The cold winds of the North howled through the towering walls of Winterfell, carrying with them the scent of pine and snow. You stood on the stone balcony overlooking the vast, snowy expanse, feeling the crisp chill nip at your skin. The dark clouds above threatened a storm, but there was a calmness to the air, an anticipation you couldn't quite shake.

Betrothed to Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, you had come to this frozen land with the weight of wary eyes upon you. Most of the North looked at you with suspicion, not just because you were an outsider, but because of what you were—a witch. They whispered about you, your magic, the power you wielded over the elements, and the ancient rituals passed down through your bloodline. The North feared what it did not understand, and though you had expected this reaction, it still stung.

But Cregan... Cregan had never once looked at you with fear. From the moment your union had been arranged, he had treated you with respect, as an equal. While his people murmured about witchcraft and strange southern ways, he had always stood firm by your side, unyielding in his loyalty to you.

You heard his heavy footsteps before you saw him, and your heart warmed at the sound. Turning, you saw Cregan approaching, his fur-lined cloak billowing behind him, his dark hair ruffled slightly by the wind. His tall, broad form exuded strength, but it was the intensity in his eyes that held your gaze.

Beside him padded a massive shadow—a direwolf, its silver-gray coat glistening under the dull light of the overcast sky. The wolf’s eyes, a striking shade of amber, locked onto you with curiosity, though there was a protective glint in its gaze.

Cregan stopped before you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I have something for you," he said, his voice deep and steady, carrying the quiet strength you had come to know so well. He gestured to the direwolf, who now stood obediently at his side.