I'm Theon Greyjoy

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***

Robb Stark's royal tent didn't boast any particularly lavish decorations. Needless to say, they had all been made during the campaign, commissioned from the carpenters of Riverrun?

The Grim Wolf sat at the head of a long black-lacquered table, with the most powerful lords of the North seated around him. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ambers, the Hornwoods, the Risswells, the Glovers, a couple of Flints, and old Mormontsha.

Nearby crouched Grey Wind, by his presence giving peace of mind to the King of the North. Stark always felt safe with his direwolf.

For an hour now, the lords had been arguing before him how to proceed. Some, like Lord Amber, had confidently told their king that the West had not yet been plundered enough, and they should go to the lands of the Crakeholes and burn the fiefdom of one of the most powerful vassals of Casterly Cliff.

He was opposed by the Manderleys and the Risswells. Willis Manderly replied to Amber that the Lannister army would not stay under the capital forever, and that a northern army could get bogged down in Crakeholes' lands. Especially since the krakens were there now.

Mormont and Glover echoed him. The others were silent.

Grim Wolf listened attentively, calculating in his mind every possible option, its risks and consequences. Attacking the Western Hills was a tempting idea, except that Kiwan Lannister would not wait for the King of the North to return to the Riverlands. The Lions will strike when the Wolf is busy in the West and won't be able to fight back in time.

- We're going back to Riverrun. - Robb said, and all was silent.

- Your Grace,' Darin Hornwood said, voicing the thoughts of all the lords. - When shall we begin our retreat?

'They withdraw when the battle is lost, Hornwood, but we return victorious,' came an angry thought, and then it was gone.

- A few weeks from now. We haven't taken enough from the people of the West yet.

Not to say the lords were all that keen to stay in the West. No one's left without spoils, and the West will be richer in some places than the Outlands. Except the Northerners want more, and to win battles, not plunder peasants.

Defeat in several battles, the death of Tywin Lannister, and rumours of the capital's fall... the Lions are in a very dangerous position right now. They have made an alliance with the Vale, but that is their only ally, while they have many more enemies.

Stannis has laid siege to King's Landing with the support of the Storm and Cod Lords. Robb and his army are plundering the West on one side, and the Ironborn have invaded from the sea on the other. Not to forget the Riverlands, which have not forgotten the Lannister atrocities.

There is some hope for the Dornish, but they are too cowardly. Dorne's strength lies in the wilderness, not in the people themselves.

The Vale continues to be suspiciously silent. Stark has sent letters not only to his aunt, but also to the powerful lords of the Vale. So far, he has waited for a reply from none.

'The River Lords will not forget such treachery. When the Tullys and their vassals fought the lions, only the North responded to help. Though my maternal grandfather made an alliance with the Vale as well.'

The meeting went on for another hour. A strategy for further action was being worked out. Some suggested marching on the capital if the lions could fend off Stannis. Some insisted on invading the Vale with the support of the Ironborn, but Robb didn't even consider that option.

The Wasteland is too tough a nut to crack, and the Ironborn will run to the Wasteland when the gold-rich Western Lands lie before them. Especially if the lions are weak.

In the end, they agreed to wait for further news. They have yet to return to Riverrun.

Robb sighed tiredly as the last northern lord left his tent. His hand ran over Grey Wind's wolf fur, and he gave in closer.

There was a clanking sound, the rustle of canvas being pulled apart, and one of the warriors entered the tent.

- Your Grace, a raven has flown in... a letter.

Stark looked at the guard with displeasure at catching him at such a moment. He nodded nonchalantly and said:

-Bring it here.

The Northman obeyed, and a sealed roll of paper was in Robb's hands. The lion on the seal did not please him. What do the Lannisters want? An exchange of prisoners? A truce?

Opening the roll, his eyes ran over a few lines.

The paper in Stark's hands was torn to shreds.

Sansa Stark is dead. Ilyn Payne had cut off her head when Stannis was storming Red Castle.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'

- Baelon is dead. - Said Victarion to Theon and Aaron. In his hands was a small piece of paper.

- The Drowned God took his soul,' the Wethead muttered.

Theon himself didn't know how to react to his father's death. There was not the love between them that characterises a loving father and son, but Baelon had tried to raise Theon in his own way. In the traditions of the Old Law and the Ironborn.

The fact that he didn't spend much time with him didn't matter.

Theon doesn't care, though.

- How did he die? - Theon asked, showing no emotion in his voice.

- The servants found him dead on the shore. That's all the letter said.

- It's a sign. The drowned man summoned his faithful servant,' Aaron spoke again, and Theon noticed Victarion's annoyed look at his younger brother.

- The sons of the sea must not have a king of their own. We need to call a party,' he continued, but he was interrupted by Victarion.

- Baelon has not proclaimed himself king. And he has an heir.

- We live by the Old Law, not the traditions of the Greenbloods. - Shaggyhead's gaze suddenly became prickly and angry. For a moment, the rabid fanatic was gone, and someone worse had appeared. For a moment.

- My nephew can stand for election, and if the Ironborn find him worthy, he will be our king.

- And I will nominate her,' Theon finally spoke up, answering Aaron.

'I have no choice in the matter. If someone else becomes king, I will be the number one threat to him...because I am Baelon's only son and considered the heir to the Iron Islands.'

-Then we must go back,' Victarion said, glancing back and forth at the younger Greyjoy and Aaron.

- In a week, as soon as the Northmen are gone. - Theon looked down at the already drained goblet. He was suddenly thirsty, but he held back the urge to fill the goblet with wine. It was not the time.

Things were getting much more serious now. He would have to fight for the Sea Throne - Asha and several other powerful lords of the Isles would surely claim it. This means that he will have to spend a lot of gold and jewellery to bribe new supporters. Not to forget the information warfare... we'll have to spread a few dirty rumours.

'How reminiscent of the elections in my former homeland... I wonder who sits in the Kremlin after Medvedkov?'

'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'

- I'll see you again, my brother,' Robb smiled, hugging Theon. Greyjoy smiled at his friend.

- We will. Once we have defeated all of our enemies.

Despite the smile, Robb seemed even more gloomy and depressed. It was only at the sight of his friend that his face became a little brighter.

Sad eyes stared at Theon, and Grey Wind crouched beside him.

- Yes, we'll win,' he sighed.

In the background of their conversation, the Northmen's army was marching off eastwards towards the Riverlands in a slender step and in a steady column. The Northmen were leaving, and Stark decided to say goodbye to his friend in person.

Winter is Near, said the Starks' motto, and now they were more right than ever. The leaves had already turned yellow and were beginning to fall, and the rains and strong, freezing winds were becoming frequent visitors in the climate of the Westlands. It must be even worse in the Isles, let alone the North.

- You'll always be welcome at Winterfell, Gunslinger. When the war is over, I'd like to see you at a feast to celebrate our great victory. You'll be King of the Isles, and I'll be the Winter King. An alliance that will shake the entire continent. - Robb extended his hand for a handshake, ending his long monologue.

- I will, Grim Wolf,' Theon shook his hand. - As soon as I'm proclaimed king, I'll come to your aid.

They said their goodbyes, and Robb went back to commanding the marching army. And Theon, after a few more minutes of watching the departing Northmen, also returned to the camp, with his escort of a couple of soldiers and a squire.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'

A week later, the islanders were already packing up their tents, their belongings, and their supplies to return home. Lord Baelon's death was a blessing for the lions and bad news for all the ironborn.

Theon had already begun to act - he had spread a couple of rumours about Asha that were unpleasant even for him, he had spoken to Lord Blacktail, an ironborn who believed in the Seven and was in the same situation as Theon. Was held hostage by a powerful house of Westeros after being defeated in the war. The conversation came out casual but fruitful. Theon got his support, assuring him that he didn't care who he believed in. He didn't even mind if he built a sept on his lands, something that couldn't be done during Baelon's reign.

'If I can become king and survive, I should also be concerned about rebuilding the sept. We need to attract traders from the continent to establish some trade in Pyke.'

Of course, he would have to negotiate with the priests of the Drowned God, and the people of Lordport wouldn't be happy about it... but he wasn't going to build the septum right now. There's a war going on.

It was worth probing the mood of the other Lords of the Isles - the Drumm's, Goodbrasers, Saltcliffs, Sunderleys and many others.

His crew, which already consisted of a couple of hundred seasoned fighters (after Lannisport and Bright Isle), was long since assembled and ready to set sail. He had four drakkars in his hands, half of which carried jewels and gold rather than men. That was how much Theon had looted in the West. If you add in what he'd taken from the Bright Isle, it was a lot.

The slowest and greediest were waiting. Victarion had his Iron Fleet in order long ago, so it was the lords who were the slowest and greediest. But they too had gathered their warriors, and the armada of ships left the shores of the Western Kingdom.

- Well, this is it,' Greyjoy sighed as he gave the appropriate orders and was left alone with his squire. And Cicero, too, but the latter, sensing his master's mood, was not joking. - Now we're going home. Are you glad? - he asked Harlow.

- There's not much to see at home,' he muttered.

- It always seems that way. But if you live a little longer, you'll find out a lot of interesting things about what's going on under your nose... You just have to listen and watch, not sit through practice fights. You should at least read the books.

- I don't want to be labelled a book lover or a reader.

- There's nothing wrong with that. If you're afraid of public opinion, you're not going to make a difference in this world.

-I understand,' the squire replied irritably, rather to get Theon off his back. He'd recently started teaching him writing and numbers (the boy had a basic level, but Greyjoy had gone a little further), and Harlow didn't like it. His only consolation was that the practice fights hadn't gone anywhere, and he'd even been given a few lessons on how to command a drakkar... from the perspective of a common sailor, of course. Every captain should understand his ship from the inside out and know all its weaknesses and capabilities.

-You don't understand anything, Erich. But I won't bore you. Perhaps with age you'll understand.

- M-small t-tupezne! - Cicero shouted, flapping his wings.

Not that Theon disagreed with his pet, but he made an indifferent face so as not to offend his pupil. Time would tell what kind of dough Erich Harlow was made of.

Erich looked at the parrot with anger, but said nothing. He was used to such insults.

The wind was blowing in the opposite direction, so the rowers had to push on to get faster. Theon had an uneasy feeling in his heart that everything seemed fine, but the worm of doubt was still there.

There might be some pretty big shit waiting for him in the future. He hoped that the confrontation for the Sea Throne wouldn't escalate into something dangerous and bloody.

Otherwise, it would be too bad. Both for Theon and for the Iron Islands