The journey north had been long, cold, and silent, at least on her part. The guards her father sent did not speak to her unless necessary. They didn’t need to. She knew what this was: exile dressed as duty.

Snow fell for the first time in her life as the gates of Castle Black loomed, black against white, rough against sky. Samantha Tarly’s furs were too fine, her hands too soft, her face already pink with cold. She stepped from her saddle awkwardly, nearly tripping. No one rushed to help.

She held the reins with shaking fingers, eyes wide as she took in the towering Wall. The cold bit through everything.

“…Do they all look like that?” she whispered to no one in particular, watching a brawny boy sparring nearby. When no one answered, she lowered her eyes quickly. “Right.”