Theon Greyjoy opened his eyes. His shoulders were on fire and he could not move his hands.
For half a heartbeat he feared he was back in his old cell under the Dreadfort, that the jumble of memories inside his head was no more than the residue of some fever dream. I was asleep, he realized. That, or passed out from the pain. When he tried to move, he swung from side to side, his back scraping against stone. He was hanging from a wall inside a tower, his wrists chained to a pair of rusted iron rings. The air reeked of burning peat. The floor was hard-packed dirt.
Wooden steps spiraled up inside the walls to the roof. He saw no windows.
The tower was dank, dark, and comfortless, its only furnishings a high-backed chair and a scarred table resting on three trestles. No privy was in evidence, though Theon saw a champerpot in one shadowed alcove.
The only light came from the candles on the table. His feet dangled six feet off the floor. He knew that voice. Theon Greyjoy chortled. A stab of pain went up his arms, from his shoulders to his wrists. All he had done, all he had suffered, Moat Cailin and Barrowton and Winterfell, Abel and his washerwomen, Crowfood and his Umbers, the trek through the snows, all of it had only served to exchange one tormentor for another.
What was his name? For an instant Theon thought that he meant to stab the banker.
You will never get a drop of blood from that one, my lord, he might have told him. The king laid the blade of the knife against the ball of his left thumb, and slashed.
I will sign in mine own blood. That ought to make your masters happy. Stannis dipped a quill in the blood welling from his thumb and scratched his name across the piece of parchment.
Lord Bolton may be on us soon. I will not have you caught up in the fighting. Save your pleasantries. It is coin I need from Braavos, not empty courtesy. Tell the guard outside I have need of Justin Massey. The Iron Bank is always glad to be of service. As he left, another entered; a knight. Lean, dark-haired, hard-eyed, his face marred by pockmarks and old scars, he wore a faded surcoat embroidered with three moths.
And Lord Arnolf sends word that he would be most pleased to break his fast with you. Wull wants him dead.
Flint, Norrey… all of them will want him dead. For the boys he slew. Vengeance for their precious Ned.
He has knowledge we may need. Bring in this maester.
A letter, Theon knew. Its broken seal was black wax, hard and shiny.
I know what that says, he thought, giggling. A cold white pillow.
The girl had taken the worst of it. Jeyne, her name is Jeyne, but she will never tell them. Theon had landed on top of her, and broken some of her ribs. Stannis snorted. Umber saved her.
The Winds of Winter – Chapter 1- THEON
If Mors Crowfood and his men had not been outside the castle, Bolton would have had the both of you back in moments. Theon remembered. An old man, huge and powerful, with a ruddy face and a shaggy white beard. He had been seated on a garron, clad in the pelt of a gigantic snow bear, its head his hood.
But Umber had looked at the girl closely, squinting down with his one good eye. When last I was inside those walls, your cook served us a steak and kidney pie. Made with ale, I think, best I ever tasted. What was his name, that cook? He would make lemoncakes for Sansa whenever we had lemons. Crowfood had fingered his beard. That smith of yours as well.
A man who knew his steel.
Jeyne had hesitated. Mikken, Theon thought. His name was Mikken.
TYRION - TWOW Sample Chapter Narration
The castle blacksmith had never made any lemoncakes for Sansa, which made him far less important than the castle cook in the sweet little world she had shared with her friend Jeyne Poole. Remember, damn you.
Your father was the steward, he had charge of the whole household. I had him put to death before me! Mors Umber had grunted. And how Crowfood had grinned at that.
Theon twisted in his chains, and blinked down at the king. Ask her yourself. She was pale with pain, but she had brushed one hand across his cheek and smiled. His shoulders were in agony. His own weight was tearing them from their sockets.
Winds of Winter: Read the next Game of Thrones book now
How long had he been hanging here? Was it still night outside? The tower was windowless, he had no way to know. We have a warmer end in mind for you, turncloak.
He means to kill me. The thought was queerly comforting. Death did not frighten Theon Greyjoy. Death would mean an end to pain. But do it quick. He is coming.
You must not let him take him. Roose… Roose is safe within the walls of Winterfell with his fat new wife. Ramsay is coming. The door opened with a gust of cold black wind and a swirl of snow. The knight of the moths had returned with the maester the king had sent for, his grey robes concealed beneath a heavy bearskin pelt. Behind them came two other knights, each carrying a raven in a cage.
The other was taller, broad-shouldered and brawny. The cloak that he wore over it was fastened with a burning heart. The maester sank to his knees. He was red-haired and round-shouldered, with close-set eyes that kept flicking toward Theon hanging on the wall.
Winds of winter chapter theon pdf
How may I be of service? Stannis did not reply at once. He studied the man before him, his brow furrowed.