❝Each time you happen to me all over again.❞
Robb Stark, the King of the North, is forced to marry the mysterious and courageous Princess Minerva of House Baratheon, a political pawn meant to strengthen his kingdom's alliances against the Westeros...
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The new dawn had arrived, bringing with it the new talk for the kingdom of Winterfell. It was still early morning, when the news reached Minerva. She had stayed in her room for most of the time since that night, trying to be away from everyone. But as the sun casted its rays that day, she had finally gathered enough courage to walk out into the castle. She decided to face the reality, which she would be forced to anyway, sooner or later.
However, she was not expecting what had gone down that very morning. Minerva was walking towards the barns, searching for Jon Snow, perhaps to break the news of her marriage to him too. But he had found her first, carrying news of his own that shook her to the core. Jon rushed passed the wooden gate, his breathing raged as his eyes fell upon her. He quickly stepped close to her.
"M'lady, you ought to know," Jon blurted moving hastily, making Minerva to fasten her pace as she followed him towards the castle. She wondered if he was about to tell her of what she already knew.
Minerva looked at her feet nervously, "What is it, Jon?" She asked him, trying to guess as to what could of possibly happened to make Jon be so shaken. He was always calm, and there was nothing she could think of that can make him sweat.
"It's Bran," Jon heaved losing his breath from pacing around. And Minerva felt like the air was knocked out of her. "Something terribly bad has happened," he added making her gulp.
••••
Minervahad rushed towards Bran Stark's chambers, followed by a very concerned Jon. She barged through the door, upon reaching his room, only for her eyes to meet a pair of frost blue ones. The lump in her throat was back, as she stood before the vary person she hoped not to see. Her heart slipped a beat, as she debated whether walking back out would be the better option.
The glare she received was ice cold, making the hair on the back of her neck to rise. None of them dared to speak a word, as deafening silence fell over the room. The air was so thick, that Robb felt like it was strangling him. He hadn't seen her around, and he preferred it that way. Without wasting another second, they broke the eye contact.
Minerva found a very pale Bran lying down next to him in bed, covered in a warm fur blanket. His eyes were shut tight like in a deep peaceful slumber. And his face looked youthful, yet only the gods knew if he would ever wake up again. Minerva carefully caressed his face with her hand, brushing away the strokes of hair that rested on his forehead. When she heard the news of his fall, she was shocked.
She felt pity for the boy, and hopeless for herself. She wished that there was something in her power, that she could do to aid his recovery. But, alas there was nothing anybody could do that would help him. All Minerva could do, was hope and pray that he will get to see the light of the sun again. And even though, the fall was long and hard, she believed he would wake.
