Video.
[ It's late at night, or very early morning, and Theon Greyjoy is standing in front of a wide-open window, examining his Forge suspiciously. Close, then distant, then jostled and skewed as he gets the hang of it. ]
Strange voices.
[ And familiar ones. It hadn't taken much toying for the scared dulcet tones of Brandon Stark to filter tinny to his ( Read more... )
Strange voices.
[ And familiar ones. It hadn't taken much toying for the scared dulcet tones of Brandon Stark to filter tinny to his ( Read more... )
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[ Theon's voice is hoarse, weary. He sits on the floor and leans against the wall, tips his head back and gives a bitter chuckle. ]
The miller's sons, where are they? I dream of them as well. I suppose little Beth Cassel can come along, she must be dead by now, given I am in an impossible place called Anatole rather than taking her head from the noose. Bring them! Mikken and Chayle and Farlen, lead each one before me and let them ask for their explanation.
I have none to give, Eddard Stark. My father wanted Deepwood Motte. I gave him Winterfell. I gave him dead children. I gave him vengeance for my brothers. It was not enough.
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[ This was not a child's head in tar: countless men and women had watched Ned Stark die. Ravens had flown to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. There was no possible way for the image on Theon's screen to be truth. ]
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I want to take the black.
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How not?
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I suppose you'll want to execute me, then. My apologies, Lord Stark, if I try a little harder than you did to keep my head.
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[ A mocking little nod of his head: he knows it's coppers. ]
Though, if I see one of those monsterous wolf-beasts near me, be sure that I'll feather it with every arrow in my quiver.
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