Theon Greyjoy leaned against the cold Heart Tree and buried his face in his knees.
The cold wind of the North drained the warmth from his body little by little, yet could not cool the tangled fire in his chest.
In his mind, Sansa's innocent smile, Arya's sly eyes, and Jon's words, "We're all wolf cubs who grew up in Winterfell," pierced his heart like poisoned thorns.
He had once believed power and glory were his only salvation.
He had once believed that only by flying the Greyjoy banner high could he wash away his family's shame.
But now, those thoughts left him with nothing but disgust. He remembered the scenes the Blood Warlock had promised him.
Ned kneeling at his feet, Sansa becoming his slave.
That was a desecration of family bonds, a betrayal of trust.
He was not a monster.
Nor could he become one.
Theon jerked his head up. The eyes once blinded by ambition were now utterly clear.
He clenched his fists, driving his nails deep into his palms.
The pain reminded him that he was still alive, that he still had a choice.
"Greyjoy boy."
That voice sounded in his ears again.
Theon's body went rigid. He looked down at his feet.
Those three faces covered in blood-red tattoos emerged soundlessly from the shadows.
Those three pairs of pitch-black eyes, like abysses, studied him silently.
"Our patience is limited."
The lead Blood Warlock repeated the words in a flat tone, yet their weight made it hard to breathe.
"Answer me now. What, exactly, is your choice?"
Theon stood up, the moonlight casting a long shadow behind him.
He looked at the three uninvited visitors who had stepped out of the darkness, at their inhuman faces.
Fear still lingered in his heart, but deeper within him