I'm Theon Greyjoy

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***

The brass trumpets sounded, heralding everyone to the beginning of the assault on King's Landing. The trumpeters stood behind the entire gathered army, but the sound of their trumpets reached even the current residents of Red Castle.

The banners of all the lords of the West and the Vast were blaring.

Tarlys, Fossoways, Marbrands, Kennings, Hightowers, Merriweathers, Braxes, Lyddens, and many, many others. And above all this colourful and colourful collection of houses from two different kingdoms towered the banners of the Lannisters and Tyrells. The Lion and the Rose.

Stones flew across the clear and bright sky, bringing death and destruction to the defenders of the capital - in a few weeks of siege, the Commoners and Westerners under Lord Tarly had managed to build catapults. The walls shuddered a few times under the impact of the massive stones, but it was not enough for them to collapse. Nor was it intended to create a breach in the wall - too costly and time-consuming an endeavour.

Arrows fell on those who carried the ladders and the covered battering ram - the Spartans had 'won' the honour of storming the city first. Kiwan Lannister had easily ceded that honour to the pompous Mace Tyrell.

'If the Spacers wish to bathe in blood, that is their wish.'

He watched as the faithful but slow stormers squashed through the city's defences. The gates were about to fall, and an unprecedented slaughter raged on the walls. Lannister himself did not take part in the battle, nor did all the lords of the West.

Mace Tyrell preferred to stay away, but Lord Tarly was not averse to feeding his Valyrian sword with blood. It was even called the Heartbreaker.

An hour later, the walls of the city were captured and the gates fell. The Prostorians stormed the city, but paid for it with a lot of blood. Kivan ordered the trumpeting of the offensive - let the Westerners attack as well. Red Castle still stands, and the city has not fallen completely.

- Hear our roar! Casterly! West! West!

-Crakehall! Crakehall!

- Bainforth! Brax!

Keevan led his army. In a couple of minutes they had crossed the distance between them and the gates and burst into King's Landing.

They saw a multitude of corpses - spacers, stormtroopers, and even ordinary citizens. The streets were littered with blood and shit that the townsfolk always dumped in the narrow streets.

Kiwan gave out commands and, accompanied by several hundred ladniks, travelled closer to the Red Castle.

No one offered much resistance - the Spacers rolled through the streets, knocking out anyone who dared to try to resist them. Soldiers bearing the Tyrell crest had already begun to pillage the city.

Only Tarly's men maintained a semblance of discipline, sweeping every house - it was not uncommon for a Stormwind to hide in a house with a crossbow in his hands... no matter how accidental the arrow.

It took them only an hour to reach the castle itself - they had to stop to engage someone. There were still quite a few armed and able to fight defenders in the city.

Kiwan himself could see Mace Tyrell accompanied by his knights and lords. A scowling Lord Tarly was also visible, whose armour boasted considerable bloodstains, and in his hands was a Valyrian sword. Also with bloodstains, which the Lord of Horn Hill was already wiping away with a rag given to him by his squire.

They stood not far from the Red Castle, whose gates were closed and the new defenders were visible on the walls. But far enough away that no arrow could reach them.

The Lord of Highgarden, in gleaming armour that could boast no evidence of his participation in the assault, looked at Kivan. His visor was up, and a satisfied smile shone on Fat Rozan's face.

-Milord, is it not time for us to take Red Castle? King's Landing has fallen! - He said the last word as if he had taken it himself. Though Lord Tarly commanded the assault and the soldiers took the city, not Mace Tyrell.

Lannister noticed a few disgruntled expressions from some of the lords of the Vale. Lord Tarly remained silent, and it was impossible to read behind his impenetrable face whether one of the Tyrells' strongest vassals took offence.

- We will only bleed if we try to take the castle now. We need at least a battering ram...

But Keevan's words were interrupted. One of the squires, seemingly in Bainforth livery, cried out and pointed towards the castle gates. Several Baratheon warriors had set their pikes on the barbican.

Keevan felt sick - the slightly nibbled, bluish and severed heads of King Joffrey, Cersei and Tyrion stared back at him.

'Damn you Stannis!'

-We cannot delay,' Keevan whispered hoarsely, but everyone in the silent stillness heard him. - We must take the castle. The usurper Stannis must die.

'Gods.... why are you so cruel to me?'

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

Theon petted Cicero, placing a pinch of grain in his bowl. He quickly began pecking at it, peering in the direction of the noise. Not far from them, a training duel was taking place - one of Theon's warriors was fighting his squire, Erich Harlow. The boy was constantly receiving hard blows that he could not block - he was still young and lacked strength.

His squire suffered defeat after defeat, but he was not discouraged. Waving his axe and using ingenious (for his opponent, the boy thought the opposite) feints, he could not win.

The warrior, named Elric, smiling, caught Erich and put him on the ground with a dirty trick.

- Not bad, Erich,' Theon said, making himself comfortable in the chair he had brought. He was sitting in the open air, and next to him was the table where his pet was eating. - This time you lasted longer than... a few seconds.

- That's not long enough! - exclaimed the boy angrily, standing up.

- That's why I didn't take you to storm Lannisport. I didn't want to have to explain to your father why his son died so easily at the hands of some lousy peasant.

Erich frowned. He had nothing to say.

- Now, Erich, let's see your bow skills. - Theon continued without waiting for a reply. If young Harlow couldn't answer in any way, he just kept silent. It was a character trait Greyjoy had noticed long ago.

After watching Harlow show off his marksmanship, Theon lagged behind him for a while. He had other lessons in mind, of course, besides swordsmanship. The boy has good potential, the main thing is to channel it.

But there's no time for that yet.

Several weeks had passed since the siege of Casterly Rock had begun. Victarion Raven sent a letter to the castle demanding that they submit to Lord Balon's will, but the Lannisters chose to remain silent. The raven never returned. Not that the Iron Fleet captain had any hope of that.

'Very soon the Northmen will leave the West, travelling to the Riverlands. Robb wishes to take the capital, and put Joffrey's head on a spade... if it hasn't been put on by Stannis in time.'

Theon, from the very beginning of the invasion of the West, had no illusions, like conquering the entire kingdom or capturing the Cliff of the West. The maximum the Ironborn could achieve was to capture Bright Isle and plunder the coastal lands.

His father was too ambitious, not realising that some ambitions cannot be achieved with all desire. Lord Baelon, not the king, wishes to conquer the entire West - and for that to be successful, the banners of the Greyjoys, not the Lannisters, must hang over Casterly Rock.

Victarion has only met Robb a few times - but they have had long conversations. Theon sensed that there was some sort of companionship between the two grim warriors. At least the taciturn Victarion was remarkably verbose, and Robb himself expressed no animosity and was not so gloomy.

'Perhaps a similarity of character worked here? Victarion walks around always gloomy, and Robb has changed in recent events... a lot. But it's all for the best - no conflict between the King of the North and the Captain of the Iron Fleet.'

Aeron Wethead on the other hand was busy, with another important matter... he was trying to preach among the local peasants. It was unclear why his uncle thought that the commoners, who had been taught from childhood to believe in the Seven and despise the island pagans, would want to accept the Ironborn faith.

As expected, his attempts were futile. In some cases, it was even dangerous for Uncle Aeron - he always went to preach alone and almost unarmed. Theon asked Victarion to give him a guard and he agreed.

The local villages were plundered with no fire. The Ironborn simply took cattle and food for their army, and there was nothing else to take from the poor peasants. Greyjoy had seen the Highlanders and Woodlanders, and they were the ones who had fun. Burning villages, raped women and dead fathers and children.

Victarion's orders were not to scare the locals, but the Northmen serve Robb, and Robb didn't mind pinching the West more.

- So you say Asha is wounded? - Theon asked Graydon Goodbrather. The heir to House Goodbrather was still young, having recently turned only sixteen. Like his other brothers, the triplets.

Tall and thin, Graydon Goodbrather had calm blue eyes, short blond hair, and a small bush of moustache under his nose. He held himself with dignity and calmness. His speech was clear and somewhat... enticing? Anyway, the guy had a nice voice. You couldn't tell he was the heir to one of the powerful houses of the Iron Islands. Graydon looked more like a Lannister.

- The wound isn't bad, but for a month the Kraken's daughter is no longer a fighter. - he replied, taking a small sip from his wine mug.

Not that Theon was pleased - after all, Asha was a sister to him. His father had built up ambition and illusions of her becoming Lady Pyke after Baelon's death... but as Rodrik Harlow had said, Asha was a woman. There was only one thing that confused Greyjoy.

'Why so nice and chatty?'

The Goodbrather heir had expressed a desire to talk to him, and Greyjoy was fine with that. They began to talk, and in the process Theon cautiously asked a question about his sister. To which he received an honest answer.

- How are things going in Cayce? - Another question that Theon was unlikely to get an honest answer to.

-The castle is taken, with some... difficulties- Goodbrather smirked. - We took all the local greenbloods under the knife - no one was spared. Only the lord's family was left. And Quarl Maiden died,' he said with a hint. Theon frowned, not understanding what Quarl Maiden had to do with this.

'It's supposed to be his sister's lover. What's he hinting at? She has a new lover?'

- I see. - Without showing any emotion on his face, Greyjoy said. - I hope my sister recovers as soon as possible.

Goodbrather only lifted his lips slightly in the semblance of a smile, realising something else in Theon's words.

- I am in your debt, Prince Theon. - he said suddenly. - After all, it was you who saved my brother's life.

'When did I have time?'

-In the heat of battle he didn't realise it, but after the battle he told me how you had saved him with a throw of your axe.

'That's how it was. 'You've been dragging your tail for a long time, you're only telling me now.'

-The House of Goodbrather will not forget it. - he finished, and Theon nodded, accepting the words. Goodbrasers' support would be important in the ensuing power struggle. And there would be one, Greyjoy had no doubt of that. Father was about to give the Drowned God his soul.

Aaron shouldn't have wanted to revive the Council. Maybe... no, not worth the risk.

'I'm not so glad to be back home anymore.'

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

Rodrik Harlow looked at the ship in the distance with some doubt. It was still unclear whose crest was on the sails, but the Reader surmised that it was probably one of the Ironborn. Maybe even a Greyjoy. In a few minutes, they'd figure it out by now.

A dozen islanders' rooks were moored on the deserted shore, including Rodrik himself. Most were looting the nearby villages, but Harlow himself had decided to do something else.

A couple of relatives from the side branches and a dozen fighters stood beside him.

An unexpected visitor must be welcomed, if he was from the Iron Islands, of course.

'I hope Theon survived the assault on Lannisport. Taking a fortified city by storm was madness, we'd lose too many men.'

As a boy he'd spotted the Gunslinger when he'd randomly travelled to the Ten Towers after the Battle of Bright Isle. Talking to him had been a pleasure, Theon was surprisingly educated and intelligent for his age. Except, the Reader was also disappointed in a way.

Greyjoy was his father's son, more attracted to the Old Way than the New.

After a while, the boy became a ward of House Stark, an ancient house from the North, and Rodrik himself locked himself away in his fief, ruling his lands from there.

Baelon, on the other hand... continued to rule the Iron Islands as if nothing had happened. His eyes fell on Asha when he lost two sons and the third became a hostage. An overly dangerous ambition began to nurture in the still then young girl.

Lady Pike... Rodrik was not one to despise women, but he realised that the Daughter of the Kraken was never meant to be ruler of the Isles. The Ironborn would not tolerate being ruled by a woman.

Victarion and Aeron... the former was a perpetually sullen warrior who followed his older brother's orders, the latter a fanatic of the Drowned God. If one of them stood at the head of the Iron Islands, they would do no good.

I didn't want to think of Euron at all. An exile.

All hope was in Theon. The young man had the necessary qualities to lead iron men.

'At least Theon realises that attacking a united Westeros is madness. There needs to be more subtlety than attacking head-on.'

If Theon dies or fails to live up to expectations... well, the Greyjoys didn't always rule the Isles. The Harlows were kings, too. His mate Quentin is long dead and has no obligations to the House of Kraken.

But Rodrick Reader hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He looked at those before him. A ship was moored against the shore, and men dressed in armour with the banners of the Drammas jumped off.

-So Baelon is dead, then? - he turned to the ship's captain and he confirmed his words.

The time has come.