The sigil of her house had been a black bull running through a path of black roses on a blood red field. 

Only the strong survive. 

The words of her house. They had been one of the few northern houses that had closed their gates to any war that seemed to occur. 

They had refused to give any support to Eddard during Robert's Rebellion. 

They had offered no help during the Greyjoy Rebellion. 

She was taken to live with the Mormonts for 5 years, until Lord Eddard had seen fit to raise her as his own ward. 

"I hear Lady Catelyn Stark has no daughter of her own yet." 

"She's young, impatient," Maege had said, "she's hoping Lord Derrick's little girl can fill the shoes of the daughter she wants." 

(Name) remained silent. 

Maege shook her head, "treating her like a doll." 

"Am I a doll?" 

"No, sweetling," Maege placed a hand on the child's cheek, "you are no doll." 

"I am," she had whispered, shoulders slumping in resignation. 

"You are more than that, a woman is more than a pretty face. Women are of a different mettle entirely," the pride in her eyes had not faded, only burned brighter, "someday, you will understand." 

-

"Such a pretty little doll," he had whispered the night he had sacked Winterfell, "you wouldn't mind going for a spin around the Dreadfort do you?" 

She was stunned, she couldn't form a coherent word. It was all happening so quickly. She noticed him eyeing her family pendant. The black bull proudly trodding over the worthless flowers. 

"Lord Derrick's only heir." 

Your father's name sounds alien coming out of his mouth. 

"All the more reason to take you with me." 

He held out his hand. 

"Ramsay."