nysalogs | Semi-closed

[The words are a knife, but a familiar one. He's not surprising her. It simply hurts to hear. It's never something she'd want for him.]

We'll make it easier to carry on, then.

[She steps closer, and if he doesn't move back, he'll be caught with a kiss to the forehead while he's busy looking down at his hands.]

I'm not giving up on you, Theon. I still think you can live a decent life.

[ He wishes he could go home. He wishes he could dwell in Winterfell alone with the ghosts until the Storm sweeps them all away. Maybe then he’ll finally see the Drowned God’s watery halls.

I did what was asked of me, he thinks miserably. I saved the girl. The other Theon saved Sansa. I’m of no use to anyone else. Why shouldn’t I just be allowed to stop existing?

He flinches only slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t move back. He just furrows his eyebrows and keeps his eyes downcast. ]

I wish I could apologize. Not just to Robb.

[ To those boys, to their mother, to Bran and Rickon. He has a growing list. ]

[He's paid for any crimes he's committed in his short life, but she understands there's a difference between a punishment and an apology. Wanting to apologize.]

I know. I'd forgive you for it all if I could, but it's not my place.

[It wouldn't mean anything.]

[ He gives a meek shrug, but he understands. Jon has already tried to offer forgiveness, and so has Sansa, but it just isn’t enough to feel any sort of real relief. ]

I know.

[ If only it were that easy. He closes his eyes again, trying to keep his breathing even. ]

I’m sorry. For saying all of this. I shouldn't have.

[ He wishes he could hide behind his smile the way he used to. ]

I always wanted you to simply talk to me. Don't apologize for it.

[In place of pulling him into the hug she wants to give, she smooths down some of his odd, white hair. It will never look right on him.]

Thank you for trusting me.

[Even if he does still look like a frightened rabbit, she knows.]

That means a lot to me, I hope you know.

[ He never trusted easily. Who ever got to see him so vulnerable? He always had his carefully constructed walls, his smile and his laughter and his japes. No one ever got to see that he was really just a frightened captive, unsure of his place in the world, unsure of whether or not each day would be his last.

Ramsay knocked those walls down, stripped him of all disguises, and forced that frightened captive outward. It’s worse than before, he has new habits to cling to, but in a way, this Theon is more earnest than the old Theon. There are still things he doesn’t say, but he really has nothing to hide behind, and he’s too tired to bother trying. ]

You’re one of the only people I trust.

[ He’s not even sure how it happened. ]

And I've yet to let you down, I think. So. I hope you continue to trust me, Theon, when I say you won't always feel how you do now. Trust me enough to give yourself another chance, like I would, hmm?

[He won't be miserable forever.]

[ Right now, he’s fairly certain he will be miserable forever. He still has so much to overcome, and he doesn’t think it’s even possible. ]

I’m not just going to kill myself if that’s what you’re worried about.

[ He would be too afraid of botching it and enduring even more pain. ]

I used to wish I were happy. Now I don’t care if I ever am. I just want things to be more like they used to.

I care if you're happy. That's not changed. It never will. So, that means you're going to have to be patient with me as we figure this out. All of it.

[The mess on the outside and the mess on the inside. But already she thinks she sees improvement. He doesn't shy away from her like he first did.]

I just want to be Theon.

[ He mumbles it like he’s been defeated, like he doesn’t care to fight anymore. Claire can work whatever magic she likes, but he just doesn’t see himself being capable of happiness. He isn’t certain he’s ever felt it to begin with. Fleetingly, maybe, but it always slipped through his fingers within the blink of an eye. ]

That’s all. Theon...Theon was never happy.

[Claire looks down at his gloved hands, and after a long moment, takes them in her own. As with everything with him these days, there's no real force: her grip is loose, should he want to pull them back.]

You are Theon.

[And no, he wasn't happy.]

I spent... a long time, not wanting to live. Living out of obligation. That's not a life. It's not going to be that way for you. [Not if she has any say in it.] Westeros is gone and you're going to remain Theon, because that's what you want. Maybe one day a happy Theon.

The ghosts, [ she whispers, remembering how it had felt, in Winterfell, staring at the walls of her home, tasting the air and thinking how it would never be the same.

but then Theon smiles, and she smiles back, even with his reminder — for that, she nods. ]

I know. [ Arya wouldn't have needed rescuing, she thinks. ] You saved my dear friend, a girl who's never done anything to deserve a fate like hers. [ she doesn't repeat it, her words of gratitude, but it's still there, underneath every word she speaks. that Theon did something no one else could have done... something that she would always be grateful for.

she falls silent for a moment. ]

Do you... believe me now? That what I told you before was the truth? In your home, you saved Ramsay's wife. In my home... you saved Ramsay's wife, too. [ only it was her instead of Jeyne. ]

[ He’s tried not to think about it. Thinking is difficult. When he closes his eyes, he still only sees blood and ruin. When he retreats too deeply into his mind, he starts to question which parts of him are Theon and which parts of him are Reek, but he can’t ignore this anymore, not when Sansa is forcing him to face it. ]

I believe you. You did nothing to deserve it either.

[ His voice is quiet as he drops his gaze to his mangled hands. Two Westeroses: the whole concept is disquieting and upsetting. Two times his father gave him up, two times he betrayed his best friend, two times he fell into Ramsay’s hands. Perhaps they happened in different ways, but they still happened. He's silent for a moment, but then he suddenly asks: ]

Why is that the difference?

[ His voice breaks, but he doesn't look up. He still hates appearing so weak, but what can be done? He is weak. He's fragile and frail and broken. ]

Of all things, why that? Why couldn't it have been that your father's death never happened? Or Robb's? Why not Robb sending someone else as an envoy to my father?

[ Why do I even exist in your Westeros?, he almost asks, but he holds his tongue. He's being stupid, but two Westeroses is even more stupid. ]

No, I dont.

[Only Sansa knew him on the level that Theon did. If he had listened more, Rickon wouldn't have died and Stannis wouldn't have been tortured. He knew very little of this sort of cruelty and had no desire to understand. He had seen depraved actions before, things done for the sake of wickedness, but it was nothing on this level.

He was tired of the games from their world, the people that inflicted misery. That was something that could be found anywhere, but the taint of their world was difficult to escape and left a bitter taste in his mouth.]

I'm not concerned about Maximus.

[Only how easy it might be to draw Theon back in.]

What do you think he will do? He pledged himself to Daenerys.

[ He flinches only slightly, but he lets her take his hands. He’s adjusting, but only to these gentle touches that he can easily maneuver his way out of. It helps that his hands are covered, he thinks. He had only been granted gloves when he was in the guise of a prince.

He doesn’t think of himself as more of a prince anymore. ]

But for how long?

[ He nearly whispers, looking lost and far away. His identity is a double-edged sword. He truly would rather die than be made back into Reek, but there’s still a touch of sick comfort in that name. Theon Greyjoy has done terrible things, things that he doesn’t know how to apologize for, but Reek hasn’t. Reek has no guilt. Reek lives only to obey and to serve. Perhaps that’s why it’s so tempting to be beckoned over the edge, back into the darkness where that old name still dwells. It’s terrifying, because the temptation is so very real and Ramsay hasn’t even been informed of his return. ]

I don’t think I know how to be happy.

[ It’s almost a childlike answer, but it’s the truth. ]

I don’t think I’m meant to be.

[Little, gentle touches, are her way to remind him that he's safe. They're going to have to work their way up to her examining him, looking over his injuries, but she's done this before. She knows how it goes. God only knows when he last had a hand touch him that only meant to comfort, not wound.

She looks down at his hands, in Robb's gloves, some of the fingers limp because there's nothing in them at all.]

You told me once that all anyone ever tells you is that you're wrong. And you are, thinking you're not meant to be happy. You've made mistakes. Terrible mistakes, but that doesn't make you a terrible person or deserving of... of what's been done to you.

You'll never be the Theon you were before. Not in any way, but I believe with all my heart that you can get to a point where living is no longer so burdensome for you. I'll do whatever I can to help you there.

[ there had been a weight pressing on her heart, until this moment — she feels the exact second it falls away, breaks in two, lets her heart beat freely. she hadn't realized how badly his distrust had affected her.

but it seems her heart is allowed to beat only for it to break, too, a sharp blade driven into it at his words. it isn't as though she hasn't thought of it, too: why were some things different, when the things that truly mattered had never changed? where was she, in Theon's Westeros, if not in Winterfell? had the other Sansa found a better fate... or a worse one? was she even alive?

slowly, she shakes her head. ]

I don't know. Maybe... maybe some things were always meant to happen. Because there is no way Father would ever be anything but honourable, no matter the place. He would have always told the truth. And because Robb was like Father, just as honourable. Because he would have married for love, always... because he would have trusted you, always.

[ she knows it's painful to say, and must be even more painful to Theon to hear. but she won't lie to him — he's been lied to enough, and she won't have a part in that, no matter if it means hurting him with her words. ]

But it also means Ramsay was always meant to have a Stark as a wife, a fake Stark or a real one, and you were always meant to save her.

You've been up in Stasis. What possible trouble could you have caused from there?

[ Pity has never been Maximus' strong point. He's good at pretending, but that gets exhausting. He knows Theon requires a bit more patience. ]

It's done. We move forward now.

I don’t know. I’m sorry.

[ He whispers, unable to stop himself from apologizing once more. It’s been hammered into him for nearly a year. He can’t drop these mannerisms now, not even for Maximus.

But then Maximus suggests they move forward, away from this topic, so Theon obeys. He doesn’t expect anything from from Maximus, but he immediately feels guilty for putting this upon him. ]

How do we move forward?

[ What he means is how do I move forward? ]

[ Although he flinches, he does feel safer than he has in a long time. He wouldn’t have come out here with her if he didn’t, but he can’t read minds or know what to expect of others. A comforting touch can become something painful in an instant, even without meaning to be.

He flinches as her words as well. Being reminded of his mistakes, he considers briefly once more if being Reek isn’t easier…but she manages to draw him back away from the edge once more. He’s barely settled back in and it’s only beginning to set in just how difficult this is truly going to be. ]

Thank you.

[ He mumbles it softly, eyebrows knitting together. ]

Can I just be right about being Theon?

[ He has to say his name, or he might forget it. ]

Oh, Theon. Of course. [She won't ever stop repeating his name for him.] You will always be Theon. Always.

[She doesn't know what other name he had and can't bring herself to ask. Not yet.]

You won't slip back into what he made you. I know it.

[ He won’t say his other name out loud. If he does, he may very well stumble once more. It’s a struggle to separate Theon from Reek already, and he doesn’t want to forget. ]

Always.

[ He repeats the word in a whisper, trying to make himself believe it. He could make himself believe he was Reek, he can make himself believe this, even if it isn’t true. He hasn’t always been Theon, and he might not always be Theon either.

He feels reassured, but the entire thought process makes his head spin, and it makes him feel exhausted and sick. ]

Can we go back now? Please?

[Claire holds his hands for a moment longer. If she can get through this with her heart in one piece, it'll be a triumph. Taking a breath and mustering up a smile, she lets go so that he can walk.]

Good idea. About time we get some more food in you, as it is.

[This was more standing out in the sun and fresh air than a walk, but it's better than nothing.]

You're doing well, Theon. Don't forget that.

[ It’s undeniable that Theon is still an easy target, wavering somewhere between two identities. It would be so simple to push him back into the skin of Reek once more. After all, he never would have left Ramsay or saved Jeyne if he hadn’t been urged to do so by someone else. He’s glad he did it, though, as foolish as it all was. He doesn’t regret it. ]

I—I don’t know...

[ He admits it in a rasp of a response. He knows Ramsay well, but he doesn’t know what he hopes to accomplish by pledging himself to Daenerys here, where houses mean nothing and Westeros isn’t at war and he's already been legitimized. He draws his brows together and tries to walk himself through it. ]

He…he’s already thrown away his ability to earn anyone’s trust here. He may be trying to make up for his missteps in some way. He can’t go through you or Sansa, so he’s going through someone else instead.

[ It’s more than he’s gotten in a long time, at least. Winterfell was cold and grey and the sun had been hidden for his entire stay there in Ramsay’s keeping. As for the Dreadfort—he was hardly ever above ground. His feet won’t carry him far anyway. Not just yet.

If you knew what was going on in my head, you wouldn’t say that, he thinks, but he just gives a meek, tired nod. It’s a difficult situation to understand, and he doesn’t feel like explaining it right now. ]

Aye. You’re going to turn me into Robert Baratheon if you keep feeding me as much as you do.

[ Wry humor, of course. He couldn’t possibly come anywhere close to Robert’s size by this point. ]

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