[Chapter Size: 1500 Words.]
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"Hey, Robb, why are you quarreling with me? After all, we are brothers!"
"If you truly saw me as a brother, you would never have attacked Riverrun, you villain!" Robb spat before storming off. He knew Theon was determined to hold the castle.
Theon waved after him with a mocking grin. "Farewell then, good luck!"
Once Robb was gone, Theon returned to Riverrun. That very day, a raven had arrived from the Iron Islands. He had not yet had the chance to read it before Robb's interruption forced him to endure the boy's tirades.
Breaking the seal, Theon read the message, and a wide smile spread across his face. Yara had won sweeping victories in the Westerlands and at Ashmark. The only regret was that she had been harried all the way back by the fleet of House Ashmark, losing part of her gains.
Even so, Pyke now boasted over a million golden dragons and vast stores of grain. Though not equal to the Reach, the Vale, or the wealth of the Westerlands, it was far richer than the impoverished Iron Islands had ever been.
Summoning Goldhand and Segovia, Theon charged them repeatedly to hold Riverrun at all costs. Then, beneath the cover of night, he set sail for the Iron Islands.
He needed to return swiftly and plan the seizure of Seagard. The city had to fall before Tywin crushed Stannis.
Thus, before Tywin could defeat the North, Theon meant to seize Stone Hedge and bring half the Riverlands firmly under his dominion.
As for whether the butterfly effect might unravel the game's threads, Theon thought Robb could not best Tywin Lannister even if he had twice his wits.
Besides, Robb Stark had no calling for kingship. He had slain one of his great lords and broken his betrothal; such rash deeds had left many northern lords deeply disillusioned.
…
A week later, Theon reached Pyke aboard a cargo vessel.
Back at Pyke, Yara was debating with Andrik whether she ought to march to her brother's aid.
"My brother is besieged at Riverrun. You would have me sit idly at home while he suffers?"
"Lord Theon commands five thousand men and enough provisions for a year. The northern savages cannot besiege His Grace forever. Any hasty move on our part would disrupt His Grace's plans. If need arises, he has ravens to call for aid."
At that moment, Theon entered from outside. "Andrik speaks wisely. It is fortunate you did not act rashly."
"Your Grace, welcome home!" Yara rose to greet Theon.
Theon dropped onto a chair without ceremony. "Has the tally of spoils been taken?"
Andrik bowed. "A total of six hundred and ten thousand golden dragons, and vast stores of food and fine wine. The Westerlands and Ashmark are indeed rich, considering Her Highness Yara struck only Ashmark itself."
"My numbers were limited," Yara admitted, "and I did not press too deep into the western border."
"How fares the harvest in the North?" Theon asked.
"Barely a hundred craftsmen, Your Grace. It was troublesome to capture even that many."
After hearing the reports, Theon dismissed the council and went alone to see Apollo.
Passing through several lines of guards, he entered the dungeons beneath Pyke. They were much larger than before, clearly expanded to house Apollo's growing form.
Inside, a massive dragon lay coiled upon a mound of gold, more than two meters long. At the scent of his master, Apollo raised his head.
Recognizing Theon, the beast beat his wings with excitement, lunged forward, and bowled him to the ground, licking him with a great rough tongue.
Theon struggled helplessly. He had no more strength than any man without armor or enchantment, and could not push the dragon off. "Enough, Apollo, get up!"
At his command, Apollo leapt aside and began circling him with eager joy.
Theon studied him in wonder. The dragon had grown quickly, his body lengthening, his wings spanning far wider than his frame. Dark-gold horns curled from his head. He was, Theon admitted, a creature to stir awe even in the vainest of men.
After playing with Apollo a while, Theon asked if he wished to go outside to fly, but the dragon refused.
For Apollo, nothing was sweeter than dozing atop his golden hoard. Even hunting, he preferred to slip into the sea at night and fish in the depths.
Sensing his beast's thoughts, Theon frowned. Perhaps "Apollo" was a poor name. A dragon like this should have been blood-red, pure and terrible.
…
The next day, Theon convened Yara, Andrik, and the assembled nobles.
"Riverrun is in our hands, but alone it means little. We must knit together the whole northwest of the Riverlands."
He gestured to the map spread before them. "We must seize Seagard and Stoney Sept, and take command of the Blue Fork."
Andrik spoke first. "Seagard lies too near the Twins, and the Freys are sworn to Robb. If we strike at Seagard now, we will surely provoke a northern counterattack."
He was right. Seagard guarded the final route by which the northern host might return home. The moment word of its fall reached Robb Stark, he would hurl all his strength into reclaiming it.
But Theon knew that Robb's broken betrothal would soon shatter more than hearts. It would ignite the Boltons' ambitions and enflame the Freys' wrath.
To speak plainly, the North's strength for war was far weaker than it seemed. Robb was gifted in battle, and he had rarely lost against Tywin. Yet all knew that if the war dragged on, the North could not endure. Robb's rash breaking of his betrothal handed Tywin, the Boltons, and the Freys their chance.
"Do not fret," Theon told them with a sly smile. "The perfect opportunity will come soon enough. Until then, keep mustering men here at Pyke. All expenses will be borne by Pyke itself."
The lords glanced at one another uneasily. Many had hoped to carry their share of the spoils home to their halls, to enjoy their plunder in peace.
Theon read their faces. "My lords, do not waver. The chance is before us, the chance to claim the Riverlands for our own."
The greatest of the nobles hesitated, then voiced their support. Seeing this, the rest were forced to fall in line.
When the gathering broke apart, Andrik muttered as he watched them leave. "A pack of cowards, every one."
"Not so," Theon replied. "They have feasted well from our victories, so it is only natural they shy from greater risks. It is human nature. War, after all, devours men."
Then Theon turned to him sharply. "Andrik, if I name you Lord of Harlaw Isle, can you keep its nobles in check?"
"That will be no easy task," Andrik admitted at once. "The Harras clan is strong there. The Harras hold near a thousand fighters, and Harlaw Isle itself is rich and fertile. Without the balance of other great houses, the Iron Islands might long ago have been ruled by them instead of House Greyjoy."
"I will grant you three thousand seasoned men. With them, can you prevail?"
"Three thousand?" Andrik blinked, startled, until he recalled that Theon had seized thousands from King's Landing.
"Your Grace, I need not so many. Grant me but a thousand, and it will be enough." His own house was strong as well, a marquis family of Great Wyk.
Satisfied, Theon said, "Then prepare your household at once. When the Harlaw lords return, it will be too late for them to interfere."
Andrik bowed and departed to make his preparations.
Yet he carried his own designs. Theon meant to wield him as a dagger, and Andrik was content to be that blade. He planned to divide his house into two branches, leaving his fifteen-year-old half-brother Brand with a share of the old holdings. The elder retainers would remain to guide the boy, while Andrik led the greater part of their strength to Harlaw Isle.
The Iron Islands' power had long been stagnant. Now, for the first time in decades, there was a chance to reshape it, and Andrik intended his line to rise.
…
Later, Theon walked to a farmstead behind Pyke, near Apollo's lair. There, hardy wheat of his own devising had been sown. The seed had been bred to resist blight and storm.
No one could say whether its fine traits would endure beyond the first generation. Yet for now the crop ripened every two moons, yielding a bounty of grain and seed alike.
If the qualities failed in later plantings, Theon cared little. His learning in husbandry went only so far; the most he could do was ensure that these seeds were never mixed with common stock.
Perhaps in time the best might be culled and chosen for breeding anew. But for now, the realm's folk struggled merely to find bread enough to live. That future was still far off.
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