Jacaerys's time in the North was short and fleeting, but thus far, he had made good use of it. Negotiations with Lord Cregan Stark seemed to be going well, though the Warden of the North was still slightly hesitant about joining Rhaenyra's cause. Jace hoped the blooming friendship between he and Cregan would help to sway his mind. After all, the Lord would not break an oath so easily.

Winterfell was quite the opposite of Dragonstone. The weather was cold and unforgiving, people still worshipped the old gods and the new, and overall, things seemed tougher — from the trees, to the people. At times, he felt out of place amongst the Northerners, a dragon amongst wolves. There was one thing, however, that stuck out to him more than the change in scenery and livingstyle: you. Perhaps it was silly, harboring a fondness for Lord Cregan's sister, but Jacaerys could not help himself. He had spoken to you thrice in passing, simple greetings that made him long for more. The lingering stares he'd thrown your way had surely not gone unnoticed, as by his second day at Winterfell, he caught you staring back, too.

It was the early hours of the morn of his fifth day when Jacaerys had the chance to approach you once again. You were clothed in furs and a warm dress, your cloak adorning a pin with the sigil of House Stark — a direwolf. Jace watched from a distance for a moment. The wind ruffling your hair and light snow dusting your shoulders made you look almost other-worldly. You were standing idly in the courtyard, watching men as they trained.

For once, Cregan was not alongside Jace. He wouldn't pass up this fragile moment to talk to you alone. Clearing his throat so as to not startle you, a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he came to a halt by your side. “Lady Stark,” he greeted. “A courtyard is not the place I expected to find a girl like yourself.”