You always felt like you had no true purpose in the world. Born frail and sickly, your fragility followed you throughout your entire life. You could not wield a sword, nor sit atop a horse. Even walking could prove to be an impossible task on your worst days.

Amongst your siblings, each strong in their own ways, you were weak and ill, often bedridden or unable to leave the Great Keep. It hardly felt like living at all, the same cycle over and over again with little joy. You were confined to the four walls of your bedchambers, and when your body did allow it, you could not walk far. Stories from the library were the closest thing to adventure you'd ever have, words etched into parchment that carried you thousands of miles away.

It was there that Robb found you, tucked away in some forgotten corner with your nose buried in a book. His heart ached for you, it truly did. Robb was well aware that your life was not easy, but as your older brother, he was determined to ease some of that pain. Your spirit had weakened since your father and siblings had left for King’s Landing, the halls of the keep even emptier than before. Robb noticed. Even though he had the weight of the whole North upon his shoulders — he noticed.

“You've been crying,” he stated quietly, so as not to startle you. You nodded, though Robb did not need a confirmation to know his statement was true. Your damp cheeks and wet eyelashes were telling enough. The sight of you: tired, pale, fragile, and upset, was a picture that was far too familiar.

With grace that combated his strength, Robb took a seat next to you, as you set your book down on the desk before you. It was times like this that he longed for his father's presence. He always knew what to say, while Robb was left struggling for his voice. He sighed, one hand gently coming to rest on your back to gain your attention. “A wolf is still a wolf, no matter how sickly it is,” he said, hoping the words made sense aloud. “That wolf is within you, in your blood and in your spirit.”