Fair as the moon, fair as the winter snow.

Fair as the sun, fair as the summer breeze.

Her eyes innocent and youthful as a doe,

Oh, Winter Maid, how her voice move the weirwood trees.

Mya's voice garnered the applause of the audience of four. It was a slow day. Most of the men had followed Ser Rodrick in his march towards Torrhen's Square, the few men left in Winterfell were either too young, too old, or too weak to fight. Mya was relieved when Willem returned home yesterday. He was the maester's scribe, and was left behind while the other men geared up for war.

"Mya, could you fetch the hops from Wylis? The son of a bitch promised he'd bring it two days ago." Her father's voice commanded from the cellar.

"From the keep, pa?" Mya asks, straightening the sides of her dress.

"Aye. Be careful out there. Word is the blasted ironborn are raiding towns." He emerges from the cellar, carrying a large barrel.

"Oh, come on, pa. We're in Winterfell, there's nothing to worry about." She scoffs at her father's over-the-top concern, wrapping her overcoat over her shoulders.

"Can't be too careful, honey." He shakes his head before setting the barrel down. "I've already sent Ulfric away. I can't stand losing you."

Mya sighs, walking over to her father. He was well into this thirties, though since her brother marched down south with Lord-, no, King Robb, he seemed to have aged two decades. Wrinkles appeared where there were none before, his hair seemed more grey each day, and his eyes seemed to lose their spark. "Pa, Ulfric will be alright. He's already a man grown. Who knows, he might even bring home a pretty southern lady and be named bannerman." The thought of her brother riding into battle was absurd, but it did bring a smile onto her father's tired face.

"J-just be careful, Mya." Her father mutters before returning to the cellar. Mya smiles as her gaze followed her father before he disappeared into the cellar. He was once a livelier man, when her mother was still around. If only I had gone to Alayne earlier. He would still sometimes mumble in his sleep. Ever since she was gone, her father has always been fiercely protective of the two remaining siblings. Mya could still remember Ulfric and her father's fight when Ulfric answered their household's levy call. That was the last time the two of them talked, as the next day Ulfric marched south with King Robb's host. Sighing, Mya fastens her overcoat before stepping out into the snow.


Winterfell's keep stands majestically, watching over the winter town. The seat of the Starks' power, Winterfell seemed like the biggest castle in the world, and to Mya, it is. It was the only castle she has ever seen, and though she heard of much grander castles in the south, she could not imagine anything as large as Winterfell. The interior of the castle was warm even in the snow, and her mother used to tell her that there was a dragon underneath the castle, heating it up with fire. At the time Mya had wished they had a dragon under their house to keep them warm during the night.

Her destination was the castle's kitchen, but she decided to take a detour before going on her errand.

"Mya? What are you doing here?" Willem asks, surprised as he looks up from his ledger.

"I thought you might want something to eat." Mya smiles as she pulls out a small piece of cake wrapped in her handkerchief from her coat.

"M-Maester Ludwin would be mad if he caught me taking a break." Willem says, though he made no move to drive Mya away.

Moving beside him, Mya sits down beside her husband. He is good to her, willing to give his everything for her even after everything she did to him. He is almost a man, fifteen years of age, and though almost a year older than her, he felt like the younger brother she never had. "But you deserve a break."

A heartfelt smile creeps across his face, "Mya..." He starts, but furrows his brows. "Is something wrong?"

"What? No, nothing's wrong, Will."

"Mya, I know when you're worried over something. I've known you since we were babes." He tucks a loose strand of her flowing dark hair behind her ear.

"It's just... I'm worried about Ulfric." Mya sighs, there was nothing she could hide from him. "I've heard the stories of the battles. I just hope he wasn't on the front line. And my father... I don't know what he would do if anything happened to Ulfric."

"Don't worry. I heard that they've won every single battle. Us Northmen are worth ten southerners, I'm sure Ulfric is fine." Willem reassures her, pulling her into his arms.

"He's no fighter, Will. Why... Why did that stupid oaf march south?" She knew the answer perfectly well, but she wanted her husband's reassurance.

"He did it for Ullric. Your father would have had to march with King Robb if Ulfric hadn't gone." His voice was gentle but firm. The two held each other, and Mya relaxed in Willem's arms, his warmth calm and comforting.

"Is it okay if I stay like this for a bit?" Mya murmurs. Willem just holds her even closer.


"Here you go." Wylis hands Mya a basket filled with the zesty flowers she came to the keep for.

"Thank you, Uncle Wylis. My father says hello, along with his complaints." She smiles at the older man.

"Tell him I'm sorry, the ironborn raids caused some panic. Bad for business." He scratches he back of his head with an apologetic sigh. "Who would have thought Lord Ned's own ward would turn on him. The Starks took him in as one of their own, and this is how he repay them?"

"Hopefully His Grace returns and deal with them soon." Mya nods. She remembers the man responsible for the panic, Theon Greyjoy. He was the only kid in the Stark household that visited the Smoking Log. Mya could remember how her friends would gossip over him. Isn't he handsome? Kayla would say. I bet he's got a sweetheart back home who's waaaaaay prettier than you. Reiya would tease Kayla and the three of them would burst out in laughter. He was the perfect gentleman, soft-spoken and handsome, the image of a gallant southern lord, someone Mya used to adore and wished she could marry.

"Stay safe out there, Mya." Wylis says as he checks his stores once more.

"You sound just like my pa." Mya laughs.

"Well, your pa is a smart man." Wylis says, his head hidden behind his cart. "It's getting late, you should head back before he starts to worry."

"Thank you, Uncle Wylis." She heads down the hall of the keep. Fighting the urge to go back into the castellan's office and give Willem one last kiss before going back, Mya walks into the snow filled courtyard. The portcullis is closed, rather unusual for this time of the day. Winterfell's garrison is virtually gone when they marched out to meet the ironborn in Torrhen's Square. Only a handful of men remained to guard the Northern capital, but the castle's walls kept the Starks' ancestral home safe. A single man on the wall could hold against a hundred, or so her father told her. Before her brother went south, Ulfric was the one who came to the keep and retrieved supplies from Wylis, and he would tell her of the splendor inside Winterfell. When she was but a small girl, she often imagined singing in the halls of this great castle, the lords and ladies applauding her as she and Ulfric capture the hearts of everyone in the feast with their music. And perhaps she would capture the heart of a young lordling, his handsome face filled with awe as she sang, his noble heart throbbing every time their gazes met. And he would follow her after the feast, the two of them eloping, knowing his Lord Father would never approve of their marriage. The two would live happily, until his father forgave the couple and welcome them back to his homestead, and Mya would be named a Lady. But that was when she knew nothing. A highborn lordling would never marry a peasant girl like her, even if they lusted after her. She knew that all too well.

The portcullis is still closed, stopping Mya in her tracks. It is eerily quiet, not a shadow of human activity.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Mya calls, wondering why the gate was unmanned. "Hello?"

That was when she heard the screams.


Ufric takes a deep breath of the night breeze. There is no snow in the south at this time, something Ulfric was not used to. He spent the first half of the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep, but not knowing why. The day was tiring, as his entourage was assigned to patrol the camp, but he was not able to edge himself towards the blissful lands of dreams. Slipping into his boots, Ulfric tiptoed out of his camp, avoiding Edd's foot as it invaded his mattress.

And now here he is, by the stream where he first talked to Lily, his lute in his hands. Is this what they mean by homesickness? Ulfric strums a few chords idly, the familiar feeling of the instrument in his hands calmed him. A wave of loneliness washes over him as he stares at his "lover", reminding him of the days back in the winter town, which seemed further away than ever. He thought of the cozy smell of firewood burning in the fireplace, he thought of the rowdy patrons begging him to play just one more song before they returned home, he thought of his father storming off into the woods when Ulfric told him of marching down south with King Robb.

I'm not a boy anymore, pa. I can make my own choices! He shouted at his father. The older man's face flushed bright red with rage, and he raised his fist. Ulfric flinched. It was the first time his father threatened to beat him ever since his mother's absence. But instead of bringing his fist down at his son, his old man pounded the table before disappearing into the forest with his axe. Ulfric never had a chance to regret their altercation, for the next day he was fitted with a helmet that always seemed slightly tilted to the side, a shield that was a size too big for him, and a sword that felt awkward in his hands compared to his lute, his "lover".

His idle strumming soon turned into a coherent melody, and he felt himself singing in the deafening silence of the night.

Her laugh warms me to my core,

Her touch fills me with glee,

I can't forget her and I wanted more,

Oh, Winter Maid, how I want you to be with me.

His singing is interrupted by a loud flap. Looking up, he spots a shadow gliding through the woods. It flies straight towards the keep, and against the brightly illuminated castle, Ulfric recognises the shape. A raven. Perhaps it was news from Riverrun, or perhaps a report from Harrenhal, but Ulfric could not shake the feeling of dread as he watches the raven deliver its letter into the keep, the cool night breeze turning into a bone-chilling howl.


(Hope you liked the story so far! I'd love any kind of feedback and/or criticism you have or just your general opinion on the story as a whole :))