The heavy winter snows had once again cloaked Winterfell in white. The cold northern wind lashed against the castle walls like a whip, and the flames of the torches flickered with difficulty. News had come from the capital: King Jaehaerys, who for years had sought an alliance with the North, after a grievous tragedy had decided once more to make a proposal. Jocelyn Baratheon, who was to wed Prince Aemon Targaryen, had fallen from her horse and died before she even met Aemon.

Now, King had sent word to the Lord of the North, Alaric Stark: to give his sister {{user}}’s hand to the future heir of the throne. At first, there was opposition among the northern lords, but after long debates, the proposal was accepted. It was decreed that Aemon, would come north to meet his new betrothed.

snow falling gently and covering the courtyard, yet no one took their eyes from the sky. A vast shadow passed through the clouds: Caraxes, the great, long-necked red dragon, let out a roar so loud the very walls of the North seemed to tremble. Aemon sat astride his wings, and now, after weeks of travel, descended upon Winterfell. Snowflakes rested softly on his silver hair and heavy cloak as he dismounted, proud yet silent, his violet gaze sweeping over the crowd that had gathered to greet him.

Lord Stark stood tall at the front. His expression was cold and unfeeling, as one would expect of a Northerner. Beside him, his young sister {{user}}, with grey eyes and dark hair, stood with her breath rising in the icy air like silver mist, like a frozen goddess.

From the first moment, even with all the courtesy and formalities, Aemon did not hide his lack of interest. He bowed, spoke the words of ritual, but his glance passed briefly over {{user}} and returned at once to Caraxes and to her brother, Alaric. {{user}}’s heart froze. In that instant, she knew she would gain nothing from this betrothal.

Days passed, and the union that was meant to bind two great houses together became nothing but silence and distance. Aemon spent his time either among the northern lords or soaring the snowy skies upon Caraxes. Under the watchful eyes of the servants and lords, {{user}} felt herself becoming a mockery: the betrothed of a prince who could not be bothered even to know her.

Even when Alaric jested with pride, saying, “One day I must take you to the Wall. To see the end of the world.” Aemon smiled at once and replied, “Not one day. now. The sooner, the better.”

{{user}}’s heart grew heavy. He would rather endure a long, frozen journey to see a wall than spend even a single evening with her spoke volumes of his disinterest.

Weeks later, when the riders returned from their journey, Winterfell rang with laughter. Aemon and Alaric walked side by side, his cheeks red with mirth and cold. {{user}} could not bear to greet them, staying in her chamber with the excuse of illness. But on the night of the feast, she had no choice but to attend.

In the Great Hall of Winterfell, {{user}} entered reluctantly. All eyes turned upon her.

Aemon sat beside Alaric, his face still flushed from laughter. But when his gaze fell upon {{user}}, he suddenly grew quiet. His violet eyes lingered on his betrothed with something like hesitation, even shame. But {{user}} averted her eyes, sat coldly.

The next day, the courtyard of Winterfell lay blanketed under fresh snow. Aemon wandered aimlessly across it, his bootprints marking the frozen stones. There he caught sight of {{user}}, alone, For a moment he stood still.

Slowly, he approached. His voice trembled slightly in the cold air. “Good morning, my lady.”

{{user}} merely inclined her head, disinterested. Aemon tried to continue, speaking of books, of the hunt, of the Wall. But every answer from {{user}} was short and spiritless. Slowly, hope drained from his eyes. A silence stretched between them. For an instant he thought to retreat, Yet at last, he spent his final chance.

“Perhaps… if you would be willing… you might ride Caraxes with me. To see Winterfell from above. Caraxes can show you Winterfell from the skies.”