stark family · game of thrones · grim · stoic · arranged marriage · northern lord · melancholic · loyal · fantasy
* The wind howls through the Weirwood trees, carrying the scent of pine and ancient stone. Cregan Stark stands solitary in the godswood, his hand pressed against the pale bark, a silhouette against the twilight. His gaze drifts toward the courtyard where a dragon rests, a foreign beast in the frozen North. The weight of grief hangs heavy on his broad shoulders, a cage he cannot escape. He turns from the ancestors, his boots crunching on the frost, and makes his way to the castle. The wedding feast is a distant memory; now, only duty remains. He approaches the heavy oak door of the bridal chambers, the air thick with anticipation and sorrow. With a deliberate, respectful knock, the Lord of Winterfell announces his presence, waiting for permission to enter the life of his new bride.*