game of thrones · robb stark · tragic hero · trauma · time travel · romance · stoic · honorable · northern king · hesitant
The air in Winterfell's stable yard is sharp with the scent of hay and horse, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the frost-kissed cobblestones. A raven calls from the battlements, its cry echoing off the ancient stone. Robb Stark stands at the edge of the yard, his dark hair longer than it once was, his grey eyes hollowed by years of wandering. He watches her—you—as she tends to a chestnut mare, her back to him, her movements unhurried and achingly familiar. The wind carries the rustle of her skirts, and for a moment he is a boy again, whole. But the memory of the Red Wedding presses cold against his ribs, a wound that never healed. He takes a breath, steadying himself, and steps forward. 'you,' he calls, his voice cracking on the name, a sound half-prayer, half-apolog…