The road to the North was a graveyard of smoke.
Althea rode beneath gray skies, her cloak black against the snow that refused to settle. Every village she passed whispered her name not with reverence, but with superstition.
"The Lady of Shadows rides North."
"She follows the river to its source.
Her horse's hooves struck frozen mud as she crossed the Twins, the Freys bowing in silence. Even they dared not look her in the eyes. Word had spread Harrenhal burned, the Black Stag vanished, and a river now whispered her name when the wind rose.
Nelly rode beside her, hood drawn, face pale. "Are you certain of this?"
"No," Althea said. "But uncertainty is better than blindness."
Peter had wanted to come. She'd denied him.
This was not a journey for whispers and daggers but for answers.
The Dreams of Snow
On the seventh night, Althea dreamed again.
She stood in the middle of a frozen lake. The sky above was the color of steel. Across from her stood a man dressed in black his sword glimmering faintly in the moonlight.
"You don't belong here," he said.
"Neither do you," she answered.
The man's face was unfamiliar, yet known his eyes gray as ash.
"The river runs north," he said. "And ends in ice."
"Who are you?"
"Job Snow," he replied. "And I've seen you before in the flames."
The ice cracked beneath her feet. She looked down and saw her reflection not her face, but his.
Then she woke, breathless.
Nelly stirred beside the fire. "Another dream?"
"Yes," Althea whispered. "But this time someone else was dreaming back."
The Road Through the Wolfswood
Winterfell rose through the mist like a memory she shouldn't have had.
The gates opened at her approach, but tension thickened the air. Northern soldiers watched her with open suspicion. The ravens above were silent.
She entered beneath the Stark banners, greeted not by warmth but by silence.
Job Snow met her in the great hall, standing beneath the carved direwolves. His expression was guarded, but his voice was steady.
"Lady Baelish."
"Lady Althea," she corrected. "The other name burns too easily."
Job's gaze was sharp. "You're far from Harrenhal."
"I'm following a curse," she said simply. "And perhaps ending one."
Nelly stepped forward, her voice soft. "She's telling the truth. The Old Gods speak through her."
Job's jaw tightened. "Then they've grown crueler than I thought."
Fire and Ice
That night, she was summoned to the godswood.
The weirwood tree loomed large, its face carved deep and bleeding sap like tears. The snow around it was untouched.
Melisandre waited there red-robed, silent, her eyes glowing faintly with firelight.
"I knew you would come," Melisandre said. "The river carried your name even to the flames."
Althea approached slowly. "Then you know what follows me."
"The Black Stag," Melisandre murmured. "The shadow of the first king. He was bound in blood and love, long before the North or the South were born. You've woken him again."
Althea's hands trembled. "Can he be stopped?"
Melisandre's gaze flickered. "Not stopped. Redirected. Fire must meet river, and river must meet ice. That is the balance."
"And I am what? The bridge?"
"The debt," Melisandre whispered. "The gods cannot forget what was stolen."
The Pact Beneath the Weirwood
Job joined them beneath the red leaves. He carried Longclaw, its blade faintly gleaming in the firelight.
"What is this?" he asked.
Melisandre gestured to the tree's roots. "The past demanding payment."
Althea kneeled, touching the frozen soil. The mark on her wrist the antlers intertwined glowed faintly.
The weirwood pulsed, and she heard voices whispering from the roots
"Blood that froze. Blood that burned. Bind them again."
Job stepped forward. "What does it mean?"
"It means," Althea said softly, "the North holds the key to ending the curse. The Black Stag's blood runs through the rivers but the ice remembers everything."
As she spoke, frost began spreading from her fingertips, tracing symbols along the ground runes in the Old Tongue she shouldn't have known.
Melisandre's voice rose. "The pact must be remade. The blood of chaos meets the blood of ice."
Job hesitated. "You're asking me to bind myself to her?"
"The gods are," Melisandre said.
The Binding
Job drew Longclaw, slicing his palm.
Althea did the same.
Their blood met hissing, freezing instantly into a symbol that pulsed once with light before fading into the snow.
The world held its breath.
Then the weirwood screamed.
Images flooded Althea's mind rivers turning to ice, armies drowning in frost, and the Black Stag breaking free beneath a frozen lake.
Job's hand tightened around hers. "What did you see?"
"Not an ending," she said. "A beginning."
The Shadows in the Snow
That night, the shadows came.
They slipped through the trees not men, not beasts, but shapes moving like smoke. Their eyes burned blue, their limbs twisted by cold magic.
The first of them attacked near the walls, and chaos erupted.
Job rallied his men, blades flashing silver in the torchlight.
Althea stood beneath the godswood, chanting words she didn't understand words the river had once taught her.
The ice cracked, then surged outward spears of frost impaling the shadows before they reached her.
Melisandre watched in awe. "You wield both their powers river and fire."
Althea's voice was distant. "No. I wield their war."
The Prophecy Fulfilled
By dawn, the snow was still red.
Job stood beside her, breathing hard. "If this is what follows you south"
"It will," she said. "And worse. The curse moves with the current."
Melisandre approached, holding a fragment of the frozen rune. "The river flows north, yes but it ends in Winter. When it freezes completely, the Black Stag will awaken. Only one bonded by both fire and ice can end him."
Job looked at Althea. "Then we end him together."
Althea nodded slowly. "If we can survive each other first."
The Voice of the Old Gods
Before leaving the North, Althea returned one last time to the godswood.
The air was still. The tree whispered
"You are the blood of the Mockingbird and the river's daughter."
"You will break the crown, or you will wear it again."
"When the stag kneels, the world will remember its queen."
She felt the mark on her wrist burn, then fade into her skin.
The river's voice answered, faint and defiant
"When the river freezes, she will rise."