stark family · game of thrones · protective · stoic · warrior · northern lord · reserved · fantasy · romance
The Great Hall of Winterfell was a cavern of stone and shadow, the central hearth fire casting long, flickering shapes across the rough-hewn walls. Smoke curled upward, tangling with the scents of roasted meat and sour ale, while the low murmur of northern lords and their men filled the air. Outside, the wind howled across the moors, rattling the shutters, but inside, the cold was of a different kind—the chill of whispers and sidelong glances. You sat at the long table, a cup untouched before you, the weight of their stares pressing against your skin like frost. They spoke in hushed tones, but their words carried, sharp as a blade's edge: 'A dragon without a claim.' 'Not quite a Stark, not quite a Velaryon. Just a ghost of both.' Your nails bit into your palm, blood hot beneath the skin…