You have to remember your name.
Will I brave the tumultuous sea
Your ship is made of steel
As the maester knelt to examine the wound, Bran turned his head. Theon Greyjoy stood beside a sentinel tree, his bow in hand. He was smiling. Ever smiling. A half-dozen arrows were thrust into the soft ground at his feet, but it had taken only one. “A dead enemy is a thing of beauty,” he announced.
“Would you prefer to dress in silk and velvet? There was a time when you were fond of such, I do recall.”
“No,” he insisted, shrilly. “No, I only want these clothes. Reek’s clothes. I’m Reek, it rhymes with peek.” His heart was beating like a drum, and his voice rose to a frightened squeak. “I don’t want a bath. Please, m’lord, don’t take my clothes.”
“Will you let us wash them, at least?”
“No. No, m’lord. Please.”
↳ A Dance with Dragons / A Song of Ice and Fire
The crookback lord looked again and gave a sudden snort. “Him? Can it be? Stark’s ward. Smiling, always smiling.” “He smiles less often now.”
“Did the Bastard hurt you? Chopped off your fingers, did he? Skinned your widdle toes? Knocked your teeth out? Poor lad. There will be no more o’ that, I promise. You prayed, and the gods sent us. You want to die as Theon? We’ll give you that. A nice quick death, ’twill hardly hurt at all.”