Chapter 9: Iron From Ice

As she walked up to the executioners block she took in her surroundings. A dirty older man's body was being dragged away from the block to make space for her. She saw Sera, she saw Lord Morgryn. She saw countless other people that she had spoken to civilly while she had been Margaery's handmaiden all jeering her and denouncing her for a spy and a traitor.

Once up on the platform and asked to speak her final words, the news that she had just heard was in the forefront in her mind. Torrhen was alive, he hadn't been killed at the Red Wedding as she had thought. She said the only thing that she wanted to say. Glaring at the crowd, she spat. "The Black Wolf is coming. Be very afraid."

That got the jeers and the cries out of the crowd, and Mira just bowed her head. "I'm sorry my love, I will see you soon."

She was told to kneel, and she did so with dignity, placing her head on the block and cringing at the sticky hot blood that stained it. She barely even felt the sword as it rushed down to bite into her neck.

Sooner than a blink however, she was stood upright in a grimy hall. Looking around she saw that she was in the middle of the pathway and in all directions from her men were kneeling. Suddenly, next to her walked Torrhen. The man that she had thought dead, that she had cried as he said goodbye to her after their night together at Highgarden. He didn't notice her, and nobody noticed as she called out his name. He just walked over to the front of the room and knelt behind a giant man in an Umber surcoat. Lord Jon Umber, she guessed.

"I name you Torrhen, of the House Stark. Rightful Lord of Winterfell and the King of Winter!" He cried, as he placed the crown with nine sword like iron points coming out of the bronze circlet. "Long may he reign, the King in the North!"

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!" The men around her all chanted. "THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

Suddenly the scene changed again, and they were in a training ground surrounded by pyramids. Torrhen looked older, his beard fuller. He was sparring with an old knight when a dark-skinned child ran up to him and gave him a letter, shouting in a language she didn't know. Torrhen read the letter and dropped to his knees. "Bastards…" He muttered quietly. Mira walked over and read the letter as the old knight picked it up. It detailed her death.

"They will all pay." Torrhen snarled, as angry as she had ever seen him. Mira's hand went to her own mouth to stop herself from crying, as she was forced to watch her lover break down and sob over her death.

She was thrown into new places in quick succession afterwards. She saw Torrhen losing a finger and gaining two swords. She saw him in a fighting pit holding his dead Mother. She saw him at Moat Cailin at the head of an army looking angrily determined, and then watched as he stood staring at a burning wooden keep, the screams of people still inside ringing in her ears.

"Oh Torrhen… what did you become?" Mira whispered. She just wanted to embrace him, to tell him that she was there, but she was lurched again, standing on a wooden platform facing the sea as he stood there waiting to embrace his twin and Jon Snow.

She was then in the middle of a slaughter, standing on top of bodies as she watched Torrhen skilfully slash a large man's back before beheading him, roaring as he lifted the head up in the air. She was then inside the Winterfell Godswood, watching the love of her life marrying another woman before she was back in King's Landing.

She was stood on a graveyard, and both Torrhen and her exiled brother Asher were standing over a grave. Mira moved briefly and gasped when she saw her own name. "She deserved better than this." Asher had growled.

She watched on through tears as Lord Tyrion's squire explained to Torrhen how she had died, and she followed them both when they left the graveyard. Why he was in King's Landing she didn't know, but she followed him until they stopped in the Street of Silk, and Podrick pointed out a man to Torrhen.

It was Lord Morgryn. The man who had tried to force her to marry him, the man who had provided the evidence to have her killed. She grew angry, but was surprised when Torrhen walked up to Morgryn and greeted him.

"What are you doing…" She whispered.

"He's avenging you." An old man's voice said from behind her. Turning, she saw an ancient man in a cloak of raven's feathers.

"Who are you?" She asked.

"I am your guide to the next world." He told her. "I'm letting you see these places so you can understand the man Torrhen Stark became after your death."

Mira didn't know what to say, but her attention was turned as Torrhen had had two guards seize Lord Morgryn. Torrhen sentenced Morgryn to die, and after saying his titles, he leaned in to Morgryn and whispered, but she heard him clearly. "This is for you Mira, my love."

"He was married, yet you were in his heart three years later." The old man said, as Torrhen beheaded Morgryn. "He never let you go."

"Then he was a fool." She scoffed. "He needed to move on with his life, I would just tether him to anger."

They were then in Winterfell, in a room Mira had never been in. Torrhen's wife had put a baby boy in a cradle and the pair were arguing about something, but Mira wasn't listening. She moved over to the cradle and stared down at the baby, the beautiful boy sleeping soundly that looked so much like Torrhen.

"The only girl you've ever loved lost her head in King's Landing and rots beneath the ground." The green haired woman said sharply, and Mira turned in time to see Torrhen slap her hard against the cheek.

Gasping, Mira was shaking her head. "Let me go." She begged, but he didn't.

"Don't you ever mention her again." He snarled at his wife. "Do you hear me?"

Mira was then moved again, it was night time in the Godswood of Winterfell once more, and Torrhen was with a group of people firing arrows at what looked like dead people. The old man was back as well, staring at Bran Stark in a wheelchair.

"This is the fight that he was born for." The old man said. "The living against the dead."

Mira looked up in surprise. "Did you just say the dead?"

The old man nodded and gestured for her to watch on. A demon with a crown of ice moved forwards and met Torrhen in single combat. It was no use however, as even with every move Torrhen had in his locker, he was stabbed in the gut.

"No!" Mira screamed, as she ran towards him. Torrhen fell onto his back, but Mira was right there kneeling by his side. "No no no no wake up." She begged him.

"Stand aside, girl." The old man said.

"He needs me." She snapped, crying once more.

"Watch." The old man insisted, grabbing her shoulder and bringing her away. Torrhen's eyes flashed white for an instant. When he came to he coughed up some blood and grabbed his sword, roaring as he stabbed the demon in the back of the heart. Mira could only watch through her fingers as he was thrown back in an explosion of ice, bleeding out in the arms of Jon Snow.

She was openly weeping now, willing it to all be a dream. "Why are you showing me this?" She cried as Jon and Torrhen spoke their last conversation to one another.

"So you know the type of man he is now." The old man said. "He and his comrades bled over Weirwood roots and the Gods have granted him a second chance. You shall join him in that world."

Mira was still sniffling, but her tears were stopping as that sank in. "I… I get another chance to be with him?"

The man nodded. "Death pays for life, so things will be different. But Mira Forrester, you shall live."

Mira looked back at Torrhen, who was staring up at the red leaves of the Weirwood tree. Her love smiled weakly and whispered painfully. "I'm coming Mira."

Mira let out a laugh. "I'm coming to, Tor. I'll see you soon." She promised him.

Suddenly, she gasped. She was lying down, a set of covers covering her night dress. Different memories flooded her, of receiving a raven from Torrhen and sending one back. She looked around and was surprised to see her room at Ironrath. Groaning, she moved to get out of bed. She looked down as her feet touched the wooden floor and noticed her feet were smaller. On further inspection of her body, she noticed other changes. Her hips were thinner, her breasts were less than half the size they had been before she went away to Highgarden. "The old man was right…" She whispered, when suddenly her door opened.

Elissa Branfield, Mira's mother, opened the door. "Come on." She said urgently. "Your Father called for you, don't keep him waiting!"

"Mother." Mira grinned, rushing over and hugging her fiercely. Elissa hugged her back, slightly bemused.

"Get dressed, Mira." She insisted. "Or I'll tell your Father not to take you."

"Take me where?" Mira asked.

Elissa just grinned. "Get yourself ready and come and find out."

Mira had quickly thrown on a grey dress with her family sigil dotted around the fabric and had rushed down to the main hall of Ironrath, the castle of House Forrester. She looked over at everyone sat down at the table and wanted to cry once more. Her family, her dead family, were all there minus Asher, who at this point couldn't have been long exiled. Her father, Lord Gregor was sat in his chair having a quiet word with her mother. Rodrik, whole again, was laughing at something Duncan Tuttle had said, as well as Ethan and Talia on the other side of the table, fighting about something.

Taking in the image, she walked over towards them. Duncan Tuttle was the first to notice Mira and rose out of his chair. "Lady Mira." He greeted, offering her his seat. Mira took it gratefully.

"You're late." Gregor noted.

Mira bowed her head. "Apologies, Father. I slept poorly."

Gregor looked at his eldest daughter, concerned. "Go and see Maester Ortengryn afterwards and get some sweetsleep." He said kindly. "But now, onto the matter at hand. I've received a raven from Winterfell."

"Another one?" Rodrik asked, grinning at Mira. "Someone has an admirer."

She hit him lightly on the arm, blushing. The memories of this version of herself receiving the letter from Torrhen were in her mind. Gregor shook his head, a serious look on his face. "This is from Lord Eddard."

That got Rodrik to take it seriously. "Lord Eddard?" He asked. "Why is he writing to us…"

"He is inviting all the Lords of the North to Winterfell for a grand council." Gregor explained. "That's all we have."

"A council?" Talia asked. "Why? It's not time for the Harvest Feast is it?"

Elissa shook her head. "No, this is highly irregular. But if Lord Eddard summons your Father, he will go."

"We have been loyal to House Stark for almost 2000 years." Gregor explained. "We will answer his summons now, no matter what the reasoning behind it is."

"We?" Ethan asked.

Gregor nodded. "I will take Rodrik and Ethan with me. As well as you, Mira. Lord Stark has asked for you to come personally."

That took Mira back, this hadn't happened at all in her other life. "Me? Why would Lord Eddard ask for me?"

"Maybe Lord Torrhen has been begging him to take you to wife." Rodrik grinned, earning an elbow.

"Mira." Gregor warned her, and she looked at him apologetically. "We don't know why Lord Eddard has asked for you, but we will answer him nonetheless. Go on the rest of you, Rodrik, Ethan, go and pack. Talia, I want you to aid your Mother around Ironrath while we are away. Help out with Ryon."

"I will, Father." The young girl smiled. The children soon left the table, leaving Mira alone with her parents and Duncan Tuttle standing in the background.

"Mira, if Lord Stark is asking us for a betrothal, we need to be cautious." Gregor said calmly. "This isn't a light request."

Mira was surprised. "We should be honoured, shouldn't we?"

"We should, and we are." Elissa insisted. "But we aren't a large house, and outside of Lord Glover's realms we are only known for our Ironwood, and the fact that my family fought on the wrong side of the Trident during King Robert's rebellion…"

"You were his vassals, they can understand that surely?" Mira asked.

Gregor shook his head. "There are some that still belittle us for it, not that it matters to me." He took his wife's hand. "But we are not a big enough House to be able to fight off this talk alone."

"Then a match with House Stark seems wisest, tying us to our Wardens." Mira told them.

Gregor sighed. "It will be met with resistance, Mira. Imagine Lord Karstark, or Lord Umber finding out about this and feeling grieved that their own maidens were overlooked for a younger house that's a vassal to Lord Glover, not Lord Stark himself."

Mira smiled. "Father, if what you believe turns out to be true, then that is great news for our House. Look at the positives, we'd be matched to House Stark themselves, we could create trade links with everyone else that marries into Torrhen's siblings. We'd have the backing of House Stark if the Whitehill's try something again…"

"Gods forbid." Gregor grumbled.

"And you'd be making me happy by accepting." Mira insisted. "Truly happy."

Elissa looked concerned. "You're still young, Mira. How do you know this infatuation will last?"

Mira smiled, and spoke wiser than her perceived years. "Some loves are not limited by just one lifetime. Some last a thousand. I have faith that ours is like that."

Miles to the east on a hill looking over the Weeping Water, the Dreadfort stood tall and dreary. Domeric Bolton hadn't seen the castle of his birth for three years, since his time at the Redfort in the Vale squiring for Lord Horton Redfort. Newly knighted and proud to have received one of the finest horses in the Redfort stables as a gift, Domeric had been summoned home by his Father.

The nineteen-year-old rode into the gates to a large procession of people that he vaguely remembered from his youth. He greeted them all, speaking with Steelshanks, Locke, and even the Kennel master and his daughter, Myranda.

He was quickly escorted up to his father's chambers. It was a grim room, lit only by a couple of windows and a few candles. He suddenly felt an urge to go back to the Vale but fought it down.

His Father was sat staring at the map of the North, and as soon as the door closed behind Domeric leaving them alone together, he fell to one knee. "Father."

He looked to the ground waiting to be told to rise. He heard heavy footsteps stop and saw the tips of Roose Bolton's boots. "Rise."

Domeric did as he was asked, and stared at his Father's cold, pale eyes for the first time in three years. Roose opened his arms out, and Domeric hugged the man awkwardly, before being released. He was at least three inches taller than Roose now, having grown a lot in the last few years. "It is good to be home, Father."

Roose nodded. "You look well, Ser Domeric."

Dom grinned at the title. "Lord Redfort was good to knight me. He is a fine man, Father."

"Just don't forget yourself." Roose told him. "You are a Bolton, a Northman." Domeric nodded. Roose moved over to his desk and picked up a raven scroll. "This is why I summoned you back." He handed Dom the letter.

"Lord Stark is gathering the nobles?" He asked, not expecting an answer. "It seems a bit early for the harvest feast, summer isn't over yet."

"It's far too early." Roose told him. "Which means that Lord Stark is planning something that involves the entire North being on side."

"And are we?" Domeric asked. It was a dangerous question, but he hadn't earned his knighthood by being meek.

Roose raised an eyebrow, and Dom almost thought a smirk had appeared on the man's lips. "For now." He said. "Lord Stark has also requested your presence, which is why I have summoned you back."

"Me?" Domeric was surprised at that.

Roose nodded. "Strange things are occurring in Winterfell. Your aunt in Barrowton wrote to us not so long ago speaking about a party from House Reed riding North, and then a Stark party joining them back Southwards. Ned Stark is plotting something, and it's completely out of character."

"Then we go." Dom surmised. "We observe, and we see what he is planning."

Roose did smile for a moment then. "Very good."

Dom grinned back. He was ushered to the desk for a moment and waited while food was brought to them, and the pair caught up properly. Domeric was gushing about his experiences in the Vale, and he noticed that Roose didn't look overly happy at how close he had gotten with Lord Redfort's sons, especially the youngest two who were closest to him in age. That led Domeric to ask the question he had been dreading to ask all journey back home. "I heard… rumours."

"Hmm?" Roose barely batted an eyelid.

"Of a brother of my own, of your blood." Dom mentioned.

That stopped Roose in his tracks. He placed the chicken bone he was eating down onto his plate and cleaned his hands. "You have no other living brothers."

"That's not true though, not really." Domeric countered. "I have a bastard brother…"

"Enough." Roose said coldly. "I do not know where you heard these rumours from, Domeric, but that boy that would call himself a son of mine is a rabid animal. You would do well to forget about him."

"How can I?" Dom asked. "He is my brother."

"He tortures women for sport." Roose snapped. "He would see you dead sooner than he would embrace you as kin. You are my heir, my only living heir. You will not see that beast; do you understand me?"

Dom grimaced, knowing his Father was likely just trying to scare him off so that Dom didn't reveal his father's shame to the world. "I won't, Father." He lied.

Torrhen awoke with a startle, as his door was thrown open by an excitable Sansa. "Wake up!" She cried. "Wake up wake up!"

Torrhen groaned as he tried to turn over so that his face was buried in his pillow, but his covers were stolen quickly and Sansa was now jumping on his bed. "Go away!" He cried, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Fine, I guess I'll steal all your presents then." Sansa said. That got Torrhen's attention.

"What?" He asked.

Sansa laughed. "Don't tell me you've forgotten? It's our nameday silly!"

Torrhen bolted upright. "Is it?"

Sansa grinned. "Yes!" Torrhen remembered his 12th nameday. He had collaborated with his Father months beforehand to get Sansa a new harp, so thankfully he hadn't forgotten to get her a present. Sansa however had something wrapped in leather in her arms. She handed it to him. "Here you go."

He carefully unwrapped the leather, grinning at the reminder. It was the only surviving copy of Septon Barth's 'Dragons, Wyrms and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History' that somehow, Ned had managed to get a copy of, with the other copies all perishing in Baelor the Blessed's book burnings. "Thank you." He grinned, wrapping Sansa in a hug.

"Your welcome." Sansa said in a sing song voice. "Father already brought your gift to me up to my room and I love it thank you! Now get changed!" She said bossily. "We've got lemoncakes for breakfast!"

Torrhen laughed and kicked Sansa gently off of the bed, walking to close the door behind her as she left him to get ready. 20 minutes later and he was sat down beside Ned at the head of the table, with Sansa on Ned's left hand side.

The entire Stark family were at the table, including Jon which surprised most of the family. The food came out first, with Sansa of course tucking into the lemoncakes. Torrhen ate his fill, and soon the presents were being distributed.

Jon, Arya and Robb had all clubbed together to give him a decorated hunting knife, while Bran and Rickon had clearly been given the thick black wolfs fur cloak from Catelyn to give to him, but he thanked them nonetheless. It was Ned and Catelyn's gift that really surprised Torrhen however, as Theon brought it in for them. Torrhen uncovered it and gasped, as he looked upon a beautifully carved Weirwood bow.

"This must have cost a lot…" Torrhen whispered.

"We carved it from our own Weirwood tree, Torrhen." Ned told him. "No matter where you go, this means that you will always be with the Gods, and you shall always have a piece of Winterfell with you."

He was speechless, and quickly got up to grab both Ned and Catelyn in a fierce hug. "Thank you." He whispered to them both.

They all ended up going riding into the Wolfswood after breakfast, and for once all of the Starks managed to have an entire day together, enjoying themselves before the Lords and Ladies of the North started to arrive, and everything changed.