Ashara's anticipation of Winterfell, sparked by Ned's vivid description of the Tourney of Harrenhal, was palpable. She tried to conjure up a grand castle draped in snow, a sight she had never seen. Though inaccurate, her attempts to visualize snow as softer sand added to her eagerness. She envisioned walls and towers that seemed to touch the skies, a massive hearth in the heart of a tundra.

She imagined old stones warm from the heated springs running behind the walls. She pictured the rooms warm with plenty of furs and wrapped in Ned's arms.

Reality, however, was a stark contrast to her imagination.

Winterfell was massive and complex. There were dozens upon dozens of open courtyards, and the walls were huge and imposing. She had gotten lost a few times while trying to become familiar with her new home, a daunting task. She believed scrolls and tomes did not describe the magnificent size of the Starks domain. It may not be a home filled with excessive reaches in gold and silver that had no practical use, but it was a beauty she could appreciate with its furs and the blazing fireplaces with mantles detailing histories and stories of the North.

It was nothing like the marble floors and walls of Starfell or keeps in the South that wanted to display their wealth and superiority.

However, the people of Winterfell, wintertown, and her husband's bannerman were as cold as the snow surrounding them.

Despite having a ceremony in her husband's faith, adapting the style of the North, and providing an heir for their liege lord, they were unhappy with their lord having a Southern bride. She knew it would take time for them to accept her, but it had been surprising that they didn't care she was Dornish, just that she was from the South.

Despite their resistance, she wouldn't succumb to becoming immersed in her new home. This was her husband's land and her son's. God willing, her blood mixed with Ned's will further the Stark line.

Besides, she fared much worse in King's Landing in Elia's court than she could in the North. After all, the Northerners didn't whisper discontent; they were loud and brawdy about it. She didn't have to worry about subterfuge. It was almost refreshing that people were so open with their feelings and contempt. It was even more fascinating watching her quiet husband being able to handle such men.

Yet, she wasn't entirely lonely.

She found a few friends among the servants, particularly Old Nan and the guards. Yet, the only Lady who had become a true ally was Jyana Reed, Howland Reed's wife. She had been saddened to watch them retreat to their home in Greywater. She had enjoyed her company as they traveled North. The lady had given her plenty of advice on living in the North that she worked to remember.

However, she knew that her touches of melancholy couldn't last long, especially when her Lord Husband was in equally turbulent waters.

She realized her husband was overwhelmed with being the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He had grown up being a second son, who at most only aspired to be lord of a small holdfast as a loyal bannerman to his brother. He often came to supper haggard from reading missives and hearing complaints from other lords and the smallfolk. She could see the lines beginning to form on his forehead.

She tried to do her part, as now, being Lady of Winterfell, she ran the household. Unlike Ned, she had training from her mother in what it took to run a household. Ladies didn't have the freedom of choice as second sons. Her mother had drilled into her that her beauty would not keep a man. They never did, as looks faded in time. Daughters needed to know how to manage a keep, big or small, in place of her husband's absence for whatever reasons.

It was still a transition, but she knew it didn't compare to the scale of her husband on top of the personal losses the realm was still recovering from. The loss of Rickard, Brandon, and Lyanna was still heavily felt within Winterfell and the North.

They were no longer the youth from Harrenhall. It felt like so many moons ago they had laughed and twirled in those halls—the folly of youth.

Ashara wrapped her fur cloak around her tighter, unlike her husband and his men; she had requested a hood be added to most, if not all, of her cloaks. She hadn't seen her husband since she had a late lunch in his solar with Jon.

Ashara asked one of the household guards about her husband's whereabouts. She wasn't surprised to find that if he weren't in his solar or the godswood, he would be in the crypts.

Ashara had left a sleeping Jon under the watch of Wyla as she grabbed a torch and made her way to the resting place of her husband's family and one day for him. She wasn't surprised to find him in front of Lyanna's crypt—the only woman to hold a resting place amongst the Lords and Kings of the North.

"Ned?" She called softly.

Ned turned to face her, and a smile tugged at his lips. She noticed a blue winter rose was placed on the stone hands.

She strolled to her husband's side. She didn't know what to expect with a marriage to Ned. She knew, in the beginning, it was mainly lust and the exuberance of youth that propelled her feelings for the quiet wolf.

Yet, now in marriage, she could see the true depth of what she felt for Ned. He was kind, funny, and so warm. She looked forward to nights in his arms. They still hadn't fully consummated their marriage. Ashara still struggled with her grief of their daughter and brother. Ned, being the gentleman he was, never pressured her despite it being in his right to claim what was his as her husband.

Yet, the most rewarding part was her husband sought her counsel. She had a voice in their home outside of being in charge of raising their son.

Ned grasped her free hand, "Everything alright?"

Ashara nodded. "It's late. I missed you in placing Jon to bed," she explained softly.

Another thing she admired about Ned was he wasn't afraid to spend time with Jon. She still was unsure if it was due to Lyanna or if he viewed Jon as his own. But he had warmed to Jon, and she found him holding the babe daily, which would occupy her in getting him ready for sleep.

"He go down okay?"

"He is an easy baby. I think he prefers sleep than anything these days," she told her husband. "Are you okay?"

Ned kissed her fingers before looking up at the statue before them. Ashara didn't know Lyanna outside of Ned's words. Even at the Tourney, Lyanna had been roaming the land, and she never got to be appropriately introduced to the female Stark, unlike Brandon or Benjen. However, she couldn't help but worry if Lyanna's ghost would forever haunt the halls, her marriage, and her husband.

"It's her name-day," Ned told her. "She would have been 17."

Ashara didn't know how to respond as she held onto Ned's hand.

"As much as I miss her, I am so mad at her," Ned admitted. "Do you think he loved her?"

Ashara sighed at the question. Considering how she witnessed the tepid marriage between Rhaegar and her princess, she knew she wasn't equipped to answer it. She tried to think of the Crown Prince and his bookish ways. He was kinder than most noblemen but could be cold as the snows in the North for a descendant of dragons. She had thought the man held affection for her princess, considering Elia had been able to bring warmth and smiles to the Prince. Though what had happened at the Tourney and how he had disappeared after little Aegon's birth, it was one thing not to love your spouse. Ashara wasn't naive to think all arranged marriages produced love, but most Lords knew better than to shame and humiliate their wives so publicly. The man had left Elia and his children to suffer. He led them to their deaths. If anything, Elia knew her husband didn't hold love for her, but at least for their children, and the man had failed in that.

Ashara shuffled closer to Ned. "I don't think Rhaegar knew how to love."

Ned released a shaky breath but couldn't lie to her husband. They were drowning in lies themselves. She knew the only thing that could hold them together was to be truthful with each other.

"We will tell him the truth?" She asked him as the shadow of flames danced across Lyanna's face.

If she had any anger towards Lyanna, it was when it came to her son. Ashara didn't want to have to share Jon with her or her memory, and she felt ashamed of it. It wasn't Lyanna's fault, as she knew if the girl had lived, she would be a mother to Jon.

Ashara would only be a mother to a pale baby she could no longer hold. Worse, she would have just been a memory to Ned while he built a life with another.

"You're the mother Jon should only know," Ned whispered.

Ashara gave him a watery smile. "Does…does it upset you that it's not…it won't be your line carrying on the Stark name?"

Ned didn't answer as he scrutinized Lyanna's statue before looking away. "It was never mine to begin with."

Ashara nodded her head, and Ned tugged her closer. He was so warm, and the smell of pine and snow infiltrated her senses. A shiver trailed down her spine.

"Come, my lady. The hour is late."

Ashara let her husband lead, but she allowed herself to look back for one last time at Lyanna's statue and watched as the winter rose fell from her still hands.

As much as Ashara was adapting to Northern culture, food, wardrobe, and speech, she could not wholly abandon her heritage.

Her brother was sending her spices, and she tried her best to incorporate some of her favorite foods into the meals at Winterfell. She could tell the folk were initially resistant to the new seasonings, but some, especially the household guards, soon enjoyed the dragon peppers. It was another way to stay warm in the snow.

Ned was already building another glass garden to incorporate more native Dornish fruits and plants for her. She had preferred that over the Sept he had offered to make.

She had no problem converting to the Old Gods for her husband. Dorne followed religions, but they weren't as pious as those from the Riverlands and Crowlands.

However, embroidery and tapestry were the easiest way to incorporate her heritage. She had even begun making kerchiefs for her Lord husband with a wolf chasing a star, which he wore with pride.

She had even begun to make little Jon clothes and cloaks, incorporating a dire wolf and stars with purple thread weaved into them.

Like the little blanket she had Jon swaddle in, the blanket was made of black fabric. It had a grey dire wolf running across it, stars scattered around it, and purple trim. She smiled at the boy as he fought sleep. It amazed her how much of Ned was in the boy. Jon's eyes had turned into that familiar grey of the Starks. Yet, unlike Ned's dark brown hair, the boy had curly black hair that was similar to her shade. She and Ned spent hours theorizing where the curls could have come from.

Her boy was growing fast—too fast if she was honest with herself. Soon, he would be walking, and his baby coos would turn into words. But he was doing it all alone.

The halls of Winterfell were quiet without the sound of laughter.

Dorne was never quiet - especially in the Water Gardens. She hoped to give Jon something like that.

The door to Jon's nursery opened, and she smiled as Ned walked through the threshold. Jon, whose eyes were steadily becoming heavy, opened wide at the sight of his father. Ashara smiled.

Ned approached her from behind. He kissed the top of her head as he gently caressed Jon's head. The movement had the small boy closing his eyes, but he couldn't keep them open. The small baby was out in a few minutes.

She placed him in the crib and watched fondly as he slept peacefully.

"Ned?"

"Hmm?"

"Jon deserves siblings, don't you think?"