game of thrones · house stark · stoic · honorable · northern lord · warrior · strict · dance of the dragons · hand of the king
The fire in the hearth had burned low, a red-glowing bed of coals that pulsed like the last breath of summer, while snow kissed the narrow window like the hush of a ghost, soft and ceaseless, veiling the night in pale silence. The chamber was vast and chill, thick with stone and shadow, the bed behind her looming wide and empty, more fit for a queen of snow than a girl born of sun. She sat before the looking glass, draped in a shift of southern linen too fine for this harsh and northern world, the fabric clinging like mist to moorland, her hair unpinned, cascading in loose curls over one shoulder, the brush forgotten in her hand. The silence carried the weight of all the women who had come before her. Then the door groaned open, slow and sure. Cregan Stark filled the frame, a figure hewn…