Thank you to everyone who has favourited or is following the story.


The Fool

Theon is sitting in bed with a large book in his lap when Ser Davos enters his chamber.

"What an amazing sight," he notes with a smile. "You weren't a lover of books before."

As some kind of explanation, Theon holds up his reading with its cover to Davos but he only raises his eyebrows.

"Apologies, I forget. It's about the cults of Westeros. Patchface's words when he… strangled me, I found them familiar, but I wasn't sure, I didn't remember correctly… so I asked for a book from Maester Cressen."

"A book about religion." Davos sits down on the bedside.

"Yes." He knocks one a page with a finger. "When someone gets a blessing from one of the Drowned God's priests, the priest says: Let your servant be born again from the sea, as you were. Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel. And the blessed responds: What is dead may never die." Theon glances at Davos who nods to reassure him to continue. "Patchface called me his servant. And he also mentioned the steel, the stone and the salt. Especially the salt."

"So… what are you saying?"

Theon takes a deep breath. "I think he is the Drowned God. Or some part of him." He is blushing. Impossible, of course impossible, still…

"He was." Davos corrects him after a while. "If you're right."

"Can I be right?" He is truly – desperately – curious.

"When you spend most of your life sailing the seas, you see a lot of incredible things and can believe much more."

Theon nods with relief. Davos does not think he is mad, at least. So there is a chance that he is not mad indeed.

"How did you mean 'he was'?"

"You should talk to him."

"To whom? Patchface?" Theon shakes his head. "I don't want to meet him again."

"He says his name is Vollys."

"Oh. Does he have a name now?" Theon asks maliciously.

"You should talk to him," Davos repeats.


Though Patchface – or Vollys – is chained to the dungeon's wall, Theon stops at the door, in a safe distance from him.

The man looks up at him. His gaze is clear, focused. Different.

„Theon Greyjoy," he declares.

Theon narrows his eyes. "I thought you don't remember."

"I don't, but people say I tried to kill a boy, named Theon Greyjoy, and here you are with bruises on your neck. Sorry about that."

His manner of speech is different as well. His voice is steady and there is a slight strangeness to his vocalization.

Carefully, Theon steps closer. Just one small step though.

"What do you remember?"

The man sighs. "I got on a ship that sank before it could have reached the shores of Westeros. I already know that happened fourteen years ago. I know and I believe, but it still seems like only a moment has passed since then."

"And in all these years… the things that Patchface said, the things he did…"

The man shakes his head. "There was someone or something watching this world through my eyes, speaking with my tongue and using my limbs… I don't share his memories though. I don't know how it is possible." He shrugs. "That's the only answer I can give."

Theon does not know 'how' either, but knows it is possible. And he is sure of something more. It is good to say it aloud.

"Anything he was, it is gone."