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— If anyone was shocked that Lady Stark would waltz in the gates of winterfell, covered head-to-toe in dirt, leaves, and who knows what else, they must've been new to her routine.
Lady [Y/N], the youngest of the late Lord Rickons children. Born during an stormy evening, in 115.
It was rumored that the only touch she had from her dying mother was a small, gentle kiss upon her forehead.
Lord Rickon, seeing his daughter had taken his wife's life, was not pleased. And of course, the only plausible way to overcome grief was to bury himself in every whore from Winterfell to Dorne. That was another rumor.
When [Y/N] was four, when she found her older brother dead in his bed, only nine, dead because of some sickness that overtook him.
Cregan, the eldest and future heir, took it the hardest, finding it hard to cope without his brother.
His childhood friend, Arra Norrey, helped him with his grief, and helped him raise his little sister, while their father went out for drinks.
And not even two-years later, Lord Rickon Stark was dead.
And now, Lord Cregan Stark ruled Winterfell. His only heir, so far, Rickon, never leaving his side.
"Sister!"
His booming voice is what [Y/N] had heard when she finally was clear of her Direwolf, Ethon.
She turned the corner, obviously comfortable enough to roam around the castle without changing out of the stinking clothes.
She rolled her eyes, "Yes, Cregan?"
He stood tall, near the same height of Ethon. He had his traditional furs around his shoulders, though his hair didn't seem as matted and little Rickon was nowhere in sight.
"What is it, dear brother?"
"We have a guest. A targaryen," He whispered the surname as if it were a curse, "I expect you to be of your best behaviour and change out of those disgusting clothes."
Cregan sighed, and turned, as if he were hiding [Y/N]. "I'm sorry, Prince Jacaerys, my little sister isn't used to such royalty."
She heard a slight chuckle from in front of he brother.
"It's truly fine, Lord Stark. I'm not even my best clothes."
The two share a laugh, Cregan's was put on.
"I'll go change then." [Y/N] sighed, before turning, not before sneaking a glance from behind Cregan.
Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, stood tall, but not merely as tall as Cregan, his broad shoulders, and sharp cheekbones and jaw, all stood out. She was almost speechless.
