Love beneath the Snow

01| 𝔧𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔩

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥

— THE JOURNEY FROM KING'S LANDING TO WINTERFELL STRETCHED OVER A GRUELING MONTH, WITH THE ROYAL PARTY TRAVERSING THE RUGGED NORTHERN TERRAIN. King Robert Baratheon rode at the head of the procession, his imposing figure a symbol of his authority. Queen Cersei Lannister and her children—Valira, Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella—were ensconced in their lavish carriage, the contrast between their comfort and the harsh landscape outside stark.

Inside the carriage, the mood was a mix of weariness and anticipation. Valira Baratheon, her dark hair neatly styled and her blue gown a striking color against the chilly Northern backdrop, tried to find solace from the long journey. Beside her, Queen Cersei sat with a touch of impatience, her usually immaculate appearance slightly disheveled. Myrcella, full of youthful curiosity, peered out the window, while Tommen fidgeted with a small wooden toy. Joffrey, restless and eager to make an impression, decided he wanted to ride ahead on horseback.

"I'm going to ride out in front. It's important they see me by Father's side."

Cersei, though clearly tired, managed a smile. "Very well, Joffrey. Just remember, appearances matter." As Joffrey exited the carriage with a self-satisfied air, Myrcella, looking up from her toy, chimed in with enthusiasm.

"Will we get to see the wolves, Valira? I've heard they are very big and fierce."

Valira smiled at her younger sister. "I hope so, Myrcella. The North is very different from the South, and I'm sure there will be many new things to see." Valira turned to her mother. "Do you think they will be welcoming?" Cersei's eyes narrowed with a mixture of calculation and indifference. "They don't have much choice. We are the royal family, and they will be compelled to show us the respect we deserve. What matters is that we present ourselves as dignified and gracious. The Starks are bound by duty to treat us well. But remember, Valira, while we are here to make alliances, we must ensure we maintain the proper appearance of regal composure."

Valira nodded, though she was clearly eager to meet her hosts. "I understand, Mother. I just hope they see us as we wish to be seen." Tommen, looking a bit more subdued, clung to his toy and said, "Are we almost there? I'm hungry." Valira reached out to ruffle Tommen's hair gently.

"We'll be there soon, Tommen. Just a little longer."

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In the stone-walled barbershop of Winterfell, the air was filled with the sharp scent of soap and the sound of snipping shears. Robb Stark, freshly seated in the barber's chair, watched as the cold steel of the razor scraped away the last remnants of his stubble. The process was meticulous, but Robb was used to the routine and bore it with patience. Jon Snow, standing nearby, sighed with increasing irritation. He glanced over at Robb, who seemed to be taking the grooming with an air of detached amusement.

"Why is your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?"

Robb shrugged, a wry smile playing at his lips. Theon Greyjoy, standing on the other side, chimed in with a smirk "It's probably for the Queen, I bet. I hear she's a sleek bit of mink." Robb's expression shifted to one of distaste. "I hear the prince is a right royal prick."

"Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick." Theon continued, his grin widening. "And the princess? I bet she's a real prize. Imagine getting her alone—could show her just how much a real man can please." Robb shot Theon a look of amused exasperation.

"Go on, Tommy, shear him good,"

Standing up, he shoves Jon to the barbers chair, adding, "He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair." The barber continued to work on Jon's hair, though Jon's mood did not seem to improve.

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Outside, the chill of the Northern air bit through the stone walls of Winterfell. Bran Stark, full of youthful excitement, had climbed up a high tower to catch a glimpse of the approaching royal party. His eyes sparkled with curiosity as he spotted the distant carriages making their way towards the castle. "Bran!" called Lady Catelyn from below. She had noticed her son's precarious position and rushed over. "I saw the King! He's got hundreds of people!" Bran called down excitedly. Catelyn's face tightened with concern. "How many times have I told you? No climbing!"

"But he's coming right now. Down our road," Bran argued, still looking down at his mother. Catelyn took a deep breath, her expression softening slightly. "I want you to promise me, no more climbing." Bran looked down, his face a mix of guilt and defiance. "I promise." Catelyn studied him closely. "Do you know what?" she asked, her tone growing gentle. "What?" Bran replied, curious. "You always look at your feet when you lie," Catelyn said, a small smile tugging at her lips. Bran chuckled, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"I promise I won't climb anymore."

"Good," Catelyn said, relieved. "Now run and find your father. Tell him the King is close." Bran nodded enthusiastically and darted off, his small feet pounding against the cold stone as he hurried to deliver the news. Catelyn watched him go, her heart filled with a mixture of pride and anxiety as the momentous arrival of the royal family drew ever nearer.

A/N:
Here is the first chapter. I hope you will like it. Let me know what you think <3
Love you all!