He spent much of his time in the guest room Winterfell had prepared for him, or went to the training ground to stretch his muscles. More often, though, he wandered through the castle, studying its ancient halls.
After all, he had previously observed Winterfell through his powers as a Greenseer. Visiting and experiencing it in person was different.
Rhaenys had even less to do than he did. She still had not quite adjusted to the cold of the North, and spent most of her days wrapped in a thick fur cloak, reading beside the fireplace. Occasionally, she would tug Viserys along for a walk in Winterfell's garden.
Calling it a garden was generous. It was really just an open patch enclosed by a low wall, planted with a few hardy shrubs and an old weirwood.
The weirwood's red leaves stood out against the gloomy sky. The indistinct face carved into its trunk had endured years of northern rain, wind, and snow. Its eyes and brows had grown faint, but the curve of its lips, poised somewhere between a smile and no smile at all, remained clearly visible.
"Brother, is this the godswood?" Rhaenys reached out to touch the weirwood's bark, feeling its rough, icy surface beneath her fingertips.
"No, this is only a corner of it."
Standing behind her, Viserys gently patted her shoulder and explained in a mild voice, "Winterfell's godswood is on the other side of the castle. There's a small forest of weirwoods there, much larger than this. This tree was transplanted here later, so the people living near the Main Keep could pray more conveniently."
Rhaenys withdrew her hand and turned to look at him, a hint of curiosity in her violet eyes. "Do you believe in those old gods, Brother?"
"I don't believe in them.