Snowfall | Game of Thrones

Chapter 1

Winterfell 298 AC.

Snowhaven was an almost mystical city—the jewel of the North, radiating an ethereal beauty that no other city in the realm could quite capture.

In her twenty years, Jeyne had toured many of Westeros' most renowned cities. She'd walked the citrus-aired streets of Gulltown, with its whitewashed buildings clinging to the cliffs above the harbour. She had strolled through blooming Oldtown, where the Hightower and the Citadel rose above gardens so lush that the daughter of the late Hand found it difficult to abandon. She had even visited the gilded heart of the Westerlands, where wealth flowed like water.

Yet none of those places had ever captivated Jeyne Arryn as much as Snowhaven, the city that Kai Snow had drawn up and brought to life in the heart of the North.

Its buildings varied in shape and size, a blend of many cultures, though all shared a certain elegance, their facades a different piece of art, softened by the touch of frost. The tall towers stood sentinel along the forty-foot walls encircling the northern capital like looming guardians. Half a million souls called this city home, and yet it was immaculate in the same way Oldtown was. The streets were pristine, the air fresh and crisp, filled with the scent of snow and pine.

Jeyne inhaled deeply, savouring the scent. It smelled like comfort, and she found herself already enchanted.

As the royal retinue advanced down the wide Kingsroad that cleaved through the heart of the city, Jeyne marvelled at the people who lined the streets to catch a glimpse. They were not the downtrodden or wary fold she had expected in a city of this size. Instead, bright-eyed men, women, and children watched eagerly. Many had come from the south at Lord Stark's call for able hands. They had traded the grim and squalor of the south for the cold clarity of the North.

And it had done them well. These people were healthier, fuller in the face, their cheeks rosy with warmth despite how cold it was. It was a far cry from the weary, hopeless faces Jeyne had grown accustomed to in King's Landing.

The diversity here astonished her as well. She counted a dozen different ethnicities at least—Lyseni with silver hair in curled braids and purple eyes, flamboyant Tyroshi with hair dyed every shade of the rainbow, olive-skinned Myrmen's smouldering gazes peeking from beneath dark locks, and even travellers from Yi Ti, their exotic silks beautiful. But as this was the northern capital, northmen dominated the population, their stern faces and dark eyes unmistakable.

Unfortunately, the king lacked the patience to grant them a few hours to explore.

As Snowhaven faded into the distance, Jeyne cast a glance over her shoulder, watching as the towers disappeared over the horizon. With a quiet sigh, she promised herself that before leaving the North, she'd find the time to truly see the northern capital. But for now, her gaze shifted forward, and her breath caught as Winterfell came into view.

The fortress was a hulking monster on the eastern side of the Wolfswood, its massive walls of grey granite rising like sheer cliffs from the snow-dusted earth, scorpions loomed on the palisades, ready to rain death upon any who dared challenge the Stark stronghold.

"Seven help the fools who try to take that beast," the king laughed, his voice booming with approval.

Ser Barristan merely nodded in agreement, his expression grim.

Jeyne rode closer to her guards, the twin knights who had remained at her side when all others abandoned her in the capital. Mycah and Mychel Stone had been her loyal protectors since she was a child. She glanced at them, offering a faint smile of gratitude, which they returned with reassuring nods.

It wasn't long before they reached the iron portcullis of Winterfell, the grating glistening with frost. It rose slowly, chips of ice cracking and fluttering down as it did, some catching in Jeyne's blond hair. Steam rose from unseen vents, and the snow melted in her hair and made her giggle as water trickled down the back of her neck. Guards in fur-trimmed armour stood at attention, bowing their heads as the royals entered. The entire household mirrored them.