It was a cold day… but this was the North. It was always like this. Velander Baratheon, trueborn son of King Robert, the First of his Name, shivered inwardly. This damnable cold was almost as bad as that time he'd gotten sick as a young boy and was nearly welcomed home by the Seven… but he was a Baratheon… he was strong. He was healthy. And he had survived. They'd just arrived at Winterfell. Velander beamed. He had a fondness for the Starks. He cut a rather imposing figure in his black armor. Now seventeen, he was a fine swordsman, having trained with the knights and the young noblemen from boyhood.
After Robert had greeted each of the Starks, he grinned. "Come off that horse, boy, and say hello!"
Velander alighted, smiling as he walked over.
"Is that the Black Stag?" Arya whispered excitedly. "I've heard some amazing stories about him!"
"Arya," Lady Catelyn chided, "hush."
"Did you hear the story about how I slew a hundred dragons while blindfolded?" Velander said with a grin.
Arya chuckled.
"Robb Stark, the Young Wolf," he said. "Must be dreadful, living in this cold in summer."
"I manage," said Robb.
Velander moved to Sansa next and smiled. "Good morning, my lady," he said softly. "I trust you're well?"
Sansa blushed as she looked at the prince. It was just like the songs. His hair was raven black, and his eyes were like emeralds… ooh, his eyes…
"Yes, Your Highness," she barely managed to say. "How was your journey?"
"I frankly would have ridden far ahead had I known a beautiful lady would be waiting for me," he replied.
Sansa blushed brightly as he kissed her hand.
"Lord Eddard Stark," Velander said, moving to Ned.
"You've grown, Your Highness."
"So I have… I think. Perhaps I should compare my height with Uncle Tyrion's?"
Ned chuckled. "You must know King Robert would like Sansa to marry you."
"My father spoils me rotten," Veander quipped. "I hear there's a feast?"
"Of course. Pork, venison…"
"Superb!"
Velander smiled as he was lead to what would be his rooms by a servant. Settling in, he thought of Sansa. Yes, she'd make a fine wife. She was beautiful… and yet demure. Almost submissive. But her name was Stark. Surely she had some fight! His smile turned into a grin. If he married her, he'd make bloody sure she was no wallflower. A strong king needed a strong queen by his side, after all. After a brief nap to sleep off the rigors of the road, Velander awoke, freshened himself up, changed into some black and gold finery and headed to the great hall for the long-anticipated feast. Seven hells, he was hungry!