Chapter 50: Recim Winterfell?—

  The wind whistled against my face as Viserion’s wings carved through the air, her fps a deep, steady rhythm that carried us. The sun angled low on the horizon, tinting the sky with a soft gold that cast our shadows far across the rolling ndscape.

  House Reed’s seat, the Neck, stretched out below. It atchwork of marshes, greends, and narrow causeways threading through boggy water. I observed the nd in a light of wonder. From this height, it looked peaceful, almost serene, an emerald painting speckled with streams of sparkling water.

  Sansa sat snugly before me, my arms lightly cirg her waist. “Sansa, take a look,” I nudged her, and she flinched. She’d been dazed.

  “Y-yes,” she said, clearihroat and looking around, “it’s pretty…” She wasn’t in her right mind, her heart full of worry, that much was obvious from her voice. That was why I hadn’t tried anything with her yet.

  My moved to rest on her shoulder, the curve of her cheek close enough that I caught a faint whiff of vender or whatever perfume lingered in her hair. Her breath hitched as I murmured, “Why’re you so worried? Your brothers will be fine.”

  The tension in her posture melted ever so slightly, and she let out a small, muffled sound—half relief, half uainty. “I hope so,” she whispered.

  The gust of wind and the rush of Viserion’s flight finally soothed over her, and her body rexed. She leaned bato me slowly, her posture soothing against my chest. I tightened my hold, giving her what reassurance I could through the warmth of our shared closeness.

  Far below, a broad river twisted through the Neck’s muddy banks, while above us, the sky opened wide as if weling our journey north. This journey would take lohan our earlier one, but we’d enjoy it. We soared onward, the damp wind carrying us onward to Winterfell and whatever awaited us there.

  ****

  Maester Luwin stood in the corridor outside the Great Hall of Winterfell. He’d been serving House Stark for decades, but after a long time, he recalled that time when he’d e to Winterfell for the first time, seeing its thousand-year-old stohat looked dark and oppressive even during the day.

  Today, he felt the same. This pce felt fn to him. He paused, knuckles h an inch from the oak door, before breathing out a sigh and rapping softly. A muffled sound from inside—furniture scraping, footsteps—then the door swung open to reveal a guard’s stern face. “e in,” the man stepped aside, allowing the Maester to pass.

  Maester Luwin walked inside. On the sed floor, he found Theon Greyjoy slumped on the lord’s chair, making him pause. Theon had tried to fashion himself a makeshift ruler, but the posture looked more like a child pying King than anything. He kept gng at the window, watg the wall gates. Oher side of that wall, although it wasn’t visible from here, two small forms were ed in cloth, a burnt stench ging to the air. The sunlight highlighted the hollows uheon’s eyes as he stared at it.

  So he does feel guilt for what he did, I see. Maester Luwin noted and bowed his head, entering with cautious steps. “...My lord,” he murmured, voice collected but devoid of approval. “You called for me?”

  Theon barely spared him a gnce, drumming his fingers on the armrest. “You don’t sound pleased callihat,” he muttered. “I’m no lord—just a Greyjoy bastard in a den of wolves. Right?” His tone was full of challenge.

  One would think he knows his pce, but he just wants me to admit it for him. Hah… I never realized how pathetic this boy is. Luwin trolled his emotions and cleared his throat gently. “You hold Winterfell now, doesn't matter if it's by force. You are, for now, its master. And as the Maester assigo Winterfell, I’m at your and.”

  Theon stared at him, and then his gaze shifted to the wall gates again, imagining the ed remains of the children. His knuckles tightened around the armrest. “They’re saying I went too far, Maester Luwin,” he said, barely taining his anger. “I called to ask… Do you agree with them?

  A flicker of anger crossed Luwin’s face, despite his years of training, but he quickly hid it. “Those boys this m… the ones you burned…” He lowered his voice, choosing each word with care. “They’re not Bran and Ri, are they?”

  “What?”

  “No matter how poisoned your mind has been in desperation for power, I doubt you’d do that, Theon- my lord. They were practically your brothers. Tell me, was it truly them?” He asked, and in respoheo silent. “...Either way, the cruelty only begets rese. It won’t earn you the fear you crave—only hatred. Why’re you surprised?”

  Theon snorted, pushing himself upright in the chair. “I don’t expect them to love me!” he snapped. “I took Winterfell because it was there for the taking. If it means burning some brats to assert authority, so be it.” The way he spoke of the boys implied it wasn’t the Stark boys, but he gred at Luwin as if daring him to ask about that again. “I know what I did, but that’s my decision. I don’t care. Let Robb choke on that news for a while. My sister will arrive with her army soon, and we’ll hold Winterfell with everything, no matter if Robb es to recim it himself.”

  A short silence passed between them, and Luwin shook his head, sadness lining every crease in his brow. “Your father’s men might do worse when they e,” he said softly. “And the men here—your men—are uled, Theon. Many of them left the Iron Isnds to plunder, not to keep a castle. They grow bored, and they take out their boredom oownsfolk. The townsfolk you grew up with. Do you really want this?”

  Luwin wondered if the boy would get mad at being called by his her than title, as he’d been a day before, but Theon’s gaze only flickered across the wall gates. A flicker of something that might have bee fshed before his eyes and then vanished.

  He raked a hand through his disheveled hair. “They… they’ll learn their pce. My sister is a woman and has no cim to the Salt Throne when the male heir is alive. I’ll win over my men soon enough, I just need some time. And you—” He fixed the Maester with a wavering gre. “Just remember who’s in charge, old man, you’re talking a lot of shit. Just in case, if you think to help those, I despise… I won’t be siving.”

  Those he despises? Does that mearuly didn’t kill Bran and Ri and fears I’m aiding them? Luwin noted, calg, feeling relieved, and then sighed. “Of course, my Lord. I have always served Winterfell,” he replied evenly. “And while I breathe, I will do what I to protect it.”

  Theon just looked at him. A moment ter, he opened his mouth, but before he could respond, a distant screech rang out through the stone corridors. It was an unnatural, resonant, and chilling sound that rattled the bones of every living being.

  Maester Luwin’s eyes widened with arm. “Gods be good, what the hell was that?!”

  Theon jerked upright, his head snapping toward the high windows that lihe hall. But this time, rather than looking at the gates, he looked at the sky where the sound had e from. His heartbeat thundered as he realized how fn aial the sound was.

  “What… what kind of beast make that kind of sound, Maester Luwin?” Theon turo the wise man and asked, but he already knew. He’d heard the stories. They exged one gnd then rushed toward the window.

  Theon fumbled at the heavy shutters, throwing them open fully. The sunlight spilled into the hall, and they both leaned out, their breath catg ihroats.

  Against the bright expanse of sky, a huge, winged silhouette sliced through the air. Golden scales glimmered uhe midday sun, and it let out another pierg cry.

  In that single moment, Theo his grip on Winterfell slip further.

  ****

  I angled Viserion in a slow, spiraling dest above Winterfell’s outer walls. A gust of cold air whipped at my hair, and the familiar rush of being airbor my blood humming. Below, I saw broken battlements and scorched patches—clear signs that Theon’s Ironborn had made a mess of this pbsp;

  Sansa ressed tight against me, her breaths short and quick as the a fortress unfurled in our view. “Are you alright?” I asked, speaking just loud enough for her to hear over the whoosh of wind.

  She hough I felt her body tremble. “It’s just… seeing home from above.” She swallowed. “I’ve never… well, I never imagined Winterfell like this—from a dragon’s back. It’s breathtaking and terrifying. But I’m also relieved to see my home. Let’s head down.”

  I guided Viserion into another circle around the courtyard below, searg for the Ironborn. My sharp Valyrian eyes helped me see better. “I see a few men in those ers—hard to tell if they’re your people or not. Where should we touch down?”

  Sansa straightened a bit, her gaze darting frantically across the courtyard. “There!” She poi a stone-walled se he broken gatehouse, where a group of armed men milled about, wearing rough leather and mismatched steel. Their attire was nothing like the Northmen’s furs or Stark sigils.

  A slow smile curled on my lips. “They’re no Northerners, that’s for sure.” I leaned forward, tightening my arm around her waist. “Alright, let’s pay them a visit.”

  Viserion respoo a slight shift in my posture. She tucked her wings and desded, dropping into the courtyard with a powerful air backwash. The men below staggered, brag themselves against the sudden gust and screech. Spears cttered on stone.

  “What the fuck is that—!”

  “Did I drink too much ale?”

  I kept a firm hold on Sansa as Viserion’s back legs touched down. She shrieked fiercely and loudly, and the Ironborn scattered in arm, half of them rolling on the ground. They were screaming at me, eyes full of terror, but I ighem.

  Still mouop the dragon, I squeezed Sansa’s waist in a reassuriure. “Now,” I said calmly, “tell me whies you want dead.”

  Sansa’s breath hitched. She hesitated momentarily, turning to look at my face. Then she pointed with trembling fingers at the men she reized as fners. “Those few,” she whispered. “I—I don’t know them. They aren’t from my home.” And they were wearing Ironborn armor, but Sansa didn’t seem to notice that.

  “Good enough for me.” I lifted my head and raised my voice. “Dracarys!”

  Fmes erupted from Viserion’s jaws. The roar of the dragon’s fire drowned out the Ironborn’s horrified cries. The sight was something to see. Their pleas for mercy caught in the inferno, and the entire area heated up. The men were ed within seds—embers and ash swirling in the wind. The stench of charred flesh burned my nose, but I weled the flush of triumph.

  “Pity they died too quickly. That should have been most of them, but some more should be around the area. Let me speak, Sansa,” I murmured, swinging my leg over the saddle to stand upright on Viserion’s babsp;

  I raised my voice for the Northern folk who peered out from doors and behind ruined walls. “People of Winterfell! I am Viserys Targaryen, the rightful heir of the Iron Throne. I know you must be fused, but fear not, I e as your ally. I’ve e to free you from these Ironborn ts as you just saw. Spread out now, search every corridor and y for any Ironborn still skulking about. Bring them here alive, preferably. I have… pns for them. For Winterfell!”

  A wave of fusion rippled through the ragged onlookers. Most had never seen a dragon in their lifetimes, and the ‘Targaryen’ name meant enemy. Shock gripped them.

  But then Sansa steadied herself, shakily standing atop Viserion. I held her to stop her from falling, and she spoke out in a shaky but resolute voice. “Everyone, he’s not lying. You know me, I am Sansa Stark,” she called, f her up. “Daughter of Eddard Stark! Listen to Viserys—he’s here to help us, to save Winterfell. My brother, the King in the North, sent him here!”

  That rallied them. They truly trusted a Stark with their lives. A murmur of awe passed through the crowd, turning inted cheer. Men and women scrambled off, armed with whatever they could find, determio flush out any remaining Ironborn.

  My gaze followed them to the gates until I heard a sound ing from the opposite dire. The castle. A lone figure strode out from the castle door—Theon Greyjoy.

  He wore , unprepared for battle, and I spotted fresh burns on his hands. Speaking of, I noticed two ed bodies hanging from the gate earlier. Sansa hadn’t, and I didn’t bother to notify her about it. Looks like he already killed two i boys.

  “Theon Greyjoy,” I called out loud, and Sansa’s head so look at him. The puny Ironborn filth looked at me in shod stumbled on seeing the bed remains of his men, half croug as if the sight physically wounded him.

  Pale fury etched across his features. “You—bastard Targaryen!” he spat, voice tinged with trembling anger or fear. He bit his lip when he saw the dragon I rode, but the my eyes again. “I- I don’t care who you are, but who gave you the right to—”

  I felt Sansa tremble in rage at the sound of his voice. She pointed a finger, her eyes alight with hatred. “He betrayed my family. Kill him too, Viserion!”

  Nah, that won’t do. Viserion of course didn’t listen. She was my dragon, not this Stark’s. I leaned in, “Hey,” I held her and tur toward me. She looked surprised, but I brushed a light kiss on her nose. “Calm down, he’s no dao us. He’s more valuable alive,” I murmured. That said, he did deserve punishment.

  Without further warning, I let go of Sansa and hopped down from Viserion’s back, rising high, boots hitting the courtyard in a puff of dust. Theon was surprised seeing how high I’d jumped, and tried to step back, raising a sword to but I didn’t give him the ce.

  I closed the distaween us, seized him by the colr, and smmed my fist into his face. “Argh!” Theon shouted, but it was cut off half-way through as his eyes rolled back, and he colpsed on the spot, unscious. A few curious bystanders gawked, uaiher to cheer or flee.

  “Wele to a new day, Theon Greyjoy,” I said, although he couldn’y hear. “You’ll get what you deserve soon enough.”

  Behind him, Maester Luwin stood at the castle entrance, eyes huge with disbelief as they fixed on my dragon. He barely spared a g me or Sansa. The Maester was in awe seeing a living dragon, a creature from the pages of history.

  Before I could say more, a rush of movement caught my eye. Two small forms darted forward from behind a colpsed se of the yard. I almost moved toward Sansa to protect her, but I reized them as Bran and Ri Stark, apanied by a nky, wild-looking woman – Osha, if I recall – and a hulking man carrying Bran in his arms.

  Ah. They must have been hiding in the crypt, from what I remember, The boys’ eyes were wide, sing the courtyard. Then they saw Sansa perched on the dragon as they froze.

  “Sansa! I khat was your voice!” Bran called, voice crag with relief. The younger one, Ri, wasted no time and ran for his sister.

  Sansa leaped off the saddle, stumbling a bit but ign any sense of de as she raced to meet them. She enveloped both in a hug, tears shining in her eyes. I smiled.

  A rescue mission? That didn’t take long. Most of the dey was because of the flight. And in a single, brutal enter, we razed the Ironborn’s threat to ders, found the Stark boys safe, and seized a living prisoner in Theon Greyjoy. The courtyard quieted except for Sansa’s choked sobs of joy.

  Above us, Viserion lifted her head and roared to the sky, sealing the fact that Winterfell, at least for now, beloo the dragon—and the wolves—once again.

  Winterfell was recimed.

  [Image Here]

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  Author Note: Chapter 50! And we already took Winterfell. It’s been fun to write this so far, and I think I’ll be having fun till the very end. Many thanks to @Gssy, and as always, homeboy @Shortmotor, for proofreading all these chapters so far.

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