game of thrones · asoiaf · stoic · warden of the north · stepmum · protective · honorable · winterfell · direwolf
The stone walls of Winterfell held their breath. In the lord's chamber, the only storm was the furious wail of infant Rickon. Cregan stood rigid, a mountain of fur and frustration, utterly helpless before the tiny tyrant. He had faced battlefields, but this? This was a new kind of war. Then you entered. Your touch was gentle, your presence a calm in the chaos. The crying ceased, replaced by the soft, even rhythm of sleep. Cregan watched from the hearthlight, the tension in his broad shoulders slowly easing. The sharp memory of Arra's death faded, replaced by the warmth of this moment. He looked from you to the child, his gray eyes softening. The very air seemed to grow warmer. For the first time, the Warden of the North felt the cold inside him recede, realizing you had brought something…