Reek, under the guise of his former identity of Theon Greyjoy, has been bathed and is dressed in good clothes. He rides up with a number of Bolton soliders to Moat Cailin, waving a white flag of truce.
Reek: I must not let this plan fail! Ramsay promises me that I get to live outside of the dungeon if I succeed in this mission. Why, I’ll get to live up in the kennel with his dog! What an improvement! I may even get to share some raw steaks with them. Mmmm Mmm! But to succeed… I’ve got to pretend to be someone I’m not. I’ve got to pretend to be… THEON GREYJOY!
Bolton Solider: Stop narrating to yourself, dude.
Reek: Sorry.
They reach the gate of Moat Cailin.
Ironborn Guard: Halt! Who goes there?
Reek: It is I, Lord Balon’s son. I have come to treat with you.
Guard: What? No way! Lord Balon’s son is dead and… ah… oh hell… I might as well let you in. There are a bunch of bog people who live out here and they are annoying. Always shooting at us with arrows. Let’s take this convo inside.
Reek: Yeah, Crannogmen are like that.
They go inside.
Reek sees that conditions are almost as bad inside the castle as they were outside. And the outside was pretty bad itself, what with there being dead bodies littering the roadways to the Moat. The Ironborn soliders who Victarion Greyjoy left to command here are sick, weak, poorly supplied, and dying.
Reek: I demand to see the leader.
Guard: Leader? Ah, well that’s Ralf Kenning over there in the bed. But he’s practically dead from an infected wound. He’s peeing himself and foaming from the mouth.
Reek: Ugh. You should just kill him and end his misery.
Guard: Why don’t YOU do that, asshat?
Reek: Yeah, okay.
Reek walks to the bed and stabs Kenning with his sword, with absolutely zero emotion.
Guard: Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d actually… uhh… I… erm…
Reek: Okay, so now that he’s dead… can I speak to your new leader? Who was second in command?
Guard: Geez, I guess that would be Dagon Codd.
Reek: Ugh. A Codd? Those guys are the worst. They are the lamest house in the Iron Isles and nobody respects them.
Guard: HEY! I’m a Codd!
Reek: I regret nothing and stand by my words. Now come on, let’s go see Dagon.
And so they head over to see Dagon. Along the way, Reek sees a bunch more sick, dying, soldiers.
Reek: Greetings, Ironborn. I am Theon Greyjoy. I bring you an offer from Lord Ramsay Bolton. If you surrender now and leave your arms, Ramsay will allow you to return to your homes and your reaving ways. There will be no punishment. Bolton will even give you a nice, hot meal and let you go on your way.
Soldiers: What? R-really?
Dagon Codd: Don’t listen to him, men! The Ironborn NEVER surrender! Victarion told us to hold this castle until he returns… and so we shall!
Reek: Hrm. Victarion. Why exactly did he leave you here in the first place?
Dagon: He went to the Kingsmoot.
Reek: And who won the Kingsmoot?
Dagon: Euron.
Reek: That’s right. Euron. Not Victarion. Do you really think Euron cares if you live or die? You’re Victarion’s men. Not his. In fact, he’d probably prefer you die. As for Victarion... I hear that he has new orders from Euron. He’s down south, raiding the Reach. There is NO WAY Victarion is ever coming back here. That's the saddest thing of all for you guys. Not only does Euron not care. Vitcarion doesn't care either. You’ve been abandoned.
Reek looks at the eyes of the men. He knows they believe him.
Dagon: NEVER! Victarion will come back for us, he will! We’re never giving up, you turncloak bastard! You’re no true son of Balon if you’re working for these landlubbin’ Boltons! I’ll kill your traitorous ass myself!
Dagon jumps up to attack Reek, but as he’s about to strike, an axe flies across the room and hits him. He falls to the ground and dies.
Reek: Whoa. Nice shot, whoever threw that!
Adrack Humble: It was me! Hehe, yeah. I’m pretty good at throwing axes. Some say I’m the best.
Reek: Well I guess you’re not so HUMBLE after all, are you?
Guard: Ugh. A dad joke? Really, Theon?
Reek: Sorry. So, who’s surrendering?
Everyone raises their hands. Well, almost everyone. There are several people too weak and sick to even do that.
Reek: Haha, victory! Ramsay will be so happy with me. Looks like I’ll be feasting with the dogs in the kennel tonight on all the Beggin Strips I desire!
Time jump to a few hours in the future. Reek delivers the surrendering Ironborn to Ramsay.
Reek: 59… 60… 61… 62… aaaand… 63! There you go, my master. Only 63 Ironborn survived in Moat Cailin and all of them are here.
Ramsay Bolton: Ah, well done. Well done! Men of the Iron Isles, you have chosen well to surrender! A hot dinner awaits you all tonight. You have a long journey ahead to the shore, where you can set sail to go home to your wives and children.
The Ironborn head off to dinner, while Ramsay turns back to a very nervous Reek.
Ramsay: You did so well. I think you deserve a reward.
But Reek, of course, thinks it’s a trap.
Reek: N-no reward, master. S-s-serving you is my only reward.
Ramsay: Come now! Surely you feel like Theon Greyjoy again after all you did today.
Reek: N-no. That was all an act, Lord Ramsay. I am your Reek. It rhymes with “the capital of Mozambique.”
Ramsay: “Reek” doesn’t rhyme with “Maputo.”
Reek: S-sorry, my lord. Begging your pardons for the confusion. It was entirely m-my fault. I mean it literally rhymes with the words “the capital of Mozambique.” N-not the actual name of the capital. Please don’t cut off any more fingers.
Ramsay: Haha, oh Reek! You adorable cad! Come now, you have to want SOMETHING as a reward. You saved me from a long, bloody siege of this castle. My father will be pleased to hear about then when he arrives.
Reek: Some wine would be nice. Enough wine to make a man full!
Ramsay: Haha, you've done a man's job, sir! But are you truly a man?
Reek: Is that a Blade Runner reference?
Ramsay: Yes. What I'm trying to say is you're NOT a man, Reek. You’re my fucking pet. But yes, you’ll get your wine. Yeah, I’ll make you a dog collar and you can sleep with my dogs, and share a chicken with them, along with all the sour wine you want!
Ramsay keeps his word, and Reek eats chicken with Ramsay’s hounds and gets shitfaced on cheap, sour wine. He’s so shitfaced that he hears screams of agony in the distance, and doesn’t even care. He passes out, drunk.
The next morning he wakes up and sees freshly impaled and flayed dead bodies along the side of the road.
Exactly 63 of them.
Reek: Honestly, I still don’t care. I got my wine and chicken and absolutely zero people care if Adrack Humble is dead.
A few days later, Lord Roose Bolton arrives with a bunch of Freys, including Hosteen and Aenys.
Reek: Oh, hi Anus. I remember you from when I used to ride with Robb. Before I betrayed him, that is. But then you betrayed him too. So I guess we're on the same side again in the end, Anus.
Aenys: “Ah-knees! Its pronounced Ah-knees!”
Ramsay rides up to meet with his father.
Ramsay: Father, Moat Cailin is yours.
Roose Bolton: Ah, excellent. I can see you’re not as a totally incompetent dipshit as I thought you were. It makes me glad that I brutally raped your bother and then, decades later, asked the King to legitimize you.
Ramsay: *awkward half-smirk*
Reek: Wow. I remember back in the day when I used to mock Roose because I thought he looked dumb. I must have been crazy. This dude is a stone cold killer.
Roose: Son, may I introduce you to my new wife, Lady Walda Frey.
Ramsay: Wow, that’s a Frey? She looks like a Manderly.
Roose: *ahem* And here is my OTHER traveling companion, your betrothed… the Lady… ARYA STARK!
Reek does a double take when he hears the name. Arya was sort of like a sister to him growing up.
Reek: This girl… she doesn’t look like Arya. Does she? Maybe she grew up. Girls do that. Wait. No. Holy shit! That’s not Arya! That’s Sansa’s friend, Jeyne Poole!
Jeyne Poole / Fake Arya walks up to Ramsay and curtsies.
Jeyne: Lord Ramsay, I pray to make you a good wife and give you strong sons.
Reek: Yeah, Arya would never say anything like that. She’s throw something in his face and threaten to murder him in his sleep.
Ramsay: Good, good my dear Arya. We will have sons. And SOON! Wait, how old is Arya at this points in the books again?
Jeyne: 11.
Ramsay: Oh. Man, that seems pretty messed up. Even for me.
Reek: I must not let this plan fail! Ramsay promises me that I get to live outside of the dungeon if I succeed in this mission. Why, I’ll get to live up in the kennel with his dog! What an improvement! I may even get to share some raw steaks with them. Mmmm Mmm! But to succeed… I’ve got to pretend to be someone I’m not. I’ve got to pretend to be… THEON GREYJOY!
Bolton Solider: Stop narrating to yourself, dude.
Reek: Sorry.
They reach the gate of Moat Cailin.
Ironborn Guard: Halt! Who goes there?
Reek: It is I, Lord Balon’s son. I have come to treat with you.
Guard: What? No way! Lord Balon’s son is dead and… ah… oh hell… I might as well let you in. There are a bunch of bog people who live out here and they are annoying. Always shooting at us with arrows. Let’s take this convo inside.
Reek: Yeah, Crannogmen are like that.
They go inside.
Reek sees that conditions are almost as bad inside the castle as they were outside. And the outside was pretty bad itself, what with there being dead bodies littering the roadways to the Moat. The Ironborn soliders who Victarion Greyjoy left to command here are sick, weak, poorly supplied, and dying.
Reek: I demand to see the leader.
Guard: Leader? Ah, well that’s Ralf Kenning over there in the bed. But he’s practically dead from an infected wound. He’s peeing himself and foaming from the mouth.
Reek: Ugh. You should just kill him and end his misery.
Guard: Why don’t YOU do that, asshat?
Reek: Yeah, okay.
Reek walks to the bed and stabs Kenning with his sword, with absolutely zero emotion.
Guard: Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d actually… uhh… I… erm…
Reek: Okay, so now that he’s dead… can I speak to your new leader? Who was second in command?
Guard: Geez, I guess that would be Dagon Codd.
Reek: Ugh. A Codd? Those guys are the worst. They are the lamest house in the Iron Isles and nobody respects them.
Guard: HEY! I’m a Codd!
Reek: I regret nothing and stand by my words. Now come on, let’s go see Dagon.
And so they head over to see Dagon. Along the way, Reek sees a bunch more sick, dying, soldiers.
Reek: Greetings, Ironborn. I am Theon Greyjoy. I bring you an offer from Lord Ramsay Bolton. If you surrender now and leave your arms, Ramsay will allow you to return to your homes and your reaving ways. There will be no punishment. Bolton will even give you a nice, hot meal and let you go on your way.
Soldiers: What? R-really?
Dagon Codd: Don’t listen to him, men! The Ironborn NEVER surrender! Victarion told us to hold this castle until he returns… and so we shall!
Reek: Hrm. Victarion. Why exactly did he leave you here in the first place?
Dagon: He went to the Kingsmoot.
Reek: And who won the Kingsmoot?
Dagon: Euron.
Reek: That’s right. Euron. Not Victarion. Do you really think Euron cares if you live or die? You’re Victarion’s men. Not his. In fact, he’d probably prefer you die. As for Victarion... I hear that he has new orders from Euron. He’s down south, raiding the Reach. There is NO WAY Victarion is ever coming back here. That's the saddest thing of all for you guys. Not only does Euron not care. Vitcarion doesn't care either. You’ve been abandoned.
Reek looks at the eyes of the men. He knows they believe him.
Dagon: NEVER! Victarion will come back for us, he will! We’re never giving up, you turncloak bastard! You’re no true son of Balon if you’re working for these landlubbin’ Boltons! I’ll kill your traitorous ass myself!
Dagon jumps up to attack Reek, but as he’s about to strike, an axe flies across the room and hits him. He falls to the ground and dies.
Reek: Whoa. Nice shot, whoever threw that!
Adrack Humble: It was me! Hehe, yeah. I’m pretty good at throwing axes. Some say I’m the best.
Reek: Well I guess you’re not so HUMBLE after all, are you?
Guard: Ugh. A dad joke? Really, Theon?
Reek: Sorry. So, who’s surrendering?
Everyone raises their hands. Well, almost everyone. There are several people too weak and sick to even do that.
Reek: Haha, victory! Ramsay will be so happy with me. Looks like I’ll be feasting with the dogs in the kennel tonight on all the Beggin Strips I desire!
Time jump to a few hours in the future. Reek delivers the surrendering Ironborn to Ramsay.
Reek: 59… 60… 61… 62… aaaand… 63! There you go, my master. Only 63 Ironborn survived in Moat Cailin and all of them are here.
Ramsay Bolton: Ah, well done. Well done! Men of the Iron Isles, you have chosen well to surrender! A hot dinner awaits you all tonight. You have a long journey ahead to the shore, where you can set sail to go home to your wives and children.
The Ironborn head off to dinner, while Ramsay turns back to a very nervous Reek.
Ramsay: You did so well. I think you deserve a reward.
But Reek, of course, thinks it’s a trap.
Reek: N-no reward, master. S-s-serving you is my only reward.
Ramsay: Come now! Surely you feel like Theon Greyjoy again after all you did today.
Reek: N-no. That was all an act, Lord Ramsay. I am your Reek. It rhymes with “the capital of Mozambique.”
Ramsay: “Reek” doesn’t rhyme with “Maputo.”
Reek: S-sorry, my lord. Begging your pardons for the confusion. It was entirely m-my fault. I mean it literally rhymes with the words “the capital of Mozambique.” N-not the actual name of the capital. Please don’t cut off any more fingers.
Ramsay: Haha, oh Reek! You adorable cad! Come now, you have to want SOMETHING as a reward. You saved me from a long, bloody siege of this castle. My father will be pleased to hear about then when he arrives.
Reek: Some wine would be nice. Enough wine to make a man full!
Ramsay: Haha, you've done a man's job, sir! But are you truly a man?
Reek: Is that a Blade Runner reference?
Ramsay: Yes. What I'm trying to say is you're NOT a man, Reek. You’re my fucking pet. But yes, you’ll get your wine. Yeah, I’ll make you a dog collar and you can sleep with my dogs, and share a chicken with them, along with all the sour wine you want!
Ramsay keeps his word, and Reek eats chicken with Ramsay’s hounds and gets shitfaced on cheap, sour wine. He’s so shitfaced that he hears screams of agony in the distance, and doesn’t even care. He passes out, drunk.
The next morning he wakes up and sees freshly impaled and flayed dead bodies along the side of the road.
Exactly 63 of them.
Reek: Honestly, I still don’t care. I got my wine and chicken and absolutely zero people care if Adrack Humble is dead.
A few days later, Lord Roose Bolton arrives with a bunch of Freys, including Hosteen and Aenys.
Reek: Oh, hi Anus. I remember you from when I used to ride with Robb. Before I betrayed him, that is. But then you betrayed him too. So I guess we're on the same side again in the end, Anus.
Aenys: “Ah-knees! Its pronounced Ah-knees!”
Ramsay rides up to meet with his father.
Ramsay: Father, Moat Cailin is yours.
Roose Bolton: Ah, excellent. I can see you’re not as a totally incompetent dipshit as I thought you were. It makes me glad that I brutally raped your bother and then, decades later, asked the King to legitimize you.
Ramsay: *awkward half-smirk*
Reek: Wow. I remember back in the day when I used to mock Roose because I thought he looked dumb. I must have been crazy. This dude is a stone cold killer.
Roose: Son, may I introduce you to my new wife, Lady Walda Frey.
Ramsay: Wow, that’s a Frey? She looks like a Manderly.
Roose: *ahem* And here is my OTHER traveling companion, your betrothed… the Lady… ARYA STARK!
Reek does a double take when he hears the name. Arya was sort of like a sister to him growing up.
Reek: This girl… she doesn’t look like Arya. Does she? Maybe she grew up. Girls do that. Wait. No. Holy shit! That’s not Arya! That’s Sansa’s friend, Jeyne Poole!
Jeyne Poole / Fake Arya walks up to Ramsay and curtsies.
Jeyne: Lord Ramsay, I pray to make you a good wife and give you strong sons.
Reek: Yeah, Arya would never say anything like that. She’s throw something in his face and threaten to murder him in his sleep.
Ramsay: Good, good my dear Arya. We will have sons. And SOON! Wait, how old is Arya at this points in the books again?
Jeyne: 11.
Ramsay: Oh. Man, that seems pretty messed up. Even for me.
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