"You should rule the iron islands. Let me help you."
Yara let go of his clothes and stepped back, and she tried to keep the eye contact but his eyes immediately looked back to the ground.
"How do you think you could help me?"
No words came to mind, it was hard to even keep his thoughts straight and he felt her move closer and he cringed back. "Theon-"
He tried to squelch the panicked whimper that escaped his lips but he didn't manage too and he stumbled back a few steps, his hands coming up in front of his face. "That's not... I'm not..." He managed to not say the word, not even anything it rhymed with, but the damage had been done.
"And you think you could help me? You'd be better off put down like a sick dog." Yara moved closer to him and he backed up a step before her remembered the lesson that had taught him that you didn't do that, you didn't back away from your master, and the then and now jumbled together and all he could do was stand there helplessly. "Or maybe we could trade you back to your ... master. Would he pay well for you?"
She had told him to stop crying but harsh sobs bust out of his throat at her words. He had thought them, had worried about that, but on the long ship ride had convinced himself that she wouldn't do it. He reached for her, grabbing on to her shirt, blubbering out words. "Please, please don't do that. My Mas... Ramsay.." He choked on the word a little, it was forbidden for him to say unless asked, but he was trying to win her to his side. "You have no idea what he will do."
Yara pulled away from him, her face disgusted and he would like to think it was just because he was dirty but he knew that wasn't it. "Oh, I have some idea. Everyone does. Father wasn't exactly... quiet about what Lord Snow sent."
Whether it was the information that everyone must know, or the choice of words Theon lost it again, a wail making its way out of his throat and past his lips until he was crying like a woman, hands over his face. You never called him Snow, just hearing someone else call him it was enough to lose him a finger.
He wasn't sure what Yara was doing, he was aware of her talking to him but he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that when she touched him he jerked away and shoved his hands tight against his chest. "Please don't hurt me, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can do better."
"Enough!" The command was followed by a sharp backhand that sent his wailing into small whimpers, trying to stop them. "If father could see you now..." Yara trailed off and then crossed her arms, "Though I doubt he could have thought any less of you than he already did." They stood there quiet for a few minutes, except for Theon's whimpers, until she waved a hand at him.
"Show me."
"Sh—show you?"
"You say he broke you. Take off your clothes. Show me what it took to break a Greyjoy, as little of one as you may have been."
"I... I can't.." He clutched at his clothes, stomach rolling at the thought of her seeing what had been done to him. Knowing was one thing... seeing... He was back to begging, "Please m'lady, please don't-"
"M'lady? Not Yara, not sister? Are you just another peasant now Theon?" She was in his space, voice a growl, and he could taste the blood on his lips from the backhand.
"Reek. My name is Reek." He tried to force the words down, the panic in his voice familiar to him, almost comforting, and he was glad he wasn't looking at her to see her response. His shoulders slumped because he'd lost the fight and when the words came up without his consent he muttered out, "rhymes with weak..." He didn't try to stop it.
"So I was right then. Theon Greyjoy is dead." The words were flat, emotionless. "Then take off your clothes Reek, and let me see how he broke you." The hatred in the way she said his name slid right to his core, making him feel ashamed in a way he hadn't for a long time, and he found himself babbling apologies.
It didn't stop him from following the order though, he reached down for the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He glanced up at her for a second, saw the horror on her face, and quickly looked away. He knew he wasn't very pretty to look at anymore, he had told her she didn't want to see.
His hands touched the laces on the pants he wore and they shook so badly he couldn't get a grip on the laces. He let go, reaching up to touch the collar that was still around his neck, he hadn't been able to take it off. The panic... the panic had been overwhelming. He reached for his pants again and went about undoing the laces, unable to swallow down the whimpers.
He pushed them down, though without being tied they nearly fell down themselves. They got stuck on the shoes he wore, he had almost forgotten what it was like to wear shoes, and he struggled to toe them off before he could get his pants the rest of the way off.
When he straightened he held his hands in front of his shame, and even though he managed to stay almost quiet he couldn't stop the tears sliding down his face. "Drop your hands."
That was expected, Ramsay had always been unhappy when he tried to cover up the scars too. He dropped his arms to his sides and looked away at the floor. She moved close to him and he hunched his shoulders, trying to look small. She moved around him in a circle until she came to stop just in front of him.
Her hand came into his line of sight like she was going to touch him, like she was going to touch him there and keened like a wounded animal, too afraid to pull away. She didn't touch him there though. Her hand touched his right hip, the middle of his chest, his right shoulder. He knew what she was doing and he answered the question.
"His mark. The... the Bolton banner." The sigil was carved into him in more places than that, but they were the most visible from the front.
"You're covered in his mark. Branded. You're nothing but a Bolton slave." She stepped back and her voice had no give to it. "Did he fuck you like you were his tavern whore too?"
His head ducked lower, the words wouldn't form but he knew that his response was all that she had to see. She made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a growl, and it didn't sound happy. "What do you expect me to do Theon? You betrayed us. You've been our enemy's voluntary play thing for years. We can't trust you."
"Not... Not by choice..."
"You remember when we tried to rescue you, don't you? The way you fought us, the way you refused to go. I saw your face when he came in, like your God had arrived himself to save you. You aren't ours, not anymore."
There was a bang on the door that startled him, and he cringed away. The words hurt, though so much hurt all the time it was like a faint buzzing underneath everything else. He knew that he betrayed them, he knew he had. A small rebellious part of his brain wondered if he hadn't already paid for it, paid for all his sins, but he knew better than say that.
Yara was at the door, and belatedly he realized that someone else was following her in. His hands flew to cover himself again, ashamed to be standing there naked in front of one of her men. Ashamed for anyone to see what Ramsay had done to him.
It was a big burly man that followed at his sister's heels and when he laid eyes on Theon he sneered. "Not much of a prince anymore, are you?"
The blood rushed to his face, and he desperately wished he was clothed. He tried to raise his eyes to Yara, "M'lady, can I get dressed?"
Yara was talking to the man in a hushed tone, and she ignored his question. He wasn't sure but he thought it was one of the men that had been with his sister when she tried to save him. The man handed her something and the seal caught Theon's eyes, and he felt his stomach drop. It matched the scars on him, and he was sure he was going to be sick.
She opened the letter and her eyes scanned down it, glancing up at Theon once before looking down at it again. Her face set after the second time she read it and she shoved it at the man who immediately started to read it while she moved to Theon.
He dropped his hands when she got close, even though he was scattered he did remember that she had ordered him to keep his hands down. She glanced down, and her eyes lingered there for a moment before she looked back up at him. "Do you really want to help me Theon?"
He was biting his lip hard enough to bleed to keep himself from correcting her on his name and she waited while he got himself under control. When he was certain she wanted an answer he spoke, "Yes m'lady." Over her shoulder the man had moved closer and Theon didn't dare look at him.
"And you mean that Theon? You want to serve the iron islands in any way that you can, yes?"
His heart was racing, he had spent enough time with Ramsay to know when someone was being led somewhere. He didn't know what the end game was, it wouldn't matter anyways. He was too broken to try to control the game, he could only pray to the drowned god that it wouldn't end badly for him. "Yes, M'lady." His voice stuttered, "I want to help."
"Is that how you pledge your loyalty to the future Queen of the Iron Islands? You don't even take a knee?"
Theon carefully turned his eyes up to the man, Cayle he remembered, only to catch the man looking at the mess between his legs. His face burned hot and he turned back to Yara, trying to get his tongue around the words, "I'm sorry."
He struggled to drop down to one knee, his body was too damaged to do it gracefully and he had to put one hand on the ground to keep himself from falling over. Cayle's eyes were still on him, mocking, so after he settled he turned his body to shield between his legs. It wasn't covering up, it wasn't really disobeying what she had said, though his body tensed because he knew that Ramsay would know. Ramsay wouldn't have let that small disobedience slide by. He always knew when his Reek was hiding something, when he-
A slap across the face brought his head up quickly, even as he cringed back. He hadn't been paying attention and from the aggravated look on Yara's face she had been trying to get his attention. He didn't know what was being asked of him but he bowed his head, "Anything I can do to help you, I... I pledge my allegiance."
"I told you Yara, you know that it is the only usefulness he'll have. What is more important?"
She eyed him for a moment before she tilted her head towards his clothes, "Get dressed and get back to your feet."
"Thank you m'lady." The real gratitude fell from his mouth, overwhelmed with the need to show her how much he appreciated it, even while he pushed it back because he knew that she wouldn't want him to. That it would just make her angry. His hands were shaky as he pulled the clothes on, the annoyed sigh behind him telling him he was taking too long. It was difficult with his missing fingers, but finally he was dressed and stood in front of her, keeping his eyes on the floor while he waited.
Yara stepped towards him and reached out to take his chin and tilt his head up. There was no warmth in her eyes, nothing familiar like his sister's face should have when she looked at him and he had a feeling the game was over and he had lost. Again.
"I have a very useful task for you Theon, a way that you will be able to help us. Aren't you proud to do so?"
The words dripped with disgust and Cayle moved up behind him. Maybe it was just a test, if he just was good, if he just did what he told maybe it would still be okay, "Yes, of course. Please, let me help you."
"Good." She let go of his chin and looked over him to Cayle, "Put him in his room and lock the door. Make sure the prisoner is secure."
Theon jerked his head up, fear winding around his heart as he met her eyes, "Yara, please-"
Cayle grabbed his arms and was already dragging him away, not that he resisted, but he heard her parting words. "I need to write a letter to the Boltons, let them know we have a hostage they will be wanting back."
He screamed in agony, he hadn't really thought she would do it. As he was dragged down the hallway the man leaned in close, his voice cold, "Don't worry, soon you will be home with your Master Ramsay. I'm sure he's missed you." A dark laugh filled the halls, "What part do you think he'll take from you next?"
He had gone numb and when he was shoved into his room he didn't bother to cushion his fall or catch himself, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The door shut behind him, lock sliding into place and all that was left was to curl in a ball, cry, and wait to return home to his master.