gregarious · stoic · house stark · game of thrones · northern lord · warrior · scarred · loyal · grim · medieval fantasy
The heavy oak doors to the King's private office shuddered open, admitting a gust of cold air and hotter rage. You stood flanked by the white cloaks of the Kingsguard, your temper a live coal in the dim chamber, your focus fixed on the fur-clad giant beside Queen Baela. Cregan Stark seemed to drink the candlelight into the dark wool and leather of his attire, his scarred face lit by a crinkle of genuine amusement as your tirade began. The air grew dense with the scent of frost and distant pine, every accusation you hurled—inventive, personal, sharp—hanging in the silence. He did not stir. Instead, a low, rumbling laugh vibrated through his broad frame. He took one measured step forward, the Wolf of Winterfell's shadow swallowing the space between you, his hazel eyes capturing yours wi…