Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Theon Greyjoy had very little belief in things in his life.

He was much like Tyrion Lannister in the regard that they tended not to believe in something unless they witnessed it with their own eyes. Of course he had believed in the gods for a time in his life.

As a boy in Winterfell he was forced to convert to the traditions of the Old Gods and the New.

He was converted back to the Drowned God after his baptism.

With his torture came a disbelief. After his time as a prisoner he lost all faith in everyone and anything. He worshipped a false god of blood and knives. In fact, the only one he had any belief in was his sister. His sister who followed their religion to the exact wording.

“What is dead may never die.”

The words of the house rang true when he was alive. They used to say that what is dead may never die but he never expected the saying to have much truth to it. Now he was finding out that just how much it really was all true.

He had seen the dead come back to life but not in the way he was currently experiencing it.
For Theon Greyjoy had died twice in his life.

Once with the Bastard of the Dreadfort and then again in battle with the Captain of the Silence. Out of all the times he thought he would die and it was the way he expected least. He was glad of it though, dying with some honour. He had always thought that for the longest time he would have died as Ramsay’s obedient servant.

Theon placed his hand over where the fatal blade had struck his heart, his death had been swift and just. There had been virtually no pain and it was rather quickly.

It had been at the hands Euron. It had been poetic to die by the hands of a family member. Always his fucking uncle. He couldn’t have died peacefully at an old age or executed for his crimes at Winterfell by the rightful ruler who he assumed would be the bastard wolf turned rightful Dragon, no it had to be by the person who he wanted to kill him least of all. If one good thing came from the whole thing was that he had given him the privilege of dying in Pyke. His birth home.

He had been chilled to the bone if he remembered correctly. Cold water ravishing his body but the water soon froze and turned to ice.

The war with the fight walkers had come sooner than expected to the Iron Islands and he had died to protect his older sister, a slight change in the dynamic between them. There had been a scuffle so he had no idea if she had managed to get away or not but he hoped that his death had not been in vain and there was also the minor hope that Euron had gotten his ugly mug eaten in by a Wight.

Then again his death was a long time coming. It had been due ever since he betrayed the Starks. Since he betrayed Robb. Yara had tried to tell him that he didn’t owe anything to the Starks but of course this wasn’t true in Theon’s broken eyes. Ramsay had made him die in a sense but then something amazing had happened. He was reborn the moment he took Sansa’s hand and jumped down from the Winterfell wall. Then he had been on a path which he assumed was the right way.

Reek wasn’t gone right away. It had been slow and laborious but in the end, they had managed to find middle ground with reek. Theon was back in the reigns but if there was true danger Reek would take over but only in the direst of situations.

He preferably would have liked to have lived and gone on to see Yara at her rightful place as the Queen of the Iron Islands however it was not to be. Wherever she was he was sure that she was living peacefully with whatever woman had captured her heart, maybe Sansa or maybe Ellaria. It was a shame it had not been the Dragon Queen who took her hand but she was sure someone more reliable and less insane would have come along, one who filled her days with happiness.

While he knew the blow to the chest had ended his life he found it unusual he was still able to think about all of these things. His thoughts were still going at a million miles a second. He couldn’t be dead for he still felt things. At the moment he felt like he was drowning. If he did regret one thing it was not dying by the sea like he always intended. Had his half-dead body somehow found its way to the ocean and he was simply floating? That he did not know. It felt like water.

One thing he was certain of was the blinding light that overtook his vision.

Theon opened his eyes which he never thought that he would do again. The sight was not what he expected. His body was lying on the floor by the floor was clean, like a grand hall such as the main Winterfell Hall or the Salt throne room. Wherever he was it was clear a place of a person of a high status. His thoughts were now along the line that Daenerys had somehow rescued him from his dying fate. But then why leave him on the floor with no medical aid. And why was his pain suddenly gone?

Speaking of maesters he felt his chest where the pain had been and…Nothing. There was no pain of a blade still planted firmly inside, no stinging from the salt water or creatures of the ocean using him as a source of food. Things were not adding up and his mind was still trying to properly figure out what the hell was going on.

It was groggy. Or foggy maybe. He wasn’t sure. It seemed to be a mixture for sure. His eyes had a struggle of their own to begin opening up.

He reached a hand down his chest and sure enough he wound was still there but the more he poked the less and less he could feel.

When his mind was waking up from whatever darkened slumber it was in it fully saw where he was located and it made less sense than anything he could begin to imagine. Such grandeur and majesty. It could only be one thing. He was merely a grain of sand on a beachside.

That was how small he felt in comparison.

There were some stained glass windows. Seven to be exact. Each one having a very specific colour scheme with a figure on it, they ranged from tall and strong to short and slim. One stained glass window was bursting with light pastel colours while another one was completely drenched in the darkest of colours. It was upon further inspection that he then came to the realization that these were no ordinary stained glass windows for these were religious windows. The ones he had seen in the Gods halls at Winterfell.

He raised himself from the ground and looked around, trying to catch his breath as he realised that this was going to be the day he was dreading since the moment he burned those two innocent children. He spun around and his vision was blurred for a moment as he took everything in.

He was finally going to face the gods for his crimes. Out of all the things that he wanted to face his final judgement had been the one he was least looking forward to. He could already see what they were going to say to him. Something probably along the lines of “You are to be condemned to the seven hells.” It would be fitting for him.

He stopped turning when he came face to face with a tall wooden table. It was rather like a criminals trial stands. He was very surprised when he felt no chains dragging his wrists down. He knew what those felt like all too well. Perhaps they wouldn’t put him and chains and would get right on with his punishment.

He quickly turned and when he looked up and sure enough seated before him were the faith of the seven. From his view of the room he was but an ant to the giants who stood before him. He kneeled down quickly knowing who they were and he began to pray silently for their forgiveness. He was in the presence of the Seven Gods.

All of them were there and he could name them all if he had wanted to but he felt like he should let them speak first for fear of their mighty wrath. He had believed in the drowned god for a good majority of his life up until the Bolton happened so he wasn’t sure what they had in store for him.

From what he could see the Father was sitting right in front of him and he was the largest of them all. On the table in front of him he had a giant pair of scales and from what Theon recalled the Father was the one he had to fear most as he was justice ordinated. His figure reminded him somewhat of Ned Stark, he was strong with a power that seemed to dominate the entire hall.

On the opposite side of his thinking, he was also reminded of his true blood father. He was much like Balon in that he terrorized the absolute shit out of him. He was also very burly with a big bushy beard that somehow made him command power over everyone else in the room despite them all being gods with probably the same amount of authority.

In a weird sense he got a sense of relief knowing that he had pretty much been through all types of torture before so anything the gods did with him would be familiar to him. At one point he wouldn’t have been surprised if Ramsay was sitting here alongside them as after all Ramsay had forced Theon to worship him like one. Well it was either that or breaking his teeth for fun.

For the first time since he awoke one of them filled the room with sound.

“You are standing before the Faith of the Seven. What is your name?” The booming voice of the father told him. His voice was even like that of Ned Starks. It demanded so much power, so much respect. Things that Theon himself was forced to earn.

“Theon. Of house Greyjoy.” He said in an attempt to not sound like he was frightened out of his mind. He hated the thought of being called a coward in the afterlife as well as in his previous life. His voice hadn’t cracked like that since he had shown his weakness before his master.

“Do not be afraid Theon of House Greyjoy you are welcomed into the Hall of the Seven.” The Mother said speaking up. The mother was like every lady he had ever seen in his life and more. Her eyes contained such a motherly quality that made Theon feel like he was still a helpless child in front of her. She held power but something different from the father. She was caring and was capable of making his stress disappear.

Her hair may have been hidden by a small headpiece but he was sure that if she were to wear it down it would be a glowing golden colour. The colour of the sun and the freshest of flowers. They all looked upon him for a silent period of time. He didn’t know exactly what they were doing but he could tell it was thorough. Perhaps they were judging him now.

“I have decided.” The Father spoke up looking down on him. Theon knew his judgement was coming and he was prepared for the worst. To suffer in the seven hells for his crimes. He was ready to be judged.

“In your former life you were always conflicted about who you should side with. Stark or Greyjoy. Your conflict caused you to suffer greatly and though you have done evil you have truly repented for your crimes and shown yourself to be worthy of getting another chance. You know truly what you have to choose. Now we will give you a chance to prove yourself true of judgement. ”

Theon did not think that any of this was real. It was all some elaborate dream. The axe had just missed his heart by a slim chance and he was unconscious from all of the blood loss. That seemed to be the most logical explanation in this scenario. He might have been delirious from a fever or something. It must have been something else. Anything besides judgement would have been better than this.

“I do not deserve it. I sent two boys to you before their time was done.” He knew exactly what the gods were talking about but Theon knew that he was not worthy of such a kind gift. He swung his arms down by his side.

“Their time was nearly done anyway. The Drowned God has spoken a couple of words on your behalf and has told us you have indeed paid the iron price for your sins. What is dead may never die but rise again stronger and harder and that you have done.” This time it was the Crones time to speak. The way she looked reminded him of his own mother. She had whitened hair and carried a lantern. Much like his own mother had done on countless nights after his capture by the Baratheon usurper. This was all according to what Yara had told him on the boat ride to Volantis.

Theon looked around the room to see if he could see the drowned god. He could see the purest Maiden, the warrior with his helmet filled with battle damage but still somehow untouched and the Smith with his face blackened from the cinders of the anvil. He could not see his own ex-god but if what they were saying was true then it meant that every man’s concept of religion was technically right.

“There are multiple gods?”

Disbelief was present of course. Was this perhaps a type of Arya thing where she worshipped the many faced god? He was getting confused as to how this worked.

“All gods live in harmony with each other. We all exist.” The father spoke and he could see the change upon the young lads face. Firs his face scrunched up trying to think about everything but then he let it go. He knew that questioning it would only make him angered.

‘Literal wars had been waged over this.’ Theon thought as he looked around once more. People had died because they believed that their gods were the superior ones when it turned out that all of them were right in a sense. Anger disappeared when he realised they could probably read his inner thoughts like the pages of a book.

Theon gulped. That meant that all the gods had all witnessed his horrific crimes in his life. It was bad enough that the seven had seen but now apparently so had a few of the others had too. More gods knew what a terrible person he was. It was at this point he thought it best to ask where his previous god was at this moment. “Where is the drowned god? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“As I’m sure you know the war with the dead is raging and he is trying to answer all the prayers of the Ironborn sailors out at sea. Including your sister. He would have been the one to greet you.” The mother explained. She conjured up his image to see the drowned god working from beneath the waves as the dead began to walk over the frozen water.

Theon could see sailors of many descriptions being burned by the ice dragons. Some were fighting the white walkers while others were trying to defend other armies with their shields. It was a beautiful display of men working together instead of fighting each other but still, the horror was still going on behind them and he could see that they were dying.

Dying then being resurrected again as the zombie-like figures. Theon shuddered upon seeing them again. One could never truly come to terms with seeing them as each one had a level of grotesque looks about them. The fresher ones were a little bit easier to look at however the ones that had been decaying for long were the worst. And Theon didn’t even want to think about the stench they brought with them.

Decaying flesh was never a pleasant smell. No matter how many flowers they could try and hide it with it would still skink to the highest heavens.

This only seemed to confuse the Greyjoy even more. The Seven was the most popular religion in all of the seven kingdoms so how the Drowned God was more popular was a mystery he wouldn’t be able to solve on his own. Then it dawned on him that King’s Landing was the most popular practice of the Seven, so by logical reasoning, something must have happened to King’s landing.

“Shouldn’t you all be busy as well with the war?” Theon asked not meaning to pry but just generally curious.

The Father sighed. “After Cersei of House Lannister blew up the sept of Balor she outlawed all religion concerning the seven after the High Sparrow incident. Anyone found practising it could be brought in for a reward from the crown. Of course, people still believe in the North but it is significantly less now with the death toll rising. Many people are too busy preparing that they don’t have time to even think about us or say their prayers. People like your sister and Melisandre still pray to their gods daily.” The Father sounded like he didn’t have any control over it.

They were gods but not even they could have known what was in store when they decided to create Cersei Lannister. They could never have known what she was going to do to them. How she would snap and take over everything. The gods hated planned for her children to die so she planned to kill the god in order to return the favour.

You see the way the gods worked was as follows. They would make people and give them their personalities but they would let them choose their own paths and interact with each other. Almost like a self-aware dolls house. The gods were simply the children who were watching this all play out. This was their entertainment.

Theon was trying his hardest to give his condolences with an unhappy face but with the news of his sister being alive he was filled with happiness. This had confirmed that his sister had managed to survive the attack on Pyke and escaped with her life intact. The Greyjoy legacy would live on but then again it would continue regardless of who won. He wanted to tell the gods to give a message of thanks to the drowned god but he was not ready to see what would happen if he demanded something of a god with him being a mere mortal.

The Father stroked his beard as he looked Theon over. It was clear he had a lot to say to him. Theon was noticing the lack of scolding but he was awaiting every second for it. Like so many times it would start fine but then it would just go so much worse.

“The Drowned God and the Stranger both seem to like you very much Greyjoy.” The father commented as his mighty scales dipped down towards the cloaked figure at the end of the table. Theon could only look at him for a second before a terrible sense of dread began to fill his mind. Everything about him just emitted the feeling of something not quite being right, like a chilly wind on what was otherwise a pleasant day.

Theon did not know much about the seven gods but he did know about the basic traits of them thanks to Maester Luwin and the stranger was considered the oddball of the seven gods.

Strangers often associated with him the most. The thing with the Stranger was that it was death incarnate, supposedly. Theon supposed he and death always had a complex relationship seeing as he was always so close yet never quite dying. The good people of Westeros rarely prayed to the Stranger, even going as far as to remove him from several songs. Every day of his torture with Ramsay and when he was first Reek he would pray to the Stranger to end his torment once and for all. Then again he prayed to any god who would listen. After a year he accepted that there could be no such thing as a god.

The stranger lifted up his hood for Theon to get a true glimpse of his face and it was amazing how Theon was keeping his shock hidden so well. He was a skeleton of sorts but somehow his presence was more refined and almost calming, alluring in some regards. Like a rose, it was sharp and could cause pain but the idea of it was so tempting one could not help themselves.

“You are being given a second chance to go back and make the choices that will make you happy.” The maiden stated. Her voice was high pitched but she was a young lady who knew what she was doing.

A second chance? It was far too good to be true. There was a trap, there always had to be a trap. He had so thoroughly convinced himself that he didn’t deserve it that his mind went straight to thinking that the gods were deceiving him. Of course, since they were gods they knew what he was thinking and the maiden put his fears to rest. She had a face that everyone could trust. Theon bowed before speaking to them. He was so far down he was convinced that he would have to shout for them to hear what he was saying. “With all due respect, I have done nothing worthy of such a privilege.”

They spoke yet again and made sure that Theon as listening with his fullest attention.
“With all due respect Theon Greyjoy you have done what most people fail to do. Take responsibility for their actions and for that we have decided to give you this chance. Cersei Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, Sandor Clegane. All of them have murdered innocents and none of them have ever felt remorseful about it. They will face a harsher judgement.”

The Smith, he noted, had remained quiet up to this point. Then again he didn’t suspect he had much to say to him. After all, the Smith was heavily referenced to strength and that was something Theon was lacking mentally. He had tried praying to the smith to make him stronger in his darkest hour but it seemed unheard until now

“And you’ve done good things as well do not forget. You risked your life for Lady Sansa Stark. You fought Hagar to save your sister and you died saving her from that Madman Euron.

Theon had no idea how to respond. The gods had forgiven him for his crimes when he couldn’t’ even forgive himself. It was impossible. Everyone told him he was going to burn in the seven hells for the choices he made. He should be doing that right now. Letting go of the past was not something Theon had learned to do very well.

They continued in their explanation.

“The Drowned God has chosen an accomplice to go with you. There are certain rules that must be kept in order as I’m sure you guessed. You may not know her but she knows all about you.”
Just as she was speaking he could see a small mural of the drowned god appearing behind her. The drowned god did not look as he expected.

He was a giant of a man.

Or at least he assumed that was what a man had looked like. He was half kraken as well. His bread has begun as various blue hairs however it soon dissolved into a whole array of tentacles which fell down to his knobbly knees. He was a man who had the look of a mad dog in his eyes. He was a man who would refuse to be tamed. No mortal man would be able to tell him what to do.

Theon averted his eyes from the painting. He didn’t want to look at what he was supposedly worshipping. He got a chilling feeling from the picture alone and he didn’t want to look at it any longer then he had to. It was all in the eyes. Those eyes which seemed like they had madness in them. Not the Bolton madness but rather a mad king type of madness.

This was cryptic but he was still petrified that he would interrupt them. He did pick up on the “She” part of that sentence but his chapped, rigid lips remained tightly sealed.

“What are these basic rules?” Theon would follow them to the very letter for fear of what the gods would do if they disobeyed.

“You cannot tell anyone of the fate of the wedding between Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey. Do you understand this?” The Father spoke knowing what the sentence meant to him.
The wedding of those two people was the….Theon then realized what would happen. He backed away at that moment and put a hand to his mouth before even the smallest of gasps could escape him. His mind wasn’t going to let him believe it. With the choices, he would make meant he was going to die at the Red Wedding. Like he always wanted to. Of course, he understood why he wouldn’t be able to share. If anyone found out the gods would surely punish him for it so his head nodded to tell them yes.

They could see how painful it was for him but if they didn’t want to waste any more time with this. Without giving him a moment to breathe they went on speaking. The temperature of the room dropped considerably as the next few words were spoken.

The next set of rules were to follow.

“You will bear the scars from your previous life.” The Smith said oddly instead of the Father. Perhaps because the smith had a multitude of scars on his own hands presumably from his craft.

His hands were black and marked but they didn’t seem to bother him in the least. In fact, he seemed to take great pride in his scars. The sweat upon his brow also told a great deal about his character. He was the hardest working of all of them and seemed to take matters into his own hands when things were called for.

Theon cared least the smith as he never saw anything of him in the smith. He was strong like he was. The Smith didn’t care much about Theon but since the father needed all of them to be where he was forced to come along. Then again this trial wasn’t totally wasted on him. He was promised that he would get to show off a knife and he was always happy to do that.

A moment was all it took for Theon to turn from his complicit nodding and understanding to his almost angered yet confused expression. He looked down upon all of his old scars. Too many to remember where or when he got them, almost all from Ramsay but the biggest one was given to him by his beloved uncle Euron.

Theon wanted to rage. His lungs wanted to exasperate all the air contained within them and yell profanities at the gods for always dealing him this shit hand in life. But therein lay the problem. They were gods. They could be killing him right now and they wouldn’t have to think twice about it. He controlled himself. Control was a funny word to Theon.

There always had to be someone controlling him.

Instead of losing his cool he would go the way that Sansa would go. Diplomatic. Using words instead of emotional tactics. She had been doing well last he heard. She had been herald as Queen in the North after Jon had consummated his marriage to Daenerys. It was the only fitting thing to happen. Sansa deserved it after everything. She could be in control for once, no longer being used as pawns for everyone else.

“What? Why? You’re giving me a second chance before….Ramsay. Surely I would be able to have them healed.” He had gotten good at building himself up so he could say the name without panicking too much. His hand made its way to his chest where it nearly fell into the gash that had been made there by the Kraken themed axe. It was gaping open like a deep sea trench yet not a single drop of blood dared leak out. He was still emotional about it but the gods seemed not to care about it.

It only seemed like an hour ago that he had been murdered. Sort of a lot to take in.
Euron had little mercy in his attack, even going so far as to wear Bolton armour to throw him off. It had worked perfectly. Theon had seen the X at the moment of the kill and his hesitation had cost him his very life. He didn’t want this to be the way that things went but that was life as he had known it.

Oddly enough all of the scars felt of nothing. Yes, his alive body had grown used to the pain but getting used to something wasn’t the same as not feeling it. It was more of an inconvenience if anything.

All the seven, even the Stranger, had to bear witness to what Theon had gone through. While they all agreed that what happened with the two young farm boys was horrific he had clearly atoned for it, even a little too much. The maiden had to look away while the mother wept tears for his soul. Even some of the other gods were fascinated about how he was able to survive such horrific treatment.

The Stranger only watched with a curiosity. Intrigued by the son of Balon.

The Father then brought up the memories for all to see, including Theon. The feminine gods were preparing to comfort Theon if he began to weep however he wasn’t watching with fear but rather with amazement. He was seeing his torture from a totally different angle. He almost didn’t even consider that it was him, it didn’t look like him and the voice sounded a lot higher than he was expecting. It was like it was happening to someone other than him.

He could see Ramsay when he first played the game with him. He remembered him saying hoe please wasn’t a body part. He had wanted Ramsay to finish him and cut it off fully but Ramsay wasn’t going to allow any form of pain relief.

They were passing very quickly but Theon remembered each and every time he obtained one of those marks. As sickened as he was he couldn’t help but watch intently along with the gods. They were simply showing these memories as a quick reminder to everyone there.

He saw Robb in some of those memories. How youthful and happy he was. It was in the back of his mind that Robb had stayed that way forever. He had still been rotting in the ground. Or in the Crypt of Winterfell. Wherever his body was resting he wanted to believe that he was finally getting his rest.

He had seen Greywind’s head many times in the Crypt but he’d never seen Robb’s body. Ramsay must have detected it some time after the Wedding.

It was well deserved after all. Theon closed his eyes and tried his best to rid his mind of the image of a beheaded Robb. Having Greywind’s head sewn onto his body as if he were some deformed puppet for him to be playing with. A Bolton hadn’t done that. It had been the men. Just the normal soldiers of the enemy. People could really be monsters when they got down to it.

The memories continued and he saw lots more things that he would rather have forgotten. Yara, Luwin, Rodrick, Bran and anyone who he had ruined their lives. He remained strong even though each memory was chipping away like an artist working on a sculpture.

As soon as the horror show was over an explanation was given for everyone. Mainly him.
“You must be kept in your old body otherwise you will fade back to your old ways and merge with the previous life and then your wish will have been for nothing.” The Smith explained to him.

Finally, with a smile upon his face, he was able to pull forth what he had been itching to show off the entire time. The Smith brought forwards a vision of a blade. By the way he looked at it Theon guessed that the Smith was impressed by the craftsmanship that went into the working of the blade.

It didn't belong to anyone. There was no insignia on it and there was no way to tell who it belonged to. Such a simple blade had managed to kill a king.

It had a leather handle wrapped around the tang and Theon went to touch it but quickly retracted his hand. That blade wasn’t familiar to him in the least but it reminded him of Ramsay’s blades.

The Smith handed him the blade and allowed him to feel it over. There was a perfectly balanced weight to it. There were no imperfections and though it was clear it had seen its years of wear and tear it still cut just as sharp as the day it was forged. Nothing less than perfection for the Bolton’s blades.

There was the difference between father and son. Roose only needed one blade with perfection whereas Ramsay liked to have many, imperfect ones. The imperfections made it hurt on the victim more according to Ramsay. Make it last longer.

He was quick to hand it back to him. The Smith nodded and put it away in his belt. A tool he would keep for later on. Theon was surprised that a god would be impressed with such a measly thing however it was the history behind it that made him excited about working with it and not the craftsmanship.

History of blades and how they were used were often more exciting than seeing a pretty blade that had never been used before in its life. Context over the aesthetic.

“This is the only way you can be killed. Nothing else will be able to do it.” Theon kept his eyes on the only thing that could apparently kill him in this new life. He wanted to keep his eyes on the god but his eyes couldn’t help but keep on drifting towards the belt. Theon knew it meant he was immortal for a time. The prospect of being immortal did frighten him a little bit but there was certain death at the end of it so he was able to rest that worry.

Back to the topic of him keeping his scars. He began to think about it. That did make logical sense in Theon’s mind and he supposed they were correct with their decision. He didn’t think he would like to go back to the way he was before Ramsay. In his mind Pre Ramsay was a weak, lost person who needed all the help he could acquire. In reality, he was just being way too hard on himself. He did accept responsibility for himself being the way he was.

“Okay.” He said knowing he would have to bear the scars a little bit longer.

The Father continued. “Finally. There will be minor changes you can make. Ones which do not have any overall impact on the future events. You may ask Lady Jeyne Poole about what you can and cannot change.”

Theon was not quite shocked but found this highly unusual. Out of all the people who he could assume to be his escort he would never have guessed it would be her for she was insignificant in his previous life. He had to reach back and think about who she was for a moment. In fact, there was only one time he had a full conversation with her and that was when the Queen and King had decided to visit Winterfell.

“Jeyne? Lady Sansa’s friend?” His question was met with a nod from the females of the seven. They had grown rather fond of Lady Jeyne and he watched her story play out in her version of life and wept for her like they had done with Theon.

You see the gods had various worlds they had playing out all at the one time. Theon was from the world where things were moving more quickly and certain aspects were changed. They had started that world at the death of Jon Arryn. Whereas Jeyne’s world was more detailed and richer in its history. Jeyne’s world had been made first but then they had decided to try something different with it.

“It is the companion that The Drowned God has chosen for you. In another life of yours, she plays an important part. In that life she was in Sansa’s place as Lord Bolton’s bride. Only she was pretending to be Lady Arya instead. Only you will be able to see her and communicate with her. She is there to make sure that you abide by our laws we have laid out for you but also she will help you to talk about your past. You will not be expected to keep your past life a secret all the time.” The Mother explained and when she spoke it was hard for Theon not to shake at how kind and motherly she spoke to him. It was as if she was speaking with Queen Alannys' voice.
If there had been a seat Theon surely would have needed to sit down.

The stress he had been feeling throughout he had been able to keep to himself but now he couldn’t deal with it anymore. He ended up expelling his stomach contents in a transparent acidic smelling mess. With his eyes darted to the ground he quickly fixed his appearance for the deities. Needless to say he was embarrassed by what he had just done.

“Oh…I’m sorry this is still a lot to take in.” His voice cracked properly for the first time. It’s fragility showing as clear as broad daylight. The Mother looked down sympathetically at him and Theon forgot to even speak. All he could do was wait for them to say whatever else it was that they had to tell him. He wiped himself clean and made himself presentable yet again. He looked at the faces around him some were disappointed but not surprised, others were filled with sympathy.

The Stranger was almost looking at him like a predator looking at prey. The two of them locked eyes and for a moment both of them knew exactly what the other was thinking. The stranger folded his arms and smirked down at him for the millionth time since he was here. Theon wasn't intimidated by him, quite the opposite. Now he could see he was just like people like Sandor Clegane. A cunt how enjoyed the suffering of others. He was have been the embodiment of death but he was nothing like Ramsay Bolton.

The Mother’s mouth formed a scowl which made the both of them lose their eye contact. He rolled his eyes as a response. In his opinion the mother was useless. Then again he thought that about all of them. All humans didn’t need wisdom or nurturing or strength. They all came to him at the end.

“Of course. You will be departing soon however. If there is anything you want to ask. Ask it now.” The Mother said looking him over just to make sure that he was doing alright after throwing up all over the floor.

Theon took a moment. There were so many things that he wanted to ask but in all honesty all he wanted to do was get everything sorted and get back to his life so he could do right by it. He had so many things to consider and things to recall. He felt like they had already wasted enough time with him so he decided to ask the most important question first.

“When I die at the Red Wedding what will become of me?” Theon had assumed that this would be his judgement but it seemed that now it was being delayed even further. The red wedding was a horrific event but if given the option he would gladly choose to participate if it meant that he would get a chance to be with Robb again.

He knew he should have been concerned with what was happening within the life he was about to live but he couldn’t help but think of the aftermath.

“You will go to a place of your choosing. Either you can be with your Family in the drowned god’s halls or you can be with the Starks in the seven heavens. Once you’ve lived the life where you chose the Starks you will decide.”

Shock was too little a word to describe what was going through his brain. The one conflict that had torn him his whole life and only really got resolved in the last couple of months. A hand came to his mouth to not show how wide it was opening.

“But surely I deserve….”

He was going to talk about himself. How he took two lives which were innocent and how he should be thrown into the seven hells for even being near them or thinking he deserved better than that.

“You broke his scales. You need a second chance for him to decide.” The Stranger decided to blurt out. Theon wasn’t sure of the relationship between all of them but he assumed that the Stranger was the one who was a dick for no apparent reason other than the amusement of watching the others get flustered. Of course, he was meant to be a serious death-like figure but the idea of him having some resemblance of a human made him able to look at him without the feeling of dread.

If they weren’t immortal the father clearly would have begun to strangle the stranger for saying that out loud.

Theon was now focused on the patriarch of the seven.

He looked at the scales and he saw the big hand picking up the memory orb. When it was weighed on the scales it refused to move. There was a small cracking noise before the memory fell onto the ground and nearly shattering into a million tiny pieces.

Theon had heard the tales. He knew that the scale measured justice and the souls of the dead. If you were evil it would lean more to the right. If you were good it would lean to the left. Theon’s leaned no specific way. It was perfectly balanced in the middle. This meant he had done so many good and bad things that he needed another chance to prove himself. They knew he was redeemed but they needed confirmation. Another chance where he would prove it to them would solidify it.

“Mother…Robb…My brothers…” He was trying to think of all the people that had influenced his life the first time. Naturally he wanted to be with his blood family but with there was no denying the Stark side of him. The gods sure loved to watch him toil in his suffering. This was a lesser evil but still it was weighing heavily on his mind and it would until the time came.

“Is there no way I could choose both?” Theon asked but seeing the mother's head shake from side to side gave him the answer that he did not want. He couldn’t remain neutral on this and would have to pick between Stark and Greyjoy yet again. Life for him was always filled with impossible choices.

“You may have accepted your dual identity but you cannot choose in this situation. For you see the Starks have gone to the heaven of the seven while your flesh and blood has gone to the Drowned Gods halls. You cannot be in two places at once.”

The gods were forcing his hand to make a choice and stand by it throughout. If he didn’t make the choice then surely it would have been his last.

Theon really did have to choose this time. This was essentially where he would spend the rest of his days. He loved Yara and his mother and those were the only two people he would really love to see in the drowned god’s hall. Then again he didn’t even know if they were there yet or not.

An image of his mother appeared in his mind. Her voice as soft and smooth as fresh milk and her face having the youth of a thousand handmaids. He remembered how she had always said they’d be together forever even after they had been separated by mortal hands. He never knew if she died or not. Last he heard she was at the keep with her sisters. She didn’t know if they were safe from the white walkers or not. Knowing how the seven kingdoms worked she was probably dead. In his old universe.

He wished he could have at least said goodbye before he died. Even if he were able to get a final cuddle from her. Her hugs were always filled with the best type of motherly love. A better mother then Catelyn ever was. It was rude but often in times the truth could be that way. Alannys cared for all of her children as if they were her own but when it came to her blood children she was the best mother that any king could have asked for. She was always kind, patient and her voice was never raised.

She had such a way about her that she was able to deal with any situation she was given.
That is enough. We have others to see. If you would excuse us we will leave you be.” They seemed hurried to leave so he left his questioning. They were gods after all so he supposed that they would be bust with whatever it was that they were doing. Probably the war that his world was about to experience.

“Thank you.” Theon said before they left, kneeling before them and remaining cool while his mind was jumping with joy. He would finally go back and put everything right. Could he even handle being able to see them again?

He didn’t think he needed any more questions answered and he was ready to begin. It was a big step but he would get nowhere by remaining still.

With that he had been left alone in a room that looked a lot like a random room in the castle at Winterfell. It had the smell of the North all over it and it was just as cold as well. Some of the home comforts would have been nice but the nostalgia gave him an odd feeling inside. It wasn’t exactly the heat of fire but more like glowing embers.

In the middle of exploring his room he all of a sudden heard the door open and his fingers, or what was left of them, worked quickly to make it seem like he hadn’t touched anything as he assumed it would be someone coming to check up on him.

Out of nowhere he was viciously hugged by a brunette woman in a dress. She was dressed in a dull brown dress. Theon supposed it must have suited her as it matched her eyes perfectly. Once she had let him go from the hug he got a proper look and he could have broken down.

He knew the look she had in her eyes all too well. It was the look of someone who had been at Ramsay’s mercy. He saw it in his own and in Lady Sansa’s after her wedding night, it was a broken look but she still had that fire inside her. He could see it, it was all but an ember but embers could burn bright once again with the right conditions.

He had no idea who she was but he felt an overwhelming sense of duty to protect her with breath he took. Her face just seemed to have gone through such hardships that he couldn’t bear to think about.

When Jeyne looked at him she at first seemed excited then her look dropped down. He was clearly not she was expecting at all. When the Seven had first mentioned that she would be escorting a version of Theon Greyjoy to his happy ending she was elated but now she had realized it wasn’t her Theon.

She wanted to cry but she wasn’t going to let herself. Theon was very unsure of the whole event but with a nod of her head she allowed him to clean away her tears. It was only a momentary thing however. She was fine moments after.

“Lady Poole. I’m not the person you once knew. I’m sorry that you were married to Ramsay.” He knew that if she had been Sansa’s equivalent she had been through what most could not bear to live with.

However Theon was also able to tell she was a lot more broken then Sansa ever was. If he wasn't mistaken there were a couple of bruises still adorned around her neck like the finest jewellery in all of Westeros. Her eyes were hollow, and from the way Jon talked Sansa was able to get her spark back while this Jeyne Poole was still clawing tooth and nail in a daily fight not to break.

He knew that feeling all too well.

Jeyne thought she could have controlled her tears but that seemed unlikely as now she was crying again under different circumstances. Her tears of happiness trickled down her face and she wiped them away before Theon could ask if she was okay. She seemed a little disappointed that he had no idea who she was but to her that was alright.

It was still the same man. Right?

“I know. That’s okay. You helped save me from Ramsay. I will be forever grateful. I only want to give you your happy ending.” Jeyne’s only friend at Ramsay’s twisted version of Winterfell had been her Theon. The Bolton Bastard had forced them to do horrific things together but she knew that it was better him doing it then Ramsay. Then he had gone above the call of honour and duty as he helped her to escape her castle prison and he had gotten her to safety with Stannis.

Theon felt like repeating himself in telling her that he never saved her from anything before however she had been with Ramsay so she was probably very sensitive. He just gave her a small smile and they both went quite not sure on how to speak with each other.
She felt like she owed him her life.

The two were left alone and while Jeyne’s smile was small it made Theon feel a certain comfort within him. In her eyes this Theon seemed a lot more vulnerable.

“So…There are gods after all huh?” Theon injected making the smallest of small talk. Jeyne appreciated it. She was on the same boat that Theon had been in. Not believing in gods after knowing that no god would be evil enough to create Ramsay Bolton.

“Yeah. I used to believe in them in my old life.” Jeyne mentioned remembering how her septa had told her how to make conversations when there was none to be had.

“Then Ramsay happened?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so casually but the word used to remind him of his own experience with religion. Theon knew what Ramsay was. He could destroy anyone’s beliefs by the torture he put them through. He proved that the gods were truly merciless beings. It was odd now considering that he had met the god’s moments ago.
Ramsay was a God killer of sorts.

“Then Ramsay happened...” With the slightest pause Jeyne confirmed his suspicions. She had been a lady of a northern house so naturally she had been brought up to believe in the Old Gods and the New. She still kept her faith even after Ned Stark had been beheaded and she had been forced to go work in that disgusting whore house owned by the tricky bastard known as Littlefinger. However once she met Ramsay Bolton she lost everything. Her virtue, her rationality and most of all her happiness.

When she had died her and the Maiden had become fast friends. The Maiden had a huge part in Jeyne’s psychological recovery and they spent more time together rather than not. Jeyne had been doing well but the torture had forever left deep unsealing marks across her mind. In Jeyne’s universe she had died before Theon had. It was a shame but she knew that he was going to do right by her. The gods were planning Theon for a while so they needed to keep Jeyne around for when the time was right.

“I’m sorry.” He had said it before but he would say it again. It was all that he could say. He knew every inch of Ramsay and what his sick brand of games implied so it would be impossible for him to say anything that could lessen the pain. Nothing Yara said had helped him. Then again her idea of help had been telling him to put it in the past or slit his wrists.

“Don’t be. I escaped with you, with help from Mance but you convinced me to go.” She explained and Theon looked up. It was good to know that other versions of him were stilling looking out for people to protect from the wrath of Ramsay Bolton. Then again she was talking as if they were lifelong friends. He didn’t want to give her hopes up by having her think that he knew anything about her.

Theon didn’t know of anyone who went by the name of Mance. He had heard rumours that there was king beyond the wall who went by that name but other than that there was nothing. A king who wore the fur of mammoths and used the tusks of them as his chalice. His army of spear wives by his side to help secure his command over those of whom would be willing to follow one leader. The supposed leader who would bring them back to their glory and rightful place at the south of the wall.

“I’m not your Theon. I’m sorry.” He may have had the same name as this person’s friend but he was assured he had never seen a woman quite like her before. He said this much to her dismay. He wondered how her escape must have gone. Judging by her body language she couldn’t have done it without him. In Theon’s mind it was impossible that such a skinny fragile thing could have survived a fall from the Winterfell wall. Lady Sansa was hurt but she wasn’t starved by any means and she managed to keep her glow healthy. She was a strong wolf who survived with the scars.

She sighed with a slight defeat twinging on her tone. She knew this to be true and it was futile to deny it. It would have been nice to pretend but the differences were too stark, both in outward appearance and possibly their personality. That she was yet to see. It could have been a welcomed change of pace. He didn’t know what it was to be but whatever it was she was going to prepare herself.

“Well you may not be the person I knew but we have a lot of time to get to know each other.” Jeyne recovered herself quickly and placed a smile on her face. Theon’s could almost instantly pick up on the subtly twitch when she did. He was used to doing it himself sometimes something would remind him of Ram…. No, he couldn’t think about that name. If he thought about it anymore today, then he would have thrown up again. He wasn’t going to risk the embarrassment again.

Jeyne then picked up on his eye motions. It seemed that for a fraction of a second he too was beginning to lose himself for a moment in the thought of his master. Luckily he had grown to master the art of covering up his panic unless the situation was dire. The amount of herself she could see in him was uncanny.

“That we do my Lady.” Theon said smirking at the joke. They’d have an entire lifetime. He wasn’t sure how far the gods would send him back but he wished that he’d be sent back to the very moment he was born. He would be able to see his mother again and have at least some happy time before having to live through the worst day of his life. The failure of the Greyjoy rebellion. That was the day his life went to the dogs. Well that technically would have been with Ramsay but he knew what he meant.

A silence fell between them. Clearly the awkwardness between them was evident but they were in this together so they would have eventually get used to this feeling. Jeyne moved awkwardly and nodded towards the door. Theon looked and then he inhaled lightly.

“I want to go now.” Theon had digested the majority of the information after mulling it over his head many times and considering all the things he would have to do and say.

Jeyne nodded and then held hands as they looked at the door. It was weird for Theon. It felt exactly like Lady Sansa holding his hand when they had bravely jumped from the walls of Winterfell. Only Jeyne held him a lot more tightly thought with the tightness came a comfort. The door was shaped much like the ones that were in Winterfell. They were made of wood and a strong metal. The smell was what really made him realise it was a door to the past. It still smelt so fresh yet still was from deep within his memories.

He put a hand on the handle and he turned it until he heard the creaking of the wood and the thump of the metal. Behind the door there was nothing but blackness. Theon was concerned that perhaps the gods had gotten it wrong. He wafted his hands through the black mist and with a sudden jolt he was dragged through the door without any warning or time to try and prepare himself for the impact.

And with that Theon’s journey had begun. He assumed it would be easy but little did he know it would be just as tough as the one before. They opened the door and Theon was blinded by the darkness that attacked his vision. His body felt like it was being pulled through a small hole but then suddenly there was a strange feeling of euphoria.

Then nothingness.

With a start he woke up back in his bed in Winterfell.