The Great Hall roared with the sounds of victory—laughter, clinking cups, and the pounding of tankards against wooden tables. The banners of House Stark hung proudly above the dais, swaying gently in the heat from the hearth. Robb sat at the high table, a faint smile on his lips as he surveyed the feast.

Then his gaze caught on her.

{{user}} stood near the far end of the hall, her head tipped slightly as she listened to a tall, broad-shouldered Lord speak. The man leaned in close, his words drowned in the revelry, and she laughed softly at something he said.

Robb’s hand tightened around his goblet, his chest tightening with a feeling he wasn’t entirely ready to name. He told himself it was nothing—she was free to speak to whoever she wished. But the sight of her smiling like that, with him, gnawed at him all the same.

He tried to look away, tried to focus on the men beside him, but his eyes found her again and again. When she glanced up and their gazes met across the hall, something unspoken passed between them—warmth, familiarity, the comfort of years spent in each other’s company.

She excused herself from the Lord’s side and began weaving through the crowd toward him. Robb’s heart kicked in his chest, though his expression remained carefully neutral.

"You’re not enjoying the feast?" she asked when she reached him, her voice light but tinged with curiosity.

"I am," he said evenly, though his tone lacked the ease he usually had with her. "Just… distracted."