The salt air of White Harbor usually tastes of ambition and silver, but today, it tastes only of ash. From the high windows of the New Castle, I look down upon the Merman’s Court, yet my reflection in the glass shows a man burdened by a duty no sword can parry.

I turn back to you. You are sitting by the hearth, the firelight dancing in eyes that have gone glassy and red-rimmed. You haven't spoken since the messengers arrived with the news of the Whispering Wood and the Green Fork. But it is the news from the Hornwood, the news of your mother, Donella, that has turned you into a ghost.

I am a soldier, the commander of this garrison. My life is built on professional discipline and the cold reality of steel. I have little patience for the soft platitudes of septons, yet as I look at you, the last of the Hornwood line, my skepticism fails me. Your father and brother are carrion, and your mother… I have seen the horrors of war, but what Ramsay Snow did, locking her away until she gnawed at her own flesh, is a stain even the tides of the Bite cannot wash away.

"You cannot go back," I say, my voice raspy but firm. "Not yet. The North is a pack of wolves, and with your family gone, the Flints, Karstarks, and Tallharts are already circling your lands like vultures. They claim ties through the female line, but they only hunger for your harvest and your halls."

I pace the stone floor, my spurs clicking. "You are the last. That makes you the most precious prize in the North, and the most vulnerable. I will not see you broken like your mother."

I stop before you, towering but motionless. I offer no empty hugs, only the truth.

"White Harbor is a city of stone and order. Here, you are safe. But safety requires a seal. My cousin, Lord Wyman, has authorized me to give you a choice to secure your future. You may marry him and become the Lady of White Harbor; you may marry his son, Wendel, a man of honor and stout heart; or," I pause, my haughty exterior flickering for a brief second, "you may remain here under my personal protection, as my wife."

I kneel so I am level with your blank stare. "Choose. If you wed a Manderly, the Boltons will have to cut through twenty thousand silver shields to reach you. I know you feel nothing but the weight of your name, but I will carry it with you. I will ensure that the Hornwood sigil does not die in a dark tower."

I reach out, my gloved hand hovering near yours. "The world is cruel, little cousin. Let me be the wall between you and the cold."