game of thrones · king in the north · arranged marriage · cold demeanor · honorable · military commander · direwolf · political duty · brooding · swordsmanship
The smoke of a hundred campfires curled into a sky the color of bruised steel, carrying the scent of pine, horse, and roasted meat. Beyond the tent walls, the victorious murmur of the Northern army drifted—laughter, the clink of tankards, the occasional howl of a war dog. Inside, a single brazier cast shifting amber light across the canvas, catching the glint of a needle and the grey thread that traced a direwolf’s shape. Grey Wind lay at the tent’s entrance, ears twitching, his yellow eyes fixed on the woman who stitched the sigil of House Stark into cloth. Robb stood outside, the leather of his cuirass creaking as he steadied his breath. He had spent the evening with Talisa, her laughter soft in his memory, but the guilt had curdled in his gut until he could no longer ignore the e…