[North]

Daenerys and her men were travelling down the Whiteroad. They had sailed to White Harbour, in order to avoid passing through King's Landing, and being perceived as a threat. They had decided to travel the remaining distance on the Whiteroad, as most of them were unfamiliar with the Northern terrain, but it appeared straightforward. It seemed safest, rather than attempting to use shortcuts through the untamed forest.

Her dragons flew overhead as they marched and trotted down the road.

Unfortunately, for them, they were unaware they were being watched.

In the woods, men were huddled, watching as the soldiers passed by.

They had been divided into three groups; one would attack supply lines, stealing food and weapons. Another was to target soldiers, under the cover of the weather, using hit and run tactics to sow confusion among their target's ranks.

The third and final group would attempt to disrupt any form of communication or coordination between Daenerys and her commanders, spreading misinformation and confusion among their ranks.

If it was avoidable, they were to keep as many men as they could alive. Killing them would only add to the army of the undead, unless their bodies were burned.

These particular men had been selected due their penchant for archery. It would allow them to remain mostly concealed and still attack.

There were men hidden in the wilderness all along the kingsroad; archers, cavalry, infantrymen. All strategically placed to allow for maximum effect.

Also to their advantage, Daenerys' men were spread out.

At the head of the envoy were a host of Dothraki riders.

Daenerys and her advisors were in the middle guarded by Unsullied, and bringing up the rear were more Unsullied and some more Dothraki, guarding the majority of the envoy's provisions.

Their resources were spread out enough that a single attack would not cost them everything, but with enough, it was sure to cause a problem.

Not to mention the weather.

None of them could have predicted the storm that came, not even Jorah.

The North, much like the Stormlands, was known for its unruly weather patterns.

None but Jorah had experienced weather even remotely like this.

This weather worked out perfectly in the Northerner's favour.

Everyone was on edge as the visibility worsened the further they trekked down the road.

The men hiding in the woods used this to their advantage.

When they noticed the first of the party's resources, which were being escorted by some of the Dothraki, they made their move.

Under the cover of the snow, they charged, breaking through their lines, and toppling their resources, which startled their horses, causing them to trample said resources, rendering them useless.

Then, they slipped back into the forest, undetected.

Their attack had been a success, but not without cost. Two of their men were injured in the fighting, and they had lost a valuable bow. However, they had achieved their objective; they had disrupted the supply lines and caused confusion among the enemy ranks.

As the storm continued to rage, the visibility remained poor. The men in the woods waited, watching and listening for any signs of pursuit. They knew that Daenerys' forces would be stretched thin trying to maintain control in these conditions.

When Daenerys caught up and question them about what happened, they told her they had been attacked. But, from what she could see, none of them had been harmed, only that portion of their food.

They stopped to regroup, but what they didn't realize was, this allowed for another attack.

Much like the first, these men used the storm to their advantage. The howling of the wing and the blowing of the snow allowed them to sneak in again, providing a distracting and destroying the caravans before sneaking off into the woods.

"Khaleesi, there has been another attack," one of the Dothraki rode up and told her.

"What is going on?!" She questioned, turning to Tyrion, who sat in a carriage with Varys. "I thought you said these Northerners are honourable."

"They are, at least more than most."

"Then why are we being attacked."

"I don't know, Your Grace."

"You are my Hand. It is your job to know."

"Actually, it is to advise you as you shape yourself into the ruler you wish to be."

"I know what kind of ruler I am. Now, I need them to see it as well." She sighed. "My men are not accustomed to such weather, and now with these attacks..."

She turned to Tyrion, who seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. "You're sure these Northerners aren't involved?"

"It's more likely that they are people taking advantage of the situation. These woods are crawling with bandits and deserters."

"But they seem well-organized," Jorah pointed out.

"That they are," Tyrion agreed. "These woods are their home. They know how to move through them better than any man. It would be foolish to underestimate their capabilities."

The men in the woods watched as the second group of soldiers passed by, their movements stiff and labored due to the storm. They were perfect targets. The group that was supposed to attack the supply lines moved forward, stealthily making their way through the trees until they were close enough to strike.

The soldiers were completely unaware of their presence as the group silently swooped in, destroying the supply wagons and scattering the horses. The men then disappeared back into the forest, melting away into the snow and the howling wind.

As the third group waited, they listened to the chaos they had just created. They could hear the panicked shouts of the soldiers, the whinnies of frightened horses, and the crack of weapons as they clashed. It was music to their ears.

The snow continued to fall, blanketing the forest floor in a white, ethereal silence. But beneath that silence, they could hear the footsteps of the soldiers as they struggled to maintain control. It was then that they struck.

The men who had been tasked with disrupting communication were experts in this kind of warfare, having honed their skills over years of living in these harsh woods. They knew every path, every fallen tree, and every patch of snow that could trip up an unsuspecting enemy. They moved through the forest like ghosts, silent and deadly.

In the distance, they could hear the howls of the wolves, which only served to add to the chaos and confusion. The soldiers, already on edge from the weather and the previous attacks, grew even more unsettled at the sound. The men who had been assigned to the communication role moved with renewed determination, their goal to sow even more discord and doubt among the ranks of Daenerys' forces.

As they moved stealthily through the forest, they avoided areas where they knew the soldiers were likely to be patrolling. They knew that their best chance of success lay in catching them off guard, so they took advantage of any opportunity to use the terrain to their advantage. They climbed trees, slid down embankments, and crawled through narrow passageways, all while remaining hidden from view.

The men in charge of disrupting communication worked tirelessly, their fingers nimble as they worked to sever ropes and cut through twine. They knew that once they had successfully sabotaged the lines of communication, it would be much harder for Daenerys' forces to organize a counterattack or coordinate their defenses.

As they worked, they listened intently for any sign of pursuit. They had seen movement in the trees not far away, but it was impossible to tell if it was friendly forces or more enemies. They continued with their task, moving quickly but cautiously, always mindful of the need for stealth.

One of the men in charge of communication pointed up into the trees, where he had spotted a branch that was hanging low enough to interfere with the line of sight between two of the sentry posts. He carefully climbed the tree and, using his knife, cut the branch away.

The branch fell fell, landing in front of Daenerys' retinue, forcing them to a stop.

The woods were silent, save for the sound of their breaths and the distant howling of wolves. The soldiers, exhausted from their march through the storm, were unable to maintain their discipline. They glanced around nervously, searching for any sign of the elusive attackers.

One of the men in the first group signaled to the others, and they sprang into action. They raced forward, their movements fluid and graceful despite the icy snow that caked their cloaks. In moments, they were upon the supply wagons, destroying the wagons' wheels. The soldiers, caught off guard, struggled to react, but it was too late. The attackers disappeared back into the forest, leaving the supply lines in disarray.

Meanwhile, the second group began to strike. They emerged from hiding places along the soldiers' path, attacking from the flanks and rear. Their blows were swift and deadly, targeting the soldiers' legs and weapons. The soldiers fought back, but they were disoriented and demoralized. The woods echoed with the sounds of battle, as the two groups clashed and separated, only to regroup and attack again.

As the fighting raged on, the third group worked methodically, cutting down trees and branches, blocking the paths and clearings where soldiers had been expected to rest or gather. The soldiers, already exhausted from their march, were forced to fight through the obstacles, slowing their advance even further.

The soldiers wished to fall back, retreat deeper into the forest, and try to find a way to regroup and mount a counterattack. But the attackers were everywhere, appearing out of nowhere, striking at the soldiers' flanks and rear. The soldiers were no match for their stealth and cunning.

However, as Daenerys and her retinue neared Winterfell, the attacks ceased abruptly.

The sky was a steely gray, the wind howling through the trees with a chilling fury. The air was thick with the smell of snow, and the world around them was coated in a blanket of white. Daenerys, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, gazed out at the landscape, her heart filled with a mix of determination and trepidation.

As they approached the castle, the gates swung open, revealing a grand courtyard. Soldiers stood at attention, their armor gleaming in the faint light. At the center of the courtyard, two figures emerged from the shadows. One was tall and broad-shouldered, with curly auburn hair and piercing blue eyes. The other was elegant and graceful, her long black curls with streaks of Targaryen silver flowing over her shoulders. They were Robb Stark, the King in the North, and his Queen, Morgana Baratheon. Beside them stood their bannerman, their sigils fluttering in the biting wind.

As Daenerys and her retinue entered the courtyard, the atmosphere shifted. The soldiers, who had been at ease moments ago, now stood taller and straighter, their eyes fixed on the newcomers. The air was thick with anticipation and curiosity. Robb and Morgana exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of awe and respect.

Daenerys dismounted from her horse, the snow crunching beneath her fur-lined boots. She took a deep breath, summoning her courage as she walked towards the royal pair. The wind picked up, whipping her long silver-gold hair across her face, but she didn't let it deter her. As she drew closer, she could see the intricate design o Robb's crown; an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords.

Morgana's crown, on the other hand, was far more delicate. It was made of gold and silver, intertwined with threads of black and white rubies, the stones symbolizing the union of their two great houses. Her hair flowed down her back in a cascade of dark waves, each curl gently shimmering with the color of the dragon.

Their greeting was formal, yet warm. "Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Daenerys," Robb said, inclining his head. "It is an honor to finally meet you."

Morgana curtsied gracefully, her eyes lingering on the dragonbone and obsidian pieces adorning Dany's cloak. "Your presence here is most welcome, my lady. We have long awaited the day when the Dragon and the Wolf would stand together against the coming darkness."

"Is it?" Daenerys asked. "Well then, perhaps you would like to tell me why my men and I were attacked." She looked around the courtyard, where Jon Snow was nowhere in sight. "I don't suppose Jon Snow's absence is in any way related, is it?"

Morgana's expression clouded at the mention of Jon's name. "I assure you, my lady, that Jon would never condone such actions. He and several others have been out scouting and gathering materials for the new greenhouse we have begun building. A project that I am sure you will find most interesting when you see it."

Robb cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We have prepared guest chambers for you and your men, my lady. You must be exhausted from your journey. Please, come with us and we will show you to your quarters."

"We have prepared a feast in honour of your arrival." Morgana added.

Robb nodded in agreement. "Indeed, we would be honored if you and your men would join us for dinner this evening. It will give us all a chance to get to know one another better."

Their guides led them through the grand halls of Winterfell, the polished stone floors echoing with each footstep. The air was thick with the scent of burning logs from the massive hearths, and the sound of servants bustling about, preparing for the evening's festivities. Daenerys followed the royal pair, marveling at the tapestries that hung from the walls, depicting the history of House Stark. She paused before one particular tapestry, a detailed map of Westeros woven into the fabric.

"This is a magnificent work," she said, running her fingers over the intricate design. "It must have taken great skill to create."

"Yes, it was a gift to my father," Robb replied. "A friend of his commissioned it before he passed away. It's a reminder of the delicate balance that exists between the great houses of Westeros. That even the strongest of us must work together if we are to survive."

Their guides led them up a grand staircase, the wooden steps carved with intricate patterns of leaves and flowers. At the top of the stairs, they came to a hallway lined with doors, each bearing the sigil of a noble house that had once stayed within these halls. Their guide led them to the end of the hall, where a large wooden door stood ajar. Inside, the room was warm and inviting, with tall windows that looked out over the courtyard and the surrounding countryside.

"This is where you and your men will be staying," Morgana said, sweeping her arm to encompass the spacious chamber. "There are four large bedchambers, each with its own private bathing area. Your servants may share the common room, where they will find food and drink awaiting them. Please, make yourselves at home."

Dany followed Morgana's instructions, stepping inside the room and taking in the comfortable furnishings. The bedchambers were decorated in hues of blue and grey, the colors of House Stark. Soft rugs covered the floor, and tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of hunting and battle. A large hearth burned brightly in the center of the room, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.

She turned to her companions, who were already beginning to unpack their belongings. "This is most generous of you," she said to Robb and Morgana. "We thank you for your hospitality."

The room they were given was spacious and well-appointed, with high ceilings and large windows that let in plenty of natural light. The furniture was sturdy and comfortable, and the beds were large enough to accommodate several people if necessary. In one corner of the room, a small wooden table had been set up with refreshments and food for their journey, including fruits, cheeses, breads, and dried meats. A large fireplace dominated the far wall, its warmth already beginning to spread through the room.

Most striking of all, however, were the tapestries that adorned the walls. They depicted various scenes from the history of House Stark, each one more intricate and detailed than the last. The colors were vibrant and rich, and they told stories of heroism, tragedy, and triumph. Daenerys could not help but feel a sense of awe and respect for this family as she studied the images before her.

The room also had a large, well-stocked library that offered her a chance to learn more about Westeros and its people. She could spend hours poring over books about the Seven Kingdoms, their history, and their customs. She discovered that Winterfell was not only the ancestral home of House Stark, but also served as the capital of the North. It was a region known for its rugged terrain and fiercely independent people, who valued strength, honor, and loyalty above all else.

As she wandered through the room, she couldn't help but notice the way the light played off the ancient weapons that adorned the walls. Swords, axes, and spears hung from the racks, each one a testament to the courage and skill of those who had once wielded them. Some of the blades bore the crests of houses she had never heard of, a testament to the many alliances and battles that had been fought within these halls over the centuries.

In one corner of the room, a large, ornately carved table dominated the space. It was surrounded by comfortable chairs with high, curved backs, each one bearing the sigil of House Stark. Daenerys could only imagine the important discussions and decisions that had been made at this table, the weight of responsibility that must have fallen upon those who sat in these chairs.

The floor was covered in thick, luxurious carpets that muffled their footsteps as they moved about the room.

The wing assigned to Dany and her group was tastefully appointed, with a comfortable sitting area near the entrance, where they could converse and unwind. A grand staircase led to the upper level, where three of the bedchambers were located, each one more opulent than the last. The largest of these chambers was reserved for Dany herself, complete with its own private sitting area and a massive canopied bed draped in sapphire velvet.

The sitting area was furnished with plush cushions and pillows, arranged around a low table bearing a silver tray laden with sweets and fruits. A fireplace crackled in one corner, casting warm light upon the richly patterned carpets that covered the floor. Framed portraits of long-dead Stark ancestors hung on the walls, their stern visages seeming to watch over the group as they settled in.

In one of the bedchambers, Jorah and Barristan took turns bathing in a large wooden tub carved from the trunk of an ancient tree. The bathroom was adjacent to the sleeping quarters, ensuring privacy while still allowing for easy access. The room itself was elegant, with intricately carved wooden furniture and tapestries depicting scenes of hunting and battle. A large hearth burned brightly in the center of the room, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling.

Outside, the winter wind howled around the keep, but within their wing, the air was warm and inviting, thanks to the hot springs the castle was built over.

As they waited for the feast, Daenerys, Tyrion, Missandei, Jorah, Daario, and the others explored their new quarters. The sitting area was a particular delight, offering a comfortable space to relax and converse. They discussed the history of House Stark and the North, marveling at the tapestries that adorned the walls and the weapons that hung from the racks.

The provided library was another treasure trove of information, revealing the complexities of Westerosi politics and culture. Tyrion spent much of his time there, poring over ancient tomes and maps. He and Daenerys often met in the sitting area to discuss their findings and strategize about the challenges they faced ahead.

Meanwhile, Missandei and Daario enjoyed exploring the grounds of Winterfell, marveling at the ancient stone walls and the vast expanse of snow-covered land that surrounded them. Missandei assured her Queen she would be perfectly safe on her own, but Daenerys insisted she bring Daario with her. They ventured to the stables, where they met some of the hardy Northmen who would be joining them for the feast. The men were rough around the edges, but Missandei's warmth and beauty quickly won them over. She spent much of her time listening to their tales of valor and hardship, learning more about this proud and resilient people.

If her meeting was any indication, tonight's feast should be quite lovely.