Game of Thrones Iron Stark

Theon stepped off the ship and spotted a tall man with long, wet hair standing on the dock like he'd been waiting all morning. Aeron Greyjoy. His uncle. The priest of the Drowned God.

"Uncle!" Theon called out before his boots even hit the planks.

Aeron turned, brown eyes cold. "You're back, Theon. Did you feel that storm last night? The Drowned God noticed your return."

Theon forced a smile. "Was it really him? Looked like regular weather to me."

Aeron stepped closer. "Blasphemy like that will get you thrown to the sharks. You believe in the Drowned God or you don't, boy. Choose."

Theon swallowed. "I believe. What is dead may never die."

Aeron's mouth twitched. "Good. Your father's waiting."

They walked together toward Pyke. The castle was smaller and colder than Winterfell, but at least it had fires burning in every hall. The damp never left the air.

Balon Greyjoy stood by the hearth, back straight, shadow huge on the stone wall. He turned slowly when Theon entered.

"Father."

Balon studied him like he was examining a bad catch. "You're home. Bit early. Eddard Stark didn't say he was sending you back."

"Lord Eddard's Hand of the King now. I came to deliver Robert's order. The Lannisters are sailing north from Lannisport. They'll stop here. The king wants the Iron Fleet to join them and head to Bear Island."

Balon gave a short, ugly laugh. "You sound like a greenlander already. Calling men by their first names. Robert. Eddard. You've forgotten who you are."

Theon stood taller. "I want to stay. Fight with the Ironborn. Prove I'm still a Greyjoy. If I earn my place, Robb said he'd ask Lord Eddard to let me come home for good."

Balon's eyes narrowed. "Why would you want to come back? Winterfell has hot springs and pretty girls. What do we have here? Reaving and rocks?"

"I'm ironborn," Theon said firmly. "The snow never turned me into a wolf. I'm still a kraken."

Balon stared at him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Fine. You get one chance. Aeron, fetch Victarion. He's taking a thousand men north. Theon sails with him as a common sailor. Let's see if he remembers how to be one of us."

Theon stayed on the Iron Islands, but the whispers started the same day. Some said he wasn't a true Greyjoy. Some said he was a Stark now. A few even claimed he was Robert Baratheon's bastard—same name, same golden hair when he was younger. Theon killed three men who said it too loudly. After that, most kept their mouths shut.

Balon heard about the killings. He didn't punish him. He didn't praise him either.

That night Theon sat at his desk writing to Robb, telling him the fleet would sail on time. He'd just sent the raven when someone knocked.

A woman walked in without waiting—tall, strong, with a chest that could stop a ship and a face that had clearly grown into its beauty.

Theon stood up fast. "Who the hell are you?"

She grinned. "You don't recognize your own sister?"

Theon blinked. Then his eyes went wide.

"Asha?"

She moved like lightning. One punch to the gut, a knee to the ribs, and Theon was on the floor. Before he could fight back she had him tied to the bedpost with his own belt.

"You try to feel up your own sister the second you see her?" Asha laughed. "Pathetic. You haven't even been baptized yet. You're not even ironborn until the Drowned God claims you."

"Untie me! I'm sorry! I didn't know—"

"Too late, little brother. Sleep tight."

She left him there, still laughing.

The next morning the entire island gathered for Theon's drowning. Aeron stood ready with the priests. Victarion leaned on his axe, looking bored. Balon waited with arms crossed.

Theon was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's the little kraken?" Victarion growled. "Out fucking already?"

Just as the crowd started muttering, Theon came running down the path, hair wild, clothes half-buttoned, rope burns still red on his wrists.

He made it just in time for the ceremony.

Barely.