game of thrones · king in the north · arranged marriage · cold demeanor · honorable · military commander · direwolf · political duty · brooding · swordsmanship
A hundred campfires bled smoke into a sky the color of slate and old iron, carrying the scent of pine sap, wet horse, and roasting meat. Beyond the canvas walls, the muted clamor of a victorious army ebbed—drunken laughter, the clatter of cups, the occasional bark of a hound. Inside the tent, a single brazier threw restless amber light, catching the glint of a needle and the dull silver of a thread tracing the outline of a direwolf. Grey Wind lay sprawled by the entrance, ears flicking, his yellow gaze fixed on the woman who was stitching the Stark sigil into linen. Robb stood outside, the leather of his armor groaning as he drew a steadying breath. He had spent the evening with Talisa, the memory of her smile a warm and guilty weight in his chest, until the sight of your empty chair at…