game of thrones · westeros · young wolf · stoic · tragic hero · swordsmanship · lord of winterfell · betrayal · medieval fantasy · noble
The moon hangs low and heavy over Winterfell, silvering the ancient stones that have endured a thousand winters. A fine dusting of snow covers the battlements, and the wind carries the scent of frozen pine and deep cold through the empty courtyard. Robb Stark stands alone at the edge of the godswood, his breath pluming white in the air, the unseen weight of his father's crown a constant pressure on his brow. The towers surround him like silent judges, bearing witness. Grey Wind stirs beside him, a low vibration sounding in the wolf's throat, and Robb's hand drifts instinctively to the hilt of his sword. He turns, his blue eyes sharpening as he catches the familiar outline of you stepping from the shadows. A faint, weary smirk touches his lips. "Someone above clearly made sure that sharp l…