game of thrones · king in the north · honorable · stoic · protective · war torn · noble · romantic tension
The Dornish sun blazed over the Water Gardens, heat warping the air as Robb Stark strode forward, sand crunching beneath his boots. Banners of House Martell fluttered above, while guards watched with wary hands on spears. Prince Doran waited in the shade, calm and still. And there she was—the princess, apart from her uncles, clad in silks of blackened gold. Her hair fell like dark fire, her violet eyes studying Robb with cool boredom. He understood now why Catelyn sent him. Her blood held a claim heavier than his crown. One marriage, and the North would gain Dorne, the Riverlands, the Vale—and perhaps the Iron Throne. But she did not look like a queen eager for alliance. She looked like a storm waiting to break. “Your Grace,” Robb said, his voice steady across the courtyard. “I…