Every afternoon, Sansa walked along the camp just before the sun set. The long hours of horseback riding and the cold nights on the hard, uncomfortable pallet inside her tent took its toll on her body, and walking eased some of the soreness. Her breath came out misty and grey, and her nose turned bright red from the icy temperatures.

Still, this discomfort was nothing compared to her escape from Winterfell with Theon. Running through heavy snow, wading into the river with water up to your chest and dangerously strong undercurrents all of which she had only survived thanks to Theon. She might have been able to do it if she had been wearing breeches but her long and heavy skirt was not suited for those kinds of obstacles. She prayed that she would never have to be that exhausted again in her life.

Snow had fallen only a few hours ago, but by now the sky was clear. The low hanging sun made her squint as its final rays hit her face. They offered no warmth. She felt cold all the time, inside and out. She had been feeling cold for years, it seemed. And now, ever since Ramsay's letter had arrived, sensations of urgency and despair tore at her, making matters worse. She wanted Ramsay dead and defeated, and she would not stop before Winterfell belonged to her family again. But she couldn't help worrying about Rickon every waking minute. What he must live through, what he must suffer. After all, she knew Ramsay. She knew how he needed his sadistic pleasures and games, how he needed to hurt people every day, and how he...

She stopped dead in her tracks.

"I want my bride back. Send her to me, Bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers," the letter from Ramsay had read.

"I want my bride back."

Ramsay had not mentioned anything about his "Reek..."

Sansa felt a sudden unease. Why had Ramsay not mentioned Theon? Theon, who had been his slave, and whom Ramsay always kept close at hand? Whom he obviously took sick pleasure in ordering about, controlling, tormenting, and humiliating? Ramsay used her every night, but she had no doubt that he used and abused Theon just as cruelly and more.

Ramsay had needed Theon in his sick and twisted ways even more than he had needed her, and yet he hadn't mentioned "Reek" at all in his letter. And he would have, she suddenly knew he would. The fact that he hadn't, meant that either Ramsay was aware that Theon had left her. Or it meant that he had somehow gotten Theon back. But that shouldn't be possible. Couldn't be possible. When she had gotten word from Theon, he had been in Meereen, making a pact with Daenerys Targaryen. They planned to sail to Westeros and take King's Landing from the Lannisters. And the capital was a long way from Winterfell.

There was no way, Theon could be back in the north. No, surely Ramsay had found out that Theon wasn't with her and that was the only logical explanation as to why he hadn't demanded "Reek" to be returned to him as well.

But she couldn't quite get rid of a sense of dread as she hurried back to her tent, seeking comfort inside the darkness.

The raven fell to the ground, shrieking. The boy who shot her whooped in delight as she crashed ungracefully down on the riverbank. She had a small canister containing a scroll tied to one of her legs, and she died as the boy pulled it off of her. Fingers pried open the canister but the boy couldn't read, and he threw both scroll and bird into the river and watched as the current carried them away. She had been a practice target to him, and nothing else. Ravens didn't taste good. The boy went in search for more live prey to practice his bow and arrow skills on. He hoped he might catch something edible today. A fat duck perhaps. It would please Mother and the little ones. Meat was scarce after Father had passed away…

Soon, the ink was washed away as the paper dissolved.

"Reek, get up!"

It was Master's voice and the familiar sound made Theon shoot up from his position in repose as fast as he could, even if he was only half awake. The ingrained reaction to do as Ramsay commanded had saved him many times before but now as he stood slightly swaying on his feet, he was also quietly disgusted by it.

But Ramsay being here, asking for him, was a good thing. Ever since he'd been thrown back in here, the door to the pen had been locked. He'd been given a few scraps of bread, and a bucket of water. He hadn't expected as much and had gratefully eaten the food.

A few of Ramsay's men had been by to gawk at him from time to time. It was always a good laugh to go taunt Ramsay's pet and it was even more hilarious that the pet had returned on its own. Their taunting was nothing new to him. It had happened many times before and it was of no matter. One had calmly pissed in through the bars and while unpleasant that too was nothing new. Theon had moved away from the spray as far as he could.

He had, however, sagged with relief when this man didn't move to do anything else. Some of them liked to use him hard and the beatings he had taken once he had been delivered in front of Ramsay that first day made it hard for him to defend himself in any way. Of course, any such actions were dangerous and pointless anyway. Reek would never resist.

Other men coming in here hadn't been as kind as the pissing onlooker but Theon had managed to simply let his body and mind accept whatever happened to him. It had taken a lot of effort but he had gotten through it. So far.

Ramsay, however hadn't visited in what must have been a week and Theon quickly moved to push open the barred door in order to do as his master bid him. The door as it turned out remained locked.

"Ah-uh," Ramsay tutted, and Theon immediately let go of the bars. He dared take a quick peek up at Ramsay's face trying to gauge what the man wanted from him. What game he was playing.

"Give me your hands," ordered Ramsay and, shakily Theon extended his hands, palms upwards through the bars, towards Ramsay. Ramsay knew what kind of reaction that particular order always elicited in Theon and Theon knew how Ramsay reveled in seeing his fear.

As expected, Ramsay smirked at the sight of Theon's slightly shaking hands.

"Put these on," he said and placed a pair of ankle chains in one of Theon's hands. Theon quickly pulled the chains back into the cell and did as he was told. He handed back the small key to Ramsay as soon as he was done.

"Good," Ramsay said. "Now come," and he unlocked the door to the pen.

Theon stumbled after Ramsay as best he could, his injuries and the short chain between his legs hampering his every movement. Ramsay smiled whenever he tripped but that was to be expected.

As soon as they were out in the cold courtyard Ramsay told him to begin working. He stood still for few seconds, confused at first but then he nodded obediently. He crossed the courtyard and picked up a broom. At first his hobbled feet made him trip and fall but he did what he was told and never stopped working. He swept the courtyard, took away horse shit, mucked out the stables, fed the dogs with the leftovers from the kitchen. He did all the things he used to do when he was truly Reek, and all the while Ramsay kept a close eye on him. Come evening, once he had fetched clean water for both dogs and horses, Ramsay ordered him inside.

The dining hall in Winterfell had never been a pleasant place while being occupied by the Boltons, but now it was a positively eerie room with Ramsay sitting all by himself at the great table. Theon quietly served Ramsay his food and poured him his wine and stood in attendance in the corner as always. His stomach rumbled in hunger as he listened to Ramsay's noisy consumption of meat and vegetables. Roose Bolton had never been able to hide his distaste for his son's loud eating habits when they dined but he'd never openly corrected Ramsay, either. Theon's stomach rumbling however, was often a point of conversation. Roose complaining that Ramsay starved the creature ruining Roose's appetite, and Ramsay becoming incensed. It never ended with Theon being given more food. It wouldn't tonight either.

Once Ramsay was done eating, he bade Theon come with him upstairs to his private chamber. The stairway was difficult to ascend hobbled as he was but he managed. Inside Ramsay's room, a steaming tub stood ready. Of course. Another one of Ramsay's favorite activities.

"I'm sure you understand that I seem to have lost at least some of my previous trust in you, Reek. The leg chains stay on. You are perfectly capable of working despite them so it shouldn't matter, am I not right?"

"Yes, Master," he agreed.

"Good. Now help me undress."

Theon was almost thankful for being here, chains or no chains, and he refused to feel pathetic for thinking so. He knew how to do all of this and being allowed inside Ramsay's chambers meant that he might be able to gain his lord's trust again. And he needed that trust. But thoughts were dangerous, and he lowered his eyes carefully as he helped Ramsay into his bath. He held no illusions of being able to fool the man if Ramsay looked him in the eyes for too long. Ramsay had an uncanny ability to read Theon's mind. Even as Theon thought these words, a part of him knew that they weren't true at all. Ramsay was not an omniscient being. He was not a god. All he was, was a human who had ruined Theon by being cruel, abusive, manipulative. Mad and blood thirsty. But it had been Theon's guilt, his pathetic state, and his eventually ruined mind from so much torture and starvation that gave his thoughts away to Ramsay, all too often.

Believing himself to be Theon again, being a person was such a new notion to him however, and he still couldn't quite shake the feeling that Ramsay would be able to see right through him and read his mind.

He silently knelt beside the tub and took a piece of soap into his hands. He diligently worked up a foamy lather and began working it into Ramsay's wet hair. He took care to massage Ramsay's scalp just right and the subsequent low hums of satisfaction from the man told him he did well.

The motions were almost mechanical. He knew them so well, had been here so many times, had done this too many times to count. He took the pitcher, filled it with the warm water from the tub, and rinsed his former master's hair. Then he soaped and massaged the face, the neck, the arms. Rinse, repeat, next part. He knew Ramsay's eyes followed his every movement and he did his best not to flinch as old familiar feelings of terror rolled over him causing him to twitch slightly. Ramsay watching anyone was never a good thing. Ramsay watching him/i for too long meant pain.

As he was rubbing a foot, Ramsay's arm shot out of the water and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back hard. He winced and carefully let go of Ramsay's foot.

"What happened that day?"

Carefully he replied,

"I panicked, Master. Myranda confronted L-lady Sansa. And then she... she fell and she was dead. When I heard you return from the battle field, I got scared, Master. It... it all happened so fast, and I couldn't think properly! I'm sorry, Master!"

Ramsay pulled his hair harder forcing Theon's back to arc backwards. Water from his hands, no longer submerged in the tub, dripped down onto his thighs and the stone floor. He made sure to keep perfectly still. Limp.

"You think that I don't know that it was either you or that sweet wife of mine who pushed her over the railing?"

Theon did not answer and Ramsay's grip on his hair tightened and his other hand came to close around Theon's throat.

"Where have you been? And why did you come back here?"

"Home," he whispered.

"To your shitty islands? What made you think your sister would have you back?"

He spoke as truthfully as possible. It seemed safest.

"I didn't know where else to go," he said hoarsely. "I didn't want to be alone, and I didn't want to go further north. When I got to Pyke, my sister, Yara, wasn't pleased to see me. She had thought of me as dead. And... I believe she was right. I don't know how to be ironborn anymore. I don't know how to be her brother. Not one, that she deserves. I don't feel like Theon Greyjoy. I'm not Theon Greyjoy."

Here in front of Ramsay, saying his name out loud was difficult in particular and his pulse seemed to push hard against Ramsay's hand. Still, he continued,

"All I know is to be here with you, Master. Where I belong. Where I can be Reek. Your Reek."

Ramsay yanked his hair once more causing more tears to sting Theon's eyes and his nails raked Theon's throat. But then he abruptly let go of him.

Theon could hear Ramsay sit back in the tub bit didn't dare turn his head.

The man sighed in satisfaction behind him.

"That's right, Reek. You're exactly where you belong again."

There was a short burst of laughter. "I can't believe you attempted to be a lord again. I mean, how absurd is that?"

"I don't know, Master."

"I'm still very disappointed in you. But I must admit, Reek, I do enjoy having you back here with me."

"Thank you, Master."

"Well, what's stopping you? Go on, continue what you were doing. My other foot needs a good rub, too."

"Reek? I have something I want to show you. Come with me."

It had only been a few days since he'd arrived. His legs were still hobbled but the door to his pen was no longer locked and he quickly made to follow Ramsay. On their way, they made a stop at the kitchen where Ramsay told him to bring a large loaf of bread and a few roasted neeps. Theon's stomach rumbled but the food wasn't for him.

They went to the crypts and as they descended, Theon knew what he was finally going to see. His heart thumbed heavily in his chest. They turned a corner and there he was; Rickon Stark. Chained to a wall. Fully clothed, seemingly unhurt but pale and thin. They had given him a blanket, thank the gods. The boy stared up at them fearfully. Theon made sure to keep his head bowed watching Rickon out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you recognize him, Reek?"

He glanced up briefly locking eyes with Rickon. "I do, my lord."

"Who are you?" A young voice but not a child's anymore.

Rickon's voice. How strange to hear him speak with a voice that had slightly begun to change from a boy's to a man's. So much time lost.

"He's Reek, my young lord Stark. But he knew you of a long time ago. You won't remember him. Reek, give the lord his food."

Theon carefully placed the bread and the vegetables at the boys feet.

Rickon grabbed the food but otherwise ignored him.

"When do I get to leave here," he asked Ramsay. "It's so cold down here. Please, take me upstairs, Ser. I won't run, I swear."

"Of course not. But you will get to come out and run very soon, Lord Stark. I promise you."