your name written here in a rose tattoo
His hair was in need of a cut, sprawling wildly with the same fire that had entranced her a lifetime ago. The boyhood stubble that had plagued him with patches, now grown to an evenly trimmed beard. His shoulders had broadened, arms and chest sturdier. And his eyes, eyes as blue as the sea he had fled into, were clouded with grief and the drink.
She held back the urge to cry.
“You’re here?” Robb asked breathlessly. Margaery scowled.
“Of all the pubs to wash up in, you came to the one under my patronage.”
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