Chapter 13: The Gathering Storm
Theon's Return to Pyke
Nine years had passed since Theon Greyjoy last set foot on the Iron Islands. Nine years as the Starks' ward—a hostage in all but name.
As he stepped onto the rocky shores of Pyke, the scent of salt and rotting seaweed filled his lungs. The Ironborn were not a welcoming people, and even now, the men who passed him barely acknowledged his presence. He had expected something more.
He had expected to be welcomed as a prince.
Instead, his sister, Yara, greeted him with a smirk, disguising herself as a common sailor to test his wits. Theon, unaware of who she was, flirted with her boldly, only for her to reveal herself with a cruel laugh.
His father, Balon Greyjoy, was less amused.
"You stink of the wolf," Balon spat as Theon knelt before him. "You come here, wearing their silks, speaking their tongue, and you expect to be treated as an Ironborn?"
Theon's heart sank. "Father, I came to propose an alliance—Robb Stark will trade me Winterfell for your fleet."
Balon scoffed. "Why should I kneel to the wolf's pup when I can take the North for myself?"
Theon's stomach twisted. His father had no intention of aiding Robb. Balon would take independence by force.
Theon was home, but he felt more like a prisoner than ever.
King's Landing: A Queen's Fury
In King's Landing, Cersei Lannister read Robb Stark's peace terms and promptly burned them.
She had no intention of making peace. Jaime was her brother, her lover, the father of her children, and she would not trade him for some Stark girl.
"Tell the North that their king can march south if he dares," she told her courtiers. "We will crush him like we did his father."
Joffrey, sitting on the Iron Throne, cackled. "Let the wolves come! I want Robb Stark's head on a spike!"
Tyrion, watching in silence, felt a chill. War was inevitable. And it would be bloody.
Dragonstone: Shadows and Fire
On the dark shores of Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon stood before the flames, watching the fire dance in the eyes of Melisandre.
She whispered of power. Of destiny. Of the Lord of Light's chosen king.
And in the dead of night, she came to his chambers.
She offered him a son. A true heir.
Stannis, a man of stone, rarely succumbed to temptation. But Melisandre was unlike any woman he had ever known. Her voice was honey, her touch was fire, and the promise of a male heir was a temptation too great to resist.
As their bodies intertwined, shadows twisted in the corners of the room, watching, waiting.
Essos: Aegon's Awakening
Far across the sea, in the heat of battle, Aegon felt it.
A surge of power.
It was unlike anything he had ever known. His blood burned, his body felt alive, every nerve in his being thrummed with something ancient, something primal.
He had been fighting—a contract, a simple kill. But when he spilled blood this time, something changed.
The air crackled.
The wounds he took healed instantly. His senses sharpened to an unnatural degree. His speed, his strength—all heightened beyond belief.
And as he looked at his own reflection in the blade, he saw his eyes shift.
For a brief moment, they burned like dragonfire.
Something inside him was waking.
The Arrival of the Apostles
Far away, deep in the ruins of an ancient city, a portal split the air.
And from it, they stepped forward.
Five figures, cloaked in black and crimson, their eyes filled with something unholy.
The Apostles of the Dark Masters.
They moved with a quiet grace, their presence warping the very air around them. They did not belong in this world, but something had drawn them here.
One of them spoke. "The blood of the dragon exists in this world."
And as Aegon stood on the shores of Essos, staring at the blood on his hands, he felt it.
A disturbance in the wind.
A darkness creeping closer.
Something was coming.