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"Theon," the ravens warbled. Thick beaks split open with their utterances, black feathers tousling in the wind. Beady eyes stared back, tilted heads and chirruped squawks, yet the birds remained still and unmoving in the weirwood. Tufts of ruby leaves enwreathed outstretched branches, spindling over Reek's head while the birds continued to murmur from above. "Theon. Theon."
Scraps of clothing hung over Reek's withered body, skeletal hands seeping into the snow blanketed below him. Pale skin leached from bone, nails ripped from crooked fingers, limbs hacked from dry knuckles. Fear-scent clung to him, tethered to his chest; he could still taste metal and flesh from when Master had plunged Reek's own amputated finger into his mouth. He hadn't gagged it back up, swallowed it dry and swallowed it whole. Master had been pleased. So had Reek. He hadn't wanted to swallow another one, much less endure Master flaying it off. It was always best to get punishments over with.
Still, he couldn't get the taste out of his mouth, bleeding all over his tongue. Iron and salt. Some part of him felt like that was familiar, a distant, crying echo in the deepest crevices of his mind. Those were places Reek didn't tread, though, scissioned spaces carved out from someone he no longer was. Turncloak! Kinslayer! Gooseflesh swept down his skin, disgust and horror creeping into his throat. The ravens murmured that awful name, chinks of memory ripping into empty spaces. Reek didn't want to think about that, the reminder of who he was and what he'd done. He wasn't a brother. He wasn't a prince of sea and salt. He wasn't someone who'd betrayed everything for nothing. He wasn't —
"Theon," the name came again, squawked from the trees. A whimper wrenched between broken teeth, scarred hands shakily jerking up to shield his ears. No. No. Nononono. He wasn't a turncloak, he wasn't a kinslayer. Reek hadn't betrayed anyone, hadn't lifted a finger to harm! He was good, loyal Reek, as much as any dog. Better, even. Master said so, and if Master devised it then it was true, a lesson he'd quickly come to learn. Theon Greyjoy was dead, had been for years, and Reek didn't want to hear that traitor's name again. His head bent, stringy locks of hair draping over his face. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak. Reek, Reek it rhymes with meek. He had to remind himself of who he was. What if Master found out? He always knew. He always knew.
"Stop. Stop!" Reek begged. The trees only seemed to grow louder, an incessant hum as the ravens continued to croon. Theon. Theon. Theon. He shook his head, dropping into the snow, trying not to sob into his hands. Crying for mercy had never gotten him anywhere, but he supposed there would always be a lesson he'd have to learn. That was why Master so graciously kept him alive. That was why Master looked after him, created him, loved him. Reek should be so, so grateful, and yet, the birds screeched the opposite. He didn't want to listen to them. He didn't want to hear their song. Theon had never been worthy of anything, not land, not a ballad, not a home. Reek had a home. He should be happy. He should be happier than anyone alive. So why wasn't he? "Please. Please," Reek sobbed. He didn't want to hear this anymore. He couldn't bear to think about Theon's crimes, not again. They cut deeper than any knife. He didn't even want to hear the turncloak's name. Please!
The forest stilled. Whispers of Theon settled into the wind, whipped off as black wings fluttered and carried the song away. Reek watched them go, dropped mangled hands from his face as the ravens disappeared into gray sky. The pain and suffering of that name ebbed away with them, until Reek found himself stumbling to uneven feet, staring up at the red leaves shuddering overhead. He felt creeping tendrils of apathy sink into him, strong as a hound's teeth. He'd been out here for far too long. Master wouldn't be happy. But as Reek watched scarlet streak against dull clouds, he only thought, what if Theon had gotten a home?
He hoped that was the last time he ever thought about Theon.