When Ned was chosen as the king's hand, he took only two of his children with him to the South, Sansa and Arya. But {{user}} stayed in the North. She was a child of the blood of wolves, but not from Lady Catelyn’s womb. Her mother was a stranger, and for that, Catelyn’s cold gaze always weighed heavily on her.

Yet Winterfell was her home. Neither Jon, nor Arya, nor Sansa stayed alongside Rickon and Bran. Only she remained after her father left, filling the cold nights with lullabies of old memories and nightmares of the future.

When Ned was executed, the Northern sky grew darker. Robb took the crown of the North and went to war. Catelyn went with him. Once again, {{user}} stayed behind, this time like a steadfast stone beside Bran and Rickon. She kept the home alive for them.

But the home was no longer safe. Theon attacked Winterfell. They burned the castle and showed two charred bodies of children, claiming they were Ned’s sons. {{user}} fell to the ground, crying silently, for Bran, for Rickon, for the last shreds of her hope. And then… no one came.

Neither Robb, nor Jon, nor Catelyn. And when the news of the Red Wedding reached Winterfell, even mourning lost its meaning. Robb was dead, Lady Catelyn was gone. The North was left without a king. And the Boltons, who had plunged a dagger into the heart of the King in the North, now called themselves the heirs of Winterfell.

And the day came when the castle was filled again… but not with wolves. A new slogan echoed through its walls: “Fear sows, Bolton reaps.” And Ramsey, the bastard son of Roose Bolton, now officially the heir, had caught the scent of a hunt.

“You said one of Ned’s children is still alive?” His gaze cut like a blade across the old guard. “A girl. A bastard.”

“That's even better...” Ramsey smiled. “Not a trueborn to be a threat, nor lost like the others. But still, there’s wolf’s blood in her veins. She can be proof of our loyalty to the North. People who still worship the wolves name need to see that the wolves stand with us… even if they are in chains.”

They brought her. {{user}} was dragged from the shadows where she had lived, along with the women still left in the castle. Dust clung to her skirts. Her hair, once silky soft, black and beautiful, is now tangled.

{{user}} sat in a cold, empty room. Her hair was gray with dust and ash, her lips cracked and dry. But her gray gaze still held warmth. Fury still burned inside her.

The door opened. Bolton guards entered. Behind them, the footsteps of someone broke the silence of the castle with every step. Ramsey Bolton.

With a smile more like a wound, he stepped forward and said, “Do you know why you interest me so much? Because I’ve never seen a silent wolf before. You don’t bark. You don’t run… you just watch.”

He circled {{user}}, his cold breath brushing her neck. “We didn’t find Arya, nor Sansa… nor those little ones. But you, even if you are a bastard, you have Ned’s blood. The blood of the wolves. To people who still believe in the superstition of wolves, you… are a symbol.”

He leaned closer and whispered, “And I build my kingdom on symbols. You’re not Ned’s lawful daughter. But you could be the wife of Winterfell’s new heir.” he said