Semi-closed

[reek]

Who: Theon Greyjoy (reek) & Various
What: Theon got a canon update! It's not pretty. Here's a catchall.
When: May
Where: Olympia...mostly not leaving his home tbh
Warning(s): Typical ASOIAF/GoT warnings & added torture mentions



[ Starters will be in the comments! If you would like one and we haven't talked about it yet, PM me or grab me at muttonchops, or just wildcard me. Theon will largely not be around Olympia, but he will visit the stasis units closer to the end of the month if you want to catch him then. ]

Comments

[dorzalta]

[ She resists, just barely, the urge to roll her eyes. That's his voice--but it sounds... broken. Far more than the echoing voice of the man who stepped into her court that day in Meereen; far different than the booming arrogance and barking laughter of the Theon who walked these lands.

For a moment, she wonders: what did stasis do to him? ]

It's Daenerys. [ Spoken not in a steely tone, but of something inquiring. ] I wished to see you.

[reek]

[ That nearly makes him laugh. If she knew what he looked like, she wouldn’t wish to see him at all. He tries not to wallow in self-pity over it, but it’s difficult now that he’s seen himself in a mirror for the first time in a long time. He takes comfort in knowing that he was left with enough fingers to accomplish daily tasks, but he can hardly eat for all the damage done to his teeth, and he looks half a ghost with his white hair and pale skin.

He considers just telling her to go away, but he’s seen how stubborn she is. He would rather face her than have her knock the door off its hinges, leaving him without a lock to protect him. He opens the door, just a crack, just enough for her to see that there’s something wrong. ]

You’ve seen me.

[ He sounds exhausted, and he looks exhausted. ]

Please. Unless you need something, just leave.

[dorzalta]

You've shown me nothing.

[ The door opens a pitiful crack. It makes her lips thin and her temper flare, and before she realizes just what she does--she's shoving at it, trying to force it open with as much strength as she can muster.

What if he was hurt? What if there was someone there? ]

[reek]

[ It doesn’t take much force, in truth. Theon tries, but seven fingers leave his grip lacking and he’s weak, too weak to stop her from forcing the door open.

He stumbles backward, away from her, frail chest heaving and his eyes wide, more out of anger than fright for the first time in days.

Have you seen enough now?, he thinks bitterly. Is this what you wanted?

He was such a vain young man once, prideful in his appearance. Now he’s just a wisp of that young man, a ghost in Theon Greyjoy’s clothing. Half a person, pale and skeletal, nearly unrecognizable as he stands before her with his shock white hair, scars and missing fingers. ]

Now you’ve seen.

[dorzalta]

[ He's alone is the first thing she notices, glancing about his flat with sharp eyes. One step, two, and the door is swinging shut behind her, cutting off the bright sunlight from the streets--and that's when she looks at him. Really looks at him.

Blood roars in her ears, lips thinning, nostrils flaring the longer she looks him over. The shock of white hair, pale like hers, but not anything like hers or Viserys'. So skinny now, as well.

Now I've seen. ]

Who did this to you? [ Quiet. Too quiet. ]

[reek]

[ He almost smirks. People used to stare at him out of spite, out of anger for his father’s crimes. They used to stare because his Greyjoy blood made him untrustworthy. Now they stare out of…what? Pity? Horror? He doesn’t want their pity, but it’s better than their anger. Pity doesn’t hurt or result in the same wounds as anger.

Her question causes him to lapse into silence. The answer is more difficult than she knows.

It was Skinner who flayed some fingers, Ramsay who flayed others. Damon Dance-for-Me who whipped me, but Ramsay who commanded him to do so. It was Ben Bones who trained the hounds, but Ramsay who set them on me. It Ramsay who broke my teeth, Ramsay who took my name from me. You have to remember your name.

He doesn’t know when his hair went white, or how long he was kept in the dark, or how long he was kept by Ramsay at all. ]

I deserved it. I...asked him to do it. He takes nothing but skin, unless you beg.

[ His vague answer names no names, but implies flaying, and it's true. It was only the skin that was flayed from his fingers, until he begged for the pain to end. ]

[dorzalta]

[ Save for that initial look over, she meets his gaze. She's seen enough, knows there's more than what's visible now, knows there are wounds that dig deep and burrow under the skin. It's the same story, where a master takes advantage of his slave. Abuses. Neglects. Leaves what's left as a broken shell, wishing for death. Dany's seen it enough to know she never wants to again, and that she would fight for him with tooth and nail to bring him justice.

But would he let her?

Her throat works as she lifts her chin. Something troubled flashes in the blues of her eyes, there and gone... still stalking beneath her skin and her thoughts. ]

Is that what he said? [ Dangerously soft. ] That you deserved it?

[reek]

[ He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, with a sudden anxious huff, he stumbles right past her, shutting and bolting the door as quickly as his clumsy fingers will allow. He’s twitchy and frightened, but Daenerys is not nearly as frightening as whoever may be lurking beyond his doorstep.

He leans back against the door, closing his eyes. Perhaps Ramsay had said he deserved it at some point. Theon can hardly remember. All he knows is that it’s part of his pool of safe responses: the things he can say that ensure Lord Ramsay will not hurt him any further. ]

I said…bad things. The wrong things.

[ He just looks tired, like the door is the only thing keeping him upright, but the fact that it’s closed seems to afford him the bravery to speak more freely.]

He punished me whenever I said something he didn’t like. There are things you must never say to him, or he'll hurt you.

[dorzalta]

[ Was this how Theon was before he reunited with Yara? She doesn't step closer, though instinct would dictate she does. That he's so quick to bolt the door, locking her with him, speaks more to his current state of mind. She's less of a threat, isn't she?

But still likely a threat, seeing as he knows little to nothing about her. Her chin lowers, eyes still focused on his features, and then she allows her gaze to drop to the floor. Soon it's sweeping up and around them, taking in his living space, allowing him the privacy of recomposing himself. ]

Things which displeased him. What sort of things would he hurt me for saying?

[ What sort did he hurt you for saying, is what she's really asking. ]

[reek]

[ He shakes his head wildly. He won’t repeat those words or those names, not out loud, never again. Not even if the door is locked or Ramsay is far out of earshot. He can’t bring himself to do it or bring his tongue to form the words.

Don’t make me say, his expression alone seems to beg, his eyes wide as he shivers in his own skin. He takes a different approach instead. ]

You must only call him by his name. Ramsay Bolton.

[ The fear behind his eyes says enough as to why. Don’t dare to call him Snow or refer to him as a bastard, or the flaying knife is your fate. It took a long time for Theon to break, and his insults toward Ramsay and his baseborn parentage were merciless before he finally did. ]

[dorzalta]

[ So she'd done right by referring to him as Bolton. That hadn't been a move out of preservation, but one out of politeness. She's never been one to think much of parentage--save for her own--but the pride of being someone... well.

Ramsay Bolton was a prideful thing, wasn't he? ]

I will. Thank you. [ If she reads that fear, she makes no motion of recognizing or reacting to it. Not overtly. ] Upon his awakening, lord Bolton bent the knee to house Targaryen. Do you understand what that means?

[ Of course he will, he's not a fool--but she'll ensure he does not misinterpret this, and she would have him hear it from her and not another. ]

[reek]

[ He’s taken my fingers, not my wits, he wants to snap at her, but again, he doesn’t. He speaks carefully, this new Theon Greyjoy. He says less of what he feels, and he seems to weigh his words carefully before he says them. He hasn’t been made more polite, but he’s been frightened into being subservient.

He knows what it means. He knows Ramsay better than most people do, though he wishes he didn’t. He wishes he had just raided the villages along the Stony Shore, or better yet, he wishes he had simply returned to Robb when his father refused the alliance. ]

He’s trying to earn trust. Yours, or someone else’s. I don’t know.

[ I don’t care. He’ll not earn mine. ]