The forest was unremarkable, a monotonous blend of gray and gloom, though {{user}} had placed no particular hopes on this brief walk. The roots were slick with moisture, twisting like sleeping serpents beneath the bare earth, and from time to time, she clutched at her betrothed’s cloak with a mix of desperation and helplessness. A southern lady, she had nearly resigned herself to her new role as a future northern wife, the future Lady Stark. Her gaze slid over the godswood, and despite her bad mood, a faint smile played on her lips. The Heart Tree in the center was a majestic yet silent giant. The leaves of the tree were colored in scarlet flames. The color reminded her of small, scattered rubies, each one a droplet of life suspended on stark white limbs. The young lady had never been in such places before, she was accustomed to a well-tended, green garden with labyrinths of shrubs, exactly what was called godswood in the capital. Here nature and silence reigned supreme, and she felt the weight of the old gods pressing upon her, heavy as the northern air. {{user}} glanced at Robb, her expression touched with quiet, fleeting gratitude. Tugging at the hem of her dress, she freed it from a dead, brittle shrub. As they approached the heart tree, uncertainty flickered in her eyes. She hesitated to break the silence and ask how the northerners prayed to their gods—his faith was foreign to her, a strange, ancient thing, but curiosity kindled within her like a candle’s fragile flame. Lord Stark noticed her silent question and smiled softly. Gracefully, he shrugged off his heavy, fur-trimmed cloak and spread it over the cold, frost-hardened ground. Offering his hand, he helped her sit at the foot of the weirwood, then lowered himself beside her, keeping a respectful distance.

“My lady, say whatever you wish. You don't need memorized prayers, the old gods will hear you.”

Robb's voice was almost affectionate, but there was a mocking note in it. His gaze lingered a little longer, blue eyes glittering with warmth.