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They meet at Winterfell two months after he jumps from its roof with Jeyne. Jon doesn't recognize him at first glance. Actually, at first glance he dismisses him, probably taking him for one of the survived smallfolk.

Then he turns again in his direction, moves closer and takes a good look at him, and then a second one. His eyes widen, then he shakes his head once.

"Theon?" he gasps, sounding sincerely surprised. Theon is almost sure that if he confirms it Jon will kill him here and now, and oh, all the reasons he would have for it. He looks a bit different, too. His face is still the same, but he looks older, with lines on his skin that no one that hasn't reached thirty should have. But the eyes are that same gray that was Ned Stark's and never was Robb's, and there's only disbelief in there.

Also, Theon is done with lies. He's really done.

"Who else?" He whispers, trying not to show his teeth. (They're still broken. There isn't a maester good enough around here to try to fix them.) At least he looks a bit better now – two months sleeping on a bed and bathing as much as he could have had results. He still can't run, and his fingers are still gone, he's thinner than Jon now, and his hair hasn't regrown as dark as it used to be. Maybe if Jon does kill him after all it won't be that bad of a thing.

"What in the seven hells happened to you?" Jon says instead, and Theon remembers something he hadn't thought in a long while.

Bastard or not, Jon always was a better person than he ever could be.

"Has no one told you?"

Jon's eyes narrow – he's obviously trying to figure it out – and then they go wide again. He swallows, nodding, looking down at Theon's hands.

"I thought you'd be angrier," Theon whispers, unable to keep it to himself.

"I know how being stabbed in the back feels like," Jon replies, and then he goes to search for Stannis.

--

Two hours later, everyone knows that the Wall is in the hands of deserters.

There's a woman with red hair who came along with Jon. They talk with Stannis for a long while, and when it's over and it's time for getting his ration of food, Theon dares glancing at Stannis as he sits at his table with both Jon and the red woman.

The king looks relieved.

And Jon is still sitting where Theon never could sit. But he's over that.

That stated, he probably never deserved it.

--

Jon finds him in the godswood the next day.

Theon keeps on spending time in front of that tree that he's sure spoke to him once, hoping that it might speak twice, but it never happened again.

"You know," Jon says, "when I heard about what you did at Winterfell, I thought that I'd kill you if I ever saw your face again."

"Why don’t you, then?" Theon would only understand it.

"Between the king and your sister, I learned enough about how it really went."

"Does it change anything?"

"I told you. I know how it feels."

They stay in silence for another minute. And Theon can't stand it anymore.

"Are you still a black brother?"

"My watch has ended," Jon replies, his voice lower as he stares at the tree. Then he slowly turns towards Theon. He moves his furs away and unlaces the lower half of his shirt, moving so that his frame can be visible.

Theon almost retches - it looks as if someone has stabbed him multiple times.

"What –"

"Maybe you shouldn't be here. But I shouldn't as well," he murmurs, and covers everything up again.

When Jon kneels down, Theon follows him, not exactly sure of what is even happening. They never were so civil with each other, he thinks. They only could be civil with each other for –

He can't avoid the strangled, little sob that escapes out of his mouth. He tries not to think about Robb generally because whenever he does he feels as if the ground should swallow him whole. But what he isn't expecting is Jon turning towards him, a small smile curling his pale lips, his eyes sad.

"We should both have been with him, shouldn't we?"

Theon gives him a curt nod. Too late, he thinks. Too late to realize that Robb's side was the only right place for the both of them. Not the Wall, not Pyke.

"I really had thought I'd get him that alliance,” Theon says to break the silence. “And maybe after – I always wanted to be one of yours. And then I realized it was never going to happen and I took Winterfell myself. Whenever I think about it, I only ask myself how I could have been so stupid."

"Don't you know that it's the one thing I always wanted as well?"

"Snow, your name was your only obstacle. Mine was only the first."

It's ridiculous, really, that being a Stark is the one thing they both wanted. At least Jon never managed to destroy anything in his path.

Not that Theon hasn't paid for it.

Not that Jon hasn't paid either, except that he probably never did anything as wrong.

--

Theon is proved right not even a week later. Howland Reed arrives at Winterfell with a letter, and that letter had Robb's sigil, and it had been written before the Red Wedding.

Stannis reads it. Then he orders a servant to get Jon. Theon is only there because his sister is there and he tends not to stray too far from her when being around other northern lords. (He thinks about the kingsmoot he's supposed to call off in a while. It was the term Asha used to go from hostages to possible allies. He had agreed, but the more he thinks about it, the more he feels terrified.)

Jon reads the letter and all color drains from his face.

"Your Grace," he says turning towards Stannis. "My – Robb Stark is dead. I'm not sure that this is anything more than a piece of paper by now. And we all know that –"

"Why don't you read it out loud?"

The letter says that with Bran and Rickon dead, if Robb dies, Jon inherits.

The rest of the hall stays in silence. Jon looks as if he'll faint any second. Then Howland Reed says that until they find the two surviving Stark children, they might as well do what their king wished for.

There hasn't been a Stark in Winterfell for too long.

If this had happened two or three years ago, Theon would have eaten his own hands in envy, wondering why destiny liked Jon better than him.

But the part of him that fell prey to petty envy died a long time ago. Now what he thinks is that it's only fitting.

Also, if Robb wanted it, who is Theon to resent it?

--

"Stannis offered me the same thing once," Jon tells him some days later.

"Why didn't you take it?"

"It wasn't how I thought it should have gone. And I thought the Wall was my place. But – if Robb did it – I couldn't refuse."

"And why are you even telling me this?"

"Who else would even get it?"

Theon figures that it's time to at least attempt to put things… not right. Maybe straight. They can't ever be right again.

"If it's worth anything, I'm sorry I used to make your life more complicated than it was already." If only he had understood that it wasn't just about Jon being a bastard and eating at his same table.

"You know, I used to envy you."

"You did what?" Theon is positively baffled. Why in the world would Jon envy him?

"I didn't understand what Robb could see in you. And – well. You were from a great family. You were going to rule your lands one day or the other. You had everything that I could have hoped for."

Theon snorts once, trying to cover his teeth with his hand. He hates it when other people see the extent of the damage. "And I managed to ruin it all as you've seen. Figure it out, I use to envy you, too."

Jon's face goes from regretful to shocked. "Excuse me?"

"Jon, you might have been Ned Stark's bastard, but you've never lived with his coldness. He never dealt with you knowing that one day he might have cut your head. Lady Stark never liked you, either, but everyone else did. It all sounds so… damned petty now, doesn't it?"

"Gods, yes," Jon replies, and Theon breathes in and out slowly, the same way he does when he wakes up before dawn and has to calm himself down.

Jon, what would it rhyme with? he thinks for a second before shaking his head and curling his hands into fists, so hard that he's sure they're going to bleed. He still breathes in and out, trying to stop himself from thinking at all. He hasn't done that for... well, a long while. He has stopped trying to find stupid rhymes in any name that was thrown at him, and the last thing he needs is starting again.

There's a hand on his shoulder.

"Theon?" Jon whispers, and he looks scared out of his mind. The same way Asha looked the first time it happened after they had met again, and the same way Jeyne had along with her. "What's even –"

"It's – don't concern yourself. It barely happens anymore."

Jon doesn't look too convinced. "You look –"

"Do not concern yourself," he tries again.

Jon's hand tightens around his shoulder and Theon feels thankful – if it hurts, then he can focus on that.

"Ramsay Bolton sent me a letter when I was still Lord Commander. As I learned, it was all lies. There was one point. He said he wanted someone named Reek back."

Theon can't help it – he shudders so hard that Jon has to steady him with the other hand.

"I was right. It was you, wasn't it?"

"How –"

"I spoke with enough people around here. Including your sister. And including Jeyne Poole. Don't worry, they never went into details. That's everything I know."

Theon doesn't answer – what should he say? – but Jon doesn't leave and for some reason he can't bring himself to tell him to do it.

"I should have died with him." He isn't even sure that Jon heard it.

Jon shakes his head as his hand moves from Theon's elbow to his wrist to a couple of the three remaining fingers he has left on that side.

"I think the same most times. And I can't help thinking that it should be him in my place. Nothing we can do about it, though."

Nothing indeed, Theon thinks, and he doesn't move. Jon's hand is strangely warm, considering that they're surrounded by snow.

"How are you even here?" Theon asks, and Jon's smile is so sad that it makes his stomach turn.

"One day you'll know."

Jon doesn't offer anything else.

Theon doesn't ask further questions.

--

The crypts make him feel like vomiting, but he tries to keep at least a semblance of calm.

Jon is already in front of the statue he had ordered a couple of weeks ago. They have no bones and they might not come at all, but when Jon had said that the king in the North should at least have a grave, no one objected.

The statue resembles Robb enough, nothing to say. But no piece of stone carved in a rush can make the absence less hurtful.

If only he had never killed those children. Maybe Robb wouldn't have bedded Jeyne Westerling, and Walder Frey would have never felt the need to soothe his hurt pride with blood. Or maybe it still would have happened – Tywin Lannister could be convincing.

But at least he wouldn't be here, wondering every damned second how it would have gone if only he hadn't let his pride blind him that much.

Jon's face is unreadable. It almost makes Theon nervous, he looks as if made of the same stone of the statues surrounding them.

"They say I should hold a funeral." His voice doesn't sound much warmer either. It feels as if he has the cold of the Wall inside him and like it won't let go anytime soon.

"Without even the bones?"

Jon snorts. "I'm not even sure they'd have kept them. And apparently Lady Stark's body is nowhere to be found at all. I ordered a statue for her, too. The gods know that she'd hate to see me here."

Theon realizes that this is the second time he's been in the crypts in the last year, and both times he ended up listening to someone else’s problems, and both times it was about someone named Stark. He almost laughs at that, but bites his tongue instead. Laughing in here just seems all kinds of wrong.

"Robb did, though. Want you here."

Jon's expression softens as he turns his back to the empty grave. "That's the only reason why I accepted," he murmurs under his breath. Theon follows him towards the entrance, his feet hurting because the ground is more uneven than inside the castle and his missing toes don't make it any easier.

Jon notices it and stops, waiting for him to catch up.

"You know," he says, "regardless of what you did, he'd have never wanted you to go through that. He might have wanted to take your head himself, but – not that."

"How would you know?"

"Manderly told me a couple of days ago – apparently Robb said that. Some bannerman of his had been with the army. They didn't stay for the wedding, but apparently they were with Robb when Bolton brought him a piece of your finger. They told him that he looked like he wanted to throw up on his own feet."

"Is there a reason why you're telling me this?" Theon asks, feeling his eyes burn. He's done with crying in front of people. But knowing that makes it somehow easier – he had never thought once that Ramsay might have had his way with him because of someone else's orders, but the idea that Robb had known and maybe thought that it was what he deserved isn't foreign to him.

"Do you know what was one of the first decisions I took after I was elected Lord Commander? I ordered a girl to swap her newborn child for another and flee, and I convinced her by telling her that if she didn’t do it, both children would have died. The child she took instead of hers was the son of the king beyond the Wall. That child was going to be burned alive the same way your sister thought she would. It didn’t happen, but all the same, I ordered a girl to leave her child behind to possibly be burned alive if my plan hadn’t worked, and all for a title that with wildlings doesn't come with blood. And if it came to burn that other one... I wouldn't have said no. I couldn't have said no, because I needed the men who wanted that sacrifice, as much as I'd have liked the contrary. And – after my father died, I was about to desert and run for Robb's army, and someone told me that I'd have to choose between my families. One of which I had picked for myself. I tried, my friends didn't let me."

Theon feels his shoulders shaking. His first thought isn't well, well, Snow, that isn't as honorable as your lord father would have liked; his first thought is thank all the gods that he understands. He isn't proud of it, as he isn't proud of having murdered those children, but the second Jon's eyes meet his again, it's all in there. He knows that too much mercy means that they'll see you as weak and too little means they see you as a monster. And he knows what it means to desert one side so that you can gain the other.

Except that for Jon it wasn't an entirely bad gamble – at least he did something good. While Theon's pick has been wholly disastrous.

"I wish I could judge you, but how could I look at myself when the place I come from isn't so different? Robb had all the rights to take your head, but I have none. And I don't even want it, for that matter."

It's not forgiveness and it won't ever be, but all of a sudden Theon feels as if he could burst from gratefulness. If he could take back every jape he had made at Jon in his life he would, but there are a lot of things that he can't take back.

He follows Jon out of the crypts, breathing in the cold winter air. His entire body feels as if his bones could snap any second – the time where he could stay out in the cold for a long while is over. He sways on his feet for a second and he gasps when Jon's arm grabs his waist.

"What –"

"It seemed like you were going to faint," Jon replies, not letting him go as he notices that his knees are shaking as well. Damn his body and damn Ramsay and damn his stupid decisions.

And that's when he realizes that this shouldn't happen. They shouldn't risk being seen like this and Jon shouldn't be with him anyway – he's not in that position anymore. He jerks away and obviously his legs don't hold up. He falls on his knees, breathing, trying not to remember the hands of another man grabbing his side and –

"Theon?"

"M'lord? Sorry, I'm not –"

Jon kneels down as well, takes him by the shoulders and gives him such a hard shake that it feels as if someone just slapped him in the face.

And then he realizes that he slipped back into the way he spoke back then and he can't do anything other than looking at the ground and hoping that Jon will leave him alone. He can't deal with this.

"Do you need a hand?"

Theon's head jerks up, looking at Jon again. "What?"

"Why do I even ask?" Jon mumbles, and then his arm is around Theon's side again and he's on his feet again and they're walking towards Winterfell.

"You don't have to –"

"You never called anyone that wasn't my father my lord unless it was some kind of jape. Not even Robb. Least of all me. You can barely stand straight. And I can't leave you to freeze to death, if I don’t want your sister to break that alliance and kill me on top of that."

"You shouldn't even talk to me."

"Gods, you can still be as annoying as I remember. Just walk, won't you?"

Theon shuts his mouth and tries to. Or at least, he tries not to be a hindrance and trip over his own feet. And then he thinks back on what Jon has just said, and it might be the first time in his entire life when he's glad that someone called him annoying.

--

“Does it ever occur to you that we are the only ones left?”

Jon doesn’t specify, but Theon knows what he’s aiming at. Of course he knows what he means. He means the only ones from before the king came to Winterfell.

“All the time,” Theon replies. “I don’t know what to make of it. Except that it’s – that’s not how it should be.”

He sighs as he brings his knees closer to his chest. They’re on the stairs where he and Robb used to race each other. Theon still has no idea why Jon does even want to talk to him, but he doesn’t question. He learned better than to question.

“You think you don’t deserve to be here.”

“And why would I? What did I ever do to deserve it?”

“Jeyne told me, you know. About what happened when you escaped. If you hear her, you sound like some kind of living Florian.”

He snorts. That’d be the greatest misunderstanding in existence. “One day she’ll realize that I’m not. A better man wouldn’t have let her stay wedded to him that long.”

“A couple of years ago you wouldn’t have said that.”

“A couple of years ago I didn’t know a lot of things.”

“I won’t argue on that, but you know, there’s nothing wrong in taking merit when you’ve done a good thing.”

He shrugs – as if it meant anything. “Might as well be the only good thing I’ve ever done and it was what anyone would have done in the first place. It won’t balance all the rest.”

“Jeyne says that you were the first and only person who tried to help her since my father died, I’m not so sure that anyone would have done it. Maybe it doesn’t balance things out but I still don’t see why you shouldn’t take credit for it.”

The thing is that it’s a reasoning that makes perfect sense, but Theon doesn’t see how he can explain Jon that he had the notion of taking credit for good things flayed out of him during the past year or so.

“Even if I did, it’s not going to change a thing,” he finally says. If anything, he owes the current lord of Winterfell an answer, doesn’t he? “For what matters to everyone else, it doesn’t count at all. I saved a steward’s daughter, not your sister. I still betrayed your brother’s trust, I didn’t pay your side any favor and when I go back with my sister I’ll be – I don’t even know what, but I started this entire deal because my father thought I was at Robb’s beck and call and I failed spectacularly at what I was trying to do.”

“I don’t see Jeyne thinking that it doesn’t matter, though. If Sansa were here, she might think the same. And – well, the matter has been discussed in the last council.”

“Which matter?”

“Of why no one suspected that she might not have been my sister and of why, if they all thought she was, no one lifted a finger knowing how she was being treated. When your sister pointed out that you out of everyone got her out, there was a number of people who looked quite ashamed of themselves.”

“Wait, my sister pointed that out?”

“If you won’t take credit for it, fine, but she’s definitely going not to let anyone forget that, from what I gathered.”

A part of him says bitterly that she could have showed that she gave a damn long before now. Another part is just grateful that she doesn’t hate him even if he fucked everything up also in regards to her, and it’s loud enough to shut up the former.

“Can you answer a question for me? Just curiosity,” Jon says a while later.

“You don’t need to ask,” Theon replies weakly. He knows better than refusing to answer any kind of question by now.

“She told me how it went. She said that you jumped after all the wildlings that had been with you were killed or caught, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever think about going back with her?”

“And tell – tell him that she had tried to escape and I caught her?”

“How do you –”

“Because that’s what most people who saw how it was would have assumed I’d do. No. I thought that we might get caught and brought back or we could jump, and – there really was no choice. I’d have rather died than go back at that point and I’m pretty sure the same was valid for her.”

“Well, do you know what he told Stannis before he cut his head?”

Theon doesn’t know how Jon knows that – it happened long before he arrived in Winterfell, but maybe Stannis told him. He shakes his head.

“That it was impossible that his Reek might have escaped on his own.”

He stands up and leaves a moment later, leaving Theon on the stairs, trying to breathe in and out slowly and going back over that sentence all over again.

He doesn’t know if he should feel proud of himself for having never gone that far or if he should feel scared that Ramsay had been so sure of his job.

All things considered, maybe it’s better to settle for being glad he has his name back, if anything, and that he doesn’t think about the matter any further.

--

He hadn’t meant to run into Jon in the former practice yard – since Winterfell burned it’s been left to its own devices, and it’s almost completely destroyed, but there are still some targets and he managed to get himself a bow through Asha – he might as well see if he can still use one. He thinks he can, even if he has three fingers missing, but he won’t know until he tries. After a painstakingly long walk he gets there to find Jon standing in the middle already, sheathing back his sword.

And unless he’s starting to go blind, and since his eyes are the one part of him left that’s still fully functioning he’s pretty sure it’s not the case, that sword is – it’s emitting light.

Jon hears him as the sword gets back in the sheath completely, and it’s probably written on his face that he saw it.

“That – that was –” he starts, stammering, not sure of how to put it. Then again, he’s only ever heard of a sword made of light once, and until a moment ago he’d have thought it was some pointless legend.

“It is,” Jon says, almost wearily. “That is how I survived that stabbing.”

Good gods, if that’s the reason and if Jon is – is what or who this entire conversation is suggesting, then – then –

“Are you telling me that I spent ten years teasing –”

“Don’t say it,” Jon interrupts abruptly. “I don’t – I’m not even sure of what it means and I’d have been glad to stay Jon Snow for the rest of my life. Which – is not going to happen, I know, but the last thing I need is letting that get to my head. The gods know I made that mistake once. Just – pretend you’ve never seen this.”

“How should I even –”

“Theon, don’t. If you ever want to do something for me, please just pretend you’ve never seen this. I’d probably pay for some teasing right now.”

Well, Theon supposes, he surely wouldn’t get any, now.

“I can try,” he says. He really can’t do better. But at the same time, he can’t avoid stopping his tongue before it has spoken, and it’s the first time in months when he doesn’t wish he could kick himself in the head the moment it happens. “Why, though?”

“Why, what?”

“Why would you want me to ignore it.”

Jon sighs and takes a step closer. “I’m not sure I’m the right person. I – you know what’s the one thing I’ve always wanted.”

“Of course I do. The same I did, isn’t it?”

Jon gives him a soft nod. “I took the black because I thought I could be… better than I was here. More than I was here. I had what I was hoping for and – I could have done better with it. But as it is… right now, I have more names than I could have ever wished for,” he says quietly. “And the ridiculous thing is that now I wish I could have just stayed Jon Snow. This probably didn’t make sense, did it?”

“Actually, it made perfect sense,” Theon replies, his heart hammering in his chest, because he knows exactly what Jon is talking about. “And – if – well, I think it might be the one thing I have actual advice about. I guess.”

“And what would that be?” Jon is looking at him intently, seriously, somber as always, and Theon figures that if someone can get this, it’d be him. Oh, Jeyne could, too, but he’s sure that she wouldn’t get it in its depths.

“I’ve done everything I did because I had to live up to my heritage,” he replies. “We both wanted to be one of them, but I couldn’t have ever been and I knew that. But I apparently wasn’t enough for my people. I had to show them that I could be Theon Greyjoy. Then – well, you did guess the entire Reek deal. I think I spent enough time believing that I really was – another person. The one he wanted me to be. And – I’ve – at some point I think I realized that it wasn’t who I wanted to be. I didn’t want to be what my relatives thought I should be, either, because I wasn’t like that. And I – I guess I wasn’t the person Robb thought I was, all things considered, or at least not entirely, even if eventually I guess it’s what I’d have liked to be most. And that’s when I realized that – I didn’t have to worry about any of that. There are so many things that you can put after your name, but they don’t have to – to be like chains. I’m not sure I could have escaped if I hadn’t realized that. I have a name. One. I’m just going to stick to it. Maybe you should do the same.”

“You mean –”

“Don’t be Jon Snow. Or Stark. Or – whatever it is that you are right now. You can be Jon and that can be the end of it. Or at least, as far as you’re concerned. I mean, for one, people will call me turncloak to the end of my life, but I don’t have to let it define who I am. I’ve let it happen for a long time. It didn’t help any.”

“I – I think I see it,” Jon says, nodding, and Theon knows that he sees it. Or if he doesn’t fully, he will soon.

“Think about it,” Theon says, and then he leaves, his feet hurting as he walks, and he doesn’t look behind him.

--

“Problems sleeping?”

Theon doesn’t even feel surprised about it anymore – he nods as Jon sits next to him in the godswood.

“I figured I could take a walk.” Even if it hurts, but he’s relishing being outside as much as he can, lately.

“I did the same,” Jon says, and moves closer just slightly. Theon shivers visibly – he likes being outside, even though it’s cold, but he doesn’t mind. Better cold than sleeping with the dogs.

Then Jon takes a deep breath and moves closer again, so that their sides are touching. A bit of time passes, not long but more than they ever spent touching, and then Theon feels heat flaring up against his side, enough that he stops shivering at once.

There can’t be doubts about the source, can they?

“I don’t remember you being like that,” Theon whispers.

“It’s been like this since I didn’t die,” Jon replies, shrugging. “I suppose it’s some kind of side effect. Then again – if I’m that, it just makes sense. Even if I wish I wasn’t.”

A moment later, a large, white direwolf comes out of the trees, running towards Jon and crouching at his feet – damn, Theon thinks, the thing became large since the last time he saw it. Also, he can see knife scars all over the soft, white fur, and for a moment he’s sure that Ghost might eat him for dinner, but he merely looks at Theon once before crouching at Jon’s feet. Jon reaches down and scratches behind his ears, unable to hide his small smile.

“He tried to save me when – well. When they tried it. Sadly, the miraculous healing worked just for me, but I see he’s well enough now.”

“Surely he looks like it,” Theon agrees.

His fingers feel frozen, though, and he moves them closer to Jon’s arm. He didn’t want to touch. Honestly he didn’t. But then Jon’s hand moves upwards and his fingers close around the three Theon has left on that his left hand, gently but firmly enough that he can’t get out of the grip without effort.

“I wasn’t –”

“I know you weren’t,” Jon replies, not unkindly. “That’s not the point.”

“I’m not –”

“Don’t even say it,” Jon interrupts. “Stop. If you don’t want to then I’m going to stop, but –”

“That’s not it,” he says, feeling his cheeks burn in shame, trying not to feel horrible as he says it, trying not to think about what he would have gone through for doing something like this six months ago.

“We’re the only two left,” Jon says again, firmly but with his voice still low. “I’m not sure that I could care less about the rest.”

“What are you even doing?”

“I’m following your own advice. I’m not doing what Jon Snow would have done. I’m not doing what Robb’s heir would do. I’m not even doing what – what this thing I apparently am would do. I’m doing what I want. All right?”

Theon looks straight into Jon’s gray eyes – they look almost silver in the moonlight. He looks at his lean face that looks so much like Ned Stark’s but is completely different at the same time and is absolutely not like Robb’s at all, and he thinks he likes what he sees. He never warmed up to Jon Snow. He would have hated Jon Stark, if it had been his name from the beginning. He’s not even sure of what he should do with bloody Azor Ahai. But he thinks that he likes Jon a whole lot. He doesn’t know what Jon is seeing right now but if he doesn’t loathe it, then – then it might be the first time in years when he actually doesn’t say no because he has a choice and he’s choosing not to say it. For a wild moment, he imagines Robb looking down at them and not hating the sight.

“All right,” he croaks, and he knows he’s smiling just a tiny bit as Jon’s fingers wrap more tightly around his.

And for now, it actually feels like it is all right, for the first time he can remember in years.

End.