Whispers in the Snow
Winterfell was restless.
Even beneath thick layers of frost, rumors burned like wildfire.
The child the Crown of Dawn had become more than a girl.
She was a sign.
And in Westeros, signs were blood and gold.
Inside the Great Hall, Althea stood beside Job as northern lords murmured their fears.
Lord Glover spoke first.
"She's no child she's a weapon. And every weapon draws war."
Lynn Mormont, grown and iron-eyed, replied sharply
"If war comes, it will be because of cowards who fear power they don't understand."
Althea remained silent. She'd learned silence could cut sharper than swords.
When the council ended, Job found her by the window, staring at the white horizon.
"You heard them," he said quietly. "They won't follow a ghost crown."
"Then they'll follow fear," Althea murmured. "Fear binds men faster than loyalty."
Job turned toward her. "You sound like her."
Her gaze flicked to him. "Like who?"
"Lily."
The air between them froze harder than the snow outside.
"Don't ever compare me to her."
He didn't apologize.
Because deep down, he wasn't sure she was wrong.
The Queen's Echo
Far to the south, King's Landing glittered like a dying jewel.
The Red Keep had changed hands, faces, banners but one ghost still ruled.
Her name whispered through corridors, through the ashes of the old Sept.
Lily Lannister.
Not alive, but not forgotten.
A priestess of the Faith Eternal knelt before the altar, lighting crimson candles.
At her side, a man in black armor spoke softly
"Is it true, then? The northern witch birthed a goddess?"
The priestess smiled faintly. "Not birthed. Awakened."
"And the Crown?"
"It returns to its rightful blood."
Her hand brushed a golden lion pendant its eyes ruby-red.
"Every throne bleeds for Lannister," she whispered. "Even after death."
The Dream of Flames
That night, Althea dreamed again.
She stood in the godswood, but the trees were burning white bark aflame with blue fire.
In the heart of it, the child Nyra sat on a stone, staring into the blaze.
"Why do they fear you?" Althea asked.
The girl didn't look up. "Because they remember what you forgot."
"And what's that?"
"The gods were born human."
Althea woke in a cold sweat.
The room was quiet until she saw Nyra standing by the door, wide-eyed and awake.
"You dreamed it too," the child said softly.
"What did you see?"
"You burning."
Ravens from the South
By morning, the first ravens arrived.
Letters sealed with gold and wax, marked with the sigil of the Lion.
Job read one aloud.
"To the Northern Pretender and his Witch-Queen,
The South remembers.
The true line of Casterly Rock still breathes.
And the gods crown no bastards."
Davos muttered, "Lannisters again. I thought we buried them all."
"Ghosts don't stay buried," Althea said, breaking the seal of another letter.
"They're summoned."
She set the paper down, her hand trembling slightly.
The ink shimmered faintly red, not black.
Blood ink.
Fire Beneath Ice
That evening, Arya joined Althea on the battlements.
"You're quiet," Arya said.
"I'm listening."
"To what?"
"The North. It's changing."
The wind howled low through the stones. For a moment, Arya thought she saw shapes forming in the snow antlers, lions, shadows with eyes.
"Lily's shadow stretches farther than her grave," Arya said. "You think this child can fight that?"
Althea's lips curved faintly. "She doesn't need to fight. She just has to exist. The world will move around her."
"Like it did around you?"
A silence.
"No," Althea said softly. "I was only the storm before the dawn."
The Hidden Chamber
When the moon rose, Althea followed a pull she couldn't name.
Down past the crypts of Winterfell past the old kings, the wolves, and the frost.
Until she reached a sealed door of black ice.
Whispers echoed from within the same voices she'd heard in her dreams.
She touched the door.
It melted beneath her fingers, revealing a chamber glowing with pale light.
Inside was an ancient crown forged of twisted silver and red-gold flame.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
"The Crown of Dawn," she whispered.
Nyra's voice came from behind her. "No, Mother. That's yours."
The Queen's Shadow Rises
Far to the south, the priestess lit the final candle at Lily's shrine.
The wax ran like blood. The air thickened.
"Rise, my queen," she whispered. "Your game isn't over."
And in the reflection of the candle's flame a shadow moved.
Not quite human. Not quite gone.
A golden crown of fire flickered in the snow.