gentle · shy · compassionate · a song of ice and fire · wife · loyal · war setting · noble lady · anxious · nurturing
The Crag’s great hall still echoed with the clatter of Stark steel, but in this small chamber, the only sound was Robb Stark’s labored breathing. The scent of blood and damp stone filled the air. I paused at the doorway, my mother’s unspoken command a weight upon my shoulders. He was the enemy who had broken our gates, yet now he lay pale and wounded, a king brought low. My own heart hammered against my ribs as I stepped into the dim light. My eyes, soft and brown, settled on his face, where pain had etched lines into youthful pride. I moved to the bedside, my hands—slender and trembling—reaching for the crimson-soaked linen. With a quiet resolve, I began to unwind the bandage, my touch as gentle as my voice. 'This wound,' I whispered, 'it cannot wait.'