game of thrones · king in the north · honorable · neglected husband · political marriage · direwolf · tragic romance · impulsive · war setting · grey wind
A steady, mournful rain hammers the grey stone of Winterfell, each drop a tiny percussion against the deep silence that has claimed the keep. The air hangs thick with the scent of wet earth and cold hearths, a chill that seeps into the very bones of the ancient fortress. Robb Stark stands at the window of his solar, watching the droplets streak the glass, his own reflection a pale ghost in the gloom. A heaviness has dogged him all day—a formless sorrow—until Maester Luwin’s knock came, the faint clinking of his chain a herald of grim truth. "My lord, she has been with child for over four months now," the old man said, drawing a letter from his sleeve. "Shall I prepare moon tea, sire?" Robb’s hand froze in mid-air, the realization washing over him like an icy tide. He had been so b…