The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

37.

Theon

Massey looked like she had taken a beating. Her eyes were swollen, the flesh of her face decorated in red splotches. We sat in silence for several more minutes as I kept my hand on her back. I had a hundred things I wanted to say, but I couldn't bring myself to speak first. It didn't seem right. Eventually, she finally muttered a simple sentence that felt like a blow to the chest.

   "I'll never get to apologize."

   I shook my head vehemently, even though I knew she was right. "Massey, he knows. He'd have come around. You said it yourself."

   She shook her head too, now. "He did come around," she squeaked out, holding out the letter she had gripped so tightly in her hand all of this time. It was wrinkled all down the middle from the tight fist her hand had become around it. I uncrumpled it and looked it over as she went on. "He wrote. He was coming back to see to our betrothal. He'd changed his mind."

   I skimmed through the letter, finding it to be a rather heartfelt apology. My heart only ached worse for her. It was an entirely helpfulness feeling. To have the person you love the most devastated and within your reach, all the while having no way to heal them.

   "Massey," I started, searching for something comforting to say until I noticed her lip trembling. Seeing that, I stopped speaking at all. I pulled her closer and just held her.

By the time we had finally retired to our chambers, she'd hardly spoken another word. I helped her to dress in a nightgown and run some cool water on his face with a damp cloth, which prompted the first small smile she'd given all day. It wasn't even a fraction of the smile she showed daily, but I was happy to see it nonetheless. The room, with its warm fire and comfortable bed, was a peaceful contrast to what we'd left behind outside. By that time, word of Lord Stark's imprisonment was spreading all across the north. Robb's call would soon bring the other lords here.

"Robb said he's called the banners," she said from beside me.

"He did," I confirmed gently.

"That means he'll march south," she went on. I didn't say anything for a moment. "And, that means you will, too."

I met her eyes somberly, feeling an eerie sense of guilt that I'd not felt before. "It is my duty."

"It's not your house."

I let out a sigh. Looking into her eyes, I knew she was only grasping for anything to regain some control of the situation. "It's Lord Stark," I reminded her. "It's Robb."

She nodded in defeat, doing the thing where she gnaws gently on the inside of her lip. That always troubled me to see.

"I love you," I said as I leaned closer to her and reached for her waist. "I know it does not seem like it, but things are going to be alright. We'll get justice for your father."

"Everyone speaks so fondly of the premise of justice," she replied weakly, shaking her head and scooting closer to allow me to hold her once again. "How can there be any? More death will not bring him back."

It was something to consider. If it truly came to a full blown war with against the so called King, where would that leave us? Me, marching south, lost in a host of men. Her, counting her days here, waiting for a return that may not ever come. Still, it was the only thing to be done. She must have seen in my eyes that I was working through it, because she spoke again before I got the chance to.

"I cannot lose you, too."

"You won't," I assured her firmly, even though I had the same fear underneath it all.