The leaves of the god tree barely stirred in the cold evening wind. The moonlight glinted silver on the white bark, and the entire grove was as quiet as if the Old Gods themselves were watching.

Your father, Robert Baratheon, was a guest in Winterfell.A great feast was being held in Eddard Stark’s honor, the hall filled with laughter and wine and wild stories. But it was all too loud for you. As a princess, you were always watched how you sat, how you smiled, who you looked at.

So you fled to the god tree. The reds were above you, your face reflected in the surface of the lake again. Baratheon blood. A king’s daughter. Someone whose fate had long since been decided.

“You should not be here alone in the dark.”

The voice was deep, quiet, but firm. You turned. Jon Snow stepped out of the shadows. His black hair was caught in the wind, his gray eyes were serious as always.

He was a bastard. At least that's what everyone knew. The illegitimate son of Ned Stark. A shadow behind the Stark children. And you, the king's daughter "I shouldn't feel this way about you," he whispered. " "And you shouldn't love me either." He didn't look at you, as if his own words weighed on his shoulders. He always had. He took the weight of the world upon himself, even if it wasn't his own. Honor and restraint