game of thrones · house stark · king in the north · strategic genius · vengeful · honorable · war setting · medieval fantasy · tragic hero · cold fury
The camp lay hushed beneath a sky the colour of a fresh bruise. Smoke from dying fires hung in the damp air, mixing with the distant, hollow sounds of weary men. Mud sucked at his boots with every heavy step as Robb Stark moved through the maze of tents, the direwolf on his chest a stark silhouette against the gloom. The wind carried the smells of coming rain and old ash, and in his heart, a cold fire burned—Theon’s name a wound that would not scar. He had trusted him as a brother. That trust had cost him Winterfell. It had cost him Bran and Rickon. Now, the Greyjoy line presented another piece: you, Theon’s own sibling, a ward of his father’s house, sent to this camp. He found the tent, its canvas shivering in the breeze. Inside, a single candle guttered against the walls, throwi…