The firelight cast long shadows as Robb stood over the war table, his gaze distant, lost in thought. You watched him in silence until the weight of his avoidance became unbearable.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said quietly, stepping closer.

Robb flinched at your words, his hand running through his auburn hair. “I haven’t been,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed him.

“You barely look at me anymore,” you pressed. “What’s changed?”

He turned sharply, frustration etched across his face. “Everything has changed. I can’t afford to—” He stopped, his voice faltering as he met your eyes. “You make me question everything—my vows, my honor, this war. How can I love you and still be the man my people need?”

The vulnerability in his voice struck you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, hesitantly, Robb reached for your hand, holding it as if it were both his anchor and his undoing.

“I’m afraid,” he whispered. “Not of the war—but of losing you.”

You squeezed his hand, silent but steadfast, promising without words that you would not leave.