The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Turin stirred from his slumber. It was his tenth name day, though the occasion felt like any other. The oppressive weight of his small hut, tucked in the corner of the village of Honeywood, was a comfort of sorts. The familiar smell of straw and wood greeted him as he slowly sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. But today, there was something different. He felt it in the air—a restless energy, as if the winds themselves were anxious for the day to begin.
He climbed out of bed, his feet cold against the wooden floorboards. He could hear his father's voice faintly as he prepared for the day, but there was no sign of him in the small room. Turin sighed. His father, a farmer by trade, was probably already out in the fields, working alongside the other villagers. His father's absence was something Turin had grown used to over the years, but it never ceased to make him feel alone.
Turin quickly dressed in his worn clothes, his heart racing at the thought of what awaited him. Today was special, wasn't it? His tenth name day. He had heard older children speak of the world beyond Honeywood—about the secrets and adventures waiting for him once he grew older. Today, his friends, Aiden and Anthony, had promised him that he could finally join them in their secret spot, the place they had kept hidden from him for the last two years. It was a place they had talked about in whispers, a place of forbidden knowledge and unseen delights.
He grabbed his boots and ran outside to meet them. His friends, two name days older than him, waited by the corner of the village road, grinning as they saw him approach. Aiden, tall and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, slapped Turin on the back.
"Ready to see it, then?" Aiden asked, his grin wide.
"Where are we going?" Turin asked, his excitement building.
"You'll see," Anthony chimed in, and without another word, they led him through the village. The dirt roads were quiet, with only the faint hum of bees in the distance, their work important, as the village was known for its honey, prized throughout the Riverlands.
After a short walk, they arrived at the building. It was a small, ramshackle structure, barely standing on its own. Turin's heart raced—what was this place? What was so special about it?
"What now?" Turin asked, looking at the others.
The boys smiled and exchanged a look.
"Climb," Aiden said, before grabbing the nearest wooden support beam and scaling it effortlessly.
Turin watched nervously as his friends scrambled up, their movements swift and sure. Though the building was no taller than 13 feet, the sight of the ground below made Turin's hands tremble. But he had to prove himself, didn't he? He couldn't back down now.
The boys reached the roof, lying flat on their stomachs and grinning down at Turin.
"Come on, Turin, you can do it!" Anthony called, offering a hand to help him.
Turin hesitated. Heights had always made him nervous, but this was his chance. He swallowed his fear and began to climb. His palms were slick with sweat as he scaled the wooden beams, each step feeling like a small victory. Finally, with Anthony's help, he pulled himself onto the roof, heart pounding in his chest.
As he lay down beside them, he realized where they had brought him. Below, the village lake stretched out like a dark mirror, and several women were bathing in its cool waters. His breath caught in his throat as he turned to look at his friends. Their eyes were wide with something darker, something that made Turin feel uncomfortable. They were staring at the women below, eyes hungry with curiosity and desire.
Turin felt a chill run down his spine. This was wrong. He had been raised to believe that such things were shameful, sinful even. He opened his mouth to protest, but Aiden silenced him with a grin.
"What harm does looking do?" Aiden said, his voice low and almost convincing.
But Turin, despite his hesitation, couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Yet, his friends' relentless coaxing wore him down, and he stayed, though his heart wasn't in it.
Hours passed, and the sun began to dip lower in the sky. Finally, his friends grew bored and left, but not without laughing and making crude remarks about what they had seen. Turin, disturbed and unsettled, hurried back to his small hut. His father still wasn't home, and the silence of the house seemed to mock him. He sighed, staring out the small window at the empty field. What was there to do now?
He turned his gaze to the ladder that led to the upper loft of the house. It was a place his father had always kept locked off, a small corner where only one chest rested. His father had never let him near it. Today, however, something stirred within Turin—a curiosity he couldn't shake.
He climbed the ladder, careful not to make a sound. When he reached the top, he saw the chest. It was small, but unlike anything he had seen before. The wood was finely crafted, and gold engravings adorned its surface. A gasp escaped Turin's lips. How could his father afford something like this? He had always been a simple farmer. There was no way this chest could belong to him.
Turin reached for it, his hands trembling as he ran his fingers over the gold. There was a lock, but no key in sight. He searched for any sign of how to open it, but the chest remained stubbornly closed. Frustration grew in him. He needed to know what was inside.
"Dammit," he muttered under his breath. But it was no use. The key must be with his father.
Suddenly, he heard a loud banging on the door below. His heart skipped a beat. His father had returned early. But something was wrong—his father was never this loud. He bolted down the ladder, desperate to see what had happened.
Before he could reach the door, it burst open. His father, face pale with fear, entered the room. Without a word, he climbed up grabbed the chest and thrust it into Turin's hands.
"Hide," he ordered, his voice frantic. "Under the bed. Don't come out, no matter what."
Turin hesitated, but the fear in his father's eyes was enough to make him obey. He crawled under the bed, clutching the chest to his chest, trying to control his shaking hands. Screams echoed outside. The sounds of metal clashing, the shrill cries of women, the unmistakable roar of a village burning.
Hours passed. The house felt colder, emptier. Finally, he couldn't wait any longer. He crawled out from under the bed, his chest tight with dread. The house was a wreck. Furniture was overturned, drawers emptied, and the smell of smoke filled the air. His father was gone.
Turin's heart pounded as he stepped outside. What he saw made his stomach churn. The bodies of the dead littered the streets—women and children, their clothes torn and violated. Blood stained the earth, and the smell of death hung thick in the air. There were no men or boys among the corpses—only women, and most had been desecrated before they were killed.
Turin's fists clenched. What kind of monsters had done this?
Then he heard a voice—a faint cry from an alley. It was Aiden's mother, barely alive, clinging to life. In her arms was a baby. Aiden's baby sister. Turin took the child from her arms, his hands trembling as he cradled the infant. The woman's dying words echoed in his mind:
"Lord Honeytree... angered the king. He torched the castle... killed the women... took the men and boys to work... then came here... to do the same. They said... one of King Harren's sons wanted Honeytree's daughter as a salt wife... and the lord refused."
The words struck Turin like a hammer to the chest. Ironborn. They were the ones responsible for this slaughter.
Aiden's mother's last request was for Turin to care for the baby. He promised her he would.
With his heart burning with anger, Turin took the child in his arms and began to search for anything of value or use. He found some food—just enough to survive—and began to leave the village. As he walked, the chest still clutched in his hands, he swore to himself that one day, the blood spilled today would be repaid.
The Ironborn would not go unpunished.