Your maester was wrong. What else would a maester who serves the Dreadfort be expected to say to his lord’s son?
[ He matches Ramsay’s frustration with fury, but the doubt begins to creep back in almost immediately. His memories are all so crisp, so clear…but so are his night terrors. He knows those never happened. He lacks the telltale wounds, but again…he also lacks any lingering marks from the sack of Winterfell. His hand drifts to his cheekbone. That pain had been unbearable, but now there’s nothing, not even a shadow of the pain he felt while Winterfell burned around him. ]
I feel—
[ Theon Greyjoy has never even known who he is. It isn’t a difficult feat to fashion yourself into a smirking, laughing boy from the Iron Islands, but it is significantly harder to grasp your true identity when your life has been an even split, each pulling you in a separate direction. There is no middle ground, not for Theon.
But in the middle of all of this, he almost doesn’t feel real. He feels like something small and pitiful that's been flung to the waves, forced to turn over and over again for all eternity. ]
I feel as though nothing I saw was real. Everything I say is contradicted in some manner. Everyone knows what I’ve done, but they remember it differently.
[ Their stories all line up, but Theon’s doesn’t. ]
no subject
[ He matches Ramsay’s frustration with fury, but the doubt begins to creep back in almost immediately. His memories are all so crisp, so clear…but so are his night terrors. He knows those never happened. He lacks the telltale wounds, but again…he also lacks any lingering marks from the sack of Winterfell. His hand drifts to his cheekbone. That pain had been unbearable, but now there’s nothing, not even a shadow of the pain he felt while Winterfell burned around him. ]
I feel—
[ Theon Greyjoy has never even known who he is. It isn’t a difficult feat to fashion yourself into a smirking, laughing boy from the Iron Islands, but it is significantly harder to grasp your true identity when your life has been an even split, each pulling you in a separate direction. There is no middle ground, not for Theon.
But in the middle of all of this, he almost doesn’t feel real. He feels like something small and pitiful that's been flung to the waves, forced to turn over and over again for all eternity. ]
I feel as though nothing I saw was real. Everything I say is contradicted in some manner. Everyone knows what I’ve done, but they remember it differently.
[ Their stories all line up, but Theon’s doesn’t. ]