A.N: Hi everybody! Though I have always loved writing fictional short stories, this is my first attempt at any fan fiction, so go easy on me! Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I only claim my original characters. The great and powerful George RR Martin reigns supreme. (If I owned anything, I wouldn't wait tables in a bar.)

Summary: Set in an AU in which Lord Rodrik of House Braeden and his three children visit Winterfell. Beautiful and fiery daughter Isobel catches the eye of many young Northernmen, including a certain brooding bastard boy.

Chapter 1

Isobel POV

A beautiful young girl with long, blonde waves sat in a carriage, trying her hardest to ignore the constant whining and endless questions coming from the child sitting across from her. Her brows furrowed as a pair of green-grey eyes stared determinately at the page of her book, willing her sister to stop talking even for just a little while. She longed for her quiet chambers back at Iredale, the home of her Lord Father. She missed the open fields with the winding streams that the Riverlands were known for. She missed running her hands through the soft, tall grass and picking wild flowers as her dog, Mia, loyally followed. True, she was excited to see the North and to meet the famous Starks, but being cooped up in a carriage for so long would make anybody long for the comforts of home. Almost there, not too much longer now, she told herself yet again. Thank the Gods.

The journey had taken two weeks, and 17 year old Isobel of House Braeden was two minutes away from knocking her sister out just so she would be quiet. She loved Elinor dearly, doted on her, really, but the younger girl was driving her mad. She hardly got any time to herself, since their mother had died when the child was an infant. At just 10 years old, Isobel had had to become a surrogate mother to her younger siblings. She looked thoughtfully out the window, and reminded herself to be patient.

Elinor resembled her elder sister only a little. Her hair was a lighter shade of blonde, lacking the caramel tones her sister's hair possessed, and she had inherited their father's light brown eyes. They had similar bone structures, though Elinor's was harder to see under the childlike roundness of her face. It was their smiles that were so similar; when they both smiled, there was no mistaking that they were of the same blood.

As if on cue, a sweet (although a little whiny) voice broke her thoughts, "Isobel, when will we be there?" She had asked a hundred times in the last two hours, and the older Braeden girl sighed, holding the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.

"Father said about five hours when we last stopped, so I would guess maybe three more. You know, if you lie down for a nap, we'll be there before you know it." She expected an argument but to her complete surprise, the doe-eyed little girl nodded and laid her head in Isobel's lap. She absentmindedly stroked her fair hair, soothing her to sleep, looking out the window once again. Her thoughts wandered to their late mother, and a sadness took over her. She often thought of how unfair it was that she had gotten ten years with such a wonderful woman when Elinor had only gotten a few months. Lady Elayna had been as kind as she was beautiful, and all who knew her admired her strength of character and compassion. Her calm, logical demeanor had balanced out the bold Lord Rodrik perfectly. Her father was a great man, who many people adored for his sense of humor and sense of justice, but he could be irrational and act impulsively when he felt strongly about something. She allowed herself to smile as she thought of her father, and she pictured him, his beard flecked with grey and laugh lines coming in around his eyes. He had changed a bit since her mother died, he thought things through more often.

Sighing, Isobel watched the scenery slowly pass by. It was certainly different than the lands surrounding Iredale. I wonder what Winterfell is like and if it's as magnificent and huge as they say. They ought to have a grand library in a place that big, she mused, leaning her head against the glass. She was excited now that they were so close. She had never been this far north. Though her brother Benjamen had done nothing but complain about the cold, she found it refreshing. While she pictured a grand castle and grounds covered in snow, she too succumbed to sleep, ready for the long journey to finally be over.