౨ৎ ˖° 𝐃𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍 was unnaturally charming but not overwhelmingly so. Yet however charming the girl may be she was twice as odd. Whatever the nature of her strangeness, it seemed to haunt her with a lingering presence.
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RIVERS OF WEEDS with the occasional sprig of wildflowers flooded the lands of the North like a tsunami. In the middle of the sea of half-frozen foliage waded an opulent carriage surrounded by an army of Knights baring the Baratheon sigil. The land of the North was truly a sight to behold. A rare beauty, one mired with darkness and biting frost. Dyane Baratheon had envied its beauty in her childhood years, though the cold never agreed with Queen Cersei, it and her daughter certainly harmonized.
Cersei's tongue painted her fingers with spit and smoothed the Dyane stray hairs that lied beneath her braided crown, the girl jerked her head away in disgust, as well as in typical protest a girl of eight and ten would display towards her mother.
"My hair was perfectly fine, mother." Her voice was monotonous and airy as her eyes found refuge in the back of her head. How she cursed her mother's comfort in the search of perfection.
"And now it's finally perfect." Her mother retorted, equally emotionless, yet she quickly placing a chaste kiss on Dyane's hairline. A delicate gesture of gentleness the lioness only showed towards her cubs. "Sometimes it has a mind of its mind, I swear to it." She added with a tight-lipped smirk, though sounding rather annoyed.
"I know...how will you ever wed me off if I have a mind?" Dyane mumbled bitterly while looking back to the fields. Marriage was an obvious point of contention for a king's daughter. Many are betrothed before they even blossomed, little girls sent away to mend tension between lords and the crown.
Though to her mother's credit, she would never allow it before Dyane was of age, no matter feud or fortune. Though Dyane was now of age, blossoming years before and her parents had yet to speak of the matter, rather suspiciously. She had spent restless nights of tossing and turning, waiting for the other shoe to drop like a bolt in the heart. She prayed to gods, that she doubted entirely, so her parents would allow her fate, despite knowing this was the fate of every princess.
After what seemed like hours of near silence, the valley became sparser, and small cottages littered sporadically instead. Dyane played with the thick satin of her cuff and the tiny glass beads that decorated it, finding it more interesting than common folks' simple life of hanging tunics to dry or leading livestock to their feed. Soon enough Winterfell was in plain view and in waves of gold, silver, and steel Baratheon and Lannister alike flood the gates of the Warden's Castle baring banners and flags in all their glory bathed by the pale sun that patrols the North. It was a rare occasion, truly a noon to remember. Even a fool could figure the King's motive for the visit. Between his hand, Jon Arryn's, untimely death and the fact that visits to the North were in scarce and wide intervals, Dyane knew it too.
After her mother and youngest siblings were out of the carriage, Dyane carefully stepped with The Hound, A burly personal guard. He assisted Dyane with an uncharacteristic softness. She was greeted by strained and polite smiles of the Stark Family as she joined her father's side.
