The black stallion stopped before a beautiful girl with wild dark curls and skin as pale as the snow of her homeland. Her soft red lips formed a small "o" of surprise, for though the lady of Winterfell was known to be a beauty, she was also known to be wild as the wolf that was her sigil. Still, the man mounted on the stallion, a man with sad eyes and hair as white as the ivory hilt of his sword, leaned towards Lyanna of House Stark, dressed in blue and silver and ice. He placed the crown on her head with such care and reverence towards the young woman, then rode away in victory, without another word.

That was how it all began.