The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 44

Aida Stark

The Great Hall of The Great Pyramid echoed with the faint sound of waves crashing against the rocky cliffs outside. The throne room was lit by the natural light coming inside. Daenerys sat on her throne, her posture regal and commanding. I stood to her left, flanked by Missandei and Grey Worm, their presence steady and calm. Across the room, Tyrion leaned slightly on the arm of his seat on Daenerys's right, a goblet of wine untouched at his side.

She had summoned me here earlier, requesting my presence at this meeting—though she hadn't divulged many details. I'd obliged, of course, though theres a strange uncertainty gnawing at me. My fingers grazed the fabric of my cloak as if the action might settle the unease twisting in my gut.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, I turned to her. "Who are we waiting for?" I asked, my voice steady, though tinged with curiosity.

"The Greyjoys," she replied simply, her tone even.

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. My breath caught in my throat. He wouldn't be here, would he? It seemed impossible. Yet, if he had escaped Winterfell after the Boltons took over, where else would he have gone but home? The blood drained from my face, my heart pounding at the mention of the name. "The Greyjoys?" I repeated, my voice cracking slightly.

Daenerys nodded, her gaze lingering on me with a hint of curiosity. Missandei's brow furrowed in confusion at my reaction, while Tyrion's expression tightened subtly, his sharp mind piecing together my unease. His eyes flicked to me with a knowing look, but before Daenerys could question me, the massive wooden doors creaked open. The two guards stepped inside, their boots echoing on the stone floor.

"The Greyjoys, my Queen," one of them announced.

I turned sharply toward the entrance, my breath catching in my throat. A woman strode in first, unfamiliar to me—Yara, I assumed. He mentioned her to me before briefly. But it was the man at her side who made my blood run cold. Theon. His once-proud demeanor was now a shadow of itself—his shoulders hunched, his eyes downcast, but it was undeniably him.

My vision blurred as rage boiled over, clouding every rational thought. My hand found the hilt of my sword without hesitation.

Tyrion's voice, low and cautious, cut through the roaring in my ears. "Aida, no."

But it was too late. I hopped off the dais, not even bothering to take the steps, my boots striking the floor with purpose. "Hey, jackass!" I called out, my voice ringing through the hall like a war drum.

Theon's head snapped up, his face a mix of shock and fear. He barely had time to react before my fist connected with his jaw, the sound of the impact satisfying but not nearly enough. He stumbled backward, hitting the ground with a thud.

I didn't stop there. I threw myself on him, fists flying as years of pent-up anger and grief poured out. "Fight back, you coward!" I shouted, but he didn't. He just lay there, taking the hits, his face slack with resignation.

"Yara, no!" he croaked suddenly, but it was too late.

A sharp kick to my ribs knocked the air out of me, sending me sprawling. The woman, Yara, stood over me, her face a mix of anger and disgust.

Before she could advance again, Grey Worm stepped forward, his spear at the ready as he grabbed her arm, holding her firmly. Daenerys and Tyrion were descending the steps, their expressions a mix of shock and urgency. Missandei hurried to my side, her gentle hands pulling me to my feet. Her wide eyes pleaded with me to stop, but the sight of Theon rising from the ground, clutching his bloodied face, sent a fresh wave of fury through me.