A day and a night after Wyn's return, Winterfell began receiving letters from Hornwood's steward. Manderly forces had taken control of Hornwood castle not long after Lady Donella's abduction. The occupation was voluntary according to the steward's words, but who could say?

Had Theon been less distracted when ravens started flying into Winterfell at so furious a pace, he would have wondered how the Manderlys knew to capture Hornwood so soon after Lady Donella's abduction. It was only after his mind cleared that Theon concluded Manderly had spies watching Hornwood closely. Lord Wyman very likely had brave, or well-bought spies nested among the Boltons, as well.

Whatever the case, Manderly's troop presence helped prevent Ramsay from claiming Hornwood outright. Though in the surrounding forests skirmishes between the Boltons and mermen still raged. Ramsay's forces, better prepared for the conflict they started, soon gained the upper hand over the men from White Harbor and forced them into retreat. It was feared with enough victories, the Boltons would control enough territory to put the castle Hornwood under siege. There was little danger of the Boltons taking the castle's well-defended walls, but a siege would trap Hornwood and Manderly forces behind those very walls, and leave Ramsay and his men free to do as they pleased to the surrounding villages and their small folk.

A week later, Rodrik rode away from Winterfell with three hundred men-at-arms to give aid.

Theon brought Wyn's meals to the tower every day. As the guardsman ate, Theon peppered him with questions both subtle and frank about the attack. But Wyn's recount never changed. Every detail, no matter how small, was always the same. It should have relieved Theon some, but it didn't. It couldn't.

Theon knew him.

"When will Wyn be well enough to leave his sick bed, Maester Luwin?" Theon asked one morning after Wyn, with the aid of a crutch, had gone to the tower's privy to relieve himself.

Luwin, who was sat at his desk reading from a bound text under candlelight, looked up at Theon.

"Hmm? Another sennight, I should think. He'll have pain but he will be able to walk without a crutch. It's unlikely he'll be fit for duty until his extremities have fully healed, however."

Theon hummed and let the maester get back to his reading.

Wyn will also be spending a lot of time relearning how to walk steadily with fewer toes than he was born with, Theon knew. Theon couldn't walk without limping for several moons, and he hadn't lost as many digits as the guardsman. It was almost a year before the sharpness of the pain faded, though the phantom thrum of it never fully went away.

If Wyn was Ramsay's animal, he won't be capable of treachery for some time. Which meant Theon's biggest concern was what, if anything, Wyn told Ramsay about Winterfell's defenses.

With Bran preoccupied with the Reeds so often of late, and Ser Rodrik riding for Hornwood, Theon was allowed more latitude to dictate Winterfell's security. So, he shored up the castle's weaknesses, those he knew of, and reinstated a tight guard rotation once more. Altered from any Wyn had known of before his sojourn to Hornwood. And once Wyn was released from the maester's tower, Theon would have Hollis watch him under the guise of ensuring he was fit to return to duty.

The rest was waiting for raven wing, and Theon knew that could take weeks if not months should the fighting become pitched. Whatever happened next was out of his hands, so he put the conflict out of his thoughts and returned to concentrating on his other duties.

One of which was returning his attentions to Rickon and the Frey boys. Before Wyn's return, Theon had promised to allow the Walders a visit to winter town. Something the boys were quick to remind Theon of after he next sat with them to resume their lessons. When Rickon learned of the trip he wanted to come along as well.

With Ramsay on the move, Theon would have preferred to keep them locked safely behind Winterfell's walls. But he'd given his word, and he'd put it off too long already. Though he did try to discourage the trip in every way he could think of, first by setting their time to leave the castle as early as he could and requiring the boys be bathed and properly attired beforehand. But surprisingly, the boys agreed to the conditions Theon set without their usual moaning complaint. Theon had hoped his conditions would put Rickon off going at least, but the boy overcame his unwillingness to rise before dawn, and he was up and ready to leave for winter town well before the Frey boys.

After Lady Hornwood's abduction, no one blinked when Theon requested twenty shields for the typically brief jaunt. The only complaints Theon heard were from the Walders, who'd wanted to ride into town on their steeds. Theon quickly shut down all that talk, and made it clear they would journey to winter town by carriage or not at all.

A team of horses slowly pulled the carriage over the snow-packed road leading from the castle to winter town, but with the recent snows, the going was a sluggish, laborious journey. At a full gallop, it was possible to reach winter town from the castle in a handful of minutes. At a leisurely trot, in less than ten. At their current pace, it would be at least another thirty minutes before they finally reached their destination.

"Nan says the blood star means dragons," Rickon said without looking up from his charcoal stick and the stack of parchment balanced on his thighs. Referring to the red comet that suddenly appeared and cut a red wound across the sky. The comet was weeks-old news, but the boys' boredom reignited their interest in talking about the phenomenon.

'Little' Walder Frey who sat between Rickon and Theon, snorted. "Dragons! Bah! That's shi—" the boy shot a glance at Theon. "—silly! Haven't been any dragons since the Dance!"

Rickon shrugged. "I hope it's dragons, though," he said and continued scribbling. Keeping the lines of whatever he was drawing steady despite the bouncing and rocking of the carriage.

"It's just a comet," 'Big' Walder said, gazing out the window at the snow-covered terrain, the occasional guardsman who trotted by, and the winter-hardy trees of the wolfswood. "No need to make nothing big of it."

"Anything," Theon corrected, and smothered a smirk at Big Walder's careless, unsubtle eye-roll.

Big Walder was slow in taking to the North unlike his younger cousin, and it wasn't unusual to see sullenness furrow the boy's brow. Not being allowed to ride on his own had made Big Walder's dourness cloudier.

The Walders had enjoyed more freedoms before coming north. Back home, they could travel beyond the Crossing whenever and for however long they liked, and no one would complain. Or so the Walders claimed. But as wards of Winterfell, the Walders were Theon's responsibility, and he wasn't of a mind to let them do as they pleased. He put them under the same strict, watchful conditions Robb and Jon grew up with and didn't care how badly it chaffed the Frey boys' sense of independence.

When the carriage slowed to a stop still some distance from winter town, Theon was instantly wary and called to a mounted guardsman ambling by and asked what was wrong. They'd run upon a large snow drift blocking their path, the guardsman said, which Hollis himself rode over and confirmed a few moments later.

"Worry not, milady, I had men ride ahead to trample down the snow. Once the path is cleared and proven sound, the carriage can continue onward."

Theon almost ordered Hollis to turn them around and head back to Winterfell. He didn't want to be stopped for even the few minutes it would take to clear the road. Before Theon could take the breath to give the command, Little Walder turned to him with glassy brown eyes and a plump, red pout.

"Lady Greyjoy don't turn us back! You promised we can go! Me and Big Walder want to see more than just the castle all the time!"

"I understand, but it might be—"

"My lady," Big Walder said, the air of broodiness gone from him, "this may be the last chance we have to see more of the North before the snows truly hinder travel beyond the castle. And you did promise we could go."

"That's right!" Rickon agreed. "You promised we can see the market. And I want to visit the Smoking Log, too!"

Theon scowled, first at Rickon then the Freys. He suspected they'd parroted talk about the alehouse in front of Rickon. Theon's suspicions were all but confirmed when he spied Little Walder wince as if someone boxed one of his ears, or was about to.

"Where did you hear about the Smoking Log? And, no, you are certainly not going there for a visit!"

Rickon lowered his head and looked at Theon. "But somebody got stabbed there, you know," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes twinkling with disturbing eagerness.

At the little boy's bubbling excitement, Theon's lips tightened and his eyes narrowed even further. Now it wasn't just his worry of ambush, abduction, or slaughter that made him want the carriage turned around. Big Walder hastily clamped a hand over Rickon's mouth and aimed a callow smile at Theon. A grin made somewhat more charming because he'd recently lost one of his front milk teeth.

"None of us want to go there, my lady!" Big Walder said. "We only want to explore winter town and… and have stories to tell our family back home who haven't had the good fortune to see all the wonderful things there are to see here in the North."

Theon's lips pursed even tighter at the boy's words and Rickon shook his head to dislodge Big Walder's hand from over his mouth.

Theon knew horse shite when it was shat at his feet, and Big Walder's honeyed words stank of it. If the boy had good words to say about the North, this was the first time Theon had heard any pass his lips. Yet, Theon had to admit he was impressed at the boy's smooth and earnest delivery. Big Walder's grammar also greatly improved when he was trying to sweet-talk someone.

"Fine," Theon relented.

Little Walder cheered and was joined by Rickon who'd freed his mouth from capture by then. While Big Walder had the look of a man who just talked his way into the Lannister's gold vaults.

"But, if the men haven't cleared a path soon, I will have us return to the castle. I won't have you boys sitting in the open long. It's too…"

Theon paused. The boys surely had heard talk of Lady Hornwood's abduction by now, but Theon believed they were too young to know the full extent of the terror that squeezed his heart. And Theon didn't want to say or do anything to instill such fears in them. Once children lost the illusion they were safe from the ills and terrors of the world, it was not a delusion easily found again.

"Never mind," Theon finally said, then he turned to Hollis. "Proceed when ready, Captain."

When they finally arrived, men and women wearing heavy cloaks, furs, and leather stopped to stare as the guardsmen led the carriage into town. Winter town with its population of fifteen thousand souls, at last count, was made up of row after row of log and stone buildings. Most were dwellings, but other structures had been raised as well, like the pleasure house, the Smoking Inn, storehouses, privies, horse stables, and animal pins.

Once the carriage came to a stop, Big Walder hopped out, his boots splashing into a pool of muddy water. Rickon followed behind the older boy and grumbled when Big Walder carried him over the puddle instead of letting him splash in it too. Little Walder climbed out next and was already starting to amble away before Theon made out of the carriage.

"Hold it right there—oh! Thank you," Theon said when Big Walder, still wearing the garb of a well-mannered gentleman, helped him step out of the carriage.

Little Walder stopped and turned around, his face squinched and petulant. "Yes, my lady?"

His tone was petulant too.

"While here, we will remain together. None of you are to leave my sight." Theon waited until the boys stopped groaning before he clapped his gloved hands together twice. "Yes, yes, it's all very tragic, now come line up so I may inspect you."

From tallest to smallest, Theon checked the boys' cleanliness, and to make sure they were dressed securely against the weather. The Walders insisted on wearing the clothes they brought with them from the South, all emblazoned in some fashion with the Frey coat of arms. But the clothing was all made from velvet, silks, and linens that did not shield against the cold well. Theon ended up giving the Walders some of Robb and Jon's old wool jerkins and tunics and sewed Frey crests onto the breasts. Then added extra fur to the lining of their fox-tail cloaks.

Theon inspected Little Walder, the tallest, first. Theon cupped the boy's wide chin and turned his ruddy face from side to side and hummed with approval. Next, Theon shut Little Walder's cloak and tied it more securely over his husky form, and made sure he wore his gloves. Moving on to Big Walder, half a foot shorter than his cousin, Theon clamped his hand under his thin, pointed chin and was pleased to find his cold-blushed cheeks also well-scrubbed. Finding nothing else to right on the Frey boy, Theon moved to Rickon and crouched down to examine him as well.

"I bathed last night!" Rickon exclaimed. "I washed my hair and everything!"

Theon straightened and retied Rickon's wolf-skin cloak then looked over at the Freys.

"Did you bring your coifs?" The boys nodded. "Put them on."

Both reached under their cloaks and pulled the newly fur-lined lambskin headdresses from under their belts. When they placed them over their heads Rickon giggled up at them and pointed.

"You look silly wearing those! Glad I don't—"

Rickon's words failed him when Theon revealed the leather, fur-lined coif he made for the boy.

"No! No! I don't wanna wear it!"

"You will wear it, and if you kept whinging, I'll bring out the scarf, too," Theon warned, knowing Rickon hated being bundled up like a babe.

Rickon raised his little chin and his eyes flashed defiantly. Theon cocked an eyebrow and dangled the coif from his fingertip, daring the boy to refuse further. The Walders sniggered when Theon pulled the coif down over Rickon's head as the little Stark pouted.

Theon stepped back and gave the boys another once-over and felt a ticklish flutter in his belly—because they all looked so very adorable in their coifs. Especially Little Walder, whose dark fringes poked from under the headdress and hung over his varnished brown eyes. Theon reached out and gently slid the boy's hair neatly under the coif.

"Alright, where shall we go first?"

The boys chose the market square. Most of the stalls in the square belonged to traders and small merchants who lived in winter town year-round. Their stalls were almost all constructed of lumber and were attached to the outside of their homes. New sellers who'd come to live in winter town after Robb called the banners set up stalls also. Most of these were just hide canopy tents and tables that could be taken down at the end of the day and raised in different locations the next.

With so many new sellers from all over the North, unusual items covered tables and filled baskets in many of the stalls: Mutton, wool fleeces, and spun yarn from sheep raised in the east. Tin and iron from the west, all from trade with the Ironborn. Smoked and salt-cured fish such as cod, anchovies, and trout imported from fishing villages along the Stoney Shore, and the rivers further south flowing through The Rills, were also on offer.

Theon, the Walders, and even a few guardsmen got dragged by Rickon, at least once, from one stall to the next. Rickon wasn't interested in obtaining any wares for himself, he was already satisfied with discovering all the exciting, new things he'd never seen before. The Walders, older and more used to markets with vaster selections, walked through the market with an air of aloofness. Big Walder paced beside Theon with his hands clasped behind his back, his imperious gaze showing only the faintest interest in the wares they passed. Little Walder walked behind them, in lockstep with the dismounted guardsmen, his hand wrapped around the dirk sheathed at his waist as if he was on guard with them.

Theon bought several spools of wool, new scissors, and shears. He carried his new purchases in a wicker handbasket large enough to hold what he'd bought and whatever the boys might decide to get for themselves. While Theon was looking through a choice of well-made quilts sold by a flinty-eyed, middle-aged North woman, a guardsman came over and whispered they were coming upon winter town's pleasure house.

Day or night, the pleasure house was swarming with customers, and one might confuse it for a stable for all the horses hitched outside. Men of all ages, some as young as Robb and Jon, came in and out of the building, which was one of the larger structures in town at three levels tall.

After thanking the guard, Theon called out to the boys, to Rickon in particular, who was about to dart forward and inspect a booth run by a big, gray-bearded clansman selling chert hunting knives and iron axes.

"I think we've seen enough of the market today. Mayhap we can visit the granary."

Which happened to be on the other side of town.

"But lady Quenlyn, there's so much left to explore here in the square," Big Walder said with a smirk while casting a sly side-eye at the bright and noisy building just up ahead.

Little Walder pointed at the pleasure house and blurted: "Hey! Isn't that the who—"

"Should you speak further, Walder, son of Merrett, I will find a stable as filthy as your mouth for you to muck when we return to the castle," Theon said though his glower was fixed firmly on the still smirking elder Walder.

"Can we go see the Smoking Log now?" Rickon asked.

"No. That's no place for little boys."

"Well, can we go see the whore house, then?"

Big Walder dropped the pretense of maturity and was doubled over giggling like mad while Theon closed his eyes and hung his head in defeat.

Next, they visited an animal pin filled with fattened sheep and lean, prancing lambs. A herder handed Rickon a bag of silage feed and soon the boy was shrieking with joy when he was swarmed by a dozen hungry sheep gobbling up kernels of corn from his palm faster than he could fill it. The Walders watched a woman with iron-gray hair and thick, callused hands sheer tufts of dirty white wool from a bleating ewe.

Afterwards, the boys had gotten hungry and Theon relented and took them to the Smoking Log, which did serve good food as he remembered. Most of the guardsmen piled into the inn as well—a powerful warning to the rough, half-drunk men within to keep to themselves. Hollis posted the remaining guards outside to keep watch.

The boys ate their fill of sausages, baked beans, and wheat cakes. Theon treated the guardsmen to several rounds of weak ale, while he enjoyed slices of wheat cakes and a tankard of the same sweet beer the boys eagerly swigged.

Theon enjoyed the atmosphere inside the inn. Despite the presence of guardsmen, the townspeople weren't cowed into silence. There was drinking, laughter, and half-serious arguments unlikely to go beyond raised voices. Theon remembered the long hours he spent in the Smoking Log after an enjoyable hour with Ros. He'd drag Robb along, and Robb could sometimes convince Jon to join them, but not very often.

As the ale flowed so did the boasts traded between Theon and the men in the ale house. And the drunker Theon got the louder his boasts became, which more often than not, led to wars of words that came close to ending in blows. Sometimes fists did fly, especially when Robb wasn't around, but Theon never regretted a single blow he struck nor any he received.

The walls, nor the noise in the ale house hid the deep booming sound of Winterfell's horn. Theon and Hollis locked eyes as the captain and the other guardsmen got to their feet. A second passed as they all waited for the following two trumpet blows to signal a friendly force approached the castle. The boys paid no heed and kept eating their meal.

When two more thunderous notes finally sounded Theon relaxed, but only slightly. He grabbed the basket at his feet and slowly rose from his seat. "It's time to return to Winterfell, boys," he said.

Little Walder hurriedly downed the rest of his sweet beer before he stood and swept crumbs from his jerkin and trousers. Big Walder popped the last bite of cake into his mouth before he stood up as well. Rickon, cheeks bulging with wheat cake, hopped from his chair before Theon could help him down. When Theon ushered the boys out of the inn, the carriage was waiting for them, encircled by mounted guardsmen.

With the road cleared from earlier, the return trip was faster, but not by much. The boys excitedly recounted the day's events among themselves, unconcerned that their guards weren't as spread out as they'd been on the way to winter town. The men now kept a tight formation around the carriage, silent and watchful.

Horns sounded three times as they approached the castle's East Gate. What awaited them as they passed into the castle was a crowd of guardsmen, a hundred or so, bustled in front of the Guards Hall and the Armory. Half the men were unsaddling their horses, while the rest were removing their armor, weapons, and shields, and stacked them on carts, so the supply sergeants could return the equipment to the armory.

There was also a wagon there carrying black armor pieces and mail, as well as shields, pikes, and castle steel. One of the shields in the wagon caught Theon's attention. It was a heater shield, and emblazoned on the front was the pink and red flayed man sigil.

"Ser Rodrik is back!" Rickon said when he caught sight of the knight through the coach's window.

The knight was standing next to Maester Luwin. Both men, grim in expression, watched the carriage as it came to a stop before the Great Keep.

"Go get yourselves changed," Theon told the boys before releasing them from the carriage.

"Can we come back and talk to the men returned from Hornwood?" Little Walder asked, more a request for himself than a collective one.

"Let them settle in first, then ask if they're willing to put up with you underfoot interrogating them."

Once the boys retreated into the Keep, Theon went to join Luwin and Ser Rodrik.

"Greetings, Ser knight. Welcome home. I pray your efforts in Hornwood went well."

"It went," Ser Rodrik said. "Come join us in your solar. There's much to discuss."

Theon was so put off by the knight's curt and dark demeanor he did not correct the ser for miscalling Lady Stark's solar. Once inside the solar, Ser Rodrik asked Theon to sit before he began. Again, Theon did as he was asked without comment and he began to dread what was about to be said in the next few moments.

"Forgive my terseness, lady Greyjoy. These last several weeks have been… Seven hells!" Ser Rodrik growled, clenching his fists. "Bollocks to that! I have endured nothing!"

"You found Lady Hornwood," Theon said, his heart clenched as tightly as Ser Rodrik's fists as he observed the look in the knight's eyes.

The people who lived their whole lives in Dreadfort had the same look. Theon had seen the look grow darker and darker in Sansa's eyes every night she spent in Ramsay's bed. Theon knew if he had ever dared to look into his own eyes they too would be dull and black from the horrors they'd seen.

Thank all the gods, old and new, mirrors are easy to avoid.

"No. I did find the malignant afterbirth who took her," Ser Rodrik said.

Now Theon's breath caught. "Is-Is he dead?"

"Aye. He tried to escape and was rewarded with three arrows in the back."

Theon could hardly believe it was true—Ramsay dead and buried in wormy earth was hope he didn't dare allow himself to have.

"Tell me, Ser, what led to his end?"

Ser Rodrik looked as though he wanted to spit some foul taste from his mouth as he began to recount the path he took to bring down Ramsay.

"We merged with Manderly forces on the way to Hornwood. We cut a swath through the Boltons running amok throughout the land, killing a good many, but hardly enough. Once we reached Hornwood castle, I spoke to the steward and the Manderly commander and learned Snow attempted to press his claim to Hornwood and all its holdings, gained through his marriage to Lady Donella. The bastard had even taken to calling himself Lord of the Hornwood."

"Did Snow reveal what had become of the lady?"

"He gave assurances she still lived and alleged Lady Donella wanted the castle ceded to her lord husband immediately. When the steward demanded to hear from the lady directly, Snow returned only threats and swore all within the castle would suffer greatly for denying him his rightful claim.

"Once I heard tell of this, we detached from Hornwood to hunt the bastard down. During our search, where we found Bolton men we crushed them. And even though we asked quite nicely," Ser Rodrik's smiled and it was anything but nice, "those Boltons who survived could not say for certain where Snow kept himself hidden.

"Eventually we learned he was last seen encamped outside a village near the Bolton/Hornwood border. When we reached the village and talked to the small folk, they told of girls gone missing, never to return. Only days before another girl disappeared, the youngest daughter of a boot maker. We scoured the area, our search fruitless until a scout heard screams coming from deep in the woods. But we were too late. When we found the girl, she was dead. Defiled and befouled. Snow was a-horse attempting to flee his crime, but we chased him down and bowmen loosed upon him. He was dead before he hit the ground.

"Too quickly did he die."

Theon clasped his hands on the desk and only just managed to hide how they wanted to tremble when he heard words that filled him with both a dark unnamable dread and a bright flickering hope. Two growling, hungry hounds, and Theon didn't know which one to feed.

"Are you certain it was Ramsay? Did you ask one of the captured Boltons if it was him?"

Ser Rodrik grunted. "None lived long after their interrogations."

"Then how can you be sure you brought down the right man?" Theon asked, fear beginning to claw up his spine again.

"As Snow fled, he left his servant behind. A miserable creature who smelled as foul as his master's black heart. He confirmed Snow's identity. He claimed no knowledge of Lady Hornwood's location but did confess the bastard compelled him to help steal girls from the village to violate at his leisure until he tired of them. Then he took the girls deep into the forest, stripped them bare, and told them to run for their life. If they escaped the forest, he promised to let them free."

"He's never let them get free," Theon whispered.

Rodrik said nothing for a moment. His expression was suddenly less stern, but unreadable.

"No, he didn't. According to the servant. After he ran the girls down, Snow raped and murdered them. The last girl was no more than four and ten."

Lady Sansa's age.

"And where is the servant now? Did he have any clues to Lady Hornwood's whereabouts?" Theon asked, his eyes burning.

"Locked away in the dungeons. He claims he does not know what became of Lady Donella after his master married her." Ser Rodrik's voice, already great rumble of a thing became a growl of anger and disgust. "The consummation of which the whole Bolton camp heard."

The screams. He does enjoy the screams, thought Theon. The louder the better he loves them.

"I would have cut the wretch down as Snow's accomplice," Ser Rodrik continued, "but there must be a witness to Snow's crimes when word reaches Riverrun and Lord Bolton. Roose will mislike his only son, bastard and monstrous though he was, was killed by a vassal of House Stark. The servant may supply the evidence needed to prove Snow's death a just one.

"And then, should judgment be passed on this Reek—it will be King Robb who swings the sword."

"Reek. Reek. His name is Reek?" Theon asked as he stared at his fists trembling on the desk.

Rhymes with....

"I do not believe it is his given name, my lady. It was likely a bestowed moniker. When we found him near the dead girl, he wore filthy rags and smelled like a privy. I cannot begin to guess why Snow allowed the man to remain near him."

To admire his own good works, of course.

"What of Snow's corpse?"

"Abandoned where it fell. Foul thing, I doubt even the wolves will find it an appetizing meal."

Theon almost smiled as he remembered how scrumptious the bastard's girls found their master.

"I would like to speak to this Reek."

"I cannot stop you, my lady," Ser Rodrik said.

Theon finally looked away from his clenched hands and up at the knight.

"You disapprove?"

"I do."

"Why? Is he dangerous still?"

"Nay, but a lady should not go near such a creature. Let alone speak to it."

Theon had more reasons than decency to want to stay away from what they had shut away in the dungeons. If he goes down there, will he crumble at what he might find and be swept away like a sandcastle before the incoming tide? Theon cannot know until he goes forth and looks at his shattered reflection.

Theon does want to go, though it frightens him. Because he wants to do for this man what Lady Sansa had done for him. To be the hand that reaches out and offers mercy.

"Should there be any slight chance he knows of Lady Hornwood's whereabouts," Theon said, "surely, we must try to discover it any way we can. If I speak to this Reek, perhaps he will say to me what he is too frightened to say to any other."

"I… I do not disagree," Ser Rodrik conceded. "Will you go see him now?"

"No, I will change into something more appropriate, then go to him."

"I will alert the guards to await your visit."

Theon gave the knight a quick nod of thanks. It was true Theon didn't need the ser's approval, but it was better to have it anyway. Theon placed his palms flat against the desk and pushed to his feet. His legs felt heavy, lethargic—unwilling. It seems Theon wasn't as eager to delve into the dungeons as he thought.

"Maester Luwin, will you see to the boys? They should be changed and harassing the men by now."

"I shall, lady Quenlyn."

Theon changed out of the black heavy cloak, wool dress, and the boiled leather ankle boots he wore on the outing to winter town and into a verdant green gown, slippers, and dark green velvet cloak. Theon did not wish to intimidate the man in their dungeons with his usual black garb and decided softer apparel would put the man more at ease.

After changing, Theon was still hesitant to leave his chambers. His nerves fraying the moment he reached for the door. Theon pulled his hand back and curled twitching fingers into a fist. He closed his eyes and allowed his breathing to slow until anxiety no longer gripped him, then he swept out of his rooms, resolved to see this task, which so frightened him, done.

The men who guarded the entrance of the cell tower set above the dungeons allowed Theon to pass without comment. He descended into the dungeons, and at the bottom of the flight of stone-cobbled stairs was an armored guardsman who stood at attention with a halberd in his hand. The guard wasn't wearing his helm and Theon soon recognized him. He was one of the men looking on the day Theon got his first moon's blood in the training yard.

Gaven was his name.

"Which cell holds the prisoner Reek?"

"This way, milady," said Gavin before he led Theon deeper into the dungeon, the end of his halberd tapping against the stone floor as they walked.

He marched Theon through a dusty hallway lit by torches on the wall towards the very back of the dungeons. Along the way, they passed cells barred by solid oak doors with heavy iron locks. All sat empty.

Ramsay's servant was the only prisoner in the dungeons.

Serious crime in the North ebbed when the first snows of winter arrived. Lord Stark, and all the kings and great Lords of winter who came before him, were known not to tolerate wrongdoings once surviving became of paramount concern. So a lawbreaker who would have earned a place in Winterfell's dungeons any other season was executed or sent to the wall instead. The Stark did not waste food and resources on criminals, and the Northmen were careful not to test his unforgiving and unbending will when winter came.

Soon they came upon a dozen cells with black, wrought iron bars. The cramped cells provided occupants little space and the bars offered them no privacy. In each cell, there was a narrow wooden bench, a bucket, and a carpet of straw on the floor. Light from the torches barely reached these cells and cast them all in half shadow.

When Theon and Gaven finally reached the lone prisoner's cell, pale torchlight showed the man laying on the bench. His body was curled in on itself underneath a roughspun wool blanket. The man had used the bucket shoved against the far corner opposite the bench, but the odor coming from the cell was far less pungent than Theon was expecting. People had complained about Theon's stench long before they stepped foot into whatever room he was in, but Theon did not detect such rankness from Ramsay's servant.

"Has this man been bathed?" Theon asked Gaven.

"Aye, milady. He was scrubbed down in the stables, else he'd have the dungeons stunk up worst than usual."

Theon nodded. Gaven wasn't wrong. He would have.

"I see. Thank you. I wish to speak to the prisoner alone," Theon said, not wanting anyone to overhear what he was going to say to the man in the cage.

"Yes, milady."

Theon waited until Gaven returned to his post before he spoke to the prisoner.

"My name is Quenlyn Greyjoy, acting Lady of Winterfell, and I would help you if I can."

The man remained silent and unmoving.

"Your master… I know what he was. I know of his cruel games and terrible deeds. I know what he has done to bring you so low. The things he's made you see. Made you do…"

Theon shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't want to remember being foul not only in body but in spirit as well. Nor did he wish to recall how he too cowered and cringed under Ramsay's shadow. All light, all hope vanished from his sight as if they never existed.

Until Lady Sansa saved him, Theon believed he would never know them again.

Theon opened his eyes.

"I know you fear what he will do if you defy or betray him," Theon said, "but he is dead, and he can't hurt you anymore."

The man curled into an even tighter lump on the bench and still would not speak.

"I promise, it's no trick. Tell me your name. Not the one he forced upon you, but your true name."

Only more silence followed, until:

"Heke," said the cracking, frightened voice under the blanket. "My name is Heke."

Theon stepped closer to the cell and curled his hands around its cold iron bars. He was close to reaching the man inside, much sooner than he expected, but knew he must tread ever carefully. Fear of Master did not relinquish its hold after only a few sweet, encouraging words. That terror was sharp and barbed—and it sunk deep. Theon lost pounds of flesh trying to tear it out, and when he finally did, still its venom remained.

"I want to help you, Heke. I will speak to the king on your behalf. I cannot promise he will find you innocent of wrongdoing, but I can advocate he spare your life and allow you to take the black. At the Wall, you might find some form of peace, and perhaps regain your honor."

"You will do that? For me?" Heke asked, mistrust tinging his muffled voice.

"I will try."

The lump under the blanket stirred briefly before Heke unfurled himself on the bench. The top of Heke's head showed first, revealing a patch of thick wavy black hair, then a sliver of his profile as he sat up. His skin was pale... Almost translucent.

No…

Heke stood then slowly turned around, still partially within the pool of shadow cast by dim torchlight. But his eyes still reflected that faint yellow glow and shined like two full moons that grew bigger and brighter as he approached the iron bars. Before he stepped fully into the light, Theon was already starting to scream.