I don't have cats so hopefully this will suffice
Sansa Stark and her Hound always made Theon want to walk. He’d see them in the halls, hand in hand, Sansa’s smile as slight as bird wings, the dog’s scowl a still, peaceful line, and Theon would nod, give them the quickest greetings, turn, leave.
And here they were again. They didn’t see him. But he saw them.
Sansa Stark and her Hound always made Theon want to walk. No, run. And he knew where. That was why he never stood, when he found them. Just fled.
But this time, Theon sat. Kept watching. Kept letting the sight fill him with what he needed to see.
Little Sansa was not so little anymore—tall for a woman, lean and strong and beautiful, yet Sandor Clegane still towered over her. A dog for the Lannisters, not fit for a Wolf Princess, yet here they were, in the open, in the snow. His massive hands had never been so gentle as when they found her waist, or her hair, and Sansa’s haunted Tully eyes were never more blue and calm than when she saw him. Theon knew what they’d looked like, before Clegane’s crossed Winterfell’s gate. Sky colored rivers, bled in grey, peddled with rain that never faded. Little drops of hurt, but millions of them, endless. Theon knew that pain. It rained inside him, too.
And Clegane. A hulking, hideous, scarred, brutish thing. He had children’s blood on his hands, too, Theon knew. Arya’s friend, the butcher’s boy. And a traitor, as well. An understandable traitor, but a traitor like him, like him, broken like him, ugly like him, done. His eyes locked on a woman’s though, and, gods—even in all of his wretchedness, Sandor Clegane had less of it than Theon Greyjoy.
But still.
Still.
Theon watched them until he saw it all. He watched until the snows graced him in a sheet. He watched until his tears dried. He watched until they were gone.
Then he walked.
The solar was dark save for the faint sighs of light, yet somehow King Robb Stark glowed more than he always had. I can see him now, Theon knew. I can watch without hiding.
Robb looked up from his papers, auburn hair gleaming copper in the grey winter light. “Is everything all right?” he asked. His eyes met Theon’s, briefly, darting. Not letting himself see, like always.
Theon walked to him. He was limping, because his toes were still missing, but that was all right. The fingers he had left kissed Robb’s shaking, sweating fist, held him.
Robb’s hiding eyes fluttered, watered, blinked, but he didn’t pull away. Waited.
Theon grinned at him. His teeth were missing, but his smile was brighter than it had ever been, he knew.
And it was all right.
“Not yet,” Theon said. He cupped his king’s perfect face.
Robb closed his haunted Tully eyes, leaned into the touch. Blue rivers peddled with rain, but calm now, and Theon found that it did not rain inside him so much anymore now, either.
Sansa Stark and her Hound made Theon want to run, and Theon knew where. So he did. And you caught me.
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