Chapter 2: Arrival at Winterfell

The imposing stone walls of Winterfell rose before Rosaline like a sentinel, its battlements etched against the grey sky like a jagged crown. As she reined in her horse, a gentle breeze stirred the pale blonde curls that escaped her hood, and she felt a flutter in her chest. The stern facade of the castle seemed to whisper secrets of the North, its harsh beauty a testament to the unforgiving land that lay beyond its walls. Lady Catelyn Stark, resplendent in a cloak of dark blue and silver, stepped forward to greet her, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Rosaline's travel-worn appearance. Yet, as she smiled, her gaze softened, and Rosaline felt a warmth spread through her chest. "Welcome, Lady Rosaline," Lady Catelyn said, her voice like a gentle brook. "I trust your journey was uneventful?" Rosaline inclined her head, her cheeks flushing slightly. "It was long, my lady, but uneventful, thank the Seven." As Lady Catelyn gestured towards the castle, Rosaline's gaze followed, taking in the sprawling structure that seemed to grow organically from the earth itself. The windows, like empty eyes, stared back at her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. The air was crisp, with a hint of wood smoke and damp earth, and she breathed deeply, feeling the North's rugged beauty seep into her bones. Inside the castle, the warmth of the fire pits and the murmur of voices enveloped her, a soothing balm to her travel-weary soul. Rosaline's eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light, and she made out the figures of the Stark children, arrayed like a miniature court on the benches of the great hall. Robb, the eldest, with his strong jaw and bright, inquisitive eyes, rose to greet her, a gallant smile on his face. "Welcome, Lady Rosaline," he said, taking her hand in his. "We've been expecting you. I'm Robb Stark." Sansa, with her porcelain skin and raven tresses, curtsied demurely, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Welcome, Lady Rosaline," she said, her voice like music. Arya, a whirlwind of energy in a tangle of brown hair and mismatched socks, danced forward, her eyes shining with excitement. "And I'm Arya!" she exclaimed, as if Rosaline could possibly have missed her. Bran, the quiet one, with his bookish nose and introspective gaze, nodded shyly from his seat, while Rickon, the youngest, with his mop of curly hair and mischievous grin, waved enthusiastically from behind his sister's skirts. As Rosaline smiled and exchanged greetings with the Stark children, she felt a sense of belonging, of being drawn into a circle of warmth and laughter. The North, with its harsh winds and rugged beauty, seemed to seep into her bones, and she felt a sense of wonder that she had not experienced in years. Jon Snow, the bastard son, stood at the edge of the group, his eyes fixed intently on Rosaline, his face a mask of quiet observation. For a moment, their gazes met, and Rosaline felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something in his eyes, a depth of emotion that she couldn't quite read. As the evening unfolded, with its feasting and laughter, Rosaline found herself growing more at ease, the initial awkwardness of meeting her new guardians and their children slowly dissipating. She chatted with the Stark children, exchanging stories and laughter, and she felt a sense of connection that she had not expected. In the midst of the celebration, Rosaline caught a glimpse of Jon Snow, standing at the edge of the hall, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. She felt a flutter in her chest, a sense of awareness that she couldn't quite explain. As the night drew to a close, Lady Catelyn rose, her eyes shining with warmth. "You must be tired, Lady Rosaline," she said. "Your rooms are prepared. I'll have one of the servants show you the way." Rosaline curtsied, feeling a sense of gratitude towards her new guardian. As she followed the servant up the winding stairs, she caught a glimpse of Jon Snow, standing in the shadows, his eyes fixed on her with a quiet intensity. She felt a sense of wonder, a sense of possibility, that she had not experienced in years. The darkness of her room enveloped her, a soft, comforting blanket that wrapped around her like a shroud. Rosaline smiled to herself, feeling a sense of peace settle over her, like a gentle snowfall. She was at Winterfell, and she was ready to face whatever lay ahead.