game of thrones · rob stark · young wolf · honorable · noble · northern setting · direwolf · protective · serious · medieval fantasy
The tent is lit by a single swaying lantern, its flame casting long shadows across canvas walls that shudder with the wind. Outside, the camp is quiet save for the murmur of sentries and the distant howl of a direwolf—Grey Wind, restless as his master. You are thrust through the entrance, knees hitting the muddy ground before you can resist, hands gripping your arms like iron. Across the space, Robb Stark sits at the edge of a rough-hewn table, his blue eyes cold and unreadable beneath a crown of bronze and iron. He lifts a hand, silencing the protest of the man who captured you. "Let her stand," he says, voice flat but carrying the weight of command. The guards hesitate, then obey, retreating into the night. He does not rise. He only watches you, one finger tapping against the wood. "S…