Chapter 9: Theon

The weather was gloomy and terrifying, the mountains were hazy and unclear, and it was far from the sea.

The Drowned God had no power on the shore; this was the wolf's territory, even the name said so: the Wolfswood.

Before this, he hadn't noticed these things. He recalled the bits and pieces of returning to the Iron Islands from Seagard, from the Iron Islands to the Stony Shore, from the Stony Shore to Torrhen's Square, and from Torrhen's Square through the Wolfswood.

When did I turn from a heroic warrior of the North into a traitorous chameleon? Was it when my uncle poured seawater over my head? Was it when my father held Asha and mocked me? Or was it when Robb became the King in the North, and I wanted to become the King of the Iron Islands? I shouldn't be a Greyjoy.

The taste of grass on his lips was different from seawater; if he smelled carefully, it actually had a sweet fragrance. Perhaps there were many things he had never noticed, many things he hadn't experienced, but these were no longer important. He hoped the Northerners who hated him would give him a knife in the back, preferably cutting off his face before recognizing him, letting his blood flow on this land where he had lived for half his life.

He knew in his heart that this was just a delusion; the people beside him were not the Northerners he was familiar with. The person he least wanted to see had already seen him.

"Theon, I didn't expect to see you here. You should be with Robb." Theon noticed that Mei only spoke to him after getting off her warhorse, which made him even more frustrated and heartbroken. He would rather she stand tall on her horse like a lord interrogating a criminal.

"As you can see." He didn't know what expression he had, but his face pressed against the ground made him very uncomfortable, and his hands tied behind his back restricted him.

"Traitor, chameleon!" He heard voices of disdain around him. This was the voice of the Northerners; they had also recognized him.

Am I a traitor? If I am a Northerner, if I am a Stark, if I am indeed the foster son of my foster father and Robb's brother, then I am a traitor. If... but if I am a Greyjoy following the Old Way, then I am not.

"Lady Dustin has ordered the blockade of the route from Torrhen's Square to the Stony Shore. Everyone you left in Torrhen's Square will be wiped out; no one will save you. If I'm not mistaken, King Balon shouldn't have sent only his only son to harass the North, right? Theon, tell me King Balon, your father's plan, and I guarantee in the name of Eddard Stark's honor that you will be safely sent back to the Iron Islands. You must believe me." She said while signaling her guards to untie his bonds.

He was pulled up from the ground; he could feel the weeds stuck to his face. He had to face this nominal sister in such a disheveled state. He hoped the weeds on his face would fall off on their own. He blushed, but he could pretend it was anger, or humiliation.

He looked up at her; she was in light armor with a stern expression, possessing the temperament of his sister Asha, but she was prettier than Asha. They both drifted on the sea all year round, but obviously, Mei was better at being young and had a bit more of a noble lady's demeanor. Was that dignity? At least Mei wouldn't tease him without a bottom line.

Hmph, just a bastard, barely qualified to call herself a Stark.

"Too late. Besides, I am a Greyjoy; how could I betray my father?" Uncle Victarion led three hundred longships from the North straight to the Neck; if the surprise attack succeeded, the golden kraken banner would already be hanging over Moat Cailin by now. Although his sister's voyage was longer, her ships were fewer and faster; the northern coast lacked security, so even if a carrier pigeon sent information to Deepwood Motte now, it would be too late.

"Princess, hand him over to me; within two hours, we can know all the secrets of the Iron Islands." The person speaking had a cloak that told of his identity: a Bolton.

All the secrets? You think the one you caught is Victarion, is Asha?

She actually hesitated.

"Princess, the Boltons have a saying: 'A naked man has few secrets, but a flayed man has none.' Now the situation is urgent; only in this way can we know King Balon's secrets and make precautions in advance." He advised.

"Don't try to scare me; the North has abolished flaying. For this, I even wrote a letter to Lord Bolton, boy. If Robb knew, he would definitely hang you!" He didn't know how much Robb hated him; he actually wasn't sure of this answer. Thinking of this made his heart ache; I lost a real brother.

"Ser Rick, you are the heir to Lord Roose Bolton, so you must remember that the North has already banned flaying. Of course, if you are just scaring him, then forget it. After all, he is my father's foster son, my brother. Since he is unwilling, there is no need to force him. Theon, the North is very poor. If King Balon just wants to loot, he obviously went in the wrong direction. But, if he wants to rule, I really can't think of anything more important than that, but this plan is also very crazy." Of course it's crazy; this is King Balon's plan, and Robert and Tywin were very familiar with it.

He knew he had underestimated this woman a little. If the commander of Winterfell's defense was Rodrik, he would definitely have succeeded, but now, he was merely stepping into a pocket she had set up, thinking he would practice a great achievement that could be praised for thousands of years. He didn't understand how she knew his whereabouts, and how she set up an ambush on the small road he had randomly chosen.

She smiled, and he realized his expression confirmed her guess. "Ser Rick, you immediately lead the soldiers of the Dreadfort to Moat Cailin. If Moat Cailin has already fallen, you send someone to notify White Harbor and convey Winterfell's order to gather men to put pressure on Moat Cailin, besieging Moat Cailin from the east side, while you lead the Dreadfort soldiers to cut off the connection between Moat Cailin and the sea as much as possible. If you are lucky enough that Moat Cailin has not yet fallen, then inform the defenders to be wary of enemies coming from the north, sigh, and leave behind one hundred archers. If there is news, notify Winterfell in time."

It's too late. He didn't think much of Mei's orders and plans. His uncle led the main force of the Iron Islands; if they conquered Moat Cailin and defended it, even an attack from the north could be easily defended by Moat Cailin. Moreover, the roads of the Neck couldn't accommodate that many attacking troops at all. As long as the defenders were sufficient, numbers had no meaning before this castle.

Compared to the Leech Lord, Rick Bolton was more like a normal person. "As you wish, Princess." Rick Bolton chuckled lightly at Theon and turned to leave.

"Wodun Stark!" Mei shouted at one of her subordinates. "Send a letter to Lady Dustin, saying that I have captured Theon Greyjoy and his ironmen. Tell her that all the ironmen captured on the Stony Shore are to be beheaded, and their heads hung on both sides of the road to Torrhen's Square. If any lords or famous people are captured, send their heads to Winterfell. Tell her, I don't want prisoners."

Although Wodun Stark shared the same surname as the Starks of Winterfell, their bloodline was very distant. They were loyal to the Dustin family of Barrowton. He was a scruffy little man; except for his name, he had no resemblance to a Stark. His brown beard leaked out from his worn helmet like a brown goat wearing a helmet. Judging from the exposed skin on his face, he was clean, and although he was small, he was well-proportioned and powerful. Through the dense beard, one could probably see that green face; he was perhaps younger than Jon Snow.

"Yes, Princess." He tried his best to straighten his body to pay tribute to this princess.

"Wait a moment."

Mei turned to Theon again, pointing to his archer's bracer, the dragon-bone jade buckle wrapped in gold thread. This was a gift she gave Theon when she returned to the North. "Theon, since you are a prisoner, some things should be spoils of war. I'm glad you're still carrying this bracer, but it should be used by someone with more honor." She took this item from Theon's hand.

Theon's face turned red again, and a strong sense of humiliation surged. "It's just an insignificant gift. This kind of thing that wasn't paid for with the iron price should have been thrown away long ago!" He was somewhat grateful to King Balon for teaching him knowledge. The stupid Old Way didn't necessarily have no meaning.

"Say what you will. You may look like a Greyjoy, but in essence, perhaps you are a Stark! What do you think?" She said in a calm tone, and for a moment he felt this person was Roose Bolton. "This little thing was bought with the iron price before, and it is still bought with the iron price now. Here, it's yours, Stark!"

Seeing Wodun hesitate, she said, "Just treat it as a gift for meeting a relative!"

"Hey, hurry up and thank the Princess, then go send the letter, you silly boy!" Xia Er laughed loudly, saying to Wodun who was still in a daze.

Theon looked at Wodun who went away happily, feeling a bit envious in his heart. Once her instructions were brought back to Barrowton, maybe he could see Dagmer Cleftjaw's pickled head in Winterfell. Dagmer had once raided everywhere with the young King Balon, and now he was raiding with King Balon's son, never expecting that this son's first practice would cost him his old life.

Is this my responsibility? Hmph! Crazy. If he wasn't crazy, why would the old man send troops to the barren North? The gods knew the Northerners wouldn't let the ironmen occupy it quietly. Even if they controlled Moat Cailin and prevented the Northern lords from returning to the North, did the existing power of the North not have enough to drive them out? When did I start believing in this ghost plan?

That skin of seawater?

He recalled Aeron Damphair. That lunatic. It was that skin of seawater that invaded his brain, turning him from a hero into a traitor, a chameleon, turning his pride into inferiority, his honor into shame, making him the hateful enemy of his brother, making his father an unbearable judge and opponent, making his sister a clown and a spectator. Damn it, after the seawater was poured over his head, everything under his eyes was different.

He wanted to pry open his own brain to carefully search for clues, but he couldn't do this action, so he found nothing, except for the chains clanking on his hands. Damn it, damn Drowned God.

When did I start hoping to capture Winterfell? I clearly had doubts, but why did I implement it?

Damn it. It must have been the sound of the tide that drowned my reason, it must have been the damn Drowned God that dissolved my questioning! I clearly had doubts about Mei... When did uncertainty finally turn into indifference? He was sure he had been manipulated.

He turned slightly to make himself comfortable. He saw Mei whisper something to the bearded man beside her; vaguely, he felt it was some terrible conspiracy.

Damn it. It must have been the roar of the tide that drowned my reason; it must have been the bullshit Drowned God that dissolved my doubts! I clearly harbored suspicions about Mei... When did "unsure" and "uncertain" finally turn into "don't care"? He was certain he had been manipulated.

When Eddard Stark beheaded prisoners, he never turned his eyes away, but here he couldn't do it.

The gods were too cruel. They raised their hands and the blades fell, heads rolling.

The smell of blood mixed with feces and urine, he was already very familiar with it.

The scattered sounds afterward were like knives cutting into him, the sound of chopping meat and bones. Some were fast, some were slow.

The world spun, he felt his brain congested, his stomach twisting, and a violent spasm of pain made him vomit, as if he wanted to vomit out all the food he had eaten in the Iron Islands.

"Take the heads together with Wodun to Torrhen's Square to comfort Lady Tallhart." He heard.

He had seen too many scenes of beheading, but today's was different. This person who was kind to others and polite to people was definitely not a gentle little chicken, nor a stupid and rigid knight, and even less a kind Queen of Love and Beauty. She was so strange, as if he had never known her.

No, it had nothing to do with her. I almost watched her grow up from a little girl. It was the Drowned God who stirred up my desires, dissolved my composure, and pushed me toward destruction.

He saw his own blackened fingers; were those the tentacles of a kraken? He opened his eyes wide to look, but they turned back into five intact fingers.

I should have known not to risk attacking Winterfell, should have known that this sister who won the tournament championship, often suppressed him, and had traveled as far as Asshai was not as easy to deal with as Ser Rodrik. The Drowned God blinded his mind, magnified his desires, suppressed his caution, but brought no power.

Is the Drowned God hating me? He remembered the shadow kraken crawling into the castle.

"Theon, get on your horse; you should be very familiar with the road to Winterfell." If he fled, he would be shot.

He was indeed very familiar with it; he had followed Lord Eddard Stark on this road to the Tallhart family in Torrhen's Square, and had also walked this road alone to deliver letters. He was familiar with all the lords, big and small, on the journey.

Perhaps I should flee; it would be best to be shot like this. However, would they mock me as a stupid fool who didn't know his own strength after I died? Or should I fall off my horse and break my neck? Since I vomited before, it would be reasonable to fall off my horse now with a headache and mental confusion, right?

He tightened the reins, trying to take his feet out of the stirrups. It was simple without support! However, what if he didn't break his neck but broke his leg?

Would they mock a lame Prince of the Iron Islands? If I become the King of the Iron Islands in the future, would I be mocked as Lame Theon? Oh, perhaps what awaits me is the Wall; it's not easy for a lame man to survive in that cruel place, even if he is a prince. That place is suitable for bastards, and I'm not going.

My fate is decided either by Mei or by Robb in the West.

Robb, how would he view me? I swore to him, declared our brotherhood to him, but less than a month later, I abandoned everything and invaded his homeland. If we were brothers, he would be angry, make me take the black, make me freeze in the bitter cold. But he is now the King in the North, and he shouldn't discuss brotherhood with me, or shouldn't discuss it. He should say, "You are the heir to Pyke, the heir to the Iron Islands; I will sell you for a good price." Right?

He stretched his feet back into the stirrups.

"Theon, you still have a chance to explain the plan of the Iron Islands to me. You know, no matter what the plan is, it will not succeed in the end, but this will help you choose your own fate. You are a hostage of your father; there is only one result of resistance, you must not forget."

"My fate is not decided by you, but by King Robb, isn't it?" He forced a smile, perhaps Mei should see it, but he was half a horse's length ahead.

"Robb is in the South, and news from the South is now very difficult to pass back. The one who decides your fate is not King Robb, but the Castellan Brandon." This means the guardian of the Castellan, which is you, decides my fate.

"Is there any difference?"

"Of course. Robb would execute you at all costs, but I won't. You have to know that the one who decides your fate is ultimately yourself. You have always been my father's foster son; Bran wouldn't want to hurt you, and I wouldn't want to either."

Robb wouldn't execute me.

"Hehe, foster son. Since that's the case, I have even less need to explain King Balon's plan to you!" He mocked wantonly.

"Compared to Bolton, your performance is far worse, Mei." He kicked the horse's belly lightly, speeding up, leading by a horse's length.

"What exactly do you want to say, victor?"

"Don't let the opportunity slip by your side. You have already made a wrong decision; pretending that things never happened is too stupid." She accelerated and chased up half a body length. "Before your father causes more serious damage to the North, confess everything. You must know that the Iron Islands can't get anything in the North, and on the contrary, the price of provoking me is the head of a kraken."

With the power of the North? A joke. When King Robert was still alive, it was time-consuming and laborious, and now what is left of the North?

"Stupid." He smiled, but Mei had already driven her horse forward.

"Theon, speed up!"

He, who was leading, was now surrounded in the center, as if he were the leader of this group.

If I could jump into the woods after dark, maybe I could escape. No one is more familiar with this forest than I am.

Hundreds of people tacitly surrounded him in the center; the knights passing by cursed him in low voices, but he ignored them all. He was the heir to the Iron Islands; there was no need to argue with these little people for a moment.

After two hours of galloping, passing through small villages and towns, he originally thought he could dismount and rest, but Mei just passed through without any intention of stopping. He had been galloping from the Stony Shore to Torrhen's Square and then toward Winterfell, having not rested for dozens of hours, plus the fierce battle and the empty stomach, he was exhausted at this time.

She did it on purpose, he thought. She deliberately made this body tired, tired to the point where even thinking about escaping was impossible. He didn't want to admit defeat and beg for mercy, so he tried his best to lie on the horse, letting the horse take him wherever it wanted.

It would be best if it were hell.

Vaguely, he saw the walls of Winterfell, tall and sturdy, like a giant standing up on the plain. Why did he think he could capture Winterfell with sixty men?

Drowned God, Drowned God, Drowned God. He thought. The Drowned God is taking revenge on me, taking revenge on me, a traitor who has been stained with the breath of the Old Gods. He found himself so certain, which made him feel absurd.

He didn't know how he entered Winterfell; darkness surrounded the entire castle. Dogs barked wildly in the city. Although he kept his eyes closed most of the time, passing through various corridors, he just knew where he was going; he had many times brought various criminals in and out for Lord Eddard Stark.

Finally, he could have a good rest, he thought; although the environment was not good, it was enough to dissolve this physical and mental exhaustion. He couldn't fall asleep for a long time. He didn't know how long it had been; it felt like a lifetime.

The prison was empty, and there were no cellmates; this was a pity. Many eyes were staring at him alone, and he didn't have the ability to escape this surveillance. Vaguely, the voices of chameleon, traitor, and stinky octopus came, interrupting the various scenes of him capturing Jaime Lannister, Seagard, Asha, and Pyke.

"Chameleon, traitor, get up!" He wasn't familiar with this voice. Originally, he knew every prison manager; most of them went south with Robb, and he didn't recognize this voice. Not an acquaintance.

My name is Theon Greyjoy. He decided to ignore it.

"Get up, shit!" Violent pain struck his head, and he heard his own scream; he suspected his right eye had gone blind. He covered his head with both hands, but then another violent blow hit his lower abdomen like a heavy hammer; if he hadn't already vomited once, he would have vomited his internal organs out. He had no choice but to curl up, almost unable to clench his teeth, like a solidified groan, spitting out unknown liquid from his mouth; he didn't know if it was blood, he couldn't see or smell it.

"Pull him up." Another kick, but he didn't care anymore.

Soon he was brought to his destination; he didn't know how many of those steps were taken by his own feet.

He looked up at this familiar hall, but a sudden kick knocked him over, and he could only lie on his back and then face down on the hall floor. It was the first time in decades that he had suffered such humiliation.

He looked up; under the candlelight, the hall was very dim, perhaps his eyes were injured, he thought. He saw a small figure sitting at the head, Mei sitting on the left, and a maester wearing various metal rings on the right. He looked listless, and Theon couldn't see his expression clearly.

"Do you hate us, Theon?"

Eddard Stark rarely smiled at me, but he certainly didn't treat me worse than any of his sons. The time he spent in this castle was the same as the time he spent elsewhere; if the gods were merciful, they should have given him a Stark name, instead of...

"I am a Greyjoy, an ironman; following the Ironborn Old Way is common sense." Bran, I don't hate you.

"Theon, the Iron Islands long ago promised to abandon the Old Way and raiding; in this day and age, there is no possibility of success. How could you be so muddled?" Maester Luwin's voice was trembling, but his tone was firm, as if this were the truth, with no room for debate. He had always hated this point about Maester Luwin.

"Theon, Asha Greyjoy has already captured Deepwood Motte, and your uncle, Victarion, has also successfully seized Moat Cailin. Tonight's ravens have flown to all parts of the North. Once the soldiers are gathered, we will counterattack Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin. Maester Luwin believes that you can play some role; this is why you were brought here. According to our considerations, if you can assist us in recapturing Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin, we will let you return to the Iron Islands, but if..."

"I can't play a role, and I can't help you." He interrupted her. Uncle Victarion led the main force of the Iron Islands, with as many as four thousand people blocking Moat Cailin; his sister Asha took thirty or forty longships straight to Deepwood Motte, and the total number was also over a thousand. And he, with only eight longships, was doing insignificant harassment missions. They wouldn't care about him, this Greyjoy; in fact, his father wouldn't pay any ransom for him.

Did I bear shame and abandon honor for such a father, just to gain his recognition? It's really childish. I should have died on the battlefield for Robb. Ah, Drowned God. Fuck him.

"With the power of the Iron Islands alone, it is impossible to conquer the North. And once we eliminate the ironmen in Deepwood Motte and surround Moat Cailin from all sides, your uncle Victarion will also be doomed." Mei said.

He had been stationed in that place with Robb's army and knew there was no chance. "No one can capture Moat Cailin, which is defended by thousands of people."

"No one can quickly capture Moat Cailin, except for your uncle. Surrounding it from all sides, taking Moat Cailin is only a matter of time. But we don't have that much time. If the ironmen occupy Moat Cailin for a long time, Robb's army will be affected, and it will also affect the fate of the North. Winter is coming, and I hope you can help us shorten the time."

"It seems you already have a plan." He couldn't think of what he could do for the North. He was someone the Starks thought was important, but in reality, he knew he was insignificant among the Greyjoys. He should have known long ago that not every father is Eddard Stark.

"We will send a raven to Deepwood Motte, telling Asha Greyjoy that you have successfully captured Winterfell and requesting her to send reinforcements to Winterfell. You know, there are no other big families between Deepwood Motte and Winterfell except for the mountain clans; your sister will not have a chance to verify the truth of the news. If she comes to help in person, we can capture her; if she sends troops, I can annihilate them in batches, reducing the obstacles to recapturing Deepwood Motte. If we are lucky enough to capture all of King Balon's children, we can negotiate with King Balon and order Victarion to withdraw from Moat Cailin. What do you think of this plan?"

Maybe it could succeed. King Balon might not give up Moat Cailin for his son, but if it were really his precious daughter, he would definitely compromise. "Asha wouldn't believe at all that the dozens of people led by me could successfully occupy Winterfell. This scheme is too easy to see through."

"That's strange, why did you believe it yourself?"

Good question, why?

Perhaps he wanted to prove himself to his father, perhaps he wanted to be respected. But neither was true. He was sure that the real reason was that skin of seawater. Under the irrigation of that skin of seawater, his vision was already different, his heart was already different; the originally strange Pyke Island was becoming gradually familiar, and the originally familiar brotherhood was beginning to dim. He remembered what his room in Pyke looked like on the first night. The waves sprayed the breath of the sea into the windowsill, and he saw the kraken with dark, dim tentacles surging in. The kraken was his house crest; he originally thought this was just a hallucination after exhaustion.

At this moment, the memory was so clear that he even suspected this was some great power deliberately teasing him—the dim gray shadow of the kraken, struggling to surge into the windowsill, turning into ink, surging toward him, and then he sank into sleep.

The Drowned God controlled me.

I was loyal to Robb, but after that night, I actually treated him as an old acquaintance I had known for a long time. I had achieved brilliant results under Robb, I personally captured the Kingslayer, but after that night, this honor was like a story from thousands of years ago. After that night, even the mission became insignificant; he took out Robb's letter hollowly, as if handing over a boring doodle. The real Theon wouldn't be like this, and the real Theon wouldn't risk attacking people he wasn't familiar with, wouldn't easily launch an ignorant challenge. So, what was the reason for all this?

The Drowned God controlled me.

It was it that guided him in his dreams to attack Winterfell; otherwise, how could he have had a dream of the sea drowning Winterfell? In the dream, he rode a warhorse made of the ocean, jumping onto the walls of Winterfell in one leap; the seawater submerged everything that dared to resist him, the direwolves, the seawater overwhelmed everything ancient ghosts in Winterfell. He stood on the waves, announcing to all the Stark Kings of the past and present that he was the Prince of Winterfell.

In the dream, the Stark Kings roared at him, one by one competing to turn into terrifying evil wolves, but the waves were more surging, drowning every evil wolf in the waves; the seawater submerged every inch of Winterfell's land, bit by bit drowning the heart tree, until it swallowed the last leaf.

And he stood on the waves, watching the entire Winterfell become his bathhouse. Looking south, he saw a land of water, all submitting at his feet. Looking north, he saw the waves crossing the Wall, and in the cold, the waves turned into ice bit by bit, but he was not discouraged, commanding the giant waves to cross the frozen waves, shattering everything blocking the way, swallowing the entire Land of Always Winter.

This was the dream the Drowned God gave him, the dream that skin of seawater gave him.

"It was the Drowned God who guided me to steal Winterfell, hehe, just as the Old Gods guided Lord Eddard Stark to walk south toward death."

"Don't mention my father's name!" Bran was angry, like the little evil wolf in his dream.

"It's far from the sea here, and the Drowned God has no power here. You'd better make the right choice now, just as I said, you can't pretend that what has happened never happened. The North does not forget."

"Betraying Robb is the worst thing I've ever done. Maester Luwin, you once warned me that if you do something wrong, you should correct it in time and not repeat it." He looked at Luwin, hoping he would nod.

"Yes, Theon. People should learn lessons from mistakes."

"Since betrayal is wrong, I shouldn't betray again. So, I won't betray my father, my sister, my uncle again. I don't want to betray your trust anymore either. Mei, you should have taken my head in that forest." He closed his eyes, and pain surged through his whole body, but he had never felt so good. He felt his hands twitching; were they going to turn into tentacles?

She stood up with anger.

Theon was very satisfied with her reaction and smiled at her; he felt she understood what he meant.

Mei looked toward Bran, but he couldn't see Bran's face in the candlelight.

"In the name of Robb Stark, King in the North, King of the Trident, I, Mei of House Stark, Castellan of Winterfell, Guardian of the Lord of Winterfell, sentence you to death."

"Bran, Mei, this, even if we don't report it to Robb, I think we can give him a chance to take the black." Maester Luwin stood up in horror.

"Mei, but he is the heir to the Iron Islands, the only son of King Balon in the world. He is also your brother, although, you don't share the same surname, but..." The maester's tone began to beg.

He was truly sad for this old maester, who had taught him for decades.

"He is a hostage handed over after King Balon was defeated. Since he has rebelled again, I can only let him get what he wants. Master Luwin, my ruling has been made, please don't say any more."

I should have died quietly on the Stony Shore, or died on the sailboat returning to Pyke. Forget it, come on!

He was dragged out of the hall by strange guards. The place of execution in Winterfell was in the training yard, but he requested it to be carried out under the heart tree, and they agreed.

It's a pity that Ice was left in King's Landing by Lord Eddard Stark. He had once been afraid of dying under Ice one day, but now there was only regret. Come on.

"Last words, Theon?"

"I hope your sword is sharp enough, sister; father Eddard Stark was always a one-hit kill." He felt his voice trembling.

"This sword is named 'Heat'; although it is not as heavy as Ice, it is also a Valyrian steel sword. Believe me, it is just as sharp."

It was indeed sharp enough, he thought.

The world spun in his eyes. He felt the coolness of the ground, smelled the fragrance of flowers, oh, as if he also heard the dragon's roar. Dragon? He tried hard to open his eyes. The giant gray shadow of the kraken struggled under the cold light, and then was pierced by a sword, screaming miserably, like ink scattered in the night sky.

"Is this a dream?"

He felt himself rising; he saw the pale trunk, saw the dark red palm-like leaves.

Oh, this is the sky. He saw the walls of Winterfell, saw the ancient castle, the stone towers. He also saw Bran crying while covering his face, saw Rickon crying loudly, saw the old maester trembling with his mouth unable to close. He wanted to say hello to them.

He also saw Mei. Oh, she is looking at me too! ===== CHAPTER 10 =====

Efficient enough, he thought.

The world spun in his eyes. He felt the chill of the ground, smelled the fragrance of flowers, and oh, he seemed to hear the roar of a dragon. A dragon? He struggled to open his eyes. The massive grey shadow of a kraken struggled beneath the cold light, only to be pierced through by a sword, letting out a shrill, miserable cry as it dispersed like ink into the night sky.

"Is this a dream?"

He felt himself rising; he saw the pale trunks, saw the deep red, palm-shaped leaves.

Oh, this is the sky. He saw the walls of Winterfell, saw the ancient castle, the stone towers. He also saw Bran covering his face and crying, saw Rickon wailing at the top of his lungs, saw the old Maester with his mouth hanging open, trembling. He wanted to greet them.

He also saw Mei. Oh, she is looking at me too!