Duty

I

The North's reputation precedes it.

As you look out of the window, you can't help but notice how...dull everything looks. The grass is a pale shade, and even the sky looks dreary. Every single castle, tower, and windmill you pass is layered with grey blocks. A far cry from the summery south.

With a heavy sigh, you turn away from the view and look down at your hands resting in your laps. You begin twiddling your thumbs and cracking your knuckles anxiously.

"Y/N, my sweet, are you alright?" your mother, Rania, asks, placing her hand over yours. She and your father had decided to ride with you to Winterfell rather than travel in a separate carriage. Usually, you would be grateful for their company, but today, being the day you are to arrive, all you want is to be alone with your thoughts.

"I'm fine, Mother."

Your father, Cillian, however, narrows his eyes as he notices your sullen expression, "You look a bit ill."

"Perhaps we should stop the carriage?" Rania suggests, "We wouldn't want her meeting the Starks covered in her own vomit."

"I am not going to be sick, Mother," you say as you drum your fingers on your lap, "I'm just...nervous."

Your father smiles reassuringly. "I have known Eddard Stark since I was a boy. He was the most noble man I ever knew. No doubt his family is the same."

"My sweet, you have nothing to fear from the Starks," Rania says, "I am sure they will be very kind and welcoming."

You give her a tight smile and look back out the window. Kind and welcoming, you think, She said the same thing about the Lannisters.

***

"We've arrived."

Your hands begin to shake as soon as the carriage stops. Your mother, on the other hand, can barely contain her excitement, while your father gives you a comforting smile before exiting the carriage ahead of your mother.

You sit there for a moment, sucking in deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm your nerves. After wiping your sweaty palms on your dress and taking one deep breath, you plaster a smile on your face, straighten your posture, and step out of the carriage.

All eyes turn to you the second your feet touch the ground. Fighting off the urge to grimace at the squelching beneath your feet, you approach the Starks – who are both smiling politely – and take your place beside your mother.

"Your Grace. My Lady," you curtsey low, "It is an honour to meet you both."

Catelyn raises a brow at your mother, clearly impressed by your manners, before gesturing to her children. "These are my sons, Rickon and Bran," the younger one waves at you, "And my eldest, Robb."

You turn to Robb who is standing by his mother's side. He towers over the rest of his family, and with the heavy furs resting on his shoulders, there is no mistaking who the King in the North is.

He steps forward and takes your hand as you curtsey. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace," you say as you lift your gaze to meet his. This is the part where you both have to pretend that you are not aware that you are to be engaged in a few days.

He looks at you with a soft smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "The pleasure is all mine."

***

"He is very handsome."

Amiria, your handmaiden, friend, and closest confidant, smiles encouragingly as she unpacks your chests and re-folds your clothes. She knows that you are worried about the kind of man you are marrying, and what kind of husband he will be.