Rozzi’s

The warmth of the southern parts of Westeros was pleasant, but Robb longed for the colder temperatures back home when he stood under the burning sun, green grass softly swaying in a warm breeze, his fur and cloak long since abandoned on a chair under one of the set-up canopies. His mother and father sat there, conversing in soft voices, each holding a goblet filled with wine, heads bent to one another.

His mother wanted the same for him—Robb knew it. He knew she only held his best interests at heart, and still, he felt agitated, nervous, anxious. Marriage was certainly not something he had considered all that much, especially not this soon, but he also understood his duties as the firstborn son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He knew it would one day fall into his hands, onto his shoulders—and he was in need of a wife sharing this particular burden, securing the line of the Starks with children of his own.

A strong hand clapped on his shoulder, and the man shared a glance with his brother, watching Jon smile before turning his head back, blue eyes lingering on the distant road that would soon lead his future wife to them. “You do not need to be nervous, brother,” Jon spoke then, making Robb heave out a sigh. “I guess I don’t. And still, I am.” His younger brother chuckled, clapping his shoulder once more. “Are you scared she’s not pretty? I think she is named the Golden Rose of Highgarden for a reason, Robb.”

The older brother huffed, shaking his head, eyes remained trained on the King’s Road. “I do not think this is what I need to be fearful of—I am scared she does not particularly like me. Or the life I could offer her, for that matter.” There was a contrast between the warmth of Highgarden and the coldness of Winterfell; a coldness few people born in the south were particularly fond of when first setting foot across the border of snow and ice.

How could he expect her to be content with it?

He probably would send her home immediately at the first sight of slight discomfort.

Jon laughed softly under his breath. “What, the life as Lady of Winterfell isn’t something a young lady would choose willingly? I think they are trained to aspire to a standing like this.” Robb finally turned then, shrugging almost helplessly, his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of the sword strapped around his hips, the leather nearly groaning under the pressure of his grip. “Would you choose snow and icy coldness if you had been raised in the pleasant warmth of the Reach? I think I wouldn’t if I were her.” Not if she was like all the other highborn ladies he had met during his lifetime so far.

The bastard son of the Starks shrugged a shoulder and followed Robb when he started to pace along the edge of the hill where they had set up camp for the meeting, keeping him company. Jon did not envy his older brother in the slightest.

“I don’t think she has a choice in that matter,” Jon noted with slight hesitation in his voice, eyes watching Robb turning in a flurry, spine straight as a rod. “You think I would force her to marry me if she does not want to?” Disbelief was evident on his face, and Robb felt sick at the prospect of it. How could he call himself a gentleman if he forced a woman to do as he pleased? What would make that of him? “I don’t intend to force anyone to anything, brother,” he continued. “It wouldn’t be a marriage built on trust and happiness, now would it?”

And that’s precisely what Robb Stark tried to strive for—his parents as a glowing paragon.

No, he wanted to be devoted to his future wife—he would be loyal to a fault, protecting her with everything that he was and everything that he had. It was what he would promise in front of the gods on their wedding night.

And he desperately wished it would come to it at all when his eyes fell onto the horses, carriages, and wagons slowly cresting the first hill on the King’s Road toward their agreed-on meeting point, the banner of House Tyrell blowing in the wind.

He had to hold back a growing smile when his eyes fell on a lady sitting proudly atop her mount, hair laced into intricate braids falling down her back, warm, but wary eyes watching his every expression, his every move. Robb’s amusement grew as he watched her dismiss a knight who only wanted to be of assistance in helping her dismount the black horse, managing it herself with practiced grace. The moment her boots hit the plush grassy ground, the lady turned, watching him anew, while her hand gently patted the horse’s strong neck, humming softly to him.

Robb couldn’t take his eyes off her, so much was evident to everyone in attendance. Not even the announcement of one Lady Olenna Tyrell could force the Stark heir to move his gaze, and he was granted the sight of her tilting lips, showing him almost something resembling a first small smile.

But then, her grandmother exited the coach, and the young lady pulled her pretty eyes off of him, leaving Robb already longing for just one more glance granted his way. It was a strange emotion strangling his chest right then and there, his heart beating rapidly inside, making the man swallow drily.

He certainly had not seen it coming.

“My lady,” his father greeted Lady Olenna with a bowed head while his mother did the same toward the older woman, a small smile gracing her face. “Lord and Lady Stark,” Lady Olenna greeted in return, nodding, capturing his very person in her calculated gaze, showing yet another nod. “May I present you my dearest granddaughter, Lady YN Tyrell?”

The young lady curtsied flawlessly in front of his parents, reminding him of the ladies at the king’s court, and again, Robb had to ask himself if she wouldn't be happier as a wife of a courtier, some lord who called King’s Landing his primary residence, being able to entertain his wife with the many accommodations the capitol had to offer, trying to let her rise in the ranks of the Queen’s court. Perhaps she would beg exactly this of him—to be freed from this arrangement just to live out the rest of her life in the warmth of King’s Landing, attending each and every ball the court certainly held more than just once a week.

“Robb.”

His father’s voice pulled him out of his tangled thoughts, making the brunet blink into the sunlight, facing the lady with whom he was supposed to grow familiar over the next couple of hours.

Up close, her beauty struck the man even more—her eyes a mesmerizing shade he had not come across in the north, her complexion sun-kissed, a face so perfectly shaped, Robb was sure painters have been begging on their knees for s chance to capture her liking, and hair appearing so soft, he was sure it would feel like spun silk between his fingers. But it was her eyes that held him captive. Her body was beautiful, to be sure, at least what he could gather beneath the dark breaches and long overcoat that was laced in the front rather than in the back, a light blue shift peaking from beneath the dark green, embroidered fabric, but Robb knew he could drown in those eyes if he were not careful enough.

He bowed deeply, her hand finding its way between his fingers, her skin as soft as it appeared to be. He pressed a whisper of a kiss to the knuckles of her fingers, blue eyes looking up at her. “It is an honor, my lady,” he spoke softly, watching her attentively, lips forming into a smile at the sight of her very own. The honor is all mine, my lord.”

Despite the long journey and the long hours in which she would have had the time to grow to terms with it, YN still felt anxious unrest and nerves fluttering in her body. She did not dare to look him in the eye too long, while also being unable to rip her gaze off him for longer than a few fleeting moments. She had received a miniature portrait in advance of this meeting, barely bigger than the palm of her hand, knowing that Robb Stark, the future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, was a handsome young man—but the portrait could not do him justice.

He was a man grown, broad shoulders filling his garments, strong, exceptionally long legs carrying his height with ease, adjusting to her shorter steps without seemingly having to think about it. His arms were just as spectacular—corded with muscles which bunched and released under her hand, which rested on his lower arm while they walked across the grass under the sun. The bright spot at the zenith of the sky kissed his dark curls tenderly, making them appear like a lake’s ground, touched by shadows and light; the warm breeze tussling them ever so slightly, and it itched in her fingers to run them through his hair.

It was as much an unladylike thought as the rest of them swirling around in her mind as YN observed the man she was supposed to wed.

“I gather you enjoy riding,” his warm voice pulled her back into the faltering conversation, both clearly occupied with their own anxious thoughts. YN did not even try to hide her growing smile. “I very much enjoy it, yes. It is one of the few pleasures a lady can have besides needlework and flower arrangements.” The Tyrell couldn't recall how often she had envied her brothers. Both Willas and Loras led fulfilling lives, each in their own way. At the same time, she herself and her sister were sequestered into a room or another inside the castle, herded into a corner of the gardens, surrounded by ladies and handmaidens, every passing day just the same as the day before.

It was tiring.

So YN had searched for something, an escape, and she had found it on the back of a horse. Her father hadn't been too thrilled about it, but her grandmother quickly put her foot down and allowed her to do as she pleased.

Robb hummed in acknowledgment. “I suppose the life of a lady is truly not fulfilling.” His words made her laugh, seemingly shocking him that he had achieved such a feat, but quickly, the man chuckled alongside her. “There are worse lives to live, I know, but…” A soft sigh left her, and YN could only shake her head in order to quell the words trying to escape, when the lord next to her covered her hand with his, squeezing it gently. He made her look at him after they stopped far enough away from the party of their families, all watching the pair with eagle eyes.

“My lady, I know an arranged marriage is rarely the desire of a woman,” he began, making YN watch him closely, a brow slightly cocked in question. “I also gather that few women who have been raised in the pleasant climate of warmer regions of the country are inclined to live out their lives in the north, where ice and snow are our constant companions. So… If you do not desire this union, this match, I will not be offended by your rejection, nor will I think differently of you. If you desire a match with a lord in the capital or the Reach, I won’t find myself offended. Say the word, Lady YN, and I will do everything in my power to grant you this wish.”

She was rarely speechless—her grandmother had been certain to teach her differently, to raise her into a lady who knew her worth and her way in the art of conversation. She knew a million different meanings, knew how to stab subtly, how to elevate one’s opponent, or how to crush it with a single sentence. And yet, YN stood in front of her future husband and lord, lacking every single word she once knew because she had not anticipated his… honesty. His loyalty. His care. Yes, she should have known better because Robb Stark was the firstborn son of none other than Eddard Stark—one of the most honorable men in the Seven Kingdoms.

Swallowing, YN blinked at him in surprise, forcing herself to remember how to use her mind despite her heart beating so loudly in her chest that she barely could hear the birds chirping happily around them.

“The king once asked my grandmother for my hand in marriage with his eldest son, Joffrey. She declined numerous times, knowing I would not be happy and content in King’s Landing.” And she wouldn't have been happy with this prince. A small smile settled onto her face. “Once, many years ago, we experienced snow in Highgarden. It was a rare occurrence, indeed, so rare even the maesters were not certain how it had been possible. But I still remember how happy it made me—the white, the cold.” It was her most cherished childhood memory.

Robb watched her, blue eyes warming with every word she spoke. “You want to say…?” A soft laugh escaped YN at his almost whispered request. She took a tentative step closer to him. “I want to say… I believe I would not mind being sequestered into the cold north to wed a handsome, kind, and thoughtful lord and live a very content and happy life with him,” she whispered herself, feeling his hands wrapping around both her wrists to press her palms against his leather-covered chest. “You will come to the north as soon as they decide upon a respectable date?”

YN was unsure why, but she felt a warm giddiness swell within her at the sight of his handsome face breaking into a smile she could swear she would never get tired of. It was certainly not love—it was far too soon for such an emotion—but it was a budding closeness she felt toward the Stark, a familiarity she craved to explore further.

It would be easy to fall in love with her future husband.

Just as the Stark thought the same about the Golden Rose of Highgarden.