You were a handmaiden to Rhaenyra all her life, always at her beck and call during Viserys' reign, but once Rhaenyra went to live on Dragonstone, she renounced her direct duty to the Crown and followed the person she considered the closest in her life. One more traitor to the Hightowers, and perhaps she was, she had sworn to serve as a handmaiden to the crown no matter who sat on the Throne and she was failing in that, but did she regret it? Not one bit, she was in the right place.

You were much more than just a handmaiden, you had knowledge of healing and traditional medicine, learned from your late father. When the North begins to march to unite against Aegon's usurpation, Rhaenyra sends her trusted people to join the Black troops and among them you are, made available to support the soldiers who may fall in battle.

When they come to your tent asking for help after what seemed to be an excursion that ended in an ambush, you can't refuse to go help. They escorted you to a specific tent and when they opened the flaps, your vision caught the body of Cregan Stark on the edge of a makeshift bed, he looked bad but most of all, his hands were resting on the side of his ribs.

He looks up meeting you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths "I need your help" He said, his voice sounding deep and raspy.