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Oh? Watch me. [She's kidding. Theon's stressful, but she hardly enough to cause any lasting damage.]

You thought I was much younger, once.

[The best compliment he ever paid her.]

You still look younger.

[ He'll admit to it. ]

But you have a few more grey hairs than you did before.

[ Nothing compared to his own white hair, he knows. ]

Thank you, Theon. That's very sweet.

[She'll take what she can get. At the mention of her hair, she reaches up to scrub a at the lighter curls. She knows right where the gray nests.]

I do. And things creak when I bend them. [Though she's still rather spry. Claire doesn't slow down.]

[ He’s not trying to be sweet. He seldom tries, truth be told. ]

I hear that happens in other situations as well.

[ Such as when you’ve been flayed and tortured for a year, but he doesn’t say it. In fact, he hesitates afterward. Something is nagging at him, just a little bit. ]

I think my name day may have passed without me realizing.

[ It was never made a bit deal of, but the fact that he’s still having trouble with the passage of time is bothersome. ]

It must have.

[To know one another a year and some change, it had to have come and gone.]

It's never too late to celebrate, I say.

[ I might have been beneath the Dreadfort when it happened. He tries not to think about it too much. If he does, he’ll get too much into his own head. He’ll think about Reek; Reek, who has a different name day from Theon Greyjoy, and then he’ll ruin what began as a pleasant (to him) conversation. ]

It’s come, it’s gone. I’m a year older than I thought I was.

[ Not to mention that name days in Winterfell weren't huge celebrations, especially not his own. ]

It's important. [Maybe not that specific birthday, but to be a year older, even if she's very much aware he'd rather not be around to have any more name days. He's survived.] Where I'm from, we would celebrate with a cake and a nice meal, some gifts. It doesn't have to be something grand.

[Just something. She's taken on the role of Theon's mother and now this is suddenly far more important than her own birthday. She can't imagine a fuss ever being made over him.]

[ A fuss has never been made over Theon Greyjoy. Not when he was born (he was the third son, after all, not an heir), not in Winterfell, and not when he returned home. He’s still struggling to understand what it means to be wanted. His hesitation is quite apparent. ]

Then your name day should be celebrated as it would be where you come from.

[ REDIRECT, REDIRECT. ]

It will be, on the 20th. [Bree will make sure of it.] But on the 21st, I'd like to do something for you.

[It's not difficult to think of something.]

Let's go to the beach. You and I. [Just to clarify--she's not quite sure where he stands with Bree and Fergus (the former is certain he hates her, which may be true on any given day and Theon's mood), but Theon is much more agreeable when it's just her.] I know it's been a while since you've been to the sea.

The 21st is not my name day.

[ He’s not even entirely sure what season it is right now. Seasons work differently in Westeros, after all. They seem to pass quickly here, lending further to his skewed view of time.

He's trying to be stubborn, but still, he can't help but smile just a little bit at her suggestion. It's true, he hasn't been to the sea in quite some time. ]

But a trip to the sea would not go amiss on even an ordinary day.

I don't hear you volunteering a date. It's a belated celebration, regardless.

[A smile, no matter how small, is a win.]

But that settles it.

I can't seem to recall it.

[ He doesn't want to try too hard. If he does, he may trip into Reek territory. ]

I've missed it.

[ He pauses, hesitating just a little bit. ]

Thank you.

That's all right. [A sad thing, but there are worse tragedies.] I think the fifteenth of August is a fitting date.

[She could have gone with a date closer to his return from stasis, but she decides to go with one closer to when they first met at the Sanctuary, during the blood drive. He doesn't need to know that.]

So, you'd be... twenty-two? Twenty-three? [A thing she's forgotten. Somewhere around there. Older than Bree, younger than Fergus, but emotionally stunted in a way that often makes her think he's younger.]

You're welcome, darling. I'm looking forward to a day out with you.

[They haven't done that in... ever, really.]

[ That doesn’t sound right, but he doesn’t want to go digging around in his head to find the proper date. It may come to him eventually, when things are silent and he isn’t trying to think about it. ]

Twenty-two.

[ Though, he doesn’t seem so certain. He knows he turned twenty just after Robb was named King in the North, and he surely turned twenty-one at some point in Ramsay’s keeping…but he’s still unsure as to how much time passed. Not two years, he thinks. Asha hadn’t aged that much, and neither had Jeyne Poole, but he never really knows for certain. He struggles so much with the smallest things. ]

Twenty-two. [She can sound certain if he doesn't. She knows his mind is a mess, and there's no reason for him to work himself up over this. They have a date, even if it's wrong, and they have an age, even if that might not be right, either.]

In honor of your missed name day, we'll have a good time. I promise. [Perhaps the riskiest of promises she's made yet.]

...Thank you.

[ For sounding certain when he doesn't, and for promising him a good name day. Even if it isn't really is name day. ]

[Claire's birthday comes and goes, but truthfully, she's more excited about the day following. It's early in the morning when she packs up for a day at the beach (more like sitting in the sand on a blanket with some snacks), and leads Theon to the train that takes them to the cove. The sea never fails to remind her of Percy, above all else, but she says nothing of the boy as they pick their way down across the sand. It's colder these days, and so the beach is mostly abandoned. Most people would prefer to stroll along the pier or be somewhere that the mist can't chill them, and the water is too cold for swimming, but Claire doesn't seem to mind it at all. Boston and Scotland have made her used to numbing cold.

Once there's a a blanket unfurled and the simplest of picnic baskets set down, she promises a walk. But first--]

Close your eyes and put out your hands. It's a birthday tradition.

[Birthdays don't really matter. Not in the grand scheme of things, but to her, this is important. For a boy that's longed for some sort of belonging, who always expects the rug to be pulled out from beneath him, she imagines it must be nice to be celebrated. Even if it's not his actual name day. Even if it's just her. Theon being Theon is reason enough for Claire.]

[ Theon doesn’t mind the chilly weather either. Pyke had been cold, but Winterfell had been colder, and the kennels and dungeons of the Dreadfort had been the coldest of them all. He’s well acclimated, and he hardly even bats an eye as the cold wind rips through his hair.

He helps Claire with the blanket, but his eyes continue to be drawn to the cove, reminded of the few days he got to spend here with his sister. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her until he saw the water. It may, in fact, be the one thing that binds them together, save for Balon’s blood. ]

Stupid tradition.

[ He smirks in jest, though, and does as he’s told with only the slightest hesitation. He’s still wearing Robb’s gloves. He thinks it’s safe enough now. Robb never seemed to notice. ]

Oh, shut up. I'm trying to do something sentimental here, Theon. [She huffs, though she's clearly far from upset.] You're lucky I'm not singing the song that goes with this.

[A threat. He's been in a better mood since he's gotten his teeth. She's noticed. And because of it, she's been in a good mood, and she doesn't worry so much about him being afraid of her anymore. He's more himself. So, she's a little less careful, a little more playful.

She rummages in the picnic basket and pulls out the most delicately wrapped cupcake that she was very careful did not get smashed on the journey over. Pretty, but mostly plain, because she'd rather not cut the day short because of his poor stomach. Just because he has a set of fake teeth doesn't mean his body is back to normal. The cupcakes goes into the palm of the hand with the most fingers. In the other hand goes a small velvet pouch from her pocket. Inside is a golden medallion with a simple T engraved upon it. No sigils. No words. Just his initial.

Fergus once had a medallion of saint Dismas. The Good Thief. Claire's hardly religious and there are too many patron saints for her to ever choose one for Theon, and so she settled on something simple, with her good will in mind rather than any representatives of lost things.]

There. You may open your eyes, now.

Seven hells, there’s a song?

[ He huff out a soft laugh. He truly is in a far better mood than he has been in months. Who would have known that new teeth would help so much? He can eat without pain now, and he even chances the occasional smile, but he’s still hesitant. That can be pinned more on his learned behavior than anything else, however.

He’s surprised to have not one, but two gifts placed into his hands. Furrowing his eyebrows, he places the tiny cake onto the blanket to fumble with the velvet pouch. He needs all the fingers he can get when it comes to that sort of thing.

He hasn’t paid the iron price for the medallion, but he hasn’t paid the iron price in quite some time and Balon is dead. What does it matter anymore? It’s lucky, he thinks, that Theon and Reek don’t begin with the same letter, but you have to remember your name. It’s such a struggle, and it’s so easy to forget even though it shouldn’t be. ]

I didn’t get you anything for your name da—for your birthday.

Don't. You're going to make me want to sing it.

[And he's been through enough torture for one lifetime. Too soon for that sort of joke, however, so Claire just watches him with a fond smile. The chain of the medallion is long enough to not need to be opened to put on--forethought on Claire's part. It's something easily hidden beneath clothes. Nothing grand. Just simple, but something from her that isn't clothes or teeth.]

You never needed to get me anything.

[The gift is that occasional smile, and seeing him seem to enjoy himself a little more than he once did. He probably never thought he'd get to where he is now.

Hell, a part of Claire didn't think so, either.]

Edited 2018-10-20 03:59 (UTC)

Don’t.

[ He huffs. He does not need to be sung to. He’s miserable enough on most days as it is, and this is his stand-in name day.

He holds the medallion between the fingers of his good hand, not allowing it to slip through as he observes it. It’s a gift that would be taken from him immediately if Ramsay were here…

But Ramsay isn’t here, he reminds himself immediately. Don’t spoil the day.

He slides the medallion over his head and tucks it beneath his shirt. It’s a reminder he may need in the future, and he suspects that’s why Claire gave it to him rather than something bearing his sigil. ]

You give me things all the time. It doesn’t seem to be an even trade.

I don't give you things expecting something in return. I give you things because I think you'd like them, or thst they suit you.

[Or because he hasn't been spoiled by a parent before.]

[ He does tend to like the things Claire likes him. In fact, he can’t say he hasn’t liked a single thing that Claire’s gotten him. She seems to understand the type of things he likes to wear—and that he enjoys wearing nice things to begin with.

It still seems wrong, though. Claire’s birthday has come and gone, and Theon couldn’t think of anything to give her as a gift. He still can’t. There’s nothing that could possibly repay what he’s done for him.

So instead, he just glances around the beach, making certain that they’re the only ones present, and he hugs her. She seems to like when he does that. ]

Thank you.

[She does like it when he chooses to hug her of his own free will, and especially so when they're not in some state of crisis. This might actually be the first joyous hug they've shared, and there's a small, startled laugh from her before she returns it. He's still thin, but no longer does she feel like too tight a squeeze might break his ribs.]

This is the best gift you could have given me.

[A hug. Material things can be lost, taken, but she won't ever forget moments like these.]

You're very welcome, my love.

[She lets him go, not wanting to embarrass him in case someone wandered down onto the beach. Because she saw that he most definitely checked. He really is like a teenager, sometimes.]

I really do need to stop spoiling you with gifts. Had a bloody hell of a time figuring out something for today.

[Except she won't stop with the occasional gift of a coat or an embroidered shirt if she happens to see one he'd like.]

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ACTION i do what i want

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