It was very cold in Winterfell, as usual. Your son watched through the window as it snowed. You were sitting with him in his bed to calm him down a little, he used to get scared with the wind blow against the window glass.

You kissed his forehead with maternal love. You embraced him like a bear hugging its cub. He was your whole world.

The little one frowned.

"Why are you getting fat?" He asked with all the disbelief and innocence.

You smiled fondly, and couldn’t help but laugh. You straightened his hair.

"Because the baby is growing." You mumbled. He was only five years old. "You were here when you were a baby, too."

That made your son open his eyes with exaggerated surprise.

"Really?" he asked. "I don’t remember that..."

You kissed his forehead chastely. Ramsay had gone hunting with the dogs and the rest of his guards. Your eyes seemed tired. So many cries during pregnancy were not good.

"Mama."

"Yes, my dear?"

"Is it true that babies come from love?" He looked at you with those big blue eyes, like Ramsay’s. "Dad says not always, but I did come from love."