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Rest.
It had been far too long since he had even considered such a thing, let alone been allowed it.
Taking up arms with Robb and the others. Going to war. Betraying the only brother he had ever known during the Siege of Winterfell. Ramsay Bolton. Escaping. Doing everything in his power to help Yara, then watching as Euron took her from him.
No, Theon couldn’t recall the last time he had truly had any rest. The things that Ramsay had done to him only made it even harder, as it had become a struggle for him to sleep during the precious hours that he was afforded at night. Constantly hounded by violent memories and dark figures, he would lie awake for hours, rigid with fear and overcome with panic, shame and guilt. Guilt for betraying Robb, guilt for allowing those young boys to be butchered, guilt for leaving his master – ‘You’ll always be Reek, until you’re rotting in the ground’ – and now guilt for being unable to save his sister. It was almost fortunate that he got such few chances to curl up in bed and sleep; he hated being alone with the flashbacks, the memories and the feelings of failure.
He missed Ramsay. At least when he’d been the Bolton’s creature, he had known some kind of routine – some kind of purpose. Ramsay had been the only person to ever truly want him, and Theon had always known his place when he was within the walls of the Dreadfort, and later Winterfell. He never had to worry about anything other than pleasing his master, which was a far lighter burden than the one he now carried. Being Theon Greyjoy, Heir to the Iron Islands, last living son of Balon Greyjoy, and vassal to the powerful Daenerys Stormborn, was a lot to handle, particularly when dealing with the aftermath of Theon’s many faults and failings. When he had been Reek, it had been so much simpler and safer. Reek never needed to think. Ramsay did the thinking for him, and it wasn’t possible to lament over past deeds when Reek simply didn’t have a past to speak of.
‘I shouldn’t think like that,’ Theon chastised himself bitterly, ‘I’m never going back there.’
It was only recently that he had learned that Ramsay was dead but it still felt like a dream. The idea of Ramsay being felled by any mortal seemed utterly absurd and it didn’t seem at all possible for a dog to be able to kill such a great man, especially not when the dogs in question were his own loyal beasts. Theon was certain that Ramsay must’ve survived somehow, or that he perhaps faked his death so that he could escape whatever execution awaited him. No man could kill him. No man would dare try. The only way Theon would be able to fully comprehend the possibility of Ramsay dying would be if he were to witness it himself, but the mere thought of that caused his stomach to twist itself in knots.
Pushing all thoughts of Ramsay to the back of his skull, Theon took a swig from the tankard of ale in front of him. He was currently sitting in the modest bedchamber that Daenerys had afforded him during his time at Dragonstone. He wasn’t sure who the room had once belonged to, or if it had even been a bedchamber at all to begin with, but it was full of cobwebs from years of not being occupied. His first few nights had been uncomfortable as a result of the sheer amount of dust that hung in the air and coated every surface, but it had been fully cleaned since then. When Missandei informed him that these would be his quarters, he had been surprised and even somewhat alarmed. The concept that he would be afforded his own room, his own space, his own actual bed, had been so overwhelming that he very nearly thought that she was tricking him. He had initially assumed that he would simply be sharing with Yara or perhaps someone of little importance – maybe even somewhere outside of the castle.
The Dragon Queen was kind, he thought.
The quarters were not particularly fancy, containing only a small rickety table with a wonky chair in addition to the bed and a slightly broken wardrobe, but they were a little larger than his room at Winterfell and, more importantly, they were his. He even had a decent sized window that overlooked the ferocious waves of the sea.
Finishing the last of his ale, Theon placed the empty tankard down on the wooden surface in front of him and then rose to his feet. He wandered over to the window and leaned against it, peering out at the roaring ocean below. A small smile ghosted across his features; it felt like he was back at the Iron Islands. Dragonstone would never be his home, he wasn’t even sure that he belonged here, but he was free and the air tasted like salt water.
A knocking sound pulled him from his reverie and with a jolt, he swirled and stared across at the door with wide eyes. No one ever knocked for him. No one even spoke to him unless they had to, or unless they wanted to insult him. Perhaps it had been a trick? It wasn’t uncommon for him to have auditory hallucinations, though he had thought that they were getting less fre—
Another knock. It was real.
Hesitantly, Theon padded across the room, silently resenting the slight twinge of pain he felt whenever his feet touched the ground. It had been a long time since Ramsay had amputated his toes but he had never been afforded any rest during the healing process, meaning that they had never healed properly and now caused him pain when he walked. He had grown used to it but it was still noticeable.
He straightened up a little (he knew that he often still stood slightly hunched over, eyes often pointed downward, and it was one of the things he was desperately trying to change) then reached out for the large brass handle with one mangled hand. It was too late to put on his gloves now, but he was sure that most people had seen worse than a hand missing a few fingers. He pulled the heavy door open with ease but any words died in his throat when his eyes landed upon the person standing on the other side.
It was Daenerys Targaryen.
Immediately, Theon ducked his head and stepped back slightly, his heart racing as he wrenched his arm away from the door and quickly clasped his hands behind his back to hide their misshapen appearance from his new queen.
“Your Grace.” He didn’t know where to look and he hoped his words didn’t sound shaky. “How may I be of assistance?”
Daenerys arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking slightly in what may have been the shadow of a smile.
“I wish to speak with you,” she replied simply, her tone masked in that same air of indifference that she used when she was sitting upon her throne. “Are you going to let me in?”
“With me, your Grace? Yara isn’t here –”
“I know where Yara is, your uncle took her prisoner after attacking your fleet and killing the Martells,” Daenerys cut in sharply, though there was no malice in her voice, “Now are you going to step aside for your Queen, or am I expected to stand out here like a common servant?”
Theon’s immediate response was to panic but after a heartbeat he realised she was joking. Daenerys Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons and Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, was here asking for his permission for something and making a playful jibe as if they were friends.
Wordlessly, Theon stepped aside.
He closed the door as she entered and then slowly turned to look as the young Queen walked into the centre of his chambers, her violet eyes glancing around and taking in every inch of the room while her hands remained clasped neatly in front of her. She was young for a queen, but she had a stronger presence than many of the nobles that Theon had met, and she carried all the grace and beauty that the songs claimed that a queen should possess. It was easy to see why so many people believed in her.
“I heard that you had gone to avenge the Tyrells,” Theon said quietly, remaining near the door.
He and Daenerys had never been alone together before, nor had she ever really had reason to address him when Yara was around. He had no idea how he was supposed to act around her; it was entirely different to being with Ramsay.
Ramsay’s dead, I’m not going back there.
“Indeed. I returned about an hour or two ago and I wish to summon a council shortly.”
“I –”
“You are not permitted to join us.”
Theon felt an immediate sinking feeling in his gut and something cold curled within his chest. She hated him. He had failed her and she wanted him gone. His nails sunk into the soft flesh of his palms and a muscle clenched in his jaw as he struggled to find something to look at; struggled to find something to say. He needed Daenerys to help get his sister back, and he also needed her to help keep them both safe from Euron. Without Daenerys, he and Yara couldn’t even go back to the Iron Islands but nowhere else would welcome him either, not after all that he had done to the Starks. What was he supposed to do if she cast him out now?
“Of course, your Grace.” The words came out strained and quiet; barely more than a whisper.
I should’ve died trying to get Yara back. I should’ve drowned in the sea. I shouldn’t be here.
Daenerys watched him closely, her eyebrows knitting together ever-so-slightly as she peered at the man before her. There was no anger in her expression, no hatred. Perhaps it was confusion? Theon wasn’t sure, but his skin prickled under her gaze. There was a moment of silence, and then she spoke again.
“Are you not going to ask me why?” she offered.
It was Theon’s turn to feel confused now. He assumed that it was obvious why he wouldn’t be welcome there. After all, he was Theon Greyjoy wasn’t he? It seemed that everyone he encountered hated him. Yara had been an exception to that but her constant ‘tough love’ had often been painful and counterproductive, and she would hate him too now because he had let her down in the same way that he managed to let down anybody that met him. Sansa had seemed fond of him but that was only because he had saved her life, and he doubted they’d see each other again anyway.
“I didn’t protect Yara. You lost Ellaria and the others because I couldn’t stop my uncle. You lost ships and two of your biggest allies because I didn’t save them,” Theon spoke a little louder, listing his crimes in a glum, hollow voice as he braced himself for whatever berating or punishment he was about to receive.
To his surprise, Daenerys merely wrinkled her nose.
“Did you conspire with your uncle and tell him where our ships were?”
“No.”
“Did you offer Ellaria and the Sand girls to him?”
“No.”
“Then it is not your fault that they were taken, and it is not your fault that we lost people.”
The silence was palpable. Theon stared at the silver-haired Queen in front of him, utterly at a loss of what to say. He couldn’t quite read her expression but it seemed that something akin to pity dwelled within those pretty violet eyes. Her eyebrows remained pointed downward slightly, as if she was just as unsure of him as he was of her. Had he still been Reek, he would’ve fallen to his knees and insisted that it was his fault and that he was so sorry, and oh, ‘forgive me master, I didn’t mean to’. He didn’t think he was Reek anymore, though some days he wasn’t quite sure whether he was Theon either. Keeping her eyes on him, Daenerys approached the bed and perched on the edge, absently running a hand through the softness of the furs upon it. When Theon remained frozen by the door, Daenerys gestured to the chair with a mild look of amusement.
“You may sit,” she said pointedly.
Theon dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement and hurried to seat himself in the crooked chair that rested near his table. It bothered him that someone was sitting on his bed without permission (since leaving Ramsay, he had become stressed and uncomfortable regarding have others touch his belongings, especially without his consent) but he remained silent. The bed technically didn’t belong to him anyway and it would be foolish to try and chastise a queen for sitting on something, especially not when this was her family home anyway.
“When Missandei suggested retrieving you while I was talking about summoning a council, Jon Snow made quite the protest. He said he didn’t want to be near you and that you apparently didn’t even have a reason to be there, especially since your sister is absent and you ‘aren’t fit to rule.’ He seemed very perturbed at the mere idea of you being at Dragonstone at all really,” Daenerys spoke, that strange note of amusement lingering in her voice. There was that slight smile again – and Theon quickly realised that it was Jon that Daenerys was amused by.
“I did some unforgivable things to his family,” Theon responded uncertainly.
“Varys did some unforgivable things to me and yet I still welcome the help that he can offer me. Tyrion Lannister did some unforgivable things to Ser Davos’ family, yet they’re still working together. I do not doubt that you have committed some terrible sins, but you have atoned for your mistakes and it is not for Jon Snow to decide who is and is not welcome at my side,” her tone was serious again, any hint of amusement gone.
“Your Grace…”
“As I understand, you returned to Dragonstone so that you may speak to me and request my aid in recovering your sister from Euron’s clutches?”
Sitting alone with the Dragon Queen was uncomfortable enough, but Theon couldn’t pinpoint what exactly she wanted from him or how exactly she felt towards him. It was somewhat unsettling. Subconsciously, he began to pick at the skin of his fingers and he took a moment to find his voice.
“Yes.”
Daenerys’ gaze flickered to Theon’s disfigured hands, drawn by the movement of his fidgeting. Several digits were missing, replaced by scarred uneven stumps, and some of the remaining fingers were an ugly shade of pink as a result of being flayed for too many times. Scars and patches of previously flayed skin littered both hands and vanished beneath his dark sleeves. Her gaze softened.
“I have heard tales of what happened to you before you found yourself in my service,” she began gently; almost cautious.
Theon sucked in a breath and his muscles tensed. His eyes flickered to the jug on his table but it would be rude to start drinking in front of the queen.
“I don’t know the exact details of what was done to you, but I know that they were acts of violence committed by an evil man who you will never have to see again.” A slight pause, and Theon felt his jaw tighten as Daenerys rose to her feet. “So long as I am here, no one will hurt you in that manner again, nor will they attempt to punish you for the things that you have already been punished for. I am your queen and it is my duty to keep you safe. So for as long as you serve by my side, you needn’t worry about those things. Do you understand?”
She was standing right in front of him now, and Theon’s heart was in his throat. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes and all he could do was nod slightly at her words, utterly lost as to what he could do or say. When was the last time someone had shown him such softness? When was the last time that someone had even been genuinely nice to him at all? Normally people simply brushed off his ordeal as a joke and laughed at him for still being haunted by the ghost of Ramsay Bolton. He was Theon Greyjoy. Someone to mock, someone to laugh at. Someone to hit and lash out at for not being enough – never being enough. He didn’t have a cock anymore so he was a joke. He didn’t have a sister anymore so he wasn’t relevant. He didn’t manage to succeed in any of his ventures, so he was worthless and vile and only good as an outlet for the frustrations of better men.
Daenerys peered down at the damaged man sitting in front of her, and he was brave enough to allow himself the ability to meet her gaze for the first time since their meeting.
“Thank you.” His words were a whisper.
“We have all made mistakes, Theon. And you are not the only one here who has been owned or scarred by another.”
Indeed, the fearsome Mother of Dragons herself had been bought and sold, raped and sullied, as had most of the people in her service. Even Varys had been through similar things. It seemed almost fitting that Theon should find himself among them now, though he knew he would never really be a part of them in the same way that Tyrion or Grey Worm were. Daenerys may seem kind enough, but she could not account for the thoughts that the others had about him, and their arrangement was never intended to be permanent. After she got the Iron Throne, Theon would return to the Iron Islands and do his part in supporting his sister while the Ironborn continued to hate and despise him.
Schooling her face back into the same impartial expression that she always wore as Queen Daenerys, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, Daenerys turned away and slowly walked over to the window with her hands clasped in front of her.
“I will help you get your sister back,” she said as she cast her gaze out at the ocean below. Theon felt an immediate rush of relief but before he could open his mouth to reply, she continued, “I would like to know how she was taken though, if that’s alright.”
Her eyes were upon him again and he hoped that he didn’t wilt beneath her gaze.
“Euron boarded us without any warning. He came out of nowhere and by the time we realised we were under attack, he was already on us,” Theon felt more confident as he spoke and not once did his voice waver, “We didn’t have chance to put on any armour or anything, it was chaos. We all grabbed whatever we could and just tried our best to survive. I cut down a lot of men. We were outnumbered but I was doing just fine. But then…”
“But then what?” she pressed gently, turning to face him.
“Euron… he shouted my name. He sounded like a demon. I turned around and he was holding her.” Theon hesitated then, casting another glance towards the ale on his table. His fingers twitched slightly and he felt his heart beat a little faster as he recalled the sheer panic of the moment. Patiently, Daenerys watched him with curiosity and allowed him to gather up his thoughts before he continued. “My uncle is... an evil man,” he echoed Daenerys’ words back at her. “The men he commands are just as brutal as him.” He didn’t want to recount what he saw on the deck that night, nor did he want to explain how the sights had triggered him and forced him back into the mind of Reek.
Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak.
“I couldn’t help her. He wanted me to fight him but he had his blade to her throat and if I took even a single step in his direction, she’d be dead. I might be dead too but I should’ve died a long time ago anyway. I abandoned the ship because there was nothing else I could do.”
He lapsed into silence. It was the first time that anyone had actually asked him about the events that had happened during Euron’s attack and he wasn’t really sure how to feel about it all.
“Then you did the right thing. Had you not escaped, nobody would’ve known about the attack. Plus your sister would surely have been killed on the spot had you not avoided the trap that Euron was attempting to set for you.”
Theon’s eyes widened a fraction and his heart began to flutter. Someone was finally understanding why he fled the ship. For the first time, someone was telling him that he did the correct thing. Part of him wanted to cry, but instead he simply offered a shaky smile and his shoulders sagged with relief. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from him.
“Thank you,” he said again.
“You need not thank me for speaking the truth.”
“Sorry.”
“You need not apologise either.” Her smile was back.
Theon felt himself smile in response.
“While Jon Snow may have no say in what I do or who is welcome at my war council, I did decide to come and talk to you because of what he said. Originally I had simply wanted to speak to you about Yara and then I was going to summon you to the council regardless of Jon Snow’s complaints, but now…”
A pause. Daenerys was considering her words carefully.
“I would prefer it if you remained here in your chambers, Theon Greyjoy. You have had quite the journey and it seems to me that you have been denied half the peace that you deserve, so I request that you simply stay here and rest for the day instead.”
“Are you… ordering me to have a nap, your Highness?”
This time when Daenerys smiled, it was not just a simple quirk of the lips. She smiled openly, as if she was looking at a friend.
“If that is what you wish to do, then yes. You have a long road ahead of you and I’m sure the last thing you need is to stand in the corner of a room while listening to the details of a fight that you won’t be partaking in. No, you’re much more use to me if you get some rest and then we can properly discuss how we are going to get your sister back.”