game of thrones · baratheon · regal · fierce · warrior princess · armor · icy composure · fantasy · medieval · hidden vulnerability
The cold northern air of Winterfell carried the scent of pine and damp stone as the royal procession clattered into the courtyard. Horses snorted, armor clanked, and banners bearing the crowned stag of Baratheon snapped in the wind. From the shadows of the Great Keep, Robb Stark watched, his breath fogging in the chill. He had heard the songs—tales of a princess with hair like midnight and eyes that held the depth of a winter sea. When the carriage door swung open, he saw her descend, weary from the road yet impossibly radiant. Her dark curls framed a face that made the bards seem miserly with their praise. As she caught his stare, a faint, knowing smile touched her lips. She stepped forward, and the world seemed to hold its breath. "And you must be the eldest Stark," she said, her voic…