"Remember your name, Reek," he said, words tender like a lover, mirroring the caress of the wet rag grazing along his body. Though the water was boiling hot, Reek still shivered. "No matter how sweet you may smell, your nose may be lying to you. You'll always be my Reek." He could never forget. He would never. Master had taught him his name. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with freak. Ramsay was treating him to a bath, though he was sure he didn't want to. He was to give away the master's bride tonight. Perhaps Roose Bolton had asked for him to be cleaned. He had been presented with new clothes as well, fine, beautiful clothes. Maybe something Theon Greyjoy would have liked wearing, though there was no indictor, no color, no sigil, that they were his clothes. Reek much preferred his rags. They were safe.

Ramsay had taken care of Reek nicely. It was good, because Reek was good. Yes, that's right, good, loyal Reek. It did not matter that Ramsay had set him a bath in scalding waters, it was still a treat from him, a gift. They did not aggravate his sores too much and neither did Master's rag. He even splashed a bit of a perfumed oil on him, which only burned mildly on the open wounds. When he had been dressed and a brush pulled through his knotted hair, only then was Reek allowed to help Ramsay.

"You shouldn't get your stink on me, Reek," Ramsay had said. "My new wife won't like it." Ramsay was dressed in even finer clothes then his, but of course that was fitting. He was the one supposed to marry the Stark girl. He would be the one underneath the bleeding red eyes of the weirwood tree tonight to receive her. Ramsay certainly looked more acceptable then Reek would ever be.

The knock was soft on the door, partly because he was terrified to do so and another because it still pained him to curl his hand into a fist. He had stood outside her door, long enough for the candle to burn more then he would have liked. Reek was scared. He tried to hold the tears back, but in the end had to wipe away the evidence that left traces on his face. He was grateful Master had given him a bath then; oftentimes his tears would leave tracks, a clean line cast against the grime he was always coated in.

"Yes?" Her voice sounded far off, yet she was just behind this door, hiding. Sansa Stark sounded strong, noble, highborn, elegant and when Reek pushed the door open, she looked it too. Pure and innocent. She was made to dress that way, even if it held true. Sansa Stark had always been the picture of her mother, showing each day she would be far more beautiful and comely then the late Lady Stark. She was. Tonight she was her mother and her father, everything she had learned about being a southron lady and who she is as a Northerner; white wolves fur to cloak her and fish pins to hold her together. He remembered seeing those pins before, in another life. A sullen boy carving deep grooves into the table, learning from maps, another always laughing, making jests. My name is Reek. It rhymes with peek.

"I've come to escort you to the godswood, milady." He had tried to look up at her, to meet the eyes of her mother. It was hard enough to say the words. Though he had been cleaned and dressed up, Sansa still look at him with disgust, disdain. "Please milady, will you take my arm?"

"No." Hate. Revile. The arm he had proffered to her dropped to his side again.

"Lord Ramsay said I'm to take your arm," he said it like no other option could make sense. If Master says it, it is to be done.

"I'm not touching you," she could have spat out, but she was much too ladylike for that still.

"Please," Reek could feel the tears begin to pool in his eyes again. He looked away from her. "He'll punish me." He saw movement out of the corner of his eyes, blurry as they were.

"You think I care what he does to you?" He'll punish you. But she strode past him and he moved to let her do so. Reek had hesitated to follow after her, but he knew he must. Her footsteps were harsh, clicking, resounding against the walls that lined the way for them. She was determined, although Reek didn't know for what cause. It was especially cold tonight, the biting wind brought a blossom of red onto her cheeks when they stepped outside. Winter had finally come at last.

Reek moved to step in front of her, to hold the lantern high and take her through the godswood. He knew his way. Sansa Stark knew her way better. Theon Greyjoy had been a boy of ten when he was first brought to Winterfell; she had many years before the ward of Lord Eddard Stark to run in between these trees. They had decorated the godswood like nothing he had ever seen before. It was resplendent. Reek did not know there could be beauty found in the bleak, snowy expanse. Soft flurries kissed their skin, melting upon touch as they marched further on. The way was lit for them. The day's snowfall had been paved aside to make a path. At the base of the trees, it strangled it's way up the trunks.

Everything was silent except for the swinging of his lantern. Reek tried to keep it still, to only hold it upright, but he was trembling, his hand unsteady, grasping as tightly as he could. As they approached, everyone was staring at him. Reek knew they were. He was scared. The worst were the seeping eyes of the weirwood tree, red tears that they always shed. Lord Eddard Stark could find solstice here and Lady Catelyn could always find her husband. Where Sansa and Arya and Bran and even later little Rickon could play monsters-and-maidens or hide-the-treasure or on the one occasion Sansa had asked Theon Greyjoy to play come-into-my-castle with them all. Where, underneath the red stare, did Theon Greyjoy first couple with a girl. And now these eyes would bear witness to another joining.

Roose Bolton approached them when they stopped close enough.

"Who comes before the old gods this night?" The way he spoke was reminiscent of the calm before a blizzard. Reek knew better by now, but never expected it. He was always forcing others to listen to his words, barely raising his tone louder then a whisper. Tonight though, he did not need to. The snow muffled any outside noises.

"Sansa," Reek said, for the first time, firmly, "of the House Stark come here to be wed." He said the words like they were his death sentence. Roose's pale, dead eyes were always flicking between him and her. They were worse then the bloody gaze, or his Master's stare. "A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?" With those words, he knew it was her death sentence.

He looked the part of a noble lordling. He stepped up to where his father was , to align himself next to him. Their eyes nearly matched, but Ramsay's were alight with glee beneath their depths.

"Ramsay of House Bolton," he said. "Heir to the Dreadfort and Winterfell. Who gives her?" Only then, did he turn his full attention onto Reek. He was not looking forward, but he knew his Master well. He would want to hear what he says.

"Theon," You have to remember your name. "Of House Greyjoy." Your name is Reek. "Who was –" Reek, Reek. "Who was her father's ward." It rhymes with bleak.

"Lady Sansa, will you take this man?"

"I take this man," she said, without a moment of hesitation. She had stepped forward, as if to physically accept the man before her. He saw the look on Ramsay's face, how pleased he was that she had given herself up to him without delay, that she could be his new plaything. A delighted grin adorned his face. Reek could only watch as Ramsay pressed his lips onto Sansa's, same as those crying eyes in front of him. The bone white face of the heart tree stood out to him, even amongst the blackness of night and hidden between the snow. He tried to tear his eyes away from it, but there was no where else to look. Reek could feel the tears begin to surface again. There was a whisper in the wind and the tears fell, in two fat drops, one from each eye. The tree had called him "Theon".

There was no bedding ceremony. It was not a raucous event in the Great Hall, no cheery shouting, no bawdy jokes to be told of their wedding night. Only sweet smells of mulled wine, the heady scent of suckling boar, turnips soaking in butter, trenchers filled with a thick barley and venison stew, breads already gone cold having been baked earlier in the morning. The wedding feast was an expense and a blow to their winter stores, though no one seemed to mind. They had the last Stark of Winterfell – they didn't know, they don't know – all theirs, they win. The last Stark, now Lady Bolton. To them, it ensured a victory among Stannis's marching troops.

This feast was nothing like the feasts of Winterfell's past. Even the surly North had seen its fair share of joyous events. Reek wondered if Sansa was upset. Had she imagined a grander wedding night? Had she thought to be married in a godswood or a sept? Had she thought her father would give her away? Though Reek knew she had already been married once before. He thought maybe she wished she had never been stolen away from King's Landing now. It was true though, that a Northerner should never head south. Reek thought maybe she wished she had never left home to begin with.

The din of the Great Hall, though hardly overbearing, had already begun to die down. Reek frantically surveyed the area. It was a calm. From prior knowledge, he knew there would be a storm following soon. As if on cue, one of the Bastard's Boys, Sour Alyn, approached him. He had an even more rotten stench coming out of his mouth then Reek did.

"You're to bring Ramsay's bride to their bedchamber, Reek," he always spoke in a crude, gormless fashion, though Reek was frightened of him just the same. He obeyed and went for Sansa, who had been left to sit next to the Fat Walda Frey after awhile. She was doing her best to ignore her company, though she did not drink from her cups or do more then push the food around her plate.

"Lady –" Reek paused, "Lady Sansa, I'm to bring you to your bedchamber." She betrayed no emotion, only regarded him cooly. The chair pushed back, a noise no louder then the clamor already surrounding them. He thought she gave him the smallest of nods. Sansa was steel. When they moved within the castle, the only sound was that of their footsteps. The buzz from the Great Hall could no longer reach them; it was just a faraway dream for the both of them now. They moved as if in a trance.

He pushed open the door to their room. It had been the eldest Stark boy's room, the Young Wolf, Robb's room, the one who had been Theon Greyjoy's friend in his time in Winterfell. The room was his Master's now and it had been ornamented with dozens of candles, both casting light and warmth in the room, a new wolf's pelt laying across the bed, velvety soft. Reek knew Ramsay had made Myranda light each candle before and to set the table with wine and soft cheeses, but he had not seen her since the wedding in the godswood. He could only wait by the door now.

"Are you pleased, Sansa?" Ramsay addressed her as he walked into the room. Reek had not heard her say anything, but Ramsay was pleased by her response all the same. "I want you to be happy." Ramsay moved across the room. He had still not been dismissed. "My father says you're still a virgin." She looked at him instead, forcing him to cast his gaze even further away.

"Yes."

"Why?" Ramsay moved closer to her now. "Why are you still a virgin? Afraid of dwarves?"

"Lord Tyrion was kind. He was gentle. He never touched me."

"You're not lying to me?" Ramsay questioned. Only now did Reek chance a look up.

"No, mil-Ramsay."

"Lying to your husband on his wedding night… That would be a bad way to start a marriage," Ramsay's smile was almost sheepish as he reached a hand out to hold her cheek. "We're man and wife now. We should be honest with each other, don't you think?"

"Yes." It was a small voice that replied, thought it was strong and clear. She closed her eyes when Ramsay moved to kiss her, willing a romantic sentiment between them, now their slight height difference evident. She even kissed him back, as clumsy, as innocent as she is. With a softness and tenderness he had never seen before, Ramsay began to undo the intricate braids in Sansa's hair. She blinked, confused, and he would press kisses onto her, now and again. Loose, cascading red, like fire across the snow white of her dress, Ramsay ran fingers through it's length. She caught his hand and held it to her and he smiled.

"Reek!" They both jumped. "You've know Sansa since she was a girl. Now watch her become a woman." Angry, stormy blues looked back at her lord husband. Reek could only turn away to close the door, he could only give her that much. "Take this knife and undress her Reek. Be careful now not to cut her accidentally. I'm quite fond of her." With quavering hands, he accepted the blade, slow steps to his doom. Even with the other hand to steady himself, he was too frightened to keep it still. The knife ran through the ties at the back of her dress.

Once, Theon Greyjoy thought he would undress Sansa Stark on her wedding night. That Lord Eddard Stark would give her to his ward and then he could be a Stark, for true. But he was not Theon Greyjoy. It was not his wedding night. Slowly, the dress became looser. Reek. My name is Reek. He heard crying, though he couldn't be sure if it was Sansa or himself. He could only push the dress off her body, there was no use in wondering where the tears came from. Reek. It rhymes with meek. With his Master's prompting, he cut through her smallclothes as well. Ramsay took her to the bed.

AN: Oh my god, that was really hard to write and I feel like it's shit anyways. It's also not as long as other chapters for sure. I was gonna make it a bit more like the book version of events, but even doing as much as I did was exhausting. Please let me know what you think; I feel like I rushed it a bit, but I just kinda had to get past this.
I want to write a little mini chapter from another character's POV and publish it sometime in the middle of the week as more on the wedding, and then next Sunday will be an after-wedding chapter/moving on with the story. Anyways, I'll do my best to get that out to you, so be on the look-out for it. (In other news, how about Theon and Jon's meeting tonight? Actually my favorite bit from the whole show. My baby Theon, trying his best not to make it awkward.)