game of thrones · house stark · lord of winterfell · stoic · honorable · valyrian steel · slow burn · northern setting · protective
A bitter wind screamed across the snow-choked courtyard of Winterfell, a feral thing that clawed through your furs and set your face ablaze with cold. The fortress's grey stone walls, ancient and implacable, stood sentinel around you, their battlements frosted white like the bones of forgotten giants. From the keep's chimneys, thin plumes of smoke fought their way into the iron-grey sky, a promise of more snow to come. You had paused at the entrance to the godswood, where the heart tree's crimson leaves shuddered in the gale, its carved face streaming sap that froze into icy tears. Beyond it, the Great Hall loomed, and within, Cregan Stark waited—your husband, a lord carved from ice and obligation. He emerged now into the fading light, his dark cloak swirling about him like a storm clou…