Winterfell's Quiet Before the Storm
Winterfell lay in uneasy silence. The Frost-Flame scars from the previous battle were still visible walls cracked, banners singed, frozen blood glittering faintly across the snow. Soldiers moved with hushed steps, haunted by visions of fire and ice, the echoes of the Frost-Flame still whispering in their minds.
Job Snow walked through the godswood, Ghost padding silently at his side. The Weirwood's face seemed quieter than usual, though its red eyes glimmered faintly, as if remembering something long forgotten.
The North survives but only just, Job thought, gripping Longclaw.
And the Queen of Shadows still waits.
Althea, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen. Whispers claimed she had vanished into the frozen wilds, following a calling only she could hear. Rumors spread quickly the Queen of Shadows had begun to reach into memory itself touching the past to reshape the future.
Maeve's Warning
In the ruins of a Wildling fort beyond the Wall, Maeve the Memory Keeper stirred candles and incantations. Her eyes, pale and sharp, flickered with the glow of runes carved into her skin.
"She is waking," Maeve murmured to herself.
"The blood remembers. And it calls to what lies beyond."
The priestess held an ancient mirror, its surface rippling like water. Reflections moved independently, showing faces not yet born, memories that had not yet occurred. Among them, a young girl with silver-streaked hair and eyes like Althea's gazed back.
"The new age will carry her spirit," Maeve whispered.
"And only the North will know whether it is blessing or doom."
A Daughter of Shadows
Far to the East, in a small village surrounded by frost-bitten hills, a child slept beneath a window. Her dreams were not her own they were visions of battles yet to come, of fire and ice entwined, of the Wolf and the Queen of Shadows locked in fate.
"You will remember her," a voice whispered in her dreams.
"You will bear the weight of blood and crown."
The child's hands glowed faintly as she turned in sleep, leaving frost patterns across her quilt. Though she did not know it, she was the first of a new line a descendant of Althea and Job, born of shadow and memory.
Northern Lords and the Question of Power
Back in Winterfell, the Northern lords gathered once more. The battle had left their forces scattered, trust fractured.
"The Queen's influence spreads," Lord Manderly said grimly.
"The Frost-Flame touched the lands beyond, and men speak of visions, of ghosts. How long until the North turns against us from within?
Job rose from the table, weary but resolute.
"It is not the North that will falter," he said, voice carrying over the murmurs.
"It is the men who forget their oaths. And as long as we remember, we survive."
Yet in the shadows, alliances shifted. Some lords saw Althea's magic as a weapon to be wielded. Others saw it as a curse waiting to consume them all.
Even in peace, the North holds a knife behind every back, Job thought.
Althea's Return
Snowstormed nights later, Althea returned, her presence heralded by frost that glimmered like diamonds across the courtyard. Her eyes burned with the white light of memory, carrying visions of past ages and battles.
"I have seen the threads of time," she whispered to Job, standing before him in the courtyard.
"And I know what must be done."
She extended her hands, and the air shimmered. Memories of the past, of lost allies and fallen enemies, rose in spectral form around them. Warriors, kings, queens all etched in frost, watching silently.
Job felt the weight of eternity press upon him. He realized that their love, their bond, had become both a weapon and a burden one that could shape the destiny of the North, and perhaps all Westeros.
A Vision of the Future
Althea led Job to the edge of the godswood. Beneath the Weirwood, she knelt, tracing patterns in the snow.
"Look," she said.
The snow rippled, forming visions of the world yet to come
Winterfell, rebuilt but scarred by battles and magic.
A new queen, silver-haired and determined, standing against shadows beyond the Wall.
Job and Althea, together, divided by love and duty, shaping fate not with armies but with the power of memory itself.
"This is what we have sown," Althea murmured.
"And what we must guard."
The visions faded, leaving only silence and frost.
The Blood Awakens
That night, Job dreamed of the child beyond the Wall. Her eyes glimmered with white light, her tiny hands tracing shapes in the snow that were not hers to make.
She remembers Job thought.
She remembers us.
Althea stirred beside him in the same dream, their consciousness intertwined. Memories of the Frost-Flame, of the Crown of Frost, of Winterfell's siege, fused with visions of the child and the centuries yet to come.
"We are not finished," Althea whispered.
"And neither is the North. The blood remembers. The memory calls. And the reckoning will come again."
The Gathering Storm
As dawn broke, news reached Winterfell: strange creatures had been seen moving beyond the Wall, shadows larger than men, their eyes burning red. Soldiers and scouts whispered of Frost-Wraiths spirits born from the magic Althea had unleashed.
Job knew that their struggles were far from over.
"We have won Winterfell, but the world still shifts beneath us," he told the lords.
"The blood of memory carries a burden and the child beyond the Wall will either save us or doom us all."
Althea placed her hand over his. The frost of her touch did not bite; instead, it hummed with warmth, as though the past and present were momentarily reconciled.
"We endure," she said.
"Because we must. And because love, even bound by curse, can shape history."
The Prophecy Reawakens
Far to the East, the child stirred again in her sleep. Visions of Job, Althea, and Winterfell etched themselves into her mind. Frost patterns traced her walls, forming a sigil unknown to mortal hands the sigil of fate reborn.
Maeve's voice echoed through the winds
"She is the vessel of memory the child who carries the Queen of Shadows' blood. The North will either rise with her or fall to it."
The Weirwoods beyond the Wall shivered in agreement. A storm was coming one that would test love, loyalty, and the very nature of memory itself.