you're the sandbank in the ocean, oxygen in my blood.

[teamkill]

i don't mind dying if you follow me up.
a song of ice and fire/game of thrones CANON MASHUP I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, robb stark & theon greyjoy. spoilers for all published asoiaf books.
pg-13. ish. i guess.
for rocketfalls sort of bc she's an asshole.

Theon Greyjoy is a boy.

Ned Stark takes him from the sea and from the rocky cliffs of Pyke, from the Drowned God and the Iron Islands, and brings him to the cold, hard lands of the North, where the men are silent and somber, where Theon can't smell the salt water.

Winterfell is nothing like Pyke, and Theon doesn't know who he's supposed to be, so he pretends to be someone else. He finds a mask and puts it on, dresses himself up and speaks pretty words of a home he never really knew, of a life he never had the chance to live. Theon Greyjoy becomes Theon Greyjoy for the first time, all sharp smiles and sharp tongues, so different from the quiet boy he'd been in Pyke, anchored down under the weight of his brothers' and sister's shadows.

Then he meets Robb Stark, a red-faced boy of five years with the brightest eyes Theon has ever seen.

Robb follows Theon with his tiny hands fisted in the backs of Theon's trousers so he doesn't lose him, even when he tries to shake him off and tells him get, go on. Sometimes he shakes too hard, and Robb wraps his arms around his knees and pleads and cries and begs him not to go.

And Theon thinks oh.

-

Theon Greyjoy is a man—

—when he kisses Robb for the first time, and Robb kisses him back, desperate and young and vulnerable in a way Theon's never seen from him before. His mouth is hot, wet, open, and Theon takes what Robb gives him then takes a little more, his fingers firm in his hair as he guides him onto his bed, spreads him open across his furs.

The castle is quiet everywhere except for here, where Theon kneels over him and touches him and kisses him, and he wants to say so much but the words never come; they clench tight in his throat, lost on every wretched exhale. He has a hand on Robb's cock and a hand on his ass, and Robb is writhing, twisting, begging and gasping, biting hard at Theon's mouth and tongue in a kiss that's not really a kiss but a threat or a promise or maybe both.

Robb says now and always, Theon, swear it, swear it, and Theon swears always, always, always, always.

-

(Until—)

-

Theon Greyjoy is a prince.

Winterfell goes up in a cloud of smoke and ash, and Theon's mask goes up with it.

He's a prince and a poor leader, barking shaky commands to men who don't respect him and burning the bodies of little boys to mount outside the castle walls, and sometimes when he's alone, he thinks of Robb and hopes he'll come for him as much as he hopes he doesn't. Robb Stark, the King in the North, come to avenge the deaths of the boys who weren't really his brothers, come to kill Theon himself, come to ask him why.

And he thinks and thinks, jerks off to the memory of Robb's face, his soft mouth, and most of the time he comes just like that, to memories he wishes he could forget but never will. Other times he comes to the thought of Robb's sword at his throat, or Robb crying because he can't, he can't, he won't, not Theon, not ever.

But that's a fantasy, not a memory, and Theon knows better.

Once, Bran Stark looked at him and asked, did you hate us the whole time? and Theon replied, no.

Not the whole time.

-

(Brave Robb Stark marries sweet Jeyne Westerling, and the traitor Theon Greyjoy is not invited to the wedding.)

-

(Brave Robb Stark is too brave and fucks everything up.)

-

(Brave Robb Stark is—)

-

Theon Greyjoy is a ghost, and Robb Stark is dead.

Most mornings, Theon can't feel his hands. He shakes and limps, his hair falling in clumps from his bruised scalp, and when he hears the news of Robb's death, he stops and doesn't breathe, doesn't shake or tremble or collapse.

Robb Stark is dead.

He doesn't want to know how, but he finds out anyway, hears stories of the Freys' false wedding and Robb's false allies, how he was driven through with a sword, how they'd taken his crown and crowned him with a wolf's head instead, and oh look at the brave king now, the boy king Robb Stark, the Young Wolf in the flesh.

Robb had cried, Theon's told, as any boy of sixteen would, and Theon thinks of Robb in the long summer, in the grassy fields of Winterfell following close at Theon's heels, his blue eyes wide and wet with tears.

-

Later, Asha begs and barters for her brother's life at the feet of Stannis Baratheon.

When Stannis refuses, she looks to Theon (her little brother, her only brother) and wipes the tears from her dirt-streaked cheeks.

-

The blade is cool and sharp at Theon's neck, and he's on his knees pretending as he'd pretended when he was a child. He's long forgotten the smell of the sea, but he remembers the North as well as he remembers the sound of Robb's voice. He remembers the walls of Winterfell, the rocky dirt, Jon Snow racing him through the winter town, Robb's hand in his squeezing, his promises of always, always.

This is home, always.

(Always.)

The blade lifts, and Theon smiles.