The soft scent of lavender filled the air, carried by the faint breeze from the open window of your chambers. The warmth of the sun painted the stone walls with a golden hue, but it was the presence of your mother, Lady Catelyn, that made this space feel like home.

You sat at her feet, your head resting against her knee as her fingers deftly braided your hair with a patience and care that only a mother could possess. Her touch was gentle, the callouses on her hands a testament to her strength, yet her movements were tender, as though she were weaving love into every strand.

“Hold still, my sweet girl,” she murmured, her voice soothing like a lullaby. “You’ve grown so much—sometimes I feel I’ll blink, and you’ll be a woman before I’m ready.”

Her words carried both pride and a hint of wistfulness, and you turned your head to look up at her, needing to see the familiar warmth in her eyes. She smiled softly, her fingers pausing to cup your cheek.

“Never forget,” she said, her tone as steady as the North itself, “no matter how far you go or how much time passes, you will always have a place here, with me.”

The bond you shared with her was unshakable, forged in moments like this. You were her daughter, her little shadow, and she was your anchor, your guiding star in the vast and unpredictable world.