The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

48.

Massey

Theon came back to the room before dinner just as he had said he would, motioning silently for me to follow him to the bustling dining hall that was filled with Ironborn. It was there, at a table full of his men, that he told me of the new plan he'd made for me to leave Winterfell.

Yara was to take me away, to deliver me to the Iron Islands to await Theon's return in some dank corner of Pyke for who knows how long. Over the coming days, I'd bargained, I'd pleaded. I'd even plotted with Maester Luwin, grasping at straws for any way to avoid being taken away. It was of no use. Things sank in finally on my last night in Winterfell as Theon slept peacefully beside me. We'd hardly spoken since the shift in plans. Two days of near silence. I couldn't tell how he felt about the way we were leaving things, but I knew that I hated it. Things weren't supposed to be like this.

Like the obedient, yet resentful wife I had somehow become, I finally accepted my fate and packed away my things the morning Yara and her men were set to leave. I'd stuffed my gowns, my books, my jewelry, everything I had into the same two trunks I had arrived at Winterfell with. The money my father had left with me was still tucked inside of an old cloak at the bottom of the bigger trunk. Perhaps, so far from anything that resembled home, I'd finally have use for it.

Rather than waiting to be summoned by the party, I gave in to the urge to visit my old chambers one last time. That room held so many fond memories, while Theon's held only a scarce few that were sullied by the last months I'd spent in them. Truthfully, there wasn't a corner of Winterfell that didn't hold some bitter memory for me. Either way, I had no true wish to leave. It felt like I was abandoning those that, in such a short amount of time, had come to feel like my people.

My room was cold and lifeless, not at all how I remembered it. It was kept clean in my absence, which only further served my disconnect from it. Though, it dawned on me that I had never emptied the drawer at my mirror. Inside, I found the letter from my brother with the now even more withered flowers he'd sent me. A petal broke from the white flower as I scooped them onto the parchment and folded them away carefully. The note Theon had left me on my name day sat open in the drawer as well. My eyes began to sting, threatening to well with tears as I mourned the sweet man he was before all of this. I folded that note into my brother's before closing the now empty drawer.

I was stood at my open window, staring down at a few of the Ironborn in the practice yard. I found myself imagining it was still filled with friends. Imagining Jon sitting on the short stone wall. Imagining a Theon who had not yet done anything this heinous. Imagining Robb easily knocking either of them to the ground, Rickon hobbling around the older boys in far too many layers of padding while Arya runs by. I can't determine when exactly the sweet sounds of friends laughing and dueling turned into the ugly sound of steel. Perhaps when Bran fell from the broken tower. Perhaps when Lord Stark was imprisoned. Perhaps when he had lost his head. The door behind me creaked open without warning, telling me that my presence was required for the ride out, but I didn't bother to move until someone stepped inside and spoke.

   "I'm sorry," Theon started, sounding exhausted as he walked closer to me with his right arm extended.

I was caught off guard that he had come to fetch me himself. I began to shuffle toward the door to get away from him.

   "Massey. Massey, wait. Please," he pleaded as he blocked my path to the door.

   "I've got somewhere to be, haven't you heard? I would not want to keep your sister waiting."

   "You're angry, I know. Just...please," he tried again to reach for my hands, but I wouldn't allow it. The thought of the hands that had strung up Bran and little Rickon touching me still repulsed me, even if they were my husband's. Especially since they were my husband's.