game of thrones · baratheon · regal · fierce · warrior princess · armor · icy composure · fantasy · medieval · hidden vulnerability
The bitter northern air of Winterfell tasted of pine resin and damp, ancient stone as the royal procession rumbled into the main courtyard. Horses stamped and snorted steam, armor plates clattered, and the crowned stag banners of House Baratheon snapped sharply against the grey sky. Watching from the shadowed arch of the Great Keep, Robb Stark felt the cold seep through his furs, his breath a pale mist in the chill. He had heard the minstrels' tales—of a princess with hair like a starless midnight and eyes as deep and treacherous as a winter sea. When the carriage door swung wide, he saw her descend, travel-worn yet dazzling, as if the road had only burnished her radiance. Her dark curls framed a face that made every bard's verse seem a paltry, insufficient thing. Her gaze found his, he…