Chapter 49: I Made a Choice
Somewhere near the Saltspear…
In a remote location down the Fever River, a small scouting party finished its observation of the surrounding area. In the distance, they could see multiple ships bearing the sigil of House Greyjoy—a gold kraken on a black field—on its sails. Even from their position, they could see smoke rising from the distance… an estimated twenty leagues from their location, the battle to retake Moat Cailin from the ironborn was an intense one. The rain and thunder had subsided, and it was time to put the plan into action. The group's leader was a tall and gaunt man with a two-foot-long ropey black goatee dangling from his pointed chin.
His men refer to him as Locke, a man-at-arms sworn to House Bolton. Lord Roose Bolton considers Locke to be his best hunter, but Locke, however, was only seen as the de jure leader of the scouting party. The de facto leader was in fact the young man standing next to him. With curly and dry dark brown hair and cold blue eyes, his name was Ramsay Snow, bastard son of Roose Bolton. Dressed to disguise himself as a mere servant, Ramsay was ready for the hunt. Despite his bastard status, Ramsay was quite intelligent in his own twisted way. As the two friends watched from a distance, two of their men came back.
"The trap's in place, my lord," one of them spoke up.
"Good," Locke nodded. "Then that means the hunt can commence without any hindrance. Provided of course that our new… 'guest'… behaves himself?"
Ramsay smiled with confidence. "Oh, there's no need to worry about him. Just be sure to make the scene look rather convincing. We don't want to give ourselves away too early now, wouldn't we? I mean, that would ruin the hunt."
"That it would, Ramsay. That it would."
With a snap of his fingers, some of Locke's men brought one of their captives, his arms tied behind his back and a bag placed over his head although sounds of muffling protests and a small struggle gave it away. Once they forced their prisoner to his knees, Locke approached him.
"Take it off," he ordered.
One of the hunters went around and yanked off the cloth, revealing the prisoner as Theon Greyjoy himself. From the looks of it, Theon appeared bloodied and beaten. Bruised and blood stains from his lip and the side of his head; his nose was slightly crocked, indicating a broken nose. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Theon glanced around – realizing where his captors had taken him… and how they caught him.
ooOoo
Back at Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy stood on the grounds of the fortress's main courtyard. Still conflicted with having to choose between being a Stark or Greyjoy, he somehow knew that the choice he made would be the one that would forever seal his fate. He picked back up the parchment he let slip from his fingers moments before, taking a moment to re-read it before crumpling it in his hand.
"Forgive me, father. Forgive me, Yara," his voice cracked. "Forgive me, Lord Stark…"
Just earlier he had to forcibly send both Bran and Rickon Stark away with Jojen and Meera Reed as their guides, but that did little to settle Theon. As much as he hated being in a tough situation as he was a ward, Theon came to realize how he appreciated House Stark's treatment of him despite being a political hostage. He saw Eddard as a surrogate father figure, and Robb, Bran, Rickon and Jon Snow as brothers. They treated him like family, better than his own ever did.
Theon still wandered across the courtyard by himself. "I'm sorry I made a choice. I know what I did in your eyes was a betrayal, but… But you wouldn't listen to me."
"Who wouldn't listen to you?" a voice called out.
Surprised, Theon spun around and saw a couple of strangers he had never met before. Locke approached him as his men surrounded the ironborn on all sides, rendering him unable to escape should he try to run.
"I asked you a question. Who wouldn't listen to you?"
Theon gulped nervously. "My father, Balon Greyjoy," he answered honestly. "I swear I told him not to do it. I tried!"
"A Greyjoy?" Locked raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You're far from home, aren't you? You do know that the traitor kraken is rebelling again."
"I tried to stop him!" he protested.
"Well, it's obvious you didn't try hard enough. Or maybe you really are an ironborn at heart."
A mere servant walked in front, calmly placing both hands up to keep them both from going at each other should things escalate into violence.
"My lord," he beseeched, "perhaps we should give him a chance to explain the full story? I mean… look at him. He obviously means no harm."
Theon quickly nodded his head in agreement with what this seemingly lowborn suggested, but Locke was not having any of it.
"Even so, Lord Bolton will likely have my head if I refused his orders. Clap the Greyjoy in irons, take him into custody. If he cooperates, then he may prove useful to us."
Theon tried to escape, but the soldiers surrounding him prevented his hastily getaway and grabbed him before harshly throwing him to the ground and beating him to a pulp.
"No! Stop it! Please! No, no, no!" he screamed, but his cries were ignored as Locke laughed sadistically and the harsh, cruelty the Bolton men-at-arms inflicted on the unarmed, outnumbered, defenseless Theon Greyjoy.
The servant looked on in shock, before turning his head to look away from the beatings taking place. However, unbeknownst to Theon, who continued pleading for mercy, there laid a smirk below on lowborn's face. His lips curled into a wet-lipped smile as he fiddled with a flaying knife between the tips of his fingers before hiding it away in his sleeves.
ooOoo
Ramsay resumed his servant-like façade as he approached Theon carefully, grabbing a piece of cloth to wipe away the blood from Theon's face. Locke noticed his cue and gathered his men to ride towards the shores, leaving the two alone.
"Are you all right, my lord?"
Theon shook his head. "No, no I'm not. Why? Why did he do that?" he asked.
Ramsay, playing the role, falsely shook his head. "I honestly don't know. I serve them, the men who beat you into the mud."
"Why?" the ironborn asked. "Why serve them after what they've done?"
"I didn't have a choice, my lord. I only did what they told me to do."
"And yet you risked your safety for me back and Winterfell. Why?"
Ramsay cleverly conjured a lie. "I grew up on Saltcliffe, my lord. I was ironborn, just like you. I was only a boy when they took you away."
'Who's 'they'?' thought Theon. "What do you mean?"
"My father brought us up to the bluffs so we could watch you carried off. I remember the look on my father's face when he told us, 'That's Balon Greyjoy's last living son.' And those are the words I heard over again when I saw what those men were doing to you."
"Then… those men, they said my father knew what they were doing to me. Did he?" he sounded almost pleadingly; his voice winced in pain as Ramsay tending to his wounds.
"I don't know, my lord," Ramsay lied. "They… they never told me much. I'm not what you'd call… a 'worthy enough vassal' to be brought into discussions. They— wait! Something's coming!"
Theon raised his head and looked around; ignoring the discomfort around his facial features before noticing off in the distance multiple ships were bearing the sigils of House Redwyne, House Lannister and House Baratheon of Dragonstone arriving through the thick fog. Then momentarily looking down onto the shore line, Theon could see several ironborn who were able to escape the siege at Moat Cailin and ran for their oars. But before anyone could blink…
*BOOM!*
*KABAAM!*
Theon widened his eyes in terror as he saw the three fleets hurling fireballs from each of their ships' trebuchets and onto the shore, hitting several unfortunate ironborn who weren't able to avoid the blast in time. Screams and shouts filled his ears as he watched his ironborn brethren being blown away. Those who were lucky enough to make it back to the Iron Fleet scrambled to raise their anchors and set sail to begin their counterattack, but the combined fleets had them right where they wanted them. Although the Iron Fleet was great in number, the Royal Fleet had the ironborn pinned and surrounded on all sides as they continued raining down a bombardment of fireballs and scorpion bolts from their vessels and onto theirs.
"Who are they?" Ramsay pretended.
Theon narrowed his eyes to get a better look. "I see uh… one sail with, uh… purple grapes on a white field; another with a… golden lion; and the other with a… a red sail with a fiery shaped heart around a stag."
'So the Redwynes, Lannisters and Stannis Baratheon are gathered in one place. Finally, the final puzzle piece comes into play,' thought Ramsey wickedly. He saw several Iron Fleet longships beginning to return fire, battering the Royal Fleet with a barrage of fireballs.
"I thought how jealous I was when my father told Yara to take Deepwood Motte before the Starks took it back."
Ramsey raised an eyebrow. "What did he tell you?"
"Raid fishing villages, but he didn't trust me. Thought I was set as a Stark and mainlander for life," Theon admitted. "But the more time I spent with them… things started… making less sense. I always wanted to do the right thing. Be the right kind of person. But… I never knew what that meant. It was always like there was an impossible choice I had to make. Stark or Greyjoy."
"I'm not sure I… if I follow you," asked Ramsey rather puzzled.
"Robb Stark always reminded me of my place, but he didn't have to. It was all he had to be. Who he was born to be. Just as it was Daveth Baratheon's to get his hands dirty so that other people wouldn't have to. One was like a brother to me, but the other had a look in his eyes… one that never forgave or forgotten. My father paid the iron price for his crown, but in the end he'll get nothing but the annihilation of our way of life. Either way, it's too late. I made a choice, but… I'm not sure whether it was right or wrong."
"Maybe these things take time."
Theon shook his head. "Nothing ever is."
*KABOOOOM!*
Their talks were broken once again when an unexpected explosion engulfed most of the Iron Fleet, but in the chaos some of the Royal Fleet ships were caught up in the incident – causing the others to briefly withdraw to a safe distance to avoid the same fate. More than a dozen Iron Fleet vessels were able to escape the carnage and retreated through the Sunset Sea, dodging naval attacks before vanishing into the fog. Theon kept his gaze on the explosion, his eyes widened and his mouth lowered in shock – witnessing the slow decay of the ironborn and its massive naval forces.
"Wha… what just happened?" Theon gasped.
"Exactly what you'd think," replied Locke, who returned up the hillside with several of his men. "Moat Cailin is ours again. Your Greyjoy uncle just got his ass kicked by Robb Stark and Daveth Baratheon, but took advantage of the chaos you saw just now to escape." He pointed the tip of his sword at Theon's throat. "Any idea where Victarion Greyjoy would be heading right about now?" he demanded threateningly.
Theon felt the blade at his throat, his hands were still bound behind his back unable to resist. Shaking his head, Theon looked up at Locke.
"If I'd have to guess… he'll probably stage a last line of defense and use what remains of the Iron Fleet to defend the Iron Islands. My father will know what'll come next."
Locke looked down at Theon. "Take him with us. I'm sure the Oathkeeper will offer a huge reward for such a valuable prize."
"What?" Theon felt his throat tighten. 'He'll have me killed the moment he sees me,' he realized. "Wait! No, you can't! I know the Iron Islands like the back of my hand. Spare me, and I'll show you how to get around my father's defenses! Ask Robb Stark! He'll vouch for me!"
"I'm afraid that'll be up to the King himself to decide. Now, you're coming with us, Greyjoy."
Theon was forcibly yanked to his feet by Locke and felt the ropes around his wrist tightening as the Bolton men-at-arms pushed him forward, almost sending him tumbling down the hill as the fighting at sea continued on in the distance behind them. The young Greyjoy was being led to the main camp surrounding Moat Cailin where King Daveth Baratheon and Lord Robb Stark were said to be stationed at. He was going to see them again after some time, although Theon knew that only one of them might be pleased to see him. The other, meanwhile, well… the young Greyjoy simply knew that someday his fate would be decided. But he planned to do so of his own choosing.
######
At Meereen…
Nightfall remained on the city of Meereen, and the uprising between the rebel slaves and the Great Masters remain ongoing. So far, the forces led by Daenerys Targaryen, Daario Naharis, Grey Worm and Jon Connington made significant strides aiding the rebels in their revolutionary fight for freedom.
The female slave-warrior Zhalimda Hahzuz, already gathered what was left of her unit and rode out with the intent on claiming one of Meereen's great pyramids. After more than an hour, Daario watched with amazement as he saw each slave master being thrown off one-by-one, each of them screaming on the way down before being silenced with a loud thud. The mercenary leader of the Second Sons continued cutting through Ghiscari soldiers with relative ease, taunting each of them as they went down.
"Māzigon va, sir! iksis bisa se sȳrje ao've jiōraton? (Come on, now! Is this the best you've got?)" Daario taunted.
"Sagon lyka, zegh! (Be silent, vermin!)"
One of the Ghiscari soldiers went into a frenzy and attacked, only to be swiftly silenced when Daario threw his dagger in his face before cutting him down with a Dothraki blade. Brushing a few strands of hair away from his face, Daario turned to see Jon Connington holding off a dozen Ghiscari soldiers, tossing each of them off of him with a rough push and cutting them down.
*SWISH!*
*SLASH!*
*CLASH!*
*CLEAVE!*
The former Lord of Griffon's Roost panted as he stood over the corpses. It's been hours since they arrived, and already they've been thrown into the fray. Connington to see Daario raising his hands up playfully.
"Getting tired there, old man?" he smiled.
Jon was tired and irritated. "Bah, keep your tongue in your head, lad! We still got plenty more to go before the slave masters are removed from power. Her Grace Daenerys Targaryen won't take kindly to you slacking off."
"You worry too much."
"And you don't take thing seriously. Now move it!"
Daario sighed as he and Jon both managed to rendezvous with Grey Worm and Daenerys outside the Dragon Pit. They had already led a small group of Unsullied to infiltrate the city under the guise of slaves through a sewer and brought more weapons inside for the slaves to join them in the uprising. By now it the sun was beginning to rise, the reflection of the sun rays bounce off the Great Pyramids of Meereen as the battle was beginning to wind down. From the looks of it, many began to speculate that the rebel slaves would emerge as victorious in their bid to free themselves from the Great Masters.
"Welcome, gentlemen," Daenerys greeted.
"Your Grace," Jon curtsied. "We did not expect your arrival so quickly. I trust that you are well?"
"I'm fine, Lord Connington. I did say we intended to aid these people, no?"
"And you kept your word, I know, child. Still… some of the rebel slaves still remain suspicious of our… how to put it… 'interests within the city once their freedom has been secured.'"
"I understand their caution, but our only interest right now is that every slave—man, woman and child, old and young—are freed from the chains that binds them. Once this battle is over, I will speak to whoever is leading these brave souls."
"Ao sound hae lo iksan daor rudhy, Dāria Zaldrīzoti. (You sound as if I'm not present, Dragon Queen)," called a voice from behind her.
Daenerys, Daario, Jon and Grey Worm turned to see who it was that was approaching them. Gracefully walking towards her benefactors, the leader of the slave revolt was a young Ghiscari woman. Tall, dark-skinned, slender and in her mid-30s, the Ghiscari rebel slave leader had piercing brown eyes and curly black hair with one side of her head shaved. From the eyes down, they saw she had the whip marks and scars—indicating the abuse she, like her brethren, had endured under the slave masters' rule.
"Se iksā? (And you are?)" asked Daenerys.
"Saqnizza Dhardu," she introduced herself. "Se vali se ābrar ao ūndegon kesīr gō emā issare vīlībāzma se buzdari āeksia iā bōsa jēda gō aōha… naejot īlva lenton. (The men and women you see here before you have been fighting the slave masters a long time before your… timely intervention.)"
"Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon, raqiros. Istin se buzdari āeksia issi gone, kesan ūndegon naejot ziry bona se people kesīr issi ȳgha se secure. (Do not worry, friend. Once the slave masters are gone, I will see to it that the people here are safe and secure.)"
"Nēdenka udra, riña. Yn iksan zūgagon bona iksi daor interested isse trading mēre āeksio syt another. (Bold words, child. But I'm afraid that we are not interested in trading one master for another.)"
Daenerys seemingly stiffened, as if offended. "Ao misunderstand ñuha intentions, Saqnizza Dhardu. Nyke māstan naejot dohaeragon dāez se slaves, daor conquer zirȳ. (You misunderstand my intentions, Saqnizza Dhardu. I came to help free the slaves, not conquer them.)"
"Hae ao gōntan lēda Astapor? iā Yunkai? (Like you did with Astapor? Or Yunkai?)" Saqnizza retorted. "īlon gīmigon skoros ao gōntan konīr, yn gaomagon emā mirre idea hae naejot skoros massitas tolī ao geptot? (We know what you did there, but do you have any idea as to what happened after you left?)"
"Nyke geptot iā council naejot udrāzma Astapor. Iā giēñatī, iā scholar, se iā voktys. (I left a council to rule Astapor. A healer, a scholar, and a priest.)"
"Bona ao gōntan, yn lī ao installed naejot udrāzma toliot se oktion sia sepār overthrown ondoso iā butcher brōstan Cleon qilōni vestretir zirȳla dārys. (That you did, but those you installed to rule over the city were just overthrown by a butcher named Cleon who declared himself king)," Saqnizza informed Daenerys.
'What?' thought a stunned Dragon Queen. If what the slave leader had told her was true, then that would mean…
"Yn bona didn't mōrī bōsa. (But that didn't last long)," she continued. "Se sylvie āeksia emagon pār gūrotan Astapor se Yunkai aril. (The Wise Masters have since took Astapor and Yunkai back.)"
'All my victories turn to dross in my hands', she thought. 'Whatever I do, all I make is death and horror. No, that shouldn't matter now.'
When word of what had befallen Astapor reached the streets, as it surely would, tens of thousands of newly freed Meereenese slaves would doubtless decide to follow her when she went west, for fear of what awaited them if they stayed… yet it might well be that worse would await them on the march. Even if she emptied every granary in the city and left Meereen to starve, how could she feed so many? The way before her was fraught with hardship, bloodshed, and danger.
"But that doesn't matter, doesn't it?" Saqnizza spoke in the Common Tongue, all while gazing out the window. "My brother and sisters in chains look to me for guidance, for deliverance. Once this is over, we will govern ourselves. Not by the slave masters, and not an outsider who doesn't understand the city's people."
Daenerys bit her tongue, feeling herself swelling with mild irritation and frustration that someone was talking back to her like that. As if she's appearing to be rather ungrateful with the aid she's providing to the rebelling slaves, but it also served as a reminder as to where it was the Dragon Queen went wrong. Even so, their talks would have to wait until the battle was over.
Three hours later…
More fighting continued, and soon enough, the battle for control of Meereen had ended in a decisive victory for the rebels. Standing atop the Great Pyramid, Saqnizza looked over from on-high as the city streets below still drowned itself in cheers of the mass celebration that took place. The Great Masters had fallen from grace, the slaves were free… and those who brutalized them were clapped in chains and would be place on trial.
"Do you see, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons?" Saqnizza asked her guest. "In order to rule, you have to know the people and understand the surrounding areas. The things that make us who we are, what defines us…"
"You've mentioned this before," Daenerys replied. "And yet you maintain that I still have much to learn."
"All in due time."
Daenerys leaned in. "And what comes of us? Some of my men died fighting to help these people be free."
"We haven't forgotten," Saqnizza retorted. "You and your people can stay in Meereen, provided that of course you all behave yourselves and not stir up any trouble. The people of Meereen have a troubled history with outsiders."
"Fair enough. But I do intend to sail for Westeros, and Meereen has ships. If you could spare—"
"My ships are not up for discussion at the moment, Dragon Queen. Any talks you wish to discuss will happen once things are quiet. Now is not the time."
As the newly-proclaimed Queen of Meereen walked to settle into her chambers, she stopped and turned to look at the younger, silver-haired Queen.
"Welcome to the new Meereen, Daenerys Stormborn, one where we decide our own fates. I'm sure you'll find the following days will be quite entertaining, to be sure."
Daenerys watched as Saqnizza walked out of the room. She sighed and shook her head in irritation, sitting down as she massaged her temples. It was this time that Jon Connington entered.
"Your Grace," he announced.
Daenerys looked up. "Enter, Lord Connington."
Jon entered the room and sat down in front of her. "You must be exhausted, child. When was the last time you slept."
"I said I would answer justice with justice, yet I sit here and the pretense of bringing justice is rather slow and unresponsive. How am I to rule Westeros if things aren't settled around Slaver's Bay?"
"I fear that what you want to happen takes time," Jon explained. "It doesn't just… happen over night. Time, patience… and compassion. If you're to rule the Seven Kingdoms, you need to learn these traits in a short span of time."
"Why should—"
"I know you thought what Saqnizza meant, but see it as an opportunity for a simple re-evaluation. Sometimes it is better to answer injustice with mercy."
Daenerys frowned deeply. "I will answer injustice with justice, Lord Connington," she replied irritated.
Jon frowned and looked at her. 'The same look in those violet eyes,' he reminisced his time in King's Landing as King Aerys II's Hand. "Then it's about time I told you the history of your father. About the Mad King."
Daenerys rose to her feet in anger. "You're here to remind me of my enemies' lies? The ones Viserys called our father. The Usurper called him that, and his dogs. Consider me reminded."
But before she turned to leave, Jon stood and grabbed her arm. Daenerys was briefly surprised by this act, but more so when her advisor's grip on her arm tightened.
"Unhand me this instant, Lord Connington," she warned.
Jon did not relent. "Listen, child! And listen well. I served on your father's Small Council. I was his Hand of the King. I was at his side from the beginning. And I will tell you this: your enemies did not lie."
Silence filled the room. Daenerys remained motionless, looking at Jon Connington with a stoic, stern face before finally breaking the silence.
"Go on."
With that, Jon released his grip on Daenerys' arm and set her down to explain. "I am no maester to quote history at you, Your Grace. Swords have been my life, not books. But every child in Westeros knows that the sons and daughters of House Targaryen always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first."
"Yet you stayed," Daenerys pointed out.
"Aye, I stayed at your father's side before my exile, but I wasn't blind as to what he was," Jon nodded. "Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. That's what every child in Westeros learns of the Targaryens. Because of that, there's an old saying: 'Every time a new Targaryen is born the gods flip a coin, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.'"
Daenerys raised an eyebrow, motioning for her advisor to continue. "So am I a coin in the hands of some god, is that what you are saying, ser?"
"No. But what I'm saying is that when the usurper Robert Baratheon and his lackeys rebelled against your father, King Aerys set their towns and castles aflame. He murdered sons in front of their fathers. He burned men alive with wildfire and laughed as they screamed. And his efforts to stamp out dissent led to rebellion that killed every Targaryen, including your brother Prince Rhaegar… all except for two. You and Viserys."
Daenerys felt herself shake, trembling as Jon Connington's words began to settle. All her life, Viserys told her that the rumors surrounding their father King Aerys II Targaryen that he was a madman and a tyrant who brought his end on himself as lies were told back to her by another; someone who actually stood at his side before her birth.
"Was… was Viserys…?" she blurted out.
Jon nodded. "Viserys was a child, and your mother Queen Rhaella sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him. Yet he had his moments of charm and generous nature as well, so his lapses were mostly forgiven. His reign began with such promise… but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until—"
Daenerys stopped him. "I'm not my father!" she broke eye contact before returning them to meet Jon's.
The old Lord of Griffon's Roost shook his head with sympathy. "No, Your Grace. Thank the gods. Your ancestors Jaeherys the First, Daerion the Second, your grandfather Maekar the First, your mother Queen Rhaella… and Rhaegar. Him most of all."
"I wish I could have known him," her voice sounded wistful.
"I wish he could have known you, too," Jon said sadly. "But do you understand why I'm telling you this?"
Daenerys shook her head no.
"Because the Mad King gave his enemies the justice he thought they deserved. And each time, it made him feel powerful and right. Until the very end. Don't be like him, Your Grace. Only you can decide what kind of monarch you'll be."
She took a moment to process this new information. After exhaling, Daenerys moved towards the window before looking back at Jon. "I'll… need some time to take all this in. But… thank you, Lord Connington. For your teachings," she smiled.
Jon bowed politely before leaving. "I live to serve, Your Grace. I won't take up more of your time."
That night her handmaids brought her lamb, with a salad of raisins and carrots soaked in wine, and a hot flaky bread dripping with honey. Daenerys could eat none of it.
'Did Rhaegar ever grow so weary like Jon said?' she wondered. 'Did my ancestor Aegon the Conqueror, after his conquest?'
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