Catelyn Tully Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
onlyvengeance) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2018-01-23 06:04 pm
onlyvengeance) wrote in maskormenacelogs2018-01-23 06:04 pm
If a squidwolf cries and no one hears him, is it really a feeling? - closed
WHO: Catelyn Stark and Theon Greyjoy
WHERE: vague mumblings of a placename shh probably somewhere kind of mildly remote and possibly unnamed
WHEN: now
WHAT: Theon has a Feels and things go poorly, as always
WARNINGS: grown men crying = always hurtful ok. In all seriousness, usual Game of Thrones topics....
It was odd to think of riding a horse as something one did for fun, and yet so it had become, if not exactly fun, then a distraction of sorts. There was something about choosing a direction at random and going along and purposefully not thinking. Kind of the medieval version of driving in the car listening to the radio for no real reason other than to get into that almost zen state of thinking/not thinking. She might be living in more modern times, but in a lot of ways, coping strategies included, Catelyn Stark is still stuck in the middle ages, ok. She had learned as a small child to orient herself by the position of the sun in the sky, and she had an unerring sense of direction, so she wasn't concerned with getting lost. She knew the way home.
And so she pushed on, deeper into the still unfamiliar countryside, only occasionally startled by the jarring presence of something or someone more modern, such as a truck rambling past on a section of road. And as the distance slipped away, so did some of her worries. Most of them were in regard to her family, and those that were not present in this world were beyond her aid, anyways.
She had been for the most part, alone. But the quiet, muffled sound of distress cut through her reverie, and she turned her horse from the path and more along the direction of the sound. She could not have said what she expected, but Theon Greyjoy with the tracks of tears on his face was not it in the least. She drew rein and let her gaze drift over him. He didn't seem to be hurt but that didn't necessarily mean he was not. Turncloak he may have become, but it was ....unsettling to see him like this. "Theon?" she queried, not certain what she may receive in response.
WHERE: vague mumblings of a placename shh probably somewhere kind of mildly remote and possibly unnamed
WHEN: now
WHAT: Theon has a Feels and things go poorly, as always
WARNINGS: grown men crying = always hurtful ok. In all seriousness, usual Game of Thrones topics....
It was odd to think of riding a horse as something one did for fun, and yet so it had become, if not exactly fun, then a distraction of sorts. There was something about choosing a direction at random and going along and purposefully not thinking. Kind of the medieval version of driving in the car listening to the radio for no real reason other than to get into that almost zen state of thinking/not thinking. She might be living in more modern times, but in a lot of ways, coping strategies included, Catelyn Stark is still stuck in the middle ages, ok. She had learned as a small child to orient herself by the position of the sun in the sky, and she had an unerring sense of direction, so she wasn't concerned with getting lost. She knew the way home.
And so she pushed on, deeper into the still unfamiliar countryside, only occasionally startled by the jarring presence of something or someone more modern, such as a truck rambling past on a section of road. And as the distance slipped away, so did some of her worries. Most of them were in regard to her family, and those that were not present in this world were beyond her aid, anyways.
She had been for the most part, alone. But the quiet, muffled sound of distress cut through her reverie, and she turned her horse from the path and more along the direction of the sound. She could not have said what she expected, but Theon Greyjoy with the tracks of tears on his face was not it in the least. She drew rein and let her gaze drift over him. He didn't seem to be hurt but that didn't necessarily mean he was not. Turncloak he may have become, but it was ....unsettling to see him like this. "Theon?" she queried, not certain what she may receive in response.
no subject
He can’t even say what it was that lured him out so far away from home. Perhaps a spark of madness took him, or maybe he was simply looking for a more familiar landscape, but he regrets it quickly. His new ability seem to have something to do with dogs—he can draw dogs to him, and the two particular dogs that chose to follow him today had looked frighteningly familiar—far too similar to Lord Ramsay’s hunting hounds. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be enough to frighten him. Ramsay’s hounds hadn’t harmed him since the first time he tried to escape, but the woods and the size of the dogs completed the illusion and turned him into a shivering mess, his thoughts insistent that Ramsay himself was not far behind.
He’s shaking at the base of a tree, simply waiting, the dogs sitting harmlessly at his feet. At the sound of his name, his head snaps up and he stares at Lady Catelyn, looking half a wild animal. He hardly looks like Theon Greyjoy at all. He’s gaunt, his cheekbones too sharp and hollow for his face, and his hair has gone as white as snow, but the sound of his name seems to bring him back to his senses. A hand, the little finger missing, shaking comes up to wipe the tears away.
“Lady Stark,” he mumbles in a strained voice. “I—“
He seems to struggle to decide what’s real and what isn’t, glancing between the dogs and the woman on horseback. Lady Stark is dead in Westeros, he reminds himself, and Ramsay’s girls would be doing more than just resting right now if they were on a hunt.
“Y-you know me still,” he manages, though he still looks terribly conflicted.
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“They’re not my hounds,” is all he manages weakly. “They followed me.”
One of the dogs lifts its head to gaze curiously at Catelyn, but otherwise, they remain unmoving from Theon’s side. Ramsay’s hounds had been fond of Theon, but they had never been so docile. This further helps to draw him back to sanity, though he looks almost immediately exhausted as he makes the journey back to reality.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes still downcast, though he doesn’t specify what he’s sorry for.
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no subject
“I—,” he struggles once more, his voice breaking. More tears well in his eyes an he quickly reaches up to dry them once more. “I do not know, m’lady…”
Old habits die hard. He muddies my lady, just as he was trained to do at the Dreadfort.
“I will return to Maurtia Falls. I—I did not mean to….I wasn’t thinking.”
no subject
"No, no." she cannot leave him in such a state, that much is clear. And though they have never been what anyone might term close in anything other than proximity, she finds she feels a bit bizarrely protective of him. Perhaps she has hit her head on something and suffered some damage.
"You must come home with me." It isn't really an offer, but he can choose to view it that way if it helps.