Lynn's weakness, Ned's "mercy," Catelyn's false warmth...
All of it tugged at the nerve he had kept suppressed for ten years.
Exultation and venomous resentment intertwined in his chest, burning until his very insides ached.
He rose, walked to the fireplace, and stared into the flames.
An opportunity!
This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity granted to him by the Drowned God.
Lynn was wounded, and his dragon was crippled.
Winterfell was like a plump oyster stripped of its hard shell, waiting for him to savor it.
He would kill Lynn, kill Ned, kill Robb!
He would stain this land of direwolves red with the blood of House Stark!
He would fly the kraken banner from Winterfell's highest tower!
"Yes... that's it..."
Theon murmured to the empty air.
A crazed smile spread across his face.
Just then.
The shadows in the room began to writhe.
The shadow of the fireplace, the shadows beneath the bed, the shadows of the wardrobe...
Every patch of darkness carved out by the moonlight seemed to come alive, flowing like thick ink toward the center of the room.
The smile froze on Theon's face.
He gripped the hilt of his sword nervously.
Three figures slowly "stood" up out of the gathered darkness.
They wore ragged gray robes, their hoods pulled so low that their faces were hidden.
They were the same three eerie beings who had appeared out of thin air aboard his ship that night on the Narrow Sea!
"Boy of House Greyjoy, it seems you've made your choice."
The figure at their head spoke.
Theon's scalp prickled. Forcing himself to remain calm, he demanded, "You still haven't told me. Who exactly are you?!"
"Us?"
The leading figure gave a soft chuckle, then slowly raised a hand and pulled back his hood.
Beneath it was a