𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒏.

𝑳𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑺𝑨𝑴𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑳 𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑶𝑵 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑴'𝑺 𝑬𝑵𝑫.

character introduction ·  threads ·  introspection ·  board

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

basic information.

full name: samwell baratheon. nicknames: sam, sammie. title: ruling lord of storm’s end. age: forty one. place of birth: storm’s end, the stormlands. gender & pronouns: demi man & he/they. orientation: biromantic & bisexual. allegiance: house baratheon. spoken languages: common tongue. religion: faith of the seven. status: unwed and unbethroted.

appearance.

faceclaim: rahul kohli. height: 6’5’’ or 196cm. hair: black, some slight greying on the sides. often unruly.  eyes: dark brown. facial hair: slightly greying beard. dominant hand: right. clothing: often dressed as if house baratheon is even more broke than it is. only browns and the occasional yellow.

personality.

moral alignment: lawful neutral. temperament: melancholic. zodiac: taurus. element: earth. mbti: istj, the logistician. enneagram: type 1, the reformer.

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

“these walls are unbreakable.” every day, the words from the nurse, lost in the unsettling haze of childhood, seep through his memories and into the present. “the storm king made it so, and the gods of the trashing winds and the deadly sea - they cannot get to ya, not to this day.” it was meant to be comforting. the world seemed to go up in air but storm’s end would stay. she’d tell tales of the storm king’s love, as if the stone around them was a statement to that and not to the fury that would make a man declare war on the gods and win. it always comes back to the anger of man. 

samwell understood it then. they whispered back to the nurse, once: the world is so obvious to me, i feel like i’ve done this all a million times before. these walls are unbreakable, she said. these walls are unescapable, they heard. all his life, sam’s pressed his hands, his forehead, to the cold walls and hoped to sense something. the whispers of forgotten magic, the curses of goneby gods, the anger of the kings. reality warped at the walls. those who walked through it never seemed to return right, as if it warned that their souls were not meant to handle the world. the air outside seemed to burn through his lungs. the doors were portals, opening to any world but reality, for that only existed inside the walls. their prison. their only real thing. it echoed with the booming voice of his father and he can still feel his words stuck between the rocks. he shall ask for them to be scrubbed clean again this week. 

sam looked at anger like an illness and kept it far away from his organism, but he spared no moralities for those who caught it. his lord father never paid him much mind - the quiet second son, perched on windows, people watching in the kitchens, organizing the most dull hunting expeditions possible. yet, samwell was always there. it was as if the air carried a warning, and before any fury could reach its climax, there was the child, always too tall for their demeanor. sammie never yells. sammie never fights. sammie never intervenes. he’s a bothersome wall between lord baratheon and the world, immovable like the stone around them. 

life was already a shaky concept, barely felt by the man who spent his days split between the surreal woods and the oppressive kitchens. a person of few friends and even fewer acquaintances. his life passed him by, despite his original role. all that made some semblance of sense was the simplicity of the chase, all emotion set aside for body and sound alone. it was the crossbow in his hands and the lawfulness that’s not man made. patience that can be merciful, purpose that can be deadly and unkind. a hunter’s justice. all that made sense was watching the cooks work and helping them carve a boar. at the end of any given day, the one thing anchoring him to the world was knowing that people around him would go to bed with meat and bread in their stomachs. that was how he’d spend his life, showing care. 

gude’s passing was a powerful shaking of the walls. the entire world ( which was, really, mostly his family ) seemed to crumble before his eyes and, like always, sammie did nothing. he was frozen in the knowledge that he would not be a wall and a hunter forever. his father called it immediately, how unfit he was. perhaps that’s why he spent the following decade thorn between pretending samwell did not exist, and trying to awaken something in them. to shake out the fury or strength. neither seemed to work. 

the cursed family heirloom seemed to make the walls thicker. it’s a role, and it isn’t instinctual. it is a broken bone healed wrong, the middle forever soft. just because he hopes to do right by the role, doesn’t mean it is his. there is something they could call samwell, but it is outweighed by the role, and there’s a comfort in that, despite it all. lord baratheon can’t crack, can’t cry or rage or leave. sammie, if he must, can shield himself somewhere within to do all that. the role takes over and they are solid rock.