The boy led her through the castle's halls at a snail's pace, but Enrin had no qualms. She took the slow procession as time to take in her surroundings and get her bearings. The walls wept with melted ice, almost steaming with heat. She felt warm in her wolf's hood, and reached up with her free arm to pull it from her head, shaking out her long, thick hair. "Shall I carry that for you, my lady?" Dennas asked, reaching for her furs, but Enrin shook her head politely.

"No, thank you, it comforts me to keep it close."

"If it's not too bold, my lady, I understand how you feel," Dennas gave her a small, timid smile, "Coming here was the most terrifying thing I've ever done, but his Grace is a good and kind man. It is my hope that you will be happy here, with him." He was earnest, and Enrin thought that she liked him, shaky and weak as he was. "Thank you, Dennas," she said, unsure of what else to say. She wanted to believe that Jon was a good man like they had all told her, but she had met him only moments ago.

They stopped at a rough wooden door, with an iron handle. It was heavily bolted, but Dennas produced a key from the pocket of his tunic. "Yours, my lady," he said, and took his leave, bowing as he made his way back down the hall. The key made a scraping sound as she turned the lock, opening the door.

The chambers were large, with gray stone walls and a bed with fresh linens. A fur blanket lay at the foot, but Enrin had no idea what animal it had come from. What surprised her most were the candles; there had to be fifty, if not more, littered across her breakfast table, on the mantle of the fireplace, on the windowsill. She had expected her room to be dark and dank like the rest of the castle, but the flickering flames gave it a soft, comforting light. The fireplace crackled softly, chasing away the chill of the wind that whistled through the open window. Enrin thought to shut it, but liked the feel of the frigid wind on her skin. The flames on the candles danced this way and that as the wind touched them, sending leaping shadows across the walls. Enrin smiled softly.

She wandered to her table, where a basin of fresh water awaited her. It had once been steaming, but now was only warm to the touch. She washed it across her face anyway, wishing the water could slough away her doubts. She sat by her window for a while, the thick fur blanket wrapped about her shoulders. She heard Night howl, and the white wolf answered. The sound of wolves who had just made a kill.

Enrin wondered how long she had sat in silence. Her throat was dry with unshed tears. Her father had asked her to be strong, and so she would be; like the mother she had never known.

She stood and smoothed her dress, wondering now if she would have to wear one always. Enrin never realized how she had taken trousers for granted until now.

She squared her shoulders, smoothing her hair back from her face. She ran her fingers through the waist length tendrils, waking listlessly to her door. As she opened it, she almost barreled into Jon, who stood with his fist poised to knock. She yelped and stepped back, her boot catching on the discarded fur blanket on the floor. The stones rushed up to meet her, but as she came to terms with falling, she felt Jon's hand snag hers and he yanked her roughly to her feet. She fell against his chest, knocking the wind from both of them. They stood together for a moment, before she cleared her throat.

"You frightened me," she said, stepping out of his embrace and folding her arms across her belly. Jon shuffled his feet, abashed. "My apologies, my lady," he said, his voice gruff with embarrassment, "it was not my intent to scare you. I've come to ask for the honor of escorting you to dinner."

Enrin blinked at him for a moment, blinking and coming back to herself.

"The honor is mine," she said, more out of duty than real feeling, and took his arm. Jon pulled closed her door behind them, and began down the hall at a pace that feigned leisure. He cleared his throat, only to break up the silence.

"How did you find your room, my lady?" He asked, looking straight ahead, avoiding her face. Enrin was doing the same, chewing on the inside of her cheek so hard she thought she tasted blood.

"I found it very suitable," she said, "is all of Winterfell that well lit?"

She felt Jon's arm tense in hers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blush creeping up his neck.

"No, I..." Jon shifted uncomfortably, his hand toying with the belt that bound his sword to him, "I...I lit them for you...the candles. I didn't know how many you'd like, and I didn't want it to be too dark."

It was Enrin's turn to flush, a warm feeling unfolding in her belly, spreading to her toes. She looked down so that her hair hid her face in a dark curtain, a smile biting at the edges of her lips.

"Thank you, it's very beautiful."

Jon turned to look at her then, his eyes shining with something she could not place.

"You're welcome, my lady."

Their eyes met, black gazing into gray, and then Enrin returned his soft grin, and they gazed at each other, unsure.

They stopped at the doors to the throne room, arm in arm, suddenly closer than when they had began their walk.

"You may call me Enrin," she said suddenly, her words tumbling from her mouth in a flurry, "if we're going to...to spend the rest of our lives together, you must be less formal."

Panic crossed Jon's face, reflected back in Enrin's frantically beating heart. The idea of their future terrified her to the very core, making her insides qual.

But then he smiled, and oh, it was a real, true smile. The cold tundra of his features broke, and it was like sun shone from his face, washing away the cold winter's darkness. She felt a warm feeling spreading through her chest, like summer thawing a frozen pond.

"As you say...Enrin," he said, his free hand reaching to cradle hers which grasped his arm. She bit her lip, and found herself returning his smile. Part of her wanted to turn and run, to flee into the forest to live with her wolves forever; but another part, the smaller part wanted nothing more than to share his bed tonight.

Jon opened the door to the throne room for her, and she had to release him to go through. No sooner did he step through the doors that her arm was in his again, and he pulled her closer without realizing he was doing so. Sansa, Davos and Tormund waited for them at the high table. The high lords bowed to them as they passed, milling about, hoping for favor. Jon released Enrin to her father, who planted a kiss on her forehead, whispering intently in her ear. Enrin only nodded, her cheeks pink, grinning.

A chair had been placed to Jon's right, where Sansa usually sat. His sister was next to the empty chair, and she sat smiling at him, blissful. The little gray wolf pup was curled in her lap, asleep, it's side rising and falling slowly. "Did you name it?" He asked, running a finger gently down the curve of the pup's ear.

"Winter," Sansa said, her hand gently stroking the pup's side. She stirred, but did not wake.

"I see the two of you are in better spirits," she commented, grinning wryly. Jon said nothing, but he knew his creeping blush said the words for him.

"Enrin," he said as she approached, and he pulled the chair out for her to sit. Only then did he take his seat. Dennas served him first, with a plate filled with steaming venison and small red potatoes roasted and dripping in gravy. The room was raucous with banter as they ate. Jon reached for his goblet of wine as Enrin reached for hers, their hands brushing in the light of the roaring fire behind them. As Dennas cleared their plates, it was Tormund who spoke first, pounding his first on the table.

"And so, Jon Snow," he all but shouted, and the room quieted to hear him speak, "when shall you become my son? On the morrow?"

He and Davos laughed, a jape, nothing more. Enrin and Jon locked eyes for a moment, and she shrugged.

"Aye," he said, watching Tormund's eyes go round as dinner plates, "on the morrow."