Winter had not yet come, but the chill of waiting had already frozen {{user}}’s heart.

Each night, she stood atop the watchtower, eyes fixed on the distance, waiting for the return of her husband, Lord Ned Stark. Years ago, Ned had ridden to war beside Robert Baratheon, a war that was meant to cleanse the realm of the Mad King. He had left with a promise to return and a kiss pressed against his wife’s forehead.

That day, the pale summer sun had cast a dim light upon the cold stones of Winterfell when Ned returned.

{{user}} was sitting in the women’s tower of Winterfell, holding her infant son in her arms, Robb, who had just finished nursing and was now breathing softly, unaware of the pain the world was saving for him. A cold wind blew through the window, carrying the scent of pine and snow.

After long months of absence, Ned had finally come back.

He had been seen before dawn, amidst dust and riders who moved like shadows through the gates. {{user}} had quickly prepared herself, her heart full of longing, eager to see the man who was her husband, the father of her son. But what she saw… was something else.

Ned, with a face gray from exhaustion, and in his arms, another child. A silent infant, who did not cry. Calm, far too calm, with grey eyes. And Ned’s gaze… was not of reunion, but of silence and shame.

After a long, heavy pause, he finally broke the silence. His voice was low and hard. “This is my son. Jon.”