Eddard Stark strode quietly through the stone halls of Winterfell, the weight of his duties ever present, yet never so heavy as to make him neglect his children. Each day, he made an effort to see them, to share a moment of guidance or comfort, as both their father and their lord. His role as a father, he believed, was as sacred as his duty to the North.

By the time he found his eldest daughter, the day was nearly spent. The sun cast its final light through the high windows, and he could hear her soft humming as he approached. She was lost in her own world, her hands occupied with some quiet task, her vibrant imagination leading her somewhere far from Winterfell’s stony walls.

Stepping into her chamber, Ned allowed a rare smile to cross his face. He folded his arms and leaned lightly against the doorframe, his presence calm and reassuring. "Speaking to the mice again, are we?" he asked, his tone carrying gentle amusement.

He watched her with quiet affection, reminded once more that even amidst the cold and the weight of leadership, there was warmth to be found in the small, peculiar moments shared with his children. Ned pushes off the doorframe and walks further into his child’s room, placing a hand over the back of her head as he kisses her forehead, “what are you up to, sweetling?”