You gaze out the window at the snow that has fallen in the courtyard—your courtyard.

Everything changed when Eddard Stark died in the South; the North was upended, and so was your family. War after war, death after death, bloodshed after bloodshed—you returned. You. After the many wars that decimated your kin, you rebuilt everything. You reclaimed your castle. You breathed life into it, led it to victory in war, and restored the name of House Frost—your family, which is no more.

Little by little—whisper by whisper, rumor by rumor—the Raven of North was born: you. The moniker arose from your jet-black hair and the political and strategic feats you achieved as a young woman ruling her castle alone.

Then, one evening when the snow was falling heavily and flakes battered the windowpane—while the fire crackled—Jon Snow, King in the North, appeared at your gates with a handful of his soldiers. He needed you, for a new threat loomed over the North: the dead.