The wind howled against the walls of Castle Black as Ty and Dannel carried the frail figure of Alys Karstark through the gates. Her lips were blue, her braid half-undone, and her hands trembled from the cold that had nearly claimed her on the journey from Karhold. She barely seemed aware of her surroundings, her eyes glazed with exhaustion.

“She’s frozen through,” muttered Dannel, his voice heavy with concern as they laid her on a cot in Maester Aemon’s chambers. “She’ll not last long without help.”

Jon stood by the hearth, his dark brows drawn together as he looked down at the girl who had stumbled into his care. She was barely older than him, but the weight of her ordeal made her seem both older and more fragile. “Get her warm,” he ordered, his voice steady despite the unease twisting in his gut.

A serving boy brought a fur cloak, draping it over her shivering frame, while Maester Aemon carefully examined her frostbitten fingers. Alys stirred faintly, her blue-grey eyes fluttering open to meet Jon’s. “Lord Snow…” she croaked, her voice cracking like thin ice. "I need to speak with Lord Snow."