... 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.

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.

But not today, Robb decided. No, he was far too tired now, and in truth preferred to go to sleep with this triumph in mind.

Robb stretched his back, wincing at the popping of his bones, before fluffing up his pillow and lying down.
He once again caught sight of the lightning bugs outside and smiled.
Aye, he could live with this.

His eyes drifted closed.

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He bit down on fur and skin and ripped his head to the side, tearing it away. What was underneath was far more delicious, after all.

Wet, hot blood coated his snout and fur, but he did not care. Right now, he only cared about food.

He needed to hurry, too—soon, others would be here to steal bits of his prey. They were no threat to him, of course, small as they were. But they were annoying.

He had walked too far today to have the patience for it, was too hungry to tolerate his prey being stolen.

He buried his snout deeper in his prey's belly.

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Robb was awoken by sunlight. He blinked hazily, stretched, then opened his eyes fully.

His eyebrows furrowed.

What…?

Robb let his teeth scrape over his tongue. He frowned.

What was that taste?

Robb sat up as if he had been stung. That was blood.
By the gods, he'd warged again! Twice in one night!

He could use this. Could he use this? Robb closed his eyes tightly.
Alright, what was different? Was there some part of him that still felt like he was Grey Wind? Were there thoughts or… or an instinct?

Galadriel had said something about a bond, maybe he could—

There.

It was almost like a mental hook, a tiny, almost unnoticeable bump in what felt like the back of his brain—

"Good morning, Robb!"

His eyes snapped open, a spike of frustration briefly filling his chest.

"I brought you some breakfast," Pippin smiled, holding out an apple.

Robb looked around. Their camp was empty and must have been for some time, going by the sun's position in the sky.

"I— thanks, Pippin." He took the apple with a strained smile.

"Aragorn said to let you sleep," Pippin informed him. "Said you could need it."

"I'm sure he did," Robb replied, fighting back a fond sigh. He bit into the apple.

"You know, they cleaned breakfast away already, but they'll have lunch soon!"

Robb looked down at his apple. "Aye, I think I'll make use of that opportunity."

Half an hour later, freshly washed and actually dressed, Robb found himself in the most beautiful lunch hall he had seen so far.
A large white sheet that had been fastened to trees at its six corners served as the ceiling. It was supported by smaller, almost hedge-like trees, the bottom parts braided and their crowns fanning out to hold up the ceiling. They were adorned with white flowers.

At the far end of the hall, he could make out a large table. As he came closer, he saw that on it were platters filled with a variety of foods—fish, meats, vegetables, bread, cheese; there was even some white, strangely grain-like but still soft-looking food which Robb had never seen before.

He grabbed a plate and decided to go for something familiar. The grilled fish he had spotted earlier and some bread would do.

Robb sat down at a nearby table and started to eat. Upon his first bite, he had to suppress a moan of delight. This fish was one of the best he had ever eaten.

About two minutes into his plate, he saw Pippin enter the lunch hall. The Hobbit, having spotted him as well, gave a quick wave before almost running toward the big table to get his food, where he  promptly bumped into a tall, dark skinned Elf, almost making them spill soup over their fine blue robes and thick, curly hair.

Robb snorted. Aye, that seemed typical for Pippin—too focused on food to notice his surroundings. When the Elf did not seem to take offense, Robb turned back to his plate with a small smile. A few minutes passed until Pippin popped up at Robb's elbow, holding a plate of what appeared to be meatballs.

"Hello again, Robb!"

"Pippin." Robb turned around in his seat, only to see the tall Elf from before standing behind Pippin.

"That's Thanarwë," Pippin said, and Robb blanched—this was the mind healer. The one Galadriel had told him to see.

"Can they sit with us?"

What Robb really wanted to do was get up and flee, but instead he replied, "Of course. It's a pleasure to meet you," and inclined his head towards Thanarwë.

Then, with a raised eyebrow, he added, "I don't think I have the authority to forbid them from sitting here even if I wanted to, Pippin—this is their home, after all."

Tharanwë chuckled as they sat down, their almond shaped eyes glittering with mirth. "Nevertheless, I would not want to impose."

They spoke with a peculiar accent, one Robb had never heard before. Their voice was very melodious and rich and even speaking the common tongue, they sounded like they were speaking Elvish.

For the next few minutes, Robb ate in silence, listening to Pippin's lively chatter and Thanarwë's occasional soft replies.

"Oi, Pippin!" a voice suddenly cried.
All three of them raised their heads only to spot Merry at the edge of the hall, waving a short sword around in a way that was incredibly worrying.

"Boromir said he'd teach us to fight!"

A giant grin split Pippin's face. He scrambled to get up, almost slapping Robb with a flailing hand in the process. He started to run towards Merry, but decided otherwise after just a few meters, turning around and racing back to the table. Before Robb could do more than raise his eyebrows, Pippin had grabbed his plate of meatballs and vanished.

Robb blinked. Gods. He pitied the poor people who had been responsible for raising this whirlwind. Surely, Robb and his siblings had not been like that? Robb's thoughts turned to Bran, Rickon and Arya. Well… fair enough, he supposed. Perhaps that was not a correct assessment. His own family was fairly chaotic.

Had been fairly chaotic.

Robb winced.

They sat in silence for some time, until Robb had almost finished his meal. Thanarwë had been done for some time, yet they had not left. Robb's foot started to tap the ground rhythmically. It was an unconscious movement, one Robb stopped as soon as he noticed it.

"My lady Galadriel told me to speak to you, Robb Stark."

Robb looked up at Thanarwë with a strained smile. "What a coincidence—she gave me instructions to seek you out, as well."

"And I am sure you had planned to follow these instructions soon," they replied not unkindly, but in a dry tone that made their doubts clear.

Robb did not answer.

Thanarwë rose, picking up their bowl. "Walk with me, Robb Stark."

Reluctantly, he followed them, his own empty plate in hand, and was as glad as he could be under the circumstances that they stopped to hand their dirty dishes in to be washed. They left the lunch hall quietly before Thanarwë struck up a casual conversation about his time in Middle-Earth so far—Galadriel must have told them about his circumstances. Robb was almost glad—he had no inclination to repeat the entire story another time.

Despite himself, Robb started to relax, actually drawn into the conversation when Thanarwë began to talk about some of the peoples and creatures he had come across. The origin of Orcs, for example, was much crueler than he would have expected. The Elves, on the other hand, had a far more violent history than even Aragorn's tale of Beren and Lúthien had revealed, full of kinslaying and strife between various tribes, families and family members. It was chaotic enough even without the addition of dragons, Balrogs, and other magical beings, some of which Robb had never heard of before.

He shuddered at the description Thanarwë gave of Ancalagon the Black—'as tall as a mountain range'? Had any Targaryen had a dragon as gigantic as that one, Westeros would have looked far different, he was sure.

By the time the two had reached their apparent destination—a beautiful clearing with a soft carpet of grass, small bushes and hundreds of tiny flowers—Robb had decided Thanarwë was most certainly the person he was going to ask for a map.

They led him to the centre of the clearing which he now saw had a narrow creek bisecting it. The water flowed slowly, almost lazily, and was incredibly clear. Thanarwë sat down at the creek's edge, patting the ground next to them invitingly. Robb sighed soundlessly and sat as well.

"I can tell you are not overly fond of this."

Robb snorted. "Not really, no."

Thanarwë hummed, picking some of the flowers around them and arranging them neatly in their lap.
"Why is that?"

Because he should have been able to deal with his issues himself. Because there were others who had gone through worse. Because really, Robb had been mostly fine, up until approximately fifteen minutes before his death. His family, his siblings, had been the ones to truly suffer, not Robb. 

"I am not the only one who has lost people in this—my—war," was what he said instead. "I will… get over it."

"And how are you planning to do that? All by yourself?"

Robb said nothing, only looked down at his tangled fingers. The real answer was yes, but he knew Thanarwë would see it as the wrong one.

"Tell me, Robb Stark, where did you learn to fight?"

He raised his head, confused at the sudden change in topic. Thanarwë showed no reaction. In fact, there was no indication whatsoever of their being aware that they had done anything unusual. They were peacefully braiding the flowers' stems together in what appeared to be the beginnings of a flower crown.

"Ser Rodrik Cassel, our Master-at-arms taught me," Robb finally replied with furrowed brows. "Why?"

"Who taught you tactics? I'm told you have won many battles."

Robb shook his head, absently wondering how they knew this. "My father and Maester Luwin, I suppose. The Blackfish, some. Thanarwë, you do not know these people, how could this be in any way useful or interesting information?"

"And how did you fare in your war?"

"You just said you knew I'd won many battles! I did well in the fighting, on the battlefield, leading my army." He threw his hands up. "What is your point?"

"Do you think you would have been as successful as you were without the knowledge and abilities these people installed in you?"

Robb exhaled sharply, wiping a hand over his face. "Of course not! I would have died in the first skirmish."

Thanarwë hummed and finally tilted their head to look at him again. "How, then, do you expect to win against your mind's suffering without any idea of what to do?"

Robb opened his mouth to reply, but found he could not. Not a sound left his mouth as he sat there, floundering like a fish. He almost wished he was one, just to be able to escape into the creek in front of him.

"You are not weak for needing help, Robb, no matter what you have been told," Thanarwë stated softly. The flower crown in their hands was almost complete. "In fact, you are strong. All you need are the right tools. It is my task to find them for you and put them in your hands."

Robb bit his lip and blinked several times to clear his vision.

"But to do that, I need to know what exactly is troubling you. I cannot recommend an amputation to a person with food poisoning. It would only make the situation worse. You see?"

"I…" Robb sighed, wiping his face once more. "Aye, I do."

And he did, truly. He may not have been happy about it, but he saw how this was necessary.

"I see that this conversation was taxing for you," Thanarwë said with a sad smile. "There is no need to start now, if you want to rest first. We can meet again on another day."

The offer was tempting, very much so, in fact. But Robb was already here with them. This was, all things considered, a peaceful and calming place. If he left now… well, Robb was unsure whether he could bring himself to seek Thanarwë out again.

"I think I'd like to start now," he whispered.

Thanarwë raised their eyes, a wide smile breaking out on their face.

"Wonderful!"