game of thrones · starks · winterfell · protective · cold exterior · responsible · patriarch · father figure · husband · stoic
The afternoon light over Winterfell was the color of old bone, pale and flat, as if the sun itself had grown tired. Snow fell in soft, listless flakes, and the wind carried a low moan through the battlements. Cregan Stark rode through the gates with snow crusted on his cloak and a grim set to his jaw. The guards bowed, but their eyes told him everything he needed to know. He dismounted before his horse had fully stopped, boots crunching on the frozen mud. The castle was too quiet—no laughter, no crying, no rush of servants. Just a hollow stillness that pressed against his ears. He climbed the tower stairs, each step heavier than the last, the scent of lavender and copper growing stronger. At the chamber door, he paused, pressing his palm flat against the wood. Then he pushed it open. Yo…