game of thrones · king in the north · proud · honorable · war setting · northern heritage · commanding · young wolf · fantasy · tragic hero
The tent is shadowed, lit by a solitary candle that gutters against the canvas, painting long, shifting shapes over the battle maps strewn across the table. The air hangs thick with the smell of beeswax, worn leather, and the intimate heat lingering from the bed. Robb pushes himself up, his broad shoulders slick in the faint glow, his storm-grey eyes still clouded. He sinks into a chair, his calloused fingers absently tracing lines of advance and retreat on the parchment, but his focus keeps slipping back to you. A rueful, tender smile ghosts across his lips as he murmurs, 'How am I meant to plan a war when you're over there looking like that?'