Another name-day on the island.
When Robb first arrived on the island, he had been a newlywed and recently-murdered rebel king of sixteen years, with bloodstains still on his clothes and a serious amount of trauma. Now, more than two years later, he is many other things--builder and cider-maker and uncle and all sorts of things he'd never had a real chance to explore back in Westeros.
The other thing he would never have had a chance to do there? Reach the ripe old age of nineteen years old.
There is nothing planned, at least not to Robb's knowledge, to commemorate the occasion, but he doesn't mind that. He would prefer, he thinks, a relaxed afternoon in the sun, testing out the latest batch of cider, watching Eddara crawl backwards (and Sansa chase after her, bemoaning the dirt), spending time with his family and any friends who might choose to wander by.
No sooner has he thought this than the shadows change around the path to Summerfell, where he sits on a long with a mug in his hand, and he looks up to greet the new arrival with a smile.
[Robb's birthday. Anyone who wants to say hello is welcome, feel free to use gathering-style! ST/LT all welcome.]
The other thing he would never have had a chance to do there? Reach the ripe old age of nineteen years old.
There is nothing planned, at least not to Robb's knowledge, to commemorate the occasion, but he doesn't mind that. He would prefer, he thinks, a relaxed afternoon in the sun, testing out the latest batch of cider, watching Eddara crawl backwards (and Sansa chase after her, bemoaning the dirt), spending time with his family and any friends who might choose to wander by.
No sooner has he thought this than the shadows change around the path to Summerfell, where he sits on a long with a mug in his hand, and he looks up to greet the new arrival with a smile.
[Robb's birthday. Anyone who wants to say hello is welcome, feel free to use gathering-style! ST/LT all welcome.]