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Chapter Text

She stumbled through the woods, glancing behind her every so often, dreading the worst. Roots, stones and uneven ground tripping and slowing her down while her eyes were preoccupied staring between the trees behind her for any sign of them.

The sound of hooves, shouting and snarling rang out through the trees as she continued trying to find a way around the difficulties of the terrain. Fuck him. Why would he give me up without so much as a fight. Tears welled at her eyes. He never wanted me anyway.

The hounds. They had her scent, they would lead the men to her. They don’t give up. Neither should I. Every time she thought she could stop and rest, a distant growl interrupted her catching her breath and she took off again.

She jumped, ducked, tried to put her feet square on the floor, any fuck up now would mean being caught. Being taken by him. The stories had spread through her father’s halls. A monster. A bastard. A mad dog. The words kept flashing in her mind as she ran.

How did I even get here? She vaguely remembered the events that led up to her sprinting for her life, but not how she got dropped off in the middle of the woods.

They rounded up all the girls aged fourteen to eighteen from her father’s land, took their pick. Some families fought the decision, they didn’t last long after they declared that. I won’t end up like them. Screaming for death as he strips them bare. Her father never wanted a girl like her, he was ashamed of her, he handed her over without question with a promise that he wouldn’t tell them she was his.

A throb of pain from her head sent her tumbling to her knees. They hit me. Knocked me out. They must have. She jumped to her feet once more, continuing to run like prey in a hunt. The stories spun round her brain again, gnawing away at her until the sound of rushing water interrupted them. His toys. I will not be a toy. A smile flashed over her face as she found the source of the noise.

Lose the scent. Lose the dogs. She stepped in, a gasp forcing it’s way from her throat. It was cold. Colder than she’d ever felt. Lose the scent. Lose the dogs. A chill ran up her spine, her body shivering violently. Better drowning or freezing or anything else. Not him. She waded across, clambering onto the other side of the riverbank.

The river rushing, the noise drowning everything else out, the pounding of her heart, she could feel it trying to burst from her chest. Her fingers and toes stiffening, so icy she could barely feel them. Then snarling. Hooves. Shouting. No! No no no no no!

She stared for a second, the huffed breaths shaking from her lungs as they materialised in the cold air. No. Please. Gods. No. She lurched forward, pushing harder than ever before to get out of sight before they came across the river. Before they laid eyes on her.

She ran until she hurt, until her breath came in sharp pants, until her shoes rubbed against her skin, until she was certain they would blister and bleed the moment she took them off. Please. Please. Please.

She hit the ground with a thud, her ankle popping, a frightened yell, one reminiscent of an animal being shot with an arrow, left her lips. Fuck. Fuck. No no no. Wait wait wait. No. She looked back and saw the root that tripped her, sticking up proudly from the ground as though the forest was working with him to catch her.

She grimaced at it and dragged herself forward, like a soldier on the battlefield trying to escape, one that did not yet know his wounds would be fatal, one that still had hope. Quiet. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’ll make it. It’s okay! Every step sending a shooting pain through her body, she forced herself to stifle the noises that were clawing at her throat, trying to escape.

The snarls. The hooves. The shouts. Louder and louder and louder until they were almost on her. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re- Something hit her head.

When she came to, it was teeth gnashing, snarling, barking, eyes burning like fire. She cried out and pulled herself to her knees. No. Please. Please. She edged herself back, slowly, until she was stopped by a tree. The circle of hounds closing in. Barking. Snarling. Gnashing.

“Please”. She squeaked out. A scream building in the pits of her stomach, she forced it down. Shaking in every limb, her chest rising and falling, huffing breaths out fast and shallow. Whimpers coming out with them, whether she intended them to or not.

The horses caught up, their hooves pounding on the forest floor like the heartbeat in her ears. Deafening. The hounds barking. Deafening. Everywhere she looked there was anger and violence and teeth and arrows. The screaming in her head, the panting of breaths.

And then him.

A young man, in all black leather, heavy boots, caked in dirt, raven curls and a mad look on his face, one that lived up to the stories she’d heard. The monster. His eyes, a piercing blue, wide, staring at her like a wolf would a rabbit. The bastard. She found herself unable to look away.

“Found you!” He chirped, as if they had been a pair of children playing hide and seek. “Aww, have you hurt yourself playing my game?” His eyes lowered to her ankle, he stuck his bottom lip out, pouting. Mocking. “Such a shame.”

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck him. She could not bring herself to speak. Only stare. Any words she tried to muster caught in her throat. Fuck you. He swung his leg over his horse and jumped from the saddle. He silenced the hounds. Fuck.

He stalked over to her, twisting his body to the side and crouching down, lower and lower the closer he got, staring into her eyes. Piercing her soul. Please. Please be a dream. Please. She sniffled, breaths fluttering their way out of her nose. Tears threatening to spill over.

He leant his elbows on his knees and let his head fall to the side. “What am I going to do with you?” Teeth showing, snarling like his hounds.

He flicked his eyes to his hounds, then back to her. No. You can’t. You can’t. He flicked his eyes back to the hounds, pursing his lips and cocking his head side to side. He narrowed his eyes on her. Please. They were ready to lunge, to tear her apart, to devour her.

She shook. She couldn’t control it. She tried to slow her breathing. To still her body. But she could not. She hadn’t looked away, she couldn’t. The madness in his eyes, she knew he would have her torn apart and eaten, maybe that was better than what he’d do to her when he took her prisoner.

He can’t take me. I won’t let him. I won’t end up like the others. She swirled the saliva around her mouth, gathering all her nerve, then spit, tinged with red, it landed on his cheek, splattering. Why did I do that? Why. Why. Why did I do that?

He shut his eyes, his head snapping to the side. He sighed and lifted his hand to his face, wiping it off with his leather glove. He nodded his head at her and backhanded her across the face hitting her in the mouth.

She broke her silence. She didn’t know what the noise was. She had never made it before. A sob? A scream? Both? Neither? As much as her father disliked her, he had never lain his hands on her before. She hadn’t known what to expect.

It hurt. It stung, she felt the hot spill of tears down her cheeks. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth slightly, tasting the coppery blood that had pooled around the split he had left.

When she met his eyes again, she felt lost in the madness they exuded back. He signalled his hounds to back away and brought his hand round to grip her arm.

“Ohh.” He breathed out. “I will enjoy this. Very much.” He stood and pulled her from the ground before he finished the statement.

Enjoy what? She struggled against him, pulling back and limping on her ankle. What’s he going to do? She clawed at him. His hands, his face. Everything. Kill me here.

She screamed. Frantically throwing her body away from his grasp. “Kill me here!” It started off loud, strong, it finished weak, wobbling with emotion. Do it. Do it.

He swung her around, grabbing her jaw and squeezing it in his grasp. She could feel the bruises being pushed into her skin, her teeth grating against each other, his eyes staring into her soul.

“If you try to hurt me again.” He shook her head to the side, dragging it back immediately to meet his gaze again. “I will throw you to the floor and my father’s men will have their way with you.” He squeezed even tighter still, her bones groaning under the strain. “Then, I will have my hounds tear you, skin from bone, whilst I watch.” His voice came out soft and low.

Her breaths were ragged, fast, like a child trying to catch theirs after a fit of crying. No. Please. I can escape later. There will be time. He dragged her over to his horse with little difficulty, she was far shorter than him.

He pulled a rope from the saddle bag, waving it side to side. I can’t walk. She pulled back slightly from him, stumbling. He threw a punch forward, connecting with her cheek and knocking her backwards to the floor.

“Wait! Please!” She squeaked out. “I can’t walk.” He wrapped the rope around her ankles, tying it tightly as she leant her hands forward to tug at it. Wait.

“Who said anything about walking?” He hooked his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself onto his horse. “I’ll be gentle for you, go slow. So you’re still yourself when I get my hands on you.” He flashed a grin and shook the reign, and the horse started forward.

She turned her head round, grabbing for something, something to kill herself with before they got any closer to his home. There has to be something. A rock. A stick. Anything. The ground held nothing but pebbles and twigs, enough to scrape her skin, not enough to do serious damage.

”Please!” She called out as he continued on into the wilderness. “Mercy!”

He looked back, a wide grin plastered onto his face that froze her heart in fear. “This is mercy!” He shouted back, just loud enough for her to hear. “I’m not killing you, am I?”

Chapter Text

Her head was pounding like a drum. She opened her eyes, struggling to see very far in the dimly lit room. The floor she was staring at looked like stone, the torch’s light flickering back and forth, making patterns on the ridges. Where am I. What. A rhythmic pounding in her head made her glad the room wasn’t brighter.

She could see that her boots had been removed, her feet bloody, bruised, blistered as she knew they would be. Her dress had been replaced with something reminiscent of a nightdress. But not one of the quality she was used to, more like a thin sack for vegetables that the poverty stricken would wear.

She pulled her arms, trying to bring them to cover her face, they didn’t move, she could wiggle them, but she didn’t have control. Fuck. Where am I. She pulled her legs, trying to step forward, same thing. No control. I need to… I need to go. She lifted her head up, the pain peaking, throbbing, making her flinch and squeeze her eyes closed.

She looked to her limbs, and found that each one was bound tightly with a leather strap. No. No. I can… I can free myself. The thoughts took a while to form in her head, but it came to her after a while of trying, and failing, to pull her hands free. The cross. The Bolton Cross. From the Sigil. Her heart felt like it skipped a beat and panic rose up from the depths of her stomach like bile in her throat.

She was desperate now. She pulled and struggled with everything she had. Trying to twist and will her limbs free. I will not end up like them. I can’t. She couldn’t struggle for long. Everything hurt. It ached, even now as she was still.

Her head hung low, forcing her eyes down to the rope burns around her ankles, bloody and raw. Bastard. The bastard. She had been dragged, every root, bump and dip throwing her around as they went. How did I get here. In this room. On this cross.

Her mind began to punish her, flashing images of him through her brain, head cocked to the side, mad eyes, smiling wildly. Please help me. Gods. Please. Please. She shook her head side to side, wincing from the pain it caused, trying to keep the pictures away. The stories she heard playing on repeat in her ears. The torture, the pain, the screaming, the begging, the… Stop. Stop. This isn’t helping. Her breaths came short and sharp, making her head spin.

Another scream bubbled in her stomach, trying to cut its way from her body. You’re okay. It’s okay. Don’t… Don’t scream. Don’t draw attention. Her eyes flicked around the room, wide like his, she strained against the straps once more, they were as unyielding as her last attempt.

She heard a noise, shrill, inhuman. It took her a moment to figure out that it was herself making it. A scream that burned her throat and made her ears ring. She pulled the straps, letting the agonising ache run through her bones. Stop. Stop. Stop! Deep breaths. Screaming. Until her throat was hoarse. She couldn’t stop it, it didn’t even feel like it was her doing it.

Her head slumped forward, her muscles going slack, her full weight being held by her wrists, and those damned leather straps. Her joints, her muscles, her bones ached and throbbed from being forced to stand, from being dragged, from running, from falling.

She didn’t know how long she had been there, in the torchlight. Wake up. Be a dream. Wake up. Please. Please wake up. She had resigned herself to a mixture of screaming, struggling, whimpering and crying. The torch had been changed, but she didn’t bother to keep a count of how many times.

The people who came in the room to change the torch before this one didn’t look at her. He was different. She saw him glance in her direction.

“Please!” Her voice was cracked and raw. “I haven’t done anything, I want to go home.” He didn’t respond. She could feel the desperation cutting her up inside. “I’ll do anything, my father would pay you.” He wouldn’t. He gave me up. “Tell me what you want! Please!” She called after him as he slammed the door and left with the extinguished torch.

No! Please. Please. She screamed and pulled against the binds that held her. Shaking her body. Feeling the pain shooting through her veins like fire. Fuck you. Fuck you all! Not a scared scream, not an angry scream either. Nobody listens. Nobody listens! Somewhere in between. Something in between.

The door creaked open once again and she lifted her head slightly, eyes squinting in the darkness to see who it was. Heavy boots. Caked in mud. All black leather. No. It can’t be him. He was walking forward with soft footed steps, with a torch in his hand and illuminated by it’s soft yellow light she saw the same madness in his eyes and the same snarl of a smile.

He had a jug in his hand, the kind you would keep water in, he sat it on the table. Leave. Leave now. He dropped down onto the chair with a thud, keeping eye contact. Please leave. Please.

He pulled out a strange looking knife, not one she had seen before and twirled it between his fingertips, playing with the point of the blade. Is that for me? Her breath caught in her throat, she had been staring at him since he entered. Stand up and leave. Please. His gaze swapped between her and the blade. Her and the blade.

She swallowed, or tried to, the raw, dry skin catching itself. The feeling of a lump refusing to leave her throat, dry as a bone. Water. The jug caught her eye. Water. She strained against the straps. Pulling softly, enough that he’d see, but not enough to hurt. Please look. Please. The words she tried to form feeling like needles in her throat.

He glanced up at her, raising his eyebrow. “Water…” The words creaked from her mouth like a door needing oiled. He cocked his head to the side. You know what I need. “Water… please, water…” She forced them out, louder than before. You can hear me. I know you can.

“Ohh, water!” He twirled the knife a final time then lay it on the table, the metal reflecting the little light in the room back at him. “You want water.” His lips curled up, a sickening drop hit her stomach. “Oh? But I don’t have a cup…” He reached his hand over to pick up the jug. “No matter, I can still help.”

Please. Please. I need it. Her throat stuck like honey as he walked to where the cross was. Please. He hooked his fingers under her jaw and lifted her head up, angling the jug against her lips. Thank you. Thank you.

She got a single mouthful down before he tipped it all the way forward. Why. Why. Stop! The water splashed over her face, choking her and running up her nostrils, making them burn. Bastard. He dropped her head back down and she coughed and spluttered, trying to catch her breath.

As she raised her eyes to meet his, he had the familiar look on his face. A disgusting little smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. He stalked back to the chair, dropped down and picked the knife up in one fell swoop.

He flashed his teeth in a grin, sat back and twirled the blade once more. “Let’s play a little game…” He dug the tip of it into his finger, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough that it looked like it would hurt. No. No. No. No games.

He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at her. “I’ll tell you the rules.” His head twisted to one side. “You win if you can guess why I’m torturing you.” Then to the other, the smile widening. “I win if you beg me to cut off your finger.” A childlike tone, like how he spoke in the forest. As if it actually was a game.

She shook her head, the pain throbbing. Be a dream. She shook it harder, pulling at the straps. He’s joking. I didn’t hear him right. A sob punching its way through her chest. My finger? Cut it off?

“No! No. Don’t. Don’t!” She pulled desperately, the leather working its way through the layers of her skin. “I’ll tell you anything. Everything.” She shot her eyes to his. “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

He stood. Stepping forward as he spoke. “Aww, you don’t have anything I want to know. I already know it all.” His singsong tone mocked her. It was as if he was performing for a crowd. “Lady Lyanna of House Umber.”

Her eyes widened. He promised. He promised! Her face twisted, the realisation of her father’s choice to tell them bubbling in her gut like a badly cooked meal.

She looked at him taking step after step closer to her, waving the blade side to side to side, the horror filling her heart as she looked at his face lighting up like a fire the closer he got. Wake up. Wake up! Wake up! He flicked the blade up to her face, holding the tip just below her eye.

She felt the sharpness. “M’Lord. Please.” She pulled her head back, trying to escape the piercing uneasy feeling forming in her stomach. “Please. I won’t say anything. I won’t tell my father.” She couldn’t move back any further, she was trapped. “Please.” Her voice almost a whisper, the ghost of a word leaving her lips.

She watched him. More carefully than she had ever watched a person before. He rolled his eyes, scoffed and drew the blade across her cheek. Please. No. Don’t. A thin, deep slice left in it’s wake. She groaned, screwing her face up at the feeling.

“You say ‘please’ again, and you’ll wish you hadn’t.” His words felt like shards of ice in her heart.

She let out a whimper as she watched him pull a leather lace from his pocket. What is that? What is he going to do. Stretching it out and wiggling it around. “You’ve forgotten about our little game!” He smiled, widening his eyes. “Remember?” He pulled her pinky up, tying the lace around it, forcing it straight.

She took a breath in, shutting her eyes and feeling it rattle around her lungs. She nodded weakly. “Yes M’Lord.” She looked back at him, trying to see any trace of humanity in his eyes. A monster. “If I win, will you let me go?”

He let out a laugh, low, quiet. It sent chills to her bones, rattling her core. “If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.” He shook his head as he spoke, the words coming out through more laughs. I’m dreaming. I must be. Please. I’m dreaming.

He flicked the knife from side to side in his hand and stepped over to where her finger was tied. “Now.” He leant forward, putting his weight on her arm and positioning the tip over her digit. “Why am I torturing you?”

Chapter Text

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the blade lay against her. Why? Why? Why! Why! Fucking why? Her eyes flicked about the room straining and struggling to make the shapes out. Wake up. Wake up! She tugged against the straps, letting them cut into her skin.

He tapped her finger with the point of the blade. “Guess.” He let out an airy laugh. “I don’t like to repeat myself.” He pulled her face to his with his hand, staring into her eyes. “You won’t like me if you make me repeat myself.” The words came out soft as a breath.

“Because my father is sworn to the Starks.”

“As he always has been.” He pushed the tip in, almost to the point of penetrating her skin. “As have his forefather’s and theirs.”

She could barely think from the heavy beats of her heart swirling around her head. Why. What have I done?

“Guess.” He wiggled the blade around the pad of her finger.

Her breaths came fast and shallow. “Erm… Erm. Because. Because the people of my father’s land disrespected you?”

“They were all dealt with.” He leant close to her ear. “Very publicly.” He turned his attention back to her finger. “Wrong.”

He dug the blade into her, drawing it across her pinky. Her whole body jolted. Stop. Stop. Please. Please! Pulling against her binds once more, tears welling at her eyes, she held her breath trying to force the noise bursting from her chest down.

“Because. My father. He-he told you who I was.”

“Wrong.” He dug it back in the same start point and dragged it down the length of her finger.

She heaved in a breath, the damp air filling her lungs. The scream she let out attached itself to her next guess. “Because he wants me dead!”

There was no pain, no knife cut, no comments as she had expected. He pulled back from her arm, staring into her eyes and following her gaze as it flicked around the room once more. I was right. I was right. Please please. Please. The deep, shaky breaths she pulled into her lungs filling the silence.

“Yes.” He spun on his heels, taking a step. “You’re right.” He took a few more, heading in the direction of the chair he had sat in before. “You win”.

“He hated me. For fourteen summers, he hated me.” She let her head fall to the floor, her tears spilled over and dripped down her cheeks. “He was ashamed. I knew he would find a way to be rid of me.” She let her limbs relax for the first time in what felt like hours, the muscles aching. “Thats why you’re torturing me. On his order.”

“If you let me go.” She raised her eyes up to him. “I swear, by the old Gods and the new, he would never know.” She pulled her back to the cross. “No one would know, I’d leave.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I would know.” He poked the tip of the blade into his palm, a smile creeping across his face. “As I said, if you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.”

She let out a sob, watching him twirl the blood soaked knife around in his hand. Please. Let me go. Please. A whimper left her lips.

“But!” He jumped up from the seat, eyes wild. “You forgot to ask one question…” He strode forward, in her face almost immediately. “You forgot to ask if I’m a liar.” He leant over to her hand and dug the blade under the cuts he made. “I’m afraid I am.” His voice low, ice cold.

She didn’t look at what he did, she couldn’t bring herself to. But she felt it, the burning, the ripping, the squelching of skin and muscle and tissue and blood. The screams left her lips in a way that sounded as if they were being squeezed out of her, gasping in air between them, shaking.

“You can scream yourself raw for relief, but no one who cares will hear you.”

She did, not because he told her to, not for relief. But because there was nothing else for her to do. She shook herself back and forth, pulling and twisting. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Trying to will herself free. 

“This isn’t happening for a reason.” He twisted her flesh as he spoke. “Well, one reason.” He looked at her for a moment, eager eyed. “I enjoy it.”

She had never felt anything like what he was doing to her. “Stop!” Her body thrashed, burning through her veins, her head pounded, her heart felt like it would beat out from her chest. “Cut it off! Cut it off cut it off! Cut it off!” Her voice sliced through her screaming, rough, drenched in agony.

She watched him pull a thicker knife from his belt and hold it up for her to see. “I win!” He slammed the knife against the wood, severing her finger from her hand.

One last scream forced its way from her lungs, reminiscent of a grieving mother being told her child is no more. Then she fell limp, her head dropped, breaths stuttering in and out of her chest, dragging whimpers alongside them.

He bent to the floor and picked up her finger. He brought it to her face and wiggled it side to side like a worm he had just pulled from the earth.

“I always win.” He smirked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Please…” Another ghost left her lips, so softly she thought he might not hear her.

“Do you want me to hit you?”

“No! No.” She tried to pull her back to the cross again. “Mercy. Mercy M’Lord.”

“What did I say about that word?”

She nodded, wincing at the movement. “I won’t say it again. I promise.”

“I keep my promises.” He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. “You begged me, so I removed it. Just like I said.” She made an attempt to pull her face away. “Didn’t I?”

She nodded.

“You best keep yours, if you want to stay whole.” He threw her finger behind his shoulder. “Now…” He stepped closer to her, gripping her jaw like he did in the forest. He let his head fall to one side. “What is your name?”

Chapter Text

She dared not move. The pain radiated from where her finger once was, a gentler pain, as gentle as having something cut from your body could be. Lyanna. My name. But. He doesn’t want that one. My name. My name is Lyanna. He tightened his grip.

She inhaled. “My name is Lyanna Umb-“ Her head snapped back, hitting the wood of the cross. He had moved so quickly she hadn’t seen him cock his fist and swing it. She heard a pop, felt the rush of blood.

Her nose ached, he had hit it square on, she was sure it was broken. I hope he kills me. She stared at the darkness of the ceiling, unable to lift her head. Kill me. Please. Her eyes spun, the pain throbbed in her skull.

Tears welled, threatening to fall. She did not recognise the noise that left her. My name. What’s my name? What does he want?

She felt him grip her throat and pull her head forward. He stared in her eyes, flicking both of his to each of hers. “No. That was your name.” He placed his hand on the back of her head, pulling her forward, close enough for him to whisper. “That was your name when you meant something to the world.”

He stuck his lip out, mocking. “But you mean nothing now, and I think you should have a new name, more fitting to your status.” He furrowed his brow, looking up, pouting, tapping his finger on his face.

Don’t hit me again. Don’t hit me. I’ll die. Do I want to die? Please.

His eyes widened, he bared his teeth in a smile, his face lit up like a torch. “I’ve got it.” He held her jaw again. “I found you in the forest, in the dirt. Your name should be dirt!”

She shook her head as far as his grasp would let her, her eyes squeezing shut. No. No. Lyanna. My name is Lyanna.

“What is your name?”

“Lyanna Umber.”

He flashed a smile at her for a second. Why did I say that? He gripped the back of her neck once again. He pulled his fist back for a second time.

“Wait. Wait. Wait!” The words rushed out of her mouth so quickly, she spoke them as one.

He turned her head to the side, a fistful of her hair stopped her moving it further. “Clench your teeth if you don’t want to swallow them.” Monotone, no emotion.

Not human. But she clenched her teeth nonetheless. She didn’t want to lose them. She didn’t want to swallow them. Don’t. Please. Don’t. She stared at his fist, anticipating, waiting. Waiting.

He swung. It connected, knocking her face to the side, not as far as it would’ve had he not been holding her. Stop. Stop. I’ll be good. And then a second hit. She felt his ring connecting with her jaw. Stop! Ringing in her head, a numbness, she felt woozy, as if the room was spinning.

A sharp pain shook her bones, cold, unforgiving. My name. Then heat, blood, dripping under her chin, down the nightdress. My name. Tears fell down her cheeks. Another sound she could not recognise left her.

“dirt…” The word squeaked out, like a mouse, quiet, unassuming, easily ignored.

He grabbed her head, a hand either side of it, he swung it round to face him. “What. Is. Your. Name!” Not a question. A demand. Each word its own sentence, rage bubbling.

“dirt… My name is dirt.” Her voice raised to just above a whisper, just loud enough that he could hear. “dirt.” Tears blurring her vision.

She watched the smile, his smile, the same one. It spread across his face, his eyes filling with the same madness, wide, sparkling.

“Good!” The word was long, drawn out. “Good girl.” He ran his thumb over her cheek.

“dirt.” The name kept coming. “dirt. dirt. dirt.”

The door opened for the first time in what felt like days. She was sure she hadn’t been there long enough for it to be, but then again. She hadn’t slept, hadn’t seen the sun, she had no idea.

“Ramsay.” An older man stepped through the door. He shut his eyes at the sight of her, his mouth twisting downwards. “You’ve mutilated her.”

“She’s our friend now.” He quipped back. “She’ll do what you ask of her.”

“You split her face.” He stepped closer, into the torchlight. “And you’ve broken her nose.”

Lord Bolton. He stated these things as fact, his tone steady and cold.

“You flayed her.” His eyes on her hand, now missing a finger.

“This is our tradition.” He pouted, staring at his father. “Our House’s tradition.”

“My House’s tradition.” Lord Bolton spoke, his voice getting sharper the longer he did. “You’re not a Bolton, you’re a Snow.”

His face flashed in anger.

“Lord Bolton, please.” She forced the words out, cracked and raw. “Please.” Kill me. Kill me.

He shot his head round, rage. Fury. Burning in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that in him.

“You little fucking piece of shit, I’m gonna break your hand.”

She writhed, the leather rubbing layer after layer down, leaving her skin open. “Lord Bolton!” It came out long, half screamed. “Please!”

“Enough Ramsay.” He stepped forward, stopping him. “You are but a boy, in a man’s world.” He turned to look at him. “Only a year older than she is. I need her. I think of our future. Not fleeting enjoyments.”

She watched him, looking in his eyes. She didn’t know if he saw her or not, he was looking at her, through her. Monster. Evil. All monsters. As if she wasn’t a person, like he was looking at an animal.

“I’d have stripped the skin from you a long time ago. Stuck a spike through your ribs and left you for the birds.” He lifted her chin with his hand, gloved in black leather. “I have no time for humiliation, for games. I can’t say the same for my son.”

He let her head drop. “There will come a time where you are needed by me, to keep your father reigned in and on our side.” He slapped the side of her cheek, forcing her to focus her eyes. “Do you hear me, girl?”

She nodded. Father. Spikes. Birds. A monster. Reigns.

He looked at Ramsay. “Until such time, I need her alive.”

“She will be. With a few parts missing.” He smirked. “I will ensure that she does not fail you.”

He nodded, turning to head to the door. “Don’t cut her face.” He called out as he left.

“Now. Where were we?”

Chapter Text

She made a noise, a squeak. Soft and quiet. Proof that she was here. Alive. In the darkness of the cell. It wasn’t large by any means, she couldn’t lie flat in it. She’d resigned to curling up in the fetal position.

This stopped the movement. Which then, in turn, stopped the pain. She’d had two more fingers and three toes flayed and removed. Not by him, she hadn’t seen him since he helped her learn her name. The flaying was done by another. Cold, callous. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t seem to enjoy it. Which was somehow worse.

She can’t beg someone who refuses to acknowledge her. Who doesn’t take pleasure in hearing her begging. Who doesn’t play games. She prayed she would never be brought to him again.

They’d swing the door open and pounce on her, drag her screaming through the halls. Pleading with them to take her back to the cell. They would strap her to the cross, pulling a bag over her head and tightening it around her neck, then pain.

Only pain. Always pain. Nothing else. Ripping, tearing, squelching, cutting. The darkness of the bag forcing her to feel everything. Nothing to distract her. Pain. Pain. Like fire running through her veins.

She used to beg, she just screams now.

She made another sound. Alive. Her eyes never leaving the gap at the bottom of the cell door. Waiting. Waiting for the soft swirls of torches catching the ridges on the stone. She stared. Her breaths shaking out of her lungs. Waiting for the shadows. The footsteps. The keys jangling.

She hurt. Not just the pieces that were unceremoniously removed from her. Her head pounded behind her eyes, pain throbbing through it all the time. Every second. Every minute. Pain. It made her nauseous.

Her stomach ached. She had only eaten 4 times since she had arrived at the castle. Rats, one each time. They were roasted. Burnt hair sticking from the flesh. She sat in the cell in darkness with the first one she was served for what felt like days before she relented. The gaps between her eating felt like forever.

She had visits from a maester. Piecing her back together, sewing her up. Watching the exposed flesh fester and crack and weep for days until he told them to take it off. He aided them in prolonging the torture. She knew it was him, the bastard. Forcing her to live. Forcing her to heal. Her body shook. She couldn’t stop it. She didn’t know why.

Pain. Always. It stopped her sleeping, ripping her from her nightmares. That and the visits from his men. The jingle of the keys, the hushed voices. They came in and forced her on her back, pouring a jug of water down her throat each time they visited her. Just like he did. Forcing her to live.

The darkness. Her cell. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, she didn’t know what she looked like. How she healed. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing but pain. Nothing but silence.

She was curled up, in a ball on her side. Staring into the darkness. Where she knew the door was. Waiting. Waiting. She saw the stone light up, the patterns of the fire shifting over it.

A whimper worked its way from her throat. No more. No more. No more. She tried to stay quiet, hoping they would pass by her. Let me die. Let me die.

She watched the shadows stop at her door, heard the keys jingling. No. No! No no no no. No! Her breaths shook and she tried to push herself back into the wall, to disappear.

The door swung open. Two men, the ones that take her to the one who doesn’t speak. Not him. Not him. She recoiled, snapping her head downwards as the light hit her eyes.

“No more!” Her voice warbled. “Mercy.”

The men said nothing in return, one leaning into the cell. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the corridor.

She pulled back. “No! No!” She gripped onto the edge of the door. “Please! Please!”

He pulled her up, slamming her against the wall. The other clicked the lock shut and pulled the keys out, hooking them back onto his belt. They spoke at her, not to her, no more than a sentence at a time.

“You know he hates that word, girl.”

He gripped the nightdress she wore, his hands twisted in the dirty, bloodstained fabric. She raised her hands to his, pulling at his sleeves with them.

She watched his eyes, they looked over her hands, the stitches, the missing digits, the angry pink flesh. Please. His nose flared, his lips turning downwards.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” His eyes stared into hers. “I don’t need reminded of what he does.”

She dropped her hands to her sides. Sniffing. Tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Come on.” The other man chimed in and hooked his arm under hers. “Can’t be late.”

“No!” She pulled against them, fruitlessly. “Wait! Wait. No!”

They dragged her through the halls. Her screams rang out. Echoing through the rooms. She knew the path to the chamber. She’d been forced there often enough.

She used to try to get people’s attention. To ask them for help. No one helped. No one looked. No one acknowledged her. No one listened to her. Only the men, greetings and jokes and laughing. As they dragged her towards pain. Pain. Only pain. Always pain.

They rounded a familiar corner. The panic rising like bile in her throat. She whimpered, throwing all of her weight backwards, away from the door, the room, the pain.

“No! No. No.” She tried to wrench her arms from their grasp. “You can’t. You can’t! Stop!”

She felt one let go of her, she tried to turn her head to him. Then darkness. The bag, she felt the string being tightened. She shook her head, her whole body moving.

He gripped her arm once more and they continued on. She heard the door open. Her screams bouncing off the walls of the room as they dragged her in.

“No more!” The words were barely distinguishable from her screams.

She felt herself being pushed onto her back. No. Why am I… This. She tried to pull her wrist from one of the men’s grasp, her joint popping as she did.

She felt them strap her arms to whatever she was on. Wrists, elbows, knees, ankles. Arms stretched out, legs splayed. The bag obscuring her sight. Her screams burning her throat like poison. She tried to twist her way out with all her might to no avail. She was stuck. Immobile. Prey.

She heard the door close. Footsteps circling around her. She shivered. Waiting for it. The pain. No. Not him. No more. She felt hands on her shoulders, pressing down. Something touching her cheek through the bag.

“Pain without purpose is a terrible thing.”

She flinched at the words, whispered into her ear, it wasn’t the silent one. The bastard.

“Wouldn’t you agree dirt?”

Chapter Text

Yes. No more. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes straining, flicking from side to side. Trying to see anything other than the darkness. Yes. Yes. She couldn’t respond, the words sticking in her chest before she could say them.

“Have you forgotten?” He gripped her jaw in his hand, squeezing, his cheek still against hers. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

He lifted his other hand from her shoulder, to where her hair would be under the bag, running his fingers over it. Soft. Gentle. She whined, tears welling at her eyes as he continued. No pain, no more silence.

“It’s been over a month since we’ve seen each other.” He kissed her cheek, so softly she could barely feel it. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

He ran his thumb over her jaw, dulling the ache his grip had left. “Pain without purpose is a terrible thing.” His stilled his thumb, tapping his finger on her cheek. “Wouldn’t you agree, dirt?”

“Yes!” Half shout, half whisper. The word bursting itself from her chest. “Yes. Yes. Yes! Pl-“

“Please.” He slammed his hand over her mouth, cutting her off. “If you say, think, feel that word again, I will rip your tongue from your mouth and make you swallow it.”

She let out a whimper, her breaths forcing it from her lungs, dragged out alongside choked sobs. She curled her tongue against the roof of her mouth, feeling a tear slide its way from her eye, hot and wet.

“Am I making myself clear.” He lifted his hand from her lips.

“Yes!”

“Yes.” He ran his thumb along her jawline once more. “Master.”

“Yes, Master.” No hesitation. I’ll be good.

She heard him scoff, his breathing steady and deep, the heat from it hitting her cheek through the bag.

“I don’t want to hear you call me anything else. Ever.” He placed his other hand back onto her shoulder. “Or I will make you suffer, until pain is all you know.”

No. I’ll be good. She lent into his touch.

“I need to hear you promise.”

“I promise. I promise!”

He withdrew completely from her, she could hear his footsteps circling her once again. She felt colder now, alone, she could almost still feel the heat from his cheek on hers.

“I’ll be good.”

She heard a laugh, quiet, whispered out. The footsteps still circling. Around and around. Stalking. Waiting. The door clicked open and she shot her head around to hear the noises. Hushed voices, things being placed on something, heavy, loud clunks as they were set down.

“I want you to look at me. Only me.” He pulled at the knot on the string that kept the bag on her head. “If you look anywhere else, you’ll regret it.”

She could feel the bag being loosened, pulled upwards. She blinked, rapidly. Preparing herself for the light of the torch. She squinted as he removed it from her head.

Her eyes searched him out, grabbing on and not letting go once they found him. Raven curls. Blue eyes. Mad smile. Master.

“Don’t look away.” He circled around her. “Follow me.”

She did, her eyes tracing his steps around the room. There was someone else with them, but she dared not look. No matter how much her eyes tried to drag themselves away from him.

“Pain is the best teacher.” He headed towards a table. “But it needs to have purpose.” He stared down at it. “Look.”

She did, straining against the bonds. Jugs. Four of them. Water jugs. The same type they used on her before. A breath stuttered from her lips, being drawn back in as quickly as it left.

He pulled a long piece of cloth from his pocket, a smile flashing onto his lips. He dipped it into the jug, soaking it. Her stomach felt like it was in knots, her breaths coming in fast huffs.

“I’m going to ask you a very important question.” He squeezed the excess water from the cloth back into the jug. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

He handed the cloth to the other man, who walked past her field of view, towards her head. Her eyes never left her Master. He lifted one of the jugs, stalking back from the table with it.

He raised his other hand, his thumb tucked against it, all his fingers outstretched, eyes wide. Four. Four. She could hear the other’s footsteps, closer and closer.

“Four.”

“Wrong.” He was close to her, standing by her side. “Breathe in.”

She did, furrowing her brow. Then the cloth, soaked in water, was pulled tightly across her mouth and nose. Mercy. Mercy! She tried to pull a second breath in, the material clinging to her nostrils, dragged into the hollow of her mouth, stretched open in a silent scream.

She watched as he raised the jug up, straightening his arm. Gods no. He stared into her eyes, a half smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She struggled as he tipped the jug forward, the stream of water splashing into her face.

She shut her eyes, her head shaking from side to side. She tried to pull away, the man holding the cloth across her face had his hands either side of her head, she couldn’t shake him off. She couldn’t breathe.

She tried to pull her arms towards her, to rip the rag from her face. The binds stopping her, she pulled harder. Her joints popping, the leather cutting into her skin. Let me breathe. She kicked, nothing. No movement. She tried to wrench her legs back, the leather biting, her joints aching. Mercy. She was weak. She hadn’t eaten.

She felt the water running through her nostrils, the burning, the pain. Water. Everywhere. Filling her mouth and forcing her to swallow and gag. She jolted, rattling the wood of the thing she was strapped to. The stream of water continuing, never stopping. Never.

The cloth was pulled away. She heaved a breath in, shaking into her lungs. Then another. Her eyes hadn’t left him, they were wide, wild, she was trying to force them to focus.

“How many fingers?” He held her cheek with his palm, his thumb running over her bottom lip.

“Master.” She pulled a third breath in.

“Answer me.” She watched him turn and head to the table.

“Five.”

“Wrong.” He was back at her side, another jug in his hand.

“No! I’ve been good!” She pulled, wincing at the sting from her raw skin. “I did what you wanted!”

The cloth returned, stretched out tight. Her head held in place. No. No no no. Pain. Burning. Choking. Drowning. Held in place, feeling it all. Her heart pounded in her chest so loud she could hear its beat in her head.

The panic rising like a bubbling pot, nothing stopping it from spilling over. She twisted her wrists, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. Let me up. Let me up! Her feet flexed, trying to burst her ankles from the straps that held them down. Her chest dipping and rising, failing to draw anything in through the cloth.

Then it stopped, the man with the cloth stepped away again. Her Master staring into her eyes as she wheezed a breath in. He shushed her, tracing his finger over her cheek.

“Maybe that was too hard a question.” He dragged his nail softly down her cheek. “I know you’re tired.”

She pulled a second breath in, allowing her muscles to relax slightly under his touch.

“This one should be easy.” He stepped back from her side once more. She watched him lift a third jug. “What are you?”

“Yours.”

“True.” He cocked his head from side to side. “But not the answer I was looking for though.”

“I’m a-“

The cloth had silenced her once more. She watched him slink back to her side. Whimpers burst from her lips as she pleaded with her eyes, tears welling at the corners.

“You only get one guess per chance.” He lifted the jug once again. “Don’t piss me off.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Waiting for it. It splashed over her once more and her body strained again. What does he want? The water pooled in the back of her nose, she gagged, coughing, trying to force the water out with a splutter. Tell me. Tell me. The cloth held it in.

She thrashed. It was as if her body moved without her permission, the leather rubbing her skin raw, she knew it would scar. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. Pain. Always pain. She felt it. Every trickle, every burn. There was nothing else to do.

She would scream if she could get anything out. She had never felt as helpless in her life. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t plead. Couldn’t beg. She just existed in that moment. In pain. In limbo. Waiting for him to stop. Waiting for it to end.

It did. As it had done before. She had her answer ready.

“Whatever you want me to be!” It came out rushed, panicked, half on an inhale, the other half on an exhale. “I’ll do anything. No more.”

“Good girl.” He caught her chin between his fingers. “I want you to know what you are, will you remember?”

She nodded. Anything. Anything.

Her eyes went wide as she felt the cloth cover her face again. He retrieved the last jug. Pouring it in a similar manner as the rest. I’ll be good. She choked, spluttered. Gagged and fought against her restraints.

She tried to focus on something else, anything else. Anything other than the burning. The panic in the pit of her stomach. I’ll be good. I promise. The sting of her skin, rubbed raw. She pulled and strained. Wiggling her body as much as she could, thrashing her head from side to side. 

She felt the man pull back for the last time, stepping back. She listened to his footsteps retreat, the door opening and closing. Her breaths heaved in as she stared at him. He reached forward, his thumb rubbing across her jaw.

“I’ll remember!” She blinked rapidly. “I promise. I will!” She pulled against the binds, whimpers working their way from her throat. “No more!”

She watched a smirk creep up his face as he ran his fingers through her hair. Soft. Gentle.

“You’re an object.”

Chapter Text

“Repeat it.” His eyes bored holes through her head, his thumb still running across her jawline. “Everything I say. Repeat it back to me.”

She nodded, holding his gaze.

“You’re an object, you’re property, I own you.”

She swallowed, her head shaking slightly. No. An object? The gravity of the words sinking in. Property? No. Her eyes flicked between his, staring. Waiting.

“But I want t-“

Her head snapped to the side, her mouth opening, jaw tensing. A dull ache emanating through her bones. Swelling. Bruising. She knew it all well. She watched as he flexed his fingers, running his thumb along his knuckles.

“What you want doesn’t concern me.” He slid his hand around her throat, his fingers curling. “Repeat it. Now.”

“I’m an object. I’m property.”

He squeezed, his grip tightening. She tried to slink back into the wood, failing, her limbs making another desperate attempt at freeing themselves.

“I want to believe it. If I don’t believe it.” He leant forward, the heat of his breath catching her ear once more. “You don’t leave this room with all of your parts still attached.”

Panic. Bubbling just under the surface. Her heart jumping into her throat once more. No. No more. I’ll say it. Her head throbbed as he kept the pressure on her neck, the blood struggling to reach her brain. You’ll believe it. She tried to keep her eyes focused. Blinking. Staring.

“Or I can order more water be brought.” He loosened his grip, the edges of her vision clearing.

“No! No.”

“Then repeat it. All of it.”

“I’m an object! I’m property! You own me!” She didn’t wait this time, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t complain. “I’m an object. I’m property. You own me.”

He tapped his finger against her cheek. “I don’t think you’re being sincere.” He stared down at her. “You haven’t learned anything.”

“I have!” Her eyes wide. “I have Master. I promise!”

She twisted at the binds once more. Painfully aware that there was no stopping him if she disappointed him again. The burning in her nose serving as a reminder of the consequence of doing so.

“I’m an object! I’m property! You own me!” Louder and louder, her voice wobbling as she went.

“You’re not a person. You’re not human. You’re dirt.”

She swallowed. I’m not. Taking the words in once more. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t need to. She stared at him. Sniffling. I can lie.

“I’m not a person. I’m not human. I’m dirt.”

“Again.” His open palm connected with the side of her cheek. It stung, pulling a yelp from her.

“I’m not a person! I’m not human! I’m dirt.”

His hand connected with her cheek once more, snapping her head to the side.

“Again.”

The torches had been changed more times than she could count. She heard the door open, close, the flame seemed brighter. She could see his face better after they left. Repeating. Remembering.

He had ordered more water jugs to be brought. She counted the clunks as the servants delivered them. Ten. A warning. He hadn’t used one yet. But they were there, intruding in her mind. Every breath she sucked in served as a reminder of how easily they could be taken away.

Her cheeks felt hot, swollen. She knew how red they would be, the bruising that would follow. He didn’t believe her. Every single time he felt that way, a slap followed. He chastised her, reprimanded her, tears stung at the corners of her eyes from the disapproval. The pain.

She tried to sound truthful, to make him believe her. She didn’t know what else she could do.

She had cracked a long time ago, breaking down. Breathless sobs, screaming, pleading. It all burst its way from her body. Her head shook side to side, the tears dripping to the wood she was strapped to.

The same six statements, over and over again until they rang around her head like a bell. The slaps came hard and fast. Snapping her back to the beginning and she would repeat again.

He would leave her, for hours at a time, to rest. The light went with him, she begged him to leave the torch behind. So that she wouldn’t be in darkness, in silence. He always took it, promising his return. She never knew how long he took.

She was tired from it all. Her throat was raw, the screaming, the begging. The choking and gagging. Repeating. Over and over and over again. The darkness stealing her resolve. The straps pinning her in place, her joints ached from the tension.

She was hungry. She had watched him eat twice since he returned to her last. Meat, vegetables, pastries, cakes, wine. Her stomach growled as she watched him savour it. Her mouth watering. Tears welling at her eyes as the hollow ache in the pit of her stomach haunted her.

The words. She screamed them, whispered them. Used every tone she could think of. Every volume. Everything. He still didn’t believe her. Over and over and over again. Clawing through her mind like a demon. Until she didn’t know who she was before she heard them.

“I’m an object! I’m property! You own me!” She strained against the leather. “I’m not a person! I’m not human! I’m dirt!”

She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. Waiting. Waiting for the slap. Her body shook, her nails biting into her palms. Her teeth squeaked, grinding against one another. A whimper broke through the breaths shaking from her.

“And you believe it?” He ran his fingers across the hot skin on her face. Soft. Gentle.

“Yes! Yes yes. Yes!” I’m telling the truth.

“And you’ll remember it?”

“Yes Master. I promise.” Always.

”Good girl, that took days.” He stepped back from her. “I’m so happy you stopped lying to me, to yourself.”

“I would never lie. I always tell the truth.” Her sobs cutting their way through her words.

“What are you?”

“An object. Property. Owned by you. Not a person. Not human. dirt.”

She watched a smile peel across his face, his eyes sparkling under the torchlight.

He stepped back from her, turned on his heels and started for the door. She strained round, pulling at her bonds. He hadn’t said anything, she didn’t know when he’d return.

“Master!” She felt the leather cut into her. “Master!” The scream ripped its way from her chest.

She watched him lift the torch from the wall. “No! No! Not the dark. Not the dark!” Her voice cracking from the force of the shouts.

She heard the door open and close as the light was sucked from the room. A scream left her lips, hopeless and full of fear, like a child waking from a nightmare. Her throat burned as it rang out through the darkness.

She thrashed. I was good. I did it all! Her joints creaked under the strain, the darkness crushing her. Blinding her. He still leaves. He left. The panic rose like bile in her throat. What else can I do?

She drifted in and out of consciousness, jolting awake, the straps pinning her down, a yelp bursting from her mouth. Always the same. Always in darkness. The sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Fast.

She lay there. In the dark. Feeling it all. Nothing that could distract her. Her head throbbing to the beat of her heart. Nauseating pain radiating from behind her eyes. Her bones burned. Tears streaking across her face, staining the wood. And the hunger.

She hadn’t eaten since she was brought to this room. He said days. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since her last rat. Long enough to hurt. So deeply. Unrelenting. She gagged at the feeling, the twist in her core. She was hungry and she wanted to live.

Chapter Text

“I’m an object! I’m property! You own me!” She strained against the leather, listening to it creak from the pressure. “I’m not a person! I’m not human! I’m dirt!”

She screamed the words into the darkness for the thousandth time. He hadn’t come back. Her throat was scratched and raw and she drew another breath in, the cool air providing momentary relief before she started the cycle once more.

She hurt. She would starve here, in the dark, in the silence, her only reprieve being her own tortured screams, begging for his return. He would come back. If she could show him that she remembered, that she knew it was the truth, he’d come back for her. He had to.

She repeated again, loud as her voice would go, her throat cracking. Please come back. Please. Her breath caught in her throat as she realised the word that had just crossed her mind.

“He doesn’t like it.” She dug her nails into her palm, flinching from the sting. “That’s why he won’t come back.” The words whispered to no one but her.

She shook her head, she had been doing so very well with keeping that word from her mind, from her mouth. He’d take her tongue. He promised. If she thought it, said it, felt it. He promised. He always keeps his promises.

“I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Come back!”

The silence remained. For hours. Nothing but beat after beat of her heart. Screaming. Repeating. Screaming. Remembering.

“I’m an object! I’m property! You own me! I’m not a person! Not human! I’m dirt!”

Her eyes shot wide as she heard the door open. Light once again entering. She strained her head around, her breath ceasing, she squinted, trying to see who it was. Be him. Be him. Be him.

“I’m glad you were able to remember, dirt.”

“Master! Master! I remember!” Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. She watched him walk around the table. “Don’t leave me…” The words whispered out.

She studied his face. The same smile. Wide, teeth bared. Eyes sparkling under the light.

“I’ve brought you a treat.” He sat a plate down, next to the water jugs. “Because you did so well.” His smile softened. “Because you remembered.”

She nodded, feeling the tears streak their way down her face. I remembered.

“You must be hungry.”

A sob burst from her chest, she nodded once more. She was so very hungry, the pit in her stomach, a never ending reminder.

“Don’t move.”

He leant forward, unbuckling the straps. She winced as they were finally lifted from her skin, a whimper working its way from her throat as he danced his fingertips over the raw flesh.

She stayed still. I remember. Perfectly still, not daring to move. Not until she was told to. Her joints ached, pulled straight for far too long, the pain throbbing its way through her bones. She stared at him. Watching. Waiting.

“What are you?”

She knew the answer. She knew it. She remembered.

“I’m an object.”

Another scoff. “You’re so clever.”

She nodded. No more. No more pain.

He gripped the back of her neck, pushing her into a sitting position. Her head spun, body shaking. He pulled her from the wood, her breath catching in her throat as the soles of her feet felt the cool embrace of the stone.

He led her to a space in front of a chair.

“On your knees.”

She fell to them, hitting the stone with a thud, her spine arched forward, hands tucked between her knees. Head dropped low to the ground, staring at the patterns on the stone.

He pulled a rope from his belt, enclosing her neck in a noose. What she thought she remembered a noose looking like, before, when she was someone else. He secured her to a ring that stuck out from the stone. 

She watched him, from the corners of her eyes, circling her. He lifted the plate from the table, placing it on the floor in front of the chair. She didn’t raise her head. Didn’t move. Small, soft noises leaving her lips. Alive.

“I’ve brought you a meal.” He dropped to the chair.

She nodded, her eyes focused on the plate sat before her.

She heard his teeth grate. “Look at me.”

She did. Her eyes shot up, staring at him. Head still bowed, spine still curved, hands still trapped between her knees. He leant forward, his elbows resting on his legs, a knife flicking about his hands. The knife.

She gasped, throwing herself back as far as the rope would allow her. Eyes fixated on it. Twitching. No. No. No. No! The way the light shone from the metal. The memories. Of her Master. Of the silent one. The never ending pain. The rot. The cracked, festering flesh that agonised her so much that all she did was lay in her cell, still as rock, screaming her way through it until the Maester ordered them removed.

She ran the pad of her thumb over the stump of her left ring finger. The stitches. The hard skin, trying so hard to scar.

“I’ve been good!”

He stood, placing the knife on the stool. “I brought you a meal, and you act like this?” He stalked towards her, arm outstretched. “Maybe you don’t deserve it.”

“I do!” She continued pulling the rope tight, the harsh fibres rubbing her neck. “I’ve been good.”

“Then come here.” He crouched, close to where the rope was tethered.

She did. Moving on all fours, like an animal, a beaten dog. Palms on the floor, knees creaking as she crept forwards. Towards him. She knelt next to him, spine curved, head bowed. He placed his hand on her, running his fingers through her hair once more. Soft. Gentle.

“Do you see your plate?”

She nodded. Staring. Meat, vegetables, pastries, cakes.

She was hungry. She felt her mouth watering, filling with saliva, she swallowed it back. She felt weak, her body shook, starving in the pit of her stomach, it rumbled, twisted, ripped through her.

“You need to do something for me first.” His hand sliding to grip the rope at the back of her neck. “A test, to prove your loyalty.”

She whimpered, dragging her eyes away from the food, to him, his gaze. Cold.

He opened a bag from his belt, lifting a rat out, dead. Her eyes wide as she watched it in his hands. He dropped it to the ground in front of her. Its face twisted in abject horror, neck broken. She shook her head. Dead. Dead. She stared. Disbelief setting in. Her stomach growled once more, hollow.

“I’ve been good.”

He nodded, staring into her eyes. “You have been.” He pointed to the plate. “That’s your reward.” Then back to the corpse. “I just need one bite from you, from its belly, and then I promise I will feed you.”

Her head shook, side to side. Her body twitching. Eyes wide. Her mouth opened, trying to form words. Lip quivering. She stared at the rat, then him.

“I can’t d-“

He lurched forward, gripping her hair, his other hand slammed across her mouth, silencing her. He pulled her close, pushing her head into his shoulder, face to the side. Forcing her eyes to the water jugs on the table. Ten of them. Ten. Ten. They mocked her.

“Don’t let me confuse you with thoughts that you can say no to me.” He dug the tips of his fingers into her face. “You will bite it.”

She whined through his grasp. Don’t make me.

“You will sink your teeth into it, you will obey.” His nails pressing into her skin. “Or I will cause you agony.”

He threw her back, she landed with a thud. She stared at him, her body twitching, face twisting. She shook her head, gulping down bile.

“Do it. Now.” He allowed himself to fall back into a sitting position, legs bent, leaning against his knees. “Or I’ll strap you to that board again and peel you to your elbows.”

She jumped back, the rope snapping tight. No more. No more peeling. No more pain. Not like that.

She reached forward. Her hand shaking as she touched it. Loyal. I’m sorry. Still warm. Limp. Soft. She lifted it from the ground. It’s black eyes staring into her soul, lifeless and fixed on her. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Her mouth opened, closed, opened.

She drew a breath in. She shut her eyes and sunk her teeth into its belly, tearing her head to the side. Her mouth flooded with heat, it tasted of metal. She threw what was left of the rat to the floor. Gags punching their way from her stomach, her eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling from them.

He twisted his fingers into her hair, pulling her towards him, slamming his hand over her mouth once more. She stared at him, his eyes wide, wild, like an animal. His mouth parted, teeth bared.

“Chew it.”

She did. It was stringy, slippery, gamey. Her mouth was full of blood and hair and flesh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She gagged again, shaking her head from side to side. Her teeth crunching through tiny bones, sinew, organs. Blood staining her mouth, hair catching.

“Swallow.”

She couldn’t. Every time she tried, it was as if her body rejected it. Twitching and wriggling under his grasp. I can’t. I can’t! She tried to force herself. Her head shaking side to side, nails digging into her thighs. Mouth full of gore. He slid his fingers under her jaw, stopping her from opening it.

“Swallow it. Now!”

She did. Clawing at her legs, eyes wide, tears running across his fingers. She forced it down, retching and choking from behind his hand. A sob burst from her mouth as the meat slid down her throat. Breaths heaved through her nostrils. The taste of blood of her tongue.

He let her go. And she curled to the floor, arms barely supporting her. Head hung low, red tinged spit dripping from her lips. Gagging. Retching. Keep it down. It’s okay. You’re okay. Her stomach twisted, she blinked the tears away.

He ran his fingers through her hair. She whimpered as she felt his touch. Soft. Gentle.

“I never doubted you for a second. I’ve always known you were loyal to me.”

She nodded, staring at the blood drops on the stone. I’m loyal.

Chapter Text

“Now!” His tone didn’t match the current situation. “Let’s get your reward.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

He shot up, heading to the chair. She watched him lift the plate from the floor, pick up the stool and move it closer to her, placing the plate back on it. He dragged the chair, the wood screeching across the stone, close, until she was within grabbing distance.

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded, eyes down. I did what you wanted. She tried to speak, the words threatening to pull gags from her throat. She stopped herself before she vomited, fearing he would force that back inside her as well.

She retched once more, tears stinging her eyes, stomach turning. It’s not there. It’s not there. It was. She had her eyes on it, it’s twisted face, its own beady little eyes staring back at her. Lain in a pool of its own blood, a chunk ripped from its gut, fluid leaking from the half bitten organs, bones protruding. It’s not there.

“Look at me.” He leant forward. “Don’t look at it.”

She managed to drag her eyes to him. But it was there, still, in the corner of her eyes, the red of its blood staining her mind, forcing its way into her skull. She had devoured it, like an animal, a dog. Loyal. I’m okay. I’m loyal.

He lifted a piece of the meat, her eyes fixated on it. She was hungry, she was ready. Her jaw flexed, almost tasting it, whines emanating from her. He flashed a smile, tongue running over his teeth, eyes impossibly wide.

“Are you ready for your reward?”

She nodded. Staring. Waiting. He locked eyes with her, popping the meat chunk in his mouth. Chewing, savouring it, smirking. He cocked his head to the side as she twitched.

“You promised!” Teeth gritted, tears welling.

Her head dropped, eyes still on him, chewing. He sucked his cheeks in and swallowed. She made a noise, a growl, animalistic as she watched him.

He clicked his fingers, pointing at his eyes and then the floor. She let her own eyes fall, hearing him spit. The ball of meat rolled into her vision. Chewed up, the juices and goodness sucked out of it. It stopped just shy of her.

“There’s your reward.”

She stared at it, quiet squeaks leaving her. Reward. She heard him chewing. She shook her head, lids half closed. He spat again, the vegetable splattering across the stone. Orange. Carrot. Her breath stuttered in and out of her nose, jaw flexing.

“Eat it.”

She looked back to his eyes, boring holes through her. Staring from beneath his eyebrows, head down. A smirk pulling half his mouth up.

She reached forward, shaking, her fingers almost touching it. It was dark meat, although she could not tell which variety.

“Ah ah ah!” He leant forwards. “Palms on the floor. I want your nose on the fucking ground as you enjoy it.”

She pressed her palms into the stone. I’m not a person. She didn’t move, pulling her eyes from him, back to her reward. She was hungry. Not a human. She heard him crunch something between his teeth. The swollen, hollow feeling in her stomach persisting, never ending. I’m dirt. She heard him spit once more. It was beige, it looked soft, flakes of pastry stuck to the side.

She sat in silence, listening to him chew, spit, chew, spit. The growing pile on the ground before her tempting her. She was hungry. She swallowed, sniffling.

“What are you?”

“Property.” Whispered out.

“Like a pet?”

She nodded.

“Pets do as they’re told, don’t they?”

She looked up at him, into his eyes. Sharp, wild, icy. She nodded again.

“They obey.” He leant forward. “Eat it, or I make you take a bite out of every rat in the Dreadfort.”

Her hands slid across the ground quickly, crashing her elbows into it. She stared at it, her reward, her treat. Hungry. Hungry. She crawled forward, the cool stone forcing a shiver from her. Her fingers gripping the ridges. Crawling. Until her face was above it, her reward.

The splatters of vegetables, balls of meat, the pastries, cakes, semi formed, just firm enough to somewhat keep the round shape his tongue had rolled them into.

“Nose to the floor, remember?”

I remember. She leant forward, pressing her nose against the unforgiving stone, her teeth closing around something, tongue scooping it from where it had landed. Breaths shaking from her lungs.

Meat. Her tongue lay flat against it, pushing it into the roof of her mouth. No rats. No rats. She sucked on it, tasting it, tasting him. She crushed it between her teeth, whimpers working their way out as she swallowed it. Thank you. Thank you Master.

The metallic tinge of the rat’s blood lingered on her tongue, softening more and more with every piece of food she ate. She could feel his eyes on her as she chewed and swallowed each piece. Thank you.

She watched her tears drip to the stone, she was grateful, that he would reward her. That he would allow her to eat food for humans when she wasn’t one herself. She remembered. She knew what she was.

An object. Property. Owned by you. Not a person. Not human. I’m dirt.

She ran her tongue over the stone, flat and wet, picking up grit with the splatters of carrot. She swirled it around her mouth, it ran across her teeth, the sandy texture grating over them.

She heard him scoff. He tapped his boot on the floor, she listened to him shift in the chair. She gasped, a moan escaped her throat as she felt him curl his fingers into her hair, her body tensing, shivering. The heat of his fingertips running across her neck, around where the rope lay.

“You are such a good girl.”

He continued to dance them across her neck, her head, through her hair until she had eaten everything. The floor lay empty, wet. She had licked it clean, savoured it all. I’m good. I’m good.

“What do you say?” He gripped her hair, pulling her forward.

Her eyes met his. “Thank you Master.”

He smiled at her, letting her hair go. She fell back to her knees, palms on the floor, eyes on him.

“I have another reward, because you did so well.” He shifted in his chair again, leaning back slightly. “This one is a privilege.” He spread his knees, stretching his legs out, he pointed down at his boot. “Lick.”

She kept her palms on the floor, leaning forward. She crawled, knees aching, elbows digging into the unrelenting stone. She didn’t hesitate. She was good. She remembered. Pets do as they’re told. She obeyed.

Tongue flat, dripping with saliva. She squeezed her eyes closed. She dragged it across the side of his boot, toe to heel. The leather was cool and soft. The flakes of dirt sticking to her tongue.

He shot his hand to her hair, pulling her back from it before she could lick again. She lifted her eyelids, staring at the wet stripe, the mark she made, the dirt she cleared.

“Swallow.” He whispered out, softly. “After every lick, you swallow.”

She nodded. Swirling the spit around her mouth, lifting the pieces of filth from her tongue. No rats. I’ll be good. I’m a pet. She swallowed it back, tongue parting her lips as he let her hair go, ready to lick again.

She used the streaks she made to guide her. Covering every inch of the leather. Ensuring each scuff, each clump of dirt and filth was lifted and swallowed back, she was good. She remembered.

She could feel his eyes on her, staring, enjoying. Owned by you. He moved his boot back and she pulled away, lifting herself from the floor, kneeling once again.

“Thank you Master.”

Her face snapped to the side as his palm connected with it. A gasp bursting from her lips. Skin stinging.

“I told you it was a privilege! Thank me for it properly.”

“Thank you for the privilege Master.”

She watched him tilt his head to the side, a chuckle leaving his lips as they curled up. Staring at her from beneath his eyebrows once more.

“You’re welcome, dirt.”

Chapter Text

The silence surrounded her like a blanket of fog. She could hear the screams ring out through the walls, the women always screamed the loudest, she could only imagine what they did to them to elicit the kind of reaction she could hear from them. They should obey, forgo agony. Obey.

She was in the dark. The cold. Alone. She squeaked. Alive. Lying on her side, staring. He had promised her he’d come back, as he had before. He spoke to her softly, in a gentle tone, whispered into her ear.

She was in a routine now, pains of the past plaguing her. It seemed like a lifetime since she had felt the kiss of the flaying knife. Since he had strapped her down and taught her anything new. Perhaps she had proven herself to be such a good learner that he did not feel it necessary to cause her further agony.

He’d fed her more times than before, since placing her back into her cell, she didn’t know how long it had been since she had proven her loyalty to him, since the rat. But she was grateful.

He had sat on a stool in the corridor, door open, back against the wall. Chewing and spitting. Chewing and spitting. Watching her. Smiling at her. And she obeyed. Eating how he taught her to. Palms on the stone, nose to the floor. She remembered. She was good.

She was still hungry. But she could ignore it if she tried to. It was nothing like the hollow feeling, dragging her from her nightmares, the impossible pain it had been before he started feeding her personally. She was grateful. He was generous to his pet.

But still. The darkness.

He poured her water onto the stones of the cell, she slurped it back off them, trying to get as much as she could. She was grateful. The men who pinned her and poured the jugs down her throat no longer made their visits. Only him, her Master.

He would come with water more often than food but she thanked him either way. Happy to have the silence broken, the light return. The warmth of his skin against her, the hum of his voice in her ears. She was good. She remembered all that he taught her.

She stopped calling out for him. She knew he’d come back for her in his own time. He promised, he always keeps them. She knew that now. She knew to obey.

She made another squeak. Alive. Waiting. Waiting. She heard the rattle of the keys. The footsteps. Humming. The same song. Always that song. Castamere. Her breathing picked up as she heard the key in the lock.

“Hello, my little pet.” Called out as the door swung open. “Have you missed me?”

The light rushed in, she shot her arm over her face, protecting herself from the harshness of it. She peaked out from under it, he had something in his hand. I’ve been good. No pain. He crouched at the door frame, leaning his head against it.

“I have a reward.” He reached his hand out. “A treat, because you’ve been so good. You’ve remembered. You’ve obeyed.”

She stared at his hands, the way his fingertips ran across the thing in his grasp. The outstretched arm, the curl of his pointer finger as he beckoned her forward.

She crawled to him, palms on the floor, knees creaking. Into the light. She stopped just short of the doorway, the glow of the torch illuminating him, and what he was holding. A collar.

“This is very important.” He held it up to her eyes.

It was black leather, thick. A buckle and a lock at the back, with a little bell that hung from it. A metal ring hammered into the front. A pet. Her head twitched to the side. Property.

“This means you’re mine, that I own you, just like you said.” He stared into her eyes. “That you’re my property, to do with as I wish.”

She nodded. You own me.

“Would you like to hold it?”

She reached forward, opening her palms. He placed the collar onto her hands. It was heavy, cool to the touch. Her fingers slid across the leather, the metal of the ring pulling a shiver from her bones.

She heard him scoff and looked up at him, his eyes shifting from finger to finger. Scar to scar. His teeth bared in a grin. The Maester had taken out the rest of her stitches.

All that was left was angry pink skin, an unending ache, she could still feel it, no matter how many times she tried to dredge the memories from her mind and dispose of them.

“Isn’t it nice?” He held up a key, tied to the end of a long length of string. “I made sure it was the finest materials for you, for your reward.”

“Thank you Master.”

“I want you to look at it so very carefully.” He ran the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “This will be the last time you will ever see it with your own eyes.”

She nodded. A pet. She spun it around in her hands, taking it in. The soft leather. The shine of the metal. The bell hooked onto the buckle, it rang out softly as she inspected the craftsmanship. The lock, for which he held the key.

“Put it on.”

She held the ends in her hands. She made a soft noise, quiet. Alive. She raised the collar to her neck, the bell jingling as her hands shook. She drew a sharp breath through her nose as she felt the cool leather lay flat against her throat.

“Good girl. I own you.”

You own me. He motioned for her to turn, she did. Facing the dank wall of the cell once more. His hands on the collar. She swallowed as she heard the lock click, she could feel the edges of it digging in ever so slightly. A constant, unrelenting reminder than she was his, his pet, his property. Collared for all to see.

“There you have it, dirt.” He spun her back round, a smile flashing across his face as his eyes fell on it. “Everyone who lays eyes on you will know now.”

She raised her hands to it, to feel it once more. He snapped his hands to hers, dragging them back to her sides. She squirmed as he crushed her fingers with his grasp.

“You’ll try to rip it off.” He shook his head, staring at her. “I can’t trust you with it.”

“You can! You can.” She nodded. “I’m good. I won’t touch.”

He loosened his grip. “You won’t touch it?”

She nodded. You can trust me.

“I’ll let you keep it, for now.” He gave her hands a quick squeeze, eliciting a yelp. “But you must promise to keep your hands at your sides, always.”

“I promise. I promise!”

He nodded at her and stood, stepping away from the doorway, his hand on the cell door, pushing it closed, slow. So slow. She could feel the darkness seeping back into the room, it felt cold.

“No Master! Not the dark. Not the dark!” Voice cracking, eyes wide, twitching. “I’ll do anything! No dark. No more dark!”

He stopped. Dead. She watched the corners of his mouth pull up, his eyes widening under the light. He crouched down, gaze fixed on her, he ran his nails through her hair, the heat of his palm on her temple. She leant into the touch, whimpering.

“Are you sure I can trust you?”

She nodded. Always. Always.

“Will I make you a deal?”

She stared up at him, eyes searching his. She nodded once more.

“If you obey, if you keep your eyes down, on the ground.” He clicked in front of them, drawing her attention, pointing down. “If you only look up, only look at faces, at eyes when I give you permission.” He titled her chin up, her eyes focused on his boots. Muddy. “I will leave the door of your cell open, so that you may benefit from the light of the torches.”

No dark. No more. She nodded, biting down on her lip, sliding it between her teeth and sucking on it.

“I need to be able to trust that you won’t leave.” He slid his hand across her face, thumb on her cheek, fingers on her jaw. “That you’ll be loyal, that you’ll stay in your cell.” He pulled away from her completely. “I need to hear you promise.”

Her body followed the direction of his hands as he moved away, searching for the warmth, the soft gentle touches that stilled her shaking body.

“I promise!” Loyal. I’m loyal.

His hands returned, fingertips drawn across her skin, the warmth of his palm against her cheek.

“I don’t like punishing you.” He leant closer to her. “I’d hate to have to flay you once again if you disappointed me.

She shook her head. “Never! No more!” She leant into his touch again, eyes on the stone. “Loyal! I’m good! I obey! I obey.”

She heard him scoff. “You’re so good. So loyal, my little pet.” He stepped back, his boots creaking. “What do you need to remember?”

“Eyes down. Hands at my sides. Don’t leave.”

“I have business to attend.” He was in the corridor now, she stared at his legs, foot tapping. “I want you to remember everything, all of it.” He pushed the door open, so it was flat against the wall. “Whisper it to yourself, until it’s all you know.”

The words rang out through corridor as he left.

“I’m an object. Property. Owned by you. Not a person. Not human. I’m dirt. I’m a pet. I’m loyal. I’m good.” She heard his footsteps receding. “Eyes down. Hands at my sides. Don’t leave.”

Again.

Chapter Text

It was mocking her. The plate. Placed on the floor where her Master sits to feed her. She had stared at it since its arrival, lying on her side, swallowing back saliva, forcing herself to remember. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. But she was hungry, the sweet smells wafting towards her.

Meat, vegetables, pastries. She would starve. It had been an age since he came with food, only water. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him about it. She knew that he was aware she was hungry, it’s how he wanted her.

The hollow feeling had returned, the pain in her core, ripping through her. Pulling her from her sleep. Her head pounded, behind her eyes. She couldn’t ignore it, she was starving.

And there it sat, tempting her. Beckoning her. She resisted. She obeyed. She remembered. Whispering to herself. Repeating.

“He’s sat just beside the door.” She ran her thumb across the stump of her ring finger. “It’s a test. Loyal. I’m loyal.” The words whispered so softly, she could barely hear them herself. “He’s there. He’s waiting, he’ll flay me if I disobey. I’m loyal.”

It hadn’t been prepared by him. It sat in perfect little chunks, that’s not how she ate. He taught her. Palms on the stone, nose to the floor. She remembered. Chewed and spat. She knew. He’d flay her if she disobeyed. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.

Her eyes flicked to her hands, watching the light of the torch dance over her skin. She twisted them around, staring at the scars, the missing digits, the bruises. Lessons learned.

Every so often she would feel her mind lurch, the urge. Repeat. Remember. She knew what she was, it was ingrained in her, the repeated words holding the shards of her mind together. Whispered. Thought. Repeated.

“I’m an object. Property. Owned by you. Not a person. Not human. I’m dirt. I’m a pet. I’m loyal. I’m good. Eyes down. Hands at my sides. Don’t leave.”

Over and over and over again. The words digging their claws into her skull, tearing through her mind. She remembered.

She heard the keys jingle, footsteps approaching, hushed tones. Not him. No song. Not him. She remained on her side, her eyes focusing once more on the plate. They walked past her door, she caught sight of their boots. Worn, dulled. Eyes down.

She listened. Silent. The keys enter the lock, the begging began before the door had even opened. Screaming, pleading, bargaining, just like she did when she was someone else. Before she was taught better.

She watched them drag the prisoner into her view, his feet bloody and raw, skin bruised, dirty clothes. She watched him try to wrench himself from their grasp. Obey. Obey.

He lurched toward her, fingers splayed, reaching. “Help me! Help me! Please!” He jerked his body. “I haven’t done anything. I want to go home!”

Obey. Eyes down. Don’t leave.

She ignored him, fixing her eyes on the plate. Breaths shaking from her lungs, whines dragged out with them. She couldn’t risk angering her Master for him. No one helped her. Not when she screamed, or begged. Why does he deserve help?

She heard him fade into the distance, taking his panic with him. She took a deep breath. You’re okay. It’s okay. He’ll be brought back. He’ll learn too. Just like she did.

She waited. For hours. For the prisoner to be dragged back, thrown back to darkness, with a lesson to remember. Nothing. She was still lying on her side, staring. Waiting. 

Then humming. Castamere. She jolted, raising her head from the floor. Listening. Master. She dragged herself to kneel, her arms barely supporting her. Head bowed. Eyes on the floor.

She watched his boots step into view, his foot tapping to the song he hummed.

“Are you not hungry?”

“Yes, Master.” The words forced from her body. “I’m hungry.”

“Crawl to me.”

She did, the harshness of the stone cutting into her knees. She knelt, fingertips stopping just short of the doorframe

He crouched, his face coming into her view, she forced her eyes down further, staring at her legs, the pink scars, self inflicted, scratched in when she swallowed the rat. Obey.

“You’d starve in your cell rather than disobey?”

“Yes, Master!” She tried to blink back tears. “I remember. Don’t leave. Obey. I’m good.”

“You really have learned so beautifully.” He reached forward, his hand stained with blood. “Do you know how long you’ve been mine?” His fingertips grazed her cheek.

She shook her head, pulling harsh breaths through her nose.

“Perfect.”

He leant backwards, moving the plate and lowering himself to sit. His back against the wall, knees bent, thighs spread, feet planted on the floor.

She could feel him staring at her. She squeaked. Alive.

He lifted a piece of meat from the plate, chewing it up and spitting from the corridor. Thank you. Palms on the stone, nose to the ground. She leant forward, weeping onto the floor below. She was grateful.

He didn’t speak, she didn’t look at him. Silence. It didn’t feel as cold as it did when she was alone. Chewed and spat. Piece by piece. Meat, vegetables, pastries. She licked the stone clean once she had finished, a meek attempt to get every morsel she could.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Come here.”

She crawled forward, until she was between his legs. She stared at his clothes, sprayed with blood, he reached forward, wrapping his fingers into her hair, pulling her to his chest. Her face pressed against his heart, beating steadily.

He smelled like wine and blood. Metallic, acidic. She whimpered as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to him. His fingers running through her hair. Soft. Gentle.

She twisted her own fingers into his cloak, the heat of his body soothing her. She was cold. Always. Forever cold. Every time he touched her, he dragged her further down. She could feel it. She would obey. She would remember. And he would dance his fingertips over her, run them through her hair, remind her what tenderness felt like in the sea of agony.

“I killed him.”

She stared straight ahead, down the corridor, at the doors of the other cells.

“He begged the entire time.” He tightened his grip, forcing a breath out of her mouth. “Please, please.” The words drawn out, singsongy. “It was pathetic. Weak.”

She could feel his heart pick up, the beats pounding in her head. Bad word.

“I tore the skin from his meat, piece by piece.” He sucked a breath in. “Watching him twist and struggle and hurt.” He scoffed. “He offered me gold, anything, to free him.”

She felt his breathing quicken, he moved his arm to her waist, pulling her closer. Warm.

“He destroyed his throat from the screams, I could hear him rip it apart.” He growled out, animalistic. “I don’t think he knew what he was saying at the end.”

She could feel him harden against her, pushed into her ribs. Pants working their way from his lips. You own me.

“He was screaming out crimes, repenting, I don’t think he’d ever committed them.” She felt him throb against her. “He just wanted it to stop.”

He moved his fingers across her hair once more, breathing against her ear.

“His heart gave out once I reached his neck.” He pushed her forward. “It’s no fun when they stop wiggling.”

He pulled her head back, lying her back against his chest. His cock still pressed against her.

“I’ll bring you along next time, to watch, would you like that?”

She whimpered, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. She knew what it felt like, to be flayed, she remembered. Her fingers, toes, they ached. The burn ran up her spine, the phantom pain haunting her.

She nodded. Don’t hurt me.

“You can witness. Remember them.” He threw her forward, pushing himself off the wall to stand. “So they won’t be forgotten when you watch me peel their faces off.”

She stared ahead of her, body shaking, twitching. Nodding.

“Back in your cell.”

She heard him lift the plate as she crawled forward. Her eyes fixed on the damp walls, listening to his footsteps receding down the corridor. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe until she heard the familiar silence.

She let herself fall to the side, curling her body up as breaths stuttered from her lungs. She whimpered, trying to suppress the sobs forcing their way from her chest.

Obey. Watch. Witness. Remember.

Chapter Text

She awoke to banging. Jolting forward, her hand slamming onto the stone, catching her. A yelp burst from her lips as she blinked, eyes down, finding themselves fixed on her Masters boots.

“You’re coming to witness.”

I can’t. She shook her head ever so slightly, a stream of whimpers leaving her lips. Not back there. She felt the panic bubbling, boiling, rising. I’ve been good. She pushed herself back, until she touched the wall. Don’t hurt me.

“I know you’ve had… hard times in that room.” He crouched, she stared at the stone. “Are you frightened to go back?”

Her eyes were wide, her body shaking. She nodded. A small squeak, hushed and soft broke the silence. Alive.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise.” He shifted his weight. “I already have someone to dismantle.”

The sound of a lock opening echoed off the walls of the corridor. Then begging, pleading, screaming, fighting. She shot up, sitting, edging herself into the corner of the cell, body pressed against the damp walls.

“M’Lord!” The man was dragged into view, kicking, pulling against the men holding him. “M’Lord! I never meant to offend! Forgive me!” He wrenched himself back. “Please!”

Her Master ignored him, she could feel his eyes cutting into her. She watched him twist his knife around his fingertips.

“He called me a bastard.” He dug the tip of the blade into his own palm, flinching. “Do you think I’m a bastard?”

She shook her head. “No, Master.”

“I dislike the word. Bastard.” Spoken quietly through gritted teeth. “It fills me with malice.”

He twisted the knife against his own skin again, a soft growl leaving his throat.

“Now. You can obey, and watch him suffer.” He reached his arm forward, knife pointed towards her. “Or you can disobey, and join him in his suffering.”

She lurched forward, head bowed, bent forward, palms on the stone, eyes on his boots. Obey, avoid agony.

“Witness.” The words stuttering out through heavy breaths. “I’ll watch.”

“Good girl.” He ran his fingertips across the collar as he spoke. “Walk with me.”

She did. Eyes down. Hands at my sides. She listened to the jingle of the bell on the back of her collar as she took her steps. This had been the first time she wasn’t dragged through these halls, begging for humanity. For mercy.

She watched the prisoner do the same, beg, plead, scream and fight to no avail. She watched the shoes, the boots, the crowd turn. She remembered the looks on their faces when she was pulled through last, she knew they were staring, stone faced, avoiding eye contact, ignoring the shouts. But this time her eyes were on the floor, she remembered.

They rounded a familiar corner and she stopped. Staring at the door, heaving in breaths, twitching. The memories flashing in the depths of her mind, clawing at the backs of her eyes, flooding her skull. She flexed her jaw open and closed.

The feeling. No. No. No more. The skin tearing from her body. The water snatching the air from her lungs. The burning. The silence. The darkness. The sting. The taste of blood. The sight of that corpse, half eaten organs spilling out of it.

She whined out. She couldn’t step forward, her heart was pounding, so loud she could hear it in her ears, ringing, eyes wide. Watching the man be dragged forward, wrenching back in the same way she did. His screams falling on deaf ears, as hers did.

She flinched as she felt his palm run across her back, pulling her back to reality. It’s okay. You’re okay. Tears dripped from her eyes, warm and wet, leaving streaks down her face. She sniffled, gripping the hem of the nightdress, scrunching the material into a ball in her hands, squeezing it.

“Have I not kept my promises to you?” The words whispered to her, his breath hot against her ear.

She nodded. Always. Always.

“What did I promise you in your cell?”

She drew a breath in, it shook through her nostrils. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Do you trust me?” He ran his thumb across her spine.

She nodded, shivering.

She trusted him. He’d fed her, often, she could ignore the hunger now, she wasn’t starving. He brought her water, daily, stopped the visits from the men who pinned her and poured it down her throat, choking her.

He touched her, held her, spoke to her, stopped the silence. He allowed her to keep the door of her cell open so she wouldn’t be in the darkness. She was grateful. She trusted him. She remembered all that he did for her. She remembered.

She nodded, taking a step forward. Listening to the man scream from inside the room, beg, apologise. She steadied her breathing. A squeak leaving her. Alive. He won’t hurt me. He promised. She stepped into the room, his hand still on her back.

He led her to a space in the middle of the room and pushed her down to her knees. Her eyes welled with tears as she listened to the panic. Eyes down. She stared at his legs, his feet, bloody and bruised. Like the last dead man.

The men that secured him to the cross left. And they were alone. Her, her Master and the one he would kill. He circled her, crouching behind her, pulling her tight against him. He gripped her jaw, raising her head up, she would be looking straight at the cross had her eyes not remained on the stone.

“You have my permission to look at him. At me.” The words whispered so softly, only she could hear. “Don’t ever look away, you’re here to watch, to witness.”

She raised her eyes to the man, flicking them across his frame, tears stinging. He was dirty, bruises littering his skin, body limp, muscles slack. His head dropped, staring back at her with wide eyes, a tragic look warping his face.

“Who is she?” His voice came out cracked.

Her Master ignored him. “He deserves to be here.” His thumb rubbing across her jaw. “Tell him. Tell him he deserves this.”

She stared at his face, taking in the details. Remembering. Hollowed cheeks, grey skin, dark circles under his eyes, his lips were cracked, the splits on his face gleaming with dried blood.

“You deserve this.” So quietly she could barely hear herself.

“I don’t think he heard you.” He curled his fingers into her hair, pulling her head to the side, whispering against her ear. “Louder.”

“You deserve this.” The words shook from her. “You deserve this.” Loud, so she was sure he would hear. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“Good girl.”

He stood, stalking over to the prisoner.

“Who is she?” His voice wobbled.

“She’s here to watch, to witness, to remember.” He was inches away from the man’s face. “Your anguish will be burned into her memories.” Her Master lifted his chin, staring into his eyes, cocking his head to the side. “She will dream of your twisted, hollow screams.”

He bared his teeth. “Are you watching, dirt?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Who was she before?”

“Since you’ll be on a spike, feeding the crows soon. I suppose there’s no harm.” He turned back to face her, taking a step in her direction. “She was Lyanna Umber, but Lyanna Umber died in this room, dirt is what remains.”

She nodded, eyes on him. Permission. I have permission. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw his face. He looked sharper, older. Same icy, wild eyes, same smile, manic, mad.

“What are you now?”

“I’m an object. Property. Owned by you. Not a person. Not human. I’m dirt. I’m a pet. I’m loyal. I’m good.” She heaved breaths through her nose. “I remember.”

He smiled at her, nodding his head. He spun on his heels, leaning towards the prisoner. She looked at his face once more, fear. She knew how it looked. She knew how it felt. How her face must’ve looked when it struck her core. He was afraid.

“You don’t have any information I want, you have nothing to give me.” He pointed the blade at the prisoner. “Now all that remains is pleasure.”

Obey. Watch. Witness. Remember.

Chapter Text

“No! M’Lord, please!” The words ringing around the room. “Have mercy!”

He ignored his pleads, moving to the man’s hand, gripping his finger, digging the blade in and dragging it down. No hesitation. Humming beneath the prisoner’s screams, the song. The same, always that song. Castamere.

Her teeth ground against one another as she watched, breaths shaking through her nose, eyes wide, threatening to drag themselves away from the horrors, she forced them to stay on him. Watch. Watch.

She watched the prisoner thrash, as she had. She could almost feel it, the burn, the sting, ripping, tearing through her flesh. She knew he felt the same thing. The agony. But it would kill him, she knew that, he was already dead, her Master would strip him bare.

His screams left him in a way that sounded like they were squeezed from him, shaking from his body, drenched in agony. Pleads mixed in, dragged from his throat, they fell on deaf ears. But she would remember them. Witness.

She shook, her head dropping, eyes still on the man. He pulled at the binds as her Master worked his way down his hand, his arm, the leather twisting and rubbing through his skin, the raw flesh weeping blood down his arms.

The screaming stopped, whimpers, loud and anguished filled the room. She watched her Master turn to her, the gleam back in his eyes, lips peeled up, his teeth bared.

“My dear little pet.” He stepped forward, blood soaked hand reaching for her chin. “Keep your head up.” He lifted it. “Or you know what happens.”

She stared straight forward, head up, eyes on the man, on the knife. Obey. Watch. Ripped of skin, bare, flesh open, muslces exposed. Blood dripping, wet.

“Help me!”

Her eyes flicked to his. They were wide, she watched him look at himself, where the skin was stripped from him and he screamed once more. She shook her head side to side slightly. No help. Obey. Watch. He twisted his arms again, face full of despair as he watched her Master turn back to him.

He took a deep breath, and the humming returned, he scuffed his heels on the stone as he stepped forward, swaying his body side to side.

He lurched towards him, sliding the blade between the layers of skin. Ripping, tearing. The squelching ringing in her ears, her eyes begged to squeeze shut as she watched the man writhe. She ran her thumb across the stump of her ring finger.

Unbearable agony, ripping his throat to shreds, gurgling, gagging, he couldn’t form words anymore. Everything he tried to say came out garbled and desperate. His arms. His legs. His torso. Peeled down to nothing.

Tears stung at her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She watched. She witnessed. He would infect her dreams, turn them to nightmares, his hopeless screams, his eyes, so wide they could pop from his head. He was distraught. Sobbing. Begging.

She could barely understand him. The sight cut its way into her brain, branding the images into her mind. She knew when she closed her eyes, he would be all she saw.

Her Master stopped, turning once again, placing the knife on a nearby table. A stream of wobbled noises left the man’s mouth, not a scream, not a whimper, not a whine. Just pain. Constant and unrelenting, she remembered it well.

He circled her once more, crouching again, pulling her close. She could feel it, hard as rock, pressing against her back, the pants on her cheek as he leant forward, whispering once more.

“Tell him he’s pathetic.”

A sharp breath caught in her throat. She squeaked. Soft. Quiet. Alive. He promised. She tried to force the words from her throat, she whined out, feeling his hand close around her throat, around the collar.

“You’re pathetic.”

She stared him in the eyes, bloodshot and half covered in tears. He opened and closed his mouth, unintelligible nonsense leaving him, half sentences, words screamed, then one clear phrase. Repeated. Over and over again.

“Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!” Shouted through sobs.

She heard him scoff. No fun. No fun. He held her in place, the heat from his skin burning into hers. She watched the man, half dead, feeling everything. He had stilled himself, had stopped struggling long ago. Limp, head hung low, staring at his own meat. A constant noise leaving him, pained.

“Get on your hands and knees.” He pushed her head forward. “If you move, you’ll be next.”

Obey. Obey. She pushed up from her kneeling position, crawling forward slightly, shivering as her palms hit the cool of stone.

She heard him moving around, unlacing something and she tried to turn, he gripped her hair, forcing her head back forward. She stared at the stone, tracing her finger across it. Don’t move. Obey.

He lifted her nightdress up onto her back, exposing her. She slammed her jaw shut, teeth clacking as her breath stilled in her throat. She felt him against her, the head of his cock pushing on her, warm. She picked at the ridges on the stone, mouth opening to say words that never left it. Property.

“My father raped my mother.” She heard him spit, the sounds of something slick. “She had married without his permission.”

He pushed inside, roughly, hitting something deep within her that sent a chill running up her spine. She gasped, he was stretching her. It hurt. He promised. She clenched around him. She tried to slam her knees shut, to protect herself. He shifted them back apart with his own, holding them in place, forcing them open.

He exhaled, deeply, the chill of his breath fluttered across her skin. She felt tears welling, her eyes wide, staring at nothing, palms on the stone. She blinked, her mouth opening once more, then closing in silence. Whimpers leaving her throat.

“He hung her husband.” He started thrusting back and forth, hard. Slamming his hips against her. “And then took her, quite brutally I heard, under his swinging corpse.”

She grunted, feeling his fingers dig into her hips. “Obey, obey, obey, obey.” The words whispered into the cold air.

He dropped himself forward, his hand hammering to the ground, holding him up. Pressing his chest to her, his cheek against her neck, forcing her legs apart further, pushing her closer to the floor. Her elbows hit the stone and she yelped as he continued to piston himself in and out of her.

“I was born from violence.” He gripped her jaw, forcing her eyes onto the prisoner. “What choice did I have but to commit it?”

She stared at him, crying out as she felt a sharp pain shoot through her. He was hopeless, torn to shreds, closer to death than ever before, she could almost see the life leeching from him. She tried once more to pull her knees together, pressing against her Master’s, immovable.

She clasped her hands together, running her fingers over the stumps. The squeaks leaving her one after the other, louder and louder, ringing from her throat. Alive. Alive. Alive. They brought her no comfort like they had before. She couldn’t avoid this. Couldn’t think it away. It hurt. He promised.

“Am I taking your Maidenhead?”

She nodded once, sharp, short. Breaths huffed from her lungs, dragging whimpers along with them. The tears dripping down her cheeks as he forced her eyes onto the man, barely human now.

“Use your words.”

“Yes.” It was rushed out, whispered. “Yes. Yes. Yes, Master.”

She heard him scoff and felt him smile against her skin. Property. Property. His. Obey. It’s okay. He pressed his thumb into her lips, his fingers against her jaw, and she parted them. Blood. The prisoner’s. The taste cut its way across her tongue as it lay flat against the pad of his thumb.

“Suck.”

She did, the metallic tinge infecting her body once more. She whined out from around him, deep breaths, trying to ignore the sting, the horrible jolts that racked her core every time he thrust in. Don’t move. Don’t move.

“Fuck.” He growled out against her, digging his nails into her face. “You’re so warm.” His hips stuttered against her. “So tight.”

She could feel him tense up, every muscle. He buried his face into her neck and she could feel his cock throb inside of her over and over again, she clenched around him once more. He grunted and groaned, pulling her face up, his nails cutting into her skin.

Then he went soft, muscles slack, breaths leaving him once more, long and deep. He let her go and she dropped her head back down to the stone. He pulled back, out of her completely, leaving her empty. He gripped her hair, dragging her back to kneel.

She felt a rush, something dripping from her onto the stone. She squeaked. Alive. She hurt, stung, it was as if he had something torn inside of her. He promised. She raised her eyes to the man, the dead one, he stared back, eyes glassy, barely there.

She heard her Master lacing himself up, raising himself to stand and she watched him walk back over to the prisoner.

“Are you still alive?”

He remained silent.

“I can still see you in there.” Staring directly into his eyes, grasping either side of his jaw. “Did you watch? Did you enjoy it?”

The man let a soft, quiet noise leave his lips. She watched as he drifted away, lost in agony.

“You die like an animal.” He turned back to her. “You did so well, you were a good girl.” He crouched to her level, watching her. “Would you like your reward now?”

She nodded. I was good.

Chapter Text

She was led to a closed door, through corridors, up staircases. Eyes down, feeling the pressure of his hand on the back of her collar, the bell ringing out as she walked. She watched boots turn towards her as she passed them.

She blinked and suddenly there he was. His twisted, hollow face, the glassy, fixed eyes, his flesh, oozing. His screams echoed through her head, choked, terrified. Writhing, twisting, rubbing layer after layer of his skin down, raw, stinging. She remembered. She knew.

Her breathing came heavy, slow, steadying her as she ran her thumb over the stump of her finger. No more. I’ve been good. She nodded, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on it. She stared at the wood of the door, the grain, patterns forming beneath her eyes.

He took a step forward, moving in front of her, opening the door, pushing her forward slightly, hand still on her neck. She moved where he led her, squinting as the sun, peering in through the windows, illuminated the room. Her eyes fell on a large wooden tub sitting in the centre. Steam rising from the water into the cool air, swirling up to the ceiling.

“It’s a bath!” She felt his fingers run down her spine. “I think it might help you feel better.”

A woman stepped into view, a water jug in her hands. The same one. From when she was drowned, pinned down, suffocating, begging, learning. It mocked her once again. Panic bubbled in her gut as she stepped back, eyes wide, breaths quickening.

“I’ve been good.” Eyes on the jug. “No more water.”

She sat the jug on the table, lifting the cloth next to it. She watched, shaking her head, taking another step back. He gripped her collar, the bell tinkling, he stopped her. He pulled the leather tight against her throat, only relenting when she looked at the cloth.

“No more Master!” She stared. “You promised. You promised!”

He gripped her jaw. Squeezing. She froze, muscles going slack. Fists balling into the dirtied hem of her nightdress.

“I’m not going hurt you.” He lifted her head up. “You’re right. I promised.”

He pushed her forward, towards it, towards the woman. Her breath halted in her lungs, refusing to release, refusing to move. Her eyes down, staring at stone and hands and boots. Dresses, and trousers. No faces. No eyes.

“You can look at us.” He gestured to the woman, she raised her gaze from the stone, brown hair, big eyes staring back. “You have my permission.”

She nodded.

“It’s a bath. No pain, no anger, no panic, you can breathe.” He stroked his thumb across her jawline. “This is Myranda, she’s going to help you dress and fix your hair.” He ran his fingers through it, nails against her scalp. “After I’ve finished with you.”

Myranda waved, a soft smile pulling her lips up. She sat the cloth back down and started for the door.

“I look forward to helping you.”

Her Master trusted Myranda. And she trusted her Master, he owned her, she was his property. She heard the door close as she watched him move to the side of the bath, soles of his boots clicking against the floor, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Take off your clothes.”

She gripped the hem of her nightdress once more, it was bloody, stained with horrors. Curling it into her fingers, she lifted it above her shoulders, pulling her head out of it. She held it in front of her body, eyes on the tub.

He scoffed. “Drop it on the floor, dirt.” He sat on a stool next to the bath. “Look at yourself.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she had. She was in darkness for so long, lost, aimless. Then her Master had granted her light, she was grateful, but she never looked at herself. Her body.

The nightdress slinked to the floor in front of her as she loosened her grasp on it. She cast her eyes downwards, scanning them across herself. Bloodstained, bruised, filthy. Her bones stuck out, shoulders, elbows, hips, knees, collarbones. Missing pieces, hacked from her, pink scars littering her sickly, pale skin. She could still feel the leak, the drip from between her thighs, a pinky, red liquid streaking down her legs. She felt her stomach turn, tears welling at her eyes.

He curled his fingers into his palm, arm outstretched, calling her. “I promise.” He squeezed the cloth, the water trickling back into the tub. “Don’t you want feel good?”

She watched him, the way his eyes flickered across her, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He stared into her eyes and beckoned her once more.

She nodded. Feel good. She stepped towards the tub. Cold. She watched the hot swirls of steam rise into the crisp air. Gripping the edge of the tub, she let her own eyes drift across her digits, feeling the heat of the water radiating back, prickling across her skin, melting the chill from her bones.

Her Master took her hand, supporting the little weight she had on her as she stepped inside. Moaning out into the silence as the hot water stilled her soul, the cold creeping from her, she slid her aching body into the blanket of heat. Safe. Warm. She did feel good, better than she’d ever remembered feeling.

She flinched as she submerged herself, the water sitting at her ribs, a sting from between her legs rocked her core. She squeezed her knees together, feeling the sharpness soften and die down once she was settled. She ran her fingers through it, watching the little ripples work their way to the edge.

“Isn’t that a nice reward?” He gripped her wrist, pulling her arm forward, running the cloth through the layers of dirt. “You’re such a good girl.”

“Yes, Master.”

She squeaked. Alive. She stared at him, at his eyes. They ran across her, looking over every plum coloured bruise, every scar. He worked his way up her arms, across her shoulders, down her back. He wiped the filth, the blood, the sweat from her, squeezing hot water across her tender skin, her very soul had stopped its incessant shivering.

She watched him as he moved the cloth over her, the soft, gentle movements. Tender touches as he lifted her legs from the water, hooking each foot on the edge of the tub, wiping the stains from her skin. He ran the cloth between her thighs, the heat from the water rushing through her core.

She could feel her heart trying to beat a hole in her chest, the panic rising, he’d push her below the water, clamp the cloth over her face and drown her again. But he promised. He promised. She repeated the words in her head, she had to believe him, she had to. The worry in her chest subsided with every second that passed.

“Do you trust me?”

She stared up at his eyes, his face. Really looking, this had been one of the first times she’d seen him in the light of the sun since their meeting in the forest. He was older, sharper, facial hair working its way in, his muscles pressed against his clothes, he had grown. She looked at his eyes, the same icy blue, the same manic smile. How long had she been here? Years?

She blinked the intrusion away and nodded. “Yes, Master.”

Her eyes were fixed on him as he gripped the handle, her teeth grated together, body twitching, breaths huffing from her nose. He pulled on her hair, titling her head back, she heard the jug submerge, the little bubbles popping on the surface of the water. She stared at the ceiling, body shaking as the jug was lifted up and into her vision.

“You’re so good.” She had her eye on the spout, waiting for the water to fall. “So clever to trust me, I only want what’s best for you.”

She nodded once more. She trusted him, she did. She obeyed, staying perfectly still. Trust. She watched the jug tip forward, the water running through her hair, soothing the itch that plagued her scalp. He was merciful. He was good to her. She didn’t fight, she stayed docile, letting him do what he wished. She was grateful, that he would reward her like this.

Soft. Gentle. Feels good. Good, good. She bit down on her lip as he dropped the cloth back to the table. He gripped her wrist, standing and pulling her from the water. She was cold, the nasty chill in the air dragging shivers from her body, her teeth chattering, the hairs on her arms standing on edge.

He helped her step from the tub, she gasped as her soles hit the cool of the stone. She could’ve stayed in there for the rest of her life, in the heat, the calm.

He wrapped her in a cloak, covering her body, keeping the warmth in. He pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, holding her.

“Thank you.” It burst from her throat. “Thank you, Master. Thank you!”

“I’ll call for Myranda.” He ran his fingers across her head, over the fabric. “She’ll have a clean nightdress for you.”

She twisted her fingers into the material as she watched him leave the room, the door clattering shut. Clean. Clean. My name is dirt. Obey.

She heard giggling from outside the door, her breathing picked up, shaking through her nose. The door pushed open and she entered, a fresh white nightdress in her hands. She smiled when she saw her, eyes bright.

“How would you like your hair?”

Choice. A choice.

Chapter Text

“Well?” She smiled at her. “You’re allowed to speak to me, you know.”

She nodded. “Braid.”

She had remembered, kept her hands at her sides. She hadn’t touched her hair at all. She recalled, in a fuzzy dream sort of way, wearing her hair in far more intricate styles, before, when she was someone else. Before she became who she was meant to be. dirt. But she didn’t know who she was back then. She couldn’t remember anything before her Master.

Myranda stepped forward towards her, holding the nightdress up for her to see. It was pretty, thicker looking than the last, fancier. She rolled the material up, motioning for her to put her arms and head into the garment. It slid over her, the hem sitting just above her knees, the material covering her body. The bones, bruises, scars hidden beneath it. Clean.

“Come.” She held her hand, walking her from the room. “I have a fire going, it’ll help dry your hair and keep you warm.”

She was led down the corridor, to a room at the end of it. The sky wasn’t as bright as before, the sun dropping from it. As she entered, she saw the fire, orange embers glowing, the air was hot and she swallowed.

Myranda pulled her to a spot in front of the fire, a stool and a fur on the floor. She sat on the stool, lifting a comb from beside it.

“Sit with me.”

She did, kneeling. The fire behind her, Myranda sitting on the stool to her right. She felt the heat flickering across her skin, the soft curls of warmth soothing her. They sat in silence for a while, combing, her hands running over the soft fur she was knelt on.

“I do hope he’s not bored of you.” Fingers tangled into her hair, pulling at it suddenly. “There was a girl, Alys, she was pretty, but she bored him. After a while.”

The comb slid over her hair, she shivered as its prongs scratched against her scalp.

“She would talk and talk and talk, but she would never listen to him.” She felt Myranda’s grip tighten around her hair. “She didn’t leave him with a choice, he ripped all of her teeth from her mouth and cut out her tongue.” She scoffed. “She just made noises after that, no one really knew what she was saying.”

Her head snapped up as her hair was wrenched back, her eyes on the wall at the opposite end of the room, watching the flames flicker their shadows across it.

“He chained her to a wall, inside a cell, and watched her starve.” The comb dragged across her skin and she yelped, jumping. “She tried to eat herself, which I’m sure you understand is difficult, when you don’t have teeth. She used a sharp shard of stone to cut pieces from herself and swallowed them.” She tapped her foot against the stool. “Wasn’t so pretty then.”

Tears welled at her eyes as she kept looking forward, her teeth clanking together as she bit down on air. Obey.

“Maybe he’ll do something like that to you, one day.” She could feel the comb catch on knots, it was forced through them, pain biting her scalp. “Flay your arms, your legs, cut them off when you’ve begged just enough. So you’re nothing but a stump with holes.”

She flinched as Myranda stood, dragging the stool to the other side of her. She squeaked. Alive. She sat once more, working the comb into the other side of her hair.

“Maybe he’ll rip your teeth out and blind you and strap you to a board.” Her head snapped up once more, her hair being grabbed and pulled back by the fistful. “Where you wiggle and moan and throb.” She could hear the smile in Myranda’s voice. “You’ll just exist, your mind splintering like shattered ice, waiting for him to return.”

She sniffed in through her nose, whimpers leaving her lips. She stared through her tears, feeling them pop out onto her cheeks, leaving wet stripes running down her face.

“For him to touch you, hurt you, whisper atrocities into your ear, anything. Anything more than lying in silence, blind to the world. Forgotten and strapped down. Skin burning with desire, unable to move, feeling your body die around you.”

She heaved breaths in and out, hard enough to shake her body to its core. Her teeth clenched together with enough force that she worried she’d crack one of them. Her hands clasped, her thumb finding the stump, running across it, feeling the bone, the scars. Obey. Searching for comfort.

“Maybe. Or maybe not.” She brushed through her hair and placed the comb on the floor. “You never really know with him.”

She gathered the hair at the back of her head. “A braid, you said?”

Tears stung her eyes, she nodded. Maybe. Maybe not. Obey. Obey.

“We’ll do two.” Myranda flicked her finger against the bell, it rang through the room. “One each side. Don’t want to stop him from hearing your little bell, it’s very sweet.”

She swallowed thickly, the heat still kissing her skin. Myranda’s hands working their way through her hair, twisting a braid either side, letting them fall over her shoulders, against her chest. Humming as she did. Castamere.

The song haunted her. She clenched her jaw, watching the wall, the shadows and light dancing alongside each other. Images of the dead man’s face flashing behind her eyes.

Myranda shot up from the stool, grabbing her wrist, dragging her from the floor, pulling her over to a mirror sat against the wall.

“See?” She had gripped her waist, the fingers on her other hand twisting the braid around. “You look pretty. Look at yourself.”

She did. She hadn’t seen her face. Not yet. Her body, she looked like a corpse, bones, that was shocking enough. But she stepped forward, staring at her face, eyes wide, hands shaking, head twitching.

Sunken, hollowed eyes looked back, tired, lids half over them, bloodshot and red. Bones jutting out, cheeks caved in, she flexed her jaw open and shut. Her lips, cracked and dry. Bruises littered her face, plum, red, yellow hues, taking over her skin. Red blotches, scars, pink and angry.

“Is that me?”

“Well, who else would it be?” She felt Myranda’s fingers curl around her hip. “I know you look different to how you remember, before, but this, this is who you were born to be.”

She drew a breath in through her nostrils, it shook its way into her lungs. Only dirt. Always dirt. Always.

“My name is dirt.” She bit down on her lip once more. “I’m not a person.” She nodded, staring at Myranda’s eyes through the mirror.

“He told me you had learned beautifully.” She ran her hand over her back. “He was so very right.”

She nodded.

“Did he take your Maidenhead?” Hand rubbing across her spine. “When he raped you?”

She stared at herself through tear filled eyes, stinging, threatening to spill. She squeaked. Alive. Sniffling. Raped. Raped? She nodded, mouth opening then closing again in silence.

“Did he make you watch the prisoner die?” She gripped the material of the nightdress, pulling her close. “Make you taste his blood?”

She swallowed, it was a struggle. They clawed at the back of her eyes, the pictures of his meat, seeping and bloody, fixed eyes, glassed over. The tinge of metal, sunken into her tongue.

She nodded once again. “I watched. I witnessed. I remember.” Her tears spilled, dripping into the stark white fabric. “Master said to.” The words whispered into the air.

“Let’s go and find him then, shall we?”

Chapter Text

“Here she is!” The words leaving her tongue like the ring of a violin. “Clean.”

Myranda swung the door open as she spoke, pushing her back into the original room, she stumbled from the force. She stepped in behind her and the door slammed shut.

“You look different, dirt.” He took a few steps towards her. “Like a different person.”

She shook her head, eyes back on his boots. “Not a person, not a human, an object, dirt. I’m dirt.”

The maybes crashed around her skull. Maybe he’d blind her. Maybe he’d rip her teeth out. Maybe he’d flay her. Drown her. Cut more of her off. Maybe he wouldn’t. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. She watched him kill that man, maybe he’d do that to her. Maybe if she obeyed, he wouldn’t. Maybe it didn’t matter what she did, and he would do it all anyway.

The tears stung at her eyes, she was lost in her own head. Staring at nothing, wide eyed, shaking, teeth chattering.

“A success, Myranda?”

“Oh, yes.” She scoffed. “A success.”

“Wonderful. Leave us.”

She heard footsteps, the door clattering off the frame. Then silence. She stood if front of him, rocking her weight from foot to foot, pulling shaking breaths in through her nose.

She watched his boots, dirtied leather, move forward. She looked up at his body, boots, knees, stomach, chest, eyes. He was inches from her. He smiled, teeth bared, glint in his eye.

He lifted his hand, running it across her braid. Her teeth clenched, grinding against each other as he brushed her skin with his fingers. He gripped the back of her neck, pulling her to a stool.

“Kneel, legs apart, don’t sit on your feet, put your weight on your knees.”

She complied, watching him sit in front of her. She stared up into his face, watching him watch her, trying to will his thoughts into her head, so she would know. She would know if she was in danger.

He leant forward, pulling her towards him, her head on his shoulder, eyes staring at the wall behind her. His hand clamped over the back of her neck, pinning her against him. Hands at my sides. She gripped the hem of her nightdress, squeezing it into a ball within her fists.

“You agreed with Myranda when she said I raped you.” His breath hot against her ear. “Didn’t you?”

Raped. Her breath caught in her throat, she didn’t dare to move. He did. Did he? Her head twitched against him, trying to figure out what he wanted to say, what answer wouldn’t get her trouble, what one would keep her safe. Obey.

“Do you think I raped you?” Plainly spoken. “Did you not enjoy it?”

Her jaw flexed open and shut. Raped. Yes. No. Yes? She shook her head softly. Owned. Owned.

“You didn’t rape me.” Her words choppy, short. 

“Why do you think that?”

She was his, to do with as he pleased, she knew that, she remembered. It pleased him to fuck her, he didn’t care what she wanted, what she thought. She was his.

“You can’t rape something you own.” She exhaled, stilling the shake of her hands. “I’m your property.”

“You are clever, even still, even after all the pain.” He scoffed, she felt him smile against her cheek. “And Myranda was kind to you?”

She nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“I own all of you, even your little cunt.” He reached forward, palm running over it. “What should we call it?”

She gasped as he touched her, the heat of his skin burning through her nightdress. Hands at my sides. Obey. She let whimpers fall from her mouth. She’d never been touched there, never touched herself there. Her eyes shot open wide, staring at the wall behind him.

He shushed her. “You have to control yourself, my little pet.” Rubbing back and forth, over and over again. “We’ll call it my cunny, what do you think?”

“Yes… Master.” The words dragged out moans, she tried to silence them.

“Repeat it.”

“Your cunny.”

“Pathetic.” She felt him smile against her again, the heat of his skin on hers. “Tell me you’re pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic.” Tears welling.

He pulled her back, hand gripping her collar, the bell tingling. He stared into her eyes, flicking between them. He pulled back, lifting her nightdress over his hand and sunk his fingers between her lips, finding the little bundle of nerves.

Her jaw fell slack as she sucked a harsh breath into her lungs. Eyes widened, held by his gaze.

“Do you want me to make you feel good?”

She nodded, squeaking as he ran the pad of his finger in little circles over it.

“Ask me.”

“Can you make me feel good, Master?”

He flashed a smile, teeth showing. Staring through his eyebrows, pupils blown out.

“Only when you deserve it.”

He slid his fingers down, plunging them inside her, she heard the noise, slick, wet, as he pulled back and once again found it, dancing them across it, gliding back and forth.

He pulled her face to his shoulder again, still moving his fingers, grabbing, squeezing, touching.

“You have to tell me.” Whispering into her ear. “When you feel the pressure, feel it building in your stomach. You must let me know.”

She took a deep breath, turning her face towards him, nuzzled against his shirt. Blood and wine, the scent filled her lungs, making her head spin. I promise. She moaned out once more, like a symphony. He lifted his hand to her head, running his fingers down her hair, shushing her once more.

“I feel it.”

She felt his hand pull away, his nails dragging across her, her hips rolled forward. More. More. He gripped her collar, pulling her back, his eyes flicking between hers again. She caught her lip between her teeth, sucking on it. Whining.

“You want more?”

She nodded. More.

“You’re going to be my shadow, where I am, you are, unless I direct you elsewhere.” He reached forward, his palm against her cheek. “And you will listen, to everything, everyone. For people that ridicule me, call me bastard, doubt me.”

She nodded, eyes on his, watching him frown. Feeling his skin against hers, knees aching from the stone. She obeyed, stayed still.

“You will tell me anything you hear them say.” Eyes wide, wild. “So I know who the traitors are.” His lips pulling at the corners of his mouth. “And I will make you feel good. I promise.”

“Listen. Tell. Feel good.”

“That’s right, my sweet little pet.” He twisted his hand around her braid. “But. Its job is to sit between your legs and throb for me.” He wrenched the braid, pulling her towards him. “You must never, ever touch it, I’ll slice it from you if you do.”

She scrunched the balls of fabric her fingers had twisted, shaking her head. I’ll be good. I promise.

“Never! Never. Obey. Always.”

Chapter Text

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, body swaying, head down, eyes staring absentmindedly on whatever patch of flooring they fell upon. She was waiting for him, listening to those who passed her, whispers that drifted with them. He was speaking with the silent man, the one who flayed her. His voice quiet, no more than a low hum as they talked.

She knew her way around the Dreadfort, where the passages led, the corridors. She was his shadow, followed him, listened, just like he told her to. She still had rules, eyes down, hands at her sides, don’t speak unless spoken to. She obeyed. He gave her tasks, messages to deliver, people to assist. She obeyed, she did anything he asked, and he rewarded her. Made her feel good.

She struggled to recall the last time she had been dragged through the halls, pleading. The last time she had been strapped down, flayed, drowned, burned, cut. She was grateful, she knew it was because she hadn’t disappointed him, lied, stole, disobeyed. She had been good, she had no open wounds, the once raw layers of flesh settling into scars against her skin.

He trusted her now, he allowed her to walk through the grounds, the castle. She proved herself, she wouldn’t run. She had thoughts once, bad thoughts. He had sent her with a scroll to deliver to the one who watched the gates, the first time she was sent away alone.

She stood, just before the doorway as she waited on his reply to take back to her Master. She had twisted her foot into the ground, eyes wandering, breaths heaving into her lungs. She could’ve ran. The gate was open, she could see the treeline from where she stood. It was right there. Freedom.

But she was good, she was loyal, she obeyed. Besides, she wouldn’t have made it far, he would’ve ran her down like he did in the woods, he would’ve hurt her. She had dragged her eyes to the ground, taking a step away, turning her back on the gate. He made her. She wouldn’t know who she was without him, who she was meant to be.

She wouldn’t have her food and water given freely to her. She wouldn’t hear his voice, soft and low, hummed into her ear like a melody. She wouldn’t feel his hands on her, soft and gentle, the heat of his skin melting the chill from hers.

She returned to him, she obeyed, the reply from the man at the gate in her hand. She watched him read it, a smile tugging his lips back, teeth bared. He had praised her, called her clever, told her that he was right to trust her. She never knew what her Master asked, nor what the man replied. It was above her station.

She snapped from her haze as he finished his conversation, turning and continuing down the hall. She had to take a couple extra steps here and there to keep up with his stride. She limped, the removal of her toes affecting her gait.

They ached, her fingers too. The occasional snow flurries causing an unending, constant throb of pain that ran through her bones. She had slippers, they stopped the stones, the sticks and debris digging into her soles, but the cold persisted.

He crossed the boundary of a doorway and trudged through the snow. She followed, drawing a deep breath through her nose, the chill in the air already causing her extremities to stiffen.

She watched his boots crunch into the snow with every step, imagining the heat they gave. He stopped dead, she barely caught herself in time before crashing into his frame. He had grown, he was an adult, no longer a boy.

He was taller, broader. Muscles straining against his riding gear. He hit harder, she had felt his fist against her more than a few times, when she had needed correction. When she spoke out of turn, looked without permission, he helped remind her. He held himself differently than when he was younger, posture straighter, head higher. More confident.

Soft little smile lines on his cheeks, a permanent smirk, pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes remained as they always had, icy blue, staring, filled with malice and madness. She knew them well. The raven curls falling over his forehead.

“Do you remember him?” He spun on his heels, pulling her forward, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “You watched his death, what was his name?”

He was pointing. She looked at the carcass, stripped completely, crows pecking at it’s flesh, eyes popped out, hanging from the nerves, jaw slack in a twisted scream. A spike jutting out from his collarbone.

She remembered him. When he was still a person, pink and bloody, straining against the straps. His soft, green eyes wide, pleading as she stared into them. Auburn curls, plastered to his head with sweat.

He screamed, they all did, his tone joining the others in her head until all she could hear was an orchestra of them, begging for mercy. She remembered them all, their faces, their names. The women screamed louder, pleaded more, promising her Master favours, she watched the light leave their eyes regardless.

She didn’t know the exact number, how many people she watched him kill, none of their deaths were pleasant. All of them dredged up the vicious memories of her own time strapped to that cross. Of how easily he could’ve chosen to end her. She was grateful. She was alive.

“Elias.” The name whispered to him. “He said you were mad, I heard him.”

Elias wore scuffed boots, a chain hanging from his waist, embroidered details on the knees of his trousers. She pointed him out, she knew his outfit. That’s all she was allowed to look at. He had whispered his thoughts to another, laughing. He didn’t laugh now.

“You heard him, then you told me, like I asked.” He gripped her chin with his fingers. “You watched him fade and perish and then I made you feel good.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Master.”

She no longer had to suffer the pain of his cruelty, but he always made her watch. He was better now than when he was younger, more well versed in his art, as he put it. He made no mistakes. He could keep someone alive long after their will to live had been snuffed out, their existence nothing but an endless spin of torture, listening to him hum that song.

They crossed the courtyard, heading back into the Dreadfort, she didn’t know where they were going, she never did. They ended up at the banquet hall, Lord Bolton already sat at the table, plate full of food. Her stomach growled as she smelled it.

She followed her Master to his chair, dropping to her knees beside him, his fingers already twisted through her hair. The feeling shot up her spine and she straightened her back, leaning herself against his chair, staring at Lord Bolton’s boots.

He hated her, she could feel his discomfort at her existence, every breath she took was a personal insult to him. He wanted her dead. She watched as he tapped his heel against the stone, fur peeking from the tops of his boots.

“Must she always be with you, Ramsay?” He sighed. “It sickens me to look at her.”

“She’s my pet, where else would she be?”

She nodded, nuzzling against his hand, listening to Lord Bolton sigh once more. I’m a pet. An object.

Her Master leant forward, lifting something from the table, tearing at it with his teeth, chewing and swallowing. She listened as he gulped down something, the cup clattering against the table, probably wine, he always smelled of wine.

His father was discussing leave he had to take, she flickered in and out of his words. She listened to the strangers, but she knew that her Master would listen to Lord Bolton and pick up on anything of importance he had to say.

She heard him spit, eyes already searching the stone for her food. Thank you. Palms on the stone, nose to the floor, sucking the juices and spit from the meat before swallowing it.

“Ramsay!” He pushed his chair back from the table, voice raised. “This is important.”

“I’m listening, am I not?”

“There is a time and a place for this… game you play with her.” He banged his fist on the table, she flinched. “Now is neither.”

“She hasn’t eaten in 3 days.” He gripped her collar, pulling her head up. “Are you saying you’d rather she starve?”

“You should’ve killed her in the forest.” She listened to him pull a deep breath in through his nose. “But you didn’t and so I planned to use her to our advantage, you’ve broken her, made her worthless to us.”

She stiffened, her muscles tense, eyes wide and staring at nothing.

“I’ve made her the most useful she has ever been in any life she’s lived.” He placed his hand on her head. “Her loyalties lie with me, not them.”

“Look at me, child.”

She blinked, swallowing thickly. Obey my Master. She stayed as she was, feeling him tap his thumb against her scalp. He’s not my Master.

“Look at me, now!” He leant forward, grabbing her by the jaw, dragging her towards him. “Do not anger me, or I’ll have your death be agony.” He squeezed, her bones groaning, eyes still on the floor.

“Look at him, dirt.”

She did. Permission. He had his Sigil, the flayed man, embossed into the leather of his clothes. A stern look set into his face, scowling, brows furrowed. Those same icy blue eyes staring at her, same as her Master’s, filled with anger instead of madness.

He looked at her Master through his eyebrows, nodded once, then his eyes were back on her.

“Who are you loyal to?”

“My Master.”

“What is your name?”

“dirt.” No hesitation.

He cocked his head to the side, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Who were you before?”

She shook her head as far as she could in his grasp, his eyes burning into her.

“No before. Only dirt. Always.”

“So if I were to tell you I plan to force the Umbers to betray the Starks in the years to come.” He pulled her forward. “Then send you with my son to make this betrayal happen, what would you do?”

“Obey.”

She watched as a familiar looking smile peeled Lord Bolton’s lips back, teeth bared, eyes gleaming, staring into hers.

“Clever girl.” He pulled back, eyes on her Master again. “She may be of use to us yet, Ramsay.”

Chapter Text

She knelt in the snow next to her Master, shivering as the chill ran into her skin. This was her punishment. Someone told him she had taken food, she hadn’t, she begged and swore to him. But he didn’t believe her.

He had beaten her bloody, she had been swollen and bruised for days. He took her thick nightdress, replacing it once more with the thin sack he had dressed her in as a child. She hadn’t stolen. She was loyal. She couldn’t trust those around her. Only him.

She whined out from closed lips, curled into herself. Numb and aching. She picked at her fingernails, head dropped, cradled by her arms. Shaking breaths into her lungs. They were waiting. She knew Lord Bolton left her Master in charge, he was the authority in his absence.

She watched them ride up, all in black. Night’s Watch. She remembered hearing about them from her Master, as he took apart a girl. Meera. She remembered her name. She remembered. They were picking up strays, to take to the wall. The Boltons had no strays, their strays fed the birds.

She stared down, at the floor directly beneath her. She was still sore, she could at least see from her eyes now, the swelling had subsided. He made her look at herself in the mirror, plums and reds blossoming across her face like blood on snow.

She heard them dismount. Step forward, she knew their eyes would be on her, everyone always stared. She could feel it.

“Are you Lord Bolton’s bastard?” She heard his boots crunch in the snow. “Ramsay?”

She heard the leather of her Master’s gloves squeak, he let out a low chuckle. Bad word. Bad word.

“Yes.” She watched him step forward, peeking up from beneath her arms. “I’m his bastard.”

“My name is Benjen.” She looked up at his boots, heavy, snow crusted. “I thank you for receiving us, it has been a long journey so far.”

A chill in the air blew past her, raising the hairs on her arm, she grunted under her breath. Fingers, toes freezing, she wiggled them as much as she could. She wanted to raise them to her mouth, blow hot air against her skin, but she remembered. Hands at my sides.

She heard the crunch of snow closing in on her and looked up, a young man stood before her, black hair that fell in waves, warm eyes, his arm outstretched holding a fur out to her. She reached, hand barely moving, grasping.

“Jon!” Benjen called out.

The shout pulled her mind back and she realised what she had done. She snapped her hand to the floor, digging it into the snow. Watching the man’s face change, his brows furrowed, eyes narrowing. She shook her head, finally dragging her eyes back down. Why why. Why did I do that? Why?

“Please excuse me for a moment.” Her Master’s tone sharp.

He crouched, pulling her close to him, his hand encircling her arm. She shook her head as he tightened his grip around her wrist.

“Master… I’m sorry. Im sorry!” She pulled in a shaky breath. “I’m so cold!” The words sobbed out. “I’m sorry!”

She heard the man step back to the line, her eyes on her Master’s cloak.

“You stole from me, lied to me.” He gripped her hair, whispering into her ear. “And now you break two rules that have been in place since I released you from your cell?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough.” His breath hot against her. “You’ve been disobeying, have you forgotten?”

She shook her head, tears welling, memories of pain shooting through her mind.

“No! No. I remember. I remember!” She sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think you do.” He gripped her jaw. “I’m going to flay your pinky, tonight, even you out, make you remember.”

Her face scrunched, whining out. “No. No no! Master, mercy.”

Panic bubbled in the pit of her stomach, she had been good. She didn’t want to lose her pinky, she didn’t want to feel the pain, to have to beg for it to be cut off. She had been content with her existence.

“You’re pathetic.” He threw her backwards. “Pick your punishment.”

“Master!” Her head shaking slightly.

“I don’t repeat myself.” He stood. “You’ve been with me long enough to know that.”

She nodded. Obey. Obey.

“Pick.”

“Hit me.” Whispered, the words materialising in the air. “Hit me!” Louder.

“How many times?”

“Twice.” She felt a tear drip from her eye. “Two broken rules. Twice.”

“Clever.” He hummed. “Where?”

“In my face.”

She knew they were watching. She knew. They didn’t help. No one helps.

“Clench your jaw.”

She did. Hands at my sides. A second later she was sprawled across the snow, the cold leeching into her body. She saw red, drops of blood splattered across the white. A sharp pain shot through her mouth as her tongue darted to the location, soothing it. She could taste metal, she knew it well at this point.

She cried out, through gritted teeth. She could feel the swollen lump. Tears stung her eyes as she dragged herself back up. Hands at my sides. Obey. She clenched it again, ready for the second one.

It hit, same place, she felt her skin split. Thrown backwards once again from the force. She screamed out, kicking against the ground. He crouched once more, fingers twisting into her hair, dragging her to her knees.

“Master.” The word choked from her mouth. 

“That looks nasty.” He ran his thumb across the split, she flinched. “I hope you remember this.”

He rose to his full height, turning to the men of the Night’s Watch.

“He meant no disrespect, winter is coming and she is not clothed properly.” She recognised Benjen’s voice.

“I would not have offered had I known it would cause such problems.”

“No, of course not.” Drips of blood fell from his glove. “Jon, was it?”

“Jon Snow.”

“A bastard.” She could heard the smile in his voice.

“It has caused problems.” Her eyes on his boots. “She now believes she is equal to me, or you. That she deserves the same luxuries in life as us.”

She stayed silent. Breathing soft, shallow.

“Why don’t you tell the men of the Night’s Watch your name?” He tapped his boot in front of her. “Then they’ll understand, they’ll know where you belong in life.

“My name is dirt.” The words cut through the silence. dirt. Always. Always.

“What are you?”

“I’m an object. Property. Owned by you. Not a person. Not human. I’m dirt. I’m a pet. I’m loyal. I’m good.” She heaved breaths through her nose. “I remember.”

“She gets what she’s given.” He kicked the side of his foot into her. “And she’s grateful for it.”

“Grateful.” She nodded. Squeaking. Alive.

“Shall we eat? You all look like you need warmth, I have a fire going in my father’s hall.”

She felt a handful of her hair twist into his hand and she was wrenched to her feet, dragged forward and thrown in front. Her Master caught up with her. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“He hates you, Jon Snow, he wanted to see you hurt. That’s why he offered you the fur.” The words whispered into her ear. “Why he made you look without permission.” He traced his finger over her arm. “You know I hate to punish you. I’m the only one you can trust, you do know that?”

She nodded, body aching, she knew. Trust Master. Only him.

Chapter Text

She stared at her hands, the silhouette they created against the stone, palms flat, fingers splayed. Dips where her digits once were, something missing. She tucked her left pinky under her palm, matching the other side. Filth caked under her nails, blood, grime.

She shook, swaying back and forth in an attempt to soothe herself. She didn’t lie, didn’t steal. Someone else did. And now she would lose her last pinky, she would be evened out. Sore. Begging. Bones aching.

The men were seated, her Master at the head of the table, back to the fire. Benjen and Jon sat closest to him. Her Master liked to jest, and Jon was a bastard, he hated that word, it ridiculed him. He would waste no opportunity to dig the blade into his weak spot.

She felt his hand slide onto her collar, the bell jingling as he moved his fingers across it, her head twitched as she heard it. Jon Snow’s boots were just in the corner of her vision, she didn’t look, but they were there. He shifted in his seat, foot shaking against the floor, moving from place to place.

“How many more stops?” Her Master spread his knees, slamming his boot down in front of her. “Until you reach your final resting place?”

She dropped down, elbows crashing against the ground. She could feel the licks of heat from the fire softening the freeze that had settled into her skin, melting the chill away. Her eyes on his boots, crusted with snow, soil, blood.

“Two more, then it’s straight for the wall.” Benjen’s voice. “Karhold and Last Hearth.”

Tongue flat, dripping with saliva. She dragged it across the cool leather. Flakes of snow and dirt clinging to her tongue. She remembered. Swallow. With every lick, swallow, she watched Jon Snow shift in his seat, repositioning his legs, he hated her. Her Master told her so.

“The Umbers?”

She could feel his eyes burn into her as she flickered in and out of the conversation. The hatred they cut her with. He wanted her to hurt, her Master told her so.

“And the Karstarks.” Benjen’s voice once more.

“Do you hear that, dirt?” He pulled his leg back, she straightened her posture. “Lord Greatjon Umber will be receiving them.”

She heard him fill his cup, swallowing the wine. Always wine. He clattered it to the table, fingers tangled into her hair.

“Did you ever hear what happened to his daughter?” He gripped, tilting her head up. “Lyanna? I had heard most unfortunate tales when I was a boy myself.”

Lyanna. Lyanna Umber. She let herself fall to the side, leaning her head against the wood of the chair. Property. Pet. dirt. Lyanna. She knew the name, it wasn’t her name, she knew her name, but she remembered Lyanna, remembered her face, her screams. They were with the others. Flashing through her mind. The ones she watched leave this earth.

“It is said she went missing” Jon Snow, his voice low. “Killed by rapers.” He tapped his foot on the floor. “Her father wrote to mine, demanding justice.”

“And did he find any?”

“No.” He sighed. “The men accused went free.”

She heard her Master scoff. If she could make him happy, he might not flay her like he said he would. Maybe he would let her keep her pinky. She didn’t steal.

“A shame, I had heard she was pretty.”

He had his fingers twisted into her hair, nails dragging along her scalp. He pulled her back, holding a water jug above her. She cried out, pulling back, he held her steady as she listened to the water splatter against the floor.

He dropped his grip from her and she let herself fall, elbows crashing down, nose on the floor, sucking, slurping the water from the dusty stone. She pushed herself up, leaning against his chair once more.

She heard someone walk towards her Master, hushed tones, whispered too low even for her. He stood, stepping away from the table.

“Excuse me, I’ve received word from my father. Please, eat.” She turned, watching him leave. “dirt, you stay, don’t move.” He called out as his footsteps receded.

She settled her eyes on Jon Snow’s boots once more. He couldn’t sit still, fidgeting, shifting his weight around the chair, tapping his feet.

“Benjen.” His tone hushed. “How can you stand by and let him do that to her?”

She listened. She remembered.

“Keep your mouth closed Jon, he’s feeding us.” She watched him step his boot forward. “He is all that is between us and the freezing chill of the night.”

“She’s a human being and that is not what should happen to human beings.”

“Jon.”

“He made her pick which humiliation to suffer!” The words spoken in a hushed tone. “He hit her, in front of us!”

“It’s none of your business, nor mine.” He banged his fist on the table. “Your only priority soon will be protecting the wall.” She watched his foot drag backwards. “Don’t meddle in the affairs of your father’s vassals!”

She watched Jon Snow slump, a loud sigh leaving his lips. Tapping his foot, tapping, tapping.

“I don’t like this.”

“You’ll learn to like worse.” He stomped his foot into the ground. “Keep your mouth closed, or you’ll cause her more trouble.”

She knew their eyes would be on her. Staring into the shards of her soul. She was hungry, they didn’t know. Maybe that’s why she made the mistake, reached out towards him, looked at him.

Maybe her Master was right. That Jon Snow hated her, wanted him to hurt her, cut her apart and help her learn. Maybe she was desperate and pathetic and she couldn’t withstand the punishment from her Master. Maybe she was cold.

She couldn’t recall why she had reached out. The heat emanating from behind her softening the ache that ran through her bones. It was a mistake. She knew that now. He would take her pinky, so she would remember.

Her head pounded to the beat of her heart and she was no longer taking in the words of the men. Her breaths came quick as the fixed, dead eyes flashed through her head, the tearing, the ripping, screaming.

She felt his hand rest on the top of her head once more, twitching her back to her existence. His fingers rapping against her. She whined out, staring at nothing.

She heard her Matser’s voice, chewing, swallowing, her eyes on the stone. Waiting, waiting. She listened, then chewing, spitting. She lurched forward, palms on the stone, nose to the ground. Scooping up whatever he had chosen for her.

She crushed it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, soft and sweet, she sucked on it, tongue running over it, back and forth, savouring the taste. Thank you. She drew in breaths, they shook into her lungs.

She watched him shuffle his feet once more, from the very corner of her eye. She didn’t trust him. He hadn’t given her any proof that he didn’t want to hurt her. Maybe her Master was right, about his intentions.

He chewed and spat once more, a ball of meat. She closed her teeth around it, squeezing it to the roof of her mouth, the juices and spit flooding from it. A tinge of wine tainting it. She swallowed.

Jon Snow sat upright suddenly, drawing his boots back. She jumped, flinching, her body pressed against the legs of the chair.

She heard the doors open, her Master standing once more. Footsteps, lots, fast against the floor. She watched as one of his men entered her view, she knew how they dressed, she remembered, he slammed a bucket of water down next to him, shards of ice floating in it.

She turned her head as more came up behind her, hooking their arms under hers, she pulled against them. Her heart pounded so loud she could hear it. Breath halting in her lungs. She shook her head, eyes wide, fixed on the bucket.

“Strip her, douse her, strap her to the cross.”

Chapter Text

She felt them tear hear nightdress up, ripping it over her head, leaving her exposed to the world. She pulled back against them.

“Master!” Her voice warbled, words screamed out. “I didn’t! I didn’t do it!”

He ignored her, moving towards the table as the man beside him lifted the bucket, stepping towards her.

“Master!” The panic swirled in the pit of her stomach. “No! No! I’m sorry.”

“Men of the Night’s Watch!” She hadn’t raised her eyes, she watched his boots turn from her. “I have your quarters ready, if you’d like to follow me.”

The man tipped the bucket over her head. It chilled her to the bone, it ran over her skin like poison. She yelped, feeling the ice shards at her feet. She sucked in a deep breath, pulling a gasp with it. She was shivering, the heat from the fire not even registering any longer.

She heard the chairs from the table drag across the floor as she cried out. She was cold, her scars ached. She watched him drop his bucket, pulling a sack from his belt. She wrenched against them, screaming out as he hooked the bag over her head, tightening the strings around her neck.

She didn’t like the bag, she never liked it. It reminded her of the silent man, the one who ignored her. It reminded her of being dragged from her cell, the pain that came with it. Being strapped down to follow his will.

“Master!” She heard murmurs as she was hauled away. “Mercy! Mercy!”

He didn’t respond. The light leaking through the weave of the bag. They were outside. Her slippers left behind in the commotion, the snow seeping into the soles of her feet, climbing her legs. She screamed, begged, pleaded. He might still be in earshot, he might still change his mind.

She pulled against them, fought them, she didn’t steal, she didn’t lie. All the way to the room, the cross. Then she was silent, nothing but whimpers leaving her as they slipped the straps over her limbs, pinned by her throat to the wood. I didn’t. Securing her. She was loyal. She obeyed.

They released her, pulling the bag from her head, she couldn’t move anyway. She heard the door close, she was alone. I didn’t steal. In the silence, the darkness. She shivered, she was cold. The sound of her heartbeat drumming through her head. I didn’t lie. He would flay her. Her pinky, she would be equal.

He would show her mercy eventually, she knew this. He had done so before. She would be grateful, in the end. He would cut it off, in time, when she had begged just the right amount. But she had to get there first. Through the blinding wall of agony. The cracking. The festering.

Her breaths came fast, shallow. Forced to stand. Head dropped, staring at the stone below her. She waited. For her Master.

“I’m an object. I’m property. You own me.” The words whispered to no one but herself. “I’m not a person, I’m not human, I’m dirt.”

Again. Over and over again, until her breathing steadied. She ran her thumbs over the stumps of the fingers he had taken before. She would suffer. For him. But afterwards. She would be loyal again. Sit by his side. He would trust her. She could do it. She done it before.

She waited. For what seemed like hours. He came, with a torch. Hanging it on the wall. She bit her lip. Eyes on the floor, he walked her peripheral.

“Hello, dirt.”

“Master.” She drew in a breath, shaking into her lungs. “I didn’t steal.”

“Ah ah ah.” He stepped forward, her eyes on his boots. “This is a time for listening.” He flashed the knife, shining in the torchlight. “I don’t want you to speak.”

She whimpered. Pulling against her binds. I’ve been good. I’ve obeyed. He pulled out a leather lace, stalking towards her.

“I want you to look me in the fucking eyes.” He was inches from her, breath hot on her skin. “Whilst I punish you.”

She looked up. He smelled like wine, and blood. His eyes wide, glinting under the soft swirls of amber, glazed over. Lips pulled up, teeth bared. Heavy breaths.

“You stole from me, and then you lied.” He bit his lip, swallowing. “Tell me the truth, admit it.”

He leant back, pulling her pinky up.

“Master, I didn’t.” She stared at his hands. “I promise, I didn’t steal.”

“That’s a lie you’re telling.” He wrapped the lace around the wood, holding her pinky steady. “I want you to tell the truth.”

He stepped back, twisting the knife in his hands. He cocked his head to the side, huffing out a laugh. She was cold, shivering. She watched him look over her. Prey.

“I want to hear you say it.” He smiled. “And know that you believe it to be the truth.”

He stepped forward.

“So say it.”

“I stole. I lied. I’m sorry.” Tears stung her eyes. “I’m so sorry!”

“What does that make you?”

“A liar.”

He twitched his head, cocking it to the other side.

“A liar.” He smiled. “I don’t believe you.” He took a step closer to her hand. “Say it again.”

“I stole. I lied. I’m a liar.”

“Again.”

He leant against her arm, knife pressing into the flesh of her pinky. Her breathing picked up, it would hurt. She shook her head, a scream bubbling in her throat.

“Master, I d-“

He slammed his hand over her mouth, pushing her head back, she felt the cool of the blade lay against her throat.

“I want seven words out of you.” He leant close to her, whispering into her ear. “If you say anything else, I’ll take more.”

She swallowed, huffing breaths into her lungs. She looked into his eyes, icy blue, swirling.

“I stole. I lied. I’m a liar.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He pushed the tip of the blade into her finger once more, she tensed up, pulling against the binds, eyes wide. She cried out, twitching.

“Again.”

Chapter Text

I can’t. I can’t. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic twinge haunted her worst moments. It settled on her tongue and she felt ill.

“I said.” He drew the blade down, stopping halfway. “Again.”

“I stole! I lied! I’m a liar!” Screamed into the damp air, echoing off the walls.

“Oh Lyanna.” He leant up, head twisting, following her eyes. “I have ruined you, haven’t I?” The knife lodged into her finger. “Do you think he’d recognise you? Even now?”

My name is dirt. dirt. dirt! She shook her head, his eyes cutting into her soul. He smiled, teeth bared like an animal. Not Lyanna, dirt!

“You’re mine now.” He dug the blade, tearing it through her. “My pets don’t lie, they tell the truth, always.”

“I stole. I lied. I’m a liar.”

“Put some emotion into it, dirt, my sweet. Make me believe you.”

He hooked the blade under her skin, ripping, pulling, blood, the scent filling the air. He was humming that damned song. Castamere. It haunted her. It followed her defeats in life. It followed her pain.

“I stole! I lied! I’m a liar!” Barely words, screeched from her.

“I’m almost staring to believe you!”

He had stripped her pinky bare. She screamed out the words more times than she could count. He tore her nail from its bed to the sounds of her begs, disguising themselves as screams. It ripped, piece by piece. Her throat was raw. Air so thick, it almost felt like it was suffocating her. She could taste the blood.

She screamed it, her throat burning, as if she’d swallowed fire.

“I stole! I lied! I’m a liar.” The words long, shaking from her, wrenching her limbs, convulsing.

Then nothing, just pain, no ripping, no tearing. She shook in a breath, letting her body drop, weight pulling against the binds, head bowing, muscles slack. He curled his hand against her cheek, warm skin against her frozen. She whined out, catching his gaze.

“You’ll remember?”

“I’ll remember!” She leant into his palm. “I stole. I lied. I’m a liar. I’m a liar! I’ll remember.”

“I believe you.” He twisted his head to the side. “Do you ever wonder why you lived?” He ran his thumb across her lip. “Where so many others met their end.”

She squeaked. Alive. She lived. She obeyed. She’s loyal. She lived.

“You sang so sweetly for me, whilst I peeled you, you still do.” He bit his lip. “None of the others screamed like you did, none of them looked at me as you did.” Icy blue eyes staring into hers. “Pitiful eyes, wide, begging for mercy, your pain soothes my soul.”

“Cut it off.” She could see it from the corner of her eye, red, bloody, muscles. “Master. Mercy. Cut it off.”

He shook his head. She felt the tears stinging at the corners of her eyes, the searing pain burning its way through her nerves.

“Cut it off!” Wailed from her, staring at him.

“The flaying was punishment for your stealing and lying.” He let a smirk pull his lips up. “You must tolerate the rot, as punishment for your behaviour with that bastard this morning.” He gripped her throat. “How dare you! You know better than to move, to look without permission!” Spoken through gritted teeth, inches from her.

“I’m sorry, Master.” The words sobbed from her. “Forgive me, I’m loyal.”

“You will endure it until dawn.” He loosened his fingers, pulling her face forward. “You will stand in front of the Night’s Watch and admit your crimes and apologise.” He shot his eyes wide. “And then I will cut it from your body, on the table, in front of them.”

She nodded, swallowing thickly.

“You must suffer for me, to prove you’re still loyal.”

“I’m loyal.” The words stuttering from her lips. I’ll obey. “Always.”

He pulled the string from her pinky, letting it fall to the stone. He danced his fingertips over the raw flesh, stinging throbbed through her and she pulled against the binds, crying out.

“This is what the bastard, Jon Snow wanted for you.” He ran his nail across, her body jolted forward. “He wants you to hurt, yet you break my rules for him, are you loyal to him?”

“I’m loyal to you, Master!”

“I know you are, my pet.” He turned on his heels, heading for the door. “I’ll see you soon. Remember the truth.” He lifted the torch on his way out.

“Not the dark! Master!” She wrenched against the leather, feeling it cut through her skin. “Leave the torch! Mercy! I’m sorry. I lied!”

He left her in darkness, no matter what she screamed. I’m loyal. I’m a liar. I’m sorry. She focused on staying still, stopping her finger from moving. Keeping the pain to a manageable level. She huffed in breaths, eyes wide in the dark, staring at nothing.

“I stole, I lied, I’m a liar.” The words whispered into the air. “Remember the truth. I’m a liar.”

It ached, she could feel the flesh drying out, it hardened, she struggled to move it when she tried. The agony leeching into her blood, spreading through her like venom. She whined with every breath, unable to sleep. The constant, unending sting kept her awake, as if hot needles had been pressed into her.

She was cold. She was hungry. She was so very sorry. She would never disobey again. Never steal. Never lie. Never break rules. It was a mistake. She knew that now. She was limp, the bands pulling her tightly against the wood.

She was over the worst of it. The tearing of flesh, the knife ripping layers from each other. He promised his mercy, at dawn. She would obey. She would repent, tell them her crimes, he would cut the tainted digit from her body and she would be the same on both hands. Proof of her loyalty.

The words, seven of them. They spun around her head, digging their claws into her skull. It was the truth. She was lying before, when she said she hadn’t stolen. She did. She remembered it, and then she had lied to her Master about it. She remembered. She had been thinking of it since he had left, he was always right. She misremembered before, she did steal. She was bad.

She heard whispers from the other side of the door, tears welling as she raised her eyes to it. It opened, and the light returned. She drew in a deep breath, sighing it back out as she blinked, focusing her eyes.

“The truth.” He hung the torch on the wall. “Now.”

“I stole, I lied, I’m a liar.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

“You remembered.”

She nodded. Soft little squeaks leaving her lips. Alive.

“They’re waiting for you.” He stepped towards her, hands outstretched. “For you to admit the truth.” He unbuckled the straps. “And apologise.”

She fell forward as he released the last one securing her arm, he shot his arm out, catching her before she hit the ground, it was wrapped around her waist, his skin on hers, the heat from his hand almost burning her.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered out.

“As you should be.”

He held her steady until she could support herself, knees wobbling, almost buckling. She shivered, the entire night spent naked, strapped to the wood, the cool air settling into her core. Cold.

“I’ll give you this back.” He held up her nightdress, the thick one. “After you apologise.”

She nodded, teeth chattering against each other. Huffing breaths in and out, drawing whimpers with them.

“I’m a liar.”

She heard him scoff as he ran his hand up her spine, catching the bell on her collar, it jingled through the silence and she twitched as she heard it.

Chapter Text

She stood at the head of the table, teeth creaking against each other as she ground them together. I’m pathetic. Her breaths whined out, she tried to keep her hand steady, not move it. It hurt, it really hurt, it cracked and dried through the night. I’m a liar. She could hold back the scream. He would cut it off for her.

She was still naked, the chill of the air settling into her skin as the fire behind tried to melt it. She stared down at herself. Bruised. Filthy. Scarred. Obey. The claw marks marring her thighs from when she had to bite that corpse, pink and raised. She looked up slightly, every eye on the table staring at her from the edge of her vision.

Food. Meat. Bacon, sausages, eggs, bread, the steam materialising into the air. She was hungry. She squeaked, over and over again. Alive. Ringing from her throat as her eyes flickered across the table. She flexed her jaw open and shut.

She felt his hand resting on her shoulder, skin warm from the protection of his gloves. She sniffled, tears forming, she stared through them, her eyes half lidded. Her lip trembled, teeth chattering against one another, body shaking. She could feel their eyes on her, staring at her.

“Men of the Night’s Watch.” He stepped closer to the table, hand never leaving her. “I trust you all slept well and that you’d like to eat, so you have energy enough for your journey.”

Her stomach growled as she stared at the food. Tears dripping down her cheeks

“But. My pet, dirt. She disappointed me yesterday, she knows better.” He pushed her forward, gesturing to her. “Shes been with me for many years, since I was but a young man.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “She has something she’d like to say.”

She swallowed the bile at the back of her throat. “I’m a liar.”

He stepped close to her. “Look at them.”

She dragged her eyes from the food, staring straight ahead, at the door. Permission. She blinked, huffing breaths into her lungs. She let her eyes fall over each one of them, their own staring back.

“I stole.” The words breathless, forced from her chest.

“What did you steal?” Her Master’s voice rung out.

“Food.” She sniffled. “I stole food.” Her eyes filled with tears once more, she tried to blink them back. “Then I lied about it, to my Master.” He was right, she was pathetic. “I’m a liar.”

She watched their faces twist. Pity. Disgust. Hatred.

She nodded “I’m a liar. I’m a liar. I’m a liar!” Breaths huffed out between them.

He ran his hand down her spine, letting her shoulder go. Her eyes shot wide as she straightened her posture. It sent a shiver up it, silencing her.

“What else?”

“I broke rules.” She nodded. “I looked, I moved without permission.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” The words wailed.

“You’re forgiven.” Her Master stepped forward. “Would you all agree?”

She watched the men nod, looking around the table. They murmured in agreement, half eaten plates sitting in front of them.

“You’re forgiven.” Benjen spoke up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Jon?”

“You’re forgiven.” She stared at him, eye twitching, lips curled in disgust.

“Show them your hands.”

She did. Holding them up to herself first, biting her lip. Loyal. Loyal. Feeling tears run from her eyes as she stared at the cracked flesh. It hurt. But he would be merciful, he promised, she apologised.

She held them up, letting the men of the Night’s Watch see them. She grated her teeth together once more, desperate to be rid of it. So it could heal, so it could ache like the others. So it doesn’t feel like it’s driving poison through her blood. Every gust of wind, every movement, every sensation, pain. Searing, blinding pain. She could barely think because of it.

She watched Jon Snow, he furrowed his brow, recoiling, eyes darting from her, facing the door. He hated her, her Master told her so. He’s always right, he knows.

“You apologised, you’ve been forgiven.” He pulled his knife from his belt. “Put your hand to the table and I will cut it off as promised.”

She pressed her palm to the wood, grimacing as the raw flesh touched against the surface, a grunt leaving her.

“Beg.”

Her eyes shot forward, the men just inside her field of view. She sucked a deep breath in through her nose, pulling her lip between her teeth, biting down on it. Tears welled at her eyes, she was looking at it now. She wanted it gone.

“Master, cut it off! Cut it off! It hurts.” She sniffled. “I can’t think. I can’t sleep. It hurts! I’ll do anything!” The words sobbed from her chest.

“This is sick.” Jon rose from the table, his chair kicked back. “I can’t-“

“Sit down, Jon!” Benjen stood, voice raised. “You want to be a Ranger? Go out there?” He banged his fist on the table. “Do you think our allies beyond the wall will act more or less civilised than him?”

She heard her Master chuckle, knife hovering over her finger.

“Sit down, boy.” He lowered himself. “Look away if you must.” He pointed across the table. “But we are guests, under his Father’s roof, you will not question him in his own home.”

Jon growled out, slamming himself back down onto his chair, head turned towards the door.

“Did I tell you it was enough?”

“I’m loyal! I’ll obey, I promise. I promise.” She raised her head, staring through tears. “Cut it off! I don’t want it. It’ll make me sick, cut it off!” She was almost to a whisper.

“Enough.”

He raised his fist, hammering it down against the handle of the blade, it embedded itself into the wood, severing her finger. She cried out, eyes wide. Drawing her hand back, clasping it between the other.

“Thank you, Master. Thank you. Thank you!”

She saw Jon shift in his seat, chest rising and falling quickly, fists balled, knuckles white, he wouldn’t even look at her. Her Master was right, he hated her. She didn’t know why, but she felt it.

“Arms up.” He whispered as he scrunched the fabric of the nightdress up.

She felt it slide down against her skin, she sighed, deeply. Obey. He was happy with her, he gave her back the good one, not the sack. He was happy, she could tell by the way he touched her arm with his fingertips. Ran his palm over her back. She had proven herself loyal.

“Go to the Maester for your wounds, he’s in his room, then return here.”

Chapter Text

The Maester’s room was across the courtyard, she knew the way. She remembered. She had been sent there more than once when she her disappointed her Master. He used to visit her in her cell, when she spent her days locked in darkness, he helped keep her alive.

She stood by the door, her knuckles rapping on it. Eyes on the floor, staring at the stone through tears. She heard the door open, watched him emerge, dark robe, chain hanging from his neck.

“Oh, my dear.” He reached forward. “What is it this time?”

She raised her hand forward, hearing him sigh. She stared at the nightdress, blood dripping down the front of it, she blinked, eyes fixed on it.

“I’ll clean it and sew it.”

He pulled her in, sitting her down. He lifted a leather strap, her breathing picked up, fast and shallow. Pain.

“Can you stay still?”

“No.”

He always asked that, she always gave the same answer. It hurt. She hated coming to his room, he hurt her. The cleaning hurt. The stitches hurt. She knew it would be worse, if it was left to fester. She let him strap her arm to the chair, it made it easier, even if it did dredge up bad memories. It meant she didn’t have to focus on it, she could look elsewhere.

She felt him tighten the straps around her, one just below her elbow, the other across the palm of her hand. He worked in silence, always. He scrubbed, cleaned, prepped, ripped any little piece of dead skin from her before he sewed her.

She grunted and screamed, muscles straining at the binds, fingers flexing. She stared at the same splintered piece of wood on the doorframe every time she sat in that chair. Fidgeting, gripping the arm of it with her other hand. She didn’t watch, she couldn’t.

She couldn’t remember a time without pain, the constant, unending feeling. Throbbing behind her eyes, aching through her bones, hollow pit in her stomach, skin cold, body shaking. dirt. It was who she was born to be her Master said so, Myranda said so. She remembered.

“I’ll check on it in a few days.” The Maester stood, pulling the straps from her arm. “Go.”

She did, the soles of her feet padding against the stone. She drew a breath in as she came to the boundary of the door, snow dusting the ground. Cold. She stepped into it, a familiar numb chill taking hold of her, seeping its way up her legs.

She saw him, stood in the same snow she was. Cloak wrapped around his shoulders, fur peeking over the tips of his boots, gloves encasing his hands. She wondered how it felt, to be warm, all the time. She bit down on her lip as she felt her feet stiffen with every step she took.

Her Master strode over to her, hand already reaching out, he twisted it into her hair, dragging her forward.

“Did you speak to him?” He pointed. “To the bastard?”

“No!” She shook her head, the bell ringing out. “Never!”

“He wants to take you with him.” He tightened his grip. “Look at me.”

She raised her eyes to him, to his face as he pulled her towards him. His eyes wide, lip curled, nostrils flared, teeth clenched. Anger. She didn’t see it much in him, she had strived to never anger him and had been successful, for the most part.

“Do you want to leave with him?”

“I want to stay.” She sniffled. “I’m loyal!”

“You’re loyal to who?”

“You.” Her eyes pierced by his. “Always.”

“Then why did he ask to take you?” She heard murmuring from the group. “Silence!” He shot his arm to the side, palm towards them. “Why did he ask to take you?”

She was silent, she didn’t know what to say. He would be angry anyway. He growled out, pushing her forward towards Jon Snow. She tumbled, tripping over her own feet. She felt unfamiliar hands grasp her, stopping her from hitting the stone. No. No. It was wrong.

She wanted to stay, with her Master. Jon Snow hated her, everything about him was wrong. The way she felt when he touched her, it was like poison, it didn’t send shivers up her spine. He smelled of dog and leather. He was bad. He hated her. She wanted her Master.

“No! No no no, no!” The words screamed out, throat cracking. “I’m loyal! Loyal dirt! Loyal!” She pulled against his grip.

She wrenched herself back from him with such force that she hit the floor with a thud, she kicked her heels against the ground, sliding backwards across the snow until her back lay against something.

She looked down, breathing out, she knew his boots. Her Master. She curled herself around his leg, fingers twisted into the fabric of his cloak.

“I’m an object. I’m property. You own me. I’m not a person. I’m not human. I’m dirt. Im a pet. I’m loyal.”

The words whispered on repeat. She knew what she was. She was his. His. She obeyed. Loyal. Loyal. Loyal. He tangled his fingers into her hair, glove removed, running his palm across her head. She whined out, tears welling. She twitched, nuzzling against his leg, body wrapped around it.

“You want to stay?” Jon Snow, his own eyes narrowed, he shook his head. “After all he’s done?”

“Loyal.” She squeezed his cloak, hands still wrapped in it, tugging at it.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Smile in his voice. “Cold water feels warm to the freezing.” Her Master’s thumb ran across her scalp. “You’ll know all about freezing soon, then you’ll understand the desperation.”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Benjen’s voice cut through. “I apologise for the troubles.”

She watched Jon Snow scowl, spit on the floor and mount his horse with the rest of the men. They kicked up snow and soil as they turned and rode through the gates, leaving her with him. Her Master.

She sucked in deep breaths, the heat from them fogging into the air. Loyal. Loyal. She was focused on his hand, nails scratching against her scalp. Soft touches, heat emanating. She dropped her eyes back down to the snow.

He crouched. Sliding his hand to the back of her head, pulling her to his shoulder. Wine and blood, the scents filled her nose as she closed her eyes. Tears welling, she sighed, relaxing into him.

“I didn’t want him to take me.” She bit down on her lip, feeling him wrap his cloak around her. “I want to stay with you.”

He nodded against her, peppering soft kisses against her shoulder. Happy. Obey. She listened to him breathe, deep, in and out. His heartbeat steady.

“I know, my pet.” He squeezed her softly. “You are so very loyal.”

She nodded. “I’m cold.”

She was knelt, legs numb, red raw from the chill.

“I know you are.” He stood, pulling her to her feet. “I think you deserve a very special reward, for staying loyal.”

“Bath?”

“Yes.” He scoffed. “And something else.”

Chapter Text

She slipped the nightdress from her head once more, letting it fall to the floor. She had to keep her left hand from the bath, the stitches needed time to heal. She swirled her fingers on her other hand over the surface of the water, eyes down.

“I didn’t want to go.”

She had been repeating this to her Master, to be sure that he knew she didn’t disobey again, try to betray his trust and leave. She would never. He spoke to her in soft, hushed tones. Reassuring her, she knew that he trusted her, that he was happy with her.

The heat from the water, wrapped around her body, soothing the pain, the ache. She groaned out as she felt him run the cloth against her skin, cleaning the filth and blood from her. He was delicate, grip barely there as he pulled her limbs to where he wanted them.

“You wanted to stay, I know.”

She nodded, eyes down, watching her skin be scrubbed clean. She bit down on her lip as he lifted the jug, images flashing behind her eyelids. Straining, eyes wide, begging, the burning sensation that ran up her nose. She drew in a deep breath, stilling the shake.

She watched the droplets fall into the tub, the little target patterns they made. Her teeth squeezed together, she grunted out, twitching as she heard him begin to hum. Castamere. It haunted her.

“You accepted your punishment well.” Dunking the jug under the water. “The bastard, Jon Snow, he wanted to see you suffer.” He tilted her head back, letting the water fall over her hair. “He wanted me to take your whole hand, he told me.”

She squeaked out, quiet. Alive. No more. She shook her head from side to side, curling the fingers she had left into her palms.

“Look at me.”

She did, raising her eyes to meet his. Icy blue, staring back at her, eyebrows raised, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I felt a hand to be too far.” He clasped her right hand, running the cloth over it. “Even if you did steal and lie.”

“I’m a liar.”

“You are, but you were forgiven.”

She nodded once again. Forgiven.

The door open and she shot her head to the side. Myranda, she wore a blue and brown dress, laced up, leather, she remembered. A fresh nightdress in her hands, as thick as the one she’d soiled with her blood.

“Come.” He pulled her forward, gripping her wrists and helping her out of the bath. “Myranda will dress you and do your hair.”

She felt a towel pat across her skin, drying her, she raised her arms, feeling the soft fabric slip over her. She stared up at Myranda, she had permission to look. Soft eyes, warm smile, she gripped her right hand, pulling her from the room.

They entered the same one as they did after her last bath, fire swirling, air hot, the mirror sat against the wall. The stool, the rug, the comb. Everything the same as last time.

“Sit.” She lowered herself onto the stool, lifting the comb.

She did, curling her fingers into the rug, swallowing thickly. She pulled her hair last time, it hurt. She didn’t want to hurt anymore than she already did. Tears stung at her eyes as she sniffled. The heat of the fire flickering across her skin.

She felt the comb run through her hair, Myranda started humming. Castamere. Her eyes shot to the side she was sat at, wide, deep breaths drawn into her lungs. It haunted her, followed her, mocked her.

Every time she hurt, every time she watched others hurt, the song was there. She could hear it as she slept, the tune hammered into her skull, she sniffled again. Letting tears fall down her cheeks, eyes on her pinky, the one that was ripped from her to the tune of that song. The stitches, the redness, bruising. She flexed her jaw open and closed.

“Why did you steal?” She broke the silence after what felt like hours. “Does he not give you what you need?”

She dared not move, breath caught in her throat. I stole. She nodded once, eyes on the wall at the far side of the room, watching the lights swirl across the stone.

“Use your words.” The comb drew through her hair. “Why did you steal?”

“I was bad.”

She dropped her eyes, back to the stump, matching her other hand. Bad. Bad. She felt Myranda press her palm against her shoulder, she shot her posture straight, a grunt bursting from her throat. Forgiven.

“You were lucky, he must have been feeling very merciful.” She scoffed. “I’ve joined him on a hunt where the prey had lied to him, like you did.” Her voice low. “He maimed her before she ran, had her ripped apart by his bitches once they caught her.”

She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood, the metallic twinge settling against her tongue. Obey.

“So much blood.” She stood, pulling the stool to the opposite side. “She was reaching out for him, screaming.” She worked out the tangles softly, no pain. “Barely alive as they ripped chunks from her with their fangs.”

She whined out, running her hand across the fur, soft and warm. She would obey. She didn’t want to be torn apart, eaten alive. She would obey. Loyal. Obey.

“Or maybe you could’ve ended up like the last thief. He flayed him to the elbows and knees, dropped him into a hole in the floor until he starved.” Her fingers running across her scalp. “Made to stand, arms at his sides, the gap he was forced into so tight he could barely breathe.”

She swallowed the bile at the back of her throat, faces flashing behind her eyes, screaming, struggling, begging. Names. Hundreds of them. She blinked, staring back to the wall, trying to steady her breathing.

“He replaced the stone, so the man was in darkness, but you could hear his muffled screams from below.” She could hear the smile in Myranda’s voice. “He’d slam his boot down on the stone each time he passed, so the man never thought he was forgotten.” She hummed. “I wonder if his body is still there.”

She dropped the comb, twisting her fingers into her hair, pulling it into braids.

“Needless to say, you should very grateful to him.” She tied the hair at the bottom. “He is always so merciful to you.”

She grabbed her wrist, pulling her to the mirror once more. Standing behind her, hands on her shoulders.

“You look pretty.”

She dragged her eyes from the floor to look at herself. Clean. Hair lying in neat braids, one either side of her head. She stared at the reflection of the collar, she was owned. She would obey. Fresh nightdress, thick, double layered. She couldn’t bear to look at anything else.

“The sun has gone, it’s dusk now, let’s go and find him.”

She was dragged from the room, the chill of the corridor surrounding her. Her Master waiting for her at the end, he wore his underclothes. They were staying inside. In the warmth. He smiled, teeth glinting in the torchlight.

“Come with me.” He extended his arm.

She stepped forward away from Myranda, into her Master’s grasp, his fingertips dancing across her skin.

“A success?”

“Oh, yes.”

“My sweet pet.” He wrapped his arm around her. “Come with me, you must be so tired.” He let his thumb run over her. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

She nodded. Sleep. Sleep.

Chapter Text

She let herself be led away by him, turning a corner. He walked them up to a door, opening it, pushing her in softly, she stared around it. Candles illuminating, light bouncing from the walls, making it glow. Finery everywhere, luxuries, food. The air hot, inviting.

“This is my room.” He whispered into her ear. “You said you wanted to stay with me, I thought I’d let you.”

Her eyes were on the bed, covered in furs. The door closed, clicking, they were alone. She pulled at the dead skin on her lips with her teeth.

“I’m a liar.”

“Oh, my pet.” He walked his fingers up her spine. “I’m so happy you’re telling me the truth, that you choose to stay with me.”

“I didn’t want him to take me”. Repeated again in a hushed tone.

She felt his fingers tug at the nightdress. Property. Property. She let him lift it from her, watching as he dropped it in a pile on the floor.

“Property.”

“That’s right, you remember, you’re mine, I can do as I please.”

He slid his hand onto her shoulder, pushing her to the stone, onto her knees. She kept her eyes down, she felt guilt, it twisted in her gut. She was forgiven now, but she still disobeyed, she stole, she lied, she broke rules.

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded. Watching him circle her and sit on a chair. He lifted the plate from the table, bringing it down to her eye-line, he gripped her chin, pulling her face up to look at him.

“You can pick 4 things from it.” The words quiet. “And I’ll give you them, freely.”

Her eyes flickered across the choices, she chewed down on her lip. Not sure what to choose, she was grateful, it wasn’t often she was allowed to choose. She swallowed back the saliva watering in her mouth and pointed.

“Roast chicken, honey bread, white cheese and a lemon cake.” He inhaled. “Is that your choice?”

She nodded, watching him lift off what she wanted, placing it on a small serving plate. She furrowed her brow, waiting for him to feed her.

“Look at me.”

She did, his own eyes staring back at her. A soft look on his face, warm smile greeting her.

“You’ve been so very good, you’ve earned back my trust.” He nodded at her. “Do you remember how people eat? Humans?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I am permitting you, for this meal only, to eat as you would if you were a person.” She heard him scoff. “But, you must remember what you truly are, which is?”

“An object, property, a pet.”

“Good girl.” He placed the plate at her knees. “Eat.”

She sat, staring at it for a long time. She twitched, listening to him chew and swallow, the clunk of his cup being lifted and sat back down. She remembered how she’d eaten since she had been with him, palms to the stone, nose on the floor, everything that entered her stomach had passed through his mouth first, dripping with his spit.

She was permitted to eat as a person, but she couldn’t recall what people ate like. She didn’t know if it was like how her Master ate, if she could use her hands, if she could chew. She hadn’t watched anyone eat in a long time, anyone other than him.

“Are you a person?”

“Am I a person?” He leant forward, cocking his head to the side, pulling her towards him, grasping her jaw. “I am a God, you worship me, live to serve me.”

“You’re a God.” She repeated back to him. “How do people eat?”

She heard him chuckle, shaking her head in his grasp, he tapped his palm against her cheek a couple of times.

“Do you want me to feed you?”

She hated being uncertain. She disliked when his instructions could be misinterpreted, it could get her in trouble, it meant she might break the rules again by mistake. She had stolen food from him, he told her so, she didn’t want to touch what didn’t belong to her, what was his. Not so soon after she was punished for disappointing him last.

“Yes, Master.”

If he did it, there could be no mistakes. She knew the rules. Palms to the floor, nose on the ground. She couldn’t upset him or disobey, she knew he would be happy with her if he was the one that fed her.

“You are perfect.” He narrowed his eyes, scoffing. “You’re exactly as I want you to be.” He leant forward, lifting her plate from the floor. “You broke my rules, I hadn’t expected that from you, perhaps I’ve been too soft.”

“My fault.” She looked up at him, tears welling. “I stole, I lied, I disobeyed.”

“You are so very pretty when you cry.”

“Pretty.” The word whispered, she felt a tear drip down her cheek. “Pretty.”

She watched his face, his eyes manic, huffing breaths in and out. He curled his lip up, face twitching. Her head snapped to the side as he connected his palm to her cheek, the sting echoing through her skin. Arms at my sides. She squeezed her eyes shut, flinching as he cradled the side of her face with the same hand, a sob bursting from her chest.

“So fucking pretty.” The words whispered, low.

He gripped her cheek, fingers digging into her. She was pushed back and dropped her gaze to his boots. She heard him chew, she was grateful, she would eat soon. She made good choices, the food was special. She followed the rules as she ate, her nerves calming, she obeyed. Always.

She licked the stones clean as she heard him throw the plate onto the table, leaning forward, icy eyes cutting into her.

“What am I?”

“My Master.”

Her head shot to the side for the second time that night. His open palm striking it, the sting, heat emanating from her skin. He gripped her hair, pulling her to face him. 

“Think bigger, you repeated the answer earlier.”

“You’re a God.”

“I’m your God.” He flashed his teeth, eyes glazing over. “My word is law.”

“Obey.” A ghost of a word, whispered into the air. “Obey.”

“That’s right, you’re so clever.” His eyes were fixed on her, a half smile pulling at his lips. “You obey. Always. Without question.”

She nodded. Always. Obey.

“So in the spirit of that.” He scoffed, standing, he pulled at the laces of his trousers. “Crawl to the fucking bed.”

Chapter Text

She pushed her weight up, onto her hands and knees. She crawled, she obeyed. The unforgiving stone grating against her bones. He was circling her, she could feel his eyes on her. She knelt at the bed, leaning into the furs that lay atop it. Feeling the soft warmth against her skin, breaths shaking from her.

“That night, when I took your Maidenhead.” He crouched down, body against hers. “What was the man’s name? The one who called me a bastard.”

“Eddison.”

“Do you think Eddison thought I raped you?”

She shook her head. Property.

“Why not?”

“Property.” Leaving her in a hushed tone. “He knew, you owned me.”

“I want to hurt you.”

She swallowed. Mouth opening, no words leaving it. She dared not move, drawing in deep breaths. I’ve been good.

“Do you know how much restraint I have to show?” He danced his fingers across her shoulder. “How much I have to hold myself back?”

“Thank you for your mercy, Master.”

He groaned, she could feel his cock pressed against her side.

“Fuck…” His breath hot against her ear. “I want to sink my teeth into your flesh and taste your blood.” He ground his hips against her. “But this will have to suffice.”

He drew a blade against her skin, in the crook of her neck. She gasped, flinching as he pulled her head to the side. He closed his lips around the cut, tongue swirling over it, sucking. He moaned out, breaths shaking into his nose.

She knew what he was tasting. She knew the tinge. She could feel him throbbing against her, growls leaving his throat. He pulled off of her, hand twisting into her hair. He stood, dragging her forward, face down on the bed. Her feet almost dangling, toes barely touching the stone.

She blinked, staring ahead of her, at the pillows, the candlelight. Property. Obey. She sniffled, squeaking out. Alive.

“You were right, you’re property.” She felt him hook his feet between her legs, forcing her feet apart. “You’re an object, you don’t want, you don’t need, you serve, you obey without question.” He ran his hand up her spine. “I don’t need to ask permission from something I own.”

She nodded, tears welling. Owned. Object. Property. She twisted her fingers into the fur, shivering as she felt him against her. She gasped her breaths in and out.

“Did Myranda tell you about the girl, the one who lied?”

She nodded.

“I used to fuck her till she bled.” He scratched his nails down her back, leaving a sting in their wake. “She always said I hurt her.” He walked his fingertips back up. “She told her father, that’s how she ended up being chased down and eaten in the woods.”

“She lied.” She sniffled, tears welling. “Myranda said she lied.”

“She did.” She heard his teeth grate against each other. “She said she was pregnant.” He thumped himself off of her. “I didn’t give a shit, she was boring, her complaints bored me.” He spat, she could hear him slicking himself. “I wanted to bury my cock in something warm, she hindered that.”

She felt him slide himself against her. Warm. A stream of whimpers left her. Obey. Obey. Obey. She nodded, her thumb finding the stumps once more, softly running over them, feeling the scars. Object.

He grunted, sliding himself into her, slamming his hips against her. He hit the same place inside of her as last time, she shot her head up, swallowing, eyes on the wood of the bed frame. She gasped as he stretched her, he hadn’t fucked her since the first time, where he took her Maidenhead. It hurt.

“You won’t hinder my pleasure, will you, dirt?”

“Never, Master!” She shook her head. “Object.”

She heard him moan as he thrusted, rolling his hips, slamming into her. She whined out, staring through tear filled eyes. Property. It’s okay, it’s okay. She flexed her jaw open and closed.

“You best keep your legs spread, I don’t want to feel you trying to close your knees.” He ran his palm over her back. “Or I’ll strap you down and whip you.”

She heard him huff breaths in and out, grunting, hammering himself into her. She was whispering to herself now, she would obey, she was an object, she was property. Over and over again, listening to the noises that left him.

“You’re so clever, you’re an object, you’re property, you will obey.” He dug his nails into her hips, making her jump. “Good girl, feel it, let the pain take you, obey.” The words whispered out.

She could feel herself tear, a sharp pain ripping through her, she cried out, twisting her fingers deeper into the furs. Property. She broke down, sobbing, tears dripping into the bed below her.

“Are you crying?”

She nodded, sniffling. She felt him dig his nails into her once more, into the cut on her neck, she flinched, pulling her body to the side.

“Master!”

“Feel it.” He hadn’t relented, pistoning himself into her. “Do you love me, dirt?”

“Yes, of course, Master.” She drew a breath in, the answering leaving her lips before she had really thought about the question. “I love you. I love you.”

It would’ve been the answer she had given anyway, even if she had all the time in the world to think. The correct answer to his questions was what whatever he wanted the answer to be. She didn’t want to anger him, she would tell him what he wanted, she would believe her answers to be the truth. That’s what he taught her.

She nodded. I love you. Obey. Obey. He grunted and she felt him throb inside of her, over and over again, moaning out, his body tense, growls leaving him. He went limp, falling against her, arm wrapping under her neck. He heaved breaths out through his nose. She could feel his cock, pulsing, softening inside of her.

“I don’t want to fuck you too often.” He pulled himself from her, stepping back. “I’ll end up making you think you’re equal to someone like…” He paused for moment. “Myranda.”

“Below.” The words squeaked out.

He twisted his fingers into her hair, pulling her down to her knees. She turned to face him, feeling the same rush as last time, the steady drip from between her legs onto the stone.

“What did you say?” He bent down, lifting her nightdress up. “About Myranda?” He wiped it across himself, cleaning the mess from his cock.

“Below her.” She stared up at him, into his eyes. “I’m below her.”

“You are below everyone.” He balled up the material, stepping towards her. “You are equal to only the rats.”

He gripped her wrist, pulling her to her feet. He wiped her thighs, sliding the nightdress between them. Your cunny. Yours. Owned. Obey. She nodded, feeling it slide against her, clean her.

He lifted her, hands under her arms, onto the bed. He unlaced himself completely, pulling his clothes and throwing them to the floor.

“Get under the furs.” He twisted his head to the side. “You can drift off, and I’ll make you feel good.”

She nodded, crawling to the top of the bed, she liked to feel good. It was the sole happy affliction, shining amongst the sea of hatred, of horror. She would do heinous things to feel good. She would obey, she would listen, remember, tell. He would know their passing remarks, insults and whispers. He would judge them innocent or condemn them guilty. God. God. God.

She pulled them back, curling herself into the mattress below, she felt tears sting the corners of her eyes, something more, something different than the unrelenting stone. Soft. She was grateful, this was her reward. She pulled the furs atop her, blankets shrouding her in heat.

He sat at the side of the bed, leaning back pulling the furs over himself, he cradled her, moving her towards his body.

“I want you to be silent.” He creeped his hand down her stomach, fingers finding that little bundle of nerves that sat between her thighs. “I want you to close your eyes and let me infect your dreams.” He curled his arm under her neck, thumb pushing against her lips. “I want you to drift away.”

He slid his fingers against her, pulling wetness from what was still dripping from her. Sliding them back and forth, running little circles over it. Obey. Silence. It sent a shock running up her spine. She arched her back, stifling the moan trying to burst its way from her chest.

“Drift away.” His breath hot against her ear. “Good girl.”

She lolled her head back, letting the feeling take her, it was slow, dragging like the bow across a cello. Not fast enough for the feeling to build in her stomach, soft and slick. A steady throb.

Her eyes rolled upwards, tugging her eyelids down. It felt as if she was floating. Warm. She stayed silent. She obeyed. She choked any sounds trying to leave her, kept her arms at her sides as he played with her.

She could feel the pull taking her, sleep dragging her to the other side of the mirror. She focused on the feeling of his fingers, encasing her, pulling at her, stroking her as she listened to him whisper filth into her ear. She drifted away, squirming, like a good girl.

Chapter Text

She let the trot of the horse rock her back and forth, she was sat behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers curled into his cloak. She leant against his back, side of her face pressed into him, feeling his breaths.

She had been given another bath, a reward. Myranda had told her a story about a girl who lied, Laurie, another name to remember. She listened to how her Master had stripped her apart, piece of by piece, how she gurgled when he ripped her tongue from her mouth.

Her hair had been done again, braided in the same way as the previous times. Myranda had picked out a dress, from her closet. That was different. Brown leather, blue details, long sleeved, it was layered, it stopped the chill of the wind on her skin.

She was wrapped with a cloak, hood up, tied at her neck. She was warm, hugging into his back, squeaking. Alive. She was wearing boots, fur lined, stockings tied at her knees. Her fingers and toes didn’t ache. She had been given gloves, dressed properly for the first time in this life. dirt.

It was not given freely, it all came with a promise she must make. She must remember who she is. She does, she knows, she would never forgot.

She’s an object, property, her Master owned her. She knew. She wasn’t a person, she wasn’t human, she was dirt. Her name was dirt.

She pulled her arms tight around him, following his breathing, repeating. She was grateful, she was warm because of his mercy. She knew who she was, she knew that she wasn’t Lyanna Umber. It was a jest, a character she had to play. She knew the truth.

Lyanna Umber was dead, she died on the cross. She was dirt, she was reborn, but she had to pretend.

She would obey, she would follow her Master. He had reminded her, she promised his father, she would go with him, she would obey, pretend. But she knew the truth.

Her Master had given her permission to talk, freely. To look, freely. She wasn’t used to these permissions. She struggled. The extra eye contact was intense, killing the words that tried to leave her like an extinguished torch. She was used to his eyes only, she was being dragged into the mind of every pair she looked at. It was too much, her own still finding the floor as she stuttered out words.

She didn’t know what to say, what people said. She repeated, she didn’t think, he thought for her. She bit her lip, searching her mind for things she could say. Things she thought would make him happy. dirt.

They had been riding for days, the freeze of the land beginning to settle in. They had made camp several times, sitting around the fire. She curled between his knees, body pushed against him, head on his thigh, feeling his hands dancing across her.

She had stared at the fire, repeating, remembering. Listening to the tone of his voice hum into her ears as she felt the heat on her face. She had been warm, she still was. Warmer than she had ever remembered being, the shiver that plagued her was a distant memory.

He kept reminding her as they travelled. Who she was, why she was pretending, what the plans were. She remembered. They would visit the Umbers, he didn’t go into detail. She didn’t need to know, her presence would be enough. He said so.

He gave her but one rule, one thing to remember. She doesn’t recognise them, she doesn’t know them. She repeated. She was dirt. She didn’t know them, didn’t recognise their faces.

She felt the pace of the horse quicken and tightened her grip on his cloak. She watched as flakes of snow fell, almost floating in the wind. She blew a breath from her lips, watching it appear in the crisp air. They had ridden to a gate, she listened to the hooves as they crossed the stone.

“You’re Lord Bolton’s bastard?”

She heard her Master clench his teeth. Bad word. Bad word. She didn’t know who the man was, but he was big, he must be an Umber, although she hadn’t caught his name.

“I am.” He reached behind, gripping her arm. “You’re Greatjon?” He pulled her to the side, dragging her from the horse.

She watched the man nod as she dangled from his grip, toes pointed, reaching for the ground.

“I am.” He stepped forward. “What do you want boy?”

She had her eyes on his hand, the left one, it was missing its pinky and the finger next to it. She ran her thumb over her own stumps, staring. Head twitching to the side as she heard her Master’s boots hit the snow.

“Who is she?”

“My father sent me for a private meeting.” He nodded, reaching his hand out to shake the Umber’s. “She is a matter to discuss privately.”

“She looks ill.” The Umber shook his hand and gestured to his side. “This is my wife, Wynona.”

“A pleasure.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I was sorry to hear about your daughter, Lady Umber.”

“Thank you, it’s been years.” She sighed. “I’m happy she is still remembered, my heart yearns for her, even now.”

She looked at the man, a ghost of recognition flickering in her mind, a familiarity. She furrowed her brow, recalling. But she couldn’t place him, his face not amongst the ones that flash behind her eyes.

He was Lyanna’s father and she was pretending, his daughter died. She was dirt. She wasn’t his daughter. She remembered her face, her screams.

He was gruff, a scowl twisting his features. White hair, a beard, he wore chains across his chest. She did not recognise him. She didn’t know him.

“Please, I have a hall, we can meet.”

The Umber lead her and her Master to a private room, the fireplace lit, air warm. He sat at a bench, inviting her Master to. She stood but a couple of feet behind, eyes on the floor. Content.

“Who is that?” He pointed. “And why did you mention Lyanna to my wife.”

“My father knew of your wife’s grief in losing your daughter to rapers, was it?”

“Who told that story.”

“Jon Snow.” He gestured. “The Young Wolf’s bastard brother.”

“I had to tell her something.” He sighed, pointing. “She was Wynona’s favourite.” He banged his hand down, palm flat on the wood. “The child was grieved by my wife seven years ago.” He leant forward. “She need not be brought up to her.”

“Seven years?” She drew a breath in, watching her Master. “Seven.” Whispered out.

“What are you saying, girl?”

“She repeats.” Spoken through clenched teeth. “Ignore her.” Tone low.

“Four fingers, three toes.” He turned his head to the side, staring at her from the corner of her eye. “Now is the time for listening.”

“Who is she, boy.”

“Your blood, but not your daughter, she’s gone.” He pointed to the side of his head.

“But it’s her meat?”

He paused for a moment. “You really disliked her.”

“She was a thorn in my side.” He stared up, cocking his head. “Life has been easier since her untimely death.” He laughed out, it rang from the walls.

“I’m sure she would agree, wouldn’t you, dirt?”

“Yes, Master.”

“She calls you Master?” He bounced his hand off the table, another laugh erupting. “I’m glad someone was able to bring that bitch to heel!”

She squeaked. Alive. Familiarity bouncing around her mind.

“What does your father want?”

“Loyalty.”

“And why would I give mine to him if I’m sworn to the Starks.”

“The pup.” Her Master mocked, barking. “Is starving his soldiers to feed to prisoners, the enemy.”

She watched the Umber, Greatjon twist his head to the side, hers twitched in response.

“My father, as you know, offered to torture the information from them.” He sighed, leaning his elbow on the table. “And the Young Wolf said no, that they should be treated well.”

She watched the scowl cut further across the Umber’s face as he listened to her Master. Eyebrows drawn forward, nostrils flared.

“And that’s all good and well, my Lord.” He leant forward, pointing at him. “But it’s your men freezing, your men starving, so that those that tired to kill them can eat.”

He leant back, resting his hands on the bench.

“My father entertains no such foolishness.” He drew his thumb across his opposite arm, towards the elbow. “He’d peel them, get their information and be done with them, and your men would be warm, well fed, happy.”

“Warm, well fed and happy.” She watched a grin spread across his face. “You need say no more. I do not believe he will win this war, he is too young.”

“My father intends to ensure his defeat, you could be spared from this.” He lent forward, voice low. “You are still a Bannerman of his, you must play your part.” He tapped the table in front of them. “And when the time comes, you will not be in the room.”

He looked up at him, standing. He paused, the thrust his hand forward.

“Tell your father we have a deal. My men are his, in exchange for victory.”

“I will be glad to tell my father of this.” Her Master pushed himself from the bench, shaking his hand. “He will be in touch.”

“Boy.” He pointed at her. “Do not let my wife see her again, Lyanna Umber died seven years ago.” His eyes cutting into her. “We do not speak of her.”

“Of course my Lord.” He stood, turning and stepping over the bench. “We’ll leave at once, she will be gone.” He reached for her arm. “Her memory can rest in your wife’s heart.”

“You must rest, come.” He stepped back. “Why bring her?”

“To show you what we’re capable of doing to Jocelyn.” He gripped her wrist, pulling her forward. “But I know it won’t come to that, you favour her over this one.”

“Jocelyn acts as a lady should.” His eyes were on her, a familiar shade. “Not like her, a wild heart, not befitting of a lady, the Gods punished me with her.”

“She is paying for it.”

“You should’ve killed her when you first caught her.”

“My father thinks the same.”

“Come.” Greatjon stood. “I have chambers for you, where do you want her.”

“She can sleep on the floor of my room, by the fire.”

She heard the man scoff as he walked by.

“I’ll keep my lady wife away from the corridor.” He stopped, turning. “I don’t want to have to listen to her crying again.”

“Lyanna Umber died seven years ago, this is dirt.”

“I’m dirt. I’m dirt.” She whispered it out, softly.

“Good.” He strode forward. “I’m sure you’ll want to rest.”

“Thank you, Lord Umber.”

Chapter Text

She curled against his chest as he sat on the stone, she was knelt between his knees, his legs bent, back against the bedframe.

She watched the flames flicker from the fire, it was in front of them, she watched the way the lights and shadows danced. He was silent, the pull of breath making a faint noise. She listened to the crackle of the wood burning for what felt like hours.

“Do you remember who you are?” His soft tone broke the silence.

She nodded. “I’m dirt.”

“For how long?”

“Forever. Until I rot.”

She heard him scoff, her eyes never leaving the amber glow.

“Who was the man we met today?”

“Greatjon Umber.” She whispered the name.

“Who is he to you? I saw you staring.”

“I thought I knew his face.” She sniffled. “But I don’t. I didn’t recognise him. He is nothing to me.”

“You are so very good at remembering.” He wrapped his arm across her, pulling her close. “Who am I?”

“My Master.” She paused. “A God.”

“Good girl.” Voice low, humming against her ears. “I am your personal God.”

He was silent again, as was she until she drifted away, letting the heat of the fire lull her to sleep. Repeating. dirt. dirt. She awoke to rays of sun piercing their way into the room like a spear through flesh. She stared at the dust floating its way through them, her body pressed into a fur on the floor.

The servants brought her Master food in his quarters. Her Master told her that the Umber’s wife hated her, that she felt sick when she had looked at her. That she wanted to hurt her. He was the one that protected her from them. She had eaten her food in the way that she was taught, she was good. Palms on the stone, nose to the floor. She was satisfied.

They left soon after, the chill of the morning prickling her cheeks as she followed her Master. He spoke to the Umber before he left, they shook hands once again. He had pulled her hood up, hid her face, she kept her head down as they approached his horse.

“We’re not returning to the Dreadfort yet.” He placed his foot into the stirrups, pulling himself atop. “My father wants me to lay siege at Winterfell.” He reached his hand down to her, she gripped it as he lifted her up. “A traitor has taken control of it.”

He shook the reigns and the horse departed, she let its trot rock her back and forth, arms around his waist, fingers curled into his cloak. I’m good. I remember. She leant against him, the side of her face pressed into his back, feeling his breaths.

She would follow him, she would obey, she was good. She would not freeze. He had clothed her as he did so she would not die. It was Myranda’s dress. She had pretended, but she knew who she truly was.

A traitor. Someone the Stark boy had trusted. She knew, she could trust no one. No one but her Master. He told her that once they reached Winterfell and his father’s men she could rest. There would be tents, fires, and furs waiting around the boundary of the castle. She hoped would feel the benefit of them, the air was colder at night.

They had ridden for days, she was sore, her joints, her bones. She was not used to it. The trees, the flakes of snow that floated past her face. She listened to the beat of the hooves against the ground.

Her breathing quickened, he had chased her down on this very horse. He had told her its name. Blood. The word made her stomach turn. The flashes of running, tripping, the cold of the river. She was dirt. She remembered. No before. She pushed the memories from her mind, biting down on her lip.

They arrived at Winterfell, her Master riding round to meet with his father’s men. She watched the faces blur as they flew past them. He gripped her wrist, pulling it from his waist and dragging her from the horse. He dismounted, hitching Blood to a post.

“Do you know what the traitor has done?” He took her arm in his hand, dragging her inside the tent. “Do you know anything about what’s happening here?”

She shook her head, eyes peering into his.

“He killed the Young Wolf’s brothers.” He smiled. “Took over his home, betrayed him.”

He pointed downwards and her eyes fell to the fur that covered the floor, he placed his hand on her shoulder, pushing her to her knees.

“Stay here and rest.” He shot his eyes wide. “It’s going to be a long night.” He turned, leaving, pushing the fabric of the door out of his way.

She curled into the fur, wrapping the cloak around her. Obey. She drew in slow, steady breaths through her nose. Stay. She was grateful that he had dressed her as he did, she would’ve perished long ago. Rest. She felt the pull of sleep drag her down and she drifted away once more.

He burst into the tent, chuckling under his breath. She jumped awake, barely enough time to open her eyes before his hands were on her once more, wrenching her to her feet, pulling her out into the chill of the air.

“Look what I found!” His eyes wide, grin plastered his face. “He won’t have a moments peace.” He held up a horn, it was copper. “He’ll know we are upon him.”

He pointed, she looked. The castle, Winterfell, lit by torches, fires. Glowing in the darkness of the night.

“I want him, and his men to know that there is no escaping this.” He ran his thumb across the metal. “There is no hope.”

He lifted the horn to his lips and blew. It was loud, ringing out through the silence of the night. She jumped, her heart thumping against her chest. It had caught her off guard. She watched him flop into a stool by the fire.

She stepped towards him, dropping to her knees and curling into him. She placed her head on his thigh, staring at the fire once more. She listened. The noises carried in the air for hours.

The sounds, the same thing repeated until it was pounding in her head. Long, short, stuttered, like he was playing a song. Every tone imaginable left the horn. She felt as if she heard it, even in the short periods of silence he permitted. She listened. To his chuckles, his words, soft and quiet.

She watched the darkness of the night wane, the stars fade. The amber hues rise into the sky as the sun crested over the trees.

“I hope it’s driven him mad.” He stood, knocking her backwards. “I have a message to get to his men.”

She watched him stride away, she would stay. She would wait. Obey. He returned, dragging her through the gate. His men betrayed him, her Master said so. She watched him burn it to the stone, a rouse, he told her, it was part of his father’s plan. But the Ironborn did it, that was the truth, he said so.

Then she got to know them, one after the other, almost twenty of them. Their names, their faces, twisted in abject horror. Hollow screams, throats torn, eyes gouged from their sockets, exposed muscles, gore. His gaze, teeth beared like an animal. She watched. She witnessed. She remembered. 

Their images join the rest of the dead that flashed behind her eyes, haunting her. The traitor though, the one who took over Winterfell. He was alive, bag over his head. She didn’t like the bag. It reminded her of bad times, of pain, of silence.

She did not know the fate he would suffer, only her Master did, he had already designed the traitor’s fate like stars crawling across the sky. God.

Chapter Text

She waited. For what felt like days. Staring at the torchlit stone until the fire burned out, then she lay in darkness. Waiting. Her Master had gone with the traitor. He was going to punish him. She knew. Her thumbs found the stumps of the fingers that had been removed. Running across the scarring, back and forth.

He had fed her before he left. She was grateful. She knelt on the floor, waiting. Curling up to sleep on the unrelenting stone. She had her nightdress back. A new one. Thicker, softer, longer. Layered and better at keeping the heat in.

One of her Master’s men had come with a jug when the torch was still lit. Her heart had jumped into her throat, eyes twitching, images flashing behind them. Pinned down, choking for breath, screaming. She blinked them away.

She watched with tear filled eyes as he stepped in front of her, lifting it up. Waiting. Her heart rate settled, deep breaths leaving her as he tipped the contents to the floor and left. No pain. No horror. She slurped at the cool liquid, grit grating against her teeth.

She had waited, as he told her to, in the dark. She heard the door open and her breath caught in her throat. She was silent. Listening to her Master talk to him, the traitor. Soft tones, he lit a torch up behind the cross.

He screamed as he was dragged back to there, they had punched him in the gut. His breaths heaved in, he kept telling her Master that he can’t do this to him, he kept saying the bad word. He’ll learn. He’ll remember soon enough.

He was sleeping, strapped to the cross, slumped over and limp, pinned by his limbs. His head bowed. She had knelt, watching him for hours. Her Master had left her there. Her eyes fixed to his foot, she had watched them screw the corkscrew into it. She twitched her head, flexing her jaw open and closed.

He returned to the room, whispering to her, giving her permission to look. His finger pressed against his lips, smiling, glint in his eye. Copper horn clutched in his grip, the same one, from the siege. He sat on the chair that sat near her, leaning forward and blowing the horn. She flinched once more, it was loud, echoing through the room.

The boy jumped awake, eyes scanning his surroundings, brows furrowed. Her Master had coals burning, a metal poker sticking from its embers, an orange glow lighting the metal up. She watched him stare at it, questions spilling from his mouth. One stood out.

“Who is she?”

“They always ask that.” He sighed, standing from the chair. “Who is she?” He crouched, his chest pressed against her. “Well, answer the question.” He gripped her hair, pulling her head up. “Who are you?”

“dirt, my name is dirt.” She kept her hands down, fingers twisted into her nightdress. “I watch. I witness. I remember.”

“Theon Greyjoy.” He loosened his grip, running his fingers across her. “He killed my men, dirt, and the Stark boys.” The words whispered so softly she could barely hear them. “You’re different, Theon.” His voice echoing through the room once again. “You’re going to live long enough to get a name of your own.”

“No!” The traitor shook his head, pulling at the straps. “I’d die before I submit.”

“Do you think she thought the same?” He ran his grip to the back of her neck, catching the bell. “When she was still who was, before?” She twitched as she heard it ring out. “She is your future, so take a good look.” He rose, stepping away.

“Do you want to prove your loyalty to me?” She watched as he circled her from a distance. “I’ll reward you afterwards.”

She nodded. Always. Loyal. Obey.

“Give me your right hand, palm up.” He walked towards the coals. “You will hold it out, willingly, until I pull away.” Her breathing picked up as she saw him jostle the poker from the fire. “Or I will strap you down and choose a more intimate place.”

He held the brand up for her to see, the flayed man, upside down, dead. The Sigil of the Bolton’s, the ones who owned her. She nodded, kneeling forward, holding her open palm out, supporting the arm with her other hand. Owned. Property. Owned. Everyone would know, branded into her flesh.

“Until I pull away.”

She could hear the traitor shouting, his tone panicked, she ignored him, the words he spoke not registering. She nodded, eyes on her Master, focusing on him. He pressed it into her palm. She felt a second of nothing, then searing, white hot pain. She tensed, elbows digging into her knees, her nails cutting into her arm, struggling to stay steady.

Her fingers flexed and curled almost to the point of touching the rod that held the brand. She clenched her teeth together so hard that she thought they might shatter, crying out. Then screaming, she tried to stifle it, her body curling forward. Her eyes were wide, filled with tears and fixed on the burn. She could focus on nothing else, forcing herself steady. She twitched, hearing her skin sizzle, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air.

“Five, four, three.” The words left him in a singsong tone, she could hear him smiling. “Two, one.”

He held on a moment longer and then pulled back. She gasped, unaware that she had been holding her breath, she felt lightheaded. She groaned out with every breath as she watched him place the poker back into the fire. The traitor was still talking, she continued to ignore his words.

She listened to her Master’s footsteps as he once again approached her. She jumped back as he slammed a bucket down in front of her, the water sloshed around, shards of ice battering against its edges. Her eyes shot wide as she drew a shaky breath in.

“I’ll give you permission, when it’s time.”

She whined out, she would wait. She would obey, even in pain she would obey. She cradled her hand, palm held towards her chest, heat radiating off it.

She watched her Master, her eyes never leaving him. He turned to the traitor, pulling out a leather strap. He grunted, pulling, still tied to the cross, he spoke once more, she didn’t listen. Her brain screaming, eyes twitching, she listened for one thing, for reprieve, for permission.

She listened to her Master.

“I’m sure you’ll be wondering why you’re here, who I am, why I’m doing this.” He stepped forward, securing the traitor’s hand to the wood. “So guess.”

She grunted out. She remembered guessing, before, when she was still the dead girl. dirt is what remains. What she was born to be. He will be reborn too. He’s different. All the others died, she remembered. He will have a name, whether he wants one or not.

“If you guess right, I will tell you, I promise”. He leant down to his eye line. “You win, if you can guess who I am and why I’m doing this.” He followed the traitor’s gaze. “And I win if you beg me to cut off your finger.”

He flashed the flaying knife. She remembered how it felt, he had never felt it before. She knew. Four fingers, three toes, lost to it. It hurt. She would take a bite out of every rat in the Dreadfort to avoid ever feeling its kiss again. She watched, eyes half lidded, tears already spilling.

She whimpered, her nails digging into the back of her hand, the burn throbbing its way through her skin, heat emanating, burning into her even still.

“You have permission.”

She drew in a deep breath and plunged her hand to the bottom of the bucket, it was freezing. She moaned out, it soothed her, dulled the throb. Her nose scrunched as she felt the water leech the heat from the brand. She pulled the bucket towards her, cradling it. Staring at them.

“Thank you, Master.” The words shook from her.

He leant forward, lifting the traitor’s chin.

“You’ll do that one day, willingly, like her.” He tapped his foot. “You’ll thank me for it as well, you’ll prove your loyalty in whatever way I ask.”

He pulled away, twisting at his bonds, crying out.

“Guess.”

“If I win.” He spoke, voice cracked, raising his head to look. “Will you let me go?”

Her Master leaned in, teeth bared, eyes wide, he shook his head.

“If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.”

He let out a sob. “Please.”

She twitched her head to the side, the bell rang out through the room. Bad word. Bad word.

“If you say please again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.” He cocked his head to the side, staring into the traitor’s face. “dirt learned the same lesson.”

“Bad word.” She sucked in a breath. “Bad word.”

“That’s right, dirt.” He turned back to his prey. “Well, you first! Guess.”

Chapter Text

She watched the fear creep into his face. He listed off places, her Master denied them all. She knew where they were. They were at the Dreadfort. She remembered.

With each wrong guess, he made another cut, across, down. Obey. The traitor pulled at his binds, crying out. She remembered the feeling well, the terror that came with it, the helplessness.

“Last Hearth!”

“Do I look like a fucking Umber to you?” He laughed, digging the blade into his pinky again. “I’ll tell you a secret though, Theon.”

He turned, knife pointing in her direction, the blade shining under the light of the torches. She watched him, he was manic, eyes wide, he always was. But this time the torture would continue, there would be no death at the end.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the sad tale of Lord Umber’s murdered daughter.”

“Lyanna.” The word creaked from him, his throat sounded raw. “She was fourteen.”

Her eyes flicked from her Master to him.

“That is her.” He scoffed. “All grown up.”

“dirt. My name is dirt, dirt. dirt!”

“She has completely cut Lyanna from her mind.” He cocked his head as she looked back to him. “I could tell her exactly who is, to her face and she would still deny it.” He smiled, turning the knife back to the traitor.

“That’s his daughter?” He peered up at her, brow furrowed. “What have you done to her?”

“You’ll find out, the same will happen to you.” She could hear the smile. “She will tell you that she is dirt, because she knows that Lyanna Umber died on that cross.” He dug the tip on the knife into him. “Just as you will, she will remember Theon, you will be reborn.”

“Remember. Watch. Witness.”

“Guess.” He demanded, tearing the blade down the length of his finger. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Karhold!” The answer was wailed out.

Then nothing. No cutting, no tearing, no burn. She remembered it. She watched as he pulled the knife from his finger, twisting the blood soaked blade around his hand.

“How did you know?” He stepped back from him. “Did you see any banners flying?”

They were in the Dreadfort, she knew. Her Master was trying to help the traitor repent for his crimes. He was saying it all in jest. She knew. She flexed her hand, extending her fingers. She was stiff, palm swollen, the burn rang out through her flesh amidst the cool of the water. She whined, rocking back and forth, nail picking at the wood.

“Just a guess.” The words shook from his mouth.

“Very good.” He shifted his weight. “And who am I?”

She bit down on her lip, she didn’t know the Karstarks, but the traitor did, he started naming people. Her Master continued his fun, she knew who he was, she dared not think his name, but she knew. He would help him admit his crimes, he killed the Young Wolf’s brothers, he killed her Master’s men. He should be grateful that he would feel the Mercy of a God, not everyone had that chance.

She watched him. He turned, walking back to the chair he had sat at before. She snapped back to the present, tightening her grip on the water bucket as he passed by her. He was silent, letting himself bounce down just as the prisoner cried out. 

“You promised to tell me!” His voice cracked under the force.

“You’re right.” A steady tone, teeth clenched.

She flexed her hand under the water again. Branded. Like an animal, a pet. It would be a constant reminder of who she belonged to, she would remember, she knew her place. Equal to the rats.

She heard their tones, they were speaking to one another, but she was not there. She flickered in and out of the conversation, he was looking for the reason, for a name, for who her Master is. She shook her head. Obey. She knew. When she was someone else. There wasn’t a reason, she remembered.

He enjoyed it. The traitor was searching for something that didn’t exist. As Lyanna did. He would learn as she did. He would remember as she did. He would feel the sear running through his flesh, every muscle tense, screaming into the damp air. She would never forget it.

Lyanna died here. dirt is what remains, she was born for this, her Master told her so. Myranda told her. This is who she was meant to be.

“You win.” He sighed it out, leaning forward.

His movement, his voice, it commanded her. She returned to the moment, eyes wide, filled with tears threatening to spill over. She watched him push the tip of his knife into his palm.

“Of course!” He jumped up from the seat, blade pointing towards the traitor. “You forgot to ask one question…” He strode forward, inches from him. “You forgot to ask if I’m a liar!” He leant over to his hand, digging the blade under the cuts. “I’m afraid I am.” His voice was low, ice cold.

She flinched, whining out as she watched him dig his fingertips into the traitor’s flesh. She remembered, she knew the pain. She sniffled, feeling the cool of the ice climb up her arm, watching him. He threw his head back, another scream leaving him, breaths huffed into his lungs.

“Everything I’ve told you is a lie.” He fought to be heard over the sounds leaving the traitor’s body. “This isn’t happening for a reason.” He twisted his skin as he spoke. “Well, one reason.” He paused. “I enjoy it.”

The traitor shook himself, the wood of the cross creaking under the strain. He wrenched at the leather straps holding him to it. Begging. Pleading. His wanted it gone. It hurt, she knew. He was screaming for her Master’s mercy. For him to cut it off. 

Those same words had left Lyanna’s lips. Her Master was generous and kind. She knew. She remembered. The ones he slaughtered did not feel his mercy. She did. He didn’t kill her, he wouldn’t kill the traitor. He would get a name, he would learn.

She watched him step back, exhaling, he chuckled as he swung his leg forward, stepping into the traitors view. He twisted his head to the side, tapping the handle of the knife against his leg.

“I win.”

“Please”.

Bad word. Bad word.

He scoffed, turning to her. “Go to the Maester, then return to your cell until I come for you.” He gestured to the traitor. “I have a private matter to discuss with him.”

She nodded, leaving the bucket behind. She wished she could’ve taken it, she could feel the heat seeping back into her skin, slippers snapping against the floor as she shuffled forward. She crossed the courtyard, the chill in the air shaking her to her core, stinging as it blew against the raw, raised brand.

She made it to the familiar door, knocking. She heard him sigh as she raised her hand to him. He brought her in, strapping her arm to the chair, she stared at the splinter of wood on the doorframe, grunting and screaming for relief. She couldn’t look, she never could. She felt him clean it, the liquid burned as it hit her skin. He wrapped it in cloth, she watched as it seeped into the surface of the material.

She cradled it in her other hand, palm facing her, shaking as the pain throbbed through her. She departed from the Maester’s room, trying her hardest to keep her hand steady, keep her fingers still. She made her way through the corridors and halls, she knew where cell was, her home. She stepped past the boundary of the door, letting herself fall to the stone.

“Loyal. Loyal.” She whispered as she curled against the wall.

Chapter Text

She sat staring at his boots. He had come for her, humming. He had taken her to the Maester’s room, dragging her to his chair. Her wound had clean bandages now, he kept his hands on her the entire time, holding her still as she grunted and strained. It had to be cleaned. She saw it. Saw the picture. The Sigil. Flayed man.

She cradled it close to her body. Knelt beside him, watching him tap his foot. He pushed his leg forward. Her eyes fixed on his boot, the leather. Obey. The traitor was still strapped to the cross, head hung low, staring at the ground. His trousers were bloody, sewn up. Her Master sat at a chair, plate on the table in front of her. He was eating something.

“Phantom limbs.” He leant back. “An amputee may have an itch where his leg used to be.”

He snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“Look at me.”

She did. He held a sausage in his hand, waving it at the traitor.

“I’ve always wanted to know.” Her Master
stared at him. “Do eunuchs have phantom cocks?” She watched him turn his head. “Will you feel an itch the next time you think of a whore you like?”

“Lick.” He spoke, voice low. “Swallow.” He tapped his boot against the floor. “Now.”

She dropped forward to her elbows, almost cradling his leg. Her palm up. The brand was stiff, skin straining, trying to tighten and close, it hurt. Always. She struggled to sleep. She flattened her tongue against the roof of her mouth, gathering her saliva across it.

She licked along the leather, it was cool. Her tongue picked up dirt, snow crusted around the edge, she tasted metal. She drew her tongue back into her mouth sucking it against the roof of her mouth. She gathered what she licked from him and swallowed it back. Flattening her tongue, she repeated.

“I cut his cock from his body.” She felt him lean closer to her, dancing his fingers across her. “All of it, everything. He begged me not to. It was glorious.”

He straightened up just as she swallowed again. He lifted something from his plate, she heard him take a bite of it, chewing it up. She squeaked. Alive. She was hungry. He spoke, mouth full of whatever she was about to eat.

“I shouldn’t make jokes, I am sorry.” He scoffed. “Although, you did have a good sized cock.”

He spat the food to the floor, she tilted her face up slightly, trying to get a peak at what she would get this time.

“Don’t look.” He snapped his hand down to the side of her face, pulling her attention back to his boot. “I will tell you when it is time.” He tugged on her hair, holding her head steady. “Until then, don’t fucking look at it.”

Don’t look. She kept her eyes on the ground his boot was sat upon. Licking long, wet strips up the leather. Brand burning through her still, healing. She obeyed. She licked. She swallowed. She repeated.

“My mother was a kind woman.” He took another bite of the sausage, chewing it up as he spoke. “She always told me, don’t throw stones at cripples.”

She heard the knife scratch against the plate. He spat, she heard the meat hit the floor. She ignored it. He would tell her when. She licked. She obeyed.

“But my father taught me, aim for their head!” He chuckled, the sound rung around the room. “You both know what kind of man he is.”

He pulled his boot back, replacing it with the unclean one. She licks. She cleans. That’s her purpose now. She has many. This is today’s. She flattened her tongue and licked a stripe up it, blood and grit staining her mouth, grinding against her teeth.

She heard him chew and swallow then chew and spit. She listened as the bundles of meat bounced to the stone, sat only inches away. She licked. She repeated. She was hungry. He continued until he had finished the sausage, his fork scraping against his teeth. She heard him spit once more, his voice cut through the traitor’s breaths.

“I have blood on my boots.” He pushed himself against the chair, turning his attention back to the traitor. “Your men, the ones who betrayed you.”

She heard him whimper, pulling shaky, shallow breaths in through his nose. The taste still lingering on her tongue, metal, filth, dirt. Like her. She cleaned.

“It’s their blood, your men never went home, I peeled every one of them to their necks.” She heard him tap something against the table. “She watched as they screamed their way from their wretched existences into the hells.”

Remember. Witness. She blinked, moving to a dry spot on the other side, twisting her neck around. Eyes on floor.

“She is consuming them. In blood.” He scoffed. “Oh, the things I’m going to do to you, Theon.” He scoffed, twisting his fingers into her hair. “I cannot wait, I will enjoy your suffering as I have hers.”

He pulled her head to his. Icy eyes, glazed over and staring into her. He smiled, baring his teeth as his cheeks pulled up.

“Kill me…” Barely whispered, his voice cracked.

“What?” He said, raising his eyebrows, eyes flicking to him.

“Kill me.” The traitor’s eyes were on the stone, he spoke louder, voice still cracked.

“I didn’t quite hear you.” Her Master cupped his hand against his ear, holding her head with his other hand.

“Kill me!” It burst from his chest, sobs following, shaking through the air.

“What use are you if you’re dead?” He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “No. My father and I need you.”

He pushed his chair back, standing swiftly, pulling his boot from her grasp. She jumped back as the wood scraped across the stone.

“Eat, dirt.”

She turned, crawling forward and scooping up each little pile with her tongue, pulling them behind her teeth and crushing them against the roof of her mouth. She watched her Master approach the traitor, she didn’t listen to what he said. She was hungry.

She tasted the tinge of wine that always followed when he fed her, the pork minced up by his teeth, coated in his spit, a gift. She was grateful. She crawled forward against the unrelenting stone for the next piece, keeping her eye on him.

He danced his fingers across the traitor’s skin, she heard his tone, low, soft. She didn’t hear his words, just a mumble as the whispers inside her head got louder. Obey. Obey. She swallowed the meat, feeling it soothe the ache that clawed at the inside of her stomach.

“reek!”

She flinched, eyes wide, watching him push against the traitor, jumping back, arms wide.

“That’s a fine name for you.” He turned his head. “Don’t you think, dirt?

She shot her head up, nodding before she even understood the question.

“Good. Good.” She sniffled. “reek.”

“He is your equal.”

She nodded, watching him turn his attention back to reek. She lowered herself, closing her teeth around the last piece of sausage. She sucked the juices from the meat, swallowing them.

“What is your name?” She could hear the smile in his voice.

reek. He is reek. She pushed herself back to her knees, watching reek.

“Theon Greyjoy.” He looked up at their Master and lied.

She shook her head. reek. He lunged forward, swinging the back of his hand into reek’s jaw. It sounded like it connected heavily. The thud rung out, he grunted as his face snapped to the side, knocking himself against the cross.

“Whats your name?” His tone was soft.

“reek…” She whispered it out as he let his head fall forward. “reek.”

“Listen to her.”

“Theon Greyjoy.” His voice wavered, he hesitated, lying again.

Her Master cocked his fist back, hammering it into his mouth. His head snapped back against the wood and he grunted. She remembered the feeling. She knew. Obey. Avoid agony.

“reek…” A ghost of a whisper left him.

“What. Is. Your. Name.” He gripped reek’s face with his hands, pulling his face down. “Say it!” The words spoken through gritted teeth.

“reek.” His voice shook from his body. “My name is reek.”

He remembers. Just like she did. He had his name. reek. He is reek. Equal to me. Equal to the rats. She watched her Master step away from him, stalking towards the chair, collapsing back onto it.

She swallowed the last of her food as she listened to reek break down. Her Master was merciful. He was generous. She would obey.

reek would learn, as she did. She would watch. Witness. Remember.

Chapter Text

She had watched him be dismantled, as she was. He is reek. He tried to hold on to who he was before. He was punished for it. He had to obey. Her Master had him locked in a cell, in the dark, as she was. Before she learned. Before she was loyal.

In the silence, eyes staring off into the void, the nothingness. Screaming, repeating. Never-ending. Her Master had once made her sit outside his door, he was locked in. Hammering his fists off it. Voice raw. He left her there, to witness.

She remembered. He screamed. Begged. Pleaded. She knew how he felt. He had been cut, he had felt the kiss of the blade, the same Maester kept reek alive.

She had screamed and begged as well, when she was strapped down. The helplessness of it all. Straining against her bonds. She twitched as the images flashed behind her eyes, the bell on her collar ringing through the corridor.

He heard it. He had tried to speak to her. He was still bad. He disobeyed. He didn’t follow their Master’s law. She ignored him. No one had helped Lyanna. She’s dead. She waited until her Master returned. She told him.

She didn’t see him much. He wasn’t trusted yet, he wasn’t allowed to walk the castle. Anytime she saw his face, it was twisted in a scream. Horror ringing from his lungs, settling into the cool, damp air and the base of her skull, joining the chorus of voices in her head. She had watched as her Master cut pieces from him, as he was reborn.

The silent man, the one who tortured her had his turn too. Bag over his head, tightening the strings around his neck. He tore and ripped at his feet, peeling his toes. His screams echoed off the stone, silence meeting them. She could almost feel it, the ache where her own once were. Staring at his twisting body through tears.

He’d grown thin, as she had. Bones sticking out. Skin pale. Hollow cheeks, wide eyes. Staring at nothing. She watched. Silent in the corner as he learned the same lessons she had and faced the same consequences. His mind had broken, shattered, it’s better that way. Theon was dead, reek is what remains.

reek hated her. Her Master told her so. He would whisper into her ear. Fingers curled into her hair, heat piercing her skin. reek wanted to hurt her. Her Master told her so. She could only trust him.

reek wanted her Master to mutilate her further. Like Jon Snow. He wanted to hurt her. He couldn’t be trusted. She wasn’t loyal to him. Her Master told her that reek wanted to hurt her himself. Take a knife to her. Rub rosemary salt into her wounds and watch her screech.

He couldn’t be trusted. No one but her Master could be.

She had been good. She would run her fingers across the Sigil burned into her hand frequently and think of her Master. It had been an age since reek’s arrival. The tough skin raised from her palm. Owned. Branded. She knew who she belonged to, who to worship.

She lived for him. Always. Forever. She would do as he asked. She would suffer if he chose for her to. She would do whatever was required of her. She obeyed. She was good. Always.

The wounds had settled to scars. It had been a long time since she had been punished. She had obeyed. She remembered the rules. She followed them. She wouldn’t disappoint her Master. He grew restless nonetheless. It had been a while since he had heard her scream.

She was sat in her cell, staring, thinking, waiting for his return. She heard keys. Footsteps. No humming. Her heart picked up as they grew closer, her breathing caught. Pass me by.

Almost as soon as she saw them, they had their hands on her, dragging her to the corridor. She pulled against them, mumbling as they held her steady.

“Look at me.”

She did. Her Master stood, leaning against the wall. He flashed his teeth in a smile, chest rising and falling as he pulled his breaths in and out.

“Who are you equal to?”

“reek and the rats”

“I told you that.” He pointed his blade at her, turning his head. “I was wrong.”

She furrowed her brow as he pushed himself off of the wall, stalking towards her. 

“You are not equal to reek, he was a man, before.” He flicked the knife from side to side. “Women are all objects, already property, from the moment of birth.” He shot his eyes wide. “Owned by the men that keep them beaten into line.”

He held the blade to her throat, she stiffened, straining against the men holding her. She whimpered, staring at his eyes, icy, glazed over.

“Who owns you?”

“You do, Master.”

“Who are loyal to?”

“You, Master.”

He scoffed, pulling the blade from her neck, twisting it around his fingers.

“reek wants to hurt you.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’ve decided to let him.”

She shook her head as he stepped to the side. She was dragged from her home by his men, through the halls. Past the crowds. Staring at her. Watching. She screamed. She had been good. She didn’t deserve to hurt. She had obeyed.

Her eyes shot wide as they rounded a familiar corner, the door, the room. Everything flooded back as she was dragged towards it. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, eyes wide, panic rising like bile in the back of her throat. She kicked against the men, throwing her head back.

She was strapped to the cross nonetheless. She went limp the moment she touched the wood. His mind had been made. It was too late. She would suffer. He would enjoy. She bit her lip as she felt his men tighten the straps around her.

She looked up and saw reek. Cut apart, broken, starving, a shadow. She knew. She remembered. He hated her. She didn’t know why. He wanted her to hurt. He held a knife atop a candle, she blinked as she stared. She shook her head once more. Fingertips dancing across the Sigil on her palm.

“Master!” She watched as he stepped across to reek. “I’ve been good.”

“He asked me for this, didn’t you reek?” Her Master placed his hand on his shoulder, he jumped at the touch. “Tell the truth.”

“I asked for this.” He sniffled, staring, his voice wobbling. “I want to hurt you.” He shook his head ever so slightly. “I hate you.”

She watched as her Master whispered to him. She knew he hated her, that her Master was right, that shouldn’t trust him, that he would try to get her into trouble so she would be punished.

“Burn her reek, I want to watch.”

Chapter Text

“Equal!” The words shouted into the air, as she pulled against the binds. “You said, Master!”

“I was mistaken.” His voice low, monotone. “He is above you, because he once had a cock.”

She heard reek whine, his hand shaking as he tried to hold the knife steady above the flame. His breaths came fast and shallow.

“I’ve been good!” She searched for her Master’s eyes. “I’ve obeyed! I promise!”

He stepped forward, his hand clasping her cheek. He pulled her face up, forcing her eyes to meet his. She felt his thumb run across her skin. He nodded, lips curling up.

“You will obey now.” Eyes half lidded. “He will hurt you, because he has asked me for it, because he is above you, because you are equal to the rats.”

“Master…”

“I will let him, because I like the way you sound when you scream, because I want to watch.”

She shook her head, eyes flicking back to the blade of the knife in reek’s hand, metal glowing.

“Don’t burn me again.” Her fingertips found the hard, raised skin of the brand. “The pain lingers.” She couldn’t look at him.

“It does, for weeks.” He scoffed. “Every-time you feel it, you can remember me, my mercy.” He dropped her chin, turning from her. “Be grateful that I didn’t let him do as he wished.”

She strained against the leather straps holding her to the wood of the cross, spread eagle, head hung low. She ran her fingers across the brand, feeling the pain it brought. She was grateful. She remembered.

“Tell her reek, make her believe it.” He turned back to him hand on his shoulder, the boy shook. “Tell her what you wanted to do.”

She watched him struggle to keep the knife in the flame. He stared down, at no discernible location. Hunched shoulders, bones. He nodded. Opening his mouth to speak.

“I wanted to take her hand.” The words shook from his mouth. He gulped. “I wanted to flay it.”

She looked to her Master, his teeth bared in a smile. Eyes wide, staring back at her. She drew a sharp breath in, shaking her head. They could still do it. They could change their minds and take her hand. And she would never have it back. It would hurt.

“Burn me.” The words cutting through the silence. “It lingers. I’ll remember.” She squeezed her remaining digits into her palms. “Don’t take my hand. Burn me.”

“What do you think reek?” He tapped his fingers against his shoulder. “Do we burn her? Or relieve her of a hand? Your choice.”

She watched as he bit his lip, trembling. Burn me. He pulled the blade away from the flame, holding it up. Burn me. It was a soft orange, almost glowing under the torchlight. She watched her Master pull out the flaying knife, her eyes fixed on it. She shook her head. Burn.

“Burn me.” Half begged. “Burn me!” Shaking from her, eyes wide.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, reek.” He gave his shoulder a squeeze, making him flinch. “Choose.”

He was silent. Thinking. Mercy. Burn.

He stepped forward, out of the man’s grasp.

“You’re going to burn her.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

Her eyes were on reek, on the blade. Yes. Burn me. Burn me. He stepped forward, shaking in all his body. He hated her. He wanted to hurt her. Her Master told her. He wanted to flay her.

He stood. He didn’t push the blade against her. The orange was subsiding. It would still hurt, but the more time he stood the less it would linger. It wouldn’t be deep.

“If that goes cold.” He stepped forward, hand on his shoulder. “You will flay her.”

“Do it!” The words bursting from her. “Burn me.”

“reek.” He twitched under his grasp. “Either you place that blade on her body, anywhere, your choice.” He stepped closer still to him, speaking low. “Or I strap you up there, and place her here with the blade, she will not hesitate if I order her to do something, you’ve seen this.”

He stepped back, pulling the chair forward a couple of feet, the sound of the wood scraping against the floor hitting her ears badly, her head cocking to the side. She watched him smile once more, eyes wide, hungry. Prey.

“Now burn her.”

reek stepped forward, he was right in front of her. He stepped across to her right arm. The hand that had been burned before, keep them together, he placed the knife against her forearm, the soft skin that lay there.

“He hates you.” She stared up at him, glazed over eyes staring back. “Tell her, reek, the truth.”

There was a moment of nothing and then a familiarity, searing into her, white hot, relentless. Burning through layer after layer of her. She clenched her teeth, pulling her head back, staring at the stone on the ceiling. The damp. The rot. She grunted out, tensed.

“I hate you.” He kept the pressure on the knife. “I do. I hate you. It’s the truth.”

She cried out, flexing her jaw open and shut she looked back at her Master, lip caught between his teeth. Biting so hard she could see the blood running down his chin. His breathing came fast, hard. She screamed out, eyes fixed on him. He clenched his teeth, lips curling in a snarl.

It had felt as if it had been as long as he had held the brand. She waited. Straining against the binds, toes curling, fingers digging into the scars. She screamed out again, watching him chuckle.

“Enough, reek.” He jumped up from his seat, wiping the blood from his chin. “Do you not see how she has suffered.”

He pulled the knife from her, the burn remained. Cutting into her. She wanted a bucket. Like last time. She wanted ice.

“Sorry, Master.”

She looked at him, he hated her. She knew it to be true. He hurt her. He wanted to flay her. He held the burn longer. She couldn’t trust him. Her Master helped her. Told him to leave her. It was always his mercy that saved her.

“Aw, my pet.” He pulled the straps from her, letting her fall into his arms. “What has he done to you?” He lowered her to the floor, crouching in front of her. “Would you like to visit the Maester?”

She nodded, teeth chattering. Her breaths shaking whimpers out alongside them.

“Oh, I gave you ice water last time.” He tapped his chin with his fingers. “Didn’t I?”

She nodded, biting her lip. She watched him stand, pulling a bucket from the corner. Her breathing picked up. She wanted it. It soothed her. He placed it in front of her, lifting her arm, pushing it under the water until the burn was submerged. She moaned out in relief.

“Here’s the thing, dirt.” He lifted her chin, pulling her eyes to his. “I’m going to hurt him now.”

“Master?” reek’s voice shook out through the room.

“Quiet, reek.” He kept his eyes on her, icy, dead, cutting into her soul. “Now is not a time for you to talk, not unless you want to lose anymore teeth.”

She heard him snap his jaw closed, the teeth he had left clattering off each other. He began sobbing under his breath. He was still fighting. He hadn’t given up. Hadn’t accepted the pain. It’s easier. He was going to hurt, but their Master would be merciful. 

“You need to leave, and take that bucket with you.” He still held her arm under the water. “I want you to leave it with the Maester, full of water, so I know you took it all the way.”

She nodded. He let go of her and she stood.

“Leave. Now. Go back to your cell afterwards.” He had turned his attention to reek. “And be grateful you still have two hands to carry that with.”

“Thank you, Master.”

She had little strength in what was left of her hands. She struggled, the journey took thrice as long. She could not grasp with her right hand, nor could that arm take any of the weight. She had been burned. They were just healing.

She had stopped a few times, sinking to the stone, plunging her hand back into the water for a moment of relief. Tears streaming, sobs threatening to burst from her chest. People passed her by. Staring. She knew. She didn’t care. She would obey. She would go to the Maester.

She knew. The Maester would hurt her to keep her alive so that others could hurt her again. That was his job. She knocked on the door, it was familiar to her. The man who answered it was often silent, not in the same way as the man who tortured her. In a sad way.

She heard him sigh as he found her crumpled in a heap in front of his door. Cradling a bucket of water. As much as she was able to bring. She felt his hands lift her, and the bucket.

“Can you stay still?”

She shook her head, sobbing.

Chapter Text

She had been sleeping, she awoke, body wrenching in pain as she pushed herself up. The material of her nightdress dancing across the scar, the shape of a blade, forcing itself to heal. She heard footsteps. More than usual. Grunting. Gore. It echoed through the silence of the night, it was close, just outside.

She peered out into the corridor. It was empty, the sounds coming from outside a window. She shouldn’t leave. She would be breaking her Master’s rules. But she heard bad noises, she should be able to make it, to check the courtyard and get back to her cell before he found out. Her Master wouldn’t know.

She would keep it to herself. She had to check, so she could sleep. She pushed herself against the doorframe, rising to her feet. She leant out again, looking both ways, the footsteps getting louder. She tiptoed down the corridor, her slippers making very little sound against the stone. She was silent. She knew her way around. She reached the end of the hallway, peering through the crack in the door.

She watched the intruders plunge a dagger into the chest of one of the guards, she flinched as they half dropped him to the floor. A woman slammed the second once against the wall. They wore brown leather, weapons in hand, ready to strike, blood staining the metal. Ironborn. She recognised the armour from the men her Master had flayed.

“Theon Greyjoy.”

reek. He is reek. Theon is dead.

“I.. I- I don’t kn…” he could barely get his words out.

“I’m here for Theon Greyjoy.” She lifted him from the wall, shaking him back against it. “Take me to the dungeons.”

“He’s not in the dungeons.” The guard’s voice shook out.

Dog. Animal. Pet.

“Where is he?” Panic rising in her voice.

“The kennels.”

She turned and made her way town the corridor as quickly as she could, staying quiet. Silent. She was good at it. She had to get to her Master. They were trying to take his property. She slid through passages, keeping to the shadows until she reached his door.

He would know she broke rules. She bit down hard on her lip. He would know. He would punish her. But he would punish her if she saw and allowed those killers to take reek. She knocked, the wood causing her knuckles to ache.

“Fuck off!” He shouted from the other side, she heard giggling. “I’m balls deep in something warm.” The words called out again.

“Now, Master.” She pushed the door open slightly and listened as a commotion broke out in the room. “Urgent.”

“Is that… dirt?” Myranda’s voice, she giggled. “Did you tell her to come?”

“dirt! If I open that door and you’re stood there, I swear, I will hurt you!” She heard him stomp towards the door. “How dare you interrupt me!”

She needed time to get a word in, she had begun stepping back from the door, little steps, quiet ones. Breaths coming fast and shallow.

“Don’t hurt her too much.” Her sweet tone rang out. “I enjoy her as well you know.”

“I’ll fucking blind her.”

The door shot open. He was stood, trousers half unlaced, shirtless, his arm held against the doorframe, head cocked to the side. She let her eyes flicker to Myranda, she was lying down, wrapped in furs and covers. Smiling at her. Eyes wide.

“Why did you disobey?” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Tell me why!”

She stepped back once more and he dove for her, dragging her forward by her collar. She shook her head as she felt him twist his grip, pulling her close to him, crouching down so he could stare into her through his cold, twitching eyes.

“You being here, now, tells me you disobeyed me, why?”

“They’ve come for him.”

“Who?” He shook her. “Answer me!”

“reek.” She stared into his eyes. “The Ironborn have come for him.” He pulled her to her feet, gripping her arm. “They killed the guards.” He pushed her into the room with Myranda. “They know where he is.”

“Lock the doors, stay with her until I return.”

He turned and left, she watched Myranda pull on something to cover herself and rushed to close the door behind him, she heard the lock click.

“He’s going to kill them.” She smiled at her, warm. “He’ll drive them from the castle, half torn to shreds, you’ll see.”

She held her hands, pulling her to sit on the bed. She fidgeted with her fingers, letting them fall across the scars of the brand. She bit the skin from the inside of her cheek, listening to Myranda, feeling her fingertips dance across her skin.

“Did you hear the noises whilst you were sleeping?”

She nodded, staying silent. She would be punished for leaving. For breaking the rules.

“I think he’s going to reward you.” She ran her hand up to her shoulder, squeezing. “reek is very dear to him, you do know this?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the door, waiting for rattling, waiting for someone to try and break in.

“You were sleeping, I was not. I will watch for his return. I promise.”

Promise.

“Rest. I’ll tell him I gave you permission. He will reward you. I know it.”

She was pushed towards the mattress and she sunk into the heat, groaning as the furs enveloped her. She blinked listening to Myranda hum that song. Castamere. The same one he did. Her voice was softer, higher. The notes blended into one melody and she could feel the pull of sleep dragging her beneath the surface of the mirror.

She jumped awake once more, the soft lights of morning falling through the window, illuminating the room. She pulled herself up, eyes falling onto him, sat on the edge of the bed.

“Myranda told me that she gave you permission to sleep.” He ran his fingers across the burn from the knife. “Is that true?”

She nodded.

“She said I would be rewarded.”

“You will be.” He gripped her right hand, pulling it forward. “reek is very important to me, and my father.”

“Property.” She bit down on her lip.

“Yes, you are both my property.” He stared up at her, the sun hitting his curls from behind. “I’m going to give him a bath as his reward for choosing to stay. Would you like that to be yours too?”

She looked at herself. She was stained, dirty, sweat and filth dripping from her skin. The once white nightdress marred with drips of blood, crimson, brown, smudges of grime, tears. She liked to feel clean, although she seldom did. She was grateful he would offer it to her. She had broken rules.

“Disobeyed…” Whispered into the air.

“You are forgiven.” He stood from the bed. “Go back and wait for me in your cell, I will come for you.”

Chapter Text

She squeaked. Alive. She was curled against the wall of her cell, staring. He had let reek hurt her again, many times, he had sat, he had watched. She grunted through clenched teeth, straining against her bonds. He was above her. She was equal to the rats. She remembered.

“Obey. Obey.” She whispered the words out.

Her burns had settled. Tough scar tissue twisting through the skin, she ran her fingers across it. Owned. The one on her palm caused pain, even still, made it hard for her to put weight onto it. Her missing third and fourth fingers caused her further difficulty. She struggled. People watched her struggle. No one helped.

She was seldom given permission to look at the faces in her Master’s halls. She would often wonder if they knew. If they could tell what he’d done to her. If they knew how she lived. She just existed. Waiting for him. Still as stone. Staring at nothing, counting stitches on the embroidery on clothing, following cracks on stone. Blinking. Breathing. Existing. Obey.

Her mind was lost long ago. She knew it. Shattered into so many pieces, there would be no putting it back together. She was mad. The voices that clawed the flesh of her brain told her that, that she deserved it for letting them die screaming. She repeated, remembered. Witness. Wherever she was, she could see their faces, she could hear their screams, she could remember their names.

“Help. Help.” If she closed her eyes she could see them as they spoke to her. “Kill me. Kill me. Help.”

They stared at her, all of them, begging for her help. Wide eyes, hollow cheeks, cracked skin. She watched them twist, turn, pop their wrists from their arms pulling against the leather. Remember. Which body part he was peeling when they died, what they screamed, the colour of their eyes.

She could hear the voices, the screams, pleading, begging. They overlapped one another. She clawed at her scalp some nights, trying to make them leave, so she could rest. She raised her hands to cover her ears, blinking, watching the light. Listening.

It was a song. A song of failure, not one voice that was good enough for his mercy joined them. This was what the Hells sounded like. She was sure of it. She could hear their agony. A chorus. A choir. And him. God. Punish.

She lived for him. She served him. Obeyed. She would do as he asked, she would make him happy. Always. She listened. She was loyal.

“Master.” She whispered into the air once more, no one listening but herself. “Obey. Obey.”

He rewarded her. She was grateful. He made her feel good. Stripped her bare and spread across his bed, wrapped in warmth and gentle touches, stomach full, pain subsiding. Her eyes rolled back, glazed over as she followed his rhythm.

She could feel it throb when he made contact with her now. Blood rushing through her Master’s cunny. When his fingers tangled into her hair, hands running across her skin, hot breath on her ear. She could feel it like a heartbeat, swelling with every pulse. It made her hazy, compliant.

Her breaths came shallow, fast, eyes wide, she could feel it throb, she leant her head against the stone of the wall. That was its job. She wasn’t allowed to touch it, he would cut it off. She kept her hands away, focusing on the ache, the tingle that ran across her core. She obeyed her Master. He would slice it from her if she disobeyed. Its job was to sit between her thighs and throb for him. She remembered.

“Don’t touch.” She fidgeted her hands together. “Don’t touch.”

She thought of her Master when she felt the wetness soak through her, stringing down her legs like drips of honey. She never touched. He wanted to see. It made her look desperate. Needy. It made him want to hurt her. He told her.

She was equal to the rats. She knew. She could hear one, scratching. Another squeak forced itself from her. Alive. They only bit her if she was still. If she moved they wouldn’t risk injury. She had eaten one, devoured it, an age ago. She was equal, one of them. Cannibal. She blinked. Shaking her head. Loyal. She had bit it. Her Master told her to.

Rats. She ran her fingers across the scars on her thighs. Pink, angry, even still. She could feel them. Self inflicted, clawed into herself when she couldn’t swallow.  She disobeyed. Her Master asked her twice. He doesn’t repeat. She does. Repeat. Again. Again.

“I’m an object, I’m property, you own me.” She let her eyes follow the light on the wall. “I’m not a person, I’m not human, I’m dirt.”

reek hated her. He hurt her. Her Master let him hurt her. He was above her. She was equal to the rats. She knew, reek couldn’t be trusted. He would lie to her Master, so that she would be punished.

He would burn her most times. He had cut her, beaten her, choked her. But he would always return to burning her, he stood as she was dragged to the room, almost always heating the knife up with a flame, until the soft glow lit up the metal.

reek liked to burn people, her Master told her so. He burned the Stark boys. Killed them. He was bad. He couldn’t look at her, she had seldom met his eye as he hurt her. He held favour, her Master liked him. She was often left in her cell whilst they went hunting.

“He killed them.” Her breathing picked up. “reek. Murderer.”

The pain of burning lingers. He had pushed the glow of the metal into the same arm each time, the red, angry welts shooting up, pink blooming across her skin. It was like a patttern, she could see the curve of the blade in every burn on her arm, she hadn’t kept track of the number. He hated her. She could not trust him.

She did not pull back as much any longer. She strained her weight against the bonds that held her, but she no longer tried to wrench her arm from his grasp. She felt it, white hot, searing. The sizzle hitting the air before her screams do. The smell of burnt flesh filling her nostrils. He hated her.

She would wait. In her cell. She always did. Her Master would come back for her. He hadn’t punished her, when she broke the rules, when she left her cell to tell him of the Ironborn. Myranda was right, her soft tone, he rewarded her. She was grateful. It had been colder of late.

She was bathed by her Master, it was her reward, flinching under the heat of water. He had given her a new nightdress, layered, thick, warm. It fell below her knees. She was grateful.

She was curled against the stone of her cell, staring. The stone heating under her skin. She squeaked again, scrunching her shoulders up. Alive.

Chapter Text

They were in his quarters, his room, he was sat on a chair, knees wide, leant forward, elbows on them, staring at her. She could feel it. She was knelt in front of him, eyes on his boots. She was grateful to him. He had fed her. He had been gone for days, with reek.

“Look at me.”

She did. His head cocked to the side. Wide eyes, staring into her. She whimpered and he grinned, teeth bared like an animal.

“I’ve grown tired of your talking at will.” He scrunched his nose. “My father, has legitimised me.” He nodded, biting his lip. “I am now a Bolton.”

She drew a breath into her lungs, it rattled into her.

“I want you to say my name.” He leant forward, hand shooting to her throat. “I want to hear you call me by my father’s House name.”

She gulped. She hadn’t said it. Ever. She hadn’t even thought of it. Never.

“You must still talk when I require it of you.” He squeezed his grip tighter. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Ramsay Bolton.” The words shook from her mouth.

He hooked his fingers around her collar and pulled her forward, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Again.”

“Ramsay Bolton.” More forcefully this time, into his ear.

“Oh, it feels good.” He leant back, smiling. “I only ever wanted to be acknowledged by him.”

He let go of her collar and she dropped back to her knees. He clicked his fingers, drawing her eyes back to his face.

“But as a Bolton, I have a standard to uphold.” He pointed at her. “And your mouth is unpredictable.”

The thought clawed through her skull. It wouldn’t leave. He’d take her tongue. She knew he would. He’ll cut it out and she’ll never speak again, she’d just make noises. Her breaths came fast. She shook her head.

“Master, I pro-“ Her head snapped to the side as his palm connected.

She sobbed, pulling her cheek against her shoulder, it was hot. She kept her hands at her sides. She remembered. Her fingers twisted into the material of her dress.

“This is not a time for you to talk.” He leant back in his seat. “Tongue out, crawl between my knees.”

She whimpered as she let her tongue roll out. Mercy. She shook her head as she crawled closer. Don’t take my tongue. She shivered, the stone cutting into her joints, she put her weight on the knuckles of her right hand, the brand still tender. Almost healed. She remembered. He was merciful.

She crawled to where he directed her to be. Kneeling and staring up at him. He crossed his legs at the ankles behind her back, pulling her closer.

“If I put anything into your mouth, it is a gift.” He pulled the knife up, waving it into her eyesight. “You are to cherish it, it is a gift from your God.”

Her eyes were fixed on the blade. Glinting in the torchlight. She whined out.

“I’ll remember. Gift. Cherish. God.”

“Open.” He tilted her head back and she relaxed her jaw, letting it fall loose. “If I give you a gift and you swallow it without my permission.” He gripped her jaw, fingers cutting into her. “I will slice your tongue from your mouth and feed it to you.”

She cried out, pulling back. His legs stopped her, he raised his eyebrows, eyes wide. She shook her head, pushing herself back into his grasp, opening her mouth like he said, sticking her tongue out.

“Good girl.” He nodded. “Hold it. Taste it on your fucking tongue. Don’t speak. Don’t swallow.”

He cleared his throat, pulling his cheeks in and leaning over her. He pulled his lips together, pouting, letting a ball of spit fall onto her tongue. It was warm, it slid its way down into her mouth as she drew her tongue back in.

“It is a gift.” He clasped his hand over her mouth. “Don’t speak, and don’t fucking swallow it unless I tell you to.” He pulled her close, staring from eye to eye. “Or you eat your own tongue.”

She nodded, flinching as the words hit her ears.

“Answer me in your head.”

I won’t swallow. I promise. I won’t. Permission. Always.

“Good girl.” He sat back on the chair, biting his lip. “I have things to do.” He leant forward, staring at her. “You stay knelt here, and obey.” He pointed at his mouth, smirk pulling up his lips.

He was gone before he even saw her nod. She had known silence. After she screamed herself raw, repeating, begging. Then came the silence. Listening to nothing but the sound of her heartbeat, the drip of water, rats squeaking as they gained the courage to approach and bite. Strapped down, left for days.

She had to focus, to not swallow. It was part of him, it coats her food. His spit. She tasted it. Wine. Always. He always tasted of wine. She had his spit pooled in the hollow of her tongue, held against the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t lose her tongue. She had to hold it.

She had sat for hours, tears welling at her eyes, her own spit flooding her mouth, she held it all, she couldn’t risk swallowing it. He returned, as he always did. Soft tones, he had her tilt her head back so he could open her mouth and check. He praised her. It felt good. Knowing that she had made him proud.

He slumped in the chair, leaning back, knees spread. She was knelt in front of him again, between his knees, watching him. He had a knife in hand, flicking through his fingers, pushing it into his skin.

“I think we have to implement a new rule, dirt.” He pointed the blade at her. “I don’t like when you interrupt me, it makes me want to hurt you, badly.” He nodded at her. “But I don’t want to kill you…” He tilted his head back and forth, brows furrowed, thinking.

She bit down on her cheek, letting the pain still her heart. Her eyes teared up as she stared at the knife

“I don’t wish for you to speak to anyone without my permission. You will know when you have permission.” He twisted his head to the side. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Your mouth won’t be full all the time.” He stared into her eyes. “But if I catch you, speaking without permission, if I hear even a hint.” He leant forward. “I will make you swallow your own tongue.”

She hadn’t swallowed. She still had his gift. 

“You were fun, your voice was fun, when I was younger man.” He gripped her jaw. “I am my father’s heir now, legitimised. I can’t have you embarrassing me.” He squeezed her muscles, she flinched. “Besides. Objects don’t speak.”

Objects don’t speak. Objects don’t speak.

“Swallow and say my name.”

She did. The tinge of wine going with it.

“Ramsay Bolton.”

“Tongue out.”

She obeyed. Sticking her tongue out, letting her mouth fall open. She listened to him clear his throat once again, blinking back tears. She would remember. She knew silence. Speak to no one. No one. No one. Obey.

Chapter Text

He had his head hung low. She watched. Always. He had been punished. She had heard him whisper to another. He was ordered silent, their Master placed a rule, reek broke it. The reverse had happened many times, she found herself at their mercy, being burned.

She had told him, she was rewarded. She was grateful, still in the haze. He had wrenched his teeth from his mouth. Ripping them with blacksmith tools, she heard the roots splinter and tear.

She had knelt. She watched as reek writhed in pain, trying to pull himself from her Master’s grasp. He had never touched her teeth, leaving them all in her mouth, where they should be. She had never been more grateful. The way he screamed as they were torn from him instilled dread. A pit in her heart, forcing her breath to pick up its pace.

She watched him pace around the room, her Master. Erratic. Angry. She was knelt in front of reek. Watching. Witnessing. Remembering. He shook. Glassy look in his eye. He was bleeding, it spilt out over his lips, dripping to the floor. He spat, she watched it splatter across the floor.

“I’m sorry, Master!” The words forced out. “I won’t disobey again, I promise!”

Her eyes were fixed on her Master, he was volatile. They were at the centre of the storm. He stepped forwards, crushing reek’s jaw between his grasp, blood still leaking from his mouth.

“And you’ll remember? Never without permission?” He tilted his head up. “dirt has the same rule, she’ll lose her tongue if she breaks it.” He tapped his foot. “Be grateful you’ll only lose teeth.”

“I’ll remember Master, promise. I will.” His voice wobbled as he spoke. “I’m grateful.”

“If you disobey again.” He pushed his gaze to her. “You’ll get the same gift spat into your fucking mouth as she does, and you’ll be silent. No mistakes.”

He shook his head, eyes avoiding her.

“Swallow, dirt.”

She did, feeling the spit run down the back of her throat, her Master’s gift, the taste of wine leaving with it. She let her tongue loll out, her jaw open, waiting for the next gift. 

“Come to reek.”

She hear a sob burst from him, she ignored it, focusing on her Master. reek cried often, he broke down, sobbed, the soul inside of him shattered.

“Right here.”

She was pulled in front of him, kneeling almost between reek’s legs, staring up at him. He huffed his breaths in and out, body shaking as he met her eyes. There was nothing behind his, empty, hollow, she wondered if hers looked similar.

“reek. You’re going to spit, like I do.”

He ran his fingers across her scalp, crouching and holding her in place. “dirt will catch it, hold it, obey.” She nodded. Below. Above.

He pulled her head back, holding it steady beneath him. She stared up as reek swirled the saliva around his mouth. He was above. Her Master wanted this. She would obey.

He aimed, pursing his lips together as her Master did and let his spit drop towards her. It was red, an almost solid colour. Blood. She whined, trying to pull back, he tightened his grip on her hair. It landed on her tongue sliding down it into her mouth. Obey. Obey. Obey. It was mostly blood, warm, it’s metallic twinge coursing through her. She twitched as she was held still, the bell ringing out.

“That was filth, reek.” She pulled her tongue into her mouth and he slammed his hand over her lips. “Pure depravity, to spit blood into her mouth? Wicked. Evil.”

She sobbed against his hand as she curled the edge of her tongue up, capturing the bloody spit, holding it against the roof of her mouth. The taste reminded her of bad times. Rat. Rat. Rat. She wouldn’t swallow. She didn’t have permission.

He pulled her head around, staring into her eyes. His breaths came shallow, fast. His eyes were wide, glazed over, glinting under the torchlight. Lips parted, teeth bared.

“Can you taste his blood?” His eyes cut into her. “Can you feel how much he hates you?”

She nodded, answering both questions at the same time. Hates.

She could taste it. Metal. Her Master always smelled of it. Blood. She knew of his hatred very well at this point. He had burned her, hurt her, white hot pain. She remembered. He couldn’t look at her then, or now.

He dragged her backwards by her hair, she kept up best she could as he pushed her to crawl. She was on her hands and knees, putting most of her weight on her left arm.

“reek, I want you to tell her how you feel about her. The truth?” He pulled her nightdress up and onto her back, she drew a shaky breath in. “While you watch her be fucked.”

She kept her eyes down, the blood held steady against the roof of her mouth. She could taste him. She was equal to the rats. Obey. Property.

“I don’t fuck her often.” He placed his hands on her back, running them across her skin. “She’d forget her place, who she is.” He dug his nails in eliciting a whimper.

Object. Pet. She heard him unlacing himself. She was tense, biting down on the inside of her lip. She tried to blink tears back, they spilled over her cheeks anyway.

“Go on reek, tell her how you feel.”

He tapped himself against her. He was hard as stone, warm, blood pulsing through him. He slid between her lips, pushing forward and inside her, he stretched her open around his cock.

“I hate her.” The words whispered into the air.

She sniffled, grunting into the air, it hurt when he used her like this. Always. He would be heavy handed, rough. He would make her bleed. Obey. Property. She stared at the stone through tears.

“I don’t think she heard you.” He pushed him, slamming his hips against her. “Louder.”

“I hate her!” He put force behind them.

Her Master’s knees wedged hers open, he didn’t like her to hinder his pleasure. He killed the last girl who did. Had her devoured. Hounds. She blinked, feeling hot tears fall down her cheeks. She was making noises, squeaks, whines. Failing to find comfort in anything she did.

He slammed his hips against her and she yelped as he hit the same spot that he always does, the one that shoots chills up her spine. The one that makes her want to slam her legs shut, press her knees together and force him out. But she obeyed. She was still. She let him use her to feel good.

“Tell her how you want to hurt her.” He held her shoulder, beginning to thrust. “Tell her, reek.”

She grunted as she pushed her tongue into the roof of her mouth, biting her teeth down into the tip. He groaned out, throwing her forward, forcing her elbows onto the ground.

“I want her arm.”

She flinched her hands back, clasping them. She shook her head, reek’s blood still on her tongue.

“I want to flay it and leave it to fester.” The words stuttered from his mouth.

She felt her Master grip her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her eyes to him. He was still strapped to the cross. Still above her. She was like the rats. She knew. Even now, when he was being punished, she was still below.

“I want to pin her down and rub it with rosemary salt.”

She whined out, eyes wide, staring at him. Limp, barely looking at her. She pulled her arms closer to her, thumb running across her stumps. The thought sent a pain spiralling behind her eyes. She clenched around her Master’s cock and heard him scoff.

He was still thrusting, hips meeting every time, his balls bouncing off of her. It hurt. It always does. He leant forward, pulling her head further back, his breath hot against her skin. Obey. She was sobbing, tears dripping onto her arms.

“I might let him.” He whispered it into her ear. “It would be a treat to watch as you screamed your throat raw.”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t answer. She whimpered out, breaths shaking in and out. I’ve been good. Good. She grunted, squeezing her eyes shut as a familiar pain jolted through her with every snap of his hips. She listened to him moan, teeth nipping against her skin.

“I want to cut it from her body and roast it.” reek sniffled, dropping his eyes to the floor once more. “And force her to eat it.”

She recoiled, pushing her body into her Masters, she clenched around him again, the thought making her stomach turn, he grunted, tensing. He sunk his face into her neck as he throbbed inside of her. He drew a sharp breath in, his nails cutting into her skin.

“You are so good at letting things happen to you.” He went limp, breaths panting from his lips. “The others, they would complain, fight, try to stop me.” He let go of her hair and she dropped her head forward. “They bored me.”

He stood, pulling his cock from her, wiping it across the backs of her thighs, she heard him re-lacing his trousers. He flipped her nightdress back down, she bit the skin on the inside of her cheek, sobbing into the stone.

“You’ll never bore me, will you dirt?” He pulled her back to kneeling. “You’ll let me do what I want to you, you’ll obey?”

She nodded, blood swirling over her tongue. I’ll obey. I’m good.

Chapter Text

She had found him at her cell in the early hours, he smelled of wine, gulping from a bottle, staring up at her through his eyebrows, swaying from side to side. They had a guest staying, she hadn’t met them, but her Master had visited her far less frequently since their arrival.

“The Maester said my father’s bitch wife is going to have a child.”

He was sat, back against the wall in front of her cell door, legs bent. He was tense, muscles squeezed tight. Lady Walda. She was lying on her side, eyes on his boots. Pulling in sharp breaths.

“He announced it during dinner, embarrassed me.” He tightened his grip on the bottleneck, teeth grating. “Am I not enough for him?”

She dragged her body up, until she was kneeling, eyes never leaving him. Enough. He was tapping his foot, knife in his other hand, twisting through his fingers. She watched him, silent, waiting.

“Look at me”.

She did, eyes half lidded, tears filling them, she stared at his face through them. His eyes were glassy, fixed. His nose flared, lip curling. He was angry. That meant he would cause her pain. She felt her breathing quicken as the injuries of the past flicked through her mind, the options he could pick, the suffering she would endure.

“What if it’s a boy?” He dropped the bottle, digging the blade into his own palm. “Will my father dispose of me?” He spoke through clenched teeth. “I am legitimised! Trueborn. A Bolton.”

She was silent. She remembered. She watched him. He would hurt her. She knew. He had that look in his eye, she had seen it before, he had torn at her while wearing it. But he would be merciful, he always was.

He pushed himself from his sitting position, reaching for her. She shrunk back, pressing herself against the wall of her cell. She shook her head softly, whimpering as he wrapped his hand around her arm.

“You don’t deserve this one, not tonight, you’ve been good.” He mumbled the words out, dragging her forward into his grasp. “But I need to fucking hurt someone and your scream is the sweetest.”

I’ve been good. Good.

“I am sorry, my pet.” He stood, voice cold. “I have no excuse for you.” He started down the corridor. “It will be easier if you do not fight me.”

She walked with him, to her fate. It would hurt less. Pet. He would still cause her pain if she complied, if she obeyed, but he would be malicious if she did not, he would be cruel. The pain would linger for far longer. She would obey. She learned, she knew.

He wobbled as walked, weaving back and forth, arm around her. His words slurring, body tense. He had his fingers twisted into her nightdress. She was silent. She didn’t want to lose her tongue, she curled it against the roof of her mouth. Remember.

She let him lead her through the halls, they were quiet at night. No one there but the guards, they were loyal to him, to his father. They don’t help, she knew that. She had been ignored by them since she became his. They rounded a corner to a familiar door and she stopped dead, gasp bursting from her.

“This again?” He groaned out. “I want you to walk in there yourself, of your own free will.” He had his hands on her shoulders. “I want you to trust that you will survive this.”

She blinked, drawing a deep breath that shook into her lungs. She twitched, staring. Hurt. She couldn’t bring herself to step forward. Pain. Images flashing in her mind of what happened to her in that room, what she felt, what she learned.

“Speak.” He stepped around her, eyes staring into hers.

“Don’t hurt me…” The words came out crackled, it had been an age since she had talked.

“I need to.” His face blank, no emotion. “Or I’ll kill her.” He looked into her eyes, his widening. “I’ll tear that babe from her belly and feed it to my hounds.”

She whined out. “I’ve been good.”

“You have been, so very good.” He twisted his head. “You’re an object. You have a purpose.” He danced his fingertips across her skin. “Right now, you are evading your responsibility, you are avoiding your purpose.”

“Master…”

“Right now, you are angering me.” He curled his grip around her arm. “What is your purpose, right now, what is it?”

She paused. She knew the answer he wanted but did not want to speak it.

“To be hurt…” She whispered the words out. “To scream.”

“Then walk into the fucking room.” He stepped back from her. “Or I will drag you there myself and cause you far more pain.”

She took a step forward, staring at the wood of the door through tears. Her breaths came short and sharp, her mouth opened, then closed again, words catching in her throat.

“What will you do?”

“You have no right to know.” He whispered into her ear. “But I will reward you, when it is done, once you have obeyed.”

She sobbed out, fingers twisted into her nightdress. She could smell the wine from him, he had drank more than usual. He would hurt her, he would be merciful, he would reward her. God.

“Promise?” A ghost of a word.

“I promise you.” He circled back around her, eyes fixed on hers once more. “It’s getting colder, winter is coming, I’ll give you a cloak, to keep.”

Her eyes shot wide, she would be grateful, she felt like she would freeze near constantly. Fingers and toes stiff, skin icy to the touch, aching through her bones. It would keep her warm, the chill of the wind would not slice so deeply through her. She nodded.

“You want it?” He barely blinked. “It will be yours if you obey.”

“I want it…” Quiet, whispered. “Thank you, Master.”

“I’ll let you pick the material.” He stepped to the side and she moved towards the door. “It’ll be lined with wool, hooded, floor length.”

“I’ll be warm.” She nodded, her voice still croaking from her. “Obey.”

“Good girl.” Drawn out, long. “I want silence when you cross that doorframe, no words, only noises.”

She nodded. Objects don’t speak. She drew a deep breath into her lungs, blinking. She could survive it. She would. She would obey. Silence. She stepped into the room, whimpers leaving her, eyes on the floor.

“You’re going on the cross.” He was behind her, pushing her towards it.

She shot her head around to him, tears welling, her lip trembling. She was silent. She remembered. Bad times. She shook her head softly as he spun her back round, continuing to lead her towards it.

“I will not flay you.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “Face the wood, arms up, legs spread.”

She stepped onto the blocks, feeling her Master tighten the straps around her, she leant her head fall to the side against the wood, her back to him. Hurt. Pain.

“Scream for me, my pet.” He swung something across the air behind her, she flinched as the noise it made cut through the silence. “I want to hear your anguish.”

Chapter Text

He swished it around the air once more. The sound it made cut through her whimpering. She couldn’t see him, face pushed into the wood of the cross. She felt him pull at her nightdress, tucking the hem of it into her collar, exposing her.

“I’m angry.” His voice slurred out from behind her. “All these years, I have done nothing but try to gain my father’s favour.” His footsteps moving to her right hand side. “Then he gives me his name.” He laid something against her ass. “Bolton.”

She turned to look at him, head stretched round, eyes wide. She could just see him. He stood crooked, all his weight on one foot. Staring at her through his eyebrows, eyes glassy, head cocked to the side. He lifted his hand, waving the punishment at her. A cane. He meant to beat her with it.

She bit down on her lip, drawing sharp breaths out through her nose.

“Then he dares marry, to produce heirs.” He brought his hand down again, laying the cane against her. “To replace me, does he hate me so much?”

She whimpered, feeling him pull back. He swung his arm forward and struck the cane against her skin. She shot her head up, spine straightening, staring at the wood. She cried out, panic bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

It stung, the pain lingering, ringing through her flesh. Her body could take no more, her breaths coming in short sharp huffs. She twisted at her bonds, the straps that pinned her in place. No more.

“I should kill her.” She heard him swish the cane through the air once more. “What if it’s a boy? What if the Maester is right?”

She whined out as she felt him lay the cane against her once more. She shook her head, wiggling, trying to pull her arms down, to cover herself. She shot her head around to him once more, eyes wide, pleading. He didn’t look at her face, his nostrils flared.

She watched him pull his hand back, swishing the cane into her once more. She wrenched against the leather, a scream bursting from her throat as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“I am due to marry.” He stepped forward, dancing his fingertips over her ass. “He humiliated me in front of her.”

She groaned out her breath, it bubbled from her throat. Tears spilling down her cheeks. She was silent. No words, noises only. She tensed her muscles as he touched her, the sting radiating from her skin. She felt swollen, numb, she knew she would bruise, that her skin would split. It would linger. Like the burns.

“I’m going to hurt her as well.” He leant towards her, smiling, teeth bared. “The Lady Sansa.”

He tapped the cane against her for what felt like hours, putting more force into each hit. Rambling, drinking, hurting her. He hated his father, held resentment. He was angry. She pitied the girl he would marry, hoping they would not cross paths. He’s cruel when he has a new pet. reek.

She twisted her body in ways that hurt, trying to drag her limbs from the restraints. Trying to get even a hint of relief from the barrage of swings she took. She screamed, her throat raw, tears spilling, staining the wood. She endured. He would show mercy.

She had not spoken a word since she entered. She remembered. Only noises. Objects don’t speak. Her bones ached, a horrible sting ringing through her, skin, bloody, bruised. It was hot, swollen, welts beaten into it, she could feel it as his hands ran across her. She winced every time he touched her, it was tender, she could feel the hot drips of blood that made their way down her thighs.

She heard the cane clatter from his hand, peering at him through half lidded eyes, filled with tears. I’ve been good. He reached over to her hand, she whimpered as he touched her. She watched him, eyes fixed on his hands. No flaying. He loosened the straps, letting them fall to the ground.

He held her against the cross, body pressing her into the wood, the welts on her ass rubbing against his clothes. She grunted, clenching her teeth, she was weak, she was almost down.

“Let me help you.”

She prepared herself to be lowered to the floor by him. She heard him scoff, in an instant the pressure was gone, he had stepped forward, leaving her holding herself up. Her body shook as it tried to catch itself but she teetered back hitting the stone with a thud.

She landed on her ass, the filth on the floor sticking, the contact pulling a shout from her as she forced herself onto her hands and knees, shivering. She stared at his boots, sobs bursting from her.

“Oh, you fell.” He crouched in front of her, gripping her chin. “There’s always next time.”

She whined out, biting the sobs that wracked her back into her chest. No more. No more.

That made her panic, like how she felt when he drowned her, or when the bag was on her head. She didn’t like that, it would last, she would feel it for weeks. Everytime she sat, lay, moved, existed, she would feel it, she would remember.

“I’m taking you to the Maester, then I’m going to drink.” He slid his hand up, thumb running across her cheek. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

His eyes were wide, manic, teeth bared, like an animal. She shook her head softly. No more. No more. He pushed her down, crawling and she followed him to the Maester’s room. Crawling over the stone was unbearable, it was unrelenting, solid. It forced pressure onto her brand, making it ache.

She followed him. Through the snow, the courtyard, pebbles, twigs digging into her flesh as she tried to keep up. She was blinking back tears, sniffling, holding her breath. She obeyed. He would reward her. Cloak. She would be warm.

She dragged herself through the corridors, breaking down when she saw the door. She could rest soon. He would hurt her, to keep her alive. He always did. He would strap her across a bench and clean the wounds.

It would sting, hurt, everything on fire, mind screaming. She had to be tied down, she could not control her reaction. Sometimes the Maester’s visit hurt more than what her Master did to her, or what he ordered done. Nonetheless, she could rest soon.

Her Master knocked on the door, the Maester opened it, squinting, yawning. He tutted, sighing when he saw who was there.

“How can I help you?”

“Fix her.” He grabbed her hair, spinning her round, pushing her over and exposing her to the Maester. “I almost want to stay for the screams.”

She whimpered out, palms on the floor, her face flat against the floor. She sniffed as he pulled her back to kneel. She winced as the raw flesh touched her legs.

“Back to your cell, wait on me.” He shouted through the corridor as he walked away.

“Can you stay still?”

She sniffled, watching him disappear from view. No. No. She shook her head, answering him. She felt his arm on her as he pulled her to her feet, she crossed the doorframe. It would hurt. He would clean her, bandage it, so it wouldn’t fester or rot. But it would hurt.

She would rest soon, he would reward her, he promised.

Chapter Text

“You’re starving.”

She peered up from beneath her arm, watching him lower himself to the stone. Starving. He placed a plate of food on the floor. He leant his elbows on his knees, she didn’t look at his face. He wore a cloak, wrapped around his shoulders.

“I’ve neglected you.” He pulled a knife from his belt, tracing it around his fingers. “I was married.” He bit his lip. “I have a wife.”

She pushed herself to sit, leaning against her cell wall. Married. Her eyes were on the food. She was starving. He hadn’t come for several days. She was silent. The voice in her head running wild.

“I will feed you, but you must listen first.” He pushed the plate across the stone. “Do you remember when we moved here?”

She bit her lip. She remembered. The cell was the same. Three walls, a door left open, a torchlit corridor. The same unrelenting stone, same existence. Nothing changed, bar the scenery. One room of pain traded for another. Same door, same feeling as she was dragged there. Nothing had changed.

It was snowing. She hadn’t thought about it. They were in Winterfell now, she hadn’t thought of the brothers of the young wolf that reek burned alive when he was still someone else. Theon Greyjoy.

She nodded. She had held onto him as they traveled. Dressed for the weather, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Leather. She knew the truth, about who she was. She remembered, but she was content to pretend, it meant she was warm for the journey.

“You’ve grown thin.” He tapped his foot against the floor. “Your body is eating itself.”

She blinked, staring at his hand, the one holding the knife. Pain. She heard the words, they traveled through her mind, but she did not truly hear them, their meaning escaped her.

“Look at me.”

She did, into his eyes. She remembered him speaking with reek as they travelled to Winterfell, he had allowed him to ride by himself. He favoured him. He’s above.

She was silent. She wanted him to feed her.

“Your eyes are dull.” He leant forward, twisting his head to the side. “You’re starving.” He nodded.

She whined out, pulling breaths through her nose. Staring at him.

“Lady Sansa.” He dug the blade into the palm of his hand. “We were married, I had reek give her away.” He chuckled, tone low. “She was so pretty.”

She had not heard of a wedding. She had lain on her stomach for days, the horrible welts still tender, healing, the swelling still subsiding, even now. Bruised. She hurt sitting, kneeling, lying. Her mind clouded with the pain.

“I made him watch as I took her Maidenhead, reek.” He smiled, teeth bared, eyes wide. “He cried, I could just hear him over her tears.”

Someone had watched as he took hers too. Property. She could see his face, hollowed cheeks, grey skin, dark circles, eyes wide, tragedy splashed across him. She could see him screaming, so hard his throat tore to shreds. She could hear him. He had watched as her Master used her for the first time. Property. Then she watched him die.

His name escaped her, her Master would be angry if he knew she had forgotten. But she was silent. No words. He couldn’t know. It would be her secret.

“You should see the way the bruises bloom across her skin.” He spun the knife around his hand. “She is so very pale, they shine out like blood on snow.”

Lady Sansa. She pitied her. He would hurt her in the same way, threaten her, he would be rough. The girl did not deserve his hatred.

“I tore her dress.” He bit down on his lip, eyes never leaving her. “I was surprised that she was still pure.” He let his head drop to the side. “That no one had raped her, I’m sure they tried.”

She sniffled, she knew very little of Lady Sansa. Only that her Master and his father had played their part in the death of her family. Her Master had told her of the Red Wedding. Of those who died. The plan Lord Bolton had put in place finally materialising.

“She is pretty.” He dropped the knife to the floor. “She has orange hair, long.” He lifted the plate that sat next to him. “I like the way she looks when she cries.” He lifted a piece of meat. “The way her eyes brim with tears.”

He threw the food into the air, catching it in his mouth and chewing. She sat up from the wall, she was starving. Hungry. She needed to eat. She could feel her body dying. He sucked his cheeks in, swallowing the juices and spat, it rolled past the doorframe, lying near her.

She listened to him chew and spit. Watching his face. How the light from the torch danced across his skin, he looked into her eyes. Half lidded. Chewing. Feeding her. They sat in silence for a short time, the sounds he made cutting through it.

“I promised you a cloak.” He squeezed the chunk of meat between his finger and thumb. “If you let me split your skin apart with my cane.”

She nodded, whimpering. No more. No more. It had hurt, it had lingered. The heat had emanated from her skin for days, she could feel the individual welts. She was forced to sleep on her stomach, the pain too great to touch them against the floor, to put her weight on them.

“Are they still sore?” He bit into the meat, pulling it into his mouth. “The marks?”

She sucked her lip between her teeth, digging them into her flesh. Sore. Pain. She could taste metal. She released her lip, tongue running over it as the sting made her flinch. She nodded at him.

He smiled, spitting once more. There was a growing pile of food, waiting on her. Mocking her. She was starving. The hollow pit of her stomach dragging her into the abyss.

“You took the punishment, you’ll get your cloak.” He lifted the last piece of meat from the plate. “Which material would you like it made from?”

She stared at him, eyes wide. Wool.

“Speak.”

“Wool…” The word croaked from her throat, like a squeaky hinge. “Warm.”

“I will have it made.” He nodded. “You will be warm.”

She sobbed out. Warm. She wanted it. The ache would go. She could think. Her eyes moved to the food, she was hungry. It had been days.

“My Lady wife did not like Myranda.” He threw the meat into the air once more, catching and chewing at it. “She was supposed to be her Handmaiden, but my Sansa found her uncouth.” He spat the last little ball of meat to the stone. “You will take her place.”

He let his legs straighten, leaning forward from the wall, he lifted his knife, clicking it back in place on his belt.

“Would you like that?” He pushed himself from the floor, lifting the plate. “That could be your purpose.”

She nodded. She did not want to see her. It would be like looking into a mirror. He would hurt them both. Pain. Lady Sansa would hate her. Like everyone else did. She sniffled. Eyes wide and fixed on the food as he turned and walked down the corridor.

She wanted to call out to him, he hadn’t given her permission. To speak. To eat. Nothing. I’ve been good. She wouldn’t move. She would not disobey again. She listened to his footsteps retreat. Falling softer and softer until she could barely hear them. She would starve.

“Eat.” The word shouted from the end of the corridor.

She lunged forward, scooping the first piece of meat. Palms on the stone, nose to the floor. She crushed it against the roof of her mouth, tasting wine. Thank you. Thank you. Each piece she swallowed soothing the ache in the pit of her stomach. She was good. She would obey.

Chapter Text

She stood in the snow, cloak draped around her shoulders, he had rewarded her. The wind didn’t cut through her, she didn’t shiver. She was warm. It was as he promised, floor length, hooded. She tucked her arms under it, fingers twisted into the material, dulling the ache, keeping in the heat.

She was to do for Lady Sansa as Myranda did for her. She tells stories. She often left Myranda’s company feeling worried, that she had upset her Master, that he would punish her in the same way she had described. She was rough, pulled her hair, dragged the comb across her scalp, ripping knots from her hair.

He said Lady Sansa had found her uncouth. He said he hurt her. She was afraid to meet her. What if she hated her, wanted her arm, like the others. She had limited contact with people her Master had not picked, speaking to very few, eyes always on the ground. She would have to accompany her, help her, bathe her, do her hair. She knew how.

She waited on him, he was speaking to another. She pulled her hood over her head, eyes drifting across the floor. She wasn’t really listening to what her Master said. He told her that he would visit his wife, in her chambers, she had been locked there. To wait on him. She knew. She had done the same.

She waits in her cell, for him to return, for him to hurt her. Lady Sansa might feel the same. She had been hurt too, by him. Bruised. Raped. He had told her. She knew the girl wouldn’t trust anyone, would be hostile. She would obey. She would serve her. Be her Handmaiden. Care for her. She might be able to help her avoid agony.

“Come, dirt.” He stepped away from the man. “She waits for us.”

She followed him, hands tucked beneath the cloak. Warm. Her welts didn’t hurt as much now, they weren’t as fresh, raw. He led her upstairs, she clung to the wall as she forced her body up them. She limped, taking two steps for each of his.

They ended up at a door, he placed his hand on her back. “Shes in there.” He pushed her forward, pulling a key from his belt. “I had a tub brought, hot water.”

She heard the bell as he pushed her forward. Owned. She would copy her Master, how he helped her bathe. Then she would copy Myranda, how she did her hair, dressed her. But she would be gentle, she wouldn’t scare her.

She watched him knock on the door, twisting the key into the lock. He pushed it open, hand circling her arm, he dragged her in. She looked up carefully, searching for her. She was in bed, wrapped in furs.

“Please, no more.”

“Now, my Lady wife, that’s no way to greet your new friend.”

She watched her turn, pulling herself to sit.

“Look at her, dirt.”

She did. She was thin, cheeks hollow, eyes dull. She wore a panicked look on her face, fear creeping in. She shook, tears welling.

“You disliked Myranda, so you will have her.”

Her hair fell down her shoulders, orange, long. Just as he said. She let her eyes trickle down her arms bit by bit. Staring at the bruises that bloomed across her skin, like blood on snow, her Master said. They were fingerprints, crushed into her flesh, tender. He pinned her down, squeezed her, hurt her.

She felt pity for his wife.

“Who is she?”

“dirt. She’s like reek, you don’t get to know more.” He pushed her forward again, she landed on her knees with a thud. “I’ll hurt her if you cause trouble, I’ll make you watch.”

She was staring into her eyes, her brows pulled together, contorting her face in sorrow.

“I don’t want her to speak to me.” She raised her hand, wiping a tear that had fallen. “I want silence.”

“I can promise you it.” He stepped forward, toward her. “Open your fucking mouth, dirt.”

He would give her his gift, in front of Lady Sansa. She would know. She was his pet, his property, an object. She would know. She opened. She obeyed, letting her tongue fall forward.

“Good girl.”

He twisted his fingers into her hair, wrenching her head back, mouth wide, waiting for him to deposit his gift. He forced a noise from her as he did it. Her eyes wide, fixed on his. Icy blue, glazed over. He pursed his lips, letting his spit fall to her tongue.

“That’s vile.” Lady Sansa spoke, voice quiet.

She flinched as it hit her, warm and wet, it slid into her mouth and she caught it at the back of her throat. He smiled, letting her go. She dropped her head to the floor, curling the edges of her tongue up and around his gift. God. Silence.

She could taste the tinge of wine as it ran across her tongue. She pushed it against the roof of her mouth, eyes on the stone. She nodded, whining out as he stood and stepped back. She shook a breath in through her nose.

“You’ll beg me it for soon enough.” She listened as he moved further back. “You’ll be just like her.”

She leant forward onto the stone, focusing on not swallowing. On being silent and obedient, on being good, on helping the Lady Sansa.

“You serve her.” She heard the door open. “Within reason.” It slammed. “Don’t speak.” He was gone.

Silence hung in the air like a thick fog. She didn’t move, breathing softly, waiting.

“I’m sorry he did that to you.”

She shot her eyes up, watching her, she was lifting the furs, pulling herself from the bed. Her soles padded against the ground as she crouched, hands grabbing at her cloak.

“Help me.”

She shook her head. Obey.

She squeezed, pulling her. “Help me. You have to help me.”

She shook her head once more, far harder. I can’t. I can’t. Obey. Object.

“He told me to bathe.” Her eyes filled with tears. “The last time I did, that woman…” She stared down. “She smelled of dog.”

She touched the digits she had left against her arms, being gentle. The bruising spread across her like ink on paper. Lady Sansa would hurt, but the water would soothe her. She remembered. It was like a blanket, heat, dragging the chill from her bones.

She caught her eyes once more. Blue. Like an overcast sky. She placed her hand on her chest then pointing towards the tub, hand shaking. He’ll hurt us both. She stood, pulling her towards the water. She unlaced her dress, letting the fabric fall from her frame.

“You won’t hurt me?” The words whispered into the cool air.

She shook her head. Never. She sat on the stool, removing her cloak from her shoulders, rolling her sleeves up. She watched Lady Sansa’s eyes fall across her arm, the right one, covered in burns, the curved blade, held against her by reek, the brand on her palm, aching from the heat. She watched her flick them across her missing fingers, the scars.

“I’m sorry…”

She shook her head, signalling for her to sit. She did, groaning as she lowered herself into the water. She could only imagine, the blanket of heat that enveloped her, how it felt.

She was bruised all over, her ribs, thighs, hips. Marred with her Master’s fingerprints, the grip of his hands. He was rough, she had known this. Purple, red, yellow, thrown across her skin like paint.

They were in silence again, she lifted the cloth, dragging it through the water, running it across Lady Sansa’s skin. She was sat, curled into her knees, waving her hand across the surface of the water.

“Does he hurt you too?” She craned her neck back to see her. “Are you scared of him?”

She nodded, the answer to both questions. She hurt her, she was always healing something, a burn, a cut. Either ordered by him or committed by his own hand. He hurt her.

She was afraid, terror always dripping from her. Forcing its way through her body. She knew what he could do. She had felt it, witnessed it, heard about it. He was a god, she was fearful of his wrath, but grateful for his mercy.

Lady Sansa reminded her of Lyanna Umber. They shared a certain melancholy. A similar look in their eyes. Neither deserved her Master’s fury, his pain. Both were forced to suffer it.

She could only hope that Lady Sansa wouldn’t join the rest of the souls that resided behind her eyes. The ones that screamed, she could hear them, see them.

Chapter Text

She was to report to Lady Sansa’s room when she woke. She had been content with spending her time serving her. She was easier to be around, she didn’t threaten her, frighten her, hurt her.

She was able to look wherever she wanted when she was in Lady Sansa’s chambers. She listened to stories she told her. Of her times in Winterfell, in King’s Landing. The struggles and sadness she had gone through, of those she had lost.

Her Master visited her at night, once she had returned to her cell. He fed her, more frequently than prior. She no longer felt the pit, dragging her under, the grumble in her stomach. He wanted to know what they had discussed, what information she had found out.

Her Master would punish her if he knew, he would make her hurt, but she never told him anything that would make him angry at his wife. She doesn’t deserve his anger. She has gone through enough.

He told her what he wanted to do to Lady Sansa. How he wanted to hurt her, mutilate her. She didn’t deserve it, she was kind and good. She spoke to her, made her feel connected to the present. When she was with her, she was grounded, she was here. She had no need to pretend to be somewhere else.

She did not speak back to Lady Sansa, she was silent. She obeyed her Master, it was by his mercy that she found her purpose. That she could help her avoid going through the same agony. She kept her lips sealed, nodding and shaking her head to the questions she was given. Lady Sansa had become good at asking yes or no questions.

A man came, unlocking the door of her chambers. Her Master had requested his wife’s presence, her body changed, shoulders dropped, she didn’t want to go. She watched Lady Sansa bite on her lip as she draped the cloak over her shoulders, she pulled her own on and dropped her eyes back to the floor.

She hadn’t received her Master’s permission, he overruled anything his wife had told her. Obey.

She followed behind her. It was snowing, they had both pulled their hoods up. The flakes fell, drifting through the air aimlessly, landing on her cloak. She stopped as Lady Sansa stepped towards her Master.

“My beautiful wife.” She listened to him kiss her cheek. “I expected an ugly, bearded beast when my father told me I must marry.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “But you are so very pretty, you have made me happy.”

Her Master turned, walking away from her, she followed Lady Sansa as she went after him. She stared at the frost coating the wooden beams, drifting away from what her Master was discussing with his wife. Cold. She could feel the chill of the air on her cheeks.

She blinked the cold air away, her eyes watering. Her cloak kept her warm, her hands pulling the edges together, keeping the heat in. She followed as they walked across the battlements, down walkways. She remembered. She was silent. He hadn’t given her his gift, but she knew better than to speak without permission.

Objects don’t talk.

Lady Sansa spoke, the soft tones of her voice dragging her attention back to the moment.

“Your stepmother is pregnant?”

“She is.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“If she has a boy, he will be your father’s heir.”

Her eyes shot wide, teeth catching her lip, biting down on it. Quiet. He was worried about it, he was angry. He had caned her because of his hatred for his stepmother, the marks were still sore. The pain dull, an ache that ran its way through her. Lady Sansa would anger him with her words, but she wouldn’t be the one punished. He couldn’t hurt her badly, he needed her to have his own children.

“I am my father’s eldest son.”

“But you’re a bastard, a true-born will always inherit first.”

He stopped dead. Bad word. Bad word. He would hurt her, push more bruises into her skin, like the ones she saw when she helped bathed her. Lady Sansa needed to be quiet, she would say something wrong and he would make them all suffer. She bit down on her tongue, silencing herself. Obey.

“My father had me naturalised.” He turned, she watched his cloak, hem crusted in snow. “By a Royal decree from-“

“Tommen Baratheon?” She cut him off. “Another bastard.”

She could feel her heart pounding, her head spinning. Stop. Stop. Bad word. He was angry, she could see it radiate from him. Quiet. Obey. He was tense, clenched fists, deep breaths.

“We can rise high in the world, us bastards.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Like your half-brother, Jon Snow.”

She pulled a sharp breath in as the name hit her ears. Jon Snow. He hated her, he wanted her hand, to flay her, he wanted her to hurt, to break the rules. He tried to take her. It was his fault she had to suffer the rot, he made her look, made her move. She broke the rules because of him, he hated her, her Master said so. Below.

Lady Sansa wasn’t like him. She didn’t want to hurt her. She was kind.

“He is now the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” He let the silence hang in the air for a few seconds. “You didn’t know? Well, how could you.” He scoffed.

He stepped forward again, she followed behind them both. Silence. Silence. She hoped Lady Sansa would stop, she could feel him bubbling, his wrath. She would suffer it.

“Oh! I almost forgot why I had you brought to me.” She could hear the smile again as he spoke. “Come, my Lady.”

She knew why they were brought to him. She watched her die. The old woman, the one who Sansa knew. He had peeled her, she screamed. Eyes rolled back in her head, hollowed cheeks. He had kept her alive, she watched her die, stripped to her neck. The light left her eyes before he had reached her face.

He walked them down to the courtyard, to where the corpse was. She kept her eyes to the floor, whining out, stood behind Lady Sansa. Dead. Dead. She had watched the old woman die, it was her punishment, she had tried to betray the Boltons. She had to die, her Master told her.

“dirt.” He turned to her. “Look at me.”

She did. He was covered in flakes of snow, the flecks of white standing out against his clothes, his hair. He pulled a candle from his belt, waving it in the air.

“Your friend, I believe.” He turned to Lady Sansa. “reek told me the truth, that you wanted to go.”

Her eyes drifted from her Master to the old woman, she watched her die, then to reek. He was stood by the corpse, staring at the floor, shivering, crying. He cried often. He had been in the snowfall long enough that it had begun to pile on his head and his shoulders. He didn’t have a cloak, he would be cold, freezing.

Lady Sansa was staring straight ahead, at the corpse. Her skin ripped from her, muscles exposed, blood dripping.

“Why did you want to leave?” He stepped closer to her. “This is your home, I am your husband.”

He let the silence hang in the air for a few seconds.

“She was tough.” He gestured to the old woman with the candle. “They all talk when I start peeling them, dirt knows.”

She nodded. They scream. They talk. She remembered. She watched Lady Sansa’s shoulders rise and fall, she was breathing quickly, shallow. Panic had set in.

“She has watched enough die.” He scoffed. “This one? She was gone before I got to her face, a shame.”

He turned to his man, the one that had lead them to him, calling him over. She looked at reek again, wide eyed, staring down, face twitching. He had told on her, he had caused Lady Sansa pain. He had caused a death. Another face, another scream to join the hundreds that haunted her. reek had brought her Master’s wrath down upon them. They would suffer because of him.

“Take my wife back to her chamber.” He turned, staring at her. “It’s far too cold for a Lady.” He stepped away from them, calling back. “dirt! You go with her, stay silent. No words.”

Silence. Quiet. Objects don’t speak.

Chapter Text

She was thrown back into Lady Sansa’s chamber by her Master’s man. She clattered off the ground, the stone battering bruises into her knees. No words. She heard footsteps, rushing into the room, then the door slamming and locking.

She heard her break down, sobs bursting from her chest. She crossed to the other side of the room, curling into her bed, pulling the furs around her, pushing her face into their softness.

The silence sat in the air like fog. Her Master told her to keep the old woman’s demise to herself, to not tell Lady Sansa. She could feel a pang of guilt run through her chest as she listened to her cries. They were alone now.

She could feel tears sting the corners of her eyes. She was sorry, for Lady Sansa. She was alone, she had no one. She whined out into the silence of the room. Every time she looked at her, she was reminded of Lyanna, the dead girl.

She watched Lady Sansa, feeling a tear run down her cheek. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She didn’t deserve it. To be hurt by her Master. She had been hurt by those in King’s Landing too, by people she should’ve been safe with, she told her so.

She wanted to help her, to comfort her, to tell her that she would be okay. But she wouldn’t be. She wouldn’t never be okay again. He would never leave her mind, he would always haunt her. Him and the dead.

Her mind was screaming, telling her to obey, telling her to follow her Master’s rules. To leave Lady Sansa to her sorrow. Obey. She had listened to tears before, from reek as he banged his fists against the door of his cell. Before he knew better.

“I’m sorry…” The words whispered out so softly she couldn’t hear them herself. “I’m sorry…” She was barely moving her lips.

She said nothing further. She could not bring herself to betray her Master. Not even for Lady Sansa. She knelt and listened to her sobs soften as she gathered herself, it took an age, she had been inconsolable. She sat up in the bed, staring ahead of her, shaking deep breaths into her lungs.

“I have no one.” It shook from her, voice dripping with sadness.

She turned her head, her eyes were red, she had rubbed them raw. She was staring at her, an empty look in her face.

“I’ve lost everyone.” She sighed. “He has tak-“

She heard footsteps, turning her ear to the door. She raised her hand to Lady Sansa, digits she had left splayed out. She was silent, her sentence cut short. She held her gaze, raising her pointer finger to her lips, signalling her, Lady Sansa must be quiet.

He would hurt her, if she spoke. She had angered him. She must stay quiet. She tapped her finger across her lips a few times until she watched her nod her head. She understood. She must stay silent. Obey.

She heard the key thrust into the lock, the jingle as it turned. Her breathing picked up, her bones ached, she had been kneeling for what felt like hours. She whimpered out, she knew it would be him.

Lady Sansa humiliated him, she insulted him, people have been killed for saying that word. She couldn’t even think it. He would enact his wrath. He would hurt someone. She hoped it would not be her, she had obeyed, she was silent, followed, she had broke no rules.

The door slammed open from behind her, she stared at Lady Sansa. She was horrified, wide eyes, jaw slack. Terror in her face. It was her Master, she knew. He had hurt someone, he would want his pleasure now. She was his property.

He had come for her.

She listened as the door slammed, as footsteps closed in behind her, her eyes still fixed. She stuttered breaths into her chest, they shook through her nostrils. Silence. Property. Property. It was her Master, it had to be.

He had crouched, she could feel him pressed against her. She smelled wine, blood, it was him. He started humming. Castamere. She straightened her posture, pushing herself into him, he curled his hand around her throat, pulling her head back.

“Have you been silent?” The words whispered into her ears.

She nodded as best she could, his hands restricting her from moving.

“I flayed someone, his screams rang out like a song.” His cheek pressed against her face. “He’s still alive.”

She kept her eyes on Lady Sansa, hoping her face would warn her of any danger. So she could brace, prepare, so she wasn’t caught off guard.

“I want to bury my cock into something warm, unhindered.” His heat of his breath grazed her ear. “She will fight me, I’ll have to hold her down.” He tightened his grip. “You are my property.”

She nodded, she knew. She remembered. Property. Her time with Lady Sansa had confused her. She had almost broken the rules today, she almost spoke, of her own accord. Obey. He would cut out her tongue, she couldn’t tell him. No one can know. Lady Sansa didn’t hear her, she was still good.

But she had to be punished. So she would not feel guilt. He would fuck her, it would hurt. She always bled, a pinkish liquid spilling down her thighs, staining her nightdress, trailing behind her on the stones. It hurt, being fucked by him, she was tender for days afterwards, sore when she moved. He left bruises, cuts, he made her bleed.

“I’ll let you choose.” He pushed her forward to the stone. “You watch me fuck her.” He stood, she could hear him unlacing himself. “Or she watches me fuck you.” He scoffed. “I’ll feel good either way.”

She stared at Lady Sansa, her eyes filled with tears. She was holding back sobs, her lip quivering. She watched her as she gripped onto the furs of the bed, breaths heaving into her, racking her body.

“Give me your answer.” He tangled his fingers into her hair. “Speak.”

“Me.” She sniffled. Obey. “Fuck me.”

Lady Sansa didn’t deserve it. But she did, she almost broke a rule, she needed to be punished. But she couldn’t tell her Master, he would make her eat her own tongue. She would hurt, that would be her punishment.

“You, of course.” He pushed her forward onto her hands and knees. “My dear wife, I want you to look into her eyes.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “I want you to tell me if dirt looks away from you.”

She hadn’t. She had been staring at Lady Sansa since he had entered her chambers trying to read her face, to gauge her expression. She had not looked to her Master yet, she could tell he was angry though, she could feel it seeping from him as he touched her.

She would feel the pain. She always had done. Lady Sansa would live where the rest of her Master’s captives died. He needs her, as does his father. But she didn’t need to suffer, she would protect her, suffer in her place.

She was like Lyanna Umber, the same sadness. But Lady Sansa didn’t have to die screaming, like she had.

She heard her Master spit, listened as he slicked himself, she felt him push against her with his cock. He lifted her nightdress onto her back. She whined out into the silence of the room, he scoffed and pushed himself inside her, stretching her.

“You’re the first woman she’s ever been fucked in front of.” He ran his hands over the marks on her ass, almost healed. “My wife, I don’t think you understand how much I have to hold myself back when we are together.”

He slammed his hips into hers, hitting the familiar spot inside of her, the one that sent chills over her skin. She grunted, forcing her own knees to stay apart. Unhindered. Her eyes never left Lady Sansa’s, she was staring at her through tears.

Lady Sansa was sobbing silently, no noises left her, she had stifled them, her shoulders jumping as she sniffled breaths through her nose. Her hands twisted into the furs, she held them against her chest.

“I want to tear you apart, you sweet little thing.” He clawed his nails across her, she cried out. “But you are the daughter of Ned Stark, my father has use for you.” He slid his grip to her hips. “dirt will feel the pain meant for you, I can ruin her all I want.”

He pushed her forward, her elbows crashing into the stone, he leant forward, pulling her against him. He gripped her face, holding himself up with his other arm, twisting her up to look into Lady Sansa’s eyes once more.

He groaned, his fingers digging into her skin, his nails pressing into her. She watched her, whining, whimpering, waiting for him to stop. Waiting for him to tear her, he was thrusting hard, his hips crashing into her, pushing her into the stone.

“Thank her Sansa.” He called out. “If she had chosen differently, you would be the one taking me.”

“Thank you.” They were choked out, tears falling down her cheeks.

She would suffer, so that Lady Sansa did not. She could trust no one, reek had told their Master, he had caused this. She stared, her mind drifting, blocking out the feelings. She was his property, he could do as he wished.

“Once I’m finished, you will come and watch the prisoner die.”

She nodded. She was silent. She would obey. She stared into Lady Sansa’s eyes, she was property. She remembered.

Chapter Text

She had been locked in her cell for days. Three days, her Master told her. He had sat outside it every night, his back against the door, speaking to her. He told her of what he did to Lady Sansa, horror wrapped in his familiar soft tone. She let silent tears fall from her cheeks as she listened to him. He didn’t know, she was in the darkness, it was her secret.

She was hungry, she hadn’t eaten since he had shut her into her cell. He had starved Lady Sansa as well, he told her so. She couldn’t beg him for his mercy, for the door to be left open. He wanted her in the dark, he knew she wouldn’t leave had he kept the door ajar, she was trusted now. But she was still locked in, he meant it all as part of her punishment.

He wanted her to suffer, it’s how she proved she was loyal to him.

His men began to visit her again, pinning her down as she fought against them. She screamed, she didn’t beg, she spoke no words, she obeyed. She didn’t want to lose her tongue. They held her against the stone, tipping jugs of water over her face, one a day. It burned her nose, choked her. They let the stream run slowly enough that it cut her breath off.

She slurped what was left from the stone after she was alone again, after they locked her back in. She was thirsty, her throat dry as a bone. She swallowed the grit that floated along the water’s surface, it grated against her teeth as it swirled around her mouth. Their visits brought panic, she did not want to hear their footsteps, the keys jingling through the corridor. It reminded her of when she had been strapped down at the Dreadfort.

They had made their visit earlier, she had been sleeping when they arrived, she waited for her Master now. He went to his wife first, always, he hurt her. Then he would sit outside of her cell and tell about what he did. She didn’t want to hear it, it upset her, to hear that Lady Sansa was suffering. She did not deserve it.

She waited. Repeating in her head. She could not betray her Master, she could not break his rules, he would hurt her. But Lady Sansa’s pain irked her soul, her cries made her heart sink. But still, she remembered what she was, who she belonged to.

She was an object, property, she was owned. She wasn’t a person, wasn’t human, she was dirt.

She remembered. Her eyes shot wide as she heard footsteps, one set, it was her Master. She knew before he had even begun his humming. Castamere. She watched the strip of light that shone in the gap between the door and the stone. He stepped into it, his feet casting shadows. He was there, just on the other side of the door.

“Are you awake?”

She squeaked out. Alive.

“Good.” She heard him slide down the door until he was sat. “Have you missed me?”

She whined out. She hadn’t seen him in person since she was locked in her cell, he hadn’t ran his fingers across her, she longed for his warmth.

“Or do you just miss your privileges?” He sighed out. “This is how you used to live after all, in the dark, alone.”

She sniffled, staring at his shadow. Unlock it. Mercy. She hated the dark, she could do nothing but stare into the black void it brought. She could not see her hand in front of her face. She couldn’t close her eyes, she would see the dead, their hollow faces, glassy eyes, their screams would echo around her skull.

She had to stare into the nothingness, she hated it, after a while it felt like something was staring back. It made her uneasy.

“The only difference being you can’t beg me.” He scoffed. “You did have a talent for it.”

She was silent. She couldn’t beg. She was pathetic, as her Master had said. She allowed things to happen to her, she did not fight. He had dragged her to her cell, after she watched his prisoner die, he threw her against the wall, slammed the door and left. He said nothing, about when he would return, about her purpose.

She had lain in the dark, sobbing. She heard the boy’s screams ring around her head like a bell, he was a young man, freckles dotting his face like stars, his eyes wide, like a rabbit. He struggled until the very last second, she watched as the fight left him, until he rattled in his final breath. His name was Gregor. She remembered him, he joined the others.

“Bastard.” She could hear the malice drip from his voice. “How dare she. How dare she!” He was getting louder the longer he spoke.

She sat up, pushing her back against the wall, her knees tucked into her chest. Bad word. She stared at where she knew the door was, where he would be sat on the other side. He was angry, still. It had been days since Lady Sansa had spoken those words. He banged against the door.

“I was legitimised and still she calls me bastard.” He scoffed. “I bet she regrets it now.” She could hear his smile. “As she lies bruised, bloody and starving.” He chuckled. “I took her clothes from her, ripped them from her body, tore them to shreds.”

She was grateful, he had let her keep her cloak, she had it wrapped around herself, over her legs, her hands twisted into the fabric. Lady Sansa did not deserve his anger. She suffered in the same way, she would feel the same pit in her stomach.

“She cried for you, she wants your presence.” He sighed out. “Why?”

The silence hung in the air. She did not know why she wanted her, she had not spoken to her, she had not comforted her, she had given her no reason to desire her company, she refused to help her. She didn’t know why, but she knew the simple fact that Lady Sansa wanted her would anger her Master.

He had hurt her, his wife. She did not deserve to be punished. She was afraid, she wanted to leave, reek told him, that’s why this was happening. Lady Sansa trusted reek and he betrayed her. reek couldn’t be trusted. He favoured their Master.

Lady Sansa could trust her, she wouldn’t betray her. She wanted to help.

“I cut her.” He sniffled, banging once at the door. “I pinned her down and played with her blood.”

She whined out from behind the cell door, twisting her fingers further into her cloak. He had marred her, his wife. Even if she managed to escape, to leave. Even if she survived him, she would feel his influence, she would feel what he did to her body. She could attest, personally. In everything she did, it felt like his hands were wrapped around her throat, squeezing.

The flayed fingers affecting her grip, missing toes, making her limp. The burns, pink and raised, the brand pulling her skin taught, her hand stiff. The hollow pit of her stomach screaming for food, for something, so she wasn’t eating away at herself.

She was thin, she shook, bones sticking from her. She could not carry a babe, she didn’t want to, she hadn’t bled since she became his, she didn’t know if she would be able to again. He had fucked her, his property. He had used her to feel good, he had no care for her body, he liked to enjoy himself unhindered. He told her so.

There was not a moment she lived that she did not think of him. Owned. Property.

Lady Sansa would have his children, she would be forced to carry his seed. She didn’t deserve it, she wanted to leave. She could not bear to watch her goodness be stripped away, she couldn’t sit by and let her be dismantled, living under his will. God. She would help her, so that she may have a chance.

Her Master needn’t know, it would be her secret.

“I will release you tomorrow.” He signed out. “You will bathe her, clean the blood, the filth from her.” He banged against the door. “You will wash her hair and braid it, do you hear me?”

She squeaked out, so that he would hear her. She heard him scoff in return. Her thumbs found the stumps of her ring fingers once more and she traced across them. She didn’t have to tell her Master everything, she couldn’t, she didn’t have permission to speak.

She would obey his orders, but he need not know everything that settled into her head. Her thoughts were her own. She would help Sansa, so she would understand how to avoid agony. Her Master didn’t need to know, she would still be good. He would hurt them both if he found out.

“I fucked her, tore her.” He grunted and his shadow moved. “The heat of the water will sting her to very core, you know, you’ve felt it.”

She watched the light return to the crack between the door and the stone. He had stood, stepped away. He would release her tomorrow, she would help Lady Sansa, she did not deserve her Master’s pain.

“Sleep well.” He called out as she was left once more in the silence, in the dark.

She whined out, letting herself fall back onto her side. She pulled her cloak across her, arranging it so she was fully blanketed by it. Help. I can help. She twisted her fingers into the fabric, she would have to lie to him, her Master, it would be her secret.

Chapter Text

The silence hung in the air like fog. She was used to it at this point, the noises of the world continuing on, but the silence loomed like death. She watched as Lady Sansa stared at herself in the water, her reflection flickering as she dunked the cloth in and out of the blanket of heat, struggling to squeeze the water from it.

She was gentle in her movements and soft in her pressure, wiping the filth from her skin, the sweat and blood. Hurt. She looked over her, the bruises that spread across her like disease. A deep purple, his fingerprints crushed into her. She felt her flinch when she dabbed the cloth against the slices, half scabbed and etched into her ribs forever, it made the water ripple.

She knew what Lady Sansa felt. She would be tender, fragile. Every move hurt, every step, every breath. She had always seemed to be healing something, some kind of damage.

“I used to live here.” She broke the silence, her tone soft. “With my mother, my father, my three brothers and my sister.” She looked up, straight ahead of her. “And my half brother, though he’s a bastard.”

She listened to her voice shake as she spoke, feeling the heat rise up her arm as she plunged it back into the water.

“Most of them are dead now.” She drew a deep breath in. “My father was beheaded by my betrothed, he called it mercy.” The words were spat out like poison. “I haven’t seen my sister since that day, she could be dead, she could be-“

A sob broke her words and she watched Lady Sansa drop her head forward and bring her hands up to cover it. She let the cloth fall into the water and she placed her hand against her arm, softly, avoiding the sore looking spots. She jumped, sucking a breath in through her nose, softening her muscles after a few seconds.

“Robb was mutilated.” Lady Sansa continued. “They cut off his head, sewed his Dire-Wolf’s on in its place.” She raised her head once more. “And then cut my mother’s throat to the bone.”

She reached beneath the surface of the water and pulled the cloth from it, crushing it in her grasp as tightly as she could and hanging it over the edge of the tub. She stood, dragging the stool around so she could sit behind Lady Sansa. She reached over and lifted the jug from the stone to wet her hair.

“I didn’t think I could take anymore.” She sighed again, sniffling. “And then I was brought here, to my home, but it’s filled with strangers and enemies.” She tensed as she spoke. “Only to be told that Theon, someone my father cared for, someone I thought of as family, had burned Bran and Rickon.”

reek. She let the jug fall under the water, she could feel her heart pound against her ribs as she lifted it. Her Master had used the same one to drown her. Its very presence brought her unease. She lifted it, letting the stream fall against Lady Sansa’s hair.

“I didn’t know Jon was Lord Commander.” She straightened her posture, leaning her head back. “Ramsay said you met him, when he was first traveling to the wall.”

She whined out into the silence of the room, drawing her hands back towards herself. She swallowed hard, she had only known him for a day or two. He hated her. He wanted her arm. Her Master told her so. She filled and lifted the jug again, letting the water run over Lady Sansa’s scalp.

“My mother never liked him, she never even tried to.” She pulled her knees to her chest, curling her arms around them. “He was a reminder of my father’s betrayal.” She drew a shaky breath in. “She was never kind to him, never loving, and I wanted to be like her…” She let the words trail off, her voice wobbling once more. “So I was never kind to him, and now he might be all that’s left of my family.”

She watched her head drop forward once more, sobs working their way from her chest. She stood from her stool, fingers gripped around the handle of the jug, she sat it back on the stone. Lady Sansa stood, she let her hold onto her arms as she stepped from the tub.

“What if he hates me?” She shivered ever so slightly as she waited. “What if the one person I have left thinks me so terrible that he doesn’t even acknowledge me as his family?”

She stepped to the corner of the chambers as Lady Sansa spoke, pulling a thick sheet of cloth from the dresser. Her family was gone, she had lost everyone, as she said. She was sad for her, she really did remind her of Lyanna Umber.

“I was horrible, to everyone. When I younger.” She sighed out. “I was angry, I thought I knew what I wanted, but then everyone I cared for started dying.”

She returned to her, tapping her skin with the cloth. Over the bruises and redness that fell across her, the slices that would fade into scars. Maybe Lady Sansa would heal better than she had, her scars were unsightly. Pink, raised, angry looking things.

“Maybe I deserve this, maybe this is my punishment from the Gods for be-“

She snapped her hand round Lady Sansa’s wrist, cutting her off from the lies she was telling, she kept them in a steady grip. Stop. She caught her eye, Lady Sansa was tall, almost the same height as her Master. Her breath picked up as she stared at her, wide eyed.

She shook her head, she had to speak. Lady Sansa was believing the lies he had told her, the ones he no doubt whispered to her as he tore her. Her Master was a plague, a sickness, he infected people, dragged them down to fester for his enjoyment.

Lady Sansa would not fester, she would not suffer and crack. Her mind would not shatter. She would have to break the rules, but Lady Sansa was worth the risk.

Someone had to survive him, it was too late for her, he had already wrapped himself too tightly around her throat. For every day she lived, he squeezed tighter and tighter. It had to be done now.

She drew a breath in, opening her mouth to speak, she mouthed the word, the beginning of her sentence. Gasping and whimpering. She drew a deep breath in, closing her eyes. The faces flashed behind them, Lady Sansa would not be one of them.

“You don’t deserve it…”

It felt foreign, wrong. Guilt cut through her gut as she whispered the words into the air. She forced the feelings down, her Master need not know. She looked over her face as she opened her eyes again, her own wide, jaw slack, she trembled.

“I won’t tell him, I would never.” She gripped onto her hands, clasping them around the cloth. “Please keep speaking to me, no one else does.” She sniffled. “It’s only ever him and he only talks of violence.”

“The Gods have punished you enough.” She nodded. “You must leave, or you will become like me.”

“I don’t know how.” Tears welled at her eyes. “Theon betrayed me, he told Ramsay, the old woman died, she was my friend.”

“reek.” She squeaked out. “My Master favours him, he can’t be trusted.”

“I knew him, when we were youn-“

“He can’t be trusted.” The words were quiet, but they had urgency. “He burned me.” She lifted her arm into her eye-line. “Over and over again, they strapped me down, my Master watched him do it.”

Lady Sansa’s face changed when she looked over the scars, they marred her, her right arm, the one with the brand.

“reek can’t be trusted.”

She pulled her hands free, curling them back into the material and tapping the parts of Lady Sansa that still had water on them. She dropped the cloth to the floor. Her Master had sent her with clothes, he had taken Lady Sansa’s last dress. She had been sent with a nightdress, it was pretty. Thick, floor length, it had wide sleeves and laced up at the side.

“He was Theon, before.” She furrowed her brow and looking toward her. “You were someone different too, just like he was.”

“There was no before.” Her fingers twisted into the fabric as she lifted it up. “I was born to be dirt, it’s who I’ve always been”

She gasped softly as the words were spoken, sliding her arms into the sleeves.

“Did he tell you that?”

She nodded in response, stepping around Lady Sansa and covering her with the nightdress. Warm. She pulled the laces through their loops, tightening them until the dress fit snugly.

“Myranda told me too.”

“There was a before, you weren’t always what he made you.” She leant forward, gripping her arm. “I’ll help you remember who were before and you help me survive him.”

Lady Sansa stepped close, her hand tightening, she caught her eyes, holding her gaze.

“Are we in agreement?”

She couldn’t remember who she was before him, she had tried, curled in the damp of the cell, eyes closed. Pictures of faces and screams and pain pounded behind her eyes.

She knew there was a before, even though he told there wasn’t. She saw flashes, she was running, trees everywhere she looked. She remembered barking, hooves, shouts. She fell, her ankle twisting. The memories spun around her head, she was always left searching for more.

It was easier to deny its existence, she couldn’t piece together anything further, no matter how hard she tried. It was easier to just be dirt.

“Can I trust you?”

She snapped back to the moment, feeling Lady Sansa shake her arm. She was staring through tears, feeling them fall down her cheeks. Trust. They would help each other, she wouldn’t tell her Master.

“I’m not like reek.” She nodded. “You can trust me, I’ll help.” She whispered once more.

Chapter Text

She let the fire lick across her skin like a red hot blade. She liked being in Lady Sansa’s chambers. There was always a fire going, it was always warm. The heat hit her like a blanket the moment she stepped into the room. It melted through her to the bone, her fingers and toes no longer ached. It was always a relief.

She was stood nearby, with Lady Sansa on a stool in front of her. She ran the comb through her hair, the fire drying it. The silence sat once more, but it was comfortable. There was something unspoken that lingered in it, as if the grey had been pulled from the sky, as if the colour were returning, even if only slightly.

“How did you meet him?” She looked to the side. “Ramsay?”

“I was running…” She trailed off, eyes flickering around. “They were chasing me, him and his men and the dogs.”

“They caught you?”

She nodded to herself, drawing the comb through Lady Sansa’s hair once more. She had tried to lose the scent, have the dogs go another way. They hunted her down nonetheless.

“I fell.” She sniffled in. “They found me, the dogs, they were one word away from tearing me to shreds.”

“But you survived.”

She let her fingers drag on the prongs of the comb, the tips pushing into her flesh. She survived. He was merciful. And for his mercy she suffered.

“I wish I hadn’t.” She squeaked out. “They should’ve eaten me, I should’ve been ripped apart.”

“How can you say th-“

“It would’ve hurt less to die where I fell.” She drew a shaky breath in. “Than to continue my existence under his rule.”

The silence returned, dragging the colour from the world once more. It sat uncomfortably in the room for a while. She brushed Lady Sansa’s hair in silence. The painful memories of her existence burned into her flesh, cut from her.

She listened to the sounds of her own breathing as she worked, acutely aware of how easily the air could be taken from her.

“I’m sorry.” She straightened her spine as the comb pulled through her hair. “He has tormented you far longer than I.”

It had been years, she knew how many at one point. Seven. Her Master told her at the Umbers. Four fingers, three toes. But that was an age ago, she was sure it had been more years, although her Master did not take anything further to compensate.

“He brought me back to the Dreadfort.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “Bound me to the cross and hur-“

“Let’s not talk of that!” She spun around in the stool, hand tightening around her wrist. “That is not you, what he did to you is not you.”

She was staring into her eyes, they were wide, her eyebrows drawn together. They felt like a storm, moody and dark. There was something there, drawing you in like the tide of the sea.

“You were running and you fell.” She let her hand fall as she turned to face forward once more. “Where were you before you were running?”

She didn’t know. She had spent day after day staring at the patterns the flames left on the corridor wall, she pulled place after place from her head, looking for anything, a flicker, a memory, a flash. Anything to give her even the slightest of hints.

“I was…” She trailed off, hands still moving up and down, leading the comb. “I was in…”

She blinked, searching the pictures that fell across her mind. She had been in many places, all of them blended together now. But she focused. She saw snow, boots. She had stood there before, in that same place under different circumstances.

“I was in a courtyard.”

“With who?”

“I don’t know.”

She couldn’t see their faces. She had too many others in her mind to recall the past. She drew the comb through Lady Sansa’s hair again, shutting her eyes for a moment. She was back in the courtyard, lined up, her and the others. Her eyes searched around for someone she recognised.

Boots. Caked in dirt. Her Master. She trailed up his body, black riding gear, raven curls. Icy blue eyes, they struck fear into her heart, he was as wild then as he is now. He was staring at her, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He was young, they both were when they met, children.

“He was there.” She squeaked out. “My Master, but he wasn’t my Master then.”

“Who else?”

She steadied her breathing, letting her eyes fall closed as she pulled herself back into that courtyard. Searching once again. She dragged her attention from him, the memory seemed clearer. She was still lined up, the faces of the girls there were still fuzzy, she could somewhat make them out. 

A man stepped towards her, she watched his gait, it was familiar, fur peeking out over the tops of his boots. He was dressed for the cold, his Sigil embossed into the leather, The Flayed Man. She knew him, she knew the Sigil.

He was stern, brows furrowed as he stared her down. His eyes, the same ones his son wore. Anger instead of madness. He was just as dangerous, if not more so. He didn’t like the games, he had no time for playing them. His features were clear, as if she were staring into the face of the true Lord Bolton.

“His father.” She pulled a shaky breath in. “Lord Bolton was there, he chose, or…” She sighed out. “I don’t know, but he was there.”

“I don’t like him.”

“He doesn’t stop him, my Master.” Her voice wavered. “His father lets him do as he pleases.”

“Why were they in the courtyard?”

The question rung around her head as she tried to piece together the memories, the years, shattered and strewn across her mind. She placed herself back into the fragment, where she had seen the Bolton’s faces. Where she was lined up.

A voice rung out. Loud, jovial. A laugh erupted afterwards. She knew it. From somewhere, she knew that voice. She opened her eyes, letting them fall back on the murky orange of Lady Sansa’s hair, the noise the comb made as it slid through the almost dried waves.

“A man, he was loud.” She fixed her grip on the comb. “I know his voice, I know it…”

“From where.”

“Lord Bolton sent my Master, I accompanied him.”

“Where?” She spun around again, hands clasped around hers. “Where did he send you?”

“Last Hearth.”

“Why?”

“To betray your brother, the Young Wolf.”

Lady Sansa let her hands drop as she turned to face forward, she sniffled and let the silence fill the room once more like a cup being filled with wine. It sat for a while, as she cried softly.

“You helped?” She raised her arm to her face. “You helped them kill him?”

“No!” It was whispered out. “I was the example.” She placed the comb onto the stone. “I was the warning.”

She twisted the digits she had left into Lady Sansa’s hair, braiding it into what her Master had told her to.

“The Umber had two daughters, one died.” She tugged gently on the strands of hair. “Jon Snow said one of them was killed by rapers.”

“Lyanna.”

“I know her.”

“You know Lyanna?”

She nodded to herself, tying off Lady Sansa’s braid at the bottom.

“I see her face, I know her screams.” She stepped away from the stool. “I know her.”

She tidied as she watched Lady Sansa head to the bed, where she curled under the furs. Pulling her cloak back around her shoulders and tying it at the front. It was warm, she was grateful to have it.

“Sleep.” She whispered out, turning to the door. “Or try to, until he visits.”

“I don’t want him to.”

“He doesn’t care what you want.” She stopped and turned to face her. “You help me, then I help you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then make him happy until we have an opening.” She nodded at her. “Until I can help.”

Lady Sansa nodded back.

“And you promise you’ll try to remember?”

“I promise.”

She smiled as she turned to leave. She raised her hands to her face, feeling her lips, pulled up, the roundness of the apples of her cheeks. She had not smiled in years. This was the first since she had met him, the first true smile. 

She liked Lady Sansa, she made her happy. She would help her, and she would remember.

Chapter Text

She sat with her back against the wall of her cell, he had locked her back in when he first arrived. The dark haunted her, but she had other things to occupy her, she made a promise to Lady Sansa. She would remember. She would.

He was talking, her Master, his own back against the cell door. His familiar tone lulling her back to submission, the words mumbled into the background. She wasn’t there, she was in her own thoughts, she had revisited the fragments, the faces that were no longer fuzzy, the voice. She recognised it.

The Umber. She knew it, she could hear the tones in the back of her mind, she knew it. Her Master had taken her, he had used her as a warning, to his other daughter. Jocelyn. Her Master said he preferred Jocelyn. That his second daughter died.

She remembered. The words rung around her head in her Master’s voice. Your blood, but not your daughter, she’s gone.

Lyanna died, she ceased to exist. She remembered. dirt continued the existence, in the same vessel, the same body as Lyanna died in. His blood. dirt wasn’t his daughter. She wasn’t anything to anyone. Apart from her Master, she was his pet.

But still, she saw Lyanna’s face in her mind. As if she were looking into a mirror. Rosy cheeks, wide eyes, a sad look on her face. She was familiar. A hand on her shoulder pulled her from one vision to another. Another fractured part of her.

Myranda’s face smiled back at her, malice dripping from her. She was dangerous. She held her still as she looked at herself. Bones protruding, hollow cheeks, sunken eyes. But the same colour staring back at her, the same soul.

She was Lyanna. Before.

She heard a break in the steady tone of her Master’s voice. Her breathing picked up, she had not been in the present. She had missed what he spoke of, he would be angry if he knew.

“You of all people know I dislike to repeat myself, dirt.” He banged against the door. “But you are starving, so I will assume you are not trying to anger me.”

She squeaked out, the soft hum rang from her throat as she stared at the light that shine from the gap under the door.

“Do you think Lady Sansa deserves it?” He paused for a moment. “Answer me.”

No. She doesn’t.

“Yes. She disobeys. She deserves it.”

Something she had learned very early in to her existence, the questions aren’t questions, they are an illusion of choice.

He knew the outcome he wanted from the moment the question left his lips. He would have hurt her either way, the answer to the question would never have changed that. It just gave her a glimmer of hope in the black void before it was snapped away.

But, if she agreed with him, with what he wanted the answer to be, he wouldn’t hurt her with malice behind it. If she agreed with him, he would show her mercy. She could have a chance at avoiding agony.

So no, Lady Sansa didn’t deserve it. But he could never be allowed to find out her true feelings. It would be unbearable.

“You all deserve it…”

She let her attention slip away as his words tumbled away into the background. Back to Lyanna. She could remember his voice, the Umber. Lyanna’s father. It rattled from the stone in the memories that flashed behind her eyes. Anger shaking from it as it echoed out.

She was a disappointment. She was a failure. She had a wild heart. She was not a Lady. She remembered how the words felt as they hit Lyanna’s ears. Like how she imagined a dagger would feel in her chest. The Umber, Greatjon, Lyanna’s father, he had not been shy in expressing his distain for his youngest daughter.

She should’ve been a boy. The Gods had punished him with her birth. He was happy, when she saw him, happy to hear of her suffering, to hear of her pain. His only worry being that his wife would hear, that she would irk him with her cries. He laughed and joked. He hated Lyanna, he wanted her to remain dead.

But she was very much alive, she remembered. She was Lyanna Umber, daughter of Greatjon Umber. She always had been, underneath. He had given her to them. She remembered. That was how he was to rid himself of her.

She was running because he wanted her gone. Because he allowed them to take her. She was not a Lady, she was dirt. She brought trouble, she was a problem. He was right, Lyanna’s father, her father.

I was chosen to suffer.

Her father had always wished it for her. He hated her. He told them that he thought her Master should have chosen to kill her straight away, as Lord Bolton also made clear. But she had the misfortune of falling into his hands, he made her regret her life. Regret being born to feel the pain he delivered to her.

She was Lyanna, she had been in the past, but Lyanna died in the Dreadfort, there is no place for her here, not now. dirt is who allowed her to survive him, all his trials and tribulations, their survival is all thanks to her.

Lyanna had fought their Master, she didn’t want to obey, she didn’t know how. dirt was born from her suffering, she had been his pet for almost as long as she had been free. She didn’t know how to be human anymore. She wasn’t a person, she had forgotten what it was like to make her own choices.

“Did you see the bruises? The colours like a night’s sky?” He sighed out, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “She wears them well, she makes my cock swell.” He banged against the door again. “Are you listening?”

She squeaked out again, so he would know. She didn’t want to anger him. She heard him scoff in return.

“This is important, my father’s land is being threatened.” He sighed out, she was focused on him now. “I am to go, with 20 men to bring Stannis’ advance to a halt.” He drew a thick breath in through his nose. “I must leave soon, to prove to my father that he can trust me.”

She listened to him push himself from the floor, the shadows he cast flickering under the door. She heard mumbling, footsteps.

“But of course, you must eat before I leave.” She listened to him pace. “I don’t want you to starve while I’m gone.”

She groaned out, the pit in her stomach had etched its way into every waking second. It grumbled and bubbled and hurt. She could feel her body eating away at itself.

She heard the keys clatter against the door, the lock clicked as the door was pulled open. She felt her heart pound in her chest as she stared at his boots, her eyes almost covered by her arm. The light was an intrusion, she had to get used to it.

“Hello, my pet.” He clicked his fingers together. “Eyes on me.”

She looked up. He was crouched, elbows resting on his knees as he twisted his head from side to side. Her eyes flickered to the plate of food he held in his hands. Hungry. She was starving, he was right. She was desperate. It would not kill her, not yet, but it hurt, it made her head throb behind her eyes.

He let himself fall back, hitting the wall that sat across from her cell door. His eyes never leaving her, they were wide, manic, as they usually were. He bent his legs at the knees, splaying them out as he popped a chunk of meat into his mouth.

“If you please me, if you follow the rules like a good girl.” He cocked his head from one side to the other. “I will leave the door of your cell unlocked, so you can see again.”

She nodded. Light. Light. She would eat as he wanted, she would be good, she needed the door to be open, the few days she spent in the darkness dredged up the past, the way she felt.

“You’ll please me?”

She nodded, blinking slowly as she watched him chew. He didn’t know. He didn’t know she and Lady Sansa had been talking. That she had broken his rules and disobeyed him. He didn’t know. He would wear anger in his eyes, like his father. He would make her eat her own tongue.

He didn’t know that she remembered. That she knew she was Lyanna Umber, that he had stripped her of her name and made her a different person. She knew the truth, he had eaten away at Lyanna like a disease, until all that was left was survival. Until all that was left was dirt. But she remembered.

She watched him chew and spit, the ball of meat rolling towards her, dropping just beyond the doorframe. He lifted another piece of food, letting his teeth crunch down on it. She waited, unmoving, he hadn’t given her permission yet, she would not make silly mistakes now that she could begin to remember the past.

She would still remember his rules, the things he allowed her to do, the permissions and clothes he had given her. She was somewhat comfortable, not often freezing, not often in the dark or the silence.

It was an existence. But it was her’s, and she was grateful that she did not have to suffer as she did in the beginning.

“Eat.” He straightened his back against the wall, a smile pulling his lips into a curve. “I want to watch you eat, and enjoy, every single piece.” He spat a second time. “One at a time, you will suck, chew and swallow.”

She nodded as she pulled herself onto her hands and knees, crawling towards the food he had given her. One at a time. She let the memories fall from the front of her mind as she leant forward, towards the meat. She would obey.

Chapter Text

“I have news.” Lady Sansa stepped towards her, gripping her arms and pulling her close.

She listened to the door slam and lock, jumping at the noise. It was one of her Master’s men that met her at her cell to take her to Lady Sansa’s chambers.

“As do I.” She whispered the words out, soft as a summer breeze. “He must leave soon, we could have an opening for you to get to safety.”

“How?”

“Stannis is attacking.” She felt Lady Sansa tighten her grip as she spoke. “He is to go in the cover of night, to halt the attack.”

“No.” She stepped back. “They lock me in at night, I can’t leave then.”

She sighed out, letting herself be pulled to the bed. She sat, feeling the furs run across her hands as she slipped her arms from Lady Sansa’s grasp.

“There will be another chance.” She nodded. “He will leave again, you will have your freedom.”

“How do you know?”

“He wants to appear trustworthy to his father, he wants to be heir, not the trueborn.” She dragged her fingers through the fibres of the furs. “He will act as his emissary again, I promise.”

Lady Sansa drew a shaky breath in through her nose.

“It has to be soon.” She picked at her fingers as she spoke. “I cannot bear his children… I would rather throw myself from the tower.”

“I know.”

The silence hung in the air for a few seconds before it was broken again.

“Your news?”

“I know who I am…” The words stuttered from her lips. “I remembered, I know.”

“Who are you?”

“Lyanna Umber.” Her voice shook. “I am the mistake, I was hated then too.

“You are no mistake.”

“He would disagree, the Umber.” She sniffled in. “He spoke badly of Lyanna, when we visited, before I knew I was her.”

“He didn’t care for you?”

She shook her head.

“He called her a thorn in his side.”

“You.”

She locked eyes with her, tears filling them. She could feel them teetering on the edge, threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“Me…” She struggled the word out. “He called me a thorn in his side.”

“You are one.” Lady Sansa reached forward as she spoke, sliding her hand back into her grasp. “You cannot speak about her as if she is different from you.”

She squeaked out, blinking back the tears. She shut her eyes, drawing a deep breath in through her nose.

“He wants you to believe that you were never her, that you watched her die.” She squeezed her hand softly. “You have always been her, she has always been alive within you.”

“Her mot-“ She gasped quietly. “My mother. She thinks that I was killed, that rapers killed me.” She sniffled once more. “She believes that Lyan…” She trailed off to silence. “She believes that I died still a child.”

“Did you meet her? Your mother?” She pulled her hands away, straightening her back. “When you went to Last Hearth?”

She nodded, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

“Did she recognise you?”

“I look hollow now compared to how I remember Lyanna’s face, my face.” She shook her head as she spoke. “She didn’t know, but she still holds my memory in her heart, she told my Master.”

“I’m happy she still thinks of you.”

“The Umber said I was her favourite…”

“I knew you could do it.” She smiled softly. “That you could piece everything back together.”

She felt a smile pulling at her face once more, it was the same feeling as last time, different, foreign. Happy. She was sure she used to smile more, before. She was happy to be with Lady Sansa, she felt as if they could stop each other from sinking.

“And your news?”

“My brothers are alive, Bran and Rickon.”

“How do you know?”

“Theon, he brought me foo-“

“reek cannot be trusted.”

“Ramsay hurt him too, you know.”

She dropped her eyes from Lady Sansa, letting them fall across the stone. She nodded to herself. Her Master did hurt reek, he was dragged into the room and beaten, strapped to the same cross she was and peeled.

She ran her remaining digits over the brand her Master had given her, reek had watched as she obeyed. Her hand was still stiff, her movement restricted. reek had given her more burns, at the request of her Master.

“He told reek that if he didn’t burn me, I would burn him.” She bit down on her lip. “That I didn’t disobey as he did.”

“Would you have?” She picked at her nail as she spoke. “Would you have hurt him?”

She let the question sit for a few seconds. But she knew the answer straight away. It was ingrained into her, to obey. To do what she was told, when she was told. And if her Master told her to burn him, she would.

“I would obey.” She nodded once. “Yes.”

She had hurt others too, told her Master the words she heard them whisper when they thought no one was listening. Watched as he tore them apart and felt a mixture of different things in her gut, guilt, regret, but gratefulness most of all. That it wasn’t her, that she wasn’t feeling the pain. 

“I watched him be hurt, I watched Theon die.”

“Like how you thought Lyanna did?”

She nodded, gaze never leaving the patterns on the stone.

“But she didn’t, Lyanna is inside me, hidden.” She sniffled. “But I am still her.”

“Theon is still there, he cared for my family once.”

“He betrayed your family.”

“He did.” She clasped her hands around the one with the brand. “And he suffered for it.”

“He told my Master before, about the old woman.” She pulled her hand from hers, leaning back. “He would tell him again.” She tapped her foot against the floor. “Does he know that we talk?”

“No, I would ne-“

“He’d tell!” Her words were hushed, panicked. “My Master would make me eat my own tongue, that’s what he said, if I broke his rule.”

“He does not know, I didn’t mention you.” She caught her eyes again, dragging them from the stone. “We spoke only of Bran and Rickon.”

“He’ll hurt reek if he finds out.”

“He won’t tell.” She leant towards her, her tone hushed. “I trust him.”

She didn’t. He was the same as her, she would tell, she would give him information. She knew he would do the same. Her Master rewards them, makes them want to tell.

But Lady Sansa was different, she reminded her of Lyanna. And she was Lyanna. Lady Sansa reminded her of herself, of how she felt. Her Master didn’t need to know of what went on in Lady Sansa’s chambers.

She trusted Lady Sansa not to tell, not to betray her to him. And in turn Lady Sansa trusted her.

“Are you sure you can trust him?”

“He told me the truth, about what happened.” She bit down on her lip. “With my brothers, and the farm boys, and why he lied.”

“He’s a liar.”

“He was in past, but I’ve lied before.” She chuckled softly. “Have you never told a lie?”

She twitched her head to the side, pulling back ever so slightly, her brows furrowed. The words clawed at the back of her mind. I stole. I lied. I’m a liar. Her breathing picked up as the statement settled into her skull, she had screamed it.

She stole. She lied. She’s a liar. She remembered. She was bad. She stole food. She lied about it. He flayed her. He made her stand naked and apologise. He made her beg in front of them, the Night’s Watch. In front of Jon Snow, Lady Sansa’s bastard brother.

She knew. She remembered. Lady Sansa shouldn’t know. It would be too much for her, she has been through enough. She needn’t know of her brother’s hatred towards her, of what Master told her about him. She didn’t need to cut into anything deep.

“I lied about stealing food, he punished me.”

“Punished you?

“He flayed my pinky.”

Lady Sansa reached forward, clasping her hands together and curling her own over them.

“I’m so sorry.”

“If you trust me, please trust him.”

He hurts me. He spat blood into my mouth. 

She did trust Lady Sansa, she would have to rely on her. She could tolerate reek, Theon. She could work with him. If she really did believe he could be like how he was before. Before her Master mutilated him.

If she could remember Lyanna, and being her, so could reek. He could still find Theon in the shards of his mind. If she wanted people to trust her, she would have to trust others. She would help Lady Sansa, she would work with reek.

She could rebuild, she had a name, an identity. She was a person. Not a pet, for the first time in years. She was older now, still a year younger than him, but years older than they were when she first became his pet.

Lady Sansa was her chance to change that. She could be Lyanna again, she could start living once more.

Chapter Text

She heard him before she saw him, humming his way down the corridor, boots clicking on the stone as he closed in on her cell. No. No. No. She had spent his absence with Lady Sansa, in the heat of her chambers, the time together had settled her heart.

But he was back now, getting closer and closer, bringing the storm with him. She had pleased him before he left, he did as he said he would and left the door unlocked. She obeyed in return, somewhat. She only left her cell when his men came to take her to Lady Sansa.

She had watched the swirl of the fire against the wall, remembering, connecting things, shards of memories. She had begun to make sense of her past, although his fingers were still twisted through her mind, keeping things from her.

“Look at me, dirt.” He stepped into her view, smirk pulling his lips up. “Have you anything to say?”

Her heart jumped as she saw him, she choked back the noise that tried to claw its way from her throat, swallowing it back. She shook her head in response, she had nothing for him. She had enjoyed being with Lady Sansa, but he did not need to know.

“I must tell you what I did.”

He leant against the wall across from her cell, sliding down it until he hit the floor.

“It was genius.” He pulled his knife from his belt, twirling it around his hand. “We went under the cover of night, as you know.”

She watched him, his hands. She didn’t like when he held the knife, when he played with it. It reminded her of when he slipped the blade under her skin and tore it back. Four fingers. Three toes. It reminded her of being pinned and screaming. She struggled to focus on anything other than the shine that left the metal as he curled his fingers around it.

“I set fire to his camp.” He glanced at the blade, then back to her. “They’re a bunch of fire worshippers after all.” He scoffed. “I thought they’d be grateful to die by it.”

She squeaked in response, a breath stuttering into her lungs as she tried to push herself further into the damp wall of her cell.

“They weren’t.” He cocked his head to the side. “I lit the tents up, his men ran screaming into the dark.” She watched him dig the tip of the blade into the palm of his hand. “I could smell their skin burning, feel the heat.” He rolled his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “It was, glorious.” The word was long, drawn out, cruel.

She swallowed thickly. She didn’t want him here, holding her hostage in the cell. He could hurt her, the threat was always there when she was in his presence. He must’ve visited Lady Sansa if he had come to see her. He always visited her first.

“I burned his horses too, the ones I could get to without being seen.” He pursed his lips, catching her eyes once more. “They made such horrible, tortured noises as they tried fruitlessly to outrun the flames that engulfed them.”

She could feel her heart hammer against her chest as she studied him. His eyes were wide, drawing her in like a river drags you to your death. Icy, cold, dangerous.

“I watched a horse gallop into one of his soldiers.” He chuckled. “The man was stood still, I don’t know why, shock perhaps, but the sound that left his body when he was knocked to the ground, bones crushed.” He exhaled. “It reminded me of you.”

Her breathing picked up, she tried to be silent, but she was sure he could hear the sharp inhales that rattled their way into her lungs.

“Anyway. He will have trouble marching to Winterfell with a depleted force.” He bit down on his lip, holding her gaze. “He will have even more trouble now, after I reduced his food stock to ash.”

He smiled, pushing his tongue against his bottom lip, running it across. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, his eyes cut into her. He cocked his head to the side again.

“They didn’t see us, I managed to make it back to Winterfell.” He huffed a breath out through his nose. “You’re sure you have nothing to say to me?”

She nodded. That was the second time he’d asked her that.

“Let me ask you a question.”

She grunted in response.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t find out about you talking without permission?”

She gasped, then whimpered out, swallowing the bile that had just pushed its way to the back of her throat. He knows. He knows. She shook her head at him, he couldn’t know, but he did. Lady Sansa had promised that she didn’t tell.

“Do you think me a fucking fool?”

She was quiet, she had whispered, she had made sure that she spoke softly, for someone to have heard they would’ve had to have been pushed up against the door, waiting for a slip, waiting for her to forget.

“Answer me!” He lurched forward, dragging her towards him, his hand twisted into her cloak. “Answer me, now.” His tone was low, the words growled out.

“I didn’t.”

“I know you did, I was told that you were heard, I trust the person who told me.” He was inches from her, brows furrowed. “I was giving you the opportunity to be honest with me, to tell me the truth.”

She half raised her hands to his. Don’t. Don’t. He tightened his grip, the neckline of the cloak cut into her neck, she could feel her head begin to spin. She dropped her hands, letting them fall against the stone as she held herself up.

“And now you would try to pull me off of you?” He leant back, dragging her from her cell. “You? You would try to dictate what I can do with my own fucking property?”

“No, Master.”

He loosened his grip, twisting his head from side to side.

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I spoke to her…”

She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, the lump caught at the back of her throat. She was fucked. He would take her tongue. He would make her eat it.

“Go on.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Without permission.”

“And?”

“I lied about it.”

She could look no where else but into his eyes. She whined out, feeling the heat of the tears spill down her cheeks.

“There!” He chuckled, letting the air carry it from him. “Doesn’t that feel better? To be truthful?”

She nodded. “Don’t take my tongue. It was a mist-“

He slammed his hand across her mouth, gripping the back of her neck with his other one.

“Oh, I could never.” He shushed her, sliding his thumb across her cheek. “That was always going to be an empty threat.”

He slid his hand from her mouth, closing his grip around her cloak once more.

“Thank you, Master.” She trembled as she spoke.

“I would miss the shake of fear in your voice when you speak to me.” He cocked his head to the side once more. “But you still deserve to be punished, to be changed.”

“I’ll never do it again, I promise.”

He scoffed. “I can’t believe you any longer.” He sucked his cheeks in, swallowing. “I’ve decided, you will carry my gift with you whenever you go.” He shook her, dragging her closer still. “And this time, the loss of your tongue will not be an empty threat.”

She nodded as far as his grasp would let her.

“Pick a number from one to five.”

“Four.”

She could not risk angering him further, he could still decide to rip her tongue from her. She still had to obey, Lady Sansa could not protect her from him.

“I want you to go to the room with the cross.” He released her, pushing her back into the cell. “Go there now and wait for me.”

Chapter Text

She knelt in the quiet of the room, trapped with her own thoughts, the stone cutting into her. The cross loomed in the background, making her uneasy. She waited for him, for the punishment, someone told him, someone heard her. Someone he trusted.

There were coals, burning so hot they sent an orange glow into the air. Obey. She ran her fingers across the brand. She had been punished with the same burn of the coals when she first met reek, back at the Dreadfort. She had the scar of the Flayed Man to show for it. There was a pair of shears in the flames, the same bright glow overtook the blades as the metal brand he held.

She heard voices, footsteps getting louder. The door burst open, her Master stepping into the room, he waited near it, watching his men drag in a prisoner.

“Cell four, your choice.” He called over to her. “He will suffer for your sins, for your indiscretions against me.”

She shook her head, watching them slam him against the cross, securing him to the wood. No. No. No. He screamed and fought them, trying to tear himself from their grasp. One limb by one he was rendered helpless, crying out for mercy.

“I give you another choice.” He stepped towards her, pointing. “Either you lose your tongue and I make you swallow it.” He swung his arm to point at number four. “Or I slice his from his mouth and he watches you devour him.”

She pulled back, getting the same uneasy, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as when he made her bite that rat’s belly, flood her mouth with its blood. Swallow. Swallow. She didn’t want to eat any tongue, but she had to pick one, she could feel bile hit the back of her throat.

“You will consume the same flesh either way, like an animal, you will be changed.” He smiled, stalking towards her, head cocked to the side. “Well, what’s your answer? You or him?”

“Please don’t cut my tongue out!” The man, from cell four called out, panicked. “I’ve done nothing, I don’t deserve this.”

“Very few do.” He turned his attention to the man he had strapped to the cross. “You are her sacrifice, I don’t care for your begging in the same way I do hers.”

“Please…” It wobbled from him.

“I don’t like that word.” He shot his head back to her. “Choose.”

“Him.”

Her Master scoffed, she let the man’s pleads fall into the background. She could not lose her own tongue. He would suffer for her. Lady Sansa was right, she hurt others too, she was like reek.

“You can’t!” He pulled at his bonds, voice panicked. “You can’t do this!”

Her Master closed the distance between them, crouching down to her height. Obey. She was slumped forward, her weight resting unevenly on her arms.

“If I see you look away from him, you will be next, no hesitation.” He gripped her chin, crushing it between his fingers. “Am I clear?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry, tell me what you want!” The man’s voice shook. “We can work something out, a deal, something!”

“Before you’re silenced forever, why don’t you tell us your name.” He stood from her, turning to face the prisoner. “I’m sure my pet would love to remember it.”

“Imry.” The word shook from him. “Please! Please don’t take my tongue! Please.”

“Thank you Imry, I look forward to your screams.”

He signalled to his men, heading towards the coals that sat nearby. Not me. One of them went for a table, lifting a pair of pliers, the big ones they use for armour. Not me. The other went for the prisoner himself, his fingers tangled into his hair as he wrenched his head back.

He was a young man, sandy coloured hair. He’d twisted and pulled so hard at the straps that held him down that he had rubbed his flesh raw. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He fought against her Master’s men, but the other returned, pliers at the ready and they forced his mouth open.

He screamed as they closed it down over his tongue, locking it in place. A stream of noises left him as he wiggled his head. One of her Master’s men stepped back, whilst the other let go of him.

He was pulled forward, garbled attempts at words stumbling from him. She watched as strings of spit dripped from him to the floor. They had wrenched him out as far as he would stretch, his limbs pulled tight, strained, his tongue pulled taught and held there by the pliers cutting in to the soft flesh.

He was begging, she could tell. She didn’t even need to hear the words to know, she could tell by his tone. She had heard it many times before, in many different voices, right before her Master hurts them. He half shouted something as he tried to wriggle his way back.

“I want you to remember this, dirt.” He lifted the shears from the coals. “I want you to burn this into your memory.”

She nodded, ignoring the pleas of the prisoner once more. It could’ve been her, it should’ve been.

“You best not even blink.”

He swung the orange coloured metal back and forth as he walked towards Imry.

“Pull him nice and tight.” He opened the shears, lifting them close to the man’s face. “I want to take as much as I possibly can, she is very hungry after all.”

She could look no where else, she watched through tears, he was pulling back against his own tongue now, trying to drag his body towards the cross. The panic that dripped from his half begged screams filled her with dread, she still could not tell what he was trying to say. She felt a tear drip down her cheek, the streak of heat it left on her skin made her shudder.

“Are you ready, dirt?”

The man screamed once more, as her Master finally closed down on the shears. It gargled out amongst spit and blood. She could hear the sizzle of his flesh as the metal touched him. The chop of meat, it made her sick. She curled her own tongue against the roof of her mouth, thankful it wasn’t her.

He thrashed backwards as the last of his tongue was separated from him, inhuman noises leaving him, he screeched like an animal, like prey. He clattered against the wood of the cross, shaking his head, drops of blood hitting the stone. An endless whimper left him as he shook, lips closed.

Her Master dropped the shears, taking hold of the pliers from his man. He shook his hand back and forth, wiggling the tongue around. He chuckled out as he stared at it, watching it flop from side to side.

“Would you like it whole?” He turned to her, stepping forward. “Or chopped?”

Chapter Text

“Master…”

“I asked you a question.”

Imry groaned out, loudly, the sound crackled from him. He grunted with every breath. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She could imagine how he felt. She had thought about how it would feel to have her tongue removed. How empty her mouth would be, how helpless she would feel.

“Tie his hands behind his back and take him to the Maester.” He stalked towards her, head falling to the side. “Bring him back to me once he stops choking on his own blood.”

He crouched to her level as Imry pulled against her Master’s men, he was pinned, his hands held behind his back as they wrapped the rope around his wrists. He was drooling, it dripped from his mouth in long strands. Blood mixed in, tinging it red.

He was begging again, she could tell by his tone. The attempts at words garbled out, badly enunciated and unintelligible. She blinked for the first time in a while, a tear dropped from her eye, wet and warm. It rolled down her cheek as she watched him be dragged from the room.

She was alone with her Master again.

“You will eat it in the end, even if I have to force it down your throat myself.” He moved towards her, catching her eyes with his own. “It would be far less painful for you to just answer my question and chose to obey.”

“Chopped.”

“I’ll cut it small. You can lick the juices from the stone when you’re done.”

A gag worked its way to the back of her throat as she ran her fingers across the scars that she had clawed into her legs. Obey. She pulled at the hem of her nightdress, covering the marks that marred her.

He pulled his knife from his belt, opening the pilers and letting the tongue hit the floor with a soft thud. She stared at it, saturated in blood. She curled her own against the roof of her mouth once more. Thank you.

“Do you think he’ll still try to talk when he comes back?” He chuckled out as he pushed the blade into the meat, cutting it into slices. “Or do you think he’ll have accepted his fate?”

He looked up at her, expecting an answer. She swallowed, the lump at the back of her throat persisting.

She nodded. “He’ll talk.”

“He sounded pathetic. A true man would never belittle himself with begging.”

She was silent once more. He had pleaded for mercy, to avoid a punishment he didn’t deserve. She had picked him to suffer. Cell four.

She watched as her Master lay the strips onto the stone, slicing them smaller still. Into little chunks. Meat. It wouldn’t have been a bad meal, had she not known what kind of meat it was.

“I am disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“Meaningless word.” He tapped the blade off of the stone a few times. “You are forever sorry, yet you do not learn.”

She sniffled, twisting her hands into one another. She watched him wipe his knife off, hooking it back into his belt. He leant back, letting himself fall into a sitting position.

“Once he returns, you will eat.”

She shook her head. “Master…”

“You do not have an opinion.” He twisted his head to one side. “A starving dog doesn’t choose its meal.”

She nodded. He was right of course. He always was. She was grateful to him. Because of his mercy she still had her tongue. She hadn’t suffered. He gave her a choice, he had let her save herself.

She sat in silence as they waited for Imry’s return. Listening to her Master talk, watching him as he sat. She knew him well, she had spent many years with him. He was always cruel, far more so than his father.

Lord Bolton was ruthless, but he didn’t take pleasure in being so. Her Master did, he took pleasure in being as cruel as he possibly could be. It was his joy in life.

His men returned, slamming the door open. She could hear him mumble out again, nonsense, only he and his Gods knew what he meant. They half dragged him in, bent over and staggering.

“You were right, he’s still trying.” He scoffed, turning from her, standing. “Drop him here, keep his hands bound.”

They did as he instructed, stepping back from him as he let himself curl forward, his head bowed.

“Leave us.”

She heard the door close, her eyes hadn’t left him. Imry. He was knelt in front of her, body shaking, noises leaving him. Barely human. I’m sorry. Obey. He had a far away look in his eyes, as if he weren’t even there. Blood stained his skin, it had dried around his lips.

“What was his name?”

He crouched once more, arm curled around the man’s shoulder. He flinched as her Master touched him. Changed. He would never forget.

“Imry.”

“Imry.” He tapped his hand against him. “Are you ready to watch her as she eats you?”

He shook his head, trying once more to speak, his words were incoherent.

“It is impossible to understand you.” Her Master chuckled out, smirk pulling at his lips. “I want you to pick a noise and make it when I speak to you.” He slid his hand up the man’s back, gripping onto his neck. “Or I start wrenching teeth from your whimpering mouth.”

Imry grunted out almost immediately after her Master spoke those words. He must want to avoid agony too. He would obey, just as she had done. She had been bad, broken rules for Lady Sansa. Her Master had shown her mercy.

“If you take your eyes off of her, I’ll blind you.” He shook the man’s head slightly. “Am I clear?”

The man grunted out once more, his tone shaky.

“Good.” He turned his attention to her. “Claw yourself if you must, but you will swallow the pieces of his tongue.” He curled his lip as he spoke. “Eat.”

She nodded, breath picking up again. He had his hand clamped around Imry’s neck, forcing his gaze towards her. She let herself slide forward until her elbows hit the floor. She choked down the bile that tried to force its way up her throat.

She stared down the meat. He had cut it into pieces, small enough that she wouldn’t have to chew, she only had to swallow. She crawled towards the pile, listening to the man whimper into the silence of the room.

She bit down onto the pile, the taste of blood filled her mouth, metallic, rich. It tasted gamey, it slid around her mouth like the rat did. The little chunks he had cut desecrated her soul as soon as she had taken them in.

“Swallow.”

She did, she had to force it down. Tears spilling onto the stone below. She hadn’t looked up, she couldn’t bring herself to look at either of them. She could hear the prisoner, Imry. The noises he made dripping with sorrow as he watched her consume him.

The meat threatened to force its way back from her stomach as she drew in deep breaths. The room smelled of blood. She managed to keep it down as she took her next mouthful. Her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands as she ate.

“You’re an animal.”

She was. She was on her hands and knees, foreign blood tinging her own tongue. She ate the meat that his hounds would, she ate the same way they would. She could feel her tears spill as she pushed the meat to the back of her mouth, body shaking as she made herself swallow.

She continued, she obeyed, until there was nothing left but to lick his blood from the stone when she had finished. Just as her Master wanted, she felt sick, her stomach gurgled as she blew shaky breaths out. She pushed herself back onto her knees. She was corrupted, wrong, changed.

“Good girl.”

She nodded as her Master stood, dragging the man to his feet.

“I’m going to lock him back in.” He called out as he turned for the door. “I want you to wait here, I’ll return for you.”

Chapter Text

He had returned to her, taking her to Lady Sansa’s chambers. She could hear the sobs through the door as he slid the key into the lock and opened it. She was thrown in, hitting the stone with a thud.

“What have you done to her?” Lady Sansa stood from the bed, stepping towards her. “She has done nothing, but what you ask of her.”

“Don’t fucking move”.

Lady Sansa froze on the spot, fingers tangled into her hair, she sniffled softly. Obey.

“I want you to tell me the truth.” He stopped where she was knelt, his hand running across her hair. “She lied. I expect better from you, my wife.”

“What have you done to her?”

“I fed her, she is a pet, an animal after all.” He scoffed. “Don’t lie to me, girl.”

“Did you hurt her?”

“You care for her, that will be your downfall.” He curled his fingers into her hair. “I do not answer questions” He shook her head back and forth. “Tell me the truth.”

She watched Lady Sansa, the way she stood, how she picked at her fingers. She was silent, chest rising and falling as she huffed breaths in. Lie. She could feel the unease in the room.

He wrenched her head back, pulling her spine straight. The sting radiated through her as he held her hair taught. A whine burst from her as tears welled in her eyes.

“Stop!” Her voice cracked as she called out. 

“Tell me the truth.” Each word was its own sentence. A demand.

Her silence remained. Lie. A pain shot through her head as he wrenched her backwards, she slammed against the floor, staring up at him as he twisted his head, eyes never leaving Lady Sansa.

“I don’t know what you speak of.”

He lurched down, gripping her collar. He pulled her upwards and held her there. She could just barely reach the stone with her hands, trying to take the pressure from her neck. She was almost hanging, dangling from his grasp.

He turned his attention to her, balling his fist up, she could hear the creak of the leather as he flashed a smile at her.

“Clench your jaw.”

She shook her head softly as she braced for impact. She clenched her jaw, for fear she would swallow her own teeth if she did not. He did not just hit her once, she felt punch after punch connect. Each one harder than the last, she could feel her face swelling up.

He focused on her eye, sharp pains circled the area with no sign of stopping as his knuckles connected with bone. She could hear Lady Sansa screaming in the background. Pleading with him. Her words jumbled into one.

“Tell me the truth.” He stopped, leaning up, giving her time to re-centre herself. “I have not yet done anything to you that cannot be undone.” He shook her. “Don’t make me change that.”

Lady Sansa sobbed out, drawing gasps into her lungs. Lie. She listened to the noises she made, they reminded her of Imry and in turn what she had done to him. Her Master was right, she was an animal. The prisoner was meat, she had eaten parts of him, parts that he would never get back.

Her Master started again, focusing once more on her eye. She felt the hits coming one after another, her head snapping back and forth from the force. The room spun, the colours merged into one another, the orange glow from the fire drawing her eyes to it. She could concentrate on nothing more than the feeling of his fist against her face.

She could hear her in the background, voice full of panic, shaking in fear. She didn’t take the words in, she could not focus on what she pleaded. But her voice was always there, she was witness to the beating.

“Stop! Stop! I’ll tell you.” She raised her own voice. “Don’t hurt her anymore!”

He changed the angle, swinging a last punch directly into her eye, it was harder than the others. He let go of her collar and dropped her to the floor. She cried out, bringing her arm up to cover her face. Something was wrong, something felt wrong. She could barely feel anything, her eye had swollen up so badly that she couldn’t open it, the flesh tough.

“Tell me.”

“I spoke to her.”

“I don’t give a fuck about what you do.” He twisted his hand into her hair once more, pulling her back onto her knees. “Tell me what she did.”

“She spoke back.”

She gripped her cloak, pulling at the material. She would tell him, he would know that they plotted, that she planned to help Lady Sansa escape. Lie. Lie. Lie to him.

“About what?

“You.”

“Me?” He crouched down, pulling her close, almost whispering into her ear. “Go on, my wife.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“She spoke of your mercy.” She stepped forward. “Of how you always cared for her.”

She caught Lady Sansa’s eye for a second before she flicked hers back to him.

“Of how you made sure she had food and water and a cloak to keep her warm.”

She shook a breath through her nose. Feeling him loosen his grasp on her.

“Is that true?” The words were spoken to her, directly.

“Yes, Master.” She lied, her head woozy, vision still spinning.

He let her go and she slumped forward, her arms barely holding her weight.

“She was trying to soften my heart to you.”

She watched as Lady Sansa dropped to her knees, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“Please, husband, she brings me comfort.” Her voice wobbled as she spoke. “It was a stupid mistake, please!” She clasped her hands together. “I want her to remain in my service, I’ll do you as want me to, I beg you.”

He stood, releasing her and stepping towards Lady Sansa. He reached out for her, taking her hand in his and raising her back to her feet.

“You’ll do as I want you to?”

“Yes.” She nodded as she spoke. “Please. What have you done to her?”

“She broke my rules.”

“I know, I’m sure she is so very sorry.”

“That’s a meaningless word.”

He cocked his head to one side, dropping Lady Sansa’s hand and turning and walking back to her. He gripped her jaw, pulling her head back.

“I gave her a choice, she chose to eat the tongue of the man in cell four.” He sung the words out stroking his thumb across her jaw. “She did it, so obediently, like an animal.”

She heard Lady Sansa gasp as she stared into her Master’s face, gaze flickering across it. Mercy. Master. Mercy.

“I have had too much trust in her, to believe that she wouldn’t try to connect with you.” He flashed his teeth. “Open, tongue out.”

She did, wide as she could, until her muscles ached. She could still taste the man’s blood on her tongue, the horrible metallic twinge that refused to leave her life.

“I have no other options, I’m forced to silence her in a way that I know will work.”

He cleared his throat, sucking the hollows of his cheeks in. His eyes cut into her, a smirk pulling at his lips. He pursed them, spitting into her mouth. She flinched as she felt it hit her tongue, slide down it. He let her drop her head and she held it, his gift, against the roof of her mouth.

He pulled her to her feet, holding onto her as she wobbled, struggling to find her balance.

“I want you to go to the Maester, you can swallow it once you’re back in your cell.” He breezed past her, his focus on Lady Sansa. “Sleep, you’re going to be awake for the next day at least.”

He twisted his head from side to side as he stalked towards his wife. She watched her face turn, eyes wide, lips parted. She saw her chest rise and fall, breaths fluttering from her body.

“I believe you said you’d do as I want you to?”

Lady Sansa nodded softly, tears spilling once more.

“Get on your fucking knees.” He turned his head to the side. “dirt, leave. Now.”

Chapter Text

“Open.”

She did, bracing herself for his next gift. He choked up whatever had stuck in his throat and spat it into her.

“Good girl.” He stepped back from her cell, leaning his back against the wall. “Your face looks like it hurts.”

She grunted out. She had visited the Maester, he told her that there was nothing he could do until the swelling had subsided. He couldn’t tell if her eye was damaged, but she was certain it was. He wrapped shards of ice in a cloth, and held it onto her face. It numbed her, it stopped the pain, if only briefly.

She had obeyed her Master, swallowed once she was back in her cell, and slept as much as she could. She could hear him, Imry, in cell four. She could hear his voice, what was left of it. He called out, screamed, shouted incomprehensible nonsense.

Visions of him haunted her dreams until she woke.

“Stannis is marching.” He took a deep breath in, a smile pulling his lips up. “He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s already lost.”

She sniffled, the taste of whatever he ate that morning lingering on her tongue.

“We’re preparing now, leaving soon.” He crouched, cocking his head to one side, biting down on his lip. “I want you to clean her up for me.”

Lady Sansa. He would want to enjoy her when he returned. She would go to her, she would wait until he left. That would be their chance, for her to enact her plan.

“I want you give her a bath, do her hair, make her pretty for me.”

She nodded. She would tell her.

“If I hear reports of you speaking, you’ll have another meal to swallow.”

She grunted out, pushing herself against the wall, shaking her head.

“Good girl, go to her now.” He smirked. “I can’t trust you with the keys, so I’ll send someone to ensure you both stay where you should in my absence.”

She did, he walked in the opposite direction. She could barely keep herself up straight, she found herself trailing against the walls, leaning on them so she could continue.

Her head pounded, making her hunch over for relief. She could twitch her face slightly now, but the swelling still restricted her, still sat around her eye like a disease, reminding her. Her flesh felt like it creaked, as a rusty hinge would, when she tried to move it. She was certain it would bruise for weeks.

She found herself standing outside of Lady Sansa’s door for a few moments before knocking. She heard her voice from inside as she called out, it was muffled, she was louder than her whispers had been.

She pressed her ear against the wood and closed her eyes. She could hear her, far more clearly, she could hear the crackle of the fire. She opened the door, stepping into her chambers. The heat welcomed her as always, Lady Sansa was at the window, staring from it.

“They’re leaving?” She questioned, back to her.

She nodded to no one but herself. Soon.

She stepped over to the window, joining her. They watched as the preparations were made. The horses saddled, the weapons sharpened, the men dressed in their armour. They could hear the clanking, the chattering. They stood for a while, staring. Until someone banged on the door, she shot her head around to it.

“He’ll come for you when he’s back.” He jangled the keys, sliding them into the lock and clicking it. “Do as he asked, girl.”

Lady Sansa caught her eye, her own wide.

“Your face.” She reached out, the warmth of her hands settling against her skin. “What did the Maester say?”

She shook her head. He doesn’t know.

“He… He spat again, didn’t he?”

She nodded, squeaking out.

Lady Sansa sighed, turning back to the window, watching once again. They stood in silence, listening to the hustle from far away. She saw him, she knew how he moved, how he stood. She grunted, pointing.

“He’s there.” She smiled for a second. “I have a plan, I know what to do.”

She furrowed her brow, cocking her head to one side. She made a hand signal, as if she held a key, as if she had turned it in the lock.

“I know, but I took something.” She looked over to her again. “Something that would get us out of this room, to where I need to put the candle.”

Lady Sansa slid her hand into hers, curling her fingers against her, skin warm.

“You must trust me.”

She nodded. They watched until the soldiers were led away, until they could see him mount his horse. Blood. Until he galloped from the courtyard, they waited for a while longer. To make sure that no one would returned too soon and catch them.

“Now is the time.” Lady Sansa stepped away from the window.

She pulled her mattress up, digging around inside it for something. She sighed out as she spun back around, holding it up for her to see. A corkscrew.

She had watched one be dug into his foot, twisted into it. reek, when he was still Theon. When her Master was still pretending. That’s why he limps, that and the toes he had removed.

“Come, we must move quickly.” Lady Sansa hurried to the door, crouching and pushing the point of the corkscrew into the lock. “I can do this. I can.” The words whispered to herself.

She watched as she wiggled it around, trying to click it unlocked. She fiddled with it for a while, listening. The sound of the door unlocking rang through the room, Lady Sansa turned to her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“We have to get to the tower.”

Chapter Text

She stood outside the tower, leaning on the wall for support. Lady Sansa had climbed the stairs, she could not. She rocked her head back and forth, trying to ease the pounding that threatened to overtake her.

She waited for her, Lady Sansa had to go alone. She hoped everything went as she wanted. That she could light the candle and they can leave. She would follow her, she was clever. They kept their hoods up, cloaks covering any imperfections as they moved.

She heard the door close and prepared herself to walk once more. Lady Sansa helped steady her and they started forward together. She went as fast as she could, keeping her head down, her eyes on the floor. She followed Lady Sansa’s footsteps.

She leant on a bannister for support as they headed up the stairs. They started across a walkway, getting a few steps in before Lady Sansa stopped dead, gasping. She looked up, eyes wide.

“My Lady.” Myranda. She had an arrow pointed at her, bow drawn back, creaking. “I’ve come to escort back to your chamber.” A smirk pulling her lips up.

“Please.” reek. He was curled over, head bowed low, hiding his face. “Go with her.”

Bad word. She watched him shiver where he stood. Rat. He betrayed them. He betrayed Lady Sansa. He told Myranda. And now here she is, bow drawn, spewing violence as her Master would.

Lady Sansa stood quietly for a moment. Shaking breaths into her lungs.

“I know he’s a monster.” She pointed back at her. “I know what he’ll do to me, she is evidence enough of that.” Her voice wobbled. “If I am to die, I want to die as Sansa Stark.”

“Die?” Myranda dropped the bow down, scoffing. “Who spoke of dying?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re a Stark, the daughter of Ned Stark, Ramsay needs you.”

She watched her bite down on her lip, eyes flicking across the ground. She looked back to Lady Sansa, the look on her face mirroring that of her Master.

“I suppose, he doesn’t need all of you.” He smiled, baring her teeth. “Just the parts to make his heirs, the rest of you is spare.”

Lady Sansa shook breaths into her lungs, she could hear them, she was scared. She knew reek could not be trusted. She knew he would betray them, and put her in danger.

“He threatened to take her arms and legs once. Right to the root.”

Her breathing picked up as the words hit her ears. She remembered the story, the horrible thoughts, the pictures that flashed through her mind.

“Strap her down to a board, a stump with holes.” She chuckled, biting her lip again. “He threatened to rip her teeth out and blind her.” She stretched the bow slightly, looking at the arrow for a moment. “She would exist, waiting for him.”

She remembered that time. Myranda had brushed her hair, braided it. She had brought her a clean nightdress, a thicker one. She wrenched her head back, whispered depravity into her ear. She was evil too.

“Maybe he’ll do that to you, fuck you, finish so deep inside that you have no choice but to bear him a son.” She cocked her head to the side. “And you would wiggle and scream and feel yourself swell, bigger and bigger, as you were strapped down, blind, immobile, he could do as he pleased as you cried and begged for death.”

She was staring at Myranda through tears, she would have to be completely mad to have fallen for him. She was in love with him, that much was clear. They complimented each other like oil to a flame. Their being together brought only cruelty.

“Now, to your chambers.” She drew her bow once more, aiming it at her. “Lady Sansa.”

She jumped back a step, stumbling as she slid on the stone. reek had lurched forward, arms wrapped around Myranda, he dragged her to the fence that surrounded the walkway. The arrow she aimed at Lady Sansa firing into the wall nearby.

She screamed out as he wrenched her. Her heartbeat pounded in her head as she watched him. He was capable. He could protect Lady Sansa. She could barely walk, her face was swollen still, bruised. Her vision blurred at times, in the eye he did not hit, she was off balance.

He was strong, he could protect her, he could lead her to safety, Lady Sansa. She would hinder them, in her condition, she would be dead as soon as she hit the snow, or she would survive, and slow them down. He could do what she had failed at, he could get her North, to her brother.

She could leave, and die, if she wanted to. She didn’t have to go with them. She could go to the river and drown herself, that’s what Lyanna would’ve done. Before this mess, when he was dragging her to the Dreadfort for the first time, she was looking for rocks, anything to kill herself.

She was Lyanna, she knew it. But that did not mean that she had to give up as the younger her would have, she wanted to live. She would be punished, but he wouldn’t kill her. He would hurt her instead, there was chance that he would be over thrown, captured, killed, she could survive.

“reek!” Myranda pushed back against him. “Please! Stop! Stop…”

She had come to the realisation just as he flipped her over the edge, she listened to her shout get quieter the longer she fell. She flinched at the sound of the impact, the crack of broken bones and death ringing out through the courtyard.

Lady Sansa ran to the fence, joining reek as they both stared over the edge at her corpse. The silence only lasting a few seconds before a horn rang out, she jumped at the sound, covering her ears.

“Open the gates!” A voice shouted from afar.

The clank of the wooden gate opening was interrupted by hoof-fall, neighing, the clacking of armour and the groans of soldiers.

reek whipped his head around staring between them both.

“He’s coming back.”

Lady Sansa turned to her, reaching to grasp her hand, she stepped back, pulling away and shaking her head. She uncurled her tongue from the roof of her mouth, letting his gift swirl around. He would punish her anyway, one of them had to survive him.

She swallowed hard, she relaxed her tongue for a moment, letting it rest for the first time in an age. She could speak now, she could let her feelings be known. The rat, reek, Theon. She didn’t trust him for much, he hurt her, but he would he ensure Lady Sansa got to the Wall.

“I would be the death of us all.” She pushed her away, avoiding her once more. “I am slow, I am injured, I am the diseased part you cut off to survive.” She stepped back again. “You go with him, Theon.”

He raised his head, staring at her, eyes wide. He grabbed Lady Sansa’s arm, pulling her away. He nodded at her as he did, there was an understanding between them, her Master did ruin them both after all.

“You can’t, you have to come with us.” She called back as she was dragged away. “Please, you have to live too.”

“This is my best chance, to stay, to endure and come out the other side.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “He starves me, I don’t keep a heat well, the cold would kill me.”  She shook her head, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I want to live, Lady Sansa.”

She watched her face drop, brows knitted together, tears welling at her own eyes. Her resolve softened, she let herself be pulled away by Theon.

“Just call me Sansa, you are my friend.”

“I’ll see you again, Sansa.”

She fell almost out of sight as she called out her response. She hoped she had heard it. She stepped forward, leaning on the fence and staring down at the blood that had pooled underneath Myranda, waiting on her Master to find her.

Chapter Text

She had been in her cell since her Master found her, Myranda and learned of Sansa and Theon’s escape. They had taken her cloak, she lay in her nightdress, arms strapped behind her back, pulled tight and tied at her wrists and elbows. She was curled on her side, a strip of cloth tied over her eyes, horrors bouncing around her mind.

He had hinged her jaw open on a leather belt, buckling it at the back of her head. It cut into the corners of her mouth and rubbed them raw. She could not speak, the noises that left her sounded straight from the mouth of the man from cell four.

She tried to keep silent, any movement made the leather dig in deeper, forced her flesh against her teeth and caused further pain. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears stung the corners of them, soaking into the fabric that blocked her vision. She could feel her hands going numb, the tingle ran up her arms.

She clasped her hands together, letting her thumbs run over the stumps of her missing fingers. This was her best chance, Sansa would go to her brother, they would take back their home and save her. The cold would’ve leeched into her body and frozen her to ice if she had left.

She could endure. She would live. Lyanna would live.

She heard footsteps, a key sliding into the lock of her cell. She was still, stopping the breath in her lungs, listening for any sign that would tell her who it was. She felt a hand wrap around her leg, the stone shift underneath her as she was dragged.

She called out as she was pulled from the floor onto her feet, the strap cutting into her mouth. Mercy. Her legs shook as she stood. She whimpered out, feeling her saliva pool behind her teeth.

Whoever took her from her cell was quiet, she didn’t know if it was her Master, or one of his men. She felt hands on her again, pulling her around, she was lifted, she was sure of it. Her feet dangling in the air, she stretched her toes out, searching for the stone.

“Stay still, girl.” He adjusted her onto his shoulder. “Or I drag you.”

She didn’t recognise the voice and relented to him, letting him carry her through the halls. She listened to his footsteps echo on the stone as she hung limply in his grasp. She eventually heard him stop to open a door, she could feel the silence fall across the room as they entered.

She was dropped to the floor, forced to her knees, the cool of the stone flickering across her skin. She heard footsteps, heavy ones, closing in on her. She felt the spit roll over her bottom teeth and drool from her lips as she moaned out around the strap.

“You treacherous little worm!” He growled the words as he ripped the fabric from her eyes. “You live? You?” He curled his fingers around her throat, squeezing. “Whilst she lies, her head cracked open like an egg? Blood pooling?”

Mercy. She could feel the dizziness begin to drag her under, she bounced on her knees, twitching her head to the side, trying to stay awake.

“Ramsay.” Lord Bolton spoke. “Your attachment to that girl was unfitting of a trueborn.”

“You helped them escape.” He ignored his father, tightening his grip further. “I left you locked in her chambers, you shouldn’t have left.”

“Ramsay.”

She pulled her arms against the rope that held them. Don’t kill me. The darkness that creeped into the edges of her vision threatening to drag her away. I’m sorry. She stared into her Master’s eyes, trying to keep herself awake.

They cut into her like a blade, wide, pale. Madness seeping from them like puss from an infection. His fury threatened to bubble over, brows furrowed, lips twitching. He hated her, she would suffer for it.

“You did well with Stannis, boy, but your need for entertainment has lost us the daughter of Ned Stark.” He slammed his fist onto the table. “I am talking to you!”

Her Master pulled back, standing, releasing his grasp on her. She drew a breath in, blinking the darkness away, feeling the blood rush through her head, she watched them, darting her tongue across her lip to try and stop herself from drooling again.

He spoke, slow, steady. “I have sent my men, my best hounds.” He snarled. “She will be found, they will sniff her out.”

Lord Bolton stepped forward, closing the gap between him and her Master. He pointed, finger bouncing off his chest.

“Let’s hope that they do.” He cocked his head to the side. “For you will be unable to produce an heir without her.”

She rolled her head back, letting the saliva pool at the back of her throat. She forced herself to swallow, keeping everything as still as she could. She pulled her arms against the binds, testing their strength.

She barely moved, she could only wiggle her fingers, she was exposed. He could gut her, right here right now and watch as her insides spilled to the stone and she could nothing but beg and let it happen.

“She knows where Sansa is.” Lord Bolton gestured towards her. “You will rip the answer from her, or we better hope that the Maesters are correct.” He stepped back from him, returning to his seat. “And Lady Walda is indeed carrying a boy.”

She heard her Master grunt out and spin back to where she knelt, she felt his fingers grip her arms and squeeze as he tore her to her feet. He had her bent over at the waist, pushing her head down.

He dragged her from the room, he had her arms at an angle, forcing her forward. She cried out as her muscles ached, the strap between her teeth making her sound like an animal. He walked her through the castle, she stumbled beside him, feeling his grip crush bruises into her. She knew where they would end up, she knew what would happen, she could not fight it.

She disobeyed. She helped them escape. He knew it, he would hurt her, for information. Lord Bolton was right, she knew where they were headed. The Wall. Jon Snow. She could not tell, she had to keep it from him for a day or two longer, until she was sure that they had gotten away.

She was thrown into the room, coals burning already. She landed badly, clattering off the unforgiving stone. She could feel tears stinging the corners of her eyes as she tried to get her knees underneath her and lift herself without the use of her arms.

Her face was still sore, still swollen, albeit not as badly as before. She could feel it as she squeezed her eyes shut, feel the ache that was left behind. She could not yet open her eye, it was trapped shut by the damage he smashed into it.

She moaned out once more, trying to get her Master’s attention. Mercy. She wanted to plead, she could endure his cruelty but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t beg for his forgiveness. Sansa might fail yet, she might be returned to her Master and they would bother suffer.

She and Theon might escape the hounds and leave her behind to her misery. Leave her to his mercy. Pain. She watched as he went around the room, gathering the items he’d need to hurt her, slamming them down onto a nearby table.

She shook a breath into her lungs as he gripped her once more, cutting the rope from her arms and forcing her onto her back. She felt him strap her down, the same way she was when he tried to drown her, it was the same room, it was all the same.

She didn’t believe in a God anymore, apart from him, but she prayed to whatever could hear her that didn’t pin her head down, cloth pulled over her face, an endless stream of water splashing across her.

She prayed for his mercy.

Chapter Text

She groaned out, strap still forcing her jaw open. Endure. She had tears stinging the corners of her eyes, the dull ache continuing to thud behind the swollen mess his fist had left behind. He had her strapped down, two binds per limb. Tight, unforgiving, familiar. Her joints had already begun to ache from the pressure.

“You’ve betrayed me.” He spoke slowly, his voice choppy. “You have made my father believe that I am untrustworthy.”

She started drawing breaths in through her nose in an attempt to limit the noises that tried to burst from her chest. Betrayed.

“Myranda.” He bit his lip, staring into her face. “She loved me.” He lifted his chin, eyes narrow. “She never was afraid of me.” 

He turned his back on her, she watched as he drew his fingers along the tools he had amassed on the table.

“You always were.” He lifted pliers up, pointing to her with them. “You still are.” He stepped towards her, twirling them around his hand. “I want your fingernails, from your left hand, you’ll have no use for them soon.”

He had his teeth bared, lips curled into a snarl. I’m sorry. He stared at her through wide, manic eyes. Glassy and fixed.

“I want to hear you beg.” He placed the pliers on her stomach. “So. We need that off.”

He slid his hand under her head, lifting it from the wood. He used his other to unbuckle the belt, pulling it from her teeth. She heard a clank, as it hit the floor.

She moaned out as she closed her jaw, the relief felt good. To relax her strained muscles, to swallow properly. The corners of her lips stung as she ran her tongue across them, she tasted blood, metal. The strap had cut into her flesh, rubbed her raw.

“Tell me what happened to Myranda.” He squeezed her jaw in his grasp. “How she ended up broken from a fall.”

“reek.” She whispered out, voice hoarse. “He  dragged her… He threw her.”

“Did she beg in the end?”

She was silent for a moment. She remembered that familiar tone, begging, pleading. Myranda was no different.

“Yes.” She nodded as far as she could under his hold. “She shouted. reek. Stop.” She drew a sharp breath in. “She screamed no on the way down. Grunted when she…” She trailed off, twitching her head softly.

“Landed.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

She saw tears in his eyes, he blinked them back. He licked his lips, she could hear his breathing, the way he dragged the air into his lungs. Angry. He wasn’t playful, this wasn’t a game. It was punishment. It was a chore for him.

“I fed her to the hounds.” He furrowed his brow. “She was good meat, I’m sure they enjoyed her.”

It was fate, almost. Myranda had told her of all the people she had helped him chase down, the ones she had watched torn to shreds by his dogs. It was a small comfort to know that her corpse shared a similar end, that he cared for her no more than the others he’d killed.

“I may fetch a bag, so I don’t have to look at you.”

“No! Not that, Master!” She wailed the words out. “Not the bag, no!”

“Why?”

She hated the bag. It made her feel helpless, like she didn’t exist. Like she was nothing, an object, existing for nothing but anguish. As if she were not an active participate in her pain, but just a passenger. Trapped by the endless swirling sensation that had no beginning or end. In the dark, a hundred faces staring back at her, a hundred different screams cutting their way from their bodies.

She didn’t know how to say it, she could not explain to him what she felt in her soul. A heart pounding in her chest, stomach dropping type of feeling. She blinked it away as she felt his grasp tighten.

“I don’t like the dark.”

“Then you will watch.”

“No!” It was half screamed as it left her.

He crouched out of view for a moment, returning with the belt, he pushed her head to the side as she struggled against him. He strapped the belt over it, pinning her, he had her where he wanted her. Her eyes flickered over her hand, what was left of it. 

“Master!”

He ignored her, lifting the pliers from her stomach. She felt him hold her arm down as she wiggled the digits she had left. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt him grip onto her middle fingernail. She only had three left on that hand.

“Master, mercy!”

“You deserve no mercy.” He didn’t look back at her, wrenching his hand back. “I have shown you enough over the years.”

She could hear the ringing in her ears as her nail was ripped from her. Stop. She could feel the flesh give and the sting wash through her body like a wave. She was screaming out before she even realised it, half on exhale, half on an inhale.

“No more!”

He closed the head of the pliers onto the second nail, holding her finger in his grasp, squeezing until she could feel her heartbeat in the tip of it. He scoffed, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he pulled his hand back again.

She swallowed back a lump, feeling tears sting her eyes as she cried out again. I’m sorry. The rest of the straps held her still as she fought against them. The sound trickled through her, the tearing, ripping, piece by piece.

“Master!” The word was barely intelligible, wobbling as she screamed it.

She felt him grip onto her thumbnail, he meant to take it all. I’ll obey. I will.

“Not everything! Not all of them!”

He ignored her again, he used more force to remove it, it was bigger, rooted into her flesh like a tree through the earth. She watched him drag his arm back once more, the feeling cutting through her body, travelling through her bones like fire.

He stepped away from her, back to his table of tools. She heard him rattle things as she blinked, trying to focus on her hand, on what he had done. There was blood, raw flesh oozing, the air prickled against it, she could feel her skin stiffen as she flexed her fingers.

He turned back to her, running the back of his hand across her cheek. He crouched, so she could see him. She stared into his face, eyes wide. There was nothing on it, he was blank, save his anger.

“I’m going to take as much as I want.” He cocked his head to the side. “Tell me where they went.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a liar.” He smiled, standing over her hand once more. “Try again.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t know.” She sniffled. “They didn’t tell me.”

He sighed out. “You are only causing yourself more suffering.”

She watched him hold something in front of her, she blinked, focusing her eyes. No. No. A familiar glint shone from the metal, her heart sank to the bottom of the ocean when she realised what he held. The flaying knife, he twirled it around his hand, laying it against her.

“I don’t know!” She wailed out. “Master, you must believe me!”

“Why should I?” He dug the tip of the blade into the pad of her finger. “You have been untruthful from the moment we met.”

He drew the blade down, crossing the boundary of her palm. Stop! Stop. She screamed out, pulling against his weight as he pushed down onto her arm. She felt him stop at her wrist, he meant to take it all.

“No!” The thrashed against her bonds. “You can’t take my hand! You can’t, I need it!”

He scoffed out, craning his head back to stare at her. She could see a sly smile pulling at his face, his eyes held that vile spark. He always wore it when he hurt people.

“I can do as I please.” He turned his back on her once more. “Besides. You have another, do you not?”

“It’s weak…” She gasped in breaths. “Branded, scarred, it hurts when I use it.”

“You will become accustomed to that.”

“Master, please!” The word burst from her before she even realised she said it. “Please.”

She had sealed her fate. Bad word. He stopped, turning to face her, body curled over her arm. Bad. Bad. His face lit up like a fire, he chuckled, eyes wide.

“That is curious.” He leaned towards her. “That word has been unuttered by you for almost ten years.” He flashed his teeth. “And now you use it to try and save your hand?”

“Please.”

“You’re pathetic.” He slipped the blade under her skin once more. “Tell me where they went.”

She knew. They were going to the wall. But they needed more time, she could not yet relent. She screamed out the same three words, the same lie as he tore at her hand. Her body ached, muscles straining, trying to free herself.

He ripped her skin from flesh, she squeezed her eyes shut, screaming her throat bloody. She begged him, she said please. It was a bad word, she had gotten creative with how she had pleaded with him over the years. That word had been locked away, never used.

“Tell me where they are.”

He twisted her hand, digging the blade through her second finger, slicing through her like butter. Be a dream. She would’ve preferred if he had taken the branded one, the arm that reek burned, before he remembered he was Theon.

She could barely hold herself up with it, barely put weight on it. It could not support her when she lifted things, the nasty, thick raised skin tinging and tormenting her every time it touched something. She dug her nails into the brand as she tried to twist herself from the strap.

“Master!” The word was long, screeched from her mouth.

“You have yet to answer me.”

“I don’t know!”

“You’re a liar.” He craned his head back, biting down on his lip. “I hate liars.”

He continued his questioning as he flipped her hand, digging his knife into her nail bed and separating the layers. She screamed out once more, trying to drag her hand from his grasp. He pushed down on it, pinning it to the wood as he wiggled the blade down the length of her finger.

“Please! Please please.” She could feel her neck creaking as she tried to turn her head. “Don’t take it all…”

He paused, she could feel him tap his fingers against her arm. He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, she shivered as the cool of the prickled against her when he exhaled.

“I don’t know where they went.” She preempted his question, voice shaking. “I promise! I don’t know. They left me behind.”

“They did.” He scoffed. “But I had you locked in her chambers, both of you escaped from there. How?”

“Sansa! She had a corkscrew.“

“And instead of alerting someone, you went with her.” The silence hung in the air for a couple of seconds. “Do you think I don’t know you were found with your mouth unburdened?”

“Master, I-“

“I also know there was a candle lit in the tower.” He drew his hand down, sharply. “Who was she trying to contact?” He shouted the question over the noises that left her. “This was the second attempt, reek was honest about the first.”

“I don’t know!” She howled out. “She told me nothing!”

He ripped at the layers, the pain twisted through her, forcing her muscles tight. Mercy. Mercy. She strained at the straps, he he had peeled everything from her palm, from the pads of her fingers, he would do the same to the back of her hand, to her knuckles.

“Then what did you speak of?” His voice was sharp. “When you wilfully disobeyed me.”

“Of nothing…” She trailed off, whimpering as she felt him lay the blade against the next digit. “It was nothing bad.”

“That’s something I’ll decide.” He turned his head, catching her eyes out of the corner of his. “What did you speak of.”

He cut into her again, sending another wave through her. She was sobbing now, barely coherent, screeching like a beaten animal.

“Of Lyanna!” She gasped for breath. “Of Lyanna…” The second iteration was barely a whisper.

“Lyanna’s dead.”

“Sansa said she lives in me, in my heart, even now.”

He was silent, working his way down her finger once more. The room was filled with nothing but the raw sounds that burst from her chest.

“Who are you?”

She knew, Lyanna. dirt. That’s who she was. Sansa had helped her see the truth, she had helped her connect the shards of her memories, of who she was, before. dirt. But she knew the answer he wanted, she knew what he wanted her to believe. That she was only dirt, that Lyanna was not a part of her.

“I’m dirt, always Master.” It was a lie, it felt strange, like the others did. “I’m a pet.”

“Then be a good little pet and tell me where they went.”

“I lied before, I did! When I stole food.” She gasped in breaths between words. “When you took my pinky in front of the Night’s Watch. I lied then, I’m not lying now!” She stuttered as she spoke. “I don’t know where they went.”

“You didn’t lie then.” He smiled, turning to face her, teeth bared. “I made that up, so I could hurt you.” He tapped the bloody blade against her cheek. “You only started lying once you met my sweet wife.” He spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes wide.

“I didn’t lie?”

She could feel tears sting at her eyes as the words settled into her skull. I stole. I lied. I’m a liar. She remembered. She could feel something snap inside her mind, as if a fog had been lifted.

It was him. He had lied to her, all this time. Sansa was right.

“I don’t answer your questions, you answer mine.” He cocked his head to the side. “Where are they?”

Chapter Text

She had screamed her throat hoarse hours ago. He had left, taken the torch, no matter how hard she had pleaded. She was staring straight into the black void, but somehow she knew her gaze still fell on the stripped mess that had become of her hand, even if she couldn’t see it.

She had begged him to cut it off, he hadn’t even acknowledged her, leaving her without a word. He was angry, she had disobeyed, this was her punishment. She didn’t break, she couldn’t, not yet. Theon and Sansa would still be too close to Winterfell, they would fall back into his hands.

She was strapped to the board, just able to writhe and no more. Her body ached, it cried out to move, to calm the horrible stretch of her muscles. Her neck felt strained, the feeling of the leather holding her down ever present in her mind.

“Please. Please.” She whispered to herself as she focused on staying still. “Please! Please please.”

Bad word. The word he had forbidden, repeated over and over again until it rang through her skull in the same tone the dead behind her eyes used, the ones he made her watch leave the earth. Bad word. She could not stop herself from saying it, as if she were making up for the times she wasn’t allowed to.

She could hear the rats chirp at each other, scratch, scurry underneath her. She was afraid they would eat her hand, she couldn’t shoo them away, she could barely move. She grunted out if she felt the sound they carried got too close to what they would consider a meal. She hoped they would take the hint and think her not worth risking their life for.

“Master!” Her voice cracked as she called into the silence, unsure if she wanted him to hear her or not. “Cut it off…”

She had been trying to keep her hand raised from the wood, so the delicate flesh didn’t sting as it was touched. She shook, her arm tiring as the hours passed. She cried out every time she had to relent and rest, an unending, raw burn coursed through her.

“Please…” She agreed with him at this point, she was pathetic, she didn’t know how to be anything else. “I don’t know.” She lied, to no one but herself and the rats.

She was hungry, starving, her body ate away at itself as the seconds passed. The rumbling of her belly filling the silence, the hollow feeling curling around her, dragging gags to the back of her throat. The uncomfortable feelings about her last meal sat in the back of her skull like a poison.

Imry. His tongue. She couldn’t even attempt to call herself human anymore, she was forever changed the moment she swallowed the chunks down. The instant his blood hit her own tongue, she wasn’t a person, people don’t eat each other. Lyanna, the girl she had been, she would be horrified.

She was an animal, a pet, like his hounds. He had them eat people, she knew it. They ate Myranda, he said she was good meat. She was thankful he never made her do it too, that he left her in her cell whilst they devoured her corpse.

“Stay away!” The words shook from her, as loud as she could go, she heard the rats close in briefly before scattering at her outburst. “I’m sorry! I didn’t want to eat him.”

She listened to them squeak from a safe distance again, her eyes flickering around the darkness. I’m sorry. She was like them. She was bad. She hurt people too, told on them. I’m sorry. She picked choices that would cause her the least pain, even if she had to pass it to others.

It made no difference. She still lay in the dark, in agony. Waiting for him once again. She wiggled her feet, trying to relieve the pressure crushing her ankles against the wood.

There was nothing else, just pain, everywhere, in every form. She could feel nothing else.

The faces of the dead flashed behind her eyes when she tried to sleep, mouths stretched in a scream. Their eyes boring into her like a corkscrew, she whined out as she tried to wish them away, in every corner of her mind, they were there. Accusing her, pleading for help.

Their screams echoed around her head, a symphony of horror, until she had to choice but to join them. Her throat burned and she could taste bile at the back of her throat every time she swallowed.

“I’m sorry!” She shouted into the emptiness of the room, trying to drag her head from the strap. “I’m sorry! I deserve this. I do!” Her voice crackled like burning logs. “I hurt people.”

She whined out, she could find no comfort, she felt as though the souls of the people she turned in were dragging her to the ocean floor. She could feel a twinge as her heart began to pound against her ribs. She tried to blink it away, trying to slow her breathing to no avail.

She was gasping in uneven mouthfuls of air, feeling like her lungs would not fill properly. She could feel the spin set into the base of her skull, like when he had hit her. The same lack of control, she felt the room twist around her, eyes unfocused even in the dark. Her body trembled, as she did in the snow, muscles tensed against the leather, aching.

Her body felt out of her control, she ran her thumb across the stumps of her fingers on her right hand. Trying to focus on slowing her breathing, on taking deep inhales, on her heart.

“I’m an object.” She could barely get the words, stuttering and gasping. “I’m property.” The spin of the room stopped. “You own me.” She closed her eyes, pulling a big breath in, exhaling slowing. “I’m not a person.” She could feel her heart slow, the beats softening against her ribs. “I’m not human.” She relaxed her body against the straps. “I’m dirt.” She could speak again, as before.

She continued rubbing her thumb across what was left of her fingers, she didn’t know what just happened, it was odd, strange. She didn’t like it, she lifted her left hand from the table once more, letting it float in the air, free of any surface. It still hurt, immeasurably. She had only ever lost a toe, a finger. She had never experienced what those she watched had, even now, she only knew a small part of their misery.

She was ashamed. That she had repeated the phrase he had given her years ago, she was ashamed that it had caused the bubbling pot of fear to subside back to a simmer. Obey.

She could hear the rats scurry underneath her once more, as she lay waiting. She could blink her eye better, the swelling had to have subsided, perhaps her Master would finally have the Maester care for it now that he could see the inside, but she did not hold much hope for this.

As the hours passed, she almost wished for his return so that she would not be alone, he had smashed her mind into a thousand pieces, she hated trying to traverse the storm he had left in his wake. She couldn’t trust her own thoughts, her own memories. She was afraid that Sansa wouldn’t return for her, that she would fall back under his grasp.

He had told her she didn’t lie, that he made it up. He tortured her to confession, she had stolen food, that was the memory in her brain. That is what he had told her. She could trust nothing, from no one. Not even herself.

She sniffled out into the silence of the room, listening to the rats as they went about their night, waiting for him.

Chapter Text

“I don’t want the same stupid answer you gave yesterday.” She heard the door slam open as his voice carried into the room. “I want the truth.”

She watched the light return to her surroundings as the door closed over. She was staring at her hand, the cracked skin, muscles exposed, raw and burning through her. She listened as he walked around the table, eyes trying to follow him.

She couldn’t see anything to her right, she swore she could feel herself blink, she could feel the movement as she scrunched her eyes closed. But she could see nothing from the one he punched.

“I can’t see.” The words creaked from her, her throat dry. “I can’t see!” They burst out, more panicked as she realised her reality. “Master!”

He circled around her, leaning onto her arm and twisting his head into her view. She watched a smile flash across his face, his teeth bared. He reached forward, gripping her face, pulling her eyelid open further. She flinched, she was tender, no doubt bruised, she ached through to her skull as he touched her.

“Oh, it’s destroyed.” He chuckled out. “I can tell you already, there will be nothing the Maester can do.”

She cried out, flickering her gaze around the room, trying to will her eye back to working condition. He had half blinded her, she had known something was wrong at the time, as soon as she felt his knuckles connect. She pulled against the binds, grunting as her hand brushed against the leather.

“It still moves with the other.” He cocked his head from side to side. “But it’s milky, as if looking through ice, the colours muted, the white of it now blood red.”

She let out a sob that turned into a half scream as he slammed her hand against the wood, unbuckling the strap from her wrist and closing it around her palm. The sting surged through her body, the very thing she had been trying to avoid through the night now holding her hostage. She couldn’t dwell on her eye, she could grieve it later, she had more pressing issues to face.

“Tell me where they went.”

She couldn’t tell him she didn’t know, he wouldn’t believe it, he already told her, he didn’t want the same stupid answer she had given. She had to think of something else, anywhere else, something that would stall him for an extra day.

“South.” She whispered the word out.

She felt the blade lay against her wrist, pushing into the tender flesh he had stripped bare. He slipped the tip of it underneath the layers and drew it all the way down to her elbow in one motion.

She wrenched against the straps, muscles tensed and pressing into them. He was taking bits of her, piece by piece. She was screaming before she realised it, a bitter taste lingering in the back of her throat.

“Master!” She blew out her voice with the force. “It’s the truth! Please!” The words shook from her. “Not my arm! I need it!”

“You have another.” He ran his fingers across her skin. “I’ll take as much as I please, if you don’t give me an answer I believe by tomorrow.” He drew a deep breath in, sighing back out. “I’ll take the full thing, all the way to your shoulder.”

She did have another, it was covered in the burns that reek had given her. The same shape from the same knife pressed into her flesh, over and over again until there was barely anything left but scar tissue. She scarred badly, she always had, pink, raised, the skin tough and painful.

“No!” It was screeched out. “They went South!”

“And pray tell, why the fuck would she have gone South?” He pulled at her arm, tearing skin from flesh. “She was no safer there than she is here.”

He was right, Sansa had told her stories of her time South, of what happened to her family. Of what her betrothed had done to her, of his mother and the people that wanted to use her for their own gain. She wasn’t safe there, it made no sense.

“She wanted to go to the Lannisters.” She stuttered as she spoke, voice threatening to break. “For their protection.”

“Do you realise how stupid that sounds?”

She gasped in a breath, feeling him wedge the knife into her forearm again. She could survive this. She could live. She had to hold on, she had to give them time.

“It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d be this brash in your lies, dirt.”

Lyanna.

“I ask again.” He flashed a smile in her direction before leaning over her arm once more. “Where are they.”

North. North. The went to the wall, to Jon Snow. She stayed silent.

She could feel him force a breath from his nose, a quiet growl leaving him.

“You’re beginning to piss me off.” He turned to face her once more. “I dislike being ignored far more than I do being lied to.” He pointed the blade at her. “I can blind you completely if you wish to keep your silence.”

“No!”

“Then you better fucking answer me.” He held the blade close to her eye. “Before I make you helpless.”

“She went South, she told Theo-“ She gasped in as she realised her error. “reek. reek. reek! She told reek!”

He let her shout the words, eyes wide, teeth bared as he started at her.

“Theon?” He bit down on his lip. “Theon!” It burst from him like blood from an artery. “Have you colluded with him too? All of you? Against me?”

“No! He hurt me, he can’t be trusted!”

“I hurt you.” He leant forward, his face inches away from her, eyes lit up like a fire. “I’m hurting you right now, do you trust me?”

No. He had spent these last years hurting her. Taking her apart. Ripping Lyanna from her mind, body and soul. She hadn’t spent a second outwith his control since he laid his hands on her in the first as a child, until she fell into Sansa’s service. She was able to piece together who she should have been, who she could be.

“Yes! Always!” She shook a breath in. “I trust you, I do, I promise!”

“Of course.” He turned his attention back to her arm. “Tell me where they went.”

The question burned into brain as he stripped her bare. The noises her flesh made as it separated from her body rang around her mind. She committed to her answer. Sansa was South, she only needed to get through today, and the night, and then she could tell him the truth.

She could taste blood by the end of it, gurgling at the back of her throat. She had begged and screamed to no avail. He had flipped her arm over, tearing at her skin with the blade, she felt as if he had set her aflame.

She could barely think, barely form a thought in her head, she repeated one word. South. She called out to him again as he dropped his tools, he ignored her, lifting the torch and leaving. He had left her arm strapped to the wood, cracking and drying under the cool air.

She heard the rats squeak once more and she grunted out, she was alone, bar them. She only had to get to morning, she could be honest with him, he might show her mercy.

Chapter Text

She could not think straight. The noises of the world bleeding into those she heard in her head. She whispered to herself between fits of screaming, a constant whimper sitting beneath her breaths as she tried to ignore the burn that ravaged her.

“Master… Please please please please please.” Spoken so closely together, they seemed like one. “Please!” The last was long, it shook from her.

He would think her pathetic. Even if she hadn’t used that word, even if she had just begged and pleaded, he would still think that of her. He always had. Perhaps she was, she didn’t know what to think anymore.

“I can do it.”

He had left her arm strapped down to the board. Head still forced towards it. Eyes wide in the darkness. She would never see from her right one again, the Maester can do nothing. That’s what he said, her Master. He had damaged her once more, forever.

“I can endure. I have done for years.”

She pulled in a deep breath, trying to ignore the ever prominent feelings that spread up her arm. Dragging every thought she had back to the vile reality, she would lose the arm. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

“I will survive, I will have my life, as Lyanna.” She swallowed back the lump that sat in her throat. “Sansa will come back for me, she will.”

She didn’t know if what she was saying was true or not. Or maybe she was trying to convince herself that she had a chance, that she hadn’t missed her turn at peace. That she was better off trying to survive him than allowing herself to freeze in the ice cold river.

“I can tell him tomorrow.” She nodded softly, as far as head could move. “She went North, enough time will have passed.

She didn’t know if he’d believe her, if it would even matter. He could believe and still take the rest of her arm anyway.

“He won’t!” She hissed out, trying to calm herself before panic set in. “He won’t.”

She was dirt, in her mind it was her voice that ran through it, but it was her Master’s will, twisting it’s way through her. He had tainted her with his thoughts, his words, his touch. It was dirt who thought it, but it was him who placed the seed to grow.

Lyanna spoke too, she fought back, like Sansa. She was the one who had hope whilst dirt was in her head screaming to obey, to follow. They said the opposite of each other, she found it difficult to understand them, to choose which one to follow.

“She’ll come back.”

Lyanna spoke as if the body belonged to her, as if she were the true inhabitant and dirt a passenger. Whilst dirt grew on the inside of her brain like mould on food, festering and rotting away, trying to push Lyanna’s head under the water until the bubbles stopped.

She was both, she was neither. She could not decide. They both wanted the same thing, they wanted the pain to stop. But they both had different ideas on how to achieve this.

She strained against the straps as her stomach growled out, she had been starving the day before, it was worse now. She would eat whatever he gave her for it to stop, she would swallow anything, another tongue, a rat, dead or alive, it made no difference to her.

The hunger was like a void, it overtook her, there was no exit, no entrance, no way out. The sickening feeling punching at her chest, it was if someone had twisted their hand into her belly and squeezed. It made her head hurt, that and everything else.

It pounded, to the beat of her heart, steady and behind her eye, the one he ruined. It made her feel sick, she was almost glad he had taken the torch. The swirl of the light made her feel worse, as if she would vomit bile.

“I’ll be okay, I will.”

She knew in her heart that it wasn’t true, she would survive it, him, but she would never be okay. She could not let herself fall back into the patterns he had ingrained in her, she could not afford to feed the bad habits.

The urge never left her, to repeat, to obey. No matter how many pieces of Lyanna had been put back together by Sansa and her. It sat underneath her skin, scratching, trying to force its way from her throat.

The beginning of the words always on the tip of her tongue, she swallowed them back. Shame filling her once more, nothing he did to her, nothing he gave her should bring her comfort. Not now when she was strapped half peeled to a board, not when she was locked in her cell in the darkness.

But it did.

It was so easy to obey, to follow his will and have him decide her path. It was comfortable, it regrettably felt like home, it had been her reality since she was fourteen. It made her existence bearable, simpler, it meant that she could avoid the agony that he brought.

And yet it still hurt. Everything hurt. Her neck felt strained, her body, her muscles pulled taught, she knew if she moved it too quickly once she was released they would snap, she would have to be slow, have to hope that he wouldn’t rush her.

The urge hit her once more and she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed again. She remembered. All that he had done, all that he had carved into her soul. It loomed over her, always, like the shadow of death.

No one would know, only her and the rats.

“I’m an object. I’m property. You own me.” She whispered, so softly she could only just hear herself. “I’m not a person. I’m not human. I’m dirt.”

Her heart settled as she spoke, her body relaxing against the straps once more. Every time she spoke those words she could feel his grasp on her tighten, it curled in the base of her stomach, it made her ill. But she could find comfort no where else.

“She went North.” She gasped between the words. “To the Wall.” She opened her eyes, staring once again into the darkness. “To the bastard, Jon Snow.”

She would tell him, he would believe her. She could be trusted again, she would need to find her way back into his favour if Sansa did not return, she would need to let go of Lyanna and remembered who he made her.

“She will come back.”

On the contrary, if she was saved, Lyanna, she would have to rid herself of his damage, of what he did to her mind. The physical signs would remain, forever, but she could flush his poison from her skull and become who she was meant to be.

She was pulled back as she heard the squeaks of the rats grow ever closer, she screamed out, rattling herself against the wood, trying to persuade them to stay away from her. It seemed to have worked as the noises that left them fell into the background again.

“North. They went North.” She nodded softly. “North.”

She listened to the sound of her own breathing as the hours passed. The fire that spread up her arm keeping her from rest, the sought after location whispered into the quiet every so often.

She would tell him tomorrow.

Chapter Text

North. She had no chance to tell him the truth, her shouts were drowned out by the sounds of barking. Like in the forest, when she was running. He hooked the torch on the wall and stepped behind her, just out of sight. She saw teeth, gnashing at her. The hound was big, bigger than ones that had chased her.

North. She was screaming the word as loud as she could. She felt his hand slam across her mouth, squeezing her jaw shut, nails biting into her face.

He called a command out to the hound, it fell silent, pale eyes staring at her. It panted, tongue hanging from its mouth, held tightly on a thick chain by one of his men.

“Do you see him?” His voice was close, whispered into her ear. “He’s a monster.”

The rest of them were bitches, the ones he had chase people, devour them once their bodies fell slack, once they could no longer run.

“He’d lick your arm clean down to the bone.” He crushed her jaw in his grasp. “But that’s not why I’ve brought him here.”

She flickered her gaze around the room, trying to avoid the piercing eyes of the hound, the dead eye she held in her head stopping her from seeing anything that was not directly in front of her.

“I ask again, do you see him?”

She grunted out from behind his hand.

“His name is Gore.” He scoffed, the hot of his breath hitting against her ear. “If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll have him mount you, and breed you as many times as I wish to watch.”

She tried to speak. To tell him the truth. She didn’t want to be defiled by it, the hound, she didn’t want to take another step into losing Lyanna once again. Sansa was North, if he would only let her say.