nysalogs | Semi-closed

[ He wants to bash his own head against the wall and be done with it, but he knows Ramsay will find some way to further his suffering. If he couldn’t always find a way, Theon would have taken the easy way out a long time ago. Instead, he just holds his breath and tries not to scream:

Don’t touch me, don’t call me that, I’m not him, I’ve never been him. I’m Theon. ]

I—

[ It’s a trick question, he warns himself before he can speak another word. He wants you to make a mistake. He wants you to say the wrong thing. ]

I s-said terrible things. Did terrible things. I was only punished for my insolence.

[ He closes his eyes tightly, trying to stave his trembling. He can’t keep doing this forever. Someday, he’ll cease to be himself entirely all over again. ]

It was well deserved.

[It's tempting to try to pull the offensive hair out, and for a heartbeat he gathers a fistful of it, holding it firmly in his hands as he considers it.

But Reek is putting all the blame on himself, trembling like he shake those bones out of his translucent skin. He's trying to do what he thinks will make Ramsay pleased. That, in the end, decides it.

He releases the grip he has, turning his hand to smooth the hair with a steady, confident hand. You might be terrified, the gestures indicates, but I know what I'm doing. I've got it all under control.]

I'm sure some of it was was your fault, Reek. But I saw that man in your memories. I saw him flay those boys. [That sets a tremor of revulsion running through him. He still struggles to accept what he saw, struggles to think of that Other Ramsay. But he can't let it get in the way of bringing Reek to his side.]

[ Theon expects it. He tenses and tells himself that he’s felt worse pain than pulled hair, but no pain follows. Ramsay only smooths his hair back into place. It’s a sickeningly familiar gesture that does little to comfort him.

When Ramsay speaks again, Theon doesn’t know how to respond. Experience tells him to tread carefully around Ramsay when he’s angry. Previous experiences have lost him fingers and teeth and plenty of scars. Although Ramsay speaks carefully, something in his eyes says that he’s absolutely livid.

He doesn’t like the idea of two of him any more than I do. ]

Yes. I…remember, my Lord.

[ It’s a cautious response. Ramsay never liked when Theon began to remember who he was, so those memories were locked away and thought of the experiences of another man entirely, but this Ramsay is encouraging it, and Theon has no other response for him. His confusion is plain, though. Where is this going? ]

But—it wasn’t him who killed them.

[ Is that what he wants to hear? Theon isn’t sure. It's so difficult to think when he's so terrified. He doesn't know how he did this for so long. ]

But he broke your fucking teeth, didn't he? [Casual as anything, he smooths his hand around the side of his face to hold his chin - expecting Reek to open his mouth so the teeth can be checked. It's not unlike how he'd inspect a new horse.

His hand applies gentle pressure, his words are just as gently as he says:] Let me see, Reek.

Edited 2018-05-16 11:09 (UTC)

[ Theon hates those teeth most of all. Scars can be hidden beneath clothes, missing fingers and toes can be hidden in gloves and boots, and white hair never hurt anyone, but there’s no avoiding those teeth. They’re painful and they leave him unable to eat without inconvenience, but it’s true: they were Ramsay’s doing. He hated Theon’s smile, so he took it from him.

He nods weakly, intending to respond that he’d deserved it, but he’s too frightened that he might do something rash if he tries to speak with Ramsay’s hand in such close proximity. He’s bitten Ramsay before. He did and said a lot of things early on when there was still some fight left in him, but he knows now how dangerous that is. He does the smart thing instead and silently complies, opening his mouth to show nothing but a mess of shattered teeth. ]

[ It’s strange to experience, and he’s clearly unnerved by the experience of sliding so far backwards, even for such a brief moment.

Reek is someone Theon was forced to become, and he obliged to an extreme in order to avoid more pain. Remember your name, your new name. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with freak. Behave the way he wants you to behave, and he’s less likely to hurt you. Everyone is less likely to hurt you. That was the way this thoughts went beneath the Dreadfort.

In a way, Theon has traded in one coping mechanism for another. He doesn’t smile so much anymore—and how can he? He doesn’t laugh or make cutting remarks, except in his thoughts. But when a situation arises in which he could be hurt or threatened, he feels himself being pulled back into that dark place, and he slips far too easily back into the role of Reek.

He feels sick, but he tries to focus on what Claire is saying rather than the churning of his stomach. His name. Theon, not Reek. He tries to focus on the feeling of the familiar leather gloves and the knowledge that they belonged to someone important to him, someone who was honorable enough to have never wanted things to carry this far out of hand. With a shaky breath, he nods. ]

I’m still Theon.

[ There’s still no power in his voice, but he’s actually looking at her now. ]

I’m sorry. I wasn't--I couldn't be Theon. Not then. Not when I was kept by Lord Ramsay. I had to be someone else. He didn't like when I forgot.

[With him looking at her, she makes a decision and slowly reaches out to put a hand on his arm. To stop him from walking, because he needs to have his full attention on her, not on hobbling onwards.]

You did what you had to do to survive, Theon. Never apologize for that. [Something like that leaves a mark. It's not a mark that will go away easily, if ever. Claire speaks softer, slower, but with absolute certainty.]

You are incredibly brave, Theon. Incredibly strong. I told you that here you had the opportunity to figure out who you want to be. Start over. [He hadn't, not really. It just seemed to confuse him more. Not that it matters now.] Well, now you know who you don't want to be. And I believe you won't ever lose yourself again, Theon. You have me. You have Jon, and Sansa, even if you may not believe it. You can come home whenever you want. Ramsay didn't take that away.

[She's not going to drag him out of the place he shares with Max, or argue he come live with her and Sansa and Jamie, but she will remind him the offer is on the table.]

I want you there. But... you're strong, and brave, and I know that when I go back you'll be all right.

[He's managed this long. She's never going to step away entirely, but Max did have a point--she can't coddle him forever. She'll always see to his injuries and try to make him more comfortable, but she can't suffocate him. That's not helping the poor boy.]

[It's a sickening laugh, even if it's not meant to disturb him. It was the sort of laugh that should belong to a madman, though it came from the face of a corpse.

He can't help flinching, unsure of what to make of this Theon.]

They won't for long.

[He doesn't know the way things will go in this other Westeros, but given the similarities and the stories he was told, he had to believe that Winterfell would be theirs again and Ramsay Bolton would fall.]

You have your name here?

[He didn't know how to frame that question. Was Theon coming back to himself or did he still fear his name?]

[ He does flinch, but he forces himself not to draw his arm away from her. He continues to look right at her, just so he doesn’t slip into the false belief that she might be lying to him. He knows better, but his mind is so quick to play tricks on him. ]

He did, though. He did take home away.

[ His eyebrows knit together, and he wonders how that thought managed to escape and become audible, but he can expand upon it with Claire. His voice grows quieter, like he’s afraid someone might have overheard, but he continues. ]

Winterfell was my home. Not…not really, but it was the closest I ever knew, and he destroyed it before the Storm ever could.

[ This is the first time he’s dared to name Winterfell as his home out loud, but he had a lot of time to think on the matter. He looks upset, but he manages not to fall apart entirely. ]

You want me there so I don’t do anything stupid, don’t you?

[The flinch is expected. That he stays, and doesn't pull away, means he's trying. She sees it. What he says doesn't come as a surprise to her, but it does make her chest ache, knowing he must have realized where home was long after the fact.]

You can have a new home. I'm sure you've figured out that it's the people that make a place home, not the walls. Jon and Sansa might not have been it before, but they can be now. There's a place for you.

[Winterfell was home because he grew up there, alongside his best friend. His only friend.

Some of the sadness leaves her eyes at his question. She probably shouldn't find it amusing, but her lips curve.]

Naturally. [She won't lie to him.] I don't want you to feel alone, or fear that you're going to slip backwards. I want to take care of you. Your hair, your teeth, your limp... I can fix these things, once you're stronger. It's going to be painful, and you're not going to have a good time, but what he did to your body can be mended. It's just... what he did to your mind, and your heart. Your soul, if you believe in such a thing--that will take the longest, and much of that is on you. But I'd like to do what I can, and if you were closer, you'd have an easier time of it.

Theon.

[ Maximus busies himself by getting them a drink. Not tea, and nothing too strong, but it's got enough bite to suit the situation. ]

Because you're dear to me, I'll do it, if that's what you want.

It is.

[ That grants him a modicum of comfort, though not enough to stop him from shaking. He of all people should know how easy it is for a man to turn his cloak, but he has to be able to trust Maximus.

After all, no one ever trusted me.

He’s never been given any reason not to trust Maximus, and it isn’t as though he’s asking for much. A cut across the throat should be enough, should the situation ever call for it. ]

I’m sorry. If I caused any trouble.

[ Before, Theon wasn’t ever one to apologize, or to express gratefulness, but things have clearly changed. ]

[Ramsay sighs and tuts in something that might approximate compassion, if it weren't for the surgical way his finger checks the teeth.

There's a danger that Reek might bite him, which he's sure the man is aware of-- but he ignores it. He has the power here. He's the one who does the hurting. This might not be the Reek he made, but Reek should fucking understand how things are.

Moments later, he retries his fingers and wipes them clean on Reek's shirt.] What a fucking mess.

[Doing so leads him to notice Reek's attire. He gives it a long pointed look, then brings his gaze up to the man.

As though asking a child:] What are you wearing, Reek?

[ Theon understands too well, though part of him wishes he still had the guts to bite anyway. Those teeth may pain him, but they’re jagged and sharp and for a brief and dangerous moment, he risks thinking about what kind of damage they could do if he dared to bite down.

It’s a thought that’s gone as quickly as it comes, though. Fear seizes him again. His clothing would always be to Ramsay’s misliking. He has a wardrobe full of clothes that Theon Greyjoy would wear, but Reek never would. The trouble is, none of it fits the frame of a half-starved man. It was Claire who bought him new clothing, along with Robb Stark’s gloves. ]

This was all I had, my lord.

[ He knows it’s an unacceptable answer, and he lowers his gaze, hoping it will be enough. He can’t be expected to own everything from Westeros. Surely Ramsay is wise enough to know this as well. ]

I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly.

[It's not acceptable, but there'll be time to punish him for that later. Ramsay picks at the offensive shirt as it hangs off the man's frame.]

Then we'd better go get you something fitting, hadn't we, Reek? Can't have you walking about like this. You might get mistaken for someone important. [There's laughter in his voice as he suggests that.]

[ Gods, no. Please. Not again. I'm not him, don't touch me, please.

He turns his head away, afraid that if he meets Ramsay’s gaze again, he might see Theon Greyjoy still dwelling behind his eyes, still angry and fighting back to urge to spit out the words “bastard” or “Snow”.

Luckily, fear and exhaustion keeps all of that at bay. He won’t be losing another finger today. ]

No. I’m—I know I’m no one, my lord.

[ His voice is too small. The laughter in Ramsay’s voice makes him feel sick, and he wishes he’d never come. Was Jeyne Poole really worth all of this? ]

May I please keep the gloves? I have none but these.

[ That’s a lie. He has plenty, and they're all much nicer than Robb's, but he’d broken down into tears over these stupid gloves and he’s not going to let them go so easily. He doesn't even have all of his fingers to make the gloves of proper use, but it's important to him. ]

[A huff of laughter escapes him, well aware that Reek hasn't all the fingers to fill the gloves.]

Come along, Reek. [He's not going to bother answering that request. Perhaps after the man's begged for them a little more he'll allow it. Turning on his heel, he sets off through the rows of pods towards the exit.]

[ He clenches his fists tightly when Ramsay’s back is turned. He’s angry, both with himself and with Ramsay and with the fact that his request wasn't answered at all, but he’ll do nothing about it. He’s just going to continue to follow Ramsay as though they never left Winterfell. That’s the safe thing to do. That’s what will leave him unharmed.

Theon, he reminds himself as he struggles to his feet. You are still Theon. You only need to pretend not to be for a time. You were born on the Iron Islands. You have a sister and two dead brothers. Don’t let him fool you again.

His pace is slowed by a limp, and though he does his best, he can’t fall into step with Ramsay. ]

Where are we going?

[ He’s just so tired. We can't all have your energy, Ramsay. ]

[And what energy Ramsay has.

No sooner has Reek closed his mouth than Ramsay rounds on him, knife drawn from his belt and a scowl replacing the amused expression he'd had on only moments ago.]

Where are we going- my lord.

[Ramsay's decided he likes this place. The pods provide so many walls for him to back people against.]

[ Theon, on the other hand, has decided he hates this place. He used to take some solace in his silent, one-sided arguments with Asha, or in glaring at a Robb who couldn’t return the favor. He misses them, but he does not miss being Reek.

He knows this game well enough. The knife comes out, he feels that horrible stab of fear, and he immediately scrambles to flatten himself against the wall like a cornered animal. ]

My lord.

[ He mumbles, beginning to shake again. He’s too good at being Reek, and that scares him just as much as the blade of Ramsay’s knife, but the details are important. Details are what keep him from getting hurt. More “my lord”s, and Ramsay will be happier. ]

I’m sorry, my lord. I—I misspoke. I spoke too rashly. Please…

[ He eyes the knife, shrinking away further. He would be relieved to be put out of his misery, but Ramsay doesn’t kill. Ramsay only hurts. ]

[ You will never understand, he wants to say, but he holds his tongue. Theon thinks more carefully before he speaks these days, and he finds Jon’s question to be…complicated. He knows his name, but for how long? It would be so easy to become Reek once more, and what if he never escapes again? ]

Theon.

[ He responds carefully, his voice half a whisper, as though he’s afraid someone might overhear. ]

But he won’t like that. He never liked it. I remember now. He was angry when he first woke here. He was angry that he had to call me Theon.

When I first woke here, the four of us lived in the place you stay now. Robb, Jon, Sansa and I. Robb and I fought so constantly, people who lived nearby complained about us on the network. Sansa wanted nothing to do with me. Jon and I were as we often are.

[ There’s still a part of him that’s incredibly prideful, and he occasionally wonders what they said about him when he wasn’t within earshot, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. ]

They didn’t want me there, but I wanted to be there with them. I don't know why. Maybe because it reminded me of Winterfell.

[ Because whether either of them likes it or not, they are his family. Even Jon. He may act as though he paid half the family little notice, but he still knows as much about them as a brother should.

He sighs, his bones practically rattling in his skin. He would rather go back to arguing with Robb every day than go back to being Reek, and he would rather go back to being completely ignored by Sansa than feel more pain. ]

I don’t want to leave Maximus on his own.

[ Both of them are paranoid men who find it difficult to trust, but Maximus doesn’t need Theon half as much as Theon feels he needs Maximus. He’s trying to fill a void left by Robb, and since he trusts Maximus, that’s the friendship he chooses to cling to. That, and he remains unaware of his dislike of Claire. ]

[Because Theon seems to have found a friend in Max, Claire doesn't push. And it's why she doesn't make it known how Max seems to be intent on disliking her when she's made it clear as day that she's not interested in being his enemy.]

Then all I can ask is that you come visit. Spend the night, now and then. Things are different now, for all of us, but I would never force you to leave your friend.

[All right, she can't resist making a remark with a quirk of her lips:]

I'm sure it'd make Maximus happy if he had to see less of me.

[ He thinks for a moment. They’ve all changed. Robb is gone, Sansa is older and wiser, and neither he or Jon have the energy to bicker as they once did. He doesn’t look forward to experiencing more pain just to set himself right, but he trusts Claire as well. Hesitantly, he nods. ]

Aye. In time.

[ But he does blink at her second comment. Maximus doesn’t trust easily, but he’s vaguely surprised to hear of any problems. ]

Has he been unhappy?

[In time. That's about the best response she could hope for. It makes her smile, though it dims when he asks if Max has been unhappy.

Well, at least she knows their bickering hasn't reached his ears.]

Quite. He's dead-set on not getting along with me, but that's all right. Can't be everyone's favorite, can I?

[She tends to step on toes wherever she goes. It only bothers her now because of Theon. The few people he chooses to surround himself with should get along.]

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