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Arthur remained at the window, watching snow fall, considering everything that had been achieved and everything that still lay ahead.
The feast had been a success—alliances formed, support consolidated, the North moving toward unity in ways that hadn't seemed possible just days earlier.
But success brought new challenges. Lords who supported him today would expect results tomorrow. Houses that contributed resources would demand returns on their investment. Warriors who came for training would expect transformation. The whole elaborate structure they were building depended on Arthur delivering what he'd promised.
And beneath all of it, threats remained—the South's eventual response to northern innovations, the wildlings beyond the Wall growing more organized, the Ironborn continuing their raids, internal conflicts as houses competed for advantage within the new system.
"Planning already?"
Lyanna had approached without him noticing, her ability to move quietly impressive for someone who usually crashed through life like a northern storm.
"Always," Arthur replied. "Success today means more work tomorrow."
"You should celebrate," Lyanna said. "At least briefly. The North is united behind you. Lords are competing for your favor. You've achieved in days what most men couldn't accomplish in lifetimes."
"And I've created expectations I now have to fulfill," Arthur replied. "Every lord who supports the Council does so expecting benefits. Every warrior who comes for training expects transformation. Every house that contributes resources expects returns. The pressure just multiplied."
"So stop thinking about tomorrow and enjoy tonight," Lyanna insisted. "One evening, Arthur. That's all I'm asking. One evening to acknowledge what you've accomplished instead of worrying about what comes next."
Arthur looked at her—wild northern beauty barely contained by courtly clothing, fierce spirit obvious despite formal settings, someone who understood him better than most because she shared his refusal to accept limitations others imposed.
"One evening," he agreed. "Then tomorrow, back to work."
Lyanna's expression shifted slightly, something between relief and determination crossing her features. She moved to stand beside him at the table, close enough that he could smell the pine and winter air that always seemed to cling to her.
"Though I suspect tomorrow will bring more than just work," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "The lords aren't just competing for Council positions anymore."
Arthur glanced at her, noting the deliberate casualness of her posture that didn't quite match the tension in her shoulders.
"The marriage proposals."
"Dozens of them, according to Father." Lyanna's voice carried a mixture of amusement and something sharper. "Every lord with an eligible daughter suddenly remembers ancient blood ties or strategic advantages. Some are subtle about it. Others are... less so. Lady Dustin practically offered to introduce you to half the eligible women in the North."
Arthur smiled faintly, catching the hint of jealousy beneath Lyanna's words—especially when she mentioned Barbery and her talk of marriage alliances.
"Expected," he said, still amused.
"Expected," Lyanna repeated, folding her arms. "That's all you have to say? Half the hall is plotting to marry you off, and you sound as if it's just another trade agreement."
"I think they're premature," he said carefully. "The Council isn't even formally established yet. Any alliance made now would be based on speculation rather than substance."
"Very diplomatic." Lyanna's laugh was quiet, almost bitter. "Though I suppose that's the right answer when half the North wants to tie their bloodlines to yours."
She paused, then added with forced lightness, "Of course, I'm of age as well, you know."
Arthur's hands stilled. There it was—the opening, the hint, delivered with the same directness Lyanna brought to everything else.
"Steffon Baratheon's proposal came months ago," she continued, her gaze fixed on the training yard below rather than on him. "Father hasn't responded yet. Brandon will be next, then mine. There isn't... there isn't much time before decisions get made for us. The lords are already circling, measuring advantages, calculating alliances."
She turned to face him then, grey eyes fierce and vulnerable all at once.
"So I suppose I'm asking—when you think about those marriage proposals, about alliances and bloodlines and strategic advantages—do you think about them at all?"
Arthur met her gaze, recognizing the courage it took for her to ask so directly. He'd known since those first training sessions what she was beginning to feel, had seen it in the way she pushed herself harder in his presence, in how she sought his approval more than anyone else's, in the careful attention she paid to his words.
He'd known, and he'd been a coward about addressing it.
"I think," he said slowly, "that most of those proposals see me as a prize to be won. A title, a position, a path to power. They don't see the work ahead, the years of grinding effort it will take to make the Council function, the reality that I might fail as easily as succeed."
"That's not an answer to my question." Lyanna's voice was quiet but firm.
"No," Arthur agreed. "It's not."
The silence stretched between them, comfortable despite its weight. Outside, the sun was beginning to set over Winterfell, painting the courtyard in shades of amber and gold.
"I've known for a while, you know," Arthur said finally. "Since you first started training. Maybe before that, if I'm being honest with myself."
Lyanna's breath caught slightly. "Known what?"
"What you were beginning to feel. What you were hinting at, even then." He turned to face her fully. "And I acted like a dunce about it because acknowledging it would have meant making a decision I wasn't ready to make."
"And now?" The question was barely a whisper.
"Now I'm still not sure I'm ready," Arthur admitted. "But pretending not to understand doesn't seem fair to either of us anymore."
He paused, choosing his words with care. "You deserve honesty, Lyanna. You deserve someone who sees you—not the Stark name, not a political alliance, not a prize—but you. Your strength, your spirit, your refusal to be confined by what others expect."
"That sounds like the beginning of a gentle rejection," Lyanna said, though hope flickered in her eyes.
"It sounds like the beginning of honesty," Arthur corrected. "I can't promise you anything. The path ahead is uncertain. The Council might fail. The reforms might collapse. I might wake up tomorrow and discover this was all built on sand."
"I'm not asking for promises," Lyanna said. "I'm asking if you've thought about it. About... us."
Arthur looked at her—truly looked at her—seeing not just the fierce northern girl who'd demanded he teach her to fight, but the woman she was becoming. Strong and determined, yes, but also thoughtful, strategic, capable of understanding the complexities he wrestled with daily.
"Yes," he said simply. "I've thought about it."
The admission hung between them like something tangible. Lyanna's expression shifted through surprise, hope, and something softer.
"Well then," she said, her usual confidence returning with a slight smile. "That's something, at least."
"It's more than something," Arthur replied. "But it's also complicated. Your father would have expectations. The lords would have opinions. Every house that submitted a marriage proposal would see it as a slight. And you—" He hesitated. "You'd be tying yourself to something uncertain. To someone who might fail spectacularly at everything he's trying to build."
"You really don't understand, do you?" Lyanna shook her head, somewhere between exasperation and affection. "I'm not interested in certainties, Arthur. I'm interested in someone who sees me as more than a broodmare for producing heirs. Someone who respects what I can do rather than what I'm supposed to be. Someone who looks at the impossible and starts planning how to achieve it anyway."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "I've watched you for months now. I've seen how you work, how you think, how you refuse to accept limitations. I've trained beside you, argued with you, learned from you. So yes, it's complicated. Yes, there will be political consequences. Yes, you might fail."
Her smile turned fierce. "But I'd rather face that uncertainty with you than accept a certain marriage to someone who sees me as nothing more than a Stark daughter to be traded for advantage."
Arthur found himself smiling despite the weight of the conversation. "You make it sound simple."
"It is simple. You're the one making it complicated." Lyanna's expression softened. "I'm not asking you to make a decision tonight. I'm not asking you to promise me anything. I'm just asking you to stop pretending you don't understand what I'm saying."
"Fair enough," Arthur conceded.
He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before gently taking her hand. "Then here's my honesty: I care about you, Lyanna. More than I probably should, given everything else that's happening. I think you're extraordinary—not because of your name or your house, but because of who you are. And yes, I've thought about what it might mean if..."
He trailed off, but Lyanna's fingers tightened around his.
"If?"
"If we weren't pretending to be dunces about this anymore," Arthur finished.
Lyanna laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Well then. Progress."
"Dangerous progress," Arthur warned. "Your father—"
"Will have opinions, yes. But Father isn't the type to force marriages on his children. Ask Brandon about his feelings on Catelyn Tully sometime." Lyanna's expression turned thoughtful. "Besides, I think Father might surprise you. He respects you, Arthur. He sees what you're building. And he knows me well enough to know I'd never accept someone who tried to cage me."
"Still complicated."
"Everything worth doing is complicated." Lyanna squeezed his hand once before releasing it. "But you promised me one evening of celebration before returning to work. So let's have that. Just... us."
Arthur glanced toward the door, then back at Lyanna, regret already forming.
"I would, but—"
"But you have another meeting," Lyanna finished, her expression shifting from hope to resigned understanding. "Of course you do."
"Your father requested it," Arthur said. "After the feast ends. Him and Lord Manderly in the solar. It's important—formalizing the Council, managing expectations, ensuring everything we've built doesn't collapse under its own weight."
"Everything is important with you," Lyanna said, though there was no real accusation in her voice. Just acceptance of who he was.
"This one actually is," Arthur replied gently. "But after—when it's done—I'll find you. And I promise you that dance."
Lyanna studied him for a moment, then smiled slightly. "You promise?"
"I promise," Arthur said firmly. "One dance. Before the night ends and tomorrow's complications begin."
"I'll hold you to that, Arthur."
Lyanna moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Don't make me wait too long. The night isn't endless."
She left before he could respond, her footsteps fading down the corridor.