The Chronicles of Theon Pastajoy: The Ballad of the Ultimate Cringe

The story of Theon Pastajoy’s «Intestinal Rope» became a legend that the traveling singers of Westeros performed only in the seediest taverns when all decent people had already gone to bed. But no one knew that this story would have a sequel—one that would make even the most experienced Maesters of the Citadel shudder. After that memorable day when Theon tied a grain sack with his own intestine, Ramsay, having laughed his fill, ordered the «property returned to the owner.» However, the «property,» having tasted freedom and the fresh air of the North, showed unexpected stubbornness. While Theon was trying to wash the sack in tears, his intestine—exhausted by years of a dry pasta diet and constant stress—simply… crawled away. Literally. It slid into a drainage ditch, leaving Theon with a feeling of strange emptiness inside and an even stranger nickname. Thus began the Great Journey of the Pink Wanderer. Theon’s gut turned out to be surprisingly resilient. It was soaked in Ramsay’s castor oil and possessed the elasticity of the best pasta from Volantis. For six months, it wandered the expanses of Westeros. They said it was seen in the Riverlands, where it was mistaken for a rare species of pink eel; some hungry peasant even tried to catch and eat it, but the gut, accustomed to the tortures of Dreadfort, only grew tougher and whipped the poor man across the face before disappearing into the reeds. Later, it reached King’s Landing. There, it accidentally hooked onto the wheel of Lord Varys’s carriage, and the Spider, finding a strange, stinking object in his chambers, studied it for three days, suspecting it was a new type of spy device from Essos. But the gut had a goal. It was a part of Theon. And Theon, no matter what a pathetic wreck he was, remained its home. Guided by the call of blood and undigested dough, it turned around and crawled back North. It covered hundreds of miles, survived an attack by stray dogs (whom it simply tied into one large, yelping knot), and finally, one foggy morning, reached the gates of Dreadfort. On this morning, Theon Pastajoy was occupied with his usual business—he was on all fours in the courtyard, trying to lick the dew off the stones because Ramsay, as an experiment, had forbidden him to drink water from a bowl, claiming that «real hedgehogs drink from the fog.» Dreadfort had guests again. Ramsay, Jaime, Tyrion, and Cersei sat on the balcony, enjoying the spectacle. — Look at that — Jaime drawled lazily, adjusting his golden hand. — Your pet is especially diligent today. He’ll lick a hole in the stone soon. — He’s looking for the meaning of life — Tyrion smirked. — Or just trying to remember the taste of something other than dust. LOOL! — Suddenly, a strange sound echoed through the courtyard. Slap-slap-slap. It was not the sound of Theon’s «shuffling» feet. It was the sound of something long, wet, and determined, quickly approaching Theon through the mud. Theon froze. He felt a strange unease in the lower part of his belly, where the cold wind had been blowing for the past few months. He slowly turned his head and saw it. His gut had returned. It was covered in road dust, thorns; a fish scale from the Trident was stuck to one end, and on the other—someone’s gold ring, stolen in the Capital. It looked grim, tanned, and very angry. — Mine… — Theon whispered, and horror flared in his eyes. — Again?! — The gut was not going to wait for an invitation. It remembered being used as a rope and longed to return to its rightful place so it would never have to see this mad world again. With the speed of a rattlesnake, the Pink Wanderer lashed into the air. Theon tried to jump up and run, but his legs, weakened by his diet, gave out. He fell, shuffling his feet in the air. Before the eyes of the stunned audience, the gut began the process of «living return.» It was like a scene from the most terrifying nightmare. It coiled around Theon’s leg, found the «front door,» and with the pressure of a piston pump, began to re-implant itself. — A-A-A-A-A-A-A! — Theon’s scream reached the clouds and was likely heard even at the Wall. — IT IS COLD! IT IS DIRTY! MASTER, HELP! — Theon was bouncing in place as if that centrifuge had been turned on inside him. He spun like a top, trying to pull the «guest» out, but the gut was already halfway inside, dragging stuck thorns and road debris along with it. Ramsay Bolton on the balcony first froze with a goblet in his hand, and then began to slowly sink to the floor, choking with laughter. — It’s back! — Ramsay shrieked. — Loyalty to the Boltons is nothing compared to the loyalty of Pastajoy’s gut! It made a pilgrimage! LMAO! — Tyrion Lannister just dropped his goblet. — I’ve seen dragons hatch from stone — he whispered, — but this… this is the greatest comeback in human history. It’s an «Odyssey» written in crap and entrails. ROFL! — Jaime Lannister turned away, feeling nauseous. — Tell me when it’s finished docking… — he muttered. Meanwhile, Theon was no longer screaming. He was making sounds similar to a clogged, ancient sewer system. The gut finally fully re-implanted itself, gurgling: — Part of the crew, part of Theon… part of the crew, part of Theon… — Theon collapsed face-down in the mud, his body jerked convulsively, and then he let out a long, drawn-out sound of escaping air that smelled of… an old road, the Riverlands, and a little bit of his native sea. Peak cringe. He lay motionless. His belly, which had been sunken before, now looked as if he had swallowed a very long and uneven snake. Ramsay came down to the courtyard, wiping tears and still snorting. He walked over to Theon and gave him a light poke with the toe of his boot. — Well, Pastajoy? A full meal? — Ramsay burst out laughing. — You’re the first person in the world to perform self-consumption through the backside! LMAO! — Theon raised his head. His «bald hedgehogs» on his forehead had turned bright purple from the strain. — Master… it… it brought sand with it… and I think some kind of dead frog… — he croaked. — This isn’t just a gut — Ramsay proclaimed, addressing the guests who had followed him down. — This is the Prodigal Gut! Our Theon is now officially the most capacious person in Westeros. There’s more history in him than in all the Maesters’ books! ROFL! — Joffrey, who had been watching with his mouth open the whole time, suddenly started throwing stones at Theon. — Hey, Pastajoy! Is it going to crawl back out to say hello? — — From now on — Ramsay raised his hand, — he has a new rule. Since his body parts love to travel so much, we will tie his legs with his own clothes so he doesn’t crawl away after his organs! And feed him only the spiciest food so the gut has no desire to go for a walk again! — Theon, now known as the Intestinal-Traveler, crawled to his hovel. Inside him, something was grumbling, tossing, and apparently trying to digest that very gold ring from King’s Landing. Theon’s shame reached cosmic proportions: he was the only lord whose internal organs had a more interesting biography and a more active life than he did. Every night after that, he was afraid to fall asleep, fearing that while he slept, his kidneys or liver would also decide it was time to see the world and leave him alone with his pasta and Ramsay Bolton.