Chapter 14: Theon VII: 305 AC
"Theon."
"Hum?"
"What gods do you place your faith in?"
He tore his eyes from the setting sun, turning to her "Why?"
Jeyne shrugged.
"When last I prayed a true prayer, it was not to any one god." It had been to all of them.
"What did you pray for?"
Don't ask me that, he thought, do not start down this path, sweet Jeyne. "I…" he closed his eyes, unable to meet hers. "When I was granted passage to Braavos," Jeyne took his hand, lacing her fingers between those he had left, and he felt the stumps tingle.
"Jeyne, don't ask this of me. Please." He opened his eyes, though could not bring himself to meet hers. She does not need to know what I did that night. She must never know those sins. Though he did not regret what he had done, nor would he ever.
Jeyne turned her gaze out to sea, no longer pursuing the particular line of questioning, though not abandoning it in full. "What about before? Before everything? Seven years ago, before…" she trailed off. "You are Ironborn. But you grew up in the greenlands," she turned back to him, "which gods were yours?" When he did not answer straight away, she said, "I read something, once. About ironmen. It reminds me of you, save the very last part."
"'You may dress an ironman in silks and velvets, teach him to read and write and give him books, instruct him in chivalry and courtesy and the mysteries of the Faith, but when you look into his eyes, the sea will still be there,'"
"'Cold and grey and cruel.'" He finished for her. "Have I still the sea in my eyes, then?" He smiled at her for half a second, though not with his teeth. Never with his teeth, not anymore, never again.
"Yes," she replied, "a sea of…" she seemed to be searching for the correct words, or debating on saying them. Her hair was pulled from her face into a low plait. She'd taken to either wearing it as such, or simply letting it it remain loose and free. She was beautiful either way, though he rather enjoyed it plaited, if only to see the entirety of her face.
"What…" she started, blushing "What are you smiling about, kraken?"
You. Avoiding the question, he replied "What are my eyes like? You said they're a sea. What are they a sea of?"
"Tar. A sea of tar. They trap you, hold you there, so that you can't look away," her voice was far away, though her eyes bore into his. "And you realize you don't want to."
Not entirely sure if there was some latent message in her words, "'A sea of tar,'" he repeated, "I like that."
Jeyne tilted her head, resting it on his shoulder. "Good. I thought you might not. Tar is not cold or grey. And you are not cruel."
Theon wanted to laugh at that. And you are not cruel. But he could not. He wanted to cry. He was cruel. He'd killed children. How many lives had ended simply at his word? How many had ended at his hand, at his bow? Children, I murdered two of them. Both innocent. He'd lost toes, fingers, teeth. He'd went mad in a dungeon and eaten live rats. He'd been made to roll in his own shite. Was only half a man.
And in the godswood, I did not pray for Jeyne. I prayed for myself.
I deserve what's happened to me, I deserve all of it.
And the three men he'd killed that night. They had done nothing wrong. He'd waited for one of her escorts to make water and killed him. The next came to check on him, and Theon had killed him too, and the third. Then he'd lied to her. Told her Stannis thought she'd be safer in Braavos. And she'd believed him.
Theon closed his eyes and felt tears roll down his cheeks. Salt water, he thought, true ironborn have salt water in their veins. He let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sob. How is it that the gods have let me live?
He opened his eyes when he felt warm lips on his cheek. He turned to her; he'd never hidden his tears from her, nor she from him. She placed her free hand on his cheek, "It is the future that matters, brave kraken, not the past." Her eyes dug into his as she spoke the next words in earnest "And few men would kill to save a low born daughter of a steward."
She kissed his forehead, "You are Theon Greyjoy of Braavos, and for the past four years, you have been the kindest, bravest and most loyal man I've ever known."
He wanted to kiss her. To kiss her deep and tell her that he was in love with her and tell her that he finally understood singers when they sang of love. To tell her that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. To tell her that when he was with her, it wasn't as bad. And that he could almost forget himself, and feel like someone else, someone good.
But he didn't.