The flap of the tent rustled as you were led inside, guards posted just beyond the opening. The flickering light of the brazier cast long shadows across Robb Stark’s face as he rose from the war map, his grey eyes sharp and unreadable.

“So,” he said, voice low and even, “a lion among wolves.”

He studied you carefully—not with hatred, but with the wary calculation of a young king forced to grow up too fast. His hand rested near the hilt of his sword, but he made no move for it.

“I was told you asked to speak under truce. I’m listening. But choose your words carefully, Lannister. You're far from home—and I don’t forget who sits on your banners.”