AN: Sorry for the delay! I hit major writers block and actually started two other Fan Fics in the interim. Finally got this to a point where I felt good about it though - I hope you like it! As always I love love love to hear from you!

Reek

Reek had never seen his master this angry before. He'd watched from the courtyard when Jon had made his foolish deal for Sansa. Jon didn't know the rules. No one escapes. So Reek knew what was coming when they let out the dogs, knew what would happen when they caught her. And he had wept at the thought, for Sansa who had managed to stay strong for so long, wept for Jon whose sacrifice would be for nothing now, and wept for himself for how everything around him had come to tragedy since he listened to his father and betrayed the Starks.

But then what was supposed to happen didn't happen. His master, who had been forced by his father to wait before following Myranda and the dogs had left the castle twenty minutes after the hunt went out. He was gone for almost four hours, making Reek wonder if things were going differently than he expected. Sometimes his master preferred long hunts, but other times…

Then there had been shouting at the front gate and his master ordering the guard on duty to be taken flogged for his inattentiveness as the portcullis was raised.

Where were the dogs? They'd all been expecting him back but usually the dogs could be heard from a mile away. Reek didn't understand, and even though he really didn't want to see he found himself creeping into the middle of the keep to see his master returning.

Even in the darkness he could see that it was only Ramsay, flanked by the two men who'd ridden out with him when he left and a horse, being pulled along by one of the men with a dark shape drooped across its flanks.

Sansa. He thought despairingly. But where are the dogs? And where is Myranda?

Then his master had shouted for him, and he'd gone to him and realized what had happened. Sansa had escaped. The body strewn over the horses flank was Myranda, not Sansa. And something, or some things, had killed all but two of the dogs. The two who had run Ramsay killed himself in a rage, and now he had no dogs – and no kennel master's daughter to help him train new ones.

Not that he cared about her. Reek knew better than to think that his master had feelings for any person in particular. No, this rage wasn't about Myranda, or even really about Sansa. It was about losing – and losing to Jon Snow.

Ramsay burst into his father's study Reek following behind trying not to be seen. He was afraid of Roose Bolton, but not half as much as he was afraid of his son, especially when Ramsay was in a mood like this.

"Where is he?" Ramsay said slamming his hands down on his father's desk. Roose looked up at him coldly but didn't respond.

"You cannot kill the Targaryen boy Ramsay, that would defeat the purpose of everything that we've done today. I am sorry if your pets killed your wife, but maybe you should've thought of that before you loosed the beasts—"

"Sansa escaped."

"She what?!"

"She escaped. His planned worked farther, your precious Targaryen friend, he made an ass of you and a cuckold of me and now you're about to make a king of him. It seems he's had his way with us like a pair of tight-cunted whores, and now he's probably upstairs in one of your finest rooms, getting drunk, likely off your favorite vintage."

Roose's jaw tightened. Reek knew the father was just as proud as the son – maybe more so even, now that he was Warden of the North. He also knew that Roose Bolton hated Jon Snow, hated him for the very real threat he posed to Roose's chances of keeping the North for himself.

"Are you worried now father? Worried that maybe even after your hospitality he might still chose to fuck you when his Auntie and Brother arrive? I bet you wish you had something to hold over him, some reason to make sure he thought twice before making a move against you…"

"What are you proposing? Out with it!" Roose snapped clearly angry. Reek knew his master had the older man then.

Ramsay smiled. "Let me talk to him," he said returning to his sweet sing-songy voice. "Let me find out where he's sent his sister Sansa… Or," he said pausing as his eyes lit up with glee "Or where he's hidden young Arya. Either one would make a nice insurance policy, don't you agree father?"

"Yes. Fine, have you way with him, I know it's what you do best. But Ramsay?"

"Yes father?"

"No Marks."

"Of course not father."

Roose Bolton nodded gesturing with his head towards the East Tower where they were housing Jon, and Ramsay flew out the door yelling "Come Reek!" as he bounded up the stairs.

Reek had no choice, so Reek followed.

Arya

Moving through the Dreadfort without being seen was not easy. She'd been successful so far, had only had to give someone the gift once – but there was no way she'd be able stay there unless she found a way to get near Jon and somehow managed to lay low until they could make an escape.

She'd been confident about it when she'd told Jon the plan, but with each passing minute her confidence ebbed. The problem wasn't that she wasn't sure if she could get them out. She could – she had more than enough training and force of will to do that – it was that she didn't know how much time they had. She saw the ravens go out to the Targaryen queen hours ago, and she had no way of knowing when the news would reach her. If they had to travel by normal modes she would have no reason for concern. But Arya had lived in the Free Cities and she knew as well as anyone in Essos – The Mother of Dragons and her nephew could fly. How long it would take them to cross the narrow sea on the back of dragons only the Old Gods knew.

So she had to be quick – and with that in mind she found herself here – scaling the walls to the east tower in the black of the night in hopes of coming upon Jon alone. Her forearms were already burning from the climb, but as she got closer and heard the sound of voices coming from the room he'd been put in she knew she had no choice but to climb up further and listen.

"I have to say Lord Commander, I've heard a lot about you, but one thing they don't speak on enough is how very pretty you are."

"Fuck off Bolton," Jon replied hatred clear in his voice.

"No really – Reek back me up. Don't you think he's a pretty little bastard?"

"Ye-yes Milord."

"I bet he was even prettier when you were growing up as boys together in Winterfell wasn't he Reek? Did you ever play any games together Reek? Ever get to fuck those pouty little lips of him with your cock? You do remember when you had a cock, don't you Reek?"

"Ye-yes master. I re-remember. N-no. We di-didn't play those k-kind of games."

"Pity, you missed your chance I'm afraid."

He's talking to Theon Greyjoy. Arya realized with horror. She had heard rumors of what had happened to the Ironborn but it was a different thing entirely to hear them confirmed. Plus she never realized he'd still be here…

"It's not just that you're pretty, Lord Commander, it's that you're pretty like her…"

"Fuck off, Bolton."

"The dark hair on pale skin helps to be sure, but since I met your sister I've had a dozen girls who share your coloring, just for the sport of acting out what I am going to do to her when I find her. It's not that hard to come by in the North, especially now that it's Winter… No, what I haven't been able to find, what's been impossible to recreate really is those eyes."

Arya heard the scrape of furniture and a grunt.

"Tsk. Tsk. So wild, is that what life at the wall makes you like? There's no use in struggling against those bonds Snow, though you're welcome to try. You can drag the whole bed across the room behind you if you'd like but it still won't change the fact that someday very soon, I will have your sister under me, crying out my name as she begs me for mercy."

Silence followed and Arya could almost see Jon staring daggers at Ramsay Bolton, tied to the posts of a giant wooden bed.

"You see Snow, some people are discriminatory – they'll only fuck a girl who has something they fancy. I'm no where near that picky, am I Reek?"

"N-no, Milord."

"No… yes I think if we shaved that beard of yours you'd do quite nicely as a stand in until I have your sister here with me. Reek! Be a good lad and give the Lord Commander a shave would you? Nice and close so he will look proper for his aunt and brother when they arrive. Don't cut him though Reek or I'll have to punish you."

"Y-yes, Milord." Theon was crying now, and Arya heard the clunk of something metal hit the floor, and the sound of furniture drag as Jon began to struggle in earnest.

"Look Snow, I'm already half ready for you as it is. No I don't think I'll have any trouble doing my duties as I take you in the ass pretending it's young Arya's tight wet—"

She couldn't listen to it any more. Before she could think, she'd leapt through the window and landed on the floor in the room, Needle already drawn, to see Ramsay, with his cock out stroking himself as he stood in front of Jon who was tied standing spread-eagled to the posters of a great bed, as Theon shaved his face with a shaky hand.

"Ramsay!" She cried, her voice full of wrath and hatred.

He turned to her, face erupting in a gleeful smile, and she knew she had to play it smart if she and Jon had any chance of getting out alive and unharmed. So, going against her entire nature, she used every bit of deceit the Faceless men had taught her, and force herself to stand, posted on one leg with her hip curving out invitingly as she took the thong out of her hair and let her curling locks fall around her shoulders.

"Why settle?"