In the Red Keep, Joffrey was walking down a hall by himself when Bill suddenly appeared in front of him!
"Hello, Joffrey," Bill said.
"Who are you?" Joffrey sputtered. "How do you know my name?"
Bill chuckled. "Oh, I know a lot of things. My name's Bill. I see everything that goes on in this castle, but no one sees me unless I want them to. Even that fat eunuch didn't know about me. I know why your mother was killed, and it's not the reason you think!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Joffrey demanded.
"I can show you better than I can tell you." Bill's single eye glowed, and a light shone out of it and projected on the wall like a movie screen.
Joffrey stared at the screen. He was seeing the day of his wedding feast. There he was, up on his throne with his queen on his right side and his mother on his left.
Guests were coming up to congratulate him, including Margaery's grandmother Olenna. But this time Joffrey saw something he hadn't noticed before. As Olenna passed by his seat, she dropped something into his wineglass.
Joffrey squinted. "What is that?"
"Poison," said Bill.
"But I don't understand. That's my glass. Mother was the one who died."
"Keep watching," said Bill.
Joffrey saw Tommen run up to the table and snatch the grapes from the bowl. But Tommen swiveled the table around to get at the grapes, so Joffrey and Cersei's glasses got switched without anyone noticing.
Joffrey knew what came next. "Turn it off!" he commanded. "I don't want to see Mother die again."
Bill blinked and the projection disappeared.
Joffrey was furious, and for once, he had a right to be! "It wasn't the Imp who killed Mother! It was the Tyrells! And they were trying to kill me, their king! My own wife's family betrayed me! They must die, every one of them!"
"You can't just go accusing them," Bill warned. "No one will believe you without proof."
"You'll provide the proof," said Joffrey. "You can appear before everyone and show them what happened…"
But Bill, in a flicker of light, was gone.
Joffrey frowned. "Fine. I'll deal with the Tyrells by myself."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
In the Dreadfort, Theon was eating a rat when the door to his cell opened. There was a girl there. She was Myranda, daughter of the kennel master. Myranda was a cruel, wily girl who always helped Ramsay torture prisoners.
"Talk to me," she said. "Do you remember who you are?"
"My name is Reek," he squeaked. "It rhymes with leek." Ramsay had been calling Theon Reek for so long that that was how he thought of himself now.
"You're to come with me," said Myranda. "His lordship has need of you."
Reek got to his feet. Walking was difficult for him now that Ramsay had cut off some of his toes, along with some fingers. She brought him to the great hall. Sitting around the table were Ramsay's friends, who he called the Bastard Boys. There was Ben Bones, Myranda's father, who was in charge of Ramsay's hunting hounds. Heke, who had always smelled appalling, even from birth. Damon, called "Damon Dance-For-Me," fair-haired and boyish. Grunt, who had no tongue, because Ramsay's father Roose had cut it off for speaking carelessly in his hearing. Sour Alan. Skinner. Yellow Dick. Luton.
Ramsay himself sat at the head of the table, with the visiting lords and ladies from other houses. There was Gideon Gleeful, Randy Marsh's daughter Shelly, Homer Simpson's son Bart, and two of Walder Frey's grandsons, Big Walder and Little Walder. Big Walder had been born first, but ironically, as they'd grown older, Little Walder had become the bigger one.
At the sight of Reek, Ramsay smiled a wet lipped smile. "There he is. My sour old friend. Reek."
Bart held his nose. "Ay carumba! I can see why you call him that."
"Did you have to bring your gross servant up here while we're eating?" Shelly asked. "He smells like a turd."
"That's no servin' man," said Gideon. "That's Lord Griffin's ward, Theon Greyjoy!"
Bart studied Reek. "That can't be Theon Greyjoy, man. I've seen him before, when I visited Winterfell with my family."
"Oh, it's Theon all right," said Ramsay. "He's just been humbled somewhat. He smiles less often, now that I've broken some of his pretty white teeth."
"You shoulda slit his throat," said Gideon. "A dog who turns against his master is fit fer nothin' but skinning!"
"Oh, he's been skinned, here and there," said Ramsay.
"Yes, my lord," said Reek. "I was bad, my lord. Insolent and… bad and…"
"There's blood on your mouth," Ramsay observed. "Have you been chewing on your fingers again?"
"No, he was eatin' a rat when I found him," Myranda said.
Down the table, Yellow Dick guffawed. "He is a rat!" Theon didn't like Dick. He was a bully, in a cowardly sort of way. That's why everyone called him "Yellow Dick."
"A rat?" Ramsay's pale eyes glittered in the torchlight. "All the rats in the Dreadfort belong to my lord father. How dare you make a meal of one without my leave? Do I need to take another finger? I've already taken two from your left hand, but only one from your right. Maybe I should balance you out."
"Aw, man, is that why he's missing fingers?" Bart said. "You cut them off?" He looked like he was wondering what he'd gotten himself into.
"My lord is merciful and kind," said Reek. "He does not want to hurt me, he only does it when I give him cause."
"This is gettin' boring," said Gideon. "Kill 'im an' be done with it."
Lord Ramsay filled his cup with ale. "That would spoil our celebration, my lord. Reek, I have glad tidings for you. I've had a letter from King Joffrey. I am to be wed. He's sending me a bride, Lord Peter's daughter Meg. You remember little Meg, don't you?"
"I remember her," said Reek. There had been a time when he had thought that Lord Peter Griffin might marry him to Meg and claim him for a son, but that had only been a child's fancy.
"She shall be the lady of Winterfell, and me her lord. Will you attend me at our wedding, Reek?"
He hesitated. "If you wish it, my lord."
"We must take you out of that vile dungeon, then. Scrub you pink again, get you some clean clothes, some food to eat. Some nice soft porridge, would you like that? Perhaps a peas pie laced with bacon. I have a little task for you, and you'll need your strength back if you are to serve me. You do want to serve me, I know."
"Yes, my lord. More than anything." A shiver went through him. "I'm your Reek. Please let me serve you. Please."
"Since you ask so nicely, how can I deny you?" Ramsay Bolton smiled. "I ride to war, Reek. And you will be coming with me, to help me fetch home my virgin bride."
