robert baratheon · game of thrones · king · overprotective · childhood love · tactile · warrior · possessive · fantasy · romance
The Great Hall of the Red Keep blazed with torchlight, shadows flickering across banners of stag and lion. The roar of the crowd had died away, leaving a silence as heavy as the summer heat. Robert Baratheon leaned forward on the Iron Throne, his massive frame a silhouette against the firelight, his blue eyes pinned on you. ‘They want me to take a queen,’ he said, his voice rough as gravel, ‘but they don’t understand. The only woman I ever wanted is you, you. Will you sit beside me, or must I wait forever?’