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….
"My Queen," Ned said, his voice steady as he turned to the beautiful blonde woman who had stopped nearby. He bowed his head respectfully, taking the hand she offered almost carelessly. Her fingers were cool as he brushed a light, formal kiss across her knuckles.
…
"Lord Stark." Cersei Lannister replied, but her voice was distant, her green eyes already scanning the courtyard again, flicking past Ned almost immediately. She seemed impatient, looking for someone specific amongst the crowd and the castle walls.
Before anyone could really start wondering who had captured the Queen's attention so thoroughly, a new sound cut through the air the unmistakable rhythm of more horses approaching, hooves clattering on the stone path leading into the yard. Heads turned, conversations died down again. Everyone looked towards the main gate.
Eight more riders came trotting into the courtyard. The first six were clearly guards, soldiers sworn to the crown.
They rode in perfect formation, clad head-to-toe in shining plate armor painted a deep red and black, the roaring golden lion of House Lannister side-by-side with the crowned black stag of House Baratheon etched onto their breastplates. They looked serious, professional, their eyes hidden behind the slits of their helmets.
But it was the two men riding at the very front who really drew the eye. One was instantly recognizable, almost impossibly handsome.
He had the same golden blonde hair as the Queen, the same piercing green eyes. He sat tall on his horse, wearing the gleaming, golden armor of the Kingsguard, the white cloak flowing behind him.
Robb knew without needing to be told this had to be Ser Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother, the famous Kingslayer. He looked every bit the legendary knight, almost too perfect to be real.
The other man riding beside him was different. He had short, dark black hair, ruffled slightly by the ride. His eyes were a surprising sea-green, bright and full of energy, and they seemed to sparkle even in the grey northern light.
He wasn't wearing flashy armor, just well-made mail under tough leather, practical and clearly used. A sword hung at his side, plain but obviously a quality weapon, none of the gold or jewels you might expect from royalty.
The moment Robb saw him, something clicked. Even before anyone said his name, Robb just knew. This was the Crown Prince, Tytan Baratheon. There was just something about him, an energy that pulled your gaze.
Maybe it was the easy confidence in the way he sat his horse, or maybe just a feeling, a certain presence that made him stand out from everyone else, even the golden knight beside him.
His sudden appearance hushed the remaining whispers in the courtyard. Every eye was on him as he pulled his horse to a neat stop.
Then, with a slight, almost mischievous grin, he swung himself down from the saddle in one smooth, easy motion. He landed lightly on his feet, clapping his gloved hands together once to knock off dust.
"Sorry I'm a little late!" the Prince called out, his voice clear and strong, carrying easily across the yard. He looked around, taking in the scene, his cheeks slightly flushed from the ride or perhaps the attention. "Had to make sure the baggage train didn't lose half its wheels on that last stretch of road!"
"My Prince," Ned Stark replied immediately, stepping forward again and giving the young man a respectful bow, deeper than the nod he'd given the King earlier. "It is an honour to finally meet you."
"The honour is mine, Lord Stark," Tytan replied, his smile turning a little more focused, maybe a little tighter, as he looked Robb's father up and down.
"I've heard a great deal about you!" His gaze was direct, holding Ned's for a moment before moving on. He stepped towards Lady Stark, bowing his head politely.
"Lady Stark, a pleasure." He offered quick, courteous nods to Sansa and Arya, though Arya seemed more interested in his sword than his greeting.
Finally, Tytan came to a stop in front of Robb. He looked Robb over, his sea-green eyes sharp and assessing. He gave a friendly nod.
"Well met, Robb Stark," Tytan said, his voice losing some of the formal tone. He stuck out his hand. "I hope we can get along. Our fathers seem to manage it, most of the time."
Robb gripped the offered hand firmly. He was surprised by the strength in the Prince's grasp, and as their hands met, Robb noticed the rough calluses on Tytan's palm and fingers.
They weren't the soft hands of someone who spent all day in castles. They were like his own father's hands the hands of someone who knew how to handle a sword, who trained hard. A warrior's hands.
….
As he let go of Robb's hand, Tytan glanced around the courtyard again, taking in the assembled Stark family, most of whom were looking back at him with open curiosity.
A slight grin touched Tytan's lips as his gaze swept past them and landed squarely on the intense green eyes of his mother, Queen Cersei. Her sharp, beautiful face wasn't showing polite welcome anymore; her expression was fixed entirely on him, tight-lipped and disapproving.
Tytan had to fight down a small wince. He knew that look all too well. He'd seen it countless times growing up. It was the look that always came before a scolding, a lecture about duty, or appearance, or being late, or something.
He'd long ago decided that look meant he was in for it later. Not that her sharp words really bothered him deep down anymore; they were mostly just annoying, a familiar pain in the arse he had learned to tune out when needed.
Pushing the thought of his mother's coming lecture aside for now, Tytan quickly finished his greetings. He gave another polite nod towards Lady Stark and her daughters, making sure he'd done his duty properly.
Then his attention settled back on Robb, the auburn-haired young man standing tall beside his father. Physically, they looked about the same age, maybe late teens.
But Tytan thought he could still see a touch of boyish naivety in Robb's eyes, something not yet hardened by the world outside the North.
Still, the handshake had been strong, and Robb hadn't looked away when their eyes met. Those were good signs.
——
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