Theon's defiance infuriated his father. King Balon's lips twitched as he glared at the son who looked and acted like a pampered mainlander. This fool had lived in the North for too long, forgetting that the Ironborn respected strength far more than titles.
"Shut your mouth, Theon," Balon snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Before I have you thrown in a dungeon."
The threat only stoked Theon's anger. This old man had no regard for him as a son. And to think he had rushed all the way back from the Westerlands, believing he was securing a future for the Iron Islands. It was all for nothing.
Asha, seeing the fury in her father's eyes and the resentment on her brother's face, decided to intervene. "Enough," she said, cutting through the tension. She tossed the small axe she was holding onto a nearby table. It landed with a sharp thunk. She looked Theon up and down, her chin raised. "What did your Stark boy send you back here to do? Tell us the purpose of your return."
"Robb didn't send me! This was my idea!" Theon insisted, his voice rising.
King Balon simply watched him from the Salt Throne, his expression cold and unmoving.
Asha raised an eyebrow. "Alright. Then tell us your idea."
"I persuaded Robb to agree to an alliance with us," Theon said, his tone swelling with pride. "He trusts me. I was to return, lead the Iron Fleet, and raid the coastal towns of the Westerlands to support his campaign." The more he spoke, the more excited he became. "With our forces combined, the Westerlands will fall! The Iron Islands will not only gain the wealth from the raids but will also have our status as one of the great kingdoms restored! It took everything I had to convince Robb, and I did it!"
Balon finally broke his silence with a dry sneer. "These are the terms you're so proud of? Does the Stark boy think I'm a beggar to be sent after scraps? This isn't an offer. It's an insult to me and to every man in the Iron Islands."
Theon froze, stunned. This was not the reaction he had expected. He had imagined returning with Robb's promise, forging an alliance, and being hailed as a hero. He would lead the fleet, stand as an equal to Robb, and finally secure his inheritance. Why was his father so opposed? What had he missed?
A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. He looked at Asha, who wore a knowing smirk, and then at his father's contemptuous face. "No," he stammered. "Robb is sincere. I know him, I trust him. If we just—"
"Quiet," Balon interrupted mercilessly, his voice like iron. "Lord Tywin of the Westerlands is far more sincere than your precious Robb Stark. I have already summoned the captains. Asha herself will lead our fleet to Sea Dragon Point, take Deepwood Motte, and then seize Moat Cailin. We will cut Robb's army off from the North, and the entire kingdom will become our hunting ground."
Theon stared in disbelief. "You... you've allied with the Lannisters?"
"That's right," Asha said with a proud smile. "Lord Tywin sent a raven to Father himself. He has promised us the entire North. Compared to what your brother Robb offered, Lord Tywin is far more generous. So, Father chose to ally with him."
Theon's world crumbled. This was the complete opposite of what he had planned. He was utterly lost.
Balon Greyjoy slowly rose from his throne, looking down at his shocked and broken son. "Theon, if you are still a follower of the Drowned God, if the blood of House Greyjoy still runs in your veins, then you will prove it to me in this raid." His voice was devoid of warmth. "Or perhaps you and the Stark boy truly are brothers now. If so, you are no longer my son, and the Iron Islands will never be yours."
Balon's words sent a chill through Theon's entire body. Without the Greyjoy name, without his inheritance, he would have nothing. If he returned to the North now, a traitor to his own family, he would have no value to Robb. Would his friend even care for him then? He couldn't lose his position as heir to the Iron Islands. It was all he had left.
Yet, the thought of betraying the Starks, the family he had grown up with, churned in his gut. Robb was his brother in all but blood. He couldn't bring himself to attack them. Torn by an impossible choice, Theon stood paralyzed by his own anguish.
Seeing his hesitation, Balon and Asha turned to leave, their disappointment clear. Just as they were about to exit the hall, Theon finally made his decision.
"Give me a few ships," he said, his voice hard and steady. He looked at his father and sister, his eyes shining with desperate resolve. "Give me a few hundred men, and I will take Winterfell myself."
Balon and Asha agreed. No one knew Winterfell better than Theon. If anyone could take it with a small force, it was him.
The Iron Fleet began to assemble. Asha took the bulk of the ships and sailed for Sea Dragon Point to begin the raid on Deepwood Motte, before turning south to capture Moat Cailin and block Robb's army from returning home.
A few days earlier, Jason had led his enormous column of refugees safely through that same causeway. He finally arrived back at the main logging camp in the Wolfswood. The site was now managed by a junior maester who had sworn allegiance to him and was protected by a garrison of a thousand spearmen.
Jason had settled about twenty thousand of the refugees from the Riverlands here, tripling the size of the settlement. The warehouses, once meant for stacking logs, had been expanded fivefold. Over the past few months, the workers had stockpiled more than three million logs. This was achieved while most of the manpower was busy expanding the camp itself. If all twenty thousand men were put to the task of felling trees, they could likely harvest two million logs in a single month.
Jason toured the grounds with his guards. This was no longer just a logging camp. It had become a bustling, sprawling town built on timber and industry.
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