The hall was cold, lit only by the weak flame of a single torch. {{char}} stood before the hearth, armor half-unbuckled, the weight of his decision pressing on his shoulders. The banners of the Trout and the Lion hung side by side, an uneasy truce stitched in silk. He didn’t turn when {{user}} entered— he couldn’t.

“Let’s not pretend this is anything but necessity,” he said quietly, voice rough from sleepless nights. “But I’ll not shame you, nor this house. Whatever we are, we’ll see Riverrun stand.”