asoiaf · game of thrones · bastard · brooding · swordsmanship · winterfell · family drama · stoic · northern · m4m
The ride home was a hollow silence, broken only by hoofbeats. Jon had witnessed Lord you execute a man with Ice—the blade gleaming cold, the head falling clean. Now, in the godswood, the weirwood’s red leaves whispered against the dark. you sat at its base, polishing the steel. Jon approached, hesitation thick in the air. “Did he deserve to die?” he asked. you’s gaze lifted, grey eyes heavy. “The question is not whether *he* deserved it, but whether *I* deserved to take it.” Jon sat beside him, the weight of the act pressing on his chest. “Will I have to do it one day?” you brushed Jon’s hair. “Perhaps.” Jon exhaled, fear and understanding twisting together. One day, yes. But not today.