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

[veneries]

[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.]

[reek]

[ 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. ]

[veneries]

[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.]

[reek]

[ 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. ]

[veneries]

[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.]

[reek]

[ 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. ]

[veneries]

[The wimpering cower is wonderful, though Ramsay's expression doesn't reveal it. His gaze is narrow and unflinching. Almost carelessly he pulls the blade along Reek's cheek, scraping the skin without cutting- until he nicks the gaunt skin that's stretched thin over Reek's chin.

At the sight of red on his blade, Ramsay sighs a put-upon sigh and the murderous gaze vanishes.] I can see I've got my work cut out for me. Yes, Reek. You spoke too rashly. We'll work on your manners after you've got some suitable clothes.

[Releasing him, he pats Reek's cheek condescendingly. Isn't he just the best? Of course he is.]

[reek]

[ It doesn’t hurt any more than a poor shave might, but it shakes him to his very core. He can hardly hear Ramsay over the sound of his own heart racing, and for half a mad moment he thinks it would be an excellent idea to wrestle that blade away from Ramsay and finish the job himself.

No, he warns himself. It’s never worked before. Just listen to him. Do as he says.

As he struggles to find his words, he can’t help but notice something strange about that voice in his head. It’s begun to sound a lot less like Theon Greyjoy and a lot more like Reek. ]

I’m sorry—

[ He gasps it out, pale as a ghost. He might pass for one if not for the thin trail of blood in his beard from where Ramsay nicked him. Whether it’s the knife or the voice in his head that’s frightened him more, he doesn’t know. ]

I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to. I'm sorry, I'm sorry...

[ He's terrified nearly to the point of tears. Other Ramsay did some kind of job, alright. ]

[veneries]

[Ramsay allows the begging for a moment before interrupting Reek with a quiet shush.

He speaks to the man as he would a spooked horse, calm and certain.] I know you're sorry, Reek. You're confused and you're making mistakes. But I understand, and I forgive you.

[He expects thanks, so he waits for them to come before moving on.]

[reek]

[ Though instinct tells him to continue begging out of his desperate hope of not being hurt, he knows better than to continue when he’s been silenced. He swallows all his pleas and gives a shaky nod of understanding. He is confused, isn’t he? He’s confused so often. ]

Th-thank you, my lord.

[ Hesitantly, he dries his watering eyes on his sleeve. He was fortunate not to have earned a slap across the face for his tears. ]

That’s very kind of you.