Torrhen Stark Birth Name Torrhen Stark Titles Lord of The Dreadfort Alias The "Grief Lord" Gender Male Date Of Birth 369AC Location The Dreadfort Culture First Men/Northman Religion The Old Gods Status Dead Occupation He is a Lord, an important one at that Holdings The Dreadfort Physical Information Eye Color Dark Brown Hair Color Black with shades of grey Build Lean/Thin Height 179cm Weight 65kg Relations Father Jon Stark (Of The Dreadfort) Mother Wylla Manderly Spouse(s) Dawn Reed Children Too many to list Siblings Too many to list Liege Lord Jon Stark of Winterfell Predecessor Jon Stark (Of The Dreadfort) Heir Cregard Stark META Player Username /u/Ivo_Gebshemenov Name on Discord Geb#4445 Alternative Characters They are named down below

Torrhen Stark is the head of House Stark of the Dreadfort, a cadet branch of House Stark of Winterfell, and the current Lord of The Dreadfort. He is the third born of the previous Lord Jon Stark and younger brother of heir apparent Doran Stark, inheriting the title due to both of them dying in the War of The Three Thieves. His other siblings include Eyron, Edwyn, Osric and the bastard, Brandon Snow. He has had five children, oldest of whom deceased.

A man whose former life of was brought to an abrupt end, Torrhen has spent the last half decade fighting to preserve his Family’s Legacy and House in a time of great peril and the ever increasing burden of ruling. Time will tell if he is truly ready to lead his Family and rebuild House Stark of The Dreadfort.

(Note: This wiki is still in development)

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Appearance and Character

Torrhen was never a man of great charm, though was noted as ‘comely’ in his youth. Little was retained from his mother’s side and he has a long face and long dark brown hair with strains of grey and black eyes full of sorrow and coldness. Torrhen is slightly taller than most folk and is a lean built. Although some suspect he is just thin. He appears older than he actually is, but still retains some of the physically usual for his age. A posture befitting a lord, but his hands are shaky in nature. He smiles so rarely that it’s now a sign of good luck by some in his court. His voice is yet powerful and gruff, a trait inherited from his father.



A red direwolf crest always stays on his clothes, right in the place of his heart. Being a Northman, one could find him almost always wearing furs and leather, even having received as a gift a bear pelt from House Mormont. No one is felt in walking around his keep in linen robes during the late hours, and red silk is reserved only for the most important of courtly visits.



His older brother recalls the fond times when his kin was a talkative and kind young lad with a love for history and poetry…Though shakes a grim head at how ruling has changed him. A solemn, brooding and reserved man, Torrhen is always vigilant and careful when in the presence of other men of note…All this matched with his observant nature result in a man who always let’s other men waste their words before his cracked eyebrows even raise. But, some consider him cold and vengeful, though he claims some “Wolf-Blood” runs in his veins. The most notable of all traits is, however, his inner distraught that can easily overcome him in increasingly ever-present times and is prone to brooding for many hours, some even say crying. He holds as much inside as one could muster but is rumored to spend an hour every day just thinking over his pessimist, and some say paranoid, tendencies about his own ineptitude to rule, emerging due to how he became the lord in the first place. Is this a sign of a dormant ruthlessness slowly emerging?

He keeps to the Old Gods but rarely prays at the weirwood. Instead of finding solace in his private chambers on a regular basis where he thinks on the peaceful future of his children.

The Lord of The Dreadfort is a fierce family man with an unweaving reputation for punishing anyone to disrespect it. Going to the verge of being blind to their own mistakes and faults. His love, however, is not always desired, as he chastises his kin on regular bases about the vision of the Family he has.

He is left-handed and wields his family’s honorary longsword, with a dagger always hidden under his clothes. While not his uncle by any means, he is an adept commander of the Stark forces.

History

Early Life

“A child awakens into this world either with a predestined path, or a deadly swim in the cold waters of death.”

Torrhen Stark was born in 369AC, the same year as The weirwood tourney. He was the third born of Jon Stark and Winda Manderly. His first years on this wretched earth were noted for how much the boy cry. Cry and cry it did for hours on end. The gentle touch of his sweet mother, the heavy hand of his father…he wept and wept. People have recently told legends about how this was a sign of the times to come. Only the stories of his grand-uncle Rickard the White Wolf brought him at ease. He laughed and clapped at the stories of the valiant knight he slew the forces of evil that plagued his house. The story only plagued his mind as he grew both physically and in spirit. With the death of Rickard, the child changed. It rarely smiled for months after, but it rarely cried either. His older brothers would poke him with a stick while the child lay there in his crib, once even in the eye, a result of which was the child going blind for several weeks…

Yet, it did not show an ounce of care. The birth of his younger brother Edwyn was a positive influence in his life, as the child finally found a plaything to raise its spirits and make him smile…One of the increasingly rare times for the “Grief Lord”. The young child began his education with the Maester of the Dreadfort, Brynden, at a younger than most age. The master was a harsh teacher, with the birch always in reach. The boy was allowed to speak only when spoken to and forced to recite the alphabet, with Stark names instead of letters, at the start of every lesson. He paid no heed to the Maester’s warning about a time in which he would help his brother lead, he was the thirdborn after all. It wasn’t one’s destiny. Instead, he studied ancient history. Tales of glory, might, and honour. He was especially fond of the Young Wolf and his dreadful journey, a fondness he shared with his uncle Edrick.

He let his uncle talk and talk about Aegon and how he rode his dragons, how Jon Snow/Stark defended the Wall with only 50 men against thousands and many more. He never spoke a word in these many story times, only keenly listening. But, he had a tendency for melancholy, only spurred ahead by books about the Targaryen “Egg”, the beheading of Eddard and kneeling of Torrhen…His father forbade such books from ever nearing his chambers, but how can the Maester refuse his desire to learn?





A Time of Passion.

“What’s more precious to a Lord than his family…Besides the whore’s temporary embrace”

Lord Eddard Stark, the polar opposite of his namesake. A caring grandfather who always gave Torrhen the best books from the Citadel to read. Sometimes he was allowed to go with the Family to visit Oldtown itself. He did not care his grandfather visited the brothel or at least pretended not to notice, he had other things on his busy mind. It was at this point in his life that he wrote his first book…more like page and a half of garbage…” The kennels and the Cleaners.” A tale about exactly what you would suspect. But, with time he got better…

He wrote and wrote and was the only of his kin to not be married off into some random House. He visited the local inns to hear tales of adventure and his younger brother regularly found him under an apple tree where he wrote. While his house suffered, his father doing the duties not required of him, his brother learning about matters of state, his uncle training his sword arm…Torrhen did none of that. His life was a fairytale in his eyes and the problems in the world were not his. Until the day Lord Eddard died and Jon Stark gained the Lordship over the Dreadfort.





The Dawn’s First Light.

All starts with a simple journey, a simple journey south. A boy now a man, last moon passing 18. Jon took him aside during one of their family gatherings, the first after he became Lord Stark of the Dreadfort, and spoke simple, yet stingy, words. “You are to be married.” A news so grim and unexpected he hid in his bedroom for a week, only being forced outside by his older brother Dorran. The saddles were tightened and the Horses were to gallop hours a day South. Torrhen spoke little during the travel, an action he increasingly did as the years went by. The summer breeze chilled his ever heated with thought mind. How could he marry a Reed? How could his father force this upon him? Why must a man’s own choice of love be overshadowed by the needs of a Family…Who says he can’t find love on his own. And that he did. In the dead of night, he took the most vigilant of the Guard’s stallions, that of his Uncle Edrick and provisions to last him a week. He rode through the dead of the night into the swamps around Moat Cailin.

He rode, rode…and rode. His’s fathers prized dogs, led by none other than his older brothers, chased him for days. Hardly any time for sleep was given, and by the time he left the jungle his eyes never stayed open for long. A field of wheat was the last he remembered as his body slammed off the horse, some folktale say the stallion still gallops to this very day. He could not remember how long he slept but awoke in a House smelling of puss and shit. The shack was small, yet enough room was made for two windows to shine a light on one most pleasant of souls…A small cottage girl, basking in the sun’s warming embrace as she mashed butter. Her light brown haired matched her perfectly aligned freckles…and that smile. Torrhen gasped so hard he scared the young thing. Many pleasantries and tales of delight could be shared about this meeting only the Old Gods could deliver, but that’s not the point of the tale.

No, the point of any tale is what learns from it, how it starts and finish shape a man and his destiny…An ending of opposites.

The Stark stayed in her cottage for days, most never even shading a brow to the outside…At first, the girl gave him a warm embrace to heal his wounds, but the warm embrace’s purpose changed…to that of love. And, finally, it was time. Time for true love. “The sheets did not provide ample warmth.” As one could say. But, the Old Gods had something else in mind when the cottage door suddenly opened in a few short minutes. The next minutes…No, second were a blur as chairs, bed, and fur were thrown into walls, wheat, and shit. Torrhen jumped out of the window and into the pig pen before running. Yet, it was a love only seen in a novel, one he would not let go. He went to try and visit her the next day when her husband was away, but the butcher never left the House. Torrhen hid near, under an apple tree while he beat her…the screams reminding him of the death of his son in the future. So frail she had become that even sleep was painful. However, the Stark would not let this continue any longer. He took a club and went to rescue his princess in despair the very next morning, at dawn’s first light…

The tears he shed were ones of despair and yet beautiful as the rays of sun yet again basked her charming...

hanging from an apple tree body. He never found the murderous wretch, no matter how he much he searched. But, it’s certain one thing: Her death was caused by his hands. A death that would leave a mother weeping, and a father cursing of revenge…A death no second which would follow.



He was seen a week later in Greywater Watch, after travelling on foot, to personally offer Dawn Reed his hand in marriage.

“True love is the lie of the young.” -The last words he wrote as he closed the cover of this short tale and journey of his, the last tale he ever wrote...

A Famine of Greatness.

“The promise of a Lord is as precious as a thousand golden rings.”

The Great Famine. A time of dread and hunger. A time of despair and death. A perfect time for one to find the slow realization of how the world turns.





Torrhen never starved, neither did his brothers. As much as his father Jon gave to the peasants, he always saved for his family to live like usual. Torrhen suspected he even began hoarding because he would have been forced to ration his sons. His first was born years ago. A kid fostered too early in life and nearly bringing his house to shame…But the false pretence of love ensured he would be fully married before anyone even noticed. Some may have, but not for him to see. His marriage was initially, in truth, not a happy one as he was cold and distant…Though he knew his job and had 5 kids in a couple of short years. His oldest brother had not even gotten his wife in bed yet. Some say this was one of the traits he inherited from his grandfather, as he even named his firstborn Eddard. But, those close to him knew the ever growing lack of passion and thrill in his life. But, that will be for later.



Where were we? Ah yes, the Great Famine. What was his role in it? At first, it started like one would expect upon reading the House lore, his father gave food to the peasants, as much as he could spare. He never knew hunger, as I have previously stated, yet any man who is not naturally evil would feel sympathy for his fellow Northmen starving. Soon, he volunteered to lead some of the many convoys of food filled wagons on their journeys and organized their defences. He still remembers the slap his wife gave him in order to force his hand into action. A still youthful lad leading wagons of food, for the most part, successful as once bandits jumped them and stole a whole wagon of pork. After that he moved much more cautiously, ready to hear the advice of those more experienced than him. Adequate preparation for the hunting of raiders and bandits once the food shipments become a thing of the past.

Just revenge for the death of his Aunt’s husband, Lord Stark of Winterfell. But, that was by far not the only task he put himself to. During his times filled with ‘passions’ and ‘joy’ for writing, he kept regular contact with various lords and maesters, most of which from the Citadel. He sent raven’s day and night hoping to gather any insight as to when this famine would end and his House yet again beginning it’s climb to greatness…Though, most only returned with grim news about expectations lasting decades. Yet, harvests began to grow and children began to walk as the Famine drew to a sudden close. Yet, it was not a time for peace.





The Hatching of Misery

“One celebrate Birth, while others reap 'in' its pain.”

Thieves, petty thieves…How could one steal from a King and expect his ignorant bliss? Three men caused thousands to suffer, Three Thieves stole more lives than gold. This was just some of what Torrhen asked himself as a final farewell was given to his dear kin, off to fight in foreign wars for foreign causes. Torrhen did not eat for three days after, his eldest being forced to feed him bread less he starves. The worry on his brow was great, yet he was not let to partake in the fight out of worry for his sick second born. An act he still considers one of false nature as the boy miraculously healed just as the ships departed. But alas, here he was. His older brother was placed to manage the holdings in his father’s stead, a task which he fulfilled to the best of his degree. Torrhen was regularly torn between taking care of his children and the journeying to foreign Houses in diplomatic missions. Not the best man suited for the task, as he would spend most of his time in said Houses brooding over the war effort.

Ravens were sent in the bask of the sun to the glow of the moon. One says Torrhen spent more words on his letters that he did with his wife. With each one sent, another returned with false hopes or full-blown denials. It caused him great pain, knowing he can do no more than this to help his House in their time of need as the Food Stores steadily became empty. Yet, when the two priorities met was where he excelled. First by securing the betrothal of his eldest Eddard to a certain Ryswell, securing food shipments from the Whitehills in exchange for future aid in inner conflict to come.

But, his brother proved a man not up to all matter of tasks. He handled with poor justice any cases of stealing, rape or murder…Never listening to the heed of others as one preferred trusting his own gut. Sometimes the thief would be found innocent, sometimes the raped would find justice, sometimes the murdering would receive gifts for his honor being questioned. Torrhen spoke little in defiance against this, knowing his kin would soon return to bring the lawless to justice…His fate had other things in store.





The Age of Grief (Torrhen’s Reign)

“While Eyron cried for a week…Torrhen’s tears still form rivers to this day.”



A dead father, a vanished brother…No ashes to fill a statue, two hollow reminders to fill the Great Hall. Eyron spent a week in his chambers, mourning the death of his father and eldest brother to no avail. He once returned during a moment of prayer, renouncing title, claim…and honour. Torrhen was left to fill his shoes, shoes of rock. He sat on the throne with a heavy burden already on his shoulders. Torrhen never mourned openly, more not having the time or will to be standing afterwards. The tasks were many, and the time was little of a winter unknown by the ages had come…a Scarlet Winter.

All the food House Stark of The Dreadfort had was gone, eaten in a foreign war. Starvation was a thing many felt from the very start. Torrhen had nothing to give the peasants begging at his gates. They began losing hope in their Lord but found hope elsewhere: Skagos. Rumours began to emerge about the Skagosi hoarding food on their island. The Lord himself knew how blatant and ignorant such a rumour is, but a rumour even the closest of his kin followed. His younger brother Edwyn was among the first to charge head first into battle against a foe who has not shed it’s horns yet. He had just months ago lost his father and brother fighting in battles that were not theirs, now…he was to lose one again. Many hours were spend lying next to his bed and hop…begging for his safe return and many never saw that thick brow of worry leave his face until he did. But, he had other lordly duties in the meantime.





His eldest had come of age, and it was time to marry. He had betrothed him to a Ryswell, a pretty one at that. One that possessed that held some Stark traits within her. He organized a simple wedding, yet the biggest he could afford. The most expensive of silks was used by the Dreadfort masters to sew her wedding gown, and the most delightful of carpets was borrowed to guide them on their journey through the Bolton Crypt. The smile on both their faces was one that managed to force even his own lips to go upwards, if only for a second. The boy was always a man of virtue and skill; an heir he could never believe was his own. Ever giving the initiative, he worked with his father on establishing daily hunts into the wilderness for food. It was a good idea while it lasted, with Eddard leading many said hunts. He still remembers the cheers as the first wagon of rabbit’s and boar arrived. And the second, and the third…The hunts went ever farther as the game became ever smaller. Torrhen ordered the hunters to sleep in the woods if needed, but never return with empty hands…And never they did…His son being the next in their wagon. The cold of the night was unexpected, even by his kin. The father shed tears at the pure blue arms and legs of his son. No amount of milk of the poppy could ease his pain, and his heart never had it in him to end his suffering. Torrhen hid in his room as the screams of his firstborn filled the halls of the Dreadfort for days. He cried and cried…Until the crying stopped. “The Heir is dead…And your brother has returned.”



The source of his happiness, the one thing that kept his marriage together…The age of Grief has begun





Recent Events

It’s been years since the end of the Scarlet Winter, yet Torrhen never fully recovered. The Lord of the Dreadfort spends hours a day brooding in his chair, the will and desires of his court being a thing of secondary importance…His children grow quickly, and he feels powerless to control them in their journey. Will his sorrow ever end, or will it consume him…Will his heart embrace the cold winter’s embrace or the fire that rages in his mind…Only the Old Gods can tell what his future holds, and the Old Gods do not say.

Family

Lady Stark (Placeholder) (PC) Cregard Stark, the second born and current heir to the Lord of The Dreadfort. More information to follow (PC) Rickon Stark, the third born son of Torrhen Stark. A quiet young man whose upbringing has made him seek 'hope' in other 'subjects', like religion. More information to follow (Potential PC) Alysanne Stark, the firstborn daughter of Torrhen Stark. A charming female teen whose just now beginning to enter the adult life. More information to follow (Potential PC) Arra Stark, the last born child of Torrhen Stark. A frail little being who is not yet ready for the life forcing itself upon her. More information to follow



(PC) Eyron Stark, Second born of Jon Stark. A moody man who felt he did not take up his duty in time and is responsible for his little brother's misery. He is noble, by no means evil. (PC) Evelyne Mormont, the wife of Eyron Stark. Ten years his junior and a good-hearted tomboy in nature. (Placeholder) Eyron Stark and Evelyne Mormonts' single child

(Potential PC) Edwyn Stark, Fourth born of Jon Stark. Edwyn is a fiery character who prefers actions speaking louder than words and is no strangers to the impulsive trait of the "Wolf Blood" that runs through the Stark veins.

(Potential PC) Osric Stark, Fifth Born of Jon Stark. Osric is a rather 'isolated' and shrewd person who has always tried to make his own in the world. Falyse Brax, the betrothed of Osric Stark. She is the sister of Regenard Brax and her engagement to Osric was more to save her life than anything.

(PC) Brandon Snow, the Sixth born and bastard of Jon Stark. More information to follow

(Placeholder)

(PC) Edrick Stark, the Uncle of the current Lord of The Dreadfort. A grumpy old man who feels his House is being brought to ruin since the death of his brother. He is known for his harsh command of the men...yet is no stranger to being honourable towards proven enemies.

Notable Past Family Members Edit

Brandon the Black, the founder of House Stark of The Dreadfort. A man more myth than legend in recent times, his deeds to secure Northern Independence will forever be remembered by all in Westeros...For good or bad.

Lady Emberlei Bolton, a hag that doesn't deserve her own wiki page.

Brandon the Stoner, Son of Brandon the Black and former Lord of The Dreadfort. A wise and calculating man who secured the Dreadfort Starks a true place in the world.

Cregard and Rickard Stark, The Black and White Wolf. Twins who fought a war of succession for the Dreadfort, with the latter emerging victorious.

Eddard Stark, the "Family Man"... "He was a cheating cunt."

Jon Stark, the father of Torrhen Stark and former Lord of The Dreadfort. I've already written enough about him...

Serena Stark, the sister of Jon Stark and Lady of Winterfell. Mother of the current Lord of Winterfell, she was a gentle soul.

Dorren Stark, the firstborn of Jon Stark and the heir apparent before he met his sudden death at the hands of a dragon.

Eddard Stark, the firstborn son o Torrhen son and his heir. A man of virtue and wits, he did not deserve his sudden death by Frostbite.





Household/NPC's

Unclaimed members of his House+Brynden the Butcher and in general any member of the retinue, staff...You get the idea.

Quotes By Torrhen Stark

Quotes About Torrhen Stark

"My nephew? Aye, he may be a sorrowful sort, but don't let that deceive you. There's fire in those veins, hidden under the smoke of grief, and woe betide any who forget it."

- Edrick Stark, commenting on Lord Torrhen

"It's the Dreadfort, you see. It touches all of 'em in different ways. Some, it makes cruel, others it makes weak. But Lord Stark, well, they say the Dreadfort took something out of his heart, and he's still searching for it."

-Peasant commenting on Lord Torrhen

"I've never been angrier than I was the day my nephew forbade me from joining the damned Skagosi expedition. I raged at him for hours, but he held firm, like there was ice in his veins. I'm man enough to admit that, looking back, he was right. He's a cautious Lord, but the Dreadfort needs no other kind in days like this..."

- Edrick Stark on Lord Torrhen

"Eddard's death took something from Torrhen, something unimaginable. For all our sakes, let us hope that he can absorb the pain like he has for all his other troubles and keep this House on the path the recovery."

-Maester Brynden