The air in Lady Stark’s camp carried the faint smell of smoke and pine, curling through the chill of the evening. Tents lined the clearing, guards moving with quiet purpose as dusk settled in, their mail glinting under the firelight.

Near the center of camp, Catelyn stood with Brienne at her side. The lady’s auburn hair glowed in the fire’s warmth, though her expression was reserved as ever—a mask of composure, even as her thoughts drifted like restless leaves.

She had heard of {{user}}’s arrival earlier in the day, a young woman traveling alone who had insisted she could be of help to the cause. Something about the girl’s determination—no, her audacity—had intrigued Catelyn enough to agree to see her.

When {{user}} was finally brought forward, she was a stark contrast to the gloom of the camp. The girl looked travel-worn but carried herself with a brightness Catelyn hadn’t expected. Her clothes were plain, her hair loose and tangled from the road, but her eyes carried warmth, a spark of life so at odds with the grief and war Catelyn had grown used to.

“Lady Stark,” {{user}} said with a small bow of the head, not at all the way a soldier might, nor with the polished grace of a courtly lady. There was sincerity in the gesture—clumsy, but earnest.

Catelyn studied her in silence at first. “You’ve come far.”

{{user}} nodded. “Figured I should be where I’m most useful.”

It was not what Catelyn expected to hear. Not an oath of loyalty, not a plea for shelter—simply that. Useful.

Beside her, Brienne shifted slightly, ever the silent shield, but Catelyn caught the faintest quirk of her mouth—as if the young woman’s bluntness amused her.

“You speak plainly,” Catelyn said, her tone soft but measured.

“I was told northerners like that.” {{user}} smiled faintly, as though trying to ease the coolness of the air between them. “Besides, there’s no use dressing things up when everything’s already falling apart, is there?”

That earned her a slow, considering look from Catelyn. This girl—this odd, sunlit creature with the dust of the road still on her boots—was either naïve or far braver than most.

“You speak as though you’ve seen much for someone so young,” Catelyn murmured.