When I was reading up stuff, I wanted to consider for this story I once again realized how much GRRM's source material has been butchered by the show. For this story specifically the whole Dorne subplot. Since the show neglected Dorne after Season 6 I cherry-picked elements from the show and books to create a working plot for this story.

North and South

In the coastal city of Sunspear, Princess Arianne Martell weighed troubling reports from across Westeros. She could scarcely believe the news coming from the North - an army of undead soldiers led by the mythic Night King, defeated by the Starks at Winterfell. Such dark tales seemed fantastical, yet her spies insisted they were true.

More disturbing were accounts from the Westerlands and Reach of a great red dragon ridden by a black knight. This fiery beast had allegedly conquered Casterly Rock as a base to raid the countryside. Smallfolk spoke fearfully of the rider burning villages and crops.

Arianne pondered how to respond. Her alliance with Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons could help counter this new threat. But their partnership had been weakened after Euron Greyjoy's naval assault crushed much of the Dornish fleet. Moving troops and supplies north was now a challenge.

She wished she could confer with Daenerys directly, but the distances were too vast. Ravens took time, and could be intercepted. For now, Dorne would need to rely on its own strength to keep order.

Arianne decided to increase patrols along the borders, and fortify defences around Sunspear and major holdfasts. If this black knight turned his dragon south, her people must be ready. She only hoped wise rulership could prevail against such magical foes.

Though uncertainties remained, Princess Arianne refused to let apprehension take root. She was determined to guide Dorne through the gathering storms, as her forebears had stood against the Targaryen's generations before. Whether facing fire or shadows, the Dornish sun would endure.

Yet behind her resolute front lurked another nagging concern - the threat of civil war fanned by the rebellious Sand Snakes. Their mother Ellaria Sand had already plotted to kill her own family and seize power. Though foiled, her daughters might follow her treasonous path.

Obara Sand had died in Euron's assault, and Ellaria was supposedly a captive in King's Landing along with Tyene. But Elia and Nymeria still posed a threat, should they try rallying dissidents against Arianne's rule. As for Sarella, none had seen the Sphinx for years. The younger Sand Snakes were too young to be a danger yet.

Arianne determined vigilance and subtlety were vital. She commanded her household guard to discreetly track Elia Sand's movements and confine her to the Water Gardens, away from potential plots. Any whispers of treason must be stamped out early.

But for Nymeria Sand, still confined to the palace in Sunspear, the princess had a different plan. She immediately summoned her guards.

"Bring Lady Nymeria to me at once," she ordered. "Shackle her if need be, but do not harm her. I would speak with the woman alone."

The guards nodded and swiftly departed. Before long, they returned marching a sullen Nymeria between them. Her hands were bound in irons, but her gaze burned defiantly at Arianne. The guards shoved Nymeria to her knees before the princess.

"Leave us," Arianne commanded. The guards bowed and exited the hall. She studied the kneeling woman intently.

"I hoped we could talk woman to woman, without these chains," Arianne said calmly. "I bear you no ill will, Nymeria. But I cannot allow discord to fracture our homeland, especially now. Tell me true - do you seek rebellion against me?"

Nymeria was silent for a long moment before speaking. "I do not seek rebellion against Dorne," she finally said, her voice low but hard. "Vengeance against our enemies drives me, not treason against my own blood."

She raised her shackled hands. "The Lannisters and Euron Greyjoy murdered my sisters and humiliated our people. They deserve to suffer and die screaming. That is the rebellion in my heart."

Arianne listened closely to the hatred simmering in Nymeria's words. She chose her response carefully.

"I understand your pain and anger, cousin. What was done to our family cannot be forgiven," she said. "But open war would only lead to more death of innocents. We must rebuild our strength quietly and not play into their hands."

Nymeria scowled, unsatisfied by Arianne's careful words. The princess grasped her cousin's arm, forcing her to meet her eyes.

"Listen to me, Nymeria. With the North now allied to Daenerys, and the Lannisters' forces weakened by recent defeats, there is little doubt that Cersei will fall," Arianne explained intently. "King's Landing will be conquered, and House Lannister will lose this war."

She paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "But my focus is securing Dorne's position in the aftermath. We suffered losses to our army and fleet. I must rebuild our strength before exerting force again."

Nymeria's scowl lessened slightly at this logic, but her fists remained clenched.

Arianne went on persuasively. "When Dorne marches again, it will be terrible. Our spears will pierce the lions' hearts, I swear it. But that time is not now. I must act for our people's future, not personal vengeance."

She squeezed Nymeria's arm entreatingly. "Help me, cousin. Don't fight me. Our dear Ellaria and Oberyn will be avenged, but we must be patient. Will you stand with House Martell in this difficult time?"

Nymeria slowly exhaled, some of the fight leaving her stance. She gave a begrudging nod. "For now...I will stand with you, Princess," she conceded. "But my heart does not forget."

Arianne nodded. She had expected no less from the fierce woman. She would share her full plan openly now.

"I am sending you north, to Winterfell, to strengthen our alliance with the Starks," she revealed matter-of-factly. "You will be mine own eyes and ears, privy to whatever dark magical forces are stirring in those frozen lands."

Nymeria looked surprised but intrigued. Arianne grasped her shoulder firmly. "I give you full leave to scheme, seduce, plot and play the game of thrones however you see fit, so long as it serves Dorne and our pact with the dragon queen."

She held Nymeria's gaze intensely. "Uncover their secrets. Make yourself indispensable in the North. But when the time comes, ensure House Martell shares in wresting back the Iron Throne."

Nymeria's full lips slowly spread into an eager, wolfish smile. Here at last was a mission well-suited to her cunning talents.

"It will be done, Princess," she vowed, her eyes glinting. "I will help ensure Dorne's interests are secured, and finally gain us the vengeance we crave."

Arianne gave her a knowing smile in return. "Then make ready, Lady Nymeria. You leave on the morrow for the North."

Nymeria nodded, already contemplating the journey ahead. Despite her lingering anger, she felt genuinely excited by this task. Whispers had even reached Dorne of Sansa Stark's renowned beauty. Combined with the air of dark mystery swirling around that frozen land, this voyage suddenly held great appeal. Perhaps she would find more than political opportunity in the North. Mayhaps adventure, intrigue and passion awaited her there. The thought quickened Nymeria's pulse.

"I will serve you well on this mission, Princess," she promised, meeting Arianne's gaze. "House Martell's interests will be secured."

Nymeria left Arianne's presence eager to prepare for the journey north. Her mind raced with plans and contingencies, imagining how she could ingratiate herself with the Starks and uncover whatever mystical forces were rumoured to be awakening in the frozen lands.

She knew guile and subtle manipulation would serve her well on this mission. Nymeria had cultivated those skills since childhood, when she had first learned the poisoner's arts from her father. Few could match her cleverness when she set her mind to a task.

Seduction also could prove a potent weapon, if the tales of Sansa's beauty held any truth. Nymeria felt a spark of excitement at the prospect. She was no stranger to the pleasures found between silken sheets, and had left many a lover panting in her wake.

Most of all, this was a chance to avenge her family's brutal deaths. Before Cersei and the Lannisters met their fates, Nymeria silently swore to see them suffer exquisitely. Under Arianne's orders she could not openly move against them, but she would find a way in secret. The viper would have her due.

Donning her warmest furs, Nymeria made ready to depart the next day. The road ahead promised adventure, and a chance to fulfil her deepest desires. The North called to her. She would answer eagerly, hungry to discover what awaited in those cold lands of legend and shadow.

x X x

Margaery shifted uncomfortably in her saddle as their small party continued north through the Riverlands. After weeks of hard riding from the Gods Eye, she was sore and travel worn. Her mysterious elven handmaiden, however, showed no signs of fatigue.

The stoic elf had said barely a word since they departed the mysterious island. She would converse with the birds in their lyrical tongue, but said little to Margaery besides terse instructions when needed.

In truth, the elf unsettled Margaery somewhat. Her alabaster skin appeared almost translucent, and she moved with preternatural grace. But it was her eyes that were most disquieting - emerald pools that reflected centuries of knowledge and sorrow. This was no mere handmaiden, but a being as ancient as the trees themselves.

As they made camp that evening, Margaery tried once more to draw her taciturn guardian into conversation. "Pardon my asking, my lady, but I do not even know what to call you. What is your name?"

The elf gazed back impassively as she lit a small cookfire. Moments passed before she finally replied. "I am Driellen it means the one who sings to the clouds, sworn to the Everqueen. I have borne many names over eras of your kind."

Her voice was melodic yet hollow. Margaery shivered but pressed on. "How is it you come to escort me?"

Those fathomless eyes considered her again. "Dark tidings are stirring. My queen sent me to guide you to the prophesied one, and ensure the pact of the children survives."

Over the next few days of travel, Margaery tried to glean more from her taciturn guide, but Driellen revealed little. She spoke just enough to answer direct questions, her words poetic yet opaque. It was clear the elf's kind viewed matters far differently than mortals.

When they camped at night, Margaery clung close to the fire, jumping at every rustle in the dark woods. But the elf appeared utterly calm, her hands moving in fluid rituals as she sang in her lilting tongue. Though the melodies soothed Margaery's nerves, sleep came uneasily.

As they went farther north, the land grew increasingly harsh and wild. Winter's chill permeated the winds, and great snowdrifts lined the road. Food became scarcer, foraging more difficult. Still the elf pressed on tirelessly, untroubled by conditions that left Margaery miserable.

When they approached Winterfell, Margaery felt a mix of hope and trepidation. She yearned for the castle's warmth and safety after the bleak journey north. Yet doubts filled her mind about the purpose of this quest, and the reception she would find here.

She still did not understand why the elves had been so intent on bringing her to this frozen land. Margaery knew little of events in the North since the fateful day she nearly perished in King's Landing.

She could only hope to find some compassion from Sansa Stark. They had both suffered brutally in the capital. Surely Sansa would not turn her away without hearing her story. Margaery prayed they could find understanding as they once had before everything fell apart.

But so much was uncertain. She had no idea if Sansa was even at Winterfell, or what dark tidings had engulfed the North since their time together there. Margaery felt like a small boat tossed in a raging sea, desperately needing a safe harbour.

Just before they came into view of Winterfell's gate, Driellen halted abruptly. Turning to Margaery, she spoke: "Here is where we part ways, my lady. From here your path lies alone."

Before Margaery could protest, the elf turned her horse and vanished swiftly into the snowy woods. Stunned, Margaery stared after her, now utterly alone outside the castle walls.

Drawing her furs close against the icy wind, Margaery felt adrift and afraid. But she had no choice but to continue on now. She sent up one last prayer to the seven gods - please let Sansa remember our friendship, and the kindness we once shared. I have nowhere left to turn.

With a jittery heart, Margaery rode the last distance to the gatehouse. The guards eyed her warily as she approached. "State yer business!" one called down gruffly.

Mustering her courage, Margaery lifted her chin. "I am Margaery of House Tyrell. I have travelled far to seek an audience with the Lady Sansa Stark."

Murmured astonishment rippled through the men. The guard studied her intently before nodding. "Wait here." He turned and vanished inside while the others watched her closely.

The wait felt agonizingly long as Margaery stood shivering in the cold. Finally, the guard emerged again and beckoned her forward without a word. Heart pounding, she led her horse through the gate into the castle courtyard.

Margaery was surprised to find the grounds largely deserted, only a few servants crossing the yards. The castle had a gloomy, understaffed feel so different from its orderly bustle during her last visit. Clearly the North had suffered greatly in the wars.

The guard escorted Margaery across the muddy courtyard toward the Great Keep. No one spoke to or welcomed her. Feeling like a trespasser, she clung to her cloak and followed meekly. He ushered her through tall oak doors into Winterfell's Great Hall. Despite the cold outside, it was pleasantly warm within. A few guards stood at their posts, but otherwise the cavernous room was empty save for a young man in a wheelchair placed before the lord's high seat.

Margaery looked around hesitantly as her footsteps echoed off the stone walls. The hall seemed strangely bare and subdued compared to her memories. Torn banners and patched walls testified to the damage the castle had weathered.

As she slowly approached, the crippled youth watched her intently. His expression was sombre but intelligent. Margaery offered a tentative smile, wondering who he was and why he awaited her alone.

"Hello..." she began uncertainly. "Forgive me, I did not know who would be here. I am Margaery Tyrell, I've come seeking Lady Sansa."

The boy continued surveying her a moment before replying. "Lady Sansa is away currently. I am Bran Stark. Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Margaery."

His words were polite but his tone neutral. Margaery felt mildly relieved to meet a Stark, yet Bran's detached demeanour unsettled her somewhat. She curtsied politely.

"It is an honour to meet you, Lord Bran. Might I ask when Lady Sansa is expected to return? I have come a long way in hopes of an audience with her."

Bran's expression remained solemn and unreadable. "My sister will return soon. You may rest here until then."

Bran just continued staring at Margaery with his piercing gaze, saying nothing further. Unsure how to respond, she nodded awkwardly. At least she was safely within Winterfell's walls now. Hopefully Sansa's return would bring understanding.

Wanting to explain her mysterious journey here, she began hesitantly. "My lord, I travelled quite a long way to...well, it is rather a strange tale, but..."

"You came from the Isle of Faces, guided by an elf," Bran interrupted flatly.

Margaery froze, stunned into silence. How could he possibly know that?

Bran's expression was unchanging. "My ravens have been watching your progress for some time, Lady Margaery. I already know of your journey from the south."

Margaery felt a chill run through her that had nothing to do with the cold. She tried to form a response but could not find her voice. Bran's words and otherworldly manner frightened her on a primal level.

After an uncomfortable silence, she finally managed to utter shakily, "Forgive me, my lord...I did not realize...you seem quite well informed."

Bran only inclined his head slightly, his intense gaze still fixed on Margaery. "There is much we will need to discuss when my sister returns. For now, you may rest here until she arrives."

He called for servants to prepare a guest chamber and bring bread, salt and mead. "Please enjoy our hospitality and consider yourself under the protection of House Stark while here," Bran formally invited her.

Margaery murmured grateful thanks, relieved he seemed to bear her no ill will. After partaking of the offered food and drink, she was shown to a modest but comfortable room in the Great Keep.

Before leaving her, Bran said, "You are free to roam the castle as you please, my lady. I will send for you when Sansa returns."

With that, he was wheeled away by a guard, leaving Margaery alone with her thoughts at last. It was warming to be an honoured guest now instead of an outcast. Yet Bran's disquieting knowledge and strange manner still concerned her. What secrets did he possess?

Wrapped in a thick fur mantle, Margaery wandered the halls of Winterfell, familiarizing herself with the ancestral castle. Guards and servants bowed politely as she passed. Despite the signs of damage, there was still beauty in the ancient grey stonework.

Her footsteps eventually led her to the library tower. As she entered the room, Margaery was surprised to see a young girl sitting by the hearth reading. The girl looked up, and Margaery stifled a small gasp.

Half the girl's face was covered in grey, cracked scars that could only be greyscale. But despite the disfigurement, there was something familiar in her features. As comprehension dawned, Margaery's eyes widened.

"Lady...Shireen?" she asked hesitantly.

The girl studied her curiously. "Yes, I'm Shireen. Do I know you, my lady?"

Margaery slowly approached, still stunned. "I am Margaery Tyrell. I thought you had...perished, along with your family."

Shireen's expression became downcast. "My father and mother, yes. But Ser Davos rescued me to safety when the Red Woman brought me back after the fight with the undead."

Margaery felt a swell of pity for the young girl. To have escaped such a fate, only to be marked by disease... She smiled gently. "Well, I am very glad you survived, my lady. You are most welcome here."

Shireen gave a small, grateful smile in return. "Thank you, Lady Margaery. Are you a friend of Sansa's?"

Margaery felt heartened by Shireen's words. The young girl's simple faith that Sansa would welcome her gave her hope. After so long feeling lost and afraid, could she have finally found a safe refuge here at Winterfell?

"You have suffered such woes yourself, yet still trust Lady Sansa's good heart," Margaery said gently. "I pray you are right. I have come far in search of her protection and wisdom, though I scarcely know now what role I have to play."

She sighed deeply, the burdens of her uncertain quest weighing upon her.

Shireen gazed at her with sympathy. "The gods work in mysterious ways, but I believe they send us where we are needed most. Take comfort, my lady. The North remembers friendship, and Sansa is foremost among us."

Margaery managed a small smile, moved by the girl's earnest words. "My thanks, Lady Shireen. Your kindness renews my spirit."

Margaery squeezed Shireen's hand warmly, moved by the young girl's quiet strength and optimism despite all she had suffered. Truly it was an honour to make her acquaintance.

As they talked, Margaery pondered what twist of fate had brought them both to this place. By all rights, she and Shireen should have perished already - one consumed in wildfire, the other sacrificed by fire. Yet here they were, survivors against the odds.

She studied the greyscale scars that marred half the girl's face, marks left by a disease that most did not survive. What purpose had spared Shireen from the flames? What destiny yet remained for one saved from the Red Woman's pyre?

And what of Margaery herself, wandering so far from the political intrigues and deadly traps of King's Landing? She had come seeking clarity on this journey north, hoping to find meaning amidst such mystery. But the road ahead was still unclear.

Margaery pondered if she and Shireen had been brought together by some deeper design she did not yet understand. The workings of the gods were often obscure to human comprehension. But finding kinship with the girl brought her comfort after feeling so alone.

As they continued talking, Margaery asked Shireen what she could tell her about Sansa and the current state of the North.

Shireen revealed that Sansa was away north of the Wall on some urgent mission. Margaery felt a pang of disappointment that Sansa's return would be delayed.

When she asked what could have called Sansa so far into wildling lands, Shireen lowered her voice. "There are rumours...strange tales about what happened after the defeat of the Night King. Some say powerful magic touched Lady Sansa that night. It changed her somehow."

Margaery listened in astonishment as Shireen described the rumours surrounding Sansa. It was said she now possessed magical powers over winter itself, unlike anything known in the world. This compelled her journey beyond the Wall.

"Powers beyond any living person?" Margaery repeated in disbelief. "Surely such tales are exaggerated. Sansa always seemed more inclined to songs and stories than mystical forces."

Yet even as she voiced her doubt, Margaery felt a stirring of curiosity. Much had changed since last they met. And there had been something uncanny about her time among the Children of the Forest...

Shireen nodded solemnly. "I know it seems impossible, but many swear it is true. They say she came back from the battle transformed - her very touch emanating an aura of cold."

Margaery shivered, though not from any chill. Could her friend truly have been so altered?

She thought of Sansa's elder brother Bran, with his unnerving knowledge and strange manner. Was magic and mystery so woven now into the fabric of the North?

"If it is so...I pray Sansa remains herself in spirit," Margaery said quietly. "Power can corrupt even the best of souls."

Shireen looked thoughtful. "Lady Sansa is strong. Magic or no, she will always protect her people."

Her steadfast faith brought a small smile to Margaery's lips. "I hope you are right, my lady. I suppose I shall find out for myself soon enough."

One way or another, reuniting with Sansa seemed certain to bring revelations that would further change her world. Whether for good or ill, her path led inexorably onward.

After dining with Bran, Margaery retired gratefully to her guest chambers. Sinking into the feather mattress, she marvelled that this was her first true comfortable bed in ages. She quickly drifted into slumber, the rigours of long travel melting away.

Soon she slipped into vivid dreams. She wandered the halls of Winterfell, wearing some sort of golden brooch shaped like a hand, though she knew not what it meant. The castle was brighter and more alive than her waking hours here.

Then the setting shifted, and she found herself luxuriating in a large bed with several other female figures tangled intimately around her. There was warmth, comfort and soft pleasure in their embraces.

In Margaery's dream, one figure stood out among the rest, her flowing red hair a beacon. She nurtured in Margaery feelings of safety, acceptance and belonging.

They drifted through flickering scenes - laughter, whispered words, and pleasure shared intimately between them. Margaery felt only comfort in her embrace, sheltered by her caring strength.

Even as the dream faded upon waking, impressions lingered - fiery hair entwined in her hands, the curve of a breast, soft lips trailing her skin. But stronger than any physical sensation was the profound sense of home she found there.

Such dreams were no strangers to Margaery, yet this felt different somehow. More vivid, more right. She pondered as morning sun filled her chamber.

Perhaps her weary spirit had discovered a new anchor amidst aimless seas. She knew not what awaited in Winterfell, but felt less alone holding fast to those fading visions.

Dressing herself, Margaery went to break her fast with renewed hope. She nurtured the whispering memories close, like embers under ash. Here may yet lay possibility of hearth and harbour, if she had the courage to seek it.

Her path forward was unclear, but she moved now with growing faith, led on by glimmers of that red beacon in the night. What that signified still awaited revelation. But it called to her, promising shelter and purpose in this strange cold land.

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