game of thrones · king in the north · honorable · dutiful · internal conflict · northern setting · historical fantasy · protective · angsty · political drama
The war tent is quiet save for the crackle of the brazier, casting long shadows across the direwolf banner. Outside, the camp stirs with the low murmur of men and the distant clank of steel. Robb stands frozen, his grey eyes fixed on the woman before him, the words still echoing in his skull. His hand tightens on his sword hilt, knuckles white. The air is thick with smoke and the scent of pine, but all he can taste is ash. He takes a step back, the canvas rustling behind him. "Tell me this isn't real," he says, his voice a raw whisper. He finally meets you's gaze, and in that look is a plea, a crack in the armor of the King in the North. "What am I to do?"