I'm Theon Greyjoy

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***

Aeron, when he heard the name of Theon's rook, was grimly displeased. 'Son of Thunder,' he said, smelling of the Storm God. But Greyjoy refused to change the name, so his uncle was forced to consecrate the ship.

More and more ships were coming into Lordport's anchorage every day. Baelon had already announced his plans to conquer the West and bring back the old law. This was greeted with joy by many - despite the defeat in the last war, the desire for freedom and the return of the old days had not gone away.

Theon also met up with an old mate, if I may say so.

Rodrik the Reader had aged only slightly in appearance. But he was still a shrewd man, always a pleasure to talk to.

- What do you think of the North, nephew? - Rodrik asked him with a smile.

They'd met at Lordport when Theon was looking for a team of his own. His uncle had wanted to lend him a couple of experienced sea wolves, but Greyjoy had decided to recruit men loyal to him. In the three weeks he'd been there, he'd managed to find nearly a hundred raiders - along with a navigator. Most of them were already seasoned raiders, mixed in with newcomers just starting out on their journey of sea robbery.

Many were happy to follow Greyjoy's lead. His family name means a lot on the Iron Islands, after all. Theon had a certain fame. Few could boast that they'd survived the meat grinder of war at the age of eleven and earned their own personal nickname.

Names in general meant a lot to the culture of the ironmen.

- Huge, cold spaces inhabited by harsh people, Uncle. - Theon replied. - But Lord Stark has been kind to me.

-The honour of the Quiet Wolf is known even here. I'm glad you've come home, nephew.

- How many ships did you bring with you, Uncle?

- Forty rooks, like the Goodbrasers. Half of them will go with you to Bright Isle. That's what your father Baelon told me.

'That's a good thing. I'll have a much easier time with Harlow than any of my father's vassals.'

-Are you coming with me? - Greyjoy asked.

-'No,' Rodrik shook his head negatively. - Harras the Knight is coming with you.

'That's a good one, too.'

-Where are you going?

- To the Crakeholes. Baelon's sent a lot of people there.

'With a few more small flotillas hitting the Fortress of Doom and Windfall, it's a massive assault on the entire coast of the Western Kingdom.'

-Do you think we'll win? - Theon decided to get his clever uncle's opinion on the future of the campaign.

-No. -If your father had been smarter, he would have taken Bright Isle and burned the Lannister fleet. Then we could have demanded that peace be signed, and that the Bright Isle be placed in our hands. - he explained.

- And in all likelihood, the Lannisters would have had to agree,' Theon continued. - They're in a shit situation now, with the death of the Old Lion and a series of defeats at the hands of the Northmen. Not to mention Stannis and Renly....

- We can't hold the West, Theon. Even if the Lannisters lose, the new king won't like what we do. And Casterly Rock is an impregnable fortress.

- It's no use convincing Father. - Greyjoy looked out at the sea, dotted with hundreds of ships. Among them stood out a hundred Iron Fleet rooks-they were larger, with deep drafts and battering rams on their bows.

It was this hundred, under Victarion's command, that would strike Lannisport.

Rodrik sighed sadly at his nephew's remark.

- The spoils will be great and rich. The West is defenseless at the moment, yet fertile and enriched.

-That's for sure. - Theon replied simply.

- I would like to speak to you alone, nephew. - The Reader said a little more quietly. - In Pike's library, I think.

The master of the Son of Thunder gave Lord Harlow a strange look, but nodded affirmatively.

-Good, uncle. Meet me in the library after the evening feast.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'

All of the Greyjoy vassals had gathered in Pyke with their personal flotillas. The latest arrivals were the Farwinds from the Last Light, a distant island, the most recently inhabited point in the western part of the world.

Before each large-scale campaign, the lords of the Iron Islands held a huge feast. All the Ironborn enjoyed the feast, reveling, drinking and joking, and a few days later they set out to pillage, rape and murder, ravaging entire kingdoms.

And now, in the Great Hall of the castle, all the nobles of the Islands were gathered. There was great noise, cheers and toasts in honour of future conquests and the return of the old law.

Theon sat on a high platform next to his father, and on the other side of his father sat his sister Asha. Many people looked at him appraisingly, and Greyjoy tried to keep an indifferent expression on his face.

Victarion sat next to him and he occasionally exchanged a few sentences with his uncle. The leader of the Iron Fleet was still as sullen as ever, always looking at everyone with a sort of irritation.

Slaves belonging to his father Baelon personally were scurrying between the tables. He had quite a few of them. He even noticed a couple of black people from the Summer Isles.

He sat in the smoky Chertoge for a few more hours, listening to the incomprehensible, drunken ramblings. The main fun had already begun, with young boys playing the famous finger dance game for the amusement of their elders.

Greyjoy himself had only played it a couple of times, and he hated it. He didn't want to lose his fingers so stupidly...

He didn't notice Uncle Rodrik's presence, so he left the room quietly, as no one was paying attention to him.

He had to go through several half-dark corridors, lit only by a couple of wall torches.

The oak door, slightly ajar, opened finally with a push of Theon's hand. He peered inside.

It was a small room divided by rows of low bookshelves. Pike's library was smaller than Harlow's, and much smaller than Winterfell's. The Greyjoy lords had seen no point in books, keeping the library merely for propriety.

He ran his finger over the dusty books - they were clearly not looked after, though when Theon was still ten years old, the bookshelves would have boasted cleanliness.

'Father doesn't really keep the castle tidy. Mother did, but she's in Harlow now, probably living out her last days.'

He realised he hadn't asked Harlow about his mother, though he should have.

It was in the corner that he found his uncle - reading a book. He had a rather thick book in his hands, and he hadn't noticed Theon's approach.

- Interesting book? - The reader twitched sharply. He glanced at his nephew.

- Ahem. Quite informative. I don't think I've ever had one of these before.

- What's the title? - Greyjoy asked without interest. He'd read all the books here long ago.

- The Measure of Days, an astronomical treatise by a Maester Nikos. - Rodrik answered and put the book aside. - Let's talk about something else, though.

- You want to talk about my father's near death and his heir,' Theon asked cautiously. He was afraid he'd made a mistake and Rodrik would laugh heartily at him.

- Yes,' the Reader agreed. - I wanted to put it differently, though. - He smiled.

- You're not the first person to talk to me about it. Uncle Victarion. - answered the unspoken question.

- Then I am not mistaken. Victarion does not seek power, has he offered you his support?

- He thinks Euron wants to return and claim the Sea Throne.

- That's how. - Lord Harlow chewed his lips thoughtfully. - Then I will not speak at length, likening myself to the lords of the green continent. Theon, you know that your father is about to die. And by law, you are his true heir, but--

-But after my father's death, there will be a party that my Uncle Aeron wants to revive. - Theon continued. - And you want to support me?

Lord Harlow nodded slowly, looking into Greyjoy's eyes.

- Don't take it as flattery, Theon, but of all the Greyjoys, you seem the most reasonable to me.

- What about my sweet sister? - Theon knew what his uncle would say. Still, medieval norms hadn't gone away, and no matter how much Asha wanted her father's inheritance, she would always be one step behind Theon or his other relatives. Because...

-Asha is a woman. - Rodrik sealed the sentence like a judgement. - The Lords of the Iron Islands would never elect a woman to rule. It's always been a man who's been king since ancient times.

- If you've chosen to support me, you must want something in return.

'I hope the price won't be too steep. I wonder what he'll offer.'

-My good relative, Borumenda the Blue, has an older son who recently turned twelve. I would like you to take him on as an armourer.

- That's how. - Theonu almost sighed in relief. He had thought Harlow would charge a higher price, such as marriage to one of his female relatives. - What's the boy's name?

- Erich Harlow. He came with me.

'Prepared in advance, sly bug.'

After half an hour of conversation, the topics of which were uninteresting, they parted ways. Theon still returned cautiously to the feast, earning a suspicious look from Asha, and Lord Harlow preferred to return to his chambers, taking with him a book that interested him.

Feeding his parrot, Theon watched the shadows on the wall from the swaying of the wall torches. The noise was such that Greyjoy preferred to abstract himself from it.

'Harlow and probably all his vassals, Uncle Victarion with the iron fleet-that's all the support I've received while I've been here. Not bad at all, considering the local realities.'

But it wasn't enough, Theon pondered, perhaps he should look for supporters among House Greyjoy's bannermen.

Perhaps he should probe the Sunderleys and Saltcliffs.

Taking a couple of sips from his cup, Theon noticed his father's gaze on him.

'Of course, all this will only have to be done after the march to the West. Right now, I need to earn my fame as a successful and skilful captain. Uncle Victarion is right.'

-"What's dead can't die! - shouted some over-drunk captain, raising a goblet full of wine.

- What's dead can't die! - the others supported him with a loud shout.

'What is dead cannot die. But is reborn stronger and stronger.'

'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'

A few days later, the huge flotilla began its journey. Theon, having twenty-five ships under his command, led it along with the rest of the armada, just a little to the side.

Each day a few ships or small groups of ships separated from them, heading towards the northern lands of the West. Theon soon separated from the others, heading for Bright Isle.

His pet, controlled by his master, had flown there several times, bringing back much information about the island. But when the unusual bird was nearly shot, Greyjoy never sent it anywhere else.

Harlow's ships were not the only ones in his fleet, though they were the majority. Not counting a couple of crews loyal to Dagmer, there were a couple with Blacktide and Sparrow banners.

- We'll have some fun soon, Lord Theon. - smiled with black teeth at one of Greyjoy's men, Loric Threefingers. He was one of the first to enter Theon's service.

Tall and large, his hair was grey, though as far as Theon knew, he had recently reached his fourth decade of life. He had turned grey, the others said, in the days of Robert's Rebellion, during a sea campaign in the Expanse led by Theon's grandfather, Quellonne Greyjoy.

Loric had only three phalanges of fingers on his two hands. He had lost his fingers while playing at fingering, and for this he was nicknamed Three-Fingered.

- Remind the others not to touch Lord Farman and his family. - Theon told his XO.

Greyjoy had decided to make him his right-hand man on the ship. He had once been a glorious pirate who had served on his grandfather's ship, but after his father Baelon had been killed by a stray arrow on the River Mander, he had become a peasant. It is not known what caused this sudden change of activity.

As Three-Finger himself put it, he married and decided to settle down. However, this did not prevent him from going on occasional trips with some free captain.

Now Three-Finger had decided to shake things up by joining Theon's crew.

Most of the newly recruited fighters were peasants who had decided to enlarge their farms a bit and gain some goodies.

Peasantry as a class had probably only emerged since Aegon's Conquest. Then the dragons forbade the Iron Men from plundering the shores of Westeros, and Theon's ancestors had to survive. Few dared to sail to the Summer Isles and the Western Shores of Essos.

But the rocky lands of the Isles don't offer much - so, in times of sea voyages, peasants and fishermen pick up axes, put on their fathers' ironclad armour, and hire themselves out to some captains.

'In all probability I shall have to recruit more men after I return to Pike. God willing, half of them will decide to stay with me.'

Theon didn't like that, but he had to put up with it, reassuring himself that it was a temporary and unfortunate nuisance. At least these were his men, not ones given to him by Uncle Victarion or his father.

There would surely be trouble with some of them. But that's okay, Theon thought, stroking the tip of his sword and watching his pet bullying squire, the captain on his ship is god and king. If anyone dares to question his decisions, they will immediately regret it. He needs to build up authority among his crew and the others. And in order to do that he needs to shed a lot of blood....

The iron men's ships were crossing the Sunset Sea, approaching their destination. It was still raining, but they had the good fortune of a tailwind. In a few days, they would reach Bright Island.