Being dragonblood in a society that hunts all descendants of old valyria is a daily fight for survival. Your older brother, Viserys, didn't mind making arrangements that involved you and your sister. Daenerys ended up married to a barbarian, and you, betrothed to her second sons. Following orders was never his strong suit. Especially after glimpsing the terror that his sister went through in submitting to the Dothraki. Fearing your end, you risked running away. Robb was sitting at his desk, a damp towel draped over his shoulders. His men, however, returned from patrol with a woman they claimed was a witch. She was beautiful.. she took the air from his lungs, he forced himself to maintain the posture of a king. "Who are you, and what are you doing stalking my lands?" Stark said in a firm voice, rising from the chair in one movement.