[Chapter Size: 1000 Words.]
---------------------------------------
The next day, Theon led his army to Charcoal Keep.
The troops were stationed outside the city, while Theon entered alone.
Soon, he reached the castle hall, guided by his attendants.
At that moment, the hall was filled with Northern lords from both factions. Bran sat upon the high seat, with Summer lying at his side.
Theon walked forward slowly, pulled up a chair in front of Bran, and sat down.
"Bran, it has been a long time since we last met," Theon said softly.
"Yes, it has, Theon."
It had been four or five years since their last meeting. Bran looked much older, while Theon appeared unchanged.
"Perhaps my father should never have gone south back then. The Kingsroad is no place for a man like him." Bran's voice trembled slightly.
"Hah…" Theon let out a long sigh. "My father truly wasn't suited for that world. He was far more honest than I thought. Perhaps I should not have returned to the Iron Islands in the first place." His tone was heavy with regret.
"The Iron Islands are your home, not the North. Once I dreamed that Winterfell would be swallowed by a great wave, and my dreams often come true—just as I once dreamt of seeing my father's statue in the crypts below the castle." Bran's voice grew calm again.
The Northern lords murmured among themselves; Bran had never spoken of such visions before.
"The sea will not drown the North, Bran," Theon replied. "It will only bring wealth and resources. Swear loyalty to me and accept my reforms, and I will spare the lives of the Northern lords."
The lords erupted in anger. How dare he come alone, insult us to our faces, and now speak with such arrogance?
"Young Theon, do not think we fear you simply because twenty thousand men wait outside the city. Should true battle break out, the outcome is far from certain," said a fat, middle-aged man.
"Solidar, you foolish old man—you are still as dim-witted as ever. I will give you one chance. Summon your men, and if you can wound me, I will withdraw and hand over Moat Cailin and White Harbor."
Theon sneered. Solidar, one of the Northern lords, was tall and strong but not known for wit. He had clashed with Theon before.
Suddenly, a flash of white light filled the hall, and gleaming white armor appeared upon Theon. "Why do you think I dared to come here alone?"
"Enough, Solidar. Leave us," Bran commanded at once, unwilling to see him die pointlessly.
Then Bran turned to Theon. "Do not be angered, Theon. You know his nature."
Theon dismissed the armor, seeing the shock it caused. His intent had been to intimidate, but Bran's intervention defused the moment.
"I am willing to lead the Northern lords in submission and accept your reforms," Bran said, "but I have one condition."
"You are in no position to demand conditions, Bran. Surely you understand that."
Bran ignored the remark. "I want the head of Roose Bolton. Walder Frey's daughter has married you, and my brother broke the pact first—but Roose Bolton must still pay with his life."
His meaning was clear. Robb Stark had broken faith, and Frey had joined with Bolton to kill him. With Frey now tied to Theon by marriage, Bran had no claim against him. But Bolton had been Robb's bannerman, owing no loyalty to Theon. His death was the price of Northern submission.
Theon studied Bran's determined gaze, then nodded. "I accept your condition. Roose Bolton's head will be yours."
"Then I, Bran Stark, declare that the North submits to the King of the Iron Islands and shall obey his will!"
Though the Northern lords were unwilling, they understood this was the best outcome possible. One by one, they bent the knee.
They also knew what this meant: under the political systems of the Riverlands and the Iron Islands, they would no longer rule their lands autonomously.
One of the lords spoke up: "Your Grace, will we also be allowed to trade glass and refined salt in the future?"
The others looked to Theon. Having surrendered their independence, economic rights were now of utmost concern.
Theon answered plainly: "Of course. I know these matters affect your livelihoods. I will establish a factory in the North and distribute trade fairly among you."
His assurance brought relief. Autonomy was lost, but wealth and comfort were still within reach.
In the days that followed, Theon summoned another host, leaving twenty thousand men to garrison Winterfell. With the remaining ten thousand, he marched toward the Dreadfort.
Yet the North was sparsely populated. By Theon's estimation, after Robb's march south and years of civil strife, the population of the entire region had fallen below four hundred thousand.
—————————
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and wish to support me, you can visit my P-@-t-r-3-0-n, where you can read 100+ extra chapters ahead!
Thank you so much for your support. It means the world! 💙😊
P-@-T -r-3-0-n [.] com / DylanBriak