1 ● Seeking: New Rooomates + The Starks Civil War [TEXT]

[silverhound]

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How come I have to have a "silver turd" and a "blind dude" as roommates? They both suck!
Who came up with this idea? This is stupid.

Might kick them out. They're too noisy.

Does anyone even like their roommates? Mine are annoying. Let's do a trade.

Comments

[northborn]

You're right, as you have seldom been in your life, Greyjoy. I am my father's son.

[ Let him sweat over that for a minute, perhaps two, before he sends another message. It is difficult, corresponding like this — ravens gave oneself time to compose one's thoughts. To truly drive a sword in, deep and concise. This exchange has been a detriment to them both, but mostly to Robb — it is not only upon himself which he brings shame and the threat of danger. There is Sansa to think of, and Jon.

He catches flashes of them, growing up together. In the midst and at the edges, solid but blurry: Theon.
Their not-brother, smiling too fiercely. ]

I suppose we have that in common, in the end.

[ The truth is only half so, but it burns well enough. He lets the flames go. ]

[reek]

Aye, and your mother’s son. I believe she would love nothing more than to see this sentence carried out as well.

[ Theon doesn’t truly want to die, but his offer is an attempt to give something to Robb in the midst of this mess. He can’t beg for forgiveness; surely there’s none to give. He can’t return Winterfell or its people, or even now force himself to choose between his own family and the Starks. Worst of all, he can’t place himself back at Robb’s side to warn him of Roose Bolton’s intentions, and that eats him up more than anything else.

I should have been the one who died, he thinks as he dwells on his next response. Not Robb. ]

I’m a Greyjoy. It’s all I ever could be.

[ Though he wishes it were easier than that. ]

[northborn]

There was a time I wanted nothing more than your head upon a pike.

[ He pauses, considering. The bitter gears in his mind turn, then settle. ]

Now you all but beg for it, as if it would relieve you of your own suffering, such as you believe it to be.

I will not accommodate you here, Theon Greyjoy. Even if it should give all of House Stark great satisfaction.

As long as I have air in my lungs, you will feel no relief.

[reek]

You're frightened.

[ A quick and sudden accusation, but is it really completely unfounded? Robb isn't completely wrong; Theon would love to be spared his own suffering. Guilt creeps into every thought and every breath he takes, and he can't shake an ounce of it from his shoulders, but he doesn't make this offer out of that type of selfishness. He offers because he feels it's the right thing to do. It's what Robb would have wanted, if things had turned out differently. ]

This isn't about me. You can't bring yourself to do it, not even when I've offered it to you on a silver platter. What's changed so suddenly?

[northborn]

[ His right hand curls into a fist, knuckles turning white. Theon dares...? ]

I have known fear in my lifetime.

[ Theon, himself, will recall at least one honest instance of it. Would that he could take back such vulnerability in front of the one who betrayed him. ]

It is no tremble of doubt, no tremor of dread, that stays my sword.

You clearly suffer now, for your cowardice. And it was cowardice. How you attacked our home unprovoked; the home where we became men together. How you murdered good Maester Luwin, who gave you counsel. How you

[ And here, he has to pause, as his gut turns with thoughts of the fate that had befallen young Bran and Rickon. ]

...How you debased the bodies of two young boys who looked up to you as they did to me. My real brothers. My blood.

[ The grip on his device threatens to break it at any moment. ]

I'm not frightened, no. But I conjure fear between us. I want each of your crimes to pass before your eyes when you try to sleep. I want my family's spilt blood to choke you as you try to breathe. I will remind you of each heinous act until they are as ingrained upon you as your precious Greyjoy name.

You will live in fear of me.

[reek]

[ And just like that, Theon’s argument crumples. Somehow, Robb knows exactly which words are enough to hit him the hardest. He can recall a frightened young man, just before the Battle in the Whispering Wood, with shaking hands and eyes full of fear. Theon hadn’t even chided him for being frightened. How different things were then, before Theon was forced to crush who he thought he was and rebuild himself into someone he didn’t recognize: a turncloak, a betrayer, a murderer. It isn't Robb he fears. It's himself.

But Robb has it wrong. He has it so wrong. ]

I didn’t kill Maester Luwin.

[ What became of Luwin? That thought does haunt Theon. More than likely, he perished when Ramsay set Winterfell ablaze. He can only hope it was a quick death. For all Theon fought against his counsel, Luwin deserved better than to die in agony. ]

I didn't kill Bran, and I didn't kill Rickon. They found their own way out of Winterfell. Hodor and the Wildling woman must have aided them. I couldn’t find them either.

[ More that weighs heavily on him still. What if he had found them? Would their heads be on pikes above the walls of Winterfell, or would his anger have steadied itself before he could do such a heinous thing? He can’t say—not when he allowed two innocent boys to be murdered in their stead. Those boys are the ones who stalk his nightmares: wolves with children’s faces, and he never even knew their names. ]

I wish to speak of this with you. To your face, not to words on a screen.

[ He wishes, he wishes, but he knows he won’t yet receive. ]

[northborn]

[ He stares at the screen, blank-faced, for a full two minutes. ]

Lies. All you can speak are lies. It's the only tongue you know.

Perhaps if your uncle had removed yours before you came to Winterfell, we wouldn't be where we are now.

[ Even after all he's threatened Theon with, he almost regrets that last line... almost. ]

No wish of yours will I grant.

[ If he has to look at Theon's face one more time this evening, he will break apart the walls of their small dwelling, and his siblings and Nakatsu will suffer. ]

[reek]

[ It's such a small, minuscule betrayal, and it should mean nothing, but Theon didn't confide in Robb about his uncle Euron's cruelty just to have the information used against him so many years later. If something so tiny hurts so badly, he can only imagine how Robb felt when he received the news of what happened in Winterfell. ]

A fine lot of good that would do. We aren't speaking. I don't need a tongue to send you these words.

[ I d i o t. ]

Ask Jon, then. Let him tell you what I already have. I took Winterfell. I knew you left it poorly defended, so I did what I thought might please my father. That much I'll admit, but I did not kill your brothers, nor did I set your home to the torch.

[northborn]

[ As the guilt proceeds to nag at him in greater degrees, he grasps for a way to deflect. ]

You dare to pit my own brother against me? To presume he would support your falsehoods?

[reek]

[ Theon has never liked Jon. He's made that no secret. If he were to pit anyone against Robb, he would surely choose someone else. ]

I don't dare to do anything. He knows. I don't know how, but he even knew who it was that lit the torch.

While you're at it, since you're so intent on my suffering, you can thank him for not killing me on the Outlook.

[northborn]

[ He won't entertain these fancies. Not here, not now. If he must speak with Jon in private of details he has yet to divulge, so be it. ]

Is that supposed to rile me? To know he didn't crush your skull the moment he laid eyes on you?

[reek]

[ Robb is giving him emotional whiplash. If they were speaking in person, Robb might see that familiar smirk starting to creep its way back onto Theon's face. Did he ever wonder what it really meant? If Theon really found amusement in things that weren't amusing at all? That was never the case. It was always a mask. ]

Does that thought please you? Despite all your pretty words, do you still hold the notion of doing it yourself?

[northborn]

[ Theon is not alone in that. (And he can picture that curl of his lips around such challenging words, laced with self-doubt. Robb knew and didn't know. Saw and didn't see. He has his own self to blame for not probing further when he caught Theon struggling.) ]

The pretty words are over. We're done here.

[ He shuts off his device with an angry snap. Time for some fresh air. ]