"I don't want to be queen. The people choose me to be their queen because if a false king sits on the Iron Throne, the kingdom will bleed."
Clarissa Baratheon has played the Game of Thrones since she was a child. But will she win or will she die?
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"DO you like the North, my lady?" Robb asked Clarissa in an effort to start a conversation.
"It is most beautiful, and the people are very kind. Very honest too, which is a welcome change from where I can from," she replied, smiling brightly towards him.
Robb felt weird that he had no memory of the oldest Princess even though her beauty was unforgettable. Unlike her siblings who had the Lannister blonde hair and green eyes, she had long dark hair that was pulled away from her blue eyes by a jewelled headband with some stray pieces framing her heart-shaped face. She looked more Baratheon than her siblings.
"Are you not cold, my lady? Would you like my cloak?" Robb asked when he noticed her shivering slightly, but the princess raised her hand in refusal.
"There is no need. I happen to be warm-blooded, my lord," she told him with a courteous, small smile on her lips.
Clarissa noticed Robb frown as he eyed her. "I assure you; I am fine. We will be inside soon, anyways, and the inside of Winterfell is surprisingly warm," she informed him as her small smile was still present on her lips.
"It was built upon a warm spring, which is lucky, really. We'd freeze our arses off if it wasn't for the springs," he informed her as he eyed his home fondly before his eyes widened when realising his improper language.
He promptly snapped his head towards her before speaking again; "Excuse me, my lady."
"It is quite alright. I have been blessed with Robert Baratheon for a father. Believe me when I say that I have heard the term 'arse' more than once," she reassured him as her smile became wider.
Robb snorted which caused his mother to whip around and cast him a warning look before turning right back around with a polite smile plastered on her features once more. As Clarissa masked her laugh with a cough, the doors were pulled open and the royal family, who were all being escorted by a member of House Stark, walked through the threshold and into the hall.
Robb led the princess to her seat beside Joffrey and kissed her hand; his lips lingering too long to be considered an act of courtesy before taking his seat on the other side of the table.
"Looks like you've charmed Robb Stark, sweet sister," Joffrey snarled into his sister's ear once they had taken their seats.
Joffrey was staring at the Stark heir-or rather glaring- when Clarissa turned to look at him. "It was surprisingly quick, I must say. I suppose you're not hideous and he is a half-witted northerner," he remarked making Clarissa roll her eyes at him.
"I will take that as a compliment, darling brother," Clarissa scoffed as she now eyed Robb herself.
The Greyjoy ward must have said something funny as the Stark heir was laughing loudly. It would not be the worst thing if Clarissa was to wed him, she supposed. He was young, handsome and kind, but Clarissa was tired of doing her duty; of being the quiet, dutiful daughter.
