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Rating:
Mature
Archive Warning:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category:
Gen
Fandoms:
Game of Thrones (TV)Warhammer Fantasy
Characters:
Sansa StarkArya StarkGregor CleganeRobb StarkBrienne of TarthJaime LannisterSkaven Characters (Warhammer Fantasy)Tyrion LannisterOther ASoIaF | GoT Character(s)Queek Headtakerthrot the uncleanSnikch (Warhammer Fantasy)Theon GreyjoyThanquol (Warhammer Age of Sigmar)Asha Greyjoy | Yara GreyjoyTretch Craventail
Additional Tags:
Skaven Species (Warhammer Fantasy)Game of Thrones-Typical ViolenceWar of the Five Kings (A Song of Ice and Fire)POV AlternatingGame of Thrones Season/Series 03Blood and ViolenceCanon-Typical BehaviorBrienne of Tarth is the BestSansa Stark Deserves BetterDirewolves (A Song of Ice and Fire)No Warhammer knowledge requiredTheon Greyjoy Doesn't Betray Robb StarkSkaven are both horrific and hilariousno beta we die like nedImplied/Referenced SuicideCorpse Desecration
Language:
English
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Published:2026-06-07Updated:2026-07-18Words:59,282Chapters:9/13Comments:142Kudos:114Bookmarks:18Hits:4,532
The Glorious Skaven Invasion during the War of the Five Kings
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 3: With love, Ikit Claw
Notes:
ramblings
Chapter Text
The cells in Castle Pyke were freezing cold, even with the seal skin blankets Theon had been given. The bed had worn fur blankets, with a single table wedged in one corner and a single lantern hanging from the middle of the cell. It was one of the 'fancier' ones, Theon had been told, but that was a bare comfort. The cells had one corner pocked with holes, showing the raging sea down below. What passed for a privy in that prison.
Everything of Castle Pyke was carved from dark stone with most of the outside of the castle caked in layers of green lichen, grown over thousands of years. The castle was spread across three isles, so worn and battered from the ceaseless ocean they were barren and bare of anything beyond the keep they held high and with rickety rope bridges connecting them.
Theon was sick of the noise of the ocean. Just a constant dull roar that never stopped, just like the stink of the sea.
Occasionally a sallow-faced woman would deliver him meals, which at the very least were hot, but other than that Theon was left alone besides guard patrols which ignored him. Otherwise the majority of Ironborn had left the isles to fight in the invasion of the North.
He supposed he should feel lucky Balon hadn't beheaded him for his actions. Or had drowned him? He actually wasn't too sure how executions were mete out on the Iron Islands.
'The wolf pup has gone south with the entirety of the Northern army at his back. While he's tangling with the lion in the Westerlands, the North is ripe for the taking. The Ironborn will reave and pillage, as it was in the old days, all along the northern coast. We'll spread our dominion across the green lands, securing the Neck and everything above. Every stronghold will yield to us, one by one. Winterfell may defy us for a year but what of it? The rest shall be ours, forest, field, and hall.'
Theon never should've left Robb's side. Balon was as stupid and bitter as everyone said. After hearing such idiocy in the throne room, with Balon having sent various letters across the realm already declaring himself King of the Iron Islands, Theon had listened as Balon and Yara looked over the map of Westeros and pointing out places of interest across the North to invade. Listened and then afterwards penned a letter to Robb, telling him about Balon's refusal to accept terms and his plans to attack, and sent it through one of the bedraggled ravens in the keep.
He supposed he just lucked out he had actually managed to find the rookery and send a raven before being caught. Lucky, yet Theon had no idea if it would do anything in the long run. They hadn't enough men to take the south, they needed ships to take King's Landing and now Balon was planning to invade the North. Winterfell was sparsely defended, Bran and Rickon only children. Everything was sparsely defended.
Winterfell wasn't wealthy, in gold or resources, it made only sense in terms of pettiness. Revenge for people decades dead.
Theon had no idea if his father was senile but he'd heard one of the guards call Balon 'the twice crowned'. His last rebellion ended in shame and Theon knew this one would be the same. The Ironborn always lost. It was just how it was.
He was left alone, ate his food, slept, used the hole in the floor, had a lukewarm bath once a week and did nothing for days on end. He could count the days easily enough, even if scratching the wall of his cell didn't do much good considering how many previous marks were scratched onto the stone.
Sometimes in the night, down far below upon the twisted crags at the base of Castle Pyke, he could see shadows darting about. So small they looked no larger than a speck, like mouse in the shadows. Scrambling around the rocks, along the boulders jutting from the sea, through the water-washed arches that once had been boulders. Ironborn were a mad lot, Theon had thought, when he lay there one night and watched the people down below through the holes in the cell floor. Boats could not moor at the castle, the Lordsport at the north edge of the isle was the only safe harbour upon Pyke. He wondered if those down below were bored children left behind as their parents left to war, as they did not seem to fear being swept out to sea. Instead they were as nimble as tumblers and Theon envied their freedom.
The shadows appeared and then disappeared at each dusk and dawn, until they never showed up again after a month had passed. Over a month he had been in the cell. Balon never visited him. Yara neither.
Until his sister finally appeared.
It was in the dead of night, a full moon, when Yara unlocked his cell with a lantern in hand.
She kicked him awake, features blank as she said, "Get up."
Theon fell off the bed, having to flail before he could rid himself of the blankets and stumble to his feet.
"What now?" he groaned, not in the mood.
"So you have remained in your choice," Yara said, brandishing the lantern at him. "You'd have our father bow down to your other family, demand we continue to serve?"
"And you're as stupid as he is if you think the Ironborn can hold any of those positions," Theon snapped, annoyed at being woken up just to be lectured. "Every single time they've risen up they've been struck down. And it's just because of the iron price, it's because you refuse to accept the Old Ways is dead. Died the moment Aegon the Conqueror appeared. Yet still, we keep trying. For what? Rodrik, Maron. They're our brothers and they're dead. And for what? And next you should end up dead, for what?"
"So that's where your pride is, you want to insult our way of life? Balon was acting as a reaver, yet you claim it's foolish?" she asked.
"His 'plan' was idiotic!" Theon yelled, voice echoing through the cell. "Lannisport, Casterly Rock, is right there! If he chose to reave and raid it he'd gain glory and riches that haven't been seen since the Red Kraken! And instead he wants to what, raid the North? Why? Because decades ago the same man that shattered the Targaryen dynasty and killed the Last Dragon defeated him? The wealth of the Lannisters is beyond anything in Winterfell! It's just a giant frozen waste, larger than all the other kingdoms combined. His plan was stupidity!"
"You think I don't know that?!" Yara roared back in a tone that made Theon snap his mouth shut, spine going stiff.
His sister's face went through a myriad of expressions, before she settled upon cold sullen fury. The lantern light made the skin around her eyes look like sockets.
"Our grandfather, Quellon Greyjoy, knew the folly of our people. He outlawed thralldom and wanted to integrate the Iron Islands into the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, and then threw it all away listening to his stupid sons and now we've been sitting on this salt-encrusted rock for years, rotting away. Each time we try to pillage and reave we get shattered down, the last being that drunk fat cunt Robert," Yara spat. "And we are going to suffer much the same with this. We have taken Moat Cailin, Torrhen's Square, are ravaging the Neck and even now mayhaps we have gotten Winterfell. We do not sow."
Theon glared at her.
Yara stared aback but he didn't respond to her. If she was taunting he had no desire to feed that fire, and so after a long moment of staring she spoke, "Aye, the North. Leagues and leagues and leagues away from the sea, where we Ironborn should be. Have to be. Need to be. We can't hold the North. It's massive, poor and sparse. These victories are hollow and temporary. Father once told us that hard places breed hard men and hard men rule the world, yet when was the last time any Ironborn ruled anything beyond this isle?"
"...You agreed with Father, in the throne room. You did as he commanded and spoke not against him."
"He is the Lord of the Iron Islands," she replied simply. "Didn't the wolves teach you about loyalty?"
Theon looked away. Out through the small barred window the distant ocean looked black as ink, only lit by slithers of silver moonlight upon the waves.
"And it would seem they had," Yara continued. "Since you had not tried to plea for mercy. You sat in here and accepted your punishment. You sent a raven to let your Young Wolf know of our plans. You know the folly of this, that the riches we gain will just be more dead. What is dead may never die, but that doesn't mean we have to race to it which is all what this war will do. And maybe Balon will know his folly but I doubt it. Yet his end is near and with this perhaps those who wish to see their children live for something better could remain and I shall attend a Kingsmoot for it and speak those words for those to hear. So that's why I'm here to help you escape."
Theon blinked, "What?"
"Pick up your jaw," Yara stepped back, leaving the cell door open. "My bribes and the watch change over only last for so long. and we're burning moonlight."
It felt like a trap yet Yara's promise held true. She led him through Castle Pyke, down one of the bridges and along a subtle path around the curve of the crags which could have once been a goat path many centuries ago before erosion carved it down. Yara had to led him carefully, warning of him each slip and hollow, obviously well versed in the secret paths of the isle. Even so the moon had slid downwards, as dawn was soon to approach, by the time they reached Lordsport.
It was sparsely lit, lanterns and torches dotting the streets and wharfs, but it was quiet beyond the noise of the waves and rocking ships. Yara led him down to one of the small docks, partially hidden from the rest of the township.
A small boat, without even a cabin and only a single sail, awaited them down in a small side mooring. There was a sealskin cloak and satchel of supplies upon it, along with oars, all painted in silver from the moon watching above. Yara hooked the lantern onto the front of the boat before moving aside and gesturing for him to step on.
"That? It's a dingy, how am I supposed to reach the mainland on that?" he protested.
Yara rolled her eyes, "The sea is calm for the rest of the week, even with this little boat you can reach the land within two days. Near all our war ships are gone, out raiding. You won't be bothered. Banefort, see it over there? If you have even a single drop of salt in your veins you will reach it. If not, then you'll join our ancestors and that's it."
Theon huffed and puffed but he knew he had no choice. Either brave the sea or go back to the cells. Yara was offering him a chance and Theon did not want to go back to the monotony of the cells. He had memories of being on the sea, back when he was a child. It should be enough especially if there was no storms.
So he carefully clambered into the dingy, trying not to cringe when it rocked sharply. He sat down, trying to get comfortable, before taking up the oars. He had no gloves, so no doubt he'd have blisters aplenty by the time he would make it to shore. Yara meanwhile unbound the mooring rope of the boat and tossed it over to him.
"Yara," Theon called out. "I know...our reunion wasn't...I don't know. But thank you for this."
Yara crossed her arms, letting out a sigh, before she said, "Don't die far from the sea, little brother. We can both weather this storm yet."
"I just wish that..." his words trailed off, brow furrowed as he spotted something far above. Yara noticed his gaze, looking behind her to follow it.
High in the distance, upon one of the rocky crags looming over Lordsport, was a lone figure. So obvious they stood there despite the pitch black of their form seeping into the hill. The moonlight only added flickers of light to their form, oddly hunched and inhuman with strange metal things jutting from their back and with a halberd in one hand. Theon wasn't sure what to think. A drowned one? A wayward spirit?
Despite that, despite how far away they were, Theon could see their gleaming green eyes like distant stars and knew the figure was watching them. Yara noticed it as well, drawing a hatchet from her waist as she turned to face the distant figure with a frown.
"Who is that?" Theon asked, voice barely a whisper.
Yara's voice was equally hushed, "I don't know."
"Are...are they human?"
"I don't know."
They stared at the distant figure which stared back at them. There was something wrong about them but Theon couldn't truly see what it was simply due to how far away they were.
Then the shadow raised their hand and waved.
For some stupid reason Theon waved back, even if Yara's tense form didn't so much as twitch where she stood ready with her hatchet in hand.
The figure dropped their hand and turned away, vanishing somewhere over the hill into the darkness as if they'd never been there. Even so it took Yara a long moment before she returned her weapon to her belt, expression troubled as she looked to Theon.
"You best leave," she said. "They may be a scout and will run back to Father. He won't imprison me but you are a different story."
"Right. I have a long day of rowing ahead of me," Theon tried to joke but he couldn't shake his unease.
And not even a moment later the whole isle shook, something so powerful that shuddered the water itself and make Theon clutch the oars. Yara, on the land, actually stumbled from the quake and nearly fell. In the distance a great grumbling filled the air and then an enormous flicker of green that seemed to light up everything as if the sun had risen early.
All Theon could do was stare as far above them, across the isle of Pyke to where the ancient castle towered over them all, the ancestral seat of House Greyjoy, began to erupt in an explosion of emerald green. A flare of heat as if he was before a roaring hearth, the cracking of stone was so loud it seemed to snap the air itself, and Theon watched as a huge searing pillar engulfed the three castles.
A mushroom cloud, growing bigger and bigger until the sky was bright like daylight and the air was shaking, the ocean dancing, people were screaming, wooden buildings bursting into flames and Pyke was being swallowed by a catastrophic explosion originating from within the deep ocean coves burrowed beneath the castle itself.
"Yara-" was all Theon managed to say, before the shockwave from the detonation reached them both and sent them hurtling out to sea as if they were nothing more than leaves caught within a typhoon.
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