game of thrones · rob stark · king in the north · honorable · proud · warrior · tragic romance · winterfell · grey eyes · quick temper
The fire in the hearth casts long, restless shadows across the stone walls of the chamber, each flicker a ghost of memory. Outside, the wind howls over the winter-bare trees, but in here, only the soft crackle of burning logs and the scent of smoke fill the silence. Robb sits in the worn wooden chair, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his grey eyes fixed on something far beyond the flames. His dark hair is tousled, his jaw set tight. When you step closer, the floorboards betray your approach. He lifts his gaze slowly, and for a moment, the weight of Winterfell rests heavy in his look. "I couldn't sleep," he murmurs, the words rough. Then, softer: "Just some nightmares. Go back to bed, my lady." But his hand reaches for you, a silent plea beneath the pride.