Part 33; To Splinter a Soul.

Memories are what warm you

Up from the inside

But they're also what

Tear you apart.

Sansa

Darkness consumed her. Like a leech, feeding from blood. It submerged around the core of her heart. Tainted her for the kindness she regarded toward Reek. She did not feel the same for Theon. Not anymore.

Love had vanquished from her heart. When she heard those men speak. When she became aware of who they were. And why they had attacked the man she loved. She understood, the full extent of what had been forced upon Reek.

Innocent. Sweet. Tender—Reek.

How could Theon have allowed it? Justified it?

She could wrap her mind around a lot of fucked up things. Just not this one.

To know that Theon had kissed a whore—made her ill.

She could picture his hands on that woman, hovering in a cell, underground. His tongue down her throat. His hands on her bodice. That thought alone, angered her. And to know that his own betrayal had led to Reek's brutalization? Well, that only made her angrier.

In comparison, Reek would never have even, thought, of touching another woman. Never have left her. Theon (the man who bound their wrists together in the sight of the old Weirwood) also would never have strayed from her. Never.

But Theon of old.

Theon from her childhood—he would have thought nothing of betrayal. That is the Theon that ripped her home away from Bran and Rickon. A man that murdered innocent farm boys, and strung them up on the walls for all to witness.

She was not even remotely finished with him.

Her contempt burned her deep inside. And yet—yet…

He slipped into unconsciousness. He escaped—again.

She felt him slump against her shoulder. His skin was hot to the touch. His tears staining his cheeks. She felt so little sympathy for this part of Theon. The part that hurt her, once. That was rough. Reveled in his roughness.

She would never forget the way he woke her. Shocked her with roughness—like Ramsay used to do. Then blamed her when she regarded him with mistrust. She trusted no other man. Only Theon. But…never this piece of him. Never the 'Protector' as he called himself.

With a sigh, Sansa stood. Drew Theon up, and onto the nearby settee. Then, waited.

She was determined to speak with him again. Determined to make him understand that all the things he did—were not alright.

In her mind, he deserved to hurt—as much as any of those men in the dungeon.

For all of his crimes.

Theon

Disappointment shone in Emerald-optics as the haze cleared from his vision. This was not death. Death would not lead him back to these chambers. To the crackle of the hearth, and the conflicted eyes of his wife. Not back to where he felt most lost.

Unless—this was hell.

"Sansa…" Tears had dried on his cheeks, hollow, emptiness was built into his mind. Now—there was hatred. For himself. For this body. For everything that ever happened to him.

Why had Reek not emerged? Where was Reek?

"Theon." Iciness had returned to Sansa's tone.

Suddenly, he became aware of a pinch to his skin. Sansa's hand was on his arm. Holding the skin tightly. To wake him?

He flinched, at the rough touch.

"You do not get to run away, this time. Do you understand?"

He cowered. His skin was flushed with heat, and tears rolled down his cheeks. He was silent.

"Do you, understand?" She spoke slower, enunciating every word, in slowness.

"Please…Sansa…I do not wish to speak anymore…" He felt drained, his skin still a living hell of bruises, burns, and pain.

Her hand brushed over his still-bare skin, pinched his nipple. Hard enough to make him cry out. He felt an explosion of fire, there.

"You have caused so much pain. Do you realize just how much, Protector?" He could hear the taunt in her voice. Knew that she used the name to make him feel small. And it worked.

He was no protector. Not anymore.

He jerked away from her pinch. Tears forced down his cheeks. "You told me once you do not have a name. That your name is whatever I make of it. So, you will not be, Theon. Theon is the man I love. You are not, Theon. Do you know what I did to the men that hurt, Reek? Do you, Protector?"

His blood chilled to ice. He turned his eyes from her. Could not look at her. He did not want to. Could not see the ice in her veins. In her tone. She despised him. She took away his name. Like Ramsay. Did it even matter, anymore?

He searched for Reek's memories—for the memories of these past days. But they were locked. Kept away from him. He sought—but found no answers.

"No." He admitted.

"I cut off their cocks. Then, I burned them, the same way they burned, Reek. And I am keeping them tied up to saltires. Just the same as Ramsay kept Reek. I am making them pay for their crimes. Blood for blood."

He shuddered.

"If I could do those things to you, without hurting Theon, and Reek—I would. You are the true monster. Are you not? Not just because you betrayed our marriage with a whore, but because you murdered two innocent farm boys. And you hurt me as a child. Made me feel ashamed of what I felt for you. Made a game, twisted. And harmful." She pinched him again—and he cried.

Only able to think of those two, farm boys. His mind screamed at him, for his wrong-doing. He remembered the screams of the farmer's wife. If he dug deep enough, he could remember the scent of her skin on his skin, when he pushed inside of her. Rutted—came. She had been kind. With kind eyes, soft hands. She had kissed his forehead, and told him, it was okay to have needs. She had been his first. His first woman. She had told him to take as he needed. He had been scared—so far from home. And she had been warm, kindness. She made him the man he was—guided him—toward his frequenting of the brothels.

He remembered her face—when he ordered her killed. After, she watched the two boys she birthed into this world, perish, at his hand.

"I would deserve them…" Faintly, he whispered.

"Only a monster, could kill a child. Let alone, two." Her breath tickled his skin. Warm-fingers, clenched, tight to his cheeks.

His lip quivered, "I am a monster…" He admitted, silent tears leaving tracks down either cheek.

If he dug deep enough, he could still feel the youngest boy. Billy. Curled around his leg when he visited. Felt the sting of those kind-eyes as she admitted, Billy was his kin.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Felt his skin burn.

"Billy was my son." He could not look her in the eyes. "My bastard."

He heard her breath hitch.

When he remembered the warmth of Sansa underneath him. Felt the touch of her skin. The warmth of her lips—and the spread of her thighs—he felt the heat pulsing in his lower-belly. He recalled the cruel, unkind things he spoke to her. Eluded to her being no more than a whore. Stole away a little girl's confidence. And light. Ripped a life from three bodies. He was the definition—of a monster.

"You murdered your own child?" Her teeth clenched.

"And I kissed you, Sansa. Stole away what made you, happy. I deserved what those men did to this body. It should have been me…I should have s-stayed." His voice cracked. Broke.

He could see the boiling hatred in her eyes. The sear of her ire. Her eyes were past unreadable—into dangerous territory.

Sansa

She wanted him to hurt.

It was all she could think—feel.

She wanted him to burn; like his son burned.

How many other bastard children did he have? She could not ponder an answer. He had been between so many women's thighs. There could be many. She doubted there were none.

She never wanted to feel this part of Theon's hands on her again. Never wanted him to feel good. Or happy. He did not deserve to.

She never wanted him to feel love—comfort—light.

She wanted his suffering.

She might not be able to torture his body…but his mind?

"How did it feel when you came into awareness, and found your cock gone?" Her tone was rough, dark. Her hand reached down. Gripped his stub, roughly—in her fingers. Squeezed until he choked out a sob. A tiny bit of wetness, trickled out. Barely enough to wet two fingers—but enough. Enough to chasten him. She knew from Reek's own lips that a little bit would spill out unabated from time to time.

He turned red.

"How did it feel knowing you would never be a proper man, again? Hm? That you would have to piss like a girl. Squat like one to relieve yourself. Leak, without warning?" She held up her fingers, let him see the wetness.

Theon

He could hear the danger in her tone. Every instinct in his body told him to depart. Stand from the settee—leave into the black void. But—he was trapped. Frozen in time. Rooted to the spot, in a mixture of fear, self-hatred, and defeat.

Her words struck him—deep in his center. He wanted to turn himself inside-out. To disappear into the disgrace of his past. Especially when he felt her squeeze him. When he grappled for control. Felt the leak from his useless stub. He burned with flames against his cheeks. Felt the downpour of tears. Choked on sobs. He just wanted to disappear. He wanted to go far away.

Far away—someplace safe. Warm. Good.

He was a pretender. A liar. A scoundrel. Murderer.

He was disgusting.

"I w-wanted to d-die…" He admitted. He still did.

All of his personalities had when they recognized the loss of their most prized possession.

Reek was born that day. When he could not take the pain any longer. When he shoved Reek forward. Pieced that broken thing together, and made it suffer the brunt of this…this humiliation. This knowledge. It was his first failure as a protector. His very first.

Not his last.

"Reek was never a hound. No. The hound is you, Protector. Murderer. You are the hound. Ramsay took your cock. He did that, so he could fuck you. Like a girl. Like a hound. Like the stain you are. And you made Reek endure that, too. You should have been the one that cowered in that filthy hay, and pissed yourself. It should have been you."

Drool spilled from his lips. Snot from his nose. As his psyche began to break apart. He felt it. He felt his need to die. His need to stop, existing.

"I…I'm s-sorry…"

"You should be, sorry. You should. And Ramsay tried to make you sorry, didn't he? But you escaped. Sure, you have the memories that Reek lived through. But you never experienced any of that shame, or pain for yourself. Only little flickers of it. Memories. And I tried to make you feel better about it. About your little stub." She pinched him again. He jerked. "I should never have done that. You still try to rut like an Iron-born. You still try to be rough, and hurt me. Like Ramsay. Like every other man." He cowered, and cringed.

"How does it feel to know you will never feel a woman's cunt again? That, you will never father more bastards that you can kill at your whim? Your cock meant so much to you, didn't it?" She breathed—he did not move. "Tell me, how did it feel when that whore stuck her hand down your breeches? When she felt your little stub, and felt repulsion toward you? Did it cement in your mind that you shall never be a full man again? Did it?"

He nodded. He could only nod. He was so wracked with guilt. And shame. Mortification did not begin to describe what his heart felt, right now.

Between beats.

Psychologically—he was losing himself. His identity. His mind. It was tearing away. He was gibbering, in little noises against the settee. Drooling on the fabric as he writhed against her touch.

"I never loved you. Not, really. You were right when you insisted, I only loved, Theon and Reek. They suffer so that you can be strong, and cocky. Well, no more. You will never be cocky again. Do you hear me? I never want to see you smile again. Whenever you see a woman, you will remember that you have no cock. No reason to even look at one in the first place. And you will never take from my body again. Understand? Your stub will never know relief again. Not from me, or anyone else. You deserve to suffer, and until you have suffered enough, I will keep summoning you. And you had better come, when I call. And, leave Reek and Theon out of this. I do not want them to ever know. Understand? This is your burden to bear. Yours alone. Not theirs. You murdered your own child. Their child, too. You alone deserve this fate."

He felt the last of his light fade. Any hope that he could find forgiveness in this life—fade.

He deserved to suffer. He deserved this humiliation. This pain. He imagined a woman's touch—remembered the way that whore had retracted from him. Remembered the humiliation of waking in his own spilled urine. Remembered the pain of Ramsay's first cut to his phallus. Just before Reek was born.

He remembered the thrill of loving Sansa. The pain of losing her.

This he would always remember. Always.

He remembered the pride; Sansa had restored to him. Such pride. And purpose. Now—all of that pride was gone. Shredded apart. The seven heavens did not exist, but the seven hells did. He believed that now. He believed. This was hell.

He was in hell.

Sansa dragged him down there. Beat him down there. Ramsay would come soon. He feared that vile monster's touch above all others. He would come for certain. To finish what he started. Finish the trauma. Pain. Spiteful lusts he besought from this body. Ramsay would shave Reek. Call him a woman. Sometimes, kiss and touch him to release. It couldn't be worse than that.

Nothing could.

Only this.

He remembered his horniness the day he tore apart Sansa's confidence. Could almost feel the throb of his vacant manhood. Almost—

Release was impossible now. But his mind was split into searing pain. Suddenly—that pain broke.

And light—memories—and darkness came apart. Screamed in his mind. Seared him.

Synapses in his brain began to misfire. Clashing against one another. Breaking apart blood vessels. Until he felt he might die from the pain there. He screamed out, held his head. And thoughts no longer worked. Pieces. Flashes. Spasms. Nothing…worked…

Sansa

All the sudden, Sansa could see the suffering was at its peak. He was in pain. Not physical. But mental anguish. She found a way to only climb underneath this 'Protector's' skin. To debase him into humility. Morph him into what he should have always been. It felt good. Like a rush of adrenaline was gripping her heart. Like when she sliced off those men's cocks.

The rush was indescribable.

To murder a little boy? His son? That struck a chord in her heart.

She knew how Reek wanted to be a Father; how much Theon wanted to be a father. Biologically.

And to know that this rogue piece of them had forever stolen that chance away?

Knowing what it was like to be a mother now—she could find no love in her heart for this piece of Theon. She never would again. And she meant that.

She meant it in every fiber of her being.

But then…

She witnessed an attack. It was more than he could take—she pushed too far. And she came into awareness of that, far too late.

Blood streamed from his nose. She watched in horror as he grabbed at his head. Spasmed, with his eyes rolled back in his skull.

And with wide, frightened eyes she held him down.

"T-Theon?" She let the name slip in her fear. Felt her stomach churn and clench. But he was still spasming. Unresponsive. Blood streaming from his nostrils. Urine flooding the settee, and skin pale as clouds.

"Theon!" She screamed using a discarded gown nearby, she shoved it underneath his nostrils. Attempted to mop up the blood, but he was thrashing too badly. He began to choke. Cough. Blood spit down onto the stone, as she turned him upon his side. And her heart clenched with fear.

She did this…what if he died? What if Reek, or Theon were hurt? She did this…

It was all she could think as she wailed at the top of her lungs. Heard the burst of doors open. Guards drew her away in an attempt to tend to Theon's thrashing form. Jon swept her into his arms. Despite her nudity—and fear clenched her frame.

"Theon! Theon!" She kept yelling his name. Over and over as the thrashing continued. And the blood dribbled out of him.

Before it was over, he made a god-awful noise—then went limp.

All while Sansa looked on, in horror. Somehow, a robe was coiled around her bodice. But she did not feel it. Not until she went to clutch at her heart, and felt fabric underneath her fingers, rather than skin.

Jon still held her. Theon was still unconscious. And she was still to blame.

Her fault…this was all her fault.