whatever awaited them. Some cold thing is going to catch the beating of a lifetime.

Theon returned to the waiting throng to the sound of a great many coins flowing into a precious few pockets. No less than Jaime Lannister seemed to have won twenty dragons from Ser Bronn, making Theon wonder if Lannister might even believe what the man had told him before.

"All right, let's get underway before the dragon fucks off to Winterfell without us." Lannister said to the sound of a full bag jingling in his palm. That will take a bit of time, Theon thought, even ready as we are. Time enough, maybe, to address some few matters still outstanding. He left the others to their merriment or last hasty prayers to the Seven, making for the Stone Garden where Casterly Rock's heart tree lay. The white roots ran from floor to ceiling, making Theon wonder quite why the place should bear the name of 'garden' at all. This is no godswood, he thought, just a lone weirwood imprisoned deep within this Rock. A godswood ought have a pool, and moss beneath one's feet, and… Theon's thoughts trailed off. The face of the tree regarded him morosely. Tiny, he thought, even with its roots spread everywhere. I suppose that's no surprise, with no sun to feed him and naught to sip on but seawater below. Theon sensed, perhaps, a spirit hard-used as his own.

"I should have sent that warning to Robb." he found himself saying. "I should have set off that very night, straight back to his camp, when I learned Lord Balon would be of no help." I should have done right by the man who raised me among his own trueborn children, when mine own sire turned me out like a three-legged piglet. The gods, the old gods, could hear hopes as well as spoken words. "But I didn't. The water came up over my head for awhile there, and almost swept me out to sea."

"But it didn't." The voice nearly had Theon cracking his head on the ceiling.

"What the fuck?!" As if from nowhere, a person had appeared at his elbow, regarding him with big golden eyes. Not half as tall as Theon nor half as broad, he might have thought the creature a harmless grumkin but for the ruin he'd seen the old powers of the world wreak in his time. "The water didn't sweep you out to sea. Instead, you were thrown back to shore to rise again." "I'm sorry, but who are you and where the fuck did you come from?"

"I am called Moss in the Common Tongue, of Those Who Sing the Song of Earth. I am in the place men call Winterfell, particularly its godswood, waiting for someone on your end to appear." Mention of Winterfell had Theon's attitude changing in a hurry.

"We're in Casterly Rock, getting ready to come to you-"

"We know. Brandon Stark has spoken with the one called Kingslayer." Nice of him to bloody mention that! Theon's ire softened. Maybe he was just afraid one more bit of madness would have me leaping out a window.

"Well, if you would, tell Brandon Stark the third dragon has resurfaced. If he should follow us north, he'll do more than his share of scattering the Others and their chattel." Moss looked from one side of the cavern to the other, as if unsure quite how to talk to Theon.

"Brandon is with Meera Reed at the moment. I will return with him." She vanished, leaving no trace she'd ever been there. Theon stood there stock-still, eyes wide, staring into darkness with only his nerves for company, trying to recall if this Meera Reed was someone he'd ever met. The next person to appear in the Stone Garden was Bran himself- though when Theon had last seen him he was a boy stuck in a cart or slung across Hodor's back. He's Brandon now, a small part of him said. Well, shit.

Theon quickly decided simply to stick to the facts.

"The third dragon's come back from wherever. We're nearly ready to set off, ice-ship waiting for us or no." Brandon Stark didn't much look like Robb or even Lady Catelyn or Lord Eddard, though he did have the Tully coloring as well as more than a bit of Stark stiffness in his face. He was also standing. "Is this the trees? Or is this how you really are?"

"Both." Brandon finally said. "I managed to get my legs untangled somehow, with the trees' help. A weirwood does more than gaze at you."

"Right. Uh, I didn't manage to work out how to get back missing bits myself, but I'm here all the same. We were looking at the Rills or maybe even Saltspear and the Fever beyond it." Brandon snorted.

"Why not come the way you did when last we met? Forget the Fever, just come up and land at Torrhen's Square. I daresay you know the way."

"Can't this wait? There are Others about-"

"Don't I know it." He took a deep breath. "I suppose it can. There's no guarantee we'll meet again after this anyhow. You might get lucky enough to find Saltspear navigable but the river up to Torrhen's Square is sure to be frozen over."

"All the better we're bringing a dragon, then."

"Maybe, if he had someone to tell him where to loose his fire."

"He does have wings, as do his brothers. Should we get that close, maybe they'll join in. Even without riders, three dragons ought be enough to break up the ice if only by chance." Brandon's lip quivered and Theon saw Bran the Broken in his face for a moment. "As it stands, there's a good chance we land all over the coast, not just Saltspear's banks. Those who land below the river will head for Moat Cailin and the north to Winterfell. Some of us might need to disembark at Barrowton as well."

"Are there so many?"

"The westermen have eight thousand swords by themselves. I didn't exactly take a headcount of the ironmen or the Reachmen present, but we have enough to stir up trouble- providing a blizzard doesn't spell our end as soon as we land. Providing we land in the first place." Brandon frowned.

"That's a lot of ground to keep the Others off of. Winterfell is an island in a sea of dead, keeping us rather tied up. We might try the dragons, but whenever they start to make real mischief the cold giants sing up terrible storms to make them go to ground." Ah, lovely.

"They came to play, then."

"They came to win. Dead men are more a hindrance than a danger, but the giants' raids do terrible damage."

"Well, I don't know how we'll get past giants on top of everything else once we land." Brandon shook his head.

"They're north of us, in the wolfswood. So we've seen, anyway, but it's hard for a giant to hide on the moor."

"Then the dragons should be fine, if there are no giants and no storms to the south. We'd only need them long enough to break up the ice, anyhow."

"Until the dead roil over you."

"Even a slow man can outrace a dead one."

"What about the other dead men to your sides and up ahead? There's more of them than us. What about the Others proper, riding ice spiders and cold drakes?"

"You didn't see the dragon we've got lazing atop the Rock. He's not the sort to brook challenge well, even from monsters from the Land of Always Winter."

"That does sound rather like a dragon. Even the cold giants have learned to keep well clear of them when they start to circle, or else run off entirely where the storms can keep the dragons off them."

"I suppose the dragon queen will appreciate news of the third." Brandon's eyes went wide.

"Yes. I'll get word to her. Perhaps this will go better than abysmally after all." He turned, as if to vanish. "Oh, by the way, you don't happen to have any Dornishmen with you, do you?" Theon started.

"No, why?"

"We've heard naught from Dorne. A few scattered highborns come over from living abroad in Norvos, but…" Well, that's not good.

"Dorne can wait. If we can get the Others off Winterfell, we can worry about securing the rest of the realm." Moss reappeared.

"You are needed." she told Brandon. He turned back to look at Theon.

"Go. We should be ready to push upriver to Torrhen's Square in a week, maybe a bit more. Try to have the dragons waiting."

"Good luck, Theon."

"Keep it, Brandon. I've got luck to spare."

As Theon was on his way back to the hall, he heard a proper outcry coming from the Lion's Mouth. Buggering fuck, what now? Wearily he made his way over, wondering if he might corral some wet nurses to change the guardsmen's swaddling. "What are you all wailing about?" he asked. A roar from across the expanse of the bridge saved the nearby pink-cheeked boy from having to reply. A bear, he thought. One I daresay I know. He hadn't been there to see, but Asha's word was enough to drive any doubt from his mind. And someone can't like murmuring half-conscious after being drowned.

"Open the gate, if you would." The men looked at Theon like he'd asked one of them to punch a halberd into his gut. "Do it. He's late as is, no need to hold him up any longer." When nobody moved Theon simply managed on his own, straining to get the gate open, if only high enough for him to squirm under. The advancing shadow was huge, the torches that lit the Lion's Mouth making the bear seem even larger. "Mormont." Theon's voice echoed through the cavern, loud enough to perhaps sound a mouse's squeak to the bear's ears. The glint of silver in the brown of the beast's fur reminded Theon of the coins embedded in the dragon's scales, but where the gold did less than nothing to discomfit the dragon, it was plain to a blind man the bear was in the throes of agony. A razor-thin silver blade was sunk deep into the meat of his shoulder, a second stuck out of his leg, and a whole mess of caltrop-like fragments dotted his chest and the front of his thighs. "Ser Jorah Mormont, of Bear I-" He was interrupted with a roar, spittle sprinkling his face and bear-breath in his nostrils. The bear reared up. Easily taller than two of me, Theon observed. Rather than wait to be torn in half, Theon quickly gripped the silver sword stuck fast in the bear's leg and pulled it out. Even as the cavern filled with a hot howl of pain, the deep split in the muscle of the leg began to shallow, hot blood pushing out any silver left in the wound. The bear slumped forward, hitting the ground hard and panting, while Theon went about pulling the next sword out of his shoulder. Once the silver blade was freed, it less than a minute before it was as if the sword had never been there, the rent healing before Theon's eyes. Vanishing without a trace. These silver swords struck true, he thought, and yet it wasn't enough. Man-bears take an awful lot of killing. The thick brown mat of fur began to thin, the pants and groans growing higher and softer. Gradually the bear receded and the man emerged, Mormont lying facedown and naked on the floor of the Lion's Mouth. If you can call a man that hairy naked, Theon thought. Gingerly he prodded Mormont with his foot. A half-conscious grunt was his only reply. "Let's get him inside." Theon called to the men atop the gate, several emerging to gape at the sight of Mormont.

"Can't he move himself?" one of them asked.

"Let's see how well you move after sitting on a bag of caltrops." Theon replied. Eventually they got Mormont on a stretcher, the guards hurrying to get back behind the safety of the gate before anything else could rush across the bridge at them. They passed the sergeant on the way, who whistled at the sight of Mormont's midsection.

"Don't suppose we need to worry about any more after him, eh?"

"Once the silver's dug out, he'll be fine." Theon said, though it certainly seemed otherwise as he got a closer look. Silver barbs, points and prickers, indeed like little caltrops only with more points, had poked Mormont full of a hundred bleeding holes, more than a few in places Theon couldn't help but be thankful he couldn't be poked. I think I'll let Asha handle those.

Finding a place to stow an unconscious northman proved a challenge, even with a place as large as Casterly Rock. People were moving all over the place, every barrel, crate, chest and trunk rushing down every available set of stairs to load up the fleet below in Lannisport. By the time they laid Mormont on one of the tables in an off hall, Theon was panting. Maybe I would have done better just to rip the shards out in the Lion's Mouth, he thought. He'd have just gotten up and spared us all this bother.

"Someone fetch Asha." Theon called, feeling no particular need to avert his eyes as the westermen about him did. Indeed, his thoughts were less on Mormont and more on what his finally showing up meant for their efforts to make it north. After all, he reasoned, all the Others will have ice. All the Others won't have silver. The sound of Asha scraping up the Lannisters' floors as she limped as fast as she could toward them made Theon smirk. Just as she appeared, red-faced and breathing hard, Theon turned. "Had I known it only took a single bear to make you look up again I'd have gone and brought him back days ago." She elbowed him aside without so much as a scowl, going from red to pale at the sight of Jorah Mormont. "He'll be fine. I just pulled these out of him, and he was none the worse for wear even after limping his ornery bear behind down from the mountains." Theon tapped the two silver swords under one arm. "I don't quite feel up to digging silver slivers out of a man-bear's balls, though, so best get to it. We'll need him in the days to come." He left her to it, looking at the swords as he wandered up toward the heart of the Rock. Other-make, he thought wonderingly. They were elegant and light, with thin blades. Made for speed, even in an Other's hand. Made to hit first and as oft as possible. He wondered if the Others had a need for silver weapons aside from Mormont. Somewhere cold and wild. There was no call to bring them along, certainly not where an Other might snatch one off his corpse, so Theon went into the Golden Gallery. He passed empty armor stands, looted cases that once held gleaming weapons and all the rest of the Lannister treasures. He stopped at a pair of wooden pegs some distance in, where no one would think to look a second time. Where no one will find them but when we return. He set one above the other, tapping them into place so that they looked as if they'd always belonged there. But for their color, I suppose.

"Having a last go-over?" Theon turned to see Jaime Lannister standing in the gallery.

"I thought I'd show our appreciation. Make the token effort, if you like. They're of Other-make, surely worth more than any gold bauble." Lannister shrugged, as if Theon could have put two leeks on the pegs for all he cared.

"Come on, we're getting a last few questions out of the way and you're the one to ask when it comes to sailing."

When Theon followed Jaime Lannister into the hall, he beheld the place packed, with room only to stand. Western lords, reaver captains, a precious few knights from the Reach… People parted for the Lord of Casterly Rock, leaving Theon to squeeze past before the gaps in the bodies closed. The table they'd feasted at the first night was void of dishes, instead covered in what seemed to be every map of the North that could be brought to bear. What chatter went on slowly petered out as Theon looked for Asha, spotting her standing with Qarl and Mormont at the corner of the table.

"Our goal is to reach Winterfell. To achieve that end, we'll need to undertake a significant voyage to reach the North proper. Obviously, the shortest overland route from there is ideal, but I think it's best we all come 'round to the idea in turn that it's unlikely every ship is going to reach Torrhen's Square." He pointed on the nearest map. "Now, for the truly unfortunate among us who only manage to reach the Flint Cliffs or Cape Kraken, we'll have Flint's Finger within reach to use as a staging area. I expect anyplace big enough to make it onto a map has been attacked to some degree, so there will probably be dead men waiting for anyone running aground on the Flint lands. From Flint's Finger it's just about a straight shot northeast to Moat Cailin. We'll regroup there as needed and then simply follow the kingsroad north to Winterfell. Others among us might land somewhere on the Rills. Head east until you hit a river, flowing or frozen, and then follow it north. Soon or late you'll come upon Torrhen's Square. If that river gets too crowded with ships those behind can stay on Saltspear a bit longer before turning up a second river that leads to Barrowton. These castles are barely that, but better them than only our hides to keep the cold winds off us. Now, it appears Winterfell is heavily invested by a sea of dead men the dragons present there cannot burn away with impunity. The Others have stationed a number of cold giants in the wolfswood to the north of the castle to ground the beasts with storms whenever they try to make nuisances of themselves. How we'll contribute to resolving that issue I'm not precisely sure, but I know we're of no use in this lion's den. Perhaps we'll prove enough of a spur in the balls to make the Others split their focus- something Ser Jaime is of the opinion they have marked difficulty doing. Like swinging a warhammer to hit someone before you as well as behind. Tricky." Theon felt a strong thirst for Arbor gold.

"What a mess." Ser Addam Marbrand opined.

"Well, the air won't get sweeter until someone starts to shovel the shit. Ask any stableboy." Theon turned to Ser Jaime. "I was going to have us wait until dawn as it were to cast off, but were I one of the Others, that's what I'd expect. Better we should leave now when they think we're heading to sleep, wherever we are, and steal a few extra hours' worth of sail on them."

"Then let's go." Lannister replied, cool as ever.

Despite Silence's foul reputation, a ship was a ship and there was no leaving behind a seaworthy longship. And people will not well be able to see its red deck at night. Theon stroked his chin. "Damphair. You will captain Silence. Asha has Black Wind, the Reader has his Sea Song, and I have mine own Grey Wind." Saying the name made the hairs on Theon's neck stand up. That notion Aeron Greyjoy did not care for at all, but Theon had a small sack Ser Jaime had under his arm to mind. "What's in there?" It's not the Crow's Eye's head. I bloody pulped it. He wondered if perhaps that was as good as throwing away a fanciful bounty.

"Nothing that will matter if we fail to reach Winterfell." Lannister replied, holding it up. Asha, Theon did not fail to notice, didn't seem to think the sack's contents were so mundane.

"Will the dragon be coming?" Ser Addam asked, stopping before he boarded one of the Lannisport ships.

"Well, he'll either see the lot of us going and count himself lucky to be quit of us or follow for want of a fight. He may not understand the Common Tongue but in his experience when ships gather in great number a right glorious bloodletting is in the cards." Grey Wind was fairly obviously the most formidable of the ships in the fleet, but Theon and his crew were not half so familiar as the Lannisport sailors with their home waters.

"I could lead." Kelsie Farwynd mentioned.

"No need, my lady. Save your strength for when we start running into trouble. I think you'll be one of those in charge of our own who can't fight. Count on holing up in Torrhen's Square or Barrowton until we figure out how we're getting past the dead men." She didn't much seem pleased with that notion but it wasn't Theon Greyjoy's job to keep her happy. While she was glancing out over the bay he stole a glance at her behind, feeling almost wistful. Ah, perhaps it's for the best. There will be whole men aplenty at Winterfell and she'll find one there. One better than me. Only the old Harlaw helmsman had brass enough to raise the Valyrian spell-sails, cursing colorfully under his breath. "What's wrong now?" Theon called up.

"At least when they had lightning in them we could see the damn things! Now they've gone ink-black and it feels as though I'm spooling the night sky around my arm!"

"Just finish up and get back down here. I have some squalling babes here whose smallclothes smell in need of changing."

"HA!" the man barked as the lads busied themselves with getting Grey Wind moving. They began to cast off, first one at a time and then a few and then a flood, two kingdoms and more's worth of soldiers headed for the fight. And more than some who have no business getting mixed up in such. We dare not leave them behind, though, elsewise Casterly Rock would become a tomb- and then a staging area itself.

When dawn came, they were just cresting the Prester lands. Feastfires was visible from a distance, and Theon did not doubt that Lord Forley had his eyes glued to the castle, wondering if he'd ever see it again. He's free to wonder, Theon thought. There are smallfolk enough with us who have no castle to long for. Gawen Glover poked his head up from belowdecks, keeping out of Theon's view so as to not be seen.

"You're to stay belowdecks and keep an eye on the sword." Theon told him stonily.

"Why can't I help? It's not as though Blackfyre's going to grow legs and skitter off."

"Because I want you out of a volley of light's immediate reach." Not that Gawen being belowdecks would exactly protect him should the ice-ship start loosing at them. But the Glover boy was just that, and Theon did dearly want to make sure Blackfyre stayed well where it was. Some knight will be carrying the thing into battle, better that than steel that will part like fat before an Other's cold blade. "There's a lot of open sea between us and the Iron Islands, but all the same we're going to give them a nice wide berth. Maybe the Others are still combing them over and won't expect us to slip right by them." Theon said, his words being relayed to the other captains via a lot of flag-waving. By then Grey Wind seemed ready to leave the rest of the fleet behind, so Theon had them tie up a sail. "With our luck we'll make Torrhen's Square just fine while the rest are set upon by storms, ice-ships and sea serpents." he said. Soon the last hint of land vanished from sight and there was nothing but grey-black sea to see, save the countless ships clinging to Grey Wind's tail.

"What if the Others should chance on us?" Kelsie Farwynd asked, low enough to not be overheard by the rest of the crew.

"Then I suppose they'll cause us quite a bit of grief. Meantime, everyone who manages to get away will stay on course. The Others are formidable at sea but their ice-ships cannot pursue us inland." And hopefully they're tangled up with a sea serpent by now, wherever they are. No ice-ship appeared, though. Not even a hulk crewed by plodding dead men. No one out here to kill, he thought grimly. They must think they've denied us the sea. Well, they only needed free rein for a week's time or so, after which the Others could run ice-ships from the Frozen Shore to the Arbor to their frozen hearts' content. We'll be on Torrhen's Square by then, and Barrowton, and Flint's Finger and Moat Cailin, clearing them of dead men and whatever else lies in wait.

Food wasn't in any short supply. Every ship had gotten its share of what the westermen could provide, and Theon kept them off half-rations both for morale's sake and for the simple logic that it was better to die with a full belly than an empty one. Food will be the least of our worries in the days to come. Indeed, it seemed keeping it down was proving a hard enough task. Theon was certain that most every ship in the fleet's crew could be no less nervous.

"I don't suppose anyone's overly upset that the Iron Islands are lost to us." he said, loud enough that all about could hear him. "Surely the Reachmen and westermen will be glad to have us off their backs, but I'm talking about us. The ironmen ourselves. What did the islands have? Salt, seagulls, and precious little else. If the Others want them, if the man-fishes want them, they may have them. I've seen Sea Dragon Point for myself and the Stony Shore besides. Colder there, for a certainty, but it's also easier to get warm. Winds don't lash the shorelines day and night the way they do the islands. There's more fur and timber than can be imagined, though little in the way of arable land and less of silver and gold. But then, we're shit farmers and worse miners, so what's to complain about?" He got a few nervous chuckles. "Wood for ships, not just longships but fine beauties like our Grey Wind…clams, otters, fish, seals, now, those are crops islanders the world over know well how to harvest. Asha's got the right idea and if I'm honest, I'm just as glad to finally be free of those bleak rocks as I am nervous to meet the Others face to face. If we die, well, shit, but what's to worry about after that? If we live, we'll need furs and food and timber more than all the gold in the world. You can't wear gold to keep out the cold, you can't feed your family chunks of silver ore. It might take a few generations, maybe a few more than a few, but the northmen will warm to us. Or at least, those living on Sea Dragon Point will. Not a thing to want for there, not a thing in all the world."

He dared not head due east until the sun's fifth rising. We'll not be there yet, Theon thought, but we should be able to see something of the Flint Cliffs by now. After a half a day at full sail a coastline jutted out from the horizon, quickly rolling up and away into the sky. The cliffs.

"Nothing's hit us yet. Maybe we'll all of us make Torrhen's Square after all." The Harlaw helmsman said. Theon frowned.

"Not without the dragon's aid, and anyway this many ships will soon have the river dammed. Maybe the slowest of us will go as far as Blazewater Bay then turn south for Flint's Finger and dig in there. The Flint lands are more or less cut off from the rest of the North by the Neck so I doubt the Others will be there in force, but the other castles will be a different story." Theon replied.

"And what dragon be that, captain?" They had not caught a glimpse of him, not even rising above Casterly Rock to have a look at all the departing ships.

"Well, he is black. He's not hard to lose sight of."

"Sight of, aye, but sound? We'd hear wingbeats, cries, something." Theon turned to take in the sight of the ships behind, still well beyond counting. There was no hint that a dragon was lurking in the white clouds above them. "Let the others catch up a bit, maybe Ser Jaime has spotted him." When the lead Lannisport ship came up alongside, Ser Jaime Lannister seemed untroubled by news or lack thereof of the black dragon.

"When the dragon queen's hosts were encamped in the kingswood in the days before King's Landing's fall, Freglyn and I happened to get a glimpse of him above the treeline. Just the once. He seems to know it's best to go unseen. How, I've no idea, but then no one does when it comes to dragons."

"He's probably just doing what all hunters do." a sandy-haired youth piped up from behind Ser Jaime. "You don't start loosing shafts at the first deer you see, that will just scare the lot of them away. Better to let them bend over to eat or drink, carrying on with no knowledge that danger is so near."

"If we're the deer, he'd be attacking us." Theon replied. The lad frowned.

"Maybe it's different, then. Maybe he's hunting…and fishing. Waiting for something to snap you up so he can attack in turn when it's busy with you."

"That would rather piss on any chance of a successful ambush, having a dragon drop itself on one's head."

Once orders to divert those best kept out of a fight were passed down, Theon had Grey Wind back at full sail. Cape Kraken came and went, and soon Blazewater Bay was narrowing into Saltspear. Good, Theon thought, some long-dormant part of him still a boy aching to feel the North under his boots. They veered north in turn, finding the river leading on to Torrhen's Square mostly flowing, which struck Theon as singularly odd. What do the Others have to gain from keeping the river open? They passed more than a few wandering dead men, some of whom were clustered in groups it took a few minutes to leave behind. Just a little further, Theon thought, hand on Grey Wind's mast. Then the river opened up into a lake and it was all he could do not to whoop aloud, the faint outline of buildings coming into view on the lake's far shore- along with an iceberg bigger than their ship. Theon felt his heart shit itself, ducking purely out of reflex along with the rest of the crew save the helmsman.

"Oh, good," he said sourly, "now you're hid they'll just think it's a hundred ghost ships come to say hello." Gingerly Theon peeked up. Dead men teemed around Torrhen's Square, as was more or less expected, but what he didn't think to see were a number of pale figures on the castle's ramparts. As if they always owned the place. The ships drifted closer and the figures began to dash about, evidently caught with their pants 'round their ankles. Good, Theon found himself thinking again. Sorry to spoil your day. The gate opened and out charged a giant toward the iceberg, a great stone-headed maul in his hands. He gave the ice a swing, two, three, four, until the sounds of it cracking were audible clear across the lake. Then he turned and ran. Not back into the safety of the castle, but true north as fast as he could run. The figures were likewise taking care to slip away, disappearing from the ramparts one by one and leaving the dead men to fend for themselves. What the fuck? Then Theon saw the shadows in the ice, long deep silhouettes of something trapped within. Something even the Others care not to be around. Chunks and great slabs of ice started sliding and chipping off the iceberg, whatever was within making some of the most gods-awful noises Theon had ever heard. Then it split top to bottom, collapsing as a mess of writhing limbs emerged.

For just a moment Theon thought it was a kraken. Then he realized he couldn't have been further off. What he mistook for limbs weren't limbs at all. Each flailing length of white flesh ended in a head, possessed of a pair of bulging blue eyes and snapping jaws. The thing the Others had loosed from the ice had seven of them, seven heads, each chittering and thrashing as it shook off the last of its ennui before their jitters calmed and each head began to peer about. In zero seconds one caught sight of Grey Wind, the rest snapping to instantly. What one sees they all see. Seven screams shrill enough to scramble what remained of Theon's sanity knocked most of the crew off their feet (and some overboard). Then it was racing toward them, serpent-like. By sheer luck Theon had gone to his knees by then and so the streams of icy fog the monster belched forth only managed to frost his head and numb his brain else they might have frozen him solid. One head locked its yawning jaws around a deckhand and another gnashed determinedly upon the mast, as if it were a great juicy bone to be cracked and sucked for marrow. Fucking Others, he thought before something descended upon the beast while it was snapping at them, bringing it beneath the freezing water instantly. The head besotted with the mast gave a shriek through its locked teeth and the whole ship swayed to port and the thrashing bodies in the water. Then a tiny blur shot past Theon's half-frozen form. There was the sound of a pick biting into ice made a hundred times louder and the heads beneath the surface of the lake reappeared as one, each with eyes shut and wide mouths howling in pain. Theon blinked and Gawen Glover was bringing Blackfyre down on the head's neck that still gripped the mast, severing it clean with a fresh scream of agony from its remaining fellows. The dragon resurfaced next, bringing his teeth crunching together on yet another neck and tearing it from the body that bore it. Before Theon could even catch his breath, though, the stump began spurting cold clear blood and five heads became seven again. Again, the dragon's teeth ripped a head off and again from the empty flailing stump spurted two new heads. The neck severed by Blackfyre alone did not replenish itself, dragged by the monster off the deck and flopping uselessly while nine mouths flailed against the dragon's own bulk, snapping, spitting, screaming, and dousing him in icy fog. He answered with breath of his own after catching two neck between his teeth this time, a furnace igniting behind the rows of black fangs. The bulging eyeballs of the heads in question promptly burst from their sockets as the necks withered from the heat, so much like salted slugs. Their brawling had them splashing and tumbling back toward shore, Theon still too stunned to do much but try to rise. He saw the monster had legs of its own, four as a lizard might, along with a long winding tail. This the dragon promptly bit off before locking his teeth on the monster's hindquarters, his scaled body heedless of the teeth gnashing against it. The eyes, Theon thought madly, they might do better attacking the eyes, but then that's nearabout where the fucking fire comes from! Unobscured, Theon could see the dragon was steadily the heavier, although not quite the larger if his wings weren't counted. These he held close to his body, seeming comfortable relying only on his legs, which were by far the more impressive even two against four. It was the same again with the heads, the dragon's one proving all the monster's seven could handle and more- and would still if they were nine. Out of the water where he could stand up properly it was even more lopsided, the dragon swinging his enemy about like a direwolf would a badger until whichever neck he held fast in his teeth gave out. Even though heads lost to teeth alone were quickly replaced by pairs in turn, it was soon forgone the monster was being soundly thrashed. Swung about, thrown to the ground, stomped beneath great black-scaled feet, it abruptly lost all interest in fighting and made for the safety of the bottom of the lake. The dragon sunk his teeth deep into a hind leg and pulled, slowly but surely dragging the struggling monster away from the water's edge. Eventually though even his power hit a wall, and they hung there, the icy serpent trying to break free and the dragon fully intent on continuing to lay into it. He is not strong enough to keep pulling, Theon saw, but he's strong enough to keep it where it is. Eventually the monster simply gnawed through its own leg, heedless of the clear icy blood gushing from its thigh. Then it was crashing into the waters of the lake and diving down, down, where the dragon would not pursue. Theon and his crew watched the dragon swing the still-wriggling leg about a bit before swallowing it whole, turning his wroth on the dead men that piled against him. Soon the dragon stood alone on the beach, ash drifting about all that remained of the mob of walking corpses. The roar he gave was as much declaration as triumph, loud enough for certain to be heard even at the bottom of the lake. Then silence fell but for the water lapping at Grey Wind's hull. Theon had to take a moment to force words to pass his lips.

"Dock. Begin to disembark." he said, voice cracking as though he'd yet to shave. They gaped at him. "Do it. We didn't come all this way just to see the dragon beat some cold monster into next week. After all, it would be unseemly for ironborn to be left out of a fight." The dragon took off, circled above Torrhen's Square, landed where Others had stood not an hour before (and knocking more than a few stones loose in the doing of it). Another roar, this one facing north, where Theon was sure cold eyes were watching. He came to fight, and so did we.