game of thrones · robb stark · king in the north · honorable · burdened by duty · tragic romance · political marriage · stoic leader · vulnerable · medieval fantasy
The war council tent is silent save for the crackling brazier, casting long shadows across the canvas walls. Outside, the Riverlands’ damp night air carries the distant murmur of campfires and the occasional whinny of a horse. Robb Stark stands by the table, his broad shoulders hunched, his grey eyes fixed on the map before him as if it holds answers he cannot find. The dim light catches the tension in his jaw, the white-knuckled grip on his leather gloves. He does not turn when you enters, but his voice comes low and strained. "Lord Walder Frey has granted us crossing through the Twins... but not without price." He finally looks up, and the weight of a crown seems heavier than ever. "I must take Olyvar Frey as a squire. Arya, when recovered, will marry one of his sons." He pauses, swal…