Theon

Putrid, hot air fills his lungs enough to choke him out from the dark, empty void of unconsciousness. A high-pitched, terrified scream rises from somewhere overhead. Theon blinks, frozen in place, feeling jagged stone pressing against his spine, and takes in the view of the bright, blue sky above. Black smoke rises up all around him. A gasp of pain escapes Theon's lips as he struggles to lift his head up out of the rubble. As he manages to get a few inches off the ground—a passing stranger flees past and accidentally knocks Theon upside the head with the back of his boot. Spitting blood, Theon collapses as the soldier, whoever he is, keeps running down the burning road.

Everything everywhere is burning. After a minute of collecting himself again, Theon manages to climb up onto his knees and cough until he catches breath. A ringing in his left ear doesn't stop though, no matter how hard he picks his pinky through it. With a grimace, Theon wheels his head around, eyes wide with fear, taking in the Hell he had found himself in. What happened? Where am I? Reek. I'm Reek… A woman and her two little girls are sprinting away from a growling, green inferno tearing down their home. Bright, golden flames consume a brothel while the piercing cries of whores trapped inside desperately pray to the Seven Gods for help. A pair of Unsullied are aiding each-other stagger across the battlefield where countless bodies from both sides clog up the streets.

Memories from earlier that day trickle back into his mind as he comes upon the biggest smoldering crater in King's Landing—the place where the Red Keep once overlooked the Narrow Sea. The Red Keep is gone, as if the Gods plucked it out of existence—only it wasn't the Gods that caused this. It was wildfire… Reek.

Watching the wildfire shimmer and wave all around him, Theon remembers how it had sprung up from beneath the Keep's stairway and swallowed everyone standing on it whole, including the dragon and his queen… including his sister. With a prick of pain, Theon sees it all over again—Yara staring at him one second, and the next her flesh is gone, revealing the skeleton beneath—and Theon was thrown off his feet a second after… It was the last thing he can remember and it's all he sees now. Yara…

The heat from the green flames burn his face enough to make him turn away and flee like everyone else. He reaches up and absently fingers his forehead as he runs; his fingertips come away red and glistening. A second later, blood leaks down into his eye, blinding him. He brushes at it with his wrist—bumping into a man twice his size.

The Dothraki already has his Arakh in hand and wastes no time in snarling at Theon, lifting his curved blade, and making a swing for his neck. Startled, Theon only has time to say, "W-Wait!" and lift up his hand to try and block the attack—

The arakh never makes it, for the muscular arm wielding the blade is abruptly severed at the elbow by a man even larger than the Dothraki—a huge, round, bronze-skinned man covered head-to-toe in long scars. Strong Belwas grins as the Dothraki shrieks and clutches the stump of his arm in utter disbelief. The mute mercenary lifts his own Arakh and delivers the finishing slice across the Dothraki's throat—spilling a river of blood down his chest before he collapses in the rubble.

Spluttering from shock, Theon backs away from his savior in fear. Strong Belwas only casts him a peevish grin before bounding ahead, carelessly stomping on the bodies of fallen soldiers, beckoning Theon to follow him. The young Greyjoy gulps and does so, scrambling to keep up. "W-Wait—Wait for me!" he calls but Strong Belwas is already eyeing a group of people trapped underneath a pile of rocks and fire. Theon slows down and watches in amazement as the giant, fat, scarred man rushes in and lifts up a burning beam of wood with his bare hands, allowing the trapped people beneath to crawl out and escape the fire's clutches.

One of the rescued, a pretty woman with a face covered in black soot, crumbles to her knees and Theon kneels down to help her back up. With tears in her eyes, she looks at him and moans, "My poor baby—she—she…"

"We'll… we'll rescue her—where is she?" Theon impassively asks, blinking rapidly between the woman and Strong Belwas, who releases the smoldering beam and examines his smoking hands with a befuddled grin.

The woman throws her hands up and pushes Theon away, her moans sinking into pitiful sobs. Bewildered and exhausted, Theon falls from the shove onto his butt, landing on a particularly pointy rock. "She's gone! She's gone!" The woman weeps, stumbling over and collapsing against a broken wall. "She burned before I could reach her! Those dragons burned my baby!"

Theon knows he should feel sympathy for her, but his mind is circling a giant gutter, and his body doesn't feel like it has the energy. Strong Belwas approaches them oblivious to either of their plights, showing Theon the fresh burns still sizzling across his palms. Theon grimaces and lifts his arm up to see if the mute will help him stand. He does, and Theon thanks him. "We have to get out of here, Belwas. Do you know where… where our army is?"

The giant, silent bald man shrugs his boulder-sized shoulders and points ominously all around the street, signifying that everyone was running around in a panic, making it impossible to tell where their forces might've gathered. Unsullied and Lannister soldiers both lay intermingled across the battle-worn road ahead and behind them. A few dazed, passing people are meandering between them all. A sinking feeling in his heart informs Theon that his Queen is most likely dead. That would explain why the dragons went on a rampage, at least… Reek… Reek… How long was I unconscious for?

Strong Belwas grabs Theon around his bicep and yanks him along. One of Theon's legs feels noodlier than the other, and drags with every step. Theon takes one last look at the weeping woman before they round the corner into a courtyard full of burning plants and more dead bodies. The crash of dishes being thrown against a wall reaches his ears, but Theon can't tell which house its coming from. They wander into the center of the yard just as a door to one of the homes bursts open and a trio of laughing, half-naked, muscular men exit. Their hair is black, braided, and dangles past their shoulders. Each of them has dark, sunken eyes and wide, dirty grins behind grizzly beards. More Dothraki… but they're on our side. Reek. What are they doing? The leader of the pack has his hands full of gold and silver jewelry, necklaces spilling out of his fingers. The largest of the three has black paint across his face, and immediately notices Theon and Strong Belwas approaching. The third Dothraki is dragging a kicking and screaming child out of the house, hissing unintelligible words in her ear while groping her chest.

Strong Belwas comes to a halt, scowling a the Dothraki, and Theon bumps into him. "What are you doing?" Theon asks, but his mute partner ignores him.

The Dothraki leader mutters something to his friends before coming out from the house's shadow to join them in the yard. "Hello." The Dothraki grins with a wave, striding like he owned the city.

Strong Belwas points his arakh at him, and the Dothraki stops, hands on his hips, eyeing the curved blade with a raised brow. Theon sees that half this man's teeth are gold, and feels a nervous stirring in the pit of his gut.

The Dothraki laughs and takes out his own Arakh and spins it skillfully around in his grasp. The other two grunt and watch. Theon doesn't understand. He slips past Belwas and lifts his hands up in the air, shouting, "Wait—Wait! We're on the same side!"

"Weak boy, no." The Dothraki says, whipping his braided hair over his shoulder again. "Kisha hash vo serve Mai ki Dragons. No more sides."

Theon shakes his head, not understanding. Strong Belwas shoves him aside and faces the Dothraki with a bold smirk. He slaps at his big, protruding belly and chuckles warmly. The Dothraki scowls, appearing not to appreciate being made light of. Before Theon can do anything more, the warrior from across the sea charges—and Strong Belwas welcomes it, not even lifting his weapon to defend himself. Theon gasps and the little girl they have captive shrieks as the Dothraki impales Belwas with his curved sword, sinking the tip of its crescent deep between the folds of Belwas's blubbery chest.

The kind of horror Theon feels when he sees this happen is like a sharp, spike of pain in his heart—suddenly he sees Yara being burned alive all over again, and Theon releases a howl of anguish, slipping backward, away from Strong Belwas and the Dothraki. Looking down at the blade in his chest, Theon expects Belwas to collapse and die… but the fat man just takes the Arakh with his bare hand, slicing all his burnt fingers across its edge, and rips it out of his chest with ease while the Dothraki struggles just to keep his hold over his weapon; but Belwas proves why they call him Strong, and with sheer will, wrestles the Arakh from him. In fear, the Dothraki retreats to his two companions who draw their weapons and release their concubine. The girl flees on her hands and knees the first chance she gets. Theon can hardly believe his eyes, gawking at Strong Belwas as he laughs and slaps his belly, rubbing the blood from his open wounds around on his skin as if it was soap. A blow like that should've Reeked him. Why did he just stand there and let him Reek?

The Dothraki who had been groping the child earlier spits and grunts, "Yeri ovah ma uglo, ma anha ha yeri diaf ajjalan!" and without waiting for the others, charges Strong Belwas with his Arakh raised high. This time Belwas doesn't just stand there, he lifts his Arakh and blocks the attack—steel ringing against steel—and counters with a kick to the Dothraki's gut that stuns him. Strong Belwas laughs heartily as his Arakh cuts the warrior's head off. It tumbles to the floor in a spray of blood, wrapped up in its long, braided pony-tail, eyes still wide with shock and staring at Theon.

"Yeri'll pay ha ki!" snarls the disarmed Dothraki and he takes his other partner's blade from him, determined to have his vengeance. Strong Belwas pounds his way to them, and his footsteps seem to quake the earth itself. The Dothraki roar and swing their blades, each slicing two long, deep gashes across Belwas's belly—but that's all they ever do before Belwas grabs them both by their heads and swings them together like pendulums. The result sounds like two rocks being smashed together, causing an explosion of brain matter and gore unlike anything Theon was expecting—both Dothraki's skulls caved in against one-another as they slump to Belwas's knees.

Strong Belwas wipes his hands together and turns back to Theon with a big, wide smile—the kind of smile that reminds Theon of his old master… He loves the violence… Fighting, it's all he Reeks for, this man… Strong Belwas. Theon had heard very little of him, only that he once served his uncle, Victarion, and that Queen Daenerys had decided to pardon him for his service. Now I Reek why. This guy's a monster. Clearing his throat, Theon says, "Those people were on our side, you know. They're our reinforcements…"

Belwas shrugs and points down the street ahead toward the dockyard beyond the giant city wall. Looking up, Theon can't help but feel a sense of dread at being back here already. I need to find a Silent Sister to Reek my injuries. I can barely fucking Reek, let alone Reek.

As they make way for the wall, they're joined by a group of injured and limping Unsullied. Some have their armor on still, while others are nearly naked, having their armor ripped or burned off during the battle, revealing stab wounds and bruises. One Unsullied's face is a wreckage of its former self, no longer resembling that of a human's. His eyes, his lips, his nose, and his ears—all of it is gone—replaced with a black, smoldering ruin. Theon stops when he hears one of the Unsullied whisper to the faceless Unsullied, saying, "Ȳdra daor worry, Turgo Nudho, īlon'll jiōragon ao arlī ȳgha."

What are they saying? I wish I could Reek Valyrian… Theon frowns and looks back at the smoldering, ruined city in their wake. What did we even fight for? What did my sister die for? What was the Reek of it all?

"I'll tell you why, it's because you didn't listen." hisses Ramsay Bolton in his ear. Naturally, Theon stops and gawks when he sees his old master standing beside him, just as real as Strong Belwas and the injured Unsullied he traveled with. Ramsay's bright, bulging eyes are alight with glee, and his grin shows all his pointy little teeth, perfectly white compared to Theon's. He wraps a loving arm over Theon's shoulder and chuckles, saying, "You didn't think you'd be rid of me that easy, did you, Reek?"

Strong Belwas stops and looks back at Theon with a curious raised brow, for Theon had stopped in his tracks and was mumbling "Reek… Reek… Reek…" over and over under his breath, his glazed eyes staring down at the ground. Perhaps if Belwas could speak, he'd ask if Theon was alright…

Luckily for Theon, Belwas noticed something that he did not. When the fat, scarred, eunuch suddenly turns on his heel and lifts his Arakh, pointing it at Theon's chest, Theon is abruptly snapped out of his trance—and glares up at Belwas in terror and confusion. As the fat man lifts his blade, preparing to strike, Theon flinches and screams, "Reek!"

Strong Belwas flings his Arakh through the air, and the blade sinks into the armored plating of a giant in gold slowly rising from the debris of a broken building a few feet behind Theon… Realizing what was happening, Theon dives to get out of the way as Belwas plows past. The giant in golden armor appears unfazed by the Arakh in his chest—similar to how Belwas had acted when the Dothraki had attacked him, only this one has a quiet, ominous feeling about him. Then, as Belwas closes in, Theon remembers who this giant is—and screams for Belwas to stop, but instead of shouting "Stop!" Theon shouts, "Reek!" and Belwas, unfortunately, keeps going…

The Mountain dislodges the Arakh from his chest, and a torrent of black sludge pours out from the wound. Theon notices he's covered in it, staining his gold armor black. A row of deep, sinking caves line the Mountain's armor where Drogon had sunk his teeth into, and one of his arms dangles limply at his side—yet despite all this, Ser Gregor Clegane doesn't appear the least bit fatigued. With fists the size of a man's skull, The Mountain catches Strong Belwas by his hands and the two face-off, neither budging an inch, fingers interlocked. Belwas growls, no longer grinning his casual grin, and delivers a powerful head-butt to the Mountain's helm. He might as well have headbutted a rock wall, though, because the Mountain merely rears his head back, bends his knees, and causes Belwas to lose his footing—

"No!" Theon shouts as the Mountain takes his pummeled glove and pounds his fists into Belwas's face. The fat man goes down on his side in a puddle of his own blood—the Mountain climbing on top of him, beating him with his mailed fists over and over and over…

Theon can't stand watching this, and decides to take matters into his own hands. That's it, Reek! Theon finds a sword lying beside a fallen Lannister and rushes in, screaming "REEK!" at the top of his lungs, aiming for the Mountain's neckline. He misses, and his sword bounces off his gold armor. It's enough, however, to capture his attention. The Mountain releases Belwas and rises once more to face Theon down. Heart skipping, eyes wide, Theon's realizes this would be it—this will be his last second of life—as the Mountain reaches out to grab him—

"You raped her, you murdered her, you killed her children!"

The words come from somewhere far away, but they're just loud enough to be made out. In his terror, the words sounded like nonsense to Theon. They were not nonsense for the Mountain, however, who's hand freezes inches from Theon's face… The giant remains this way, as if turned to stone… when Theon looks over his shoulder to find the owner of the voice, his eyes fall upon Arya Stark, and she isn't alone.

Striding alongside her is Tyrion Lannister. Both of them are approaching at a steady pace. The Dwarf has his arms behind the small of his back, a deep grimace on his face as he eyes the destruction around them. Arya, however, has her eyes dead set on the Mountain… "That's right, you big stupid shit, stop causing so much trouble or I'll repeat those words until your head explodes."

The Mountain groans and lowers his hand in a defeated sort of way. Theon lets out a gasp and falls onto his ass for what must've been the tenth time that day. Arya… is that really Arya? That… that can't be her… Arya's… she's… She's missing a hand, for starters, and her face… bandages are wrapped around her cheeks, covering most of it from sight, but Theon can still see the burns just beneath the surface.

Ramsay squats down next him, eyeing Arya with a grin. "She's quite something, Reek. It's too bad I never managed to get my hands on her."

"Told you he's still alive." Arya says to Tyrion with a cocky smirk. The Dwarf just scowls, and approaches the injured Unsullied. When he does, Tyrion's face falls apart in despair.

"Get him to the Red Wind right away. Don't let Missandei see him yet…"

The Unsullied carrying their faceless companion nod in solemn silence and continue to venture outside the walls for the shoreline. Tyrion and Arya turn their attention on them now, and Theon's fears are confirmed when Arya catches his eye and immediately recognizes him.

"Theon." She says, almost in a whisper. It's not a question, either, more of a statement. Her expression impossible to read, Arya's eyes narrow as she closes in. Theon backs away, scrambling to get up on his feet.

"Ah, yes, I forgot you might know each other." Tyrion says, eyeing them both, then glaring down at Belwas. "Is he still breathing?"

In response, Belwas grunts and rolls over on the ground. Despite his many, many wounds, Strong Belwas barks with a deep, rumbling laughter and gets back up on his feet, brushing dirt from his knees. Tyrion casts the strange mute a side-ways smile before looking up at the Mountain. "Are you sure he'll listen to you?"

Arya blinks and nods, still glaring at Theon. "Yes, he'll listen. Qyburn put a spell on the Mountain. It controls him."

"Well, with everything I've seen, I suppose spells shouldn't come as a surprise." Tyrion sighs, "We should leave now, Arya, before this place gets any worse. Theon, if you're able, would you like to accompany us?"

"No. He stays." Arya says coldly.

"He's part of our Queen's forces, Arya… and if I'm not mistaken, the last living Greyjoy. Regardless of your personal feelings about him, we need him." Tyrion tells her, "Of course, I have no way of stopping you from killing him—but if you did, I would have to reconsider hiring you… which means no Jon Snow."

Arya frowns and glares at the Dwarf this time. Without a word, Arya storms off, and the Mountain follows her like an obedient dog. Theon shuffles his feet, feeling awkwardly grateful for Tyrion's help. "What is she doing here?"

Tyrion laughs and says, "She's the one who killed my sweet sister. I'm amazed she didn't kill you too, after what you did to her brothers…"

"I—I didn't…" Theon mumbles but Tyrion waves his hand dismissively and tells him to hurry along—their boat will be leaving shortly.