Theon

"Oi, Reek, what do you say to a bit of fun?"

"Shut up…"

"C'mon, Reek, don't be like that. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Go… away…"

"Reek. Don't make me angry. You remember what happened the last time you made me angry?"

I can't bear this. I'm mad. I'm completely mad. When I open my eyes, there he is—everywhere I go. I can't even take a shit without—

"Believe me, Reek, I don't want to watch you take shits either; though I am curious… Without your cock, how do you take a proper piss? You must be feeling uncomfortable, you haven't pissed in quite some time. C'mon, whip her out and let's see how she's healed! Is there a little hole the size of my little finger that you piss out of now? I'm dying to know, Reek!"

"GO AWAY!" yells Theon, clawing his nails through his long, tangled locks of hair. He stands up, opening his tear-stricken eyes—and there he is; Ramsay Bolton, son of Roose Bolton. Skin like snow and eyes as sharp as daggers, he grins across Theon's room at him, opening his arms up as if to embrace him warmly. Instead Theon tackles him—yet as soon as he makes contact, Theon collides with his mirror on the wall. The crash is loud, glass rains down along the stone floor, and there's a pounding pain in his forehead blinding him. He reaches up and pulls a sliver of glass out from his eyebrow, painting his fingertips red. All the while Ramsay laughs and laughs, now standing in a corner near the door under shadow.

"If you'd tried that when I was still alive, you might still have your cock." Ramsay remarks.

"I'm mad." Theon mumbles, fumbling his fingers along his scalp for any sign of glass still hanging in his hair. He finds another, much longer piece in his shoulder and winces as he slides it out from his skin. "I'm mad. I'm just mad. You're not real. I can make you go away."

"Can you? Let's see it, then."

Theon bends down with a trembling hand to pick up one of the biggest broken pieces of mirror on the floor. "When I hurt myself bad enough, you'll disappear, like after the wildfire explosion…"

"Right… except it didn't take very long for me to come back, now did it? You'd really hurt yourself just to be rid of me for a moment or two?" He's right. I can't do that… but… Theon lifts the glass to his wrist and rests the edge along his vein. Ramsay's eyes widen, but his smile never so much as twitches. Theon watches him, draped in a filthy cloak on his knees amidst the glass, waiting apprehensively for how his madness will respond to this threat…

"If you think that will work, you're a bigger bloody fool than I gave you credit for."

"You better convince me not to." Theon whimpers, terrified now, "You have to. If I die, then you die too."

"I'm already dead."

"No, you're not. You're still out there, somewhere… the real you."

"Maybe, but either way, you're not killing me, Reek, just yourself. If I'm not real, then why should I care?"

"Then… then I really don't have any way out…" Theon cries, his grip around the glass squeezing hard enough to draw blood. "I won't live like this… I can't… not again…"

"Go on, then, I'm watching. It's easy, here, let me help." Ramsay is suddenly right in front of him, on his knees as well, gently guiding his pale hands up to Theon's. As soon as those fingers clamp down on my hand I won't be able to stop it—I'll plunge this glass into my wrist and bleed to death like a stuck pig on the floor, and that'll be the last legacy of the Greyjoy House—the last memory I'll ever have… the last time I'll ever have to feel this way…

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Theon snaps out of his trance and jerks his head around to gawk at his bedroom door. Whoever's knocking has no idea what they're about to walk in on. He hides the glass under his cloak and listens, no longer aware of Ramsay's presence. The knocker is a woman, and her voice is quiet and shy. "Are… are you awake, Lord Greyjoy?"

"Make her go away." seethes Ramsay in his ear.

Theon blinks, then stutters, "C-Come in."

When the small, beautiful Dothraki enters the room, she freezes at the sight of Theon on the floor amidst broken glass, bleeding out his shoulder and brow like a stuck pig. He remembers her, but not her name. She was the one Tyrion Lannister had paid to comfort him a while back, an offer Theon had refused. What is she doing here? "How did you find me?" He asks instead.

Her gorgeous eyes are full with fear. "I asked the Hand. I wanted to see you."

Theon climbs slowly to his feet, glaring at her. "Why?"

"Are you hurt? You're bleeding…"

"I'm fine. I just tripped is all." He reaches his bed and collapses, wincing as blood juts down his shoulder to his breast. Before he knows it, the Dothraki girl is beside him, gently grasping his arm to inspect the wound herself. A tingle of longing he can't ignore runs down his spine. He almost flinches at her touch, but restrains himself.

"I can help." She mutters to him, "When I was married, my Khal would cut himself in battle, I know how to—"

"Did the Spider pay you to come here again?" Theon accuses.

"I told you, I wanted to see you." She takes her hands away, rips her black handmaiden gown, and wraps the cloth around his shoulder. "I see you sometimes… you're always on your own, avoiding everyone. I see you talk to yourself…"

"I don't need you to worry about me."

"Then show me what you have in your hands…"

Theon's grip around the glass tightens painfully. He hesitates before revealing it to her. She plucks it from his grasp, glaring at him with tears in her eyes. "That's not what it looks like…"

She says nothing, she only stares at him, looking through him. Theon grimaces, his eyes burning, unable to quell the swelling need to break down. She rubs his back with her finger-tips as the tears come pouring out. His face collapses into his palm, heaving and shaking. "It's okay, I'm here…" she whispers to him. He leans into her, nestling his face into her bosom.

"I was going to do it—I was going to kill myself. He was going to let me…"

"Who?"

"R-Ramsay! He's here—he's always tormenting me. I can't be rid of him, nothing works!" He knows she has no idea what he's going on about, and that he must sound mad; yet the Dothraki woman clutches him like a mother would their babe, rocking him back and forth like the gentle sway of a ship in the ocean. "I know I'm mad. I lost my mind in the battle for King's Landing—right after all the Lannisters had given up, I saw him—I saw Ramsay, I just lost it… Yara stopped me, she saved me! If she hadn't grabbed me off of them, I'd have been caught in the wildfire right alongside her. I still see her face when I close my eyes—the way she looked right at me when the skin melted off her bones…"

Her warmth is comforting... Theon realizes Ramsay isn't saying anything, yet is too afraid to open his eyes and see if he's still there. Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be? So he keeps them closed as she leans back with him in his bed, humming him a song he's never heard before. For a while he doesn't say another word, he just listens to her soothing voice and the rhythm of her heartbeat. Finally, his curiosity gets the best of him and he opens his eyes. Ramsay is gone. The dark shadows of his chamber threaten safe harbor, yet Theon can't find him anywhere. He's gone… why? Is it because of her?

"What's your name?" Theon whispers, his lips brushing the soft skin of her collar bone as he looks up into her wide, green eyes.

"Ornela."

"Ornela… you don't have to do this…"

"My Lord, it's alright." Ornela traces her fingers along the smooth curve of his cheekbone. Ever since Ramsay made him a eunuch, his once stubbled chin has slowly been losing hair. Theon blushes, and before he knows what he's doing—both he and Ornela lean in and plant their lips together in a firm, warm kiss. I want her. Their tongues swirl. Their hands grope. I want her now! I need to feel… A stab of pain is not what he wants, but it's what he gets in the pit of his groin. He stops kissing her to gasp in agony, pushing her away.

"I can't…" He cries, shivering and crawling across his bedsheet to get as far away from her as possible. Ornela snatches his wrist before he can escape, however, and calms him down by gently sliding her nails down his spine. The shiver sends a cool river through his nerves.

"We don't need to have sex for me to make you heal." She says, "I was raped by countless men my entire life. My Khal took me whenever he desired me, even against my will. I could live the rest of my life happy without ever lying with a man again… I could be by your side, if you'd have me. I could make you happy…" Her words, and the way her nails trace circles along his back, cast a convincing argument. Soon her breasts are cushioning him again, her legs wrapping around his waist like serpents. He shivers in her embrace, trembles at her breath along his flesh, and soon… soon even the pain in his groin subsides… and disappears completely. Theon never closes his eyes, too afraid that as soon as he does—he'll wake up to Ramsay laughing, saying it's all a trick—that Theon fell for another one of Ramsay's games again…

Ornela's songs sweep his paranoia away, and Theon drifts off into a peaceful slumber, for once free from his pain.