[ It hasn’t been longer than a year since the Whispering Wood, but that year has weighed heavily on Theon. He does look much older than his twenty-one years.
Robb was too kind, he thinks bitterly as he observes Jaime. It doesn’t seem fair that he should escape captivity nearly unscathed, but Robb was never needlessly cruel. He doubts that Jaime’s missing hand was even Robb’s doing.
Theon would ordinarily flinch at the prospect of more pain. He’s unarmed, frail and fragile, but he’s sharp and perceptive. He only smirks, recognizing Jaime’s dilemma. ]
It isn't much of a hand. Yours or either of mine. [ He's grown used to his mangled hands, but he still isn't happy about them. ] It doesn't seem to me like you'll be moving at all.
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Robb was too kind, he thinks bitterly as he observes Jaime. It doesn’t seem fair that he should escape captivity nearly unscathed, but Robb was never needlessly cruel. He doubts that Jaime’s missing hand was even Robb’s doing.
Theon would ordinarily flinch at the prospect of more pain. He’s unarmed, frail and fragile, but he’s sharp and perceptive. He only smirks, recognizing Jaime’s dilemma. ]
It isn't much of a hand. Yours or either of mine. [ He's grown used to his mangled hands, but he still isn't happy about them. ] It doesn't seem to me like you'll be moving at all.