Author's Note: Thanks so much to all those who've been following my first fic, Dreams of Chivalry. This is not to say that I've abandoned it, but I've realized that I've written myself into a place I'd never intended to go. I will be returning to it, and soon, but I wanted to get this out in the open first. Whether or not I continue it further, well, if you like it, please, feel free to review, whether negatively or positively. Anywho…Enjoy!

Prologue

Theon Greyjoy, youngest son of Balon Greyjoy, heir to Pyke and the Iron Islands, and now one of Robb Stark's most faithful companions, buried his blade to the hilt in the belly of the Westerlander facing him.

The Northmen had marched on Riverrun with all haste in the hopes of raising the siege and freeing Ser Edmure Tully, Robb's uncle. Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort had taken command of a thousand men and gone to meet Tywin Lannister at the Green Fork. A delaying action, to be sure, but one that would enable the main host to smash Riverrun's besiegers, who were commanded by Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. So they had ridden through the evening to find themselves in a place they were told was called the Whispering Wood. It was a dark and gloomy place, where the trees closed tightly about them and the moon barely shone through the virtual canopy above their heads. He thought he even heard wolves howling in the distance (other than Robb's direwolf, of course).

But none of that mattered right then, as the Westerman's intestines spilled into his saddle as Theon wrenched his sword free, leaving an enormous slit in his adversary's belly. With a shout in victory, he finished the man with a thrust to his heart, Winterfell-forged steel piercing the boiled leather and chainmail with ease. What was the man's name? Theon wondered. Gawen Hill, or something? Whatever. He leapt out of his saddle as the dead man too slipped off of his horse. He had noticed a rather shiny bauble at his throat. Theon bent over to snatch it, and saw that it was a tiny golden brooch in the shape of a lion, with tiny emeralds for eyes. He hastily tucked it into his belt, and mounted his steed once more. "Rather well-ornamented for a bastard, aren't you? He asked of the corpse. When it became apparent that dead men truly tell no tales, Theon laughed to no one and booted his horse off in the direction of the battle.

As he rode closer, he could hear the sounds of steel clanging against steel and the screams of dying men. Upon the ground were the bodies of Lannister scouts, men unfortunate enough to be in the vanguard of the attack by the Northmen. Mangled ruins of men laid were they had fought and died, some brutally hacked into pieces or partially decapitated, but somehow Theon could not bring himself to care. After all, these were the enemies of the Starks and so were his enemies as well.

He could see Robb, hacking away at a man bearing a cudgel – pardon, a man who bore a cudgel until the Stark formerly in Winterfell cut through the man's arm. There were a number of the younger Northerners there as well. He saw Lord Karstark's sons Eddard and Torrhen, Daryn Hornwood, and a few others who he'd never bothered to remember the names of. Theon had been about to show his trophy to his friend and revel in his victory when a voice called out, "Perhaps the Young Wolf would like to face a real man in combat?"

Every head turned, and there he was: Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, clad entirely in golden plate. His helm resembled the head of a lion, and he was certainly a fearsome sight. Ser Jaime lowered his visor and drew his blade, which too was golden in color. Torrhen Karstark immediately booted his horse forward, yelling wildly, and exchanged a few blows with the knight before the Kingslayer's infamous blade slashed through the Karstark boy's neck. He fell, and Theon could feel his anger rising.

With Torrhen's death, Eddard screamed in a mixture of rage and horror. Daryn Hornwood and Stark's other young bodyguards closed in around their leader before preparing to charge the Kingslayer. Theon, however, burst forth from the forest and roared, "Taste the steel of a real man, Kingslayer: Ironborn steel!"

Ser Jaime seemed to be as surprised as the Northerner boys were. He certainly had not expected a challenge like that. Still, he had a reputation to maintain. He booted forward, casually raising his sword to meet Greyjoy's charge.

Their blades met with a clash. Theon's horse, at a dead gallop, crashed into the Kingslayer's which was practically still. There was no finesse to it, but simply the brute force of one horse hitting another. Both Jaime and Theon were thrown from their steeds. The momentum of Theon's sent him on a path that actually took him over the Kingslayer's horse, where he landed atop the Lion of Lannister, sword in hand. Cushioned by this unexpected buffer of the Kingslayer, he forced back Ser Jaime's visor. The man looked stunned. Unhorsed by a boy!

Theon grinned and murmured, "I wonder what they'll call me for this. The Lion-Tamer, perhaps? But I suppose you'll never know." The end of the blade pricked Jaime's throat, and bright red blood welled up from the wound. "I'm a little disappointed. You're simply much less impressive than I'd been led to believe."

He drove the point home, shoving it through the Kingslayer's windpipe, and withdrew his sword, blood welling out of the deep furrow. Theon's boot then stomped down upon his face, crushing the nose and breaking Ser Jaime's teeth. Finally, more out desire to end it than anything else, he tore the lion's head helm from him, and swung his sword like an axe in a downward arc which severed his head from his shoulders. The spray of his blood decorated Theon's surcoat of the Greyjoy Kraken with bright droplets of red. Theon stood there for a moment, looking at the headless Kingslayer.

When he turned his gaze away, he realized Stark and his companions had surrounded him – save for Eddard, who was crouched over Torrhen's still corpse. They were silent for a long while, until Robb finally stammered, "Erm…Theon. That was Jaime Lannister."

Daryn Hornwood exclaimed, "Seven hells, emphasis on was! What possessed you, Greyjoy?"

Theon could only rub a leather gauntleted hand against the back of his head. "I…"

He stopped as Eddard Karstark took him in a rough embrace. Theon hadn't seen him join them. "You killed my brother's killer. That makes you a damned hero in my opnion."

Stark gave him an odd look, before reaching out to clasp his arm. "That was the most foolish bit of dumb luck I've ever seen. But, you still bloody well killed the Kingslayer, Greyjoy. I guess you weren't joking about Ironmen all the time, now were you?"

He laughed at that. "Renowned in battle and in bed, I said, Stark. And both of those hold true." He tugged the brooch out, then. "Ran into a fellow earlier. Found thi-" He stopped as a hand hit him in the back. Daryn Hornwood was laughing. "What's gotten into you, Greyjoy? You killed the fucking Kingslayer, and have barely paid it any mind. Do you know what this means?"

Theon gave him a blank look, before Daryn threw up his hands in exasperation. "It means, idiot, that Lord Tywin will be displeased."
One of the others snorted, "Now there's an understatement."
Stark fixed him with a glare. "Go do something useful." The boy knuckled his forelock with a murmured "Aye, my Lord", but wasn't paid much attention. Theon raised an eyebrow, before Robb laid his hand upon his shoulder. "Daryn's right, Theon. Lord Tywin Lannister is not a forgiving man. And how he might feel of the one who killed his eldest son..." Stark trailed off, leaving it unsaid. Death would seem a paradise, most likely. "You can't stay here, Theon. You'll be in grave danger until this war is won."
A furious scowl spread across Theon's face. "You want me to hide from my enemies? That is the path of a craven. I will stand and fight by your side, Stark, and not take it upon yourself to be my nursemaid!"
Robb leaned forward and angrily whispered in his ear, "And you will not contradict me in front of my bannermen!"
He took a deep breath asked, "Did you not swear yourself to my cause?"
Theon nodded impatiently, "Aye, I did."
Stark fixed him with that annoyingly penetrating stare. "Then you will so as I command." He sighed. "This is not done entirely for your safety. I want you to return to Pyke. Ask your lord father for his alliance, and burn Lannisport and the West to the ground."
Hope returned slowly to Theon. Perhaps he wouldn't sit this out after all. "Very well, Stark. I'll do it."
Robb clapped him on the shoulder, before looking over his own and grinning. "Well Greyjoy, that's good to hear. But for now, I think our companions have a gift for you."
And quite a gift it was. It was Jaime Lannister's golden helm, free of the bloodstains left by its former occupant. The front was fashioned into the shape of a lion's face, with its mane cresting the top and reaching to the back. It was beautiful, and it was his. Eddard Karstark was the one to present it to him, his face still filled with grief at the death of his brother. Theon supposed that Lord Karstark could gain some measure of comfort in the fact that the Kingslayer had departed this world too. He placed it upon his head, and found that it fit remarkably well. Turning back to Robb, he offered a bit of a mocking bow. Stark drew his sword and roared, "The Kingslayer is dead! Now, we finish his men and free the castle!"
Theon bellowed, "The Young Wolf!"
The answering shout shook the trees, and the young Northmen plus an Ironborn stormed through the woods. As he was riding, Theon was amused to hear the occasional shout of "Greyjoy!" and "Kingslayer Slayer!"
My, this could be fun, thought Theon.