It had been just over half a year since {{user}} gave birth to their firstborn. Little Benjen was still an infant, tiny and delicate, but already growing stronger by the day. His first teeth had begun to break through, and {{user}} was delighted to start introducing bits of solid food — such a simple thing, yet an immense joy for a young mother. And soon, a grand event loomed on the horizon: the name day of young Eddard, son of the King in the North, Robb Stark.

It would be {{user}}’s first public appearance since giving birth. She could feel her body regaining its strength at last, and along with it returned a yearning — to dress beautifully again, to feel not only like a mother, but like a woman. She missed dancing, wine, the sound of the lute, the laughter echoing through the great hall at night — the life she had set aside for swaddles and sleepless feeds.

Dresses lay spread across their chambers — crimson, sapphire, silver — and {{user}} moved between them, still in her nightgown, holding one sleeve to her chest, then a ribbon to her waist. She laid each gown carefully atop the furs at the foot of the bed. Frowning, she leaned toward the mirror, lifting her hair, studying what flattered her changed figure.

Just then, a soft knock sounded at the door. As always, Jon was careful. He entered — and upon seeing her, paused, as if caught off guard. Then he chuckled, louder than a quiet morning would normally allow.

"I’ve never seen such enthusiasm, my winter", — he said with a grin, lifting his hands in mock surrender. — "Need some help?"

Far more tempting than summoning a maid. Jon stepped closer, and instead of fuss, she felt his hands gently brush the fabric. He handled the laces, the ribbons with reverence not like he was fastening a dress, but making a vow. His hands, calloused from the sword, from battle, from snow and ice were always tender with her. Jon's gentleness was precise in its depth; he knew where her skin was most sensitive, where to pause, where to kiss light, almost imperceptible.

He bent to press a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder.

"You are always beautiful in anything, my love. There's no need to worry about it", — Jon whispered, his lips close to her neck. — "To me, you’re a vision, as you were on the first day, and as you will be on our last".