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The crypts always had a chill, but it was better than the fear that hung heavy in the air. Theon knew fear, but he was unafraid to die here, like this. He placed the burning candle to the others, an apology on his lips.
“He would have forgiven you, you know,” Sansa said and Theon looked away from the stone statue before him to greet her, a small smile on her lips. “And father. Mother… perhaps not.”
He looked back at the stone, the still face unable to capture the force of nature that had been Robb Stark. He was alive, of course.
“We had no body to lay to rest, but I wanted him here, with the family.” She stood next to him, their shoulders touching.
“I loved him,” Theon murmured, his hand curling around her own.
She leaned in. “I know.”
“Sansa…” he began, catching her eye. Her gaze was as stern as any Stark he knew, but behind it was warmth, like the promise of spring. She and Robb, they always had the same eyes.
She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb trailing softly over his lip, with that same knowing smile. “Don’t say it now. Say it if we live. Say it only if it has a chance.”
Though he did not smile much, he could not deny her. The sea may be far away, but when he dies, he will think of drowning in those eyes, and he will be home. “I will, my lady.”