Theon Greyjoy gazed at the familiar stone walls of Winterfell, a storm of conflicting emotions churning within him. For ten years, this castle had been his home, the Starks his family in all but name.
But the thought of capturing Winterfell, the very heart of the North, quickly overshadowed any nostalgia. This was his chance to earn the respect of the Ironborn, to make his father, King Balon, proud, and to secure his place as the rightful heir to the Iron Islands. The thought made him tremble with a dark excitement.
He imagined it all. If the Iron Islands could seize the entire North, the Greyjoys would rule two of the great kingdoms. They would be the most powerful family in the land, and he, Theon, would be the prince who made it happen.
Compared to that glorious future, what was the kindness the Starks had shown him? It was nothing. He was a kraken of the sea, not a wolf of the snows.
Pushing aside any lingering loyalty, he turned to the raiders lurking in the shadows beside him. "Listen carefully," he whispered, his voice sharp. "You'll all hide until we've taken the gate. Once it's open, follow me inside and kill anyone who stands in your way."
"Aye, Lord Theon," the sea-worn pirates muttered, their eyes glinting with greed as they stared at the majestic castle.
"Remember," Theon added, his tone hardening, "don't harm the Starks. We need them alive to control the North. Kill the guards, but leave the family to me."
The Ironborn nodded. They were sworn to obey him, the future king of the Iron Islands.
Once his men were hidden in the darkness, Theon chose his five most ruthless raiders and strode confidently toward the castle gate, his posture relaxed and familiar.
"Who goes there? Stop!" a voice called down from the battlements as a guard held a torch over the edge, peering into the night.
"It's me!" Theon called back, a friendly smile on his face. "Open up! I have an urgent message for Lady Catelyn from Lord Robb."
He had spent nearly a decade here, sneaking out with Robb for mischief or slipping into Winter Town alone. The guards knew him well.
Hearing the familiar voice, the man on the wall relaxed. "Theon!" he shouted down as he and a few others made their way to open the gate. "It's been too long! We heard you were with Lord Robb, fighting down in the Riverlands. They say you even helped capture the Kingslayer!"
Creak...
The heavy gates swung open, and a few guards stepped out, greeting Theon with familiar smiles, completely unaware of the impending danger.
Theon smiled back, walking toward them with his men trailing close behind. He kept one hand casually resting on the dagger hidden at his belt. "Of course," he boasted. "Lord Robb is leading us to victory. We've got the Lannisters on the run."
As they drew closer, one of the guards eyed the five grim-faced men behind Theon. "And these men are...?"
"Now!" Theon roared before the guard could finish. He lunged forward, clapping a hand over the man's mouth while his other hand drew his dagger and slit the man's throat in one smooth, brutal motion.
Puff—
The coppery smell of blood filled the cold night air.
At the signal, the other five Ironborn drew their own weapons. Before the remaining guards could even react, steel plunged into their chests.
A single, horrified scream cut through the night—the perfect signal for the two hundred Ironborn hiding outside the walls.
Thump, thump, thump...
The sound of running feet echoed as Theon's forces swarmed through the now-open gate. A wave of relief washed over him as he watched them pour into the castle. He grinned, a manic, triumphant look on his face. "Quickly!" he yelled. "Follow me! Find the Starks!"
Leading the charge, Theon and his Ironborn caught the castle's defenders completely by surprise. The peaceful night erupted into a chaotic symphony of clashing steel and dying screams.
Inside the great hall, the sounds of battle reached the banquet. Jason, who had been enjoying the feast, instantly became alert. At a lower table, Rick and Kent were on their feet in a second.
"To arms!" Kent shouted, his voice cutting through the rising panic. "Protect Mr. Jason!"
In an instant, fifty of Jason's most elite guards dropped their wine goblets, drew their swords, and donned the steel helms they had placed on the table beside them. They formed a disciplined perimeter around Jason, who remained seated, his expression calm.
Lady Catelyn's face was white with fear. "What's happening?" she stammered, grabbing the armrest of her chair. "Ser Rodrik, take some men and find out!"
"At once, my lady!" Ser Rodrik Cassel, his face grim, drew his sword and rushed from the hall with a handful of Stark guards. Moments later, his voice could be heard outside, shouting orders and trying to rally the castle's defenders.
Having already survived the horrors in King's Landing, Sansa and Bran were pale and shivering with fear. Little Rickon, crying, ran and hid himself in his mother's arms.
Maester Luwin, though clearly unnerved, kept his composure. He turned to Jason. "Lord Jason," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos, "would you lend some of your guards to protect Lady Catelyn and the children?"
Jason hadn't yet identified the attackers, but he felt no worry. With fifty of his best men surrounding him, he could easily fight his way out of Winterfell and get reinforcements from his logging camp. Besides, the hundred soldiers he had stationed in Winter Town would surely be on their way after hearing the commotion.
He calmly considered the Maester's request. "Don't worry," he replied, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of panic. "I'll make sure Lady Catelyn and her children are safe."
Outside in the main courtyard, Theon and his men cut down any Winterfell soldier who dared to resist. The castle's servants screamed and scattered. Theon grabbed a terrified maid, pressing his blood-stained sword against her neck.
"Where is Lady Catelyn?" he snarled. "Where are the Starks?"
The girl trembled violently, her eyes fixed on the bloody steel. "In... in the great hall..." she sobbed.
Theon let out a chilling laugh and caressed her cheek with his blood-soaked glove. He shoved her away and pointed his sword toward the hall. "Everyone, with me!"
He led the charge across the yard, hacking down the few remaining soldiers who tried to stop them.
By the time Theon and his two hundred Ironborn stormed the main courtyard, Ser Rodrik had managed to rally a few dozen loyal Stark soldiers. They formed a desperate line of defense before the great hall's doors, a handful of wolves standing against a rising tide of krakens.
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