บท 245: Chapter 246: Winter Fall.
In the dim, cold dungeon, Theon Greyjoy sat, nerves frayed and shifting uneasily.
He had tried to follow his original plan—sneak to Winterfell's gates and open them to the Ironborn. But the Starks had seen through his ruse, capturing him on the spot.
Reek had been right; Theon's scheme hadn't fooled the Starks for a second.
He now felt both frustrated at his own naïveté and hopeful that Reek's plan might yet save him. He'd already done his part, feeding the Starks the false "secret" that the Ironborn intended to seize Moat Cailin. Now it was just a matter of seeing whether they'd take the bait.
As time crawled on, Theon's anxiety only grew, until finally, faint sounds of clashing and shouting reached his ears.
Leaping up, he pressed against the bars, straining to see anything beyond his cell. But all he saw was darkness.
It felt like hours had passed before the distant slam of a door jolted him.
"Reek! Reek, is that you?" he called out.
"Yes, Lord Theon." Reek's voice echoed from the shadows, tinged with a mocking tone.
Theon's heart surged with relief. "Quick! Get me out of here!"
Reek emerged from the darkness, covered in blood, his face twisted in a grin that was somehow both eager and menacing. The sight sent a chill down Theon's spine.
When Reek unlocked the cell, Theon swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep calm. "The Ironborn have stormed the castle? Did you see my sister, Asha? She's leading them."
Reek slung his blood-stained axe over his shoulder with casual indifference. "Yes, I saw her. She's out in the city quelling the last pockets of resistance. I don't think she knows you're here, though. Only I cared enough to come and get you."
"Well done." Theon ignored the awful stench and clapped Reek on the shoulder. "I won't forget what you've done for me."
"My thanks, my lord."
"By the way, are you really called Reek?" Theon asked, eyeing him curiously. "And who exactly are you?"
Reek chuckled, stepping aside to let Theon pass. "Oh, yes, my lord—Reek, at your service. I'm merely the squire of Ramsay Snow."
"Ramsay Snow?" It took Theon a moment to place the name—the bastard of House Bolton.
House Bolton was one of the North's most powerful, yet most feared families. Known for their cruel tradition of flaying enemies, their sigil was a flayed man on a pink field. Their motto, "Our Blades Are Sharp," was as ominous as their reputation, but it was another saying that haunted people more: "A naked man has few secrets; a flayed man, none."
The Bolton's once called themselves the "Red Kings" and fought against the Starks of Winterfell for thousands of years, with countless Starks being flayed in the dungeons of the Dreadfort.
It was only in the early days of the Andal invasion that the Bolton's was finally defeated by the Stark's, forced to submit, and compelled to abandon the barbaric and bloody ancient tradition of flaying.
Although House Bolton had submitted to House Stark ages ago, tales of their hidden dungeons and cruel practices lingered like an old wound.
After Roose Bolton's only trueborn son had died two years prior, Ramsay Snow, his bastard, had been brought to the Dreadfort, presumably as an heir in training.
However, this bastard from the Dreadfort had a bad reputation, and Theon had heard rumors of some of his cruel deeds before.
So, Reek was Ramsay's squire.
"So, tell me," Theon asked as they strode through the halls, "were you helping me on Ramsay's orders? Or did Lord Bolton send you?"
Reek grinned. "Neither, my lord. I merely saw an opportunity to be of use to you."
Ambitious, Theon noted, sizing up his strange ally. Reek's intellect and craftiness could be useful. He needed such allies now.
"Then stay with me," Theon commanded. "Ramsay Snow is only a bastard. Follow me instead—the only son of the Iron Islands' king. We've taken Winterfell; soon the entire North will be mine."
"Yes, my lord," Reek agreed, his smile widening. "That is my wish as well."
As they emerged from the dungeon, the scene in Winterfell was utter chaos.
Ironborn roamed the streets, looting and pillaging with wild abandon, the cries and curses of the townspeople rising in a cacophony of fear and anger. Theon's heart twisted at the sight of familiar faces suffering under his own people's hands.
For one fleeting moment, he wanted to command the Ironborn to stop. But he hesitated—this was the way of the Ironborn. His father would expect nothing less.
Pushing down his doubts, he strode into the great hall, where the captured townsfolk and soldiers looked up at him, eyes blazing with contempt.
"Theon! It was you!" one knight spat. "You traitor! You betrayed Winterfell!"
"May you rot, you coward!"
"Lord Eddard will take your head!"
Theon flushed, anger flaring as he kicked a few of the jeering men to the floor. "Who are you to accuse me?" he shouted. "Lord Eddard Stark took me as a hostage—don't forget that! I was never one of you."
"Lord Stark never treated you as a hostage," Maester Luwin interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "He raised you as he would his own sons. You know that, Theon."
Deep down, Theon did know it. He couldn't deny that he had once admired Eddard Stark, once even dreamed of being a man like him.
"Maester Luwin," he replied, his tone softening, "I don't want unnecessary bloodshed. I'll take Sansa Stark as my bride, and we'll become family."
Just the thought of Sansa made his blood race.
"Lord Stark would never allow his daughter to marry a kraken," another prisoner hissed.
"You think seizing Winterfell makes you a king in the North?" scoffed a guard.
"Lord Stark will return, and you'll pay for this!"
A wave of mocking laughter rippled through the hall, and Theon's temper flared. He brandished his sword, turning to his men. "Has anyone found Lady Catelyn? She may be more reasonable and see sense in my offer!"
A soldier shrugged. "No sign of Lady Catelyn."
Theon's scowl deepened. "What about Lord Stark's sons? Bran and Rickon—the cripple and the walnut-crunching brat."
"Also missing."
Theon turned to Maester Luwin. "Where are they? You know what might happen if my men find them first."
Maester Luwin held his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "I don't know where they are, Theon. But Eddard Stark will return with his men. If you're wise, you'll leave Winterfell before that happens."
Smack! Theon struck the maester across the face.
But Maester Luwin looked back at him, blood trickling from his mouth, with nothing but contempt in his eyes. Theon felt a boiling rage rise within him, frustration churning like a storm.
Reek leaned in close. "Fear is the best way to rule, my lord."
Fear. Yes, Theon thought. His leniency was the reason no one respected him. If they wouldn't obey, he'd make them fear him.
Unable to fully bring himself to kill any of the prisoners, he instead focused on Beth Cassel, Rodrik Cassel's daughter. Once, Theon had secretly admired her. She'd never paid him any attention, but things were different now.
Ignoring her pleas and the shouts of the others, he pulled Beth into Lord Eddard's chambers, silencing her cries and cursing her father's house under his breath.
Although the North is freezing cold, the walls of Winterfell are filled with hot spring water, making the rooms as warm as spring. The Lord's bedroom is the warmest of all.
Theon stripped Beth bare and threw her onto the luxurious feather bed, then pounced on her.
From the screaming and crying girl, he finally found the feeling he desired, the feeling of having complete control.
Here, he thought, he finally had control. This was power. This was his right.
Suddenly, the door burst open.
"What the hell are you doing?" Asha Greyjoy stood at the threshold, her face twisted with disgust.
"Asha—get out!" Theon snarled, rage bubbling over. "This is my salt wife! Leave me!"
Asha snorted. "When they brought you to the Iron Islands, I should've slit your throat and spared myself the disgrace."
"Leave!" he screamed. "She's mine, and you have no right to interfere!"
Asha ignored him, arms crossed, her contempt unwavering. "Take what you want, brother, but not here. We're leaving."
Theon blinked, thrown by her words. "Leaving? What do you mean?"
"Retreat, Theon," she replied, voice dripping with scorn. "Father ordered us to pull out of the North. I came to Winterfell to grab a few spoils. Now that we have them, it's time to go."
"No!" Theon's frustration boiled over. "We've taken Winterfell! This is our chance! We can hold it!"
Asha rolled her eyes. "You fool. Winterfell is undefended because the North's armies are away fighting the Lannisters. When they return—"
"They'll never get back here," Theon interrupted. "Once we seize Moat Cailin, the northern army will be trapped! Winterfell will be ours, and soon the entire North!"
Asha laughed. "Oh, Theon. The North will never accept us as rulers. The people here only see us as invaders."
"You're wrong! Once I marry Sansa Stark, they'll have no choice!"
"Then stay, brother," she said, turning toward the door. "I'm taking our men home."
"Leave me a few soldiers!" Theon shouted after her. "I'll show you and Father that I can rule this land!"
(End of Chapter)
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