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

Winter returned to Dreadfort as swiftly as it had left. Snow whirlwinds howled in the cracks of the stone walls, and the «bald hedgehogs» on Theon Pastajoy’s forehead — those very crimson lumps where his eyebrows had been plucked — turned blue from the bitter frost. Ramsay Bolton was bored. Tortures in the cellars had become stale, the centrifuge was broken and smelled sour, and the ghost of Jeor Mormont no longer appeared, leaving behind only an unpleasant chill in the bones. Ramsay sat in the Great Hall, sipping hot ale, and watched Cersei Lannister, dressed in furs worth an entire kingdom, fiddling with a strange artifact. It was the «Mirror of Moments», which Cersei called «Tik-tok.» A magical object from the far East, a flat plate made of obsidian and gold that could capture shame and broadcast it to all the lords of the world in real-time. — Pastajoy! — Ramsay shouted, and Theon, who was gnawing on a dry noodle in the corner, jumped, nearly swallowing it whole. — Over here, my loyal knight! — Theon approached, shuffling his feet with tiny steps. At the table, pale and motionless as an ice statue, sat Sansa Stark. — Listen, Pastajoy — Ramsay smirked, — I’ve noticed you’ve completely stopped being a gentleman. Look at Lady Sansa. She’s sad. She needs male attention. I order you to give her the most exquisite, the most noble compliment your boiled brain is capable of — Theon trembled. The sight of Sansa awakened fragments of memory in his broken mind about Winterfell, about honor, about the fact that he was once a human. But his PTSD hit him like a heavy hammer. — Cersei, get your «Tik-tok» ready — Ramsay commanded. — Westeros must see this — Cersei Lannister, with a predatory smile, raised the golden plate. — Oh, I’ve already started the live stream — she purred. — Hashtag #PastajoyShame #NoodleKnight #DreadfortVibe. The followers are waiting for content — Theon stood before Sansa. His knees knocked against each other, creating a rhythm to which Cersei began to dance. Theon looked at Sansa, tried to smile, but because of the «bald hedgehogs,» his face turned into the mask of a mad insect. — Lady Sansa… — he began, and his voice broke into a whistle. — Your face… it is so… so… — He wanted to say «beautiful,» but images of yesterday’s slop and dry pasta flashed in his head. — It is so white and face — Theon blurted out. Silence fell over the hall. Sansa slowly blinked, her eyes filling with tears and rage. Ramsay choked with delight. — Oh gods! — Tyrion exclaimed, who was also in the frame. — That was powerful. A true poet. LMAO! — Theon realized what he had said. His PTSD skyrocketed. He began to stutter, his hands shaking so much he nearly hit himself in the face. — No! No! Forgive me, master! Forgive me, Lady Stark! I am Reek! I didn’t mean it! — He fell to his knees, gasping for air. — I wanted to say… I… I… forgive me for the hedgehogs! — He looked up at Sansa again, trying to fix the situation. — You… you smell… you smell not as strong as my gut did when it came back from its journey! That… that is a compliment! Y-you almost don’t smell at all! — Sansa covered her face with her hands. Cersei, without looking away from the screen, commented: — Guys, are you seeing this? The chat is just exploding! They’re saying Pastajoy outdid himself. Someone’s asking if those lumps on his head are sold separately! ROFL! — Theon, having completely lost touch with reality, began to spout utter nonsense. He covered his face with his hands, trying to hide from the «Mirror of Moments», but his fingers slipped through the gaps between the hedgehog lumps. — Your skin… it is like the beauty of mercury! — he wailed. — I want to be your worm that will eat your redemption in the centrifuge! Happy Heel-o-ween to you, Lady Sansa! I will buy you three horses for a silver stag, and we will gallop on them across Westeros, princess — He began to rock from side to side, mumbling something about «two bald hedgehogs looking into the abyss.» His speech turned into a stream of consciousness where Jeor Mormont, raw meat, and three stags were all mixed together. — I am a geyser! — he screamed into his palms. — I am Pastajoy with an intestinal rope! Under my skin live bald hedgehogs, and they whisper nightmares to me about my soon-to-be end. Slap-slap-slap on my soul! — Ramsay Bolton leaned back in his chair, wiping tears of laughter. — Cersei, did you record that? It’s a masterpiece! — — A million views in three minutes — Cersei replied satisfied, turning off the device. — Pastajoy is the main trend of the season. Even in Dorne, they’re laughing so hard sand is pouring out of their ears. LMAO! — She stood up, her eyes gleaming coldly. Turning to her guards, she gave a strange order: — Enough fun. While this idiot is raving about his hedgehogs, take the sacks and scatter the coal from the wagons all around the courtyard area of the castle. Pastajoy will love the surprise — Theon, still sitting on the floor and covering his face with his hands, continued to whisper something about «black worms in the coal dust.» He didn’t know that Cersei had planned something special, and that the black coal was just the beginning of a new chapter of his endless, absurd shame. Total cringe. — Why the coal, sister? — Jaime asked lazily. Cersei only smiled mysteriously, watching her men carry the sacks out of the cellar. — You’ll see, Jaime. Our Pastajoy will soon need all his experience in communicating with filth. It will be… interesting — With that, Cersei left the hall, leaving Theon to weep over his «hedgehogs,» and Ramsay to anticipate a new spectacle that was to unfold on the black coal background of the northern winter.