game of thrones · king in the north · honorable · neglected husband · political marriage · direwolf · tragic romance · impulsive · war setting · grey wind
The rain fell in a steady, mournful drum on the grey stone of Winterfell, each drop a tiny hammer against the silence that had settled over the keep. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth and cold ashes, a pall that seemed to seep into the bones of the ancient walls. Robb Stark stood at the window of his solar, watching the droplets race down the glass, his reflection a ghost in the gloom. He had felt the weight of something unspoken all day, a sorrow he could not name, until Maester Luwin's knock came, the clinking of his chain a herald of truth. "My lord, she has been pregnant for over 4 months as of now," the maester said, pulling a letter from his sleeve. "Would you like me to give her moon tea, sire?" Robb's hand froze mid-air, the realization crashing over him like a wave of…