But hold me still, bury my heart in the cold

And hold me still, bury my heart next to yours

"Well, it's certainly no Highgarden."

She shivers slightly, clutching to the flimsy black cloak she's wearing. She hopes the Starks prepared some fitting clothes for her arrival.

"They say the castle is warm," he brother reassures her, trying to make her feel better. She already misses flowers and greens and songs and warmth. Everything seems so dead here.

But she doesn't question her father and grandmother's decision to send her here. The Tyrells must make ties with the North. It will not be easy, but if there is anyone who can take on such a task, it is you, child, the Queen of Thorns had told her. She can only hope the older woman is right.

Loras returns for King's Landing just as soon as they arrive in Winterfell. They are greeted at the gate by the party of people who live in the city, and he pardons himself soon after, explaining that there are things he must attend to straight away. She is sad to see him go, but it feels no different than when they left each other the first time after he became a squire for Renly Baratheon.

Lord Eddard is the first to speak, and his voice holds a strange warmth that she did not expect. "It is so good to see you well, my lady. We welcome you." He helps her down from her horse and stands back to introduce her to her new family.

"My dear wife, Lady Catelyn." A striking woman with auburn hair nods her head.

"Our eldest, Robb." She meets the eyes of a boy that seems about her age for a few seconds before he drops her gaze, his blue eyes staring resolutely at the ground as he offers her a bow. He has Lady Catelyn's hair and complexion. She wishes he would look up again or present her with a smile instead of a formality. Still, she curtsies in return and the introductions are continued.

Eddard, Catelyn, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Theon, Jon. She has heard the names before plenty of times. Her father told her to memorize them before she was sent off to Winterfell. She repeats them in her head anyway so that she will not forget.

She sits next to Sansa and a girl named Jeyne Poole during her welcome feast, but she does not speak unless spoken to.

Several times she catches Robb Stark studying her, but he glances away as soon as she tries to look at him. She thinks him rather handsome, but, then again, all of the Starks are. She wonders if Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard know how beautiful their children are or how much they'll be desired when the time comes for them to be married. It is a silly thought. Surely parents in the North think the same way as those in the South.

Theon Greyjoy is a ward, just as she, but he has been here far longer. He seems comfortable, leaning cross the table to give Robb a smack on the back and a hearty laugh. He looks over at her often, his gaze unnerving, unsettling. He is content in his settings, yes, but he is not like the other children in the slightest.

She does not touch any of her food.

She settles into her new chambers that night, very grateful for the warmth of the castle and the furs on her bed. It surprises her to hear a soft knock on her door a few hours after the feast ends.

She stands up and pads over to the door, opening it slightly and finding herself faced with the eldest Stark boy. She thinks the aromas of the feast have followed him until she looks down, noticing a plate of food in his hand.

"Am I interrupting anything?" he asks somewhat shyly, peering into her room as if there would be another guest visiting her at this late hour.

She shakes her head, opening the door for him and gesturing towards a chair as she takes a seat on her bed.

"Thank you, but I am not staying long. I ought to get to bed soon. I just wanted to check on you," he replies, his ears growing red. "You didn't eat anything earlier, my lady. I was worried that you would be hungry."

She blinks. "You… You brought me something?" It's quite obvious; she doesn't know why she asks. She looks down at his hands as he places the plate on her bedside table.

"You should eat," he urges, gently nudging the plate of food closer to her. "I do not mean to be rude, my lady, but this place will seem less cold once you have some meat on your bones."

She narrows her eyes at him, unsure whether or not she should be insulted by his observation of her apparent frailty. She decides to just be flattered that anyone is paying her any attention at all, choosing a piece of bread from her plate and taking a dainty bite.

He smiles softly. "I hope you will grow to like it here, my lady."

"Margaery," she corrects him immediately, shaking her head. "You do not call Theon Greyjoy 'my lord', do you?"

"No, but-"

"Margaery," she repeats firmly, cutting him off. "That is what I wish for you to call me."

The look of bewilderment quickly vanishes on his face and is replaced with that of amusement. "Goodnight, then, Margaery," he says, taking his leave. She nods her head in reply.

"Goodnight, Robb," she whispers once he is gone.

She finishes her plate of food.

She thinks Winterfell is not all bad.

She sees her first snowfall only days after she arrives. The shouts of the Stark children wake her, and she rushes to her window, watching as they run about in the snow with their thick furs on, flinging heaps of white slush at each other.

"Margaery!" she hears a familiar voice call out her name, and she whips her head around to see Robb standing in her doorway, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold. "Will you come outside with us?" he inquires, raising an eyebrow and making her wonder how anyone could say no to him.

"I don't have anything warm to wear," she tells him, her face growing hot as she realizes she's only in her night frock.

He doesn't blink an eye, moving from his post to remove the fur cloak from his shoulders and place it on her bed. "I have plenty. You can borrow mine until we get you one of your own," he says, offering her a smile. "I'll find you some of Sansa's gloves and boots."

He takes his leave as she dresses and fits his heavy cloak on, liking that it fits her nicely. It's only the slightest bit too large but not enough to drag on the ground. He returns to her with Sansa's things and takes her hand once she's slipped the gloves on, leading her outside.

The rest of the Starks welcome her into their game, pairing her with Jon, Arya, and Rickon to match up against Theon, Robb, and Bran. Sansa watches from afar, keeping her distance.

She goes after Robb first, flinging wads of snow in his direction. A snowball hits him square in the face, and she steps back, covering her mouth with her hands. But then he whirls around with a smile on his face and a glint in his eye, and she runs away from him with a shriek as he picks up a massive pile of snow to throw at her.

He catches up to her but trips suddenly, falling and taking her with him. They end up in a heap on the ground. "Sorry," he mumbles, sitting up and offering a hand to her.

"There's no need to apologize." She takes his hand and he pulls her up, their noses almost brushing. Theon throws a snowball at the back of Robb's head though they are supposed to be on the same team. The game resumes with a vengeance, only ending when a servant calls them inside for supper.

She never gives his cloak back.

She settles into a routine. In the mornings she attends lessons with the other girls, cross stitching and reading and lettering with the septas. After, she sups in her bedroom, a small meal that she sometimes takes with Robb. Depending on whether or not he eats with her, she either finds him when she's done, or they go to the courtyards together. She watches him practice his archery or sparring with the other boys. Then there is time to spend by themselves, and she finds herself usually going to the godswood, not necessarily to pray but to admire the weirwood, for there is nothing like its kind in Highgarden. She eats dinner with the rest of the family, and she claims a seat next to Robb.

They are good people, loving and kind. She is glad to be sent to a place such as this. Though there is no music echoing off the walls or jesters telling stories, Winterfell becomes her home.

Sansa and Arya grow to be her good friends, almost like real sisters. They are different in so many ways, but she loves them both the same. Bran and Rickon are a delight, always making her laugh. And Eddard and Catelyn treat her with the greatest of respect, giving her everything she needs and somehow making her feel as if she could be one of their own.

And then there is Robb, gentle Robb who grows fierce in times where he needs to be but never puts on such a front in her presence. He is kind-hearted, strong, and noble. He is his father's son, but there is a stroke of his mother in him as well. He makes her smile and flush red and believe that she can be nothing but herself whenever he is around. They become the best of friends in a short amount of time, though it is unsurprising. They held the greatest affinity towards each other since the first day she arrived in Winterfell.

She knows that Jon and Theon tease him mercilessly for spending all of his time with her, but it does not seem to discourage him. Still, she seems to have filled a spot that Theon once claimed, and of all the warm and caring people she has met, he is the least of them. She knows he does not like her.

There are times when she misses Highgarden, and times when she doesn't, and times in between where she thinks she is much better off than she would have been had she stayed with her family.

She cannot bring herself to regret her father's decision, for out of it she has met the Starks.

She goes to find Robb after her lunch one day, but is stopped by the sound of two familiar voices caught in a heated row.

"I'm not you," she hears Robb speak. "There is a price to pay for being with so many women. You have seen the way my mother looks at Jon. Why would I want that for any child or the lady I marry someday?"

"There are ways of having a woman without giving her a child. Gods, I forget how little you know sometimes," Theon speaks, his voice laced with annoyance. "Have you even kissed a girl?" There is a bout of silence and then a laugh from the older boy. "Why don't you just fuck her and get it over with? She's more than willing. I've seen the way she looks at you-"

"Don't talk about her that way! She's not some common whore! I may have called you brother, but you lack any sort of honour. You're no Stark. She deserves respect. It's no wonder your father gave you up to-"

She hears the sound of flesh on flesh, a resounding slap echoing off the walls. She gasps, only thinking to lift a hand up to her mouth afterwards, certain that they have heard her now. Seconds later, Theon emerges from the room.

"You can have him." He spits at her feet. "A green boy for a flower. How very appropriate." She doesn't look at him, though she has half a mind to bring a hand to his face and strike him harder than he struck Robb.

As soon as he takes his leave, she rushes to Robb's side, kneeling and digging her fingers into his arm. He seems embarrassed, staring determinedly at the ground. A few drops of blood fall from his lip, and she lifts the skirts of her dress to hold them against his wound. His cheek grows pink against her touch, though she cannot tell if it's from the slap or his discomfort. Eventually she pulls away, her dress stained red in several spots.

"Sorry," he speaks finally, softly.

"Don't be stupid, Robb," she replies, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her. "Thank you."

His hands find her waist, and she buries her face into his neck. At last she is warm.

She grants him his first kiss that night, tender and sweet. His tongue slides over hers and she sighs into his mouth. She can taste the coppery blood on his lips, but it does not deter her. She kisses him as a sort of thanks but also as something more.

They find direwolves, six of them, one for each of the Starks, even Jon.

King Robert arrives in Winterfell just days later. He brings his wife and children with him as well as plans to make Lord Eddard his Hand and Sansa Stark his son's betrothed.

She can tell that Lady Catelyn does not want her husband to leave, but she has little choice. When the king asks for something, it must be granted. Jon Arryn died as Hand, and she can only imagine that she is scared that the same fate will meet her beloved.

Bran falls from climbing and goes into a coma. Catelyn is devastated and shows the first sign of weakness she has ever seen in the normally steadfast woman. She is scared for her and the boy she has learned to called her brother, though the imp Lannister says he will live.

She takes Robb's hand on the day that his father leaves. Sansa and Arya go with Lord Eddard, Jon leaves for the wall, and it feels a bit like her family is being torn apart.

Months later, news of Lord Eddard's capture shocks them and sends the North into a frenzy. Robb raises an army and decides to ride south, leaving Winterfell under the rule of Bran who is alive and awake but crippled. She goes with him despite his protests that she would be safer in the walls of the castle. She is thankful that he gives in, for she does not know what she would do without him now. They have been together through everything in the past few years, so why should this be any different?

He goes with his mother to negotiate with Lord Walder Frey who has a stronghold in the Riverlands and many men that can fight for the Starks' cause. He is a slippery man, however. She learned of his tendencies from Maester Luwin when she was taught of the houses in the North. She fears he will make a deal that will end up being detrimental to Robb in the long run.

He returns to her three days later with Lord Frey's promise of assistance and a plan to attack the Lannister men the very next day.

He does not come to her straight away, but she finds him in his tent, wringing his hands nervously as she opens the flap and steps inside. "What happened?" she asks him gently.

"I had to pawn off my younger siblings to that revolting man," he answers her after a bout of silence. "They are now betrothed to Walder Frey's daughters and son of his choosing. I had no other alternative, but now… My father would be ashamed of what I've done."

She pauses, considering his words. "He didn't ask you to marry one of his daughters?" Her heart pangs in her chest, the words hard to speak. "He was content with your offer?"

"He will break the contract, I'm sure. He has nothing but the promise of a girl who wants to be a boy, a cripple, and poor Rickon who is too young to even know what war is. But I could not hope to take one of Lord Frey's daughters for a wife."

"How on earth…" She trails off. "Robb, surely he insisted. He is a devious man. You refused him?"

"I told him I was already betrothed," he says, looking pointedly at her, and suddenly it all seems to click in her mind.

She blinks a few times, her heart pounding loudly in her chest.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked you. I-"

"You meant to ask me?" She raises her eyebrows, trying her best not to reveal the smile growing at the corners of her lips.

"Well, before this whole incident happened, and I… I was going to talk to my mother and father and see if they thought it was a good idea. You… I know it's my time to take a wife, and… What I mean to say is that I want us to be married."

She brings a hand up to her mouth and tears spring forth in her eyes despite his rambling. He lied and, in turn, made this war harder for himself. For her. It was a stupid thing to do, but she knows he has always believed in love.

He speaks before she can. "It's not as if it matters, though. Even if Lord Frey keeps his end of the bargain, I'll surely die in this battle. I'm not experienced. I-"

"Don't talk like that," she interjects, shaking her head. She is scared for him, but she has to be strong. "You will win, and you will save your father, and when you come home to me we will be married."

"You make it sound so simple." He closes his eyes before shouting, "but it's not! I love you, Margaery! And after tomorrow I may never see you again."

"Robb," she breathes, marching herself over to him and taking her hand in his. "Please, I-"

He doesn't let her finish, crashing his lips into hers and leaving her breathless. He pulls away ever so slightly, as if to ask permission to continue. Mere seconds pass and she is pressing a kiss to his lips again, hungry and forceful. He stumbles back before cupping her face and returning the gesture once more. His hands travel over her neck and her shoulders before they are ghosting over her breasts, causing her to gasp gently into his mouth. She presses herself to him, and his thumbs trail over the thin material of her dress, making her hair stand on end. She can feel him against her, and her desire builds, thinking of what it would be like to have him inside of her.

He moves towards the makeshift bed and they fall back among the blankets and furs. Her fingers fumble over buttons and she pulls at fabric impatiently, slipping off his trousers as he lifts the skirts of her dress. He enters her and she lets out a small whimper of pain as he takes her maidenhead. She bites her lip and digs her nails into his back, forcing herself to keep on. He moves with her slowly at first, always a gentleman, even in times where it would be easy to let instinct take over.

But then he fucks her harder, and she's screaming out his name, her hands clutching to his shoulders. She trembles beneath him, a ripple of pleasure running through her body as his seed spills into her. He pulls out, his breathing ragged, his brow furrowed as if he just now realizes what he's done.

"I'm sorry… Gods, I'm so sorry. I-"

She presses a kiss to his lips again, silencing him. "Shhh," she whispers, bringing her hand up to his face and stroking his cheek. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You need to get your sleep for…" She trails off, not saying it aloud, as if somehow that will make it less real. She stands from the bed and makes to reach for her clothes, but he stops her, grabbing her wrist.

"Stay," he pleads, and all it takes is that one word to make up her mind. She crawls back into bed with him, wrapping her arms around his middle as he pulls the blankets up to cover them.

Robb wins his first battle and takes Jaime Lannister hostage, but that is not enough to win the war. Lord Eddard is beheaded, and her heart breaks. He had been a second father to her, a man she had respected and loved.

She mourns alone and allows some time for Robb to do the same, letting him come to her this time around.

"I've failed," he tells her. I've failed my father, my brothers and sisters, and you. I've failed the North."

"Stop it. There's nothing you could have done differently, Robb!" she pleads. "Please tell me you see that!

"I'm wrong, I… I'm backwards!" he sputters, looking disgusted with himself. "I gave away my brothers and sisters without their consent, and for what? Our father is dead! I took your maidenhood, selfishly, thinking I would die and never see you again. I could have put a child in you, and we're not even married. I could have left you with a child, Margaery! Your name would be compromised, and… Gods, what have I become?"

He's just a boy, a boy that has to be a man for the sake of everyone else.

She steps forward, wrapping her arms around him. "You're Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, son of Eddard and Catelyn, the most noble and remarkable of all men with the fiercest and kindest of hearts, my betrothed, my beloved, my wolf. There isn't a single mistake or decision that you can make that will change that."

They weep together – for the loss of Eddard, for each other, for themselves.

She bends her knee to him that night, shouting "The King in the North!" along with his men. She has no sword to draw, no shield to wield, and nothing to offer him but her heart. But somehow she is hopeful, the promise of another day with him enough to make her carry on. They have everything to fight for and everything to lose.

She dreams of flowers in Winterfell, of golden roses sprouting up from the snow and spreading their petals towards the sky.

The ghosts that we knew will flicker from view

And we'll live a long life