Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 49: I Made a Choice

―The North―

Near the Saltspear...

In a remote location down the Fever River, a small scouting party finished its observation of the surrounding area. In the distance, they could see multiple ships bearing the sigil of House Greyjoy—a gold kraken on a black field—on its sails. Even from their position, they could see smoke rising from the distance... an estimated twenty leagues from their location, the battle to retake Moat Cailin from the ironborn was an intense one. The rain and thunder had subsided, and it was time to put the plan into action. The group's leader was a tall and gaunt man with a two-foot-long ropey black goatee dangling from his pointed chin.

His men refer to him as Locke, a man-at-arms sworn to House Bolton. Lord Roose Bolton considers him to be his best hunter, but Locke, however, was only seen as the de jure leader of the scouting party. The de facto leader was in fact the young man standing next to him. With curly and dry dark brown hair and cold blue eyes, his name was Ramsay Snow, bastard son of Roose Bolton. Dressed to disguise himself as a mere servant, Ramsay was ready for the hunt. Despite his bastard status, Ramsay was quite intelligent in his own twisted way. As the two friends watched from a distance, two of their men came back.

"The trap's in place, my lord," one of them spoke up.

"Good," Locke nodded. "Then that means the hunt can commence without any hindrance. Provided of course that our new... 'guest'... behaves himself?"

Ramsay smiled with confidence. "Oh, there's no need to worry about him. Just be sure to make the scene look rather convincing. We don't want to give ourselves away too early now, wouldn't we? I mean, that would ruin the hunt."

"That it would, Ramsay. That it would."

With a snap of his fingers, some of Locke's men brought one of their captives, his arms tied behind his back and a bag placed over his head although sounds of muffling protests and a small struggle gave it away. Once they forced their prisoner to his knees, Locke approached him.

"Take it off," he ordered.

One of the hunters went around and yanked off the cloth, revealing the prisoner as Theon Greyjoy himself. From the looks of it, Theon appeared bloodied and beaten. Bruised and blood stains from his lip and the side of his head; his nose was slightly crocked, indicating a broken nose. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Theon glanced around – realizing where his captors had taken him... and how they caught him.

ooOoo

Back at Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy stood on the grounds of the fortress's main courtyard. Still conflicted with having to choose between being a Stark or Greyjoy, he somehow knew that the choice he made would be the one that would forever seal his fate. He picked back up the parchment he let slip from his fingers moments before, taking a moment to re-read it before crumpling it in his hand. "Forgive me, father. Forgive me, Yara," his voice cracked. "Forgive me, Lord Stark..."

Just earlier he had to forcibly send both Bran and Rickon Stark away with Jojen and Meera Reed as their guides, but that did little to settle Theon. As much as he hated being in a tough situation as he was a ward, Theon came to realize how he appreciated House Stark's treatment of him despite being a political hostage. He saw Eddard as a surrogate father figure, and Robb, Bran, Rickon and Jon Snow as brothers. They treated him like family, better than his own ever did. Theon still wandered across the courtyard by himself. 

"I'm sorry I made a choice. I know what I did in your eyes was a betrayal, but... But you wouldn't listen to me."