His heart fucking breaks with that, and he pulls Robb even closer, guiding his head to rest against his neck and – Jesus, he can feel the tears against his skin and he feels like crying himself. He feels that would be almost insulting to Robb’s grief, however, and he forces himself to gather some composure.
It’s so fucking difficult though. He can’t bear seeing Robb like this, having to endure this.
Robb was right. It wasn’t fair.
If he was a superstitious man, he’d suspect the Starks were cursed.
“You don’t have to stop it. You’re not to blame, Robb, it’s the fucking government, the one you stood up to.” He turns his face into Robb’s hair, breathing him in. “I’m not going anywhere, I swear. Not ever again. Not without you.”
That doesn’t calm him at all, truth be told. Paranoia has finally started to set deep in his bones and he bites his lip, unsure. Is it actually wise, for Theon to be so close? Everyone around Robb seems to be dying, why should Theon be the exception?
He’s never wanted so badly to take everyone he loves, put them in a plane and fly somewhere - anywhere, far away from here. New York wasn’t so bad. They had more than enough money, it’d be easy enough. Rickon and Bran would surely love it, it’d be an adventure.
But they’re Starks and they’re the heart of Scotland. This country, this child of a country who’s just beginning to give its first few steps, needs them. It needs the Young Wolf.
He speaks against Theon’s neck, his voice muffled into his skin.
“It wasn’t an accident. I know it. I’ll find out… I’ll give him justice.”