The clash of steel echoed across the camp as Robb tightened the straps on his gauntlet, his thoughts restless despite the calm before battle. He heard her voice before he saw her—commanding, confident, just as he remembered. Turning, he watched her spar with a group of soldiers. Dust clung to her armor, and her hair was wild beneath her helm, but her grin was fierce, triumphant after disarming her opponent.

It was like seeing the girl he'd grown up with, the one who had bested him countless times in the yard. But now, she was a warrior through and through, carrying the weight of a house banner and her people's expectations. Robb's chest tightened with something that wasn't entirely pride.

She noticed him watching and approached, wiping sweat from her brow. "Staring won't win you this war, Stark."

He chuckled, though his throat felt dry. "And here I thought it was my secret weapon."

Her laugh was a balm against the tension that gripped his chest. "If you're relying on me to win this, you're in more trouble than I thought."

"I always relied on you," he admitted, softer now. The weight of the words hung between them, heavier than any armor.