“Well, he’s dead now. But that’s not the point. He – he started calling me like that.” Robb has to move closer to hear what Theon is saying by now. His voice is barely audible. “He wanted me to – he wanted me to answer to that name. Why do you think that he never let me wash? But – he knew it when I did it just because he wanted it. I think – I think he wanted me to really believe it.”
“What else did he do to you?”
Theon breaks eye contact and looks down again. “I can’t.”
“What else did he do?”
It sounded pretty heartless, but Robb can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.
Theon stands up, throws the cloak over his shoulder and manages to unlace his shirt with shaking hands.
His entire chest was flayed at some point. Some bits are healed, others are red and still raw, some patches of skin are deep pink, and fuck, Robb can see his ribs.
Theon doesn’t even bother lacing the shirt up again and covers it with the cloak. Then he takes a breath, looks towards the window and tells Robb about him and a serving girl having tried to escape and the entire thing ending with him losing one finger and the girl being eaten by Ramsay’s dogs. After hearing about that, the flaying, how Theon had had to ask to have his fingers cut and about how he lost his teeth, Robb thinks he’s going to feel sick.
“And – he made me – he made me –” Theon pauses. “He made me –,” he tries again, but then he shakes his head. Robb isn’t sure that pushing this is be a good idea. “Please, I can’t – I can’t go on. If you want to kill me just do it already, I deserve it and you have the rights, but I can’t.”
It’s the way Theon’s voice breaks on the last two words that seals it. Robb is sure that he has never in his life seen him cry, not even when they were children, but he is doing it now, small, uneven sobs that he’s obviously trying not to let out.
If he had really killed his brothers, and if he had been the one to destroy Winterfell, Robb would have still gone through with the beheading.
But as things stand, beheading Theon would just make him feel unnecessarily cruel.
“I can’t,” he admits. Theon looks up at him again, his eyes slightly widening.
“You – you can’t?”
“Damn you – I can’t do it. I never – I wanted you dead, not tortured. Killing you now wouldn’t make me feel better, and I wouldn’t even bring justice to my brothers, since they aren’t even dead.” He’ll have to organize search parties in the near future. “And any punishment I could come up with wouldn’t be worse than what already happened, anyway. Just – go. I’ll sort this out some way.”
The last thing he expects is for Theon to stand up and take a couple of steps towards him just to fall down on one knee the second later. His hands reach up and grab fistfuls of his cloak, and gods, this is so wrong, and Robb should move away, but the only thought that goes through his brain is why would he even bend the knee?
“If I could do it all over again I’d pick you over them,” Theon croaks, and Robb doesn’t even question the statement. Theon might have been a good actor when the point was fooling people into thinking that he was fine at any given moment, but this is no mummer’s farce and it’s plain.
“And you’re doing it now?”
“For what it’s worth, I’m yours.”
Robb had never wanted it to be like this. The way he had planned it, that offer would have been accepted, and their families would have had an alliance, and if the war was won then they’d stay allies, and they could have stayed friends.
As it is, the only thing that can even work is keeping him as an hostage all over again, and Robb wishes it hadn’t gone like this.
Nothing should have gone the way it had.
And when he realizes that his hand has covered Theon’s maimed one, he knows that in a short while he’ll be trying to find a convincing explanation to feed his bannermen to justify the lack of another head rolling in the yard.
Re: fill: we had the greatest expectations, robb/theon, adwd spoilers, 4/?
“What else did he do to you?”
Theon breaks eye contact and looks down again. “I can’t.”
“What else did he do?”
It sounded pretty heartless, but Robb can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.
Theon stands up, throws the cloak over his shoulder and manages to unlace his shirt with shaking hands.
His entire chest was flayed at some point. Some bits are healed, others are red and still raw, some patches of skin are deep pink, and fuck, Robb can see his ribs.
Theon doesn’t even bother lacing the shirt up again and covers it with the cloak. Then he takes a breath, looks towards the window and tells Robb about him and a serving girl having tried to escape and the entire thing ending with him losing one finger and the girl being eaten by Ramsay’s dogs. After hearing about that, the flaying, how Theon had had to ask to have his fingers cut and about how he lost his teeth, Robb thinks he’s going to feel sick.
“And – he made me – he made me –” Theon pauses. “He made me –,” he tries again, but then he shakes his head. Robb isn’t sure that pushing this is be a good idea. “Please, I can’t – I can’t go on. If you want to kill me just do it already, I deserve it and you have the rights, but I can’t.”
It’s the way Theon’s voice breaks on the last two words that seals it. Robb is sure that he has never in his life seen him cry, not even when they were children, but he is doing it now, small, uneven sobs that he’s obviously trying not to let out.
If he had really killed his brothers, and if he had been the one to destroy Winterfell, Robb would have still gone through with the beheading.
But as things stand, beheading Theon would just make him feel unnecessarily cruel.
“I can’t,” he admits. Theon looks up at him again, his eyes slightly widening.
“You – you can’t?”
“Damn you – I can’t do it. I never – I wanted you dead, not tortured. Killing you now wouldn’t make me feel better, and I wouldn’t even bring justice to my brothers, since they aren’t even dead.” He’ll have to organize search parties in the near future. “And any punishment I could come up with wouldn’t be worse than what already happened, anyway. Just – go. I’ll sort this out some way.”
The last thing he expects is for Theon to stand up and take a couple of steps towards him just to fall down on one knee the second later. His hands reach up and grab fistfuls of his cloak, and gods, this is so wrong, and Robb should move away, but the only thought that goes through his brain is why would he even bend the knee?
“If I could do it all over again I’d pick you over them,” Theon croaks, and Robb doesn’t even question the statement. Theon might have been a good actor when the point was fooling people into thinking that he was fine at any given moment, but this is no mummer’s farce and it’s plain.
“And you’re doing it now?”
“For what it’s worth, I’m yours.”
Robb had never wanted it to be like this. The way he had planned it, that offer would have been accepted, and their families would have had an alliance, and if the war was won then they’d stay allies, and they could have stayed friends.
As it is, the only thing that can even work is keeping him as an hostage all over again, and Robb wishes it hadn’t gone like this.
Nothing should have gone the way it had.
And when he realizes that his hand has covered Theon’s maimed one, he knows that in a short while he’ll be trying to find a convincing explanation to feed his bannermen to justify the lack of another head rolling in the yard.
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