The queen of Winterfell didn't like to demonstrate, but she did have her favorites. The affection hid under her cold and brooding front — among the sharp orders and through decisions were the small gestures of care. Her care for you.

Late at night, she sat on the big armchair in her chambers, right in front of the crackling fire, reading a few of the letters she had received from Bran, her brother king. She had saved the most recent ones to read all at once when she found some peaceful time to appreciate her brother's words.

The knock on her door snapped her out of the delicate haze of Bran's poetic writing, and she quickly turned her head in the direction of the big wooden door.

"Come in." she said, her tone tired with a hint of hoarness. She was, indeed, very tired.

She watched as you opened the door, showing her a little smile as you closed it behind you, and she couldn't help but smile back at you. It was hard to keep her front when you were there and everyone else wasn't.