I'm Theon Greyjoy

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***

Theon sat in the centre of the long dining table, carefully nibbling at the deliciously roasted venison. Meat was always scarce in the Iron Islands, and it was a rare treat to taste it.

It was located in the refectory. A rather spacious room, designed for a local lord and his family to dine separately from everyone else.

Harras Knight, whom he had also decided to invite, was sitting next to him, sipping only from a goblet of Arborian wine. His mood was clearly lousy and he was especially not eating, despite the delicious venison.

'And Dagmer has a good cook,' Theon thought, wetting his throat with wine. - 'Could cook meat pretty well.'

Greyjoy had removed the local cooks from the kitchen and put in his own, so that no one would try to poison them. And he put guards on them, too. The massacre his army inflicted was terrible, all the soldiers were slaughtered, and many women suffered the wrath of the iron men. Someone will want revenge.

Across from them sat the Farman family - Lord Sebaston himself, looking fearfully at Theon and Harras, his wife, daughter, and son.

It had been three days since Castle Bright had fallen. Now the Greyjoy flags fluttered here, and the garrison was made up of ironborn. He locked Lord Farman and his family in the chambers, informing them that the castle now belonged to House Greyjoy, as did the whole island.

Dagmer, taking four hundred raiders with him, went to the nearby villages to bring fire and sword to the local peasants. It is now unlikely that there will be a force on the Bright Isle capable of standing up to the ironborn threat.

- Dagmer's Koko has cooked the meat very well. - Theon turned to Harras, deciding to break the silence in the room.

-Yes, Lord Theon. - The Knight muttered. Clad in boiled leather armour, he was cutting a thick and fat piece of venison with a kind of inward irritation. This was evident in his constant sharp movements and his tightened lips.

- Bad day, Harras? - Greyjoy asked, ignoring the stares of the lord's family. He had invited them over to look at them closely and form his own opinion of them. Here, Lord Sebaston was clearly cowardly or cautious. Depends on the man himself - Theon thought it was more likely the former than the latter.

- Bad fall. - Harras retorted, reflexively, touching his shoulder lightly.

Theon said nothing in reply, only nodded understandingly. It was doubtful that Harras could have fallen somewhere, more likely he'd had a fight with someone. I wonder with whom and over what? We'd have to find out more.

He shifted his gaze to the Farman family who sat across from them. There was an empty space of a couple of metres between them.

- Lord Farman. - Cutting off a small piece of meat with a silvered knife, Greyjoy looked directly into the eyes of the former master of the castle, causing him to clutch the fork in his hands convulsively. - I hope you haven't felt any discomfort during your... stay in our castle?

-N... No, my lord. - Sebaston replied, stammering slightly. Such polite communication with the ironborn was new to him and frightened him.

- I'm glad. - Theon smiled and ate a piece of venison.

-You're probably bored of being cooped up and haven't had any news,' Greyjoy continued. - Well, I hasten to tell you that the news of Renly Baratheon's death came recently.

- Lord Renly is dead? - Sebaston wondered. - But how?

- They say he was slain by his own bodyguard, Brienne of Tarth. And some are spreading rumours that he was killed by dark magic.

'The former makes more sense, but the latter is also possible. This world has many secrets, and Stannis is said to have a priestess of Rglor in his service.'

-Now Stannis is sworn to Storm's End, and he's moving towards King's Landing. -Now.

-This is terrible. - Lord Sebaston's wife, née Stackspear, voiced her thoughts. Not a particularly powerful house in the West.

- Terrible for House Lannister in the first place. But the Lord of Dragonstone is not loved by anyone, so his victories are bitter for others as well.

'For the Iron Islands and the North, for example.'

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

A few more days have passed since the fall of Castle Bright. Theon had already sorted out the positioning of the garrison, keeping everyone busy. The first booty from Dagmer had arrived - a couple of wagons full of food, weapons, and sundries. No gold or money to speak of. Where do peasants get gold?

Dagmer sent a dozen fighters to escort him, and continued to plunder. His eyes turned to the other side of the island. The villagers must already know of the castle's fall.

As for news of whether his kin had managed to fulfil their tasks, Theon did not yet know. Perhaps at this very moment, his sister Asha was storming Cayce and his uncle was looting Lannisport.

'I don't even know if I should hope they succeed, or the other way around? Wish them to fail? They'll make me look good while they've failed miserably.'

He dismissed these foolish thoughts. It was worth thinking practically and rationally instead of giving in to emotion. If Cayce and Lannisport fall, good. If they don't fall, that's good too. One must find the good in everything.

He was in Lord Sebaston's private chambers, sorting through his papers. He was curious about the Farmans' relations with the other houses of the West, about the life of the Bright Isle, and many other things.

Unpleasant news came when he wasn't expecting it - one of his men had again tried to rape the lord's daughter, who had been thinking of going out for some fresh air. The Greyjoys had put a guard on each member of House Farman to keep them from trying to escape.

The impudent man was chased away and reported to Theon. When he learned the fool's name, he could only shake his head. Greg Shaggy was clearly not a man of intelligence or judgement. Failed once, now he's tried again. Something had to be done about it.

It was up to his crew - so he gathered all his sailors in the castle's Grand Wormhole. Greyjoy sat in the throne-chair with a hundred men piled around him, the crew of the Son of Thunder ship.

Greg Shaggy stood in the centre. Around him was empty space. He was tall, wiry, and clad in an iron cuirass. His face might have been handsome if it weren't for a couple of ugly scars on the bridge of his nose and next to his nose. His hair was long, reaching down to his shoulders, and rather shaggy.

Even from his seat, Theon could smell the wine on him. Shaggy had been so drunk that he clearly didn't realise what he had done. He'd disobeyed his captain's orders, and that was either death or severe punishment.

He didn't look drunk, though; maybe he'd sobered up. Greyjoy didn't care.

- Greg Shaggy. - Theon's voice carried through the hall. - I hope you've got it in your stupid head why I called you here. Do you realise your guilt?

- What guilt? - Greg grinned cheekily. - I just wanted to spoil one girl.

- That girl is the Farman girl. You dare trespass on my prey. - Speaking slowly, as if he were talking to a weakling, he explained to Greg. Greg grinned.

-I don't give a damn about you, you Northern upbringing!

Greg's words caused a murmur in the crowd. This was a serious insult, and blood would pay for it. Theon had no reaction to the words. He did not shout angrily, nor did his face change in any way. He replied with the same cold expression:

-For such an insult you can only have a sword at your throat. - Theon stood up slightly and put his hand around the tip of the sword that was stuck in the scabbard.

- Your last words, Greg Shaggy?

- I demand a proper duel! Or can you only kill unarmed men, you green-blooded piece of shit? - smirked the pirate, showing the lack of teeth in his mouth.

-Give him his sword. - Greyjoy shouted to the crowd and saw someone toss a two-handed sword onto the stone slabs.

There was a clinking sound, and Shaggy's grin became a grin. He picked up the sword and pointed the tip of the blade toward Greyjoy. The crowd moved even further aside, widening the loose circle.

Theon stepped over a couple of stone steps and stood level with his opponent.

- Now I'm going to gut you and see what kind of shit you're made of, you Kraken bitch! - Shaggy shouted and ran at him, swinging his double-edged sword.

'And he's clearly gone wild. I don't think he'll survive even if he kills me.'

Greg's sword clinked as it struck the slab. Theon dodged it and tried to throw a blow to the side. The big man deftly twisted to defend himself with his sword, drawing it flat.

- Not bad, sucker! - He laughed, breathing a breath of booze in his opponent's direction. Greyjoy grimaced.

- You smell like shit. You're not much of a warrior, either. - The Son of Thunder captain said, making his opponent furious. The shaggy one roared and charged at Theon again.

His nimble opponent dodged again, unwilling to take his hands away from trying to deflect the blow of the two-handed sword. The big man managed to stop the sword from hitting the plates and swung it sideways, hoping to hurt his foe in some way.

The swords clashed for the first time in the Great Hall as Theon was able to fend off the blow, pulling his blade aside with a heavy effort.

Before Greg knew it, Greyjoy had thrust his sword into his eye. The blade sank into the flesh with a savoury sound, spraying Greyjoy's face with blood.

With an effort, he pulled the sword out, and Shaggy's body fell.

- Remove his corpse! Bury him honourably, in the sea. - Said Theon, surveying the silent crowd. A few moments later, the Great Hall was filled with shouts of approval and cheers of 'Theon the Archer!'

'I feel like an invincible pepper and an idiot at the same time.'

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

-Uncle Aaron. - greeted his uncle Theon, getting up from the table. He was in Lord Sebaston's chambers, settling in. At the moment he was re-reading the correspondence between the Lord of Bright Isle and Tywin Lannister. Quite enlightening, Greyjoy was even beginning to respect the now dead Old Lion. Such turn of phrase in his letters! All it takes is a small favour to repay a small debt.

- Theon. - nodded, clutching the folded parchment.

- Have you decided to become Maester, Uncle? He used to bring me letters.

- This is no time for your silly jokes, nephew. - Aaron took no offence at Theon's teasing. - Good news from Pyke. Your sister has taken Cayce.

-Glad for her. Can you be more specific? Did she take the castle by direct assault? How many men did she lose? If she lost half her men taking this hard nut, then she's a dead cert.

- It doesn't say that in the letter. - Uncle shook his head unhappily. - But it's unlikely she needed much effort. The Drowned One favours his children, and the green-blooded are too weak to stand against our God!

He handed the letter to Theon and he unfolded it and read the inked lines. After a moment he looked at Wethead.

-What about Lannisport?

- No news yet. But the town has probably fallen.

- Good, Uncle. That's welcome news indeed. Would you like some wine?

- I prefer water.

- No problem. - Theon turned towards the door and shouted. - Hey, Erich! Get my uncle some water!

Footsteps sounded outside the door. His squire must have run to the kitchen to ask for water.

- So, Uncle. I think we should sit down. - Greyjoy quickly took the desk. Aaron sat down across from him without answering.

- Why didn't you execute the Maester? The Drowned God would have gladly accepted the sacrifice.

'All you have to do is give someone to the local Cthulhu to eat.'

-If I had a man among my crew who knew how to look after crows and knew the Bright Isle like the back of his hand, I would certainly give the Maester to you, dear uncle. - grinned the younger Greyjoy. - But there are no such men. - His hand jerked towards a plate of sliced and dried apple slices.

There was a crunch.

- I don't approve of this. - Aaron's scowling face glowed with disapproval. - The grey rat will betray you.

- If given the chance, of course he would. - The nephew agreed. - So I gave him a couple of ironborn assistants. Who can read and write.

- What about the Farmans? What do you need them for? - Wet-head asked a new question.

- Hostages.

- What are you going to do with them?

- Let them sit here. They're not going anywhere.

'And if the situation turns backwards for us, we can take them to Pike.'

There was a knock at the door, and his squire, Erich Harlow, entered Greyjoy's private chambers. He was not alone.

- G-way to the bird k-kings! - Cicero shouted as he flew into the room. He flew over Aeron's head and landed on the desk, scattering the parchments lying on it in all directions.

- Insolent bird. - Theon chuckled, stroking his pet.

Aaron sipped his water and thanked Erich, then looked at his nephew again.

- What are you going to do yourself, nephew?

- Wait, uncle. For now all we have to do is wait. If Lannisport falls, our next target will be the heart of the Westlands.

- Casterly Rock. - Aaron muttered. He watched carefully as Cicero walked over to a small plate of dried apples.

- What a d-shit! - shrieked the parrot, spitting out a dried piece of apple.

- I like it. - Theon smiled, putting another piece into his mouth.