The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

60.

Massey

Even from inside the castle walls, I heard the dragon's roar as it returned from battle. After a tortuous length of time, most of which I spent pacing in anticipation, a heavy door opened, and in spilled the lot of them. The Queen, Jon, Lord Tyrion, Davos, Missandei, a man I had not yet met, and small swarm of Dothraki. They had all made it back, and even picked up another along the way, presumably making their effort more than a success. Lord Tyrion stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes found me with my back to the main hall's wall. He looked like he didn't know what to say, and if he did know what to say, he didn't know how to say it.

"What is it, my lord?" I asked simply, hoping to get whatever he was holding back out of him.

The Queen stopped only a few strides in front of her throne room, and along with her, the rest of those tracing her steps.

"It's...I—" Tyrion began, stumbling through his words.

"What is it?" I urged him.

"It's your brother, my lady," Lord Tyrion spoke solemnly. "He died in battle."

My eyes fluttered shut right away, my chest sinking inward.

   "Broden," I nearly whimpered, my bottom lip curling into a frown as tears prepared once again to spill from my eyes.

   "No—" Lord Tyrion shut me down quickly. "No. Your eldest brother. Gareth."

   My eyes shot open once more. As if it were my first breath of air in weeks, I inhaled sharply, audibly, and with no decorum as it then left my lungs in a huff. Still, I had no idea Briarwood had joined in the fighting.

"He was there?"

   "I'm sorry," he said softly. The delicacy with which he delivered this news was more of a surprise than the news itself.

The Queen had turned to face me. "He stood with the Tarly men," she explained. "He stood against us."

Everyone in the hall seemed to have their eyes on me now, perhaps waiting for sorrow that wasn't really coming at all. In truth, I thought immediately for the less fortunate men who had followed my fool of a brother into battle and fallen. I hoped desperately that Broden wasn't one of them. Jon looked as though he wished to reach out for me, but he remained still.

He stood against us, Daenerys had said. Against her? Against the realm? Against me, as always?

As I stood there amid the curious gazes, I was only fixated on one thing. There was still no mention of Broden. An uncertainty hanging in my already burdened mind. All things considered, I thought it best to remove myself from the situation and let the ones who truly had reason to speak do so.

"If it's all the same to you, I believe I'll take a walk now. Clear my head a bit. Your Grace," I said, dismissing myself from the castle without looking to anyone but the Dragon Queen herself.

The steps down to the sea were much more forgiving than the march up to the castle. I arrived quickly, or perhaps it only felt that way because my mind was so scattered. I couldn't bring myself to truly mourn for Gareth, but the idea of Broden being permanently gone sent an ache through my body I was sure I couldn't feel anymore. How was I meant to be the last of our family? That was something that couldn't be made just. I plopped down with a squelch, some sea foam becoming trapped beneath me as the rest receded back out to the ocean. I was thankful then that I'd worn my clothes from Yara as opposed to the nice dress the Queen's people had given me. I crossed my legs and absentmindedly traced five lines in the wet sand before me and studied them, still thinking of my family. I wiped four of the strikes away.