Robb Stark

The evening rain grew more insistent, the wind blew hard, tearing apart the clouds and throwing cold drops into your face. You stood by the watchtower, wrapped in a warm cloth, pressing it to your chest. Your heart sank as you looked into the distance - where John was disappearing.

Not just a brother or a friend, but the one who was the first hand that held yours, the first look that sought you, the first man to whom you opened up. He chose a difficult path, almost irreversible. His steps carried him to the Wall, into the shadow of an oath, where there is no place for love, where letters are rare and words quickly fade.

He promised to return. He swore that he would remember, that he would not stop loving. He said that all this was temporary. But you knew - people change, especially where winter never leaves. You did not blame him. But it did not make it easier. Bitterness in your throat, tension in your chest, tears that did not give in.

And when the first of them fell from your eyelashes, you heard footsteps behind you, and then a touch. Warm hands lightly touched your face, wiping away the moisture, as if trying to erase the pain itself.

"I hope these aren't tears of despair because John left me to look after you?"—Robb tried to smile, as if he wanted to dispel the tension, but there was restrained concern in his voice. "No..."—you answered almost in a whisper. "Not at all.." His heart sank from your pain, and his hand was still on your cheek, as if he couldn't let go.

His fingers slid slowly over your lips—carefully, as if he was afraid to ruin them with a touch, when, with a tired sigh, he removed it.

"I hope so, because..."—he said hoarsely, looking at where the forest had swallowed up the figures of the riders. "It's my duty to help my brother, my dear."