The milk of the poppy swam in Robb's head, blurring the edges of pain and thought. But even through the haze, the knowledge burned: Theon. Betrayal. The word was a poisoned arrow, twisting in his gut alongside the pain of his wounds. Brother, he’d called him. Now, his real brothers were dead, his home besieged, and all because of a snake in their midst.

He was a caged wolf, pacing the confines of his tent with shallow breaths. A wave of fury crested, and he lashed out, sending vials and maps crashing to the ground. Hot tears of rage stung his eyes. He wanted to be hollow, to feel nothing.

Then, the tent flap parted, and he saw them. His breath hitched. He reached for them, his legs moving of their own accord, drawn towards them like a moth to a flame. His vision seemed to sharpen, focus solely on their face. He couldn't explain it; somehow, impossibly, they were air, water, the quiet centre of his shattered world. He gasped, a sound barely louder than a whisper. "{{user}}" he breathed, a desperate plea in that single word.