The news of Lord Eddard's death filled the study in Riverrun with a heavy sorrow.
But that sorrow did nothing to move the Leech Lord of the Flayed Men. Roose Bolton shoved Helman aside and stepped in front of Robb, speaking in a low, stern voice. "Lord Robb, is this all it takes to break you? Lord Eddard is gone. You are now Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. This is no time for mourning. You must shoulder the weight of the North and lead us forward—until Lord Eddard is avenged. Now stand. Stand like a man."
"Yes. Yes! This is no time for grief. I can't sit here weeping. I need to rise, lead our host to King's Landing, and make that bastard pay!" Robb gritted his teeth, swallowed his tears, pushed himself up with both hands on the table, and rose to his feet, eyes bloodshot with rage.
"If we march on King's Landing as vassals, even if we punish Joffrey I with full justification, the world will still see it as regicide. So we need a new identity—one equal to the Iron Throne," Roose Bolton said gravely. "The title Torrhen Stark surrendered to Aegon the Conqueror—it's time we reclaimed it. King in the North."
"King in the North…" Robb repeated, a strange light flickering in his eyes at the words.
"Yes. King in the North," Roose said, voice like iron. "Only the King in the North can stand as an equal to the Iron Throne. Your Grace Robb—it's time to restore House Stark's ancient glory."
"Yes, Your Grace Robb! King in the North!" Helman Tallhart echoed with rising fervor.
Surrounded by those voices hailing him King in the North, Robb's gaze grew resolute.
...
At the same time Robb made the decision to claim the crown, Theon Greyjoy—whom he had sent to the Iron Islands—was just arriving in the waters near Pyke.
His late arrival was due entirely to a storm at sea that had forced the ship to anchor along the coast for two days.
Even so, Theon's mood remained excellent. Upon learning they were approaching Pyke, he returned to his cabin, changed into fresh clothes, adorned himself with every accessory he thought made him look noble, and carefully tidied his hair and beard.
He had always believed he was the true heir of the Iron Islands, and that his sister Asha was merely holding his place until he returned. Once he came back, the lords of the isles would surely rally to him, lift him onto the Seastone Chair, and crown him with the Driftwood Crown.
So when he volunteered to sail to the Iron Islands to seek aid, his true aim had been to claim rulership.
"How long until we see Pyke?" he asked the captain as he strolled up to the prow in his finery.
"Pyke?" the captain paused, then replied, "You won't be seeing it. Pyke's long since been burned down. Even the cliff it stood on has partially collapsed. All that's left is a bit of the outer wall."
Theon blinked in surprise. Then it came back to him—his sister Asha had burned Pyke, along with the lords who tried to betray her.
He approved of her actions. In fact, he believed that if he had been there, he would've done the same.
The captain pointed ahead toward the headland. "Once we round that cape, you'll see the ruins of Pyke. Just past that, you'll see the new Sea Witch City and Pyke Harbor."
Before long, the fast-sailing ship passed the cape, and Theon caught sight of Pyke's ruins. Just as the captain had said, all that remained was the outer curtain wall perched atop the cliffs. The main keep, the Blood Keep, the Sea Tower—all of it had collapsed into the sea along with the rocky base. What little he could recall of his childhood there grew even hazier.
The ship sailed past a cluster of reefs, revealing the harbor town that once sat below Pyke.
In Theon's memory, the town had been small and filthy, no different from the village outside Winterfell. A few modest longboats docked at the wharf—fishing vessels, mostly. The Iron Fleet moored farther off at Lordsport.
But now, the harbor beneath the ruins had become a bustling port the size of a city. Massive stone piers stretched along the shoreline as far as the eye could see. Moored to them were towering two- and three-decked windjammers, each equipped with massive ballistae capable of piercing ship decks. Dozens of sailors in uniform leather armor moved busily about the decks.
Beyond the docks, the port town extended up the hillside. Rows of stone houses were neatly arranged, divided by wide streets large enough for four horse-drawn carts to drive abreast. The houses were painted with dyes made from crushed seashells, giving them a clean, pearly-white luster that was strikingly beautiful.
The people walking the streets no longer looked like the ragged, salt-crusted islanders he remembered. Though the wear of the sea still showed on their hands and faces, their clothing resembled that of city folk—and next to them, Theon's self-styled noble attire suddenly looked plain and provincial.
"Look, that's Sea Witch Castle!" the captain said as he directed the sailors toward the harbor, pointing to the massive white fortress perched atop the mountain outside the port town. "This Sea Witch Castle, along with Seadog Castle on Blacktyde Island and Sea Monster Castle on Harlaw Island, are known collectively as the Three Sea Monster Castles of the Iron Islands. Aside from those, there's also the Storm God Temple and the Prince's Palace on Great Wyk—also impressive structures."
"Prince's Palace?" Theon looked at the captain in confusion.
"It's the residence built for Lord Lynd Tarran, Prince of the Stepstones in the Narrow Sea," the captain explained. "The Three Sea Krakens built it specifically for him on Great Wyk so he could come stay anytime he pleased. But after the palace was completed, he never stayed there even once. It's now become a Wyvern nest."
"A what?" Theon asked blankly.
"Prince Lynd gifted the Sea Kraken Alliance a batch of wyverns—over three hundred of them. They're all housed in the Prince's Palace, under the management of the Storm God Temple. Word is, they've already laid a lot of wyvern eggs. In a few more years, the number of wyverns on the Iron Islands is expected to multiply. Perhaps then, even Ironborn might have a chance to become Wyvern Knights."
"There aren't any Ironborn among the Wyvern Knights now?" Theon asked.
"Of course not," the captain shook his head. "Only those chosen by the Storm God Temple and sent to Summerhall to undergo the Redemption Sept trials are eligible. So far, not a single Ironborn has passed the Temple's selection."
Theon lifted his chin and declared, "If I become Lord of the Iron Islands, I'll make sure all the Wyvern Knights are Ironborn."
At that, the captain and nearby sailors let out scoffing laughs.
...
After disembarking, Theon glanced around with a puzzled look. Before arriving, he had sent a raven from Seagard to announce his return. By all rights, the nobles should have come to receive him.
But all he saw were dockworkers, sailors, fishermen, and guards—no one even looked in his direction. Everyone was busy with their own business.
In Theon's imagination, his return to Pyke would be grand and glorious, with countless Ironborn lords welcoming their king back. It should've been impossible for anyone to ignore him like this.
A wave of humiliation flushed his face red. He looked around and spotted what seemed to be a dock official seated at a table, logging ships for the captains. Theon quickly made his way over, pushing past those waiting in line and stepping up to the desk.
"Don't you know how to behave? Wait in line and don't cause trouble," the officer said coldly, casting a glance at Theon.
At his words, the soldier standing behind him stepped up and glared threateningly at Theon.
Theon glared right back and said in a low, firm voice, "I am Theon Greyjoy, the rightful heir to the Seastone Chair of the Iron Islands—the Lord to whom you owe allegiance. And you dare speak to me like that?"
"Theon Greyjoy?" The official blinked, then looked him up and down and muttered, "Damn it, you're two days late. They nearly sent a search party out to sea to find you." He then turned toward a fully armored knight who was just rising behind him and said, "Your man's here. Take him to your commander. It's been a pain having you parked here for two days."
Then, turning to an attendant beside him, he added, "Go notify the other check-in stations—tell them Theon's arrived. They can stop waiting."
The knight stepped forward, gave Theon a quick once-over, and said, "Come with me."
Without saying more, he turned and walked toward the town behind the docks.
Theon hurried after him, trying to strike up a conversation, to ask for information. But he didn't know where to begin—and the sheer pressure the man radiated made it feel like if he said the wrong thing, he'd get smashed on the spot.
one of the offices, he called out to a man attending to some paperwork, "Boss, Theon's here."
The official glanced up, closed the unfinished file in his hand, then stood and said, "Go inform the others—the patrols can resume." With that, he turned to Theon and gestured. "You, come with me."
He led Theon out of the building and into a carriage waiting outside. They began the ride uphill toward the Sea Witch Castle.
"You're from House Farwynd, aren't you?" Theon asked, noticing the family crest on the man's collar and attempting a friendly tone. "I know House Farwynd is—"
"Shut your mouth," the official snapped, shooting Theon a glare. "I've got no interest in chatting. Thanks to you, I missed a chance to go to sea and got stuck behind a desk dealing with worthless garbage—for half a year. If you weren't a Greyjoy, I'd tie you to the back of this wagon and drag you to the castle."
Seeing the man's fierce expression, Theon's own anger flared. Just as he was about to snap back, the man moved first—seizing him by the throat, slamming him against the wooden side of the carriage. A dagger was already pressed against his eye.
"Asha only ordered me to bring you back alive," the officer said coldly. "She didn't say anything about keeping you in one piece. I doubt anyone would mind if you showed up missing an eye. Or an ear."
"Wait—don't!" Theon yelped, instantly panicking as he felt the knife press in closer. "I won't say anything, alright? I won't say another word!"
The official stared at him for a moment, then released him and put the dagger away. He returned to his seat, as calm as if nothing had happened.
Still shaken, Theon straightened his clothes and slid as far from the man as the carriage allowed. He kept his eyes on the passing scenery outside the window and stayed completely silent.
...
The carriage passed through the town and made its way up the main road to the mountaintop castle. Once it stopped, a servant opened the door. A middle-aged woman was waiting outside. She looked at Theon as he stepped down and said, "Master Theon, I am Linda, steward of Pyke Castle. Lord Asha has been waiting for you in the study. Please follow me."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and headed toward the castle.
Theon had a thousand questions he wanted to ask, but the earlier treatment he'd received from the Farwynd officer had left him too cautious to speak. He followed Linda in silence.
Theon had lived in Winterfell for more than ten years. In his memory, Winterfell had always seemed far grander than Pyke, and he had thought the world's best castles would be similar.
But the moment he stepped into Sea Witch Castle, he realized how wrong he'd been. Winterfell now seemed like a rustic farmhouse in comparison. This fortress, built from towering blocks of stone, was majestic and imposing. Its interior was adorned with extravagant furnishings, with imported decorations from across the Narrow Sea displayed throughout. Even the windows were fitted with glass panes that could be opened—allowing sunlight to pour directly into the halls and fill them with a brightness that needed no torches to illuminate.
"This castle should be mine. This should be my castle," Theon muttered—without realizing he'd spoken aloud. Linda, walking ahead, glanced back at him in surprise.
...
Soon they arrived outside the castle's study. Linda gestured for Theon to wait, then stepped inside. A moment later, a voice called out from within.
"Come in, Theon. My brother."
Theon pushed the door open and entered. The spacious study was lined with bookcases filled with volumes. In the center of the room, near the fireplace, sat a desk crafted from the shattered prow of a ship. The black iron maiden figurehead on its edge made it clear—the wreckage came from the Silence, his uncle Euron Greyjoy's ship.
Behind the desk, a lean woman with short-cropped hair quickly signed a document and handed it to an attendant. Then she looked up at Theon with a strange expression in her eyes and said, "We haven't seen each other since that dinner in Lannisport. You haven't changed at all. Still the same, my brother Theon Greyjoy—still just as weak and useless."