A Feast For Dragons

Theon

The Mormonts have carried Longclaw for five hundred years. Jeor Mormont gave the blade to his son, Jorah Mormont, when Jeor joined the Night's Watch. Jorah later brought dishonour to the House by selling poachers to a slaver, however, he had the grace to leave the sword behind before he fled Bear Island in exile. His aunt, Maege Mormont, returned the sword to her brother Jeor, who put it aside at Castle Black since the sight of it reminded him of his son's shame. It was later passed down to Lord Commander Jon Snow, and now Ramsay Bolton of House Bolton had claimed it as his own.

The pointed-end of the Valyrian steel sword dug at the centre of Ramsay's palm, his other hand grasped the hilt to keep from slicing open his hand. He twirled the blade to inspect both sides, admiring his own reflection in the forged steel. "Unlike some other houses, my ancestors earned the Bolton words: 'Our Blades Are Sharp.' They passed down not a Valyrian greatsword but a knife, honed and thin enough to fit between the topmost layer of skin and the tissue below... and peel... For as we all learned as children: A naked man has few secrets... a flayed man, none. So tell me, Reek...why did you free Jon Snow?"

Theon remained silent. His arms were well above his head, wrists and ankles clad in irons. Ramsay noted the silence with the roll of his eyes. He kicked his feet off the table and caught the sword by the hilt in his right hand. He swung it from side to side, waiting impatiently for Reek to give him an answer. "Reek?" Ramsay furrowed his brow. He smiled suddenly. "Are you ignoring me?"

"No, m'Lord." Theon finally said.

Ramsay tapped his fingers on the edge of his seat. "Then why haven't you answered my question?"

"Because..." Theon lifted his head to meet the Bolton Bastard's gaze. "You've yet to call me by my name."

This stirred up great rage in the pit of Ramsay's belly. He raised Longclaw up just enough so that his hand could rest on the tip of the blade again. "He was a deserter, a traitor, and all traitors will eventually confront the consequences of their actions, but you should already know this, Reek."

"Theon." The Ironborn said to himself. "Theon." He repeated.

Ramsay smiled again. "What was that, Reek?"

Theon fought the voices in his head and found enough courage to speak louder. "T-Theon."

Ramsay sighed deeply and pushed himself out of his chair. He swung the sword at his side as he walked up to the broken man. "Valyrian steel, nothing cuts quite like it. Jon Snow has good taste in weaponry. I was planning on using this sword to behead him. I found the idea rather poetic, don't you agree, Reek?"

"Theon." He repeated his name again. "Theon!"

Ramsay balled his hand into a tight fist and punched the Ironborn in the jaw, knocking his head back. He then dug his fingers into his golden brown curls and yanked his head down so their eyes could meet. "No, your name is Reek, remember? Reek!"

"T-Theon."

Ramsay struck another blow. Then another. Theon's jowls were broken and his eyelids swelled and cheeks throbbed, but he never once forgot who he was-who he's always been. Ramsay trembled with anger. "YOUR. NAME. IS. REEK!"

"MY NAME IS THEON GREYJOY!" He shouted back at the man who he had once called his master, his Lord. Ramsay fumed, clenching his teeth hard enough to chip them. Theon did not back down. "Reek is gone. Reek is dead." The bastard threw one last blow, and Theon's head snapped back, then forward again to spit in Ramsay's face. He took a step back and wiped the blood and saliva from his eyes.

"Have I taught you nothing? Have I not shown you love and compassion? The Starks never appreciated you, your own father never accepted you, but I did. I gave you a new home, a new name, a reason to live." Ramsay squeezed the hilt of Jon's sword. "I fixed you, and this is how you repay me? By betraying me? You Ironborn believe yourselves to be courageous and brave and fearless... But don't you see? You need me, Reek!" Ramsay was pacing now, his heavy boots stomping against hard stone. "You need me."

Theon swallowed past the lump in his throat. His body quivered and his bones rattled under his skin. Something in the back of his head begged him to end this charade and plead the Mother's Mercy, but the Ironborn do not plead. He ground his teeth and curled his fingers to ball his hands into tight fists above his head. Ramsay noticed this. "T-T-Theon...Theon."

Ramsay growled in response and stabbed Longclaw straight through Theon's shoulder, slicing through muscle and bone alike, but keeping had the blade out of his skin, so it wouldn't cut off Theon's arm. A scream tore from the Ironborn's lips as blood gushed from the wound.