Chapter Text
When you thought of the Greyjoy family- the one down in the fisherman’s village of Pyke by the coast with the rundown marina and boat rental shop -it was not uncommon to have horrific visions of torrents of rains, swelling seas, flash floods, and monstrous storms accompanied by the scent of sea salt howling winds. The Greyjoys and the waters of the earth had been intertwined for centuries, millenniums. Their history was long, tired, and forever.
It is said the first of the Greyjoy line had been birthed from the ocean. Of course, there was no Greyjoy name yet, but his blood ran through their veins. He was born from crashing waves with flesh made of limestone, hair of tangled seaweed, and blood of the saltiest oceans. His bones were made of coral and his eyes were made of waters from the darks points of the earth in deep trenches so dark, cold, and lifeless.
They say this first human born of riptides and tsunamis could control the seas. He could send tidal waves and floods with just a thought. The power of the oceans ran through him.
With the aid of the seas and the Drowned God that had given it to him, the man of seas and oceans created Pyke and the subsequent Iron Islands of the Ironman’s Bay.
The legend states that this first man created his island with a flood of the harshest waters of the ocean. A flood that would never recede but create what is now known as the Ironman’s Bay. A flood so large that entire cities and towns were buried beneath its wake and would never return to the surface. He flooded the surround lands of his little-claimed plot until his piece of land had been isolated from the rest of the world. An island in the middle of a black, depthless sea. In time, more would be created by each of his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and so on, creating the eight islands that would encompass the Iron Islands of the Ironman’s Bay.
He lived alone for years, sinking ships with tidal waves or using whirlpools to capsize trespassers. He built a towering castle to watch over his island and prayed to the sea that gave him life and power, whispering wishes and vows of loyalty to the Drowned God.
Where there was the Drowned God being praised and worshiped, there was the Storm God watching in envy. Seeing what the Drowned God created and what the human had accomplished for its god, the Storm God sought out to create one in its own image, one better than the human of the Drowned God.
She was a woman, born of gentle rains and whistling winds, descending from the heavens, the dark clouds parting as she floated onto the sands. She eyes were like rays of light filtering through fluffy clouds and her voice soft like an evening coastal breeze. She body was made of clouds and bound by wind. Her passions were as powerful as whirling tornadoes and as sharp as striking lightning. She was everything the disciple of the Drowned God was not.
She came from the sky and from light and he came from the seas and darkness. She was lovely and gentle as he was dark and chaotic. She was the beautiful and he was the sublime. They contradicted yet complimented each other. They were opposites but one. They were the yin and yang.
Neither god intended such a thing, but humanity always had a funny way of stumping gods. The Drowned God and the Storm God were not immune to the fickleness of the human spirit.
The two disciples found each other, both recognizing another of higher birth, each marked with signs from their gods. He greeted her with sea foam and bubbles and she greeted him with kissing rains and heat lightning. Neither the Drowned God nor the Storm God could stop them from what happened next.
Their love was pure and true. They may be opposing forces of nature, but their faith was the same and their devotion to their gods was equal. Their love was as strong as the winds of a hurricane and as deep as the bottom of the depthless oceans. They made love like crashing waves and howling winds. They kissed like evening rain and lapping water. They loved each other like the moon loves the stars; like the wind loves the sea.
They had three children together, all boys. Neither the Storm God nor the Drowned God was pleased. These children had something their two disciples didn’t: options. The Drowned God knew it would have to fight for these children’s devotion and the Storm God knew it would have to crush the Drowned God for the children’s favor. Neither of them took into consideration that they would have to share. The gods didn’t choose which child would fall into their faith, even the children didn’t choose. Their alignment was rather by chance- a force even the Drowned God and the Storm God couldn’t defy.
The first was born as waves threatened to destroy the island the lovers had made together. The Drowned God flooded towns in joy that another had fallen into his grace.
The second was born during a storm of lightning that caused fires across the land. The Storm God claimed the child, sending a month of heavy storms in celebration.
The third was born in the middle of a hurricane that moved the castle a mile away. The Storm God reveled in a win over the Drowned God, the domain being one soul larger and therefore the superior.
With the three boys secured in their faith of their warring gods, the original disciples of the Drowned God and the Storm God melted away and died just as they lived, by the sea and the wind together.
Theon had heard the tale countless times, how each of the three children began the construction of the great families of Pyke, growing the followers of the Drowned God and the Storm God. How Loron Greyjoy, the Old Kraken, created the treacherous waters that only true seaman could cross, preventing non-believers from encroaching their lands and built temples to the Drowned God. How Dalton Greyjoy, the Red Kraken, created everlasting storms across Pyke and built holy runes to the Storm God. How Vickon Greyjoy, the Coldwind Kraken, created the winds that could send a ship from Pyke to Braavos in one gust and added the additional four towers to the Pyke castle (which would later become a decrypted 3-star tourist attraction).
Each faith flourished over the years, sometimes the Storm God over the Drowned God or sometimes the Drowned God over the Storm God. As the years passed, the animosity between the warring gods never ceased. It festered. It grew. It infiltrated the minds of followers, breaking down the Greyjoy name as they killed and demolished in the name of their gods. Siblings would turn against one another, sea versus skies. Theon knew the complication all too well.
Theon also knew how each child of the Greyjoy line had these gifts and connection to the sea and the skies without any real choice in the matter. It was what they were born with; a fifty-fifty split from an age-old legend determined solely by chance. His father could create tidal waves with a nod of the head and whirlpools with a flick of the wrist. His uncle Euron summoned hurricanes and deadly winds while Victarion took lives with riptides and floods.
Theon’s brothers Rodrik and Maron could drown cities and split oceans, respectively. Upon their death, the two brothers created a three-day catastrophe that flooded the cities and sunk one of the smaller barrier islands. They were the utter epitome of the Drowned God and made their father proud, who also found alignment with the Drowned God.
Asha had been gifted control of the winds, an immediate indicator of the Storm God, born as the roof was being lifted the hospital. Her ships were the quickest of the world with the winds by her side. Despite the natural rift, Balon Greyjoy respected his daughter, who used the gifts given to her by the Storm God to appease the Drowned God. Besides, many people considered women natural aligners of the Storm God, going back to the first woman who was created from clouds and rain.
Theon was born during a storm that flooded the streets for a day, gifting him control of the rains, whether it be morning gentle showers, misty afternoons, or pelting torrents of hard storms. Balon sneered at the obvious favor to the Storm God. To make matters worse, Theon showed a lack of…interest toward either denomination. In his father’s mind, it was bad enough Theon had sided with the proverbial devil of the Drowned God, but now he also questioned the validity of both powerful forces? It was unforgivable.
“It’s not your fault, little one,” Theon’s mother whispered in his ears when Balon wasn’t around. She had not been of ability but her faith was to the Drowned God, as most were nowadays.
“What do I do?” Theon asked, only five at the time, terrified as the rain slapped his windows, knowing that it angered his father more and more.
“Nothing, my little Kraken,” she kissed his forehead. “Be yourself.”
She died six years later and Theon learned quickly that he would not be able to respect her wishes, not under Balon’s roof. Not when the slightest bit of rain caused beatings.
So he waited and at sixteen, Theon went to Asha, sure-fired and determined to take his mother’s words to heart.
“I’m leaving,” he said, shoulders tight with tension as the rain beat down on the windows.
“I see,” she nodded her head to the backpack slung over his shoulder. “And where will you go?”
“Inland,” Theon responded as lightning crackled in the sky and waves hit the marina hard. Neither god was pleased by losing a child of the original disciples. They may war against each other, but losing a child to the mainland the worst crime. Their domain was the Ironman’s Bay. Any further and their influence greatly lessened.
Asha didn’t seem surprised nor perturbed by the gods’ anger as she reached into her pocket and pulled out two sets keys. “You’ll need these.” She tossed them at Theon’s chests and he caught them in surprised. Upon further examination, one was a boat key and the other was a car key. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Theon marveled at the keys in his hands but nodded his head quickly. There was no more to say on the matter and he turned to leave. He was nearly out the door when a barely-there breeze whispered in his ear, “Be safe and don’t forget to write.”
He found the boat his sister had left for him and sneered at that black writing on the side. Sea Bitch my ass. But he found it stocked with enough supplies for the two-day trip to the mainland from Pyke. The rains had already begun to pick up, these ones out of Theon’s control as the Storm God attempted to keep him in the Ironman’s Bay. The Drowned God set his tiny little dinghy off course, trying to guide him back to Pyke. It was Asha’s winds that were able to keep him on course, filling his sails and pushing him forward, and two and a half days later the tiny sailboat reached the port of Seagard.
Asha seemed to have been a thousand steps ahead of Theon as the marina owner took the keys to the dinghy and pointed Theon out to a tiny, bruised up car at the edge of the parking lot. He also gave Theon a bundle of bills to keep Theon afloat for a bit. The rain was still going and the seas were still rocking but it didn’t matter with the gentle breeze urging him forward to freedom.
As Theon climbed inside his sister’s car, barely licensed but not caring, he felt freer than he ever had in the fisherman’s shack on the marina, than had ever felt in the Iron Islands. He didn’t care as the winds howled at him or the seas thrashed for his return. He drove onto the highway without a care of where he’d end up, just as long as he was away from the sea and his father’s control.
He didn’t get very far.
He was sixteen, broke, and really had no sense of the world outside the rules of his gods. He ended up heading south and landed in the moderate city of Riverrun.
Riverrun turned out well for Theon. It was far enough away from the Ironman’s Bay that Theon couldn’t feel the gods’ wrath but it was close enough that letters to his sister were a shorter distance.
He was also pretty sure that his sister was meddling from Pyke, especially since he knew his sister had plenty of free time to do so. He found his apartment via a newspaper ad flying through the wind and smacking him in the face. He found his first temporary job as a clerk for a grocery via plastic bags from the store finding their way attached to Theon’s car. Even his current job happened when his now boss’s papers went flying and Theon helped retrieve them. Asha always feigned innocent in her letters but Theon was nearly 100% certain.
Despite their more mystical form of communication, true to her request, Theon sent Asha letters weekly. It was a routine he kept up for the next five years he stayed in Riverrun. Every Thursday he’d walk to the post office on the corner three blocks from his apartment where he’d mail his letter and check his PO Box.
Just like he was now, the week before Christmas. He had run out of postage stamps so instead of slipping the envelope through the box outside like he normally did, he was forced to wait in line…the line that was nearly wrapped around the building due to everyone sending last minute packages.
Bundled up in his winter coat, Theon tapped his foot anxiously. His mood was dampened as of recent. According to Asha’s last letter, they would not be meeting for the holidays like they usually did.
Typically, Theon would drive out to Seagard and his sister would take the boat to meet him and they’d celebrate Christmas together, but this year Asha wasn’t able to be making the trip and Theon had no reason to go closer to the sea than he needed to. He still felt the rumbling skies and the swirling seas whenever he grew near and knew the gods were still furious with him.
True to his emotions, the rain began to start as he thought on his lonely Christmas. Fortunately, Theon was inside at this point and the rain was still pretty light. There were a few groans from other costumers as they saw the rain but Theon just shrugged them off. At least they’d have family for the holidays. He made sure to purchase a few extra rolls of stamps to make sure he would be forced to wait in line again and got out of the post office as quickly before another agitation could pile onto his already shitty day.
As Theon exited the post office, the rain poured harder than before, as if it were trying to punish him even though the rain was well within his control. He could stop it if he wanted, but he let it continue on. Theon never minded the rain; it often brought him comfort or at least an outlet for his emotions.
Stepping out into the rain, Theon didn’t even bother trying to shelter himself from the harsh downpour, letting it soak into this clothing and hair. It was the most he felt at home for weeks, the rain feeling like a phantom limb, a curl of comfort with his sister’s absence.
He was waiting for the light to turn, eyes closed and feeling the rain speckle his face when it suddenly stopped. Opening his eyes and looking upward, Theon was met with the brightest yellow fabric he had ever seen. It took a moment to realize it was a giant umbrella, being held over his hand. Turing to his left, Theon blinked at the stranger holding the umbrella over them, a redheaded fellow with a kind smile.
“Looked like you could use it,” the guy shrugged pleasantly.
“I don’t mind the rain,” Theon quickly snapped. He didn’t need a stranger’s pitying kindness. Especially now that the rain wasn’t bringing that immediately skin contact comfort.
“I don’t mind sharing,” the man grinned. “Besides, you’ll get sick with those wet clothes.”
“Thanks for your concern,” Theon drawled, ready to dismiss the guy. Thunder rumbled in the background, another indicator of Theon’s true mood, but before he could get to his next sentence, the man spoke up.
“Would you like to get hot chocolate? Right now?” the man rushed out. He blinked and smiled sheepishly. “If you have time, of course, it’s just…you look like you need someone to talk to and, well, I got time. If you want.”
Theon had half the mind to tell this guy to fuck off but before he could get the words out, a twist in his gut stopped him and as he looked at the man before him, a light seemed to surround him. It was like when Theon looked at Asha and he could feel the wind picking up or when Theon looked at his father and could hear the roaring waves. The man was god-touched, like him…excpet different. There was no sinister waves or wind with him. There was light. A different god, Theon mused. He already had the misfortune of two, now there were more.
Still, the ability to say no wasn’t coming to Theon’s lips. Curiosity was bubbling in his gut with a need to know.
“You’re buying,” Theon spat out.
The red head smiled so sweetly, unperturbed with Theon’s bitterness. “Naturally. I’m Robb.”
“Theon.”
One coffee hot chocolate date later and Theon was walking back to his apartment with a phone number, clear skies, and so many questions.