Massey
I entered the dining hall for the second time that evening, and the competing smells hit me once again. Meats, cheeses, wine, and above all else, men. It was never the ladies you could smell in these settings. From where I stood, I could see that both Lord Stark and my father weren't in the room. I strode past Jory, exchanging pleasantries with him before he also left the room, and I carried on, only to be stopped by Theon gripping my wrist from a seat below me. He, like all of the others in the room, now seemed to be traveling around the extra tables decorating the hall.
"Robb is with Lord Stark if you're looking for him," he stated from below me. His voice was hoarse and hard to hear over the people around us. His mood seemed cheerful, but his words did not.
"I don't know what I was looking for, really."
He let go of my arm and scooted over to make room to his left. He scooted so much in such a small area, that he pushed the man next to him, who thankfully did not have an issue with that. After all, the wine was flowing tonight and the overall spirit of Winterfell was high.
"Sit, please," he urged as he guided me downward by hand.
"Alright," I laughed as I swung my legs over the bench and took a seat. "Seems to me you're enjoying the feast."
"Aye, I am. And you, Lady Bryer?"
How strange to use such formalities.
"Somewhat, I suppose, Lord Greyjoy." I took a few loose grapes from the picked over platter in front of us. "I'd have much rather had our regular dinner. Oh, and poor Jon. I've become so accustomed to dining with you boys, I have no wish to go without."
"Right," he huffed. The playfulness that was in him seemed to vanish more and more by the moment, causing my smile to drop gradually. "You look quite nice tonight."
"Thank you—" I began to say, but stopped myself when he grazed the back of his hand along my hip, resting it at the top of my thigh and making me retreat some into the man standing behind my seat.
"Theon—"
"What is it? I've barely touched you," he asked mockingly, leaving his jaw slightly open and leaning in as he repeated the motion even slower. It didn't seem one of his good humored teases that I was so well acquainted with. I swatted his hand away.
"What would people think if they saw that?"
"Who cares?" He laughed, his voice becoming sloppy. "If you're not accustomed to it, I understand—"
"I'm no stranger to an affectionate touch, Theon, but I do. I care."
The mocking look on his face fell, something more sinister taking its place.
"That dress," he began sharply, a bit of apple wine sloshing from his cup as he dropped it back down on the table. He leaned back and took me in from head to toe. I waited with bated breath for what he might say at the end of his long pause. He leaned back in, only a few inches separating our faces. His voice turned thick, much harsher on my ears. "You're Stark in all but name now, aren't you?"
"What?" I brought my hand to my stomach and realized only now that I had forgotten to wear Theon's chain for the first time since he placed it around my waist in the library.
"Stark," he repeated slowly, each word more enunciated than the next. "In all but name."
We stared at one another, and I felt his eyes challenging me. A range of emotions rushed through me. Guilt, sadness, confusion, realization, a bit of heartbreak. But, I eventually settled on anger.
"I never deemed you stupid, Theon, but gods," I hissed while gathering the bits of my dress that were tucked between my legs underneath the table. "You're a man grown. If you're that bothered by the prospect, quit acting like a child and do something about it."
Leaving no room for a response, I marched off. My hands were quivering and my eyes watering as I made my way out of the crowded dining hall. I thought I might turn around and apologize to Theon. Apologize for my words. Apologize for forgetting his chain, apologize for ever wearing the dress at all. Though, why should I? Time and time again, I had put myself in poor situations for him, for what I felt for him. Jeopardized my future. And still, he could not bring himself to be clear about his intentions. He couldn't so much as declare his interest in me. My father was here, and there was no formal betrothal in place. It would have been the perfect time to do so. But, that was not the route he decided to take, whether that was his intention before the excess of wine or not.
I had only allowed myself to wallow in self pity for the trek up to my room. Once I had crossed the threshold of my chamber door, I wasn't allowed to be upset. At least, that's what I told myself every time the image of Theon scolding me at the feast found me again. I laid in bed, restlessly turning from side to side all evening as I listened to rain begin to fall. The fire in my room was crackling, and I could hear rowdy men below my window. I wondered if one of them might be my brother, though I entirely doubt he'd act in that manner with Ser Jaime near. There was a loose thread at the end of my bed gown that I had made much worse by repeatedly tugging at it and twirling it around in my fingers.
I ignored the knock at first. Then, the second came. And finally, one much louder than the first two. The banging shook the metal hinges that kept my door in place. I pulled myself from bed, wrapped my robe tightly around my body, and swung the door open. Theon stood there, sunken into my doorway. He had nothing in his hands, so he was not there to deliver something I needed. I didn't need anything, anyway. He didn't appear to need my help. He was, however, seemingly even more inebriated than I had left him in the hall all but two hours ago. I stood unwaveringly in front of him, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm sorry," he said with a slight slur and total sincerity.
I clenched my jaw and moved to my left to allow him passage inside, looking to the hall to make sure no one had seen him enter my chambers. He moved inside with no hesitation, and dropped himself onto the edge of my bed before curling his body on top of my disheveled blanket and closing his eyes. His boots were clad in mud and now dirtying my linens.
"Theon," I started after closing the door behind us. "You cannot stay in here. Absolutely not."
"Please," he pleaded. "Please, just lay with me. Just for a moment."
I was inclined to protest, but he was so sullen, so defeated. And truthfully, I wanted to hear what he had to say. Pushing my blanket to the right side of the bed, I climbed in beside him, sitting up so that my back was resting on the headboard. His back was still turned toward me. I stared up at the ceiling, the shadows cast by the fire jumping around the room so effortlessly. There was at least a full minute of silence before he said anything else.
"If I could give you these things, I would."
"Give me what things?" I asked, annoyed by his tendency to be vague whenever he needed to vulnerable.
"Anything. Everything. A respected name. The north. I cannot offer to you what Robb can."
"Have you stopped to ask me what I might want? Or are you more comfortable cowering behind the decisions that you make for me?" I replied somewhat harshly. He finally rolled over, but he didn't look at me. He, too, kept his eyes on the shadows on the ceiling. I could see him biting the inside of his lips, nostrils flaring as his eyelids drooped. "I don't want what he has, Theon. After all this time, you cannot possibly be that daft."
"Massey," he slurred. "It's not— it's not just that."
In a moment of pure confidence, I sat up, crossed my legs, and angled my body toward him. I laid my hand on top of his to properly get his attention. "I care for you, Theon. Perhaps more than I should—"
"I am not the man that you deserve—"
"You don't get to decide what I deserve."
Theon's eyes began to close, the weight of the wine finally forcing them shut. In a final moment of reassurance that he had heard me, he turned his hand over and squeezed mine gently. I took a moment to appreciate his hand in mine before I rose from my bed and shook him until he opened his eyes again.
"You must leave now," I commanded before he could get too comfortable.
He grunted and squinted one eye before unsteadily rising from the bed himself. It was wholly apparent that he was too far gone. I held his shoulder as I walked him to my door, where he entered the hall and turned back to me before leaving. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
"Whatever you're going to say," I began to counter with a gentle shake of my head. "Whatever it is will be much more meaningful when you're sober."
He dropped his gaze to the floor, and I bid him goodnight before closing the door to return to my bed.