Theon had long since lost count of the number of nights he stayed up, imagining Robb the way they had described him. Stuck with arrows and cut down to shreds, the great dire wolf's head upon his shoulders as they sent his body out into the distance. He'd not be buried in Winterfell, no, but his bones would be left to the beasts. A failed King. A disgrace.
It was later the rumors had come, and long after Theon had given up hope of ever seeing Robb again anywhere but his dreams.
Robb was the accuser, the ghost that haunted his cell. Robb was the weight upon his shoulders, far heavier than anything else that had been there. Yes, the specter of the children returned to him, and the way their bodies had felt. He thought of the way their joints seemed to crack and refuse to move. The way the clothes fit and their fingers grasped. The way the skin peeled off their faces, and later, the mirror image as his own skin slowly sloughed off of his body, small tendrils all to connect it, an then gone, gone, gone.
Robb Stark had died, and yet he lived. Grey Wind had died, and yet he lived. Wolf and man both trod the grounds of Winterfell now, and the Dragon Queen herself had left him there to serve by his side. To defend against the coming battle, to hold the North. He was trusted, and why he did not know. There was some knowledge yet in that smirk and the stately intelligence within her violet eyes. What she saw, Theon could not put a word to; Robb didn't seem to notice. He stood there, a ghost made flesh, hideous scar upon his neck and the Drowned God knew what else beneath his clothing.
Theon had no choice. He would serve. He could not make right what he had done, but he could serve. He could live. He could protect this poor man from himself to the best of his poor ability.
"We live," Theon said haltingly. "We - remember the dead and honor them with our life."
The words seemed hollow, but Robb's body was not. He was heavy, strong, not the wraith that one would expect from his ill resurrection. Theon shivered as he slowly moved his gloved hand over Robb's back, attempting to soothe him as he sobbed, slowly collapsing. He and Theon both moved to the floor of the Broken Tower, the ill-creation that Bran had fallen from so many years ago. He pressed a dry kiss to Robb's hair, and shut his eyes.
"We - live. The Gods are not done with us yet, Robb. Why else would we still be here?"
