Theon can pick out the Westerosi now. It’s almost an art, really. There’s something different in the way they walk, the way they speak, the way they stare at the sleeping faces in the stasis pods; some of them with hatred, some of them with love, but they almost always find a reason to be unsettled. Everyone in Westeros has known death, but this place has stripped away every meaning of the word.
He had come here himself to see if Ramsay was truly back in stasis and to scowl at Robb for a bit. It’s a habit, but he harbors some illogical sort of hope that it may someday spark him to wake once more. Instead, he’s found some unfamiliar Westerosi gazing at Robert Baratheon’s stasis tube.
"What do you want with him?," he asks. "Wondering how they found a tube large enough to fit him?"
He smirks from the opposite side of the corridor, though there’s something hard and bitter in his gaze. He hates Robert Baratheon, though he’s never exchanged two words with the man. He hates him for everything he helped to take away from him.
Stasis. he's nice now....but when he finds out you're a baratheon...
He had come here himself to see if Ramsay was truly back in stasis and to scowl at Robb for a bit. It’s a habit, but he harbors some illogical sort of hope that it may someday spark him to wake once more. Instead, he’s found some unfamiliar Westerosi gazing at Robert Baratheon’s stasis tube.
"What do you want with him?," he asks. "Wondering how they found a tube large enough to fit him?"
He smirks from the opposite side of the corridor, though there’s something hard and bitter in his gaze. He hates Robert Baratheon, though he’s never exchanged two words with the man. He hates him for everything he helped to take away from him.