The North was a breathtaking sight, with the sun shining over the snowy land. A grand procession from The Stormlands made its way through the scenery. Lord Steffon Baratheon, the ruler of Storm's End and Warden of The South at the age of forty, was accompanied by his thirty-five-year-old wife, Lady Cassana Baratheon, and their eldest son, eighteen-year-old Robert Baratheon, who was the heir to Storm's End. They embarked on a long journey to Winterfell, the seat of Lord Rickard Stark, the Warden of The North. Lord Steffon had spent years convincing Lord Rickard Stark to meet and discuss an engagement between Robert and Lord Rickard Stark's youngest daughter, Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, who was just twelve years of age.
As Lady Cassana sat tall on her steed, she turned to her eldest son and spoke in a calm and measured tone. "My dear son," she began, "as a representative of our house, it is of utmost importance that you conduct yourself with dignity and respect. The Starks are a powerful and esteemed Northern house, known for their great warrior skills, and we must ensure that we do not give them any reason to be displeased with us. It is wise to avoid provoking their anger, as it could have repercussions that we do not wish to face."
"You do not want to face an angry Northman son, those insurgents in The War Of The Ninepenny Kings learned that lesson when they faced Rickard Stark himself, he got the nickname "Bloody Wolf" for a good reason," Lord Steffon stated, he has worked for eight long years and now his endless work would finally pay off. "The Lady Lyanna is said to be the most beautiful woman in Westeros despite her young age, from what I've heard marriage proposals have come from all over Westeros and are sent to Winterfell trying to get the rare winter rose, so you should consider yourself blessed Rickard said yes to a meeting my boy!"
"Of course, Father," replied Robert. He was a young man with a robust physique, dark hair, and blue eyes. His success with women had made him quite arrogant. "I will prove to Lord Stark that I am a deserving heir to House Baratheon. I will uphold our family's honour and then ask for his daughter Lady Lyanna Stark's hand in marriage."
As the Baratheon Procession continued making its way through the rugged terrain of the North, one of the knights suddenly let out a loud exclamation, "Winterfell up ahead!" The procession came to an abrupt halt, and every member gazed in awe towards a distant hill where the legendary castle of Winterfell stood. The massive fortress, steeped in history and legend, could be seen towering over the landscape, its ramparts and towers standing tall against the backdrop of the sky. Even from a distance, the castle was truly a magnificent sight to behold, with its walls made of grey stone and imposing gates that seemed to guard its secrets. As they continued to stare, it was apparent that Winterfell was not just a castle but a symbol of power, strength, and endurance that had survived countless battles and wars.
Robert was looking at Winterfell with his eyes wide open in amazement, and his mouth hanging open in awe. His parents, who had visited Winterfell several times before, were trying to contain their laughter at the childlike wonder on their son's face. The massive castle before them was a sight to behold- with walls that rose high into the sky and towers that seemed to touch the clouds. The castle stood as a symbol of power and strength in the region, and finally being in its presence was a truly humbling experience for them. The intricate carvings on the walls and the imposing gate that led into the castle only added to the grandeur of the place. Even the cold wind blowing through the courtyard seemed to whisper tales of the castle's past. Robert and his parents were lost in their thoughts, taking in every detail of the magnificent Winterfell.
As the inhabitants of Winterfell prepared to receive the Baratheons and their procession within the great walls of the castle, Lord Rickard Stark stood tall atop the battlements. He watched as the black and gold stag flags of the Baratheons drew closer and closer to Winterfell's gates. At forty-five years of age, Lord Rickard was a commanding figure with his greying chestnut hair and steel-grey eyes which seemed to pierce through the horizon. His face bore a long scar that ran from his right brow down to his left cheek, a reminder of his valiant efforts during The War Of The Ninepenny Kings. Meanwhile, the elderly Maester Walys made his way towards him, his white hair falling down his shoulders and heavy maester chains around his neck, making his steps slow and deliberate. At almost eighty years old, he relied on a crane to help him move, but his mind was still as sharp as ever.
