Within the walls of the Great Keep in Winterfell, one by one, Lady Bellegere Stark's suitors made their case for her hand in marriage.

Most of the men who came forward thus far had not captured her attention.

Some were average and others were old men who coveted her womb and her station, but this one was exceptionally horrid.

She threw an irritated glance at Maester Luwin, wondering why a bastard of House Velaryon was standing before her.

He was easy on the eyes.

With his silver-gold hair and gray-green eyes, and his strong, chiseled jaw.

However, his house was not loyal to her own.

The only time they were was during the Dance of the Dragons, over a hundred years ago, and that did not qualify him as a contender for her hand.

He was beautiful and charismatic, yes, but Bellegere was not searching for an attractive man to warm her bed.

That was easy to acquire.

She was searching for a husband.

The man that would be her lord, and eventually, her king consort, if the red woman was to be trusted.

The man who would risk his life for her, her house, and eventually, their children.

"I humbly stand before you as a bastard, with no claim to any castles or land, but with a confidence and prowess in battle that no man present can contend," Aurane Waters said proudly.

The arrogant smirk affixed on his handsome face, made her shift uncomfortably in her seat.

"As a daughter of House Otherys, a house founded by a Sealord of Braavos and a Princess of the Summer Isles, you understand the importance of commanding the seas," he continued, swaggering to and fro.

Noticing her mistress' annoyance, the red woman pressed her lips together as to not smirk.

"As Lord of the Waters, I command three-decked warships with sixty-two cannons each. The likes of which you've only ever seen on your foremother's vessel, the great Widow Wind."

She lowered her head, attempting to keep herself from chuckling before an audience of her peers.

"I am loathe to correct you, but Window Wind has four decks, my lord," Bellegere interjected, raising a brow.

"And, last I checked, she had one hundred and twelve cannons. Not sixty-two."

Hushed chuckles echoed in the hall.

"Erm," he spluttered. "My apologies, my lady."

Embarrassed by his mistake, Aurane kicked himself internally.

"Thank you for your offer... Lord of the Waters. It will be duly considered," she said, tilting her head.

"However, this hearing was arranged to find a husband who hails from a house that has demonstrated their loyalty to my own."

Aurane cursed under his breath and retreated to the sidelines where all the other men who had spoken stood.

He knew he was not meant to be apart of this court, but he had to give it a try.

When he looked at her, all he saw was the charisma of an Otherys, and the renowned beauty of a Black Pearl of Braavos.

Not a Stark.

"Lady of Winterfell, I now present to you Lord Brynden of House Blackwood and Lord of Raventree Hall," Ser Samwell Carsten announced, beckoning the next man forward.

"Gods," Bellegere muttered. "What did they feed him? Weirdwood paste?"

Last she saw the boy, they were both children. Now, he was unrecognizable.

Next to her, Melisandre chuckled.

"Blackwoods are known to be tall, are they not?"

She stole a glance at her loyal guard, the uncle to the young man who stood before her now.

She was not surprised, but she wondered what her dear companion was thinking.

"Did you put him up to this," Mya asked her husband suspiciously.

Ser Royce shook his head.

"I reckoned he might come, but I would never insert myself in the lady's affairs," he said honestly. "My nephew is merely doing what is expected of him as Lord of Raventree Hall."

Mya nodded, continuing to watch the proceedings with a sullen expression.

In a way, she now understood how Belle felt when she became betrothed to her husband.

It was difficult to watch the men come forward for her hand, knowing in her heart that none could ever be worthy.

At least in the eyes of Mya Stone.

"Welcome, my lord," Bellegere said respectfully.

A gray eye studied him as he bowed.

"I will hear your proposal with open ears and an open heart."

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

"Thank you, my lady."

Lord Brynden Blackwood was more of a boy than a man, but he towered over all present.

At the age of six and ten, the young man was nearly seven feet of legs, shins, and elbows.

Bellegere knew beneath his cloak, adorned with raven feathers, he was nothing but skin and bone.

Brynden was a gangly boy, with a long mane of straight, black hair curtaining his wide, slate blue eyes. He spoke softly, and his shoulders hunched forward self consciously under the gaze of the massive crowd.

Lady Bellegere struggled not to grin as he began to present his case for her hand in marriage.

"My lady, our houses have been intertwined since the Age of Heroes and the era of the First Men," Brynden said nervously, struggling to meet her gaze.

"Although the Kings of Winter drove my ancestors from the north into the riverlands, we have continued to be loyal to the Starks. As a matter of fact, many of your foremothers are Blackwoods just as many of mine are Starks."

Bellegere nodded along.

Her interest growing due to his knowledge on historical events between their houses.

The first recorded union had been Lady Alysanne, or Black Aly, Blackwood who wed Lord Cregan Stark during the Dance of the Dragons.

But, it was clear in the tomes she read about her house that their roots had been interwined for many years before that.

"I know I appear young and I am certainly not as strong as those who spoke before me, my lady," Brynden said, looking down at his feet.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered what confidence he could to hold Bellegere's focused gaze.

"But, I am a learned man, a decently skilled swordsman, and an even better archer. Just as my father and forefathers were," he said, lifting his chin higher.

"As your husband, I would use my skills and the resources of my house to defend you and our children. It would be an honor to join our great houses in marriage once more."

When he finished, Bellegere sat forward in her chair, regarding him with a soft smile.

Despite his lack of charisma, he managed to hold her attention better than most of the other suitors.

"Well spoken, my lord," she said, bowing her head to the blushing lad. "You may join the others."

Lord Bryden Blackwood bowed before her and moved aside to let the next suitor speak.

Bellegere attempted to pay attention to Lord Willem Marsh.

However, the snarky comments of the men who'd already had their turn distracted her.

"If she chose you, I wouldn't know who to call Lady Stark," Aurane Waters chuckled, nudging the young Blackwood roughly.

Brynden frowned and hung his head.

"Aye, a weakling, this one. Water for blood," Daryn Hornwood said, glaring at the boy.

"Never mind how tall he is, any one of my daughters could snap him like a rotten twig."

As Lady Bellegere watched the boy remain silent, refusing to stand up for himself, she became increasingly irritated.

So much so that she could not focus on the man who was currently attempting to win her over.

Without pretense, she stood from her seat.

"This proceeding is all well and good, but I have noticed a trend within my pool of suitors," the Lady of Winterfell said exasperatedly.

She glared at Aurane Waters and Daryn Hornwood as she continued, making the men stiffen.

"Many of you are only present to gain power, not realizing that the title, Lord of Winterfell, will not be afforded to you."

Bellegere glanced around the now silent room and heaved a sigh.

"I must present the honest truth, so that all of you know what is at stake if I choose you as my husband," she said stoically.

The suitors listened intently, no longer amused.

"The Lannisters, along with the Boltons and Freys, have made it their mission to eradicate my house. They killed my brother, mother, and my father. They even hold my little sister hostage in their Red Keep.

Now, they've ordered me to marry Tyrion Lannister, the imp, and awarded my rightful title of Wardeness of the North to the murderess fiend, Roose Bolton," Bellegere said in disgust.

"Instead of bowing to them, I have decided to rebel against the crown's decree and find my own husband. In so doing, I am displaying my defiance the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. This means that whomever I decide to wed will be participating in treason alongside me."

Gone was the arrogance that Aurane Waters displayed. Gone was the bravado of the northmen who merely wanted her to churn out their children.

"If any of you do not wish to take on this great burden and likely fight and die at my side, you are welcome to leave my home without judgement from myself or my bannermen," she said respectfully.

"I have no doubt that I will require your assistance in the future. And as your liegewoman, I expect you to answer my call."

Bellegere could see the fear in their faces.

Many of the men who made the journey to Winterfell for the lady's hand visibly cringed at her statement, but Lord Brynden Blackwood did not.

His earnest expression never faltered.

The great hall remained silent as majority of Lady Bellegere's suitors took their leave, issuing apologies and vows of their continued loyalty to House Stark.

When all was said and done, the only men left were Lord Roger Ryswell, Lord Daryn Hornwood, Aurane Waters, and Lord Brynden Blackwood.

She studied the group carefully, readying herself to make one of the most important decisions in her short, hard life.

"I have heard enough," she announced, turning to the crowd. "Now I must take council from the Old Gods. On the morrow, I will declare the name of my betrothed."

Melisandre watched the Lady of Winterfell leave the room with her guards, wondering if she should follow her.

However, feeling the weight of a stare, she turned to find a familiar stag approaching her.

"Who are you and what do you want with Belle?"

The woman spoke with passionate anger.

"You know my name," Melisandre said, smiling faintly. "I want nothing from Lady Stark. I am only here to serve."

Mya shook her head at the strange lady.

"No, you're guiding her towards certain death," she said harshly.

"And to what end? What do you stand to gain once Belle dies fighting those southron bastards? You do not know her as well as I. She would rather die fighting than bow to the people who murdered her family."

Melisandre slowly stood from her chair and stepped closer to the younger woman.

Mya stiffened as she reached out, twisting one of her short, black curls with a smile adorning her maroon lips.

The red woman leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

"This isn't about me. Is it, bastard? This is about your broken, bitter little heart," she said, looking her over.

"You are a skilled warrior, my lady. Set aside your ill fated dream of running away with Bellegere and focus the fire within you towards supporting the woman you love in her time of need."

Mya Stone held fear in her eyes.

She wondered how she knew a secret that neither woman would dare to speak aloud.

"The love you hold for her can be wielded akin to a weapon. For good or for evil," Melisandre said, leveling her with a hard gaze.

"Your father, King Robert, wielded his warhammer, in the name of what he thought was love, for Lyanna Stark. He thought himself righteous while destroying everything in his path. The Seven Kingdoms still bleed for it, and they will continue to bleed for the years to come."

Mya lowered her head as the woman's words wreaked havok on her.

"We all must take care to remember history, so that we may not repeat it, Lady Stone," she said, stepping away.

"Allow the wolf to tread her path and stand beside her as a pillar of strength and loyalty. You will certainly have a role to play, but you must choose which role that might be."

Lady Mya Stone watched the red woman exit the great hall as she pondered her words.

Her thoughts were filled by the underlying meanings beneath them and the warnings floating just above the surface.


The Lady of Winterfell sat comfortably beneath the heart tree as she had for many moons.

Her eyes were closed as she listened to the reply of the Old Gods.

They answered her prayers in their tongue.

With whispers on the wind, the rustling of leaves, and the cawing of the crows who came to feast on the flesh of her sacrifices.

Beneath the shade of a thousand crimson leaves that resembled bloody hands, the rays of the northern sun still found a way to illuminate her light caramel face.

The sutble warmth carressing the skin of her left eye caused a smile to blossom on her lips.

In the presence of her gods, she had no need to hide herself. They saw her heart and judged her to be worthy of their blessings.

Thus, the ever present leather eyepatch she wore in the company of her subjects lie beside her on the root of the tree.

Lady Melisandre watched the wolf with fire swirling in her eyes.

Unnoticed by her mistress, she took pleasure in enjoying this rare, peaceful view of her.

She had lived several lifetimes and seen more stunning women than she could recall, but this one was by far the most mesmerizing.

The Stark's immense beauty was outward, yes, but her brilliant mind, queenly manner, and dark, mysterious aura could send a eunuch to his knees with lust.

It is known, Melisandre thought, studying the perfection of R'hllor's creation.

"It is an act of the highest disrespect to interrupt a prayer in progress," Bellegere said, not bothering to open her eyes.

"My deepest apologies, my lady."

The wolf hummed.

"I assume you've come to offer council?"

When she opened her eyes, Melisandre tilted her head curiously.

Her left eye was covered by a milky film, of course, but she could still make out the lilac color beneath it.

"House Otherys descends from the dragons. A fact that many of my suitors covet for their bloodlines, and a fact they simultaneously despise," Bellegere said, noticing her interest.

"I choose to hide my pride and my shame whenever possble."

Lady Melisandre knew her origins.

However, she did not know how far the blood of the dragon could travel in terms of mixing with outsiders.

Yet, she still bore a mark of Old Valyria.

More than one, if the silver streaks in her endless sea of black curls could count for anything.

"But do you speak the tongue," the priestess asked in High Valyrian.

"My aunt made sure of it," she replied.

Melisandre smiled, pleased by this.

It would help them in the future.

"I did come to offer my council on this matter, my lady, but I fear it will not be needed," she said in her deep, melodic voice. "Your betrothed has already been chosen. Has he not?"

The Stark's brows pulled together tightly and she glanced toward the Great Keep with a heavy heart.

The Old Gods had certainly spoken, but she was apprehensive.

"Have you seen anything in your fires that might help me cope with my decision," Bellegere asked in a quiet tone.

Melisandre understood why this troubled her.

She wanted to know if she would come to love the man she married, like her mother and lady stepmother had.

Instead of resenting him while he risked his life for her.

"I have seen three great loves in your lifetime, my lady. All of them appearing in the flames just as a blade takes shape beneath the hammer of a blacksmith," the red woman said reverently.

The younger woman listened with rapt attention.

"There shall be a love forged from envy, a love blossoming from the depths of friendship, and a love forged beneath the immense pressures of duty. All of them essential to the path that lies before you."

Lady Bellegere nodded slowly, taking in her words like a horse does water.

"I wish to know more about the love forged from envy, but I have an inkling that it's not important in this moment," she chuckled mirthlessly.

"You are correct," Melisandre said. "It won't be for some time."

"I assume it will be painful beyond measure."

Melisandre nodded silently, averting her gaze.

Taking a deep breath to soothe herself, Bellegere turned to her new advisor with damp eyes.

"Which love will last?"

The red priestess studied her sympathetically, noticing something for the first time.

The wolf was a strong woman.

A warrior.

Yet, still only a girl of nine and ten.

Bellegere had experienced more grief and darkness in her short life than most ever would.

She was left without the guidance of a mother or father, with the overbearing weight of destiny draped on her shoulders like a cloak of a thousand crimson leaves.

Her's was the last face many men saw in battle and outside of it.

Still, against all odds, she wished for a love that would last.

"Who is to say that only one can endure," she said with a gentle smile. "Love knows no bounds, my lady. We must welcome it as it comes and savor it as best we can."

Moved, Bellegere hesitantly reached out to grasp the woman's hand in her own.

Overwhelming heat meeting the eternally cold.

Eyes dancing with flames glanced down and then back up into the mismatched eyes of the Stark.

What a dichotomy, Melisandre mused.

The northern wolf and the red priestess of Asshai communing beneath the canopy of the heart tree, holding hands like young girls.

Ice and fire, as it were.

However, she knew who would eventually warm the cold hands of the wolf to the point of fever.

The man she chose, and then a dragon.

"I am prepared to name my betrothed," Bellegere said in her low, feminine tone.

"But shall we remain here a while longer?"

Lady Melisandre allowed a soft smile to play at her lips, and, gently, she squeezed the battleworn hand in her own.

"With pleasure, my lady."