The bald red priest Thoros stepped forward, flashing a broad grin at the wary Ser Marlon Manderly.
"Lower your weapons, friends. We are the Brotherhood Without Banners, righteous men who walk the Riverlands. There's no need to be tense. We come as friends, not enemies."
Ser Marlon Manderly did not ease his guard. His grip on the longsword remained firm as he replied coldly, "On land soaked in betrayal and blood, friendship isn't something you can prove with a few smooth words."
Suspicion filled his eyes. After living through one war after another, he no longer trusted anyone easily.
Thoros was not surprised. He stepped aside and gestured toward the silent female rider beside him. "Our sincerity stands here. This is Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell."
"What?!"
Ser Marlon let out a scornful snort, as though he had just heard the most ridiculous joke imaginable. "Enough of your cheap tricks! Everyone knows Lady Catelyn and her son Robb Stark were slaughtered at the Red Wedding at the Twins!"
At that moment, the female rider slowly raised her hand.
It was pale and bloated, covered in horrifying scars.
She gently pulled back her hood.
In an instant, even the wind in the valley seemed to freeze.
The face revealed could hardly be called whole. Her deathly white skin was swollen and rotting from long immersion in water, crisscrossed with knife scars that spread across most of her features like a spider's web. Her eyes were hollow and dead, yet within them burned an undying fire of hatred.
She pressed her hand to the most gruesome wound at her throat and squeezed hard. From her ruined vocal cords and windpipe, a voice was forced out with great effort.
"Lord Marlon… knight of White Harbor… I remember you…"
Ser Marlon Manderly recoiled as if struck by lightning, stumbling back a step.
His eyes went wide, all color draining from his face as sheer shock overtook him.
"My lady?! You… you're not dead?! How is this possible?!"
Everything he thought he knew collapsed in that instant.
Thoros's lips curved into a complicated smile. "Lady Catelyn has received the blessing of our Lord, the Lord of Light R'hllor, and been reborn. She is the chosen one, returned to complete an unfinished mission. And we are here because I received guidance from the flames, sent by the Light King to seek the prince spoken of in prophecy."
"The… the prophesied prince?" Ser Marlon echoed, his mind in turmoil. The weight of what he was hearing was almost too much to bear.
Thoros drew the longsword from his belt and solemnly thrust it into the frozen ground before him, his voice turning grave.
"Yes. The prince foretold in prophecy. Rhaegar's son. The rebirth of Azor Ahai. The one who will end the Long Night. He shall be born again amid smoke and salt, wielding a burning sword, and lead mankind against the cold god and the endless darkness."
Only then did Ser Marlon understand. A crushing wave of grief surged through his chest.
"Jon… You mean Jon Snow? But… he's already dead."
He turned and pointed toward the cold, motionless body nearby.
Thoros did not answer. He merely shifted his gaze to Lady Stoneheart.
At the sound of Jon's name and the confirmation of his death, Lady Stoneheart's horrific body seemed to tremble ever so slightly.
She moved toward the corpse with stiff, awkward steps.
Bending down, she gently lifted the fur covering it with her scarred hand.
Jon Snow's pale, icy face was revealed, his body riddled with dried blood and countless arrow wounds.
Lady Stoneheart stood there in silence, her hollow, lifeless gaze fixed on Jon's face for a long time.
Even now, she still hated this child.
Not because of his birth, but because of his very existence.
In her twisted resentment, it was Jon's existence that had led to Ned's imprisonment by Robert. Jon's existence that made Robb reject the plan she proposed. And in the end, it was Jon's existence that dragged House Stark into this irreversible war, one that ended in the deaths of them all.
"He should die."
After a long silence, Lady Stoneheart's hoarse, shattered voice rang out once more.
"Ned died because of him. Robb died because of him. My children… all the Starks were killed because of him."
Every word she spoke dripped with bone-deep hatred.
Hearing this, Ser Marlon felt a surge of indignation rise in his chest. Gathering his courage, he spoke up in protest.
"My lady, please be fair! He died saving your daughter, Miss Arya. He fought for House Stark until his final moment. He was a hero!"
Lady Stoneheart's grotesque face snapped toward Marlon.
"Tell me what happened…"
Marlon looked at her face—horrifying to behold, yet still faintly bearing the outline of the woman she once was—and a deep sadness welled up within him.
He took a deep breath and recounted everything that had happened beneath the walls of Winterfell. He spoke of how Ramsay had relentlessly tortured and humiliated Arya to provoke Jon, how Jon finally lost control, charged alone into the enemy lines, and was cut down by a storm of arrows.
He described Arya being whipped and abused, described how Jon went from blind fury to utter collapse, and how, in the end, he threw himself toward death without hesitation.
As Marlon spoke, Lady Stoneheart's stiff body began to tremble violently.
When she heard of the inhuman torment her youngest daughter had endured, she let out a shriek so piercing it sent chills through everyone who heard it echo through the valley.
How she wished she could rush to Winterfell at once, seize every Bolton, and slowly hang them in the most cruel way imaginable.
Seeing Lady Stoneheart overwhelmed by anguish, Marlon tried to console her.
"My lady, please restrain your grief. At the very least, your other daughter, Lady Sansa, is safe for now. She is across the Narrow Sea, in the castle of that Eastern Dragonlord. It was because of Lady Sansa that His Eastern Grace was willing to lend Jon troops, allowing him to make contact with Lord Wyman…"
When Lady Stoneheart finished hearing Marlon's words and realized that the very man she had once fiercely opposed as a marriage prospect was now sheltering Sansa and providing the North with its only real support, a vast wave of bitter self-mockery surged through her long-dead heart.
She remembered how resolutely she had stopped Robb from even considering that marriage proposal, convinced it would stain the honor of House Stark.
And what had come of it?
Those Northern lords she believed to embody "honor" had betrayed her, while that distant, unfamiliar Easterner had proven himself more honorable than any of them.
Just then, Thoros walked over.
He looked at Lady Stoneheart, her body trembling with violent emotion, and a compassionate smile appeared on his face.
"My lady, Jon Snow has been dead for far too long. His blood has drained away, his heart has stopped. With what little power I have left, I can no longer revive him as I once revived Lord Beric…"
Lady Stoneheart turned her head sharply, fixing him with her lifeless gaze.
"Are you asking me to sacrifice myself to bring him back, as Beric Dondarrion sacrificed himself for me? Don't even think about it. I will take my revenge in my own way!"
Thoros merely watched her in silence, the faint smile never leaving his face. He said nothing more.
But he saw it. Deep within Lady Stoneheart's icy, hate-filled eyes, a flicker of struggle and hesitation flashed past.
Standing nearby, Ser Maron heard this and blurted out in a mix of shock and excitement,
"My lady, you can revive Jon? Is that true?"
Lady Stoneheart did not answer.
She turned away once more and slowly made her way toward Jon's body.
She crouched down, extending that cold, swollen hand, and with unimaginable gentleness, laid it against Jon's face.
The touch was freezing, like the eternal ice of the North.
Within that icy sensation, countless fragments of memory surged through her mind like a tidal wave.
In the winters of Winterfell, she had treated that "bastard" with cold indifference, while young Jon would cower in corners, stealing glances at her with those gray eyes so like Ned's.
Time and again, she had complained to Ned, demanding that Jon be sent away, only to be met with his silent yet unwavering refusal.
Robb had refused her suggestion to give Jon up, instead turning around to summon his banners and march south.
At the Red Wedding, the last thing she saw was Robb being stabbed again and again by his own vassals, followed by the icy despair as her own throat was cut.
The freezing river water, the endless loneliness of death, and the agony of being forcibly dragged back into the world by R'hllor's flames.
Marlon's account of Jon's heart-rending fury and despair upon seeing "Arya" humiliated, and his final, unhesitating charge toward her.
And that Easterner, the marriage prospect she had once scorned, now protecting her surviving daughter…
The frozen wall of hatred began to crack under the weight of belated guilt and an overwhelming hunger for revenge.
If he truly could avenge House Stark…
A rasping sound escaped her throat.
The cold resentment in those dead eyes slowly gave way to an intensely complex light.
She lowered her head, staring at Jon's pale lips.
Then, under the gaze of Maron Manderly, Thoros, every member of the Brotherhood Without Banners, and the remaining soldiers, Lady Stoneheart made the most difficult decision of her existence.