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His dreams are colored by Robb. Even now, cracked and splintered, his dreams are colored by Robb.

“No, no, no,” Theon muttered, kneading his forehead, wind whistling through his broken teeth. Thinking is dangerous. Dreams are dangerous. This is dangerous.

But he can’t help it. His eyes closed and he saw Robb’s mess of auburn hair, saw his clear gaze, saw Robb. An ache bloomed in his chest, near where his heart should be, where it was before Reek, before he lost his name.

He felt almost rebellious, going away and dreaming of Robb with Ramsay in sight and the dogs crowded around him, nosing his battered hands. His name came back to him, almost, hovering just within his reach and he could feel Robb’s grin pressed against his skin.


He found out a few days later, the dream shattering into itself.

I should have been with him. Where was I? I should have died with him.