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They lay lost in the Godswood, beneath the shade of a sprawling elm tree. Spring is all around them, with plants flowering and animals chattering. The last of the chill has left the air, forgoing the need for cloaks.
Robb is laying flat on his back, one hand pillowing the back of his head and the other resting on his chest. Theon is laying on his side, facing the young lord. His right arm had gone numb under him long ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Robb. Light filters through the trees and hits Robb’s skin just so, still pale from a winter spent inside. It creates a pattern of light and shadow across his features, one that Theon wants to reach out and trace with his fingertip.
Robb’s head lolls to the side and his smiles lazily when he catches Theon’s gaze. The soft curve of Robb’s mouth is too much, so Theon leans over the other man and kisses him slowly. Robb kisses back, leaning up slightly to deepen the kiss. He run his tongue along the seam of Theon’s lips and pulls back, a sleepy grin on his face. When he looks at Theon, his eyes look impossibly bright. Theon’s heart pounds in his chest.
They’ve talked about it before. As heirs to their fathers’ seats and titles, both of them will have to take a wife one day, and it’s not something either of them dread. But they’re young and, despite themselves, falling in love. “Let’s take the moments as we can,” Robb had said and that was the end of it.
Neither of them say much as they lay there, but nothing needs to be said. It’s easy between them, the silence. It's enough for Theon, just to be next to Robb. Theon would be seventeen soon, and Robb isn't far behind. The older they get, the more responsibilities they're given, the more that's expected of them. Days grew longer and time alone grew more scarce. Theon doesn’t mind being busy so much as he misses moments like this with Robb, alone and young again. Theon shakes the duties of his life from his mind; he wants to be present, to focus only on the young man beside him.
“Do we have to go back?” Theon asks in a quiet voice. He lays his hand on Robb’s chest, fingers mere centimeters from his companion’s. Robb moves to twine them together, and pulls their hands up to kiss the back of Theon’s. The stubble on his face tickles Theon’s skin.
“Rodrik will be looking for us eventually,” Robb answers. “But we can stay a little longer.” Theon moves closer and Robb wraps his hand around the back of Theon’s neck to pull him in. He places a kiss to the top of Theon’s head and breathes his scent. The sun lays across them like a warm fur cover.
“Theon,” a voice calls. It doesn’t sound like Robb. The voice is higher, but only just. He turns and sees Sansa watching him, red hair bright amongst the snow. When he looks back, the elm looks gray against the winter landscape, its green leaves long gone. He realizes suddenly that his face his wet. He hadn’t realized he was crying.
“What are you doing out here?” Sansa asks as she approaches him. Her feet crunch the snow below her. It’s the only sound save for their breathing. Theon wipes the tears from his face, though he’s sure Sansa has already seen. His leather glove feels rough against his skin.
“Just remembering what I’ve lost,” He answers truthfully. He realizes how pathetic he sounds. He’s the cause of his own misery, and because of him Sansa had lost more than he had. Still, she looks at him with soft eyes.
“I had a statue made for Robb,” She tells him, as if she can read his thoughts. “We never got his body back, but I wanted him to have a space in the crypt.”
Theon nods. Silently, they make for Winterfell. It goes without saying that they're going to the crypt to see Robb, and even Ned and Catelyn.
No one else was in the bowels of the crypt when they arrived. Sansa leads Theon to Robb’s statue. It’s a perfect likeness; the full lips, the soft eyes, the curls tumbling over Robb’s forehead. For a moment Theon considers reaching out to touch the statue, wonders if the stone would turn to flesh and Robb would fall into his arms, alive and safe. But he doesn’t, not while anyone else can see.
Theon's chest hurts then, thinking of their life before. All the time they had, all the moments they kissed under an elm tree, blissfully unaware of what was yet to come. He wishes desperately that he could go back in time and convince Robb to stay with him in the Godswood. How many men before him had made mistakes and wished the same thing? Did Robb ever wish he hadn't needed to go to war, that he could return to Winterfell and be with his family, with Theon? His throat feels tight at thought of Robb in his tent, wanting nothing more than to be home in his bed.
After he’s poured over every curve of stone, remembers all the details of Robb that he’d forgotten, he turns to Sansa.
“It’s good to see you,” she tells him. “You look good.”
Theon ducks his head and rubs a hand against the back of his neck as he feels a flush rise in his cheeks. With anyone else he’d want to hide, to avoid being seen. After everything, he’s never comfortable when people are looking at him. The scars covering his body burn as if his shame can be read on him like a book. Sansa is the only one who understand what it’s like, though, so he lets her look.
“I’m glad to see you’re the Lady of Winterfell,” he tells her, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Jon is back, he’s the Lord,” She says, casting her gaze off to the side. She seems genuinely disappointed. Anyone else would interpret as greed, but Theon knows she’s undyingly loyal to her siblings.
“Even Jon would agree being the Lady here suits you.” Theon tells her and despite herself, she grins.
Theon looks back at Robb’s stone face. He has never understood the spirituality of the crypt. After all, he’s still Ironborn at heart. But now, when somehow he feels Robb’s presence all around him, he thinks he gets it. If he closes his eyes, it’s almost as if Robb is beside him, protecting him.
“Robb would have forgiven you,” Sansa says. It brings Theon back to himself. His eyes lock on stone sockets.
“I think you’re right,” he tells her. “He was always a better man than me.”
“True,” Sansa says, but her voice is light and teasing. “He loved you, you know.” Sansa is beside him now and, to his own surprise, he feels comforted by having her there.
“I know,” he says with a nod. Theon offers his arm to Sansa and she wraps a gloved hand around his bicep. They walk out of the crypt and back into the Northern winter. Somewhere, a wolf howls.