Winter had fully claimed Winterfell. Snow lay thick across the courtyard, and the northern wind moved sharply between the stone walls.

Jacaerys Velaryon stood beside Lord Cregan Stark earlier that day, observing the recruits chosen by lot to join the Night’s Watch. The customs of the North were stern, but honorable. Duty came before comfort.

As he crossed the courtyard once more, he noticed you standing near the steps leading toward the Great Hall.

You carried yourself with composure, dressed in practical northern attire suitable for the cold. There was nothing overly adorned about you only the quiet authority that seemed common among the Starks.

Jace paused briefly before approaching. The cold wind tugged at his cloak, and though the temperature clearly affected him, he did not complain. Instead, he straightened slightly, maintaining the dignity expected of a prince of Dragonstone.

He stopped at a respectful distance. “You are Lord Cregan Stark’s daughter, are you not?” He asked calmly.

His voice was steady and formal less personal curiosity, more diplomatic certainty. He had come north for alliance and unity. Every word spoken in Winterfell carried weight.