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“No,” Theon says, his voice breaking, and if before his death Robb had come to believe that he had eventually been wrong about what had been between the two of them, right now he’s correcting his stance.
No one who didn’t honestly care for him would sound this devastated hearing that he died.
Pity that it’s too late and that neither Theon nor Ramsay Snow can see him, and that he can barely see himself – his own hands are transparent, and if he tries to touch his own fingers, he feels nothing.
Being a ghost is nothing like Old Nan’s stories made it up to be, he thinks bitterly.
“I’m afraid that you’re wrong,” Snow says, his grin getting larger.
“Prove it,” Theon tells him, staring up at him quite defiantly, and Robb – Robb’s been here for maybe half a day, but while a part of him is cheering, the other is worrying. It doesn’t sound like a good idea, self-preservation speaking.
“I thought you’d ask,” Snow replies almost happily, and Robb hadn’t seen that there was a box just outside the cell.
When he sees his own head inside it, he disappears to the end of the hallway on instant – he’s pretty sure that if he had been alive he’d have felt sick.
He hears every moment of Theon’s scream that comes right after, though.
He’s shouting no.
--
“What’s your name?” Snow asks, taking Theon’s chin between his fingers, and Robb can’t – he can’t stay here and do nothing. He reaches out, grabbing for Snow’s shoulder. His hands goes right fucking through it.
“Theon Greyjoy,” Theon croaks out, and Robb – on one side he’s glad of it, he’s really fucking glad of it, but on the other he can’t help thinking just say what he wants to hear, this just before Bolton punches him so hard in the mouth that Theon spits a couple of teeth.
“What’s your name?” Snow shouts right in his face.
“Theon Greyjoy,” Theon says again, spitting blood in his face with what looks like supreme effort.
Robb – Robb thinks that he’d be crying if he could.
After the following punch, he spits another tooth and his lips are red with his own blood.
“What’s – your – name,” Snow hisses a few seconds later, looking murderous.
“Reek,” Theon sobs looking down at the ground, and Robb screams no.
No one hears him.
--
Robb tries. But he can’t seem to be able to do anything.
The stupid ghosts in Old Nan’s stories used to haunt castles and kill people and move objects and control at least the things around them, but they were probably stories, because he can’t do any of that. He’s completely invisible, no one hears him, he can’t touch anything and he can’t bring himself to leave Theon’s cell most of the times even if it’d better for him if he did.
He has to sit through Theon losing three toes and two fingers and beg for Snow to take them, he has to see it as the dirt in the cell gets worse and his feet pass through it, and he can’t even offer any comfort because the few times he tried to touch Theon’s shoulder, his hand always went right through it.
He hadn’t ever wanted to know how it sounded to hear Theon screaming himself raw, but now he does.
The frustration is building up and ending up into nothing when things change.
He knows that it’s going to be bad when Snow – now he says his name is Bolton, but Robb is always going to call him Snow – comes in with a bowl of water that he knows Theon won’t refuse when he hasn’t drank in a day.
He sees that he had suspected right when Theon’s arms go completely lax even if he looks alert – it’s probably some kind of dreamwine that makes sure that he won’t move too much but will feel whatever there’s to feel.
Theon screams himself beyond raw as Snow knife starts flaying the skin around his groin, and by the time it’s gone farther down, he’s begging Snow to just cut it off, which Snow doesn’t do – he says that it’s better to leave him with it being useless.
At that point Robb doesn’t think that what he feels is frustration anymore.
He thinks he’s angry.
And then he feels some kind of jolt spark through his hand for a moment. He looks down at it – it’s not the kind of transparent that it was before. It’s more… condensed white. Like light fog.
He leaves the room, and he hears Theon cry all the way to the first empty room he drifts into.
--
He tries to keep Theon out of his mind as he tries to see if he can do that again.
There’s a pillow on the unmade bed and Robb figures that it’s better than breaking a vase or something and risking to condemn a maid half to death, because he’s pretty sure that Ramsay Snow would probably flay her even for something that stupid.
So.
He had been angry. Like – like the ghosts in Old Nan’s stories actually. All those ghosts were angry. Until now he’s felt sad, frustrated, impotent, but never… fully angry.
He was before, though.
He thinks about it again. He thinks about how it had felt, about how much he had wanted to follow his instincts and smash Snow’s head against the Wall, and he feels it again – stronger now, going through both his hands. He thinks about it some more, he remembers how helpless Theon had looked not even an hour ago, and – and his hands suddenly become slightly pink and he can’t see through them anymore. He stares at the pillow, thinking about it lifting itself up from the bed and reaching the ceiling, and shoots up from it, hitting the ceiling forcefully before dropping down on the mattress again.
His hands are back to transparent now, and when he tries to do it again he can’t – apparently there’s no more of it. Whatever it is.
But that means he can do something.
He just needs to learn and to be patient, and while he really wishes he could not be patient in this case, it will have to do.
--
He doesn’t move from Theon’s cell in the next three days. He sits in a corner and doesn’t let himself drift away to any other place in the fort. He sees him thrashing in his sleep, he sees handful of his graying hair falling down to the beyond dirty ground, he keeps his dead eyes open as Snow takes a third finger from his hands and forces himself not to leave when he shoves Theon down to his knees and pulls down his own breeches.
He feels so disgusted he could burst, and with disgust comes anger.
When during the third day Snow leaves a bowl of water just out of Theon’s reach and tells him that he can have it if he can reach for it before two hours and then leaves, Robb feels so angry in a way he can’t ever remember being in his entire life. Not even when he learned about Theon supposedly killing his brothers. (Now he knows he did not.)
Good. That’s good. He needs to not let it out at once though. He keeps it in check, waits for Snow to leave.
Of course, Theon can’t reach for the bowl – it’s barely an inch from his fingertips, but he’s chained to the wall on the other hand and he can’t close that small distance.
Robb tries not to think too hard about how hard he starts sobbing a second later and stares at the bowl. He needs to do this slowly. And he needs to do this without showing himself – he still doesn’t know how much it can take and he wants to test it before attempting to talk to Theon.
Move, he thinks, staring hard at it, willing for it to get that inch to its right.
And it does. Slowly, gently, and barely noticeable.
A while later, Theon tries for it again, obviously too thirsty not to do it.
His fingers touch the side of the cup.
Robb smiles.
--
That evening, he goes next to the water well and waits for one of the men to go get it for the horses – he’s not going to endanger the servitude, but soldiers, he really doesn’t care for. One comes by not too long after he goes there. As he grabs the full bucket, Robb takes a step closer and lets it go completely.
“What a nice night,” he says when he can see that his hands look pink and his bloody clothes are visible and in the right colors. “Isn’t it?”
He can hear himself.
And the man obviously can too, since his head jerks in Robb’s direction and the bucket falls from his hands, water falling all over his boots and breeches, his face going pale as a sheet.
“You – you –”
“Tell Lord Bolton I’ll personally send my regards soon,” Robb says, and then he wills himself to go invisible again.
It works – the man looks around himself, and Robb sees that there’s a dark stain on his breeches a moment later. What an accomplishment, I made a proud Bolton soldier piss himself, Robb thinks wearily as the man runs back into the fort screaming his lungs out.
And the nice thing is that he doesn’t feel spent at all.
--
Before he’s almost completely spent, he appears in front of Little Walder Frey (who has a similar reaction to the first soldier, not that Robb minds), of another three Bolton men and of the cook.
In the next two days, all the castle is whispering about the Young Wolf’s ghost haunting Lord Bolton.
Robb decides that there’s nothing about it that he doesn’t like.
--
Then he overhears a conversation between Roose Bolton and a Lannister emissary.
“If my son doesn’t marry Arya Stark, he can’t secure our claim.”
“They know, my lord. But Arya Stark hasn’t been seen around since her father’s death. However, there was one friend of her sister’s that we’re told looks somewhat like her. And she’s been in Lord Baelish’s custody since Ned Stark lost his head. We think she might be suitable for a replacement – she won’t tell the truth.”
“As long as the marriage is done, I don’t see the problem. Have her brought here.”
Robb thinks he knows who they’re talking about.
He also thinks that he will have to postpone his plans.
It wouldn’t be a problem, except that he really can’t bear to see Theon in those conditions for a second longer.
Then he decides to risk it.
--
He hasn’t been in the cell for a while, between having to haunt the fort and all, and when he does he almost forgets about everything he had been planning until now.
Because of course whatever problems Robb’s supposed haunting has caused, Snow has been taking it out on Theon, and when he gets there he wishes he hadn’t seen anything.
When Snow leaves minutes later, Theon is holding his knees close to his chest, what was left of his breeches destroyed and there’s blood on the ground, among all the rest, and Robb is so bloody, fucking angry that he thinks he could make the fort collapse on itself.
But he can’t. Not now. He has to let himself use just a bit of it.
He kneels next to Theon – he’s running through a series of words that rhyme with reek under his breath, not that it surprises Robb –, puts a hand on his shoulder and then lets it go. Just a bit.
“No, please, not anym –” Theon starts as he forces himself to turn around, and then his eyes go wider than Robb’s ever seen them, and then Robb puts a finger to his own mouth and Theon swallows, giving him a tiny, terrified nod.
“You’re not going crazy,” Robb says. “I guess you know about… about me, don’t you?”
Theon gives him another nod.
“It’s real. It’s all real. And – I can stop this. But not right now.”
Theon’s experession had been cautiously hopeful, but then it falls again and Robb shakes his head once, twice, and then brings his hands to Theon’s cheeks, hoping that they don’t feel revolting – he doesn’t really feel anything, just the shape and weight of things, so he wouldn’t know, but he tries to do it as gently as he can.
“I was ready to do it now,” he explains. “But I heard something before. You know. The advantages of being invisible. And – I can’t now. But it won’t be too long.”
“R-really?” Theon speaks as if he’s afraid that his voice could be heard, barely a whisper.
“I know that it’s a lot to ask, but – don’t give up, all right? You only have to do it until his wedding.”
“His – his wedding?”
“You will know soon,” Robb says, moving just a tiny bit closer. “Just until then.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Theon sobs, and Robb gets it even too much.
“I know. I’ve seen everything. Well. Almost. Since I died.”
“You – you did?”
“Yes. But I couldn’t do anything until now. Just – can you do that for me?” He knows he’s playing low here, but he needs Theon to keep his wits about himself and he’s aware that he needs a decent reason.
“I – I can try,” he says, and Robb nods, figuring that he can’t stay for longer if he wants to keep his energies to himself.
“I’ll be back,” Robb says before pressing a kiss to his forehead, and then he vanishes.
He stays in the cell, though, and he sees Theon almost imperceptibly smiling after that.
Good.
--
During the next two weeks, he tries to appear to servants and soldiers sparsely, if only because he doesn’t want Snow to get too angry about it. Sometimes, he lets Theon see him on the other side of the room. All of that time, he does nothing more than show up, and his anger builds up. And up.
--
When he sees what exactly were the results of being in Lord Baelish’s protection for Jeyne Poole, he has to barely stop himself from lashing out there and then. But instead he lets himself be seen for a moment when Theon is alone, wearing clean clothes for the first time in months.
“Go through with it,” he says. “If it makes her feel any better, you can tell her that there will be no bedding.”
He leaves before he can get an answer.
He forces himself to watch through the ceremony and doesn’t avert his eyes from Jeyne’s shaking shoulders as she says her vows.
It just makes him angrier.
--
When the wedding feast starts, Robb can barely contain himself. But it’s good, he supposes – after all, he owes Roose Bolton a wedding somewhat equal to the one during which he died, at least.
He waits until everyone but Jeyne starts eating.
Then he walks, unseen, until he reaches a free place at the table. He’s in between a couple of Freys whose name he can’t recall. Then he stops holding back a tiny bit and the entire hall goes dark as the candles die all at the same time.
He hears someone shout for new ones, someone else asking what’s going on.
He’s smiling as lets out a bit more of energy all the doors that lead out lock themselves – he knows Winterfell’s layout, and he hasn’t allowed himself to feel angry about the state his childhood home is in (and its debasement) until now, but now? Now he’s so angry he can barely keep it in.
“What the fuck is going on?”
That definitely was Ramsay Snow.
What a chance.
Robb lets go more, and he lights up again only the candles on the table.
Then he shows up for good. He knows that his appearance isn’t exactly great – he has bloodied and torn clothes and he’s felt the gash in his throat more than once, but that won’t be a hindrance now, would it?
“I wasn’t going to miss this wedding for the world,” Robb says, not bothering to hide any venom in his tone, and when he sees Snow’s eyes go wide in fear, he feels extremely satisfied. But he’s not going to go for him just now.
The two Frey men sitting next to him jump from their chairs at once, and Robb doesn’t even need to reach out for them before they stop midway and their necks snap at once, the bodies falling on the ground.
A moment later, the entire hall is erupting in chaos – everyone tries to leave, banging against the closed doors, except for the people who didn’t attend the Red Wedding, who are sat on their chairs and looking terrified. Let them – they’re not who he wants. He lets the others fight around the doors – they’re not going to leave.
Then he stops in front of Roose Bolton. His face says nothing, but his forehead is covered in cold sweat. Robb smiles.
“My regard, Lord Bolton,” he says, and concentrates on how fast is Bolton’s heart beating – right now he can feel it, and then he reaches out and closes his fingers into a fist.
He feels it stop at once.
Then he vanishes just to reappear standing up on the table. He walks calmly over it, until he reaches the middle and, therefore, Ramsay Snow. Jeyne looks petrified – of course she would be.
“Leave,” he tells her, trying to keep his voice as kind as he can. “You’re one of the few people who has nothing to fear here.”
She stands up quickly and runs to the other side of the table – he thinks she hides under it a moment later. Good idea.
Then he kneels on the table, Snow’s plate crashing to the ground, and looks straight down at him.
“That’s not valid for you, I fear.”
Snow opens his mouth, but Robb isn’t going to let him have a say – it closes itself on its own a moment later. “I’ve seen everything you’ve been up to since I died,” Robb hisses. “And I think I’m not going to hear you out.”
Snow isn’t shaking in fear, when finds himself pinned to the wall by an invisible force. He’s shaking in sheer terror.
“How interesting,” Robb says, moving closer. “You look remarkably like the people I’ve seen you torture. It doesn’t feel that good now, does it? Don’t worry, I’m not going to pay you the same favor, but I think that I might have a question for you.”
He makes it so that Snow can actually speak, and makes sure to glance at his right to see if Theon is watching.
He’s actually moved closer, taking a few steps towards them – he was at the far end of the table.
“Now,” Robb whispers as he hears people still uselessly banging across the doors. “What’s your surname?”
“Bolton,” the bastard sneers a moment later.
“Wrong answer,” Robb says, and Snow’s head suddenly moves forward before crashing back against the wall almost hard enough to break it open. “Again. What’s your surname?”
“Snow!” The answer comes a second later, screamed out loud.
“Look at you. I thought you’d be tough enough to play this game at least four times, but I hope that you would get which point I was trying to make.”
“What –”
“Did you still not understand?” Then Robb comes close enough that there are merely inches between them. “Theon Greyjoy sends his regards, Snow,” Robb hisses, and then there’s just the loud sound of Snow’s neck breaking at once.
He steps back, turning to his left. Theon is so very close now, looking at him in something that can be only awe, and Robb is still thrumming with energy as he sits on the ruined table.
“I heard it,” he whispers a moment later, almost lost in the noise behind them.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it earlier,” Robb says earnestly, but Theon is shaking his head as he takes a few, painful steps and moves close enough to touch. Theon’s left hand shakily touches Robb’s wrist with three fingers.
“You – you’re warm,” he says.
“I wouldn’t know,” Robb replies softly as he jumps down from the table, his feet brushing against the ground next to Snow’s crumpled body.
He doesn’t move an inch as Theon falls to one knee in front of him and then throws his arms at the back of his legs, hiding his face against Robb’s thigh, and Robb knows that the both of them are smiling, because Theon’s lips are curled upward against his leg.
The candlelight is flickering as Robb reaches down with a hand and cards through what’s left of Theon’s hair, energy gently pulsing from his wrist to his fingertips.
He doesn’t let one drop of it go.
End.