Snow fell like ash over King's Landing, and the Red Keep seemed to shiver under its weight.
The city, hollowed by war, whispered rumors like restless ghosts some spoke of the Wolf's vengeance, some of the Lion's cunning, and all spoke of the Queen Althea Baelish whose shadow had grown longer than any crown.
A Throne of Glass and Frost
Althea moved through the halls of the Red Keep like a wraith. Her steps were measured; her presence, a silent command.
The courtiers, who once whispered of kings and queens, now whispered only of her the Queen of Shadows.
In the council chamber, the lords waited. Every one of them carried ambitions masked by respect.
"The North grows restless," Lord Royce said, voice edged with steel. "They whisper of Jon Snow, of his armies, of the wolf that still lives in Winterfell."
Althea's eyes, pale as frost under candlelight, did not waver.
"Let them whisper," she said softly. "Fear makes men listen. And hope hope can make them fall."
Margaery's lips curved faintly.
"You wield fear as easily as the North wields winter."
Althea allowed herself a ghost of a smile.
"Better to be feared than forgotten."
The Shadow's Whisper
That night, as the Red Keep slept, a shadow moved along its walls.
Not the shadow of torchlight, nor the long arm of a watchman but a living shadow, stretching and coiling like smoke.
Althea felt it.
It was the mark of her power the Frost-Flame that bound her to Job, that tethered mortal and myth alike.
She stepped onto the balcony, gazing over the city.
The streets below were quiet yet the air carried the hum of plotting, of knives drawn in the dark.
They forget what shadows can see, she thought.
A whisper drifted along the wind
"You are alone. Alone with crowns and ghosts."
Althea did not flinch.
"I am never alone," she replied. "Even in shadow, I am many."
A Wolf in the North
Far beyond the Wall, Job Snow felt the pull of the city.
Not by letter, not by messenger, but by something older: a call echoing through blood and memory.
He rode through forests thick with frost, Ghost at his side.
"The queen waits," he whispered. "And if she calls, I will answer but I will not kneel."
The wind carried faint traces of fire and ice, reminders of the night they shared the Crown.
Job's hand brushed the hilt of Longclaw.
"Let them come," he muttered. "Let the wolves and lions meet their reckoning."
Courtiers and Conspiracies
Inside the Red Keep, plots formed faster than snowdrifts.
The small council divided into factions some loyal to Althea, others to tradition, and a few who sought to see both crown and queen fall.
"We cannot trust the Queen," whispered a maester, ink-stained fingers trembling.
"The North still stirs," muttered a knight.
"And magic walks these halls," another added, eyes wide.
Althea knew. She always knew.
Her shadow moved even as she stood still, listening to the whispers before they were spoken.
"Magic," she murmured. "Is nothing but memory waiting to awake."
The Queen's Choice
Althea stood alone in the Tower of the Hand, looking over the bay.
The sea was black, the waves clawing at the docks like hungry beasts.
She thought of Job, of Winterfell, of the North's frozen echoes.
And she thought of herself half mortal, half myth, tethered to both fire and frost.
A decision pressed upon her
Stay in King's Landing and rule a fragile kingdom, risking betrayal and blood
Or return North, where shadows and ice could become allies instead of enemies.
Her hand brushed the sigil on her wrist the circle pierced by three blades, glowing faintly blue.
The Frost-Flame pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
Power without choice is chains, she thought.
And I am not bound.
The Shadow Awakens
That night, the Red Keep trembled.
The Frost-Flame leapt along stone corridors, brushing the lips of loyalists and traitors alike.
Torches dimmed. Candles flickered.
Althea's shadow stretched through every hall, every chamber.
It whispered in every ear, unseen, unfelt the promise of frost, fire, and reckoning.
Outside, a black raven took flight, wings spread over the sleeping city.
It carried a single message
"The Queen of Shadows moves. The wolf still waits. And the lion shall roar but the night belongs to neither."