I'm Theon Greyjoy

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***

Clad in a collared jacket with steel inserts and sewn-in rings, Theon gazed into the distance. Sharp eyesight, one of the gifts of rebirth, allowed him to look far.

Holding his helmet and half-mask and bow, he stood among the archers. Slave labourers, teenagers and old men were his company. All grown men would fight in the front ranks.

- Bad weather,' said Morrek, who had been assigned to command the archers on the Indefatigable, the Iron Fleet captain's ship where Theon had been assigned. The Galea boasted two masts, a sturdy hull, and a heavy battering ram.

Baelon had entrusted Victarion to lead the combined fleet of the Bannermen and the Iron Fleet. And now this armada of three hundred ships was sailing towards a small piece of land belonging to the Farmans.

'Incredible power!' - Theon marvelled. It was no wonder that in their time the islanders had taxed powerful kingdoms like the Vast and the West with tribute, and had conquered the Riverlands under the Hoars.

But going to war against an entire continent was still madness. Sigard was intact and a threat, Arbor with its fleet was still intact, as was the Royal Navy, whose ships had been spotted off the coast of the West.

Victarion has decided to defeat the King's fleet off Bright Isle. There is news that the Arborians are still far away from them and defeating two powerful fleets on their own was the best option.

The naval battle is about to begin. And it was this battle that would decide the outcome of Father's rebellion.

In the distance, yellow sails with a black gallant deer could be seen. A hundred galleys sailed towards them - with battering rams, scorpions, and battered lancers and armed sailors.

- May the Drowned God help us! - Shouted the captain of the Indefatigable, Urrek Sharp Fang. The Ironborn let out a roar.

Theon clutched the tip of his own sword. Tonight he would try to survive and prove to himself-he had not been reborn for nothing.

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

The two fleets froze between them. The Royal Navy looked more formidable, but was outnumbered by the ironborn. The iron-clad battle horns of the islanders sang, long and resounding. The battle has begun!

The first casualties - a huge Baratheon galea successfully rammed one of the Ironborn ships. There was a terrible creak of ripping wood, screams and splashing water. Not a good sign.

He fired - through the shuddering, aching fingers and the frantic rocking of the ship. Not knowing if he'd hit anyone, Theon fired one arrow after another. The tight bowstring snapped loudly and the scorpion at the stern let loose a huge bolt, but failed miserably, tearing only the enemy sails.

And the battle continued to reap its harvest - plentiful and bloody.

The first boardings by the ironborn. Bugs and cats flew, clawing at the bulwarks. The first skirmishes began - boarding spears and axes flashed.

'Indefatigable' crashed its ram into one of the galleys. Having unsuccessfully wedged in, the ironborn began to jump over the bow of their own ship to the enemy ship. The first braves died from the arrows and Theon found a new target - the archers at the stern.

The first few shots were unsuccessful, but a third wounded one of them in the leg and a fourth in the unprotected belly.

Urrek Sharp Fang burst into the front ranks, wearing a brigantine and a closed cape, terrorising the green-blooded with his two-handed axe. Once, the head of one sailor spurted blood like an overripe fruit. Another swing of the deadly weapon and another enemy warrior fell overboard with his head hollowed by the force of the blow.

The bloodbath was gaining momentum on board. Theon had to go to the aid of his brethren with his shield and sword. A bow was useless in such chaos.

A horn was heard in the distance, foreign and unknown. Greyjoy turned fearfully and saw a second armada coming at them. The bunch of grapes on the sails gave no doubt of the flotilla's identity - the Redwyne of Arbor.

A huge ship with three wine-red sails went ahead of them all, glittering white and gold at the oars.

Theon, distracted for a second, was almost struck in the head with his sword, but he dodged it. He took the enemy's second swing of the short sword and lunged sharply with the tip of the blade, just as he had been taught.

The steel easily passed through the rough cloth and human entrails fell out. Blue, glistening blue. An unbearable stench rose into his nostrils. With a reflexive wince, Theon interrupted the poor man's torment.

-For King Robert! - came a cry from behind him. The armoured warrior charged at the weak-looking Theon.

The castle-forged steel, both sharp and shining, flashed before him.

Swords clashed creating an inexpressible clang. Pain stabbed into his palms and Theon had to take a few steps back. The knight's blow was unbearably strong. All the other blows the teenager took on his shield.

A knock.

Knock.

Crack.

The top of the shield cracked and fell off, and the hand holding it was pierced by a new wave of pain.

Suddenly a one-handed axe came from the side and the knight who had not covered his head fell, stunned. Theon didn't hesitate to finish the man off.

'A knight of the sword,' Theon determined. If it had been a knight with a crest or a nobleman, perhaps he would have thought twice, but to risk trying to capture a common sword knight was foolishness.

The prince nodded to the warrior with the Goodbrasers' insignia. The sea battle had long ago become a dogfight, with ships as a kind of bridge and numerous sites of bloody carnage.

He was lost in the cycle of skirmishes. Half of his sword was covered in blood, as was his face. Breathing heavily and barely moving his feet, trying not to slip on the blood-soaked surface, Theon had no time to react to his new opponent.

The blow of the hammer nearly crushed his head. And then the warrior with the Baratheon crest began driving Theon to the edge of the ship with his sharp, swift blows. One slip and he was dead.

Finding himself at the very end of the enemy galleys, he squinted his eyes and realised that this was the end and closed his shield as if it were his last hope.

'If I am in this world by divine will, god has laughed cruelly at me!'.

A blow, a crack of the shield. Pain and emptiness from behind - and afterwards the sea, salt water that embraced the new victim with a cold embrace.

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

He was lucky - picked up by the retreating ships, whose sails were embroidered with the Harlow crest - a silver scythe on a black field. The islanders who picked up Theon were at first indifferent and unfriendly to him. Until they recognised him as the Prince of the Isles.

A tall man with a hard face stepped forward. Blond, dirty and long hair. He had managed to remove his armour and put on a black insulated cotta.

-Prince Theon,' he nodded, 'I am Harras Harlow, captain of this ship.

Wet, with a dislocated arm, he took a closer look.

Theon knew the man. Seen him many times in Pyke and on the streets of Lordport. Along with his older brother Rodrik, Harras had been one of the best friends of the late heir to the Iron Islands and bore the unusual nickname, 'The Knight.'

- Where are you going, Harras? - Theon asked bluntly as he was given a warm woollen blanket and the marching healer fixed his arm, examining it beforehand.

-To the Ten Towers, Your Highness. I'm afraid we can't get to Pyke - the Redwine ships are catching those who have sailed towards Pyke. We'll make a detour and stop at Harlow.

- Who else is with you?

- A couple of surviving Ironfleet galleys and a Volmark rook. Lord Volmark's dead and now they're being commanded by one of the sworn Volmark captains.

-All right,' Theon nodded, 'let's sail to the Ten Towers.

There was no choice. Robert Baratheon would be landing on the Isles in a week or two. It would be at least seven days before they reached Harlow and recovered.

Theon collapsed tiredly on the bed Harras had lent him. The blanket warmed him, and his arm stopped hurting. He had been given wine - and felt many times better.

'If fortune is merciful to me, sickness will pass me by. I didn't want to die shamefully of pneumonia or tetanus after such a battle.'

- Your Highness,' Harras Harlow addressed him, 'do you feel better?

- A little, but tolerable,' Theon replied, looking straight into the galea captain's eyes, 'tell me, did you see my kin's galleys? Were they able to escape?

- I saw the Iron Victory leading the remnants of the Iron Fleet away, through an unsealed passage in the strait. But I did not see your Uncle Euron's ship.

With a grateful nod, Theon stepped outside. A strange, colourful bird was nestled against the masts. The parrot did not participate in the battle, but always followed him as if tethered.

'A good night's sleep after such an adrenaline rush wouldn't hurt,' he thought, feeling his eyes slipping shut.

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

The Ten Towers was a young castle by the standards of Westeros. Built by the great-great-grandfather of the current Lord Harlow, Rodrik the Reader's fiefdom boasted wide walls and towers, each different from the other.

-Your Highness,' a young man of medium height with brown eyes and brown hair bowed, 'It is an honour to have you in my castle.

Theon immediately liked Rodrik the Reader-the lord was well-read and perceptive, unlike many of the nobles of the Isles. The nickname he received for his love of books did not endear him to many of the lords of the Iron Islands, which included Balon Greyjoy.

But there was no denying that the Harlows were the second most powerful and wealthy clan. Forty rooks were sent out by the lord of the island and all his sons. Only half the ships returned, and all of Rodrik's heirs perished off Bright Isle.

-Lord Rodrik,' Theon nodded, 'let us not speak of honour. We don't need it. Tell me, Uncle,' the teen emphasised the last word in his breaking voice, 'what news from Pyke?

- Last I heard, Pike was under siege, and Lordport fell in the early days. I fear the same fate will befall Old Wick and Orkmont. The strongholds there can boast no fortifications, unlike Hammerhorn or the lands of Sunderley.

Standing at the high carved throne, Lord Harlow looked intently at the youngest of Baelon's sons. He was Theon's mother's brother, and by human law was considered an uncle on a par with Victarion and Euron.

- Is my uncle Aaron or Euron alive? Is there any news of Maron, my older brother?

- No one knows where your uncle is, but I'm sure the Raven's Eye will not die so easily,' Rodrik replied, trying to hide the distaste in his voice. Your brother Maron is in Pyke, of that I am well aware, and your uncle Aeron is either dead or a prisoner.

Tiredly, he closed his eyes and thought. What should he do? Victarion's surviving men had come under his command, but the reason for their submission was not Theon's charisma, but his title and the absence of a more superior relative from the family of the Lords of the Isles.

Lord Harlow himself has lost half his fleet and men, his sons and more likely his ultimate belief in victory. Would he help if Theon decided to act?

And what could he do against the hardened army of the Demon Trident? Only die foolishly and lead to the death of those who had miraculously survived that bloodbath off the coast of the West.

Indifference. All he could do was wait quietly, leaving his kin to their fate. Inaction is a poison to the soul, but he did not suffer from that.

He asked one last question, sudden and abrupt:

-Lord Rodrik, where is your library?

The Reader's eyebrows rose in surprise.