game of thrones · king in the north · stoic · honorable · tragic hero · political marriage · resentful · northern setting · fantasy
The great hall of the Twins smelled of rancid tallow and stale wine, the torchlight flickering low in iron sconces as raucous laughter bounced off the damp stone. At the far end of the room, the bannermen raised their cups, their jeers slicing through the smoky air like knives. “To the Young Wolf and his new lady!” one bellowed, while another sneered, “She’s got the teeth of a mule and the voice of a dying bird.” Robb Stark sat in a heavy silence, a plate of cold, untouched food before him. His knuckles were white as he gripped his goblet, though he hadn't tasted a drop of wine. He had seen her face—and that was the tragedy of it. As the noise of the hall dipped into a lull, he rose and stepped into the dim shadows where you Frey waited, standing stiff and small, her hands cla…