You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you've made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren't expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you'd help the planet thrive. Are you ready?
Submit an AC-eligible thread with a new character as a participant for 2 OLYMPIA REP POINTS OR 2 WYVER REP POINTS, respectively, HERE or HERE. THESA STATION
All refugees on the station are called to the hangar where a large-scale teleporter has been set up; everyone will be sent to the planet together. Simply step onto the space between the arrays and wait. Before they depart, all new refugees will be given a starter kit!
 You may have heard about earlier technical difficulties, but don't worry. I promise everything is in perfect working order this time. I'd say I tested it myself, but since that's not exactly possible, you'll just have to trust me! (Please.)
The older refugees will also be there to guide you to ensure no one is left confused... or behind. Make sure you wait for them — I've been detecting something odd so I'll be having them meet you at the landing site. Good luck, refugees! Not that you'll be needing it or anything...
The arrays begin to hum and glow, quickly building into a brilliant wash of light. It creates a column that travels all the way from Thesa Station to the surface of El Nysa. With the night sky as a canvas, the beam can be seen all the way from Olympia and Wyver — a view that has the natives whispering of blessings.
As a sudden but beautiful aurora splays across the sky, the refugees down on the planet receive a message asking them to travel to the landing site — and warning them to prepare for what may come of the strange readings Zasere's gotten from the teleport itself.
Traveling through the light leaves the impression of blinding starlight, a strange sense of weightlessness, and a disorienting moment of total sensory deprivation. The radiance of your teleport hangs bright in the sky above you, a shimmering aurora that reflects off the calm waters below, visible for miles all around.
You've landed on a peninsula to the east of the South Outpost. There's little here — scattered trees on spring-barren plains, with a few overgrown, dilapidated structures poking out of the brush. All is quiet save for the keening of animals and the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. This lonely desolation is hardly the bustling cities and vibrant cultures you were promised back on the station...
BY CAMPFIRE'S GLOW. But waiting for you is a group of your predecessors, and with them, a veritable tent city, with portable stoves, coolers of food and drink, comfortable bedrolls, and cheerful rings of bonfires — all that you need to make merry of the night, courtesy of Overseer Voss, who has, thanks to his interest in blessed meteorological phenomena and refugees, decided to make a holy expedition of the affair.
Settle in, meet new comrades, and enjoy yourself, for you've safely completed your journey. But don't wander too far from the fires — the dark is closing in, and there's a strange, electric feeling in the air, the scent of ozone drifting on the breeze. And what were those odd readings Zasere mentioned?
A SHEPHERD OVER THE FLOCK. The spring sun dawns on a grey morning, already burning away the fog rolling in off the sea. It quickly becomes apparent that Voss and his entourage of acolytes have been up for hours, hard at work. They've set up a brightly-draped stage and a travel pulpit, magically enchanted to amplify his voice, and as the sun breaks over the horizon, Voss is all set to do what he does best: proselytize.
 As our Goddess has sent Her blessing once before to herald the coming of those touched by Her light, so She has done once again! Here you see them, those surrounded by the light of our Goddess, each of them bearing the mark upon their skin of Her holiest of hands! Do you not see? Do none among you bear witness to the righteousness of Her message? Perhaps this is why our people have shamed themselves in front of our Goddess—
[ He continues for another 15 minutes... ]
Nevertheless. See you them before us now! See them as they are, coming to our gates with Her reminder, that these people must be treated with the utmost respect and care. Thesa's divinity is not to be treated with such flagrant disregard! Those who She chooses are not ours to use as mindless fodder, to hurt, to torture — shame upon those who allowed such deeds to shame us under Her watchful gaze!
To those of you who have just arrived here on our doorstep, be not afraid! The Temples of Thesa welcome you to our home with hearts and minds open! Should you ever find yourself in need of solace, seek out the Temples, as there are no greater allies to you than those of us within the Temple walls. You are welcome all to Olympia!
As he steps away from the enchanted podium, he can be heard saying aside to an acolyte, "How was that? Heavy on the shame, but I think it went well!" While he will not leave the area immediately, his acolytes will politely turn away attempts to speak with him and remind anyone interested that they can leave a message at the Temples.
Despite going off without hitch, the new refugees' arrival isn't entirely without incident. It seems that the "blessed" beam of light that brought the refugees down to El Nysa brought something else along with it — a sliver of the Storm. At least the beam was short enough that only a small fraction managed to squeeze through.
But it's enough to wreak a little havoc around the landing site and along the road back toward Olympia and Wyver — and even, for a few days, in the cities themselves.
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE. The Storm is an undeniably destructive force, and that's proven with this small sliver's effect as it ripples across the continent. While there's no visible sign of its presence, strange phenomena soon begin to appear, corresponding with Zasere's odd readings.
They're innocuous little things at first. A sudden silence, animals going quiet, insects stilling. All technology, no matter how advanced, ceases working. You discover when you check with a friend, the clock on your phone is twelve minutes slow even though you'd swear only a minute had passed — time missing. Walking through the woods takes longer than it should when brushing past one bush leads to brushing past that same bush again — and again, and again, the area looping on itself. It keeps you trapped, going in circles for minutes, even hours, before finally releasing you in a random direction.
Or perhaps you'll feel a sense of deja vu, like you've walked down this road, taken this turn, seen that bird fly from this branch before. This is the second time that cat has crossed your path. The person you're meeting, you already know their name; you're certain you've already met.
WE GOT COWS. The Storm sliver also ushers in sudden, localized weather anomalies — heavy storms, blizzards, strong winds, and more. Affected areas range from just a few feet wide to nearly half a mile. One minute, the sky may be sunny and clear, but the next dark storm clouds roll in, unleashing torrential rain. Small tornadoes surge along the road, kicking up winds strong enough to knock people over and carry objects away. Hail hurtles down from the sky, but only in a ten foot radius. Temperatures fluctuate wildly between one extreme and the next, from heat waves to cold snaps. Soupy fog blankets the area, thick enough that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. Good luck finding your way!
FORGETTING IS SO LONG. The visions come on suddenly and with very little warning. One second, you're carrying on as normal — but the next, you blink and find yourself (and anyone near you) somewhere else completely. You may recognize this place as a moment from the past, one that you lived through. It's a memory, your memory, and it now replays around you in exceptional detail, unnervingly lifelike. Or you may not recognize it at all. It might belong to the person next to you, or to someone else entirely — a memory that the Storm has swallowed up.
Either way, the scene plays out just as it once did, and there's nothing you can do to stop it — or escape it. The memory surrounds you to no end: every door you open leads nowhere, every hallway you turn down continues on forever, every horizon you flee toward hangs just out of reach. And linger too long or turn the wrong corner, and you may find yourself abruptly stuck in a completely different memory. It's almost tempting, then, to give up, to let the past sweep you away...
But this isn't the full might of the Storm. Look closely, and you can see that in the walls of this trap, there are minute, hairline cracks, a facade of fractured glass. Imperfections in the memory where the real world is breaking through. It seems the only way to escape these memories is to find those cracks and break through them — by force, by will, or by some other method entirely.
The time is coming to make a choice — perhaps not a permanent choice, but unless you want to spend the rest of your nights out under the stars, you'll need to pick which city you will initially spend your time in. On the horizon, you will see that people have arrived to help you make that decision...
A FORK IN THE ROAD. Refugees and the hyper-religious wishing to hear Voss speak are not the only ones out and about under the light of the aurora. Citizens of both Olympia and Wyver have flocked to a point on the road midway between the cities and where the refugees have appeared, and they all have the same goal in mind: convincing the newcomers who have just descended in the blessed light of Thesa to come to their city and not the other.
They've come with bribes — that is, examples of what their cities have to offer. If you spent much time at the exhibition up on Thesa Station, you might recognize some of what's being shown off, though the offerings here are markedly more tangible, and shown off by hawkers wearing substantially fewer clothes.
A herd of pegasi accompanies the Olympians, while a line of flying serpents is stabled at a tent bearing Wyver colors. Refugees are given the chance to experience solo flights and are told that if they prove their loyalty, they may have the privilege of owning such fine beasts one day themselves. The Olympians have also brought couture clothing, jewelry, and makeup to offer a taste of Olympian splendor, while the Wyver delegation has brought along fine weapons, sense-enhancing jungle plants, and small vials of diluted dragon’s blood (drinking confers a temporary boost in strength) to demonstrate their might. The Olympians speak proudly of the glory of the Temples of Thesa; the Wyverns speak of the Volkkran Pact and inform newcomers that they can make a pilgrimage to the summit of Namarak Mountain at the next full moon.
This is as good a time as any to compare your plans with others around you and exchange contact information before going your separate ways with people who are going to the city you are not. When you’re ready to go, don’t worry about safe passage — the natives of each city will gladly escort you there in luxury.
OF WHITE AND GOLD. The people of Olympia are ecstatic that you’ve come to join them... So much so that they’ve prepared a grand tour of the city for the new arrivals. You will be introduced to the major businesses in the city, including businesses that they are proud to point out were founded by refugees.
Refugees who have been here for some time already are encouraged to pair up with newcomers to introduce them to the parts of the city they like best. To facilitate this, they’ve made arrangements with many of the business owners: new refugees who visit their shops (and older refugees who escort them) are given discounts!
Just a few examples of many: the Wyvernest offers free desserts to first time visitors with the purchase of a drink, refugees who visit the Silk Wyrms can have one custom (though not exceedingly expensive) outfit made for them for free, and visitors to Shades Darker are offered a half-hour session with one of the prostitutes at half price… or access to a private room, if they seem to have taken a shine to one of their companions on the tour.
Lastly, tour guides will point out that over the course of the next week, the train to Flona Cove will allow new refugees to board for free so that they can experience the seaside for themselves. With the weather finally starting to warm, this is as good a time as any for a visit to the beach, isn’t it?
OF RED AND BLACK. Life in Wyver is typically a sink-or-swim sort of experience — but in light of the valor recently displayed by their predecessors, the natives are now more willing to assist in getting newcomers settled. The entire journey here they have been talking up the virtues of their city… and now is the time to show everything that's on offer.
The well-known businesses in the city are prepared for the influx of newcomers. Some are giving out discounted samples of their products while others are offering a more hands-on experience: in exchange for working a few hours, they will give training in whatever task is being performed.
At the Forged, newcomers can learn the basics of crafting simple weapons (and take one of their successes home), while visitors to spas near the lagoons are trained in the art of massage. Those who wander to Falmi’s Ring can learn the art of pugilism or how to keep (and fix) books if they're more inclined to the gambling that goes on. Newcomers interested in Wyver's dragons can get hands-on experience at the Fields of the Exalted's nursery. While they walk from place to place, a guide may point out a job posting from Highwind Hires, noting that refugees can make a name for themselves outside official channels.
The last stop on the tour is the Undergrowth. The guides speak of the jungle in reverent tones and caution new refugees not to wander too far in. They warn never to explore alone, but also urge refugees to take time to familiarize themselves with it; after all, the jungle is an important part of life in Wyver, and those who are going to be living here should understand it as well as they do.
You've chosen your path, refugee, but that doesn't necessarily make it a permanent one. Watch out for the strange effects of the Storm, which linger still in the two cities and everywhere in between for the next few days before dissipating just as mysteriously as they came, but otherwise enjoy the welcome and make yourself at home — after all, this is home now.
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Theon Greyjoy | A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones
cw for: murder, child abuse, gore…it’s…it’s a lot. The links will lead to slightly shortened bits from the actual ASOIAF books because I’ll just end up taking that dialogue anyway.
[ Memories are a difficult thing for Theon. He’s been struggling with them since he arrived, so much that he’s begun to repress what he knows, to doubt certain memories and accuse his fellow countrymen of lying to him when their memories don’t align with his own.
When it all floods back, it’s a nightmare.]
A. Pyke
[ This memory can only be described as cold. Everything about the room you find yourself in is cold, from the stone walls and stone floor, to the sea roaring outside, to the bone thin man seated beside a brazier that gives off a pitiful amount of heat. Even the man’s eyes are flinty and sharp as he lifts them to the second, younger figure in the room.
“Nine years, is it?,” he asks, his voice reedy and harsh.
“Ten,” responds a young man that can only be Theon Greyjoy. ]
B. Acorn Water Mill
[ It’s a wood you find yourself in, just near an old mill. The air is chilled, but it’s not uncommon for the North. It’s still in Autumn, and it has been for some time.
Theon Greyjoy, despite being dressed in fine clothing, is on his knees in the dirt. He’s fumbling to dress the dead bodies of two dead children, his frozen fingers struggling with the direwolf-shaped clasp of a cloak. Another figure stands idle nearby, unresponsive to Theon’s plight.
When his gruesome task is through, Theon scrambles backwards, quick to get away from the cold bodies. He can’t hide his anxiety or his guilt and disgust with the entire situation.
“You did well, m’lord prince,” the second man calls to him, unperturbed.
Theon clenches his teeth, glancing at the body. “A lordling’s clothing isn’t enough,” he manages, halfway stumbling over his tongue. “People are fools, but—“
“If m’lord would allow me to strip the skin from their faces,” the man urges. “It’s like I told you before. A naked man has few secrets, but a flayed man’s got none. They’ll never recognize them without their skins.”
A long pause follows, and Theon goes a ghostly white. Whatever he was thinking in this moment, it was clearly gut-churning.
“Do what you will. Just make quick work of it,” he snaps. His hands are shaking as he turns away. ]
C. Winterfell
[ It’s chaos, and you’ve been planted right in the middle of it all.
There’s a young man struggling to pick himself off the ground, his mouth full of blood. If he’s trying to make a command, it’s no use. Men on horseback are pouring through the gates of a castle, their armor bearing a sigil of a flayed man. They cut down men and horses as they go, a river of blood and bodies forming more quickly than should be possible. At some point, a man throws a torch onto the thatched roof of the stable, starting a roaring fire that engulfs everything.
“Save me the Freys,” a laughing voice shouts above the flames. “And burn the rest. Burn it, burn it all.” ]
D. Crofters’ Village
Spoilers for The Winds of Winter if you’re keeping from those. This is from a sample chapter.
[ This memory is unknown to even Theon himself, and it’s strange.
The room is poorly furnished, windowless, and lit only by the candles on a table at which a man sits. There’s another man chained to the wall, as thin as a skeleton and white-haired. Several of his fingers have been carved away, and his teeth have been smashed to splinters.
But he smiles. He smiles, and he laughs.
The man at the table looks up, none other than Stannis Baratheon.
“The Turncloak stirs.”
“Theon. My name is Theon.” ]
E. Aftermath
[ The memories all startle and confuse Theon. Some are pieces of his history that he hadn’t wanted anyone to see, while some are things that he’s stowed away from even himself. The final memory is something that he’s yet to see come to pass. His eyes are wide with fear each time he breaks away from it, and he glances at whoever may have been drawn into the nightmare along with him. ]
That’s—
[ He clenches his teeth, unsure of what to say. ]
It’s nothing worth speaking of.
2. Wildcard
[ I mostly just...went full memory swap for this but if you want to do something else, please feel free to hit me up! Just grab me here or at
B
He watches the scene play out without any sound or movement. He's almost fearful of ruining it, as if he'll make whatever this is go away, and he wants to watch. He wants to see some part of Theon - it's useful, in the long run. Maximus is always looking for things to use against others. But the moment seems to have it's time to breathe, and Maximus can tell Theon is in a torn place. ]
Prince.
[ Of everything, that's what he chooses to comment on. ]
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My father—
[ He pauses as he stumbles over his words, taking a deep breath to compose himself. ]
He declared himself King of the Iron Islands on more than one occasion. Some would say his claim was illegitimate, but there’s King’s blood in the Greyjoy line. Robb Stark did the same. He declared himself King in the North by virtue of bloodline.
[ Theon would still support him if he were awake. ]
Westerosi politics are muddy and difficult to explain.
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I find that politics often are. Is this home for you?
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[ It’s a difficult question to answer. Theon lived half his life on Pyke and half his life in Winterfell. To say were home is—it’s nearly impossible. ]
I come from the Iron Islands. I lived in Winterfell from the time I was ten.
[ He drags a hand down his face, clearly still shaken. He feels raw and exposed, even if Maximus hasn’t commented on much of anything. It’s all out there, and Theon can’t help but continue. ]
I can’t tell you which one was home.
[ Perhaps both, perhaps neither. ]
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[ Maximus is not envious. Not that Attilan had been great, but it had been clean, and advanced, and not like this. ]
All the memories that can be dredged up and that's the one that wins. Do you think about it a lot?
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He wishes Maximus wouldn’t ask more, but he suspects he won't receive any further judgement. The scene has played, it's been shown, and how it came to pass doesn't seem to be the most important matter at hand for Maximus. ]
More often than I should.
[ He still has wild nightmares about that day near the mill, but in his nightmares, he’s remembered to erase Ramsay. ]
I had to do it. I had no choice.
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E but she saw the best dad
Truly, she's not that surprised. Just sickened to see this young man crushed, and his own flesh and blood not give a damn.
Theon had told her his father was dead. As dead as someone could be, perhaps, if they're in a pod on the station. At least there's that.
Good fucking riddance.]
Theon, wait.
[Even if he's not going anywhere and there's nowhere to go, she knows he'll want to bolt as soon as possible. So, she reaches for his arm.]
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He turns to face her, and he laughs, a brittle, anxious laugh that can’t mask what he’s feeling. It was the moment that fueled his decision to betray Robb, and he hadn’t wanted to relive it. ]
What? What do you want?
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A part of her is glad she has despite it making her very much wish she could deck his father.]
It's all right, Theon. Just take a deep breath.
That was... [Well. It was something.]
Not the homecoming you expected, was it?
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Theon simply laughs again. He’s trying so hard to build up his walls once more, but they crumble around him each time. With every attempt at a smile, he collapses. ]
No.
[ He snaps, clearly agitated. His hands are shaking, he still hasn’t taken that deep breath, and he’s still searching for a place to run. ]
Ten years. I was--I was gone for ten years. He greeted me as he would greet a thrall.
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I don't understand how a father could look at his son like that. [And yet Theon still wanted that acceptance. That didn't turn out well, did it? Claire tries to reach for one of his hands in an attempt to comfort him, or at the very least remind him where he is.]
You didn't deserve any of that. You know it, don't you?
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BBBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
The memory itself makes him want to swear again. That fucking man right there, who looks like him but is doing and saying things he knows he's never fucking done or said (more or less. he's definitely flayed a few children in his time).
Of course, just when the memory gets good, Reek turns away and everything goes hazy.]
By the fucking old gods, Theon. What was that? [He laughs, pitching it to carry over to the real Reek. He feels like swearing more than laughing, but Reek doesn't have to know that.]
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He’s tried so hard to scrub it all away, to shape his memories to what Ramsay told him simply because it made sense. Ramsay wasn’t there, it was all Theon, Theon acted alone, Ramsay found him only in the end…but now he’s seen it play out a second time. That paired with Davos Seaworth’s story about Wex has left him lost yet again, unsure of where to turn and unsure of who to trust. He'd placed so much trust in Ramsay, and now it's begun to crumble.
He snaps his head up, knowing whose face he’ll be met with. He’s clearly shaken, but he has no answer for that question. He draws back, his hand going to the dagger at his belt. They both know he won’t use it, no matter how confused he may be. ]
When did you wake again?
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Oh, I've been up a while now. Blessed by the gods with another chance at life. [Not that he exactly believed in those gods anymore. The Natha seemed enough like gods, but cared nothing for what went on down in this world. It was an arrangement that suited him well.]
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It should have been Robb, he can’t help but think as he tries to regain some of that old confidence, lifting his chin. It's a poor facade. He isn’t frightened by Ramsay, but he is frightened by his own memories. Who or what is he to trust? ]
I don’t believe in gods.
[ He’s never said it out loud. Having an uncle who’s a drowned priest, being surrounded by Northmen who believe—it was never something you said. ]
You never told me who or what started the fire in Winterfell.
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If I knew I tell. As it is, I don't. [Ramsay wants to see the memory again. He wants to study that man, that Ramsay who somehow was and wasn't him.]
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cw: in this tag, ramsay uses bad words :'D
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cw: ramsay is violent and uses violence
RAMSAY IS HIS OWN CW
LOOK SOMETIMES HE HAS A NICE THREAD WITHOUT VIOLENCE OR BAD LANGUAGE
IT'S JUST THEON'S FAULT, I UNDERSTAND
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Wildcard - Dragonstone
[Dragonstone would be unfamiliar to this Theon, as much as his counterpart's appearance. Each time Jon tried to explain to him that this was the Westeros he knew, he had been called a liar. Perhaps for once, he was glad that his memories were clearly on display. Let Theon see how everything ended between them before the storm came.]
'It’s not. It may seem that way, from the outside, but I promise you, it’s not true, I’ve done plenty of things that I’ve regret.'
'Not compared to me, you haven’t.'
[Jon glanced to this Theon, the Theon from a different Westeros. He was already bracing himself for the usual insults, the refusal to believe that any of this was real, no matter if it played out in front of him. He could at least hope that Theon would watch, take some of it in and maybe understand.]
'No, not compared to you'
'I’ve always wanted to do the right thing, be the right kind of person, but I never knew what that meant, it always seemed like there was, like there was an impossible choice I had to make, Stark or Greyjoy.'
'Our father, was more of a father to you than yours ever was.'
'He was.'
'And you betrayed him. Betrayed his memory.'
'I did.'
'But you never lost it. He’s a part of you, just like he’s a part of me.'
'But the things I've done...'
[He wasn't Robb, but Jon hoped this would mean something.]
'It’s not my place to forgive you for all of it, but what I can forgive, I do. You don’t have to choose. You’re a Greyjoy and you’re a Stark.'
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He can’t escape it. He has no choice but to listen, his jaw clenching with every word. Fool, he thinks of his other self, glaring. Weakling.
But his heart is in his throat. Jon had accepted him once before, but seeing it played out before him is something different. When the memory fades, he whirls around to face Jon, the real Jon. For once, he has no japes or insults. He has no accusations. He’s silent for a long moment, confusion and hurt etched onto his features. ]
I don't--want your forgiveness.
[ His voice is choked and he won't make eye contact. He's still doing that self-punishment thing, but at least he's not accusing Jon of being a liar. ]
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Someone he wouldn't mind fighting alongside. True friends were found on the battlefield and he knew that Theon would become that man.
His forgiveness isn't the same as Robb's, he knows this. But whether it was wanted or not, it was there regardless.]
You have it.
[Even for everything that happened in this world, he would still forgive Theon. He might be angry, he might keep his distance, but he would forgive him anyway. He was still family in the end.]
For here and for what happened there.
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Still, this is Theon. As Jon protests, he rolls his eyes. ]
Seven hells, Snow, can you stave your fucking honor for just a moment?
[ His voice is still choked, and his hands fly up to bury themselves into his hair, clearly panicked. The entire situation is difficult, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of it, so he laughs. He thought he had it all figured out, but once again, his world shatters out from under him. ]
I do not want it. What is your forgiveness going to do? It will help nothing. I would rather you take my head.
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[Well, maybe partly. Beyond that, he can understand Theon to some extent. Both of them were raised in a similar situation, fostered but not completely wanted. Outsiders, hoping to be part of the Stark clan, but also searching for the place they did belong. It would be easier to hate Theon if he didn't recognize this part of him.
He knows though that his forgiveness won't mean much to a man that seems unwilling to forgive himself.]
You would rather be punished for what happened? Why are you afraid of forgiveness?
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2 AT LONG LAST
"The Freys are no better," Wyman spat. "They speak of wargs and skinchangers and assert that it was Robb Stark who slew my Wendel. The arrogance of it! They do not expect the north to believe their lies, not truly, but they think we must pretend to believe or die. Roose Bolton lies about his part in the Red Wedding, and his bastard lies about the fall of Winterfell. And yet so long as they held Wylis I had no choice but to eat all this excrement and praise the taste."
Conspiracy upon conspiracy, that's what it became to be, in this secretive, huddled meeting. More words spoke, each more important than the last. The words of the northern winters bite fiercely with the heat of vengeance.
"It was the Bastard who murdered Ser Rodrik and the men of Winterfell," said Lord Wyman. "He slew Greyjoy's ironmen as well. Wex saw men cut down trying to yield. When we asked how he escaped, he took a chunk of chalk and drew a tree with a face."
It was a story with deepest of thrills, of the primacy of secretive triumphs. Even Wex seems to glow in his silence accomplishments, with a smirk and all. He held up fingers to count to six. Six people he discovered in the runs of Winterfell.
""The lad is ironborn, so he thought it best not to show himself. He listened. . . Wex stole after the two, a woman and a boy. He must have stayed downwind, so the wolf would not catch his scent." added Glover.
"He knows where they went."
"You want the boy." Davos is not surprised by this. It is why he is dead, after all.
"Where is the boy?"
Robett Glover prompted to the mute squire, "Wex. Show him."
And so with a smirk that Theon can recognize, Wex picks up a knife and threw at the map hung on the wall. The knife quivered as it hit its mark. Wex grinned, knowing it won't be an easy trip. Even Starks had problems with their own cannibalistic bannermen, after all.
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These are details Theon has heard no one speak of, but he knows them. He saw Ramsay cut Ser Rodrik down. His ironmen—he recalls allowing Ramsay to kill a three of them, in his own paranoia. He’s pushed far too many memories away, never truly forgetting, but simply trying to reshape the truth. After all, it was never really out of the question to think that he might have been touched with madness trying to hold Winterfell. He wanted to trust someone in this place, wanted to find something that made sense among Jon’s impossible stories and his own heartbreak and guilt over Robb’s death. Ramsay was the only one that offered him that, and all he had to do was forget a few minor details.
He can’t forget anymore. It’s growing increasingly more difficult. His own memories say as much, and so do Davos’ memories. Theon doesn’t even need to look up as the memory fades. He already knows it belongs to the same man from before. ]
Clever lad.
[ He murmurs, but his eyebrows knit together, and he looks conflicted. He doesn't want to speak of Ramsay, or of Winterfell, so he focuses on something else from the memory: where exactly Wex's knife had struck on the map. ]
Skagos. Why Skagos? She should have taken Rickon to Castle Black. To his brother.
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I don't know. Perhaps the Boltons fear the Skagosi. (( If the tales are true, then the men of Skagos were as much as troubling bannermen for the Starks as the Boltons were for thousands of years. )) I've heard the stories.