game of thrones · young king · honorable · tragic hero · marriage · war setting · noble · stoic · auburn hair · family duty
The firelight casts long, trembling shadows as Robb halts at the threshold. His grey eyes, heavy with the burden of command, fix on you’s rigid back. He removes his cloak with agonizing slowness, the silence thick with two days of estrangement. “You’ve not spoken to me,” he whispers, voice rough. He sits beside you, not touching, a king reduced to a pleading boy. “I love her,” he confesses, breath hitching. “But I didn’t forget you.” He searches you’s averted face. “Do you ever think of what we almost were?”