[Closed]

[reek]

Who: Theon Greyjoy (reek) & Sansa Stark (unprays)
What: Taking a break from the yelling to have a discussion
When: After the civil war on Loz's post
Where: House #57
Warning(s): I don't think so?


[ In the end, Theon can’t say what brings him to the kitchen. Perhaps it’s the fact that Robb has grown tired of their argument for the time being. Perhaps it’s in an attempt to clear his mind from the questions that have begun to weigh heavily upon it, or perhaps it's simply because he cannot hide from anything in these tiny, cramped quarters.

His voice is already graveled, and this may well be the first time he’s lowered his tone beyond a shout all day, but he smirks easily as he strides into the kitchen, just as he’s always done. A sly smile that gives him the appearance of a man who’s laughing at a joke the rest of the world has never been privy to. What better way to hide one’s hurt and confusion? ]

You’re defending Snow now, are you?

[ It’s almost a cruel question to ask, particularly paired with that smirk, and he knows it. He wasn’t ever blind to the goings-on in Winterfell. He knew that Sansa tended to disregard her bastard brother. He never did blame her; he tended to do the same when it came to Jon Snow. ]

It's been longer than a year since I last saw you. There's nothing I could have saved you from.

[ He knows that things are off. His father is dead, Robb is meant to be dead, a year has passed since he and Asha last met in Winterfell, Daenerys has mentioned something about Meereen, and he can tell that his sister is keeping more from him still. These things keep stacking up, but Theon can recall none of them. Denial is the only control he has of this strange situation, so it's what he clings to. ]

Comments

[unprays]

[ the kitchen smells of sugar and cinnamon, the cookies baking in the oven as Sansa cleans the counter and the utensils she had used — the first batch had been a complete disaster, but with Nakatsu's help, the second one had turned out alright.

she has time, as she waits for them to be ready: let them be in the oven until they're golden brown, she'd been instructed, and she dares not leave the oven unwatched lest she burn them by accident. she had meant it, telling Theon where she could be found... she just never expected him to really take her up on the offer.

he looks as she remembers him — cocky, confident, yet his eyes are windows with shutters closed carefully. ]

His name is Jon. [ a yes without being a yes, that — before, she had always followed her mother's example with regards to her half-brother. now, it matters not — Jon is her brother, the one brother who truly remained, the one brother who truly understands. he has lived through the same losses as she has... his promise to protect her, one she remembers not but one he is still determined to keep, rings in her ears when she is alone.

yes, she's defending Jon Snow, because Jon Snow is her brother. it is her fault it took her so long to realize it. ]

It's been even longer than that since I last saw you. And you can keep repeating it, but it won't change what has happened. Jon won't tell me the details... but I know he speaks true.

[reek]

[ Theon has seldom ever called Jon by his name, and he doesn’t intend to start now. He’s too stubborn and too hurt to allow himself that sort of growth right now. ]

Thus far, it’s been implied that I died in Winterfell, yet I’ve been to Meereen, and supposedly saved you from gods know what. Where do you suppose I’ll turn up next? Old Valyria?

[ Despite his cool smirk and bark of laughter, there’s obvious frustration lingering behind his voice. It’s difficult to accept their differing timelines, and even more difficult to accept that despite having no memory of these things, they have apparently happened. He wants to deny them all, to pretend he didn’t survive beyond the sack of Winterfell. Wouldn’t that just be easier?

Somewhere in the midst of all of this, however, his expression softens. He had stopped responding on the network after a point, but one of Robb’s responses to Sansa had hit him particularly hard. Perhaps this is neither the place or the time, but it needs to be addressed. ]

Do you truly believe I killed your brothers?

[unprays]

That isn't funny, Theon. [ she fixes him with a stare, one that is eerily reminiscent of Catelyn Stark's cool gaze, though her apparent disapproval hides some sympathy — the timelines make just as little sense to her. she knows Jon remembers things that have not yet happened, yet refuses to speak of them; it is frustrating, it is scary.

yet the thoughts of that fade as he asks her a question that has been on her mind, too, ever since Robb's response to her. she thinks of Robb's conviction, and then of the station, of the faces she saw among the sleeping. thinks of the Theon she knew, back home, and this strange Theon of the future, the one who supposedly saves her life. ]

... no. At least, I don't want to believe it. I don't want to believe that is who you are. Besides... I saw Bran. I know Jon saw him, too. And he — he... mentioned Rickon. [ the composed expression she has forced herself to keep wavers, her eyes betraying her pain. ] Rickon may be gone, but it wasn't by your hand. That much I believe.

[reek]

[ Theon always hated Catelyn Stark’s stare. No matter what he did, no matter how many good deeds, she always remained cold, scrutinizing, and disapproving. It’s astonishing how much he feels that in Sansa’s stare, no matter how briefly. He’s just as frightened as she is, and he has no idea what to do about it. What else is he missing? What else has happened to him or to others? ]

No, it isn’t, but how do I know it's not true?

[ Rickon didn’t die by his own hand, but he still can’t help but feel guilty. His actions played a large role in that young boy’s fate. He trusted Ramsay, he allowed his thoughts and intentions to be toyed with, and he played right into Ramsay’s hands. If Ramsay hadn’t taken Winterfell, Rickon might still be alive. ]

I didn’t kill your brothers. I couldn’t find them. I don’t know where they went or where they hid, but I believe they got out of Winterfell before it was set to the torch.

[ It’s for the best. Theon can’t say for certain what he would have done if he had found them. He was so angry, so desperate and willing to do anything he could just to earn the respect of a cold and distant father. It all seems so pointless now that Balon is dead. Not only did he fail, but his attempts were for nothing.

He didn’t kill Bran and Rickon, but when he sleeps at night, his guilt catches up to him. He tosses and turns and oftentimes screams as wolves with the faces of the boys he did kill rip him to shreds. He’ll never be free of that, and he’ll never forgive himself for it. ]

But I know the things I did do, and I don’t expect you to forgive me for them. I’m still the person you don’t want to believe I am.

[unprays]

You believe I would lie to you? [ she laughs, a sharp, hollow sound, far from the childish, sweet laughter she once had. ] Everyone knows I'm a terrible liar.

[ she falls silent to listen to his words, listening to the tone of his voice, the guilt that lurks behind them, the harsh truth of them. she knows he is right; the Theon Greyjoy she thought she knew is gone, or perhaps was never there — perhaps she never bothered to look long enough to see him.

and now, whoever stands in front of her is half-stranger, a traitor, a murderer. and yet, she still owes her life to him. ]

It isn't my forgiveness you want. [ and if he expects her to say Robb, then, he is mistaken. ] It is your own, and it is beyond your reach. You will live with the knowledge that you took innocent lives, that you betrayed the man who loved you as his brother. You are the one who will not forgive yourself for that, Theon.