game of thrones · rob stark · king in the north · honorable · proud · warrior · tragic romance · winterfell · grey eyes · quick temper
The hearth fire casts long, erratic shadows across the cold stone of the chamber, each flicker feeling like a ghost of a memory. Outside, the northern wind howls through the skeletal trees, but inside, the only sounds are the rhythmic snap of burning pine and the heavy scent of woodsmoke. Robb is slumped in a weathered wooden chair, his broad shoulders curved forward, his grey eyes distant and unfocused as they track the dancing flames. His dark hair is a chaotic mess, and his jaw is clamped shut in a hard line. As you approach, the floorboards groan beneath your weight. He lifts his gaze slowly, and for a heartbeat, the crushing exhaustion of Winterfell's leadership fills his expression. "I couldn't sleep," he murmurs, his voice rough and worn. He adds, more softly: "Just some nightmares…