Leontia was not the sort to sit in one place during a feast, especially not one at Winterfell. Why would they waste time eating and talking here, unlike other places, there were far more interesting things to do. Still, she did notice the large man who sat at the centre of the main table. That was the Lord of the North, Cregan Stark. Her uncle, or cousin, or something. It didn’t really matter. She slipped from the Vance table and headed up to the main table.

Leontia was not a small girl, but she was a young girl still, though at the age of nine, acted as though she was as important as someone twice her age. Decidedly walking up to the high table, she looked up at Cregan with her usual frown. “You are Lord Stark”, she said as an observation, “Do you like feasts?”, she asked seemingly out of the blue, though was quite serious about her question.