The Dawn Court
The North had never seen a gathering like this.
Under the vaulted ceiling of Winterfell's Great Hall, snow fell from a sky that shouldn't exist flakes of silver, glowing faintly as they drifted through the open rafters.
At the center sat Althea Baelish, crowned in frostlight.
Her throne was carved from the roots of the Weirwood itself pale, veined with veins of silver that pulsed to her heartbeat.
Around her stood those who had sworn the Oath of Dawn the new lords and ladies of the realm reborn.
Ser Davos Seaworth, Lord Commander of the Northern Host.
Lady Alys Mormont, fierce-eyed and loyal.
The child Nyra, silent beside the Weirwood priest, her gaze far too old for her face.
And Job Snow, the Wolf reborn no longer her shadow, but her equal.
"The South rises again," Davos said grimly. "Fire banners in the Reach, gold flames in the capital."
"The Lion roars from her grave," murmured Lady Alys.
Job's hands clenched on the hilt of his sword.
"If Lily's spirit still walks, we end her. This time for good."
But Althea's expression didn't waver.
Her eyes were elsewhere on the pale crown of her throne, where frost had begun to melt into water.
"The South doesn't need killing," she said softly. "It's already burning."
The hall fell silent. Even the wind stopped at her voice.
"We don't conquer fire," she continued. "We outlast it."
She rose, her cloak trailing shards of light.
"From this night, the North stands not as rebellion but renewal. We are not the realm's shadow. We are its dawn."
The hall erupted into the chant that would later echo through legend:
"For the Dawn. For the Wolf. For the Crown reborn."
The Queen of Ash
Far south, in the ruins of the Red Keep, fire bled through cracks in marble.
Lily stood before her reflection in the Iron Throne's twisted metal not entirely living, not entirely ghost.
Her eyes burned gold, her hair flickered like molten thread.
"They call her queen," she said to the shadows. "As if light can rule without fire."
Beside her knelt a man or the memory of one. His golden hand gleamed, though the flesh beneath was gray and ash-streaked.
"You shouldn't be here," she said softly.
"You called me," answered Jaime.
"I always do."
They stood like mirror images two halves of the same ruin.
Behind them, the priestess of the Eternal Faith knelt in worship, her voice shaking.
"My Queen, the flames obey. The Red Priests whisper your name. They call you the Fire Mother."
Lily smiled, slow and venomous.
"Good. Let them worship. Every god that failed me will burn for it."
She turned to the window, watching her new city rise from ruin streets glowing with molten gold, banners of the Lion and the Flame snapping in the wind.
"Let the North whisper of light," she said. "I'll teach them what it costs to shine."
The Dream Between
That night, both queens dreamed and their dreams met.
The realm between worlds stretched before them an endless field of ice and flame divided by a single river of stars.
Althea stood on one side, cloaked in silver, the frost crown gleaming faintly.
Lily stood opposite, her gown alive with embers, a crown of molten gold searing the air.
"You should have stayed dead," Lily said.
"You should have stayed human," Althea answered.
"Do you think love makes you divine? Job Snow's heart doesn't make you holy."
"And what did yours make you, Lily? Queen of ashes?"
The river hissed as heat met frost. Steam rose whispering their names.
"The gods made this world of balance," Lily said. "If you are the dawn, I must be the dusk."
"Then dawn will break you."
Lily smiled.
"Dawn always fades."
The Wolf's Choice
Job woke gasping, his breath white in the cold air.
He could still see her Lily's eyes burning through the dream, her words echoing.
"Dawn always fades."
He found Althea on the battlements, her cloak streaming in the wind.
"You saw her too," he said.
"She's building something," Althea replied. "A kingdom of the dead. Of memories."
"Then we march south."
"No," she said sharply. "That's what she wants. Fire feeds on motion. We hold."
Job's gaze hardened. "You sound like her."
Her silence stung deeper than anger.
"Then pray I don't become her," she whispered.
The Prophecy Reborn
In the crypts below Winterfell, Nyra knelt before the Weirwood roots, the whispers loud tonight.
"Two crowns. One heart."
"Two queens. One end."
She looked up, eyes glowing faint blue.
"Then one must fall," she said.
The roots stirred and for the first time, the ancient tree bled fire.
Fire on the Horizon
In the South, Lily watched as her priests poured molten gold into iron molds, shaping them into coins, crowns, and blades.
The first army of the new Golden Faith marched at dawn fifty thousand men bearing banners of flame.
She stood above them, her shadow long across the city.
"The North believes it can outlast me," she said. "But nothing outlasts fire."
Her golden hand rose and the city roared in unison.
"Long live the Fire Mother! Long live the Queen!"
The Dawn's Oath
In the North, Althea stood before her gathered lords once more.
The stormlight shimmered through her silver crown as she spoke
"She rises from ashes. We rise from ice."
"The gods made balance," said Job beside her. "We'll make war."
And as the wind howled across the battlements, their hands joined frost and flame merging once again.
The ravens took flight, bearing her command to every corner of the realm:
Prepare for the War of Two Thrones.