She's heard such things before from nearly everyone that knew her mother, including her mother herself. Her mother that- it didn't matter, the bad things that had happened. Because the Starks were together again, or at least a good half of them, far be it from her to wish anyone to arrive in this place.

Her daddy was here, and she looks at him, beaming just as much as she is crying. "I'm so sorry, father," she chokes out. "I tried so hard-" Joffrey was supposed to honor his word. "I should have listened to you." She'd been so angry about Lady, a petulant child who wanted to play at Lady and Princess and Queen. She'd wanted a crown and pretty dresses and all the things that ruling was on the outside. And she'd wanted a handsome husband- funny that those she thought the more pleasing to the eye had treated her far worse than Tyrion ever had.

But she'd been just that: a child. A girl who had been raised in isolation in the cold North and though winter born, she was born of love. She'd grown up with stories and songs, with the expectation that she was to be Lady of Winterfell some day. She had come to find out all her wildest dreams were coming true. How could she abandon that?