“I wasn’t doing anything I was not supposed to.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

❛  troubled, aren't we?  ❜

        &&.   arms folded across her chest as a smirk played on the mysterious observer's sharp visage, stretching the corners of lips. the tone of her voice hinting a slight amusement, with interest concealed. surveying the girl with her eyes, she took a sure step closer, looming over her.

❛  you dropped something. ❜

❥     𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄   𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍   𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒   .

Seduction Starters

A Dance with Dragons by George R. R. Martin (The King’s Prize, p486)

I Am The Sea

They say that a man can grow accustomed to anything, and to a certain extent that is true. Theon could get used to the beating, the same old wounds dug into time and again until the ache in his bones seemed to be something he was born into. He could get used to the hunger, a twisted pain in his stomach that refused to abate even when satiated with small things. Stale bread. Rotting meat. The sweat juice-slickened skin of an apple, far too much to ask for. Not that eating itself held within it any pleasure now. His gums were raw nerves near the back of his mouth, slick with blood when teased with anything harder than the snow cooled water. Pain reignited when he was granted the hoppy ale, salted, a worse irritation. Even that could be dulled away to nothing in the numbing cold, however. There was no dungeon for him now, not after he’d lost his name and the past that came with it. Under fist and knife, teeth and tongue he’d succumbed enough to be granted the small reprieve of a change of locale. And how kind was Ramsay, how good was Snow to allow him a kennel to himself? The constant reminder of where he was came in the scent of wet dog, of blood when the bitches were in heat. It came in the rancid, sickly sweet breath of the hounds as they stared at him through the bars, just out of reach. They had warmth, yes, but they also had tooth and claw. A stronger man might have fought them for the scraps they got - they were well fed now, even when he was reduced to jutting bone. “But a dog has worth, Reek,” Ramsay had whispered, voice sweet in his ear and cold as the wind that blew through the high window. “A dog has worth. It can hunt. It can kill. And what can you do?” The man’s arm was heavy around his shoulder, his lips a tickle against his ear. Theon had no answer. He’d lost his answers a long time ago. So this night, as every night save for those where Ramsay decided he needed a worse bedwarmer, wanted a darker punishment for his pet, Theon was curled in his corner of the kennel. He rested with his back to the bars, scarred face resting against his own arm. He breathed shallowly, never sleeping deeply now, awaiting the footsteps that signaled the guards, Ramsay, anyone at all. He curled up tightly, dirty rags thick but offering little protection against the cold. He felt feverish with worry, with pain. His head throbbed with it. There was no getting past it anymore.

           How many time has passed since their last meeting? Asha lost track of time. It lasted endlessly… each day without her younger brother in the Iron Islands. He should have listened to her when she gave him an advice, begged to stay in Pyke due to the blood they shared, he really should have done it. Damn fool wanted to make an impression on their lord father by capturing cursed Winterfell with about 20 men who BETRAYED him shortly after and ended up as a worthless dog in the kennels at the Dreadfort, in the captivity of the maddest bastard living in the entire Seven Kingdoms, including Essos. Who else would be capable of such disgusting crimes? Who normal flays people for his own pleasure, enjoys it? Quick death is better than such tortures. To be honest sometimes Theon’s sister prayed to the Drowned God to finish his agony and take him to his watery halls. It could free him from all harms, from looking at the sadistic smile of his tormentor. Even if he managed to survive, would he be welcomed by Balon who gave him up? His foolish action brought shame on their family. People for sure started believing the Greyjoys are losers who conquer lands but are not able to hold them for a long time. 

            Theon’s absence filled her — someone would call it stony as the warrior woman seemed to be cold, she rarely expressed her feelings in the presence of others, especially those weaker ones — heart with many different emotions at the same time, once her eyes showed a deep sorrow at his ‘loss’ — a thought that he got killed long ago often visited her mind, everything is possible, nobody else has as bad reputation as Ramsay fucking Snow — once an uncontrollable anger mixed from time to time with a genuine sadness. Does he still live? Or did the bastard feed his brutal hounds with his dead corpse? For some reason Asha believed he is alive, it was hard to explain why, her reliable intuition told her so. But obviously not in one piece. Knowing how mad and mentally ill is Ramsay he kept him alive, just to damage his psyche as far as possible, turn him into some wretched creature. He is a beast in human skin, ready to hurt everyone no matter who his victim is. He does not care it is the heir and future of the Iron Islands. To him Theon seems to be nobody, like all of the Ironborn. It has been an attempt to show he can crush them, to humiliate them. 

           However, Asha will not let him continue it, will not let him disrespect any of her countrymen…any member of her family. Especially her baby brother whom she wanted to strangle in the childhood but his smile prevented her from doing that. She made jokes of him after he had arrived in Pyke with Robb the boy’s proposal, had teased him lots of times, insulted, the truth needs to be spoken. But what’s done is done. Time to focus on the future and bring him home, alive or dead, his place is here in his homeland. Let at least his last ‘ceremony’ be appropriate. Determined too much to sit any longer in a tavern Asha finally made a decision and took the fastest ships of the Iron Fleet and a group of willing to help her to rescue Theon warriors and set off in direction of the North. They left the islands by the light of a golden dawn next day after they had prepared themselves for a smaller battle. 

           It took them about three days to reach the Dreadfort — a horrible castle sunk in blood of countless victims, that has heared many screams of fear or pain, has seen many tears and inconceivable tortures. Once they arrived at their destination the night already fell over the land, the blue sky became as dark as uncle Euron’s thoughts. As the only woman accompanied by the bravest warriors — NO ordinary woman, but an armed fierce-looking one — descended the ship’s ladder, leaving her beloved famous “Black Wind” with trusted sailors to watch it she headed towards the main gate, her companions followed her, skulking behind her. They had to act QUIETLY not to wake all of the occupants of the castle and make them raise the alarm. To complicate their mission they had to fight three boorish bald-headed guards guarding the entrance, much uglier than all men she has seen travelling here and there, they looked like real psychopaths just like their lord. Because you can never succeed without obstacles!!! Luckily it was the the easiest part of the plan. Now they need to find the imprisoned prince. Getting inside the slim fingers of Asha’s right hand tightened their grip on the rusty axe coated with fresh blood of the enemies which handle she clutched like if she was about to break the weapon in half.

Noise.

There was a thud up the stares, and the strangled gasp of one dead. In his younger days Theon would have recognised what it meant. He was years removed from battle now, however. Time and distance had eroded away what was left of what was once a capable man. To complicate issues further he’d not long known Asha and her axe, not entirely known the danger which she could present to others, only himself. Still, he could recognise the sounds of pain, of death. He could smell the blood in the air that wasn’t his own. The dogs were restless. They moved in hulking heaps of fur and muscle, a low growl rumbling from within their chests as they raised onto their long legs. Hackles raised, they turned their eyes towards the stairs, noses pointed in the darkness to scent out the intruder. This wasn’t Ramsay. This couldn’t be Ramsay. They were accustomed to his scent, and to the meat he often brought. They’d lick the very blood from his fingers, tails wagging, ears perked. This was someone else, and yet the promise of death brought with them was more than enough to pique the interest of the hounds rather than immediate alarm.

Theon moved.

He eased back on bruised knees, bones popping in protest from the sudden motion. One hand moved, stripped skin singing as he wrapped it about the iron bar of the cage. He didn’t stand, he’d learned not to stand fairly well over the past several days. Blood seeped against the inside of his leather glove; he ignored it. He stared. He waited.

His mouth twitched as the footsteps rang. As agitated as the beasts around him, he felt his aching muscles draw tight. It wasn’t Ramsay, but it had to be someone, be something the monster had sent for him. It had to be some trick, always some trick. Theon’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, but it did nothing. A soft whine escaped from his throat; he swallowed it down soon after, panic beginning to jackrabbit his pulse in his throat.

Not one person. People. Not Bolton guards, but something else. Something other. 

He recognised nothing but the scent of salt, the odd promise of water and waves in his head. His throat tightened near to strangling, pulse beating rapidly enough that he believed it could burst. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t good. He wanted to move, but he couldn’t rightly release the iron bar from his grip. Little more than the animals that surrounded him he stared up at the men as they filled the hall of the kennel. 

No, not all men. A girl.

Theon tore his gaze away, blinking back tears from his red eyes. No words came. Nothing came. He just hunched, already shaking, oddly trusting himself to go unnoticed, as he all too often did.

He was not part of this.

He couldn’t be.

            The castle looked WORSE inside than its walls outside, a dismal building. As soon as Asha found herself in the kennel — Was it a joke? A young frightened at the sight of her bloody axe lad told her where she can meet Theon, hoping she would not kill him, however she sent him to his god whoever is he anyways — the smell of fresh as well as of dry blood mixed with the characteristic stench of murderous hounds filled her nostrils. The smell of death. She got used to the first smell, but the second…made her wince, forming narrow wrinkles on both sides of her nose and one smaller between her eyebrows.

              Seeing the strangers who barged into their territory all of the aggressive dogs opened their mouths, letting out uninterrupted growls with bared teeth as they approached as close to the iron bars as possible and focused their attention on the men and their leader who stood in the first line. The little open wounds covering their bodies which they received from the guards of Ramsay aroused the beasts even more, waking the desire of blood in them, the proof of that were long thick transparent streams of saliva dripping from their tongues, along their length down to the floor, wetting it. They were singing the song of death, the question is whose? Someone is going to die today, either them or the bastard’s boys, not all of the present people will survive it.

              Wait…NO, not all of the cages contain only hounds, there is one HUMAN BEING among them. A man. Scrawny, dressed in dirty torn clothes, his body curled up on the cold floor in the corner, she could swear he is young…yet he resembled an old man. Those familiar facial features…he reminded her of somebody close. Yet his messy once brown hair became ‘grey’ and much longer, almost as long as hers, maybe about a few inches shorter to be more precise. His appearance disgusted her when she took three big unsure steps in his direction and took a look at him. What has Ramsay done to him?! He CAN’T be Theon. She SO wanted this man to be someone else. Finally their eyes met in the dim light of a burning torch which one of the warriors handed her, his full of fear, hers showing unhidden shock at his sight. A wreck of a man.

              ❝T-Theon?!❞ She heard her own voice barely escaping through the squeezed throat. Her narrow lips trembled slightly, the blue resembling two small shiny sapphires eyes — their shade similar to the shade of the Pyke sea — widened, she kept them locked on his face till another uknown to her voice rang out behind her back, its possesor stood strangely calm with a malicious grin. Asha turned around, breaking eye contact with her weeping brother who seemed to be eager to run away, but at the same time to stay there where he is like a loyal servant of his master. The Ironborn surrounded her, forming a closed circle around her, each of them wielding an axe.

              ❝I’m here to take my brother whether you want this or not, no more humiliation.❞ The Kraken’s Daughter spoke with self-confidence in the tone of her voice — an accent typical for the people from the Iron Islands in it — as she held her head high and not long afterwards gave the men a sign with a short nod of her head. They got ready to KICK the bastard’s ass like he deserved it. If they die, they will die with HONOR. If not, Ramsay better PRAY to the Old Gods of the Northmen for mercy. But he is ungodly, would they help him?

Theon.

The name was more than a slap in the face. It was a knife dug in beneath the skin, blade raised so the skin peeled away from the meat like skin from an apple. Delicate and painful, a precision the likes of which Theon held no hope of understanding. Theon. The name was saltwater and cold breezes, and the woman before him, speaking it - the back of his head seemed to open with the pain of a sharp blow to it, a laughing voice close to his ear and an arm around his shoulders. Familiar. Intimate. Rough lips against his temple.

Theon.

He stared up at her from the cell, dark eyes meeting her gaze like a caged animal. There was little understanding in his terrified gaze, features drawn beneath the brittle white hair. No understanding, but a mad desire to understand. He looked nearly hungry, though he still shied away from the iron bars all the same. He crouched there, body so thin beneath the rags, trembling without him even realising it. The Ironborn men moved. There was a jangle of shields, a clang of metal. Ramsay’s voice broke through the darkness as he stood there, daggers in hand.

The effect it had on Theon was instantaneous.

“No, no, no, no -” the word was like a bark of worry in his mouth. He whined as he tried to scramble, bare feet sliding across the cold stone. He was missing toes, one foot oddly twisted, scar visible for an instant at the top, at the bottom. It took little imagination to see something had slid and torn its way through. Reek fell, pushed up. He curled in the corner of the cell, whine as animal a noise as the dogs barking around him was.

Ramsay Snow had found them.

He stood blocking the only exit with a handful of his men, guards in blood spattered armour tense, short swords drawn for a fight in close quarters. The bastard himself was scantily clad, blood already streaking his broad body. He looked different beneath his robes and armour, body softer in some aspects than one would expect. But there was still muscle to him yet. Still danger that seemed to seep out his pores.

He grinned a sharky grin, all pointed teeth and keen hunger.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” The Bastard of Bolton said as he slowly approached the Ironborn men. There was no fear in him, nothing but a raw exhilaration more disturbing still. The daggers clutched tightly in his hands were long and hooked, their purpose all too clear. Glacial blue eyes met the violet of that stormy seas. “You’ve more balls than he ever had, coming here now.” His grin only widened as he continued his approach.

          There was something disquieting in the stunned gaze of Theon, something that disgusted her to a small extent, something that first of all terrified her, surprised, shocked and even broke her as hard as a valyrian steel immune to everything heart. It was not the same Theon who arrived in Pyke, not any longer a cocky prince having a high opinion of himself, not the little boy in a cradle happy at the sight of his older sister nor that young man who just visited his homeland after all years spent in the North as a ward of their enemies and a hostage, gullible who believed in her entire invented story about Esgred, pseudo wife of Sigrin the Shipwright. But some frightened pet shivering at the sight of his own shadow cast on the wall. He avoided her eyes, whenever she stared into them he turned his head away, unable to handle it. Ashamed. Ashamed of what he became, ashamed that his countrymen saw him like that. Yet uneager to change it.

          His current appearance digusted her as well, there was nothing in him what she would recognise. He did not look like a real Ironborn, one of them, not like a fearsome warrior or the prince of the Iron Islands. Father would probably disinherit him, curse...mayhaps send at the Wall to spend the rest of his life among rapists, bandits and bastards. Old Balon did not like her idea of bringing her brother home, he gave him up long ago after the Starks 'had marked him as their own' and made one of them, a soft greenlander wearing silks and velvets. The captivity at the Dreadfort, Theon not managing to hold Winterfell and letting get caught by one of the most feared in the North damned bastard worsened the situation. What lord needs such a weak heir? He made them an object of jokes. The king may NOT be pleased to see such a broken puppy under his roof.

          All iron men after getting ready stepped forward to stand face to face with their impudent opponents not less eager to shed some blood this silent unobtrusive night during which no one else expected anything to happen. Their giant hands full, clutching throwing and long axes and holding on to shields emblazoned with the golden kraken on a black field of House Greyjoy, the logo of the current king's House, the breastplates they wore also emblazoned with the same kraken, just that one difference — no gold color decorating it. The leader whose shoulder-length brown hair was simply pinned back held her head high in a manner that resembled a queen, but a badass one, in pants, not in a long gown of silk like the ones all highborn like her ladies wear.

          Her facial expression this whole day different than usually. No characteristic to her mischievous grin curving her lips, her eyes full of hatred building deep inside her. She felt a rush of blood boiling in her veins of salt. Fucking bastard. Theon deserved to pay for his mistakes but it was way too much, too cruel. If he had listened to her, he would have been SAFE and stayed unharmed. Experienced warriors failed to hold Moat Cailin for long and he...without experience and a good plan rushed into capturing the seat of House Stark. Idiot! But STILL her brother, her blood. Nothing can change that. If one of the Greyjoys is dishonoured the pride of all of them is hurt.

          ❝Indeed. Biggers than yours, I think. I'm afraid your smile will disappear soon. Words are wind but not this time, Snow.❞ 

           Her low voice interrupted the quiet maniacal laughter of Ramsay, unlike the growls of the angered dogs which volume turned up with each step and movement of the intruders. This sound may never end till they get what they need, new bodies to rip apart and consume. Asha remained calm no matter how loud and vexatious were the animals, how the bastard drove her mad with that wide smirk revealing his sharp teeth resembling teeth of a real beast lurking at night in the woods, although she felt an explosion of VARIED emotions.

          The hand of hers raised the axe at the height of her bare neck — one of the parts of her body that was exposed — and made a sudden move, tossing it in the air, she then caught it with one deft move as she finally attacked the man, clutching the wooden handle of the weapon as tightly as possible, motivated to chop his ‘pretty’ head off, parting it from the rest of his body in the spot where the nape meets the back. That would be a lovely sight. One of the best. His favorite is a flayed man, hers would be his body sinking in a large puddle of his own blood. Without wondering nor letting herself for a moment of fear or hesitation the woman ran towards Ramsay, crossing her axe with his sharp blades.

          As they struggled to parry one another's attack she bent her right long leg at the knee and raised it, kicking him straight between legs, in the groin what pissed him off how she could state, glaring into his close-set oddly pale eyes. For a few second it seemed he almost lost footing, Asha used that to strike him on the temple with the axehead. But at the same moment he managed to dig a knife into her side, right above the hip. Luckily not too deep. The pain did not prevent her from fighting. She got used to the pain long ago. The price is Theon. Such a thing like a fucking pain WILL NOT STOP her. If someone thinks so — does not know her too well. She is Asha Greyjoy.

I Am The Sea

They say that a man can grow accustomed to anything, and to a certain extent that is true. Theon could get used to the beating, the same old wounds dug into time and again until the ache in his bones seemed to be something he was born into. He could get used to the hunger, a twisted pain in his stomach that refused to abate even when satiated with small things. Stale bread. Rotting meat. The sweat juice-slickened skin of an apple, far too much to ask for. Not that eating itself held within it any pleasure now. His gums were raw nerves near the back of his mouth, slick with blood when teased with anything harder than the snow cooled water. Pain reignited when he was granted the hoppy ale, salted, a worse irritation. Even that could be dulled away to nothing in the numbing cold, however. There was no dungeon for him now, not after he’d lost his name and the past that came with it. Under fist and knife, teeth and tongue he’d succumbed enough to be granted the small reprieve of a change of locale. And how kind was Ramsay, how good was Snow to allow him a kennel to himself? The constant reminder of where he was came in the scent of wet dog, of blood when the bitches were in heat. It came in the rancid, sickly sweet breath of the hounds as they stared at him through the bars, just out of reach. They had warmth, yes, but they also had tooth and claw. A stronger man might have fought them for the scraps they got - they were well fed now, even when he was reduced to jutting bone. “But a dog has worth, Reek,” Ramsay had whispered, voice sweet in his ear and cold as the wind that blew through the high window. “A dog has worth. It can hunt. It can kill. And what can you do?” The man’s arm was heavy around his shoulder, his lips a tickle against his ear. Theon had no answer. He’d lost his answers a long time ago. So this night, as every night save for those where Ramsay decided he needed a worse bedwarmer, wanted a darker punishment for his pet, Theon was curled in his corner of the kennel. He rested with his back to the bars, scarred face resting against his own arm. He breathed shallowly, never sleeping deeply now, awaiting the footsteps that signaled the guards, Ramsay, anyone at all. He curled up tightly, dirty rags thick but offering little protection against the cold. He felt feverish with worry, with pain. His head throbbed with it. There was no getting past it anymore.

           How many time has passed since their last meeting? Asha lost track of time. It lasted endlessly… each day without her younger brother in the Iron Islands. He should have listened to her when she gave him an advice, begged to stay in Pyke due to the blood they shared, he really should have done it. Damn fool wanted to make an impression on their lord father by capturing cursed Winterfell with about 20 men who BETRAYED him shortly after and ended up as a worthless dog in the kennels at the Dreadfort, in the captivity of the maddest bastard living in the entire Seven Kingdoms, including Essos. Who else would be capable of such disgusting crimes? Who normal flays people for his own pleasure, enjoys it? Quick death is better than such tortures. To be honest sometimes Theon’s sister prayed to the Drowned God to finish his agony and take him to his watery halls. It could free him from all harms, from looking at the sadistic smile of his tormentor. Even if he managed to survive, would he be welcomed by Balon who gave him up? His foolish action brought shame on their family. People for sure started believing the Greyjoys are losers who conquer lands but are not able to hold them for a long time. 

            Theon’s absence filled her — someone would call it stony as the warrior woman seemed to be cold, she rarely expressed her feelings in the presence of others, especially those weaker ones — heart with many different emotions at the same time, once her eyes showed a deep sorrow at his ‘loss’ — a thought that he got killed long ago often visited her mind, everything is possible, nobody else has as bad reputation as Ramsay fucking Snow — once an uncontrollable anger mixed from time to time with a genuine sadness. Does he still live? Or did the bastard feed his brutal hounds with his dead corpse? For some reason Asha believed he is alive, it was hard to explain why, her reliable intuition told her so. But obviously not in one piece. Knowing how mad and mentally ill is Ramsay he kept him alive, just to damage his psyche as far as possible, turn him into some wretched creature. He is a beast in human skin, ready to hurt everyone no matter who his victim is. He does not care it is the heir and future of the Iron Islands. To him Theon seems to be nobody, like all of the Ironborn. It has been an attempt to show he can crush them, to humiliate them. 

           However, Asha will not let him continue it, will not let him disrespect any of her countrymen…any member of her family. Especially her baby brother whom she wanted to strangle in the childhood but his smile prevented her from doing that. She made jokes of him after he had arrived in Pyke with Robb the boy’s proposal, had teased him lots of times, insulted, the truth needs to be spoken. But what’s done is done. Time to focus on the future and bring him home, alive or dead, his place is here in his homeland. Let at least his last ‘ceremony’ be appropriate. Determined too much to sit any longer in a tavern Asha finally made a decision and took the fastest ships of the Iron Fleet and a group of willing to help her to rescue Theon warriors and set off in direction of the North. They left the islands by the light of a golden dawn next day after they had prepared themselves for a smaller battle. 

           It took them about three days to reach the Dreadfort — a horrible castle sunk in blood of countless victims, that has heared many screams of fear or pain, has seen many tears and inconceivable tortures. Once they arrived at their destination the night already fell over the land, the blue sky became as dark as uncle Euron’s thoughts. As the only woman accompanied by the bravest warriors — NO ordinary woman, but an armed fierce-looking one — descended the ship’s ladder, leaving her beloved famous “Black Wind” with trusted sailors to watch it she headed towards the main gate, her companions followed her, skulking behind her. They had to act QUIETLY not to wake all of the occupants of the castle and make them raise the alarm. To complicate their mission they had to fight three boorish bald-headed guards guarding the entrance, much uglier than all men she has seen travelling here and there, they looked like real psychopaths just like their lord. Because you can never succeed without obstacles!!! Luckily it was the the easiest part of the plan. Now they need to find the imprisoned prince. Getting inside the slim fingers of Asha’s right hand tightened their grip on the rusty axe coated with fresh blood of the enemies which handle she clutched like if she was about to break the weapon in half.

Noise.

There was a thud up the stares, and the strangled gasp of one dead. In his younger days Theon would have recognised what it meant. He was years removed from battle now, however. Time and distance had eroded away what was left of what was once a capable man. To complicate issues further he’d not long known Asha and her axe, not entirely known the danger which she could present to others, only himself. Still, he could recognise the sounds of pain, of death. He could smell the blood in the air that wasn’t his own. The dogs were restless. They moved in hulking heaps of fur and muscle, a low growl rumbling from within their chests as they raised onto their long legs. Hackles raised, they turned their eyes towards the stairs, noses pointed in the darkness to scent out the intruder. This wasn’t Ramsay. This couldn’t be Ramsay. They were accustomed to his scent, and to the meat he often brought. They’d lick the very blood from his fingers, tails wagging, ears perked. This was someone else, and yet the promise of death brought with them was more than enough to pique the interest of the hounds rather than immediate alarm.

Theon moved.

He eased back on bruised knees, bones popping in protest from the sudden motion. One hand moved, stripped skin singing as he wrapped it about the iron bar of the cage. He didn’t stand, he’d learned not to stand fairly well over the past several days. Blood seeped against the inside of his leather glove; he ignored it. He stared. He waited.

His mouth twitched as the footsteps rang. As agitated as the beasts around him, he felt his aching muscles draw tight. It wasn’t Ramsay, but it had to be someone, be something the monster had sent for him. It had to be some trick, always some trick. Theon’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, but it did nothing. A soft whine escaped from his throat; he swallowed it down soon after, panic beginning to jackrabbit his pulse in his throat.

Not one person. People. Not Bolton guards, but something else. Something other. 

He recognised nothing but the scent of salt, the odd promise of water and waves in his head. His throat tightened near to strangling, pulse beating rapidly enough that he believed it could burst. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t good. He wanted to move, but he couldn’t rightly release the iron bar from his grip. Little more than the animals that surrounded him he stared up at the men as they filled the hall of the kennel. 

No, not all men. A girl.

Theon tore his gaze away, blinking back tears from his red eyes. No words came. Nothing came. He just hunched, already shaking, oddly trusting himself to go unnoticed, as he all too often did.

He was not part of this.

He couldn’t be.

            The castle looked WORSE inside than its walls outside, a dismal building. As soon as Asha found herself in the kennel — Was it a joke? A young frightened at the sight of her bloody axe lad told her where she can meet Theon, hoping she would not kill him, however she sent him to his god whoever is he anyways — the smell of fresh as well as of dry blood mixed with the characteristic stench of murderous hounds filled her nostrils. The smell of death. She got used to the first smell, but the second…made her wince, forming narrow wrinkles on both sides of her nose and one smaller between her eyebrows.

              Seeing the strangers who barged into their territory all of the aggressive dogs opened their mouths, letting out uninterrupted growls with bared teeth as they approached as close to the iron bars as possible and focused their attention on the men and their leader who stood in the first line. The little open wounds covering their bodies which they received from the guards of Ramsay aroused the beasts even more, waking the desire of blood in them, the proof of that were long thick transparent streams of saliva dripping from their tongues, along their length down to the floor, wetting it. They were singing the song of death, the question is whose? Someone is going to die today, either them or the bastard’s boys, not all of the present people will survive it.

              Wait…NO, not all of the cages contain only hounds, there is one HUMAN BEING among them. A man. Scrawny, dressed in dirty torn clothes, his body curled up on the cold floor in the corner, she could swear he is young…yet he resembled an old man. Those familiar facial features…he reminded her of somebody close. Yet his messy once brown hair became ‘grey’ and much longer, almost as long as hers, maybe about a few inches shorter to be more precise. His appearance disgusted her when she took three big unsure steps in his direction and took a look at him. What has Ramsay done to him?! He CAN’T be Theon. She SO wanted this man to be someone else. Finally their eyes met in the dim light of a burning torch which one of the warriors handed her, his full of fear, hers showing unhidden shock at his sight. A wreck of a man.

              ❝T-Theon?!❞ She heard her own voice barely escaping through the squeezed throat. Her narrow lips trembled slightly, the blue resembling two small shiny sapphires eyes — their shade similar to the shade of the Pyke sea — widened, she kept them locked on his face till another uknown to her voice rang out behind her back, its possesor stood strangely calm with a malicious grin. Asha turned around, breaking eye contact with her weeping brother who seemed to be eager to run away, but at the same time to stay there where he is like a loyal servant of his master. The Ironborn surrounded her, forming a closed circle around her, each of them wielding an axe.

              ❝I’m here to take my brother whether you want this or not, no more humiliation.❞ The Kraken’s Daughter spoke with self-confidence in the tone of her voice — an accent typical for the people from the Iron Islands in it — as she held her head high and not long afterwards gave the men a sign with a short nod of her head. They got ready to KICK the bastard’s ass like he deserved it. If they die, they will die with HONOR. If not, Ramsay better PRAY to the Old Gods of the Northmen for mercy. But he is ungodly, would they help him?

I Am The Sea

They say that a man can grow accustomed to anything, and to a certain extent that is true. Theon could get used to the beating, the same old wounds dug into time and again until the ache in his bones seemed to be something he was born into. He could get used to the hunger, a twisted pain in his stomach that refused to abate even when satiated with small things. Stale bread. Rotting meat. The sweat juice-slickened skin of an apple, far too much to ask for. Not that eating itself held within it any pleasure now. His gums were raw nerves near the back of his mouth, slick with blood when teased with anything harder than the snow cooled water. Pain reignited when he was granted the hoppy ale, salted, a worse irritation. Even that could be dulled away to nothing in the numbing cold, however. There was no dungeon for him now, not after he’d lost his name and the past that came with it. Under fist and knife, teeth and tongue he’d succumbed enough to be granted the small reprieve of a change of locale. And how kind was Ramsay, how good was Snow to allow him a kennel to himself? The constant reminder of where he was came in the scent of wet dog, of blood when the bitches were in heat. It came in the rancid, sickly sweet breath of the hounds as they stared at him through the bars, just out of reach. They had warmth, yes, but they also had tooth and claw. A stronger man might have fought them for the scraps they got - they were well fed now, even when he was reduced to jutting bone. “But a dog has worth, Reek,” Ramsay had whispered, voice sweet in his ear and cold as the wind that blew through the high window. “A dog has worth. It can hunt. It can kill. And what can you do?” The man’s arm was heavy around his shoulder, his lips a tickle against his ear. Theon had no answer. He’d lost his answers a long time ago. So this night, as every night save for those where Ramsay decided he needed a worse bedwarmer, wanted a darker punishment for his pet, Theon was curled in his corner of the kennel. He rested with his back to the bars, scarred face resting against his own arm. He breathed shallowly, never sleeping deeply now, awaiting the footsteps that signaled the guards, Ramsay, anyone at all. He curled up tightly, dirty rags thick but offering little protection against the cold. He felt feverish with worry, with pain. His head throbbed with it. There was no getting past it anymore.

           How many time has passed since their last meeting? Asha lost track of time. It lasted endlessly... each day without her younger brother in the Iron Islands. He should have listened to her when she gave him an advice, begged to stay in Pyke due to the blood they shared, he really should have done it. Damn fool wanted to make an impression on their lord father by capturing cursed Winterfell with about 20 men who BETRAYED him shortly after and ended up as a worthless dog in the kennels at the Dreadfort, in the captivity of the maddest bastard living in the entire Seven Kingdoms, including Essos. Who else would be capable of such disgusting crimes? Who normal flays people for his own pleasure, enjoys it? Quick death is better than such tortures. To be honest sometimes Theon's sister prayed to the Drowned God to finish his agony and take him to his watery halls. It could free him from all harms, from looking at the sadistic smile of his tormentor. Even if he managed to survive, would he be welcomed by Balon who gave him up? His foolish action brought shame on their family. People for sure started believing the Greyjoys are losers who conquer lands but are not able to hold them for a long time. 

            Theon's absence filled her — someone would call it stony as the warrior woman seemed to be cold, she rarely expressed her feelings in the presence of others, especially those weaker ones — heart with many different emotions at the same time, once her eyes showed a deep sorrow at his ‘loss’ — a thought that he got killed long ago often visited her mind, everything is possible, nobody else has as bad reputation as Ramsay fucking Snow — once an uncontrollable anger mixed from time to time with a genuine sadness. Does he still live? Or did the bastard feed his brutal hounds with his dead corpse? For some reason Asha believed he is alive, it was hard to explain why, her reliable intuition told her so. But obviously not in one piece. Knowing how mad and mentally ill is Ramsay he kept him alive, just to damage his psyche as far as possible, turn him into some wretched creature. He is a beast in human skin, ready to hurt everyone no matter who his victim is. He does not care it is the heir and future of the Iron Islands. To him Theon seems to be nobody, like all of the Ironborn. It has been an attempt to show he can crush them, to humiliate them. 

           However, Asha will not let him continue it, will not let him disrespect any of her countrymen...any member of her family. Especially her baby brother whom she wanted to strangle in the childhood but his smile prevented her from doing that. She made jokes of him after he had arrived in Pyke with Robb the boy's proposal, had teased him lots of times, insulted, the truth needs to be spoken. But what's done is done. Time to focus on the future and bring him home, alive or dead, his place is here in his homeland. Let at least his last ‘ceremony’ be appropriate. Determined too much to sit any longer in a tavern Asha finally made a decision and took the fastest ships of the Iron Fleet and a group of willing to help her to rescue Theon warriors and set off in direction of the North. They left the islands by the light of a golden dawn next day after they had prepared themselves for a smaller battle. 

           It took them about three days to reach the Dreadfort — a horrible castle sunk in blood of countless victims, that has heared many screams of fear or pain, has seen many tears and inconceivable tortures. Once they arrived at their destination the night already fell over the land, the blue sky became as dark as uncle Euron's thoughts. As the only woman accompanied by the bravest warriors — NO ordinary woman, but an armed fierce-looking one — descended the ship's ladder, leaving her beloved famous “Black Wind” with trusted sailors to watch it she headed towards the main gate, her companions followed her, skulking behind her. They had to act QUIETLY not to wake all of the occupants of the castle and make them raise the alarm. To complicate their mission they had to fight three boorish bald-headed guards guarding the entrance, much uglier than all men she has seen travelling here and there, they looked like real psychopaths just like their lord. Because you can never succeed without obstacles!!! Luckily it was the the easiest part of the plan. Now they need to find the imprisoned prince. Getting inside the slim fingers of Asha's right hand tightened their grip on the rusty axe coated with fresh blood of the enemies which handle she clutched like if she was about to break the weapon in half.