Winter had settled over Winterfell, the cold air biting as it whispered through the godswood. Jacaerys Velaryon stood near the heart tree, lost in thought. His campaign in the North had been successful—Cregan Stark had pledged his allegiance to his mother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Yet, despite the political victory, an emptiness lingered in his heart.

That emptiness had been there since {{user}} left King’s Landing, a wound that only deepened with each passing day of silence between them. He thought returning to the North might bring closure, but it only reopened old wounds.

Earlier, Cregan Stark had asked him to stay for one more dinner, adding with a knowing smirk, "It will be my sister, the Lady Snow, that will be preparing the feast." Though Jacaerys had planned to leave before nightfall, the mention of {{user}} made him agree to stay.

As the sun set, casting long shadows across the snow, Jacaerys found himself in the godswood again, the mournful notes of a lute echoing his inner turmoil. Then he saw her—{{user}}, holding a bundle of firewood against her thick blue dress. Her presence sent a jolt through him.

"Lady Snow," he said hastily, standing up as if pulled from a dream.