A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

certain affection, as for a younger
brother . . . but it would be best not to mention that. In
Pyke, it would seem, the old wars were still being fought. That ought not
surprise him. The Iron Islands lived in the past; the present was too hard and
bitter to be borne. Besides, his father and uncles were old, and the old lords
were like that; they took their dusty feuds to the grave, forgetting nothing
and forgiving less.
    It had been the same with the Mallisters, his companions on the ride from
Riverrun to Seagard. Patrek Mallister was not too ill a fellow; they shared a
taste for wenches, wine, and hawking. But when old Lord Jason saw his heir
growing overly fond of

Theon’s company, he had taken Patrek aside to remind him that Seagard had been
built to defend the coast against reavers from the Iron Islands, the Greyjoys
of Pyke chief among them. Their Booming Tower was named for its immense bronze
bell, rung of old to call the townsfolk and farmhands into the castle when
longships were sighted on the western horizon.
    â€œNever mind that the bell has been rung just once in three hundred years,”
Patrek had told Theon the day after, as he shared his father’s cautions and a
jug of green-apple wine.
    â€œWhen my brother stormed Seagard,” Theon said. Lord Jason had slain Rodrik
Greyjoy under the walls of the castle, and thrown the ironmen back into the
bay. “If your father supposes I bear him some enmity for that, it’s only
because he never knew Rodrik.”
    They had a laugh over that as they raced ahead to an amorous young miller’s
wife that Patrek knew.
Would that Patrek were with me now.
Mallister
or no, he was a more amiable riding companion than this sour old priest that
his uncle Aeron had turned into.
    The path they rode wound up and up, into bare and stony hills. Soon they were
out of sight of the sea, though the smell of salt still hung sharp in the damp
air. They kept a steady plodding pace, past a shepherd’s croft and the
abandoned workings of a mine. This new, holy Aeron Greyjoy was not much for
talk. They rode in a gloom of silence. Finally Theon could suffer it no longer.
“Robb Stark is Lord of Winterfell now,” he said.
    Aeron rode on. “One wolf is much like the other.”
    â€œRobb has broken fealty with the Iron Throne and crowned

himself King in the North. There’s war.”
    â€œThe maester’s ravens fly over salt as soon as rock. This news is old and
cold.”
    â€œIt means a new day, Uncle.”
    â€œEvery morning brings a new day, much like the old.”
    â€œIn Riverrun, they would tell you different. They say the red comet is a
herald of a new age. A messenger from the gods.”
    â€œA sign it is,” the priest agreed, “but from our god, not theirs. A burning
brand it is, such as our people carried of old. It is the flame the Drowned God
brought from the sea, and it proclaims a rising tide. It is time to hoist our
sails and go forth into the world with fire and sword, as he did.”
    Theon smiled. “I could not agree more.”
    â€œA man agrees with god as a raindrop with the storm.”
    This raindrop will one day be a king, old man.
Theon had suffered
quite enough of his uncle’s gloom. He put his spurs into his horse and trotted
on ahead, smiling.
    It was nigh on sunset when they reached the walls of Pyke, a crescent of dark
stone that ran from cliff to cliff, with the gatehouse in the center and three
square towers to either side. Theon could still make out the scars left by the
stones of Robert Baratheon’s catapults. A new south tower had risen from the
ruins of the old, its stone a paler shade of grey, and as yet unmarred by
patches of lichen. That was where Robert had made his breach, swarming in over
the rubble and corpses with his warhammer in hand and Ned Stark at his side.
Theon had watched from the safety of

the Sea Tower, and sometimes he still saw the torches in his dreams, and heard
the dull thunder of the collapse.
    The gates stood open to him, the rusted iron portcullis drawn up. The guards
atop the battlements watched with strangers’ eyes as Theon Greyjoy came home at
last.
    Beyond the curtain wall were half a hundred acres of headland hard against the
sky and the sea. The stables were here, and the kennels, and a scatter of other
outbuildings. Sheep and swine huddled in their pens while the castle dogs ran