I know its been a basically 2 months, but I needed the break.

Sorry.

This is the finale to the Ladies Gathering Arc, next chapter will be the aftermath and then following that I'll be working on getting Ned home :)

This will also be the last chapter dealing with politics for a long while.

Songs referenced are:

The Bear and the Maiden fair- Asoif & Winter Moon- Erutan (I literally just used the lyrics, not the actual tune.)

Anyway, enjoy.


Chapter 13: Final Days: The Ideal Womanhood

Anya watched the on goings of the Farewell feast with a gentle smile. It drew many interests from the men, but most especially the visiting Northern Lords. Rickard Stark's youngest daughter was no stranger to them. In fact, they've often caught glimpses of the girl whenever business with Lord Stark brought them to Winterfell. They had paid little attention to the girl, considered her sickly for how little they saw and knew of her; their attention always drawn to the wild unladylike antics of Lyanna Stark or cowered under Rickard Stark's icy dealings.

They'd never once noticed in that time just how closely she resembled the late Lady Lyarra.

The youngest Stark daughter had eyes of polished marble stone that gleamed after a night of heavy frost; with hair a soft shade of brown that darkened and lightened depending on the light beams. She was soft in face and tonight she seemed to be glowing with a welcoming air of delight and invitation.

It was hard not to feel drawn to the little girl's presence.

"I must congratulate you Lady Anya, for this incredible feast! Never have I attended one so gloriously organised. Why, the fact we were able to feast so soon without wait brought more joy to this old heart than you can possibly know," Lord Cerwyn flattered with a grin.

Anya smiled- and it was wide and filled with soft warmth- before she lifted her goblet in toast.

"You flatter me, Lord Cerwyn, however all thanks should be given to my sister," Anya corrects.

"Your sister?" Lord Karstark questions with an imperious lift of his brow.

Anya nods, and the action is far too childishly charming for either men not to feel nostalgic of the times their own daughters were once so young. Lyanna looks up from where she'd been engaging Lord Mormont in conversation. Anya does not seem to notice the attention she's garnered from all seated at the high table, most importantly her father.

"It was Lyanna's idea to allow food to be served early. In truth, if not for her you all would be starved until our arrival."

Lord Ryswell than turned to Lyanna with an inviting smile that seemed more amused than impressed.

"And what prompted such a decision if I may ask, Lady Lyanna?"

Lyanna froze for just a second as her ears deciphered a different collection of words.

Words she heard but he did not speak.

'And how did the she-wolf manage a task so beyond her understanding?'

All eyes stared intently at Lyanna and she resisted the urge to fidget and bare her teeth in reply. She reminded herself of who she was among and where. She screamed in her mind the reminder that 'She was a Lady, and Ladies do not crassly address Lords'. She reminded herself of Brandon's warning and the feel of his constant watch from his place among the other men. She reminded herself of her watching father, who showed nothing on his cold mask where he sat.

She looked at Anya's sweet and proud praising eyes and controlled the wild yearning in her heart.

'For Anya, she will become what she must' she thought before she replied.

Lyanna gave a gentle smile before gracefully cutting into the flesh of the boar on her platter. She sliced at the meat and showed no strain, her back remained straight and her smile pleasantly pretty.

"I do believe we've starved these men long enough, don't you agree?"

She emphasized her reply by delicately biting down on the juicy meat. If her eyes flashed with a challenging glint, if her smile appeared a bit too wide and her teeth a bit too sharp. Well…. It was probably just a trick of the light.

Regardless, the effect was instantaneous.

The Lords blinked with wary apprehension, as for all but a second they did not see Lyanna Stark, but her late mother. Suddenly, the Lords were having flashbacks to their meetings with Lyarra Stark and her viper cunning and charms. Lady Lyarra Stark had a way with words and in the past, more than one of them had suffered through her word games that left them struck speechless.

A deep chuckle disrupted the suddenly tense atmosphere and all eyes turned to Rickard Stark, whose eyes gleamed despite the blankness of his face. At his side, Anya Stark blatantly smirked with laughter in her eyes.

"Well said Lyanna." Rickard praised.

Lyanna felt her heart stop for all but a second, before it wildly pounded in her chest and her cheeks flushed an embarrassed red. Never before has her father praised her during a feast. It's been so long since he's cast such a look at her that held no scolding or angry exhaustion. Her throat itched but Lyanna was too happy to let tears fall, and she suddenly wanted to earn such a reaction again.

The sound of a throat clearing had all eyes turning and William Dustin fidgeted under the intense stares of all those at the high table.

"Pardon my interruption, my lords and ladies. However, I was hoping to inquire after a dance from the beautiful Lady Ryswell."

Barbary straightened like a queen and cast a quick look of smug pride at the other ladies none of the males caught. Before she could accept, Roose Bolton spoke with a drawl and his goblet loosely held in his hand.

"And which beautiful Lady Ryswell are you inquiring after?"

Anya barely managed to hide the frown she felt her lips about to give when she spotted the genuine surprise on both Lord Ryswell and Barbary's faces. Bethany's late night confessions lingered in her mind and she turned her attention to Roose Bolton. The man was a year or two older than Brandon, and had already been wedded once before. Bethany had sworn herself to Anya, and that meant Anya had a duty to the younger Ryswell. She resolved to keep an eye on the Bolton Lord and further consider his character later.

Instead she looked to Bethany who was blushing a violet red and staring at her betrothed with shocked wide eyes. It did nothing but further increase the beauty she made, dressed in red with a silky pink colored inner lining.

"My betrothed of course." William coughed

Roose only stared at the Dustin heir before taking a drink from his goblet. The tense moment was then interrupted by Lady Cerwyn who giggled and commanded the attention of all in the room.

"Well, if only Barbary gets to dance, I feel greatly disappointed."

Lord Cerwyn looked to his daughter with a stern eye but Jonelle ignored him in favor of looking at the younger men. She dared them to pluck up their courage and brave her father's wrath to ask for her hand to dance. The effect was instantaneous and several young men began to brave making their way to the high table to request dances of the ladies. The first on the floor was Lady Barbary, who danced with her betrothed, the both of them sharing giggles and whispers with each other. Then followed by Lady Donella and a man from House Umber. On and on it continued until only the youngest of the Ladies remained at the table.

Lord Mormont- who was already far too deep into his cups, leaned over to Roose Bolton and loudly whispered.

"Well, Lad? Are you not going to take you're betrothed beauty to dance?"

Before Roose, or anyone could respond, Bethany spoke out surprising her father.

"That won't be necessary."

"Bethany." Lord Ryswell lowly warned, thinking she was objecting in rebellion of her betrothal.

Bethany looked flustered with uneasy nerves and Anya visibly frowned at the expression, while Roose remained stiff faced and quiet.

"I-I just meant-"

As if summoned, Brandon appeared with a swaggering prowl and a wildly charming grin on his face. He was happily humming to the beat of the latest song, but the pout Benjen wore as he trailed behind him distracted all of them.

"Sweet little sisters!" He greeted before pressing a kiss to both their heads.

Lyanna squirmed under the action, but both she and Brandon melted at the giggle of surprise Anya gave. Rickard watched his youngest daughter intently, taking note of the rather open and inviting behavior she'd been displaying all night. In truth, his heart had melted and beat lively in his chest at watching her. Tonight, her usual mask was weak- feebly in place and without it she looked and felt…..so incredibly young. It worried Rickard as Anya has never been this vulnerable around others not of their family.

However, Benjen was frowning deeply as jealousy twisted his insides.

It had started when his sisters had entered and he'd noticed the attention the men gave them. Then, it only soured further as he watched from Brandon's side how easily Anya was smiling at everyone. She was smiling the smiles she only ever gave to him, and he didn't like it.

He didn't like it at all.

Brandon could feel his flushed cheeks begin to ache as the ale had weakened his usual careful mind. Since Lyanna and Anya's entry, the Stark heir couldn't help but feel enamored and prideful. Lyanna looked and acted exactly as a High Lords eldest daughter should, filled with grace and manner. But it was Anya that truly stole his breath.

'Mother would be proud of you' Anya had said to him earlier, and his eyes turned misty as he savored the sweet childlike smile on her lips.

He'd forgotten how innocent and pure Anya truly was.

How young and full of wonder she'd once been.

The gods have seen him blessed with seeing her ridiculous mask so weak tonight, and Brandon would not dare miss a second of it all.

"What is it Bran?" Anya questioned with a tilt of her head.

Brandon tried to regain his composure but it was too late. All the Lords present had already bore witness to his weak demeanor. Roose Bolton arched a contemplative brow as he considered the younger Stark daughter. He cast a subtle glance at the Lords surrounding him and saw the hidden glee that glinted briefly in their eyes. The Bolton Lord let out a soft scoff no one heard before he sipped from his cup again. It would appear the cruel Wild Wolf of Winterfell did indeed have a heart. Roose wondered how long it will take the other House Lords to scurry back to their heirs and share such a secret.

"Can't a proud brother approach his little sisters or am I just another male far beneath the splendor of your Lady status?" Brandon joyfully teased.

The affectionate smirk that grew on Anya's lips caused Lyanna to scrape her knife against her platter and Brandon to beam. Suddenly, the high table fell incredibly silent as they shifted their stare from the smirking child to the cold hardened Lord Stark.

Rickard Stark didn't dare to breathe.

Eyes glinting with mischief and tease, lips lifted with sly wit and warmth- For the widowed Lord it was as if Lyarra Stark had manifested before him.

A certain air of respect and sympathy began to circulate among them, most especially from the older House Lords who personally knew of the deep love shared between Lyarra and Rickard Stark. It dawned on them, that the Lord of Winterfell had been living each day with the ghost of his wife. It was a heartfelt and pitiful realization, as Anya Stark was the splitting image of her mother.

Before Anya could reply to Brandon's tease, before the Lords could recover, Benjen shoved Brandon aside with a huff.

"If that's how you ask a Lady to dance, no wonder father placed you with the rest of the men."

Again, all eyes shifted but this time with surprise and amusement, to the youngest Stark.

Benjen ignored Brandon's yelp and his attempt to swipe him into a hold. He walked with his head held high, his chest puffed and his eyes glinted with determination. Anya smiled brightly at him and he felt his chest squirm with satisfaction and pure delight. She didn't look at anyone but he with such a smile and that was exactly what he wanted. Benjen cleared his throat, then bowed with all the manner his lessons had taught him.

"May I have this dance my Lady?"

Benjen may only be five (soon to be six) but he was determined to prove he was better than all these silly men in the room. Brandon included, because Anya was his BIG sister and it wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that Lyanna had stolen Anya for a week, yet Brandon got to show up and see her more than him. It wasn't fair that all these men were suddenly getting to see how amazing and brilliant his Anya truly is and wanted her attention.

Anya was his Lady Sister and they didn't deserve her just because they saw her smile pretty.

Benjen had seen her pretty smiles and adored her before any of them.

As far as the youngest Stark was concerned, Brandon and Lyanna must have done something to lose their privilege to Anya's pretty smiles. Benjen hadn't done anything, and he wouldn't ever dare. It's not fair that everyone suddenly thinks they had a right to Anya when she's always been his.

Rickard felt his heart give a sudden thud and he could breathe easy again. The other House Lords looked spell bound by Benjen's sheer air of command, despite his young age. It proved his potential, showed his discipline perfectly and forcefully reminded all that he was a lord in training. A glance at Brandon, showed that his eldest seemed both proud but surprised by Benjen's action. Rickard found his lips twitching, with Benjen proving so well mannered, as the heir Brandon needed to show the same level of discipline. It would not look good for Brandon to continue his rather relaxed manner when Benjen was proving so disciplined.

What happened next surprised both Lord Ryswell and Lord Bolton.

Anya turned to them with an openly friendly grin and looked almost…..pleadingly at Bethany Ryswell.

"Shall we?" Anya prompted.

"W-What?" Bethany blurted looking flushed and nervous as she looked from Anya to Roose Bolton.

Before any further conversation can take place, Roose stood from his seat gaining all eyes. He offered his hand to Bethany and intently met her eyes. He didn't say anything only held his hand out in wait. Bethany glanced at Anya who gave an encouraging smile, before she swallowed and for the first time ever, directly addressed her betrothed.

"Dancing has never been my strongest aspect, my lord."

"Nor is it mine."

Bethany and Roose quietly regarded each other, and the rest of the world seemed to fall away.

But eventually, they joined hands and made their way to the floor to dance.

Not long after they were followed by Anya and Benjen, along with Brandon and Lyanna- who'd scowled at their youngest brother suddenly feeling a burst sibling competitiveness.

~*~*~Winter Storm Queen~*~*~

Now that all their children had gone, and only the House Lords, besides Roose Bolton, remained; The Northern Lords collectively regarded the future of their houses.

Lord Cerwyn watched his daughter dance and flit among the men. The once chaotic craving she'd shown suddenly tempered with calculative consideration and caution. Obvious by how her eyes seemed to dart discretely from person to person- like sharpened knives, ready to strike at the drop of a pin.

Lord Hornwood was amused to see his daughter so open. Donella had always been the more rigid and stiff child among his children. A cause for the struggles he faced when attempting to find her a betrothal. She had always been resistant to change and surprises, yet there she glides. She shifts partners among the men with an ease he never thought her capable. Maintaining an open conversation of wit as she did causing those close to listen and fall into laughter.

Lord Mormont had never seen Maege so comfortable on the dance floor. Lord Umber, Karstark and Manderly had never known their daughters to be so united and close in friendship.

But it was Lord Ryswell struggling to make sense of things the most.

He watched Barbary shine as she danced with William Dustin. She was full of grace and beauty, looking perfectly matched with her betrothed. He could see it as he watched them- the future Lady and Lord of House Dustin, just as he had planned.

But it was his youngest daughter- his shadowed sun that confounded him most.

Barbary was shining but Bethany….. Bethany was the sun. From his place, he could not read or hear the exchanges between his daughter and the Bolton lord, but he could see how their bodies moved. Roose Bolton's comment had surprised him, he had not expected such words to come to Bethany's defense, hadn't thought them needed. Despite agreeing to the match, he'd not expected much to grow between the two that went beyond duty.

But the Bolton Lord has kept a close eye on his betrothed since she entered.

Bethany arrived donned in the colors of House Bolton. She sat taller in her seat, watched and observed with sharp eyes and sealed lips. She held herself as if she was armed to strike at any moment….armed to kill.

What had happened to his shadowed sun? When did he lose her to the Bladed swords who strip their foes from their skin and open flesh?

'What a silly question' he mentally scolded as realized grief seized his heart.

He lost his shadowed sun when he forgot she burned bright and sold her to another.

It dawned on him, as he watched Roose Bolton dance with his betrothed, that Bethany was no longer a Ryswell.

The broody atmosphere at the high table only abated when Lord Mormont let out another belly deep laugh. He turned to the deathly silent Rickard Stark, and pointed a finger at the man.

"We brought our daughters to your home, wolf, and what is this you return to us?"

"A gathering of thorns?" Lord Cerwyn snickers.

"A gathering of Women" Lord Umber corrects with a snort.

Lord Karstark clicks his teeth and shakes his head before he speaks.

"A dangerous collection to have."

They share chuckles but when the Stark lord speaks it is with deep contemplation and ominous warning.

"Just as the sun rises in the east, so does the call of winter gentlemen."

They sober at his words and feel uneasy.

They are all aware of the growing tension and threat of the mad dragon king. Each day, the North suffers accusations and suspicions of treason from the South. They are being beaten and threatened to conform, their traditions being labelled unimportant and savage. Their history treated like fabled lies and further oppressed.

It makes them restless, unsettled and infuriates them.

It increases their hunger for freedom, for war, as their continued survival feels caged.

"Which shines brighter? A single polished jewel or a gathering? Which would entice a greedy man's want?"

It's Lord Manderly who hears the implication and a frown settles on his lips.

"And you want us to anticipate the setting of the sun in the west?"

What is west of Westeros? Nobody knows.

All the House Lords grow tense at that, but Rickard meets their gazes one by one with a cold stare that causes them all to shiver uncomfortably.

"I implore you to consider it."

Lord Karstark speaks next with aggressive tension in his tone.

"That, is not the way of the North, Wolf."

Lord Cerwyn hums before he voices his own opinion.

"Why not? A hunt is a hunt the prize is no different. Let us broaden the horizon gentlemen."

They share shifty stares unsure if such a suggestion is possible without risk. Before they can settle the discussion, an announcement is made and Anya Stark has called for all attention.

"A few days ago, my brother Brandon approached me with a suggestion. After a short discussion we all agreed the idea to be a splendid choice. So, as a thanks to the courtesy and patience of all you gathered, we would like to perform for you a gift."

Cheers and wild hollering erupted as the band passed the instruments over to the ladies. The Ladies of House Mormont, Hornwood, Cerwyn, Karstark, Umber and Manderly shifted to the side, which left the Ryswell and Stark sisters in the center. Then, following the count of Maege Mormont the music began, a song was sung and the sisters began to dance.

~*~*~Winter Storm Queen~*~*~

The men watched with racing hearts and eyes completely bound by the grace of the Ladies. The singing light to their ears, like a choir of blessed birds and the dawning of spring.

Barbary charmed all as she swished her skirts and moved her limbs with playful twists.

Lyanna surprised many with quick taps of her boots and the swift cutting movements of her arms. While not as graceful or ladylike- her movements flowed with the beat of the drum and the rapid twiddling of the lute. She was energetic, appearing and moving steps ahead of Barbary's playful twirling. The elder two sisters danced as if they were chasing the rushing the wind.

And in the center, gathered carefully out of the way of Lyanna and Barbary's dancing, were Anya and Bethany.

The younger sisters swayed and circled each other, their palms meeting in short greeting before separating to touch elbows. They danced to the melody of the words sung, not to the beat of the drum and lute. Slow touching- soft stepping and incredibly controlled- like fragile falling flakes of snow.

All eyes were entranced, and even the help in service paused their duties to marvel.

But something strange then began.

As the singing and playing of the instruments soon reached their peak, the dancing began to switch.

Barbary and Lyanna slowed in their movements, almost as if they were cautious with how they bent their limbs and scared of where they should step. In contrast, Bethany and Anya started to grow further apart, the distance and time between their greeting palms increasing by the beat. Eventually, the sisters were at equal distances dancing in a circle, their arms stretching to reach for each other as they spun.

Suddenly the singing and strumming of the lute stopped, and all that could be heard was the beating of the drum.

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Ba- dump.

The lit torches flickered and the whistling wind of the night could be heard, as none among the audience dared to breathe. The dancing sisters had frozen in their differing poses, but all four had their heads bowed towards the ground in submission.

Bethany Ryswell across from Anya clasped her hands in prayer.

Lyanna Stark was bent in a low curtsey with her arms spread wide.

Opposite to her, Barbary Ryswell had her head bent and her arms raised in offering.

Finally, Anya Stark covered her face with her open palms.

Maege Mormont softened the beat of her drum until it too was silenced.

Just as the audience began to assume the performance over, the singing began again from the start.

Serra Umber lead the song, one many often thought of as jovial and lively.

A bear there was, a bear, a bear! /All black and brown, and covered with hair/the bear! The bear!

Until Donella Hornwood cut in, singing a completely different song.

In the woodlands low, born of ice and snow/ There's a maiden weeping tonight

The two sang, almost as if they were fighting to drown the other. Somehow, despite the two songs being completely different, they complimented each other greatly. Jonelle Cerwyn began to strum lightly at her lute once more and the dancing began again.

The first to move was Barbary who gently and so softly began to sway her limbs.

Then Lyanna, who tapped her boots in unison to the beat of Maege's accompanying drum.

The two elder sisters' movements seemed to draw them towards the center. They no longer seemed to dance as if chasing the wind, instead it was as if they were slugging through deep waters.

In unison, Bethany and Anya moved together. They softly skipped and swished their skirts, twisting and turning to the beat.

Snow falls softly 'neath the winter moon/ Breathless, icy, bright. Daughter of the night./ Oh who do you cry for?

Lyanna and Barbary met in the center, replacing Bethany and Anya's earlier position. Their actions grew hesitant as they pressed their palms in greeting and began to touch elbows.

I called for a knight, but you're a bear! /A bear, a bear! /All black and brown and covered with hair

Anya and Bethany increased their pace, the energy of their dancing lively and fast. They clapped and twirled, spinning pass each other but never touching. They circled their older sisters as they once did them- gathering them in the center.

Keening softly 'neath the winter moon.

The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair.

And then both songs slowed to an end, with all four dancing Ladies striking poses with their heads held high tilted to the sky and their arms stretched above.

~*~*~Winter Storm Queen~*~*~

There was a few seconds of silence, before the men erupted into loud roaring cheers. They stomped their boots and thundered their claps; so amazed by their performed gift. Benjen clapped too, his eyes sparkling with pure pride and awe at his big sisters dancing. He'd also never seen such singing before, never imagined one could sing two different songs and have it sound so incredible. Benjen turned to Brandon, mouth open to comment on how amazing they were and- Did he see how well Lyanna danced!?- fell quiet at the strange look Brandon wore.

"Bran?" he frowned.

Brandon looked…sad? Torn? Or perhaps uneasy is the best word to use?

The Stark heir was no longer smiling or flushed red from his ale. Instead, he looked incredibly sober and filled with wary alarm. Brandon darted a quick look to the high table where the House Lords sat, and found them sporting similar expressions. He stared at the men around him cheering wildly and singing praises about the Ladies performance.

When Brandon had suggested they perform, he had never imagined something such as that.

He found his eyes following Anya's every move, from the moment she rose to the way she beamed at her audience.

He struggled to believe it was on purpose.

She couldn't possibly had intended for such a message or fabricated the dance on her own.

Surely, it must be a mistake.

And yet…. The glint of knowing in each and every Lady daughter's eye told him otherwise.

Brandon looked to the high table and once again took note of the disturbed expression they all wore.

All but one.

Only his father remained stoic and unchanged with expression.

"Jealous Stark?" William Dustin smirked as he clapped proudly with the other men.

Brandon regarded the Dustin heir with a low chuckle that ended with a laughing grin. Oh, such a blind fool- all of the men around him as they cheered had no idea to what they'd just witnessed. Still, if William Dustin was too dense to have read the declaration performed, Brandon had no obligations to enlighten the fool.

"Completely envious," he scoffed before drinking more.

Benjen followed after him and tugged at Brandon's tunic with a demanding frown.

"What is it? What did I miss? Why do you have a funny look on your face?" he pestered.

Brandon lowered and whispered close to Benjen's ear, pointing to the wildly cheery men and the smiling ladies.

"Take heed of my words, alright Benjen. Promise to me you'll never forget what I'm to say."

Benjen nodded and swore to the promise.

"Should you ever take a wife, be sure to love her always. Treasure and worship her just as fiercely as the winter storms and wild winds."

"Why?"

"Or she will steal from you your final breath with the help of sweet lures and loyal beasts."

Benjen didn't really understand, but that was okay. He was young but he would never forget Brandon's words. The Stark heir felt much too sober suddenly and he drowned himself in more ale till the urge to laugh could no longer be repressed. He laughed loud and long, laughed until his sides ached.

Women.

So beautiful and yet so deadly.

He stared at the men around him, specifically at William Dustin and laughed harder.

Such idiotic fools who did not see the gift for the threatening message it truly hid.

~*~*~Winter Storm Queen~*~*~

The Northern House Lords could not bring themselves to cheer. They felt deeply disturbed and incredibly…..torn between guilt, pride and anger. They watched their daughters and marveled at their audacity to dance such tales before them.

"Our daughters…. Truly Rickard, what have they become within your home?" Lord Ryswell questioned with implied demand.

All eyes were on the Stark lord, waiting to hear his response.

Rickard looked each and every one of the lords deep in the eye, before speaking.

"The North remembers…and now…..so do they."

It is strange, and perhaps unnerving to see how different the ladies have become during their seven day stay. By all accounts they did nothing but Lady Things, surrounded only by each other with no male gaze to intrude. In what way could needle point, dance, and tea herald such changes?

The performed song spoke of two things.

The first, tragic heartbreak between two lovers not meant to be. A cold woman made of winter who loved a man and pleaded his company in the winter season. He stays and dies as she cannot warm him, so she cries beneath the winter moon.

The second, a fair maiden and a bear who is lured by her sweet honey. They squander over her honey hair until she calls him hers.

But it was the dance that sold to them the true message.

"We cry and we hurt but we chase and we love. We submit to duty, vows, sacrifice and pain. But do not forget that we can chase after hurt and cry after love. Do not forget that we can rise above duty, vows, sacrifice and pain."

Once upon a time, the women of the North had been equal to the men.

Not too different to the wildlings and their spear wives- only more tempered by politics and disciplinary manner.

They had voices of power, wielded weapons to fight and protect.

The men were stronger with a woman by their side, assured their lovers or wives would be their strengths where they are weak. When winter came, it did not care for status, age or gender- it stole and devoured who it pleased.

In current times, such things were easily forgotten.

"Well…..Gods blessings for the fucking reminder Stark," Lord Mormont huffed before he chugged more of his wine.

Rickard let out a short chuckle as the other House lords grumbled in agreement, but generally showed their reluctant acceptance of the reminder. It would take more than a dance and song to fully enforce the practice, but for now the thought would linger for consideration.

A discussion, the house lords agreed to have later.

The politics among men changed entirely when one considered the political games of women.

~*~*~Winter Storm Queen~*~*~

Long after the Farewell Feast came to an end, and the nights lure had spun its spell of sleep; a meeting was set to be held deep within the crypts of Winterfell. The castle torches had begun to dim, most of the help had retired to rest. Only the guarding men and the stray lurker struggling to dream remained wondering about the castle corridors.

Among the shadows, shuffling along the floor of the castle corridors, wandered Anya Stark.

She could barely keep her eyes from shutting but forced herself to keep moving.

Her mind was tired and her body felt heavy.

All Anya wished to do was rest for just a second.

She tripped over her own shuffling and quickly supported herself with the help of the cold stone wall. The freezing sensation woke her and she pressed her sleepy face closer to its chill. She was beyond exhausted but she must stay awake just a little bit longer. If she could just do this last thing, then she could rest for however long- everything would be over.

She repeated this mantra- unaware that she was muttering it loudly to the night as well, until she reached the doors to the crypts. She paused and slapped at her cheeks, pinching them red to wake her mind. She reached into her pockets for the last of her special bitter beans to chew; checking that she'd remembered her gifted pets from Brandon.

"Come on Nya, just a little longer," she mumbled to herself before taking a deep breath and venturing into the crypts.

The walk among her dead ancestors should be disturbing, but Anya only felt at peace. She stared at each statue as she walked, mentally greeting them by name and praying their night be spent well. She didn't believe in ghosts, but she did believe the dead to have ears and ever watching eyes. The torch in her hand provided decent lighting, but even without it she still would have found her way.

Waiting for her in a circle of glowing light were Ladies Maege, Donella, Jonelle and Bethany.

"You came!" Anya blurted, too tired to bother with word games or her mask.

The ladies before her looked equal mixes of amused, surprised and concerned. It was obvious to them the youngest Stark girl was suffering from heavy exhaustion.

"Anya, are you sure you need to see us now? You look beyond tired," Bethany fussed.

"Beyond tired? The little lady looks as if she needs to rest as long as our slumbering audience!" Donella countered with a heavy frown.

"Hornwood's got a point. May their souls rest in peace but Gods please don't take the little lady to their realm of rest" Jonelle lightly added causing Maege to laugh and Donella to glare at her.

But then Anya giggled, the sound a bit delirious and disturbing considering their location. It echoed off the walls and was seemingly devoured by the shadows.

"No-no I *yawn* I've been planning this for so long, it'll be ruined if I don't do it now!" Anya pouted.

The gathered ladies shared wary looks but then gave hesitant nods.

"Well, if you're sure. What is it you wished to discuss?" Maege questioned.

"And why among the dead, if I may inquire?" Jonelle added.

Anya forced herself to straighten and nodded with stubborn determination.

"Follow me deeper and I'll explain."

So they did.

They trailed after the little Lady growing nervous the further they went. Soon they found themselves among a strange collection of Stark statues. It was Bethany who first realized who the statues represented and she gasped with wide eyed marvel. Following her was Maege, while the final two were struck speechless.

The Royal Starks- the Kings and their Queens of old who ruled before Aegon and his wives enforced their rule. Beside each King were large dog looking creatures, which undoubtedly served as representations of the Dire wolves who were said to once bond closely with each Stark King. After Torrehn Stark bent the knee, the creatures had fled beyond the wall and were never to be seen again.

By some unexplained instinct, the ladies felt the need to bow deeply.

Anya, who still faced the statues of her ancestors, did not notice. Too enamored and filled with pride towards her family's history. She touched the feet of one of the statues and then began to speak.

"When I was all but four, my mother brought my sister and I here."

The gathered ladies rose from their bows feeling anxious anticipation and surprise at the sudden personal reveal. Anya again did not notice, lost to the memories of her mother and the happier years of her life.

"She led us to King Torrehn's statue and said nothing. Eventually, Lya grew impatient and began to complain and my mother said….my mother said 'how deeply do you wish to leave?'"

Maege frowned, unsure of where this was leading.

Donella was trying to decipher any possible hidden meanings.

Jonelle wondered about Lyarra Stark, contemplating what the woman might have been thinking at the time.

Bethany stepped forward to stand by Anya's side, offering a silent presence of comfort.

Anya smiled- a smile no one had ever seen her wear before. It was a child's smile filled with grief, a smile that spoke of deep yearning and a lonely heart. Bethany felt her chest ache at spying the expression and took Anya's hand in comfort. Anya held on tightly before turning away from the statue to stare at the gathered ladies.

"Lyanna replied 'Desperately' and my mother let her go. Then it was just the two of us before the statue and she asked me 'Lyanna is gone now Anya, what will you do?'"

"I know now that it was a test, a trial to see if I would follow my sister or stay."

Silence built among them until eventually, Donella broke it with her words.

"And what did you choose?"

Anya giggled again, the sound light like soft bell chimes on the wind.

"I told her that Lya would return because Ned and Bran would chase her back. Until then I would help her with whatever she needed."

Anya fell silent for a few seconds before she faced them evenly with her head high and her back straight.

"It was a trick you see. A lesson I suppose. On her death bed my mother asked me again. 'Lyanna is gone now Anya, what will you do?' and I had no words to give and could only cry."

Something steely, cold and raging like blizzard winds gleamed from the depths of her grey eyes.

"I am not blind to my sister's faults. She struggles greatly but as proven tonight she can become what is needed of her. One day she will sit among you without my presence, and there will be eager eyes watching to see her fall so they may steal her away. I stand before you with a plea, a vow, a sworn song before the gods and my dead ancestors. Help me and I shall help you."

~*~*~Winter Storm Queen~*~*~

Anya wondered to her bed chambers with a giddy smile and a small wrap around her finger.

She had done it.

She collapses into her furs, still dressed and wearing her boots and falls into a deep sleep.

She can rest for however long as today the Lady's Gathering had finally come to an end, and she no longer had to play host.

~*~*~Winter Storm Queen~*~*~

They watched from the shadows as the little Lady and her council of women dispersed back to their rooms. Their cheeks stretched wide with impressed glee and amusement. It was easy enough to sneak into the crypts and seek out the ritual bowl filled with bloodied items of sacrifice. They took note of the lace lining from the Little lady, the pebbled rock from Jonelle Cerwyn, Bethany Ryswell's handkerchief, Donella Hornwood's hair ribbon and Maege Mormont's bear pendant.

"Six little maidens gathered round a bowl, bled and blessed by the powers old. A vow sworn to protect and aid, a song of ice to feast and freeze. When the touch of fire threatens to spread and so return the walking dead, the vow will face its final test- to see who shall walk and live."

They did not startle when flames came to life on the abandoned torches, only snickered with glee. The statues of dead Stark's seemed to gleam with life for a brief second. Then, with a start the bowl burst into flames but the items did not burn. Instead they seemed to freeze until the fire became smothered and the bowl was frozen solid.

They cackled among the dead as they were plunged into sudden darkness.

Soon, their debt to their late lady would be paid. But truth be told they have grown fond of the little lady and her actions so far. They feel a lingering presence and grin widely barring their teeth in the dark.

"ānogar hen ābrar mīsio hen ābrar" they whisper and the torches burn once more.

The blood of women, protectors of life spilled before the dead and blessed by the gods.

They look down at the bowl and find the objects exactly as it was before they'd touched it.

They return everything to how it was and leave the crypts, feeling the eyes of the dead Stark's follow them all the way.

It is done.

They return to report to the broken lord and he looks at them with cold expectation.

"The little lady has won herself a council. The gods have seen it blessed."

Rickard Stark breathes heavily through his nose and feels relief grip at his insides.

At least, that is one thing he no longer needs to fear.