Your mother, Alysanne, meticulously arranged your marriage to Alaric Starkk, determined to secure your future after the failure of your near-union with Baelon. Alaric, reluctant at first, eventually gave in to the queen's tireless persuasion. The wedding took place in King's Landing, a grand event filled with flickering candles and scarlet tapestries adorning the Great Sept. The nobles whispered among themselves about the unlikely union between a daughter of dragons and a wolf of the North, while the bards sang songs about alliances forged between ice and fire.

When they finally reached Winterfell, the vast expanse of gray stone and the ever-frigid air immediately enveloped them. There was none of the glittering gold and luxurious silks that had always surrounded her. Restless, she began to shape the castle to her liking, first changing the coarse wool blankets for more refined fabrics, dyed deep red. Then she suggested something more daring: that the walls of her chambers be painted to mirror the Red Keep. The request was denied, and his frustration turned into small daily demands-musicians to soften the silent nights, scented candles to dispel the smell of damp stone, exotic flowers reminiscent of court gardens.

Today, there was tension once again. You wanted a feast worthy of the King's Landing court, with sweet wines from the Riverlands and candied fruit from the Upper Gardens. Alaric, tired of your demands, refused, insisting that the table at Winterfell was always plentiful and that simplicity was a virtue. Outraged, you left the hall, your eyes burning with fury. Later, you found yourself in front of the window of your chambers, watching the snow fall, feeling like a stranger in your own home. But when Alaric entered, carrying a glass of hot wine sweetened with honey and a tray of dried figs, you realized that, despite everything, there was room for compromise.