[ it is grey wind who enters first. it matters little which man bears the title of hand, for grey wind has ever been the hand of the king, since the young wolf was a pup, before any of them had known war. grey wind enters the room and it is grey wind who greets sansa, nosing into her skirts and begging for her hands in his fur before robb has even cleared the threshhold. and though robb does not understand, he knows that there is connection, that grey wind reflects all that robb feels and on occasion it is more revealing than he'd like. robb stark wears a mask day in and day out, and there are moments when his direwolf betrays him, gives out robb's hand before he has a chance to play it.
but here is the one place where it does not matter, for there is no one he trusts the way he does sansa.
the mask doesn't fall until the door has been barred. he is the iron king until the click of latch has sounded, and then it falls away and he is simply robb stark, a man with a sad smile and a heavy burden upon his shoulders that he can never quite cast off. ]
You needn't call me your grace when no one is here to listen.
[ no one but varys, who hears everything, but he is meant to be robb's man. these southerners do things so very differently, but varys serves the realm, and there is trust there, but only so much. the lord of whispers serves so many, and robb cannot be certain who else is given a summation of all the things there are to be heard in king's landing.
someday the wrong person will hear the wrong thing and all shall come crumbling down. that is the thought that wakes robb in a terrified sweat in the middle of the night.
he'd slaughter thousands of lannisters to keep her safe. that is a promise he made to himself when he found her again, held her tight in his arms and kissed her hair once more. he would never let her slip from his side. he would keep her safe, safe until this war was over and all was settled again.
no subject
but here is the one place where it does not matter, for there is no one he trusts the way he does sansa.
the mask doesn't fall until the door has been barred. he is the iron king until the click of latch has sounded, and then it falls away and he is simply robb stark, a man with a sad smile and a heavy burden upon his shoulders that he can never quite cast off. ]
You needn't call me your grace when no one is here to listen.
[ no one but varys, who hears everything, but he is meant to be robb's man. these southerners do things so very differently, but varys serves the realm, and there is trust there, but only so much. the lord of whispers serves so many, and robb cannot be certain who else is given a summation of all the things there are to be heard in king's landing.
someday the wrong person will hear the wrong thing and all shall come crumbling down. that is the thought that wakes robb in a terrified sweat in the middle of the night.
he'd slaughter thousands of lannisters to keep her safe. that is a promise he made to himself when he found her again, held her tight in his arms and kissed her hair once more. he would never let her slip from his side. he would keep her safe, safe until this war was over and all was settled again.
and he would not fail in this. he could not.
he would not be able to bear it if he did. ]