The Warning
Winterfell had not known peace since the child had passed the Trials of the Soul. Snow clung to the battlements, but the wind carried something darker than frost the scent of blood and shadow. Scouts returned with grim news Lily had amassed a new army, larger than any before, and it moved swiftly south along the Kingsroad.
Job stood atop the battlements, eyes scanning the horizon.
"They come with fire and shadow," he said, voice tight.
"This time, the North cannot hide."
Althea's hand rested lightly on his arm, frost tracing the veins along her wrist.
"The Silver Tree watches," she said,
"but even it cannot fight for us forever."
The child, small but fierce, stood beside them. Her breath fogged the cold air, eyes alight with determination.
"Let them come," she said softly.
"Winterfell does not fear death. Not while we stand together."
Preparations
Within the walls, the lords and knights of the North scrambled to prepare. Catapults were readied, walls reinforced, and archers stationed along the parapets. Maesters whispered old prophecies and rune wards into existence, while sorcerers chanted protective spells that warped the very air.
"Every corner, every tower, every heart must fight," Maeve instructed.
"The shadows will seek weakness but weakness is ours to deny."
The child moved among the soldiers, whispering encouragement, calling forth spectral allies from the Silver Tree's memory. Ghosts of the past emerged, sword in hand, ready to defend the North once more.
The Enemy Approaches
By dusk, the first banners appeared black as pitch, with crimson streaks that shimmered unnaturally. Sorcerers rode atop the battalions, twisting shadows into monstrous shapes. The snowstorm intensified, though the sky held no clouds; the cold itself seemed alive.
Lily's voice carried across the field, amplified by dark magic
"Surrender, Winterfell! Bow before the lion, or burn beneath the shadow of your sins!"
Job tightened his grip on Longclaw, eyes fixed.
"They threaten, but they do not understand," he said.
"We fight because we must. Not for glory, but for survival."
The child stepped forward, raising her hands. Silver light radiated from the Snow-Tree, freezing the air in front of the gates. Frost surged along the battlements, forming barriers that shimmered like glass.
The First Wave
Lily's forces struck at night. Shadows melted into humanoid shapes, attacking in silence, their blades enchanted to pierce both steel and spirit.
Spectral warriors, guided by the child's magic, met them at the walls. The clash of sword and magic echoed through the night, creating a symphony of steel, frost, and flame.
"Hold the gates!" Job shouted, as soldiers fell frozen mid-step, or burned in suspended fire from Lily's sorcerers.
Maeve hovered near the Silver Tree, chanting wards that flared with each strike.
"Do not falter!" she cried.
"Every life, every memory, every hope bind them to the North's strength!"
The child's hands glowed, shaping ice and light into spears that rained down upon the enemy. Shadows screamed and dissolved, leaving only blackened remnants frozen into the snow.
The Heart of Winterfell
Deep inside the castle, Althea traced the veins of power through Winterfell's stones. The Frost-Wraiths, sensing her presence, swirled around the hallways like smoke. She met them, eyes glowing, and forced them back into the walls, their hiss of frustration echoing through the ancient corridors.
"Even the walls themselves remember," she murmured.
"And they fight with us."
Job fought on the walls, swinging Longclaw with precision, covering gaps in defense. Every strike was a blend of mortal skill and the echoes of divine guidance, each movement measured, intentional, fatal.
"Winterfell does not yield!" he roared.
"And neither shall we!"
Lily's Sorcery
Lily herself appeared on the battlefield, atop a blackened steed, her hands weaving fire and shadow into serpentine tendrils that lashed at the defenders. Her eyes glowed red, mirroring the fury and greed of her ancestors.
"You will kneel, Althea," she called.
"Or I will burn your world to cinders!"
The child met her glare, summoning spectral wolves from the Silver Tree's memory. They struck with precision, forcing Lily to retreat slightly, though her fury only intensified.
"You cannot stop me forever," Lily hissed.
"Even your precious Silver Tree cannot save you from the lion's wrath!"
The Turning of the Battle
Hours bled into dawn. Snow and frost wove with fire and shadow, creating a battlefield that was less physical and more magical in nature. Every step mattered, every spell counted, every arrow carried the weight of fate.
Job rallied his men, while Althea bolstered the wards, and the child channeled the Silver Tree's deepest magic. Frost and silver intertwined, creating a shield that pulsed with the memories and courage of the North.
"We do not just fight," the child shouted.
"We remember! Every fallen warrior, every sacrifice they stand with us!"
The spectral warriors surged forward, striking Lily's forces with supernatural precision. Sorcerers faltered as the Silver Tree's power countered their magic, bending shadows into ice, halting fire midair, and sealing the breach.
The Enemy's Fall
By mid-morning, Lily's army began to falter. The magical siege she relied on was being undone by the North's combination of spectral power, physical defense, and the child's command of the Silver Tree.
Job's Longclaw cut a path through her remaining soldiers, and the child raised her hands once more. A final pulse of magic swept across the battlefield, freezing Lily's forces in place.
"Winterfell stands!" Job shouted, voice raw with exhaustion and triumph.
Lily herself retreated, furious, her army fractured and broken. The North had survived but the cost was written in frost and blood.
Aftermath
Winterfell was quiet again, but its survivors bore the marks of battle. Ice and snow coated every wall, sword, and body, and the air was thick with magic's residue.
The child, exhausted, sank to her knees beneath the Silver Tree. Job and Althea knelt beside her, hands on her shoulders.
"You've done what no one else could," Althea said softly.
"But remember this victory is temporary. The shadows will rise again."
Job nodded, gripping her hand.
"And when they do, we will fight again. Together."
The Silver Tree pulsed faintly, a silent promise that Winterfell would endure, but also a reminder that the war was far from over.