A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

well-trained raven, clutching his little
message.”
    â€œThere is nothing small about the letter I bear,” Theon said, “and the
offer he makes is one
I
suggested to him.”
    â€œThis wolf king heeds your counsel, does he?” The notion seemed to amuse Lord
Balon.
    â€œHe heeds me, yes. I’ve hunted with him, trained with him, shared meat and
mead with him, warred at his side. I have earned his trust. He looks on me as
an older brother, he—”
    â€œNo.”
His father jabbed a finger at his face. “Not here, not in
Pyke, not in my hearing, you will not name him
brother,
this son of
the man who put your true brothers to the sword. Or have you forgotten Rodrik
and Maron, who were your own blood?”
    â€œI forget nothing.” Ned Stark had killed neither of his brothers, in truth.
Rodrik had been slain by Lord Jason Mallister at Seagard, Maron crushed in the
collapse of the old south tower . . . but Stark
would
have done for them just as quick had the tide of battle chanced to sweep them
together. “I remember my brothers very well,” Theon insisted. Chiefly he
remembered Rodrik’s drunken cuffs and Maron’s cruel japes and endless lies. “I
remember when my father was a king too.” He took out Robb’s letter and thrust
it forward. “Here. Read it . . . Your Grace.”
    Lord Balon broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. His black eyes flicked
back and forth. “So the boy would give me a crown again,” he said, “and all
I need do is destroy his enemies.” His thin lips twisted in a smile.
    â€œBy now Robb is at the Golden Tooth,” Theon said. “Once it falls, he’ll be
through the hills in a day. Lord Tywin’s host is

at Harrenhal, cut off from the west. The Kingslayer is a captive at Riverrun.
Only Ser Stafford Lannister and the raw green levies he’s been gathering remain
to oppose Robb in the west. Ser Stafford will put himself between Robb’s army
and Lannisport, which means the city will be undefended when we descend on it
by sea. If the gods are with us, even Casterly Rock itself may fall before the
Lannisters so much as realize that we are upon them.”
    Lord Balon grunted. “Casterly Rock has never fallen.”
    â€œUntil now.” Theon smiled.
And how sweet that
will be.
    His father did not return the smile. “So this is why Robb Stark sends you back
to me, after so long? So you might win my consent to this plan of
his?”
    â€œIt is my plan, not Robb’s,” Theon said proudly.
Mine, as the victory
will be mine, and in time the crown.
“I will lead the attack myself, if
it please you. As my reward I would ask that you grant me Casterly Rock for my
own seat, once we have taken it from the Lannisters.” With the Rock, he could
hold Lannisport and the golden lands of the west. It would mean wealth and
power such as House Greyjoy had never known.
    â€œYou reward yourself handsomely for a notion and a few lines of scribbling.”
His father read the letter again. “The pup says nothing about a reward. Only
that you speak for him, and I am to listen, and give him my sails and swords,
and in return he will give me a crown.” His flinty eyes lifted to meet his
son’s. “He will
give
me a crown,” he repeated, his voice growing
sharp.
    â€œA poor choice of words, what is meant is—”
    â€œWhat is meant is what is said. The boy will
give
me a crown.
And what is given can be taken away.” Lord Balon tossed the letter onto the
brazier, atop the necklace. The parchment curled, blackened, and took
flame.
    Theon was aghast. “Have you gone mad?”
    His father laid a stinging backhand across his cheek. “Mind your tongue. You
are not in Winterfell now, and I am not Robb the Boy, that you should speak to
me so. I am the Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the
Sea Wind, and no man gives me a crown. I pay the iron price. I will
take
my crown, as Urron Redhand did five thousand years
ago.”
    Theon edged backward, away from the sudden fury in his father’s tone. “Take
it,
then,” he spat, his cheek still tingling. “Call yourself King of the Iron
Islands, no one will care . . . until the wars are over, and
the victor looks about and spies the old fool perched off his shore with an
iron crown on his