Part 30; To Begin Healing

I want you to undress

your heart, and show

me how much it hurts,

so that I can show you

how I intend to make it

stop.

Sansa

It was a long time before either of them sought fit to move. Once they caught their breath—awoke from the sleepy-haze they succumbed to, it became apparent that Reek had decisively, made up his mind, about what his desires were.

Sansa had known all along of Reek's formidable attraction to her.

From that first instinctual moment when his hand engulfed hers—Entwined. Linked with her bony-fleshed hand, after Ramsay's torment—She had known.

Perhaps, it ran deeper—Further down than she had admitted within his ear-shell—However, she was still deciphering the patterns of her heart.

Constantly making sense of what laid written there.

"So, what have you decided, Husband?" Yearning deep-down to remind him of their inseverable bond—She cooed. Dainty-fingers tangled in hair-curls. Sweat, soaked into the strands. Cold, itchy—stickiness dried on her skin. However, it was his decision what came next.

Sansa would not push.

Breathy-huffs emerged, from his broken, hoarse-vocals.

Languishing moments of silence, ensued.

She wondered if he would even deem a response—necessary.

"Y-You need to b-be clean, L-Lady S-Sansa." Fingers curled; Reek brushed curved-edges of her cheek. Jaw. Neck.

Found courage enough (it would seem) to stare within her eyes.

"And then?" Coaxing; She awaited further instruction.

Haunted-optics sought hers. "I…know n-not, My L-Lady." Stutters still parted from swelled-brims. Rapid, heartbeats were made against dainty-fingers, pressed upon his chest-cage.

"I made Jon a promise. That we would deal with the men that…did this to you." Sensitively, pauses were made, in-between uncertain-toned, words. Sansa did not desire to further startle him with truths he was not yet, prepared to hear.

Reek shuddered.

"I d-do not ever w-want to s-see those m-men, again. P-Please…L-Lady Sansa…I c-cannot…" Tears wet the underside of tired-eyes.

Reassuring-thumbs brushed away, any stray tears. Whilst warmth invaded Reek's form.

"And you never will. Not if you do not wish to." She quieted his fears, with calm resolve. "But Jon and I need to know what you do. As much as you can recall. So that we are absolutely certain that we execute the truly responsible parties. You would not wish an innocent to die for another's crime. Would you?" Speaking sense, Sansa knew the risk of permitting Jon to have contact with Reek.

Jon could not understand Reek.

Not fully.

Reek shook his head, solemnly.

"You also are in urgent need of the Maester." Calculated whispers, departed.

With wide eyes, Reek's head shook—vigorously.

"P-Please…I d-do not w-want to b-be touched…n-not by a-anyone e-else…"

Sansa figured that his response would be along those lines. Which was precisely the reason she had held off, as long as she had. But she was no Maester. She was therefore, unable to anticipate (with any real certainty) which of these fresh marks, were most critical to oversee.

"Please, Reek. You know a Maester is trained for such things. I am not. I might have overlooked something. You could die…" Tears, now, rimmed her eyes. Skin pulsed red, flushing through her veins.

Fear shone in those emerald-optics. Trembles wracked through his form. Sansa only drew in closer—collected a kiss from pink-lips.

When she retracted, she recognized the defeated glance cross over his features. "A-Alright…But y-you have to s-stay, Lady S-Sansa. P-Please? D-Do not l-leave me…a-alone…"

"I would never do that, Reek. Come along, now. If you desire me to be clean, then we shall bathe together." Sansa left no room for argument—slid from between bed-furs, crossed their chambers—drew a robe around her frame to shield her decency—and sought out the servants.

Instructed them to run a bath, then change the bedlinens. With some difficulty, she managed to maneuver Reek into an upright position. Then, planted him in the bathwater. Before shedding the robe to join him.

Solemn—embarrassed—eyes sought out those pretty, young-females that were stripping apart the bedsheets. Barely suppressing, knowing smiles, as they worked.

"Hey. Do not look at them, Reek." Sansa turned his cheek, let calming-blue optics sear into his.

"T-They know I a-am not g-good enough for y-you…" Sansa's eyes caught the feminine creatures suppressing their laughter for a second time, and found it prudent to speak up.

"If something is funny, do share the joke with everyone." Both girls jumped. Stalled in their tracks by the sudden interruption of their duties. Quickly, they gathered up the sheets, and made way for the door, before, Sansa could prevent them.

With a sigh, she settled into the heated bathwater. Dragged the warm-heat of a soft rag, over Reek's skin. Cleansing him of all filth, whilst he absently did the same for her.

"Pay them no mind, Reek. You are recovering from a trauma that they could never even, remotely comprehend, themselves. They are silly, young girls. Whom, meant no harm." Sansa doubted they were even past their thirteenth nameday. "I will help you train your mind to wake you when you have need to use the privy. I promise. Perhaps, Theon has some pointers for you. He learned to control it for the most part." Sansa knew she was treading upon thin ice, but she needed him to know that she would push through—Continue fighting alongside of him, until the bitter end.

"I…I am n-not trainable…" Scarlet filled his cheeks—straight down to his chest. "H-Hounds are m-meant to b-be filthy…"

"You are not a hound, Reek. You are a man. No matter what Ramsay said to you. I believe you are salvageable. Your soul is still pure. You are a good man. I promise, that you will be well taken care of. No man, woman, or creature will have cause to inflict pain upon you again."

Reek fell silent. They proceeded to clean in the heavy silence. Until, each of them was fully refreshed. The servants remade the bed without so much as a smile, before departure.

"I will go for the Maester, after we get you dried, and into bed. Is that alright?" She wanted to make certain that Reek felt in control. Never yearned for him to feel taken advantage of again.

Reek nodded.

With a little coaxing, she stood him upright. Used a fluffy, woven-towel to dry him, bodily. Prior to guiding him back upon the now, clean bedlinens. He appeared to relax into the silky-soft fabric. Sansa left him unclothed for the Maester.

"I will go get him. I will be right back, Reek." Sansa planted a kiss upon his forehead, before departing from their bedchambers.

Dressed in a fine, corset, and flowing gown. Headed to the Maester's chambers, Sansa paid no mind to the eyes that sought her out. Guards took to gawking at her. Even servants. Most had heard of—some witnessed—the curious proclivities she partook in with her husband.

Much to Jon's derision.

Sansa paid no heed to the consistent stares, However. Having grown used to curious eyes upon her whilst she had occupied the halls of King's Landing. As the Queen's little bird whom hailed from the North—She had been an oddity.

Especially, once Robb took up arms against the Lannister's. Hailing himself King in the North.

Now Jon was the King—and Sansa felt at home, despite the obtuse-stares.

Poised at the Maester's door—She hesitated. Before knocking.

"You should have called for me, straightaway. If his afflictions are too far gone, then I may be unable to heal them." Moments later, Sansa was hurrying down the hall, alongside of the elderly, Maester. Apparent, disrepair, wrote over his features.

"I know my husband, and he was unable to handle the upheaval of anyone's hands touching him, aside from mine. I cleansed the wounds as best I could. And have kept him as clean as I am able. But he is most afraid of touch, as I am certain you can understand." Sansa urged. Refusing to be given a tongue-lash, like a disobedient, child.

He paused, gave her a pointed-look, then proceeded. "I know of what ails him, Lady Sansa. It is of no consequence. I still should have been called, clear away."

Her jaw set, irritation founded in her blue-optics. "I am aware of what should have been done, Maester Alecor, but you have never treated my husband." In-fact the Maester was new to Winterfell. Had only just arrived a moon ago. Prior to then, there had been no Maester.

"No, I have not, treated him. But I delivered Little Robb, and I saw quite enough, of him to know his behavior patterns. He does not do well, under stress. No matter the kind. His body is underweight. His mind, frail. It took quite a bit of convincing to convince your Husband to calm himself, whilst you were in labor. Even then, he was not calm. Rather the opposite. Refused even to put on a scrap of clothing so that he might retain his decency."

Sansa recalled bits, and pieces of her labor. She had been between consciousness, and unconsciousness at the time. She remembered almost squeezing Theon's hand—crushing bone. He had not so much as jerked the thing away. Merely let her squeeze. Scream. Cling to him.

She cracked a smile. "My husband is unique, in more than just one manner, Maester Alecor. His mind is not merely, frail, but damaged. It appears as though he has split himself into different personalities. His mind is lost to his true name for the moment. He is Reek, currently."

Seeming to have piqued his interest, Maester Alecor raised a brow. "Has he? Well it is of no surprise to me. I have heard of such an affliction, although it is quite rare."

Sansa nodded, pretending not to be surprised by such news. There were others like Theon? The thought made her shiver.

Finally, having arrived back to their chambers, Maester Alecor, permitted himself entry. Opened the door.

Reek startled. Eyes widened at the sight of Maester Alecor. Sansa was quick to cross the room, settled alongside him.

"It is just me, Reek. No need to be frightened, and I brought Maester Alecor. Do you remember him?

Reek appeared to seek the memory. Then nodded—cautiously.

"H-He delivered…y-your b-baby…"

Sansa smiled. "And now he is going to fix you up. I will be right here. Do not be frightened."

Maester Alecor stood nearby, witnessed their exchange with an unreadable expression upon his wrinkled-features. He was a rather soft-spoken man. With a quick-paced step for an elderly man. Although, he seemed to hold deep compassion, and understanding for those he treated. His sharp-tongue and wits vanquished, when he began to tend Reek.

"I promise to be brief, young man. I wish to cause you no more harm than has already been inflicted. I will try to be gentle, if you wish me to cease at any time, so you might have a break, you need only ask." Maester Alecor lowered his kit of tinctures upon the bedside table. It held various instruments of medicine. Some familiar to Sansa—others not.

With great care, Maester Alecor drew close, took heed of Reek's slight cringe as he peeled back the bed-furs. Sansa kept intent-focus upon his face, as he sought the damage inflicted. Even he appeared unnerved by the extent of trauma, Reek's body bore the brunt of. Especially when his exam made it to the scorched, bubbled-up, burns over Reek's sides, abdomen, pelvis, and derriere.

"These burns are worst. They are on the verge of infection." Rapidly, Maester Alecor mashed up a tincture. Applied the proper herbs, in quick succession, then applied the paste to all of Reek's burns. Reek made animal-like noises of pain, and reached out. Sought, Sansa's hand.

Without hesitation, she grasped on tight. Felt him squeeze, then burrow his head into the feather-pillow. "It will be over soon, Reek. Just hold on a little longer." Sansa cooed. Brushed spare-fingers through his curls.

Maester Alecor worked with agile, certainty. Bandaged the afflicted areas with cloth, in order to keep the paste on.

Reek's hand unclenched when the worst was through. And Maester Alecor made quick work of surveying the rest of him. Applied cream to his bruised face. Then, left Milk of the Poppy for any pain that proved too much to bear.

Reek's eyes widened at the sight. Then shook his head.

"I…I do not want Milk of the P-Poppy…N-Never again…"

Sansa recognized the quirk of Maester Alecor's brow. "It will permit your body a bit of time to mend without the thrall of pain. You will take longer to heal if you refuse. But alas, it is your choice."

"His attackers used Milk of the Poppy to subdue him…" Sansa explained. Warm-arms clutched Reek as hot-tears burned her skin.

"I see." Maester Alecor, appeared troubled by the news. "Unfortunately, it is the most effective for pain, I known not, what else can be given to alleviate him." Sympathetic eyes, found hers, as he cleared away the equipment, he used to create the tinctures. Maester Alecor clicked the case closed, hoisting it back over his shoulder.

"Thank you, Maester Alecor. For your expertise." He gave a hasty nod.

"Replace the bandages twice a day, and apply this tincture to his burns." Maester Alecor pointed out the small flask left alongside the Milk of the Poppy, on their bedside table.

Consciously, she gave a nod in response.

"He will pull through. I see nothing that indicates otherwise. But he will be in quite a bit of pain without a few dosages of Poppy." With that final bit of advice, Maester Alecor, took his leave.

The hollow echo of the closed chamber-doors, lingered. Reek gave soft little sobs into her neckline as she held him. Near—tight, in comforting-arms.

"Might you take some later, tonight, Reek? I promise I will stay with you the whole time. You will be safe. I will hold you." Humming in soft-edged tones, Sansa kissed his cheek. "I do not wish for you to be in constant pain." Currently, they had to meet with Jon, and he needed to be of clear conviction. Tonight, however—There would be no need to fret over how clear his mind would be.

"I c-cannot…" Fearfully, his head shook.

"What if I take it with you? Hm? It is supposed to make you feel good. I hear it can even heighten pleasure." Coaxingly, her stray-hand rubbed up and down the length of his back. Massaged—groped, rubbed clean circles around his muscles.

He moaned, haughtily into her neck. His sniffles subsiding.

"Tonight? What do you say?" Subtly, her pink-petals, grazed over his neck-column.

Finally, he seceded.

"T-Tonight…" He vowed.

Reek

Nervously, Reek settled against the wooden, headboard. Painfully, having dressed in respectable clothes. Sansa would no longer permit him to wear his rags. Those that Ramsay gifted him. Instead, he was made to wear breeches that were clean, tunics with elegant fabric, and washed, smallclothes.

This attire was unfamiliar to Reek. Used to the filth, Ramsay permitted him to stay in, he felt discomfort.

Foolishly, he squirmed.

"You are handsome." Sweet promises departed those pretty-petals of hers.

All Reek could feel was discomfort. The fabric rubbed against his cloth-bandages. The applied tincture, made his burns, twinge with upset. But Sansa needed him to stay conscious—alert. So that he might recall the haziness of torture he endured—to Jon.

Reek feared Jon.

Not just remotely—but wholeheartedly. Well aware that Jon held no affection for him, Reek's heart pummeled his ribcage at the mere thought of conversing with him.

Sansa, donned in a beautifully-flimsy navy-blue, gown, hovered alongside of him. He sighed into the gentility of her touch.

"Y-You are beautiful." Reek asserted. Fretful-eyes, overseeing her form.

Reek had overheard, Sansa encourage a servant to collect Jon. A few minutes had passed since then. Sweat was beginning to build on his palms, whilst they awaited his appearance.

With a jolt, the doors swung open. In stepped Jon—and horrifyingly—six prisoners. Chains clanked—rattled. Angered features pinched, on their faces. And Reek shrieked in terror—hiding his face in Sansa's bosom.

"Y-You p-promised…" Was all that he could manage to squeak out. Terrors wreaked havoc in his gut. His flesh crawled down his back as searing memories of those men, gouged his mind. Instinctively, hurried-arms, clutched him near. Fingers soothed into his remaining, hair-curls.

Wracked with sobs, Reek's mind caved in. Unhinged with terror.

"Jon! I requested your presence! Not the prisoners as well! Remove them! Now!" Reek listened as she shrieked at Jon.

"Still a coward. You gonna piss yourself again, Reek?" One of them chided.

Rough, distinct vocals pierced Reek's heart—made him cower. He clenched his muscles. Refused to have an accident from fear. Not in front of Jon—Sansa…Again.

"Did you not like my gift? I seared your name into your skin." Another taunted in apparent, pride.

"You heard her! Remove them." Jon snapped, impatiently.

Reek sobbed—broke apart in Sansa's arms.

Flashes—visions of those men, holding their cocks. Pissing on him. In the light of dawn—more images—ones he wished he could forsake. Cold-furred nose pressed to his jaw. Growls, screams—tears of clothes. Ghost must have taken them down. The warm arms—Jon's arms. He could recall clearly. He had been kept so warm.

The vile men proceeded to taunt; their voices growing dimmer. Herded from the room—loud bootsteps were close behind.

"They are gone. You are safe, it will not happen again, Reek. It was a mistake. You can open your eyes." Reassuring-tones tickled his ear-shell.

Finally, he gathered his courage. Focused green-orbs upon their chambers. Vacant now, aside from Sansa, and Jon.

"I apologize, Sansa. I believed you asked for me so that the men might be identified."

Reek refused to meet his eye.

Trembling with apparent rage, Sansa's cold-eyed stare pierced Jon. "There was no mistake, Brother. You brought them here on purpose. Did you not? You wanted to frighten him." Spoken as a statement, less of a question, Sansa drew from his arms. He felt her warmth dissipate—and sniffled.

Wide-eyed, Reek watched them.

Would Jon do that? Purposefully torment him?

He just might.

"I did no such thing!"

"Do not play me for a fool, Brother! You despise my husband!"

"If I despised him as much as you believe, then I would not have saved his miserable life! I would have left him to die in that snowbank!"

Reek could not withstand the argument. His head seared with unimaginable pain. The fright of those men, afore him—had stirred his other personalities. Particularly, Theon. Riled them with fear—and now they crashed around inside of his mind. Panicked. Fearful.

Just like Reek.

"P-Please…D-Do not f-fight…" Stutters emerged.

Sansa appeared primed to strike back, but upon his pleadful utterance—She held her tongue.

"I apologize, Reek." Sansa offered immediately.

Jon only went silent—No apology came.

Forcibly, Reek straightened his back. Strived for a tad bit of dignity. He knew Jon believed him to be a lowly creature. Like Ramsay did. For Sansa—He wanted to disprove, Jon's theory—even if Reek himself was still unconvinced of his own status as a gutless, hound.

"I asked you here so that you might have a conversation, Jon. About what transpired—so that we might be assured we had the proper men in our dungeon, but from the sound of it—the proper men are in hand."

Jon gave a curt nod. "And the woman?"

His eyes pierced Reek. Made him feel suddenly, exposed. Naked.

"T-That was h-her…" Brief flashes of Theon's lips connected with hers, came to mind. He shoved the memory back away. Tabled it. How could he ever explain such a wretched memory to Sansa? Theon betrayed her—their marriage. Would she forgive him for it?

Reek shivered.

"I apologize for what was done to you, Reek." Reek took note of Jon's bloodshot eyes, wavering—uneven tone. It was apparent, Jon had indulged in spirits.

Fidgeting with silky, bed-furs, Reek swallowed thickness in his throat.

"I-It is n-not your f-fault…T-Theon did t-this…H-He should have s-stayed with S-Sansa…" Unable to take an apology—and comprehend it—Reek instead granted excuses for the happenings.

After all—He deserved what happened.

Reek was deserving of only pain—He was instilled with that belief.

"No, Reek. This was not your fault." Jon offered kindness, despite the prickly, nature of his words, previously.

Even, Sansa appeared shocked. She settled at his side. Wrapped an arm round his middle—kissed his temple.

Reek sighed into her touch. Let his crawling skin—ease, under gentle-fingers.

"I will make them pay, Reek. They will suffer—I will not just hang them, I promise. They will know pain." Chills flushed up his spine—but he made no contradiction. He cared little for what became of those vile men.

"T-Thank you…" Nuzzled, securely at her side. Reek glowed.

Justice came to all men—eventually.