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Theon’s eyes open wide and he is surprised to find himself in a warm room instead of the Drowned God’s halls. He expected to be cold and wet but here he is dry and warm. Soft furs are covering him and a warm fire is crackling in the fireplace across from the bed he is cocooned in. The room is so familiar but he cannot place it. He knows it deep in his bones but his brain is slow to catching up, taking in one detail at a time. It takes a few minutes of collecting all the pieces when he notices that he is not alone.
It is the softest scraping noise behind him that sends Theon into alert, whipping around and nearly falling off the bed. He reaches for a knife but finds nothing and if the sight before him hadn’t sent him into a shock, he would have noticed that his hands are full and complete, not a finger out of place.
But he didn’t notice his fingers are back or that his teeth are whole or that his body isn’t weakened and shaking because he is too busy trying to breath and think how is this possible?
In a chair by the window is Robb, just as Theon had last seen him in full armor and fur cloak. His hair is bright red and his eyes are shining blue and his head is still attached to his shoulders. The details begin to blur as his eyes fill with tears because even though he swallowed all that salt water and sunk to the bottom of the ocean, he isn’t in the Drowned God’s halls, he is in hell. A hell that is personally made for him. This is how I have to pay for my sins, Theon thought wildly as he wipes his eyes and looks at the sword on Robb’s hip.
Robb doesn’t speak as he stands but Theon can’t stop himself from confessing. Lord Eddard Stark always asked for confessions before swing the sword and Theon knew he must do the same.
“I told my father, I tried Robb, I tried but he denied. He gave me a choice and I chose wrong.” The words are hard to get out; he chokes them out one by one. “I took Winterfell for my father and I betrayed you. I tried to be Ironborn but I chose wrong.” He feels like he is going to vomit but only words come out. “I killed two boys. Not Bran or Rickon. I lost them. I lost your brothers.” He is shaking but not from a weakened body but from a weakened heart. “I lost my father, I lost you, I lost your brothers and all I had left was fear. I had to make them fear me or I’d lose Winterfell too and then I’d have nothing. He said I should kill them but I couldn’t. I made him do it, Robb. I couldn’t do that.” Robb steps closer and Theon bows his head. “I lost Winterfell too, Robb. I lost it all.”
A hand comes on his shoulder and Theon closes his eyes, waiting for the blow. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Robb’s hand comes across Theon’s back and pulls him forward until Theon’s face and torso are buried against Robb’s chest. Robb’s other hand comes to the back of Theon’s head and brushes his hair softly.
“I know,” Robb says, his voice warm and alive and full of sorrow and Theon can only respond with clutching Robb back tightly.
In the embrace, a warm spreads through Theon’s chest, traveling outward and warming each limb, finger, and toe. As if Robb can feel the warmth in Theon too, he pulls Theon painfully tighter.
“You have to go,” he says, and there is so much pain in his voice Theon pulls away and looks up to see Robb’s eyes filled agony.
“No,” Theon shakes his head. He can’t go now. Not after this. Not when they are back together. “No, no, Robb, please.”
Robb shakes his head and ducks into Theon’s shoulder, his lips against Theon’s neck as he speaks. “It’s not time yet. You can’t stay. You have to go.”
“Please,” Theon whimpers because going back means losing Robb again and Theon can’t do it again. He can’t lose Robb, so this time he has to make the right choice and he picks Robb. “I chose you, please. What about my oath?” Theon wonders if the oath means anything after breaking it the first time. “Now and always? Please, Robb.”
“It’s not up to me,” Robb whispers, lifting his head and looking into Theon’s eyes. “If I could be selfish, I would keep you here. But I can’t. It’s not up to me…it’s just not your time.”
“But-”
“Now and always,” Robb swears. “Come back when you are done, truly done. Come back when it is your time. I’ll be here.”
Robb backs away enough to help Theon off the bed and on his feet. It is then that Theon realizes where they are. How could he forget when he had spent so much of his life within these walls?
“Winterfell?” Theon asks. When Ironborn drown at sea they are supposed to go to the Drowned God’s halls…so why here?
Robb shrugs. “Starks are buried at Winterfell and you came home.”
I’m not a Stark, Theon wants to say but he knows that’s not what Robb is saying.
He now feels incredible hot. He isn’t sweating but he should be and Robb smiles sadly.
“It’s time for you to go.” Robb steps closer and places a hand on Theon’s shoulder. “Go back now and make it right. You have to…Jon is there.” A nostalgic smile comes to Robb’s face. “Be nice now, okay?” It’s a joke but it doesn’t make Theon smile, it makes him want to weep.
Theon wants to beg for more time, hold onto Robb to keep himself anchored here, find a way to trick life and let him keep death, but before Theon can do anything, Robb presses his lips against Theon’s and whispers in a broken voice, “Bye, Theon.” A tear hits Theon’s cheek but it isn’t his because Theon isn’t crying.
Theon wants to cry, though. He wants break down and cry until all the water is gone from his body. Theon wants to scream himself hoarse. He wants to reach out and grab Robb and feel him once more and never let him go. He wants to stay here forever and he doesn’t want to leave but he can do nothing as everything fades away.
His vision goes dark and the heat in his body drains out as a heavy weight presses into his chest and a deep slumber comes over him. His eyes begin to flutter shut although he tries to stop it. He doesn’t want to lose the vision of Robb, so he fights it, taking in as much Robb as he can. The last thing he sees before his eyes completely shut is Robb smiling bravely but Theon can see beneath it, he always could, and it hurts so much more…
He wakes up on a stone slab in the dark halls of Dragonstone- or at least he thinks it is Dragonstone -with the cold nipping at his skin, Jon Snow and a woman in red standing over him. He clothes are stiff and dry with salt but when he goes to wipe his face, he feels the moistness of one single droplet of water.