Prologue

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"Who is this?" Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell asked as her husband, Ned Stark, carried in a young girl that looked to be no older than nine.

"She was wounded by one of my men, and I couldn't let her die with no one around her," Ned mumbled, rushing past her, in search for Maester Luwin.

"What happened to her?" Catelyn inquired, walking quickly to catch up.

"Her stomach near her belly button was slit deep enough for her to bleed out," Ned said worriedly. He spotted Maester Luwin and called for his attention. "Take her to one of the empty rooms in the castle and keep water by her bedside."

In minutes, Ned and Catelyn Stark sat by, caring for this no-named peasant girl that shouldn't have mattered.

"Will she be alright?" Catelyn asked quietly, gently brushing the blonde hair from the girl's face.

"Oh yes, she will live. She will just need constant surveillance on her wound, just to make sure it won't get infected," Maester Luwin said, getting up. "If it does get worse, send word and I will be over."

The maester walked out with a nod, at the same time two curious Stark children wandered in.

"Father, who is she?" the youngest Stark daughter, Arya, asked, walking up next to the comatose girl.

"Will she live?" Bran, the second youngest Stark son, asked.

Ned chuckled. "Yes she will live, Brandon. I don't know who she is quite yet, but I guess we will find out once she wakes up."

Bran and Arya shrugged at each other and exited the room, Bran stealing a glance at the girl one last time before he left.

"She doesn't have a family to go back to. The least we could do is give her one," Ned murmured under his breath.

"I guess we will have to see what she's like." Catelyn readjusted the girl's wolf skin blankets up to her chin. They both rose and walked out, leaving Old Nan to look after the girl.

Through all the talk, she slept on.

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