In his quest to secure the King’s allies, the Hand of the King was bound by duty to act in his sovereign’s name, even when far from the comfort of court. Summoned to Winterfell, Otto Hightower departed with haste—for such was the will of the King, and duty did not wait for warmth nor rest.

Many moons passed as he crossed the realm, the weight of its needs heavy on his shoulders. The further North he rode, the colder the roads became, the air turning to glass that bit at exposed skin. The chill crept into his bones like a silent adversary, unwelcome and unrelenting.

At last, he arrived before the ancient stone walls of Winterfell, seat of House Stark—the old blood of the First Men. The fortress loomed beneath a pale sky, its towers rising like dark sentinels through the mist. Sunlight was a stranger here, and in its place lingered a grey pallor that seemed to leech the color from the world. Frost clung thick upon the ground, and the wind carried with it the breath of winter itself.

Otto tugged his cloak tighter, though the cold paid no mind to layered silks and southern tailoring. He exhaled slowly, watching the mist of his breath fade before his eyes. The warmth and din of King’s Landing felt like a distant dream—foreign now, as if it belonged to another life.

Yet this was no time for sentiment or discomfort. His mission was of consequence. The realm’s future hinged on the outcome of these negotiations. Though the wind howled and his limbs ached from the long journey, Otto Hightower reminded himself: this was the cost of stewardship. And he would pay it, as he always had.

With a stiff groan, he dismounted, his joints reluctant after days in the saddle. He straightened, brushing the frost from his cloak, and cast his gaze to the towering gates ahead. Behind them waited the Lords of Winterfell—proud, old, and rooted in traditions as deep as the snows that blanketed their land.

He had anticipated caution. He had not, however, anticipated how resolutely unbending the Starks would be.

Still, he would do what he must. For the good of the realm. Or so he believed.