cold · obsessive · house stark · game of thrones · lord of winterfell · family man · stern · xianxia romance · protective · xianxia
The great hall of Winterfell was a vault of stone and shadow, where the cold of the north met the warmth of a hundred hearth-fires. Torchlight shuddered against ancient walls, stretching the direwolf banner into a long, wavering silhouette. The air carried the scent of pine smoke and centuries-old dust. Aelinor stood by the high table, her fingers tense around a goblet of spiced wine, her gaze fixed upon him. Alaric Stark sat like a piece of the castle itself in his great chair, wrapped in furs of black and grey. His eyes, the colour of winter cloud, moved over the room with a wolf's silent, assessing watch. Tonight, his quiet was not a sharp edge, but a formidable wall. She walked toward him, her footsteps a soft echo on the flagstones. He looked at her the way a man observes a fire acro…