Lady Melisandre lurked beneath the shadows of the farthest corner in the great hall, watching as the wolf and her supposedly dead brother strode in.
When the gasps and whispers of disbelief met her ears, the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile.
For, this blatant display of Bellegere Stark's power was well overdue.
As Jon Snow lingered beside his sister, before the wide eyes of the lords and ladies of the north, he could not deny his confusion.
He should have been dead by the hands of his brothers.
Yet, here he stood, wondering why his sister was the same as he remembered her, yet absolutely unrecognizable.
Either way, he would not ask questions.
All he knew for certain was that he would forever be in debt to her.
"I have called you here to this feast, not only to celebrate the growing prosperity of House Stark and the coming marriage between my good friend, Ser Royce, and Lady Mya Stone of the Vail, but as a celebration of life," Lady Bellegere announced with a smile.
"My brother, Jon Snow, once lost in the slumber of death, has returned. The Old Gods have decided to smile upon my house. This miracle is an omen of the blessings to come, and I have no doubt the gods will continue to fill our cups and overflow them."
Standing beside her betrothed, Mya Stone could not believe what was happening.
She had seen Jon Snow's body being carried into Winterfell in a wooden box, just as many of the people present had.
How can a man be dead and then not be dead?
She couldn't fathom what sorcery brought Jon back to life, and she worried about what her friend had gotten herself involved in.
Lady Bellegere lifted her cup into the air, with a smile gracing her plump lips.
"I raise my cup to the Old Gods in humble gratitude and everlasting praise!"
"To the Old Gods," the hall repeated.
Cheerful applause and praise filled the great hall as Bellegere and Jon Snow sat down, commencing the feast.
She turned to smile at her brother, only to notice the solemn expression on his face.
Before she could inquire about his sullen mood, a man's booming voice rang out.
"This is an abomination!"
The subtle noise of a rat skittering across the floor was the only sound in the room.
All dancing and joy ceased and every eye focused on Lord Wyman Manderly.
Bellegere's guards gripped their swords as he slowly advanced toward her table.
Lady Melisandre watched from the shadows, examining the lack of expression on the wolf's face.
"Watch your tongue," Ser Blackwood spat, stepping forward.
Bellegere rose her hand and he halted immediately.
"No," she said, staring at her protester. "We will allow him to speak freely."
Lord Wyman withered under the Stark's focused eye. He could not meet her unblinking gaze.
Instead, he turned to the crowd, hoping to gain support from his fellow lords and ladies.
"By the Seven, what we are witnessing here is the product of blood magic and dark arts," Lord Wyman said, scowling with disgust.
"To litter the godswood with corpses is sadistic, in and of itself, but to practice necromancy is leaps and bounds beyond even that!"
He spoke with such vitriol that spittle erupted onto his long, gray beard.
"I will not continue to stand in support of it and bear witness to the legacy of House Stark being tainted and defiled in this way. Nor should any of you. This woman is a witch, a blood mage, a demon!"
The red woman continued to watch the she-wolf, noting the calm patience she afforded this unruly subordinate.
Not once did she interrupt or attempt to correct the man, even though his words insulted her.
"Please, continue, my lord," Lady Bellegere said cordially. "We will wait."
Befuddled by her calmness and the disapproving faces in the crowd, Wyman forgot how to speak.
He expected at least one lord to speak up with him.
"In that case, allow me to educate you. As I see you are ignorant as to where you are and who you are speaking with," she said, her smile dissolving into a sneer.
"As you are a follower of the Seven, I do not expect you to understand the ways of the Old Gods, but as a vassal of House Stark, you will respect it."
Every eye focused on the Lady of Winterfell as she stood from her throne.
The silver streaks in her pitch black hair shimmered by the light of the candles, and her eye narrowed dangerously.
"You stand in Winterfell, my lord. The seat of every King of Winter and every King in the North there ever was," she said proudly. "Each and every one of them worshipped the gods you just frivolously insulted."
Lord Wyman withered under her gaze even further, realizing his great blunder.
"Beneath your feet, the roots of the ancient weirwood trees tunnel, and yet, you question the will of my gods? You call their gracious act of returning my brother to life an abomination?"
Lord Wyman still could not find his voice, but it did not matter.
Bellegere turned her attention to the crowd.
"If, by chance, any of you sympathize with Lord Manderly, I bid you farewell," she said, waving her hand towards entrance.
"As the guest's rite decrees, you may return from whence you came, unharmed, but this will be the only chance you have. Any other blasphemous statements directed towards the Old Gods will pay the price with their blood."
Lord Wyman glanced around, expecting at least a handful of lords to take their leave.
However, he was dissapointed.
Not one man or woman moved an inch.
"Lady Bellegere, I-"
"You were granted time to speak and you spoke your truth without interruption," she said, leaning forward.
"I will allow you to leave, just this once. But now that you have blasphemed so arrogantly, you are not permitted to return."
Jon Snow watched Lord Wyman Manderly leave with his head hung low, not daring to speak another word.
He bore witness to the looks of respect, the smiles, and the cups being raised in his sister's honor as the feast recommenced.
"The people love you, Belle," Jon said, smiling proudly at her.
Bellegere hummed.
"Only as much as they fear and lust after me," she said, looking out over the great hall. "Where there is balance, there is prosperity."
Jon's brows rose slightly at the familiar phrase.
"Like father used to say."
"He was a wise man," she muttered, nibbling her lip. "I still remember everything he said."
His head lowered slightly.
"As do I."
Bellegere turned to him, releasing a deep breath to quell the grief that began to resurface.
"Tonight is a celebration, not a time to mourn our losses," she said, smiling. "Why don't you mingle with the crowd? Find a nice young lady to dance with?"
Jon shook his head.
"It is difficult to celebrate when my mind is occupied with the memory of being murdered by my own brothers," he said somberly.
Bellegere's smile faded.
"And even more, I deserted my post. I am Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. I should be at the wall."
"You died. Your watch ended."
"And now, I live, sister," Jon said simply. "It is my duty to return to my post and put those men to the sword for what they did."
Lady Bellegere clenched her jaw against the frustration she was feeling.
She understood his need to honor his duties more than she wanted to admit, but she had only just reunited with him.
However, Bellegere knew the decision was already made.
"When are you leaving?"
"On the morrow," Jon said truthfully.
Belle sighed heavily and took a long sip of her wine to dull her disappointment.
"If they murder you again, I'll bring you back and kill you myself," she said, scowling.
Her brother chuckled deeply and placed a warm hand over her own. The two shared a look of understanding and familial love, remembering the years they spent growing together.
"I would expect nothing less."
The next morning, the pair stood at the gates of Winterfell with heavy hearts.
"Winter is coming, Jon," Bellegere said somberly. "The pack must stand together in hard times, as father said. Don't forget that Winterfell is your home just as it is mine."
Jon nodded, knowing her words to be true.
"I...thank you, Bellegere," he said, clasping her shoulder. "For everything."
Jon did not know how Belle reclaimed his soul from the hands of death, but in the end, it did not matter.
She displayed a loyalty to him that extended beyond death. To a degree he hadn't imagined to be possible.
A love he never expected as a bastard.
"I am forever in your debt, and I will return to aid you in any way I can."
Bellegere shook her head.
"You are not in debt to me. You are in debt to the gods," she said adamantly.
"I did what I felt was right, hoping against hope that they would bring you back. The only thing you owe me is to stay alive and savor your second chance at life, little brother."
Filled with emotion, Jon Snow pulled her into a tight hug. For, he did not know when he would return, but he knew that he must.
Lady Bellegere sighed, closing her eye as she reveled in the warmth that flowed through him now. He was alive and breathing and present.
When they released one another, she pursed her lips against the sadness that surfaced.
"Go with love, little brother," Bellegere said. "I will be here, waiting to welcome you, whether you return home or not."
As she watched Jon Snow mount his horse and leave through the gate her father carried him into as a babe, she sent a prayer with him.
Lady Melisandre ignored the strange glances and whispers as she sat down at the table to advise her mistress.
Whatever reservations the men of Bellegere's council held did not matter.
"Maester Luwin, we shall begin this council meeting with your presentation."
She watched curiously as the old man unraveled a letter with shaky hands.
"My lady, we have recieved a raven from King's Landing," Maester Luwin said, not meeting her eye. "Signed by the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister."
Bellegere clasped her hands together, lest she ball them into fists. She caught the red woman's eye for a moment, sharing an unsettled glance.
"You may begin."
Mya Stone's hand shook uncontrollably as she poured wine into a goblet, pretending not to listen to the shocking words being spoken.
Bellegere blinked once, failing to comprehend what was being said.
"My apologies, Maester Luwin," she said through clenched teeth. "I fear I misheard you."
Melisandre sat back in her seat watching the threads of the wolf's destiny begin to sew themselves together.
She could feel the fire being stoked inside her.
"It has been decreed, under the authority of King Joffrey Baratheon, that the Lady Bellegere Stark of Winterfell shall marry Lord Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock," Luwin said slowly, feeling his lady's anger growing.
"The marriage ceremony shall commence... within a fortnight."
All within the room could see the rage boiling inside their lady at this unexpected news. They turned their eyes away from her as she seethed.
Bellegere remained silent for a long time, causing the room to grow uncomfortably thick with tension.
"My lady, if I could offer a word of advice," Melisandre spoke up.
Upon recieving a nod, she continued.
"This arranged marriage is a blatantly obvious display of disrespect and ill intent," she said, gaining the attention of all present.
"If you were to allow yourself to be forced into this affair, you would essentially be naming Tyrion Lannister as Lord of Winterfell. Your children would essentially be Lannisters and the Stark name would fade into the shadows."
Bellegere nodded slowly, pondering her words.
"And if I decide to choose my own husband," she asked solemnly.
Melisandre leaned forward.
"You would begin a path you cannot stray from, but you would remain Lady of Winterfell and your house would survive."
Mya frowned, staring at the unknown, red-haired woman. She was obviously attempting to provoke Bellegere into war.
"I do not intend to show disrespect, my lady, but who is this woman," Ser Rodrik Cassel, Master at Arms, asked with a scowl.
"She is someone who's opinion I trust enough to allow entry to this room and a seat at my table," Bellegere said, turning to him.
"Do you have better advice, Ser Rodrick? I sorely need it."
Melisandre watched the man try and fail to find another solution to this situation, struggling to contain her smirk.
"I will need time to ponder this conundrum," Lady Bellegere said with a heavy sigh. "Please continue, Maester. Let us move forward.",
Luwin paused as he unraveled the second letter.
"Go on, then," she said. "This one can't be any worse than the first."
He took a shaky breath and began.
"We have recieved a second letter from King's Landing, signed by the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister," Maester Luwin said solemnly.
Bellegere closed her eye, visibly shaking.
"It has been decreed, under the authority of King Joffrey Baratheon, that Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort is to be immediately and henceforth recognized as Warden of the North and Lord Paramount of the North."
Lady Bellegere turned her eye to the ceiling and allowed the waves of rage to crash against the shores of her soul.
Her mind's eyes turned back the pages of her memory to recall the night her brother and lady stepmother died within the perceived safety of Walder Frey's castle walls.
She had been absent from the wedding, choosing to scout ahead with a handful of their men instead.
When she learned what took place, and the names of the men who were involved, she promised to lay waste to them all.
Now, the house that betrayed her own and executed her father was asking her to bow to the man who murdered her brother and mother.
She couldn't fathom it.
"Maester Luwin, I recall a fortnight ago, you brought to my attention a list of suitors awaiting a court hearing," Lady Bellegere said, sitting rigidly in her chair.
He nodded, confused.
"Yes, my lady. The list grows."
"I ask that you scour the list and only send ravens to the suitors whose houses have supported the Starks without fail," she said stoically.
"We will hold court within the week and, from that group of men, I shall choose my husband."
Mya Stone's knees became weak beneath her as she realized what this meant.
War.
She glared at the strange woman who whispered seditiously into her friend's ear.
However, the woman only had eyes for Bellegere.
"My lady, in doing this, you are committing an act of treason," Melisandre said boldly.
"Once you move forward, you cannot retreat."
Lady Bellegere Stark lifted her chin and cast her steady gaze over all in attendance.
With the blessings of the Old Gods resting upon her head like a weirwood crown, she feared nothing.
"So be it."
Melisandre smiled faintly.
The first footstep in the wolf's bloody path had appeared in the snow.
And, soon, the entire realm would feel the consequences.
