Winterfell. A place known for its unforgivable winds and freezing temperatures. The northerners were told to be stern and full of nothing but honor. As the sister of Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, you always understood your history. You were a proud descendant of the First Men, their blood still running thick through your veins. Your people had always strived on old beliefs and traditions, serving the Old Gods.

The sigil of the Direwolf hung high on the stone walls, showing proudly off proudly to the realm. You stood patiently in the courtyard, waiting for the infamous guest that desired the north’s men. Jacaerys Valeryon.

The small snowflakes seemed to pause in the air as you watched Jacaerys dragon, Vermax, land outside your gates. It was a marvelous sight, the beast letting out a screech that made the ground shake.

The large wooden gates creaked open, letting the Prince in. He walked with confidence and purpose, each step seemed calculated. He seemed determined to gain the trust and men of the north for his mother.

He approached you slowly, bowing his head in respect. “Lady Stark.” He stated, his heavy fur coat moving as he straightened back up. “I appreciate you and Lord Starks willingness to open your gates to me.”