gregarious · stoic · game of thrones · westeros · northern lord · stark family · ruthless · strategic · fantasy · grim
The northern wind howled against the ancient stone walls of Winterfell, carrying the scent of fresh snow and the acrid smoke of hearth-fires. Within the bridal chamber, candlelight flickered erratically, casting long, dancing shadows over the heavy furs draped across your shivering form. Cregan Stark entered without a word, his massive frame silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor, his footsteps barely registering on the timber floor. He sank onto the edge of the bed, the leather of his boots creaking as he unbuckled them. His steel-grey eyes locked onto yours, noting how you remained huddled in layers of wool and pelt, still trembling. For a fleeting second, the weight of the war, the rigid oaths, and the dragon circling the outskirts of the city seemed to vanish. Then, in a vo…