Chapter 19 – Winter is Coming
The Wall loomed like the end of the world.
A sheer, endless expanse of ice, pale as death and just as unforgiving. Wind screamed across its surface, biting through wool, leather, bone.
At its base, Castle Black stood quiet.
Watchful.
Waiting.
Three men rode through the tunnel beneath the Wall.
Hooves echoed against frozen stone as darkness swallowed them whole—only to spit them out again on the other side.
The true north.
The cursed north.
Beyond the Wall.
The forest waited.
Silent.
Wrong.
Snow clung to black branches like rot on bone. The air felt heavier. As if something unseen pressed against the lungs.
The men dismounted.
They split apart.
Each taking a different direction.
Will's horse shifted beneath him, restless.
Uneasy.
"Easy, boy..." Will murmured, though his own voice carried no such calm.
The animal snorted, breath steaming in the cold air.
Will slid down from the saddle, boots crunching softly into the snow.
Something was wrong.
He could feel it.
He moved slowly.
Carefully.
Dropping low as the clearing came into view.
A camp.
Or what had been one.
At first, it looked abandoned.
Then—
He saw the bodies.
They were everywhere.
Scattered.
Broken.
Torn apart like something had played with them.
Men.
Women.
Children.
Limbs twisted unnaturally. Flesh ripped open. Blood frozen black against the snow.
Will's breath caught.
"I've never seen..." he whispered, though no one was there to hear him.
Not like this.
Never like this.
He crawled closer.
Closer—
Then froze.
A child.
Impaled.
Small body skewered through a tree branch, frozen in place like some grotesque display.
Will staggered back, horror finally breaking through.
"No—"
He turned and ran.
Branches tore at his cloak as he sprinted back through the forest, heart hammering.
He didn't stop until he reached the others.
Ser Waymar Royce stood with his horse, adjusting the saddle as if nothing in the world concerned him.
Gared lingered nearby, already tense.
Waymar didn't look up.
"What d'you expect? They're savages. One lot steals a goat from another lot and before you know it, they're ripping each other to pieces."
Will stared at him.
"You didn't see them," he said, voice shaking. "I've never seen wildlings do a thing like this. I've never seen a thing like this—not ever in my life."
Waymar finally glanced up.
"How close did you get?"
"Close as any man would."
Gared stepped forward.
"We should head back to the Wall."
Waymar turned slowly.
"Do the dead frighten you?"
Gared didn't flinch.
"Our orders were to track the wildlings. We tracked them. They won't trouble us no more."
Waymar's mouth curved faintly.
"You don't think he'll ask us how they died?"
Silence.
"Get back on your horse."
Gared obeyed—but not happily.
Will hesitated.
"Whatever did it to them could do it to us. They even killed the children."
Waymar looked at him then.
Really looked.
"It's a good thing we're not children."
A beat.
"You want to run away south, run away," he added coldly. "Of course, they'll behead you as a deserter... if I don't catch you first.
Will swallowed.
Waymar's voice sharpened.
"Get back on your horse. I won't say it again."
They returned to the clearing on foot.
Swords drawn.
Breath steadying in the cold.
The bodies were gone.
Waymar stepped forward, irritation flickering.
"Your dead men seem to have moved camp."
"They were here," Will insisted.
Gared shifted uneasily.
"See where they went."
Will turned back the way he came.
Alone again.
Waymar and Gared pressed deeper into the forest.
Another clearing.
Something red in the snow.
Gared bent, lifting the cloth.
"What is it?" Waymar asked.
"It's—"
He never finished.
The cold deepened.
Something moved behind Waymar.
Gared's eyes widened in terror.
Waymar saw it in his face.
Turned—
The creature stood there.
Tall.
Silent.
Armor like ice.
Eyes burning blue.
The White Walker moved faster than thought.
Steel screamed as it struck.
Elsewhere in the forest, Will wandered alone.
The silence pressed in on him, thick and unnatural, until—
a scream tore through the trees.
Gared.
Will spun toward the sound just as all three horses burst past him, eyes wild, reins trailing, fleeing in blind panic.
He watched them go, confusion and dread knotting tight in his chest.
Then he turned back.
Something stood among the trees.
Small.
Still.
It faced away from him at first—then slowly, deliberately, it turned.
The girl.
The dead girl from the camp.
Her skin was pale as frost, her limbs stiff and wrong—and her eyes...
Blue.
Burning blue.
A wight.
Will's breath hitched. For a heartbeat, he could not move.
Then instinct took over.
He ran.
Branches clawed at him as he crashed through the forest, lungs burning, boots slipping on snow and ice.
Behind him, somewhere, something followed.
Gared ran too.
Blood streaked his face, terror driving him forward as the White Walker closed the distance with impossible speed.
They stumbled into the same clearing at once.
Will skidded to a halt, gasping for breath—only to realize Gared stood there as well, just as panicked, just as broken.
For a single, fragile moment—
they were not alone.
The White Walker stepped from the trees.
Cold rolled in with it, deeper than winter, sharper than any blade.
Gared didn't even have time to scream.
A hand shot out—
grabbing him by the back of the neck.
Lifting.
Ending him.
Steel flashed.
Clean.
Final.
Gared's head struck the snow.
Then—
was lifted again.
Thrown.
It landed at Will's feet with a dull, final thud.
Will collapsed to his knees.
Everything inside him went still.
Empty.
The White Walker advanced, slow now, deliberate.
It made a sound—
a chattering, grinding language that did not belong to men.
Did not belong to anything living.
Will stared up at it, all resistance gone, all hope stripped away.
The forest held its breath.
And the cold—
closed in.
Winter was coming.

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The sun rose slowly over Moat Cailin, pale gold light stretching across the marshes and broken towers, chasing away the last shadows of night.
Inside the castle, in a quiet chamber warmed by banked coals, two figures slept peacefully beneath heavy furs.
Alyssa Stark and Margaery Tyrell.
Years had passed.
War had not yet come, but the world had begun to shift.
Margaery stirred first, lashes fluttering as morning light brushed her face. She turned slightly, her gaze settling on Alyssa beside her.
For a moment, she simply watched her.
Then she smiled.
Soft. Fond. Certain.
Alyssa shifted, sensing the attention before fully waking. Her eyes opened slowly—those unmistakable purple irises finding Margaery immediately.
"You're staring," Alyssa murmured, voice rough with sleep.
"I am," Margaery replied easily. "You make it difficult not to."
Alyssa huffed a quiet laugh, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from Margaery's face.
"Flatterer," she said.
"Honest," Margaery corrected.
They leaned into each other, sharing a soft, lingering kiss, familiar, warm, grounding.
The kind that spoke of years, not moments.
Later, the room was filled with quiet movement as the day began.
Alyssa dressed first, pulling on a fitted shirt, trousers, and her Stark jacket, fastening her sword at her hip with practiced ease.
Margaery, already seated near the window, brushed out her hair, watching Alyssa through the reflection.
"Training again?" she asked.
"Always," Alyssa replied. "Men get lazy if I don't remind them who's in charge." She tugged on her gloves and added with a crooked grin, "With all the crops and animals we've got now, there's plenty of food. If they don't train, they'll be as fat as the king."
Margaery smiled faintly. "I doubt they forget."
Margaery laughed softly, the sound warm in the quiet room. Alyssa joined her, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
Margaery noticed at once. "What is it?" she asked, setting the brush aside.
Alyssa hesitated, then said, "There have been raids."
Margaery's expression sharpened. "From the North?"
Alyssa nodded. "Wildlings slipping past the Wall. Small groups at first. Now... more. Too many." She exhaled, uneasy. "Something's wrong. They don't come this far south without a reason."
Margaery rose and crossed to her, pulling the younger woman into her arms. Alyssa leaned into the embrace without resistance.
"Then we face it," Margaery murmured against her hair. "Together." She drew back just enough to search Alyssa's face. "Will you use your abilities more? If it keeps them safe?"
Alyssa's gaze flickered, thoughtful, then resolute. "If I have to, I will."
Margaery's eyes flashed, golden amber igniting for a heartbeat, as a low, protective growl rumbled in her chest before fading. It was a sound Alyssa knew well.
Years ago, before they wed, Alyssa had told her the truth, about the wolf, the power, the way she shaped stone and field and river to raise Moat Cailin from ruin. Not everything, never the part about another life, but enough. She had called them visions of what might come, glimpses of the future that guided her hand.
Margaery had been shocked. Concerned.
And then, impressed.
Because Alyssa had not used it to rule by fear. She had built. Protected. Fed her people. Given them strength without taking their will.
Power, used well.
It was something Margaery had always wanted, control, influence, a place where no one could push her aside. And Alyssa... Alyssa had all of it, and still chose to stand beside others instead of above them.
After Alyssa's first pregnancy, Margaery had asked for the bite.
Alyssa had refused, once.
Twice.
Then finally relented.
Margaery had endured it without breaking, and when she shifted, her wolf had been as striking as she was, reddish-blonde, fierce, and utterly unyielding.
Now, in the present, Alyssa exhaled slowly. "What I saw... it's getting closer," she admitted. "Soon it won't just be raids. It'll be worse—not only beyond the Wall, but in King's Landing and even across the Narrow Sea in Pentos. The board is shifting everywhere." She swallowed, jaw tightening. "And I don't know if I've done enough yet to stop it."
Margaery stepped in again, firmer this time, hands settling at Alyssa's waist as she pulled her close.
"You're not doing this alone," she said, voice low and certain, brooking no argument. "You have me. You have your family. Your council. An entire North that would follow you into the cold if you asked it."
Her gaze sharpened slightly, dominant, unwavering.
"And I won't let you carry all of this by yourself. Not now. Not ever.
Margaery closed the distance between them and claimed Alyssa's lips in a deep, dominant kiss, firm and certain. When they parted, she rested her forehead against the shorter woman's, breath mingling, her gaze still steady and unyielding.
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Together, they moved through the halls toward the nursery.
The guards outside nodded as they passed.
Inside, the room was quiet.
Peaceful.
Two small beds.
Two small lives
A young servant girl sat quietly in the corner, keeping watch over the children. She looked up as Alyssa and Margaery entered, immediately rising and lowering her head respectfully.
"My ladies," she said softly, careful not to wake the sleeping children.
Margaery gave her a small, approving nod. "Thank you. You may stay."
The girl returned to her place, attentive but unobtrusive, her presence a quiet reassurance that the children were never truly alone.
Arlenna Stark, two and a half years old, lay curled beneath her blankets, dark lashes resting against her cheeks, her hair catching the morning light. Even in sleep, there was a stubborn set to her expression.
Tavion Stark, one year old, slept soundly in his crib nearby, smaller, softer, his breathing steady.
Margaery's expression softened instantly.
Alyssa's followed.
"She's going to be trouble," Alyssa murmured quietly, glancing at their daughter.
"She already is," Margaery said fondly. "Just like someone else I know."
Alyssa glanced at her. "You love it."
"I do," Margaery admitted.
Alyssa smirked, eyes flicking between Margaery and their daughter. "You know, I not the only stubborn one here." She tilted her head, giving Margaery a look that clearly said you're worse than me.
Margaery arched a brow—then lightly swatted Alyssa's arm. "Careful," she murmured, amused. "Or I'll remind you exactly how stubborn I can be."
They moved closer.
Alyssa brushed her fingers gently over Arlenna's hair, careful not to wake her, then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Margaery did the same with Tavion, lingering just a moment longer.
"They're safe," Margaery said quietly.
"They will stay that way," Alyssa replied, voice firm.
A brief silence passed between them—heavy with everything unspoken.
Then Margaery reached for her hand.
"Go," she said softly. "Before your men start thinking they can win without you."
Alyssa squeezed her hand once, then leaned in for one more quick kiss.
"I'll see you after," she said.
"You always do," Margaery replied.
Alyssa left for the training yard.
Margaery remained a moment longer, watching over their children.
The morning light filled the room.
Warm.
Peaceful.
For now.
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The training yard of Moat Cailin was already alive by the time Alyssa arrived.
Men. Women. Children.
All moving. All learning.
Archers lined one side of the yard, loosing arrows in steady rhythm toward straw targets. The sharp thrum of bowstrings filled the air.
Nearby, pairs clashed with wooden swords, footwork sloppy in some, precise in others, as trainers barked corrections.
"Feet! Keep your feet under you!"
Spears moved in another ring, thrust, pull, reset, while shield lines practiced holding formation against coordinated pushes.
Further out, riders circled a marked track, learning control at speed, while others ran obstacle courses, vaulting walls, ducking under ropes, balancing across narrow beams slick with frost.
Daggers flashed in close quarters drills. Hand-to-hand bouts ended with hard takedowns into the packed dirt.
It was organized chaos.
It was exactly how Alyssa liked it.
She moved through it all, a constant presence, watching, correcting, demonstrating.
"Elbow higher," she told one archer, adjusting the girl's stance with a light touch. "You're fighting the bow. Let it do the work."
To a pair of young boys sparring too wildly, "Control. Power means nothing if you can't aim it. Again. Slower."
A man with a shield overextended; Alyssa stepped in, tapped his exposed side with the flat of her blade. "Dead. Keep your line."
There were multiple trainers in each section, veterans she trusted, mirroring her standards, echoing her voice.
No one stood idle.
No one was overlooked.
After a circuit of the yard, Alyssa turned toward a separate space set aside near the inner wall.
The Valkyries.
Her women.
They were already waiting.
A mix of ages and backgrounds—some former nobles, some smallfolk, some who had never held a weapon before coming here.
Now, each of them stood ready.
Alyssa didn't waste time.
"Pair up," she ordered.
They moved instantly.
For over an hour, she trained with them, harder than the others.
Faster.
Sharper.
More precise.
She fought among them, not above them, demonstrating, correcting mid-strike, pushing them past hesitation.
"Again."
A woman missed a block, Alyssa disarmed her in a blink, blade at her throat. "You hesitate, you die. Reset."
"Again."
Another overcommitted, Alyssa stepped inside her guard, swept her legs, offered a hand up without a word. "Balance. Find it. Men will underestimate you just because you are women, use that to your advantage. No man expects to kick their fucking ass handed to them. That is why even though we do have some separate training, you also train in the regular yard, fighting against all types and sizes."
"Again."
Sweat, breath, impact.
Growth.
By the end, every one of them was breathing hard, but standing.
Alyssa finally stepped back, lifting a hand.
"Enough."
Silence fell quickly.
"Break fast," she said. "Then get to your duties. We train again tomorrow."
A chorus of "Yes, my lady" followed.
As the yard began to disperse, Alyssa remained a moment longer, watching her people.
Stronger than they had been.
Not strong enough yet.
But getting there.
She turned at last, heading back toward the keep, toward Margaery, toward her children, toward everything she was trying to protect.
Above the marshes, the sun climbed higher.
Bright.
Deceptive.
Because far to the north, winter had already begun. Alyssa just hopes that they are ready for it.
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Alyssa returned inside, the warmth of the keep washing over her as she shed the chill of the yard.
A bath had been prepared.
She washed quickly, efficiently, scrubbing away sweat, dirt, and the lingering edge of tension. By the time she dressed again in clean clothes, the weight on her shoulders had lessened, if only slightly.
She made her way toward the great hall.
The halls of Moat Cailin were already awake with movement.
Servants carrying trays. Guards changing posts. Voices low but steady.
And then—
"Muna!"
Alyssa looked up just in time to see a small figure breaking free from a nursemaid's hand.
Arlenna.
The toddler ran toward her without hesitation, laughter bubbling out of her as her little legs carried her as fast as they could.
Alyssa's face softened instantly.
She crouched just in time to catch her daughter, lifting her easily and spinning her once in the air.
Arlenna squealed with delight, tiny hands grabbing onto Alyssa's shoulders.
"There you are," Alyssa murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.
Behind her, the nursemaid approached, Tavion balanced carefully on her hip.
The boy was already reaching out, small hands grasping, a soft whine leaving him as he watched.
"Alright, alright," Alyssa chuckled.
She stepped forward and took Tavion into her other arm, settling him against her hip with practiced ease.
Immediately, he quieted.
Alyssa shifted both children comfortably, glancing between them.
"And what have you two been doing, hm? Causing trouble already?"
Arlenna nodded very seriously.
"Yes," she declared proudly.
Alyssa snorted.
"Of course you have. Just like your father," she added under her breath.
By the time they reached the great hall, Margaery was already there.
Seated.
Waiting.
Composed, but watching the entrance.
Arlenna saw her immediately.
"Father!"
She wriggled in Alyssa's arms until Alyssa carefully lowered her to the ground.
The girl ran straight across the hall.
Margaery's expression softened as she caught her, lifting her easily into her lap.
"There you are," Margaery murmured, brushing a kiss to her hair.
Alyssa approached more slowly, setting Tavion into his high chair between them before taking her own seat.
Margaery adjusted Arlenna, settling her into the chair beside her.
"Were you good?" Margaery asked.
Arlenna paused.
Then shook her head.
Margaery huffed a soft laugh.
"At least you're honest."
Alyssa leaned back slightly, raising a hand toward the servants.
"Bring the food," she called.
They moved quickly.
Platters were set down.
Bread. Meat. Fruit. Warm porridge.
Simple, plentiful, hard-earned.
For a while—
they simply ate.
Talked.
Laughed.
Arlenna babbled about nothing and everything, Tavion occasionally adding his own small sounds like they could understand his baby babbles, demanding attention when he felt ignored.
Margaery and Alyssa exchanged glances over the table, small smiles, quiet understanding.
It was normal.
It was peaceful.
It was everything Alyssa had fought to build.
And everything she intended to protect.
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The doors to the great hall opened quietly.
Torran stepped inside, his presence unobtrusive but purposeful. He moved with the calm precision Alyssa had come to expect from the man who ran her intelligence network.
In his hand, a small roll of parchment.
Alyssa noticed immediately.
"Torran," she said, setting her cup down. "What is it?"
He approached the table and inclined his head respectfully.
"A raven arrived this morning, my lady. From Winterfell."
That was enough to draw Margaery's full attention.
Alyssa took the parchment, unrolling it quickly, eyes scanning the familiar hand.
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"It's from my father," she said.
Margaery leaned slightly closer. "And?"
Alyssa looked up, amusement softening her features.
"He wants us to come to Winterfell. And," she huffed a quiet laugh, "my mother specifically says to bring you and the children."
Margaery smiled faintly. "Of course she does."
"They want to see their first grandchildren," Alyssa added, glancing at Arlenna and Tavion. "Apparently it's been far too long."
Margaery's expression warmed at that.
Alyssa turned back to Torran. "Find Lysa. Tell her we leave in a day. I want carts prepared, food, supplies, and gifts for my family."
Torran nodded once.
"Branic will oversee training while I'm gone," Alyssa continued. "Mira handles everything else."
"It will be done," Torran said before stepping back and exiting as quietly as he had entered.
Before the moment could settle, another figure entered.
Kael.
He carried a second parchment.
"For you," he said, offering it to Margaery.
She accepted it, brow lifting slightly as she broke the seal.
Alyssa watched her read.
Then, laughed.
Margaery looked up, already smiling in that knowing way.
"My grandmother," she said. "She's demanding we bring our family to Highgarden. She wants to see her great-grandchildren."
Alyssa groaned softly. "Of course she does."
Margaery continued, "And apparently... there will be visitors there who wish to meet you."
That made Alyssa laugh again.
"Visitors," she repeated. "That sounds like trouble."
"It usually is," Margaery replied lightly.
Then her expression shifted, firmer now.
She met Alyssa's eyes directly.
"After Winterfell," she said, voice leaving no room for argument, "we will go to Highgarden."
Alyssa's smile faded just slightly.
"Do we have to?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
Margaery raised a brow.
"You are no longer with child," she said calmly. "Tavion is old enough to travel. There is no reason to avoid it."
Alyssa sighed.
Then narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Will your sister be there?"
Margaery's expression tightened, just a fraction.
"Most likely," she admitted, irritation flickering beneath her composure. "Vivienne has not yet learned to give up."
Alyssa huffed. "She's persistent, I'll give her that."
"She's insufferable," Margaery corrected dryly.
Alyssa leaned back slightly. "Does it say who these mysterious visitors are?"
Margaery shook her head. "No."
A pause.
Then, more firmly—
"It doesn't matter."
Her gaze locked onto Alyssa's.
"I will deal with my sister," she said. "And anyone else who thinks they can interfere."
Another beat.
"We are going," she finished.
Alyssa studied her for a moment.
Then sighed, half reluctant, half amused.
"Fine," she muttered. "Winterfell first. Then Highgarden."
Margaery smiled, small, victorious.
Across the table, Arlenna banged her hands happily against the wood, completely unaware of the journeys being planned around her.
And for a moment, they were just a family again.
Before everything began to move.