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Chapter 65 – "Greyjoy in the Wolf's Den"
POV: Theon Greyjoy
Winterfell.
The name always stirred a complex mess in Theon Greyjoy's gut — a mix of contempt, comfort, and resentment. The cold halls, the grey stones, the smell of pine and snow — they were all too familiar. He'd been living here since he was a boy of ten, a political hostage taken after his father's rebellion.
A Greyjoy raised among wolves. A prince without a crown. A guest without freedom.
And yet, as much as he loathed the title of hostage, there were luxuries here he didn't mind — warm fires, fine meat, and an education that, though begrudged, made him sharper than any reaver of the Iron Islands.
Winterfell had grown quieter after Cregan left years ago. That bloody bastard with the dead eyes and cold fire in his veins. Even back then, Theon hated the way Cregan looked at him — like he was prey, not a guest. Like the only reason he was still breathing was because Eddard Stark allowed it. Theon could never truly breathe when Cregan was around.
At least Robb was bearable. Theon respected him enough. They shared training sessions, the occasional drink, even some laughter when no one else was looking. Robb had the Stark look but was fairer, more even-tempered than his bloodthirsty twin. He was the heir — and in Theon's mind, the only Stark worth placating. Keeping Robb happy was like keeping the sea calm before a raid.
But now Cregan was back, and with him came the tension, the invisible leash around Theon's neck tightening again.
So Theon had taken to avoiding the family, lingering in lesser halls, bedding servant girls, brooding in high towers. But not today. Today, he saw something new — something worth coming out of self-exile for.
Three women. Exotic. Confident. Radiating danger and allure.
They weren't Northern, that was for sure. Dornish, by their looks — sun-kissed skin, loose silks, and eyes like hot coals. And they didn't look like traveling merchants or visiting wives. These were warriors.
And Theon Greyjoy had never tasted Dornish fruit.
---
He approached them with his best smile, wine-heavy breath curling in the cool air.
"Well now," he drawled, "Winterfell just got warmer."
The tallest one, lean and scarred — Obara, though he didn't know her name — barely looked at him. The second, with the sly smile and dangerous curves — Tyene — arched an eyebrow. The third, elegant and watchful — Nymeria — gave him a glance that cut sharper than any sword.
Theon tried anyway.
"Aren't you three cold in that Dornish silk? Perhaps I could warm you up."
No response.
He chuckled, unfazed. "I've heard Dornish women are… generous. Passionate. Open-minded. Shall we put the rumors to the test?"
Still nothing.
He leaned closer to Tyene, hand brushing her waist. "Come now, don't be shy—"
And in one motion, he was flat on his back, his arm twisted behind him, Tyene's knee pressed hard into his chest.
"Touch me again," she said sweetly, "and I'll rip out your tongue through your pretty little teeth."
Theon tried to move. She twisted harder. He yelped.
---
"What is going on here?"
A voice colder than Winterfell's stones rang out. Everyone turned.
Cregan Stark stood at the top of the steps, arms folded, black armor still dusted with snow, a direwolf trailing behind him like a shadow.
Tyene didn't move.
Obara spoke first. "This one tried to put his hands on her. Without invitation."
Cregan walked forward slowly, eyes on Theon like a wolf measuring a crippled deer.
"He's Greyjoy," he said. "Bound to disappoint."
Theon squirmed. "It was a misunderstanding. I was just—"
"Trying to fuck something you couldn't handle?" Cregan cut in.
Theon swallowed hard.
Cregan crouched beside him, his face unreadable, voice calm. "If you ever touch one of my women again without consent — I will cut off your cock and feed it to Shadow."
Theon turned his head. The direwolf growled low, stepping forward.
Cregan stood, glancing at Tyene. "Let him up. He's learned enough for today."
Tyene released him. Theon scrambled back, red-faced and humiliated.
---
As he limped away, Cregan turned to the Sand Snakes kissing each one, voice casual.
"I hope you're settling in well."
Tyene smiled. "Better than expected. Good view. Excellent entertainment."
Nymeria tilted her head. "Are all your prisoners this pathetic?"
Cregan smirked. "Only the Ironborn."
Obara added, "You didn't kill him."
"Not yet, Robb wants him to live ,so he lives ." Cregan replied.
Then he turned, cloak whipping behind him, and left the courtyard without another word — his direwolf trailing close, and the Sand Snakes following him.
---
Winterfell – Courtyard at Dawn
The chill of early morning clung to the stones like a second skin. A hush had fallen over Winterfell as Cregan Stark stood in the center of the courtyard, dressed in his dark riding leathers, a black wolf-cloak clasped at the shoulder. At his side was shadow, pacing slowly, alert and sensing the shift in his alpha's mood.
The black-steel axe was strapped to his back. His sword, Valyrian-forged and sharp as loss, hung at his hip.
His siblings gathered near the stables — Robb, arms folded tight, face still and unreadable; Sansa, holding Lyanna close, her eyes too bright; Arya, trying not to look sad and failing; Bran and Rickon sad Thier fun brother has to go.
Even Torrhen, confused, clung to his older sister's hand. "Where is uncle going?"
"Far," Lyanna whispered, hugging him tighter. "But he'll come back."
---
Ned Stark stepped forward, resting a gloved hand on his son's shoulder.
"You don't have to do this alone."
"I do," Cregan replied, his voice low and calm. "This fight is in Essos. It started with me — it should end with me."
Robb clenched his jaw. "Then end it quickly. I'll hold the North. But you... you come back in one piece."
Cregan gave a crooked smile. "I'm too stubborn to die, brother. You know that."
Robb gave him a quick embrace and muttered, "Don't make me cross the Narrow Sea just to drag your corpse back."
---
Sansa came next, offering him a fur-lined satchel. "For warmth… and for luck. And maybe a comb, gods know you won't use one."
He smiled at her grace, taking the satchel gently. "Keep Arya from burning the kitchens while I'm gone."
"I heard that!" Arya snapped behind her. "And I don't burn everything."
She stepped forward, eyes blazing. "Bring me back a real Essosi blade."
"I'll bring you back a hundred," Cregan promised.
---
Then came Bran and Rickon, who ran up and hugged his legs. "Don't be gone long," Bran said. "Echo gets grumpy when you're not here."
Rickon added, "And Boulder howled all night when you left last time."
Cregan crouched down and tousled both their heads. "I'll tell them to guard you till I return. All of them."
---
Lyanna stood stiffly nearby, hands clenched at her sides, her mouth drawn in a fierce frown. She refused to cry — just stared at him like he'd kicked her direwolf.
"You're going," she muttered.
"I have to."
"You always have to," she snapped. "You always leave when things get fun."
He knelt before her. "Lyanna…"
"I don't care," she said too quickly. "You're stupid and your wolves stink."
Cregan smiled softly. "True. But you still love me, don't you?"
"I guess," she grumbled, then threw her arms around his neck.
He held her close, eyes softening.
"When I come back, you'll be better than me with the sword."
"You promise?"
"I swear it."
---
As he mounted his horse, the Frostguard assembled silently, awaiting the order.
But Jon Snow approached from the ramparts, arms folded.
"You're sure about this?"
"Tywin Lannister hired the Second Sons," Cregan said. "That's not a message. It's a declaration. They won't stop until we're ruined — or dead."
Jon didn't argue. He simply nodded.
"Then go. End it before it spreads."
Cregan clasped his forearm. "Hold the North, brother. And keep my wolves from raiding the kitchens."
"I'll try," Jon replied. "But wolves listens to no man except you."
---
As the gates of Winterfell opened and the wind howled through, Cregan glanced one last time over his shoulder — at the family he bled for, at the land he fought to enrich.
Then he whispered to himself, "Let the Second Sons come. I've tamed worse."
With Shadow at his side, and the Sand Snakes joining the column at the edge of the woods, Cregan Stark rode into the rising dawn, toward ships awaiting him — toward war across the sea.
And Starks watched him go.
---
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