When Ser Rodrik Cassel saw Theon Greyjoy, his face smeared with blood and flanked by fierce Ironborn raiders, his eyes widened in disbelief. "Theon!" he roared, his voice thick with outrage. "What is the meaning of this? You dare betray House Stark?"
Theon wiped a streak of blood from his cheek, the act making his expression seem all the more vicious. "Betrayal? You're wrong, old man. I was never a Stark. My name is Greyjoy! I'm simply returning to my true family and taking vengeance on yours."
"You bastard!" Ser Rodrik's chest heaved with fury. "Lord Eddard treated you like his own son! And this is how you repay him? By attacking his home and killing the very people you grew up with? You ungrateful dog!"
The memory of the familiar guards he had just cut down flashed through Theon's mind, stirring a flicker of discomfort. But he had come too far to turn back now. There was no room for regret.
"Ser Rodrik, for the sake of the years we knew each other, surrender!" Theon said coldly, hoping he could take Winterfell without any more fighting.
"Pah!" Ser Rodrik spat on the ground. He raised his sword, his eyes burning with righteous anger. "I will cut off your treacherous head with my own hands, Theon!" With a battle cry, he led his small band of Stark soldiers charging toward the invaders.
Theon's face twisted into an ugly snarl. "Kill them all!" he commanded.
The two hundred Ironborn surged forward, their axes and swords meeting the steel of the Winterfell guards. The courtyard erupted into a maelstrom of violence.
The Ironborn, handpicked for their strength and savagery, quickly overwhelmed the outnumbered Stark men. An Ironborn's axe crunched through the neck of a Stark guard, sending a spray of blood across the stones. The soldier's eyes were wide with terror as his life faded. The raider kicked the body aside, wrenched his axe free, and charged at his next victim.
"My hand! Ah, my hand is broken!"
"Kill them! Guard the entrance to the hall!"
"The Starks are inside! Get in there and grab them!"
The screams of the dying and the savage shouts of the Ironborn echoed across the yard. Inside the great hall, every cry made the Starks flinch. Lady Catelyn held her two sons in a desperate embrace, while Sansa huddled beside them, her wide blue eyes filled with panic.
Maester Luwin's bald head was beaded with sweat. They had all heard Ser Rodrik shout Theon's name. It was unbelievable, unthinkable, that Theon Greyjoy, their Theon, was the one leading this attack.
As the shouts of the enemy grew louder and the sounds from the Stark soldiers dwindled, Jason knew the defenders outside were losing. He recalled the story from his world: Theon had taken Winterfell with only a few hundred men, relying entirely on the element of surprise.
We can't just sit here and wait to be captured, Jason thought. It would be far more dangerous once Theon's men finished off the last of the guards.
Just as he was about to order his fifty elite bodyguards to fight their way out, the doors to the hall burst open with a loud bang. Ser Rodrik and several Stark soldiers, all covered in blood, were thrown inside, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.
The thick, metallic scent of blood instantly filled the room.
"Ahhh!" Sansa screamed at the sight of the grievously wounded Ser Rodrik. Bran buried his face in his mother's dress, too afraid to look. The bloody scene was a horrifying reminder of the nightmare they had endured in the Red Keep.
Theon Greyjoy stepped through the doorway, his sword dripping dark red blood onto the stone floor. He strode into the hall, leaving a trail of bloody drops behind him.
His confident advance faltered when he saw the scene before him. Fifty of Jason's soldiers stood in perfect formation, fully armed and armored. Behind their steel wall stood Jason of Starfire City, calmly observing him, with the terrified Stark family protected behind them all.
This was not how he had imagined it. He thought he would simply walk in and capture them all. Now, he was faced with a contingent of fresh, heavily armed soldiers. After the fight in the courtyard, his own men were breathing heavily, tired and bloodied. Theon hesitated.
He raised his sword, pointing it not at the soldiers, but past them toward the people they protected. "Lady Catelyn! Lord Jason! Surrender! Look around you—you're completely surrounded. My men have control of the entire castle."
He tried to sound confident. "I don't want to hurt any of you. For the sake of the past, I promise you will not be harmed if you surrender now!"
Lady Catelyn, trembling with a mixture of grief and rage, clutched her sons tighter. "Theon... why?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Why would you do this? Ned and I... we treated you as our own son. We thought you were a member of our family. Robb loves you like a brother..."
"Family? Brother?" Theon scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Don't fool yourself, Lady Catelyn. If you'd said that before today, I might have been moved. But it's too late. I was never a Stark. My name is Greyjoy, a name that always reminded me that I was nothing more than a hostage here in Winterfell! A chain you held around my father's neck!"
The sheer venom of his betrayal left Lady Catelyn speechless.
Jason took a step forward, and Kent immediately flanked him with several guards, forming a tight protective circle around him.
"Theon," Jason said, his voice calm and measured. "You must not have brought many men with you, did you?"
He had been watching closely. Fewer than two hundred Ironborn had followed Theon into the hall, and they were all panting from their recent battle. Jason guessed that this was the extent of Theon's force. If he had more men, the arrogant young lord wouldn't be standing here negotiating; he would have already ordered an attack.
At Jason's words, Theon's expression flickered. He instinctively glanced back at his weary, blood-spattered raiders, his bravado suddenly looking fragile.
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