The wind howled through the snow, drenched trees as the girl rode northward, a hood drawn over her dark hair. Few had ever seen her without the dark dye that masked her true lineage, fewer still knew the truth behind her birth. She was no ordinary traveler, no common girl. {{user}}, She was the daughter of Rhaegar, hidden from the world before she could be claimed by fire or blade.

Rhaegar's last child, born after her siblings, no one knew of her birth. When she was a week old, her mother and siblings were murdered, and no one knew of the birth of another child of Rhaegar's blood.

She rode under the name Elenna Snow, a bastard girl from the Crownlands. The lie had kept her alive through years of silence and whispers. But now she was returning to the land of wolves.

Wolves didn’t ask questions. Wolves didn’t pry too deep. And that was exactly why she had chosen Winterfell.

The gates of the Wolves stronghold rose ahead, tall and gray against the white horizon. Her horse’s hooves crunched on the frozen path as two guards stepped forward. One eyed her suspiciously. “Name and purpose?”

She lowered her hood, letting the snow touch her lashes. “Elenna Snow,” she said smoothly. “Looking for work. I can heal. I can read. I know herbs and steel. And I’ve nowhere else to go.”

They exchanged glances before one finally nodded. “You’ll speak to Lady Catelyn.”

She was escorted through the outer courtyard, her eyes scanning every corner. She had heard tales of Winterfell, of Ned and his quiet honor, of the sons and daughters raised under cold skies.

Several days later, Snow had fallen overnight, and the world beyond the walls of Winterfell glistened beneath a dull gray sky. In the courtyard of Winterfell Castle, Elenna, or {{user}}, knelt beside Hodor, who sat on a low stone bench, wincing slightly as she tied a fresh bandage around the shallow cut on his forearm.

“You need to stop swinging that cart around like it’s a sword,” she muttered gently, securing the wrap with a knot. “Hodor,” he said with a small pout, eyes full of guilt. She smiled despite herself. “Yes, yes. Hodor.”

She had grown fond of the gentle giant. He reminded her of the rare kindnesses she had known as a child, before the truth of her blood had made her a ghost. Then, as she brushed snow off her hands and stood, she saw him.

Robb was across the yard, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sparring with a guard in the packed snow. His movements were fluid but sharp, every strike measured, each step taken with the confidence of a young man who knew exactly what he was fighting for.

He spun and disarmed his opponent with a flourish. Steel met snow with a dull clatter. And just then, his eyes lifted. They met hers.

For a heartbeat, the courtyard faded. The wind grew silent. She could hear only the echo of her own breath as his gaze lingered, not impolite, but curious.

She looked away first, brushing invisible snow from her skirt, heart suddenly unsteady. "Finished," she said to Hodor quickly. "Keep the bandage dry."

“Hodor,” he replied, smiling, Hodor was already walking away, Behind him, the sound of swords had stopped. And Robb, still catching his breath, watched the girl with dark hair, a girl he hadn’t seen before.

The courtyard had quieted. The clang of swords was gone now, replaced by the soft hiss of the wind brushing over the snow. Elenna crouched near the bench, carefully folding the bloodied cloths into a small leather satchel. Her hands were steady.

"You’re not from the North." came a voice behind her.