Winter’s thorn
Summary: Lady Y/N Tyrell, the rose of Highgarden, had no intentions of marriage when she visited Winterfell. But with her honor on the line, she might have to reconsider.
“What about Lady Y/N Tyrell, the younger sister of Lady Margery Tyrell,” the maester suggested. “She is young and Lady Olenna is seeking an alliance. Her raven comes with certain peculiar ideas that need careful execution.”
Catelyn was delighted. After hours of pouring over letters from all the heads of the houses, she found Robb his ideal match. She ordered a feast to be held, and invited Lady Y/N Tyrell under the pretense of trade.
“Almost here, Y/N,” said your cousin Taena. You shivered and wrapped your cloak around you tighter. “You are aware this visit is not purely of trade?”
“Now, Taena, that’s enough.” The septa chided.
“Even Queen Daenerys wishes to see you married, cousin. Perhaps to-“
“No more, cousin. I tire of this, although you mean it in jest.” You said, exhausted by these rumors.
“It would mean strengthening our loyalty to the Targaryens. He is Jon Snow’s brother,” Taena said.
“Cousin,” you corrected. She took it as though you were chiding her, and unexpectedly fell silent.
You took two steps out of the carriage, unassisted. You tried holding your head high, like the wind wasn’t cutting into your skin.
You were astonished to find the people of House Stark assembled in the courtyard, waiting for your arrival.
Catelyn was the first to greet you.
“My son, the Lord of Winterfell, Robb Stark.” She said, motioning to him. You’d heard of him, they called him the young wolf. Honorable. Gentle and strong.
Robb had the most gorgeous blue eyes you’d ever seen, framed by thick auburn lashes. His hair was a signature Tully red, just like Sansa’s. You’d once thought she was the most comely maiden at court, and her brother had all of her good looks in his ruggedly handsome way.
You courtesied in greeting. He took your gloved hand in his bare one and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your heart raced. He was so beautiful. You didn’t look up, and affixed your eyes on your boots instead.
“Lady Tyrell, we thank you for making the long journey up north. I hope it was not too difficult.” His voice could’ve melted the snow around you.
You nodded curtly: he should not see the blush on your face.
In your haste, you tripped on a stone hidden in the snow. A strong, leather clad arm wrapped around your waist to pull you up. You felt him stand you upright and the fingers of his other hand dug into your arm to steady you.
You gasped at the close contact, and turned to face him. He might be the lord of Winter but his arm felt like it might burn you. His fingers, where they touched the smallest silver of skin at your shoulder, were equally scalding. You didn’t want to step away from him into the cold.
“Forgive me, Lady Tyrell,” Robb said, his blue eyes still peering into yours. There was an instinct to lean into him, to step into his arms. But you resisted.
You turned your face away, and looked as angry as you could.
“Unhand me at once,” you said slowly. The Septa behind you gasped at your lack of courtesy.
“Lady Tyrell-“ Catelyn began, but you cut her off.
“Pardon me, Lady Stark, but the carriage journey was long and tiring. My companions and I would be obliged for a warm room.” You asked.
The walls of Winterfell were bare, the tapestries grey with little or no embroidery. The heat you had longed for suffocated you. Your mind still harbored thoughts of Robb and only Robb. No, you corrected, Lord Stark. You touched your shoulder where his fingers had rested, and giggles burst out of you. Thankfully, your cousins weren’t around to witness your shame.
You thought of how this was where Robb grew up, his childhood home that was now his.
You tugged on a new dress, one that stood out against the drab castle walls, with its golden roses and green leaves on a background of ivory and pale green.
You heard a loud sound outside. You opened the chamber door at once, and Robb Stark tumbled in.
“My lord, what does this mean?” You asked, horrified he was in your chambers.
“I only meant to escort you to the great hall, my Lady. But there has been an invasion into Winterfell and as my guest I must see to your safety myself.”
You only just noticed his armor. He bolted the doors and you backed away from him.
“My cousins?” You asked.
“They are safe, in the library. Do not fret, my Lady. You will be reunited as soon as the threat is stopped.”
You trusted Robb, you realized. It was a fool’s idea to put your trust in a strange man who you didn’t know, just because you found him attractive. But you trusted him.
“My Lord, it is most improper for a Lady to be in the presence of a man without companions.” You protested, just to save face.
“Proprietary will not restore your life when it has been taken by a criminal’s blade.” Robb said. You closed your eyes.
“I apologize you have not yet supped, my Lady.” Rob said softly. His concern endeared him to you even more.
“I’m not hungry,” you said. You went to sit on the edge of your bed.
“Do not mind me, Lady Tyrell. I cannot express the depth of my displeasure that Winterfell is inadequate on your first night here. Please rest until my men finish the task.” Robb said courteously.
You laid on the bed, the dress too uncomfortable to sleep in but fitful sleep did come.
It was in the early hours of the morn when the Septa found you curled on the furs in the chamber room. Robb was resting against your bed, his head lying on furs with his legs sprawled out across the floor.
“Taena,” you said, going into her embrace.
“Oh cousin,” she said, crying. More of your companions rushed in and fussed over you. You broke your fast with them, your voices and laughter could be heard across the hallways.
Your septa walked in just as soon as the servants cleared the room.
“Y/N, do not tell untruths when I ask you this,” she said. “And I place no blame on you. Was Lord Stark in your chambers during the attack?”
“Why, yes,” you confirmed, head nodding. “He was the most noble.”
“And you did not think of your honor?” The septa asked gently.
“Even the most noble ladies laid next to their knights with nay but a sword between them.” You protested.
“Robb Stark is neither your sworn protector nor a knight.” She said. “Lady Catelyn has written an apology to your grandmother, and suggested a proposal.”
“A proposal for what, septa?”
“A marriage between two great houses. You’ll be betrothed to Lord Stark.”
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