The chill of the snow slowly seeps through the many layers of thick clothing she has on as she runs through it and deeper still into the forest of black barked leafless trees covered with a pearly white cover over their canopies. The snow has already soaked completely through the bottom of her woollen dress, turning it from a vibrant burgundy red into a dark rusty brown colour. It is only minutes before she comes to the edge of the forest and in the distance she can see the warm glow of hearths within the homes of people in the mountain and the faint orange glow of the massive fires that ever burn in the forges in the mountain's heart. It is only a short way now before she is at the mountain gate.

As a smile breaks on her face, she quickens her steps and practically flies down the hill and into the mouth of the mountain gate.

She passes the familiar colossal arches of midnight black stone, the various creatures carved onto them watching over the entrance to the Black Mountain, home of the Manalis family. The path from there on is like breathing for the young girl and her feet lead her through the maze of corridors and passages until she reaches the middle level where the city of Ashbourne is located on four different terraces all carved out in the mountain, going deeper and branching within its belly. Weaving her way amongst the crowd of local residents, guests and traveling merchants, she locates the road of silver cobblestone that leads to the upper level where the ruling family and their court were located.

At the end of the road stands a carved out face of a castle of palatial proportions, with tall arched windows of coloured glass that depicts various events from the family history, legends or distinguished family members, and a set of stairs of dark grey stone that lead to a massive weirwood door with a heavy black steel frame set in an arch of two Phoenix birds. It was one of the most beautiful features of the entire fortress city of Frogehammer.

Creaking the door open, the young girl sneaks her way in, closing it as quietly as possible behind her in fear that her parents and/or one of the servants would hear her. She tiptoes her way through the halls to the stone stairway leading to the Lord and Lady Manalis children's chambers in the south wing.

Proud of her skills of stealth, she casually walks down the wide hallway, letting her boots create a light thumping sound. It is not long before she starts thumping her feet in an upbeat rhythm, practically dancing her way to her room where she quickly washes her hands and face of any trace of mud and changes into a fresh midnight blue dress underneath which she wears black leather breeches and boots and brushes her scarlet hair out.

With her hair loose and in fresh new clothes, Ryssa Manalis exits her room and makes for the dining hall in the west wing.

...

A dinner in the Manalis family would never be complete without a pointless argument or just plain silliness. No different was the case of this dinner. Despite the family currently having visitors in the form of Lord Eddard Stark and his eldest son Robb, the rambunctious pack of Manalis children had it in their minds to start arguing once again- gods only knew what in the world it was this time.

Lord Rafario Manalis rubbed at his auburn beard while releasing a sigh before turning to his guests seated to the right of him at the long table. "I severely apologize for any indiscretions from the side of my children, my lord," he spoke in an apologizing tone while his black eyes occasionally strayed to his wild children who seemed to by only moments from starting to fling food at each other. "They are a wild bunch."

Lord Stark offered him a friendly smile. "I completely understand. I have a few of my own wild wolves at home as well. They make life that much more interesting."

Little Robb Stark was, to his own misfortune, seated between two of Lord Manalis' most trusted knights that went by the names of Bors and Tasgall; two biggest opposites one has ever seen.

Bors was a large man, almost half a head taller than Lord Manalis himself, strong but unbelievably fat. His one finger was as wide as Ryssa's wrist. Bors had small brown eyes, a patch of scruffy black hair atop his head and an even scruffier beard that always seemed to be filled with bread crumbs and stray pieces of meat from his previous meal. With all his brawn, sadly, came no brain it seemed. The man was as stupid as a brick wall. Fortunately for the fat giant, he had Tasgall to think for him.

As opposed to Bors, Tasgall was a relatively short man, as thin as a needle, with a nose slightly too large for his face, narrowed brown eyes, wide mouth and a mop of orange hair. If Bors was the muscle of the duo, Tasgall was definitely the brain. He was a brilliant man that was at one point of his life training to become a maester but had decided that he loved women too much to give them up for knowledge, thus ending himself up in the service to the Manalis'. He outsmarts his way from seemingly any situation and his plans always involved some completely insane and complicated scheme.

The young boy squished between the two knights looked positively uncomfortable in the small space left by Bors' large figure. He had scarcely touched his meal of honey roasted lamb and a picked assortment of vegetables. When his blue eyes met Ryssa's black ones, she offered him a reassuring smile that seemed to put the boy a little bit to ease.

He was a stranger to the scarlet haired girl. She had never seen a Stark before in her life and he was definitely not what she had pictured one of the members of the great House would look like. She had expected him to be long of face, dark of hair and with grey eyes like Lord Stark was. Like Ren was. The boy that sat across from her at the dinner table had auburn red hair and blue eyes, features she was taught were common in the Riverlands, in the House of Tully.

Her leg was wildly bouncing under the table from her need to get up and moving around. Ryssa had already finished her meal and was impatiently waiting for the others to finish with theirs or for herself to be excused by one of her parents.

Lady Alya Manalis sat opposite to Lord Stark, looking as lovely as always with her luscious brown curls that gently spilled over her shoulders and her back and her startling ice blue eyes that sometimes bordered on white. When one would look at her, they would never be able to guess that she had been born deep in the frozen tundra of land that ley beyond the Wall, that she was of the Free Folk but had given it all up to be with the dashing young lord that had captured her heart years ago when she saw him riding through white on his black steed. It was Nia's favourite bedtime story.

...

"Mother," asked a thirteen-year-old Ren as he sat on the bearskin rug in front of the large hearth in Lord and Lady Manalis' chamber, Ryssa and Nia sitting on the rug next to him with expectant eyes looking up at their mother. "Will you tell us a story?"

"Yes! A story, please!" exclaimed the twins Rin and Raf from their perches on the armrests of their father's chair at the same time. They were already five years of age and have taken to finishing each other's sentences and speaking at the same time, annoying most of the visitors the family got.

Alya sighed with a smile at the pack of her children. "Very well. Let me think of a story for a moment." She leaned down to pick up a baby Bo from the floor and put him in her lap where he proceeded to start gently tugging on his mother's silky soft curls. The brunette woman simply smoothed some of his scarlet hair out of his face and leaned back in her seat before starting the story.

...

Beneath the great city, beneath the great mountain, lived an old miller. Day in and day out, the miller counted the bags of wheat, counted the white coin. His heart was joyous. "The bags, the pouches, the land and the mill. It shall all be given to my dearest son," he said.

Beneath the great city, beneath the great mountain, with the miller, lived his wife. With him, she counts day in and day out. Such a hardworking lady of the house she was. Through laughter, she whispered: "Dear daughter-in-law, when you come to our mill, you shall be a lady true."

Time passes by; mother works, saves, calls to order, all the more. She waits and waits and sighs. Fills pillows with feathers and tidies up the house, but no daughter-in-law her son brings. And the only son- mother's son- quietly helps his father run the mill. Works himself day in and day out. Speaks little, but ponders a lot.

One day, the mother spoke to her son, half through tears and half through laugh: "My dear son, love is not a fairy-tale. There is no sin when one loves truly. It is the sin of the gods when a young man is alone in life. Look, my son, I am old, your father is tired with work. A young lady runs a household better. A young lady's back carries the flour bag with more ease. I would love to see grandchildren running and playing around."

"You are handsome, you are young," she says "You are strong enough to carry our name. No one has a mill like we. No one has a son like we. A hundred hearts, a hundred maidens wait for you, of a good house and a handsome face. Your mind is blind, my son!"

"Why does your heart put out the flame of passion and love in your soul? Why does your hear not feel? My son, my son, you are as of stone! My son, my son, do not wilt alone! My son, my son, please get married!"

"Mother!" cried the son out, putting his arms around the old woman's neck. Half in tears, half in laugh, he speaks: "Do not keep speaking down to me, mother. When you love, there is not sin. I am not of stone, dear mother. My heart is filled with a flame of live blazing white and hot. My hands are hard at work and steady, they lessen the pains of my heart. I live, mother, I swear to you. More than the golden star upon the midnight blue, loves the sky of dawn. More than a bird loves its nest. More than all that, I love! My whole soul breathes love. Hear me! Mother, do not turn your face and do not anger. Too long was I silent but now I speak. Now speak, my grief."

"It was summertime, a dreary night, as I went to town. Silence; not even a smallest rustle in the leaves of green. Your son, my dear mother, walks steadily up the mountain path. When, suddenly, at the bend, where the sign stands, I see a picture of godly grace. I stop- I rub at my blurry eyes. The moon shows its pale face from behind the clouds of dark and the delight of life pours down the road where a maid of white, kneeling in prayer, stands. Like a blind man, seeing the sun for the first time, I stare at her in wonder. I am silent. I listen; she is crying, her arms embracing the solemn tree of salvation that grows on the side of the mountain. She cries: 'Spirits and gods of all, please hear my plea. My blind father is at death's door. I am not wealthy or great, this locket of silver is all the wealth that I have. Please, take it and leave me my poor father!'"

"Silent as stone I stand. As if seeing and angel of heaven, I stand in wonder and amazement. All thoughts seemed like they had vanished from my mind without a trace. It is a picture I try to bury deep but were it night, were it day, I see her as clear as I see you. And I love her. Mother, I love Jayne."

"It is Jayne you love!" mother furiously shouted at her son. "Jayne you love, the beggar, the pitiful girl of Old Blind Thom! You are an only son of an old house, the son of the wealthy miller! This is splendid! Is that all my hard trouble is worth to you? So that they may be grabbed by lazy hands? So that they may be wasted away on a nothing of the likes of her? Gods, help me in my misfortune! I shall die before I should let someone like Jayne into my house!"

The miller came for he had heard his son's tale from the mill. "Bind your tongue! Not another sound from you! Mind your business, woman! See! What sick pride you have! I was poor as well, we lived under a rotting roof of a falling cabin, and we fed off of stale and mouldy bread. The gods gave us much, delivered us from poverty. Work with honour, eat with humility and your work becomes worth something. Woman, you play with darkness in your heart. That, my son, is my will. You love Jayne, it is true. Jayne shall be your wife."

The son turned to his mother, pleading: "Mother, mother, do not be this way! If you had my eyes, if you had my ears to hear and listen and if your heart should dance like mine does. Do not be a hard soul! I swear to you, mother, by the love of gods, I cannot let Jayne go."

Mother kept silent, swallowing her anger. She kept silent and left in rage.

Oh the cheer that rules the village and town. Whose wedding is it that has all so in trance? Old wives elbow each other and whisper the latest rumours as they peer through the windows of their cottages. "The young miller's son," they say "He is marrying Jayne!" "Has that boy lost his mind," the others counter. "Jayne is as poor as a temple mouse, it is murky buisness I tell you!"

And the bells tolled in joy as the two younglings and their party made their way to the hills. Up the hills and mountain path, they climb to set their fate in stone, but little do they really know. Mother comes not for she cannot bear sight of her son's biggest mistake of life. By her hearth she sits and sits and sits, pushing coals back into the flame, staying silent, fuming in anger. Poor Jayne has no clue. Had she known, she would not be standing under the arch in the hills. Mother prepares lunch for the wedding party- it is the miller's command and the old miller knows no jokes. Flame and rage light her face, her chest rises with each breath of anger, bells toll in the mountain, the bride ad groom will soon be joined before the gods.

In blind rage, mother flies to the doorstep of the house, waving her fist at the heavens: "Let me be struck down by arrows and thunders the day I let Jayne into my family! Cursed company, on that stone, my you be stone too!"

A terrible storm rose in that moment, streaking the sky with blue lightning and rumble of thunder. The beautiful white wall of the mill now lies in charred black ruin. The wedding, the father, the husband and wife, all hard stone, one next to another. Mother roams the world, people say she is insane.

Many years have come and gone, the walls of the great city are now nothing but dust and ashes. Yet still the stoned wedding stands, they are easy to see. The groom, the bride, the proud father. And in the middle of a stormy night, as lightning cuts across the sky, in the middle of the might near midnight, you will hear someone cry. With the ruby flame of sky, a white woman kneels 'fore stone and cries. Hugging and kissing the stone, she cries. She raises her arms to heavens, her voice cutting through the howl of the wind: " When you love, it is no sin!"

Ask the people of the mountain: "Why does the rock weep?" and they will answer: They are the nuptials in stone."

AN: Ah, the long awaited chapter 13 is finally over. I am well aware of the two major time skips to the past, but I thought it would be nice for you guys to see what Ryssa's life was before she came to Winterfell so we have the couple of scenes above to show it. The next two or three chapters will also show some of the past (perhaps even in a different POV, you never know) and maybe even parts of the year she spent at Winterfell before the plot of GoT came in motion.

Anyway, this is a relatively short chapter with flashes of the past and all I can say about it is that the first two scenes take place in the same evening and that the story scene takes place about three years before the dinner scene (which is not complete but will be in one of the upcoming chapters).

The story Lady Alya tells the kids is a real legend from Croatia, originally called 'Nuptials in stone'. If I am correct, there is no complete English translation of the original, so I had to translate it to English myself for this story and I hope I did a good work in adapting the legend to this universe.

Anyway, hope you liked this and be sure to fav, follow and leave me your comments in the reviews.

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