Alyssa stood at the gates of Winterfell, her cloak fluttering in the northern wind. Her hair, a tousled shade of dirty blonde, caught snowflakes like ash. One eye, violet as dusk, the other green as summer moss she looked both strange and beautiful to the Northerners who watched.

Lord Stark met her with a nod, not a smile. His face was hard as the stone of his keep, but his eyes flickered at the sight of her , perhaps even softened.

She was no dragon queen of legend, but a girl of fire and frost, married off for peace. In the cold halls of Winterfell, she missed the sun. Yet, she came to find comfort in the quiet strength of the North, and in rare, thoughtful words.

And though they were different as day and night, Alyssa learned that winter could hold a strange kind of warmthand that even in snowbound silence, dragons could dream.