Jeyne
Written by @saltedcrow. Reposted here with permission. Prompt: Write a drabble from a song The song is “Wrecking Ball” by Chris Pureka
They built a home together. He called her Jeyne Grey; at first teasing, but soon the surname became something of a promise between them. He did not give her his hand in marriage, as he had nothing to give. He would shudder to imagine his maimed hands taking the cloak of a House he had disgraced himself to and wrapping it around her. Who would dare bless a marriage of whores in any case? He was no man, but she called him hero, called him hers. He did not understand why. In some ways it was easier to be locked in the kennels or dungeons; it was even easier in some cases to be strung on the cross. There was an order to his days that he could grasp, and pain was only physical. He had known his place with Ramsay, on his knees, face buried against his groin. He knew his place beneath the dog, or crouched over Jeyne. He knew how to please Ramsay, or at least how to interpret his moods. Jeyne, however, was something else. You could not break Ramsay, but you could hurt Jeyne. Theon worried perpetually that any damage he did to her would end up permanent. The last thing he wished to do was hurt her. Theon fumbled his way through things. He tried to avoid being touched, to hide from the liminal space they had come to occupy. They were not friends - they could never be friends. Friends did not taste the thin lines of scars with lips and tongue, they did not know the taste of the other’s sex, they had not seen the way a cock could become a weapon, to rip and to tear. Friends did not cling the way Jeyne did, they did not curl and cower, and know how to speak without words.
Jeyne learned to see in the dark, and found the light of the moon in the ravaged Theon. Theon did not know how, not yet, but he wished to become whatever it was she saw. He wished to change, in any way, to repair the damage he had done.
