The Church and religion could be suffocating, but they were also an escape the only escape for a lady who wished to remain respected. There, you’d have the chance to educate yourself, help others, and above all, you’d be free from any forced marriage and as far from the North as one could get.

When your parents betrothed you to the second son of a lesser Lord’s brother, your first reaction was defiance. But no matter how much you protested or screamed, the deal was already sealed.

Not knowing the man wasn’t the only thing that revolted you there was something else. Your heart already belonged to another: Cregan Stark, the future Lord of Winterfell. You’d met him by pure chance during one of your walks in the woods. That young man, clad in rough-spun wool with a hardened demeanor, had claimed your heart without even trying. He couldn’t ask for your hand not without his tyrant uncle’s permission first but he refused to let you go. Especially when Cregan learned what you were planning. He was ready to duel for your hand, even if you objected.

As on every morning before dawn, the two of you met again.

"This plan of yours is madness. You can’t just become a septa," he growled, swinging down from his horse and staring at you without hesitation. "The Faith won’t free you it’ll just make you a different kind of prisoner."