#i really wanna

[dipperscavern]

Hiiii!!! Could you please write something abt comforting Robb after a long day of leading the war? Just some nice, sweet moments between the two of em xx

anon i SPECIALIZE in this department. thank you sm for the ask, i hope u enjoy !!

the tent is dark in the cloak of night, lightly illuminated by the various candles placed about. robb fiddles with the stuck buckle of his armor inside his tent, sighing in his growing frustration at the persistence of his armor refusing to unlatch.

he’s got squires for this, he knows, but he’s been around men all day. taken lives of fathers, brothers, sons, he can take off his own damn armor.

he gives it one final tug before he gives up, sitting back and running his hands down his face, trying his best to rub the sleep from his eyes. he’s got wounded to check on, meetings to hold & ravens to answer. he can take off his armor later.

he leans forward, putting his elbows on the table & resting his head in his hands, just for a moment.

….

approaching footsteps interrupt his moment of reprieve, and greywind rouses from where he lays guard at the door. robb hopes it’s just the guards changing shifts, but he knows better. it’s someone coming to ask him for something. someone coming to tell him what he should be doing instead of what he has been. pigs are flying and he must fix it.

he closes his eyes, and he hears someone enter the tent. the guards are obligated to announce everyone’s arrival, are they not? who could they possibly let in without hesitation?

“what is it?”

his tone is harsher than he intends. he’s snappy, even when he doesn’t mean to be. when he gets no answer, he looks up, and it’s you. his expression softens in record time, guilt crawling up his spine. he puts his head in his hands again, sighing at his own stupidity. what kind of king speaks to his people like he just did? to his lady, nonetheless?

you walk over to him, wordless, and begin to unlatch the stuck buckle. it lets go in record time, and you move to the next. robb sits back to give you access to all of his armor, and you step into his space. you must be a gift from the gods, he thinks. some kind of… divine blessing that he could never be worthy of receiving.

some time passes like that. you, taking off his armor, and robb, sitting back ever so patiently, resisting the urge to pull you closer. the weight lifts off him as the layers get shed, and he can’t help the few groans that escape him. how long has he been wearing this? ten, twelve hours? his body relaxes as you work, and in tune, his mind. his hand reaches for any part of you he can hold while not interrupting your work. he almost thinks he’s bothering you until he feels you lean into him, whether you’re aware of it or not. it brings the first smile he’s worn on his face all day.

eventually you pull him up to send him to bathe.

“y’look like death.”

your comment has a playful expression adorn robb’s face as he pulls you closer, and he starts poking your ribs, the place where you’re most ticklish. you yelp in surprise, squirming in his grasp and trying to get away. he’s got a good hold of you, and your pleas for him to stop are drowned out by your own laughter.

even if you’re the victim, you secretly enjoy the playful moments like these. the ones where you get a glimpse of the robb you fell in love with at winterfell — where you both were just two stupid kids, head over heels for each other.

“robb- robb!”

he eventually decides on mercy, stopping his assault. you sway in his arms, catching your breath & letting smaller giggles escape you. he leans in, kissing your temple in a half-apology (he’s not sorry) as he leaves to wash the grime off himself.

he comes back to find you lighting a candle you just replaced. the glow of its light illuminates your features, and you’ve never looked so pretty. he approaches you, and he can’t help himself, sliding an arm around your waist & pulling you into him. however stuck you may be, you seem content with your situation. you aren’t sure how long you stand like that, soaking in each others presence, watching the candles flame dance. you’re both so enamored in this moment, you don’t hear greywind moving to stand up.

“Your grace.”

you both turn around to see the subject of the intrusion. a guard has his head poked through the tents entrance, greywind stopping him from stepping inside.

“A raven.” the guard holds up a sealed scroll, punctuating his words. robb squeezes your waist ever so lightly as he lets go, moving to collect the scroll and add it to his list of things he must do. he nods, silently dismissing the guard, and the guard bows, going back to his post.

he breaks the seal, and whatever’s written on the paper has robb’s mood growing sour as he reads it. he sets it down on the table, putting his hands on the old wood and exhaling through his nose, leaning his weight against it. his eyes are distant, overworked brain no doubt at a loss of what to do anymore. how much can one man take?

you hate seeing him like this. the crown on his head is heavy, and war has not been kind. you wish you could fix it all yourself, but you can’t. the best you can do is stand unwavering by his side, there to prop him up when he’s buckling. so you do.

you move to join him, gently moving one of his arms off of the table to give you room to wrap your arms around him. he’s immediate in his response, tucking his head in your shoulder & pulling your body flush against his. he sighs, a shaky exhale against your shoulder. he needed this. bad. and he didn’t even know it, not until he got it.

not until he feels the heat and weight of your body pressed against his own, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. he can feel you trying to embed yourself into his memory, a reminder that even when you’re not here, he can come back to this moment. when he feels like he’s drowning in the vast sea of battle and politics — that he once felt like he was drowning here, inside this tent, too. and you were there to pull him back up. somehow, impossibly, he finds himself pulling you closer.

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