nysalogs | Semi-closed

[ There are no men like Ramsay, he thinks, but he doesn’t say. Ramsay is worse than a man. He’s a monster who’s managed to form himself into something man-shaped. Theon can see that now, but he wonders if his mind will remain so clear forever. ]

I think I asked him once, if he would kill me. It was wrong of me to ask.

[ It only earned him further punishment. When the subject turns to Westeros, it brings him pause. ]

I thought it was madness.

[ It still sounds like madness, and he doesn’t think his pride will ever allow him to admit his acceptance of the theory to Stannis. Claire, though—Clare is different. He may still flinch away from her, but he trusts her. ]

That day when you saw my father— [ He clenches a fist in lieu of clenching his teeth. He can’t afford to lose what few he has left, but he still feels humiliated when he thinks back to his reunion with his father. He never wanted me back. ] I saw something as well. Some memory of Jon’s. It was a conversation we had never had, somewhere I had never been, but I recognized it as myself.

[ At the time he thought he looked like a ghost of himself in that memory. But now he thinks that that Theon must have gotten lucky. No white hair or broken teeth. He didn’t walk with a limp, and when he spoke, there was still power in his voice. ]

And Sansa always said that I’d saved her. [ He pauses, frowning. He never believed he saved anyone, but now he has. ] Sansa was never there. Not in the Winterfell I returned to.

Jon and Sansa were always upset, I think, because you seemed to be... so different from what they remembered. I think you had come to some sort of common ground with them, and here you weren't. You actively pushed them away.

[Not too harsh to say now when it was so obviously true. And he pushed all the more when they insisted he had been different at home. Their home.]

The Jon and Sansa here might not be the ones exactly from your Westeros, but they still do know you, and you're still the same people at heart. They still care about you.

Now they’ll hardly recognize me.

[ He might roll his eyes if he weren’t putting all his energy into this walk. Nagga has decided to slip out the door along with them, nipping happily at his heels, but he pays her no mind. He knows what he did before returning to stasis, and he doesn’t regret it. He was confused, and his countrymen only aided in that confusion.

He regrets what he did in Westeros, though, and he regrets not making amends with Robb before he returned to stasis. He falls silent as he focuses on stepping carefully, stepping slowly, his remaining fingers curled into his palms. It was always him and Robb. Just him and Robb, when it wasn’t Robb and Jon. The other Stark siblings had a difficult time finding anything redeeming about Theon, and Theon never cared much for the in turn. ]

They never accepted me in Winterfell. I didn’t see any reason why they should care for me now.

[ The concept of people changing is a difficult one for Theon to grasp when he still, even after he’s been through hell and back, clings to a few bitter childhood grudges. Not quite as tightly as he used to, though. ]

When we’d escaped Lord Ramsay, we meant to go to Jon. We meant to make for the Wall. He’d been made Lord Commander--he could have beheaded me on sight. I wouldn’t have cared. It would have been a mercy.

They were younger, then. So were you. [Different than they are now. Wiser. The Jon Snow she saw in a memory was not the young man that stood with her, and she knows from Ned's own tales that Sansa was no longer the young girl he once knew. How can you be, when your family has been slaughtered?]

You and I didn't get along well, when we first met. I thought you were arrogant and harsh.

[Claire Fraser, at thirty, would not have imagined herself weeping over the loss of Theon Greyjoy. He was a brat, and she forced herself to be kind to him after a while, but it took time and some more life experience for her to forge what they have now. A trust.

Her strides are not as long as they might be, and she keeps to his pace for it. She's not hiding the fact that she's watching him. Not like a hawk, but like an examiner, trying to pinpoint what's making him move as he is.

She knows Jon and Sansa well enough to know that the both of them will find forgiveness in their hearts for him. Once more, if need be. Theon will see.]

Ramsay asked me why I cared, now. What you did to deserve it. What I wanted from you.

[That Ramsay asked that last part was proof enough that he'd never understand.]

[ For a moment, a brief and terrifying moment, his mind blanks. He slips back into that dark and terrifying place where the remnants of Ramsay’s hold over him still linger. Surely Lord Ramsay only means to protect you, those fragments try to persuade. Only wants what’s best. Theon goes rigid, and that look of terror comes over him once more. ]

What do you want from me?

[ Even his voice takes on that tone again, the suspicious, frightened tone of a man who’s been broken far too many times. But then he blinks, he shakes his head and pulls himself out of the dark.Nothing. She wants nothing from him. Not everyone has to want something from him. ]

I—I know you don’t want anything from me. I’m sorry. I know.

[ He looks shaken. He doesn’t want to slip back into that place. He may never find his way out again. He may forget his name. He closes his eyes and presses a fist to his chest, trying to calm his breathing and focus on the things that are real. ]

It’s too easy to forget. He made it too easy.

[As much as she feels a pang of remorse for making him slip like that, it's interesting to see. Just like that, and he's not really Theon, but whoever Ramsay made him. But it's better to see that he can snap himself out of it. Her own look of fear calms, and she smiles. A hesitant smile, but it's there.]

It's all right, Theon. You do know. [And maybe part of the reason she's been so determined to stay by his side now is to make sure of it. She is there. Not Ramsay. She's something real, reliable, and not out to hurt him. She won't steer him wrong. All she cares about is his well-being, and it's simply because.] That is something he'll never be able to grasp. And see? You brought yourself back.

[She doesn't want to imagine what he was like while kept by Ramsay. He took his name, he said. So who was he? She's already seen too much of it.]

You're still Theon. Theon, wearing Robb Stark's gloves. Theon, with his Claire at his side.

[A Claire that's feeling more and more like she'll have to orchestrate a murder to keep this young man safe.]

[ 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.]

[ 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.

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.]

[ He just doesn’t want to hurt for a time. He’s always in pain, whether it’s the poorly healed wounds stretched across his chest, or poorly healed bones, or his teeth, but he wants to be free of anything new, just for a little bit.

Max’s unhappiness is news to him, though. They’ve barely spoken since Theon arrived home. Maximus helped to calm him down, helped to reassure him that Ramsay wouldn’t be invited into their home, but then Claire took over. ]

I suppose not.

[ He frowns, though, looking genuinely concerned. He knows how Maximus gets sometimes, and he never considered that he might be uncomfortable with someone intruding into his life. ]

I didn’t think this would upset. He doesn’t have to look after me if someone else already is.

Don't worry about it too much. [She says, seeing the look on his face.] We're all adults, and he does understand why I'm here.

[He's just eager for her to be out of his space. His tune might be different if she wasn't around at all, and if he were indeed the sole person looking out for Theon now, but there's still time for him to figure that out.]

But I will go, after this week. At least in the evenings. I'm sure you'll appreciate the break from me, too.

[A gentle tease. Theon doesn't hate her company, she knows what much.]

Regardless of Max, whenever you need me, or want me, I'll come. I promise. You come before anyone else.

[ It’s hard for him not to worry. He worries about every creak of the floorboards. Not worrying about angering one of the few people he trusts is a chore, to say the least. A week is a long time, especially to ask of Maximus, but Theon knows he needs the help. He can’t bring himself to go out alone just yet, and Maximus has the shop to run. ]

You’re not as irritating as you once were.

[ He mumbles the response, looking down at his gloved hands. It’s a sweet sentiment wrapped in awkward words. He’s grateful for her company and for her help, so much so that he thinks he might even miss it when she leaves. It's his way of expressing that. ]

[Maybe you're not the devil after all.

Claire smiles, looking down at his gloved hands as well. Of all the relationships she's had in this city, this is the one that's been the most frustrating--and the one that's seen the most growth and improvement.]

Nor are you.

[And not just because he's had his spirit broken.]

Maybe one day Maximus will feel the same.

[ That earns the ghost of his smile once again, just a small tug at the corner of his mouth. He knows he’s always been a difficult person, an incredibly stubborn person, but he wouldn’t have survived this long if he weren’t. ]

Maybe.

[ He doesn’t think so. He and Maximus are similar: paranoid to the point of being almost unwilling to trust, but Theon has been starved for love and acceptance. Then again, perhaps Maximus has been too. ]

It isn’t as though you’ve tried to jab him with a needle, after all.

Very funny. [Maximus likely wouldn't let her come within a foot of him with a needle in hand. He already eyed the food she made with intent to share with him as if she put something nefarious in it.]

I won't let anyone know that's the secret to getting into your good graces, though.

[She's actually not sure what the secret was--persistence, perhaps. She could see that, before at least, his personality didn't really give much incentive for people to stick around.]

[ Claire’s persistence certainly helped. You can’t continue to push someone away when they simply won’t give up. It’s something Theon needed all along: someone who wouldn’t give up on him despite that hard to swallow personality. ]

You won’t have to do any of that now, will you?

[ He looks uncertain. He already knows to expect a lot of pain and one jab of a needle is less than he's known in recent days, but he’s seen so much blood. He’s lost so much blood. The less he has to see now, the better. ]

No. No needles, darling. [She doesn't need his blood. And even if she did, she'd push it off as long as possible.]

I don't need to draw blood. Are you worried about that?

[ He hesitates. There’s still that part of him that doesn’t want to appear weak, but that’s something that’s nearly impossible now. He’s grown so frail and so frightened, jumping at his own shadow. The thought of more blood shouldn’t bother him, but it does.

He shrugs, trying to downplay his worries just a little bit. ]

No.

[ But he can’t make that seem particularly believable. ]

I’ve just seen a lot of blood as of late. That’s all.

[His own blood. She can only imagine was it was like, gaining the injuries he has now.]

I can promise you that anything that needs to be done, you won't see blood. [He'll probably (hopefully) be out for the things that will require some clean up: his teeth. He'll be in a miserable state after, and that's saying something. He'll either be staying with her, Jamie, and Sansa, or she'll be grating on Max's nerves once more.]

I've been fixing bodies longer than you've been alive. I'm going to do everything in my power to make this... tolerable, and I know how to do that well. You've suffered enough for one lifetime. I'm not going to inflict any more, or let you wallow in it. Understood?

[ He doesn’t know what it is to not be miserable. He doesn’t strive for happiness anymore, he doesn’t strive for acceptance. Now he would just like to be left untormented.

He looks uncertain, frightened, but he gives a hesitant nod to show that he understands. Claire seems to think that these things need to be done and that they’ll help in the long run. ]

What…what are you going to have to do, then?

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