I'm Theon Greyjoy

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The candles on the candelabra burned slowly, illuminating Theon's private study. It was already evening, and the castle would have been impenetrably dark were it not for the human-controlled fire. The candelabra stood on the desk and hung on the walls, thus illuminating the entire not insignificant room.

It had been days since Greyjoy had occupied it, and the changes were visible to the unarmed eye. A chest had been rearranged, and now a map hung on the wall. He was not shy about changing it to his liking.

Sitting behind a luxurious armchair with furs and tracery carved into it, painted yellow to resemble the kraken tentacles of the Greyjoy coat of arms, Theon drank slowly and sparingly from a goblet of wine. The mood after the feast was excellent, even though the occasion was his father's death. Theon was indifferent to his father.

The cold winds were already blowing through the castle, so Greyjoy had ordered all the castle hearths melted. The past owner of the castle had neglected the management, and it was already auking Theon, who had to deal with many problems. For example, draughts. Pyke is old and hasn't had masons able to fix all the small gaps and renovate the castle in a long time.

- Lord Goodbrather,' Theon nodded to the man seated in the next chair across from him.

- Lord Greyjoy,' Gorold Goodbrather said, looking at him inquiringly. He was a grey-haired but still healthy man with intelligent eyes.

- Wine? - Theon looked at him questioningly, raising his goblet slightly.

- I don't mind, Lord Theon,' Gorold Goodbrather agreed, and the second cup was immediately filled with wine. The slave driver standing next to him finished pouring the wine and left the Lord Reaper's private office on Theon's silent order.

- I think you can guess why I have invited you, Lord Gorold,' Theon looked at his interlocutor nonchalantly, enunciating each word clearly and only touching the wine lightly. He needed a sober head for these negotiations.

- Veche. You need my support at this meeting,' Gorold grinned, feeling like the master of the situation. Theon had not dissuaded him, and in some ways he was indeed the master. For example, the large number of captains sworn personally to the Goodbrather family, who could do much to help the party's election in Theon's favour.

-Right,' Theon nodded. - And I have a proposal that would be favourable to the Gudbrasers.

Gorold looked at him with interest. His eyes lit up with curiosity, and he even leaned forward a little, unbeknownst to himself. Theon noticed this and barely suppressed the urge to grin.

- You have several daughters. Gwyn and Gisella, if I'm not mistaken,' Theon continued.

Gorold smiled. He knew from the first words what Theon was getting at. Greyjoy himself had decided to go straightforward; verbal lace and innuendo would not be understood or appreciated here. This is the Iron Islands, not a continent.

- An unexpected offer,' Gorold said to Theon, taking a few small sips. - It needs to be considered.

- No doubt,' Theon nodded, accepting Lord Goodbrather's answer. He hadn't hoped for anything else; he wouldn't have agreed to it out of the blue, anyway. But he was clearly interested in him, and that was good.

- Then there's something else we should discuss.

During Father's reign, the island's trade had declined. It needed to be addressed now, urgently.

Theon was sick and tired of all this nonsense. In some ways, he was beginning to understand the officials. If survival were not an issue, he would never have wanted to be king of the Iron Islands.

But he has no choice. Competitors for power are not spared on the Islands, and Theon was a major threat to anyone serious about sitting on the Sea Throne.

'If it hadn't been for the foolishness of an uncle who wanted to revive old traditions... if he hadn't been a powerful priest of the Drowned One... if only!'

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

The conversation with Goodbrather was long, but a favourable and useful one in Theon's opinion. He had spoken to many of the lords of the Iron Islands during the feast, but he had found it best to speak to Lord Gorold alone.

Now he was in the study all alone. Theon was about to delve into the map of Westeros, pondering further, when someone scratched at the door. It was no mystery to Greyjoy.

- Come in, you too clever bird,' he mumbled, opening the door and letting the parrot in. The parrot took off with a quick flap of its wings and landed on the specially made perch.

No longer sitting down or paying attention to the clucking Cicero, Theon's thoughts and gaze drifted to the map of Westeros, specifically the Iron Islands.

'The Harlows, the Blightys, the Saltcliffs, the Sanderleys, and possibly the Goodbrasers. If Victarion can get the Orkwoods, Volmarchs and Tawnies on my side, then good at all!'

He has quite a powerful alliance of houses on his hands that will support him at the Veche. But there are others, such as the Ironmakers and the Drammas. Nothing is clear with their position. Most likely they will vote for him or themselves. But it's doubtful for Asha.

Theon wasn't worried about his sister. He didn't seriously consider her supporters, a couple of captains, to be anything dangerous. But Asha would never recognise her brother's authority, so Greyjoy had no choice.

The news from the continent was disappointing for Theon. King's Landing has fallen twice, first to Stannis and his supporters, and then the Lannisters in alliance with the Tyrells have cut short the life of one of the last Baratheons, if Stannis' words about the queen and her children are to be believed.

Joffrey and the queen were killed and their heads adorned the wall right in front of the storming Westerners, again if rumours are to be believed. But not all of King Robert's children are dead.

There is now a new king sitting on the Iron Throne - a little boy, Tommen Baratheon. And it's clear that the Tyrell and Lannister clans will be running things.

'They will strike a blow against the North by dealing with Stannis. And if Robb loses, the Greyjoys will be next.'

That could not be allowed to happen, but there was nothing the Greyjoys could do now. The Vetch had made it impossible unless he could win the election and become king, there was little he could do to help Robb.

Setting the map aside and sitting down at his chair, Theon pulled a couple of small handfuls of grains from the small pouch at his waist and placed them in front of Cicero. He happily pounced on them, quickly snapping them with his beak.

He had quite a lot of resources in his hands... Or rather, suddenly a lot. Thousands of fighters at his fingertips, dozens of captains who had served Baelon before and now swore allegiance to him. A multitude of slave labourers his father had taken with iron, plundering Westeros and the Summer Isles. Filled coffers - despite his spending, the late Baelon still had a certain reserve that his grandfather, Quellon Greyjoy, had accumulated.

The vast amount of gold looted in Lannisport and the Bright Isle will be useful to him at the party. So the Greyjoys didn't spend a lot of money, but they did some things.

After looting and taking their fair share, many Ironborn returned to their past occupation as peasants. It's just that now they were suddenly rich and well-fed peasants for the winter. And brought glory and honour to their families.

Theon began to call the men to his service. And they came - three hundred more fighters joined him and Greyjoy placed an order for new ships to be built. Theon didn't worry about equipment - everyone had their own, not bad enough for Westeros. But his thoughts flickered to the creation of a regular squad loyal only to him.

'The Greyjoys have an Iron Fleet of a hundred ships. Practically the personal guard of the family, giving us strength and power in the Iron Islands.'

Stretching his arms and head, Theon sat evenly at the table, filling his cup with wine from a silvered decanter. He was waiting to talk to Lord Botley about trade with the North and support for the Veche.

- Cicero, get back here,' Theon shooed the parrot away from the table, putting the map and other sheets of parchment aside.

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

- I'll meet you at the party, Theon,' Lord Harlow said after the feast. The Lords of the Iron Islands were leaving Pike, travelling to their fiefdoms to sail to Old Wick.

- I will,' Greyjoy shook his hand. - You have a fair wind, Rodrik.

Lord Harlow looked at the squire standing beside me, Erich Harlow. He smiled slightly and patted him on the shoulders. Erich frowned, and the Reader let out a few short chuckles. He was amused by the little Harlow's reaction. Theon was, too, but he only lifted his lips in a semblance of a smile.

Greyjoy was sleep-deprived, physically and mentally exhausted from reading so many documents and trying to make sense of them. Surprisingly, even the Iron Islands counted taxes, though it was the Maester who did it....

'It's unbelievable that father trusted a maester to count his money.'

A few minutes later, Harlow, and his sailors climbed into the ship and sailed away from the pier, towards their fiefdom. Theon came out to personally see each of the lords off, as master of the castle and the feast - thus wishing them good luck and a fair wind. Luck among the Ironborn is valued as much as strength.

Lord Rodrik was one of the last to leave Pyke.

- Come,' Theon said.

A small procession of Theon, his squire, his pet, and the couple of fighters who always follow Greyjoy travelled back to the castle from Lordport. They mounted their horses and travelled down the road to Pyke.

Theon, looking at the road, could only cringe. It was an ugly thing that people called a road, but it could not be a road at all. Something new had to be built, but Greyjoy didn't want to spend the money before the party.

- Hold on tight,' Theon advised his henchman with weariness in his voice. He looked around uncertainly, trying to manage his horse. On the Isles they teach you to sail ships, not ride horses, Lord Pyke himself had suffered from that many years ago.

The horses were small, shaggy and eager to throw off their riders. Theon could handle it, the others could not. Steering a horse was worse for an islander than ramming an enemy ship.

As they rode down the rough and scary-looking road, Greyjoy and his company saw Pike in all his glory. Staring up at the black walls of the castle, Theon could only marvel at the thought of human engineering and construction. To build such a thing would take an enormous amount of effort and resources, something Theon's ancestors had been doing for millennia. With their own methods.

'How many slave builders are buried here? Well, the islanders didn't build the castle themselves when they can get others to do it.'

They walked across the stone bridge with gargoyles connecting the castle to the island. Before doing so, they had to dismount from their horses and give them to the local steward.

'We need to get a stableman... and a stable. A small one, but that's enough for Pike.'

But where? Well, not in the castle itself, there's not much room. We should think about building a couple of buildings near Pike.

It was too dangerous to walk across the narrow stone bridge on horseback. They made their way inside through the open gates and raised bars, followed by a couple of unwilling men leading horses by the bridle.

Theon gave a few instructions to his squire to keep him busy. Erich, with the ardour and activity of youth, ran to carry them out. Greyjoy returned to his study. His private office, as he called it.

After pacing back and forth for a few minutes, pondering his next move, Lord Pyke's eyes came upon a map of Westeros lying on his desk. Immediately thoughts of the West, or rather its two points, Cayce and Lannisport, came to mind.

As Theon had managed to find out, Cayce was guarded only by a few hundred men loyal to Asha. The Goodbringers had taken all of their men with them.

'Asha will likely summon them to the party, abandoning an important defensive point, or leave a handful of warriors behind.'

Something had to be done - and the only solution he saw was to send three hundred fighters to the castle. The choice of captain and future castellan Cayce must be considered.

Lannisport didn't look so good - its proximity to the centre of the Western Kingdom, Casterly Cliff, was unlikely to allow them to hold this rich and important trading town. They'll be driven out as soon as the Westerners raise a decent army.

We should write to the town's castellan to tell him not to hold tightly to the coast, and in the event of total defeat, to take all his warriors with him and return to Pike. But--let him take the inhabitants of the town into captivity, as many as he can.

Quickly writing a letter, he called for the maester and handed over the letter with the words, 'Lannisport.'

After the Maester left, Theon began to think of other things. He pondered the marriage between him and one of the Goodbrasers. It was actually a favourable alliance - the Goodbrasers were a strong and influential house in the islands. And there were many who wanted to be related to the Greyjoys - the head of the Goodbrathers, too. Whether love would arise between them, Theon did not know, and he did not think ahead. If the wife-to-be was not of a rotten character, something might happen.

'Something must be done about the Farmans. Harras Knight seems a worthy candidate for my plans.'

Sebastian Farman's family was placed in Pike's large chambers. Theon did not lock them in a dungeon or torture them in any way. There was no point. Let them stay locked in their rooms. Food and water were brought to them, and the family didn't complain. It's worth remembering that my uncle brought some Lannisters to Pyke from the sacked Lannisport. They were placed side by side.

'What a lot of work... and we sail from here to Old Vic in a few days.'

Theon had set himself up a campaign propaganda campaign, if it could be called that. Servants and captives were sent out, spreading gracious rumours about Theon and looking for rumours that were already dangerous and vile. And preferably the people spreading them as well. A couple of Greyjoys have already been thrown into the sea, shackled and given a weighty weight. For good measure.

Soon he sails from Pyke. Theon's fate awaits him at the council. Will he be king?

Theon would not back down on any pretext. It's crown or death. There was no other choice.