The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

51.

Massey

My eyes dipped immediately to the box on the table before her. It didn't look threatening on its own, but her tone frightened me nonetheless. I took a few steps closer to where she stood.

"The Boltons," I stated in a whisper before raising my voice. "Robb's men. What do they want?"

   "It concerns Theon," she said with an out-of-character lack of confidence.

   "Concerns him how, Yara?"

"The box was from Roose Bolton's bastard. He's sent us...a piece of him."

"Someone has sent you a piece of Theon?" I asked slowly, making sure there was no space for misunderstandings between us. She said nothing, nodding once and tightening her already clenched jaw. "What do you mean? What piece?"

Again, she said nothing. Several tense moments passed in which I tried to understand exactly what was happening.

   "What piece, Yara?"

   She finally spoke again, barking out her answer as if it pained her to say.

   "His cock."

My jaw dropped open ever so slightly, the cold air in the room tasting bitter on my tongue. I could feel my ears growing hot as her words echoed through my mind. I felt the sudden urge to sit down, but held myself up against a column nearby.

His cock. Someone has cut off his cock. He's been maimed. Mutilated.

"Wh-why? What purpose would that—" I began in a stammer as I fought to maintain my composure.

"There was a note, as well. It said that, should my father not recall our men still in the North, more boxes will follow with more Theon inside of them."

I think I'm going to be sick.

"My father has decided to allow this act to pass unaddressed. But, that is not my decision. I'm going to get him. I'm going to bring my brother home."

"Let me come with you," I said without hesitation as I closed much of the remaining distance between us. She looked me over from head to toe as I pulled anxiously at the bodice of the gown I was wearing, and I could tell what she was thinking. "Yara."

"No—"

"Yara, I cannot sit in this castle for days on end, doing absolutely nothing and wondering what is happening to him. It will be weeks, Yara, months even—"

"No," she said with finality. "This is no place for you, and you know that just as well as I do. If he is still alive, I will bring him home to you as swiftly as I am able. Do you understand me?"

"If?"

   "If," she repeated solemnly.

   Oh, I am most certainly going to be sick.

   I nodded reluctantly as I retreated into myself. Yara was so stubborn that there was no chance l'd be able to convince her. She reminded me of my brother. You can't move a stone wall, my father would say when we were children. So why even try?

   I tried to wrangle my racing thoughts. If anything, I'd have thought Theon would be dead only from his determination to keep Winterfell. Though, I was reluctant to think about his death in any manner. There was no moment in time where I considered he'd been taken, and to the Dreadfort of all places. The only explanation I could find for that was that Theon was being held for punishment by Robb's own hand, another thought that twisted my stomach. It was still his perception that Theon had killed his brothers. Still, there was no true reason to mutilate him, to torture him. That much was not Robb's doing. That was not the Stark way.