Chapter Text
Theon turns around a corner and finds himself face to face with Fat Walda Frey.
Walda Bolton, he corrects himself. As evidenced by the pink of her nightgown and the ruby red of her slippers.
She is crying, cheeks flushed, tears silent on her bright face. Theon quickly hastens to retreat.
"No, stay," Walda says.
A girl's voice, but commanding. She would have had to learn that quickly.
"Please," she adds, "walk with me."
It is the very early hours of morning. Theon spent the night walking the outer walls, five rounds, or maybe six. Now he's drenched through all layers of his rags--the inner from sweat, the outer from ice and snow, and exhausted enough he might have dared a bit of sleep.
"As you will, my lady," he obeys.
Walda slips an arm around his elbow, unperturbed by the wetness, or the smell. She wipes her eyes dry with the other hand.
"This place is so different from The Twins," Walda says, leading down the corridor. "Not so much the stones, though I miss looking at the waters, but ours was a big, complicated castle as well. There were so many of us back home, though. You couldn't walk anywhere without bumping into five nieces or seven cousins. My Lord grandfather liked to keep us at hand besides, didn't like his possessions to wander around unattended, he said."
They are walking along a dark warm passage-way, close to the Warden's chambers but far enough that Walda must have done a bit of wandering of her own.
"I miss having sisters to talk with, though mine were quite jealous of my newfound position."
She giggles at the memory, eyes still red from recent crying.
"Imagine, I wasn't the oldest, and I'm too fat, yet my Lord husband chose me. And not at my Lord grandfather's suggestion, even, Roose looked at me and chose me."
They turn into a staircase and Theon concentrates on coordinating his feet.
"Truth be told, I was really terrified of the wedding night and everything that would follow after. You know, I was an absolute virgin, I had no idea! Some of my cousins, I'm not going to name names, but let's just say that some already have... experiences, not me though, nobody had even tried with me! I was fat, and insignificant, but I was wrong to be scared, real wrong, because I've been having so much fun with Roose. Did you know, it's like there is a force deep in my guts that comes alight, like a bright flame, and oh, I have been working so hard to give him a son! I keep thinking how I am the Lady Warden of the North now, which excites me, and look at this ruby he gave me."
Walda turns her head to show her earring. It looks a lot like Ramsay's; Theon swallows a sudden nausea. Would that you had sisters to tell all this to instead of me, Theon thinks, holding one hand against the wall to help his balance.
With the flaxen hair, bright blue eyes, the red and pink of her cheeks and furs and gems, Walda is a striking enough sight. Theon Greyjoy, long ago, might have tried a thing or two, but Reek is a best a stinking imaginary cousin, or a dog you tell your secrets to.
"They don't like me much here, though," Walda says. "Some hate me near as much as they hate you."
She tucks her hair behind her ear, leaving the ruby to glimmer against the candles' light.
"Which I don't find very fair, because what did I ever do? I am just a girl who was wed, that is all, wed higher than most ever will! They hold me responsible for my Houses. Or they are jealous. "
Walda comes to a stop rather abruptly and Theon stumbles, just so guarding himself from a fall. They are standing in front of a window. There is just enough morning light to make out the silhouettes of the adjacent walls and towers.
"I had my blood this morning," Walda whispers, quietly. "I didn't last month and I've been regular like the moon ever since I was two and ten. Younger than most, the Septa said. So I thought..."
Walda lets go of Theon's arm, wraps her hands around her belly.
"I'm not so stupid as all that, I know he chose me to give him sons. Because I'm fat and I have good hips."
He chose you because you weighed the most in silver, Theon thinks. And Ramsay will kill your sons anyhow.
Her eyes grow wet again, threatening to overflow. Theon stands quietly, suddenly so tired he has trouble to remain upright.
"You'll give him sons," he says, because that is what is expected of him.
I dreamed of a wedding, he wants to say. He dreamed of Robb's death. Walda must have been one of the last people to see him alive. Would that he could hate her for it, but after Moat Cailin, and everything else, Theon can only hate himself.
Walda straightens her head.
"I will," she says. "We'll try again. And I'll have fun along the way."
She wipes her eyes dry.
"Come," she commands. "Accompany me back towards my chambers."
They meander back, her arm yet again wrapped around Theon's, chattering brightly about her new furs, Lord Roose's loins, and the little pastries she misses so.
"Reek, there you are!"
They have been awaited: One of the Lady Walda's servingwomen and, unfortunately, Luton.
"What have you been doing?" Luton says. "Lord Ramsay's asking for you. In the solar."
Theon's entrails turn to ice. He hasn't the strength today, he hasn't--
"I'm on my way," he replies, hands shaking.
The Lady Walda looks at him half apologetically.
"Well, thanks a lot for the walk and your company, Lord Theon," she says. She opens her mouth, as if to say more, then just smiles, somewhat too brightly. "We will see each other soon."
"My Lady," Theon says, brittle, then walks towards where he is awaited.