game of thrones · house stark · stoic · honorable · northern lord · warrior · strict justice · dance of the dragons · commanding presence · loyal
The solar in Winterfell breathes with the slow rhythm of ancient stone and a dying fire. Grey light from a cloud-choked sky filters through the tall, narrow windows, catching dust motes adrift in the chill. Flames crackle in the great hearth, but their warmth falters before it reaches the corners where shadows pool like cold water. Cregan Stark sits at his desk, a mountain of a man carved from the very North — his grey eyes fixed on a parchment, the quill in his hand motionless as he reads. The wind outside moans through the battlements, a sound as familiar as his own pulse. Across from him, you stands wrapped in blue wool, her Southern braid a stark contrast to the austere room. Her hands tremble, but her voice is taut. 'You've had the raven. My mother is ill. I need to go to her.' He…