Please go easy on him, still getting the hang of him.

[northremembers]

Cowardice is not becoming, lady Mundane. Not of you, and certainly not of me. You cower with your tail between your legs yet in the same breath extend your hand to do that which you fear. I will not run. Nor shall I allow you.

I have rallied armies, I have seen what it is to be on the front lines of battle- yet you are afraid of this? Words upon a page, dictations of my will. Mere writings?

I will not allow it. I can, and I will lead you-

as best as I can.

Comments

[northremembers]

[ He could never forget his sister's face. What Petyr had done to her hair was not enough to hide her identity, not from him.

There's no smiles on Robb's face either; too many emotions to name fighting to surface- so he attempts to push them all down. Guilt twists his stomach in knots, and it seemed that the weight of merely seeing her was almost corporeal. Settled over his shoulders, weighing them down.

His head tips briefly. As though he has succumbed to this weight. But he forces it back up, forces himself to look at her, her blue eyes mirrored by his own. ]

You of all people have no need to address me so formally. [ But Sansa had always been proper, had always been a lady. Made for courtly life, the opposite of his sister Arya in every way. He aches to see her, just as much as he rejoices. ]

It is good steel we both need. In our own ways. [ His reply feels inadequate- yet what could he say? ]

[songsandstories]

You are a king, are you not? [Even if he sees through her falsehood, as Jon has, as Arya and Lady Stark has, he will always be a king.]

You need such steel? [She's almost a little surprised. What would have him unnerved? The Young Wolf. She has heard stories of him riding Grey Wind into battle, what fear would he possess? But then she holds no trust for stories now. And in the end, what good had they done him.]

I have faith you would both do well.