❪ introlog: #2 ❫ THE CALM. -- the overflow.

[natha]

ORIGINAL POST

You have spent the last few days on Thesa Station, taking in the knowledge that your world is no more. Perhaps you’ve made some friends (or maybe an enemy or two). Either way, you aren’t expected to spend all of your time on the Station. El Nysa needs you, after all, and you promised you’d help the planet thrive. Are you ready? Submit any AC eligible thread of participating in this log's prompts for Two (2) Olympia REP points HERE. TRAVEL LIGHT     You're really lucky, new refugee. Because of the efforts of those that came before you, your own descent into El Nysa will be quick and relatively painless. You get to reap the benefits of others' experience. Those that came before you are all well-versed in the art of teleportation now, and descending into El Nysa is simply a concentrated thought away. A teleporter has been placed in the common areas to help the new refugees descend, but for this first time, you're going to need a little guidance. You're going to need to take the hand of someone who has been on El Nysa for a while now and learn the ropes. Hold on tight, Refugee, and don't be afraid when the blinding light hits you. The actual journey will feel like a sudden whiplash— painless, but sudden, and maybe a little nauseating. Keeping your balance may be difficult, and it’s possible you might end up toppling onto your poor partner. Hopefully you’re at least thankful. You have landed in a back alley in the Residential District of Olympia. HOME SWEET HOME     Immediately, you notice that everything you've been told about El Nysa is true. There are people of all races here, and although no one bats an eye at your appearance as you enter the district, a member of the Royal Guard asks for your passport. They have a keen eye, and can tell that although you may be a new refugee to their city, they've never seen you before. Certain rumors of an outside force making preparations to do some major damage has them particularly on edge. It's a good thing the Orbiters made sure you have an Olympian passport ready to go. You present it, and with a small nod, the Guard says nothing more and slaps a patch on your chest; to your surprise, it reads: Hello! My name is ________________! I am in House #___! Are you my housemate? ... No matter how much you try, there's no removing this sticker. "It'll come off tomorrow," says the guardkeep. "Lots of refugees here, limited housing. It's an easy way to get to know the people you're living with. Though, if you ask me, why are we accepting so many foreigners when so many want to watch this city burn? Well, I don’t give the orders." If someone greets you, the message on the patch will magically change: Secretly, I _____, _____, and _____! What are yours? There's no telling how they'd known these things, but it likely has to do with Zasere. AGAIN. It may be a good idea to get situated in your new home and set down some ground rules with your roommates. There is also, of course, much of Olympia to explore. FLONA COVE     Word around the city is that one very cute and enthusiastic Olympian, You Watanabe, has been asking around earnestly for the nearest place to find some coastal fun. It didn't take long before a few locals pointed her in the direction of Flona Cove. Maybe it’s a good idea to check out the area. There are only a few more days left of summer, after all. Even if you're not the beach type, exploring a new area certainly can't hurt your understanding of El Nysa. Flona Cove is just a quick train ride away. BEACH PARTY: Chances are, you've heard about the beach party being organized by You Watanabe, whether it be from her directly or someone who knows her. A lot of careful planning has gone into it, and it looks like a great time, so why not check it out? Full speed ahead towards a great time! There's plenty of food for everyone, and plenty of watermelons that need splitting! 1. Various food vendors from around Flona Cove have agreed to offer free food for the new refugees, and they line the shoreline near the harbor, enthusiastically offering goodies such as seafood kabobs, ice cream, fresh fruit (including whole watermelons!), and hot dogs. You Watanabe herself has a grill where she’s cheerfully serving up her trademark "Niceoodles" yakisoba as well as other Japanese food like takoyaki and rice. What makes her noodles so nice? It’s obviously the cheerful smiley-face sun drawn on the omelette. In exchange, the chefs and vendors only ask that you spread the word, though most of them have buckets for donations if you want to help chip back in. After the party is all done, however, there seem to be plenty of dishes that need doing, all in a big pile. You herself is working on getting through the mountain of dishes, but maybe you could lend a hand? 2. It's just not a beach party without the traditional watermelon splitting! For those of you who don't come from modern Japan on Earth, it might be perplexing at first seeing the literal mountain of watermelons grown with the help of Keyleth, another recent Olympian. If the bat-like sticks and blindfolds next to them don’t explain the purpose, though, you might just sit back and watch as a brave competitor sets a watermelon on the sand, ties a blindfold around their eyes, and has people start yelling at them which way to go. They consider the shouts of the crowd, take a swing... and strike nothing but sand. Perhaps you can do better? There are beach activities galore. Now's the time to build the sandcastle of your dreams or play a game of beach volleyball. Maybe you're brave enough to surf the waves, or you’d just like to enjoy a swim. Mom friends who just want to lounge in the sun and read a book while working on their tan are welcome too, of course. BENEATH THE SURFACE: 1. Diving beneath the waters in Flona Cove yield a whole new world on its own. Rent a scuba suit and take a trip to explore the corals, and you may even be lucky enough to run into a playful school of dolphins. Be careful-- they tend to get carried away and will happily drag swimmers for a wild ride. 2. You might want a boat for this scuba adventure, unless you're a strong swimmer. Venture deeper into the ocean, farther away from the coast, and adventurers will find some interesting stuff. Two miles southwest of the harbor, deep, deep into the watery abyss, lies a shipwreck. Exploring through the various rooms of the ship yields a few knick-knacks here and there-- rusted spare parts, cracked tea sets... a surprisingly well-preserved pin-up painting of Koralle? The real treasure awaits for those who have the courage to swim beneath the ship's hull. Here, covered in algae and debris, lies the skeletal corpse of a winged, fanged, clawed beast. This is only a distant memory of its former glory, as nothing but bones are left, but something— something brilliant, catches your eye. Those hundreds of teeth are not bone, but a material so lustrous and pure, it nearly blinds. It will take some work, but with persistence and strength, it is possible to extract a tooth. Those that work in Simwe Institute or The Sanctuary may find it beneficial to take an extra for their boss— this is definitely something that is of interest to study. 3. Olympians love their luxury. There's nothing more luxurious than a secluded lagoon, the water at just the perfect temperature and pristine. This is one of the most sought-after spots for the natives, but when you come across it, it is completely peaceful and empty. For the tourists? Well, this place simply gets overlooked due to its distance from the main beaches. It's also relatively hidden. Soon you start feeling oddly friendly? Cupid’s Pool is also described by the people of Olympia as the touchy-feely pool. It has an inherent property that makes those who soak in it crave physical affection. Chances are you probably wanted to know this before you decided to take a dip, huh? (Please warn for threads appropriately) EARN SOME SILVER     1. While many of the locals came together to offer their hands to provide a bit of entertainment for the surge in tourism, that isn’t to state that they’re fully staffed. Have a few hours to spare? They're willing to pay for your help. Maybe you’re just the cooking champ they needed? The lifeguard who showed up just in time? Or the star salesman at their humble accessory shop so desired? 2. The man who approaches you is even offering more than most of the vendors down the street. Sure, the guy and his entourage look kind of shady, but money is money, isn't it? If you accept, he’ll shove a strange swimsuit or two your way and lead you to the dressing room. What kind of job is this? Modeling, he says. Hopefully you aren’t camera shy! Hey there, hot stuff. I like your look. Or maybe it's your... aura? Either way, I like what you're working with. How about you flaunt what you've got for some fat silver stacks? He also wants to be able to test your charm, and is willing to pay a whopping 400 silver in exchange. He may even ask you to go "talk" (did you hear him say "hit on"?) to a couple of people, and “sell” yourself. Whatever that means... Incidentally, he says he’ll give you a signal once you get a pass. Feels like forever, doesn’t it? 3. Once night begins to fall and the people gradually begin to clear out, you’ll notice something... odd. There are some shady looking people around, and maybe you’ve been hearing whispers all day about a certain "fight club." Initially, no one will tell you a time or location, but if you are persistent, your efforts will pay off. Perhaps in light of helping a vendor clear out their stall or assisting that one Olympian native in distress, they’re willing to tell you a few things about this exclusive club. They explain to you that it’s been a long-standing tradition of Olympia. Secret fight clubs. A place for people to stretch their wings and their fists. Moreover, the pay off seems to be pretty good! Though, they warn you that there are some aggressive competitors out there this time around. Things have been tough politically for a while now, and there is much unrest among the people. What better way to blow off some steam than to beat someone up and make a bit of bank! Fights are not to the death, simply until a knock out, but accidents (and "accidents") do happen. Finding the crowd of people will take some searching, even with directions. They meet along the northern coast of Flona, by following a path leading underground, well away from any civilization. Once you’re there, why not participate? You may find yourself facing off against a fellow refugee. OOC     An AC-eligible thread for 2 OLYMPIAN REP POINTS may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD HERE by OCTOBER 15 11:59 PM EST. In the event of CAPTCHA, we will be providing an overflow. In the event of a second CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP. 1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● world ● map ● reputation ● npcs taken ● reserves ● application calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[veneries]

You're not going to cut the throat of your only ally. Put the knife down, Theon. [His eyes are wide, staring intently into Reek's, flickering darkly with... something. It's pity, perhaps, possibly amusement? Or maybe anger that Reek would dare to this. The emotion doesn't matter.

What matters is that his voice is calm, his hands don't move to grab the other man, or even for the shiv he has concealed in his clothing. Ramsay is in control here and Reek is not. Ramsay is giving the orders, and Reek- if he's being good -will follow them.

(If Ramsay's leaning into the knife, making the man feel that tension, it's only half consciously done. Subconsciously he's daring the man to do it, to cut his throat, to prove Reek is not who they both know he is.)]

[reek]

[ Another bark of laughter. ]

At which point did we become allies?

[ Still, Theon backs off, backs away from the pressure as Ramsay leans into the blade. He's never lacked the nerve to kill an enemy before, never shied away from the opportunity to use a knife or a sword, but at close range like this, now? It transports him right back to his last days in Winterfell. He remembers taking an axe to the kennelmaster’s neck because someone needed to take the blame for the murders of his ironborn men, he remembers redressing those innocent boys in the colors of house Stark as their bodies began to stiffen, all in an attempt to save his own skin and pride, and he remembers the savage dreams he had of Robb’s death before he even knew of it. Robb's blood is on his hands, even if he didn't swing the sword. He can’t tell which makes him sicker: his lost nerve, or the memory of the innocent blood on his hands.

Kill him, he tries to urge himself as his hands shake violently. Kill him like you promised you would. But he can’t bring himself to cut Ramsay's throat. It’s the thought of the spilling blood paired with the thought of what might happen if he fails. Ramsay isn’t innocent, but Ramsay can make people believe he is innocent.

Theon doesn’t put the knife down, but he’s clearly not a threat. The knife isn’t even making contact anymore. ]

I should kill you. Here and now. For everything you’ve done. For flaying my men, for—

[ Winterfell, Sansa, Arya, all these things that don’t line up and may not have happened at all. Mad man Theon at his finest. ]

[veneries]

-for keeping your ungrateful ass from jumping out the tallest tower of the Dreadfort or cutting off all your fingers. [He interrupts, frustration creeping into his voice again.

He brings a hand up to try to take the knife out of the man's fingers. Perhaps it's to keep his fingers from shaking so much? It's unclear for now.

In the back of his mind, behind the hurt frown, he studies the hate and frustrated pain in the man's eyes. He knew how Reek looked, he knew all the ways Theon had looked at him with pain and anger and despaire before he'd broken him. Is this the same? Theon hadn't often looked at him with such unbridled hate- not before he'd started to flay the man.

It's worth keeping in the back of his mind.]

[reek]

[ Theon’s grip on the knife isn’t particularly tight, given his shaking. If Ramsay were to pry it away from him, he would find the golden kraken of House Greyjoy emblazoned onto the hilt. It’s been gifted to him by his sister, and she has one to match, making it a particularly risky theft. He still doesn’t know why she gave it to him. Perhaps it was for this purpose: to kill Ramsay. He’s very likely to dwell on that later, if his muddled thoughts allow that much clarity.

He desperately wishes everything would just stop: the world spinning around him, the thoughts rushing around his head, the heavy guilt crushing down on him. He only needs a moment, just one moment to collect himself, but it isn’t granted to him. All he can do is blink his way through the haze and struggle to find a response. ]

It would have been just as well, after Robb’s death. He was the only reason you were keeping me alive and at the Dreadfort.

[ But he wonders vaguely if Robb had arrived at the Dreadfort, if Robb had made any orders regarding Theon's fate before his untimely death. He's been so silent here, so angry. He'll hardly speak to Theon, and despite having dozens of opportunities, he hasn't cut Theon's throat. Perhaps Robb knows more than he lets on, and if so, Theon's lost one more person he trusts. ]

Am I wrong?

[veneries]

[Robb had been the last thing on Ramsay's mind while he kept Reek at the Dreadfort. He'd been a distant figure, important only insofar as he could be used to poke and pry at Reek.

So naturally, that's what he's good for here.

He holds the man's gaze, doesn't confirm or deny what he's being asked. Better to leave the man's mind to work itself out into the worst outcome. He'll have to contact Robb at some point, to see what he can find about their contact.

(Better yet, to befriend the man under the nose of the Stark bastard and his bitch of a wife.)

Instead he focuses on the knife, prying it out of Theon's fingers and holding it in he space between them. He tests the blade against his thumb, draws blood.]

What has King Robb said about it?

[reek]

[ Theon growls as his knife is pried away, not realizing just how loose his grip on it had become. Enraged, his hands continue to shake, but he doesn’t reach for it once more. ]

Nothing.

[ Venom in his voice, hatred in his eyes as he searches for an answer among more questions, but he finds nothing. Ramsay’s pale eyes are an impossible read. ]

He’s said nothing of it at all. He’s said nothing of anything.

[ He hates me, Theon thinks bitterly. They all do.

The more he thinks about it, the less he trusts Jon and Sansa’s sudden acceptance of him. Some wounds cut too deeply for time to heal, and Theon took their home from them. Theon betrayed their brother and their family. Why should those wounds ever heal? Why should they ever accept him as anything but a turncloak? ]

[veneries]

[A frown appears across his face (one might believe it was accidental, if they didn't know him well enough).

Then he adds cautiously] What of Sansa?

[The bitch had escaped with Reek, she would be oh so grateful if she saw him again. A shame the Winterfell bastard was around, otherwise getting close to her might be a lot easier.]

[reek]

[ For all his caution and mistrust, for all his confusion, Theon can’t help but continue to feel protective of Sansa. She was always a sweet, but naive girl, and if she's told him really is the truth, she never deserved any of this. She never deserved a fate like Ramsay. ]

What of Sansa? The same as her brother. She has said nothing.

[ This time, it’s a lie. Sansa has told him plenty. She told him that Roose had legitimized Ramsay, that she’d been married to him, that Petyr Baelish had been the reason it happened at all, that she owed Theon her life. It’s still too much for him to process, and he had refused her the latter, insisting that she owed him nothing.

Perhaps Ramsay can see that lie in his eyes, or hear it in lurking behind the venom his voice, but Theon holds to it with far more strength than he held to his knife. He’s always been a good actor, even when his lies are transparent. ]

She was in King’s Landing when I took Winterfell. Leagues away.

[veneries]

[As if to a small child-] She's not in King's Landing now, is she?

[Sansa has seen him dead, Ramsay knows. He thinks he knows her well enough to guess that she'd speak to Theon about it- but if Robb won't speak to the man, perhaps he's kept his sister from him too.

Satisfied that the edge of the knife is sharp, he spins it in his fingers. Perhaps just playing with it, perhaps threatening. There's no threat in his voice.]

But I know you wouldn't lie about that, Theon. Not to me.

[reek]

The Starks have little to say to me at all.

[ He bites his tongue as he tells yet another bitter lie. He shares a flat with three of them, and Arya is likely to join them soon if Robb has his way. He spoke true in regards to Robb, but Jon and Sansa have been a wealth of information. Whether any of it is true is an entirely different tisutation, but what the two of them have shared has been very similar. Theon continues to doubt how much he can actually believe. Some of what Jon has offered him seems particularly farfetched—Asha in need of rescuing from their uncle Euron, and Theon offering his services to Daenerys Targaryen. After his betrayal of Robb, he can’t see himself willingly pledging his loyalty to another leader, not ever.

He doesn’t trust them, he doesn’t trust their information or their words, but he lies anyway. He lies because he still wants to keep them safe, and he lies because he doesn’t wish to betray them once more. Still, his eyes remain on the blade, as though he anticipates the worst. Ramsay’s voice is too calm. There can be no good in that. ]

I haven’t lied to you. I took their home. What other words could they have for me but anger?

[veneries]

What other words indeed. [The meat of Reek's thigh is a tempting target. Pin him down, pin the truth down, perhaps? Seeing him writhe would be just as worthwhile even if nothing else came of it.

There's the sound of laughter over his shoulder, a male and female voice passing close by. He settles for tapping the flat of the blade against the man's thigh lightly.]

My dear wife and her bastard brother took it on themselves to claim power in the North from under my nose. I've no doubt they'll do whatever they think they need to do. [He leans in, holding the man's gaze.]

[reek]

Your wife? Seven hells…

[ Choked laughter, just a bit too sharp as he leans away, praying that his lies aren’t nearly as transparent as they feel. Of course, he knew that much, and perhaps the appropriate amount of surprise is impossible to fake, but gods, he tries. For all his fear and his shaking and his frayed nerves, he desperately tries to convey the same shock as he had felt when Sansa revealed the very same information. That must be the truth, then, and the rest…

Theon thought little of Jon Snow in Winterfell, but vaguely, at times when he’s allowed his mind to wander, he’s often wondered if Jon doesn’t crave power, if he hasn’t craved the what had always been Robb’s. Robb was always to be Lord of Winterfell, perhaps Warden of the North, and then Robb was chosen as King in the North. He knows he felt envy on more than one occasion. Jon is not Theon, but why shouldn’t a darkness be lurking in Jon as well? Why should Jon not be capable of just as cruelty as Theon, or just as manipulation as Ramsay? He thinks back to everything Jon said to him in the tavern in the entertainment district, how absurd it had all sounded, how it had all seemed perfectly crafted to play to Theon’s emotions and insecurities, and he thinks Ramsay might be telling the truth.

Luckily for both of them, that realization and the knife both serve as enough for Theon to bite back his smart remarks regarding Ramsay being a bastard and therefore a terrible match for Sansa. ]

What is it you think they may have done? Or--or will do?

[ Despite not wanting to, he allows himself to meet Ramsay’s gaze, and it’s clear that some part of him is beginning to be broken down. ]

[veneries]

[The pattern he taps against the man's thigh is a regular pat pat pat of careful consideration. A little too far one way, too much tilt in the other, and he'd cut through the fabric into the meat.

Does it matter if he's lying? He can't be sure either way. What matters is getting him on his side; once that's done the truth can be extracted later.]

It doesn't matter what they've done. [He scowls, and that's not entirely an act. He plans to make the bastard of Winterfell suffer a long while before he's done with with.] But here- they won't want their new friends to know just how ruthless the Starks really are.

[reek]

[ Theon knows what the Starks are capable of. They were just as capable of cruelty as the other Northern Houses, and while Theon never saw any of it directed toward him, he always slept uneasy with the knowledge that it lurked beneath the surface. The stern-faced man who he was expected to be grateful toward could have taken his head at any moment, merely because it was his duty to do so. His cold and suspicious wife would have felt nothing, not a drop of pity or remorse, and his children—Theon had no qualms with Lord Eddard’s children, but would they have cared if a prisoner from the Iron Islands was finally done away with? Robb, perhaps. Robb might have cared…and he would have gotten over it just as quickly.

He holds stone still, not wishing to earn an unnecessary wound, but it wouldn’t matter if it did. If this is what Robb felt when he learned of Theon’s betrayal, it’s pain enough. Somehow, lies and betrayal are the only answer that make sense to him in this entire situation. He’s been lied to, clearly, and the Stark children must be in on it. ]

I was raised beside them. I did not wish to be, but...I thought I knew them well. Far better than they knew me.

[ The hurt slips far too easily into his voice, as though he's forgotten his anger and who he's speaking to. ]

It matters to me what they’ve done. Tell me--please.

[veneries]

[The knife stills, Ramsay's gaze narrowing on the man.]

They used you. They paraded your injuries as evidence that I should be overthrown as Warden. They said that I- [The anger comes naturally, even if it's false. He stops, suddenly realising the knife is pressing down hard against the man's thigh.]

House Bolton flays our enemies, we would never betray our allies- or those entrusted to us by our king. [There's almost some kind of tangible disgust in his voice. Tradition, Theon. Honour. Weren't these held in respect by all good people in Westeros?] So they raised the North against me.

[That's not the whole story, and he looks away. With any luck, Theon will notice and press him for how it ends.]

[reek]

[ Subconsciously, Theon’s fingers twist together. How many had he lost, by the time it was all over? Was it ever over? Did it ever truly end? Perhaps his injuries were well-earned for all he’d done. Maybe Robb had ordered them as punishment, maybe Sansa’s concern is false, and Jon’s acceptance is a well-conceived act. The thought makes his stomach churn and his head spin, and he hardly notices the knife pressed against his thigh any longer. His face pales, white as a sheet. ]

I know what your family does.

[ His voice is choked, but he does believe him. It’s a cruel practice, but that’s all Theon has ever heard: House Bolton notoriously flays their enemies, not their allies. They have no reason to flay those already loyal to them. ]

Who was it they said you betrayed?

[veneries]

The king, of course. [He scoffs] But that wasn't why they did it. All they cared for was Winterfell. [It's almost cathartic to spit the name out. Fucking Winterfell. He'd gained it, made it his home- he would have been a fine lord ruling the keep with his wife at his side, starting a new Bolton dynasty to rule over the North for ages to come.

The anger rises in him, and he struggles to keep it under control. He's doing this for Reek. He needs Reek on his side if this is to work. He, Sansa, and Jon are the only ones who know his face.

He takes a breath and all trace of anger vanishes.] With Snow at the wall and Sansa the only surviving Stark, an alliance was made between our houses. It was-- the sensible thing to do. Or so I thought.

[Clearly things worked out differently.]

[reek]

It is their home.

[ And it was mine as well, once, he thinks, but he sounds doubtful. His heart may tell him as much, but politics and warfare aren’t built upon matters of the heart. Winterfell may be the ancestral seat of House Stark, but that isn’t enough to prevent Bolton forces from taking it if they’re strong enough to hold it. Theon and his ironborn were not strong enough. ]

The only home they’ve ever known. Of course they care.

[ His eyes turn downcast and his fingers twist together once more. Why does he continue to defend them? They’ve lied to him, deceived him…He cares for them, but he doesn’t believe he’ll ever be able to trust them again, so he tries to listen to Ramsay, tries to hear him out despite the monster of a man he believes him to be.

His words make sense. More sense than Sansa’s or Jon’s. ]

It…was a sensible thing. Your marriage to Lady Sansa.

[ He agrees. It isn’t the match Lord Eddard would have wanted. Never in a million years would he have allowed it, but it does make sense, politically, and Lord Baelish…what can be said of him? He arranged the match, and he is not Lord Eddard. ]

They wished—they turned the whole of the North against you solely to retrieve Winterfell? Was there no other purpose?

[veneries]

[He lifts the knife, spins it in his fingers absently. When Reek stars to twist his fingers together- Ramsay reaches out to take them in his free hand. He puts the handle of the knife into those hands. A sign of trust, perhaps. Arming the man against their shared enemies.]

Ask them yourself, when you see them. They'll tell you it's because I'm a Bolton, someone who flays my friends and enemies alike, unable even to respect my own wife. [He spits the words out, again drawing on the anger that has sat hot in his gut since awakening- since meeting Sansa up by the sleepers.]

No doubt Sansa and Jon are already spreading the news far and wide. Don't trust Ramsay Bolton. He'll flay you.

[He's careful not to mention that Theon might have done the same. He and Theon are on the same side now, or the man is close to it. ]

[reek]

[ He tenses, half expecting the knife to cut through his flesh, but it doesn’t, and that seems to offer him all he needs. ]

Jon Snow is a liar. I’ve proof of it.

[ Because now I have more earlier threads to draw from whoops. As he clutches the knife, his anger seems to have switched direction. Now, it’s directed toward Jon, who Theon seems to genuinely believe to be a liar now. He’s still wavering on Sansa. He doesn’t want to believe that she might be just as malicious, but she and Jon have grown closer than they ever were in Winterfell. Perhaps they whisper, perhaps they scheme. There’s still so little Theon can be certain of. ]

He said he met me on Dragonstone. [ He pauses to laugh, still raw and on edge, but no longer bordering on madness like he was before. ] He claimed I told him that my sister was in need of rescuing from my uncle Euron, yet he knew her by the wrong name.

[ Again and again, he tells himself that Asha will never be in need of rescuing, not from anyone. Euron is a mad and dangerous man. Theon can build that truth of him even from the vague memories he holds, but Asha is too proud and too fierce. She would go down fighting. He looks to Ramsay, as though expecting answers. They won’t be the answers he wants, but they’re the only answers that make sense to him right now. ]

I’ve only one sister. Her name is not Yara. [ Asha. This is one thing he knows he isn't wrong about. He and his sisters grew up strangers, but he knows her name. ] I'll not believe a word he says.

[veneries]

Good. [So Theon is both on his side and mad.

Ramsay has met dear Yara, has had the pleasure of hosting her in his own castle for an evening before she ran off with her tail between her legs.

(It answers the question, though, of what became of Theon after he escaped with his whore of a wife. He hadn't been at Winterfell, but somehow he'd made his way to fucking Dragonstone.)]

You can't tell him we've spoken.

[reek]

[ Dragonstone is a bizarre question Theon can’t answer himself. He can only assume that Jon pulled a name out of his head, somewhere that Theon had no ties to, somewhere that he might have run to if he were looking to escape. It’s clever, really. Far more clever than Theon ever thought Jon Snow capable of.

His gaze darkens. A liar. Jon Snow is a liar, and he would just as soon see me dead if he had the opportunity. ]

No.

[ He doesn’t intend to tell anyone that he’s spoken to Ramsay. What would they say? He’s built up his intent to kill this man for months, and then backed down. It comes across as weakness, as cowardice, but it's none of those things.

Does he trust Ramsay? No, but he believes him far more than he believes anyone else right now. He says words that make sense when no one else has managed to do as much, and that's what he needs to hear in the middle of all this mess. ]

But if you believe you’ll go unnoticed to the Starks, you are a fool. You Northmen seem to be able to sniff out other Northmen. They'll cross your path sooner or later.

[veneries]

[Reek wasn't entirely unintelligent. Ramsay had hoped this would be easy, but the man's laid the groundwork out for him.]

The Starks know that Ramsay Bolton is here, neither of us can change that. If I give them no cause to come after me, it's my hope when our paths do cross they'll abide by the laws of the city and keep from decapitating me on the spot. [He knows it won't. He knows that his wife and her bastard brother will make efforts to seek him out and warn all they meet about him. That doesn't matter.]

And to keep them from sniffing after me, I've taken another name. Then no matter what they spread, I'll not have to deal with the mistrust you've shown me. [And it's pretty rude of Reek to subjugate him to it, his tone suggests.]

[reek]

[ Theon sneers, not even managing his usual smirk. For once, he doesn’t feel like it suits the conversation. ]

You seem to be fond of that move.

[Foolish, he thinks. A man can only take on so many identities.

A false identity is how Ramsay took Winterfell to begin with, but Theon doesn’t go into specifics. He’s just now gathering himself back together, and the fear that his memories may indeed be wrong would send him to pieces once more. He doesn’t wish to take that chance. ]

What have you named yourself this time?