The air smelled of ash and frost.
Winter had claimed the North, yet the south had sent its queen Althea Baelish riding with banners blackened by fire, shadows trailing her like a living cloak.
The roads to Winterfell were silent, save for the crunch of hooves over frozen earth. Even the ravens seemed to flee before her, carrying word of her coming to every corner of the realm.
The Approach
Althea rode at the head of her host knights from King's Landing loyal to the Frost-Flame, sellswords drawn from the ashes of war, and priests who whispered of prophecy in tongues long dead.
She wore a cloak the color of midnight snow, embroidered with the twin sigils of wolf and lion a reminder of the crown she now bore and the destiny it carried.
"The North will remember you, Queen," said Ser Gendry quietly, riding beside her.
"And it will fight you."
Althea's eyes glimmered like ice and fire together.
"Let them remember," she said. "If they fight me, they fight fate itself."
The mountains rose before them, jagged and ancient. Snow swirled around their horses like living ghosts, bending and cracking under the Frost-Flame that pulsed faintly along her wrists.
Northern Watch
Job Snow stood atop the cliffs overlooking the valley, Ghost at his side.
The North had gathered Mormonts, Umbers, Karstarks, and smaller houses loyal to the wolf, united in their fear of what the Queen of Shadows might bring.
"She carries fire and frost," Lord Umber said.
"And she rides with magic no man can stop."
Job's hand rested on Longclaw.
"Magic or no, she will not break the North. We remember who we are."
Ghost growled low in his throat, sensing the pulse of power that emanated from the south. The Frost-Flame, once distant, was now reaching northward like invisible veins of fire and ice.
The First Clash
The host of the Queen reached the edge of the Northern forest by dusk.
Horns blew. Riders clashed with scouts, swords biting steel in echoes of frost and flame.
Althea dismounted herself, stepping into the snow, frost rising beneath her boots like the tide of a coming storm.
"Show me your loyalty," she called to the Northern lords.
"Or show me your defiance. Either way, the North remembers and so do I."
Job rode forward, flanked by Northern captains.
"I remember," he said.
"And the North remembers too. You may wear a crown, Althea, but you do not own the hearts of men who fight for their homes."
A hush fell over the battlefield. The wind carried the scent of snow, blood, and ancient power.
For the first time, the Frost-Flame flared fully lighting Althea's crown like a sun caught in ice, casting shadows across the valley that seemed almost alive.
A Queen's Strategy
Althea raised her hand. The snow halted its fall. The winds bent around her like obedient soldiers.
Her army watched, awed and fearful.
"War is not won with fire alone," she whispered to Gendry.
"It is won with fear, with doubt, and with shadows that cannot be seen."
Northern lords shifted uneasily. They knew she spoke truth. Even loyal men trembled before her presence.
Yet Job's eyes met hers across the field, and in that gaze, a memory burned of crowns shared, of fire and frost intertwined, and of the bond that neither death nor war could sever.
The Seeds of Rebellion
That night, Northern fires burned bright. Job spoke to his captains in hushed tones.
"The Queen moves north not merely to conquer, but to test us. We will resist not for glory, but for the North itself."
Althea, in her tent, studied the maps of the region. Her Frost-Flame pulsed against her skin like a heartbeat.
"They will not yield easily," she murmured.
"But they will bend or they will break."
Outside, the wind carried faint whispers of prophecy
When fire and frost march together, kingdoms will shatter, and love will decide who rises from the ashes.