I'm Theon Greyjoy

200 gems = bonus chapter

Fully support the story at:

patreon.com/FanFictionPremium

***

A single-masted ship, large by the standards of Westeros, smashed one of the galleys with 'grape' sails to pieces with its hammer-like ram. The crack of wood, the scream of sailors and the ship, which had received a hole, began to fall to one side and go to the bottom. You can see the survivors jumping from the sides of their ships, shouting something unintelligible.

'The Iron Hammer has collected its first victim. Unless you counted a lucky scorpion shot that took one enemy ship to the bottom.

A heated battle was raging all around - the galleys were converging, ramming each other or boarding each other. Huge shells of arrow-shooters whistled, axes and swords rang, shouts of the wounded and dying. All this against a background of fine rain, making this picture of the battle horrible and repulsive. To Theon's eyes, of course, for the chaos before him cannot be called beautiful. A medieval sea battle in all its glory.

Two enemy galleys were coming towards his ship, wishing to board the Iron Hammer. The Scorpions immediately sprang into action, firing arrows at the Redwinian ships.

But the Scorpions' shots were unsuccessful. The spinning galleys quickly approached from different directions and the bugles and cats flew, clawing into the timber. In front of Theon's eyes, one of his crew tried to drop an iron cat, but was immediately shot in the stomach by an arrow.

Spitting, he hid behind his shield and in an instant felt the hard hits of arrows against the round shield.

- Archers and scorpions, shoot, goddamn you! - Theon shouted.

Surprisingly, the sailors of the Expanse could handle their ships quite well, but they were not very good warriors. They preferred to kill from afar.

A 'green-blooded' sailor who rushed on a foreign board immediately fell down, recognising the sharpness of Valyrian steel on his skin.

On the deck of the Iron Hammer, a scuffle broke out as enemy warriors quickly climbed up and joined the battle. And the numerical advantage was not on the side of the Iron Men.

Theon's flagship was surrounded on both sides.

Under the frowning clouds, in the midst of the turbulent sea, blood poured, ships went to the bottom, the wounded and the dead fell into the abysses of the sea, the ironborn and the Spartans - two peoples, warring for millennia - shouted their cries.

- Grimston! - shouted the knight of the Expanse, who was not afraid to put on his armour. He swung his blade mightily and aimed it at Greyjoy, who wore a helmet and half-mask.

The knight's sword struck a block of Crimson Rain. And the sword was sliced in two - so hard had the knight struck the Valyrian blade that the simple weapon simply could not withstand it.

Theon's opponent seemed to be taken aback, but he didn't have time to realise what had happened, the Crimson Rain easily penetrated the steel-embedded chain mail.

Nearly slipping on a pool of blood, Theon fought back the blow of his axe and cut open the throat of another sailor who wanted to take his life. The ironborn in their armour and weapons were gradually overpowering the leather-clad or even shirtless sailors. Few of them had the opportunity to put on armour, and even fewer did.

Some of the enemy, seeing that the fight was not going in their direction, began to move back.

- Drop the cats! - Greyjoy ordered, as the last man went overboard, clutching his bloody chest.

-Oars! Come on, you sons of bitches, get the slaves rowing, mermaid entrails for your supper!

Slowly but surely, the Iron Hammer emerged from the two-sided encirclement. The sounds of bangs snapping off were heard, energised by the departing ship. Theon grimaced, realising that the ship was in for a long overhaul.

Theon looked round and saw the pirates throwing the corpses of the spacemen overboard. Not just the corpses of Commoners, though; dead Ironborn were also being thrown overboard, sent to the Drowned God's chambers. But if the corpses of enemies were carefully subjected to the process of looting, their own were not touched and carefully 'buried' with all the property that was on the corpse.

'A strange tradition, given the scarcity of resources in the Iron Islands.'

The sea battle had turned into a skirmish - it wasn't particularly clear who was winning. Theon had refrained from the battle for several hours, wanting to assess the situation from afar, but he had to intervene.

There was no way to manoeuvre in this skirmish if he wanted to. 'Iron Hammer' came across another opponent - not inferior in size, with three wine-red sails, and oars gleaming white and gold.

They were immediately fired upon, but the members of the ship closed behind their shields.

-Come on, hook up! - shouted Three-Finger, closing behind his shield.

One of the ironborn was about to throw a broadsword, but received an arrow in the face, and with a loud thud, slipped on a pool of blood and fell, dead.

-Shoot back, pidori! - the king shouted at his sailors, roaring with anger. They had probably come upon someone serious. The enemy was in no hurry to board the ship, limiting himself to shelling. His gaze filtered to a figure dressed in rich robes and giving orders while waving his arms imperiously. The captain of the ship.

- Erich! Erich, in three fucking bends!

- My King,' the apprentice babbled fearfully, holding a bloody axe in one hand and a shield with a couple of arrows in the other, too big for his height. It was time Harlow got a taste of blood, despite his small age, Theon thought. Especially since he was eager.

- Get the chartreuse bow from my quarters! And don't forget the arrows!

The squire ran across the deck, covering himself with his shield.

It was unclear what the captain was waiting for if he wasn't boarding. Then Greyjoy looked down and realised the three-masted vessel was stuck!

There was an upturned ship in their path, and it was sinking too slowly. How the Iron Hammer hadn't run into it was beyond my comprehension.

A few more unsuccessful attempts to snag the enemy ship with cats or buggers, and in a minute young Harlow came running in, carrying a bow and arrow in his quiver.

- Come here! - Theon shouted, 'Hey, you bastards! A wall of shields in front of me, now!

'Wall' formed quickly enough and Theon drew an arrow on his bow and found the ship's captain's gaze once more. The slits through the shields allowed.

- Well, well, well! - Greyjoy took aim through one such slit. The wine-sailing ship had already gone forward, as the barrier had finally gone down. But it was too late, the King of the Iron Islands had already taken aim.

The bowstring rang out and the projectile flew into the intended target.

I got him! In the shoulder.

Greyjoy aimed at the unprotected head, wanting to kill the captain, but alas, from a distance of forty or thirty metres he hit only the shoulder.

The death of the enemy captain would have disorganised his crew, and this would have allowed for a boarding party.

But, Drowned had them, the expanse of space was slipping away from him.

- Come on, hook it up! - ordered Theon, again, taking aim. The wall of shields partially disintegrated, and some began to throw bangs and crampons, stopping the sailboat's movement.

Firing a couple of arrows and taking the life of at least one insolent archer, Theon returned the bow to his squire, picked up his shield, and climbed over to the foreign deck, following his warriors.

His boots stood firmly on the wooden planking. The arm with the shield came forward, smashing the face of the enemy running at Theon into the hard wood. The sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath and a killing blow. Not even boiled leather could keep out the Valyrian steel.

- Iron outside, iron inside! - was the cry of the Greyjoys.

-"Iron outside, iron inside! - His warriors shouted again, sweeping away any enemies who stood in their way with their axes and swords.

They fought again, only on a foreign ship. Theon bled his blade more than once, but in the end they were victorious.

-Your name? - The blood-drenched Greyjoy asked, pointing his blade at the wounded captain, who lay crawling away from him.

- Puck... Paxter Redwyn! Lord Paxter Redwyn! I'm to be ransomed!

Clutching his wounded shoulder, Lord Paxter didn't exactly inspire respect - rags instead of armour, and instead of a proud and brave man, Theon saw a cowardly rabbit. This was not how he'd imagined Arbor's master.

- I'm sure he did. I'd get a lot for Lord Arbor,' Greyjoy said, shocked inside. To have captured Redwyne himself was a devil's luck!

Without bothering to clean his sword, Greyjoy slid it into its scabbard and removed his helmet with one hand, introducing himself.

- The Iron King Theon Greyjoy, Lord Paxter. You are now my prisoner, my lord.

Instead of fear, shock appeared on the lord's face.

And then the king smiled. He sensed his pet approaching, which meant only one thing...

A new armada of ironborns numbering a hundred ships appeared on the horizon - large galleys with reinforced hulls, iron rams, bristling with scorpions. The Iron Fleet arrived on time.

The Spacers were caught in a trap, the same trick the Lord of Dragonstone had used to defeat the Ironborn near Light Island. It was time to pay the bill, for Arbor's fleet had been in that battle too....

Theon looked round, the surviving members of his crew now picking off the last of the ship's defenders, picking up the corpses and throwing their dead overboard. More than half of his crew had been killed in several boarding parties.

- Take him to my ship across the bridge! - ordered his two Greyjoy guardsmen, 'Erich! - he finally addressed his squire.

The boy, who had managed to escape his wounds, walked up to him.

-Go to my quarters and make me some wine! And take my bow.

Some galleys with 'grape' sails began to turn round as soon as they saw the enemy reinforcements threatening to surround them. But it was too late - the ships of the Iron Men rammed, boarded and scorpion-shot the ships of Arbor and the Shield Islands.

It was a victory. But at what cost?

'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'

Several hours passed and the remnants of the enemy fleet were finished. Countless corpses floated in the water, gradually swelling and shriveling. Theon wasn't going to clean up the dead Spaniards - there just wasn't time for that. And the dead Ironborn whose corpses were afloat were not going to be pulled out by the Ironborn themselves. They were not brave enough to put on more armour, so the Drowned God did not accept their miserable souls, muttered the survivors of the sea meat grinder.

The iron men shouted with joy, celebrating a victory unprecedented by their standards as axes and swords were raised and a multitude of cries shook the space that had recently been the scene of a sea battle.

The expression on Victarion's face was unclear - a mask like a squid's head hid all emotion. He had managed to climb over to Theon's ship by the bridge he had set up and was waiting for new instructions. It was very likely, though, that the Iron Fleet captain was feeling the satisfaction of defeating an old enemy.

Only Theon's face was grim - his gaze looking over the whole of the former battle site and growing gloomier with each new loss counted on the 'eye'.

A great many - almost half, if not more. Not what Theon had hoped for.

- 'Give me wine,' Theon ordered his henchman, and the latter handed him a jug filled with Arbor gold. How ironic, came the thought.

After drinking from the jug and quenching his thirst, Greyjoy looked at his uncle. In one hand rested his helmet and half-mask, while the other rested on the tip of a Valyrian blade hidden in a scabbard.

- Uncle, I think it's time for us to move. We need to regroup, count our losses, and move on to the Shield Islands.

'And share the spoils of captured ships.'

-Let them blow their horns! This is no time to cool off. A few ships managed to slip away and will surely alert the defenders.

-As you command,' Victarion nodded obediently.

'One more victory like this and I'll simply have nothing left to fight with.'

'''''''''''''''''''''''''"'

They travelled down the High Road, or as it is called by those who do not live in the Valley, the Mountain Road. After overcoming the Blood Gate, a ten thousand man army under the banners of the Arryns had invaded the Riverlands.

'It could have been thirty thousand,' Lord Harlan Hunter thought bitterly. The whole campaign had been a folly, he thought. And one of the reasons for that opinion, was that he had been appointed to command this army.

Harlan was born the third son of Lord Aeon Hunter, the previous Lord of the Longbow. And he would have been some sort of knight errand boy for his older brothers if it weren't for Harlan's inherent cunning and ambition.

He killed his father first. Having survived the eighth decade, his father was not going to the other side of the world, despite his illness. So young Hunter helped his lord father retire. His older brother, Gilwood, became Lord.

The older brother didn't live long. Harlan was able to convince everyone, including his middle brother, that Gilwood had killed his father, not wanting to wait for him to pass away. During the accusation, a skirmish ensued, during which both brothers were 'successfully' killed.

The young lord looked round. He saw the banners of the Arryns, the Corbreys, the Graftons, and the Hunters themselves. Not counting the knights who were entitled to their own banners.

'No Roys, Belmores, Wainwoods, Redforts, and many, many others...'

Lord Baelish had made the decision to appoint Harlan specifically as commander, repaying one age-old debt to the Hunter family... except that this repayment of debt was something Harlan was very, very unhappy about.

The disgruntled face of Lin Corbray is now the face the newly minted Lord of the Longbow sees every time he meets him. Not counting the other lords who thought they were more honourable....

Their army moved slowly enough, at Lord Baelish's request. And they were not travelling to Solvaren, but to the Twins.

Ser Quincy Cox, the lord of that small town, had decided to go over to the side of the crown, betraying his suzerains from Riverrun.

Having reached their desired goal, they would engage in what Harlan thought was a foolish siege of the Twins. But the Defender of the Vale's decision was not for him to question.

'My Lord Baelish has decided to wait it out while Tarly defeats the Grim Wolf. Except how will the lord - the regent, Lord Kiwan Lannister - feel about that?'

The wilderness had been replaced by quite populated - the Tully lands untouched by war. Untouched before the Vale warriors came here. Now only ashes and human corpses.

Ahead of them was a long road through dense forests, small rivers, to reach the cursed fiefdom of the Freys, putting to the sword every small town or village that came their way.

'And yet House Tarly and House Hunter share several similarities, both houses being inseparably linked to the theme of hunting ... 'and the members of both houses consider themselves hunters.'

Except that the 'spacious' hunter gets a wolf, while the 'valley' hunter has to make do with ferrets.

Is that fair?