Young Wolf in the North on RolePlayer.me - www.roleplayer.me/youngwolfinthenorth Young Wolf in the North
No sword is strong until it’s been tempered.

Male
18 years old

United States

Last Login:
June 19 2019

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Not Today - Post Red Wedding
Collapsing for what he thought – perhaps even hoped in that moment – might be the last time, Robb was spared the visual of the desecration of his Greywind as the wolf’s head replaced the human’s on the body thought to be his and was paraded around on horseback to the amusement of the backstabbing victors. As everything started to fade to black, he heard the last mocking, laughing, cheering words from those who had so betrayed him and destroyed his entire world.

“The King in the North! Here comes the King in the North!”

~~~~~


It was some time before the darkness faded and what replaced it was so very much worse. Swirling nightmares dancing across closed lids, replaying things better left buried in the dark. There were sparks of light reflecting off swords dripping with blood, lifeless eyes staring up into a cloudless sky, never to return home again. Trees crying red tears as the Boy King stood laughing over Ned Stark’s headless corpse. Twisted perversions of love and death as he looked into his beloved’s eyes only to see the light fade from them as she collapsed at his feet while he heard her voice on repeat, asking “Don’t you want to teach little Ned Stark to swing a sword?”

A kaleidoscope of images in rapid succession: His mother, tired and sad, yet so very proud of the boy she had raised. Bran, claiming he would rather be dead than be a cripple shifting into despair upon learning he was to be the new Lord of Winterfell as his brother marched off to war. Rickon, clinging desperately to his legs as he cried and wondered what was happening that was tearing his family apart. Arya’s hands under his as he guided her in shooting a bow for the first time, before lifting her chin as she claimed she would NOT be the lady she was told she had to be, showing the wolf that resided within. Sansa, ever the lady, laughing about some story Old Nan had told her before that laughter turned to tears and her hands lifted to cover her face. Jon…the brother his mother would never claim, but had been family just the same, stepping forward to wrap his arms around him in brief embrace that finalized the splintering of their once happy family. Lastly, his father. Tall and proud as he begged for honor and justice and then melted away into smoke and flames as Winterfell, the only home he had ever known, burned to the ground while wolves howled despairingly in the distance.

Pain sheathed each image in red and black, pounding out a rhythm that left no room for coherent thoughts or anything more than wanting it all to end, wanting to return to the eternal darkness that was the only relief to be had.

When at last the pounding weakened and the images blurred, an iron will ordered the God of Death to come back some other day. Blue eyes misted with confusion, devastation and an almost panicked desperation to understand what was going on opened to unfamiliar surroundings. What was this place? How had he gotten here? How much of what he thought he remembered was true?

A hiss issued through chapped lips as he shifted in an attempt to sit up, to even get his arms under him to support him in taking better stock of his surroundings. As things swam into focus, the confusion remained. It was a homey but simple room, which he had never seen before. Small, but not the kind he remembered from inns and the like. A farmhouse perhaps? It was as good an assumption as any. Clearly he was not in any formal castle or keep.

A glance down, showed a vigorous amount of bandages wrapped around his chest in an attempt to aid with healing and fend off infection. They appeared to be well taken care of which only added to his confusion that was suddenly swamped by flashes of memories of what had made such care necessary. He shouldn’t be here. The promised wine had run red, but it had not been the only thing to do so. Rivers of blood had flowed and many beyond count had lost their lives. Escaping the keep had been nothing but blind luck. Stumbling out and into what might be considered a gift from the gods as the man with the unlucky and eerily similar appearance to his own was cut down to take his place in a last-ditch attempt to flee, survival instinct winning out over the desire to let Death take him to be with his loved ones.

It seemed the ruse had worked as no one had come to hunt him down. Had they not believed the decoy, he never would have been given the chance to wake Or, if they had come to look for him, they had been unsuccessful in their attempts. Gritting his teeth, he shifted again, swinging his legs over to the side of the bed with the intention of getting to his feet. Momentary dizziness engulfed him and he placed a hand on the bed to keep himself from falling on his face. That would be undignified – even if there was no one there at the moment to see such a thing – at best and very painful at worst. There was no guarantee he would be able to get up again.

A single thought kept running through his head. Not gratitude that he lived, that he had escaped the massacre his own oathbreaking had bought. Not gratitude that someone had found him and brought him here and done their best to nurse him back to health. Not gratitude at all but a thought, a desire he had only voiced once before since the war had begun. “I want to go home.”

Winterfell would forever belong to the Starks and he would reclaim his home or die trying. His brother’s words echoed in his head as his attempts to remain on his feet were finally a success. ‘You Starks are hard to kill.”

It brought a smile to his face that would have looked out of place on the boy who had left Winterfell with ideas of glorious rescues, revenge and battles to bring honor to the North. That boy was no more. In his place stood a man with nothing to lose and nothing to fear. Let Death come for him again, he would only be shot down. It was not his time to die, not yet. Not until his mission was accomplished.

A gust of wind blew the shutters open and his gaze travelled to the snowflakes dusting the floor, a strength and determination he had never known before enveloping him in an icy calm.

“Winter is coming.”
Legal & Physical
Name: Robb Stark
Nicknames:
Aliases: The Young Wolf, King in the North
Date Of Birth: 281 AC
Place Of Birth: Riverrun
Current Residence: Winterfell
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Family & Relationships
Mother: Catelyn Stark
Father: Eddard Stark
Sister(S): Sansa and Arya Stark
Brother(S): Brandon and Rickon Stark
Other Family: Jon Snow
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Relationship Status:
Current Relationship(S):
Past Relationship(S):
On the Battlefield
War was never what one expected it to be, never like the stories that were told or the songs that were sung. What good were stories and songs to those lying dead on the ground, never to return to their homes or families? Honor, glory, victory. None of these things overrode the injuries, maimings, deaths, tortures. One did not make up for the other, one did not make the other acceptable. Even if one thought the ends justified the means, the means were not glorious in any way.

Robb stark was discovering this a little more each time he went into battle with his mean. Battle was ugly and fierce and there was no guarantee that this battle wouldn’t be his last. Thus far his battles had been a win for his men, his own direwolf in the thick of things right with his master. He had earned the title of Young Wolf because he and Greywind fought so well together that it was thought they were one being. ‘Unkillable’ was another reputation they were gaining and Robb often wished that were true. Yet, Death could come at any time and he knew that. They all did.

He may be winning the battles, but men on both sides were losing the war, losing their lives. The aftermath on the battlefields was a gruesome sight. Not all were dead as they scrambled to retrieve those wounded, to save those they could. It was a blow to behold and never sat well with the young Lord now dubbed King in the North. The fighting was necessary and he couldn’t stop it if he had wanted to. But, no losses were acceptable and they haunted him far too frequently because they were caused by his decisions. These men marched with him, bent the knee to him. The had decided he was a better leader than those they fought and expected him to prove it.

As he stood in the fields where battles were fought, he sometimes wondered if it was worth it and in the end, he decided it had to be. They had come too far to turn back and had no choice but to plow on until this war ended one way or another. He never spoke these wondering thoughts aloud because he could not afford to look weak, inexperienced, like a mere ‘boy.’ Men would not follow a craven or a boy who allowed his feelings to dictate his movements. War was a means of achieving a goal, of showing power, of making one’s enemies bow to their desires, be it honor and justice or exactly the opposite. War was dark and dirty and the men fighting it had to be willing to do whatever it took.

Sometimes it appeared his mere presence in medical tents and with the battle field healers was enough for those injured in battle. Seeing the one they fought for rather than blindly following their own Lords sometimes did wonders for morale, even among the worst injured. Other times it did no good at all. Harsh words and curses were spat in his direction as the leader who allowed them to fall. And for what? A refusal to bend the knee to some Boy King in the South? Because personal justice was more important than the lands and Houses he was supposed to be ruling over in his father’s absence? Sometimes the pain and hallucinations overtook rational thoughts and the frantic words made no sense at all. He listened to everything, never trying to explain away his mistakes or make it sound like any of their sacrifices were acceptable, yet always assuring that they were noble. Honor still trumped many things and these men had that in abundance.
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Robb Stark
It was cold day in the North when Eddard stark rode out with a small host of men to deal with a group of bandits just outside Winter Town. Having never seen his father in action in a battle, it never crossed ten-year-old Robb Stark’s mind that following could be a very bad idea on his part. With the rushing and chaos of readying all the horses and such, it was not noticed that the eldest Stark child had taken his own along with them.

Moving more slowly than the group so as not to get caught, the battle was already raging by the time he got to the bandit’s location. Shouts and grunts and cries of pain rang out along with the sounds of steel meeting steel and Robb felt adrenaline shoot through him as he dismounted and moved slowly through the brush for a closer look. Climbing up onto a fallen tree branch for a better view, his eyes were on the wood so as not to fall and give away his location. Still looking down an unfamiliar pair of feet entered his field of vision, drawing his gaze up into a dirty and grinning face of what could only be one of the bandits his people had come to root out and destroy.

Blinking in surprise, any words froze in his throat as the man grinned cruelly and his dark eyes lit up with a fearsome light. “What a pretty little boy you are.” The man practically cooed as he leaned in close, the short blade in his hand suddenly cool and cruel against Robb’s cheek. “T’ain’t right for little Lordlings to be so pretty.” The blade slowly shifted and Robb closed his eyes. ‘T’ain’t fair to the rest of us lowly commoners.”

Robb’s eyes snapped open as the coolness of the blade was replaced by the heat of his own suddenly dripping blood. The pain was swift and sharp and his mind jammed. If he ran, he would likely just be cut down. But, if he stayed…things could be much worse. He had been beyond stupid, not thinking he would need any weapons of his own on this expedition. Why would he? His father would take care of everything swiftly and properly and all he would have to do was watch.

A foot shot out in an attempt to kick the man away. If he could get enough time to escape, perhaps he might have a chance…

Before he could even complete the thought, his other foot was swept out from beneath him and his breath was suddenly gone as he hit the ground with a grunt and the man was suddenly on top of him. Struggling did no good. The man was bigger and stronger and now he was angry. The gleam in his eyes was terrifying and Robb was certain this was it. Straddling his legs, the man leaned down once more, the blade dripping Robb’s blood drawn slowly down to the boy’s chest, but not yet cutting the fabric resting there. Unable to move or to catch his breath enough to call out for help, Robb’s eyes lifted to the man’s and he was shocked to watch the gleeful expression on the other’s face melt into stunned disbelief as both pairs of eyes dropped to the sword suddenly sticking through his chest from the back.

Rolling away just in time to avoid the body slumping to the ground, Robb gained enough strength to make it to his hands and knees, looking up to see his father pulling his sword out of the man’s back, splattering his life’s blood on the ground. The awe that Robb felt in that moment was almost overwhelming, yet what he saw on his father’s face was enough to give him pause. He had always known his father to be honorable and brave and strong. Never wavering or showing weakness of any kind. But, perhaps that pedestal he had put him on had been incomplete, because now he saw something else lingering in Eddard Stark’s eyes. Fear.

Fear for his son and what could have happened. Fear but not weakness because he had not let that fear stop him from doing what he had to do. Perhaps fear and weakness were separate things. Maybe bravery wasn’t an exclusive thing. Maybe one could be afraid and still be brave at the same time. It was a lesson well learned and one passed on years later to another boy in need of the same lesson.

“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”
“That is the only time a man can be brave.”
You Starks are hard to kill
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There must always be a stark in winterfell.
Winterfell. The frozen capital of the North. The castle had been the home of House Stark for generations and was the only one that young Robb Stark had ever known. Eldest of six children, even if his mother would never claim his half-brother and they would never share a last name, Robb was being groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps as Lord of Winterfell.

The castle itself was massive. Spanning several acres and protected by two massive walls. It was built around an ancient godswood and above a natural hot spring that kept the castle warmer than other castles during the harsh winters known in the North. The underground crypts were where the members of the Stark family were buried. Long and narrow with pillars standing two by two along its interior, likenesses of the dead seated on thrones with iron swords to keep the restless from wandering and snarling direwolves resting at their feet stood between the pillars. Located deep underground, the crypts were bigger than the aboveground complex and accessed by twisting stone stairs and a huge ironwood door.

Though his siblings felt a certain fear of the dark tunnels below, Robb was rather the opposite. Where they believed stories of wandering spirits and unquiet dead, he held an almost fascination for the statues of ancestors long past. The swords were there to prevent wandering and even if they weren’t, surely the ghosts of family would mean no harm to those who meant no harm to them or theirs. There were so many, the first level leading to a second and so on. Robb had traversed these tunnels many times, learning the legends of the family he held in such high regard.

The Godswood itself was another part of their home that his siblings chose not to frequent. The heart tree gave them chills and they claimed to not like the way it always stared at them. Though it did often feel like he was being watched, Robb felt no fear of the tree or the face carved into it. If the gods were watching, then maybe they were doing so to protect. He often felt eyes upon him there, but it brought calmness and relief, not terror or stress.

His father often visited the godswood himself, seeking things that Robb didn’t entirely understand. Relief, validation, to give thanks, to seek guidance? Likely all of the above and even more. He never questioned why his father spent so much time there as it was his prerogative and if the place brought him peace then there was nothing to question.
Books
Important Person
Connection

I have won every battle, yet somehow I'm losing the war.
Important Person
Connection

Gods be good, why would any man ever want to be king?
Groups: Battle Symphony,

     Young Wolf in the North's Details
Body type:Slim / Slender
Ethnicity:No Answer
Height:0"0'
Characters: Robb Stark
Verses: Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire, Crossovers
Playbys: Richard Madden
Length: Multi Para, Novella
Genre: Action, Crossover, Drama, Gore, Open, Suspense,
Member Since:May 20, 2019










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Young Wolf in the North's Friends Comments
Displaying 6 of 6 Comments (View All | Add Comment)
∂яagσnѕ нєaят

Jun 9th 2019 19:06


Hello New Friend
AT@dragonsheart
Sorry to disappoint you, I've only made this to give you the information you need to know. Aegon Targaryen VI, is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. You must be open to alternate universe storylines. Let's create something amazing together that makes us both want to write?

Please read my rules and let me know if you have any as well. I'd be happy to read them. I also have a group for 1x1's and multiple character plots. I also have drabbles posted there so you can check out my writing.
Lupus Domina

May 27th 2019 13:50


“Welcome to Winterfell, I am Lady Sansa Stark and this is my home. Please do come inside out of the cold and into the hall so we can see why you are here.” Turning her back Sansa heads into the hall with the guards on her heel.


“I would like to thank you for the friend request or acceptance and I look forward to finding out if we will be friend or foe.” Sansa smiles as she takes a seat at the head of the table and watches down the room. “So I think we get something together, we can either discuss or send a random starter and keep each other on our toes I do not mind. Now I do have discord and it is easier to reach me there, I can take a short while to get back to replies but I do like to try and get the majority of them out at least once a week.” Looking up and surviving the face before her. “I do have other places to be sometimes (other profiles but all quite quiet) but I do frequent her the most. I look forward to hearing from you.” 




Sansa smiles as she stands.


“Once again welcome to the North.”


Discord: Awakened Storm#3294

winter's blues.

May 27th 2019 11:35


Greetings. Hello! I am Catelyn Stark. It’s wonderful to meet you, I hope you are having a good day. Thank you for accepting my request // requesting me. I do look forward to writing with you or even setting up a connection. If you’d rather just have a normal chat // banter instead, I am always fine with that. It’s a good thing to have a friendship with the ones you write with // have connection with. Whichever your choice may be, I am okay with either. Until then, I hope to speak to you soon.
(if you’d rather see a sample of my writing first before discussing, I do have a few located in my blogs.)
-Catelyn’s writer.

{ Powered by violentendsprmds }
𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍.

May 26th 2019 12:49



Hello there! Thank you for accepting my friend request
And thank you for baring with this horrible intro
My name is Greyson and it's a pleasure meeting you.
I hope we can discuss a storyline/connection very soon,
I'm pretty open to a lot of verses and ideas so hopefully it'll be easier to come up with something.
I hope to hear from you soon~
❛ᵂᴵᴺᵀᴱᴿROSE

May 25th 2019 16:38






The Descendant of the Wolf and Lion.


OUT OF THRONES: Hello! Thank you for adding or accepting, I know OC's can be difficult; especially in such a vast verse. But I appreciate you giving me a chance.

The named is Princess Katelyn R. Stark - the first child and oldest daughter of Sansa Stark, Queen in the North and Lord Tyrion Lannister -- Her parents proclaimed her the heir to the North before her birth, whether she was male or female, and she was aware of the weight on her shoulders from a very early age. She never truly got used to constantly being in the public spotlight and when she’s not by her mothers side she is often running with her direwolf pup "Rose" in the fields. She came to power when she was seventeen, after her parents arranged a marriage with the son of Jon Snow and  Daenerys I. Their parents plans is for them to rule over the seven kingdoms. Katelyn
 has gone under tutelage from an early age to prepare for the grand responsibility of being crowned queen when the time comes.

Katelyn is of course an OC -- Game of Throne next gen. I would love to get storylines going - and if you have any ideas, feel free to shoot them my way! if not, let's discuss, and we can brainstorm something up!. Just shoot me a comment back or a message depending on what you prefer. Until then!

Winter Rose.

Golden Lioness

May 24th 2019 17:26


Greetings Your Grace

-She smiled giving a low bow-

Princess Myrcella Baratheon at your acquaintance

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