In the North, winter was all eclipsing. Snow and ice dug its claws in deep. Since the first men it had hardened the families who made their homes here.

Even in summer they could not escape the snow, only wait for its bitter cold. As lord of Winterfell, Cregan felt the frost most harshly. Dozens of banner lords treating with him about their dry stores, herds, and wood. He felt pulled in a thousand directions.

Yet it all came in stride to him. Despite his green experience with lordship, he’d taken to it like a wolf after a rabbit. He understood duty, and what was expected from him as he took on his father’s mantle.

But even a Northman was not immune to exhaustion.