This goes wildly AU from 2x03 - let's assume Theon sent that letter. *cough* also I'm pretty sure that I made up the pools in Winterfell but then again it was needed. ;)
It takes him one month to finally get back to Winterfell after he sends the letter. He had pretended to accept his one longship and then abandoned it at the third of the villages he was supposed to raid. He’d have waited some more, but he could hear the crew whispering behind his back about his lack of enthusiasm and he heard news of northern men having been ready to defend Deepwood Motte from his sister. It wasn’t going to take long for people to find out why they had known.
Sadly, making your way through the North on your own when you’re dressed like an ironborn, you don’t have much coin with you and you’d better not be recognized isn’t an easy affair, and when he finally sees Winterfell’s walls, he’s exhausted. He’s filthy, his shoes are falling apart and he thinks he lost too much weight for his liking. He isn’t really expecting much of a welcome, actually he’ll be glad if they let him pass without asking questions, but the moment the guard recognizes him he’s proved wrong. First the guards start thanking him, then Ser Rodrik comes to the gate and tells him to hurry inside, and the few people in the yard are cheering when he passes in front of them.
This all feels like some fucking crazy dream.
It keeps on feeling like a dream when they get to the main hall. It’s crawling with bannermen - he probably ended up here in the middle of a war council. And the moment he walks in, everyone falls silent. Oh gods, he doesn’t even know what he should expect - and he sees a flash of red, and Robb is walking towards him, his lips curled in a relieved smile, and Theon hadn’t known how much he had hoped to come back to it until this very moment.
If only they were alone, he thinks. When Robb stops in front of him, Theon swallows. Time to start with the courtesies.
“Your Grace -”
“My lord,” Robb cuts him, and Theon has to keep himself from asking him what the fuck he’s saying. He’s no lord anymore, not after what he’s done. “It’s good to see you,” Robb keeps on. “We had been worrying.”
Theon doubts that anyone else but Robb would have. He settles on giving him a small, useless nod.
“Is there anything you’d wish for? Your journey must have been tiresome.”
I wish it had been just that. “If it please Your Grace, I could use a bath.” He really could - every muscle in his body hurts.
Robb gives him a curt nod and says that the council is suspended until tomorrow. Theon can’t believe that he’d interrupt it on account of him.
--
There are a couple of fairly big underground pools in Winterfell, and when he’s told to go there rather than to a room where a tub would be brought he’s almost relieved. He won’t have to stay in a cramped space, at least. He strips quickly, leaving his filthy clothes outside, and when he steps into blissfully warm water he can’t help groaning out loud. His back is still hurting, and he can barely feel his feet.
Then he hears a door open and then close, and he sees Robb on the edge of the same pool, stripping.
“Your Grace, what -”
“No better occasion for us to talk alone,” Robb replies, pushing down his breeches and stepping into the same pool. Theon swallows, trying not to stare - once, he’d have done it shamelessly. And it would have brought to other, more pleasurable things - not that they ever talked about it, but it hadn’t even happened only a handful of times. Now he’s not so sure. When he raises his head, Robb is sitting next to him, blue eyes staring into his.
“First, don’t ever try to call me Your Grace again if no one is around to hear it. I already told you once.”
He swallows again, hating that he’s finding himself without words.
“Fine,” he manages. “If you do me the same courtesy. My lord? Seriously? I’m - I’m not that anymore and you know it.”
“Seriously. But I wasn’t planning on using that when no one could hear me, either. And I don’t care what your father says you are.”
He pauses for a moment, then his eyes narrow as he looks at Theon’s shoulders. “You’re tense,” Robb says. “Allow me?”
He turns on his side, his hands going to Theon’s shoulderblades. Theon is too dumbfounded to say anything but yes, and so he turns so that he has his back to Robb. He has to bite his tongue not to groan out loud when Robb starts drawing circles over his tense muscles. Sometimes he moves one hand away and when his palm touches Theon’s back, warm water falls from it, running over his spine. He’s doing this so gently, so slowly, and Theon can feel the tension in his muscles leaving them, bit by bit. He doesn’t know why Robb is doing this, but hells, he doesn’t want him to stop.
The point is that Robb doesn’t stop even when he’s technically done. One of his hands keeps on running over Theon’s spine, while the other cups his hip, his thumb drawing circles over it.
“Robb?” he asks, hating how small his voice sounds. “What are you even doing?”
“The least you deserve,” Robb replies. “If you hadn’t sent that letter - better not think about it. And I wasn’t lying before, I was worried sick. You ended up disappearing after it got to me, I was starting to assume that you had died at some point.”
“I couldn’t exactly write without someone finding it out. I had to flee.” He tries to keep his voice flat, but then Robb’s arm wraps around his waist, Robb’s chin is on his shoulder and it’s all so gentle, he isn’t sure he can take it.
“Don’t even try to think that I don’t understand what it means,” Robb whispers, and Theon shivers.
“It wasn’t - I’m sorry it didn’t work,” he settles on. He isn’t sure he can talk about the rest. He isn’t even sure he wants Robb to know. If he thinks hard enough he can feel his cheek stinging, no, hurting, or the sharp pain he had felt the moment his back had hit that chair or that table, and that’s not - Robb doesn’t need to know that.
“It doesn’t change anything.”
He hadn’t known how much he had wanted to hear it until now, but the moment Robb says it, he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. He couldn’t have taken it if he had come back here just to be met with more resentment. And then - then Robb moves closer, his frame flushed against Theon’s back, and the hand he had on his shoulder moves up to his hair, rough fingers carding through them, and he loses it. He lets his head fall back on Robb’s shoulder, closes his eyes. He isn’t thinking when his hand goes to the one Robb’s has on his stomach, but then Robb doesn’t let him pull it away and his fingers are curling around Theon’s; he hears Robb gasping then, and he already knows what is about to happen. Robb lifts their joined hands, noticing for the first time that Theon’s fingers are covered in cuts, that there’s a scar on his palm, that there’s still some dirt under his nails.
“Don’t stare that long, Stark. That’s what happens when you flee in the middle of the night and it takes you a month to get where you’re headed.” He knows he’s flushing in shame at that - walking back to your captors like some lost dog? , a voice in his head asks, and it sounds like his father’s, not that it’s surprising at all.
The last thing he expects is for Robb to kiss the back of his hand a moment later.
He turns his head, staring at Robb, whose stare is still halfway between concerned and relieved, and he can’t hold back the question anymore.
“What happens now?” He doesn’t think he’s ever sounded this unsure in his entire life, but he hasn’t ever felt this out of place in his entire life. Not even when he came to Winterfell the first time.
“It happens that we still avenge my father and that yours might regret not having gone to war with me. For now it happens that my bannermen will have to make do without my presence until tomorrow.”
“Oh, will they?” he asks, and he does sound a lot less humble, but then again he only needed to hear that he could stay - and he heard it. “Won’t they be wondering what their precious king has to do with the likes of me?” Not as if it wouldn’t be a legitimate question. He has no name or title to speak of, after all.
“Most probably,” Robb agrees, moving so that they’re actually facing each other. “But at least there’s one privilege coming with that forsaken crown.”
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t owe them explanations.”
Theon doesn’t know who moves first, but a moment later they’re slipping down the steps, the water arriving at his shoulders rather than his waist, Robb’s mouth is on his, Robb’s hand is still carding through his hair again, Robb’s tongue is warm against Theon’s; if before he arrived here he had doubted his choice at times, he’s sure of it now.
It's been such a long day and t his-this was just ...OH I SO WANTED THIS AND DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE IT.
This is all so beautiful. GAh. I kinda (REALLY) want to hug Theon. I love how understanding they seem to be. It is a huge deal, especially to Theon, but it's as if they understand that times of war and family can complicate things. And that, in the end, it's about who is truly on your side or not.
You hit so many of my kinks you don't even know. AAHHH! I love it. (Though I wish Robb would give ME a back rub right about now, I'll totally take this instead.)
The voices, the setting, everything just makes me so darn happy! THANK YOU SO MUCH!
It takes him one month to finally get back to Winterfell after he sends the letter. He had pretended to accept his one longship and then abandoned it at the third of the villages he was supposed to raid. He’d have waited some more, but he could hear the crew whispering behind his back about his lack of enthusiasm and he heard news of northern men having been ready to defend Deepwood Motte from his sister. It wasn’t going to take long for people to find out why they had known.
Sadly, making your way through the North on your own when you’re dressed like an ironborn, you don’t have much coin with you and you’d better not be recognized isn’t an easy affair, and when he finally sees Winterfell’s walls, he’s exhausted. He’s filthy, his shoes are falling apart and he thinks he lost too much weight for his liking. He isn’t really expecting much of a welcome, actually he’ll be glad if they let him pass without asking questions, but the moment the guard recognizes him he’s proved wrong. First the guards start thanking him, then Ser Rodrik comes to the gate and tells him to hurry inside, and the few people in the yard are cheering when he passes in front of them.
This all feels like some fucking crazy dream.
It keeps on feeling like a dream when they get to the main hall. It’s crawling with bannermen - he probably ended up here in the middle of a war council. And the moment he walks in, everyone falls silent. Oh gods, he doesn’t even know what he should expect - and he sees a flash of red, and Robb is walking towards him, his lips curled in a relieved smile, and Theon hadn’t known how much he had hoped to come back to it until this very moment.
If only they were alone, he thinks. When Robb stops in front of him, Theon swallows. Time to start with the courtesies.
“Your Grace -”
“My lord,” Robb cuts him, and Theon has to keep himself from asking him what the fuck he’s saying. He’s no lord anymore, not after what he’s done. “It’s good to see you,” Robb keeps on. “We had been worrying.”
Theon doubts that anyone else but Robb would have. He settles on giving him a small, useless nod.
“Is there anything you’d wish for? Your journey must have been tiresome.”
I wish it had been just that. “If it please Your Grace, I could use a bath.” He really could - every muscle in his body hurts.
Robb gives him a curt nod and says that the council is suspended until tomorrow. Theon can’t believe that he’d interrupt it on account of him.
--
There are a couple of fairly big underground pools in Winterfell, and when he’s told to go there rather than to a room where a tub would be brought he’s almost relieved. He won’t have to stay in a cramped space, at least. He strips quickly, leaving his filthy clothes outside, and when he steps into blissfully warm water he can’t help groaning out loud. His back is still hurting, and he can barely feel his feet.
Then he hears a door open and then close, and he sees Robb on the edge of the same pool, stripping.
“Your Grace, what -”
“No better occasion for us to talk alone,” Robb replies, pushing down his breeches and stepping into the same pool. Theon swallows, trying not to stare - once, he’d have done it shamelessly. And it would have brought to other, more pleasurable things - not that they ever talked about it, but it hadn’t even happened only a handful of times. Now he’s not so sure. When he raises his head, Robb is sitting next to him, blue eyes staring into his.
“First, don’t ever try to call me Your Grace again if no one is around to hear it. I already told you once.”
He swallows again, hating that he’s finding himself without words.
“Fine,” he manages. “If you do me the same courtesy. My lord? Seriously? I’m - I’m not that anymore and you know it.”
“Seriously. But I wasn’t planning on using that when no one could hear me, either. And I don’t care what your father says you are.”
He pauses for a moment, then his eyes narrow as he looks at Theon’s shoulders. “You’re tense,” Robb says. “Allow me?”
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The point is that Robb doesn’t stop even when he’s technically done. One of his hands keeps on running over Theon’s spine, while the other cups his hip, his thumb drawing circles over it.
“Robb?” he asks, hating how small his voice sounds. “What are you even doing?”
“The least you deserve,” Robb replies. “If you hadn’t sent that letter - better not think about it. And I wasn’t lying before, I was worried sick. You ended up disappearing after it got to me, I was starting to assume that you had died at some point.”
“I couldn’t exactly write without someone finding it out. I had to flee.” He tries to keep his voice flat, but then Robb’s arm wraps around his waist, Robb’s chin is on his shoulder and it’s all so gentle, he isn’t sure he can take it.
“Don’t even try to think that I don’t understand what it means,” Robb whispers, and Theon shivers.
“It wasn’t - I’m sorry it didn’t work,” he settles on. He isn’t sure he can talk about the rest. He isn’t even sure he wants Robb to know. If he thinks hard enough he can feel his cheek stinging, no, hurting, or the sharp pain he had felt the moment his back had hit that chair or that table, and that’s not - Robb doesn’t need to know that.
“It doesn’t change anything.”
He hadn’t known how much he had wanted to hear it until now, but the moment Robb says it, he feels a weight lift off his shoulders. He couldn’t have taken it if he had come back here just to be met with more resentment. And then - then Robb moves closer, his frame flushed against Theon’s back, and the hand he had on his shoulder moves up to his hair, rough fingers carding through them, and he loses it. He lets his head fall back on Robb’s shoulder, closes his eyes. He isn’t thinking when his hand goes to the one Robb’s has on his stomach, but then Robb doesn’t let him pull it away and his fingers are curling around Theon’s; he hears Robb gasping then, and he already knows what is about to happen. Robb lifts their joined hands, noticing for the first time that Theon’s fingers are covered in cuts, that there’s a scar on his palm, that there’s still some dirt under his nails.
“Don’t stare that long, Stark. That’s what happens when you flee in the middle of the night and it takes you a month to get where you’re headed.” He knows he’s flushing in shame at that - walking back to your captors like some lost dog? , a voice in his head asks, and it sounds like his father’s, not that it’s surprising at all.
The last thing he expects is for Robb to kiss the back of his hand a moment later.
He turns his head, staring at Robb, whose stare is still halfway between concerned and relieved, and he can’t hold back the question anymore.
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“It happens that we still avenge my father and that yours might regret not having gone to war with me. For now it happens that my bannermen will have to make do without my presence until tomorrow.”
“Oh, will they?” he asks, and he does sound a lot less humble, but then again he only needed to hear that he could stay - and he heard it. “Won’t they be wondering what their precious king has to do with the likes of me?” Not as if it wouldn’t be a legitimate question. He has no name or title to speak of, after all.
“Most probably,” Robb agrees, moving so that they’re actually facing each other. “But at least there’s one privilege coming with that forsaken crown.”
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t owe them explanations.”
Theon doesn’t know who moves first, but a moment later they’re slipping down the steps, the water arriving at his shoulders rather than his waist, Robb’s mouth is on his, Robb’s hand is still carding through his hair again, Robb’s tongue is warm against Theon’s; if before he arrived here he had doubted his choice at times, he’s sure of it now.
Reply
It's been such a long day and t his-this was just ...OH I SO WANTED THIS AND DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE IT.
This is all so beautiful. GAh. I kinda (REALLY) want to hug Theon. I love how understanding they seem to be. It is a huge deal, especially to Theon, but it's as if they understand that times of war and family can complicate things. And that, in the end, it's about who is truly on your side or not.
You hit so many of my kinks you don't even know. AAHHH! I love it. (Though I wish Robb would give ME a back rub right about now, I'll totally take this instead.)
The voices, the setting, everything just makes me so darn happy! THANK YOU SO MUCH!
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this was everything I needed (especially with all the *** going to happens in the show) everything about it was spot on!♥
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