Zokla | Theon Greyjoy

Chapter 10

The night was cold.

She was dressed in the same gown she'd worn on the day that she married Smalljon. She smoothed her skirt down, staring at herself in the window. Another wedding where her family was missing, another ceremony that was not going according to plan.

She felt that she should not be here, that she should have escaped sooner. But how could she? She didn't have enough influence to get Ramsay or Lord Bolton alone. She was being kept comfortable and Minisa was growing well. She'd been waiting for her brothers to come and they'd yet to arrive. There was no real opening, but perhaps after this, there would be.

Lyarra accepted that she'd have to do things she never thought herself capable of if she wanted to make sure the Boltons could never come back to haunt her again.

Ramsay was the only thing on her mind the entire time, a moment to calculate what she would need to do. She'd never truly spoken to him at length, but had been a prisoner here for some time already, one he hadn't been able to lay a hand on due to his father. He'd tried to intimidate her twice to no avail– she did not show she was afraid of him and she believed that was what she needed to focus on.

He wanted people to fear him, he fed off that, and he used it to turn their weaknesses against them. He exploited every drop of fright and turned it into a wave of horror that he controlled, like an ebb and flow of sea. She'd seen that Myranda was on Ramsay's good side by not only participating in the things he liked, but not flinching at them. Lyarra would need to do that to perhaps a more extreme level.

And she supposed it had been easy not to be afraid of Ramsay. To most it probably wouldn't have been even with Maggy's lessons, but Lyarra had literally seen worse things than a man covered in blood. She'd seen the burnt bodies she thought belonged to her brothers. She'd seen the heads of two people she cared for very much removed, which only worsened the images she'd already had of her father's execution in King's Landing.

On the entire ride to the Dreadfort, she'd visualized all the awful things Walda described that'd happened to Robb and to her mother. She still saw them every night (or she thought to), with Grey Wind's head on top of Robb's body and her mother falling and clutching her cut throat. So why would Ramsay have scared her with blood and scars? Lyarra supposed she'd had anger directed at too many other places to solely resent Theon. Either way, she'd witnessed suffering and could focus on that beyond her fury.

She'd even witnessed flayed bodies when they arrived in Winterfell. That, she'd had a moment to process alone. What could Ramsay show her that she hadn't already seen or imagined to its worst extent? What could he demonstrate that she hadn't already heard of from Maggy, about all the ways people could hurt one another?

Though, she'd yet to have a true moment alone with him to manipulate him. He might be smarter than she was perceiving, he might still realize what she was trying to do before she actually accomplished it.

She went beneath her floorboards and prepared a paste of chamomile and passionflower, two plants that would relax him. She added a drop of water before crumbling in some tarragon to give a sweet taste and prevent him from realizing what he was consuming. She smeared it over her lips, creating a thin clean layer. Last, she reached for a small vial of lavender she'd already diluted, placing some drops on her neck so that he might inhale and reach further calm.

With any luck, he wouldn't realize what was coming for him.

The second time there came a knock on the door, she found Theon waiting. "I've come to escort you to the godswood, my lady," he said quietly.

"Escort me?" she asked. "Why?"

"I'm your closest kin, according to Lord Bolton," said Theon shakily. "I'm to take your arm and lead you there."