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He stayed in a medium sized house two blocks south of the boardwalk and a short hike through the coastal scrub to the beach. In tourist season the area was quiet and peaceful, a nice recluse from the hustle and bustle of the city. Tourist season had ended a month and a half ago and winter had come to White Harbor. After the last weekend of September the people fled the city likes rats from a sinking ship to find work elsewhere more inland. Even the boardwalk, the city’s bustling hub, was deserted. The city was a ghost town until June, making it the perfect place for Mayor Manderly to stow away his best kept secrets.
When Wex had first come to White Harbor it had still been tourist season. The end of September brought down more people than even Builder Day. It seemed that people just wanted to get one more day in the sun before returning to their dreary industrial northern towns and cities. This had made it hard for Wex to follow Osha and Rickon. He had spent his first day in White Harbor dodging in and out of crowds, trying his damnedest not to lose them while still keeping a safe distance. Which is a testament to the crowds, considering the pet wolf they had with them. He followed them past sundown and then on until midnight, when Osha had taken the kid onto an industrial dock and they could walk no more.
Wex had sat behind a pillar, watching them wait for what felt like hours. Eventually there was a soft ringing in the distance out on the water. A small boat appeared from the fog. Osha spoke to the captain briefly, and Wex felt something in him twist and break when he saw them get on to the deck, and disappear into the fog once more.
Now that they were gone Wex felt utterly and completely lost. Before following them, he had followed Theon. He had followed him from his island home on Pyke. Although Pyke was a state capital, in reality it was little more than a slightly backwards fishing town with a courthouse and the governor’s mansion, which was slowly falling apart. He had followed Theon north to the Stony Shore, where he had been sent to make an attempt at dealing with the religious zealots of the town council, and allow the Greyjoy family to import an amount of liquor in through their harbors. He was thrown out, of course. Wex wasn’t surprised. In the time that Wex had spent as Theon’s “personal assistant”, he had found that the guy wasn’t exactly great with people. He was good with girls of course, but you can’t talk to an old grumpy prohee the same way you talk to some airheaded flapper. For a while it was funny. Wex had always been good at finding humor in tough situations. As time went on, though, Theon’s behavior became less and less of a source of entertainment, and more one of anxiety.
It must have been a month later when he lost Theon. The men at the gates to Winterfell Manor said that they were state troopers. Theon was barely strong enough to stand up to answer it. He hadn’t slept in long over a week, wasn’t eating, he was pale as a ghost and always in a cold sweat. His hand shook as it grasped the latch on the door and held it down. He had turned back to Wex, suddenly.
“Go somewhere and hide.”
Wex didn’t waver. He just shook his head, and ground his heel into the floor. I’m staying with you. Somehow, despite Wex’s inability to speak, Theon always seemed to know what he was trying to say.
“Wex,” Theon took a knee in front of him, “I know that you’re brave, and that you’re capable, and clever, and can help. You don’t need to do anything to prove that to me. This situation that we’re in right now, I can’t get out of. I know that now. For the love of god, just save yourself.”
So Wex had found himself hidden within the thick green boroughs of one of the Manor’s famous evergreens, dangling over forty feet above the earth. He hadn’t heard or seen Theon, but there was screaming. Some of the house staff, most likely. There were gunshots too, and agonized wailing long into the night. It wasn’t until the next night that he had heard the rumble of engines, and he was sure that the strange men had gone. Just when Wex had started his decent, though, soft hesitant voices and footsteps emerged from the silence. Wex seized up and gripped the branches, trying to still them to listen to the voices. It was them. Those lost Stark boys. Wex had known that they hadn’t left, he had known it. He could only hear the last of what Osha had said.
“-in White Harbor. We’ll go by train today.”
The first thing Wex had done once the coast had been clear, was sprint to the nearest train station, and stow himself away in the cargo car of the first train leaving for the shore. He’d arrived at the station early the next morning and seen the pair immediately. From there, he’d followed them on foot.
Now he was sitting crouched behind a pile of boxes. He had his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. What do I do now? He thought. He couldn’t go home. Not that he wanted to. He didn’t have any friends back there, and lord knows his father wouldn’t take him back. No one had wanted anything to do with the weird, mute, stupid kid, who was always hanging around the docks. Not good for much more than occasionally gutting fish. Theon had been his friend, for a while. It made him feel almost shamefully soft, every time he beamed with pride just for being able to carry out a conversation with him. Theon was smart like that. He could read eyes and smiles well, and he always knew the right questions to ask. Wex would never admit it out loud, but those times had been some of the only ones in his life when he felt like more than a burden to the people around him, like he was an actual person.
It must have been because he was so lost in thought, that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. A man gripped his arm, and roughly pulled him to his feet.
“What do you think you’re doing here?”
The man was tall and quite gruff, but even in the dark, Wex could see his brown hair was graying. He was in uniform as well, something Wex had already learned to fear. Shocked and tense, Wex quickly glanced around him. There were other men; thugs in winter coats. Some of them were armed, but not all.
Wex shook his head. It’s what he often did when he was panicked. It was usually the best gesture to use to absolve oneself of guilt.
“Speak, boy!” The man shook him.
He shook his head again, this time more vigorously. Afraid that he might start to cry, he hung his head low so that his overgrown hair could cover his face. This had always been a fear of his; everyone on Pyke had known of his condition, but secretly he feared that he might die when he found himself confronted by a stranger, and unable to communicate.
“Robett, let go of him.” Sighed one of the men, who stepped forward out of the fog.
He was well dressed, white haired, and extremely fat. He had a worn face though, one Wex could tell was not eager to hurt him.
Wex nearly dropped to his knees when Robett half thrust it to the ground.
“Son,” The fat man said softly, “Why don’t you just tell us your name?”
With his eyes burning Wex forced himself to look up into the man’s eyes. Dramatically, he shook his head from side to side.
“If he won’t talk, just throw him in the harbor. We can’t have anyone knowing we’re here. Much less a snitch.” Robett remarked.
“You can’t speak can you?” Asked the fat one, softly.
Wex felt a crazed smile break across his face. Once again, death averted. He nodded vigorously.
“Can you write?”
Wex shook his head,
“Sign language?”
He shook his head again.
The man dragged his palm over his face, and then checked his watch.
“Robett, take him to the station. See how much you can get out of him. Don’t let him out of your sight.” The man walked past Wex, and walked out onto the dock.
Robett grabbed him by the shoulder and frog marched him to the police car that he had arrived in. On the drive there Wex could repeatedly hear Robett laughing at his efforts of escape; trying to break the window with his hand, slamming his body against the door, stomping on the floor hoping that it would give out.
Soon enough Wex found himself in Robett’s dim, candle lit office. He bid Wex to come and stand by the desk, and slid and pencil and a piece of paper in front of him.
Calmly, he stated; “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them to the best of your ability, with drawings. Is that understood?”
Wex nodded.
“Good, smoke?” He offered.
Wex momentarily thought about taking it. As a kid he had done some smoking on Pyke, whenever he could get his hands on tobacco that is. When he had left with Theon, though, he told him it was a nasty habit and forbid him from doing it. (never mind the fact that Theon had frequently indulged, himself.) Wex denied himself the pleasure, and Robett grunted and put the pack away.
“Alright now, what were you doing on the docks so late at night?”
Wex drew himself first, a short stick figure with wild hair and an “X” where the mouth should be.
“That’s you?”
He nodded.
Then he drew an arrow tracking the direction of his travels towards two other stick figures, with a stick figure wolf. He made sure to draw one looking like a woman, and one a child. He drew dock around the four figures, and a boat waiting at the edge. Then an arrow directing the woman, wolf, and the child onto a boat.
“You were going with them?”
Wex shook his head.
“Following them?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
Wex folded his hands beneath his chin to show that he was thinking. He didn’t really know how to explain his relationship to Osha without words. He sighed deeply, as he began to draw the tree in which he had hidden. After some time he was finished. He made sure to draw the corpses that had been left out in the garden to rot, and the mansion still burning in the background.
“What is this?” Asked Robett, brow furrowed.
Wex shrugged and gestured back to the paper, too exhausted to try again. All he did was draw a little wolf at the top of the picture as well as he could.
Robbet scrutinized Wex for a moment.
“What’s your name, boy?”
On another paper, Wex drew a kraken, one of the few things that he could draw well.
“Greyjoy?” Robett was skeptical.
Wex shook his head and started to draw the associated land mass for which he was named.
“Pyke.” Robett guessed before he was finished. “You’re a bastard.”
Wex crossed his arms and pursed his lips at the assertion. It was true, but he didn’t like being reminded of it.
“And you were at Winterfell, you were with Theon Greyjoy.”
Called to attention again, Wex nodded.
“And these people at the bottom,” He pulled Wex’s drawing back into attention, “They’re survivors.”
A nod.
“Roose Bolton said there were no survivors.” Robett breathed.
Annoyed, Wex placed a hand on his chest. Roose Bolton is a dirty liar and I’m all the proof you need. He thought.
“And these,” He fingered the wolves on the page, “They’re Ned Stark’s boys?”
Wex nodded again.
“They’re alive?”
Wex turned the page over to show Robett his first drawing again. Trying to tell him “I only know what I saw”.
Wex cringed as Robett stood up so fast that his chair was thrown up behind him, and nearly burst out into scared tears as he was dragged to the holding cells and locked into one.
“Stay here.”
As if I have a choice.
“Someone will get you soon. Just stay here.”
Wex sat down on the bench and ran his hands through his hair. He grimaced when he felt how greasy and knotted it was. He felt disgusting. Before he knew what he was doing he was lying prostrate on the bench. Every muscle in his body was aching, and there was a soft throbbing pain in his head. He tried to get some sleep in the time that he knew he would be left here. He might have been a prisoner, but at least he was safe. It made sense to get sleep while he could. However, the gnawing hunger kept him between wakefulness and exhaustion, just long enough to hear Robett’s telephone conversation down the hall.
“Manderly? I talked to the kid like you asked.”
“He says his name’s Pyke, but that’s not what’s important.”
“He says he was at Winterfell when it was raided.”
“I know. I know.”
“I don’t know. It just seems like something you can’t make up. I’ve got a gut feeling about it, I swear.”
“In a holding cell.”
“Wait, there’s something else I should tell you-”
Wex must have passed out by then, because when he came to he was no longer in the cell. When Wex woke up he was cold and sore all over. He tried to breathe, but somehow his throat would not obey. He clutched at it, flopping and wheezing like a fish on dry land. It felt like far too long before he could cough through the impairment and force himself up onto his elbows.
He clutched his spinning head between his hands and allowed himself a few deep breaths before looking around the room. He had been lying on his back on a stiff couch in an over furnished room, and although there was light coming through a window from across the room, he could not see the sun through the dark gray clouds. Through the threshold he could see a plump woman in a simple pink dress fretting about the kitchen. He considered, for a moment, escaping while her back was turned, but when he tried to lift his right leg from the couch he thought better of it. Swallowing what little was left of his pride, he loudly clapped his hands together to gain her attention.
“I’m coming.” She nearly sang.
She knelt next to Wex with a mug of something steaming hot, and a silver spoon with something viscous in it.
“Open up.” She chirped as she held the spoon up to his mouth.
Wex did open up, but regretted it as soon as the bitter liquid hit his tongue. He would have spit it out, had the woman not clamped her hand over his mouth.
“Don’t be such a baby. Just swallow it. It’s only cough syrup. It’s not going to kill you.”
In two large gulps he forced the syrup down his throat. When the woman let go of his mouth he felt it droop into a grimace.
“Here drink this.”
She handed him the mug and he drank from it, immediately. This time it was only hot water with lemon. He panted with relief.
“You remind me of my daughter.” The woman said affectionately, placing her hand in his hair. “Always so dramatic.”
He did his best to give the woman a death glare without collapsing into another coughing fit. She just laughed in response, and held out her hand.
“My name is Leona. Why don’t you tell me yours?”
Wex didn’t take her hand, and instead placed a single finger over his mouth, shaking his head softly from side to side. I can’t, you bitch.
The woman softly grunted and picked up a large book that had been resting on the coffee table beside her. She opened it to the first page, where every letter of the alphabet had been laid out in neat order and artfully illustrated an example of each being used. Something obviously made for children.
“Now when I get to the letter that makes the first sound, point to it.”
Wex wasn’t quite sure what she meant until she started dragging her finger under each one. “Ah, beh, cah, duh” It seemed that she had almost given up hope when she had sounded out “Wuh” and despite the soreness and the shaking, Wex’s arm shot out to indicate the letter. The woman smiled kindly and encouragingly at him, as she wrote down the letter on a paper napkin. The next letter was easy, the fifth in the alphabet. For the last ones, they both seemed to have a hard time deciding between “Weks” and “Wex”. Leona read the two to him, and he decided on the second spelling, based off of a slight difference in pronunciation. On the napkin she finished the name with a P-Y-K-E. She handed it to him to look at. “Wex Pyke”. That was his name. He studied it closely, knowing it would do him good to remember it. Two upside down mountains, a curvey tadpole, a cross he started thinking.
Leona placed the open book on his lap and gently took the napkin and placed it upside down on the page. She handed Wex the pen.
“You try it now.”
He did, slowly, with his hands shaking from fever and with Leona constantly having to correct his grasp on the pen. The name that he wrote was merely more than chicken scratch and completely illegible. It didn’t look anything like Leona’s script. He would need more practice. Leona folded up the napkin and placed into Wex’s breast pocket. Which was odd because he didn’t remember having a breast pocket in his shirt. How long had he been asleep for?
“You keep this with you, I’ll be right back.”
Leona returned quickly with a couple extra blankets, and a slate with chalk and a rag.
“Will you practice writing your name a bit for me?” She asked, kindly as ever.
Wex was all but too eager to accept.
She smiled.
“Just remember, only make the first two letters of each name big. Okay?”
Wex nodded and set to work. Before what felt like long he had filled the board with “Wex Pyke”s. Softly sounding out the name in his mind each time, until he no longer had to. By the time the slate had been filled up, he could write it smaller and legible, but still not as trim and practiced as Leona was. He was loath to erase what he had written, but Leona had taken the board from him, and after some inspection had begun to wipe it clean.
“Wow! You’re a quick learner. Oh don’t give me that look, you still have it there in your pocket.”
He felt for the napkin, and yes it was still there. He resolved then, to keep his name with him at all times until he could learn to properly write it himself. He held his hands out to take the slate back, but Leona held it away from him.
“Not right now. What you need is some food and rest.”
He ate some of the food she provided for him, and then allowed her to carry him upstairs to a bedroom that looked as if it had been recently slept in.
“You know we were all so relieved when you came downstairs this morning. Even if you just fell asleep right after. The doctor said you had all the symptoms of Polio, but Wyman just refused to believe it. Stubborn as a mule, but he’s always been right. You just can’t get Polio form swimming in the ocean, you know? It’s much cleaner than that.”
Apparently Wex had been in this house for some time, possibly doing things that he had been too sick to remember properly. At least I know I haven’t said anything I could regret Wex thought, dolefully.
The way Leona had taken extra care to tuck him into bed gave him a sort of melancholic feeling. It was the sort of way he would have imagined his mother acting towards him had she not died giving birth to him. It left him feeling guilty. He never could quite discern whether it was this or the muteness that had caused his father to resent him so much as he did. He knew he would have been upset too, if a woman who he had fucked once on a fling (probably little better than a whore) had just gone up and died leaving him with a child who wasn’t even whole, who was broken and stupid and useless.
Wex turned over in his bed. He knew that these thoughts were no good, not for him or for anyone, but sometimes he just could not help but succumb to them.
Somewhere along the line he had fallen into half twisted fever dreams and awoken feeling not any more rested than before.
It went on like this for a number of days. (possibly a few weeks.) Eventually, the fever broke and Wex found his strength coming back to him. Every day, regardless of how he was feeling, Leona found time to visit him and give him something to practice. It wasn’t long before he could pick up reading, although writing was still slow going.
From time to time Robett would drop by the house to ask Wex more questions. As he became a better writer, he was able to communicate more information, but still, it was slow going. He even got to meet Mayor Manderly once, who he then realized was Leona’s father in law. (Normally his granddaughters lived in this house as well, but they were off inland at boarding school.) Sometimes, on warm days, Leona let him go swimming. When Leona wasn’t there, it was Robett who was guarding him.
It wasn’t as if Wex was unaware of his status as prisoner. It was just that he had decided that being a prisoner was better than the alternative. Besides, White Harbor was starting to feel like some semblance of a home for him, more of a home than Pyke ever was. He was allowed outside of the house, even on to the beach as long as he was under strict supervision. There was always food, and despite the Northern chill there were always extra blankets and he was never caught out in the middle of a storm. He knew better than to test the patience of any of his jailers. It was best to keep them from turning sour on him, especially when no one else knew or cared where he was.
That was one thing he did worry about. What would his captors do once they were done with him? He thought, optimistically, that once they were finished with him they would let him go, maybe even give him some work during the next tourist season. He knew it was more likely, though, that he would be considered a liability and disposed of.
So he decided that the best course of action was to endear himself to his captors as much as possible. Even a mute knows that a little personality goes a long way. He would never be so frivolous to even imagine that Leona might adopt him as a son, but he wouldn’t put her past letting him outlive his utilitarian purposes.
One night he woke up to the sound of a calamity downstairs. He was already out of bed with his hand on the door when he heard Robett yell.
“Get the boy! Get him now!”
Wex met Leona half way down the stairs.
“Good,” She said, “You’re already up.”
She lead him by the hand downstairs, into the living room.
There was a man on his knees. He didn’t look good. He had red angry bruises on his face and arms, likely from Robett and his night stick.
“Well, Wex,” Robett said, “Is this him? Is he the man from the boat?”
Wex leaned down to look at his face. The man had a very strong jaw, and a protruding chin, framed with dirty, uncut blond hair. Although his expression was twisted with fear, Wex couldn’t deny it. He was the boat captain.
Wex gave Robett and curt nod, and he smiled. He felt Leona place her hands on his shoulders. Robett patted the man on the back.
“We know now.” He said to the man, “So there’s no use in denying it. In fact, not telling us would be very bad for you. So why don’t you just tell us where you took them?”
He mumbled at first.
“What was that?”
“Skagos, I took them to Skagos.”
Robett looked to Wex.
“What do you think about this?”
Wex felt a slight kinship with this man before him. Despite the scene before him, their situations weren’t too different. Both prisoners of their own information, only useful for what they know, and what they refuse to tell.
Anyone who’s been a child recently can remember how this game goes. It might be called by different names elsewhere, but on Pyke Wex knew it as Uncle. Sometimes people would twist each other's arms, or twist the skin of the forearm around until it burned but the object was the same, hurt someone until they give you what you want. Wex himself was rarely forced into the game, on account of his muteness, but he’d seen it happen to some of his playmates.
“Tell us where it is!”
“No! I don’t know! I didn’t take it!”
“Liar!”
“I’m telling the truth!”
“Where did you hide it!”
“Under the docks! I hid it under the docks!”
The older boys had run off after that, warning that the kid would be regretting it if he had lied.
Wex knew that he was lying, because it was Wex who had stolen their winnings. He wasn’t afraid of being caught, though. He’d already spent the meager coins on penny candy. He did, however, feel the slightest bit guilty when he watched his scapegoat crumple to the ground clutching his arm.
Wex had seen this happen often enough to know that people are more likely to lie the longer they’re interrogated for. With the condition that the interrogation uses force.
He took up his slate from the table. It was sloppy, but at this point people had gotten used to it.
“He is telling the truth.” Robett read, slowly.
“Are you sure about this, boy?” Robett asked. The man nodded at Wex, grateful.
Wex nodded slowly.
Robett snorted and smirked a little.
“Good boy.” He mussed Wex’s hair.
Robett dragged the man outside, and Leona moved into his eye line, crouching to reach his level.
“You did a good job, Wex.” She said, as she hugged him.
He didn’t hug her back at first. He was tenuous about it. Slowly, he lifted his arms and placed them on her sides. He held her tightly when he heard the gunshot.
His heart hammered inside of his chest. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so pathetic as to think that he was anything other than a problematic witness? They were just going to kill him when they were finished. They were going to shoot him in the head and throw his body to the fishes. He’d seen it happen once, fish go for the eyes first.
He pushed Leona away. She looked at him with motherly concern, the faker.
He ran for the front door. There was no other exit. Despite the rough shoreline scrub cutting at the bottoms of his feet he ran faster, blind in the darkness. If only he could get to the beach. Then he could run north until he hit the boardwalk. Then east until he hit the train station. And then...and then...and then...he was stopped by two familiar strong arms. How stupid he had been! To run right into them.
“Calm down. Calm down!” Robett grunted, trying to contain the struggling child. “Gods damn it, boy, be still.”
Shaking and crying, Wex forced himself to still. There was no use in fighting at this point.
“Wex! Wex come back here!” He heard Leona cry.
“I’ve got him, Leona. I’ve got him.” Yelled Robett.
“Why’d you run off, kid? D’you know that guy?” Robett asked, almost understanding.
Wex shook his head.
“What then?”
Without even thinking about the consequences, Wex dragged his thumb across his throat and then indicated towards himself. Even in the scant moonlight, Robett could understand the gesture.
“You think we’ll kill you?”
“Oh Wex,” Leona sighed from behind him, “We’re not going to kill you.”
Robett grunted, “It wasn’t in the plan, anyways.”
He let go of Wex, confidant that he would not try to run again, and Wex nearly fell on the ground.
Trying to regain his composure, Wex held out his index and middle fingers, their symbol for the word “what”.
“The plan, boy, you don’t think we’d just get all these answers for nothing, do you? There’s a plan in place.”
Wex made the gesture again, and then indicated towards himself.
Robett laughed.
“Well not to insult your drawing skills, but no one here knows exactly what Ned Stark’s boy looks like.”
On the way back to the house, it was explained to Wex that when an operative could be chosen to retrieve Rickon, Wex’s help would be needed in identifying him. Even after that Robett promised no harm would befall him...so long as he stayed loyal to White Harbor. He realized, while getting ready to go back to bed, that that meant that he would be going to Skagos with the operative. He grinned to himself. This was the perfect opportunity to use his newfound skill. He jumped out of bed and retrieved an atlas from the bookshelf. Previously he had only looked at it when he needed to be reminded of how his last name was spelled. The map of the Iron Islands was dog eared, but otherwise he had not looked at the book in detail.
He turned through until he recognized the map of the North. Much further North than White Harbor rested Skagos. It was much larger than Pyke, and it’s location just east of The Wall meant that it must be quite cold. He turned the page to where one could find additional information of the place they so desired and read the small paragraph.
U-ni-corn, he sounded out to himself wi-ld-ling. He was smiling at the prospect for adventure, at least until he read that last word can-i-bals.