He stood at Grey Wind's prow, letting every salty kiss that crested the ship's deck rail wash over him. I am in the bosom of the sea. Every wave pushed away a little more of what had weighed him down, every one a knife severing an anchor tied about his waist.

"Captain, we're leaving the others behind." one of the lads muttered. The dawn had come grey and glorious and just then Theon wouldn't have humored a thought of slowing if it would've grown him his cock back. Out here I am more than I was at Winterfell. There are no lords to look askance at me here, no egos to soothe. All the horseshit had gone, there was only himself, his crew, the sea, and the treasure trove of white diamonds that glittered prettily down at them at night. The first sight of queer greenish lights had the lads muttering most fearful, but Theon brushed away their unease.

"Nothing to be scared of. There's aught out here but salt and stars and freedom." he'd told them.

"And cold." one replied.

"We're on open sea in the depths of winter. Cold's the way you want it. You feel hot, wet air roll over you one night, that's when you're fucked." Grey Wind was a sort all her own, but Theon knew a sea serpent proper sized and proper angry could turn her to kindling in a single briny breath.

"I'd feel better if the white had kept up."

"The open sea is no dragon's concern, nor any Stark's." Theon slapped his chest bracingly. "Besides, now we've gone where no eyes can see us, who's to say we don't come upon a few straggling hulks on our way north? We might have tossed what silver Grey Wind's original crew stuffed her with, but it came from somewhere and the wights that were aboard her are tell enough that 'where' is north." The Frozen Shore men present were not nearly so out of sorts as his ironborn, more irked at what they perceived as cramped quarters than unnerved by the sea. They ought to try a voyage on an everyday longship, that'd have them trying to swim home.

"How far north do you intend to sail, Theon?" Kelsie Farwynd asked that evening, when they had broken out the salted cod. A whoop from the other end of the ship had one of the lads pulling up the fresh sort, shouts of congratulations or caution not to lose it making it impossible to be overheard.

"By my reckoning, we're not looking for any coast that lies due north of land. The Frozen Shore men aren't familiar with the ore we've shown, so we'll get nothing done starting there. Now that all of Westeros is to our stern, the shore that lies before us will be unknown to men. At least the sort with hot blood in their veins and steel in their hands." And that's where our silver lies.

"Don't you think there's more than a bit of foolhardiness to this?" she muttered. "Show me an ironborn you couldn't call foolhardy. Even the Reader thumbed his nose and showed his arse at the kingsmoot, in defiance of the Crow's Eye." Theon said, scoffing.

"If I die, I die. Easy enough to return home for the rest of you, I should think."

"You think you can't go back to the mainland with honor." Kelsie's retort sounded rather composed. Aye, and death can come but once. Meanwhile, I of all men know there are always new depths of dishonor to plumb.

"I don't think anything regarding that matter, Lady Farwynd." She frowned at him but didn't press an argument. Behind her, Theon caught one of the wildlings, a man in sealskins, shoot a covetous look her way. The Frozen Shore folk had more than taken a shine to Kelsie Farwynd, the ones wearing walrus bones in particular, and Theon doubted it had anything to do with the Lonely Light. After all, names and claims mean shit and less these days. It's the other bit they're keen on. Who born along the Frozen Shore wouldn't think the world of a woman able to take to water as a sea lion? And it helps she's a deal comelier than the sort of girls they're used to.

When he slept, he did not dream. It was either a night of lying awake, staring at the ceiling of the captain's cabin, or coming out of a fog with a fist banging on his door to find the morning watch had risen and dawn glinting through the windows. One of the shadows stepping forth to present the faint outline of a woman in a sort of wooden mask, therefore, had Theon ready to jump out of what skin Ramsay's caresses had spared him. As if I'd bloody blinked her into existence! What in balls is this, now?! Another blink and she was gone, before he even had time to piss himself. After a few ignoble moments of swiping at the darkness about him and nudging the corners of the cabin with his foot, Theon made as certain as he could be of what had become of the world that he was alone. His first thought was whatever mischief was bleeding in from beneath the waves, but that worry passed quickly. There are no wooden masks at the bottom of the sea, and the women down there don't have legs. He eased his door open and peered out, alarmed all over again at the sight of the stars above having gone. Hidden behind dense cloud, perhaps. The sight looked as if they were sailing through the void, not a thing to be seen in any direction save for the piddling light the lamps and torches on deck provided. Candles in a cave. He almost chuckled at his own wit before the realization hit him. Thoughts of shadowy women in masks were left in his cabin as he dashed out onto the deck, snuffing every light he could reach as the lads on deck were knocked about. Amidst the fluent cursing Theon simply flung the last lamp into the sea, hearing it hiss as it hit the water.

"Quiet." he said, ears straining for a sound aside from waves lapping against Grey Wind's hull. The sailors were not so forthcoming, some fool even muttering about the captain having finally gone a few clouds short of a storm. We didn't take the fireling for a reason. Nightfall would have every gaze around fixed squarely on Grey Wind, and Theon had had enough experience with the gazers themselves to know they weren't the sort whose patience asked for testing. And a fireling has little enough place on the deck of a wooden ship, regardless of how apt she is at controlling her flames!

There was no sound for a full minute, and Theon dared to hope their little pinpricks of light had gone unnoticed. He sat up, allowed himself a breath- and felt a blanket of hot, muggy mist wash over him, heavy as a fur blanket. It was like sitting in one of the springs at Winterfell, down to the calming sensation Theon remembered. Not the calm of a day in the castle yard done, he reflected, but the calm of staring death in the face. The lads about him fumbled for whatever they could grab, the calls for flint needing a kick from Theon to silence. "No fire. No lights." he said, curt and cold. There was no telling the deck rail from the sea beyond in the darkness, but eyes were not what needed using.

"Theon?" he heard Kelsie Farwynd ask. Her eyes might be more fitted to seeing in the dark.

"Aught to be scared of." he replied, sounding surer than he felt. At least there's not going to be any of that horrid stink. Then there was a sound quite apart from the waves' endless roiling. Something else was out there, with none of a pup-serpent's skittishness borne of an unfamiliarity with ships. I dare not try croaking at it, Theon thought. It may well take as dim a few of man-fishes as man proper. Serpents strong, the fishwaif had told him. The waters parted as something moved through them. Big, Theon thought. The heat grew closer, the air more humid…and rather than the reek of fish-flesh, a dizzying salty haze had him tearing up and coughing fit to vomit. Somewhere before them (how far precisely Theon could not tell blinded as he was by darkness and salt) he could hear a rumbling, like thunder heard from underground. He spat in his hand, rubbed the powder from his eyes and dared to look.

Theon could not see its eyes, only the tempest half-hidden behind what could only have been its teeth. That's the mystery of Ironspar solved, he though glibly. We must be in deeper water than I accounted for. His hands found the deck rail and he pulled himself up, trying to get his feet back beneath him. Gods, if I can just keep from vomiting. The rumbling was growing louder, the storm within the beast's lungs more than capable of sending the lot of them down after their silver, Theon knew. Strong in body, aye. Now let's see for ourselves about the strong in mind bit.

"Away with you." Theon called, not as loud as he could have, but then bellowing at the beast at the top of his lungs wouldn't have amounted to much if it decided to answer in kind. "There's aught for you up here, go and find a nice she-serpent to tumble." Huffing and puffing just as the dragons do, you're a lad and no mistake. Then Theon listened to the sound, and realized it was more a fat man's panting once he'd scaled a long stair than a prickly brute's snort amidst looking for a fight. He squinted in the darkness, seeing arse-all else for all his effort. He's had a go at something, and doing it took the wind out of his sails. He changed tack. "Go back down, have a nap. Shake it off and come back up later mayhaps, or stay down there and find a wife or three. All that's going on up here is my horseshit and a ton of snow. Nothing for one among your kind. Go." he said, more even in tone and even giving a curt brush with his hand. I may not see him, but he can sure as shit in a sty see me. The rumbling died away, as did the sparks high above. "That's a lad. On with you." Theon said, listening to the great body descend after a moment more. The sound of water splashing as a tail slipped beneath the surface came up a moment later. Theon braced for a moment, long enough for the beast to get well underway. Aught to be scared of, he could not stop himself from thinking. If Others and a sea serpent fresh from a fight can't do for me, nothing will.

A hand on his shoulder had him turning from the sea. Lady Farwynd, he guessed, dark as it was. What with her odd dalliances below, she doesn't at all reek like the lads do.

"Captain?" one of them called, sounding as though he'd filled his pants down to his boots.

"We'll wait for daylight. Not the first thing to it." Theon said.

"We'll drift, meanwhile. The sea will carry us all night." The aged helmsman called.

"So it may, but only by chance. Even with the waves pushing us off course, sails that can't lose the wind will more than make up for it." Theon replied. The silence that fell on deck told Theon more than a dozen shouting reavers. What's there to fear? They might all be looking your way, wondering if you've gone off, but they can't see you any more than you can them. Aught to be scared of. "Torches at first light, and north after. Until then, dream of whichever women you fancy best. Once we get back with all our shine in tow, you'll be the first patrons seen to at every brothel for the rest of your lives." he said. He had to feel his way back to his cabin and even managed to stub one of the toes that remained him on the door on his way in. On a whim, he closed the door behind him. After all, not like I'm shutting out the light. Rather than clamber through the gloom he merely sat down in the corner, trying to remember if anything in the room might slide as Grey Wind rocked and end up in his lap. "If there's anyone in here with me, best wait to try getting me to jump. You're not about to top a sea serpent." he said bluntly. There was a goodly bit of foolish-feeling at first, but it dulled as Theon stared blindly into the black. Nothing in here but the dark, he mused. Soon, snores joined the sounds of waves against Grey Wind's hull. Nothing out there, either.

A sudden grinding crunch shook him awake with a spluttered curse. Aground, he thought, still half-asleep, until he remembered Grey Wind was far from any shore.

"Who's fallen overboard?" he asked as he stumbled outside, at once blinded by the whiteness without that had replaced the darkness. Wait until you've blinked it all back into view, he told himself, then try moving about the deck. With your luck you'll go right over the side otherwise. The others, once he could bloody see them, were not so helpless. Every back was to him, their owners peering over the portside rail. Fuck me, someone did go over. Best not have been the helmsman… He shoved his way through, starting at the sight of a floating piece of ice the size of a boulder having a bite of their hull. Theon's head snapped up and he beheld still more of them, most smaller in size but a few bigger still. "Steer clear, else we'll be riding one of those home!" he barked, the sound scattering them across the deck to get about veering west to skirt the fleet of bobbing ice.

"Are we so far north already?" someone nearby whispered.

"No." Theon said, feeling more than knowing he was right.

"Cold enough to be, Captain." Kelsie Farwynd called. It was wickedly cold, but almost as soon as Theon wrapped his arms around himself the sensation passed. Oh, golden, he thought sourly. Another riddle.

"Suppose we spot a seal or such perched on one of those…" one of the sailors said, almost delicately for an ironborn. Kelsie shrugged.

"It would be gone before we reached it, let alone got close enough to land a blow." She pointed at one of the pieces of ice. "And smoking ice isn't much the sort a seal fancies." Then a wall of wet warmth had Theon all but soaking, only to near freeze out of his furs when it proved passing. Someone rapped their knuckles against the rail.

"That there's shaped." came the curt words. Sight of shore can't come soon enough, Theon brooded, until the words hit home.

"Shaped?" he squinted at the one in question. It looks like a bloody lot of ice, he thought, until he saw the man's meaning. This was no working of the gods', no bit sheared by chance alone from a greater whole. Not was it a whole on its own, if the great rent in its side was something to go by. The air grew cold again, then warm again. More pieces drifted past, something of a sculptor's touch evident in those large enough to tell from a distance. "Smashed." Theon said suddenly. Out of the corner of his eye, the others began to look to him. "Shattered."

"By a rogue wave? A larger iceberg?"

"By a bolt of lightning, loosed at point-blank range." Theon replied. Serpents strong.

"Theon." Kelsie whispered. He looked down her arm and her finger after it, expecting the brute to be glowering at them from the embrace of the iron waves. Instead, a piece of ice bobbed into view with a pale, slight form slumped over it. He stared. Then he sighed.

"Oh…" he groaned. "Fuck."

They stared down at the Other, saying not a word. Gingerly, Theon scooped a handful of snow up and clumsily squeezed it into a snowball. He held it out over the side, shot a look left and then right, and opened his hand. The snow popped into a wisp of silvery vapor against the Other's back, the form below not budging. Theon pursed his lips. His mouth opened, ready to order the crew to start throwing whatever they could spare. Or, he thought, perhaps it's time for a latest bit of madness.

"A rope, if one of you would."

"Are you drunk?"

"Are you mad?"

"What in fuck?" came the objections.

"So your ears aren't full of wax." Theon said. In the end he had to dredge it up himself, the rest of them falling over themselves to produce what bits of dragonglass or dragonsteel they'd acquired at Winterfell. He was almost feeling daring when he remembered what condition his hands were in. I'll no sooner surely hold a sword than tie a proper knot again.

"Hold there, you'll only knot your fingers up." The aged Harlaw helmsman took the end of the rope, knotting it around the deck rail. Then the other was in Theon's hands again, the Other bobbing amidst a fleet of ice on the sea's surface below. "Don't dawdle. Going to be cold down there, you'll want out of those clothes straightaway." The greybeard clapped Theon on the shoulder. Theon went over immediately after, not trusting himself to be able to go about his business any other way. On his way down, he passed through another curtain of moist, warm air. Bugger, he thought as he felt the frost cake in his hair when the cold found him again. His boots squeaked against Grey Wind's hull. Come here, you, he thought as he leaned out. Gods, but let me carry this off without going into the water. Theon sucked in reflexively when he managed to put a hand on the Other's back, the cold nothing so bad as he had braced for. That can't be good. For him, at least. It should be cold enough to freeze a puddle of dragon piss just now. Tongue between his teeth, he fumbled about until he managed to slip a hand around the Other's waist. Light, he thought, as he managed to balance himself and his burden for the climb back up without much difficulty, even hobbled as he was.

"No doubt it's because you're all but dead." he huffed, easing the new arrival over the rail. Nobody came forth to finish what he'd started, and so it fell to Theon to grit his teeth and flop onto the deck with the Other in his arms, letting go with a sharp hiss as soon as he felt the wood beneath him. Theon opened his eyes to find the rest of the crew circled up around him, dragonglass and its sturdier cousin glinting in most every hand.

"Oughn't touching it have taken your skin off to the bone?" one of them asked.

"Aye, but then its cold ought to be making breathing a trial. Most like, it's been out here a good while, the end coming closer a wave at a time." He sat up and turned to find the Other in need of a flipping face-up. Careful, now, Theon thought as he eased a hand beneath it. Don't want to shatter it after all that. He snorted. Shatter it, when you've seen one pull a knight off a horse and punch his head off his shoulders? You'd do as well to try shattering one of your silver rocks.

White streaks of dry salt trailed from the ears and nose, as well as both eyes and sides of the mouth. There was no head of snow-white hair, not so much as a dagger of razor ice for Theon to poke himself on.

"Closer isn't here, Captain. Best one of us sticks him and we get back about our business." One of his crewmen opined, the others agreeing but for Kelsie Farwynd, who remained silent. Now what has her out of sorts? At any time she could just hop overboard and make for home without another word. Then he took another look at the Other. Women, he thought, will be the fucking death of me.

"No 'him' to stick, and I think you'd do better waiting for port to do the sort of sticking you might with a woman." Theon said, wincing as he pulled the frost from his hair. "Have we any ale?" It will need to be water free of salt, it seems. Someone handed him a skin. He took a swig and gagged.

"Well, we were hardly going to let you waste good ale." The one who'd handed it to him said, almost defensively.

"Good man." Theon replied, pouring the rest on the she-Other's face. He thumbed away the trails of salt, a bit taken aback by how quickly her face went from gaunt to hale, the air in his lungs all but fighting to get back out as the night grew suddenly frigid. "Alright, let's get us jolly good and fucking gone. I don't need that bull serpent deciding we're enough of a bother to flatten after all." Theon said, louder than perhaps was necessary. He grabbed a roll of furs and tossed it over the she-Other. Too cold to chance moving again anyway.

"What if she wakes, Captain?" Theon looked at the speaker, a lad who couldn't have been more than sixteen.

"I'd not have gone in after her if I figured she was dead no matter what. As for what happens when she wakes, well, she ought dissuade another ice-ship from loosing on us." Theon replied. The helmsman aside, I'm surrounded by boys playing at being men. No different than Robb and I when we left Winterfell for the riverlands. There was more to live for than piss and pride. Maybe they oughn't have come after all. Not so many of us left as these would easily be replaced should we sink out here. The ironmen such as they were were destined to scatter all over Westeros, but better scattered and alive than together in death.

Dawn broke with Grey Wind heading due north, Theon still musing in a sullen silence when a sharp cold blew at his back. But for my time at the Dreadfort, that might have knocked me down.

"Captain-"

"Aye." Theon cut whoever it was off before the fear in his voice could spread. The she-Other had sat up, the fur over her frosting over. "Leave her to it, you're ironmen, not a brace of gawking gulls." he said. The head beneath the fur turned toward the sound of him, though no cracking ice followed the movement. Despite turning back to their duties, the crew seemed intent on staying as far away from the she-Other as they could, edging around on the deck like dainty maids afraid to wake their septas. Gods, I hope she can't see through that fucking fur. Theon busied himself with finding another skin of wine, moving to stand a few feet away from her, the first thing she would see when she pulled away the fur…or so he thought, until she began to follow his movement through it. Bugger. Ah, what's the harm? He thought, stooping to take the fur in a hand. He tossed it away forthwith, revealing an ice-white hairless head, faint tendrils of steam pouring off it. The she-Other winced, shutting her eyes tight at the dawn. What's all this about? Theon wondered, the steam billowing up from where her half-scorched away thin layer gave way to the discolored bluish flesh of her neck. Her nostrils flared with a pained breath out, Theon's brace for the cold only half-helpful. Gods, but they are cold. It was the sort of thing a man forgot but for when he was face to face with one, as if it was something that couldn't be remembered proper, only felt. "Up, enough of your lazing." Theon said suddenly, her eyes opening in a rueful squint. "That's better. Up with you." he said, holding out a gloved hand. Theon wasn't altogether surprised when she didn't take it, didn't move but for the breath issuing forth to blend with the wisps of steam coming off her. "If your concern is for your touch costing me a finger or two, I've rather a red tale for you." he said wryly. A sideways glance from her at the others among the crew, all with their bits of glass to hand, gave Theon an idea. "The silver. Out with it, any of you."

"What's silver to an Other?" one of the men asked.

"Precious little I expect, but she'll likely know just why I'm waving it in front of her face." Theon replied. Nobody moved. "Right, I suppose we'll just settle on trying her patience further. Might be she'll set the lot of us to ferrying her home once she's torn all our heads off and pulled us up on cold strings." The chunks of ore came out forthwith, Theon taking the first one within reach. "We're after wherever this joy comes from." He said, tapping it before gesticulating north with the lovely rock. "There's a ride home in this for you, fair lady, if you can find it in yourself to leave us be until then." He moved to toss it in her lap, grunting with the weight, but what else would she do but catch it in a single hand without so much as flinching? Fucking Others.

She turned it about almost casually, as if the rock she held couldn't make a high lord of a swineherd in the bat of an eye. Finally she moved to get up, again hissing in pain and briefly doubling over before she straightened up. Slight, Theon thought. The she-Other did not quite stand eye to eye with him. Not that that matters. She looked around her, seeming no fonder of the crew than before. Bad as the cold was, listening to her speak all but had Theon ready to wriggle out of his scarred hide. A trick I know, though not the tongue. She didn't seem mystified by the crew's blank looks (or their cursed quivering), sounding almost dismissive.

"Once you're done taking turns shitting over the side, back to your tasks. Daylight isn't something to squander these days." Theon told them.

"What about the Other?"

"What about her? We can't understand her no more than she can us, and is likely fully aware of such. Until she starts running about the deck pointing at the water, she's aught to worry over." Theon replied. He wondered if she'd be bold enough to glower at the lot of them until nightfall, but it seemed she preferred the darkness of the cabin to the light of day. Surprise of a lifetime, that. She did not reemerge until an hour after the sun had gone, only then looking as though someone wasn't holding a torch in front of her eyes. "You're looking better. Had a chance to sleep off a sea serpent's sneezing on you?" Theon asked. It was the only thing he could think of that might blow an ice-ship to countless pieces of ice. "Telling that we haven't scooped more of your lot out of the wash. Try not to kill anyone." He told her, easing past (and getting an icy cramp in his back for the trouble) with sleep of his own in mind. Immediately, he almost slipped on an icy sheen that coated the floor, thankful to whatever fell power lingered in the deep that nobody saw his display of grace. As if I needed Kelsie Farwynd to spot that. He clambered on all fours until he found his hammock, relieved that it had not been coated in a layer of frost. Though, the cabin seems to have held onto her chill well enough. Lovely. He had just managed to doze off when something had the cabin door splintering from an impact without, Theon starting awake with a blathering of nonsense that bled from the fishy speech into the Common Tongue. The infamous blue eyes twinkled out from the night. "And hello to you. Just where am I to find another door out on the sea? As if I wanted to hear the crew snoring." Not that any of the crew got a wink of sleep with you nearby. The True Tongue answered him. I suppose I'll need to go see whatever it is, Theon thought. If she wanted to kill me, I'd never have woken.

"Where am I looking?" Theon asked, shrugging irritably and still blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"Lady Farwynd, is there anything to be seen?"

"Nothing I see, Captain." Kelsie replied, studiously avoiding looking at the she-Other. Theon could hear the rest of her words, unsaid as they were. What I might see and what an Other might see are two different things. Certainly, the she-Other had something holding her attention to the north, eyes focused and mouth most set. The very look Asha gets when she spots an opportunity.

"I suppose we'll find out what it is sooner or later." It's certainly no sea serpent. He whiled away the time wiping noses and spooning courage down throats, ignoring the sight of the northern horizon.

"Hulks, captain." Kelsie called suddenly, the crew tensing to a one.

"What are they going to do, clatter at us?" Theon said, most irked. "A few salt-slicked bags of bones, what of them? The first one among the lot of you who fills his pants in front of the Other gets to bloody swim home." He stepped over to the she-Other. "Where are we looking?" he asked, squinting rather obviously. To his surprise his inquiry got a muttered reply, even a minute turning of the woman('s?) head toward him. He cracked his jaw. Others don't travel on hulks. At least she'll get a good laugh watching us flailing away at the chattel. Finally, he caught sight of something bobbing out of the darkness. Another followed some distance away, half-sunk. "The decks will be slick, perhaps rotted through. Be careful." These were not the first floating lichyards they'd come across in their lives, but it behooved the lads to hear it again. The sounds of weapons being drawn earned a sharp utterance from the she-Other, spat over her shoulder in a chilly gust of irritation. "What are we going to do, hail them?" Theon asked her. Perhaps she expected the dead to be greeted with bared steel, or perhaps she was just in a mood to even up the numbers a bit. She held up a hand, wrapped around an invisible chunk of silver ore. Or perhaps she's got something a little more industrious in mind.

It was easier to go to the closer of the hulks than wait for it to float toward them. By the time they reached it, the dead aboard were standing most eerily still. Not a one still had flesh clinging to it, though some clutched the odd driftwood bludgeon. Discipline among the dead.

"I'd almost prefer if they were making to come at us." One of the crewmen muttered.

"I'd prefer if they were holding golden candlesticks." Theon answered. Closer still and the briny dead began to mill about the deck of the hulk, finally settling on pulling up a board to lay across the divide. One by one they clattered across, mutely moving to ring the she-Other in bone.

"Oi, that one's got a gold tooth!" The crewman's observation caught her attention, a pale hand coming up to tear away the tooth (as well as the jaw that held it) before it flew his way. Despite his flinch and a deal of yelping and fumbling, he caught the jawbone and momentarily beamed before his expression soured as the reality of what he clutched sunk in.

"Grand, that's just the thing to buy Casterly Rock out from under the Kingslayer." Theon said, grabbing the jaw and wrenching the tooth out. He pushed the glint of gold into the man's palm and the jaw back from whence it came, a revolting spongy sort of squelch issuing forth. "Anybody else see something they like?" No declaration of treasure-lust was forthcoming. Thank the gods.

"Have your lads go below and row." Theon told the she-Other, flipping one of the oars up from a crate and handing it to the nearest skeleton while his eyes remained on her. Though there was no cold tongue forthcoming, the other dead men began to shuffle past, every second pair of bony hands taking the oar Theon offered. Getting them to fill the benches below was nothing short of a farce, but once Theon sat two to a bench from bow to stern and had them rowing in time with claps on their soggy shoulders, the whole place soon looked more like a great bunch of wagon wheels spinning than a true rowing deck. Living men have to work to keep in time, he thought, as the skeletons clattered on without missing a minute, a moment. The dead are puppets of a single will. "This will do, I think." Theon said, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He thought better of clapping her on the shoulder in a gesture of a matter well-handled as he passed. I don't need to lose the fingers that remain to me to the cold of her flesh or the crush of her fingers.

With Grey Wind's ensorcelled sails above and a brace of dead men rowing below, Theon found that they were making better time than he'd ever have believed a ship capable. Even a ghost ship, after a fashion. If anything, a revenant ship wants a revenant crew, and now it's got that. The lads' faces didn't match his almost bubbly mood. "What's to look sour about? You might be the first reavers anywhere, and anywhen for that matter, to sail with dead men." Theon told them.

"Or would you sooner drop the lot over the side and row yourselves?" He changed tack when they didn't seem much spurred to go about their tasks. "Every balmy day's to be seized with both hands, lads. I know this better than most any man to ever have lived. No reason to do laboring a dead man might, and no worse than a living one at that." And we'll get where we need to go that much faster. They had no more need of oarsmen, but it didn't occur to Theon to put an end to the she-Other's collection of dead men when they came across the next hulk. Or the next. When space grew cramped on the deck, they started curling up into corners and out of the way, queerly apt at folding into themselves to give the living room to work.

"You were saying about letting dead men break their backs, Captain?"

"The oars can be replaced. I'll not have bony hands mangling Grey Wind's rigging." Theon replied. It may be the cold lady needs to see the lot of you at it longer before she understands what to task her puppets with. If the winds were kind, they might reach land before it came to that. He felt Kelsie Farwynd's eyes on him and duly turned to face her, inwardly hoping to find she was holding up better than the lads. Better, he saw, but not so well as I'd like. "What? Surely this is preferable to having to scuttle every hulk that happens to float our way."

"Theon, you've a dozen dead men and more rowing below." she replied.

"I never said it wasn't madness, Lady Farwynd. But these days, one needs a bit of madness in his purse right next to his silver." It occurred to him that of the living aboard Grey Wind, Theon alone seemed utterly unperturbed (the she-Other excepted, of course). Mayhaps silver found to replace silver lost will stop their muttering.

Just as she'd been the one to spot the hulks, the she-Other was the first to make an end to the endless sea before them. Who'd have thought ironmen to be so glad of news of land? The hope that they'd reach it before dark was dashed and a truly hellish night of cooping up in the cabin or belowdecks followed. Theon left their pale guest to standing at the ship's bow, bright blue eyes rolling slowly across the expanse. Staring into nothing, he thought. Nothing we see, he answered himself. Dawn found the sky and the slowly-growing solid horizon almost precisely the same shade of white. The she-Other pointed due northwest, the crewmen flinching whenever she chanced to move too quickly.

"You'd never know if she decided to kill you." Theon told them crossly. "It'd be done before you could so much as shit yourself." Once she started looking to the sail, Theon knew it was time to drop anchor, a funny-looking piece of steel that looked like it was better-suited to be the head of a flail or morningstar than keeping a ship in place. Fucking Valyrians. Her skeletons trooped up a moment later, Theon wondering if the rowing deck was quite fit for living noses any longer. They began simply walking overboard, the she-Other looking to their rowboat and pointing. "Over and down." Theon said at once. "I'll not have the dead men beating us to shore, much less to our silver." Chasing the skeletons wasn't a prospect the lads much cared for, though, and by the time they were underway in the rowboat the sun had truly risen.

"She might have kept a few of them to work the oars." One of the lads huffed.

"She might have. Why don't you ask her?" Theon replied, earning a snort of laughter from the man behind him. They all surged forward suddenly and he knew the trick was done, standing to turn and look at the country before them.

It is not so much the sight of land beginning, Theon thought, fighting the urge to vomit. It is simply the end of the sea. Indeed, the hard frozen sand beneath his feet matched the sky nearly perfectly, and staring northward too long had him reeling from dizziness. The dead men had indeed beaten them to shore, congregating around the rowboat to finish pulling it out of the water. Beats wading in, Theon reasoned.

"A lot of ice, a lot of snow." Kelsie said, looking untroubled after her own swim ashore. Even the she-Other seemed a bit mystified as to why the girl hadn't frozen to death in moments, soaked to the bone as she was.

"Here, my lady." Theon said, brushing the frost out of her hair. Once he was finished he steeled himself and looked north again, squinting to keep the white about from blinding him. At the edge of his vision he spotted a great expanse of mountains rising to the furthest north. He dared to think it might have been the combination of winter and fresh snowfall that had whitened away the rest of the world, that their next visit here (should they live so long) would not be so disorienting. So focused was he that he failed to hear the she-Other approaching (not that I would have anyway, he reflected). Her hand came up and she pointed at the mountains, crackling up a proper spring thaw in her cold tongue as she brought up a hunk of the ore in her other hand. Theon's despair vanished as soon as it had come when her finger trailed down to end where else but right between his legs, continuing out to sea. "Had I known we'd take on one of your sort, I'd not have been so steadfastly against bringing the fireling." Theon said darkly as he got on a knee, brushing away the mat of snow. Beneath, to his surprise lay not frozen sand but the icy surface of a frozen river. When the sun chanced to shine down, something beneath the ice shined right back up.

"Captain, now what have you found?" one of the lads said, kneeling next to him and even putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's find out." Theon answered. "And quickly, before her fellows happen to come along. Out with your dragonsteel, lads."

Mercifully, the stuff was more than able to the task. The thick ice parted like butter, as if the sun had been at it all day and they were using heated iron-headed hammers.

"Might owe that bull fellow a handful of out fortune or two." Theon grunted as he flung away a fresh-cut block of ice the size of a brick. "We'd not have gotten along half so well without his black steel."

"Bugger the bull. He got Storm's End, he got a princess, he can well sit on such fortune as has thus far come his way." The lad opposite him said, driving his blade in to carve out yet another piece.

"Don't you think the whole thing might give? We've been at it for a good while…"

"No." Theon said at once. "We'll reach the running part of the river soon or late, but after that we need go no further."

"Will Lady Farwynd be going under for a peek?" Theon laughed.

"A highborn maiden laboring like a common miner? When we have dead men aplenty to do just that thing for us, and tirelessly at that?" Eventually they found the water proper, near to three feet down into the ice.

"This river must stretch on some way."

"Aye, be careful not to slip. Meantime, wave our cold friend over." Theon said. Her bald head appeared a moment later, peering into their icy hole impassively. "Right, I want your lads to head down once we've widened the hole some. Should they find anything…" he pointed to one of the chunks of ore they'd brought. "…have them bring it up." She smirked at him, crackling away. "Oh, and I suppose you think you're the first to laugh at me." Theon told her as he flopped his way out of the hole.

Once the living had gotten clear the dead went in, vanishing down the hole into the freezing water beneath the ice.

"If she speaks true…after a fashion, those mountains are the source of the silver proper. Hopefully some of it has been carried this far. Hells, I might have her lads scour the water beneath Grey Wind for a bit as well, see if there's any that made it to the sea proper."

"All that's riveting, Captain. A proper wonder, that is. I'd give all the silver in the world for a privy just now, though." the old helmsman muttered, spotting a dune further inland.

"Don't go too far." Theon told him. Atop his gloried mount, the greyhair had a quick look about. "More hulks, captain." He said, pointing still further northwest.

"Their state?"

"They look in better shape. Washed ashore since the Others left with their dead fleet, else they'd just have taken them along." Better shape? If nothing else, more ships afloat would prove handy. Shouts and giddy laughter told Theon all he needed to know regarding how the dead were getting along. Looking into the hole, he spotted a bony hand sticking up out of the water, a perfectly lovely fistful of silver in its finger(bone)s.

"Well, that's grand." Theon said. "The dead can widen the hole for themselves as well. If they can swing bludgeons, they can chip ice with daggers." With more room to work and quicker access to the water, it seemed that just as quickly as one skeleton dropped in, another was emerging with both hands full of ore. The pile near the rowboat grew steadily, the crew getting rowdier with every contribution to their hoard. Only when it threatened to grow tall as Theon stood himself did his brow furrow. "What if we run out of room on Grey Wind?"

"A good problem to have, Lord Captain, a good problem to have." Someone cackled, clapping him on the back. Where's my helmsman? If something made a meal of him while he was off for his precious shit, I'll spread the tale myself. Just as he pondered going up the dune after him, the old fart came dashing down the white sand like his ass was on fire. Now what? The others were too distracted by their windfall, so only Theon saw the man tumble to his knees and sink his dagger into the sand. "What happened, man-" Theon stopped as the helmsman carved a handful of sand out of the shoreline, his fingers sinking in. There was a sucking sound and his hands came away full of half-formed whitish clay. Theon was on all fours at once, peering into the hole the man had made. The sand was white indeed, but it glinted a lovely silver color freed from frost. Theon stuck a hand in, grabbed, pulled, and it came away full of a heavy shimmery clay, heavy and more for its size. A finger down the helmsman's cheek left a bold silver streak, the old man too stunned, too overblown to protest. "What in fuck?" Theon gasped hoarsely, repeating himself twice as he looked around uselessly.

"Captain." The helmsman was no less hoarse, no less at a loss. "Captain." Finally, Theon gathered himself as much as he was like to and turned back to the man. He shook his head. "We've not the room for all of this. Not if we packed our hold to sinking." Theon looked back toward the frozen river's surface, the crewmen putting on a proper spectacle as they whooped and cheered around a still-growing trove of shimmering rocks, the silver deep and rich even from afar.

"We'll need your hulks." Theon gasped out, the feeling of the clay oozing through his fingers not at all discomfiting. It isn't like the stuff is scarce! "I hope they float."