Since the end of the long summer, the North grew colder by the day.
The further Theon Greyjoy traveled north, the more he felt it.
The wide White Knife River was already covered in a thick layer of ice, solid enough for an army to cross.
Theon knew that, after crossing the river and following the Kingsroad for another two days, they would reach Winterfell.
Yet he felt no joy at the thought of "coming home."
Winterfell wasn't his home.
Theon had once thought it was, but others didn't see it that way.
He might have been raised as Eddard Stark's ward, but he still bore the name of House Greyjoy, the kraken of the Iron Islands.
And his father, Balon Greyjoy, had declared himself King of the Iron Islands once more, launching raids along the northern coast.
Theon could feel the resentment and distrust from everyone around him: from Ser Rodrik Cassel, who had once taught him swordsmanship, from Robb Stark, who had been like a brother, and even from Eddard Stark himself, whom he had once viewed as a true father.
At the Trident, he had wanted to stay and fight for Lord Eddard, but he'd been refused.
The Northerners didn't trust him.
How foolish he'd been, growing up in Winterfell, to believe he was one of them.
In the end, they would always see him as Ironborn.
A slap on the shoulder jolted Theon from his thoughts. He looked up to see Robb Stark handing him a wineskin.
"Have a drink—it'll warm you up."
"Alright." Theon took a long swig, feeling warmth spread through his body and a smile cross his face.
Robb smiled too. "Stop brooding. Your father is your father, and you are you. You've always been like a brother to me."
Theon's smile grew wider, revealing a row of teeth.
At that moment, a scout returned with news of a Northern force coming down the Kingsroad from Winterfell.
After a short wait, Ser Jory Cassel, captain of Winterfell's guard, appeared with a company of 300 men.
When the two groups met, Jory spoke: "Lord Robb, we received a request for aid from Torrhen's Square. They're under attack from the Ironborn."
He couldn't help but glance at Theon as he spoke.
Theon clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
Robb immediately responded, "The Ironborn have attacked Torrhen's Square? I'll come with you to help them!"
Ser Rodrik stopped him. "Lord Eddard instructed you to remain at Winterfell. I'll take another 300 men and join Ser Jory in reinforcing Torrhen's Square."
Remembering his father's orders, Robb reluctantly agreed.
Just then, Theon spoke up. "Let me go with you!"
Ser Rodrik hesitated, his brow furrowing, then looked to Robb for permission.
Robb met Theon's determined gaze, and after a moment, he nodded. "Alright."
Elated, Theon swung his riding whip and turned his horse westward.
The group left the Kingsroad, making their way toward Torrhen's Square.
After four days, they neared Torrhen's Square. Ser Jory ordered the men to make camp and sent scouts ahead to assess the situation.
When the scouts returned, they brought surprising news.
"The Ironborn have retreated?"
"Yes, my lord. Not only have they pulled back from Torrhen's Square, but they've also withdrawn from Stony Shore, Saltspear, and Sea Dragon Point."
"Why did they retreat? Has King Balon given up on his war against the North?"
"No idea."
The Northerners exchanged puzzled looks, and Theon was equally baffled.
He couldn't decide whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
"My lord, Lord Tallhart of Torrhen's Square invites you to stay within the castle walls," said Ser Jory, looking at the darkening sky and the completed camp behind them. "It's already late. Let's visit in the morning."
"Very well."
Theon left the command tent, ate some hard bread, and then crawled into his bedroll, trying to get some sleep.
But he couldn't settle down.
The Ironborn's retreat should have been good news—it meant he wouldn't have to fight his own people.
But it also meant he'd lost a chance to prove his loyalty to the North.
As he tossed and turned, a commotion began to grow outside.
At first, he ignored it, but the noise intensified until it was filled with shouts and screams.
"The Ironborn are attacking! They're attacking!"
Theon bolted from his tent to see flames rising across the camp, with blood and slaughter everywhere.
…
When the dawn light dispelled the darkness, Northern prisoners were gathered and penned within a wooden stockade in one corner of the camp.
"I'm truly King Balon's son!" Theon edged closer to the stockade's edge, calling out, "Really! My name is Theon Greyjoy. Tell your leader my name—he'll know me!"
Ser Jory Cassel cursed at him, "Theon! Lord Eddard took you in for over ten years! Treated you like his own son…"
"'Like his own son'? Don't give me that!" Theon shouted back. "I am King Balon's son! Eddard Stark kept me as a hostage!"
With that, he continued shouting for the Ironborn outside the stockade.
Eventually, a woman of the Ironborn approached, slicing through Theon's bindings with her dagger and leading him out.
"Your commander finally agreed to see me?" he asked, limping as he walked.
"Yes." The Ironborn woman led him to a tent.
But the tent was empty.
"Who's your commander? Aren't they coming?" Theon asked.
The woman took out some bandages. "The commander asked me to tend to your wounds first."
"Fine. By the way, who is your commander? Aeron 'Damphair'? Victarion?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
Theon scowled, annoyed by her secrecy.
It was then that he noticed the woman more closely: slender, with long legs, weather-beaten skin, and muscular arms. She was a true Ironborn.
Her face was lean, not particularly beautiful, but she had captivating eyes.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Esgred."
"Esgred, you know who I am, right?"
"Yes, you already told me—King Balon's son, Theon Greyjoy," she replied with a sweet smile.
That smile instantly charmed Theon.
"If you know that, shouldn't you be treating me better?"
Esgred smiled again. "Lord Theon, you're in no shape to flirt."
"What's a few cuts to a true Ironborn?" Theon straightened up proudly. "I am the prince of the Iron Islands! The future king!"
"Oh, of course, Your Highness."
Theon reached out to touch her arm.
She didn't pull away.
Emboldened, he slid his hand to her waist.
"Your Highness, I'm married, you know." She reminded him but didn't move away. "And I'm newly pregnant, too."
Theon glanced at her belly, feeling an odd thrill.
"By the Drowned God," Theon said, "who's the lucky fool who married you?"
"I'm the wife of Sigrin."
"Sigrin?" Theon vaguely recalled the name—a shipbuilder on the Iron Islands. "You're wasted on him."
"Oh? So who should I have married? You?"
Not as a wife, Theon thought to himself. But as a lover, certainly.
"My dear Esgred," he said, pulling her close and moving in for a kiss. "On the Green Lands, they say that the woman loved by a prince bears noble blood."
"Oh, really? But I already carry lowly blood in my womb."
"I can make it noble."
"Can you now?" She moved her hand to his belt.
"Absolutely!" Theon said, thrilled. But just as he prepared to go further, Esgred abruptly pulled away.
Theon's pants dropped to the ground. Confused, he asked, "What's wrong?"
"Look at you—how pathetic, little brother." She sneered, pointing at his bare legs, her eyes full of disdain. "So, all those years in Winterfell taught you this?"
"L-little brother?" Theon stammered, staring at her in shock. Her face began to overlap with a blurred memory of someone he'd almost forgotten.
No! It couldn't be! She couldn't be Asha!
"What's wrong, brother? Don't recognize me?" Asha Greyjoy spun her dagger deftly between her fingers. "Weren't you asking to see the commander? That would be me."
"No! That's impossible!" Theon was still trying to deny it. "And what happened to your spots?"
"They disappeared when I ripened," Asha replied, twirling her dagger faster, its gleaming edge mesmerizing to watch.
Realizing the truth, Theon scrambled to pull up his pants. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Then how else would I know what kind of man you've become? My dear brother, it seems the mighty Wolf of the North didn't teach you much."
Theon's face burned with shame at the memory of his behavior moments earlier.
"You didn't actually retreat, did you?" he asked, desperate to change the subject. "Was that a trick?"
"It was real. Father did order a retreat. But when I heard reinforcements were on their way to Torrhen's Square, so I led the army back and caught the northerners off guard. What do you think? Smart move ey?"
Theon snorted with a sullen look on his face, unwilling to acknowledge his sister's excellence.
Asha laughed and said, "Don't deny it, Theon. I am the most suitable heir to my father's throne, and you? You're just an idiot who can only think with your dick."
"Nonsense! I am my father's only son! The first heir to the King of the Iron Islands!" Theon shouted.
Asha said with disdain: "You have been raising wolves in Winterfell for more than ten years. You must have been the alpha wolf by now, right?"
"Of course not!" Theon suddenly had an idea and said, "You just defeated a northern army, I can capture Winterfell!"
The dagger flying between Asha's fingers suddenly stopped: "What did you say?"
Theon straightened his chest again, with a smug smile on his face:
"I said, I can take Winterfell!"
(End of Chapter)