[ Theon is nothing but skin and bones, as easy to push as a rag doll. He takes the tumble into the snow without complaint, but a dim fire sparks behind his eyes as he begins to pick himself up. He’s almost angry. He could easily erupt if he didn’t have such a tight rein on himself right now. He clenches his jaw—not too tightly, for the fragile remains of his teeth—and lowers his eyes again. ]
If you could promise me you could finish the job—
[ The old Theon would have fought tooth and nail for his life, but he still almost sounds like himself, rather than a shadow himself. He even laughs, a bitter sound in the back of his throat. Given the choice, he would die by a steady, trustworthy hand. He doesn’t trust his own. ]
absolutely fine! sorry for the wait
If you could promise me you could finish the job—
[ The old Theon would have fought tooth and nail for his life, but he still almost sounds like himself, rather than a shadow himself. He even laughs, a bitter sound in the back of his throat. Given the choice, he would die by a steady, trustworthy hand. He doesn’t trust his own. ]
I wouldn’t fight you.