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The cave’s the last place they’ll think to look, he told himself, but even still Theon pressed himself back against the cold, dank rocky walls and wrapped his arms around his legs, not quite believing the words he said in his mind over and over. His breathing was ragged as he tried not to pant, his heart still pounding and racing – threatening to burst out of his ribcage and hammer away to itself on the stone floor – from the chase earlier, and from his fear.
Just as his breaths slowed a little, became deeper and less rushed, and his skin began to flush in embarrassment for having fled like such a coward, the sound of voices catching on the wind outside brought his panic back again. Eyes wide, he slunk back further, until he was certain he had reached the back of the cave. He was plunged into darkness, all bar the small stream of light coming from the cave’s mouth which barely illuminated his face. Don’t look in here. Please, oh, please don’t. Let me go.
The voices grew louder, laughter reverberating off of the walls around him as two pairs of footsteps approached, the heavy trampling of them echoing menacingly.
“We know you’re in here,” the sing-song taunt stung his ears and had his skin prickling, eyes wetting.
“Why would you hide from us, little brother? We only want to play,” came the other voice, younger and higher in pitch than the other but still with a spiteful bite to it, and a tone that suggested the speaker had a wide grin on his face as he said it. Theon hated their grins. They represented everything he hated about his brothers full stop: their arrogance, their cruelty, their lies and their japes and their mockery. He clasped small, clammy hands over his ears to block out their noises, and squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to go away.
As a hand grabbed his shoulder, he screamed, and lashed out as he was yanked to his feet.
“What are you doing in here?” Maron’s face was close to his as he held him still, leering, dark eyes dancing with amusement at having caught his prey. Rodrik was at his side, smirking unkindly.
“How rude of you to run off,” he grabbed Theon and yanked him towards him, effortlessly scooping him up and throwing him over his shoulder. He laughed, the sound amplified by their closed-in location, and though Theon tried his hardest to hold them back, tears fell unbidden down his cheeks all the same.
“I’m sorry,” he moaned, wriggling fruitlessly in his brother’s grasp. “Rod, put me down!”
“Our saltboy protests!” Maron pinched his cheeks painfully, evidently enjoying whatever sick joke they were playing on him. Theon lost track of the amusements they made out of him. They were less games, and more acts of humiliation and establishing dominance. Whatever they were, he didn’t like them, and as they began heading back towards the entrance of the cave Theon thrashed harder, pummelling his brother’s back with balled fists and screaming protests.
“You sound like a pig for slaughter,” Maron sneered and once they were back outside he was set down again and shoved over, Rodrik’s foot on his back holding him down. There was a moment of silence, and he knew they were trying to think up what to do next.
“Please let me go,” he tried again, voice breaking. He turned his head slightly to the side so he could stare up at them pleadingly, grinding his teeth together as the pebbles and jagged rocks beneath him scratched at his face as he moved, only to have the toe of Maron’s boot slam into his nose. An anguished sob shook his body as he felt something crunch, then the warm trickling of blood oozing down over his lip. Through eyelashes clumped together with tears he could see the sneers on their faces, arms crossed over their chests condescendingly.
“And why would we want to do that?” Maron crouched down beside him, brushing his fingers through Theon’s damp, lank black hair almost tenderly. Rodrik arched an eyebrow as Maron looked up at him keenly, then took his foot off of his brother. Immediately Theon scrambled to his feet and ran, stumbling over the gravel under foot as he fled, not daring to look back though he couldn’t hear them following. It was only the whistling of an arrow flying past his ear that startled him into bolting further, and as his legs pumped faster he lost balance and fell, another arrow narrowly missing him.
“Did you get him?” Rodrik.
They were running towards him then, and Theon rolled onto his back, scrambling backwards with his feet kicking out against the pebbles, staring up at them like a caught rabbit as they approached. Maron, repositioning his bow onto his shoulder, chuckled as he continued to back away from them.
“You clearly haven’t learned your lesson. You shouldn’t turn your back on your betters, little Theon. It’s ill-mannered,” he spat on the floor beside him, then hauled him up by an iron-tight grip on his scalp, Theon hissing as he was forced to get to his feet. The grasp on his hair didn’t relax once he was up, and instead they began yanking him towards the shore, the shingles soon giving away to dark sand the closer to the water’s edge they got.
“Please,” he cried again, biting on his lip to keep it from trembling as his fingers tried to pry loose Maron’s hold on him. “Please don’t, please! I’ll do anything you want!”
“It’s just water, little brother. What are you so frightened of?” He didn’t have a chance to respond to the taunt before his head was shoved under the water, some of the saline liquid rushing up his nose and making the tender cartilage throb furiously, the rest flooding his lungs as he gasped for air in surprise. As quickly as he’d been forced under, he was yanked back up again, dripping water and coughing up the ocean. Rodrik was stood in front of him, the water only coming up to his knees in comparison to it coming up to Theon’s waist.
Having caught his breath Theon cuffed at his face, smearing the blood from his nose and wiping the water out of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, the hand balled into a fist around his hair relaxing so there was just a little less pull on his scalp.
“Are you?” Rodrik teased, wiping away some of the blood on his brother’s face with the pad of his thumb. “I don’t think you are. You’re never sorry. You squeal when we get you, but you don’t learn and you don’t remember. How many times have we got to teach you that you should do as we say? We’re in charge, not you. If we tell you to do something, you do it.”
“I do remember, I promise!” He replied quickly, fearing that an answer that wasn’t swift enough would earn him another dunk in the sea. Ironborn are drowned all the time. The water’s nothing to fear. But the feel of it taking the place of the sweet ocean air sent a panic through him like no other, and as he felt a slight pressure on the back of his head threatening to push him back down again he twisted to grab Maron’s arm. “I swear by the Drowned God! I promise I do! I’ll do anything you want!”
Maron’s gaze flitted from him to Rodrik, and at a small nod of the head from the other his hair was released, and with a hefty shove Theon fell backwards into the waves again, coming up spluttering and gasping and rubbing at his head to soothe the aching. Maron was already heading back to shore, his pants soaking, but his upper half dry, Rodrik following him once he’d grabbed Theon’s collar and began tugging him back to shore. Once on dry land his exhaustion from fighting and the weight of his soggy clothes had his knees give way underneath him, and he fell onto the sand on all-fours, still coughing every now and then.
“Get up,” Rodrik snarled, and when he didn’t do so sent a kick aimed at Theon’s arm. He cried out and fell forwards, sprawled out on the ground and trying to prop himself up again while wiping away his tears feverishly. “Get up!”
“Leave him alone!”
Theon’s head jerked up at the sound of the voice, eyes lighting up with relief as he saw Asha had put herself between him and their brothers, a small dagger clasped in her fist and her eyes narrow threateningly. Maron laughed heartily.
“Or what?”
“I’ll bury this knife in your balls. Then you’ll be sorry,” the threat wasn’t an idle one, Theon knew, and he took the brief moment that his brothers stood dumbfounded to push himself to his feet, hiding behind Asha as she held out a protective arm in front of him.
“Are you going to fight us?” Rodrik smirked, stepping forwards. His attention turned to Theon then. “Are you going to hide behind her skirts all your life?”
“I don’t wear skirts,” Asha spat back, lifting the knife a little higher and not taking her eyes off of the older two boys, even as Theon stepped forwards a bit further. A little courage instilled itself in him at their teasing, and now his sister was here, and he glared at Maron as the youth shot him a wide smile.
“We were only playing,” he laughed, holding out his hand. “Come on. You can join us too, girl, if you want.”
“I don’t like your games. And neither does Theon.” Theon glanced at Asha, then looked back to his brothers as they exchanged amused looks. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, and seeking comfort he pressed himself into his sister, nestling against her and breathing in the salty, sweaty smell of her mixed with the lingering scent of their mother.
“Let him speak for himself,” Rodrik huffed and Theon shook his head ‘no’. “Go away.”
“Don’t you tell us what to do,” Rodrik needled, pushing Asha aside in favour of grabbing a hold of him again. “Do we have to teach you your le-.”
His barbed words were cut short as Asha slammed her foot into his shin. Rodrik let go and clutched at his leg with one hand, the other swinging out to try and hit the girl, but she danced away out of his reach, baring her teeth at Maron as he made a move for her too.
“Run!” She hissed at Theon, shoving him, then satisfied at least one of their brothers was preoccupied, sprinted after him. Her blade was still clutched in her palm as she gave her brother a push forward every so often, hurrying him down the beach and around a rocky outcrop and into an alcove.
Once out of sight, she sheathed her blade and sat down, barely wasting a moment before pulling Theon down with her and into her lap. She waited for his crying to subside a little before speaking, her mouth pressed next to his ear as she held him close. They were both panting, breath hot and chests heaving, nervous laughter on Asha’s lips and small whimpers on Theon’s.
“You need to learn to stand up for yourself,” she sighed as she combed her fingers through his hair. His heart was fluttering in a similar way to a captured bird’s, and he buried his face into her chest, eyes tightly shut as he began to calm down. “They won’t pick on you if they know you’ll fight back.”
“But there’s two of them! And they’re bigger than me!” He protested, pulling away and wiping at his bloody nose with his mottled grey sleeve.
“Nagga was bigger than the Grey King, but he subdued her all the same,” Asha answered matter-of-factly and Theon sniffed.
“There was only one of her, though.”
“But she was far bigger than Rod and Maron. They’re just two boys.”
“The Grey King had the help of the Drowned God too.”
Asha laughed then, and Theon found himself chuckling along with her, pawing at his eyes until they were rubbed raw but had stopped stinging with the threat of tears.
Asha had always preferred the stories their uncles told them – of real adventures at sea, and of wolves and lions and stags beyond the grey waves, who were too craven to come to the islands and fight them. Their mother’s stories had always appealed more to Theon, though. They were the sort he clung to when the Storm God waged war and sent torrential rains to batter the islands and winds to scream and howl throughout the castle walls. They were tales of sea monsters, of heroes and mermaids, of pirates and enchanted women and kindly sea spirits that guided lost sailors away from sticky ends.
Something about Asha reciting those stories quelled his fear, and he cuddled into her more, a companionable silence having settled between them. There were gulls screeching overhead, and his eyes flickered around their hiding place to take in the waves licking at the shore, the shells littering the beaches and the towering cliffs around them.
“It hurts,” he murmured, sniffing again as he felt more blood building up in his nose.
“It will do. But you’ll live.”
Theon huffed at that reply, and unravelled himself from around her. There was not even the distant sound of their brothers’ voices carried on the breeze any more. They’re gone, he reminded himself, and stood up. He smiled meekly at Asha. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it. But I can’t keep rescuing you. You’re not some maiden in a greenlander’s tower.”
That stung, though it shouldn’t have, and Theon’s brows creased indignantly. “I don’t ask for them to come after me. I tried to get away this time but they found me.”
“Try fighting instead of fleeing,” Asha had picked up a piece of driftwood and was tracing patterns with the end of it into the dirty sand. She glanced up at her brother idly and gave him a small smile. “They’ll soon learn not to mess with you then. Why d’you think they don’t start with me?”
“Because you’re a girl and it’s no fun beating girls. They can’t fight.” The second the words had left his mouth he regretted them, for Asha’s entire weight came crashing into him and pinned him to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.
“Can’t I?” Asha hissed, her knife out and pressed to his throat, but she was grinning and there was a playful twinkle in her eye that gave it away she meant this display in jest, and didn’t intend to harm him. Theon grinned sheepishly, and allowed her to hoist him up by his hand when she’d clambered off of him. She ruffled his hair playfully. “You’re such an idiot.”
“They’ll get me back, y’know,” he said petulantly as they began picking their way down the rocks and back to the beach again, Asha dragging her driftwood stick along behind her, leaving a snake-like trail alongside them wherever they walked.
“No doubt they will. Just kick’em in the balls,” she answered indifferently and Theon nodded timidly and ducked his head, allowing his sister to lead the way back home.
***
It wasn’t long after dark that Theon padded along the dark corridors of Pyke towards his sister’s room, a slight limp to his gait and his dirty cheeks streaked with tears. Asha said nothing as he crawled into bed beside her, allowing her to caress his face and wrap her arms around him protectively, humming him the tune of a shanty to settle him.
“I broke Maron’s nose,” he whispered in the quiet, and he felt Asha’s chest heaving against his back as she chuckled. He turned his head to grin at her, lip split and nose bleeding again from another blow to it, and a bruise forming on the side of his head. “It was worth it.”
She laughed a little louder then, and wriggled her fingers into his armpits to tickle him, eliciting a fit of giggles from the small boy. “We’ll make a fighter out of you yet, baby brother.”