Chapter 12: Theon VI: 304 AC

"It is queer, isn't it?" Met with one of Jeyne's occasional bouts of taciturnity, he opened his mouth to elaborate, only to close it again.

But it was strange. If anyone had told him six years ago that in the not-too-distant future, he would be living with Jeyne Poole under a different identity with white hair and the face of an old man in Braavos... he didn't know what he would have said. Likely something rude.

"No, I don't think it's odd at all. I don't think life ever turns out as one imagines it. Not for anyone."

Theon was silent for a moment before replying, "Had you imagined...this, do you think it would have never happened?"

Theon could see her breath dissipate into the open air of Ragman's Harbor. Even with the hordes of others waiting on trade ships for food, it was still winter.

She gave him a look of puzzlement, "I don't think anyone could say, really. It just seems that no one ever ends up where they once thought they might."

The Starks. Every one of them. None would have ever thought... Theon detached his arm from hers and wrapped it around her back, drawing her in close.

She leaned into him and sighed, "I think," she mused, half to herself and half to him, "that life is planned out for us," she looked up to the sky, "and that it's a river," a serene look of acceptance and peace lay upon her face, "and that we may change the course, but it will always reach the sea."

For a woman near eight-and-ten, Jeyne had the perception of one of eighty years. She would say things, like that quite often. At first he simply thought her a learned child, one with a love of famous prose. As it turned out, most things of beautiful eloquence she spoke of were her own words.

She turned from the sky and looked at him with far away eyes, "Though the course my change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea."

Gods, this woman could be the Hand of the King. She is far too wise to be stuck here with me.

––––––––

301 AC

"What is dead can never die but rises again, harder and stronger. And you are half dead already, little brother. Now rise." The look on Asha's face was one of both pride and heartbreak, and when she embraced him for the last time, he could feel her cold tears against his cheek. She released him, and was gone.

"No," Theon said aloud, not realizing it, "leave me. I must stay with my Lady, I cannot, I can't, I–"

"The Stark girl is none of your concern. She will be save with her brother, not you."

No. No, she will be safe. Safe in Braavos, I must keep her safe. I must. But he did not know how. There was no way. Perhaps in another life, he could have saved Jeyne. But he had saved Arya, and Arya was not Jeyne.

He thought back to what he'd been made to watch her do. Thought back to when he promised her that he would never leave her with the bastard if he were ever granted freedom. I promised Jeyne freedom, not Arya.

He turned round and ran as fast as the snow and his toes would allow, the seamen calling after him. I must find her, I must bring her.

Shoving the whole helm back on, he prayed to every god there ever was to smile upon him. Just do what you once did, he told himself, you were so good at things like this, once.

Don't save Arya. Save Jeyne.

–––––––––

Changing the subject, he asked "Do you know where they're coming in from? The trade ships, I mean?"

"Shouldn't it be obvious? Planky Town."

When he continued to gape at her with a look of ignorant placidity, she elaborated, "Dorne. Sugar, lemons, oranges, olives, pomegranates, wine, everything exotic. That's why so many people are here."

Dornish wine. The thought alone warmed his belly. How long had it been since he had had good wine?

The horde of fishwives, commoners and servants throbbed as the Dornish trade ship docked. He laced his fingers through hers and shouted over the din, "Go buy what we need," he placed a coin purse in her other hand "wait for me."

Without question or protest, Jeyne gave a curt nod "I will find you," she let go of his hand and let the crowd carry him to the trade ship.

He had been saving for a room in a cleaner part of the city, in a real building and not a shack. Winter had come, and their hovel did little to keep the cold at bay. He had two gold dragons and fifteen stags at home. But he'd been saving them for her return to Westeros. Theon loosed his dirk and started towards the Dornish ship.