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Oct. 19th, 2024 03:43 pmThe dead may not be wandering the streets tonight, but Theon has prepared as if they might.
As he's told Daryl, as he knows Daryl knows, the living who would wreak havoc this night will be more dangerous. He's not foolish enough to think anyone might try for their small cabin on the beach out of sheer greed; he thinks instead of the joy of the Ironborn in collecting the iron price.
He thinks of Ramsay Bolton's smile and his blade.
He wakes up with the sort of nightmares he hasn't suffered since the crimson of his scar had slowly faded to pink. Without Daryl--
He cannot allow even the beginning of that thought, even if they're unlikely to see action at all, even if Daryl's more than able to fend off attackers.
They fortify the cabin, and Theon lays in a supply not only of the arrows that can be bought, but the sort he'd fired into the attacking horde in the Godswood. He crafts them along with the spears he can best handle; while he's learned to fire a gun, while he has possession of a crossbow, he wants what his hands know.
When the night finally comes, he sits on the front step, bow in hand, listening, hearing no screams yet. Only the sound of crows in a nearby tree, a sound no more comforting.
As he's told Daryl, as he knows Daryl knows, the living who would wreak havoc this night will be more dangerous. He's not foolish enough to think anyone might try for their small cabin on the beach out of sheer greed; he thinks instead of the joy of the Ironborn in collecting the iron price.
He thinks of Ramsay Bolton's smile and his blade.
He wakes up with the sort of nightmares he hasn't suffered since the crimson of his scar had slowly faded to pink. Without Daryl--
He cannot allow even the beginning of that thought, even if they're unlikely to see action at all, even if Daryl's more than able to fend off attackers.
They fortify the cabin, and Theon lays in a supply not only of the arrows that can be bought, but the sort he'd fired into the attacking horde in the Godswood. He crafts them along with the spears he can best handle; while he's learned to fire a gun, while he has possession of a crossbow, he wants what his hands know.
When the night finally comes, he sits on the front step, bow in hand, listening, hearing no screams yet. Only the sound of crows in a nearby tree, a sound no more comforting.
