The world is cruel but you are much crueler.
Daenerys Targaryen sat in front of the looking glass as a handmaiden brushed out her long locks of silver gold. The girl used strokes so gentle that they barely touched her hair at all; she was afraid of the queen of dragons, that much was clear.
Dany had tried meeting her eyes in the reflection of the mirror but the girl would look away the moment she saw the color purple.
Everyone in Winterfell save for Sansa and Lord Ramsay were visibly shaken by the Targaryen.
Servers set her food in front of her as if she would eat off their fingers if they were too slow, the stable hand quit on the spot as soon as he laid eyes on the dragons, and many of Ramsay's men at arms kept their hands at their sword hips.
It was as if they were all expecting another siege to take place, and they knew that the Boltons would not win this time.
There was one individual however, whom Dany had only seen lurking about in the shadows.
Likely he was a servant, but the way he smelled led her to believe that he was a misplaced servant; a foul odor of mud and ripe flesh lingered wherever he had recently been.
She had never seen his face but Daenerys knew that he had been watching her from the places he could remain invisible to someone who wasn't looking.
Well, now Daenerys Stormborn was looking.
She excused the frightened handmaiden before her work was finished, and dressed herself in a plain gray gown; nothing that she had gotten used to wearing as the Queen of Meereen.
Tucking her hair into the wide hood of a wool cloak, the dragon's daughter stepped carefully along the passages of Winterfell.
The last she had seen of the stranger's back he had been wandering near the kitchens, likely snatching scraps as it did not seem fathomable that Ramsay would allow a creature like that anywhere near his food. Even a dog has its limits.
Daenerys followed her nose but it told her that the boy was not in the area anymore. She would have to look elsewhere.
There were so many undiscovered parts of Winterfell that she itched to search but it would only waste too much time; she had to stick to the parts she knew he had been before: the Great Hall, the armory, the library tower... Then she suddenly had a thought: the kennels.
His smell made it most likely that he worked with Ramsay's beasts.
She knew just where the kennel was but had never had reason to venture there. In fact, Daenerys much rather would have avoided it throughout the duration of her stay if it were possible; these dogs belonged to Ramsay completely.
Rounding the corner she recognized the smell. The dogs in their stalls were whining and whimpering as she stepped past them; they all smelled the dragons on her. No dog would dare stand up to a dragon.
Every cage was full save for the one at the very end of the stone passage. Inside there was only a stack of hay, until Dany saw a lump moving.
Her fingers curled around the metal bars as her eyes stared in at the heap of man curled in around himself.
"Who are you?" She demanded.
The lump jumped in a fright and turned its bewildered face towards her. He looked just as filthy as he smelled.
He could not have been much older than she, but certainly weighed less; he was so bony that his ragged clothes hung from him uselessly. His hair was matted and full of hay, and his gray eyes were wildly staring at her as if she were a giant.
Although her reputation was certainly larger than life, Daenerys was no mythical creature.
He didn't answer. The unwashed boy only gaped at her with an open mouth.
"I want to know who you are. Answer me." She would not look away from him, nor would she leave until he answered her at least this.
Dany had known that he had been following her around the castle like a spy, which meant that he could very well know that she and Sansa had been meeting together in private. It would most certainly reach Ramsay's ears if that were the case.
Finally the slack-jawed servant began to speak: "Reek. My name is Reek."
What sort of a name was Reek ? It reminded Dany of the slave names her Unsullied had before she made them free men.
"Why do you live in the kennels, Reek?" She would not allow her face to be anything but stern.
"B-because Lord Ramsay tells me to, Your- uh..."
"- Daenerys. Call me Daenerys.
And do you do everything that Lord Ramsay tells you to?"
"Oh yes, D-daenerys... I always do what Lord Ramsay asks of me. It will make him mad otherwise."
Daenerys studied the creature. She had no doubt now that Reek was a spy for Ramsay. What she needed to do now was pry as much information from this man as possible.
"Lord Ramsay trusts you doesn't he, Reek?" She added a note of understanding to her voice, wanting him to believe that they were on the same side.
Reek nodded fervently, hugging his bony knees to his chest like a child.
"What about Lady Sansa, does she trust you too?"
Now Reek looked down forlornly before shaking his head.
He was Ramsay's creature and Ramsay's alone. He would spy on Lady Sansa if he was asked of it and Daenerys could only assume that he had been.
"I want you to trust me too." It was a necessary lie; she needed Reek's trust in order to get the information that she needed from him. Spying could be a two-way path if that was how Ramsay wanted to conduct things here.
Reek looked warily at the dragon queen through tufts of dirty hair. His expression was difficult to read behind the sadness that seemed permanent. This boy had not lived a good life here.
Daenerys gripped the metal bars passionately, almost shaking them. "Please, Reek. I want Lord Ramsay's friends to be mine as well. It is clear to me that he trusts you more than anyone else in Winterfell and that makes you a top priority to me."
That seemed to spark some intrigue into the vacant eyes. Reek looked at Dany again for a moment before nodding his head slowly. "Okay."
She smiled a lovely queen's smile before bidding him goodnight and turning back.
When Daenerys was outside and around the corner she coughed and took big gulps of fresh air.
What kind of condition was that to keep a human being in?
The rot and filth and stench that boy lived in brought Dany back to Essos, to Astapor, and Meereen; those slaves who had lived worse than dogs.
Ironically enough, Reek was living among dogs.
Her hand found purchase on the cold stones of the castle as the queen felt a hard egg in her throat. It constricted her breathing and made her feel even more anxious.
The Boltons were more monstrous than she had been thinking.
But she could be monstrous too; she was a dragon, a true monster. Mother of monsters.
The last thing Daenerys wanted to do was unleash hell upon Winterfell; it had already seen enough of that. But this was certainly no civilized castle, no way for the wardens of the north to rule.
If she was not willing to cleanse this place with dragon fire, then she had to dismantle the power here entirely.
That could mean tarnishing her growing alliance with Sansa Stark.
The cold wall felt relieving on her back as Dany leaned against it. If only her mind could be so easily calmed.
As much as she may have not wanted to allow her children to decimate the castle, she didn't want to lose Sansa's trust even more.
Winterfell was still the Stark's home and would be forever; the Targaryen may never know a true home, which was perhaps why she felt particularly conflicted.
Furthermore, she could not share her consideration of the Bolton's deaths with Sansa for two reasons: the girl would not go along with it, and there was Reek.
Reek.
That kennel boy had instituted an entirely new beast for the dragon to contend with; a creature with Ramsay's powerful hatred behind him.
Her attitude towards servitude granted pity for the boy, but her political mind advised her to get rid of him as well.
If there was no more Ramsay, that would make Reek useless anyway.
But could she find a place for him in her charge as she had with the others?
He was weak both physically and mentally, and Daenerys refused to keep slaves. Killing him would be more of a mercy than anything.
This conflict would spread out in her mind like the world's largest map complete with twists and turns to throw her from her morals.
Suddenly the queen was remembering the execution she had held in Meereen. She hadn't swung the blade but her hands were just as bloody.
There was no real reason to kill Reek regardless of the Bolton's hold on him.
Daenerys re entered the castle feeling sick to her stomach.
She retired to her room early that night and spoke to no one. In her borrowed bed she curled her knees to her chest and held herself tightly the way no one else had before.
Dany fell into a fitful sleep long before the darkest hour, and she woke when the sky was gray she was sweating.
Her dreams had been filled with fire and the smell of burning flesh; she would never lose that smell.
The snow motes of Winterfell had all melted away to reveal the black grass below, and a path made of human bones that led her to the pit in Meereen.
Below there were all kinds of faces she recognized, and they were all slaughtering each other. She saw Daario Naharis strangle Grey Worm, and Jorah the Andal slice through Missandei's precious face. Then Daenerys saw Ramsay Bolton lashing a beautiful woman of auburn with chains.
When Dream Dany looked down in her hand she held a whip.
That nightmare pressed on the forefront of her mind to create a headache between her eyes.
She spent the entire morning in solitary.
Her handmaiden came only once to try to rouse her but Daenerys rushed her off easily; still these northerners feared her like the Stranger.
Only once did she think about calling for Sansa, but this was not her place to do so; she was a guest here, queen or not.
So it was that Daenerys Targaryen alone tried to mend her bent emotions in the wake of her horrible subconscious.
It only made for fear of sleeping again.
Already a full day had passed since she had last seen her dragons, and Dany knew that the trio would soon be beside themselves if she did not come today.
But how could she look at them with these terrifying thoughts rolling around in her head?
What if she could not control herself, or what if her children were so intuitive as to know what she had been thinking?
Do dragons dream? Surely they must, wouldn't they? They are intelligent enough, they feel too.
If only she could know what exactly it was a dragon would dream about, but then Daenerys was thinking that she truly did not need to know.
She steadied herself enough to move to the window where she tried to look for signs of movement.
She pulled the fur throw tighter against her as her eyes scanned the white landscape until the blinding light only made her headache worse.
It was well into the afternoon when her stomach finally won over her hectic thoughts, and Dany called for lunch.
Eating got her strength up, and then she was able to dress and tidy herself.
Alone in the hollow halls, Daenerys knew of the place she wished to seek but not how to find it.
All of her knowledge of the castle had been gifted to her by its sole heir, and so Daenerys had to move by memory of one of her first conversations with Sansa.
Her feet carried her to the First Keep where her memory served her right, and a twisting staircase that led deep into the ground presented itself.
Satisfied that she was not being followed, Daenerys descended into the earth.
It was a long way down, as she had been expecting.
The stairs wound deep and deeper until they stopped at an oddly slanted door.
It was large and beautiful but suddenly Dany was thinking of the vaults in Qarth.
With both hands she pushed at the wrought iron door until it budged open, and inside she slipped.
The crypt of Winterfell was ancient, and the Targaryen was immediately greeted by its ghosts.
The carved stone faces looked at her in honorable suspicion as she stepped in and out of the shadows of the torches.
None of them she recognized by face, but some names sounded familiar as she recalled them from the stories she had heard.
There was an impossible amount of Stark faces here but there was one in particular that Daenerys sought to look upon.
She found her not deep into the crypt.
Lyanna Stark was lovely even shaped in rock.
She stood wreathed in a crown of winter roses, the ones that Dany had known to be blue as frozen lips; the ones she had known her brother Rhaegar to gift the Stark girl when he named her Queen of Love and Beauty.
Had Lyanna been angry, had she scorned Rhaegar for such an obvious scandal?
Or had she loved him the way no one truly believed she did?
Dany's lips parted as if she were to speak, but what could a little dragon have to say to a she-wolf?
She could think that perhaps Rhaegar would still be alive if he hadn't loved her so, but Daenerys knew better than that.
Lyanna was at no fault for the death of the prince.
"You did start a war thought," Dany whispered at the stone. And I will end it.
I have a very important job for you, Reek. Likely the most important job yet.
It had been three days ago that the Lord of Bolton had sat before a kneeling Reek.
I am going hunting with my men and leaving you in charge of watching the Lady Sansa and Queen Daenerys for me.
The way he had said queen denoted that he was not sincere about the title. Ramsay was not particularly fond of Daenerys Targaryen but he was very fond of her three fiery dragons.
Often he would look in the general direction of the courtyard while talking ardently about them, licking his lips and grinning like a fox.
Reek knew that if he ever found a way, Lord Ramsay would steal those beasts for himself; and then what trouble the whole realm would be in.
Reek had shivered at the thought.
He had kneeled with Ramsay's muddy riding boots on his shoulder while his Lord detailed what exactly he expected to hear about upon his return.
I want you to tell me everywhere Sansa and Daenerys go together, what they do, what they talk about, what they eat. Everything Reek, I mean it. This is extremely important. I can't allow that Targaryen to fill my wife's head with silly fantasies and lies. We both know the reputation Targaryen heathens have for brainwashing Stark girls. Then he had laughed.
When Ramsay had left for his trip, Reek had seriously considered not following through with his task and simply making things up. What could two women get into that would be interesting?
But then his mind got the better of him; Ramsay would surely know that he was lying. He would have someone spy on Reek while he spied on Sansa and Daenerys. It was an incredibly real possibility.
So reluctantly but obediently Ramsay's pet had begun to follow the women.
What he did notice was that they spent every evening after supper alone in Daenerys' rooms. Of course he was not permitted to enter but Reek always remained outside of the door trying to catch words here and there.
Mostly it seemed to him that they were harmlessly gossiping, but that was something Ramsay would want to know about.
The whole thing made Reek anxious and queasy; he knew that they were talking but he couldn't be certain about what.
His lack of knowledge would only land him in hot water with Ramsay.
Then she discovered him.
When he had awoken from a fitful slumber to see Daenerys Targaryen posted outside of his door, Reek only saw fire.
She was as white as any woman could be but her soul was alight with flames and fury; fire and blood.
Then he immediately thought of her three dragons just outside; how they were constantly hungry.
Targaryens were known for feeding humans to their dragons, and who would be around to stop her from making a meal of him? Surely Ramsay would not mourn him terribly.
It was why he cooperated more than he should have.
If Ramsay had known that Reek had said anything at all to the dragon queen... The image of the dungeon flashed in his troubled mind.
But she had told him that she wanted his trust; that seemed so appealing to Reek at the time. If the Targaryen girl began to understand that he wasn't a threat, that he was only Reek, then surely she wouldn't kill him. She would have no reason to.
He fiddled with his hands, wringing them over each other repeatedly until it made the skin raw.
He was stuck between a lash and a dragon's mouth.
What made it worse was that he already knew the decision he would make.
"I have never had tea like this before." Sansa watched her silver-haired guest sip at the scalding liquid.
It was most impressive the way Daenerys refused to blow on the tea to cool it; dragon's daughter, she thought.
"It was one that my mother loved before going to bed. She said it helped her to have pleasant dreams." And in a world like this one, dreams were the only thing that could ever be anything happy.
"Your mother," Dany mouthed. "Catelyn Tully Stark."
"Yes," Sansa nodded.
"I was told that you looked like her."
It was meant as a compliment of course, but Sansa still had trouble thinking of her late mother; the horrible way she was murdered.
"I never knew my mother but I was always told that she was beautiful; I suppose people were trying to tell me that I resembled her as well." The steam from the cup rose over Daenerys' face like dragon smoke.
Sansa was all too agreeable to smile pleasantly. "Yes, Your Grace. It was always legend that the Targaryens were beautiful people- Are beautiful, I suppose." She peered into her own cup.
Dany laughed. "You suppose that I am beautiful?"
"No, no. I didn't mean it like that. You are, Your Grace. Very much so."
The queen grinned playfully. "I did not mean to embarrass you, Sansa, and I told you to call me Daenerys."
She set her tea aside and crossed her legs. "Beauty is not what makes a good ruler, although it certainly helps to spread word. Nobody ever talks about Cersei Lannister's pragmatism, or Margaery Tyrell's cunning. Those traits are not as interesting in a woman as the sheen of her hair or the width of her hips."
Sansa nodded in silent agreement, remembering that the first things she had heard heralded about the two queens of King's Landing was in fact their beauty.
"You are a queen too, you know." Daenerys was poking at the wolf's den again.
Sansa fussed with the ends of her hair and scrunched her nose. "No I'm not. I could never be queen. I will never be queen." But it was not terribly long ago that she had almost been queen, and perhaps this dragon girl would have wanted her dead then.
"But you are, Sansa. You are the heir to Winterfell and Queen of the North. Your brother may have revived the kingdom of the north but there has always been kings of winter. The northerners simply insist upon it."
Still, Sansa hid away her true words in a mask of courtesy. "Please, Daenerys, you're only trying to make me feel better about myself. You are too kind."
Dany sighed, thwarted by that steel armor of kindness.
"I was told that you were beautiful too," her voice had dropped to a whisper.
"I was told that you were the jewel of the whole north, by men who hadn't even seen you for themselves. That is how power works."
Sansa's blue eyes found Dany's, looking for her honesty; but Daenerys had never lied to her thus far.
"You said it yourself, women are regarded more highly if they're pretty." And Sansa knew that to be true already.
Dany nodded. "But I would have still come to see you even if they had told me you had a witch's nose and three breasts; you are queen regardless of what you look like. Stannis Baratheon's daughter has grayscale but she is still a princess to his people."
The Stark had heard of Shireen Baratheon's unfortunate scars but Daenerys had made a very good point.
"Of course, if you had had three breasts I would have come quicker to see for myself." Daenerys teased, and Sansa giggled as well.
"But there are only two and they look quite lovely." The purple eyes appraised their subjects quite openly.
Sansa's face turned a shade of red to match her hair.
"Thank-you," she murmured, for she had no clue what else to say.
The dragon queen grinned almost triumphantly.
The she-wolf's heart quickened its pace, and she cursed the way her skin glowed beneath such sultry (and perhaps inappropriate) attention.
Another woman had never complimented her as such; there was something most definitely sexual about it, and it had Sansa wondering if such customs were unstigmatized in Essos, or if it was only Daenerys herself.
She had been thinking about it, almost fantasizing, when the older girl's voice broke through.
"I talked to the kennel boy today. I think we have his silence; he's been following us, you know. Spying."
Sansa's face fell. "The kennel boy?"
"Right. The one who calls himself 'Reek'."
Now her heart was beating for another reason.
"Why? What did you say to him?" Her voice gave away the alarm in her chest.
"I only told him that I wished for his trust. I can't have him saying things to Ramsay; we can't have that, Sansa." Daenerys seemed almost frightened by her hostess' alarm.
Sansa's head fell into her hands as if they would hold her brain together. She had nearly forgotten about Theon entirely.
"Daenerys please, do not talk to him again, do not seek him out. He is more dangerous than you'd suspect."
A thick brow rose on the creamy face. "Dangerous, why, because he is Ramsay's pet?"
"No, because he is not Reek," Sansa blurted.
Dany sat bolt upright and bore sharpness into Sansa's eyes.
"What do mean? Tell me, Sansa."
She felt the tears prickling her eyes, threatening to break free.
"His name is not Reek, but he is Ramsay's pet. I have known him for my entire life. He came here as a ward of my father's, he grew up with my siblings and I as if he were a Stark himself. He is not Reek. His true name is Theon Greyjoy."
A deafening silence permeated the entire room; not even the wind moved.
Daenerys blinked as this revelation settled in her stomach.
"He is the son of Balon Greyjoy, born to the Iron Islands?"
"The very same."
"Then why? Tell me what happened?"
"If you insist."
And Sansa told Daenerys everything of Theon's betrayal to her brother Robb, the siege on Winterfell, the murder of her two little brothers, the capture of the castle by the Boltons, and the foul imprisonment of the Greyjoy.
"So he is responsible for much death in your family," Dany concluded, and Sansa nodded solemnly.
"Then I will kill him."
Sansa's gaze turned wild, she practically threw herself at the dragon queen. "No, you musn't! He may be wicked and evil and a traitor but he belongs to Ramsay, and he lives a life much worse than death. If Ramsay knew you killed him, he would banish you; another war would break out. Please, you can't."
You can't because I don't want you to leave me here. I cannot return to the existence I had barely been surviving before you came.
Daenerys contemplated Sansa's face deeply, and she knew that she could not lose the girl's trust over a prisoner of war.
She was right; from what Dany saw, Theon was living a life much worse than death. Killing him would only be an act of mercy.
"Then I won't." She affirmed.
Sansa's body relaxed like a sigh of relief. Besides the fury her husband would have for the Targaryen, it wouldn't hold a candle to the the way he would punish Sansa.
"You have a kindness that would shame even The Mother, Lady Sansa." Daenerys rose from her seat in a rustle of robes and moved to the window. The frost clinging to the glass made a halo of ice around the Targaryen girl's head.
No. I am not kind, Sansa thought. I could give a damn what happens to Theon Greyjoy but I do not want to die, not by the hands of Ramsay Bolton.
If she were a kind person to shame the merciful Mother then she still would think of Theon as a brother, as someone she could trust. She thought no more of Theon than a cat does of a flea; as a wolf does.
Daenerys was looking at her, studying her face. Sansa felt exposed beneath the scrutiny.
"But you believe in the Old Gods, don't you?" The queen wasn't looking for an answer.
Sansa nodded her head but kept her gaze down.
"Do the Old Gods care if one is so kind? Do those faces in the trees smile down upon you if you do right by them? I wonder..."
Sansa sobbed. "You want me to change my mind, I know it. You want me to tell you that I don't care if you kill Theon, or that I even desperately want you to, but I can't, Daenerys. I can't do that!"
Hot tears washed Sansa's face as she shook her head a number of times. It was not an apology but simply a matter of fact; she could not allow the murder of Theon no more than she could of her blood brothers.
Daenerys only moved in front of the place where Sansa sat crying. One queenly hand came to stroke the auburn hair gently; hair like fire.
"A dragon has no god. I am sorry."
And she turned to see her children breathe smoke into the air.