The cold mist rolled low across the marshy lands as the wind howled through the ancient stones of Moat Cailin. Alyssa Stark, just ten years old, stood atop the crumbling wall of the once-mighty stronghold, her black cloak billowing behind her like a banner. Though the ruin before her was a skeleton of its former glory, in her mind's eye she saw it all — towers rebuilt, ports bustling with trade, soldiers in formation drilling under the Northern sun.
Her eyes glowed faintly for only a heartbeat, a whisper of scarlet in the winter morning. Reality had begun to shift to her will.
She had arrived days ago with a small host — a few loyal guards, engineers, and caretakers sent by Lord Stark. Already she had ordered the clearing of the central hall and begun drawing plans for aqueducts and windmills based on blueprints she pulled from her dreams — knowledge stored in her soul from a life before this one.
She worked by day as Lady and builder. But by night, she whispered to the stars, asking for more. And sometimes, the world answered.
Lady Catelyn Stark had not taken the decision lightly. Watching her daughter — her not-daughter — ride away with the authority of a grown woman had stirred confusion, pride, and fear. Alyssa was clever, willful, and already gathering loyalty from Stark bannermen. Yet Catelyn knew that girls of noble blood should be protected, not placed in ancient war keeps.
Still, she saw the way Eddard watched Alyssa with quiet reverence. And though Alyssa was not born of her, Catelyn had come to love the girl as fiercely as any of her trueborn children. That love, however, only deepened her concern. With Moat Cailin, Alyssa was stepping into power far too early — and power always drew eyes. Catelyn worried that this bold move might draw unwanted attention from both allies and enemies alike. As much as she admired the girl's strength, she feared what such responsibility might bring upon her beloved daughter.
She hugged Sansa close that night and told Arya tales of wolves — all while her heart remained heavy with thoughts of Alyssa. The girl she had grown to love as fiercely as her own was out there in a fortress of stone and mist, drawing attention with every bold step. Catelyn worried what eyes might follow her daughter's rise, what dangers might be stirred. But she had always known Alyssa was destined for something more — and she prayed the gods would watch over her.
At Winterfell, Jon Snow trained longer than the others. He struck the practice dummy again and again, until his knuckles bled through the leather. Robb had written to Alyssa twice this week and spent half the day rereading her replies.
Alyssa had written to all her siblings — Robb, Sansa, Arya, even little Bran — and she had written to Jon, too. A short letter, but warm. She told him she missed him, and that she hoped Winterfell was treating him kindly. Jon hadn't written.
He wouldn't. Not when he didn't know what to say. She was everything he wished he could be. And worse — better. She had always looked at him with warmth, never with pity. Never as if he was less.
And that made it harder.
He loved her. He knew it now, clear as ice. And he hated that he did. But even though he hated it — hated how distant and unreachable she seemed now — he couldn't help but hope that one day, somehow, Alyssa would be his.
At Moat Cailin, Alyssa began rebuilding not just stone but spirit. She gathered orphaned children, gave them food and shelter, and saw in them the promise of the North's future. With patience and firm kindness, she began teaching them — tactics, formations, discipline. The ways of defense and strategy, survival and unity. By day, she walked among them, offering encouragement and direction. By night, she recorded their names and dreams, determined to give them more than a soldier's fate. Some thought her mad for putting so much stock in the discarded and forgotten — but her people listened, and more importantly, they began to believe.
The girl of ten spoke with the conviction of a ruler. Beyond her lessons with the children, she also worked closely with the masons and builders who had come to begin the restoration of Moat Cailin. With a quiet but firm voice, Alyssa introduced them to methods and tools they had never seen — angled stone supports for stronger walls, drainage systems to divert floodwater, and plans for multi-tiered storage and housing structures. She shared sketches and blueprints conjured from memory and reshaped through her power. At first, the men balked at her ideas, but when they saw how her plans made their labor easier and sturdier, their skepticism faded. Slowly, respect grew, and Alyssa became not just their lady, but their architect and visionary.
And already, the docks were taking shape. Alyssa had drawn up innovative designs for reinforced piers and modular shipyards, adapting what she recalled of drydock engineering and coastal defense strategies. She worked side by side with shipwrights and carpenters, guiding them with sketches and explanations, building trust with each project completed. The plans for shipbuilding had begun in earnest, not only to create trade vessels but to craft a naval fleet that could one day defend the North's marshy coastlines — or sail beyond them, should the time come.
Beyond the walls of the keep, Alyssa began assessing the land surrounding Moat Cailin with a new purpose. She marked fertile patches and studied the seasonal patterns, comparing them with what she recalled of similar environments from her past life. With her guidance, they began laying the groundwork for raised beds, crop rotation techniques, and drainage-controlled fields that could withstand the Neck's heavy rains. Drawing on her reality-bending abilities, Alyssa began to create seeds — not of this world, but hybrids designed to thrive in the harsh climate of the North. Hardy grains that resisted frost, root vegetables that matured quickly, and fruits able to grow in limited light. She envisioned not just a fortress, but a thriving center of agriculture that could sustain itself — and eventually the North — through innovation and resilience.
Far across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen sat cross-legged beside a flickering fire. Melisandre stood over her, her red eyes unreadable. They had been meeting like this in secret for weeks now.
"You must know not just the ways of fire," Melisandre said, "but the ways of men. Of kings and queens. Of whispers in the dark."
Daenerys devoured the knowledge. And yet, each night, it was not strategy she dreamed of — it was her. The girl in the snow.
Alyssa.
She didn't know her name. Not yet. But she knew the way her voice sounded in the dream. She knew the way she laughed. The way she made her feel safe.
And last night, in that dream, they had spoken.
"You're not real," Daenerys had whispered.
"I'm as real as you want me to be," the girl had replied, snowflakes caught in her dark hair. "But if I'm not real to you... does that mean you aren't real to me?"
Daenerys blinked, startled by the question. For a moment, she was quiet, then whispered, "I don't want you to be a dream. I don't want to wake up and forget you."
"What's your name?"
But before Dany could answer, the world had faded.
Melisandre saw the change in her. And one night, her eyes glowed as the flames crackled high.
"I see a woman born of fire. A child of fire and ice, born of dragon and wolf, shall decide the fate of realms. Blood runs red across the sea. Six dragons rise — three born to flame, three born to frost and fire. A long night threatens to fall again, and only love can bring dawn. A sword in a cradle of stars waits for the hand that can wield it."
Daenerys trembled. "What does it mean?"
Melisandre smiled softly. "That you are not alone. And the one who walks your dreams is not a dream at all. She is the key — as much as you are."
Daenerys turned to the fire. "Then I will find her. Whatever it takes."
In the shadows, Viserys watched. He had noticed the change in Daenerys — how she questioned more, how her eyes seemed to burn with purpose. The way she slipped away for hours at a time, always returning with a quiet fire in her gaze. She was growing independent, gathering knowledge he never gave her permission to seek. And it unnerved him.
He felt the edges of control slipping, the fear of being left behind by the very sister he had always sought to command. Paranoia crept into his thoughts. She was becoming something more. Something dangerous.
And for the first time in weeks, he felt fear.
In the North, a snowstorm brewed over Moat Cailin. Alyssa stood in the courtyard, face tilted to the sky. She felt a tug — a heartbeat, not her own.
Somewhere, the girl in her dreams had whispered her name.
And the storm began to howl.