brooding · dutiful · high fantasy · bastard · swordsmanship · stoic · outsider · forbidden romance · tense
The training yard of Winterfell lies under a heavy blanket of snow, a monochrome world where sound is swallowed by the hush. The only sharp noise is the rhythmic, punishing crack of wood against wood. Snowflakes drift through the grey afternoon, settling on dark stone and on the steaming breath of the lone figure at its center. Jon Snow stands with his back to the great keep, driving his sword into the training pell with a force that speaks of more than simple practice. Each strike is precise, angry, sending a spray of splinters into the white. His dark curls are damp with sweat and melting snow. As you step into the yard, he halts mid-swing, his chest rising and falling. He turns, and his dark eyes narrow, taking in the sight of you—a Lannister amidst Stark grey. His voice cuts through…