◉ nOT EVEN SORRY. GO FOR THE ANGST.
Send a ◉ for my muses reaction to yours sneaking into their bedroom and putting a knife to their throat.
Of course her guard was down. This was no enemy that had snuck into her bedchamber in the dark of night - it was her brother. Asha hadn’t thought to worry, to bare a weapon. She had assumed Theon came because he needed her. Perhaps another nightmare. So she had offered herself no protection from the cool steel pressing to her throat, her brother’s arms pinning her own to her sides.
❝Theon, don’t,❞ came her whisper. He must have been lost in a hallucination, the trauma endured while in the care of the Boltons triggering another flash of violence from him. But even now, with his blade pressed against the place where her heart beat, Asha wouldn’t fight back, for fear of hurting him, or worse, for deepening his panic attack. His strength had largely returned under her care, but she was still far stronger. She could break his hold. But she wouldn’t.
Her rough, salt cracked hands lifted. Theon’s arm was too tight around her for her to reach his face, as she wanted to, but they could slip along his arm - the one that held her flush against him and helpless. His mouth was at her ear, and she could feel his breath against her skin, his heart slamming into her back, her own acting as an exact mirror to the frantic rhythm his set. It almost made her laugh wildly - even now, their blood bonded them so closely, they were still in unison.
With some difficulty, the turned her head to look upon his face, their noses near brushing. His hair was still white - perhaps it always would be - and his teeth broken, but the scars on his face had all but faded. She could see the young boy in them, still, the one that had played in the sea with her as children. Harder to spot was the man who had appeared to her on the docks of Pyke, cocky and self-assured, but even he was there in the confident way his marred hands held the dirk. Asha was not afraid to die, but she couldn’t leave Theon. Not like this. So, she ignored the pain, the warm blood blossoming from the point of his blade, and let her eyes settle on his. Everything the bastard had done to him, he could never take away his eyes.
❝Theon. Don’t you know me?❞ she whispered, never once looking down, never once seeking to pull away from him. ❝I'm Asha, your sister, remember? Don’t you recall us playing pirates on the shores when we were children? I told you that you would be my first mate, so I could protect you. Remember the sea? You know who you are.❞
His grip seemed to loosen as she spoke, just enough for her to turn to face him, though the blade stayed true against her throat. Her hands moved slowly, up to his chest, where they rested against his racing heart, but she thought she saw doubt in his eyes. Asha never once looked away from his gaze. She was pinned to him, almost of height with him, their noses all but touching. Guards could be here in a second if she screamed. She could overpower him, she could have her men pull him away. But if she did that, her brother would be lost to her forever. So instead, her hands tangled in his tunic, pulled him closer.
❝What was done to you was monstrous, Theon. There is no other word for it. But you did not deserve it. He did not love you, that is not what love is. He hurt you because he was a monster, and for no other reason.❞ Her voice caught for a brief moment, when his hand jerked forward, pressing the knife in another millimeter. But Asha stifled her gasp, never letting her gaze drop. He had to remember who he was. ❝I love you, Theon. I would never hurt you. Don’t do this. Come back to me, my brother, my prince. Please.❞
