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They moved through the streets of Meereen, the dragon queen and his sister eyeing the people, stopping while Daenerys spoke, or looking at the wares being sold. He followed a few steps behind, his eyes down, concentrating on Yara’s boots to make sure he didn’t fall back too far. Occasionally she would say his name and he’d look up at her, waiting for what she wanted, before looking back down. Sometimes Daenerys spoke to him, but not often. She had taken an instant shine to his sister and seemed to tolerate him tagging along at Yara’s heels with something that was close to affection, but mostly left dealing with him to Yara.
It hadn’t started out exactly that way, when they first arrived, after her and Yara had made their deal she had watched him suspiciously. Like at any moment he was going to reveal that he was really the mastermind behind it, like he was using his sister as a pawn, but it hadn’t taken long for her to realize that wasn’t the case, not with the way he cringed and fawned. He didn’t mind, he only cared about following his orders and doing what he was told. It was easy and he was smart enough to realize that all he had done was trade one master for another, a kinder gentler master to be certain, but a master.
While he had been dawdling they had moved forward again and he panicked when he realized that Yara wasn’t right there in front of him, and seeing her a bit further ahead did nothing to calm his anxiety. He was too far away. He started to move when a name caught his attention. A few of the people of the city were talking, whispering gossip and it felt like his heart stopped beating for a moment as he listened. He gave no reaction though and made sure that it was like he hadn’t even heard it.
Quickly he scurried to catch up to Yara, and she gave him a small smile when he appeared, probably because she thought he had intentionally put some space between them, that he was doing better and venturing on his own instead of simply daydreaming. He gave her a quick nod, back to staring at the ground while all around him everything continued on as if nothing had happened. As if the world hadn’t fundamentally changed. And maybe for everyone else it hadn’t but for Theon that whispered conversation changed everything.
Ramsay Bolton was dead.
By the end of the day, while they ate dinner, the rumors had spread along with details and everyone knew what had happened, or at least some version of it. He worked hard to keep his face blank, to not hunch his shoulders, to act as if it meant nothing to him.
The truth was he wasn’t sure what he felt. There was some kind of relief that unwound a tension deep in him, the absolute certainty that he would never be at Ramsay Bolton’s feet again, but as it unwound it left something that ached as well.
Yara was watching him carefully, he was sure she wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t more outwardly happy, excited, to some extent she understood that things in him were just a little off now. Just a little twisted up in a way that meant he rarely reacted like she thought he should. She was sitting next to the queen but she got up, touching Daenerys’ arm and giving her a small smile before she headed to her brother. He had been offered a seat next to them but since what he really wanted to do was sit on the floor under the table and guard his food while he ate like a dog, she had given in and let him sit in the middle of the room with the soldiers if he would just sit quietly on a bench.
He didn’t mind the soldiers so much, and being around all the other men that had been... that were like him in some ways did something to make him feel better. Less shameful. Though they were still warriors and he was... something else.
When Yara got there the soldiers shifted to give her room and she slid into the seat next to Theon. He glanced up at her before looking back down. She looked at his plate as well and he could see her frown next to him. There wasn’t enough food on it, there never was, and though she suspected it was because of something that Ramsay had done he only ever insisted he wasn’t hungrier. Even if he was, eating more than that made him want to be sick, because... because of reasons that he didn’t usually want to think about.
“Are you alright?”
He shrugged. He wasn’t, not really, but he couldn’t tell her that. She would be disappointed, she’d sigh, and he worked very hard to have her not do that. To make her proud, like he had told her he would sitting in that brothel. He couldn’t lie to her either though.
She reached up to touch his chin and he lifted his head to look at her and she looked concerned, “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”
A blush rose up in his cheeks, after everything he shouldn’t still be able to be embarrassed, but knowing that they heard her offer, knowing they heard that he might be so distraught by his former captor’s death that he would need to sleep with his sister like a child was enough to do it. She had a smirk lifting up the side of her mouth and he knew that she was teasing on purpose, and he had to remind himself that it was because she knew he was doing better. Trusted that he could handle it. And that it wasn’t a game, a game that he would lose over and over.
“No.” If she had asked him in private he would have said yes, and he was sure that she knew that.
“Well alright then, cheer up! The bastard is dead!” She pushed his untouched cup of ale towards him. “You should celebrate.”
She didn’t even have to say the words for him to know it was a command, and she left him choking down the drink he didn’t want. He finished it and shoved it away from him, making sure he didn’t look like he was moping, or like anything was wrong. He just had to make it through dinner and then he’d be in his room and he wouldn’t have to try so hard anymore.
He had his own private room. He hadn’t wanted it, he wanted to sleep in the barrack surrounded by the other soldiers and noise, where it was easy to blend in and disappear, but Yara had insisted that as a brother to a future queen he should have his own room.
Now he was thankful for it. He had gritted his teeth, what was left of them anyways, and managed to stay still and not react until he reached his room. He shoved inside, pushing the door shut behind him and leaned against it.
He took a few gasping breaths, trying to think through what he was feeling. All day he’d shoved it down, refused to think about it, but now it came crashing down on him.
They said it had been the girls that killed him and Theon struggled to believe that. The girls wouldn’t hurt him ... they were good dogs that loved their master. Then again, so had he been and he betrayed Ramsay. It ached, somewhere deep down in his chest. It wasn’t that he regretted leaving, or regretted saving Sansa but he had loved Ramsay and knowing that he had betrayed him still hurt.
If they were right they said Sansa watched him die, and he couldn’t shake the part of him that thought it should have been him. He should have been the last thing that Ramsay saw, his master should have died with eyes on the only thing in the world that had loved him besides his dogs. Well... now the only thing. An even bigger part of him was sure that he should have died at Ramsay’s side, should have been there, loyal, until the very end. Though he shook his head to get rid of that thought, that wasn't supposed to be how he felt.
He glanced around, even though he knew he was alone, and pulled off his shirt, looking down at the scars that crisscrossed his body. His fingers traced the Bolton sigil that had been carved into his skin multiple times, traced the ‘R’ cut into his hip, the marks of ownership that Ramsay had patiently and with a sick mocking of affection carved into his body.
Theon was glad that Ramsay was dead, that he was free from that constant threat but he wasn’t only just Theon anymore. No, buried deep and ingrained in him where it would never go away no matter what he or his sister did, he was Reek still. And Reek grieved for his master.
Carefully he practiced the words he would tell Yara though. He knew she would ask, that she had let it slide tonight but wouldn’t continue to do so and he had to make sure it was right, that he said everything that she wanted to hear and didn’t hesitate. Over and over in his head he practiced the words. He was happy, he was relieved. Now he didn’t have to be afraid. That Ramsay got what he deserved. That no one would miss him, that no one would remember him.
That no one mourns for the wicked.
With the back of his hand he wiped away the tears that had fallen on his face, and repeated the words to himself again.
No one mourns for the wicked.
And if he said it enough times, maybe he would believe it.