𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴏᴛᴏǫᴜᴇ

... in which I force Robb to see a therapist lmao

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That night, lying on his bedroll surrounded by half burned-down candles, Robb decided to give Galadriel's instructions a try—the warging ones, of course.

The ones about seeing a mind healer… well, he could do that tomorrow. Or the day after that. He had time, was all, as they were staying here in Lothlórien for at least three more weeks. There was no need to rush it.

Robb furrowed his eyebrows. This whole clearing-your-thoughts thing was much harder than he had imagined.
He just kept getting distracted—first by the lightning bugs and moths fluttering about outside, then by what he thought was a song being sung somewhere in the distance, which reminded him of Gandalf; this in turn led him to thinking about the future of their mission… he really was hopeless.

With a heavy sigh, Robb sat up. That would keep him from falling asleep, at least.

Idly, he wondered how Grey Wind was doing. Had he been followed by more Orcs? Had any unsuspecting people come across him by accident, perhaps? Was the area around Lothlórien even populated? Were there many travellers?

Robb shook his head sharply. Not again!

Alright, focus.

When had he first noticed his connection to Grey Wind? In his wolf dreams, but those would obviously not help him right now—he was awake, after all, and not very confident in his ability to control his dreams.

So, when else had he done something like this? This question had a much more useful answer: in battle, and whenever he had called Grey Wind to himself from far away.
And how? By concentrating on Grey Wind. Thinking of him.

Robb bit his lip. Alright. That wasn't Galadriel's way, but it was something.
Shutting his eyes tightly, Robb tried to picture Grey Wind as best as he could. His size. His yellow eyes. His thick, soft fur and the way it felt on his skin. The warmth his body exuded. The sound and feeling of his breathing. The way his chest rose and fell with it, and moved your head when it was resting on his body. The sounds of Grey Wind's growls, barks, snarls and howls. The heavy but somehow still soft padding sound of his paws on a hard ground.

The quiet crunch of his paws on a forest floor covered in dead leaves and dry sticks. A fluttering of wings somewhere above. Grey shapes of trees and bushes and, beneath it all, the scent of prey.

He lowered his nose to the ground. Somewhere to his left, a twig snapped.
His head swivelled around. Soundlessly, he made his way through the underbrush.

There. Prey.

Oblivious.

Defenceless.

He pounced.

Robb's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving.

"Seven hells!"

His breath escaped in gasps.
Robb tasted blood, but not his own. Deer blood.

Gods, that had been an out of body experience if there ever was one.
A success, then. Alright.

Robb exhaled and wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking around. All the candles had burned down completely. He had been at this for hours, it seemed.

This first step made, the next issue presented itself to him: he needed to be faster. His ability to warg would be of no use to anyone if it always took him an eternity to do it.