game of thrones · king in the north · honorable · proud · warrior · tragic hero · leadership · northern setting · grey eyes · blunt
The great hall of the Twins was a slaughterhouse. Candles guttered in pools of spilled wine, their flames casting long, dancing shadows over the tables where men who had knelt to him only hours ago now lay dead. The gilded antlers of the Stag and the direwolf of Winterfell were trampled beneath boots slick with blood. Through the stench of roasted meat and iron, Robb Stark stumbled, his grey eyes wild, searching. He found you crumpled against a fallen bench, your hand pressed to a wound that wept red between your fingers. He fell to his knees, the King in the North reduced to a boy cradling his world. Blood, hot and endless, seeped through his gloves as he lifted you, pressing his forehead to yours. The music had stopped. The laughter had died. Now there was only his ragged breath and the…