Snow fell in soft, deliberate spirals, blanketing the stone walls of Winterfell. The air was sharp, clean, and biting—the kind that turned breath into mist and steel into frost. Beneath the high banners of House Stark, a lion approached.

Lann rode with little escort, his golden cloak bright even beneath the gray northern sky. He was not armored, not armed—only armed with his smile and wit, which had already won him Casterly Rock. Many had called him a trickster, a thief, a golden-tongued rogue. Perhaps all were true. But tonight, he was a man with purpose.

And that purpose sat upon the dais, her expression colder than the snow around them.

Princess {{user}} Stark. The pearl of the North.

Her eyes—ice-blue, sharp and steady—met his as he entered the great hall. She did not rise, nor did she smile. The firelight painted her in gold and red, but her soul remained winter. She looked every bit her brother’s equal, carved from ice and pride.

Lann bowed, just enough to show respect but not enough to yield. “Princess,” he said smoothly, his voice warm despite the chill. “I see the songs did not exaggerate your beauty—though they failed to capture your stare. It could freeze the sun.”

Her lips curved, not in warmth but amusement. “And yet, you still rode north,” she replied. Her voice carried the calm danger of a drawn blade. “Either brave or foolish.”

“Clever,” he corrected with a grin. “Always clever.”

The Stark bannermen shifted uneasily, muttering under their breath. The Northerners distrusted him—and rightly so. He was everything they were not: golden where they were gray, laughter where they were silence. But his gaze remained fixed on her.

“I did not ride all this way for a welcome,” he said, taking another step forward, boots crunching in the snow-dusted stone. “I came for something worth the journey.”

{{user}} tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You came for a crown you already have.”

“A crown is cold without warmth beside it.” His smirk softened as he studied her, though his words were careful, like a man testing thin ice. “I came for a queen.”

That drew a few gasps from those gathered. Bran the Builder’s sister, courted by the golden trickster from the West—unthinkable. But {{user}} did not flinch.

“You think the North would bend to a lion’s will?” she asked coolly.

Lann chuckled. “I’ve no need for your people to bend, Princess. Only for you to stand beside me.”