Winterfell – Theon's Chambers – Late Afternoon
Theon Greyjoy slammed his door so hard the hinges groaned. The small, cold chamber barely held a fire in the grate. He ignored it and crossed the room in three strides, he drove his fist into the stone wall by the window. Pain exploded up his arm but he didn't care.
"How dare he," he hissed, breath fogging in the icy air. "How dare he wear our Valyrian steel sword like it was always his."
Red Rain
The blade that always belonged to Ironmen and was a possesion of House Drumm lost to the greenlanders, now paraded by a spoiled prince who'd never reaved, never paid the iron price. Theon's eyes burned with fury.
"I'll show him," he muttered with a low and venomous voice. "I'll show him his place. I'll take back what's mine."
A wicked smile twisted his lips.
"I'm going to humiliate him so badly…he might run away from here."
He laughed a short, ugly bark.
"That would be something."
A Few Days Later – Winterfell – Training Yard
Lyonel stood at the edge of the yard, arms crossed, breath still heavy from his dawn session with Arys and Sandor. He always trained before first light even here in the North. Routine was his anchor.
Ser Rodrik Cassel ran the boys through drills. Robb and Theon sparred in the center blunted steel clanging, laughter and grunts mixing in the cold air. Nothing serious; just friends testing boundaries.
Jon stood beside Lyonel, arms folded, watching with quiet interest.
"They're holding back," Jon observed.
Lyonel nodded.
"Aye, they do"
Jon glanced sidelong.
"Please don't hold back on me my prince."
Lyonel's mouth curved up.
"I won't Jon and I told you to call me Lyonel"
The spar ended with Theon disarming Robb a playful shove, a brief laugh. Theon sheathed his sword, still grinning, but his eyes flicked toward Lyonel for half a second with a cold and calculating look he stared at him.
After lessons, Lyonel walked with Robb through the godswood. Robb was showing him the heart tree, the hot pools, hidden corners only the locals knew, while Jon stayed behind to practice more.
At the keep doors, Robb clapped Lyonel on the shoulder.
"You're not what I expected," he said honestly.
Lyonel raised a brow.
"What did you expect?"
Robb shrugged.
"Someone who'd look down on us and someone soft and spoiled."
Lyonel laughed at that.
"I'm not soft and I don't look down on anyone who can stand on their own."
Robb grinned.
"Good. Because we're going to spar tomorrow. No holding back."
"Deal."
Lyonel was halfway down the corridor when a voice called behind him.
"Prince Lyonel!"
Arya Stark came running hair wild, dress hem muddy, cheeks flushed.
Lyonel raised an eyebrow.
"Lady Arya. What brings you here?"
Arya blushed and looked away, muttering.
"C-could you teach me now?"
Lyonel leaned closer, teasing.
"What was that, Lady Arya?"
She blushed harder, then looked straight at him and nearly yelled:
"Could you teach me now?!"
Lyonel burst out laughing.
"Yes. Of course. Let's find some place. I'll show you a few tricks."
Arya's eyes lit up like torches.
"Okay! Thank you so much and please call me Arya, my prince."
Lyonel smiled.
"Only if you start calling me Lyonel."
They went to the godswood, and beneath the red leaves, Lyonel taught her basics: stance, grip, simple cuts and parries. Arya absorbed it all, laughing, cursing, shining with joy. They stayed until the sky was purple and the stars appeared.
Next Morning – Winterfell – High Table
Breakfast in the great hall.
Lyonel sat at the high table with the Stark family Ned at the head, Catelyn beside him and Robb to his right.
Jon was not there. Lyonel noticed immediately, glancing toward the soldiers' tables. Jon sat among them, eating quietly with his head down.
Lyonel turned to Ned.
"Lord Stark… why isn't Jon eating with us?"
Catelyn answered first.
"He is not a Stark, my prince. He doesn't have the right to sit here."
Lyonel raised an eyebrow.
"He's not a Stark? I thought Jon was Lord Stark's son. Was it not the case?"
Catelyn's lips tightened.
"He doesn't bear the name Stark. So naturally he cannot sit with us. And it is better for him not to."
Lyonel set his spoon down.
"Excuse me, Lady Stark… but did you somehow become a lord? Because my question was for Lord Stark so why are you answering instead?"
The table went silent.
Robb froze mid-bite, Sansa's eyes widened and Arya grinned behind her hand.
Catelyn glared daggers and then Ned cleared his throat.
"Jon is my blood," Ned said quietly. "He eats where he chooses."
Lyonel nodded, then stood.
"If you don't mind, Lord Stark, I'll be joining Jon's table today."
Ned smiled, approving.
"As you wish, Your Grace."
Lyonel crossed the hall, sat opposite Jon.
"Y-your Grace… what are you doing here?" Jon stammered.
Lyonel smirked.
"I wanted to join your table. Is that alright?"
Jon's surprise faded to a smile.
"Of course."
They talked and ate, laughter coming easily. At the high table, Catelyn's knuckles whitened around her goblet.
One Week Later – Winterfell – Training Yard
Ser Rodrik Cassel stood in the center of the yard, giving lessons to the boys.
Lyonel, Robb, Jon, and Theon were all present.
Sparring time came.
Ser Rodrik was about to pair them when Theon raised his voice.
"I would like to spar with Prince Lyonel today."
Surprise rippled through the yard. Theon had avoided Lyonel since his arrival.
Lyonel smirked inwardly.
So you finally decided to make your move, huh?
Ser Rodrik looked unconvinced.
"I'm not sure, Theon. Why would you want to spar with Prince Lyonel?"
Theon met the master-at-arms's eyes.
"Is there a reason I cannot?"
Ser Rodrik sighed.
"No… there is not."
Theon turned to Lyonel, voice tight.
"Unless the prince and heir to the Iron Throne is scared of a little friendly spar."
Lyonel's smile didn't waver.
Before he could reply, another voice cut through the yard.
"That's enough, Theon."
Ned Stark walked into the training yard cloak billowing and his face stern. He had come to observe the training.
Lyonel raised a hand.
"No, it's quite alright, Lord Stark. I myself do not see a problem with a little spar."
Theon's eyes widened—clearly not expecting Lyonel to agree so easily.
Ned frowned.
"Are you certain, my prince? Theon is not someone who will go easy. You might be in serious trouble."
A loud bark of laughter rang out.
"Fucking hell that was the best joke I've heard in a while."
Ned just raised an eyebrow.
Theon stepped closer to Lyonel.
"I also want this sword returned to me after I win." He said pointing at Red Rain.
Lyonel chuckled.
"So that's why you decided to spar with me today, huh? It was for this sword."
He smirked.
"It took you so long to finally get enough courage to ask for this spar. I thought you were going to do it way sooner."
Theon gritted his teeth.
"Shut up and fight. Do not hide behind your guards!"
Lyonel tilted his head.
"Why should I spar with you?"
Theon blinked.
"H-huh?"
Lyonel continued calmly.
"You want my sword after you win the fight, right?"
Theon clenched his fist.
"It is not your sword! It belongs to the Iron Islands and you stole it from us!"
Lyonel sighed.
"Wrong. It is not your sword. It never belonged to House Greyjoy. It only belonged to House Drumm. Unless you think all possessions that other houses of the Iron Islands have naturally belong to House Greyjoy which is a dumb way of thinking."
He turned to Ned.
"Lord Stark do you claim Longclaw of House Mormont as yours too?"
Ned shook his head.
"No. We do not. It is not ours and never was. It belongs solely to House Mormont."
Lyonel nodded.
"Exactly. And even without all of this… why would I spar with you if I stake my sword and you give nothing in return?"
Theon stared speechless for a moment.
Then he spoke.
"If I lose… I will become your dog."
He never once thought he would lose not to someone five years younger, even if that someone was only a head shorter.
Lyonel raised an eyebrow and smiled.
"Hmm… I could certainly use someone like you to be my dog and besides that's all you're good for anyway."
Theon's face flushed crimson.
A small laugh escaped from someone nearby.
Everyone turned.
Arya was perched on a low wall grinned down at them.
Ned noticed her.
"Arya what are you doing here?"
Arya's cheeks went red.
"I-I wanted to watch the training, Father."
Ned sighed but didn't send her away.
Arya continued, grinning at Theon.
"Theon… you should get on your knees and apologise to His Grace while you still can. Before it's too late."
Theon scoffed.
"Arya I think you should stay away from swords. They're clearly not for you if you think I'd lose to him."
Arya just smiled wider.
Lyonel continued still smiling.
"Fine I agree. Let us fight."
He walked to Ser Arys, took Red Rain off his belt, and handed it to the knight and then whispered to his guards.
"Do not let anyone interrupt the fight. Understood?"
Arys and Sandor nodded.
Lyonel then took one of the blunted training swords from the rack and swung it once testing weight.
Theon asked with arrogant voice.
"Maybe you prefer to fight with wooden ones? So you don't get hurt?"
Lyonel just smiled.
Both boys faced each other.
Lyonel held the sword in reverse grip low, relaxed, almost bored.
Theon stood like a bull ready to charge sword raised high.
Ser Rodrik gave the signal.
Theon exploded forward running straight at Lyonel, sword slashing down in a furious overhead strike.
Lyonel walked slowly forward no guard, sword low, looking disinterested.
Theon closed the distance and swung his sword.
Lyonel caught Theon's wrist before the blade got anywhere near his neck. Then he struck fast and precisly with his hilt hammering the radius bone of Theon's forearm. He screamed and his sword clattered to the ground.
The yard went silent everyone was shocked how fast Lyonel won the fight.
But Lyonel wasn't finished.
Lyonel twisted the arm, Theon doubling over in pain. Lyonel punched him in the stomach, kneed his face. Theon hit the dirt, blood pouring from his nose.
Lyonel took the twisted arm and snapped it. The crack echoed. Theon's scream was high and wild.
Lyonel crouched, rained blows on Theon's face turning flesh to pulp.
Robb shouted:
"Lyonel stop! You've won! Enough!"
But Lyonel didn't hear. Arya watched, eyes wide.
Ned gave a silent signal to a soldier to stop this.
The soldier started forward.
A massive hand clamped on his shoulder.
Sandor Clegane grinned down at him.
"The prince is taming his dog right now. And he does not wish for interruptions."
The soldier gulped then nodded and stepped back.
Lyonel only stopped when Theon lay broken and still. Blood dripped from his knuckles as he slowly stood up and looked at Ned.
"I'm sorry, Lord Stark. But I had to make sure he wouldn't try something like this again."
Ned's face was stone.
"It went too far, my prince. Look at him."
Lyonel glanced at Theon bloody, broken and unconscious.
"So what?"
Ned stared.
"So what? What if his father hears how his son was treated? What then?"
Lyonel's eyes were calm, cold.
"He wouldn't do anything. And besides—Theon is a hostage, is he not, my lord? I was just reminding him of that."
He paused.
"And now that he's my property, he had to learn his place."
Lyonel bowed slightly to Ned.
Then walked to Ser Arys.
Arys handed his sword back.
Lyonel fixed it to his belt.
He and his Kingsguard walked away.
Ned watched them go.
All he could see in that moment was Robert young Robert beating someone bloody, wiping blood off his knuckles with a satisfied smirk.
He sighed heavily.
Robert… your son really is the same as you.
But he's also much colder than you were.
And he schemes far better.