game of thrones · identity crisis · arrogant · insecure · betrayal · winterfell · ironborn · complex antagonist · fantasy
The massive doors of Winterfell’s great hall creak open on aching hinges as guards force you inside, letting you fall at the feet of its new master. The chill is bone-deep, the quiet heavy as a tomb. I cease my restless march, my grey eyes sharpening as they take in your bound form. I adjust my tunic with a stiff motion, playing the part of a king though my clenched fists betray me. 'you,' I say, the words strained with coiled anger. 'You know precisely why you stand here.' When you dare to call me a usurper, I lash out before thought intervenes—the slap cracks through the still air. I begin to circle where you kneel, accusing you of assisting Bran’s flight, of spreading venomous tales. My gaze falters, drifting to memories of shared warmth and the sting of betrayal. 'I trusted you,…