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Chapter Text

The nightmare had lasted fourteen years.

Theon Greyjoy had been only six years old, but even then he knew his station in life would be little more than a political pawn.
At that tender age, he was betrothed to young Lord Bolton and shipped off unceremoniously. All traces of his past or hints of his future life were stripped from him the second he entered the cold hall.

He had no one, especially now. Everyone who could have been Theon’s ally were now dead, picked apart as carrion by animals or now existed as mummified corpses displayed and gathering dust for the amusement of the Lord.
Theon often heard the screams of prisoners sent to Ramsay echoing through the halls. One would think he would grow acclimated to the sounds of tortured souls, but every distant scream made him wince. He had learned to stop crying years ago.

-

Theon sat at the table in the main dining hall, frozen. He raised his right hand slightly, examining the damage he was left with. His fingers were twisted and grotesque, two were permanently bent in a curve. This injury had been punishment last year for an imagined slight that existed only in Ramsay’s mind.

“How is your hand, my dear?” Ramsay’s voice echoed across the table. “Did I frighten you too much with today’s activities?”
The grin on Ramsay’s face betrayed any hint of true concern in his voice.

“No, my Lord.” Theon’s reply was automatic in nature. “My hand is fairing only slightly better than a few months ago. Thank you.”

His gaze remained locked on the table as a servant set a plate in front of him. Sausage, some vegetables.

“Only the freshest food for my Lady.” Ramsay stated with a giggle. Theon’s stomach turned, but he sliced into the meat, trying not to gag. Blood pooled from the meat.
Theon swallowed the bile in his throat as he watched Ramsay relish the blood-drenched meal.

“We have a fresh crop of peasants for this week’s games.” Ramsay grinned, teeth and lips stained red. “Would you care to join me tonight? It would serve to…bond us closer.”

“I…Perhaps tomorrow night my Lord. I’m not feeling well. I’m retiring after dinner.”

“You break my heart, Theon.” Ramsay shook his head. “I’ll visit you afterwards then. No pleasures shall flee our grasp.”

“Yes, Ramsay.”

Sensing the fear flicker in Theon’s eyes, Ramsay chuckled.

“Don’t you love me, Theon? After everything I’ve given you?”

Theon nodded slowly as he grew lightheaded. The words from his lips tumbled, slow and strangled.

“I love you.”

-

Theon knew he only had a matter of hours to escape. The windows were leaded, but they could be opened easily.
He knew tying knots would be an arduous task with his damaged hand. Ramsay would be too fixated on his tortuous games to realize Theon was gone, much less think of him.
Guards would be the easy part. Sometimes guards participated with Ramsay. Other times they disappeared and were replaced at a whim.

Theon took a deep breath and opened the window, the stink of bog-rot and decay filling his nostrils. He secured one end of a bedsheet to the post of his bed and tied more sheets as best he could and threw them out the window. Using his left hand - trained to take the place of its malformed twin over the year - and grabbed the sheet line, bracing himself against the sill.

He descended carefully, slowly. A loss of footing or one rash move would cost him dearly. Nearing the bottom after what felt like hours, he swung himself gently until he gained enough momentum to fling his body past the moat.

Landing on his hands and knees, he gasped as burning pain radiated through his palms and ankle; the damp grass offered no cushion. He trembled, tasting dirt in his mouth.
Theon gathered himself and ran for the forest before him, every nerve alight.

Chapter Text

Theon stumbled through the forest. Every step sent sharp pain radiating through his ankle, but he couldn’t stop, not until he was away from Dreadfort.
He questioned where he would go once he was free. He couldn’t return to his family as ties were cut the moment the betrothal was made official, he was thereby not a Greyjoy in the eyes of the law. He was now a person devoid of family, money, and home.
Branches scraped what pieces of skin were exposed, and loose rocks cut into his bare feet. No matter what happened, he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Once he heard the hounds bark, it was over.

His chest burned as he swallowed gulps of air. His muscles burned at the exertion. Stepping upon a rock, his already sprained ankle turned and gave way. Theon toppled to the ground with a yelp. He lay curled on his side, every breath searing him from the inside.

“Hey!”

Theon shot up with a start, blood turning to ice in his veins.

“You! Are you alright?”

“K-Keep your voice down!” Theon hissed. His heart pounded in his chest at the sound of crunching leaves flowing through his ears. He flinched as the sound grew closer.

“You’re injured. What happened?” The voice asked.
Theon looked up to see a man standing over him. He was tall, with thick dark hair; his equally dark mustache and beard were clipped close and clean. His fine clothes suggested he was a noble, but not a Bolton, not that there were any Boltons left alive but Ramsay.

“Who are you?” Theon asked.

“The Fourth Earl Winterfell. Robb Stark. Who are you? You came from the direction of Bol-”

“Theon.” Theon cut him off. “Lord Ramsay Bolton’s intended. Please don’t say a thing. Please.”

“I won’t say a word, I promise.” Robb crouched beside Theon, looking him over. “You’re scared out of your wits.”

“He’s a monster.”

Robb nodded, a grim look on his face.

“I’ve heard rumors, yes. Which is why I’m coming to Dreadnought.” His voice was low. “There’s the issue of taxes. Discrepancies. And I’ve been tasked to…investigate.”

“Does Ramsay know you’re coming?”

“He does not.”

Theon’s heart skipped a beat. He was safe, for now.

Robb looked Theon over, worry overtaking his face as he caught sight of Theon’s right hand.

“Did you injure your hand out here? It looks terrible.”

“It happened last year. I was nineteen. Ramsay…values me as a prize, a plaything, like everything else in his life. He was supposed to marry me when he turned sixteen and I seventeen. But no contract has been signed. That doesn't keep him from being possessive, however.
Last year he thought I was having an affair with a guard. He made me watch as the guard was flayed alive. Then he broke my fingers one by one. I vomited from the pain.” The memory alone made his stomach turn. “He never sent a physic to tend to me as a further punishment. My fingers never healed. My right hand is useless now.”

Robb said nothing in reply.

“I wasn’t having an affair. I swear it-”

“Sssh.”
Robb gently cupped his hands over Theon’s damaged one, holding it tenderly.

“I believe you.”
Sadness lined Robb’s face as he looked at Theon. It was certain the young man had once been beautiful. But now his auburn hair was dull, his skin pale, his dark eyes rimmed and bloodshot, and his delicate lips cracked and dry.

What horrors had Lord Bolton put him through?

“Stay with me for a while. I have some food. Eat, rest. Especially your ankle.”

“Could…Could you take me to safety, Robb? I can’t go to my family. But I’ll find someplace safe. Build a life.”

Robb shook his head.

“I’m afraid I can’t go off course. But listen to me.” Robb tenderly stroked Theon’s hand. “We’ll have to unfortunately go back to Dreadfort. But I will stay with you to keep you safe. I am of Winterfell, we protect those in danger.”

Theon flushed despite the news, Robb’s touch felt warm and tender. This man was a stranger, but a stranger who cared.

As Robb handed him a piece of bread, Theon flashed a faint smile for the first time in years.

“I think I have an idea.”

-

“My Lord, you have a visitor.” The servant’s voice was monotone. She avoided looking Ramsay in the eyes. “And he has the Lady.”

Without speaking Ramsay stalked to the main hall, shoving the girl aside roughly.

“Who the hell are you?!” He roared. His face was red with anger as he saw Robb Stark standing in front of him with Theon slumped against his shoulder.
“What are you doing with my wife?!”

Ramsay jerked Theon from him.

“I mean you and him no harm, Lord Bolton. I’m the Earl of Winterfell, here to discuss matters of your estate and land, as there’s no one else available. I found…Lady Bolton roaming the forest, fevered. He was very ill. His fever broke, but he’s still very weak.”

Theon moaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut. Ramsay’s grip on his arm tightened.

“Very well. Would you like to rest on the couch while Earl Stark joins me for a late breakfast?” Ramsay asked.

Theon whimpered in reply before casting a glance at Robb.

Chapter Text

Robb tensed as he saw the food spread out upon the table. Oily slices of pork; hard boiled eggs with a greenish tinge to them; coarse bread smeared with fat, and platters of overripe and fermenting fruit. He sucked his breath as he sat down.
He slowly picked up a peach, hesitating to bring it to his lips.

“Are you not hungry, Lord Stark?” Ramsay asked.

“I don’t have much of an appetite, Lord Bolton. But thank you very much.”

“Tell me why you’re here again, Earl of Winterfell?”

“I’m here to survey your land and help gather taxes. As I told you before, no one else is available-”

“Please, let’s not discuss finances in the Lady’s presence.” He gestured towards Theon, curled tightly on the couch. Theon shifted slightly, eyelids fluttering. “Some things aren’t meant for such…delicate constitutions.”
He sneered, shoveling a piece of fat-covered bread into his mouth. He glanced at Robb out of the corner of his eye, raising a flagon of ale to his lips. He gagged and spat out the ale.

“Girl!!” His voice boomed like thunder as the servant girl tread slowly before him.

“Yes, my Lord?” She whispered.

“The ale is sour.” Ramsay stood up, flagon gripped in his hand.

“I’m sorry, my Lord, I-I didn’t intend-”

He raised his arm, striking her hard across the face, metal meeting flesh and bone. The girl screamed as blood poured from the side of her face and nose. She collapsed to the floor, continuing to sob. Robb jumped up and went to her side, attempting to stop the bleeding by placing a cloth from the table to her head.

“Leave the bitch.” Ramsay commanded. He bent forward, smearing blood on his hand. He plucked a piece of bread off of the table, and wiping his hand across the bread, shoved it in his mouth.
He noticed Theon had jolted forward, eyes wide, breaths shaking gasps.

“Did I wake you darling? I’m sorry.” Ramsay clucked his tongue. “How about you take a bath? Another maid can be plucked to draw it.”

“Shouldn’t we-?” Robb was soon cut off.

“The bitch will be taken care of.” Ramsay’s voice was chilly. “Theon, your bath will be drawn. Earl Stark, accompany me. I’d like to show you around the estate.”

Robb patted the tangle of bloody hair with his hand. The servant gave another feeble moan.

Once Ramsay and Robb departed, Theon stumbled towards the girl and knelt beside her, the pooling blood staining his trousers. Her twitching movements had ceased. No more could ever be done for her.
He bit his lip to stop the tears that stung his eyes from falling.

-

Theon jerked away from the water as the chill crept through his hand. Ice-cold. Baths were always icy; clear springwater with snow or glacial ice always filled the metal tub. This time however, a welcome surprise floated amongst the chunks of ice: thinly sliced fresh lemons, their fragrant oil seeping into the water.
He submerged himself in the water, muscles tense. He gasped and choked as every nerve fired, his lungs warning of the primal danger of bitterly chill water. Minutes passed before he could regulate his breaths again. He moaned as he leaned against the side of the tub.
He let the maid do her work of scrubbing without fuss. He was too exhausted to do anything else.

Theon fished a lemon slice out of the water. Bringing it to his mouth, he bit in, thinking of Robb. He chewed despite the tough rind and swallowed.
As the gnawing pain in his stomach flared, he finally let his tears fall.

-

Lord Bolton looks like a fool, thought Robb, standing here all high and mighty.

“So, what do you think?” Ramsay asked.

“Dreadfort is…wonderful.” From the roof, the forest, glen, and valleys could be seen. Robb wished the outlying villages were pastoral and devoid of any of Ramsay’s sickness, but he knew that was false.
“Lord Bolton…the matter here is taxes. Ledgers sent to the king have been much less fruitful than they’ve been in years prior. Are the villages facing lean times?”

Ramsay chuckled bitterly.

“I don’t care about money, Earl Winterfell. My greatest passion requires no coin. Would you like a demonstration of one of the many games I play?”

“Regretfully Lord Bolton, I’m not here to play chess.”

Ramsay scoffed as he barked for the guards. They disappeared from sight and returned dragging a man by his arms. He was skeletally thin, looking more like a corpse than a man clinging to the last gasps of life. His limbs looked as if they had been stretched and torn, broken and carelessly reset, and a gaping wound in his head revealed bits of skull embedded in his brain.
Ramsay smirked as the guards brought the man to the edge of the roof and threw him off, where he was dashed against the rocky crags below.

“The people serve me well.”

Robb looked on in horror. Everything he had heard was true.

“Careful, Stark. I don’t care how powerful you are; if you cross me…You’ll end up like him.”

Chapter Text

In the night within his dark chamber, sleep evaded Robb. After witnessing such degradation and malice as he witnessed in the late morning, he knew he was trapped. Ramsay had him firmly within his clutches. And if he was trapped, Theon was still ensnared. He would still do his best to keep Theon safe as he had promised, but any attempt at summoning outside help could be crushed before it had any chance to come to fruition. Sending a letter to the king would be impossible.
He knew from the moment he agreed to this mission it would be a tactical gamble. He had been a fool to brush off the rumors of Dreadfort as simple wild tales. The truth was now laid open and festering.

He couldn’t take his mind off Theon. He had never seen someone so terrified yet so resilient. He admitted to himself some attraction, some pull, but he’d swallowed it down.
Was he staying here only for Theon?
No, he had to uncover the secrets of this place, half-buried under rot and snow.

He rose from his bed - as Ramsay had given Robb an abandoned chamber to reside in out of some surface-level propriety - and felt the dust of the empty room settle around him. He knew there had to be something in this horrific estate he could find…

Every creak of the wood underneath him was amplified in the still of the bleak darkness. He shuddered as he pulled the heavy chamber door ajar and stepped into the cold stone hall. Dim torchlight glowed, offering slight illumination.
He knew from the “tour” there was a room somewhere in the castle that Ramsay kept sealed off, but where? He held his breath, but the pounding of his heart blasted in his ears. It wasn’t his personal chambers, even Robb knew that was too obvious for such a dangerous man. He heard loud snoring drifting down the hall from Ramsay’s chamber. Sour or not, he imbibed too much ale that evening.

Robb breathed a sigh of relief as he walked carefully through the halls, making his way down the staircase, patches of coagulated blood on the stones. He avoided the spatter and continued his descent down to the main hall.
He was startled by the sight of a figure in the corner of his eye. It looked almost like a ghost. In the light of the torches and cloudy moon, he could make out Theon’s outline seated upon an alcove.

“Theon.” He whispered.

Theon turned his head towards Robb but didn’t speak.

“Theon, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I don’t…I can’t sleep. My body hurts. Can you not sleep either, Robb?”

Robb shook his head.

“I have too much on my mind to sleep. Would you care for some company?”

The corner of Theon’s mouth twitched at the question. Robb joined him on the alcove, their forms inches apart.

“What’s on your mind? Is it this place? It’s strangely comforting at night, but only when Ramsay happens to be asleep. But it never lasts.” Theon turned his face to Robb’s. “Everything seems to shatter.”

“I understand. Theon…How have you survived for so long? You’ve been here since you were young.”

“I…I wanted to believe Ramsay was a good person. We were small when we first met; he was a strange child. I thought he would outgrow it, and by the time we married, he would be a good husband to me. I expected the occasional rude comments, affairs…but my hopes were dashed as the years went on. His oddness morphed into wickedness. But I kept that hope until I felt the first bone break.”
He lifted his damaged right hand.
“All those years I deluded myself.”

“You were doing what you could to get by, Theon. You imagined someone kind. You held onto that until he broke you.”

“Are you always so kind to people you barely know?”
Theon’s face was half illuminated by flickering torchlight and half in shadow. Even in the half light, he was beautiful. Robb felt his heart rise in his throat, not daring to swallow it down.

Robb touched Theon’s wrist.

“Can you feel anything in your hand?” His eyes travelled across the bent joints and odd angles of his fingers.

“Everything from the fingers down I can feel. I don’t have much feeling in my fingers as you can imagine.”

Silently, Robb cupped the back of Theon’s hand and bent forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Theon’s palm. Theon gasped at the sensation of skin agaInst his own. His eyes fixed on Robb, the only sound that came from him was his steady breathing.

“Did I overstep?”

“No one- No one’s ever…” Theon’s voice trembled as he finally spoke.

“You’re beautiful, Theon.”

Theon rested his head against Robb’s shoulder.

“It’s not about taxes, is it? The reason you’re here. Ramsay’s not in good standing with the king, the land’s not quite lucrative. I’m quite aware.”

Robb said nothing for a few moments and simply stared out in the darkness.

“No. I’m here on investigation. My father’s heard rumors for years now, and he could no longer brush them off as simple talk. I never believed them myself, until I saw Lord Bolton’s cruelty for myself.”

“That’s why you couldn’t-”

“-Take you to safety. I and the king's mission would be jeopardized.”

Theon gave a trembling breath.

“I know he has secret chambers, I’ve been there myself. In the estate, the underground, but everything winds. You can get lost, it's labyrinthine.” He admitted.
“I’ll help you as best I can. I promise.
But I must warn you, Ramsay is young, but he’s not to be trifled with. We might not succeed.”

He sighed as he lifted his hand to settle atop Robb’s. Robb took his hand and their fingers entwined.

“Will you stay with me for a while?”

“Of course.”