It had snowed again during the night. During breakfast, and before he left for the Wall, Rickon said it snowed more than he remembers. Daenys believes him – he spoke quietly, almost like he feared for what was to come. No one spoke much that morning. Rickon and Bennard bit their goodbyes for some time and rode for the wall alongside some of their men. Gilliane and Margaret were left behind and alone in the Keep. At least they had each other.

She also came to the realization that once the snow gets to your skin; your bones will start to ache. The godswood of Winterfell was beautiful during wintertime – the tall trees with ancient old roots were covered in such thick snow that the branches started to crack. She would look up every so often when she dragged her boots across the tall snow. Balerion let out a small whine and Daenys bend down to pick him up, a small smile on her lips, "ao gīmigon, syt nykeā zokla bona iksos supposedly naejot mazverdagon hae bōsa hae half hen Meraxes, ao sure gaomagon whine nykeā lot." (you know, for a wolf that is supposedly to grow as tall as half of Meraxes, you sure do whine a lot)

Balerion sniffled and nudged his snout closer to the top of her chest. She smiled again and covered him with her cloak before she started to move again. When she finally reached the ancient weirwood that stood proudly in the middle, she gently tucked Balerion on the snow-covered floor. He whined again and Daenys clicked her tongue, "Balerion, truthfully, nyke adore ao, yn ao issi tolī spoiled." (Balerion, truthfully, I adore you, but you are too spoiled)

The small animal tilted his small black head and looked up at her like she hurt his feelings (she did). Daenys cooed and bend down to scratch him behind his ear, "Nyke'm sorry, issa jorrāelagon. mērī nykeā jest." (I'm sorry, my love, 'twas only a jest)

Balerion couldn't stand to be angry at her for a long time, no one seemed to. He wiggled his tail and moved closer to the tree for warmth. Daenys looked at the melancholy face carved into the tree before lowering herself on her knees. She intertwined her fingers together then, "Father, who judges justly, grant me wisdom to know right from wrong. Let your justice temper my hand, and may I rule my life and my House with honour. Mother, who gives mercy, wrap me in your kindness and keep safe those I love. Ease the burdens of the suffering, and teach me to love with compassion, even in grief."

The snow crunched but she didn't hear, "Warrior, fierce and brave, lend me strength when I falter and courage when I fear. Stand beside me in battle, within and without, and may I protect the innocent with your sword. Maiden, pure and full of hope, bless me with grace and remind me of joy. Keep the hearts of the young unburdened and lead us always toward light and laughter. Smith, who shapes the world, bless my hands and all honest labour. Let my work be strong, and my purpose steady, that I may build what is good and true."

Another crunch of the snow behind but she didn't stop, "Crone, ancient and wise, light my path through shadow and doubt. Whisper truth to me in the quiet and guide me when all roads seem lost. Stranger, unknown and dark, I do not know your face, but I do not turn from you. Walk beside me in death as you do in life and carry me home when the end comes. Seven Who Are One, watch over me and all I hold dear. In your light, I walk. In your will, I trust."

"I thought one does not prayer to the Stranger," he said when she finished.

Daenys startled and almost fell against the tree with the speed she turned. Looking back, she only saw the smile of Cregan Stark. Blinking up at him, she spoke, "you scared me."

"I'm sorry," he laughed – boyish, free, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

He took a few steps closer until he stood by her kneeling side. Then, without thinking twice, he dropped down until his pants were fully covered in snow. He nudges his chin to Balerion, who was trying to catch his tail, "did I interrupt his prayer too?"

"He's cross with me," she huffs out a laugh, "I told him he's spoiled."

"He is spoiled," he replied with the same laugh and a nod of his head.

Balerion lifted his head when he realized they must be talking about him. Grey eyes settled on Daenys as if asking her to defend him. There's a smile on her lips when she accused Cregan, "you spoil Fenrir all the time."

"Fenrir earns it," he said, rubbing at the space between Balerion's ears, when he finally decided he can't be mad anymore and approached them, with a gloved hand, "he helps our men in the woods. This one just barks at the birds."

Balerion decided he prefers Daenys' style of rubs. He stumbles through the tall white snow and collapses into her lap, snout first, back legs sticking out. Both laugh when Daenys catches him. There's a small pause where Cregan tries to figure out how to say it. He, unfortunately, decides to be blunt, "father asked when I'm giving the North heirs."

Her fingers stop on Balerion's spine. He nuzzled his snout closer to her stomach without knowing what the word was about. She doesn't look up from Balerion, "oh."

"I don't mean to scare you," he says quickly, apologetically as much as he knows how to, "I don't – really, I don't. I'm just saying that –"

" – I know what is expected of me, Cregan, I'm no fool," she replied sharper than intended.

There's a heavy pause then and even the direwolf senses it. Daenys lets out a breath and lets her head fall back slowly, violet eyes looking at the bright sky. A few snowflakes fell on her cold cheeks. It started snowing again.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out quietly.

"Don't apologize," Cregan replied softer than ever before, "there's nothing to apologize for."

She thinks she might start crying, "I yelled at you."

Cregan laughs – not mean, not making fun of her but the light-hearted type of laugh, "Gods, Daenys, if that was your yelling, that might be the softest yell I've ever heard in my life."

That made her smile. She dropped her head back down and into her cold hands. Cregan pulled himself off the cold ground and offered her his hand, "come on. Let's go back inside. It's starting to snow."

She stays there for a minute longer and looks at the old tree. She thinks it's smiling at her but if she says it out loud it makes her sound mad, so she doesn't. She turns her head and looks up at Cregan – he's got that soft smile again. She takes his hand without a second thought and pulls herself off the ground. She calls for Balerion – he doesn't walk long, Cregan scooping him up quickly, returning all three of them back to the Keep.

Daenys stood in a garden. Her bare feet were planted on the soft green grass below, her white dress barely reaching her ankles. There was blood on her belly and a little below, dripping onto her thigh. She doesn't think this is Winterfell. She doesn't believe it's King's Landing either. Some strange third thing. The trees are tall like in the Winterfell's Godswood but twisted in all directions. The air is stiff and suffocating and when she reached for her neckline, the Seven-pointed Star rested around her throat.

Then, there's a shadow. He looked calm when he walked closer. His face was covered with a hood, but she thinks she knows that smile, she's seen it before. He nudged her by his hand, "come. Come and rest."

She didn't hesitate. She followed him to a stone table with a cup of liquid. He gestured for her to sit and offered the cup to her – tall, grey with a wolf drawn on it, "here. It will make you feel better. The sweetness will calm you."

It smelled sweet, almost like honey, and she took it without question. The first sip was pleasant. Warm, soothing, just as he had promised. But then something changed. The taste began to shift, becoming bitter, like something was wrong. She took another sip, but the sweetness had turned sour, and the warmth now felt like a weight pressing down on her. It felt wrong, like the very air had turned heavy, and her chest began to tighten. She glanced at the man, but his smile hadn't changed. It was still warm, still inviting, but there was something different now, something in the way his eyes glinted.

As the bitterness grew, she looked down at the bowl, the dark liquid still spinning. Her vision blurred, and she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was dry. The man didn't move, didn't react, just continued to watch her. She couldn't understand what was happening, but it felt like the warmth had turned into something far more dangerous.

The man's voice interrupted her thoughts, "you must drink all of it, Daenys. It will help you. Let me help you."

Daenys tried to stand, but the ground beneath her feet felt soft, unstable. It shifted as though the earth was trying to swallow her whole. Her legs gave way, and she stumbled, but the man didn't reach out to catch her. Her hand grasped at the table, but everything felt wrong. The ground beneath her gave way, and everything turned black.

She woke up with a gasp.

Rickon hadn't returned for a clear month. The winter grew harsher, and no ravens were able to fly out of Winterfell and none returned. Or so does Daenys like to believe – that her family isn't ignoring her letters. It was easier to blame the snow rather than the idea of her family forgetting her. Margaret says Bennard used to be gone for months on end sometime, that it's harder for the men to move from the Wall and the high snow. Gilliane wants to believe her, but Daenys can tell she's growing nervous as time passes, a time with no letters from her husband.

Then another month passed with no letters still. Margaret tried to comfort Gilliane behind closed doors. Cregan tried to convince everyone he didn't care that it didn't matter, that his father is safe and sound by the Wall. Sometimes, she missed the busy and loud hallways of King's Landing – always servants going around for work, the ladies and lords on their daily walks, the Kingsguard standing tall whenever you'd pass a chamber of a royal member. Criston used to play with her a lot – he'd let her place flowers atop his head, and he'd let her grab his arm and dangle from it, giggles escaping her lips. There's no Criston here no more, she doesn't have a guard. There's Trevas, but he has more important duties to work on instead of trailing after a princess that didn't belong.

There's a boy that she sees in the shadows of the Keep every so often. Small and fragile like her with dark brown hair and eyes dark as Cregan's. He always keeps his head down and if he were a girl, she'd think he only needs a headpiece and he'll be a Septa that taught her the history of her House when she was just a bit older than a babe. He'd mumble a quick hello whenever he passed her and hurried up the staircase.

Then, she sees him often with Maester Kennet. They take the long route across the Keep, down to the crypts underneath where the dead were buried. He'd always tell him something and the boy always nodded, questions ready to be asked. And when Daenys' monthly blood didn't come, she'd see the boy outside her chambers where Kennet was waiting for her.

"Can I ask your name?" she asked quietly when she finally approached him.

"Robb, my lady," he replied but didn't look up from his feet.

Daenys studied him for a moment; this shy boy with his face tilted toward the stone floor, as if afraid even eye contact might offend. Robb. The name felt strange on her tongue. It was not one of the grand names of her House, not a name pulled from scrolls of old kings or Valyrian time. But it suited him; simple, soft-edged, Northern. A child of the snow and stone.

"How long have you served here, Robb?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper. The hallway echoed if you weren't careful. She learned that quickly.

He hesitated. Then, "since I was small, my lady."

She almost smiled. He was small now. How much smaller had he been when he first arrived? He looked up then, just for a moment. There was something gentler about him, and something terribly sad. Daenys felt a something she couldn't name deep in her chest.

"Maester Kennet speaks highly of you," she offered instead of any real word.

His eyes widened a little, like it was the highest praise he'd ever heard. He nodded quickly, a bit too quickly, then rubbed his hand over the sleeve of his tunic.

"I—I try to be helpful, my lady. I clean the ravenry sometimes, and carry the firewood, and I help with the records. Maester says I might learn enough one day to earn a chain."

"You want to be a maester?" she asked after a moment. The boys she knew dreamt of becoming Kingsguard, of the men that serve grand Houses like Trevas decided to do with House Stark.

He shrugged, "it's either that, or I become a soldier. And I'm not very good with swords."

Daenys crouched down, so she wouldn't be towering over him anymore. Balerion trotted out from her chamber behind her and immediately pressed his nose to Robb's knee, sniffing. Robb startled slightly, then slowly reached out his hand, pausing first, until Daenys gave a small nod of encouragement.

"He likes you," she said softly.

Robb smiled, only a little, "I like him, too."

They stood in quiet for a moment. Balerion flopped on his side dramatically, earning a puff of breath from Robb that might've been a laugh if he hadn't caught himself. Inside, Maester Kennet cleared his throat from within her chamber.

"I suppose I should go in," Daenys murmured, rising slowly to her feet.

Robb nodded, "he's just checking on your health, my lady. Nothing bad."

She tilted her head slightly with a smile, "did he tell you that?"

Robb blinked, "he tells me things. When I ask."

Daenys paused, something unreadable flickering across her face, but she only said, "Thank you, Robb," and turned toward the chamber door.

She's been doing this since her wedding – check-ups with Kennet. Everyone was deeply afraid that the Targaryen child bride wouldn't be able to produce an Heir for the North. The Hand spoke highly of her, of her sisters who both already bore children to the Crown, why wouldn't she be able to bear one for the North?

Her mother told her she'd be a good mother. That she's kind, considerate, nothing like her. Daenys likes to believe that when she lays on her bed, fingers crossed over her belly as Kennet examinates her, asks her questions she'd consider silly a few years ago, questions she didn't understand. And when the words slip pass his lips, telling her she's with child, the world seems to silently pause for a moment. She doesn't understand what she feels – there's no happiness her older sister told her about. There's grief, yes, pain as well. Emotions Helaena told her, feelings her mother told her – that motherhood is pain but joy as well. She doesn't feel the second one.

She's not there when she tells it to Cregan. Physically, she stands inside the chambers. She's there when Cregan hugs her, promises she'll be alright. She's there when Gilliane congratulates her, when Margaret hugs her and kisses her red cheeks. But she doesn't feel anything. Every word feels like a stab, like a flesh-eating animal, tearing away all that was left of her girlhood. Daenys Targaryen suddenly feels like the stag Cregan hunted a few months ago.