Chapter 11
Theon had stopped having true dreams long ago. He had no imagination left, no happiness he could achieve in his sleep. Instead, his dreams were all the bad things that had happened. Robb's death, the fire, Cat's death, his time in Northern Ireland. They all played on repeat, a different one every night, just over and over again, the edges blurring but the rest stayed the same.
It started in Arya's old bedroom. Someone had lit a candle and forgotten to watch it, Theon guessed. All he knew was the upper floor had burnt first.
And then the first storey collapsed.
No one had kenned about the termites or the extensive damage they had caused. There was no reason to think that the floor would just fall out and crush everyone below, burning, smoking carpeting spilling down and lighting everything below on fire.
The servants were the first ones out. It wasn't their home. They had little of value in the mansion. Theon was slower, grabbing everything he thought was valuable- his wallet, a few photos, his iPod and a few things he would never admit to owning.
He just expected someone else to call the fire department. He just expected someone else to get the kids out of the house. He just expected someone to gather the important papers from the master bedroom. A lot of things he just expected.
Everyone else just expected that, too.
When someone finally remembered to tell the fire-fighters about Bran and Rickon, Bran had already been buried in the fallen floor. He hadn't been able to manoeuvre his wheelchair out of the mansion in time; everyone else had been out of the building by then. Bran had died of smoke inhalation. Rickon was nowhere to be found. The dog that followed him everywhere was missing, too.
It started in Arya's old bedroom. Someone had lit a candle and forgotten to watch it…
Theon felt sick, so very sick. His head pounded and one eye felt swollen, and how did his throat itch? The taste in his mouth was as though he had not brushed his teeth in days. He ran his tongue over his teeth. They were filthy.
He should be wanting to die.
Instead, he felt relieved, for a reason he could not name. Something had settled, something he couldn't quite grasp…
He could hear voices. They must have been talking for a while, because he wasn't at all surprised to hear them. Theon sniffed, the snot running down his throat from the force of the sniff. Shite, his head hurt.
He must have been awake at sometime, because he remembered someone asking him questions, stupid, mad questions that were not important at all.
Shite, his head hurt.
ØØØ
Wishaw General's receptionist recognized Arya from sight by now. She had come in so many times before to pick up Theon. He got loose, got into accidents, tried to kill himself…the list was incredibly long. He was a very sick man and all the nurses and doctors knew it.
They knew his whole family had died except for his former foster sisters, one of whom lived in India or Japan now, some far off place. Theon did not have contact with her. Arya was the one who took care of him, though he was still clever enough to escape and go wandering. She tried, though, so the nurses called her when Theon was admitted.
Today he had come in with scratches on his chest and throat, and a gash from a kitchen knife. He had broken another tooth on who-only-knew-what. It might be easier at this point for a dentist to pull what was left and fit him with dentures.
"He appears to be suffering from some fairly severe delusions brought on by the abuse," the doctor was telling her now. "His boyfriend-"
"Boyfriend?" Arya asked, surprised. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the doctor with a pained expression.
"Yes, ma'am. From what your brother has said, he was in an abusive relationship. Am I right to assume you knew nothing of this?" Arya shook her head. "That isn't uncommon with these types of delusions. We believe Theon imagined this man and has been inflicting injuries on himself. Theon believes he was responsible for your brothers' deaths and a fire at your home. He might have created this 'boyfriend' to punish himself. We had a psychologist visit him but whether that helped or not is for your brother to say. I hope you will be able to set him straight, Ms Scott. You're a good woman for helping your brother in his state."
He smiled and left her, and she was Jeyne Poole again.
ØØØ
Ramsey had told her to bring Theon back. His toy wasn't to be let free so easily. The…delicacy of the matter had kept the doctors from calling the police. They thought Theon was a very sad case and Arya was a darling for caring for him when she could, taking him back to the house he had grown up in, where she now lived with her husband, Ramsey Bolton. Theon wasn't the registered owner of the house or Arya's dependant, or anything. There was no proof he lived there. The servants were told to ignore him. No one who knew him by name.
No one except Jeyne.
Tears welled up in Jeyne's eyes. Oh, God, where was Sansa? Where were poor Rickon and Bran? Were any of them even alive? Jeyne didn't ken where the truth ended and Ramsey's lies began. Was Theon even sane anymore?
It had been a cruel joke of Ramsey's. He wanted to break Theon slowly, by driving him to madness, so he commanded his servants and his "friends"- as if anyone could be friends with that man- to call Jeyne Arya. Theon had denied it then and denied it still, no matter how many times everyone told him he was wrong. Jeyne had though him so strong then. Now? Now he was just falling apart.
He looked old, so terribly old. His hair had turned brittle from malnourishment, his skin was loose and grey and his limbs were stiff so that he hobbled all the time. Sometimes he fell down for no reason, just a lack of energy and sleep. Ramsay wouldn't give him access to a bath or shower so he stank more often than not. Jeyne didn't ken how much of it was Ramsay and how much of it was Theon just not caring.
The police hadn't been able to confirm Theon's story the few times he had escaped and tried to talk to them.
Of course, there was no one named Ramsey Bolton. There was no birth record, no driver's licence, nothing. He had told her that, told her if she tried to run like Theon, no one would ever believe her. Ramsey Bolton was just the name he had Jeyne and his other victims call him. Theon was the only one who had to call him Master.
The memory of that night on the beach terrified her.
Ramsey had said Theon was becoming too depressed, "docile". He was no fun if he didn't have the energy to beg.
"Take him to see a film. Take him to the beach, hell if I care. Cheer him up. I want him to break harder than he ever has before."
She took Theon to the coast.
"Do you think it's wrong to kill yourself?" Theon asked, staring out at the surf. Jeyne hated the beach. Her mother had drowned in a river when the current swept her away. Ever since, large bodies of water frightened her. They had the opposite effect on Theon, calming him, making him more docile, just like Ramsey wanted.
"You can't go to heaven if you kill yourself, Theon."
His laughter was as bitter as tonic water.
"Do you really think I'm going to heaven, Jeyne?" He mocked her with that name. She was no longer Jeyne. She was Arya. Ramsey had said so. How didn't Theon get it? "How kind of you."
She liked being Arya. Arya wasn't expected to be pretty or brave. Ramsey had never met Arya. Jeyne could be whoever she wanted to be.
Arya was the only thing keeping her sane when Ramsay played his games with her. She fell behind Arya's façade when he tried to drag her down. When he tortured her using Arya's name, she reminded herself she was Jeyne. She switched in between the two, one day Arya, one day Jeyne. She was whichever one she wanted to be, whenever she wanted to be.
In the real world, Theon was the only one who held her to one identity.
In Westeros, she could be Jeyne Poole, Sansa's best friend and lady-in-waiting, or she could be Jeyne Westerling, nobility in her own right. It didn't matter that she wasn't gorgeous anymore. It didn't matter that she'd gotten a funny looking nose or that her lips had turned out too thin. She was nobility. She was above the horror her life had become when she was in Westeros.