A Feast for Dragons

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his eyes with his hands. He would have clawed them out if he’d dared, his head
was pounding so. “Take it away, do it in the dark, please, oh please.”
    “That’s not him,” said a boy’s voice. “Look at him. We’ve
got the wrong cell.”
    “Last cell on the left,” another boy replied. “This is the
last cell on the left, isn’t it?”
    “Aye.” A pause. “What’s he saying?”
    “I don’t think he likes the light.”
    “Would you, if you looked like
that?”
The
boy hawked and spat. “And the stench of him. I’m like to choke.”
    “He’s been eating rats,” said the second boy. “Look.”
    The first boy laughed. “He has. That’s funny.”
    I had to
. The rats bit him when he slept,
gnawing at his fingers and his toes, even at his face, so when he got his hands
on one he did not hesitate. Eat or be eaten, those were the only choices. “I
did it,” he mumbled, “I did, I did, I ate him, they do the same to me, please …”
    The boys moved closer, the straw crunching softly under
their feet. “Talk to me,” said one of them. He was the smaller of the two, a
thin boy, but clever. “Do you remember who you are?”
    The fear came bubbling up inside him, and he moaned.
    “Talk to me. Tell me your name.”
    My name
. A scream caught in his throat. They
had taught him his name, they had, they
had
, but it had been so
long that he’d forgotten.
If I say it wrong, he’ll take another finger,
or worse, he’ll … he’ll …
He would not think about
that, he could not think about that. There were needles in his jaw, in his
eyes. His head was pounding. “Please,” he squeaked, his voice thin and weak. He
sounded a hundred years old. Perhaps he was.
How long have I been in
here?
“Go,” he mumbled, through broken teeth and broken fingers, his
eyes closed tight against the terrible bright light. “Please, you can have the
rat, don’t hurt me …”
    “Reek,”
said the larger of the boys. “Your
name is Reek. Remember?” He was the one with the torch. The smaller boy had the
ring of iron keys.
    Reek?
Tears ran down his cheeks. “I
remember. I do.” His mouth opened and closed. “My name is Reek. It rhymes with
leek.” In the dark he did not need a name, so it was easy to forget.
Reek,
Reek, my name is Reek
. He had not been born with that name. In another
life he had been someone else, but here and now, his name was Reek. He
remembered.
    He remembered the boys as well. They were clad in matching
lambswool doublets, silver-grey with dark blue trim. Both were squires, both
were eight, and both were Walder Frey.
Big Walder and Little Walder, yes
.
Only the big one was Little and the little one was Big, which amused the boys
and confused the rest of the world. “I know you,” he whispered, through cracked
lips. “I know your names.”
    “You’re to come with us,” said Little Walder.
    “His lordship has need of you,” said Big Walder.
    Fear went through him like a knife.
They are only
children
, he thought.
Two boys of eight
. He could
overcome two boys of eight, surely. Even as weak as he was, he could take the
torch, take the keys, take the dagger sheathed on Little Walder’s hip, escape.
No.
No, it is too easy. It is a trap. If I run, he will take another finger from
me, he will take more of my teeth
.
    He had run before. Years ago, it seemed, when he still had
some strength in him, when he had still been defiant. That time it had been
Kyra with the keys. She told him she had stolen them, that she knew a postern
gate that was never guarded. “Take me back to Winterfell, m’lord,” she begged,
pale-faced and trembling. “I don’t know the way. I can’t escape alone. Come
with me, please.” And so he had. The gaoler was dead drunk in a puddle of wine,
with his breeches down around his ankles. The dungeon door was open and the
postern gate had been unguarded, just as she had said. They waited for the moon
to go behind a cloud, then slipped from the castle and splashed across the
Weeping Water, stumbling over stones, half-frozen by the icy stream. On the far
side, he had kissed her. “You’ve saved us,” he said.
Fool. Fool
.
    It had all been a trap, a game, a jape. Lord Ramsay loved
the chase and preferred to hunt two-legged prey. All night they ran through the
darkling wood, but as the sun came up the sound of a distant horn came faintly
through the trees, and they heard the baying of a pack of hounds. “We should
split up,” he told Kyra as the