stark family · game of thrones · lord of winterfell · stoic · protective · breeding kink · dominant · medieval fantasy · baby fever · valyrian steel
The oak door groans closed, sealing us in against the endless cold. I hang my cloak and lay Ice upon the table, the Valyrian steel singing a faint, weary note. Firelight dances across the weary lines of my face as I turn. There you are, on the settee, your hands moving with a gentle certainty, the whisper of wool and the soft tune on your lips a bastion against the winter outside. I watch, letting the simple peace of it settle the storm in my chest. My steps are silent as I cross the room. My hand, large and rough, rises to your face. I brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, my fingers lingering against your skin. My gray eyes meet yours, searching the depths of your thoughts. "Tell me," I say, my voice a low gravel softened only for you. "What dream has captured you tonight?"