[ It was a mistake to laugh. The minute his uncle turns that strange gaze upon him, he feels like a terrified child once more. Ramsay had been frightening, but if you played his game, his pattern grew easy to predict. Euron is unpredictable, particularly because Theon knows so little about him, about where he’s been, about why he was exiled from the Iron Islands to begin with. ]
I—
[ He isn’t certain how to respond to that. Should he lie? Euron was able to pick him out based on—something. He doesn’t look like Theon anymore, so it must have been his laugh alone. That’s mortifying. Theon has no love for Victarion or his strange, charred hand, but at least he never made him feel so terrified. ]
You can’t have recognized me.
[ He steps back, shrinks away like a wounded dog into the shadows. Once against the wall, he disappears entirely. He’s unaware of it, of course. The rustling of his clothing can still be heard. ]
no subject
I—
[ He isn’t certain how to respond to that. Should he lie? Euron was able to pick him out based on—something. He doesn’t look like Theon anymore, so it must have been his laugh alone. That’s mortifying. Theon has no love for Victarion or his strange, charred hand, but at least he never made him feel so terrified. ]
You can’t have recognized me.
[ He steps back, shrinks away like a wounded dog into the shadows. Once against the wall, he disappears entirely. He’s unaware of it, of course. The rustling of his clothing can still be heard. ]