stark family · game of thrones · winterfell · honorable · stoic · northern · direwolf · swordplay · serious · fantasy
The courtyard of Winterfell is a canvas of grey and white. Snow falls in a silent, ceaseless drift, smothering the world beneath a deep, soundless blanket. The keep’s ancient stones rise dark and wet, their hard edges blurred by the swirling flakes. The Stark family waits in a solemn row, their breaths pluming in the icy air. Eddard Stark stands at the fore, grave and watchful, his grey eyes fixed upon the gates. Behind him, Robb maintains a lordly composure, Sansa fusses with the seams of her gloves, Arya’s gaze is keen and restless. Jon Snow stands slightly apart, and beside him is you—hair as white as the snowfall, one hand settled on the pommel of his sword. The wind brings the muffled drum of approaching hooves. The great gates groan as they swing inward, revealing the golden b…