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

Winter in Dreadfort wasn’t just raging—it had gripped the castle in a death stare. The surroundings were still black from the coal Cersei had scattered, and this grim landscape made the cold even more unbearable. Theon Pastajoy simply dragged out his miserable existence. One day in the dining hall, Jaime Lannister, sipping wine and admiring his reflection in a polished silver platter, decided once again to mock the Diarrhea Geyser. Jaime looked flawless: his skin had a light golden hue, as if he had just returned from the beaches of Dorne rather than a snowy captivity. — You know, Pastajoy — Jaime said languidly, as Theon crawled toward him to pick up a fallen bread crust. — The secret to true greatness and masculine beauty lies in the color of one’s skin. Look at me. I glow. This is a tan. The sun kissed me because I am a Lion. And you? You are pale as a boiled squid. You look like a potato forgotten in a dark cellar — Theon froze, raising eyes full of hope to Jaime. — T-t-tan? — he whispered. — If I am… tanned, will I become a king? — — Of course! — Jaime winked at Cersei, who was already setting up her «Tik-tok.» — A tan makes you look like a king. No, even better. It makes you the King! You just have to lie under the sun, relax, and soak up its rays. The higher you go, the closer you are to the sun, and the faster you’ll become golden — Theon’s mind, already working by the laws of chaos, produced the only “correct” decision. — Since a tan makes one a king, I must tan. Immediately. And as high as possible — In the middle of the frostiest day, when the temperature dropped so low that even the ravens’ beaks were freezing, Theon Pastajoy climbed to the highest roof of Dreadfort. Neither the icy wind nor the fact that the sun was hidden behind thick, gray clouds stopped him. In his mind, the sun was still there, waiting for him—the new King of the North. Having climbed the sloping stone of the roof, Theon decided that clothes only hindered the «great transformation.» He shed his stinking rags, remaining only in his dirty undergarments, and with a cry of — I am becoming golden! — he lay down directly on the cold stones. — Sun… eat me… — mumbled Theon, closing his eyes. — Make me a king… — At first, he was very cold. Then a strange numbness set in. Theon lay with his arms spread out, and his body, still holding scraps of warmth, began to melt a thin crust of ice on the stones. A small puddle of water formed. But since it was minus thirty outside, the water, warmed by Theon, immediately began to freeze back. Two hours passed. Theon turned blue. His skin acquired a soft blue, corpse-like tint instead of a golden one. When he finally realized that the «tan» wasn’t going as planned and decided to climb down, he discovered something terrible. His back, ass, and legs were frozen solid to the stones of the roof. His wet skin had frozen to Dreadfort so firmly it was as if he had been nailed down. — O-o-oh… — howled Theon, trying to jerk away. But every movement caused the sound of tearing fabric… or skin. — HELP! I AM STUCK! HE-E-E-ELP! AAAAAA! — At that time, Sansa Stark, standing by the window of her tower trying to find any meaning in this life, happened to look up. She saw something that made her heart stop and her jaw slowly drop. On the very top of the main tower, splayed out like a crucified frog, lay an absolutely blue, naked Theon. He was shivering finely, and his new eyebrows were covered in frost, turning into two white icicles. — Gods… — whispered Sansa, clutching her heart. She felt faint. — Did he… did he decide to kill himself in the strangest way in the history of the Seven Kingdoms? — She nearly lost consciousness from the surrealism of the sight and ran to call for help. Ten minutes later, the entire courtyard of Dreadfort was standing below, looking up. — Look! — Joffrey wailed, pointing a finger upward. — It’s the blue bird of happiness! LMAO! — Ramsay Bolton, seeing Theon, was first taken aback and then doubled over with laughter. — A tan! — Ramsay shouted. — Jaime, you’re a genius! He believed you! He’s tanning in a blizzard! ROFL! — The situation was critical. Theon could simply die of hypothermia, becoming a permanent decoration of the roof. A «rescue operation» began, which entered the annals of Westerosi shame. First, they tried to throw ropes to Theon, but he couldn’t lift his arms—his shoulders were also frozen. Then they called Daenerys with her dragons. — Khaleesi — Tyrion addressed her, barely holding back a laugh. — could you ask Drogon to lightly… warm the roof? Just don’t turn our Pastajoy into baked lasagna… ROFL! — Daenerys, grimacing in disgust, ordered the dragon to release a thin stream of flame around the edges. The stones heated up. Theon began to thaw. To finally peel the «Back-and-Forth Traveler» off, Ramsay ordered all the servants to bring buckets of hot horse piss from the stables—it was faster than heating water. Dozens of people formed a chain, climbing to the attic. They poured the hot liquid over the roof above Theon. — A-A-A-A! Warmth! — screamed Theon, as his back slowly detached from the stones with a characteristic SCHLOPP sound. In the end, a group of Bolton guards, tied with ropes, climbed onto the roof and literally «peeled» Theon off the stones. He was lowered down on a winch like the carcass of a dead seal. He was covered in ice, urine, dirt, and coal dust. His skin was mottled: blue in some places, red from burns and frostbite in others. Cersei Lannister, filming all this on her Tik-tok, was choking with delight: — Guys, this is an exclusive! — Hashtags: #IcyTan #BluePastajoy #UnstickTheon. — We have record views in the entire history of the Wall! LMAO! — Theon was dragged into the hall and thrown by the fireplace. He was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. — Well, my golden lion? — Ramsay leaned over him, wiping tears of laughter. — How was the beauty session? Do you feel like a king? — Theon looked at his hands, which were still blue. — Jaime said… — he croaked, — that the sun makes you… higher… — — It made you higher than everyone else — Tyrion confirmed, sipping wine. — We all saw your backside from a bird’s eye view. I must say, it was the palest sight of my life. Even your new eyebrows couldn’t save that look. ROFL! — Everyone around exploded with laughter again. Theon Pastajoy sat by the fire, hugging his shoulders. He remained a fool. He didn’t become golden; he didn’t become beautiful. He simply became the man who was «peeled off by all of Westeros» from a roof, and whose blue body was now captured in Cersei’s magic mirror for ages to come. Peak cringe. — Next time — Ramsay whispered into his ear, — try tanning in a blacksmith’s forge. They say the tan sits even more evenly there. — Theon flinched. His PTSD suggested it was a bad idea, but somewhere in the depths of his dull brain, the thought had already been born that the blacksmith’s forge was, perhaps, a great chance to finally impress Sansa.