nysalogs | Semi-closed

Entry tags:

Semi-closed

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. ]

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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.

[ 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.

[ 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 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. ]

[That sounds a bit like the old Theon--or at least enough that it makes Claire smile easier, and she takes an educated guess:] The fat brother, I assume? [She's seen the two Baratheons outside of stasis.]

Fat isn't the goal. You've always been lean. Just a little more meat on your bones, and you will feel better, I assure you. You'll feel stronger.

[And maybe she can coax him into old hobbies, but she's not crossing that bridge just yet. Archery with seven fingers was possible, surely.]

Besides, if I let you get fat, I have to find you more clothes. I think not.

[ He merely nods. He has no more jokes to add to the first. He still has no love for the Baratheons, but his well of jokes has all but dried up and he’s lucky to pull forward the occasional jape or cutting remark. He can’t even think of anything to say about his favorite target, Jon Snow. ]

Will I ever…

[ He hesitates, not quite knowing how to phrase it. He knows he’ll never be the Theon he was before. He knows he’ll never be rid of his scars, he knows that fingers and teeth don’t regrow. Claire seems to think that she can help, though. Perhaps he will feel better when he’s regained some strength and some weight, but he’s dubious. Eyes downcast, he quietly raises his question in the only way he knows how: ]

Will I ever not be a freak?

[ It rhymes with—, he nearly begins, but he cuts himself off. Don’t think of it. ]

[She wishes she had it in her to lie to him and tell him that he's not a freak. But, looking at him, she knows she can't. His body is mangled, his teeth are shards. His hair is white, and not in the way of Daenerys in which it might be considered beautiful. He's a mess. They both know it. But so much of that is fixable, and she doesn't lie about that.]

You'll be all right, Theon. I'm going to make sure of it.

[She can't promise he'll have the will or the courage to push on, but another thing she can promise is her own stubbornness.]

You'll carry what happened for a very long time. Forever, likely, but there will come a day where it's not pushing you down every moment. You won't be a freak. The way things are right now are just... temporary. So much of what he's done can be fixed.

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