Post by voice on Sept 3, 2016 15:00:10 GMT
Theon shares a name with King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf, and his deceased brother's name was Rodrik. But beyond those interesting names, Theon seems to characterize something else about Winterfell. Something unspoken.
A Game of Thrones - Bran I
Bran's father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell.
There were questions asked and answers given there in the chill of morning, but afterward Bran could not recall much of what had been said. Finally his lord father gave a command, and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword. "Ice," that sword was called. It was as wide across as a man's hand, and taller even than Robb. The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel.
Why is Theon of all people carrying the greatsword Ice for Lord Eddard Stark? Why isn't Robb carrying the ancestral sword of his father and house?
Ned has made sure that the ten year old boy he took to ward would become a capable warrior, with both sword and bow. And unlike other ironborn, Theon sits a horse comfortably.
Sword and horse, rather than throwing axe and longship.
Ned has retooled and restyled Theon as a northman. His father would agree...
A Clash of Kings - Theon I
"Nine years, is it?" Lord Balon said at last.
"Ten," Theon answered, pulling off his torn gloves.
"A boy they took," his father said. "What are you now?"
"A man," Theon answered. "Your blood and your heir."
Lord Balon grunted. "We shall see."
"You shall," Theon promised.
"Ten years, you say. Stark had you as long as I. And now you come as his envoy."
"Not his," Theon said. "Lord Eddard is dead, beheaded by the Lannister queen."
"They are both dead, Stark and that Robert who broke my walls with his stones. I vowed I'd live to see them both in their graves, and I have." He grimaced. "Yet the cold and the damp still make my joints ache, as when they were alive. So what does it serve?"
"It serves." Theon moved closer. "I bring a letter - "
"Did Ned Stark dress you like that?" his father interrupted, squinting up from beneath his robe. "Was it his pleasure to garb you in velvets and silks and make you his own sweet daughter?"
Theon felt the blood rising to his face. "I am no man's daughter. If you mislike my garb, I will change it."
"You will." Throwing off the furs, Lord Balon pushed himself to his feet. He was not so tall as Theon remembered. "That bauble around your neck - was it bought with gold or iron?"
Theon touched the gold chain. He had forgotten. It has been so long . . . In the Old Way, women might decorate themselves with ornaments bought with coin, but a warrior wore only the jewelry he took off the corpses of enemies slain by his own hand. Paying the iron price, it was called.
"You blush red as a maid, Theon. A question was asked. Is it the gold price you paid, or the iron?"
"The gold," Theon admitted.
His father slid his fingers under the necklace and gave it a yank so hard it was like to take Theon's head off, had the chain not snapped first. "My daughter has taken an axe for a lover," Lord Balon said. "I will not have my son bedeck himself like a whore." He dropped the broken chain onto the brazier, where it slid down among the coals. "It is as I feared. The green lands have made you soft, and the Starks have made you theirs."
"You're wrong. Ned Stark was my gaoler, but my blood is still salt and iron."
Lord Balon turned away to warm his bony hands over the brazier. "Yet the Stark pup sends you to me like a well-trained raven, clutching his little message."
"There is nothing small about the letter I bear," Theon said, "and the offer he makes is one I suggested to him."
"This wolf king heeds your counsel, does he?" The notion seemed to amuse Lord Balon.
"He 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 - "
"No." 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?"
"I 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."
"Nine years, is it?" Lord Balon said at last.
"Ten," Theon answered, pulling off his torn gloves.
"A boy they took," his father said. "What are you now?"
"A man," Theon answered. "Your blood and your heir."
Lord Balon grunted. "We shall see."
"You shall," Theon promised.
"Ten years, you say. Stark had you as long as I. And now you come as his envoy."
"Not his," Theon said. "Lord Eddard is dead, beheaded by the Lannister queen."
"They are both dead, Stark and that Robert who broke my walls with his stones. I vowed I'd live to see them both in their graves, and I have." He grimaced. "Yet the cold and the damp still make my joints ache, as when they were alive. So what does it serve?"
"It serves." Theon moved closer. "I bring a letter - "
"Did Ned Stark dress you like that?" his father interrupted, squinting up from beneath his robe. "Was it his pleasure to garb you in velvets and silks and make you his own sweet daughter?"
Theon felt the blood rising to his face. "I am no man's daughter. If you mislike my garb, I will change it."
"You will." Throwing off the furs, Lord Balon pushed himself to his feet. He was not so tall as Theon remembered. "That bauble around your neck - was it bought with gold or iron?"
Theon touched the gold chain. He had forgotten. It has been so long . . . In the Old Way, women might decorate themselves with ornaments bought with coin, but a warrior wore only the jewelry he took off the corpses of enemies slain by his own hand. Paying the iron price, it was called.
"You blush red as a maid, Theon. A question was asked. Is it the gold price you paid, or the iron?"
"The gold," Theon admitted.
His father slid his fingers under the necklace and gave it a yank so hard it was like to take Theon's head off, had the chain not snapped first. "My daughter has taken an axe for a lover," Lord Balon said. "I will not have my son bedeck himself like a whore." He dropped the broken chain onto the brazier, where it slid down among the coals. "It is as I feared. The green lands have made you soft, and the Starks have made you theirs."
"You're wrong. Ned Stark was my gaoler, but my blood is still salt and iron."
Lord Balon turned away to warm his bony hands over the brazier. "Yet the Stark pup sends you to me like a well-trained raven, clutching his little message."
"There is nothing small about the letter I bear," Theon said, "and the offer he makes is one I suggested to him."
"This wolf king heeds your counsel, does he?" The notion seemed to amuse Lord Balon.
"He 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 - "
"No." 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?"
"I 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."
Not only has Theon been taught how to dress and how to fight by Ned, he has also sat in counsel to the wolf king and carries the man's letters.
- A Game of Thrones - Jon VI
"Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life washing an old man's smallclothes?"
"The old man is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," Sam reminded him. "You'll be with him day and night. Yes, you'll pour his wine and see that his bed linen is fresh, but you'll also take his letters, attend him at meetings, squire for him in battle. You'll be as close to him as his shadow. You'll know everything, be a part of everything … and the Lord Steward said Mormont asked for you himself!
"When I was little, my father used to insist that I attend him in the audience chamber whenever he held court. When he rode to Highgarden to bend his knee to Lord Tyrell, he made me come. Later, though, he started to take Dickon and leave me at home, and he no longer cared whether I sat through his audiences, so long as Dickon was there. He wanted his heir at his side, don't you see? To watch and listen and learn from all he did. I'll wager that's why Lord Mormont requested you, Jon. What else could it be? He wants to groom you for command!"
Jon was taken aback. It was true, Lord Eddard had often made Robb part of his councils back at Winterfell. Could Sam be right? Even a bastard could rise high in the Night's Watch, they said. "I never asked for this," he said stubbornly.
And both Catelyn and Robb made Theon a part of their councils.
So it isn't that much of a stretch to suggest that when Ned rode from Winterfell to execute Gared, a deserter from the Night's Watch (Bran I AGOT), that Theon Greyjoy accompanied Ned as his ward and squire. I propose that while Theon began life at Winterfell as Ned's ward and hostage, he did not remain a hostage. Ned may not have treated Theon like a son, but I do think he adopted Theon as his squire. Perhaps not explicitly, not in name -- but for all practical intents and purposes, Theon became Ned's squire as much as Jon became Jeor's. Like Jon, Theon eventually brought forth the ancestral sword of his Lord Commander.
Theon carried Ice, instead of Robb or Jon or Jory Cassel (captain of WF's guard).
"So what?" you might ask.
Well, I think Theon's character arc bears out a familiar story of treachery and identity crisis, told more quickly than the original. One that was told long, long ago, in which the antagonists name has been forbidden. Mayhaps it's being told again at this very moment, only more slowly, in the arc of everyone's favorite bastard. Like Jon, I think Theon's story has much and more to teach us about the others.
What other ironborn but a squire of Eddard Stark would seek solace from a heart tree, rather than the sea? I think Theon journeyed, lost himself (in a sea of warm milk), and sought transformation.
Theon not-a-Stark: transformed from being a man who knew no fear, the Prince of Winterfell (which, btw, would literally be the "Brandon" of Winterfell if we permit a bit of Irish-from-Welsh translation) by The King's Prize (a woman from the watery underworld). With strange sorceries, she made him into a Turncloak of Winterfell, before ultimately becoming A (Weirwood's) Ghost of Winterfell
So, I'm thinking that Theon was not the first man with an identity crisis to ever pray for transformation from Winterfell's heart tree.
- A Dance with Dragons - A Ghost in Winterfell
The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. "Theon," they seemed to whisper, "Theon."
The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. "Please." He fell to his knees. "A sword, that's all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek." Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. "I was ironborn. A son … a son of Pyke, of the islands."
The Last Hero needed a sword too, once.
; i missed it first time around..
