Safe Anchorage: Chapter Three

[libraryseraph]

Chapter on AO3 here


Beta'd by lanwan

Jeyne took breakfast with Theon and Lady Asha, in Harlaw’s solar, as she had for the past week. The food was simple, eggs and dark bread and small fish, but Jeyne ate ravenously. She couldn’t remember ever being so hungry, like there was a great pit inside her that needed filling. She was healing in some ways; she’d seen her bruises fading as she dressed. She felt safer now, less like she was going to be torn away at any moment.

“Thank you for your hospitality, my lady.”

“You’re welcome, Jeyne.” She pushed more fish onto Theon’s plate. “Eat, Theon.”

Theon was carefully removing the flesh from a fish with his knife. “I am eating, don’t worry.” Jeyne could see how tentative his chewing was, as he tried to keep his teeth from protesting.

“Eat more,” Asha turned to Jeyne, “I got the steward to find some-“ Asha gestured vaguely, “sewing things for you. I’ll give them to you after you’re done eating.”

Jeyne looked up from buttering her bread. “Thank you, my lady.” It would be nice to do something that didn’t involve being fucked or beaten. It had been so long.

Asha turned to Theon. “We need to prepare to call the Kingsmoot again when the Iron Fleet returns. Nuncle Roderick’s library has books on law. We’ll need to consult them.”

Theon chuckled darkly. “You think there’s a point? The ironborn would never have accepted me as king, even before…”

“We don’t need them to accept you as king. We just need them to accept that Euron’s Kingsmoot was invalid.” Asha shrugged.

Jeyne swallowed her bread. “I think you’d be a good king.”

Theon turned to her, obviously surprised. Jeyne felt her face flush, and she turned her attention back to her meal.

Jeyne spent hours taking up the dresses Asha had found for her, losing herself in the neat rows of stitches. Sewing had always seemed to happen outside of time for her, and in that suspension, she felt safe. She hadn’t sewn in far too long, and her stitches were crooked. She sewed anyways, until her vision began to blur and the light changed. After she jabbed her finger for a third time, she gave up, and went looking for Theon.

Jeyne found Theon down by the shore. He was standing at the very edge of the grey water, staring out over the waves. There was a cold wind coming off the water, sharp and cutting, and Jeyne pulled her hood closer around her cheeks and hunched into it. The gray rocks making up the shore were covered in a thin, slippery film of water and frost, and Jeyne had to place her feet carefully to keep from falling.

“Theon?”

He turned at the sound of her voice. “Jeyne?” His face was flushed from the cold, bright spots of colour standing out on his sunken cheeks and crooked nose. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was looking for you.” The wind gusted harder, and Jeyne pulled her arms around herself against the chill. “It’s freezing out here.” She picked her way across the stones, and took his arm. “You should come inside before you get chilled.”

“I’m fine.”

“I can feel you shaking.” Jeyne leaned into Theon, resting her head on his shoulder. “There’s a fire in the rooms, and I can mull wine.”

Theon took her hand, squeezing gently through their gloves. “Well, I won’t pass up wine.”

Theon was even more unsteady than Jeyne was on the rocks, and Jeyne wondered how he had made it down safely in the first place.

“Be careful out here. I don’t want you to fall.”

“I’ve dealt with worse than a little ice, Jeyne. I’ll be fine.” His voice was even, but he didn’t let go of her arm. They kept each other steady as they made their way across the icy shore.

In Jeyne’s rooms, Theon sat, and Jeyne busied herself with the kettles for wine and milk.

“Jeyne?”

“Mm?” She didn’t turn around, too focused on her work.

“Do you truly think I’d be a good king?”

Jeyne lifted the kettles onto the fire, and went to sit next to Theon on the blanket-covered bench.

“Yes, I do.”

Jeyne could see Theon’s throat working, as he tried to speak. When he finally did, his voice was small. “Why?”

“Because you cared about me when no one else did.” She leaned into his side and, when he didn’t flinch away, rested her head on his shoulder.

“What about the other northmen?”

Jeyne was surprised at how bitter her chuckle was. “None of them cared. They could barely care about Lady Arya, why would they give a second glance to a steward’s daughter pulled out of some brothel?” She put an arm around his thin waist, and squeezed gently. “Not like you. You cared.”

Theon grabbed her face and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Theon?”

His breathing was deep and shuddery, and he didn’t respond, just held her there. Jeyne felt Theon press his lips to her forehead, his patchy beard scratching against her skin. His lips were warm and gentle. There was no force behind them, just tenderness.

“Listen to you,” he whispered. “You don’t even know what you’ve done.”

“What- what have I done?”

Theon pressed their heads back together. “You said my name, Jeyne. You knew me. I was nothing, but you did it anyway.”

Jeyne reached up, and cupped the back of his head. “You needed me.”

“I shouldn’t need this. I should be looking after you.”

“You are looking after me.” Jeyne ran her fingers through his hair. It was as pale and fine as the foam on top of waves, and ran through her fingers easily now that it was clean. “Just let me look after you, too.”

“I can’t-“ Theon’s voice broke, and he sounded like a child. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

Jeyne reached out for him, but he pulled away. She pulled her arms back to her sides, feeling fear stab through her. The kettles over the fire hissed and spluttered.

“Let me get that.” Jeyne rose, glad to have an excuse to turn away, and filled their mugs. Delicate curls of steam rose from the creamy surface of her milk, and the garnet-coloured surface of Theon’s wine. She handed Theon his mug, too afraid to meet his eyes.

“Jeyne. It’s not you.”

She looked up. Theon sipped at his wine, and smiled hesitantly. “You’ve done well.”

Jeyne nodded, but she didn’t quite believe it.

Jeyne followed Theon back to the library, carrying her sewing things with her. The library was huge, almost as large as Winterfell’s had been, and with the same smell, not quite musty, but on the edge. Asha was sitting at a large table, spread with books. She grinned at them.

“It’s good to see you two.”

Jeyne nodded, and smoothed her skirts. She wasn’t really scared of Asha, but things were easier with just Theon.

“I have something for you, Jeyne.”

“Yes, my lady?”

Asha handed Jeyne a small, sheathed dagger. Jeyne took it, tentatively. It was a small knife, with a hilt of some dark wood, and a sheath of dark leather. Jeyne felt faint just holding it. “I can’t take this, Lady Asha.”

“You need something. You’re an islander now. That knife was mine, when I was of an age with you.”

Jeyne curtsied again. “Thank you for your kindness, my lady.” She didn’t want the gift, but she could still be gracious.

Asha reached out and squeezed her arm. “You don’t have to call me Lady, Jeyne. Just Asha.”

Jeyne squeezed her skirts in her free hand. “Yes… my lady.”

Asha laughed, and Jeyne felt her face heat up. “I’m sorry, Lady Asha. It’s just not… right. It’s disrespectful.”

Asha reached over, and ruffled Jeyne’s hair. “Don’t worry about it. You’re doing well.”

Jeyne basked in the compliment. “Thank you, Lady Asha.”

~

Theon sat at the table with Asha. Jeyne had gone off to find something to amuse herself with, and it was just the two of them now.

“She’s a good child.” Asha was looking where Jeyne had gone.

“Yes.” Theon swallowed. “She is.”

Asha chuckled. “You should see how she looks at you. She thinks you hung the moon.”

Theon remembered what he’d seen in Jeyne’s big brown eyes. There was admiration there, and hope, and a deep tenderness it hurt to think about. “I don’t-” He reached out to Asha, and she pulled him close. “I don’t know how to deal with that. She thinks I’m a good man, that I’m a hero, when I’m just-”

Asha pressed a calloused hand to his mouth. “You are her hero, Theon.”

He shook his head, pulling away from Asha’s grip. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t understand-” He clamped his hands over his mouth, horrified at his discourtesy.

“What don’t I understand, Theon?” There was no danger or hostility in Asha’s voice, none of the feeling of walking across weak ice that usually came with questions, so Theon relaxed a little.

“She saved me, Asha. She said my name. She treated me like I was… something. She says she wants to look after me.” He sobbed, and felt hot tears slide down his face. “I don’t know how to face that.”

“Oh Theon…” Asha pulled him close again, her arms tight around him. “I’m so sorry.” She took a deep breath. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Theon rested his head on her chest. “I was determined to destroy myself. You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I could have knocked you senseless and tied you to the back of my horse.” Asha’s voice was so blunt, Theon had to bite back a laugh, and when he looked at her face, she was smiling.

“You’re doing better.”

Theon nodded. He supposed he was. He was fed, and clean, and he had Asha and Jeyne.

“You should see Mother, Theon.”

Theon clenched his fists, feeling his missing fingers tingle. “I shouldn’t, Asha.”

“Why not? She knows you’re here. She wants to see you.”

Theon stared at his gloved hands, seeing what was inside them. “I can’t give her what she wants, Asha. I can’t be the son she needs.” Theon remembered her as a firm, kind figure, with warm arms. He remembered screaming for her, after he stopped being ashamed of pleading, but before he stopped pleading at all.

Asha reached out, and touched his face. “She wants you, Theon. She just wants her baby boy back. You didn’t hear her pleading for you for ten years. I did.”

“Fine. Just… come with me.”

Asha embraced him again. “Of course, baby brother.”

Jeyne followed them without being asked. She took Theon gently by his wrist, and her hand was soft and warm.

“Are you worried?”

“Yes.” He should have said no. It was shameful, to need to be coddled by a child, to seek comfort with Jeyne when he was supposed to be comforting her, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“She’s your mother, Theon. She’ll know you. Mothers always know their children.” She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “And we’ll be here. We know you.”

Theon took her hand, and felt Asha squeeze his shoulder. “Yes.”

His mother’s rooms were large and well-lit, with clean rushes on the floor. That was good, Theon thought vaguely. She should be comfortable. Then he saw her, and he couldn’t think about anything else. Alannys Harlaw was sitting in a chair by the window, her pale hair running unbound down her back. Her eyes were wide in her thin face, like a lost child’s. Is that what I look like? he wondered suddenly and absurdly.

“Mother, I’ve brought him.” Asha’s voice was gentle. “I’ve brought Theon.”

Alannys rose from her chair, and crossed the room to Theon. He was taller than her, he realized. Had she always been so small?

“Mother, it’s me.” His voice broke, and Theon could feel his hands shaking. “It’s Theon.”

She gripped his face, studying his face with a burning intensity. Her eyes ran over his face, and all Theon could think was how ruined he was, how wasted and scarred, with no trace of the boy he had been remaining. Theon wanted to pull away, to apologize for bothering her, when something in her face changed and she pulled him into her arms.

“Theon,” she whispered, “Oh, my baby boy.”

Something inside Theon broke then, and he began to cry. He leaned into his mother’s embrace, and wept like a child. Alannys held him as he cried, held him as if she would never let him go. She was whispering his name, gently, like the waves lapping against the shore on a calm day. Theon felt strangely clean when he was done crying, as if he had been washed by his tears. His mouth tasted salty, and he could feel the salt in his eyelashes, permeating him. Asha came over to them.

“Better now?”

Theon wasn’t sure which of them she was speaking to, but he nodded anyways.

Alannys reached out and patted Asha’s shoulder. Theon was struck again by how small she was, how fragile she seemed, as if a rough gust of wind would blow her away. “You look after your baby brother, Asha.”

“Aye. I will, Mother.” Asha’s voice was quiet, almost choked, but she was smiling.

Theon could feel a weight lifting off him, a weight he hadn’t even realized was there in the first place.

“Jeyne?” He looked to where Jeyne was standing, still stuck at the room’s threshold. “Come meet my mother.”

Jeyne came over hesitantly, and then sunk into a deep curtsy. “It’s an honour to meet you, Lady Alannys. I am Jeyne Poole. Theon has been… looking after me.” She ran her hands over her skirt. “You should be proud of your son, my lady.”

Alannys smiled. “Such a formal little thing. Seems you’ve grown into a good man, Theon.”

Theon felt an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in his chest. Pride, it was pride. His mother approved of him, and he pulled his shoulders a little straighter.

“It’s thanks to Jeyne.”

Jeyne squeaked, and turned pink. Theon reached out, and squeezed her shoulder. “She made me a better man.” His mother didn’t need to know the whole truth, didn’t need to know how far he had fallen, how he hadn’t even been a man. She was happy, and he couldn’t take that away from her.

“You too, Jeyne.” Theon’s voice was muffled in Asha’s shoulder, but he felt Jeyne put her arms around him, cautiously. He squeezed her back, and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the safety of being cared for.

“Your mother is a sweet woman,” Jeyne said, bent over her sewing.

Theon looked up from the book Asha had pushed on him, and nodded.

“You seem happier, now that you’ve seen her.”

“Yes.” Theon took a deep breath. “I need to ask you something.”

Jeyne folded her sewing into her lap; Theon caught a flash of yellow against the dark cloth, and leaned closer to him. “What is it, Theon?”

Even with how soft her voice was, it was hard to meet her eyes. Theon made himself anyways, looked into those warm brown depths. “I don’t- I don’t know how to tell her. About what happened, about why I’m like this.”

“You told Asha…”

Theon shook his head. “Asha was different. I knew she could handle it.” Neither of them mentioned what Jeyne knew. Everything Jeyne knew, she had seen or been told. She hadn’t chosen to know it, and Theon hadn’t chosen to tell her. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“I think… I think if she cares she’d want to know these things,” Jeyne said, her voice quivering. “If she doesn’t know, she’ll worry.”

“She’ll worry anyways, and—"

Jeyne put her hand on his. “And what?”

“She was… so proud of me. I don’t want to tell her what happened and lose that.” He was ashamed of it all, ashamed of the time he’d spent as a whipped dog, of all that he had done and let be done.

Jeyne didn’t say anything, just rested her hand on his.

Theon went to his mother’s rooms alone this time. Alannys wasn’t gazing out the window this time, but turned to face the door. Watching for me. He knelt next to her, ignoring the pain in his feet. “Mother, did Asha— did Asha tell you—” She turned to him, and his determination melted away. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Not until she was stronger. Not until he was.

Alannys reached out, and stroked his hair.

“The man who did this, you said he was dead?”

“Yes, Mother. King Stannis took his head off.”

Alannys nodded, and for a brief moment she looked more like Asha than anything. “He’s fortunate, then.”

“Fortunate…?”

“That this king got to him before I did.”

The fire in her eyes was so fierce that, despite her frailty, Theon believed her.

“Thank you, mother.”