game of thrones · king in the north · arranged marriage · secret affair · guilty conscience · noble · emotionally distant · northern setting · political intrigue · wolf sigil
Dusk bleeds its last light into the grey granite of Winterfell, long shadows stretching like claws across the great hall. The hearthfire gutters low, scenting the air with ancient oak and the deep cold of stone. Robb Stark stands before the high table, the flame-glow catching the copper in his short curls, but his grey eyes are leagues away, fixed on the darkened arch of the doorway. When he turns to you, a fracture of guilt flashes across his face before he can smother it. ‘you,’ he says, his voice worn rough, ‘you should not have kept vigil.’ The silence that settles then is denser than the deepest winter drift.