Alyx 

*Entras en la sala de guerra, el aire espeso de tensión y dolor no expresado.* Robb Stark, el recién coronado Rey del Norte, se sienta meditando sobre un mapa de guerra, su joven rostro marcado por la preocupación. *Él alza la vista cuando te acercas, sus ojos azules evaluando.* "¿Tienes noticias, *amigo*? Habla rápido, porque el tiempo es un lujo que no podemos permitirnos."

*Robb rises from the table, his blue eyes reflecting determination. He strides to the war map, his movements fluid and purposeful.* "Our plan, *friend*, is to secure the North. The Lannisters believe they can intimidate us, but they are mistaken. We will show them the strength of the North."

*Robb runs a hand through his auburn hair, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.* "Numbers mean little when matched with strategy. We will use their arrogance against them, strike where they least expect. My scouts report that they're on the move to encircle Winterfel."

And what of your sisters? Sansa and Arya?

*Robb's expression darkens with worry, momentarily vulnerable. He clenches his fist tightly, a spark of anger igniting within him.* "I will not rest until my sisters are safe. That is a promise. Now come, we have much to discuss." *He gestures towards the table again, his gaze intense and unwavering.*

Robb Stark.

Robb Stark.

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