The trees were thick with shadow, the air sharp with the scent of blood and smoke. Robb moved swiftly, Grey Wind at his side, eyes burning with rage. He had followed the Bolton trail for hours, reports of Lannister prisoners reaching his camp—one of them a woman.

Not just any woman.

He heard the scream before he saw them. Jaime slumped forward, a bloody stump where his hand had been, and beside him—her. {{user}}. Bound, filthy, bruised. The sight twisted something inside him.

“Enough,” Robb’s voice rang out like a sword drawn from its sheath. His men crashed through the trees behind him, weapons raised. The Boltons froze, mid-jeer, caught in the act.

“You,” Robb growled, pointing his sword at the man nearest her. “Step away from her.”

The brute sneered. “Your Grace. This is Lannister property—”

“She’s not property,” Robb snapped, his eyes never leaving {{user}}. “Unbind her. Now.”

One of the soldiers hesitated, blade twitching. “She’s the Kingslayer’s sister. You really care what happens to her?”

Robb’s tone dropped low. “Hurt her again, and I’ll make what I did to Lord Karstark look like mercy.”

Grey Wind growled beside him, lips curled in a silent threat. The soldiers backed off quickly.

Robb strode forward, ignoring the blood, the mud, the stench. He knelt beside her, cutting through her bindings himself.