What kind of reunion should it be between brother and sister? On his way back to Pyke, Theon had imagined it countless tis.
But Asha’s first words shattered all those fantasies—because not one of them had started with her outright scolding him the mont they t.
Worse still, he couldn’t even refute her. All he could do was lower his head and stand there, just like when he was a boy being chastised by her for so mischief. That fear ran deep, the sa kind he’d felt toward his late brothers, Rodrik Greyjoy and Maron Greyjoy.
He had thought that, after years of training as a warrior, he’d grown strong enough to speak to Asha as an equal. But now he realized he’d been wrong. In front of Asha’s commanding presence, he was still the sa little boy who instinctively hid behind his sister when trouble ca.
Asha stepped up to him and said in a low voice, “Well? What did Robb Stark send you here for?”
Theon took a deep breath, forced down the knot of unease in his chest, and replied honestly, “Robb hopes to form an alliance with the Iron Islands to jointly attack the Westerlands.”
“Attack the Westerlands?” Asha gave a short, dry laugh. “And what makes him think he’s qualified to ally with ? Just because he won one battle at Riverrun?”
“A battle?” Theon blinked in confusion. “What do you an?”
“Looks like you don’t know what’s happened.” Asha turned, pulled a docunt from a stack on the desk, and handed it to him. “Read this first. Then we’ll talk.”
Theon quickly skimd through it, and his face lit up with excitent. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to return to Robb’s side and join the fight. He was certain he’d earn fa and glory in the battles to co.
“Robb crushed the Westerlands army! Their forces are in shambles!” Theon said excitedly. “Now’s the perfect ti to strike. If we ally with him, we can divide the Westerlands between us—”
“‘We’?” Asha raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “You’re a Stark envoy from the North. Since when are you one of us?”
Theon straightened his back. “I’m a Greyjoy. The rightful heir of Pyke—”
“So you're here to take my place, then?” Asha cut him off again.
Theon froze. He glanced at her, then looked away slightly and said, “I’m just stating a fact.”
“Power and position aren’t won by words,” Asha said coldly. “They’re earned in blood, by the sword.” She turned away from him, walked back to her desk, and rang a small bell. A mont later, several warriors entered from outside. Asha pointed to Theon.
“Take him to the training camp. He can leave when he’s completed all of it.”
“You’re locking up?” Theon stared at her in disbelief. “I’m your brother! Your own blood!”
“And that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” Asha said, stepping forward and ripping off the gold and silver trinkets he wore. “Because you’re my brother, I’m going to make a proper warrior out of you—a real man. Not so little girl dripping in jewelry.” She tossed the ornants aside. “And another thing. The Iron Islands follow Lord Lynd’s orders. Since Lord Lynd doesn’t want Sumrhall involved in this war, we won’t get involved either.” She waved her hand. “Take him away.”
The warriors stepped forward and grabbed Theon, dragging him from the study. No matter how loudly he shouted, none of them responded.
Asha casually tossed the trinkets aside and listened as Theon shouted his na and status down the hall. She shook her head and smiled faintly.
“Still just as foolish as when he was a boy.”
...
Just then, Linda, the steward, hurried in with a letter in hand.
“My Lady,” she said, handing it over, “this is a notice from King’s Landing. Lord Eddard Stark confessed, and was then executed.”
Asha took the letter, read it, and her expression turned grim. After a long pause, she said, “Keep a close eye on the battlefield. And send word to Sumrhall—ask the Prince what he wants us to do.”
“Yes, my Lady,” Linda replied with a nod.
...
anwhile, Theon had been dragged from the castle and thrown into a cart, which rattled down the hill to the docks. From there, he was loaded onto a ship.
“Look who we’ve got here—if it isn’t our young master Theon!”
The captain of the ship had a full head of snow-white hair and a hideous scar running from his cheek down to his jaw. His voice whistled slightly as he spoke, leaking air from the corners of his mouth, making his words sound a little strange.
“Dagr! Is that you? Dagr, you’re still alive!” Theon looked at the captain with surprise and joy.
His mories of Pyke were few, and the happy ones fewer still—but most of those few bright monts were thanks to Dagr Cleftjaw.
“Old Cleftjaw’s still breathing, still steering the helm, and still tossing a an spear!” Dagr laughed heartily as he flexed his arms to show off his muscles. Then he turned toward the soldiers escorting Theon and asked, “What’s this about? Don’t you know who he is? He’s Lady Asha’s own brother, Balon Greyjoy’s son—the rightful heir to Pyke!”
“This is under Lady Asha’s orders. She’s commanded that Theon Greyjoy be sent to the training camp at the Storm God’s Temple,” one of the soldiers explained. Then, glancing at Dagr, he added, “And Pyke has already been destroyed. The current ruler of the Iron Islands is Asha Greyjoy.”
“Yes, yes! My old brain’s not as quick as you youngsters’. I keep forgetting Pyke’s gone,” Dagr said, patting his own head. He turned to gaze at the now-empty cliffs where Pyke had once stood and gave a crooked smile. Because of the scar on his face, the smile looked more like a grimace—so unsettling that the nearby soldiers instinctively turned away, missing the flicker of nace in Dagr’s eyes.
In the next mont, he was back to his usual self and waved the group forward.
“Go on, get below deck! It’s a long journey to the Storm God’s Temple on Great Wyk, and the seas aren’t kind. One misstep, and it’s a watery grave.”
The soldiers did as instructed, disappearing into the hold. Dagr barked orders to his crew, and the oar-sailor ship slowly pushed off from the dock, heading toward Great Wyk...
The public execution of Eddard Stark—Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North—spread like wildfire across the Seven Kingdoms. With the exception of Lynd, everyone was utterly stunned.
This wasn’t so minor noble or forgettable knight. This was a great lord, one of the kingdom’s highest-ranking Lords. The last ti a Lord had been killed by the crown, it had been during the reign of Mad King Aerys. And it was Eddard’s own father, the previous Lord of Winterfell. The eerie symtry unsettled many, making them wonder if there was so kind of curse—how else could two generations of Stark lords et the sa fate in King’s Landing?
Whispers began to swell, drawing comparisons between Joffrey I and Aerys II. With Joffrey's chaotic rule and the wars that erupted in his wake, even the least politically minded could sense the realm descending into unrest.
When Lynd received the intelligence from King’s Landing, he imdiately summoned Sansa and handed her the ssage. She read it, then cried through the night in her chambers. It took a long ti before she composed herself—and when she did, sothing had changed. Her deanor was calr, more mature.
Lynd frowned when he learned that Eddard Stark’s severed head had been mounted on a spike atop the Red Keep for public display. He then reviewed the latest reports sent from The Wall, mulled it over in silence, and finally rose from his desk.
He made his way to the Dragon Lair and ordered the dragon handlers to ready the saddle. Mounting the lava dragon Neltharion, he took to the skies, flying straight toward King’s Landing.
At Neltharion’s incredible speed, Lynd arrived swiftly. The great beast circled the capital once before descending, landing directly in the plaza before the Red Keep.
Though this was not Neltharion’s first appearance in the city, his arrival still stirred panic. A crowd quickly gathered around the square—but none dared venture too close.
Lynd dismounted from the lava dragon and looked up at Lord Eddard’s body, impaled atop the battlents of the Red Keep. Then he walked straight to the castle gates. Coincidentally, the Gold Cloaks guarding the entrance were the sa as last ti, and this ti, without needing a word from Lynd, they opened the gates for him without hesitation.
Once inside, Lynd headed straight to the ramparts, removed Eddard Stark’s head, and sealed it in ice. He then turned to the Gold Cloaks and asked, “Where is the rest of Lord Eddard’s body?”
The guards exchanged glances but said nothing. Instead, one of them casually gestured toward a small hut at the foot of the wall.
Lynd entered the hut and found the headless corpse laid out on the ground. Since it hadn’t been dead long, it had yet to begin rotting. He placed the head back on the body and froze them together into one whole. Then, using telekinesis, he lifted the corpse and carried it out of the hut, out of the Red Keep, and back onto the dragon’s back.
At his command, the lava dragon spread its wings, galloped forward a short distance, then soared into the air and flew north.
From the mont Lynd appeared in King's Landing to the mont he left, not even ten minutes had passed. By the ti word reached Cersei and Joffrey, Lynd was already gone—taking Lord Eddard’s corpse with him.
Though both Cersei and Joffrey felt a wave of relief upon hearing the news, Joffrey still fud at the insult of Lynd visiting the capital without paying homage to the king. In a rage, he had several servants executed before his temper cooled.
...
Following Lynd’s command, the lava dragon flew north, passing over the Riverlands, skimming the bogs, and crossing into the North. By dusk, it had reached the skies above Winterfell.
“A dragon! A dragon!” the guards on the walls shouted in panic, pointing at the sky.
“Calm down, calm down! That’s Prince Lynd’s dragon!” Maester Luwin rushed out from his chambers and looked up. The dragon’s distinct form told him imdiately who it belonged to, and he raised his voice to reassure the others and restore order.
At that mont, Ser Rodrik Cassel—now reinstated at Winterfell by Lady Catelyn—arrived, bellowing commands at the panicked guards. He hurried to Maester Luwin’s side and asked in concern, “Why would Prince Lynd co to Winterfell at this ti?”
“He may be returning Lady Sansa,” Maester Luwin guessed.
Soon, the lava dragon found a suitable place to land. It swooped down and ca to a sudden halt over the training grounds, then beat its wings and touched down smoothly at the center. Dust swirled in all directions, clouding the view. When it settled, everyone saw Lynd stepping down from the dragon’s wing—and beside him floated a corpse, sealed in ice.
The crowd recognized the clothing instantly. Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin, and others dropped to one knee, welcoming the Lord of Winterfell ho to his castle.
Using telekinesis, Lynd lowered the frozen body before Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin and said, “I’ve preserved Lord Eddard’s body in ice. It will hold for several more days without decaying. Find a skilled tailor to sew his head back on so he can be buried whole.”
“Thank you for returning the Lord’s body. Please co inside and rest...” Maester Luwin said gratefully, hoping to invite Lynd in, and to gather Bran and Rickon to express their thanks in person.
“No need. I still need to go to the Wall. Returning Lord Eddard’s body was just on the way.” Lynd declined the offer, turned back toward the dragon, mounted up, and ordered it to take off once more, soaring toward the Wall.
...
After Lynd departed, Maester Luwin imdiately arranged for the body to be properly tended to. He then sought out Bran and Rickon to begin mourning rites for their father. He also sent word to Riverrun to inform Robb and the others that Lord Eddard’s body had returned to Winterfell. Everything was handled in a swift and orderly fashion.
anwhile, as Lynd flew toward the Wall, he noticed the lava dragon beginning to show signs of discomfort. Part of it was due to the rapidly falling temperature—but more significantly, it ca from the magical energy radiating from the Wall itself.
The last ti Lynd had visited the Wall, the magic contained within had felt dormant, like an old machine long since shut down. But now, it felt like a restored engine—refueled and burning strong.
Even from a great distance, Lynd could sense the arcane power radiating outward. As he drew nearer, his enhanced vision picked up mysterious runes shifting and glowing across the Wall’s surface.
It was clear that, after years of work, Willas had succeeded in reigniting the ancient magic of the Wall. Now, it stood as a formidable magical barrier, actively warding off the monstrous horrors buried deep within the frozen North.
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