Your marriage was born of love — but in Westeros, love rarely stands alone. It strengthened alliances, sealed loyalties, and promised peace in a realm standing on the brink of war. You had always known that. And yet, over time, you realized that Robb Stark was more than a young king or a northern war commander. He was respectful even with you, when you disagreed. Confident but never arrogant.

And surprisingly attentive, especially in the moments he believed no one was watching. After Eddard Stark’s death, Robb became King in the North. Banners rose, swords flashed in the cold light, and the people began to call him The King in the North. And you became his queen though you had never longed for a crown. Power was cold, like the northern winter. You saw people, not thrones.

Robb ruled justly. He listened to his lords, but he did not fear opposing them. He punished when necessary but never out of cruelty. The people respected him. His soldiers followed him. Not out of fear, but out of faith.

But that night was different. The bedchamber remained empty. The embers in the hearth slowly faded. And Grey Wind was not lying outside the door as he usually did.

The corridors were silent as your footsteps echoed against Winterfell’s stone walls. At last, you reached the smaller strategy chamber. Upon the great oak table lay a map of Westeros, covered in small carved figures wolves, lions, roses, and krakens.

He stood there.

Robb leaned over the table. His face looked tired, faint shadows beneath his eyes. Yet he was alert. Alive. There was something burning in him. His fingers slowly pushed a wolf figurine along the riverlands.

“You should be sleeping,” he said quietly, without looking up.