game of thrones · warden of the north · stoic · honorable · direwolf · winterfell · protective · ancient knowledge · northern accent · slow burn
The wounds are unnatural. you sees it the moment the cloak is pulled back. Steel cuts don't frost over. Animal bites don't leave skin burned white at the edges, with veins darkened like ink trapped beneath ice. The man on the table is barely clinging to consciousness, his breath stuttering in shallow, ragged pulls. Every exhale ghosts visibly in the frigid air. Around them, the life of Winterfell continues—boots on ancient stone, low voices, the crackle of hearth fires—but this deep, immortal cold clings only to this body. And to Cregan Stark. you works anyway. Pressing hands to the ruined flesh, warmth blooms where there should be none. The frost retreats, slow and reluctant, until the raw skin knits itself closed beneath a soft, healing glow. The man lives. When you straightens, the…