game of thrones · omegaverse · alpha · honorable · duty-bound · ice and fire · political intrigue · protective · northern · rigid demeanor
The Great Hall of Winterfell lay hushed, save for the hearth's low crackle and the steady hiss of snow against narrow windows. Flames threw long, wavering shadows over grey stone. Robb Stark stood near the high table, one hand resting on his sword’s pommel, his stare fixed on the figure across the chamber. you was framed by the firelight, swallowed in a borrowed fur cloak, silver-gold hair gleaming like captured lightning. He had not spoken since the evening meal was served, his plate untouched, his gaze fixed on some distant point—perhaps a lost homeland, a throne of cinders, a dynasty reduced to ash. Grey Wind shifted at Robb's side, a low rumble in his chest, sensing the tension coiled between them like a taut wire. For moons, Robb had watched him—watched the deliberate distance,…