to keep you warm when you are cold

[eldeststark]

After, no doubt, much persuasion and shoving and paternal orders, Robb is in his own bed, sleeping soundly, with a wolf across his legs and not looking too terribly dignified at the moment, sprawled across the double bed, the skin of his face already starting to peel where it was burned. Those who would like to speak to the young King in the North

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[winter_came]

Sitting across from him is his father. Ned hasn't gone anywhere since the strange Summer Islander treated his son. The girl Robb risked everything for is settled in another room, nearby. For now, he's kept her away from his son.

And here he is, keeping watch, waiting for his first trueborn son to wake up, almost anxiously.

Nothing else matters, right now.

[eldeststark]

Robb turns over a couple times, or tries to, and is prevented by the weight of the large canine on his legs. It doesn't take him too long, though, to wake up. He blinks a couple times, briefly confused. "...father?" It takes a moment for everything to settle into place, and then he looks worried, "Are you all right, is - everyone all right," oh nooooes.

[winter_came]

"Calm down, boy." He reaches to pat his hand. "To my knowledge, all is as well as can be."

He's waiting, perhaps. To see what Robb is going to ask.

[eldeststark]

His frown gets a little more worried. "You're all right? And - as well as it can be?"

[tricky_bowman]

Tristan isn't making an imposition of himself, but he's there, nonetheless.

He is leaning against the doorframe, waiting for his friend to wake up. He might wander over and ruffle's Grey Wind's fur, gently.

[eldeststark]

Grey Wind tilts his head back to invite scratches under his chin, where the fur as sort of lost and is starting to grow back. The patch places where it burned itch the worst. Robb wakes slowly and without excitement, opening his eyes to look at Tristan.

"Tristan?" Still a little groggy and feeling younger than he usually does. He'll remember his formalities in a minute.

[tricky_bowman]

"Good afternoon, My Lord." He smiles, a little, still scratching Grey Wind where he seems to need it the most. "I hope I did not wake you."

[eldeststark]

He shoves himself up on his elbows. "I don't mind. Ser - thank you for your aid, this past night. It means a lot to me."

[phedre_25]

Perhaps one afternoon, in his sleep, Robb will find Phedre sitting in his father's usual seat, looking over him worriedly.

However Tristan managed to get the message to her is up to Sandor's typist, but she did get it, and here she is, tired, aching, yes, and carefully sitting on the edge of the chair.

The knight introduced her to Ned, made sure she was allowed in, and took the late Lord of Winterfell with him for a pint, though both are sitting out in the corridor, chatting. That was as much as Phedre and Tristan could achieve to get Ned out of the way.

[eldeststark]

Robb has been sleeping a bit less like a log, recovering, and it doesn't take him long to wake up, and then to brighten, and just as quickly to be concerned about her expression. "--Phedre?"

[phedre_25]

She finds a smile for him, very sweet and tender, reassuring, too. "Welcome back, love," she says, fondly. "You were sleeping so well, I did not want to wake you up."

[eldeststark]

He reaches for her hands. "I heard you were hurt...are you recovering well?"