A/N: It's been awhile. It took me a year, but I finally finished this chapter. Why did it take a year? School and writer's block. If some parts seem rushed to you, they are. I apologize for that, but I just wanted to move on from this chapter. We have three more chapters then that's the end of this story. Hopefully it won't take another year to update. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy.

XIII.

It was nearing a fortnight when Robb was confident he could go on the battlefield. His chest no longer ached with pain, nor did he need help moving around Jeyne's room. Even if he wasn't assured in himself, he had to appear so for his men. His uncle Edmure sent news of Tywin Lannister's army crossing the river. Soon enough, Robb would have to leave the Crag and lead a chase between him and Tywin Lannister.

Leaving the Crag meant leaving Jeyne Westerling. He felt guilty for stealing her chambers, but she assured him it wasn't an issue. Robb wasn't sure where she slept, or if she slept at all considering she was often with him. Like now, she was standing behind him to cut his hair.

"You don't have to do this," Robb said when she offered.

"It looks like it's been uncut for ages," Jeyne replied, seating him in the chair Jon occupied most of the time. She touched his cheek and smiled. "And your beard. I want to see what you look like underneath it."

"You wish to shave my beard as well?"

"If you will allow it."

Robb couldn't say no to those brown eyes.

When Jeyne finished, she handed him a looking glass. His hair was shorter than Jon's, barely curling over his ears. Robb tensed when she returned with a razor and soap to shave his beard. He hadn't minded his haircut, but it had taken him months to grow out this beard and he wasn't eager to part with it. Yet those gentle eyes made him hold his tongue. Jeyne left no cuts on his skin as she shaved away his beard. It was strange for a highborn girl to do something so lowly as a servant's task, yet she insisted on taking care of him. Robb didn't know how he could repay her for all that she had done for him.

"Is this what you expected?" Robb asked when she finished.

"I…" Jeyne shook her head with a laugh. "You're younger than I imagined."

"Younger?" he repeated, widening his eyes.

"Are you the same king that stormed through my castle?" Jeyne questioned. She giggled at the roll of his eyes.

"I don't look that young. I'll be sixteen in…" Robb trailed off. He might battle Tywin Lannister on his nameday. Defeating him would be the best gift Robb ever received.

"In what? In the next week or in the next two years?" Jeyne teased.

She jumped back, shrieking with laughter when Robb lunged at her. He chased her around the bed and caught her by the waist. Her back was pressed against his chest and her hair tickled his face. Swaying together, he tickled her until she was breathless with laughter. Her laughter died down and she turned her head to look at him. His breath hitched in his throat. Robb was hit with the sudden realization that he was still holding Jeyne. He should let her go, but her brown eyes paralyzed him. For a long moment, neither said anything, only staring into each other's eyes.

Then the door pushed open so suddenly that it startled Robb enough to drop his arms from around Jeyne's waist. Jon faltered at the door, frowning. The entire room was frozen in silence until Robb stepped around Jeyne and towards Jon.

"Thank you, Jeyne, for the haircut and shave. Jon, shall we go for a walk? I need fresh air." Robb hastily made his escape.

"What are you doing, Stark?" Jon questioned quietly, keeping up with Robb's quick strides.

"Nothing. I didn't do anything," he answered, his face warming.

"It looked like you two were going to kiss."

"But we didn't."

"I knew I shouldn't have left you two alone."

"What does that mean?"

They stopped walking. Jon glanced around before taking a step towards him. "Everyone in the castle knows that Jeyne is besotted with you. I thought with your betrothed you wouldn't engage in anything with her, but… She bears a resemblance to that Tyrell girl, doesn't she?"

Robb sorely wished he hadn't agreed for Jeyne to shave his beard. Now he couldn't hide the embarrassed blush on his face.

"They don't look that much alike," Robb denied, which earned an incredulous smile from Jon. Jeyne and Margaery did share the same coloring, but the former's face was fuller and lacked the kittenishness the latter possessed. "Jeyne is kind and I can't help that she's beautiful. She saved my life."

"And I will always be grateful for that, but do not forget the promise you made to Lord Frey. Starks always honor their word," Jon reminded him. His face softened, and he smiled, if you could call a weary tilt of the lips a smile. He gestured for Robb to follow and they continued walking through the castle until they were outside by the cliffs overlooking the sea.

For a long time, neither said anything. The sounds of the sea filled the silence that settled over them. Finally, Jon turned to Robb. His dark hair stirred in the breeze that passed over them. "This could be our final battle."

And the last time we're alive, thought Robb. Tywin Lannister had a larger army, but Robb couldn't die without avenging his father. He forced a smile and held his hand towards Jon. "At least we're together when we defeat Lannister."

Jon returned his smile with one of his own and clasped Robb's forearm, gripping him tight. Robb mirrored the action. Together they would end the Lannisters.

By the time Dany and her small retinue of Tully knights reached Torrhen's Square, the castle had been raided. She tightened her hands around the reins of her silver mare. Even with her small party, they were still not fast enough to stop the ironborn from raiding the castle. Dany wondered if keeping her dragon's eggs back in Riverrun would have gotten them here faster.

Dammit, she thought as she dismounted. Pulling back the hood of her black fur-trimmed cloak, Dany was greeted by Leobald Tallhart, the castellan of Torrhen's Square. His pale blue eyes widened at the sight of her.

"It's dangerous for you to be out here, my lady," said the castellan.

Ser Edmure had felt the same way. He was reluctant to send only twenty men with Dany, but she convinced him it would be best to have as little men as possible to make it to Torrhen's Square faster. She felt foolish now. Shaking her head, she tried to ignore the doubt twisting inside her gut. Dany was here and prepared to put a stop to whatever nonsense Theon was up to. Gods, she hoped it wasn't Theon.

"Where are the ironborn now?" Dany asked, ice filling her belly. She prayed to the gods that she wasn't too late.

"Ser Rodrik helped us drive them back to Stoney Shore," Tallhart answered. "He's gathering more forces at Castle Cerwyn. I'm supposed to meet him there."

Dany hadn't seen Ser Rodrik since she marched with Robb and Jon to Moat Cailin. She always viewed the old man as a grandfather of sorts. He would steer her out of the yard when she tried to train with Robb and Jon, but always smiled as he did so. He would fill in the gaps of what went on in the north for her. She inhaled sharply, then nodded.

"I'll go with you," she decided, then turned to mount her mare. Tallhart opened his mouth to protest, but she beat him to it. "It'll be safer there than here, with Stoney Shore so near."

Leobald Tallhart couldn't argue with that. He gathered the rest of his army and led the way to Castle Cerwyn. It began to drizzle on their way, but Dany was undeterred by the light rain. It was pouring by the time they arrived, the rain soaking her to the bones. Ser Perceval, one of her knights, helped her dismount and guided her inside the castle. The castle was warm, but not enough to dry her drenched clothes. Despite her chill, Dany needed to see Winterfell's master-at-arms. Her face broke into a smile when she saw an old man with big, bushy white whiskers in the Great Hall.

"D-Daenerys!" exclaimed the old knight. "What are you doing here?"

Her joy faded as she remembered what brought her here. "Lady Stark got your letter about Torrhen's Square," she told him.

Ser Rodrik's face fell. His hesitation did nothing to ease Dany's fluttering nerves. Finally, he said, "You should change out of those wet clothes, my lady. We can discuss this on the morrow, when you're fed and rested."

There was no time to rest. Not when Theon was possibly raiding the north. Time could not be wasted, yet she understood that not much could be done if she and her knights were not well rested. Anything could happen when she entered Winterfell.

"Fine." She let Cley Cerwyn to escort her and her men to their chambers. Cley was five-and-ten like her, but more gangly than muscled like Robb and Jon. He was pleasant enough, treating her more cordially than the other guests who visited Winterfell. "How have you been, Cley?"

"I'm well, my lady. Well—as well as someone can be in a time of war," Cley answered. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "You picked a worse time to return. Things have been… not easy."

"It hasn't been easy in the riverlands either," Dany replied, remembering Lannister's botched escape attempt. "Nor in the westerlands."

She hadn't heard from Robb since she left for Winterfell. His venture to the westerlands left him with no steady place to rest and update everyone in Riverrun. The last Dany heard from him was that he won a battle in some village called Oxcross. He could be battling Tywin Lannister by now.

"I do not envy him," Cley murmured. Dany didn't need a name to know who he was referring to. "If I had to choose, I prefer dealing with the ironmen than Lannisters."

"You're not the only one, Cley," she said, sighing.

"I'll have a bath drawn for you, my lady," he told her, when they finally reached her chambers. Cley hurried off to find some maids for the task. Ser Tristan and Ser Llwyd brought in her belongings before leaving her alone.

Later that night, as she fell into a restless sleep, Dany dreamt of the wolfswood. It was impossibly dark throughout the endless forest. She heard wolves, but her heartbeat drowned out their howls. Dany stumbled to a halt when she saw two small bodies strewn across the grass. She saw their auburn hair and the gashes through their throats. "No," she whispered, stepping backwards. Bran rolled his head to her, his face deathly pale and eyes empty. "Why didn't you save us, Dany?" he asked. He reached out for her, but she couldn't bear looking at him. Not like this. She whirled and crashed into someone.

Theon stood before her, his smirk wide enough to split his face in half. "Now we have Winterfell for ourselves," he said, wrapping his hand around her throat. The skin on his hand began to peel away, leaving only flayed flesh. Dany looked up at his face and would have gasped if he hadn't gripped her throat tight. "What's wrong?" Theon asked, smirking. His teeth were broken and missing. "Don't think I'm comely enough for you?" Dany struggled to escape his grip, but all her strength disappeared when she saw it. Behind him, she saw those pale eyes that always paralyzed her with fear. Theon glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. "She's yours."

"No!" she wanted to scream. She didn't want that thing near her. Anything but that monster. Dany thrashed with all her might, but Theon shoved her closer to the thing. No, anything but that…

Dany woke up crying. She clutched the furs as she sobbed into her pillows. I'm not too late, she reminded herself. Climbing out of her bed, she went over to the basin and cleaned her face of all her tears. When she was finished, she went over to the window and peeked through the shutters. The sun was rising over the grey horizon. Good. At least Dany wouldn't have to wait any more hours to speak to Ser Rodrik.

After brushing her hair and slipping on a gown, Dany didn't have to seek Ser Rodrik out herself. Cley Cerwyn came to her and offered to escort her to the Great Hall to break their fast. She wasn't eager to eat, especially not after that nightmare, but she accepted Cley's request. Her knights were already in the Great Hall, eating and jesting with one another. Cley led her to a private table where Leobald Tallhart and Ser Rodrik sat discussing something intently. Both looked up when they neared.

"Why would Lady Catelyn send you here?" Ser Rodrik asked, once she and Cley were settled.

"She thought—thinks Theon plays a part in the attack in Torrhen's Square," she answered. Her skin prickled with goosepimples as she remembered how Theon aged into a battered old man in her nightmare.

Ser Rodrik's frown shifted into a scowl. "She thought correctly. Theon captured Winterfell while I was away dealing with Torrhen's Square. By the time I drove the ironmen back to Stoney Shore, he…" He hesitated, and Dany could hardly swallow down her porridge. "This should not be discussed at the table."

"Tell me," Dany insisted, staring at him. The truth was always bitter, her time with Lannister proved that, but she had to know if she was going to help the Starks.

Fury washed over his face. "He mounted Bran and Rickon's heads on the walls of Winterfell."

Her chest constricted, so tight that Dany could hardly breathe. She shook her head, fighting the tears rushing to her eyes. This was not true—it couldn't be true. Bran and Rickon… they were only children. All Bran wanted to do was climb and become a knight. Rickon hadn't even begun his life. Neither of them had. Theon had gone to Pyke as an envoy. How could he end up sacking Winterfell? How could he betray his closest friend? The family that raised him? He even swore to Lady Stark that her husband was a second father to him. Had that been a lie?

"I know it's difficult to believe that Theon did this," began Ser Rodrik. His voice was soft, as if he feared raising it would break her. "But I've seen the heads with my own eyes. He has turned against the Starks and now he must pay."

His gentle voice did not soften his words. Dany didn't want to believe that Theon had the capacity for such evil. He could act terrible towards Jon and even her at times, but he wasn't heinous enough to kill children… was he? Tywin Lannister ordered the deaths of Elia and her children. Jaime Lannister tried to kill Bran, though thankfully he failed. Perhaps all men were capable of such a wrongdoing.

Not him, she wanted to believe. Not the boy she'd known since childhood.

"Does anyone else know?" Dany questioned, when she found the will to speak.

"I was going to send word to Lady Catelyn before we marched to Winterfell."

"Don't. I… we have to make sure these are truly Bran and Rickon's heads."

Ser Rodrik's face was one of pity. "She deserves to know, Daenerys."

Wiping away a stray tear, Dany stood from the bench. "I must leave, Ser Rodrik. I need to see these heads for myself."

Cley stood with her, completely distraught. "My lady, it's too dangerous. It'd be best if you remained here. My sister, Jonelle, she can keep you company."

I am the blood of the dragon, Dany thought. Did these men forget who her forbears were? Looking up at Cley, she said, "I made a promise to Lady Stark. I cannot dishonor her now."

"He will kill you," Ser Rodrik said grimly.

"He loves me."

"Men like Theon do not love, Daenerys."

He must have love in his heart, for Robb at least.

Moving around the table, Dany stood before Ser Rodrik. "You want him to yield the castle. I can do that without shedding any blood," she told him. "If I don't send a bird in two days, then march to Winterfell and kill him, but let me try."

The older knight stared at her, his expression pained. After what seemed like ages, he gave her a stiff nod. Dany gave him a fleeting kiss on his whiskered cheek before calling for her knights. There was no more time to waste.

It took just a half day's ride to reach Winterfell from Castle Cerwyn. Dany slowed down her mare's galloping as they approached the gates of Winterfell. She could only stare up at the heads mounted on the walls. Her knights watched her, expecting for her to burst into tears. If she were not on a mission to get Theon to yield the castle, then she would collapse into a sobbing mess right now. Instead, Dany found herself using a gargantuan of strength to not shed a single tear. She would mourn Bran and Rickon after Theon was imprisoned.

Guards by the entrance gate held up their weapons at her and her retinue. "Who are you? What's your business here?"

"Tell Theon that Daenerys Stormborn is here for him," she answered. The guards hesitated but went to find him. As Dany waited, she couldn't help but seethe. Dany denied Theon's part in this siege of Winterfell and attack at Torrhen's Square, even refused to believe Ser Rodrik's claims that he murdered Robb's brothers. Now as she gazed at the heads, fury began to well up inside her. He was a traitor and Dany couldn't find it in her heart to forgive him for that.

The guard returned but hesitated to open the gate. "Prince Theon says you must surrender your weapons if you are to enter."

Dany would have laughed at the pompous title if she weren't enraged, yet she ordered her men to do as Prince Theon ordered. None of them were happy about it but did as they were told. She would make sure none of them were harmed once they stepped inside Winterfell, had promised them that once they began their journey.

Another guard took their horses and Dany was led inside the castle. The sight of Maester Luwin alive abated some of her anger. He seemed to have aged ten years since the last time she saw him. When she neared him, he could only say, "You should not have come."

"And remain idle in Riverrun? You know I could not," she replied, frowning.

"It is better to remain idle and safe. Theon is not the boy we thought he was, Daenerys," the maester murmured.

Her frown deepened, but Dany did not respond. She walked alongside Maester Luwin as one of the ironmen led them to the Great Hall where Theon waited. Like she expected, he was seated in the high seat of the Starks. Her eyes were not drawn to his fine clothes, but the ugly crown on his head. It was a slim band of misshapen iron, set with heavy chunks of black diamond and gold. She doubted Mikken made that. When she returned her gaze to his face, his jaw was slack as he openly stared upon her. As if remembering himself, Theon's startled expression shifted into one she recognized.

Theon slowly rose from the high seat and stepped down to meet her. "I wasn't expecting to see you," he admitted, releasing a disbelieving laugh. His dark eyes roamed her face and his smirk widened. "Gods, you are a vision. You have no idea—"

Her slap across his face resounded in the Great Hall. Dany breathed in slowly, trying to keep the rage from overwhelming her further.

He tilted his head back to face her, a myriad of expressions crossing his face until indignance settled. "You're lucky that you're a girl or else—"

"Or else what? You'll mount my head next to Bran and Rickon's?" Dany demanded, too furious to fear Theon's scowl. "Or is it because I'll give more of a struggle than a crippled boy and a child?"

Theon's face was rife with contempt.

"Why are you here?" he asked, impatience strangled in his voice.

"We need to talk," Dany answered simply.

"Talk? You travel all the way from Riverrun just to talk?" Theon scoffed. He regarded her for a moment, then turned away, his scowl still present on his face. "Fine then. Since you've decided to play coy, we can 'talk' later. You may refresh yourself in your old rooms in the meantime."

Maester Luwin moved to follow her, but faltered when Theon said sharply, "You aren't going anywhere, maester."

The maester sent Dany an apologetic look, but she shook her head with a sad smile. She knew he couldn't say no to Theon. It didn't matter. She'd speak to Luwin soon without interference.

Her chambers had been untouched since she marched with Robb and his army. Sansa and Arya's beds brought a sharp pang to Dany's heart, but she pushed back those thoughts as she went over to her closet. Northern women preferred simple gowns to the resplendent ones typically worn in other lands. Not that Dany needed a beautiful gown to convince Theon to end this madness, but it would have helped.

The servants that came to draw her bath were frightened. "Has he hurt any of you?" Dany asked, stepping inside the steaming tub.

"He killed Mikken, Chayle, and Farlen," one of the serving girls whispered. Dany widened her eyes at the names. Theon had known those men. How could he kill them like they were nothing? "And the princes, but you saw the heads, my lady."

"Theon will pay for their deaths," Dany promised. Robb would make sure of it.

Dany chose an indigo gown that brought out the violet in her eyes, her best feature according to Sansa. Taking a deep breath, Dany buried her anger as she allowed one of Theon's men to escort her to his chambers. She almost rolled her eyes when she realized they were going to Lord Eddard's bedchamber. Princes deserve the best room in the castle, she thought.

Theon was drinking wine near the window when Dany entered. "Leave us," he commanded, not bothering to turn from the window. It wasn't until the door was shut behind Dany that he spoke again. "Are you hungry?"

"No." Dany had never been inside Lord Eddard's bedchamber, only his study. She remembered drinking sour red in his study with Jon and Robb. She hated that wine but drank it for their sake. It seemed like ages had passed since that night.

"When you sailed to Pyke we were expecting an alliance, not betrayal," Dany said. Theon stiffened at her words. Good, she thought. "Why do this, Theon? Why kill innocent children?"

"I took no joy from their deaths, Daenerys," Theon said defensively, finally facing her. "I treated Bran and Rickon generously, but they brought their fate on themselves."

"You think putting their heads on spikes was their fate?" Dany demanded. He clenched his jaw, silent. Her voice was calmer when she asked, "What happened to the alliance?"

"My father refuses to fight for any king but himself," he replied, taking another sip of his wine. "And he hates the Starks. There was no way he would ally himself with Robb."

"Did you even try to convince him?"

Theon glared at her. "You think I didn't?"

Dany gestured around them. "The raids and deaths prove otherwise."

"What would you have done then?" Theon snapped. "If your fucking family was still alive and wanted to wage war against the Starks. What would you have done?"

Lannister's accounts on her father drifted into her mind. He had ordered Rickard and Brandon Stark's deaths without so much as a trial. Dany did not know what his wife and children meant to him, so she had no idea if he would even listen to them. She doubted it. He tried to burn King's Landing down when the war was lost.

"Just what I thought," Theon muttered, when her silence lingered. "You scorn me for siding with my family, but you would do the exact same thing."

"I would not," Dany objected, narrowing her eyes. "I wouldn't leave until I've convinced my father not to side against the Starks."

"And if he deemed you a traitor?"

"Then I am a traitor."

"You're a fucking liar, Daenerys. I know you would do anything for your family if they still lived."

"Not if they wanted to harm the House that saved my life!"

"I was a hostage!" Theon shouted, stepping towards her. "They took me from my home, from my family! Yet they want me to fight for them!"

She shook her head. "Lord Eddard treated you like his own blood."

He scoffed. "So, you say. I was always an outsider."

"Yes, an outsider who ate at their table and learned among their children like any other highborn child. You were truly an outsider."

"Fuck you, Daenerys."

"Robb trusted you. You were his closest friend, Theon. How could do this?" Dany questioned, her anger suddenly burning in her voice.

"Would you say no to your father?" Theon asked, but his voice did not sound so fierce anymore. "What do you want from me? Why are you even here?"

"You must yield," Dany answered. Before he could object, she continued, "There is no other way, Theon. If you had been smart, you would have taken Bran and Rickon back to Pyke alive. At least Robb would have had a reason not to kill you immediately, but you murdered his brothers. You are going to die. If not by his hand, then by Ser Rodrik's."

"I can hold Winterfell. I have enough to stand a year's siege, if need be," Theon replied. She almost laughed at how confident he sounded.

"Don't be foolish. I counted the men you have. They will not be enough to hold this castle, especially not against Ser Rodrik." Dany gazed about him. How could this be the same boy she grew up with? The same one who had been so shy when they first met? The same one who protected Bran from wildlings? "What will it take for you to yield?"

Theon stared at her. Oh no, she thought, regretting the question.

"I've always wanted you," he admitted, "but you never wanted me. You were always with Robb and… Snow."

"That's not true," she murmured reluctantly. He widened his eyes. "When I was a young girl, I wanted you to notice me. You remember, don't you? How you always ignored me?"

"I don't ignore you now," Theon protested.

"You still lay with kitchen maids and whores," Dany pointed out. The space between them was getting smaller. She wanted to step back but getting him to yield was so close.

"Only because I can't have you." The lump in his throat bobbed unsteadily. "I love you."

Those three words were beautiful when confessed at the right time by the right person. When Jon said those words to her, Dany never felt more treasured. He said those words to her the morning she gave him her maidenhead. Then he whispered them again, tears stinging his eyes, but she suspected it was because he was inside her that made him cry. But the words coming from Theon Greyjoy felt hollow. They were meaningless, and Dany hated him for even saying them to her.

"You don't love me," Dany said, staring at him. "And if you did, do you think that's the kind of person I want to love me? Someone who betrays his friends? Someone who butchers innocent children? And for what, Theon? To make your father proud?"

For once in his life, Theon looked ashamed.

"I cannot force you to do anything," she continued, heading towards the door. "But you know what's right."

He did not stop her from leaving. Dany was halfway out of the corridor when she noticed her hands shaking. She closed them into fists, tightening until the trembling stopped. She was tempted to visit the godswood, but it was late now, and it would only make her miss Jon more. It was better to just sleep and rise early. Dany didn't know if she convinced Theon or not tonight, but she had to by tomorrow.

Sleep was filled with more nightmares. Winterfell was burnt to the ground, the sky grey and grim. A man flayed of his flesh dragged himself through the snow towards her. His eyes were pale and reflected nothing but a promise to hurt her. I've dreamt this before, she realized. Could it mean something? Before she could think about it more, her dream began to fade. Groggily, she sat up in her bed and stretched. Dany glanced at the chest hidden in the corner of her bedchamber. It was a good thing she never told Theon about her dragon's eggs.

Slipping on a gown of rich burgundy, Dany readied herself for another round with her former friend. Servants hesitated to tell her where Theon hid, but Maester Luwin led her to him. He was in the old inner ward using his bow. He practiced there sometimes.

"I've been trying to get him to yield," the maester revealed, keeping his voice quiet. "He refuses out of pride. I'm not certain you can get him to do so, Daenerys."

"I have to, Luwin," Dany replied. When they reached the inner ward, she motioned for him to remain where he stood. She approached Theon silently, watching him fire arrow after arrow with a preciseness that neither Robb or Jon could achieve. They each had their talents. Jon was the best with the sword, but Robb could best them both with the lance.

"You were always impressive with the bow," Dany said, finally letting him know of her presence.

"Go away," he said gruffly.

"No." She stepped closer until she was behind him. "You can end this before it becomes worse."

"It's already at its worst, Daenerys." Theon lowered his bow as he turned to face her. His smug demeanor had vanished. It was strange seeing him so serious. "I doubt Robb or Snow will let me live after this."

"Then yield and take the black," Dany blurted out. He frowned at her suggestion. She was surprised herself, but what else could get him to yield? She refused to offer herself to him. "The Night's Watch need more men and the Starks will not turn down a man who offers to take the black."

"And you think Ser Rodrik will accept this?"

"He won't like it, but he won't deny you."

Theon considered her words. She waited, trying to ignore the fluttering in her belly. This was it. This was the moment that would determine if Theon would yield.

"I never wanted it to be like this—" Theon started, reaching to touch her shoulder.

"Prince Theon!" Dany flinched from the sudden shout. She turned to see one of Theon's men running towards them. "The northmen—"

Her heart caught in her throat. "Is it an attack?" Theon demanded.

"They're fighting," the man said, his voice breathless and urgent. "More men came up, hundreds of them, and at first they made to join the others. But now they've fallen on them!"

"Is it Asha?" His sister? Why would she come now?

"No. These are northmen, I tell you. With a bloody man on their banner."

House Bolton, thought Dany. Why were Bolton men attacking Ser Rodrik? Had Theon paid them? No, he couldn't have. He only had seventeen men, he couldn't afford to pay for more men to fight for him. Not that they would accept his coin. They were loyal to Robb… weren't they?

"Why are Bolton men here?" Dany asked, but Theon didn't hear her. He began heading towards the battlements.

"We had one of their men captured," Maester Luwin explained. "Theon let him go and he must have gathered some Bolton men to help."

"We should see too," Dany murmured, then hurried to follow Theon. Maester Luwin trailed after her.

It was an awful sight. Dead men and dying horses were strewn across the market square outside the gates. The inn was burning. Shouts and screams rippled through the cold autumn air. Her insides coiled at the sight of a wounded man dragging himself across the ground, trying to get to the well at the center of the market square. He died before he could reach it. She tried to guess who was winning, but it was chaos. This was different than the Whispering Wood. It had been dark, so she hadn't seen, but she heard men dying. Now she saw it and Dany didn't know which was worse.

"The Dothraki believe the stars are spirits of the valiant dead," Theon suddenly said. "Maester Luwin told me that."

"I read that somewhere." She couldn't remember the title of the book. How could she when a battle was taking place just outside these gates? "Do you think that's true?"

He didn't answer, his attention still on the battle. Dany wished it would end.

Her wish came after what seemed like hours. There was no more clash of steel and shields, but only moans of those dying. Finally, a column of mounted men rode out of the drifting smoke. Leading them was a knight in dark armor wearing a rounded red helm and a pale pink cloak. He halted his horse at the gates and one of his men shouted for the castle to open.

"Are you friend or foe?" demanded one of Theon's men.

"Would a foe bring such fine gifts?" Dany gasped when three corpses were dropped in front of the gate. Leobald Tallhart, Cley Cerwyn with an arrow in his eye, and Ser Rodrik missing an arm. Maester Luwin turned away from the bodies and fell to his knees, giving a wordless cry. Her own throat constricted as she choked back a sob. Had it only been a day since she last saw the old castellan? How could he be dead? How could he have died? "If the great pig Manderly wasn't so craven to leave White Harbor, we would have brought him as well."

Daenerys looked at Theon just as he turned to her. "Don't open the gates," she pleaded, uncaring how her voice betrayed her. "If you have any honor left, don't open the gates."

He stared at her for a long time. Her heart sunk when she realized what he meant to do.

"Open the gates for our friends," Theon commanded, returning his attention to the knight with the red helm.

I hate you, Dany thought. She hated him more than Baratheon and the Lannisters. Her hate was almost blinding.

Theon winced, as if he could feel her hatred, but didn't spare her another look as the Dreadfort men made their way across the moat and through the inner gates. Dany made to find her Riverrun men and make haste out of Winterfell, knowing nothing good would come out remaining here, but Theon snatched her wrist and forced her to come along with him and Maester Luwin to greet the traitors in the yard.

He turned to the red knight dismounting. "How many men did you lose?"

"Twenty or thirty." His visor was chipped. His helm and gorget were wrought in the shape of a man's face and shoulders, skinless and bloody, its mouth open in a silent howl. Her skin prickled with goosepimples. She'd seen helms shaped into wolves and hounds, but not… that.

"Ser Rodrik had you five-to-one," Theon pointed out.

"Aye, but he thought us friends. A common mistake. When the old fool gave me his hand, I took his arm instead. Then I let him see my face." He removed his helm and held it in the crook of his arm. He seemed no older than Theon. He had wide, thick lips and long dark hair falling to his broad shoulders. There something familiar about him, and it made Dany uneasy. Then she met his eyes and realized why she wanted to run from him.

He had the same eyes as Roose Bolton.

"I did not know that Lord Bolton had another son," Dany said, unable to halt the words streaming out of her mouth.

"Ramsay Snow, my wife called me before she ate her fingers, but I say Bolton." He smiled, but it didn't reach his pale eyes. The same eyes that haunted her dreams. His smile dropped as if it were never there. "You promised me something for my good service."

"Harrag, go to the kennels and bring Palla for—"

"Not the kennel girl," Ramsay cut in. "She smells of dog shit, and I've had enough of bad smells. I thought of having your bedwarmer. What do you call her? Kyra? But then…" He trailed off, leering at Dany. "I think I've found better treasure."

"Are you mad?" Theon said angrily, pulling Dany behind him. "You can't have her—"

Ramsay's backhand caught them both by surprise. She whirled and ran the second Theon's grip on her wrist loosened. She needed to get to the stables, retrieve her silver mare, and get to Castle Cerwyn. It was the closest castle to Winterfell and if Dany rode her horse hard enough, she'd make it there without interruptions. Yes, she just needed to avoid any Dreadfort—

Pain coursed through her arm as sharp leather coiled itself around her wrist and forearm. Dany screamed as it slashed through the sleeve of her gown into her flesh. She fell to the ground, unable to run without hurting her wrist further. She looked up, her tears blurring her vision as a man stood above her. Blinking them back, she saw a fair-haired young man carrying the handle of a whip. He tugged on the whip, yanking Dany forward. She cried out from the pain intensifying.

"You're a spirited one," the man said, smiling lazily. "No one runs from Lord Ramsay."

She looked around, watching the Dreadfort men burn the castle. No, Dany realized. She dreamt this and couldn't stop it. Just like she couldn't stop Bran and Rickon's deaths. Dany had failed them. Gods, she failed them.

It had been days since Bran Stark left the crypts, but he'd seen the destruction Theon left in his wake with Summer's eyes. He smelled the ashes from the fire, the blood from the people they killed, yet seeing it with his eyes was different. Seeing the death and ruin knocked the wind out of him.

Osha led them through a slow circuit of the castle. She called for any survivors as they went, but no one answered. After seeing more than one blackened corpse, Osha said lowly, "If the gods are good, the Others will take them that did this work."

"It was Theon," Bran said dully. He'd never been close to the older boy, but he never thought Theon would betray them. He was Robb's friend after all and had saved Bran from the other wildlings.

"No. Look." Osha pointed across the yard with her spear. "That's one of his ironmen. And there. And that's Greyjoy's warhorse, see? The black one with the arrows in him." She turned over one of the corpses with her foot. "There's a badge. A little man, all red."

"The flayed man of the Dreadfort," said Bran, frowning. Summer howled and darted away.

"The godswood." Meera Reed ran after the direwolf. The rest of them trailed after, trying not to choke on smoke or trip over fallen stones. The air was cleaner under the trees, most of the soil and green wood unaffected by the flames.

On the edge of the black pool, beneath the shelter of the heart tree, Maester Luwin laid on his belly in the dirty. Blood trailed twisted through the damp leaves where he had crawled. Bran feared he was dead, but when Meera touched his throat, the maester moaned. Gently, they eased Luwin onto his back to lean him against the weirwood tree.

"Bran," he said softly. His eyes were wet with tears. "And Rickon too. The gods are good. I knew…"

"Knew?" Bran frowned.

"The legs, I could tell… the clothes, but the muscles in his legs… poor lad…" He coughed up blood. "You vanished… in the woods… how, though?"

"We never went," Bran told him. "Well, only to the edge, and then doubled back. I sent the wolves on to make a trail, but we hid in Father's tomb."

"The crypts." Luwin chuckled, even as blood trickled down his lips. When the maester tried to move, he gave a painful gasp. Bran knew he shouldn't cry, since boys his age didn't, but he couldn't help it. "They took… they took her…"

"Who?" Bran asked, wiping a stray tear.

"Da… Daenerys," he answered.

"Dany was here?"

He nodded, but it proved too painful for the maester. "She came… for you both… but thought you were dead… then he… he took her..."

His foster sister had come to rescue them but got captured. Bran wished he could have seen her, could have saved her. Maybe if he had come to her as Summer, then she could have hidden in the crypts with them. Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin killed, now Dany's taken, Bran thought.

Even as the words hurt him, Maester Luwin instructed Osha to take them somewhere safe, but nowhere was safe. The ironmen had invaded the north and the Boltons had destroyed Winterfell. Where would they go? Bran flinched when the maester grasped his forearm. "You must be strong now. Strong."

"I will be," Bran promised, though the words were tough to say.

"Good," Luwin whispered. "A good boy. Your… your father's son, Bran. Now go."

Osha told Meera to take them away. They waited outside the godswood and she joined them in the yard a few moments later. "Hodor must stay with Bran, to be his legs," she said quickly. "I will take Rickon with me."

"We'll go with Bran," said Jojen Reed.

"We can't leave," Bran interrupted, "not without Dany."

"You mean that silver-haired girl?" Osha questioned. When he nodded, her eyes softened even as her expression remained hard. "We can't save her. Best hope your brother comes before they kill her."

"No." Everyone stopped. "She risked her life coming to save us. We should do the same instead of running."

"We can't do much, Bran," Meera pointed out. "If we want to survive, we must run."

Bran looked around, his heart aching at the sight of his home. If he weren't so broken, then perhaps he could help Dany, but…

Summer and Shaggydog's ears pricked up. Bran followed their gaze, wondering if someone had survived. The rest of his group stiffened, waiting for an attack to come at any moment. Three men stumbled forward out of the smoke, coughing and covered in soot.

"Who are you?" Osha shouted, wielding her spear.

"We mean you no harm," one of them said, slowly approaching them. "We serve Lord Edmure Tully."

"Let us see your badge," Bran ordered, hoping his voice sounded like Robb's. The knight kept his hands up as he came towards him. He was close enough that Bran could identify the sigil on the badge. It had a silver trout leaping on a blue and red striped field. "Tully, like he says. Osha he knows my uncle."

Osha lowered her spear, and the knight motioned for the others to come. "I am Ser Perceval. This is Ser Tristan and Ser Llwyd."

"Are there more of you?" Osha asked, glancing between them warily.

Ser Tristan lowered his gaze. "We are the only survivors. That monster murdered everyone and took Lady Daenerys."

"You knew Dany?" Bran asked, eyes widening.

"We escorted her here," Ser Llwyd replied, scowling. "Who knows what that bastard is doing to her…"

"We have to rescue her!" Bran exclaimed. She couldn't die. Not after everyone else.

The three Tully knights gave him the same pitying look everyone else did.

"How, lad?" Ser Llwyd asked. "He's got a whole army."

Bran fought back the sudden tears. He couldn't lose Dany. She was like his sister—she was his sister. If she could come here and face Theon, then why couldn't Bran face the men at the Dreadfort?

Meera reached up to touch his hand. "We'll stay for few more days, but if we cannot figure out a way, then we must go."

"Okay." Bran didn't know what kind of plan he could come up with in a few days, but he had to.

Dany's life depended on it.

It took almost a fortnight for them to reach the Dreadfort, but once the fortress came into view, Daenerys had never felt such a fear take hold of her. Not even Robert Baratheon visiting Winterfell terrified her as much as this moment. There was no escaping this place, no escaping him.

"You know where to put him." Ramsay referred to Theon, who was dragged away someplace Dany doubted was good. The women and children that survived were guided somewhere else. Ramsay's hand wrapped around her wounded forearm, squeezing until the dull pain there sharpened and stung. "Come now, little dragon."

He pulled her along, so forcefully that Dany could hardly keep up with his strides. Her breathing quickened the closer they approached Ramsay's bedchamber. Her heart could scarcely keep up. Ramsay hadn't tried to touch her during their travel to the Dreadfort, but she wasn't stupid. He would rape her the first chance he got, and here it was. He was too massive to fight off, but Elia Martell had fought the Mountain even if had been futile. Dany would do the same.

Ramsay opened the bedchamber and shoved her inside. It was a spacious bedchamber, as large as Lord Eddard's, but it felt confined the moment Ramsay slammed the door behind them. He led her to the middle of the room. Dany's breathing stilled when he stood behind her. He was so close that she could feel the warmth of his body. She flinched when he placed his hands on her shoulders, then slid them down her sides. Dany blinked back her tears when one of his hands moved up to grope her breast.

"How old are you?" His mouth was near her ear. He was so close, it felt like he was encompassing her. Dany found it hard to breathe.

"Five-and-ten," she answered, wanting to escape. She turned her head away, not wanting his face so near her own.

"Small tits…" Ramsay remarked, then moved the hand on her breast to dig into her rear. Dany jumped, and that made him laugh. It was a harsh sound, crueler than Lannister's comments had been. "But your rump is nice."

His other hand crept up to her throat. Dany gasped when his thick fingers pressed deep into her skin. Her hands flew to the hand gripping her throat, trying to pry his fingers loose, but he only squeezed tighter. In one quick movement, Ramsay threw her on the bed. She tried to sit up, but he straddled her, his heavy weight trapping her beneath him. Removing his gloves, Ramsay seized her throat once more.

Tilting his head, he smiled as he studied her. "Pretty face. I can see why Greyjoy wanted you for himself."

Removing his hand, Ramsay moved off her and shoved her off the bed. Dany stumbled to her feet and turned to see him sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Undress for me, little dragon," Ramsay commanded.

Straightening her stance, Daenerys used the courage remaining within her to say, "No."

The Bastard of Bolton smiled, the same false one that didn't brighten his pale eyes. "No?" he repeated, coming towards her with viper speed.

"I won't undress for you," Dany repeated, backing away.

"Damon was right. You are a spirited one." He slapped her across the face.

The room spun, the same way the world did after Jory Cassel was finished spinning her in the air. She tasted blood and felt her cheek swell. The revolving stopped when Ramsay suddenly grabbed her and threw her to the ground. Dany thrashed against him, managing to keep his hands off her. It was when she slapped him across his cheek, her fingernails cutting into his skin, that made Ramsay pull out a dagger and press the sharp edge to her throat. She froze under the steel, and that pause allowed him to use his free hand to hold her wounded arm above her head.

Ramsay grinned, pressing the blade over a pulse. "I like a bitch who fights," he rasped, dragging the dagger down her breastbone. Dany hissed when he nicked her. "Especially dainty ones like you."

She tried to free her hand from his grasp, but he held her like a vice. Ramsay lifted the blade from her breastbone to roll her on her belly. He ripped the laces from her gown, then tugged it off her. "Your skin is so white."

Dany cried out when he slashed at her back with his dagger. It was a long cut that stung from the cold air. Tears spilled from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks. "You're just as awful… as your father said…" she forced out, hiding her face because she'd rather see nothing than his eyes.

Ramsay stilled above her. For a moment, Dany wondered if he had knocked her out during his rape, but she could feel his clothed body. She swallowed back a cry when he shoved her on her back, forcing her to stare into those horrible eyes.

"You spoke to my father," he repeated. He shook her when she stayed silent. "What else did he say?"

"That you would rape me the first chance you got," Dany answered, trembling. "He wanted to do the same thing, but… but he says he has more restraint than you—"

"I have as much restraint as he does!" Ramsay exploded. "I have more restraint! Fucking liar. Acts as if he doesn't do the same thing and shames me for it. It's because of that little wolf king, isn't it? Why my father didn't take you?"

Dany used all her strength not to scramble away when Ramsay suddenly got to his feet and left the bedchamber muttering to himself. She covered herself the best she could with her torn gown, then hugged her knees to her chest. Dany couldn't even be bothered to be relieved that he was gone, because he would come back. Then what? He could kill her after he was finished raping her and easily blame it on Theon. No one would ever know. Robb would praise him as a hero. Dany buried her face in her knees, muffling her sobs. Were Sansa and Arya this afraid in King's Landing? Joffrey had been insufferable when he visited, and had beheaded Eddard Stark, but did he hurt them like Ramsay?

Never in her life had Dany felt this alone.

Yet Ramsay did not leave her alone for long. Some hours after he stormed out, a red-haired maester came to tend her wounds.

"What will he do to me?" Dany asked hoarsely. The maester kept his eyes on washing the dried blood off her forearm. She was surprised it hadn't festered during the ride to the Dreadfort. "… Please."

She must have sounded pitiful enough for him to speak. "If he hasn't raped you yet, he will. Then he will hunt you through the woods with his hounds. Once he catches you, he will flay you until you are dead."

Ramsay was a monster. Not Lannister, but him and the Mountain. Monsters like them… someone had to slay them. Robb and Jon were in the westerlands battling Lord Tywin. Lord Wyman Manderly did not know that she was here, so he couldn't rescue her. There was no one. She was going to die in this vile place and no one would know it was that pale-eyed monster who killed her. No, Daenerys would stay alive. She couldn't—wouldn't let Ramsay kill her. How was a different matter, but she would figure it out.

She had to.

Waiting, it turned out, was just as miserable as being in the same room as Ramsay.

After the maester tended to her wounds, Ramsay had sent a maid with an armful of gowns to the bedchamber she was held in. They belonged to the late Lady Bolton and were ill-fitting. It felt wrong to wear a dead woman's clothes, especially one unfortunate enough to have wed a Bolton, but Daenerys wasn't given much of a choice. She was surprised he even cared about what she wore, but that seemed to be the only thing he cared for.

For the past seven days, Ramsay left her in that bedchamber with nothing to eat or drink. She could only focus on her thirst and hunger. When it wasn't those two, it was her isolation and that was worse than the emptiness in her belly. Had the maester lied about Ramsay's plans for her? Perhaps he was leaving her to waste away, or he happened to forget about her. Dany sincerely hoped it was the latter.

The door clicking open made Dany stiffen from her seat by the window. Turning from the window, she widened her eyes at the sight of Ramsay stepping inside the room. She forced herself to remain still when he sat down in the chair near her. Running would only make him angry. The rapid beat of her heart resounded around the shrinking bedchamber. Why was he just looking at her?

"I fear I've neglected you, little dragon," he said, caressing her bruised cheek. The gentleness of his touch was obscene. "I've been preoccupied with Greyjoy."

Dany couldn't believe he was still alive. She was certain Ramsay had killed him by now. He stroked her cheekbone. He put pressure on it until Dany winced under his thumb. "You must be hungry. I've prepared a special meal for you."

"That's… kind of you, my lord." His mood was volatile. Defying him would only lead to another beating and she needed to survive.

"Well, it would be unfortunate if I let you starve." Ramsay moved his hand from her face to one of her wrists, guiding her out of the bedchamber. "My last wife starved to death. She was so hungry she chewed off her fingers. Skinner thinks she chewed them because it hurt so much."

"Why did they hurt?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"Oh, I flayed them. The crone had the nerve to call me Snow." Ramsay looked down at her, flashing a grin. "You know better, don't you? I wouldn't want to peel that soft skin of yours."

But you'll mar it with scars and bruises, Dany thought. Why did he hate the name Snow? Jon had hated his name as well, but after his time with the Night's Watch, he seemed at peace with it. She dared not ask Ramsay his opinion. His generosity would disappear, and she'd return to the bedchamber with skinless fingers.

The Great Hall of the Dreadfort was dim, with rows of torches grasped by skeletal human hands jutting from the walls. Long tables stood before a dais with a high table. The hall had a vaulted ceiling and wooden rafters. The rest of the castle was just as grim as this hall. Dany remembered the stories she heard about this place. The Boltons kept a room where they hung the skins of their enemies. Jon would tease Robb that he'd eventually have to visit the Dreadfort once he became Lord of Winterfell, but Dany never guessed she would beat him to it.

A group of men sat around one of the long tables, laughing and cursing among one another. She recognized one of them, the fair-haired one that caught her with a whip. One of them noticed her and Ramsay approaching, and the table fell to a quick hush. Dany frowned when she noticed two boys sitting with them, one small and skinny, the other tall and stout. Their weak chin and stringy hair reminded her of someone, but who?

"This is the Mad King's daughter?" one of the men asked. He licked his lips, the act disgusting enough to nauseate Dany.

"Daenerys, my little dragon, these are some of my men-at-arms. Sour Alyn, Luton, Skinner, Grunt, Yellow Dick, and Damon," Ramsay introduced, gesturing to each of them. "You've met Damon before."

"I remember." The scars on her forearm would be a constant reminder of him. "Who are the boys, my lord?"

"Walder and Walder Frey." He chuckled at her confused expression. "The big one is Little Walder and the little one is Big Walder. They were wards at Winterfell."

"You rode with the Young Wolf," noted Big Walder. He was more fox-faced than weasel. "Is it true you tried to kill the Kingslayer?"

How had that spread all the way to the north? Daenerys supposed her only achievement was attempting to kill Lannister in the Whispering Wood, though she wouldn't call it that. If she had killed him then, she wouldn't have known the truth about Bran's fall or her father's nature. She would have laughed if she weren't held hostage by Ramsay. Who would have thought that she'd consider keeping Lannister alive was better than killing him?

"I would have if Robb hadn't stopped me," she admitted, shocking the entire table. Even Ramsay gave her a look of surprise.

"Luton, is the meal ready?" Ramsay asked, recovering easily.

"At your command, milord," replied Luton.

"Bring it out." Luton, Yellow Dick, and Grunt stood to retrieve the meal. What sort of meal needed three men to carry? Dany sensed this was no ordinary meal. She was right when the three men brought in a stallion. Her eyes widened when Skinner handed Ramsay an axe and he walked towards the stallion with it. Before she could wonder what he was doing, Ramsay swung the axe down on the stallion's skull.

Her scream came unbidden and Dany forced herself not to scream again when Ramsay tore open the stallion's belly with his axe. Blood and entrails spilled all over the stone floors. The blood never seemed to end. Handing his axe to Skinner, Ramsay knelt beside the stallion and felt inside its torn body before ripping out its heart. Bile rose in her throat when she saw that the heart was still throbbing in his hand. She could hear it loud like her own.

Ramsay walked over to the table and dropped the heart in front of Dany.

"Eat it," he told her.

He wanted her to eat a raw heart. What sort of game was this?

"N-no." Dany hated the tremble in her voice.

"No?" Ramsay placed his hands on the table as he leaned towards her. "Aren't you hungry? You don't want my special meal?"

She glanced at the steaming heart. When she remained silent, Ramsay hung his head with a sigh. Goosepimples prickled her skin when he lifted his head, staring at her with the same rage he had when she mentioned his father.

"I go out of my way to prepare such a special meal and you say no?" Ramsay questioned. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "Ungrateful bitch. This will be the last meal you ever eat. Do you want that?"

Dany shook her head, but his grip on her chin made it difficult to do so. Ramsay let go of her and leaned back as he sat down across from her. "Eat all of it. If you retch it up, I'll take some of your little fingers and feed it to my hounds. Now eat it."

"It's no use, milord," Sour Alyn drawled. "She can't stomach it."

I must, she thought, taking the stallion's heart in both hands. Dany lifted it to her mouth and plunged her teeth into the tough, stringy flesh. Warm blood filled her mouth and ran down her chin. The taste threatened to choke her, but she forced herself to chew and swallow. Since Ramsay hadn't given her a knife, she had to rip the heart apart with her teeth and nails. Her stomach heaved with each mouthful, but Ramsay's threat kept her going. Not only was it his threat that kept Dany eating. It was Robb, it was Jon. It was even the monster himself. Glancing at Ramsay and his men-at-arms, they were expecting her to fail.

I am blood of the dragon, she told herself. I am Daenerys Stormborn, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror.

Her jaw ached with the last mouthful, but she ate every bit of the heart. Her cheeks and fingers were sticky as she forced down the last of it. Dany looked up from the bloody table and into Ramsay's pale eyes.

"Thank you for the meal, my lord," she said, when she was certain her voice was steady.

They stared at one another for a moment. Dany could only wonder if Ramsay would keep his word and not harm her, but he didn't seem the type to honor his words.

"Give her something to drink and have a bath drawn for our dragon," Ramsay finally commanded, standing up from the bench. "Clean this mess up."

He strode out of the Great Hall, leaving everyone to complete their tasks. She heard Sour Alyn mutter his disbelief at Dany eating the stallion's heart. Glancing around, Dany realized everyone was occupied. She could just slip past everyone and escape. It was a risk, but so was staying in the castle with Rams—

Damon grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her off the bench. "You weren't thinking of running, were you?"

"Of course not," she said. They stared at one another for a moment, before Damon thrust a cup of wine towards her. Dany accepted it and drank until there was no more. Once she was finished, Damon led her to the bedchamber.

Two maids were already in the bedchamber preparing the bath. One of them came to help undress Dany but faltered when Damon didn't move from the door. He shut it behind him and leaned against a desk nearby, watching them. He motioned for the maid to continue and she did so. Dany tried to ignore Damon but seeing the scars on her forearm made it more difficult.

"Will your lord be upset with you watching me?" Dany questioned, glancing over her shoulder.

"Someone needs to keep an eye on you," Damon replied, leering at her with such open lust it made her insides coil in disgust.

"No one kept an eye on me when I was here alone," she pointed out, stepping inside the tub. The water wasn't hot enough, but this wasn't Winterfell. The servants here weren't aware of her preference for scorching baths.

"Your friend kept us occupied."

"Theon isno friend of mine."

Damon said nothing, but she felt his eyes on her as the maids washed the blood off her face and out of her hair. What were they doing to Theon? Torture came to mind. That was what the Boltons were known for in the past, but they didn't practice that anymore… supposedly. Cley Cerwyn would always scare them with tales about the Boltons and their room with skins. Poor Cley. He did not deserve such a death, but it was better to be dead than captured alive by Ramsay.

Her hair was getting combed when Ramsay returned. She heard Damon stand and greet his lord. Dany focused on steadying her breathing, though that proved almost impossible when Ramsay dismissed everyone from the bedchamber. He pulled a chair near the tub and sat down.

"Have you heard of the Dothraki? You know, horselords?" Ramsay inquired.

"I've read about them," Dany answered. Theon had mentioned the Dothraki the night Ramsay sacked Winterfell.

"Eating a stallion's heart is a custom for them. My father told me they make their wives eat it and if they can't, their child would be weak, deformed, or female," he explained, then snorted. "My father thinks its barbaric, but I find it effective. What a perfect way to see if a woman is worth marrying? Why go through all the trouble of marrying her if she won't give you a viable son?"

Dany didn't want to believe what he was saying.

"Did you know that no Bolton has ever wed a dragon?" Ramsay went on. "I suppose I'll be the first."

"Wed a dragon?" she echoed weakly. "But I… I have no lands or treasures to offer you."

Ramsay smiled, amused. "You're all the treasure I need."

She looked down at the soapy water and watched the blood swirl. I am the blood of the dragon, Dany reminded herself, yet those words seemed to hold no weight in the presence of Ramsay Snow.

"And if I refuse?" Daenerys asked, returning her gaze to him. She looked Robert Baratheon and Jaime Lannister in their eyes. She could do the same to Ramsay.

His smile waned. "You would refuse me, Princess?"

"I'm not a princess," she corrected. Baratheon made sure of that.

"If men can call themselves kings, there's no reason you shouldn't be called a princess," Ramsay reasoned. He scooted his chair closer to the tub. "Now listen closely. Refuse me and I will remove your fingernails one by one, but not before I've filled you with my cock. When you think you've run out of tears, I'll rip off that soft skin of yours and turn it into a fucking cloak."

He meant every word of it. There was no escaping this. The only way to survive was to marry him. The thought of having his children… Dany wanted to vomit.

"Let's start over, shall we?" Ramsay held out his hand. Dany lifted a shaky one of her own and placed it over his larger one. "You and I are to wed. You should be grateful. No man wants to marry the Mad King's daughter."

Jon Snow does, she couldn't help but think.

"I am grateful," Dany murmured, shivering. At least he'd think it was from the bath water and not him. "I don't deserve such kindness."

"No, you don't," Ramsay agreed, squeezing her hand. Tugging her forward, he leaned towards her for a kiss. Dany swallowed back her revulsion and pressed her lips chastely against his. That did not please him, as he grabbed the back of her head and shoved his tongue inside her mouth. Caught off guard, Dany bit his invading tongue.

Ramsay jerked back, cursing. He wiped the blood trickling down his lip with the back of his hand. Giving her a smile, he lunged forward and slammed her into the bottom of the bath. Her lungs filled with water and Dany desperately tried to get his hands off her. No, she thought. This couldn't be the end. Not yet.

When she felt her life slowly draining, Dany was lifted out of the water. She leaned over the edge of the tub, coughing out bathwater. When her coughing fit ended, she lifted her head to see Ramsay standing above her.

"I don't know who's more fun," Ramsay said, grinning. "Give me a smile before I leave, little dragon."

She wanted to cry, but she smiled for him. Satisfied, Ramsay finally left the bedchamber. Once he was gone, the only thing Dany could do was weep.

Barristan hadn't known what to expect when he reached Winterfell, but he was not expecting the castle to have been set on fire.

He walked through the destroyed castle, taking in the burnt corpses and scorched walls. One whole side of a tower had collapsed, and another tower seemed to have formed a lake inside of it. Although Barristan had seen such things during the rebellion, he was still disturbed. He was surprised anyone would directly attack the ancestral castle. He was certain the Lannisters were battling Robb Stark's army in the westerlands. Fear gnawed at him. Had Daenerys reached Winterfell before it had been destroyed, or was she one of the corpses?

Despite being burned, Barristan could still find some badges intact on the bodies. He bent down before one. This badge had a kraken, the sigil of House Greyjoy. Another body had the sigil of House Bolton. It was obvious that Stark had been betrayed, but by which House?

The sounds of a wolf growling made Barristan stiffen. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that a wolf was behind him.

"Who are you?" It was a woman's voice.

"Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Command—former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." Knowing he was no longer part of the Kingsguard still stung, but this loss was better than the loss of his honor.

There was whispering, then heavy footsteps coming forward. "You are truly Ser Barristan the Bold?"

It was a child's voice. Tentatively, Barristan turned to face them. Growling at him was a direwolf, its fur a smoky grey and eyes yellow. Pointing a spear at him was a tall, gaunt woman with shaggy brown hair. The child had the Tully coloring, but a giant of a man held him in his arms. If he could not use his legs, then this must have been Bran. Eddard had mentioned that one of his children had fallen from a tower and survived but lost his ability to walk.

"I am," Barristan answered, nodding. "You must be Bran."

"You know me?" the boy asked, widening his eyes.

"Your father spoke highly of you."

Bran smiled, yet his eyes were pained. He looked to the wolf standing between them. "Down, Summer," he commanded, and the direwolf sat down on its haunches, silent. "What are you doing here?"

Barristan glanced around the barren castle. "Perhaps we can answer each other's questions. Is there someplace we may talk?"

"Here is fine, old man," the woman said sharply.

"It's fine, Osha. He won't hurt us. He's the greatest knight in the realm!" Bran told the woman. The guilt that permeated Barristan's mind since Joffrey dismissed him surged. He didn't deserve such a title. "Follow us."

They led him to the most intact tower. Inside more people sat around a lit brazier. Bran introduced him to them all. Rickon had the Tully coloring as well and sat beside a black direwolf. The other two children were Howland Reed's, Meera and Jojen. Both were short with brown hair and green eyes, though the boy's eyes were an unusual shade. The three men were Ser Perceval, Tristan, and Llwyd, knights of Riverrun. The giant man carrying Bran was named Hodor, a stableboy.

"Hodor!" Hodor said happily, gently depositing Bran to the ground. He made sure Bran was placed where he could lean against a wall.

"What happened here?" Barristan questioned.

"Bastards," Osha muttered.

"Theon Greyjoy betrayed us," Bran explained. His young face held more pain than it should have. "He took Winterfell and held us hostage until the Boltons came and burned the castle."

"How did you escape?"

"We hid in the crypts," replied Meera, munching on a piece of stale bread. "That was before the Bolton men came."

"And you?" Barristan referred to the knights. "What brought you three here?"

"Daenerys Targaryen," Ser Tristan answered. Barristan's eyes widened. "Us and seventeen other men escorted her here. She wanted to stop the Greyjoy boy, but…"

"She was taken," Jojen finished for the silent knight. He stared deep into the flames of the brazier.

Hearing that she was held captive was both good and bad news. It meant she was still alive, but that could change at any moment. The Boltons were not known for their kindness. Although they claimed to no longer practice it, their habit of flaying their victims was still the first thing that came to mind. Barristan couldn't recall them harming women, but he wouldn't put it pass them. That left him with limited time to rescue her, but how? He may be exceptional with the sword, but he was only one man. An old one at that, he thought.

Meera murmured something to her brother, but the boy remained silent, his eyes trained on the flames. She turned back to Barristan. "What are you doing here, ser?"

"Yes, what happened? You say you are no longer with the Kingsguard," Bran questioned. The knights looked at him in shock.

"Is that true?" Ser Perceval asked.

Barristan nodded, then explained why Joffrey dismissed him. Bran was affronted.

"Joffrey has always been stupid," he said. The scowl on his childish face made Barristan chuckle. "But if you're looking for Robb, he's fighting the Lannisters."

"I'm not here for your brother, lad. I am here for Daenerys Stormborn."

"You came all the way here to rescue some girl?" Osha questioned in disbelief. The three knights spluttered out nonsensical things, but Barristan took no offense. The woman was a wildling, so she didn't know the history behind Daenerys and her family.

He couldn't express how much saving Daenerys meant to him. Eddard Stark had been known for his unbending honor, and that honor made him defy Robert to protect Daenerys. Not only had it been honor, it had been bravery, something Barristan lacked. If he hadn't been afraid, he would have gone to Winterfell to become her sworn shield. Not anymore, he thought.

"Yes," Barristan answered, meeting Osha's eyes.

That one word stilled the air in the tower. He caught the glances exchanged among everyone. After a moment of silence, Bran said, "We'll help." Before Barristan could gently tell the boy he couldn't, Bran hastily added, "Rickon and I can use our direwolves. They listen to us."

"It's true," Meera insisted, nodding. She hesitated for a moment, before saying, "If Bran insists then we'll help too."

The girl was small like most Crannogmen and no older than Daenerys, but Barristan had noticed her carrying a three-pronged frog spear. It wasn't right to have children fight, but it was better than going to the Dreadfort alone. He needed to rescue Daenerys, and he needed every helping hand.

"As will we," Ser Perceval decided, sitting up straighter. The other knights murmured in agreement.

"You have my thanks," Barristan said, relieved. "Now, this is what we'll do…"

Days ago, Margaery received a letter from Catelyn Stark. It surprised her, especially after Lady Stark had ran out of Bitterbridge in such a hurry. Some of her father's soldiers claimed she witnessed Renly's death, while others say she aided Brienne of Tarth in her assassination of Renly. Margaery doubted that Brienne was her husband's murderer. It was plain to everyone that she was in love with him.

The letter itself was intriguing. Lady Stark wrote her condolences, which Margaery appreciated, then skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point. She wrote of ironmen led by Theon Greyjoy pillaging the north, possibly sacking Winterfell and putting her sons in danger. Margaery widened her eyes when she read that Daenerys Targaryen had traveled to Winterfell to treat with Greyjoy. She could guess how desperate Lady Stark was to send a young girl to do something so dangerous. Now Lady Stark was asking Margaery if she could send an army down north and check on Daenerys, as she hadn't heard anything from the girl since she left Riverrun.

"Although we are not united by marriage yet, we can still ally with one another," Lady Stark wrote. "I've already lost one daughter and another one is held hostage. I cannot lose any more children."

Willas had been furious when he learned of the betrothal. He did not anger easily, but his rage was frightening. Even their grandmother seemed startled by his fury, but even she agreed that the arrangement couldn't have been any better. Not many women clamored to wed the crippled heir to Highgarden. Most were vying for Loras, despite being the third son. Not that Loras cared much for the attention of highborn girls. He still mourned Renly and spent his time sparring viciously with other soldiers.

"She's quite lovely, brother. Her hair is a rich autumn auburn, and her eyes a deep Tully blue," Margaery told him. Sansa was a little girl when she last saw her at the tourney, but she was still pretty.

"She's a child," Willas snapped.

Although Olenna praised the betrothal, she did not hesitate to reproach Margaery for making decisions without her approval. "I wouldn't have agreed if I did not think you would approve, Grandmother," she said, giving her a smile.

Olenna snorted. "Yes, because you know better, but do not become presumptuous with your position, Margaery."

Margaery was not presumptuous when she handed the letter to Olenna after reading it.

Despite her advanced age, Olenna read the letter without trouble. She placed the letter down on her lap and looked up at Margaery. "What do you think of this, dear granddaughter?"

She's testing me, thought Margaery.

"I think we should do as she pleads," Margaery replied, keeping her voice even.

"And why is that?"

"It will strengthen our alliance."

"But what if her daughter isn't alive? What will happen to this betrothal you arranged?"

"The Lannisters won't kill her unless Robb kills Jaime Lannister," Margaery insisted.

"But if she isn't?" Olenna persisted. Her voice sharpened when she continued, "Never have blind faith in your plans, Margaery. You must always have a backup plan. Now tell me, what will you do if Catelyn Stark's daughter is dead? You will have to fulfill this betrothal somehow or this alliance will be a waste of time."

Her mind raced with alternative proposals. The other Stark girl was far too young for Willas and Loras, and besides she was presumed dead. Daenerys was a possibility, but she had nothing to offer besides beauty and lineage. Margaery froze when she recalled Robb's own betrothal to some Frey girl. She herself was newly widowed.

"Then I shall wed Robb," Margaery answered, hoping her smile wasn't edging on a smirk. That would surely vex her grandmother. When Olenna said nothing, her confidence faltered, but she hurriedly continued, "He's won every battle against the Lannisters. Combined with our swords, there's no way he will lose."

"He is impressive," Olenna admitted. She smiled slyly. "And comely from what I've heard, but I'm certain that has nothing to do with your eagerness to wed him. Unfortunately, your little plan has a flaw. Robb Stark is betrothed to one of Walder Frey's daughters, which is unfortunate for him if any of those poor girls resemble their father."

"That's merely a minor detail." Margaery brushed off. "Betrothals mean nothing when you're in love."

Olenna's eyes widened. "Love?" she repeated.

She fought back a giggle. "Not yet, Grandmother, but I can make him fall in love with me."

"You can?" Olenna was skeptical. "Don't tell me you plan to purchase a love potion."

"We've met before at the tourney at Riverrun. He was besotted with me then. I'm certain he still is. We'll only know if we help Lady Stark. Robb will not say no to his family's savior. He'll be grateful, Grandmother, and I'm far prettier than any of Lord Frey's daughters."

That made her grandmother laugh.

"You make good points," Olenna said. Margaery hoped her face wouldn't betray the pride she felt. It wasn't often her grandmother gave compliments. "And the Stark boy isn't a bad choice for king. Better than that Joffrey. Okay, Margaery. We shall try your little plan. Go fetch your father."

The moment she left the solar, Margaery smirked. She hadn't been able to do much during her marriage to Renly, but now she was widowed and responsible for changing the tide in the war.

They'll call me Margaery the Kingmaker, she thought.

For once during his time here in the Dreadfort, Theon was alone.

Had it only been hours ago that Ramsay threw Theon in his cell after a round of torture? Or was it days? He couldn't tell. Theon passed out the moment Ramsay was out of the room and hadn't woken up since. Only now was he stirring awake. Blinking his bleary eyes, Theon winced from the throbbing in his head. His body ached, but that pain never left him. Why couldn't he just go back to sleep?

"The prince is finally awake." Theon stiffened, trying to shake the listlessness off him. He couldn't lose his guard around Ramsay and his men. They looked for any excuse to torture him.

"Lord Ramsay says he's no prince," another voice said. Could it be Yellow Dick? He had that same dimwitted voice, although none of Ramsay's men could be considered smart.

The first voice scoffed then rattled the bars of Theon's cell. The raucous sound shot through Theon's skull, making him squeeze his eyes shut until it stopped. Yellow Dick laughed and rattled the bars, laughing harder when Theon curled himself into a ball.

"Get up, Greyjoy," ordered the first voice. Lifting his head, Theon finally saw that it was Skinner. He held the cell door open, stepping aside for Theon to walk. Pushing himself to his feet, Theon took one step and collapsed. "Get up."

I can't you fucking prick, thought Theon, gritting his teeth. He hissed, his mouth still sore from earlier. His insides coiled in disgust as he remembered what Ramsay did to him. Pushing those thoughts back, Theon forced himself up and leaned against the stone wall to keep himself from falling again.

"What's…" It hurt to speak. His throat was so dry. "What's going on?"

"Shut up." Yellow Dick kicked him in the back of his knees.

"We'll never get him to Lord Ramsay if we keep this up," Skinner grumbled. He grabbed Theon by the rags on his back and hefted him up. "Help me before Lord Ramsay gets angry we're taking so long."

Together, Skinner and Yellow Dick guided Theon out of the torture chamber and into the halls. The light from the windows hurt his eyes, but Theon forced himself to endure it. Halfway to Ramsay's bedchamber, Theon found the strength in his legs to walk on his own. Skinner and Yellow Dick pushed him away and let him trail behind them. His heart raced as they steadily approached his bedchamber. What the hell could Ramsay want that meant taking him out of the torture chamber?

Entering the chamber, Theon's eyes darted around for anything dangerous. He only noticed that a bath was drawn and clean clothes on the featherbed. Never had a featherbed looked more inviting than the one there.

"Lord Ramsay wants you clean," Skinner told him. "You can clean yourself, can you?"

Theon nodded and waited until they were out of the bedchamber to undress and step inside the bath. Unsurprisingly, the water was cold. Ramsay would never give him a respite. Shivering in the bath, Theon gingerly cleaned himself of the dried blood and grime clinging to his skin. When he finished, Theon searched for a towel, but could not find one. Yet he couldn't forget Ramsay. Where was he?

"Looking for this, pet?"

Fear sunk deep into Theon's flesh. How long had Ramsay been in here? How did he not hear the door open?

He turned to face Ramsay, preparing to bow, but Ramsay shook his head. He froze when Ramsay's pale eyes roamed his naked body. He had that false smile on his face as he handed Theon the towel. Cautiously, Theon accepted it and began drying himself.

"Do you like the clothes I've chosen for you?" Ramsay asked, walking towards the window.

"Yes, my lord." Theon hadn't looked at the clothes closely enough to admire them. He wanted to know why but asking without permission was bound to vex the bastard.

"I know you have questions. You may ask."

"Why have you taken me out of the cell?"

"For the wedding, of course."

"Wedding?" Theon repeated, frowning.

Ramsay chuckled. "Yes, pet. My wedding to the dragon princess. You are the closest thing she has to kin."

Had Theon's wounds festered? Was he in the middle of a fever dream? In what world would Daenerys Targaryen wed Ramsay Snow? The one I made when I betrayed Robb, he remembered.

"Get dressed and go to my bride's room. Come to the godswood when the music starts," Ramsay ordered, shouldering past Theon and out of the bedchamber.

Fumbling on his clothes, Theon hurried to find Daenerys's room. Ramsay had little patience and would undoubtedly take his rage out on Theon if he brought his bride out late. After a few minutes, Theon found her. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath. Everything still hurt, but he couldn't pass out again. Not during Ramsay's wedding. Standing straighter, Theon could only stare at Daenerys.

They had her dressed in sable lambswool trimmed with lace. Her sleeves and bodice were sewn with black onyxes, and on her feet were sable doeskin slippers. Her hair was a waterfall of silver underneath a jeweled net of rubies. Adorning her throat and ears were more rubies, yet Theon could spot the bruises marring her skin. Looking at her now, it was no wonder the bastard would wed a ruined princess. Even so, Theon wondered if Ramsay realized he dressed his bride for mourning instead of a wedding.

She turned around in her chair, widening her violet eyes at the sight of him. "Theon?" She stood up and walked over to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I am to give you away," Theon answered, swallowing thickly.

"Give me away?" Daenerys repeated. "You can't… Theon, don't do this."

The softness in her voice was unbearable. Theon had to avert his eyes from her. "I must. Ram—Lord Ramsay will hurt us both if I don't."

He felt her stare. "What did he do to you?" she asked. When he didn't say anything, she frowned and reached out to touch his arm. Theon flinched at the brush of her hand, and she withdrew it.

He squeezed his left hand into a fist, ignoring the phantom presence of his ring finger. Ramsay had flayed that finger, the pain burning and throbbing until the bastard chopped it off, but something else overtook that memory. Theon averted his eyes, his shame striking him like a slap across the face. "Just please him," he said, blinking hard to forget those nights—or had it been days? "Pray that Robb rescues you before he puts a babe in you."

"Let's run," Daenerys suddenly suggested.

"What?" Theon finally looked at her.

"Everyone is in the godswood now. We could escape," she continued, her voice frantic.

"Don't talk like that," he whispered. Memories of Kyra came unbidden and he desperately pushed them back. Beyond the door, the music called them. "Daenerys, it is time."

Daenerys regarded him, the faint madness gone. In its place was a coldness that only a Stark could possess. "Are you not ironborn?"

Her words slapped him across the face. Was he ironborn? He was Theon Greyjoy, a son of Pyke. His blood was salt and iron. He should be ironborn, yet… his own family didn't view him as such. His uncle Aeron treated him as though he was still a child of ten. His sister humiliated him by pretending to be that wench Esgred and leaving him with no men to defend Winterfell. His father held no respect for him, claiming the green lands made him soft. He was no ironborn in their eyes, but no wolf in the eyes of the Starks. What was he, if he was neither?

"What do you want from me?" Theon questioned, his head throbbing.

"To help me," she pleaded. Fear was never something he associated with Daenerys. Her encounters with Baratheon, the Hound, the Kingslayer, and even himself proved she was unafraid. Her bravery had unraveled once she faced Ramsay, but with good reason. Theon knew firsthand the brutality Ramsay was capable of, and he didn't have to imagine what the bastard would do to his bride tonight.

"You were once my friend. If you truly care for me and for Robb, you'll help me," Daenerys said.

Robb had been more a brother to Theon than any son born of Balon Greyjoy's loins. He knew Robb before he became the Young Wolf and King in the North. The boy had accepted him with open arms. The king trusted him enough to release him back to Pyke, even when everyone was against it. The hate on Daenerys's face had been awful enough, but to see Robb with the same look… Theon didn't know if he could stomach it.

"He's waiting," was the only thing Theon could say. He draped the black fur-trimmed cloak about her shoulders emblazoned with the gules three-headed dragon of her House.

Taking her arm, Theon led Daenerys to the godswood. Arm in arm, they passed through an arched stone door as fog obscured their path. Torches guided them over the path of overgrown roots. The godswood in the Dreadfort felt haunted, just as the rest of the castle did. No leaves assorted any of the trees, each grey as decaying flesh. It was as if they were entering a graveyard. Theon half expected the Stranger to appear through the mist and guide them to the underworld. Goosepimples prickled his skin and he held Daenerys closer to him.

They reached the heart tree and Ramsay Bolton stood near it. He was clad in high boots of soft grey leather and a black velvet doublet slashed with pink silk and glittering with garnet teardrops. His neck was red above his collar. "Who comes?" he asked, his smile wide at the sight of them. "Who comes before the gods?"

Theon answered. "Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Me," said Ramsay, so smug like he hadn't stolen his bride. "Ramsay of House Bolton, Lord of the Hornwood, heir to the Dreadfort. I claim her. Who gives her?"

"Theon of House Greyjoy, heir to Pyke. A ward of Eddard Stark." He turned to the bride, expecting loathing. Instead, he saw tears. Theon spoke quickly, hoping Ramsay wouldn't notice the falter just then. "Lady Daenerys, will you take this man?"

"I take this man," she said, her voice steady. If it weren't for the tears sliding down her cheeks, one would think she felt no fear.

Lights glimmered through the mists, candles pale as shrouded stars. Theon stepped back, and Ramsay and his bride joined hands and knelt before the heart tree, bowing their heads. After a moment of silent prayer, they rose again. Ramsay undid the cloak Theon had slipped about Daenerys's shoulders. In its place, he fastened a pink cloak emblazoned with red garnets. On its back was the flayed man of the Dreadfort done in stiff red leather.

That will be me after tonight, thought Theon. Once Daenerys was bedded, Theon knew he would return to the dungeons. Painful as it was to give away the girl he'd known since he was ten, Theon wished it went on longer. Ramsay promised to break him, had whispered it in his ear the first night he entered the Dreadfort. Not kill him but break him.

Ramsay Bolton swept Daenerys up in his arms and strode through the mist with her. The small number of guests followed. The musicians began to play again, and the bard started to sing "Two Hearts That Beat as One." Two of his women joined their voices to his own.

Theon hesitated. He didn't want to follow and watch Daenerys's discomfit throughout the feast. I did this, he reminded himself. He put her in Ramsay's arms. Theon breathed in the cool air one more time before crossing the yard to the Great Hall. The doors of the Great Hall loomed up in front of him. The hall was warm and bright with torchlight. The tables were filled with most of Bolton's men and the Frey wards. Daenerys sat beside Ramsay, not even bothering to hide her unease.

He tried to eat but couldn't stomach the food. Theon knew he would regret it, though. Ramsay would starve him and flay him and touch him…

Someone grabbed his shoulder. "You're wanted, Greyjoy," said Sour Alyn, his breath foul from the smell of his rotten teeth. Yellow Dick and Damon Dance-for-Me were with him. "Lord Ramsay says you're to bring his bride to his bed."

How many songs had passed? Theon hadn't realized how long the feast had gone. "Why?" he asked and was answered with a punch to the jaw from Yellow Dick.

Ramsay had already left the hall. Daenerys sat alone underneath the banner of House Bolton, trailing the rim of her chalice. She gripped the handle of it when she noticed them approaching. Theon almost smiled at that. Did she hope to battle the Bastard Boys with a chalice? "Daenerys," he called. "Come. It is time you did your duty."

Hate was unbridled in her eyes, yet she stood all the same. She held onto his arm, ignoring the Bastard Boys. Six of them accompanied them as Theon led Daenerys out the back of the hall and across the yard to the Great Keep. Damon Dance-for-Me whistled, whilst Skinner boasted that Ramsay had promised him a piece of the bloody sheet. "If she's even a maid," added Skinner, watching her with unveiled lust. "I hear she was the Young Wolf's whore. That true, Greyjoy?"

"I can speak for myself," Daenerys said sharply.

"Better watch your tongue. Lord Ramsay doesn't like mouthy bitches," warned Sour Alyn.

Entering the bedchamber, Theon only now noticed its preparations for the consummation. The canopy bed had a feather mattress and drapes of blood-red velvet. The stone floor was covered with wolfskins. The room was well lit with the burning hearth and a candle on the bedside table. On the sideboard was a flagon of wine, two cups, and half a wheel of veined white cheese.

Ramsay sat in a chair carved of black oak with a red leather seat. "There's my little dragon. Good lads. You may leave us now. Not you, Greyjoy. You stay."

"My lord." The words fell awkwardly off his tongue. "How may I serve you?"

"You gave the girl to me. Who better to unwrap the gift? Let's have a look at the dragon princess."

Theon's heart lodged in his throat. He couldn't count how many times he frigged himself to the thought of Daenerys. He imagined her finally realizing that she should be with him, not Snow. "I wanted you to be the one to show me this," she'd say, gasping, after he finally filled her with his cock. Now his dreams were coming true, but…

"Turn around. I need to unlace your gown," Theon told Daenerys. When she didn't turn around, he glanced at Ramsay fearfully. "Daenerys."

She scowled at him but did as she was told. Theon tried to unlace her as fast as he could, aware of how impatient Ramsay could get. She trembled, her bravado finally disappearing as her gown fell away into a black tangle around her feet. His eyes widened when he noticed the long scar carving her back.

"Her smallclothes too," Ramsay commanded, making Theon avert his eyes from her scar.

When it was done, Daenerys stood naked. Her hair was long enough to cover her small breasts but could not hide the rest of her. Her dainty figure did not undermine the fact that she was a woman flowered. Theon took off her jeweled net and placed it on the sideboard.

"What do you think of her, Greyjoy?" asked Ramsay.

"She…" Is all I ever wanted. "… is beautiful. No torch burns as brightly as her."

Ramsay smiled. "Does she make your cock hard, Turncloak? Is it straining against your laces? Would you like to fuck her first? I know you do. You couldn't shut your fucking mouth about her." He laughed. "The Prince of Winterfell should have right, as all lords did in the days of old. The first night. But you're no lord, are you? Only a traitor. Not even a man, truth be told. I made a woman out of you. Soon I'll make you into nothing." He took another gulp of wine, then threw it across the room. Daenerys flinched when it shattered off a wall. "Turn so I can see you both. Yes, now touch her."

I'm sorry, Theon wanted to say, but couldn't bring himself to speak. He brought his right hand up to push her hair over her shoulders, exposing her breasts to him. They were small, but soft under his touch. He slid his hands down her sides, curving around her hip to squeeze the swell of her backside. She was so stiff underneath his touch, and warm. Her skin was hotter than a brazier. Did she have a fever?

"Bring her closer." Theon obeyed, pulling Daenerys closer until their bodies were crushed together. "Now kiss her."

She looked almost relieved to kiss him instead of Ramsay. Theon slid his hand up to the small of her spine, holding her as he ducked his head to kiss her. There was nothing composed in the way his mouth slanted against hers. "Touch him, little wife," Ramsay ordered, and Daenerys's hands slid up his chest to his shoulders before resting on his face. Touching her bare skin and sliding his tongue into her moist mouth made it difficult to ignore the heat stoking in his groin. Gods, he was worthless for getting aroused in such a horrible situation.

His neck was starting to strain. Theon pulled away to ask if he could pick her up. He noticed Ramsay rub the palm of his hand over his cock, his pale eyes half-lidded and darkening with desire. "Come here, little wife," he commanded.

Daenerys began to walk over to him, but an urgent knock at the door made her pause. Theon glanced at the door, wondering who would be foolish enough to interrupt the bedding.

"Answer it," Ramsay ordered Theon.

Theon went over to the door, surprised to find Damon Dance-for-me when he opened it. He was even more surprised to find blood on him.

"Let me through." Damon shoved Theon aside and entered the room.

"This better be good, Damon," Ramsay said lowly, standing from his chair.

"M'lord, my apologies, but we're under attack," Damon revealed, slight alarm in his voice.

"By who?"

"We don't know, m'lord. But they have wolves with them."

Wolves? Theon thought, looking at Daenerys. Bran and Rickon had disappeared with that wildling woman and the Reeds, but Theon doubted they made it to White Harbor. If they had, they would have returned with an army. They couldn't have.

"Turncloak, watch my wife. We won't be long," Ramsay said, following Damon out of the room. As the door shut, Daenerys gathered her clothes and began getting dressed.

"What are you doing?" Theon asked, frowning.

"This is our chance to escape," Daenerys stated, like it was obvious. "Whatever is happening down there, Ramsay will be too busy to notice us gone."

"You can't escape," Theon whispered, shaking his head. "It's not possible. I tried and…"

He remembered Kyra finding him with those forsaken keys. He thought the Drowned God had blessed him. He should have known it was too easy from the moment they stepped out of the torture chamber. No guards patrolled the halls or the yard where he and Kyra escaped through. The forest was another matter. It was past midnight when they heard the dogs. He tried to convince her it was better to split up. "He can't hunt us both," Theon whispered frantically, but Kyra was mad with fear. She wouldn't let go and that got them both caught. Damon Dance-for-me cracked his whip at Theon, making him watch as the dogs tore Kyra apart. Then Ramsay dragged Theon back to that awful castle.

Now Daenerys was trying to escape. Just like Kyra.

"This is a trap," Theon continued. "He's testing us and once we fail, he'll… he'll…"

"He'll pay for what he's done," Daenerys snapped, struggling to lace her gown. She dropped her arms to her sides in frustration. "I didn't realize all ironborn were so weak."

That snapped Theon out of his panic. He glared at her. "I'm not weak."

"No? Then prove it."

They stared at one another for a moment. Theon inhaled sharply before grudgingly lacing Daenerys's gown. She didn't push him away and didn't hesitate to step out of the room once he was finished. Theon hurried after her. He could only think about how Ramsay would punish them when he'd catch them. His skin prickled with goosepimples as he remembered his time alone with Ramsay.

Navigating the castle was more difficult than Theon realized. He only spent most of his time in the torture chamber and the one time he fled with Kyra had been much easier. Once they reached the stairs, the sounds of men screaming and wolves howling reached them. Theon winced, knowing how savage the direwolves could get. Little Rickon's was the one everyone feared. If that black beast was here, Theon suspected his own death was close. He hesitated to descend the stairs and get caught in the crossfire.

"They won't notice us if we hurry," Daenerys said, noticing his hesitation. "Come on. We have to find the stables."

He gave a trembling nod and let her walk down first. It wasn't courteous, but Theon didn't think it mattered now whether anyone considered him gallant. Not when everyone thought of him as a traitor and child killer.

Passing by the Great Hall, Theon could see the overturn tables and bodies strewn across the room. Ramsay was battling an old man, although it was more one-sided. He swung his sword wildly, as if it were a cleaver. Every strike of his missed the old man, which seemed to frustrate him from the sound of his screams. Theon was startled to see that Reed girl actively fighting one of the Bastard's Boys. Men he didn't recognize were taking down the remaining Bolton soldiers.

Theon froze when his gaze landed on a pair of yellow eyes.

It was Bran's direwolf. No longer was it mauling Skinner but staring directly at him. It stepped around the fallen Bastard's boy and slowly towards Theon. Part of him knew he deserved this, but the urge for survival made him dash away from the entrance of the Great Hall. The direwolf was faster. It blocked his path, glaring at him with hatred in its eyes. Theon swallowed thickly, hating that this was how he'd meet his end. Not on the battlefield by another warrior but taken down by an animal in the Dreadfort.

"Summer!" Daenerys called. The wolf's eyes flickered to her but didn't move from its spot. Theon widened his eyes as Daenerys slowly approached the direwolf. "Summer, take me to Bran. Please…"

Was Theon imagining things? Was the direwolf truly listening to Daenerys? The wolves never listened to anyone but their masters. Why would it listen to her? Yet to his immense shock, the direwolf seemed to understand her plea and turned away.

Miraculously, they encountered no Bolton soldiers during their wolf-led escape.

Then hiding behind some bushes was Bran. Hodor the dimwitted stableboy hid with him, along with the Reed boy. Theon watched Daenerys run over to them then glanced around. He could leave now and no one would notice, but where would he go? Moat Cailin was an option, but too far. Thoughts of escaping diminished once he heard snarling.

"Leave him for Robb," he heard Daenerys say.

Death by direwolf sounded more appealing than facing Robb.

Astoundingly, the ragtag group of warriors managed to defeat Ramsay and his Bolton soldiers in a surprise attack. Half were dead, while the other half surrendered once they realized it was Barristan the Bold they were battling. The old knight asked Daenerys if she wanted Ramsay executed, but she declined. He would be another prisoner for Robb.

Dany had been wary when Ser Barristan first pledged himself to her. He had taken Robert's pardon, instead of dying under her father's service like the rest of the Kingsguard. Ser Barristan could have been a spy for all she knew. "You protected my father for many years, fought beside my brother on the Trident, but you abandoned Viserys in his exile and bent your knee to the Usurper instead. Tell me the truth. Why?"

"Some truths are hard to hear," Ser Barristan told her. "Robert was a… a good knight. Chivalrous, brave… he spared my life and the lives of many others."

"Not Elia or her children," Dany reminded him harshly.

Ser Barristan winced at her words. "Prince Viserys was only a boy. It would have been years before he was fit to rule and… forgive me, my princess, but you asked for truth… I feared your brother would be his father's son, in ways that Rhaegar was not."

"His father's son?" Dany repeated, frowning. "Are you saying he's mad?"

"Your father is called 'the Mad King' in Westeros. Has no one ever told you?"

Lannister did, thought Dany. She hated him until he revealed the truth about her father. Now she didn't know what to feel for him. When she remained silent, she noticed the sadness in the old man's blue eyes. "Lord Stark never told me of my father's deeds… but the Kingslayer did. I'm want to hear about my father from you, ser."

He frowned at the mention of the Kingslayer, but had not answered her then. "Every child knows that the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first. King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness were two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land."

This old man knew my grandfather, thought Dany. It made her hesitate to dismiss him. Most of what she knew of her family had come from books, and the rest from her great-great uncle. She even had to get information from the Kingslayer. Viserys was worlds away, leaving only this man to tell her where she came from.

"So, I am a coin the hands of some god, is that what you are saying, ser?" Dany questioned.

"No," Ser Barristan replied. "You are the trueborn heir of Westeros. To the end of my days I shall remain your faithful knight, should you find me worthy. If not, I will leave you alone."

She remembered her conversation with Robb, when he had offered her the Iron Throne. "What if I don't want to be queen? Will you still remain my knight?"

"I would be honored, Princess," he had said. Dany allowed herself to smile. Since then, Ser Barristan never left her side. He stood outside her door now, guarding her from whatever dangers lurked around. There wasn't much dangers around now that they were at White Harbor.

No one wanted to remain at the Dreadfort. Winterfell was destroyed and Castle Cerwyn lacked the defenses against the ironborn raiding the north. That left White Harbor. Although Bran signed the letter the raven sent to Lord Wyman Manderly, Dany wrote it. Lord Manderly responded days later, agreeing to letting them stay for as long as they needed. Once they reached the harbor city, Dany and Bran sent Lady Catelyn a raven about their current situation. She hadn't planned on revealing her "marriage" to Ramsay, but the monster announced it as he was headed to the dungeons of New Castle.

"Don't you think it's wrong to send your husband to such a decrepit place?" he questioned.

"Husband?" repeated a plump, blonde woman. Dany later learned her name was Leona Woolfield, wife of Ser Wylis Manderly.

"He jests," Dany replied, but her smile was strained.

Theon was down in the dungeons as well. No one had forgotten about his grievances. He hadn't objected like she expected, but refused to share a cell with Ramsay. Dany considered doing so simply spite him, but agreed. Now she sat in this castle, waiting for Robb and Jon to finish off Tywin Lannister. Gods, she detested waiting. At least she had Wynafryd and Wylla Manderly to keep her company.

Although the girls were nice, Dany couldn't tell them her dream. It was the middle of the night after all, but the dream… they wouldn't understand. Dany wasn't certain even she understood it.

She dreamt she was in a grove of weirwoods within a forest. Snow surrounded her, but she felt no coldness. The coldness melted into heat and when Dany searched for the source of it, she found herself before an enormous black beast. The scales and horns on its body made her realize it was a dragon. Most would run at the sight of one, but Dany could only feel herself be pulled towards it. Its eyes were like pools of molten lava and staring into them, she could see herself staring back. Her breath caught in her throat when the dragon opened its mouth, but there was no fear. Not even when flames came roaring out. Dany closed her eyes and let the fire consume her. Life and death were chanted through the blazing heat. Life and death. Was that the price Dany had to pay to bring dragons back?

Untangling herself from the sheets, Dany went over to the door. Opening it slightly, she gained the immediate attention of Ser Barristan.

"Are you alright, my princess?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes," she lied, then opened the door wider. "Please come in."

As he entered the chambers, Dany searched for a robe. The hearth had died during her sleep and now there was a chill in the room. Slipping on her robe, she lit the hearth once more. Once that was finished, she faced the old knight standing by the door.

"How did my father execute people?" Dany suddenly asked. She knew the answer, but was curious if Ser Barristan would answer. He dodged her unsavory questions so well that it was beginning to irritate her.

Her question seemed to catch him off guard. Clearing his throat, Ser Barristan said, "You shouldn't allow thoughts of your father to plague your mind, Princess."

"Ser Barristan, worse things have plagued my mind than my father."

After a moment's hesitation, he answered, "He used wildfire. It… it was his favored method."

Lannister said the exact same words, thought Dany. Unable to think of anything to say, she went over to the window. The sun had yet to rise, but she heard the direwolves howling. Dany remembered the red comet from months ago. It had been blood red, looking more like a dragon's tail than the fish Ser Edmure saw. The Greatjon thought it meant vengeance for Lord Eddard and Robb agreed. Jon didn't think much of it, caring little for prophecies. She hadn't realized that it was a sign for this moment.

Turning back to Ser Barristan, she knew what she had to do.