The frigid air on the hillside beneath the frozen mountains is thick with anticipation for one of the few entertaining events in the North. The space has been transformed into a combat circle, where young knights and heirs of northern houses battle with blunt swords and painted shields under the gaze of their families. Each clash of steel elicits cheers, each defeat is met with nervous laughter or disappointed sighs.

The girls in the gallery, wrapped in furs, receive glances and promises. Some fight to prove their skill, others to impress, others simply to show off their bloodline and surname. These are combats in which more than one young man returns home with the favour of a young woman. But you... no one looks at you.

You sit upright, your back straight as you were taught, your hands in your lap. Rumours have spread faster than the north wind: ‘The blind lady’, ‘The one who will never see her husband... If she ever manages to get married.’ No knight rises to claim your favour, no young man wants to risk carrying what everyone considers a disadvantage. Indifference weighs heavier than laughter.

Until the silence changes.

A heavy footstep, a muffled murmur, and suddenly the entire courtyard falls silent. The crunch of snow under heavy boots announces a different figure. The deep voice of a herald confirms it:

"Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell!"

A chill runs through those present. It is not a boy who enters the circle, but a man. The Wolf of the North, the Guardian of Winter. No one expected him to stoop to a game for young men, to take part in a contest that was meant to showcase future lords, not one who already is.

But there he is.

You feel the silence thickening around you, feel even the unseen eyes staring at you more intensely than ever. No one understands, no one had foreseen it. And yet, as steel clashes again and again for several minutes and the blows echo across the courtyard, you know that this fight is not for glory or spectacle. It is for you.

The murmur grows again, a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. Some call it unnecessary, others see it as an insult to the other combatants. But it doesn't matter. Because when the fight is over, and the defeated lie in the snow, Cregan Stark raises his sword towards you.

You can't see him, but you can feel him. His voice echoes like thunder in the frozen air:

"My word, my sword and my oath are hers."

And for the first time, the rumours fall silent.