The Wicked Witch of the North

by Cervantes Diderot

Fairer a tale could not have been written regarding that day when Robb Stark broke a maiden free of her chains. Though most tales are lies, and Shiera Seastar is no maiden needing rescue. She is a politician with a tongue like a knife, a sorceress with knowledge as dark as earth, and a talent for turning everything into a weapon. The Starks are mere pawns in her game of chess.

8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Not Just a Cock with a Title (Part One).

Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by George R. R. Martin, or his publishing company, or HBO.

OOOO

Robb Stark longed to ride free of Winterfell's walls. To be free of the dreary accounting which sat in front of him. Instead he simply stood to peer from the window of his own personal solar. With the new responsibilities the young man had taken charge of it had grown necessary to have a study. Especially after his mother had caught sight of the mounds of papers which had swallowed his chambers two years prior. Basking in the sunlight the Stark heir peered outwards at the lands of his ancestors. Those very lands he would someday soon be expected to manage.

Of course, that did not mean he was not already playing a grand role in helping his father with the task. An incredibly massive one at that. In the three years since Lady Seastar had left for her southerly keep, more of a palace in truth, the Northern economy suffered an incomprehensible boom. First had been the completion of the roads. An overflow of Smallfolk became better enabled to pursue the selling of their wares in more competitive markets such as White Harbor. Quality of product rose to heights never before seen by any in the sprawling kingdom. A merchant class was beginning to form, and with it came a rich flow of trade. No longer were the Starks and their vassals forced to lay claim to haphazardly stitched wool, or mottled steel. The best each corner of the North had to offer was now easily traded elsewhere leading to an increased interest from merchants all over the world. Essos, Westeros, the Summer Isles, and even from as far as Quarth they travelled to capitalize on the suddenly unrestricted, less-isolated economy.

The other components of the suddenly explosive growth were much more incrimentalized steps however. First had been the connection of Flint's Cliff to White Harbor which also included the Neck. A swampy region that once barely supported itself let alone contributed much at all in taxes was suddenly quite wealthy indeed. The Reed's enjoyed a monopoly on their exotic goods which could hardly be found elsewhere. Above Greywater Watch sat Moat Cailin which had been partially repaired. The basalt curtain stood tall once more, and four towers rose high in the air while the remainder stretched a bit higher with each lucrative raid that passed Beyond-the-Wall. After that came the establishment of a port at Barrowton. While not much of a change at first, at least not when compared to the Manderlys, the Dustins opened vital trade with the Reach, Lannisport, and Dorne. They also kept an eye over House Stark's westerly fleet of twenty-five war galleys.

Much closer to the Wall things were changing at a rapid pace. At Kingshouse, the seat of House Magnar, a wooden port had been constructed. Of course with all of the expensive timber that was supplied to the Free Cities from the Wall Lord Magnar was allegedly planning on crafting one from stone. While House Magnar focused on building ships for both the Starks, and the Rogare Bank, his vassals prospered in production of trade. Obsidian blades, rich pelts, and a thriving Unicorn trade funneled much into the formerly impoverished coffers of Skagos. Of course, the Umbers benefited greatly from their new marriage alliances and were trading fabrics at an increasingly competitive pace.

West of the Stoneborn, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea now possessed an intimidating fleet of slightly more than two-hundred longships. A frequent contingent of Northern soldiers meant that the Watch now was able to launch devastating surprise attacks against the Wildlings resulting in a mass exodus westwards. Of course, they had already been coalescing beneath a turncloak named Mance Rayder and the increased skirmishes only lent the man more support. Unfortunately for this King-Beyond-the-Wall the Starks had implemented powerful new policies. The Order of the North swelled violently across the lands ensuring the King's laws were enforced for the first time in history. Several bloody battles had left the Order with many swathes of new ground. Which included rich mines, crops, settlements full of trinkets, and forests of Weirwoods to confiscate. House Stark took such a large profit from these ventures alone that little direction was given to Marlon Manderly who headed the organization.

Every one of the eighteen postings on the Wall were firmly garrisoned at all times leading to a great decrease in Wildling raids. Beneath Benjen Stark's leadership much had changed in a short period of time. While the Order and the rotational contingents supplemented the Watch he was free to deal with the unsavoury amongst his ranks. Corruption was punished harshly which meant that he could pursue what had turned out to be a very… Radical approach to dealing with the Free Folk. Many came to the Wall after they were caught on the wrong side of the Order's encroaching barricades. Begging for mercy former Lord Commanders certainly would not have provided. In a break with tradition Robb's uncle allowed all surrendering Wildlings to resettle the New Gift on two conditions. Children were to stay at the Wall as hostages after their parents bent the knee in King Robert's name.

Land was broken, tilled, and put to good use as the masses of thousands of broken refugees kept their former enemies fed. In another extreme development the Lord Commander managed to capture what remained of the dwindling species Beyond-the-Wall. In addition to Unicorns which had been disseminated largely across the North once more there were soon increasing populations of other rare beasts. Aurochs grew the fastest of the new additions. Providing more milk or meat than any cow ever could have. Giant Elk were large enough to feed a village, of which there were now many, on the Old Gift for days. They also feasted upon twigs which was far more efficient than sparing grain on horse labour. Finally were those few mammoths that had been captured so far, only a mere fifty of them. Each produced enough fertilizer to feed more than a hundred men come winter time. Though they were slow to repopulate. In those three years the numbers were only just barely over one-hundred-fifty.

He stared firmly at the most recent reports upon his desk. With change also came new problems. Upon Lady Seastar's insistence silver deposits had been found in the lands of the mountain clans. At least, some of them found silver while others either found tin, copper, iron, all of the four, nothing at all, and in some rare cases, gold. Certainly nowhere near what the Lannisters had beneath their belt, but any gold within the North was an important discovery nonetheless. Lord Norrey had the largest quantity of silver and iron in his high mountains. Torghen Flint meanwhile managed to lay claim to what were not entirely unremarkable deposits of gold and thrice as much copper. House Wull already resented that it was no longer the wealthiest of the clans without the matter of the First Men immigrants.

Many of the more rambunctious of the Vale's raiders had been put to the sword. What remained, at least ten-thousand men, women, and children, had sworn themselves to the Starks prior to being resettled alongside the culturally similar Northern clans. Needless to say the majority of these reformed savages were sent to supplement the region's new mining centers. This all meant that House Wull no longer could call itself the strongest of the clans either given the influx of new warriors. Every further report of land encroachments and minor skirmishes caused by the formerly dominant Wulls troubled Robb. He worried often that a change in leadership would come to pass.

To the east trouble brewed as well where the Karstarks and Boltons had united in clashing against the Umbers rising prominence. Furthermore, the two Houses were bitterly opposed to relations with Skagos and the Wildlings whom the Umbers had forged many new ties. Concerningly enough Alys Karstark had been betrothed for a brief period of time to Domeric Bolton until the heir of the Dreadfort suffered his terrible sickness. Further compounding the deepening crisis was that the Boltons and Karstarks had grown disconnected from Winterfell in the previous century. Manipulating them into marriages with their new foes could not be arranged as easily as had been done with the Umbers.

Then much further south, well away from the North rose another threat. Pirates had been drawn like flies to honey by the Sunset Canal. Trade boomed as Essosi merchants flocked from the Saltpans all the way to Seagard, and either on to Blackcrown, the burgeoning port of Barrowton, or Lannisport. Then they would flock back out of the heavily controlled gates only to be set upon by the savages of the uncontrolled Stepstones. The piracy was not limited to the Bay of Crabs. Gulltown had sent reports of daring attacks just within the view of their watchtowers. Most daring of all had been a terrifying report from the Sisters two years earlier. A ferocious pack of brigands and sell sails had landed at the new, ramshackle, timber ports on the three islands established by Jon Arryn to promote trade relations with White Harbor. The attack was now referred to as the Second Rape. Sweetsister had been brutalized viciously, while half of Littlesister was razed to the ground. Only Longsister managed to remain unscathed.

Since then the Order of the Weirwood had been withdrawn from aiding in raids Beyond-the-Wall in favour of setting sail for the Stepstones. With Robert Baratheon's reluctant permission three-quarters of the North's easterly fleet which had fifty war galleys was sent away. Jon Arryn sent forty of his own sixty war galleys along as well with twice the number of men spared by House Stark. In a strong show of support Hoster Tully had ordered five of the ten galleys located in the port of Maidenpool to join the bitter crusade. Robb often read reports with a fear that one of the Free Cities would start another war over Westeros's sudden presence on the islands. Especially given House Stark's connection to House Rogare, as well as the fact that they had provided the Lyseni Bank with a fleet of two-hundred ships. Fortunately no such conflict had yet to rear its ugly head.

Having only just finished his sums the young Lord sipped at a goblet of wine which had been delivered with his meager lunch. Matters of diplomatic and political sensitivity often gave him an upset stomach. "Robb!" Arya burst within the modestly sized solar from her own study a floor below. Since Lady Seastar had left Winterfell to pursue her own interests, and Sansa began to travel much more frequently their Lord father had delegated them both much of the responsibilities left behind.

Robb had become an overseer to his father's economic affairs while Arya worked on many of her own projects. The now twelve-year-old girl had initiated her own 'Order of the Rose'. Young women all over the North with no families were given the opportunity to learn to fight with steel. Their Lord father had only supported it so that the Smallfolk would have more societal structure when the men were away fighting Wildlings. So for several months each year the conscripts journeyed to either Winterfell, Greywater Watch, or Bear Island where they were, at the very least, given an idea of how to properly utilize weapons. When that training season was not in session Arya was sent to various Northern settlements to examine the progress made by Lady Seastar's team of engineers. Almost every keep, excepting the Dreadfort and Karhold of course, now had shelters that could be used during increasingly colder weather patterns. Already survival rates were rising at a jaw-dropping rate.

"Arya," He gestured to the piles of papers on his desk, "I am busy with my sums."

A frown marred the Stark maiden's face in response. She had grown quite lovely in the prior three years. Following Arya's recent travel to deal with another case of discord amongst the Mountain Clans the Norrey heir had ridden all the way to Winterfell begging for her hand in marriage. Robb had never been prouder than when his wild, hot-blooded little sister scarred the man's cheek with the sword that now seemed to always be strapped about her waist. 'Tell your friends not to simper to my father for my hand in marriage ever again,' She had proclaimed, 'I am no broodmare to be sold to the highest bidder.' Brown locks swirled agitatedly about her waist as the young Lady placed both hands upon her silk-clad hips.

Odd, Robb thought to himself suddenly, that his little sister was not yet dressed in her riding clothes. Every morning the girl would go for a ride upon the fine stallion gifted to her by Jonelle Cerwyn when she last journeyed to Stallion's Brook. "I am so sorry to interrupt your musings of salt, fish, and the Barren Shore." With that she tossed a pile of wrinkled parchments before him on the desk.

"Arya," He reached for the documents, "Do you understand what we could accomplish if the Stony Shore were sufficiently utilized? Salt deposits do not just mean more trade for Blackcrown. It means that our fishermen can preserve larger quantities of what they catch. Such an influx of food into the westerly stores could let us survive a year more in winter at the least-."

"Read the letters," She sighed, interrupting him before slipping into the seat opposite.

Annoyed at her disinterest in such an exciting prospect he did as bidden. Jon was writing to them from the Summer Isles. When he had begun to express an interest in joining the Night's Watch, Lady Seastar had convinced their father to send him away on a pivotal mission. Forging new trade alliances and searching for ways to bolster their production levels during winter. He often wrote Arya of the things to be seen in Essos though Robb did not care much to read of them. The Stark heir bitterly resented being denied an opportunity to see the world. Setting it aside he scanned a letter from Bran who had been sent to Fairmarket to squire with their Uncle Brynden. Somehow the Great Bastard managed to convince their father to send the boy away to forge important connections with Houses in the Vale. He doubted if his Lady mother had ever forgiven the Great Bastard for it.

Then came something quite important. "Are you sure? Absolutely certain this came from our uncle?" He hissed aloud.

"Yes. Maester Luwin said he broke the seal of the Night's Watch." Arya answered with grey eyes that did not glint. She clearly recognized as well that this was nothing to be trifled with. Robb's blood coursed in his ears as he propped his face into both hands. "How will we deal with the Boltons and Karstarks Robb? They will surely riot in response to such news." He nodded slowly at that. Wildlings were one thing to allow south of the Wall. Hostages could be taken to effectively control the masses of them that flowed through every day. For nine giants and a dozen skinchangers to be allowed into the North was no better than to cry out for trouble.

"We can only be grateful that he had the giants chained, and the skinchangers locked in boxes. The only question is whether they will truly bend the knee to father." He could see the benefits, of course, if this were to be pulled off. Robb remembered how long it had taken for the Sunset Canal to be completed only to imagine how rapidly eight giants might have expedited the process. The Skinchangers perhaps could be put use as well. Unfortunately Roose Bolton was a cold, calculating man. He would doubtlessly be able to see beyond the Stark army growing even more engorged with Wildling defectors.

Any further dialogue was interrupted by the sound of the gates to Winterfell opening. "She is here!" Arya jumped up to sweep elegantly towards the window. "We were not expecting her to arrive for another three days!" He followed at a measured pace to note that, indeed, the banners quartered by black bats and direwolves were flapping within the wind. Robb smiled despite the nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps his sister could help provide insight on how they would be able to best quell the growing unease in the northeast. Following closely behind Arya they arrived in the courtyard only to find their fifteen-year-old sister embracing their parents.

"Robb, Arya!" Sansa smiled prior to flinging herself at them as though she were still just a daughter of Lord Stark, and not the Lady of Harrenhal. Since having first been declared as such she had fallen into a tight migratory pattern. Spending only so much time at Winterfell helping to devise clever ways to pay back the Rogares only to travel back to Harrenhal to relieve her steward of his duties. None of them resented her for it, as Shiera's settlement depended heavily on a close alliance with the formerly royal seat. Beneath Sansa's capable administrative prowess a surplus of crops poured endlessly from the rich lands around the God's Eye into the Great Bastard's thriving city. Of course, from what news Winterfell received it seemed that the young woman had been focusing quite a bit lately on making gradual repairs to Harrenhal. Given that the settlement was now becoming a quasi-city after the success of her recent ventures.

She stooped gracefully to kiss the top of Rickon's head as he toddled over from his lessons with Maester Luwin. A mischievous smile lit her bright blue eyes as a servant carrying a crate was beckoned over. Part of the girl's lucrative position in the south meant that she now travelled with an expansive retinue of knights, guardsmen, servants, and as always, her Ladies-in-Waiting. "We were travelling up the Kingsroad when Jeyne stumbled across a great oddity." Sansa stepped away from Rickon to coo gently into the box as it was lowered onto the cobbles. "A Direwolf was gored to death by a stag, yet what was truly unusual was that she managed to whelp after dying." In a short few moments the Riverine beauty was handing Direwolf pups to her siblings. "Five of them," Sansa lied, even though there were six, perhaps to avoid upsetting their mother, "For each of your children, father."

"Absolutely not!" Their Lady mother was understandably horrified at the prospect of her children having anything to do with such dangerous animals.

"Father!" Arya complained, "We will feed them, and train them ourselves! If we can handle unease amongst the Mountain Clans we can certainly handle the sigil of our House!"

The Lord of Winterfell stared sternly at them all as his daughter's retinue dissolved into the castle. "You will swear to respect these beasts," He intoned firmly, "As well as to ensure that they are properly trained. Direwolves are the sort of creature that will rip a man's arm off if he is a cruel master." Each of them did as bidden, even Sansa despite the relative independence provided by her powerful position. "Tell Bran as well," The man said, "When you have his delivered to him in the Riverlands." Sansa nodded, as Robb smiled fondly down at his own pup. For a blessed moment he allowed himself to forget all about the coming strife that approached from the Wall.

Only, he did not realize that the true danger approached from the south on beating, black wings.

OOOO

Catelyn Stark often felt less than whole. Her beloved Bran away in the Riverlands with the only comfort being that Uncle Brynden was looking after him. Robb and Arya scurrying about the North at every gust of wind. Sansa spent more than half-the-year away at Harrenhal which was much less comforting. How many of the occupants of that cursed fortress had died? Would Sansa share the same fate, or would it be her own grandsons many years after her death? Firmly, though, the woman put these thoughts from her mind. Sansa was here now, and their time together could be wasted under no circumstances.

The pair of them sat inside of the room where Septa Mordane had so often held the girl's sewing lessons. Tully-blue eyes smiled fondly at how her daughter still seemed to so greatly enjoy lemon cakes. "I should stop," The new Lady of Harrenhal said after her third. "One of my suitors had many lemon trees planted in the orchards of Harrenhal. I will grow fat all too quickly now." Catelyn had been unsurprised to hear tale of the lavish gifts thrusted upon her daughter by various suitors. The girl was more beautiful than she had ever been. Taller, hair as bloody as weirsap, ivory skin, with eyes that seemed to match the colour of the Narrow Sea on a sunny day. Sansa was also one of the most desirable maidens Westeros had to offer now. Only just behind Myrcella Baratheon. An unmarried Lady of what was apparently turning once more into the greatest fortress ever constructed by mankind. Daughter of Eddard Stark, granddaughter of Hoster Tully, and cousin of Robin Arryn now that Jon had died.

"A new suitor?" She reached over to tickled her daughter's wrist playfully as the young beauty shrunk away in response. There had been the Prince of a wealthy province in Yi Ti who gifted her with a magnificent chasset of imperial jade jewelry. A Qartheen merchant that lavished upon her the finest silks whenever he passed through the Sunset Canal to Lannisport. A year's supply of pear brandy from some Tyroshi trading master. Frequent supplies of rich spices from a Pentoshi Magister allegedly smitten with her eldest daughter's intelligence. Most startling had been an Astapori slave trader paying a pretty coin for Harrenhal's Ghost Tower and the accompanying ruinous Sept to be rebuilt.

"Ser Deziel Dalt of Lemonwood," Sansa smiled wearily, "His father presumably heard how enamored I am with lemon cakes. Naturally he sent his heir to gift me with an orchard of their finest lemon trees." She nodded somewhat to herself, "I fear Ser Dalt was more impressed with me than I with him." Long fingers twisted in a jitterish manner against one another. "My focus is on repairing Harrenhal as much as I can. Lady Seastar has been sending generous funds every month to help with the construction costs to repay me for all of the men I leant her. In fact, I must discuss with Robb during my stay whether a trade can be made for weirwood lumber from Beyond-the-Wall."

"Why must you repair Harrenhal at all, sweetling?" Catelyn rarely discussed her daughter's ambitions. They usually focused on the matter of Sansa's many suitors as the Lady of Winterfell attempted to ascertain whom her daughter would one day wed. "The Whents did perfectly well with what they had."

"The Riverlands are booming, mother, like you never could have imagined during your childhood. Thousands of immigrants have flooded grandfather's lands. Harrenhal is not only the one castle sufficiently landed to produce enough food for so many people, but to house enough workers as well." She stared firmly at her mother's concerned face. "I am in a position to help the North continue to prosper. Should the Sunset Canal prompt any more economic stimulation it will only allow Winterfell to collect more in taxes from Blackcrown."

"I must tell you that I worry over the Dustins, Sansa. Your brother has proven himself quite capable in tiding much of the growing disparities in the North. If the Dustins began to rebel I fear it might be far too much for him to manage." The Lady of House Stark admitted this all somewhat guiltily.

"Brother has already written me with such concerns, mother. We plan to send Jocelyn Dustin to White Harbor where she will be wedded to Wendel Manderly. Not only will both ports be united, but the Manderlys are strong enough to keep Lady Barbrey's ambitions in check. Especially with both of the Dustins being our hostages in all-but-name." Now it was the young beauty who reached across the table to reassuringly grasp at her mother's hand. "Robb has grown clever. He has a good head on his shoulders, and a desire to do right by the Smallfolk. Support him, mother. Put your full faith in him if you wish for the North to truly prosper." Sansa's lips tightened, "Especially since father will no longer be here to do soon enough."

"There is no other choice Sansa," The topic twisted like a weathervane, "Your father cannot say no to such an offer from the King. You of all my children should best understand how much wealth we gained from Lysa's marriage to a Hand."

"King's Landing is no place for a Stark," The young woman disagreed firmly, standing to stare out the window.

"That is absurd," Catelyn contradicted, "You have been living in Harrenhal for more than two years at least. Nothing bad has happened."

"My grandfather is also a Lord of Riverrun. I have Riverlord blood running through my veins, nor do I ever dare venture beyond those lands." The Lady of Harrenhal disagreed, "Father is a full-blooded Stark. He has no place living south of the Neck. Alongside the likes of Petyr Baelish and Cersei Lannister." She spun back fully gaze at her mother. "Please do not encourage him to do this mother. The realm will prosper just as well beneath Tywin Lannister. I have bought him off once, and it can surely be done again."

"Your Aunt Lysa says they poisoned Jon Arryn, Sansa," Catelyn reminded her firmly, "We cannot just allow such people to take control of the throne."

"You might not have heard such whispers, mother," Sansa rebutted again, stubborn as a bull, "But Aunt Lysa is hardly a reputable source. She still breastfeeds your nephew though he is six years old! I have heard that our new Lady of the Vale is paranoid by scores."

"Whispers seep from King's Landing like it was built to harbor ill-will," Lady Stark dismissed the slander easily, "Where it originates from does not lend such vile words any credence, however."

A horrified expression flashed across the girl's face as she squared off against the woman who birthed her. "Continue to encourage father in this madness as you already have at your own risk. He is not suited at all for the south, especially not King's Landing. I am certain Lady Shiera will help me in convincing him of such when she arrives to Winterfell." With a painfully formal curtsey Sansa uttered her final words, "Thank you for the lemon cakes Lady Stark. I find myself unsettled by the sudden chill of these chambers, and must take my leave." Without waiting for a response her eldest daughter fled to presumably begin dissuading her father.

Standing tall, Catelyn allowed her feet to carry her elsewhere. Mindlessness was the way she escaped the dread of constantly fretting over her two children who were very far away. Such worries often led to the realization that Rickon would soon be gone to squire like Bran had. This pain the Lady of Winterfell felt today was much worse though. Sometimes it was as though Sansa were no longer her child, not of her womb. Like the girl who had so easily been tucked into bed to tales of Aemon the Dragonknight was gone forever. With a sigh the woman found herself suddenly standing in a very strange place. Overlooking the training yards of Winterfell.

Her daughter's Order of the Rose had drawn the ire of many Northern Lords. Still, that did not mean it failed to bloom. Slightly under three-thousand maidens had been circulated throughout Arya's tutelage at Winterfell, and that of the Mormont women on their outpost of Bear Island. Of course, most of the maidens were from the far North of House Stark's lands. The more southerly bannermen refused to even allow Arya a foothold upon their Smallfolk. "What do you think, mother?" The girl appeared beside Catelyn without any pronouncement. "That is two-hundred women learning to fend for themselves in winter. It is interesting how my Stark forefathers complained about low survival rates, about how the population could never grow. When they denied our women the proper tools for survival."

"The North can be a harsher place than the south," Catelyn was not too proud to admit her prejudices against female warriors had been incorrect. With little more than the Mormonts, Meera Reed, and several hardened Northmen like Rodrik Cassel, Arya had managed to create a threatening force. "With the increase of pirate raids on our coasts it is highly justifiable that more maidens be summoned to Winterfell so they may benefit from such tutelage." Indeed, as the trade flowing from the North, Vale, and Riverlands grew richer the pirates had been attracted by droves. Unfortunately there were no more Wildlings to be snatched from the Eastern side of the Wall. Many young women had been captured in daring raids from Skagos all the way down to White Harbor.

"I wish to have three-thousand more trained by the time winter comes," Arya declared. Catelyn noted how her daughter was not dressed in breeches, but a dress. She was becoming enough of a beauty to rival Sansa or Shiera Seastar, though in an entirely different sort of way. The youngest Stark daughter grew further with each day into a shocking replica of Lyanna. A Wolf Maiden who did whatever she wanted even when told no. The twelve-year-old's mother wagered a decent sum that Arya would wind up in just as powerful of a position as her sister. Both of them had shaped up into cunning Northern Ladies with no hesitance to exploit their ties to the south.

"How? Lords Ryswell, Manderly, Bolton, Karstark, and Lady Dustin have already forbidden you from attempting such a thing in their lands. I do not see how you could add that many Blue Roses to your ranks." Blue Roses were the unofficial nickname for maidens whom Arya had trained in the ways of steel.

"Alysanne Mormont will be stationed on Skane which has been uninhabited since the Feast. Lord Magnar wrote me a letter in which he stated his full support for the Order of the Rose. Many women in Skagos are warriors who will prove capable instructors. The Umbers in turn have finally agreed to send several hundred of their willing women away for training." An excited breath, "I am going to send Meera Reed back to Greywater Watch. Her father now has much more influence from the new trade routes over Flint's Finger and can therefore convince the region to allow full participation. Now for what would undoubtedly be a surprise. "Sansa has already agreed to host a southerly Order of the Rose in the Riverlands. Shiera certainly will also."

Catelyn wondered just how her fellow Rivermen would react to their daughters taking up arms. "Red Roses," She jested, yet without much humour to her tone. Arya silently contemplated the surprisingly apt name whilst moving to lean against the railing next to her mother. The pair of Stark women watched as maidens became warriors.

Neither of them quite aware that they would soon have to make the same plunge.

OOOO

Val had had no choice in who her sister was stolen by. No woman typically had a say in such matters. She herself had managed to steal Jarl before someone else could do the same to her. That had been foolish to think that such a fate could be avoided though. Mance Rayder had become King-Beyond-The-Wall, and Val wound up bound just as tightly to him as Dalla. Things started slowly enough. Warring tribes coming together beneath his words, defiant rival kings falling to his sword. The Wildling would defend her pregnant sister to the bitter end, but what that end was exactly was the crux of the problem.

Any Wildlings who had lived west of the Haunted Forest had suffered one of three fates. Slaughtered like lambs, escorted to settle the lands guarded by the Watch at an immense cost, or driven to the Frostfangs where Mance's army coalesced. Val often wondered when the Order of the North, as they styled themselves, would deal the final blow. Word was that twenty-five ships from a port called Blackcrown sailed towards them. In addition to Bear Island's hundred strong fleet of longships there would certainly be a wholloping soon. Shivering in the darkness the beautiful woman leant against a rock of the deep valley which had been secured. Bruised eyes bespoke of a recently lost battle while the bandaged slash on her neck told of a barely escaped death.

Lucky. That was what the men called her after she escaped the ensuing fever. Jarl had not been nearly so lucky. Speared into the frozen earth by a Manderly knight's lance. The blood which trickled from his lips. How his eyes grew cooler than the winter which surrounded the Frostfangs. "Your lips tighten. Why child?" She spun to face an unwelcome sight. A pale witch from the heart of winter. They had ventured nearer to the Lands of Always Winter with every recent battle. No one truly lived within the inhospitable region, or at least no known peoples did. There was however a tribe of witches who lived within the outskirts. They stole Thenns every so often to keep their dismal numbers steady. Keeping to whatever horrors they were working at the moment while everyone else steered well clear.

"Will you call me a child, I wonder," Steel-blue eyes flashed dangerously, "When my dagger has carved your cunt out like a shellfish?" Hoping to intimidate the strange envoy Val used her height advantageously. Towering whilst glowering at the intruder. She was paler than snow. Her head lacked any hair whilst her body was crisscrossed with asymmetrical tattoos. No rhyme, pattern, or reason to the markings at all except to mutilate any former beauty to death.

"The Master of Glaciers sent me to summon you. He must convey important matters." Unnaturally black eyes flickered towards the fire. "Things that are not for the ears of others."

"I want no part in-." Val began until two more figures appeared from the shadows. She realized her mistake. They had lured her away from the party of drunken Free Folk. Now a dear price would have to be paid.

"You have no choice in the matter," A hiss marked this declaration, as red powder was blown into her startled face. Sleep followed soon after. For what could have only been several hours Val was stuck in her own mind. Unable to fight back, or summon any help.

Carried off to dangerous lands explored only by the insane and the damned.

OOOO

Robb sat within the fine armchair of his chambers. Fire roaring in the hearth behind him illuminating the newest letters perfectly. Jon's letter was worn from annotations, the heir always made himself read them anyways, far too intrigued to let envy win. The Northern bastard had arrived to Qarth a month earlier and spoke of a daring notion indeed. With his small, yet fearsome, contingent of the Order of the Weirwood Jon was planning to venture to Sothoryos. The Lord was not inclined to disagree with his brother risking such a venture. Proudly, though jealously hidden within Robb's desk, were all of Jon's prior letters. If he were to be believed House Stark would soon have its very own Corlys Velaryon. An invaluable asset in forming far away trade alliances no Stark had ever before dreamed of.

He was pleased to have convinced his father to 'exile' Jon away on such grand undertakings. Upon returning from the Riverlands Robb had listened to his brother sigh incessantly about joining the Night's Watch. Undoubtedly due to some ill-conceived notion impressed upon him by the spiteful Lady of Winterfell. Now it seemed that Jon Snow was more than worthy of building a House for himself in the North, though the question was where. Already Robb plotted to surprise Arya with the fertile lands of Sea Dragon Point. She would be tasked with overseeing shipbuilding in the region to counteract the Dustin's westerly power. The move would also lend his youngest, sword-wielding sister much needed marriageability such as Sansa now possessed.

That left the lands of the Gift which grew thicker with Wildlings each passing day. A Stark would be needed soon enough to permanently oversee conflicts between the former Free Folk and House Bolton. Robb would convince his father to legitimize the bastard, have him wedded to either an Umber, Karstark, or Skaggosson, and title him Lord Protector of the lands of the New Gift. He knew his Lady mother would be outraged, so plans were already in order to someday grant Rickon the slowly developing fortress of Stoney Shore. Cley Cerwyn, serving as temporary Castellan as a favour to the House that wedded his sister off, had taken to calling it the Stoney Horn for the distinct shape of the rising walls. There Rickon would one day rule with his soon-to-be-betrothed, the three-year-old Osira Magnar. After he warded somewhere other than the North, of course.

Already Robb feared the battle that would ensue between himself and his mother at these ideas. They argued quite often nowadays as she increasingly attempted to undermine his ambitions. Growing weary at the conversations which needed to take place before his father left for King's Landing he stroked at the sleeping Direwolf in his arm. Frostfang had been a simple enough name to choose. After the mountains his new pet undoubtedly hailed from, as well as the mountains Robb often hoped the Order of the North would soon conquer. Rattling in his wrist were words from Shiera Seastar scrawled in her lovely script. Half-broken was the seal she had daringly chosen for herself. A mismatched dragon of green and blue wax.

'My young Lord Stark,

I fear I should not refer to you as such any longer. Already I hear what you have accomplished in my absence. How not only Winterfell's coffers, but those of your vassals as well, grow large enough to rival even King's Landing's wealth. It is my intention to travel North by ship for the King's visit to Winterfell. Not to witness his swine of a Grace totter about while those far cleverer than himself make the decisions. No, I must speak with you urgently. Meet my host in White Harbor within a week's time. Alone. A large party of Stark retainers would surely draw unwanted attention from Lord Manderly.

Lady Seastar, of Trident's Gate.

He wondered what such words entailed whilst settling Frostfang upon the end of his large bed. Stripping down Robb Stark slipped beneath the silky, Essosi sheets whilst imagining how much more beautiful Lady Shiera could have grown in the past three years. Unaware of the tumultuous impact her visit would have upon the course of his life.

OOOO

It was late. Though Sansa did not care much for the ticking of her hourglass which was filled with ruby sands from Essos. No matter how heavy her eyelids grew the girl intended to stay awake until her goal was accomplished. "Prick of the thumb," She punctured the soft flesh for what was certainly the hundredth time. "Lock of maiden's hair," Another small snippet of red was sliced into the wooden bowl. "Sweat from the brow," A swipe of her shiny forehead's perspirants were flicked expertly downwards. "Virgin whore's tears," The precious vial was tipped atop the concoction. Setting it aside Sansa Stark reached for the odd ingredient. Cinnamon, milk, and red rose petals as always. A candle was tipped after some hard liquor from her personal stores of Harrenhal had been sprinkled atop the concoction.

Flames billowed gutteringly from within the charred bowl prior to dying down when she lifted her pestle into the air. The atmosphere of her chambers seemed to grow heavier. Colder as well. Sansa smiled while adjusting her cloak so that it guarded against the sudden, yet very welcome, chill. With those long fingers she elegantly picked up a second bowl containing a viscous blue liquid. Wasting no time the girl mixed the contents together prior to slipping across the room. Smiling down at where the Direwolves rested on the bed of rich, Myrish silks. First was her true companion, the delicate little wolf with bright eyes. Trustingly the second smallest of the litter began to lap neatly at the concoction. As her feast became more feverish the reluctant, albino runt joined her.

"You were not meant for me, not at all," Sansa Stark stroked fondly at the runt's pearly coat, "But I need you more than Jon Snow ever did." Blue eyes glanced out the window to where the Northern lands stretched for many miles. "Phantom. Dream." She whispered, "Those will be your names." Young, inexperienced, and unschooled as she was the Red Rose of Winterfell failed to notice the hearth behind her. How within the flames twisted an unidentifiable form. Forces still yet beyond her awareness or control hungrily observed such early experimentations with sorcery.

The Three-Eyed Raven wondered how his former lover would respond to her champion having embraced his gifts with so decided a response.

OOOO

Next Chapter: Not Just a Cock with a Title (Part Two).