This is a random small au in which Sansa never married Ramsay, so Theon never escaped the Dreadfort. Enjoy!
Freedom.
It was a notion that Reek couldn't comprehend. First he'd been left in the cage, surrounded by the sickly familiar stench of dog and dust and shit. He had learned to come to terms with it, learned that it was something he ultimately deserved -- after all, if Lord Ramsay had devised it, surely it was necessary? Besides, it wasn't always so bad. Kyra was generally friendly to Reek, though he had witnessed her tear apart peasant girls in less than a minute. All of the Bastard's Girls had, in one way or another, but Reek was willing to forgive. Ramsay had forgiven Reek for all of his transgressions, so surely he could pardon the hounds for doing what they were told.
( blood stained muzzles, glinting beady eyes )
Reek couldn't recall how long he'd been down here now. All he knew was that he was soiled, ragged. Master wouldn't be pleased when he returned -- all Reek could hope for was a simple flaying and not a complete removal of a finger or toe. Maybe something even worse. Reek wasn't so naive to think Master couldn't do worse ; after all, there was always worse. He had seen it, felt it. Death was a favour here, a blessing. Even Reek knew it.
( lapping waves on the beach, spitting foam across the bay )
Time continued to tick by, slowly but surely. Reek grew wearier with every passing second ; where was Master? He should've been back by now, at the very least. While Reek couldn't see the sky, his internal clock was honed enough to realize Ramsay had been gone far too long. This did not bode well. If Master was -- if something had happened, Gods forbid, Bolton soldiers wouldn't be so careful with their handling of Reek. Not that their fisted grips never left bruises, but they knew what Reek was, knew what he'd been turned into. He'd been called a woman more times than he could count, which initially terrified him, but Master always kept a firm grasp on Reek. He was safe with Master. Protected. Without him…he was sure to suffer worse things than name-calling.
( snowflakes fluttering through the pines, the fingertips of winter approaching )
It had been too long, far too long. Reek could feel the panic rising, pulsing against his ribcage with each bated breath. He was starving, dehydrated, lips chapped and mouth dry. He always imagined this was how he would feel in Dorne, when he finally made it there. Never did Reek think he could feel this way in the North. In his home. His ribs felt like they were caving in on one another, shooting spears into his stomach. He wondered if this is what it felt like to be pierced with an arrow, to feel it tear into your gut until you were dead and lifeless on the ground. He wondered if the Gods would be merciful to him in death. Oh. Who was he kidding? These Gods -- the Old Gods -- weren't his. Not really. The Drowned God wouldn't be merciful to Theon. Even if Theon was dead, a piece of him still remained buried deep within Reek. That was enough to persecute him. He supposed it was only what he deserved.
( turncloak! kinslayer! traitor! )
Reek couldn't move ; his body ached far too much, but at this point, he was resigned to his fate. He could tell something had happened -- the chill had ebbed away from the marrow in his bones, a feeling he hadn't experienced since before Ramsay. Since he was Theon. But Reek wasn't Theon, and Theon wasn't Reek. They were not interchangeable, rather, two completely different identities. Theon's flame, so ironic for an Ironborn, was snuffed out and broken into thousands of pieces, skinned deep within Reek's subconscious. Reek had believed Theon to be dead and gone, but it seemed the turncloak wasn't giving up without a fight. Reek didn't see any reason to continue ; what more were they -- was he -- without Ramsay?
( ramsay's cold, piercing gaze, pale and clouded as his body lay bent and broken )
All at once, the Dreadfort seemed to suddenly bustle with life as the thunder of hooves crashed into the courtyard. Reek found himself holding his breath, waiting for the victorious cries of Bolton soldiers. Waiting for Ramsay's commanding voice, echoing sentiments shared in the heat of battle. The only thing Reek heard, however, was the gentle murmur of conversation inside the bailey. Suddenly all of his fears became true -- Ramsay was dead. He had to be. And the men outside didn't sound like Bolton soldiers, which was either a good thing or a terrible thing. Reek braced himself for a new world of pain. Maybe it would never amount to Ramsay, but it still wouldn't be pleasant. Was this Theon's punishment? To be passed from bastard to bastard, cut away until he was quite literally dead? Maybe this was what the Drowned God wanted. Maybe this was his penance.
( reek, reek, it rhymes with weak, reek, reek, it rhymes with meek )
The hounds were dead. Reek could sense and hear the disgust from the soldiers ; the smell was probably atrocious, though he was much accustomed to it. The moment he heard footsteps reach his kennel, however, Reek found that he couldn't face the men standing there. He didn't want to see the house he'd be taken to next, didn't want to picture the monster he would be strapped with. It would just be easier if the soldiers gouged out his eyes and delivered him to the Starks that way. Then again, he wasn't sure if any of them were still alive, so what real good would that do?
( the taste of crisp air on his tongue, shackles left behind in an empty cage )
"Gods, is that a man?" one of the soldiers uttered.
"Looks more like a creature," another said. His voice sounded wrong to Reek's ears -- almost sympathetic. No. This was a trick. Maybe it was part of Ramsay's new game, and Reek was being tested again. He would remain loyal. He would always remain loyal to Ramsay. In order to prove his point, Reek shifted painfully, somewhat facing the men clad in black furs. "Holy shit," the same solider spoke. "He's alive."
"I'm…" Reek found that it was nearly impossible to speak in his current condition. But he wasn't dead, not yet -- maybe Master would be happy. "I am…loyal to m'lord Bolton."
The two soldiers looked confused. "Snow?"
"Ramsay Bolton," Reek said, closing his eyes. His throat ached with the strain.
"Ramsay is dead. He was killed by another bastard. Jon Snow."
Reek's eyes snapped open. Every nerve in his body chilled, spilling ice down his back. "D-Dead?" No. No, this was a trick -- a test! But…Jon? Was it truly possible? Had his brother, no, Theon's brother, really killed Ramsay? He knew it wasn't impossible. After all, at the end of the day, Ramsay was only a man. But it seemed so surreal. The person who had tormented Reek, created Reek, cared for Reek, was dead. The more he thought about it, the more he knew it was true. He felt it in his bones the moment it had happened. Had felt that chill freeze away into something else. Into something that felt more like Theon. But what was he to do? How could he move on? Reek was nothing without Ramsay!
The first soldier stepped forward and pried open the kennel, stepping back with careful hesitance. "I don't know how long you've been here, but you're free to go. The North has been reclaimed by the Starks; they wouldn't want to see a prisoner of the Boltons die like this."
Reek swallowed, fearfully staring up at the men. He knew this wasn't a test, but the fear was still there, still deep-rooted within his being. However, using the strength of a man who had been beaten and famished many times throughout the course of his imprisonment, Reek shakily managed to drag himself to his full height, wobbling on missing toes and weak, chilled feet. The taste of freedom was right around the corner, as sweet as the salt found in the sea.
"What is your name?" the soldier asked as Reek drew closer.
"It's --" Reek paused for a moment, surprising himself. It was the first time he'd contemplated his name in years, and that felt new. It felt freeing. The fire was back, churning in his belly, begging to be released. Reek could feel the name forming in his mouth, a word that had almost become something of a slur for him. But with Ramsay dead, and the North back in the Starks' clutches, Reek knew that it was time to leave the kennel behind. To leave Reek behind.
( a salted ocean throne, the storms of pyke washing away seeds of doubt )
"Theon," he finally said, the beginnings of a fire in his eyes. "My name is Theon."
