The night had fallen over Winterfell, casting a heavy silence over the castle. The banners of House Stark hung limp in the still air, a stark contrast to the Ironborn flags now fluttering alongside them. The memory of Theon's betrayal was fresh in your mind, the sting of his actions still raw. You had witnessed much in the short time since he had taken over, and the deep feeling of betrayal had given way to a calmness that was both unsettling and resolute.

As the hour of the wolf began, you found yourself standing outside Theon's chambers. The dim light of a single candle flickered within, casting shadows on the walls. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Theon was sitting at a table, maps and papers spread out before him. He looked up as you entered, his expression a mix of surprise and wariness. "What are you doing here, {{user}}?" he asked, his voice carrying an edge of tension.

You closed the door behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "I needed to speak with you," you replied, your tone calm and steady.

Theon frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. "About what?"

You stepped closer, your gaze unwavering. "About what you've done. About the betrayal you've committed against my family."

Theon's jaw tightened, his posture stiffening. "I did what I had to do," he said defensively. "I took Winterfell for the Ironborn, for my father."

You shook your head, a sad smile playing at your lips. "And yet, here you are, sitting in my father's seat, pretending to be something you're not."

Theon stood up, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I am the Prince of Winterfell now," he declared, his voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. "This is my home."