I want to have enough life to want

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← Previous Work Part 4 of The Imp and the Winterfell Maiden

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Published:: 2026-06-10
Words:: 14,852
Chapters:: 1/1
Comments:: 8
Kudos:: 37
Bookmarks:: 12
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insonniacaotica

Summary:

"Do you remember when, as children, we used to run to your room because there was a storm? I was terrified of lightning, but I said it was Jon. He was scared too, and he said it was me."

"And I was shaking and crying but pretending it was one of you. We were so young."

"Do you think it'll rain?" Theon asked.

"You never know." Robb stepped away from the doorway. "Sleep here, just in case."

***

The war against the dead is over, and Theon and Robb end up falling in love again. But they are no longer the same Theon and Robb they were before the betrayals, before Ramsay, before the Red Wedding.

Or: Theon and Robb fall in love for the second time, as equals, learning to be who life has made them.

[This story is part of a series. To read it independently, please read the introductory notes carefully.]

Notes:

I've kept you waiting a long time, I know. I promised a few one-shots about this series, and here's a long one, set right during the time of the final chapter of "The dead shall rise in the North". By the way, for those who missed it, the entire series has been revised, and I hope it flows better now.

For newcomers, and for those who need a refresher, here's what you need to know before this one-shot (or "previously on The Imp and the Winterfell Maiden").
We're in a universe where Tyrion Lannister became King after Joffrey's death. Sansa Stark, Ramsay's prisoner, and pregnant, managed to escape with Theon and- rescued by Jaime and Brienne- was reunited with Tyrion, becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The relationship between Tyrion and Sansa is queerplatonic; not exactly romantic, not exactly friendship. Theon and Sansa, partly because of their shared trauma, have been quite codependent, but they're working on it. Tyrion, Sansa, and Theon's family is quite chaotic, but they've found their balance, and while there's nothing romantic with Tyrion/Theon or Theon/Sansa, the three are undeniably close and "life partners".
As for Robb Stark, he survived the Red Wedding but lost his memory. He embarked on a journey with Arya to regain his senses and was eventually reunited with the other Starks (including Bran and Rickon). After some misunderstandings and many difficulties, he and Theon have had a chance to talk and are starting to reconnect.
The situation in the North is dangerous. With Robb Stark alive, after long being presumed dead, there's a risk of a rebellion against the Lannisters and, therefore, against the royal family. Robb, appointed ambassador, must return to Winterfell to try to calm things down.

A couple of other notes (yes, I know, almost as long as the oneshot):
• TW: This story contains, as you might expect, references to abusive relationships, torture, abuse of power, castration, references to animal death, sexual violence, emotional abuse, and a bit of scattered sexism. Both Theon and Sansa have a sort of aversion to touch, and Robb has seen many people he loved die in front of him. There's nothing graphic, but a lot is explicitly discussed. Read with caution.
• The fanfic series, and this oneshot by extension, are based almost entirely on the TV series with minor additions from the books.
• In some places, this story is a bit self-indulgent. Honestly, I wanted Theon and Robb to be happy. I'm not a psychologist, nor do I have the expertise to discuss the emotional consequences of what the characters have been through. I've done my research, of course, but this is still fanfiction.

I hope I've covered everything. See you in the final notes, enjoy reading!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Theon Greyjoy had fallen in love with Robb Stark twice.

Theon remembered the first time as one remembers a particularly vivid dream: something false but that seemed real. He was eleven years old, and Robb had fallen asleep on him. After more than a year at Winterfell, that was the first time anyone had shown him such blind trust. Theon felt his heart pounding faster and hadn't dared move, or touch Robb.

Years passed before he dared move, come closer. They were fifteen when they first kissed.

They were nineteen when they died. Separated for a long time, enemies in words and lovers in the meanest, most hidden part of their hearts. Robb, betrayed and killed by the Freys. Theon, destroyed and rebuilt by Ramsay.

Theon had never told Robb he loved him. Robb had said it so many times he lost count, but he had never managed to make Theon believe him.

The first time Theon Greyjoy fell in love with Robb Stark, it was a tragedy.

***

Robb Stark had fallen in love with Theon Greyjoy twice.

He'd realized it at fourteen, when he'd seen Theon kiss a girl and, instead of thinking, "I wish I were in Theon's place," he'd thought, "I wish Theon would hold me like this."

It was Robb who kissed Theon first. Robb was always the one who initiated. Robb was the one who'd said "I love you," Robb was the one who'd given him the first, embarrassing hickey. Robb had arranged their dates, and Robb was the one who'd decided to send Theon away.

Much later, when life was slipping away from him, he'd thought about it. About Theon, about how Robb had made all the decisions. About how Theon's first decision had been to betray him, but also how that had been the first time Theon had to decide.

Robb couldn't have known it, but Theon was already worse than dead then.

Robb died telling himself that he hated Theon Greyjoy and that Theon Greyjoy hated him.

The first time Robb Stark fell in love with Theon Greyjoy, it had been just a sad, pathetic act. Because Theon had never truly loved him.

***

They both outlived themselves. Theon outlived Reek, Robb outlived death.

<Tell me about Sansa,> Robb said, and Theon filled him with stories.

Theon had once loved scary, extraordinary stories. Now all he had to offer were tales of foolishness, of embroidery, silks, and children.

Reek had met Sansa Stark, and Sansa Stark had become Sansa Bolton. They had fled, just Theon and Sansa, surnames and palaces behind them, and Ramsay a stone's throw away.

There was blood and snow all around them. Then Jaime Lannister had found them.

Tyrion Lannister, King of the Seven Kingdoms, had taken his wife back, and Sansa had returned to being a girl everyone thought was dead. Sansa Lannister had come back to life, had a happy marriage, and raised a son with Tyrion.

Theon had stayed with them. Sansa healed on a difficult path, and she refused to let Theon go. So Theon continued on, with Sansa holding him and Tyrion's protection at his side.

Tyrion let Theon lean on him, let him call Prince Jolyon Lannister his nephew. The three of them shared a bed that should have been just for two.

Theon had never been a Stark, and none of the Greyjoys had been true family to him. Sansa and Tyrion, however, were. So Theon, even though he wasn't a Lannister, let his family hold him, and they waited for winter.

Jon had arrived later, and he and Sansa were, like Theon and Yara, only something close to family. But Robb was dead, and everyone was so alone. So Jon had belonged to someone again, and Sansa had a brother back.

Rickon was just there. No one could take him or hold him, but he remained, and while he remained, what else could they do but love him?

Robb returned when everything was already right. Arya's blade was with him, and so was a girl with the face of his lost sister.
 Arya said, and she looked out to sea as if she were more of a spirit of the wind than a girl, a sailor ready to board a ship and leave them all behind.

And then there was Robb.

Theon couldn't touch people, nor be touched, but ghosts were less scary, and he was ready to hold Robb's hand even if it would kill him.

Robb had told him not to. <If touching me hurts, then don't. That we're reunited, all of us, is a miracle. Don't hurt yourself for me.>

Theon almost smiled at that. He wasn't really smiling anymore, because Ramsay hated seeing him smile, but it was so Robb-like to think Theon could avoid the pain.

<It's okay,> Theon had said. <Everything hurts, but at least you're worth it.>

Robb had looked away, and Theon knew that wasn't what the other wanted to hear.

Robb had stayed. They continued to walk together, talking, rebuilding each other as if their skin was made of stories.
<It's because you once knew everything about me. It seems absurd to me that I've lived years without you knowing anything. You should know about every day of mine. That's how it works.>

He didn't say Theon should tell him everything, too. Theon wanted to ask why, but he already knew. The line between him and Reek was increasingly clear, but still blurred, and anyway, Robb had never known everything about him. A few foolish, secret hours were all the power young Theon of Winterfell had. Robb could kill him someday, and Theon only had small secrets.

Things had changed again. Robb was a lord, where he'd once been a king. Sansa was Queen, and Theon was Master of Ships. Robb was the ambassador from the North.

After the appointment, Robb had looked for him. Theon and Reek were both in the tower, but Reek was a little further away when Robb looked at him. <Hey.>

<Hello,> Theon hated the way his voice was cautious. He hated hurting Robb.

Theon nodded. Then, because the silence was worse than the pain, he motioned for Robb to join him. <You must have missed it.>

"I burned your house down. Are you mad?" he almost asked.

<A little. Can I?> Robb asked.

It was a vague question. Theon hesitated. "Can I kill you?" or "Can I tell you about what I'll wear tomorrow?" were both valid.

He nodded. Only because he promised Robb he wouldn't ask him to kill him again.

Rob rested his head on his shoulder.

<Jon->

Robb corrected himself.

Someone had convinced Robb that Theon deserved to live. It was probably Tyrion.
No, it was unfair. Robb had always been too good. <Do you want me to come with you?>

In chains, because Robb didn't want to listen to him beg. Robb didn't want him to apologize, or die. Theon didn't have much else to offer.

Robb's eyes darkened. <Do you want to?>

Theon said.

Robb raised an eyebrow.

he added.

The man beside him smiled. Then, in a lower voice,

Theon knew: Robb was made for life. Robb loved so deeply that now he wanted even him to live.

There was something else, though. The idea of the sea and the cold wind, of wood and the smell of salt.

Tyrion had given him an ironborn ship. It was the first thing he'd truly owned, since Ramsay. The idea of Robb, the icy, earthbound Robb, a Stark of forests and wolves, wearing sailor's clothes and sailing beside him...

Robb brightened, so obviously happy it hurt. <Thank you.>

Theon raised an eyebrow.

<Exactly!> Robb raised his head. <You didn't say yes.>

***

That evening, when he slipped into Tyrion and Sansa's room, he found them both on the bed, each holding a child in their arms.

<Theon!> Tyrion waved the hand that wasn't holding Jolyon, heir to the Iron Throne. <Will you pass me a cup of wine? I'm telling Jo about Aegon the Conqueror.>

Sansa rolled her eyes but didn't intervene beyond a nod. Theon deduced that Tyrion had limited his alcohol intake that day. <Of course. Hello, Jo. Hello, Jay.>

As the dark-haired boy in Tyrion's arms mumbled a sleepy hello, Theon found himself looking at the blond bundle in Sansa's arms. Prince Jaycee Lannister, not yet a year old, was more like his father than one might expect. Even so, the wide, bright eyes and the loud giggles were something Theon didn't associate with Tyrion or Sansa. Jay was always so energetic.

<Are you staying with us?> Sansa asked, though it wasn't really a question.

When they'd talked about Jay, about the idea of a new child, a part of Theon had expected closure. Sansa had wanted him, and he was hers, but if she and Tyrion were something else now, was there still room for the broken boy she'd run away with in the snow?

Sansa didn't seem to have sensed that doubt in him. Tyrion, always an observer, always so desperate for every shred of love, did. Tyrion sat him beside him, ordered breakfast for three in their room, and Theon was his as he was Sansa's, a love different from the delicate kisses he'd seen the two share only rarely, but also completely different from what Robb—

he said, as he had to. Because he had to choose to stay, but there was nothing out there for him. Except the ship.

Sitting between husband and wife, he sank onto the bed.

At first, Theon was too afraid, too much of a thing, too "Reek" to question that. When a part of him had returned to humanity, when he'd begun to be Theon Greyjoy again, the idea that this was their room, just for the three of them, was already too real.

Jolyon and Jaycee would always have a mother, a father, and a Theon. Tyrion had started calling him "Uncle Theon" about as soon as he'd started calling himself "Dad", but Theon wasn't Jo and Jay's uncle, not like Jaime or Jon. The royal court whispered, and they weren't discreet at all. They didn't even try to be. In the gossip of the taverns, Theon had become a lover, a pet, even a whore.
<It's the only explanation that makes sense to them,> Sansa had said wisely when he'd opened the conversation. She'd woken from one of her nightmares, and they were chatting in hushed tones, careful not to disturb Tyrion's sleep. <What do you expect them to think? That people can love each other without possessing each other? It's a man's world, and men are greedy creatures.>
Theon then looked at Tyrion, his small, sleeping form. <And him?>
<All men are greedy,> Sansa had repeated. <But he is greedy for love. And love is too complicated to be possessed.>

It was a twisted way of saying "I love you." But it was love, because Tyrion didn't make either of them tremble.

The king seemed to sense his gaze. <Theon?>

Jo turned, following his father's gaze. So different, yet so similar. <Uncle? Are you feeling sick again?>

Jo was so smart. He knew something was broken in his uncle. He was just too young for the whole story. A story that was also his story.

Theon opened his arms slightly. Even though most skin-to-skin contact was painful, on good days he could hold Jo.

A part of him had been afraid that as he grew older, he would see something else in that child. But three years had passed, and all Theon saw was Tyrion's mind, Sansa's eyes, the Starks' hair, and Robb's smile.

With the baby nestled against his chest, Tyrion lay down beside them.

Sansa gave a small laugh. <You three are so beautiful. I'm putting Jay to bed.>

He felt the bed relax, no longer bowed by her weight. Unlike with Jo, Sansa was able to care for her new son at least a little. "Healing," Theon thought. A magical, forbidden word.

<All right?> Tyrion asked. He was nearby, his hand stroking his son's hair, their foreheads close.

Theon grimaced. <You're too perceptive.>

Theon remained silent, unable to open the conversation or let it go.

It was a kind offer, even if it expressed the idea— crazy, meaningless— that Tyrion was the problem here. <The problem is never talking with you.>

Jo yawned, and Tyrion began humming "The Rains of Castamere". The voice wasn't melodic, but it was familiar, and Theon allowed himself to close his eyes as Jo's breathing evened out.

He wanted to talk about it. He wanted to leave. He wanted. Perhaps for the first time in a long time, Theon truly wanted something. He wasn't worthy, but the world wasn't a right place.

<Are you still awake?> a soft voice asked. The warmth of Sansa's body touched his back.

Theon opened his eyes. Tyrion smiled slightly, nodding toward Jo.

<I'll take him to bed,> he said. Sansa had been taking care of Jay, and Tyrion hadn't been able to carry Jo for a while now.

The small bed was next to the crib, and the child spent most of his nights there. Like Theon, Jo had his own room, a pretty, empty place, for it wasn't where his family slept.

When he finished tucking the covers in, he leaned over to press a kiss into the boy's dark curls. In those moments, he remembered Jon Snow. As a child, when they were young enough to still be pure, they had both spent the coldest nights in Robb's bed.

Theon couldn't remember if he and his blood brothers had ever done anything like this. He didn't remember much of his years before arriving at Winterfell, and what little he did recall didn't evoke any warmth.

When he returned to bed, Sansa had blown out most of the candles and was snuggling against Tyrion. Sometimes, Theon wondered if the three of them were reenacting their childhood by stealing moments of adulthood, giving themselves safe spaces to exist. Sansa strolled with the girls as if she were still a maiden, and Margaery followed. Tyrion learned the ropes of swordsmanship, catching up on the lessons he'd missed as a boy. Theon was back on a boat, chasing the wind.

<Come here,> Sansa ordered. <Theon, come here.>

With Sansa in the center, and the candles out, even Tyrion seemed more at peace in the dim light.

Tyrion murmured.

<Did it hurt?> Sansa asked. She couldn't ask if he was okay— neither of them were ever okay— but sometimes things didn't hurt, and that was what Sansa wanted for him.

<It's... He's Robb.>

He didn't say, "I love him". Sansa already knew. Yet the thought made him hesitate. He raised his body slightly, seeking Tyrion's eyes. <You know...?>

A slight heaviness, something that had just settled in his chest, vanished. <Of course. It was a stupid question.>

<It was,> Sansa agreed, and her hand found his.

Tyrion laughed softly. <Let him ask stupid questions, wife. It's better than when he shuts down and stops talking to us. At least we miss him less.>

Theon snorted. <As if I weren't around enough.>

Sansa glared at him, a flash of anger or desperation in the peace. <It's never enough.>

The bed was warm, and Sansa's hand didn't hurt. He rolled against her, feeling Tyrion's breathing from there. For a moment, he let the silence remind him that all three of them were still people.

He didn't open his eyes, but he felt a slight movement.

<Do you want to go?> Sansa asked, her voice gentle, her fear not so well concealed. Theon understood. Leaving her was a bit like dying, and staying with her was the natural state, but Robb was Robb, and Robb Stark was always reason enough.

He felt a rougher, stockier hand search his. <Theon?> he called.

He opened his eyes. Sansa's deep blue was identical to Tyrion's two-tone: love and concern. Except there was a hint of pride in Tyrion.

he admitted, just to watch the pride grow.

<You want to go,> Sansa repeated, as if trying to make sense of the words. <We're coming with you.>

Tyrion laughed, and Sansa seemed to understand what she had missed. <We... can, right?>

<At that point, there's no point in leaving,> Theon protested slightly, even though he felt almost overwhelmed. Part of him wanted to cry, part of him wanted to stay.

Tyrion shrugged. His eyes were much more serious than his voice. <If what you want is us and Robb, then you'll have us and Robb.>

Sansa fidgeted, running a hand over her eyes. <You're supposed to stop me from ruining the Seven Kingdoms.>

<That's your job, and Margaery's.> He looked at Theon. <Just say what you want. You know it's fine, whatever it is.>

Tyrion was an idiot. Theon loved him for that: for the boats, for the songs, for the way he spoke to Jo.

That was why he dared to speak to him. It was because of Tyrion and Sansa that Reek was Theon, and that Theon dared to want.

"I'm not worthy of him," he thought, but there was no point saying it. All three of them were far from perfect.

Sansa held him tighter, she who could do so without hurting.
<Go, then. Go, and promise to return.>

So simple. Sansa was like snow, capable of transforming the landscape in a matter of hours. Something impossible that became only logical.

He clung to her.

Theon pleaded.

He felt her breath catch. It was there, in his chest, that new fire, that feeling of wanting, of being able to reach, of grasping something intangible. "I want..."

Tyrion reached for his hand again. He let them intertwine, and it didn't hurt. He didn't say anything. He never tried to convince them. Sometimes he apologized, sometimes he said he loved them. Tyrion wasn't a solution, he was just home.

They fell asleep like that, with only longing in their hearts. And Sansa was right, the ghosts were upon them and Theon could do nothing but survive. But that was his bed, their bed, their room, and they were alive, and Theon wanted to be alive. He wanted Robb. He wanted to be able to want.

The next morning, Tyrion hugged him and said, <I'll miss you.>

Sansa had already ordered her maid, Ally, to prepare for the journey. <Promise you'll come back.>

Theon was just Theon. He looked at them both and nearly fell to his knees.

***

Robb was waiting for him on the bridge. Behind him, the ship rocked slightly.

<Always early, Stark?> he joked, chasing a ghostly Theon.

Robb brightened. <Always late, Greyjoy?>

***

Theon had to admit that Robb had tried hard.

"We'll do it right, this time," he'd said when he'd asked him to leave. And he'd tried. He'd studied the route, prepared two adjoining rooms. The rest of the group was also carefully selected. There were six of them: the two of them, three Northern guardsmen, and Ally, who was there at Sansa's command.

The meals were good, but simple. One of the guardsmen also served as cook, and the other two were former sailors. A small group, all discreet. For the first time, Theon went an entire week without a single comment about the loss of his manhood.

Robb, Robb was wonderful. Kind (perhaps a little too much, but he always had been). But Theon could see that he was trying to treat him as always, to see the person and not the wounds.

On the first day, even though the wind was cold and it was drizzling, Theon had refused to leave the bridge until the shore had faded. Ally had tried to remind him of his maester's orders, of his scars, of his poorly healed wounds. Theon's medical condition would have required less exposure to the cold and damp, but King's Landing had become something for Theon, perhaps the first real home that had truly been his, and which he had not betrayed. So he had stayed.

Robb had smiled at Ally. <Don't worry. We'll be fine here.>
He had stood beside him, not touched him. <Will you miss her? Sansa?>

<It's like breathing with half your lungs.>(*)

Robb nodded. Theon was pretty sure he didn't understand, not entirely. But he was Robb, and Robb would accept even truths he didn't understand.

***

When they went below deck, Robb enthusiastically showed him their two rooms. They were next to each other, both the same size.

For a moment, Theon had deluded himself that they would share a bed. It would have been stupid, socially unacceptable, and the nightmares would probably make him scream at the first skin-to-skin contact. Yet, for just an instant, Theon remembered Winterfell, Robb's chamber, his reddish curls scattered across the pillow.

<Is that all right?> Robb asked, his voice as hopeful as Theon remembered it.

He remembered sleeping with dogs, or in the mud. Robb could have given him a blanket and ordered him to sleep at the foot of his bed, and Theon would have been more than comfortable.

The room was beautiful. Pretty, spacious, and quite bright. The blankets were blue, and the decorations looked like seashells. <It's very beautiful,> he said cautiously.

He couldn't lie to Robb.

There was pain in his blue eyes now. <You used to tell me what was beautiful and what wasn't,> he murmured. Then, suddenly, he seemed filled with that hope again.

<I->

<You're Theon,> Robb smiled. <You'll understand. At some point, something will be in bad enough taste to make you curse other people's aesthetic choices again. I know. Because you're Theon.>

<This is ridiculous,> he said, and found himself eager to contradict Robb. <Stark.>

Robb moved forward a little. <Tonight you can show me how to navigate by the stars.>

***

Only when time had stretched, when the cold and the words had made Theon's voice a little hoarse, did Robb stop looking at the starry sky. And look back at him. <Theon?>

<Yes...?> "Robb, my Lord, my King,..." <Stark?>

<Nothing,> Robb admitted. He turned onto his side, barely moving the blanket they were lying on. <Are you cold?>

Theon knew it was an offer. The same old offer, the one Robb Stark would make to the hostage at Winterfell.

He shook his head slightly. <Don't look too disappointed.>

<You're not disappointing me.>

Theon sighed, returning to drawing patterns among the stars with his gaze. <Lying won't solve... me, I suppose.>

<Stark->

<It's Robb.>

Theon hesitated. <If I call you by your name, I'm afraid I'll...>

<You...?>

<I'm afraid I'll do something pathetic. And that's pathetic enough.>

<Oh, I think the sky has seen worse. Theon.>

He emphasized his name, pronouncing it like a spell.

Theon turned to look at him. <Robb.>

And, as he'd expected, he began to cry.

***

Robb kept asking questions about sailing, pushing him to talk about Yara, the Ironborn, currents and stars and sails.

<Aren't you bored?> Theon asked suddenly on the third day, when Robb asked why some sails were furled and others weren't.

And Theon couldn't lie, not even by omission anymore. <I'll never be "happy"... Robb. Robb, I think I'm only half a person. Half a man.>

Robb shook his head. <You're as dramatic as you always were. That's why I know you're Theon. You can't stop being a man. And I'll make you happy. This time I'll do it right.>

"It's not something you can do, no matter how hard you look at me," he wanted to tell him. Instead, he shrugged. <You know, if someone tries to jump into the sea during a storm, trying to stop them only risks getting you killed. Madmen should be indulged.>

<So, what I understand is that you're agreeing with me?> he asked, his voice slightly ironic.

Theon thought back to the image in the mirror, the one he'd only recently stopped escaping. He didn't want to talk about that, or Ramsay.

<I'm humoring you.>

Robb wasn't fooled. His voice had returned to seriousness. <Then allow yourself to be happy, Theon.>

***

On the fourth night, he awoke screaming from a nightmare. His skin felt prickly, his own nails trying to scrape away the ghosts. He could hear Ramsay's voice calling him, whispering in his ears, tugging at his hair, pressing between his legs, and—

<Theon?>

He looked up, and for a moment his shoulders sagged with relief. "Sansa?"
But the air was heavy, and his cheeks were moist. <Robb. You're dead. You're not here.>

There was pain, not the usual hatred, in the vision's blue eyes.

He moved closer, and Theon waited for Robb to become Ramsay, for the rage to come, and so would the blows. His skin itched, but the blood under his nails was nothing compared to what Ramsay would draw with his blade.

<Theon?> called the vision again. <Theon, please.>

He closed his eyes, and his mind drifted away. He heard someone keep saying his name, and it sounded like Robb, and Theon was cowardly enough to chase the memory, not the pain.

***

He woke up hugging a pillow, three blankets over him, and a glass of water on the bedside table.

He hesitated, emerging from his cocoon. His cheeks were streaked with dried tears. His head felt heavy, and he wanted to cry again. It was going to be a bad day.

Without Sansa. And without Tyrion.

<Great,> he muttered.

Something moved at the end of the room, and without thinking, Theon threw the pillow he was holding.

From the other side of the bed, Robb looked confused as he studied the pillow. <Um... hello?>

Theon blinked. <It's my pillow.>

Robb jumped. <Oh. Right. Um, should I put this... here?>

He placed the pillow on the bed. Theon sat cross-legged, trying to breathe.

Robb bent down, picking something up from the floor. Two blankets, another pillow.

Theon winced. <Did you sleep on the floor? Here?>

Robb looked as guilty as a child caught stealing sweets. He began to speak frantically.

Theon sat up, and Robb stopped. <Theon?>

<You stayed.> It was such a stupid thing to do.

Robb nodded.

Theon looked away.

<Theon—>

<But... thank you. For being here. I think.>

He didn't need to turn to see Robb's expression. He was sure he was smiling.

<Anytime.>

***

<Today's a bad day,> he'd warned him later, after the water had been drunk and the pajamas changed.

Theon sat up, wrapping himself in one of the blankets. <It means it hurts. That I see things that aren't there. That I won't eat, that I won't leave here, that I won't be... I can't talk to you about sailing today.>

Robb nodded. <Can I stay?>

Theon searched his eyes for something, but he had no idea what. <Can you be quiet?>

***

The next day was bad too. Again, nightmares, and scratches. Robb slept on the floor again, and asked to stay again. Theon, as always, couldn't lie to him and say he didn't want him there.

***

That evening, finally, he got a little hungry. They ate together in silence, and Robb had a strange pride in his eyes.

<Theon?> he called softly, after the meal.

<Yes?>

Theon hesitated. <Not tonight.>

Robb nodded. <Fine. Can I sleep here?>

<It's uncomfortable.>

<There's no stopping madmen.>

***

By the time they finally reached White Harbor, Theon had regained some of his composure. Robb, who had risen at dawn, had rushed to wake him himself, his fists pounding on the door and the enthusiasm of a child. <Theon, we're home!>

What Robb meant was that he was home, that they were north, that the cold was too much again, that the air was once again free of urban taint.

Theon said nothing of the sort. He wrapped himself in a warm jacket and walked alongside Robb on the deck of the ship.

Despite everything, something was familiar in the air. Or maybe it was just Robb, a strange constant, like the northern chill.

Robb nodded. <The sea isn't bad, but I admit I can't wait to get back to land. It will be nice to ride with you again.>

Robb had already arranged for them to rest along the way, and Tyrion had arranged for a maester to give Lord Stark directions so Theon could ride safely. They could have saved days of riding if Theon hadn't been there, but Robb didn't seem to mind.

Theon thought for a moment of his cabin on the ship, where Robb's blankets and pillow still lay at the foot of his bed.
<As you wish, Robb.>

***

Theon descended first, quickly followed by one of the three knights. They secured the ship as best they could, then the man held out a hand to help Ally down.

Robb looked at Theon, and Theon impulsively held out his hand.

Robb hesitated. <May I?>

For a second, Theon searched within himself. But the sound of the sea was close, reassuring, and the cold so familiar.

***

The horses were waiting, and the Stark banner had already been raised. Ally took her place without hesitation, with the skill of an experienced rider. The three riders quickly followed suit, the youngest a little more uncertainly.

Robb studied the white thoroughbred and his gray companion.

Theon swallowed, hoping he could ride without too much pain. <Shall we go?>

<You first,> Robb encouraged.

Theon tried to steel himself, approaching the gray horse.

<His name is Grey Wind,> Robb revealed.

Theon froze. <What?>

The other smiled, shrugging. <When they told me, I thought it was almost fate, don't you think?>

<Oh, no.> Robb nodded, his slight smile unreadable. <Go on. It's all yours.>

<Robb, I->

<Theon, just get on that horse.>

Few things in the world could stand against Robb's stubbornness, Theon knew that well. He took a deep breath and, mentally cursing fate, mounted Grey Wind.

***

They rode in three groups, he and Robb leading, Ally and the youngest of the riders in the center, and the two most experienced at the rear.

From the start, Robb seemed to be fired up. His mare's name was Ivory, and she was a year younger than Grey Wind. In the ten minutes Theon had spoken to the man who would guard their ship until they returned to White Harbor, Robb had managed to glean seemingly endless biographical information about the two horses.

Theon didn't mind. Aside from the unfortunate choice of name, he could recognize that his horse was well-bred and well-trained. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a luxury mount. But that had to have been sometime in the past. Before.

<Theon?>

Robb laughed. He never resented Theon's bad temper. <And you? Tired of hearing me talk?>

<No,> he said. He expected such an admission to be embarrassing, but perhaps he was past that point.

Robb's eyes were as blue as the summer sea. <No, huh?>

<Stark->

<Robb!>

He laughed, and it was the sound of life, of chases in the woods, of first kisses, of warmth.

Theon blushed.

Robb turned to look at him, and the laughter stopped mid-ride. <Oh.>
He held out a hand, and his horse slowed. <Theon?>

Robb was an easy temptation. Theon fell and fell, and the voice inside him screamed, "I want".

Robb smiled.

<It's not the same as before.>

Robb shrugged, his hand still outstretched. His voice lowered, his eyes returning to the horizon. <I'm not the same, either. My mother died before my eyes, and Talisa... I see them every night. I dream of a child who will never be born. Theon, I— You're so sure you're different, but we've all changed. And I've missed your voice.>

It was such a straightforward speech, devoid of hysteria or embellishment. It was something only Robb Stark could have said in a gentle tone, as if trying to be kind.

Theon took his hand, and he didn't care if it was shaking a little. Neither of them looked at the other at that point. <Yesterday, you said you had something to ask me.>

***

Over the next two days, in small pieces, Theon told Robb what a bad day was like. About the phantom fingers, the visions, the pain. About things he'd never been able to tell anyone before.

***

Robb didn't try to touch him as he spoke. But they walked slower, and it didn't matter if it made the journey to Winterfell longer.

***

<I'm sorry, Theon.>

<Don't say that.>

<Robb->

<No,> he interrupted. <Listen to me, for a change. If you deserved that, what does that say about me? If that's what the person closest to me deserved, what did I deserve? Every mistake you made is mine. We deserved better things.>

<Theon,> Robb begged, his voice fading. <Theon, please. I already had better things. And I lost them. I lost the North, Talisa, my son, and my mother. And all because I lost you and Jon. I should never have let you go, either of you. I shouldn't have let him join rapists and murderers. And I shouldn't have sent you to Belon. It was naive.>

Robb shook his head. <We've been ashore less than two days, and already you're seeking the sea. We took you from the sea. It was in your nature to return. I don't know who I would have chosen, you or my family.>

Theon looked away. <Now you're trying to be kind. You would have chosen your family.>

Robb's blue was too dull, and Theon feared he'd gone too far. <If you're so sure, I betrayed you before you betrayed me.>
And then, in a lower voice, <You deserved better things.>

***

It was on the morning of the third day that Robb brought up the subject. He'd just told him about his meeting with Arya, how they'd reunited.

<You'd never asked my permission before,> Theon said.

Robb looked down like a scolded puppy. <Right. Sorry.>

For a moment, Theon almost smiled. But his smile was the worst, and it shouldn't have been.

Robb sought his eyes. <Tell me I can, anyway. This is not a nice question.>

Theon saw his eyes drop for a moment, travel to his waist, then back up.

Robb, who had always been too modest with words but never with gestures, blushed. <Theon Greyjoy!>

Laughter was a terrible impulse, and Theon swallowed it down. Robb was so handsome he almost wanted to paint him. <You're the one who couldn't bring yourself to ask.>

Robb bit his lip. <Sorry. Tell me something else, then. Tell me how you became Master of Ships.>

***

That night, they slept in one of the smaller inns on their route. And Theon, in the grip of pure madness, with the perfect image of Robb still blushing, found himself knocking on his door.

Theon had done many stupid things in his life. Saying, <My bed's too small, let's share yours,> was still near the top.

<Won't it hurt?>

<Maybe,> he admitted immediately, because he wasn't there to lie to Robb. <Do you remember when, as children, we used to run to your room because there was a storm? I was terrified of lightning, but I said it was Jon. He was scared too, and he said it was me.>

<Do you think it'll rain?> Theon asked.

<You never know.> Robb stepped away from the doorway. <Sleep here, just in case.>

***

The room was too small, and there was no partition to change behind. For a moment, they both simply studied each other's expressions.

<I'm changing,> Robb announced, sounding as if he were announcing he was about to enter the most dangerous of tournaments.

Theon nodded. <Go on, then.>

Robb froze. <Aren't you going to turn around?>

He would have turned around if Robb had actually asked. But he saw only his blue, and it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd seen him naked. Theon had been the one to remove his clothes on several occasions, sometimes because they were soaked, sometimes because Robb was simply too tired to do it himself. Robb was Robb, and Theon needed to remember.

Something must have shown on his face, because Robb smiled, the embarrassment already in the past, and began to remove one item of clothing after another.

Theon rolled his eyes. <Why are your things always scattered everywhere?>

<Mine? You were the worst of us!>

Too quickly, perhaps driven by modesty or the cold, Robb pulled on his underwear and nightgowns.

When he looked back at Theon, he looked younger, slightly embarrassed.
And, precisely because of that, he had to become arrogant again. <Did you enjoy the show?>

Theon snorted. <Oh, my poor heart won't be able to handle such beauty.>

For a moment, the atmosphere had become light, similar to the old one.

Theon took a step back.

Robb offered immediately, his voice serious.

Theon hesitated. <Then it wouldn't make sense.>

<It was just a question, Theon. You don't owe me all the answers.> Then, as if on second thought, he stepped forward. <Theon, you don't owe me any answers. You don't owe me anything.>

And Theon thought of Sansa, of her hands, of her voice. "We can only survive, you and me. You know that."

"I want to live," he had told her. In that moment, he felt that roar again, that fire. Robb was there, and Theon wanted to live.

Without wasting time thinking, ignoring the voice in his head that said Ramsay was there, or that anyone else in his place would have done the same, Theon pulled off his shirt.

His chest was a constellation of old scars, burns, missing pieces. He heard Robb's breath catch.

Robb's voice was tinged with amusement, even though beneath Theon, all he could hear was pain. <Then it wouldn't make sense.>

The boots and trousers were easy. The worst part, actually, was what was gone.

<It's... rather ugly,> he felt compelled to say. <I'm disgusting.>

Robb didn't answer. Theon wondered if horror had simply frozen him, or if he'd looked away. Either way, there was no point in giving up now.

He slipped out of his underwear and let his hands fall to his sides. There was nothing to see, only the hideous scars, jagged and still pink and raised. The marks where the fire had pressed and where the knife had peeled away the skin.

<Theon?>

He was starting to feel nauseous, and he found himself thinking that it had been a bad idea after all. He shouldn't have left King's Landing, or Sansa. He—

<Theon, can you look at me?>

He remembered Ramsay's eyes. Usually, his face was blurred; it was his hands, his voice, his blades that tortured Theon. But in that moment, all Theon remembered were his eyes.

<Love, can you look at me?>

He snapped his head up, reacting only to the word, to the desire.

And Robb lunged forward. <Theon?>

Close. So, so close. If only he'd taken that step...

Theon fell forward, collapsing onto Robb. <It hurt. It hurt so much. And he knew it would be forever. He took it, and he took it forever.>

Robb wrapped his arms around him, seemingly oblivious to the nakedness or the tears or the horror. <My love,> he repeated. <Theon, love. Theon.>

Outside, as if the gods themselves had heard them, the sky began to thunder.

***

In the morning, they woke on opposite sides of the bed, a pillow between them in a mockery of a wall. Theon was wearing one of Robb's robes.

<Hey, love. Good morning.>

Theon had just discovered he could live on words and borrowed clothes.

***

From that morning on, they began sharing the bed again, never daring to touch. Theon was certain that anything longer than a few minutes, especially in sleep, when he wasn't in control, would be too much. Robb, on the other hand, seemed so obnoxiously happy, humming his good mornings in triumph.

They hadn't even kissed, and he was already calling him love in front of the knights and Ally, who would surely tell Sansa and Tyrion the first chance she got.

<Love, will you pass me the map?>

The younger knight chuckled as Ally whispered something to him.

Theon was weak, and he didn't scold them. <Of course, Robb. There.>

***

By then, Robb was bold. He stopped asking difficult questions, and spent half the ride winking and the other half talking about his travels with Arya.

And Theon knew something had changed, but it wasn't Robb. It wasn't him asking, it was Robb talking.

Two more days passed, of leisurely walks and light conversation, and that feeling that tugged at Theon's heart with every "love".

Robb didn't seem to care that Theon only called him "Robb". In fact, nothing seemed to bother him, and that was crazy, because Theon knew Robb was the worst person in the world at ignoring others.

<Here we are!> Robb announced, slowing Ivory's pace. He patted the horse with the same care he'd once given his direwolf. <This is our inn for tonight.>

Theon made Grey Wind fall into step with his companion. <Are we expected?>

<Yes, they should have received my raven yesterday. Shall we go in?>

***

The closer they got to Winterfell, the more the stares made Theon raise his hood.

In the south, he was so clearly Tyrion and Sansa's, the King and Queen's, that no one dared speak of his betrayal of House Stark. Comments about his manhood were constant, but superficial. The name Bolton was almost taboo at court, and he was always "Lord Greyjoy."

The North, however, remembered. And while Robb Stark was the boy who had tried, who had given his life for his people, and Sansa was merely a victim, the Ice Queen so perfect and pure, Theon was the man who had wielded the blade that destroyed the wolves.

The innkeeper, even under his hood, watched him with narrowed eyes. He said nothing, not with Robb there, but Theon was fairly certain he was jeopardizing the peace between north and south with every breath he took.

When the door to his chambers closed, he slumped against the door.

<He's such an asshole,> Robb placed Theon's small bag on the right and his own on the left.

<The North? The North are people.> Robb knelt beside him, leaning on his ankles. <They're my people. They can't hate you.>

<They're not you, Robb.>

Theon sighed. <Maybe you should go alone. I could stay out in the city. Wait for you.>

There was a flash of fear in Robb's eyes. <What?>

Robb blinked. For a long moment, there was no sound but the wind. <Theon, did I make you uncomfortable?>

This time, he was the one who didn't understand. <What?>

<You?> Theon mentally replayed the conversation, trying to understand how Robb could have come to that conclusion. Failing that, he had no choice but to deny it. <No, you didn't.>

<It's not about me.>

Robb looked at him with pure confusion in his eyes.

Suddenly, Theon felt like he was with Tyrion again, as the King began to talk about what was to come and Theon simply couldn't follow.

Robb hesitated for a moment. Then, nodding, he sat up and pulled one of his knees to his chest. <Okay.>

<Okay,> Theon repeated. <We're here to figure out how to reconcile North and South, right? We want to prevent the North from rebelling against Sansa and Tyrion in your name.>

<Yes.>

<Yes,> Robb repeated.

Theon inhaled and exhaled. <And don't you think taking me with you to Winterfell would ruin everything?>

<No.>

Theon searched for a trace of doubt, but Robb was so firm, so sure he could shake a mountain.

<You're not a problem.>

Theon sighed. <You know I meant that about the mission->

<No,> Robb stopped him. He ran a hand through his hair, and finally, Theon saw the hint of doubt in his eyes. <Theon, love, if the North doesn't want you, then the North will never want the South either. As long as they have a problem with you, they'll have a problem with the royal family. It's so obvious I didn't think it needed saying.>

A jolt went through Theon's mind, and the room suddenly seemed larger. Until that moment, he'd been convinced, perhaps naively, that Robb was simply trying to patch things up between them, if that were even possible. He hadn't considered the North, not really. <All this time, were you also thinking about the treaty?>

<I'm here for the treaty. Or we'd be in King's Landing.>

<But->

Robb's voice was tinged with something that might have been anger or desperation. <I'm here for the treaty, and I won't let you get hurt again because of me.>

Theon flinched. <It wasn't your fault. I deserved it.>

He could see Robb take the blow. Breathe in, breathe out. <You keep saying that. I'll keep saying you didn't deserve it. I guess it's the kind of conversation that never goes anywhere. I won't stop trying to make amends, no matter how many times you tell me—>
He broke off, his broken voice rising and tinging black. <Theon, for the love of the old gods, do you realize that if Ramsay were alive, I'd be tearing him to pieces with my bare hands?>

Theon didn't answer, and Robb's despair turned to agony. <When my mother destroyed Jon, I told myself she was my mother, and there was nothing I could do about it. For a long time, I turned away, pretending not to see, telling myself that because I loved my brother, I was doing everything I could. But that wasn't true. And I did the same thing with you.>

<Robb->

Robb held out a hand. <Please, let me finish. I spent so much time telling myself I hated you so I wouldn't admit it was all my fault. I thought about it, you know? About what we were before. Do you remember when I first kissed you?>

It had been a long time ago. Something that happened to someone else. <We were just teens,> Theon said. <You were so nervous.>

For a moment, a smile broke through Robb's pain.

<No,> Theon admitted, though he didn't understand why it mattered. <But I wanted to be kissed.>

<It's not— Theon, do you remember a single time in our relationship, whether as friends, brothers in arms, or lovers, where you were allowed to initiate?>

Theon gasped. <That... was different. It wasn't your fault.>

Theon would have given Robb everything. And, with his mind still fixed on that distant kiss, he wasn't thinking of Ramsay. He took it.

Robb squeezed just before relaxing his grip. <I loved you. And maybe I'm starting to understand that you loved me, too. But you weren't free. I liked to pretend we were equals, because it felt good to ignore the truth. But we weren't equals. Not in my father's eyes, or in the North's. We weren't equals in your eyes.>

<Robb->

Theon held his breath. Suddenly, he wanted to let go of Robb, to walk away from him, to walk away from those words. He pulled his hand away, and Robb pulled back.

And it hurt. Because Theon, the Theon who had grown up side by side with Robb, knew it was unfair. Robb was the only person in Winterfell who looked at him and didn't see Balon's son. But Theon... Sometimes, looking at Robb, it was Theon who saw Ned Stark's son.

Robb held out his hand again, silently.

<Why? Why would you bring this up now?>

Robb looked down for a moment, his lips tight. <Because I think you have every reason in the world to hate me, but I know you don't hate me. Because you are you. And because you can't be as kind to yourself as you are to me.>

<Kind to— Robb!> Theon shook his head, realizing he would cry.

He took a breath, trying to explain. It wasn't kindness.

Robb laughed, a laugh halfway between madness and relief. <But you're Theon, too. You always say my name as if I were this entity... this something so beautiful it's impossible. But you're Theon, too. You're Theon.>

There was such sincerity, such a rush in Robb. There was so much light. <You love me,> Theon murmured. <You love me.>

<I'm Theon,> he repeated, and his name took on a new weight. Because Sansa had promised that he was Theon of House Greyjoy, Yara's brother and heir to the Iron Islands, but Robb had just said "Theon", and he was talking about the sound of arrows in the air and his laughter. <I'm not the same Theon.>

<There's only one Theon. Whoever you've become, you're my Theon. And I'm your Robb for as long as you want me. You should hate me, but I know you as I know myself, and you don't hate me, so... You can do as you wish. Don't you know?>

Robb's voice, "Don't you know?", chased Theon inside his head, down his throat, straight into his stomach, harder than a punch. <You love me,> he repeated again. <You love me.>

Robb promised. <I... I want to be chosen, this time. I want us to be even. So it's okay if you don't want me. But I love you.>

The urge to laugh, again, rose in Theon. He hadn't laughed anymore, not since Ramsay had created Reek. The first thing about Theon to vanish was his smile.

He hesitated. <Robb?> he called, feeling almost desperate. <I...>

The other man leaned forward slightly, his hand resting on his knee, but his palm still facing up. Toward him.

<Robb, did you like my laugh?>

Robb hesitated. <Your...?>
He must have read something in him, because he paused before asking. <Of course I liked you. You were the person who made me laugh the most.>

<He... Ramsay. He hated it. It was... I shouldn't laugh, Robb. I don't think I should be happy.>

He saw Robb struggling, and wondered what his first impulse had been. Finally, he slid to the floor, leaning against the door as well. By then, their shoulders were touching. <You always do what you shouldn't, in my modest experience. I tell you this as one of the world's foremost experts on Theon Greyjoy.>

There it was again. Stupid impulse. The feeling was like wanting to vomit, and laugh. Instead, Theon met Robb's blue eyes, and the sea of his heart drowned out Ramsay's voice.

He leaned forward, and though he didn't say "I love you," he hoped the kiss would be enough.

***

Robb handed him the towel without comment, though the concern was clear in his eyes.

<Sorry,> Theon muttered.

Robb shrugged, playing it down.

<That's unfair. It has nothing to do with how good a kisser you are.>

Theon groaned in exasperation. <Now, is this the time to tease me?>

<You're an idiot. Really.>

Theon took the blow. <An idiot kissing an idiot.>

***

That evening, they crawled into bed, still on opposite sides, and Robb placed his usual pillow in the middle. <How are you?>

<Nausea. And a headache. And I want to cry.>

***

Winterfell was different from what Robb had left behind. Theon knew it, and he wanted to do something to help him make that step. He wanted to hold his hand as they passed through the gates. But he couldn't, not with all those people watching.

They continued in silence, and in silence they reunited with Bran.

The welcoming feast was modest, and everything flowed almost too smoothly. Theon, as he often did since Bran's return, felt like a puppet. He knew the boy had already foreseen what was to come.

Two rooms had been prepared for them. Robb's was the one Jon had used during his time ruling Winterfell. Theon's, however, was in the new area, built after the end of the war, exclusively for guests. Wherever Bran slept, he wasn't next to either of them. Meera, however, had the room where Sansa had once stayed, and Theon encountered her a couple of times when he left Robb's chamber.

The first few days, between meetings, gatherings, and letters to send, Theon only saw the Stark brothers in the evenings, at dinner. And, of course, he almost always slept with Robb.

A part of him, the one he'd thought was dead, yearned to share more, to not simply fall asleep with Robb's breath so close to his. It was the part that thought of Sansa, the extraordinary Sansa. She and Tyrion had shared more, and Ramsay had had her too. If she could, maybe he could too—

The memory of the kiss was pressing, but the sweetness was poisoned by pain. Sansa had always been strong, and she'd fought to have a child. Theon, however, was just Theon. He wasn't made of steel, he wasn't made of ice. He could crumble at the touch like a sandcastle crumbles at the arrival of the first wave.

He sighed. A handmaiden refilled his goblet, and Theon returned to the conversation. Robb was chatting with Meera about her journey with Bran. As always, they avoided discussing politics with him. Ultimately, Theon was there for the crown, but Robb was there for the North.

He quickly finished his food. Since he'd arrived, the portions on his plate had always been perfect, and he suspected it was Bran's fault. On nights when he felt nauseous, he received light meals and smaller portions. On good nights, they served the dishes he'd always enjoyed, the ones Ned Stark sometimes had prepared for his birthday.

Thinking about Ned Stark was always a bad idea, and so Theon forced himself to tell Robb about his encounter with Bran in the True North. It was a story he'd heard before, but this time Meera was there to fill in the blanks.

Bran, silent and dark-eyed, did nothing but listen.

<Theon,> he interrupted when the story was almost over, dessert already on the table. <After dinner, I have something I need to talk to you about. I'll be in the godswood.>

Theon really had no choice, so he didn't ask himself if he really wanted to go. He simply nodded. <I'll be there.>

***

Meera walked off with Robb toward the library, saying their copy of the new map of the realm had arrived. Tyrion had ordered it shortly before they left King's Landing. Samwell Tarly must have been very efficient.

Bran motioned for him to follow, and began pushing his wheelchair outside.

<Do you want me to...?> Theon offered.

Theon had no idea.

They walked in silence, quiet enough to hear the rustle of the wind or small birds chirping in their nests.

Bran stopped beside a stone bench, oblivious to the haunting beauty the godswood had always held. Ned Stark used to say that men there could only speak the truth.

Obeying the silent request, Theon sat down, leaving a man's space between them.

Bran didn't even look at him, his eyes fixed on the weirwood.

Ignoring the chill the weirwood's eyes gave him, Theon moved closer. His shoulder and Bran's almost touched.

<I've been thinking,> Bran began, and Theon flinched. Silence seemed the natural order there, but more importantly, Bran's voice sounded different. A note of agitation, perhaps haste. Theon didn't think it was possible.
<You know, I thought I'd left humanity behind. The war. The death of my family.>

Theon felt a shiver, perhaps cold, perhaps fear. Perhaps the sensation of a furious god emerging from the mountains to demand an accounting of the past.

"Happy," Theon thought. "Not human, yet happy. Would I have felt this way if, when I was only Reek and not Theon, someone had told me Robb was alive?"

Before he could fully comprehend it, Theon found himself uneasy. He didn't want Robb's little brother, divine or otherwise, to witness their kiss. Not to mention his own history with that particular brother, a history that was increasingly difficult to forget with Winterfell behind him.

Bran continued as if Theon had answered, which, perhaps, was exactly what had happened from his perspective. <Usually, I try to stay... as far away as possible from my brothers' personal lives. I only see the big picture, not the details.>

<Thank you,> he replied, feeling truly pathetic.

What followed almost sounded like a laugh. <You're a complicated man, Theon.>

"No longer a man," he thought, but then felt ridiculous. What was the point of keeping a thought to himself when he was with Bran?
<No longer a man.>

<Oh, me neither. Not really.> Bran shrugged, terribly human, and it felt worse than a punch. <But we're not here to talk about that.>

<And why are we here?> he asked, and the question was just a thought unheld in his mind.

Bran held out a hand. <Take it. Don't worry, it won't hurt.>

<How do you know?> Theon asked, not moving.

he admitted. <But I guess I never will.>

As his hand rested on the boy's, and the silence stretched on, an unpleasant thought left Theon's mouth. <Are you feeling lonely?>

Bran barely opened his lips, and Theon wondered if he needed his voice to speak or if, like a true god, he could just let the words echo in the air. <I have every single person who ever lived with me, I can ride the dragons of old Valyria and sit on the Iron Throne. I'm at every feast, every tourney. I see my family walking through these woods, and they are as real as you are. But only you can ask me if I'm alone. I'm not alone, but what men feel isn't always what's true.> He paused. <Still, I'm not a man, not anymore.>

he said. Bran's hand was cold. <You already know what I'll say, though. What are we to do here?>

The boy's lips moved slightly, and Theon realized it was meant to be a smile. <The future isn't set in stone. It's being created as we speak. The next great thing you'll do in your life, Theon Greyjoy, is further away. It's not now.>

<So...> Theon saw Bran's eyes, so vacant. <You don't know how many times you'll smile? Not for sure?>

<No, I don't. I know when I'll die, though. And when you will.>

<My death or yours?> Bran teased, a hint of irony in his flat tone.

<I...>

<Don't torment yourself,> Bran interrupted.

Theon felt relief wash over him, and with it, a new sadness. <You say you can see your family alive. But you must also see them...>

<Dead, too, yes. Both versions are equally real. You too. You're in the past, showing me how to nock an arrow, and you've been gone for centuries, and somewhere a new Greyjoy bears your name.>

<Oh, not mine. It's just tradition.>

Bran raised an eyebrow, and his hand twitched. <Theon, I think I'm sure of what I'm saying. I can literally see it. Can you not contradict me?>

Theon had no idea how anyone could want to pass down his name. After all, he'd just managed to irritate Bran, a divine being who moved through time. <Sorry.>

The boy looked impressed. <All right. I don't think I'll be contradicted often. I might miss it. Maybe.>

<Yours are worse,> Bran said, sounding like a seasoned judge. <You should take your hand back now. You might start to feel sick.>

Theon realized he didn't want to do this. Bran was strange and unsettling, but Theon wanted to stay there, keep him in a place where people contradicted him and held his hand. But he obeyed, because Bran had probably seen enough people throw up.

He folded his hands in his lap and began to feel uneasy. The silence had quickly become oppressive, perhaps because Bran was so still. <How are you and Meera?>

Bran remained impassive. <We'll have a significant turning point in more than five years. And,> he added, still in a flat voice, <that's none of your business.>

Silenced again, Theon tried to distract himself by remembering the names of the trees around him. Ash, chestnut, elm, hawthorn,...

<What?> Theon whirled around. For a moment, he had seen Bran as a child, the one who climbed walls and dreamed of being a knight. A Bran who feared for his brother's heart.

The image had flashed by, and the boy quickly turned back into the Three-Eyed Raven. The words, however, were still in the air, suspended, indelible.

<What?> Theon repeated, unable to understand.

Bran, for the first time, truly looked at him. There was a spark in his eyes, and Theon felt as if, for just a moment, he was the only Theon Bran saw.

<Do not hurt Robb. For the sake of the Seven Kingdoms, because he has a destiny to fulfill. But also, because he's Robb. He loves too deeply, and that love is what must kill him. That's how it must be. And he loves you. So don't hurt him.> He stopped, almost repeating his own words. The spark had already faded.

Theon had a sudden, undeniable certainty that Robb would be the first to die. The next, of all the Stark brothers. He felt his heart racing. <Bran, tell me it's not me. Tell me I won't betray Robb again!>

was it madness, or, in his panic, Bran's voice sounds gentler. <But you don't. You don't in any reality I can see.>

It was like hearing the wind speak, and it was worthless. Theon was so glad no one was touching him right now.

Bran, however, didn't move. He simply returned his gaze to the weirwood. And waited.

***

Much, much later, Bran and Theon returned to the castle. Robb was waiting there, but his robe was too light, so he had to light the fireplace.

Bran walked straight ahead as Theon stopped. He spoke before Robb could ask any questions. <Don't hurt Theon, Robb.>

***

The next morning, Theon felt lighthearted. He dared take Robb's hand as they went down the stairs to breakfast. He hoped that, far in the future, Bran might look at them and, perhaps, smile a little.

***

That afternoon, Robb looked for him after his usual meeting. <Fancy a picnic? Let's take Ivory and Grey Wind. I saw her restless and wanted to take her for a walk.>

Robb loved too much, but perhaps "too much" was exactly what Theon wanted. <Only if you compete against me, Stark.>

***

The people of the North hadn't changed, and their hostility was pressing against Theon. The happier Robb was to have him at his side, the more Theon saw the anger in their eyes.

On the fifth day, Bran told them to avoid any more unescorted outings. <For Theon's sake,> he added.

***

On the sixth day, what had to happen happened. A crowd so large it couldn't be pushed back gathered at the gate, shouting and waving torches.

<Justice! Justice for the North! Justice for the Starks!>

<Go,> Bran ordered, looking at Robb. <Go alone, and do what you can.>

Theon had heard the murmurings, too. After all, no one had committed to keeping the conversations truly secret.

He tried to encourage Robb anyway. <You'll make it. You've always been charismatic.>

Robb sighed. He put on his cloak, making sure the direwolf on his back was clearly visible.

***

They didn't have to strain to hear the conversation. Whatever Robb was trying to say was quickly drowned out by the crowd's roars.

Robb had raised his hands, desperately trying to restore some order. Theon met his eyes, and saw a wave of despair there.

Bran flinched. <Oh, no.>

<What's happening?> Meera asked.

Meera was quick, but the crowd wasted no time. Even though the guards had intervened to back Robb, they couldn't stop the chant.

<Turncloak! Traitor!>

***

Down in the crypts, Theon did his best not to look around. He didn't want to meet Ned's stony eyes and read his judgment even from beyond. He had no doubt that Lord Stark would disapprove... whatever he and Robb were.

Meera, thankfully, was a good distraction. <How's the new prince? Jace?>

<Jaycee,> Theon corrected, and a wave of nostalgia filled his heart. It was strange, but he would have given anything to see a Lannister banner right then. <He's loud. Louder than his brother. He's already crawling.>

Theon groaned in exasperation.

Meera laughed. <Oh, come on. I'm sure King Tyrion is charming.>

<He's a pain in the ass,> Theon said, his voice unfailingly soft. Tyrion would know what to do with Winterfell. <Fuck, I miss them.>

<You're supporting the lover's theory.>

He almost punched Meera. <You're quite judgmental for someone who likes Bran.>

Meera's eyes were daggers, her smile like a blade. <Don't provoke me, Theon.>

Her gaze lightened again. <Oh, no. You wouldn't.>

***

Ally came to get them after what seemed like hours.

Despite everything, the girl managed to seem flirtatious.

The Starks and their hearts. After years, he still wasn't used to the way they always held them in their hands, visible to all the world.

***

Robb was sitting on the bed but stood up when Theon opened the door. <Are you okay, love?>

<They're no danger to me. They call me King. They want me to lead them.>

Theon closed the door. He took a breath and tried to look indifferent. He took his mind off King's Landing, because Bran had said he wouldn't be the one to betray Robb. <Is that what you want?>

<Of course not,> Robb said, his voice soft. Suddenly, he looked embarrassed. <You know, they say you've bewitched me. That it's your fault I no longer want the Throne.>

Theon hesitated. Should he apologize? Reassure him?

Robb's blue eyes returned to his, and his face was relaxed, though his cheeks were still red, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from his strange sense of modesty. His curly hair was longer, and he looked like a knight from a song. <They're right, of course. I'm completely bewitched.>

Theon crossed the room one step at a time, and each step seemed to quicken.

He put a hand in Robb's reddish curls, telling himself it wouldn't hurt.

<Are we about to kiss?> Robb asked, his voice a little too full of hope.

<Oh, I sure hope so,> said Theon. He hoped his lips were as good as his head for the North.

***

At breakfast, Bran was alone. He gestured for them both to sit on his left, leaving Meera's usual spot empty.

he explained under Robb's confused gaze. <You'll leave Winterfell before the sun sets.>

Theon felt a pang in his chest. It was unexpected, in its own way. <I'll miss you.>

Bran's eyes were unreadable. He didn't answer, but Theon swore that, just for a moment, his hand had trembled.

***

Things had been hastily prepared, and a raven had already flown toward White Harbor. Robb had wanted to feed and saddle Ivory himself.

<Have a safe journey,> Meera said, handing one of the knights a spare sword. <Be careful.>

Bran watched a flock of birds take flight, then studied the two horses. He inhaled, holding it a few seconds longer than necessary. <Theon, Robb.>

For a terrible moment, Theon wondered if Bran would say anything about the kiss the night before.

This time, Theon didn't even try to protest. He wondered, though, if Bran had exchanged the present for an impossible future.

***

Throughout the ride, from the moment Winterfell disappeared behind them, Theon and Robb found themselves surrounded by ravens.

With his head still in the godswood and his heart still frozen in the kiss, Theon could do nothing but follow them, even when they took them far from the path.

***

Unlike the outward journey, the return journey had been silent, pushing Ivory and Grey Wind almost to their limits. They ran and ran, not even sure they were being followed.

Every night, before falling asleep, Robb called him love. Every morning, before mounting his horse, Theon thought about kissing him, but never managed it.

***

The ship, driven by a near-perfect wind, quickly left the harbor.

Robb was still on deck, staring at the shrinking land. Theon feared that bidding his homeland farewell so hastily might hurt him, but he had no idea what to say other than something stupid.
<Homesick, Stark?>

Robb let out a small groan. Theon, certain he had misunderstood, leaned closer. <What?>

Robb repeated, and Theon swore he saw his eyes water. <She was so pretty.>

Theon tried his best not to laugh, and for the first time, he didn't think of Ramsay. <We'll find you a pet, Stark.>

The joke was dangerous, potentially so painful. Robb, however, simply shook his head, his arms crossed, his eyes sad.

***

That evening, Theon found himself in the kitchen. Ally was there, as was the young knight who always hung around her.

Embarrassed, Theon realized he didn't know his name.

<I'm not here to—>

Ally snorted in an exaggeratedly loud voice. <Of course he's here for that. Rod, darling, get one of the bottles of fine wine for Lord Greyjoy.>

***

<Did you cook dinner?> Robb's eyes shone. <Theon, that's—>

<Honestly, Ally and Rodwell did most of it.>

Robb shook his head. <Oh, shut up. This is beautiful. I'd kiss you if I could!>

Theon hesitated. <Maybe... I could.>

He saw Robb stop and slowly set down the glass he'd just picked up. <You could?>

Theon thought back to the sea, and the only eyes he saw were blue.

***

That evening, they both swayed toward the bed. The wine wasn't strong enough to make them drunk, and they'd only had a couple of glasses each anyway.

Robb, as always, changed first and reached for the pillow to place in the center.

Instinctively, Theon reached out. With the fabric of Robb's sleeve in his fingers, all he could think was, "I want."

<Wait. We can try without it today.>

Slowly, Robb nodded. He waited for Theon to lie down first. He lay on his side, so he could look at him. With his curls scattered and his cheeks a little red from the wine, he was as handsome as ever.

<Sometimes,> Theon admitted softly,

Robb reached out, and Theon took it.
<I'm real. I promise.>

***

Halfway through the night, Theon woke with a start.

Robb was already awake, standing three or four steps from the bed.

<Theon?> he called. <Love?>

He felt needle-like pricks on his skin. Theon ran a hand over his face and wasn't surprised to find tears.

<This is so stupid,> he whimpered. <It's my stupid body. I trust you! Why do I have to do this?>

Robb shook his head. <Theon, you're just trying to protect yourself. It's okay, love. We can put the pillow back.>

<But I don't want to,> he said, and it felt like he was screaming. He felt like a naughty child and, at the same time, as if Ramsay were just outside the door.

Silently, Robb handed him a clean blanket. He poured him a glass of water and placed it on the bedside table.

Theon drank in silence, wrapped in the blanket, even his head hidden beneath the warmth of the fabric.

Slowly, the room seemed lighter.

Robb nodded. <Of course. I'll sleep on the floor.>

His voice was steady, and no matter how hard he tried, Theon couldn't find any signs of annoyance or boredom. he offered anyway.

A pillow hit him on the head. <Sleep, love.>

***

The next morning, Robb had breakfast brought to their room. <How are you?>

<Good,> Theon confessed, feeling horrible. He felt good because he'd slept alone, without his wonderful Robb beside him.

<So... nice day?>

Theon looked up and saw Robb's hopeful expression. <Yes?>

<Can I kiss you? Are you up for it?> A pause. <Do you want to?>

He'd kissed Robb. But he hadn't been kissed yet. And it was different to take, rather than to receive.

Theon bit his lip, and Robb nodded. <Next time?>

***

As Ally closed the door behind her, clearing away the last tray, Theon joined Robb at the desk. <I'm sorry. For before.>

<Don't dwell on it now. I don't mind.>

<But you wanted to kiss me,> Theon said.

Robb nodded shamelessly. <Well, you were very handsome. Can you blame me?>

<Yes,> Theon said automatically, because handsome was the wrong word but also because it was nice to be able to contradict someone without fear.

He reached out, brushing the other's curls. <We're not lovers,> Theon said.

Robb raised an eyebrow. <My love, I think we are.>

Robb's fingers rested on his wrist. He didn't squeeze, and the contact was warm, delicate, gentle enough to touch his heart. <We're still lovers.>

Theon sighed. <You're always so stubborn.>

It was too blunt a statement. Robb's touch, though, was so comforting. He felt a small shift of air, then a weight against his stomach.

Robb's fingers guided his hand through his curls. He rested his head against his belly, and closed his eyes. <Theon. We are something.>

"How could I deny you?" he thought. "It's so little to ask for, and I want it so badly. How can I not be selfish when you're so close?"

<We are something,> Theon repeated. Then, in a lower voice, <Thank you.>

***

That evening, when Robb reached for the pillow, Theon didn't stop him. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

***

That last evening, the temperature had risen. They took refuge on deck, and even the knights were too used to gossiping. Ally, however, didn't spare them a wink when she brought a bottle of the finest wine and fresh fruit.

Lying side by side, alone with the waves and the stars, Robb began tracing the constellations Theon had taught him.
<Where would you go? You have your own ship, where would you go?>

Theon wished he had an adventurous and interesting answer. <I'd just sail. The only port where there's someone waiting for me is King's Landing.>

<Sansa and Tyrion.> The names were strange, with Robb's faint Northern accent. Sansa's was natural, an old memory. Theon was glad he didn't sense any anger in Tyrion's. <You know, it seems like every inn has a different story about the three of you.>

<Please,> Theon sighed, <don't tell me you're going to ask me if we're lovers?>

Theon leaned over to tap Robb's forehead. <Idiot. Anyway, I was talking about Tyrion.>

<He's married to my sister; he can't cheat on her.>

Theon almost smiled. <Your arguments get better every time.>

Robb laughed, a sound as clear as tinkling ice. <It's my gift.>

Under the starlight, Robb was almost ethereal. <You deserve all the love you have.>

So close, the urge to actually touch, kiss, share a blanket, and shed their clothes was ancient and frustrating. But it wasn't possible, so Theon used what he had, the words he was allowed to say. <You too, Robb.>

They turned sideways, and one of Robb's curls tickled his cheek.

Theon closed his eyes. He could feel the sea, the rocking of the boat, the smell of salt. The salt was in the air, in the wood, on his skin. He could feel the salt water in his bones, in Robb's breath.

He opened his eyes, meeting the blue.

<About love,> said Theon, who had never been a poet. Then, finally, where only his god and his lover could hear him,

He saw the surprise, then Robb moved even closer. He felt his fingers rest on his, not squeezing.

Delicate as snowflakes, but warm as only the living, Robb's lips rested on his forehead.

***

The next morning, Rodwell and Ally woke them before sunrise. Both could barely contain their laughter.

<I'm happy for you, my Lord,> the woman promised. <The Queen will be too.>

Theon was sure of it. He even had a strong urge to push her into the sea.

***

Sansa, wearing a dark hood and her red hair tied back, was waiting for them at the harbor.

Robb recognized her from afar in the dawn light and, without hesitation, held out a hand.

<Sodomy is not welcome,> Theon reminded him.

Theon turned to look at him. <It was your mother's, though.>

Robb's expression was serious, and his hand was still outstretched. <She told me to live. To get up and walk out.>

"He hated me," Theon thought. But he couldn't say it, because he had promised Bran he wouldn't hurt Robb. But more than anything, he couldn't say it because Robb already knew, and his hand was there anyway, a constant offering. Theon, like Robb, had to live.

He let their fingers intertwine, and stepped off the ship before helping Robb do the same.

From afar, Sansa saw them and smiled.

***

Sansa took a step forward, and Robb took a step back as he let go of Theon.

It was enough. A silent signal, something only two siblings could say without words.

He couldn't see Robb's expression. But Sansa was embracing him, her lips on his cheek, her hands like harpoons on his skin. Sansa could hold, and she couldn't hurt. Sansa was the harbor, the ice when he burned with fever, the ointment on his bruises.
<You're home.>

The wind had died down, and the sound of the waves was drowned out by the sound of her heart. <I'm home.>

***

Halfway across the garden, Theon heard footsteps. The rush of air, the cry of joy.
Theon knelt, his arms outstretched. Sansa and Robb, like twin pillars, turned to look at him. If Robb was confused, Sansa was already smiling.

Jo landed in his arms, his voice filled with pure childish joy. <Uncle Theon! You're home!>

Before he could respond, the boy had launched into a long, detailed explanation of what had happened in his absence.

Theon felt the corner of his mouth lift slightly, his heart pounding.

<You too,> the boy whimpered, his head against his shoulder. <Jay is cute, and daddy reads the most beautiful stories, and mommy sang to me, but you weren't here, and everything was bad.>

Theon felt the same. That no matter how happy things were, there would always be something bad while he was away from home. Maybe that was what it felt like to raise a child from the moment he first opened his eyes.

He drew a couple of circles on Jo's back, waiting for him to calm down. He'd always been obedient, if a little clingy. All it took was Theon's promise that they'd sit together at lunch to calm him down.

<We haven't been able to get him to go back to bed since they told us the boat was in port,> Sansa said.

Jo nodded, pulling away from Theon just enough to look him in the eye. <You can never leave again.>

Theon bit his lip. Sansa was quicker. <Of course he can go. Uncle Theon can go wherever he wants. That's why it's nice when he comes back to us.>

Jolyon narrowed his eyes, considering the idea. Then he nodded with the seriousness only a four-year-old possessed. <All right. When I grow up and go away, though, you'll all have to wait for me until I return.>

<Of course,> Sansa said in a sweet voice. <We'll always wait for you.>

<We will,> Theon said, taking the boy's hand. In a low voice, so soft only the Drowned God could hear, he added,

Jo, seemingly reassured at being able to hold Theon's hand, turned her head to the side. <Oh, hello, uncle Robb. Are you back too?>

***

They left Sansa and Jo at the door of the Small Council chamber. Theon had to bend down and promise to join them as soon as he saw Tyrion.

Jo needed three more hugs before letting him go. Then, in a gentle tone, he added that Uncle Theon could bring uncle Robb, too, if he wanted.

Theon bit his lip to keep from laughing, and Robb waited until his nephew disappeared down the corridor before letting out a small groan. <Why does he like you so much?>

Theon admitted, though a part of him, childish and proud, was happy that the little prince liked him so much. <Maybe he just has a good sense of style.>

Robb looked down at the shirt and trousers he'd randomly picked from the trunk that morning, a stark contrast to Theon's black and gold suit. He smiled shamelessly.

<What?>

Robb laughed. <Nothing, love. You choose what I wear to lunch.>

***

As soon as their eyes met, Tyrion looked ready to leap from his throne and run to him. But he was the King, and the King had a job to do.

He looked at Robb, and his face must have told him everything he needed to know.

<Podrick, call an emergency meeting. There's trouble in the North.>

Notes:

(*) The lungs and their function related to respiration have been known since ancient Greece. So I imagined that even in the world of Game of Thrones, they are organs more or less known.

***

Memes before the end :)

***

Robb, absolutely thrilled: You didn't say yes!

Theon: If it makes you this happy, I can be even more of an asshole.

***

Throughout the journey, in King's Landing

Jo, whimpering: I miss Uncle Theon

Tyrion, whimpering like his son: Me too

Sansa, the worst of the three: Me too

Margaery: Dinner with Lady Yara is in ten minutes. Could you stop crying and go change?

Jo, Tyrion & Sansa: Not until Theon gets back.

***

Robb: And this is your horse, Grey Wind.

Theon:

Theon: You can't be serious.

Robb, with puppy dog eyes: But it's fate.

Theon, grossly insulting gods of four different religions: Fate is a bitch.

***

Theon: And what's your horse's name?

Robb: Ivory!

Theon: And couldn't we...?

Rob, wrapping half of his body around Ivory: SHE'S MY HORSE AND I LOVE HER

Theon: I don't even know why I tried

***

Bran, emotionless: I saw your death

Always Bran, with the voice of a crying ten-year-old: Be nice to my big brother, I love him

Bran, emotionless again: The world will explode

***

Bran: And this is the future

Theon: It doesn't seem realistic, are you sure?

Bran, regressing to his human age: No, I enjoy theorizing— OF COURSE I'M SURE

***

Robb, just waking up: I miss Ivory

Robb, at breakfast: I miss Ivory

Robb, showering: I miss Ivory

Robb, in his sleep: I miss Ivory

Theon, unable to sleep because of his longing sighs: I'm one "I miss Ivory" away from kidnapping that horse or killing her.

***

Robb: We're lovers.

Theon: But—

Robb: If I weren't hampered by biology and religion, you'd be my husband. Don't you dare deny me that.

Theon, pretending not to be moved: Do as you please

***

Sansa: Robb, please, try not to get accused of sodomy. You must be discreet.

Robb: I'm always discreet.

Robb, six seconds later: Theon, love of my life, my better half, could you please pass me a tissue?

Sansa:

Tyrion: Don't worry, we'll bribe the new High Septon.

***

It was long, but I hope it was worth it. Theon and Robb are doing their best.

Just imagine that, after the meeting, Tyrion kidnaps Theon for a good four hours to make sure everything is okay, he's had enough to eat, and he doesn't have to punch Robb. Of course, he'd have to line up after Sansa and Ally.

As you know, after this part, the North will become a principality, like Dorne. Robb, on Theon's advice, has two children with Yara: Torrhen and Catelyn Snow. Catelyn, in particular, will later be recognized and take the name Stark. Robb and Theon will raise her together, to the point that Cat will refer to Theon as "my second father". She will inherit the North when she comes of age, and at that point Bran and Meera will return to the marshes, to Greywater Watch, where they will (presumably) remain for the rest of their lives. Shireen will join them many years later.

It's not easy to overcome trauma, and love certainly isn't all it takes. It will take Theon a long time before he can handle physical contact, and there will always be days when it's simply too much, just as there will be days when he and Robb can sleep in each other's arms.

You can imagine that, some time after their return to King's Landing, Theon finally redecorated the room Tyrion had assigned him long ago. He and Robb often share it, though many other times he still stays with Tyrion and Sansa.
Even though Sansa and Theon become less codependent over the years, a part of them will always be tied to each other. Ultimately, they belong together in a complicated way all their own.

The whispers about Theon and Robb will always be there, and they won't be kind, but with time, they will learn to live with them. Deep down, they want to live, and they will, together. You'll occasionally see Robb wearing something of Theon's because "Nothing I had was good enough, according to certain people". Likewise, you'll sometimes see Theon practicing his bow, and a certain Stark will stop to watch the entire time. Sometimes, Rickon and Robb make bets on who, between Tommen and Theon, will score more hits. Walking through the most private rooms of the Red Keep, where no one should be able to hear, you might occasionally hear small, barely stifled laughter, and, if you could look beyond the walls, you'll meet Robb's proud, loving eyes and Theon's smile.

The second time they fell in love, they really did.

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