The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

20.

Massey

I entered the dining hall for the second time that evening, and the competing smells hit me once again. Meats, cheeses, wine, and above all else, men. It was never the ladies you could smell in these settings. From where I stood, I could see that both Lord Stark and my father weren't in the room. I strode past Jory, exchanging pleasantries with him before he also left the room, and I carried on, only to be stopped by Theon gripping my wrist from a seat below me. He, like all of the others in the room, now seemed to be traveling around the extra tables decorating the hall.

   "Robb is with Lord Stark if you're looking for him," he stated from below me. His voice was hoarse and hard to hear over the people around us. His mood seemed cheerful, but his words did not.

   "I don't know what I was looking for, really."

   He let go of my arm and scooted over to make room to his left. He scooted so much in such a small area, that he pushed the man next to him, who thankfully did not have an issue with that. After all, the wine was flowing tonight and the overall spirit of Winterfell was high.

"Sit, please," he urged as he guided me downward by hand.

"Alright," I laughed as I swung my legs over the bench and took a seat. "Seems to me you're enjoying the feast."

   "Aye, I am. And you, Lady Bryer?"

   How strange to use such formalities.

   "Somewhat, I suppose, Lord Greyjoy." I took a few loose grapes from the picked over platter in front of us. "I'd have much rather had our regular dinner. Oh, and poor Jon. I've become so accustomed to dining with you boys, I have no wish to go without."

   "Right," he huffed. The playfulness that was in him seemed to vanish more and more by the moment, causing my smile to drop gradually. "You look quite nice tonight."

"Thank you—" I began to say, but stopped myself when he grazed the back of his hand along my hip, resting it at the top of my thigh and making me retreat some into the man standing behind my seat.

   "Theon—"

"What is it? I've barely touched you," he asked mockingly, leaving his jaw slightly open and leaning in as he repeated the motion even slower. It didn't seem one of his good humored teases that I was so well acquainted with. I swatted his hand away.

"What would people think if they saw that?"

"Who cares?" He laughed, his voice becoming sloppy. "If you're not accustomed to it, I understand—"

"I'm no stranger to an affectionate touch, Theon, but I do. I care."

The mocking look on his face fell, something more sinister taking its place.

   "That dress," he began sharply, a bit of apple wine sloshing from his cup as he dropped it back down on the table. He leaned back and took me in from head to toe. I waited with bated breath for what he might say at the end of his long pause. He leaned back in, only a few inches separating our faces. His voice turned thick, much harsher on my ears. "You're Stark in all but name now, aren't you?"

   "What?" I brought my hand to my stomach and realized only now that I had forgotten to wear Theon's chain for the first time since he placed it around my waist in the library.

   "Stark," he repeated slowly, each word more enunciated than the next. "In all but name."

We stared at one another, and I felt his eyes challenging me. A range of emotions rushed through me. Guilt, sadness, confusion, realization, a bit of heartbreak. But, I eventually settled on anger.