The Autumn Equinox

AUTHOR'S NOTES! TW for cannon typical violence and semi graphic reference of rape. Oh and sacrificial blood letting. There will be a lot of that in future chapters so I'm gonna stop warning about it. WHOOO, HOW YALL LIKING THIS DOUBLE UPDATE! This chapter has been living rent free in my head since the very beginning of this work, and I am so damn excited to write and post it. It's probably my favorite chapter with the first chapter coming in a close second. I'm not really the type of writer who invents convoluted plot points for why the MC can't take out an enemy at the first opportunity, and as a result there is a huge canyon divergence starting in this chapter. Expect the MC to act like this in the future as well. If she sees a threat, she will eliminate it at the first opportunity. Anyways, as always I'm super blown away from all the support on this work, and the rest of the series, which can be read independently or as part of this soul's journey through the cycle of reincarnation. Thank you all so, so much for reading, and especially you commenters. I really wanna know how you liked this latest chapter. See you guys next time!

Discord!

/4tmDwEppx9

XXXXXLUNARYAXXXXX

"Alright, does everyone have their plaques?" I ask, glancing about at my assembled group. My siblings are gathered with their guards, including Ser Cregan Cassel and his son Rodrick, as well as Ser Jon Swift. There was also essentially every magic user in Wintertown, all of which were here to learn and a part of the officially established order of mages, (ugh, I had yet to name it), now led by Bara the warg, Elder Ro the greenseer, and Kai the skinchanger. Marwyn was also hovering close enough to eat my hair should I turn too quickly, but I honestly didn't care so long as this little experiment of ours works, considering it was with his help and expertise that I could expedite my plans for my kingdom. The last of our group consisted of some farmers under Arnold, Winterfell's Head of Agriculture.

"We have them, Luna!" Lyanna cheers, holding up her own weirwood plaque, carved with runes of both Old Valyria and the Old Tongue of the First Men. It took a long while working with Marwyn, and a lot of greenseeing, but it should work according to my visions. Interestingly enough, Bloodraven seems to think that it's my connection to the gods that allows me to shift futures like I do. Apparently, it's not so easy for other greenseers to make a change, but I have no intention of complaining.

"Spread out and begin," I order and everyone scatters to the four corners of the land at each cardinal direction, Bran's gleeful cackles of excitement are rivaled only by Lya's cheerful howls and Beny's happy giggles. Ned is all quiet amusement as he pats my head on his way past to his own corner.

The Archmaester is still scrutinizing me from half a foot away like he's checking me for lice, but it is what it is. Ser Cregan has also appeared at my side, wearily glaring at Marwyn, which is entirely fair considering his … Marwyn-ness. A few mages, some of which came with Marwyn from the citadel, hover as well. Bara, Elder Ro, and Kai, a stoic man in his early 30's who is helping Bara lead the spy network as well as the mages, all chose to remain with me as well. With a deep breath, I drop to the ground in the center of my field, watching my breath fog the air around me. I'd been born into summer, as cold as it was in the North, but finally, after 8 years of life, Autumn had arrived. I was going to turn 9 right before the equinox, something always celebrated with a festival in honor of the Last Harvest, an important event that often involved prayer to the gods as it would determine if we'd starve in the long winter years or grovel for food from other kingdoms.

"They're ready!" Someone calls, but I already know. I can feel each of my siblings, the strong current of power under their skin like stars in a dark sky, settled in place, the magic now flooding this part of the North allowing me to sense everything around me. Nahsa drops Garth's crown on my head, the first time it's been used since Lyza's birth, and I bow my head, eyes shut.

I wave my hand in a silent command, and Nahsa obeys, setting a small pot containing a weirwood cutting in it. Despite not being much more than a stem with a few deep red leaves, the sapling still radiated the same ancient energy as any other weirwood.

With a quick cut to my palm with the dagger reluctantly handed to me, I place bloody fingers around white wood and begin to pray to any gods that will hear me be they Garth, Magic, Death, or the nameless Old Gods of my home. Soon, I feel power flooding my senses, the sapling taking the offered sacrifice and giving magic in return and the earth quakes with it. Easily, I find the weirwood plaques bloodied and buried by my siblings, and my senses are nearly blinded by the amplification of energy in the field. A heaviness now saturates the air and my lungs. I can see golden light from behind my eyelids and hear the shocked exclamations of those around us, but ignore it.

This field would be a testing ground, an exploration of what would be possible in this world. I knew what I wanted to grow here, and I had the magic, but no seeds. Hell, I wasn't even sure if some of these plants existed in this world, but here I was, tossing sense to the wind and leaving it to the gods.

Let me bring prosperity to my people.

And like an answer the earth shifts, herbs and flowers and berries and leaves sprouting thickly and filling the air with fragrance. I blink open blurry eyes, carefully untangling my hands from creeping vines as the golden light fades.

"Magic Bringer, look!" Marwyn growls crouching next to me. He points at my sapling, and to my surprise, rather than a stem with leaves, it now looks like a shrunken tree with tiny leaves and branches and roots all fully formed. And there on its white trunk was a smiling face.

A tiny heart tree. Huh… I should name it. Something simplistic and.. masculine? It might have been my child body, but naming my mini tree had suddenly rocketed to the top of my priority list. George? Oscaar? Dan? Mo? Brus? Uh, I'll figure it out later. I can feel the tree judging me, I think, twitching. I carefully hand over the mini heart tree to the fervent, grasping hands of Marwyn as I stand.

"Milady, won't the plants die in this environment? Will you have to use your magic every time? You'll exhaust yourself and your Lord Father will have our hide," Ser Cregan warns, steadying my wobbly steps, my blood still rushing in my head, but the fatigue already setting in.

I grin, shaking my head. "No. Those plaques had runes, particularly ones from the Valyrian Freehold. Their society was extremely advanced due to their magic abilities, but that would not have been so if their people were starving. With so many mountains and volcanoes in the region, their land wasn't all that fertile, and their climate wasn't good for many forms of agriculture. In fact, a great portion of the Freehold was covered in dragon glass and rock. To counteract this, they used these runes to keep their farmland fertile and the plants unaffected by environmental factors regardless of season. I've replicated that here, but there is a limit to what magic can do. Prolonged extreme weather can still cause damage. We won't be able to grow food like this in the dead of Winter, at least not this far North." I blink, a thought coming to me. "It might not be good enough. Maybe I should look into growing things underground? I didn't need seeds, so can we grow things without sunlight? What-"

"Oi, Wolf Brat," Marwyn barks, utterly unimpressed. "Don't speak as though this won't extend Northern agriculture massively and completely change the variety of crops that can be grown."

I shrug. It's not that I didn't know how much good this would already do once we could replicate it across the kingdom, it's just that more than anything, I saw this as part of my responsibilities as a Stark in the North. These were my people, and I should do my utmost for them, even if it requires a great deal of work. This was my duty, nothing worthy of praise.

My lips twitch at the thought. I seem to have really internalized the Stark values. Although, I suppose I've always been like this. It's probably why I was born here as a Stark, after all. Oh, gods, what if I'd been born a Lannister? I choke on my own laughter, my imagination creating some hilarious images for me. I'm pretty sure that tyrant, Lord Tywin Lannister, and I would have tried to kill each other at least once by now. Oh, I can admire cunning and ruthlessness, but not a complete lack of honor and an utter disregard for life.

Ser Cregan scoops me into his arms with a sigh and I shoot him a thankful look before I rest my head on the knight's shoulder. I inhale, catching the scent of mint, lavender, rose, hibiscus, orange, lemon, and more. With a mental grasp on the magic, I feel the way aloe vera grows to the west and soapberry nuts to the south, a few cacao and coffee trees near where Benjen was exploring the field, and some trees near Bran that would produce something like shea butter and cinnamon, and even one I had a feeling would produce potent alcohol. Ser Cregan carried me past various berry bushes and herbs like frankincense, sage, and perhaps even saffron. Some of the things now growing in my field were completely foreign to me, unique to this world, but from the vague warmth emanating from the wreath on my head, I knew they would be useful, and I made a note to pray in the godswood tonight.

I shut my eyes, slipping into sleep, content to usher in a new era for my people come dawn.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I was thinking that perhaps Ned could foster with Lord Jon Arryn," Father states, setting down his fork, and as one, every Stark in the room turned to glance at me.

I blink, somewhere between amused and touched by their faith in me. "It is a very good idea. Ned can gain true friends in both the Lord of the Vale and the future Lord of the Stormlands, Robert Baratheon, who is also fostering there. They are good friends to have. But," I send a sharp look at my brother who flinches. "Don't even think about a marriage alliance at this time. It could quite literally end in nearly half our house dead and war across the kingdoms." Horror stricken, the dining room was silent. Even baby Lyza seems to understand the gravity of the situation, the moon old child perfectly still despite being awake in my mother's arms. "Betrothals can wait until we decide which alliances we need to secure, and this fostering should be enough to secure the Vale and Stormlands for now."

"Can we really secure that much support with merely a fostering?" Father asks, and it is a fair question.

I smirk. "Ned is very lovable." Ned sputters, the ten people year old turning adorably abashed. "Both houses would support us in many situations. Ned will make true friends there. Just remember, brother, to heed my words even if they don't make sense at the time I speak them."

"I will," Ned speaks, voice soft but steady. "I will protect our pack and people."

"I have no doubt," I agree, reaching to hold Ned's hand in mine. I love all my siblings dearly, but Ned's calm presence had always been especially soothing to my overactive senses, and I would sorely miss it in the chaos of the others. "Bran should tour the North and I would like to join him. Benjen should go to the Manderly's when he's older. Lya should stay in Winterfell or join a tour,this one or the next. Lya could technically foster at another house, but that might insinuate a betrothal, and we don't want that."

"I wish to tour! Father, I-"

"I hear you, child, and I'll consider it. Why the Manderly's? A strong and loyal House to be sure, but why them specifically of all the northern houses?" Father asks seriously, brows furrowed.

I grin. "Benjen will be the Sea Wolf leading our ships in trade, and war, if need be. At least, according to my dreams."

"Yes! I'll be the best sailor!" Beny cheers, and I dart my hand out to save his cup from toppling.

"… of what fleet?" Mother asks warily.

"I'm working on it," I shrug. "Everything will fall in place at the harvest festival in but a few moons. With our magic as a bargaining chip, the lords will be eager to negotiate some trade deals"

"And why do you wish to join your brother on his tour of the North? To uphold these trade deals with your own magic?" Father asks cunningly.

"A good reason to go, but no. This has more to do with my mission from the gods," I deny, and once again find myself under the rapt attention of my family. Any news about the gods would usually garner such a reaction. "I need to find and destroy the Siphons and spread magic. I'll also take the opportunity to lead my traders on their maiden voyage."

There was, of course, more to it than that, but I had no intention of telling anyone such things until absolutely necessary. I can't have my father trying to keep me from the wall, now can I?

XXXXXXXXXX

"What are you planning, sweetling?" Mother's voice is silk over steel, causing me to freeze. Mentally cursing this young body's lack of control, I forcibly loosen my limbs as I adjust my specially made gloves and smoothe down my deep blue dress, giving her an innocent look. The dress, one of my own designs, had a robe-like outer layer with wide sleeves that hung loosely off my shoulders, held together only by the belt at my waist, my chest and torso instead covered by a black sleeveless turtleneck inner piece with a leather corset. The skirts brush the ground in the back, but were short in the front with a pack of prancing direwolves across the hems and train, and my black trousers and tall leather boots easily seen, as were the traditional fur accents of the North. "Spare me the act, pup, you look like you're going to war rather than a feast. Otherwise, I think you would have chosen a more ostentatious dress, like mine or your sister's."

"I take it you like your gift, Mother?" I ask cheerfully, deflecting to my mother's own garb, a deep purple two piece gown that was practically an Indian lehenga. Westeros would soon be finding itself with a great deal of fashion that was literally otherworldly, and I was happily taking inspiration from every culture I'd ever experienced in my past lives. Lyanna herself was wearing something that was similar to a japanese kimono or, in this world, something from Leng or Yi Ti, if only loosely.

"It is wonderful, but you will answer my question." Lyarra Stark might have been delicate in body and health, but that did not extend to her personality. She had a spine of Valyrian steel.

I consider this, turning back to the mirror in front of me and adjusting a particularly pointy hair pin into the top of my high ponytail, dangling chains of silver and blue jewels bright against the black and silver hair. Although I'd never seen anyone wear anything like my dress in Westeros, it's free flowing fabric and unrestrictive structure did look like it belonged to a warrior queen of the North. I hadn't thought anyone would pick up on that, but my mother was a truly sharp woman. "… It is an important day, Mother. I am preparing accordingly."

Mother abruptly grips my shoulders tightly, turning me to face her, and crouching, eyes worried and serious. "You Saw something." I nod, despite it not being a question. "Can we help?"

"Everyone who needs to know something has already been warned. It will be fine," I tell her with a smile. She grimaces, but nods, far more disturbed now, but after a moment, it's all wiped off her face.

"Alright. Let me know if there is anything I can do." With that, Lady Lyarra Stark of Winterfell leads her daughters on, Baby Lyzanna comfortably cradled in her arms, to where Father and our brothers wait in the side chamber. Bran and Ned, my coconspirators, are both sharp eyed and slightly tense, although Bran disguises it with a toothy smile.

Without too much fanfare, our presence is announced and we enter the hall, our bannerman all standing at attention as we take our place at the high table. Father, however, made his way to stand before the Lords, his voice instantly silencing all others. "My Lords, my friends, we are honored to have you once more for the Harvest Festival. This time, the Autumn Equinox brings with it a great many changes, and I am glad to say our kingdom will soon be entering a new era of prosperity. I ask for your loyalty and support to make this happen."

"You have it! Now, and when Winter comes, and even when it goes!" A booming Lord roars.

"The North remembers!" A lady, Mormont I think, calls fiercely.

"We ride only for the Starks of the North!"

"Winterfell, home of the Direwolves!"

"We're grateful," Father states when the noise settles, warmth in his tone. "Let's begin the feast!"

Cheers erupted in the hall as the plates of food were brought out, many of which were not native to the North. I'd taken the time to grow some ingredients and teach some new recipes to the cooks, and surprisingly, it was not for shits and giggles. Although watching Lord Umber demolish several burgers was quite amusing, my main goal was to entice the lords with feats created by magic and influence Northern culture in this manner. It's also why I had one of my orphans taking up a position as a talented bard, introducing new forms of music I appropriated. Clothing, food, and music were perhaps the cornerstones of any culture and if I could control them, I could control the whole kingdom. I just had to make sure to retain certain elements that were inherent to the North, so as not to seem like the traditional culture was being erased and looked down on. As such, I prioritized values like honor, hardiness, strength, respect for the old gods, and a lack of frivolity and waste in everything created in order to strike a balance.

I sway my head to a distinctly Arabian beat, a newly created song about the age of heros, as I saunter up to one of the Lords tables, my target located. I curtsy. "My Lords and Ladies. I'm happy to see you all well."

"Hello, Little She-Wolf," Lady Cena Mormont smirks, making room for me between her son Jorah, and her young goodsister, Maege Mormont, . Despite having met them only a few times, I rather liked the Mormonts. Their loyalty was absolute, a beautiful and rare thing, and they were brave and kind. "What brings you here?"

"I just sensed some magic and came to investigate," I intone nonchalantly, grabbing a puff pastry with a meat filling and taking a bite as half the table abruptly turns their attention to 's a good thing I am used to such reactions, even if they made me twitchy.

"…We had heard tales, my Lady, but we weren't quite sure…" Lord Dustin murmurs, eyes sharply on me.

"Yes, those tales probably hold more truth than expected. It's one of the things Father wishes to discuss with you," I state in between bites.

"They say Garth the Greenhand appeared and blessed Winterfell's fields," Lord Joer Mormont teases bemusedly.

"That's mostly true. He did appear, and when we prayed, he answered with a bountiful harvest." Ignoring the shocked skepticism, I gesture to the exotic plates before them, most of which should not have been able to be made here due to their ingredients. Hell, some of it would not have even been aquirable through trade since it would have spoiled long before it made the journey to Winterfell.

"They say the Starks now have direwolves, and even…" Lord Forrester hesitates, voice dropping. "And even dragons."

"True. You will likely see them later." I add, entertained by the gasps.

"They say you are a divine messenger of the gods, Old and New, a greenseer blessed with strong abilities and a mission to bring magic back to the world." Young Lord Roose Bolton's beedy eyes are fixed on me, and I feel my lips curl into an unkind smile. Got you.

"True as well, although I don't know how the new gods feel about me, I've yet to meet them." I tell them jovially before shrugging and gesturing for a servant girl to pour me some juice.

"Truly, Little Wolf? You can See?" Lord Joer Mormont whispers, voice quiet with awe.

"Aye, I See many things. I saw the collapse of an iron wood that nearly killed your heir just before you set out to Winterfell, Lord Forrester. I saw Lady Maege kill a magnificent Stag three moons ago. An incredible shot, my Lady," I nod to the older girl who beams at me, keeping my voice sweet and cheerful. The shocked awe from those listening in is enough to verify the truth of my words, but I wasn't done yet. No, this was just the beginning. "And, of course, I saw Lord Roose of House Bolton."

I can feel the trepidation and dawning realization slowly seep into the young man, pale eyes wide as the blood drains from his face as I continue casually munching away. "I Saw how you flailed that poor peasant girl alive, how you put iron spikes in a stick and raped her with it. Hmm, what was her name again?" I let the false cheer drop as I turn to stare my target down amongst the frozen Lords around me, face like ice and eyes glowing. "Silly me, how could I forget. The girl kept whispering it under her breath so that she would not forget while you tortured and broke her body and mind. Her name was Anny, wasn't it?"

The entire hall is dead silent now, and I give Roose a vicious smile. "We are so used to saying that "The North remembers," but some of us have forgotten why we say it. It's because weirwoods See and remember all, as do the gods. And now, as do I."

Roose comes to his senses first, lunging past the Mormonts and wrapping his arm around me from behind, yanking me from my seat and sending dishes and chairs alike flying as he drags me away from alarmed Lords and Ladies, a thin, sharp blade, a flaying knife at my throat.

The hall erupts into screams of rage and fear and Roose whirls about, clutching me like a large doll against his side, face twisted into a snarl as the sound of dozens of swords unsheathing fills the air.

Lord Mormont makes a sharp movement, but Roose stops him with a violent jerk of his knife. It's the kind of blade that could sever arteries like butter, I knew. I'd seen it, after all. "No one moves or I'll carve this little bitch open like a fucking lamb to slaughter!" Roose roars, eyes darting wildly, a rat looking for a hole to hide in.

I could feel the rage and fear from my family, particularly my parents, and I take the chance to casually swipe my hand through the air in a triangle pattern, feeling both Ned and Bran recognize it and ready themselves, auras turning tight with determination.

"You are dangerously close to violating guesting rights, Roose Bolton," My Father's voice rumbles darkly as several people shift closer, and I'm impressed by the calmness that he speaks with when I can feel the way his insides tremble with wrath and panic.

"As are you, Stark!" Roose hisses, shaking me for emphasis, his hand pressing bruises into my shoulder. "You will give me a horse and I will leave her on the road for you to pick up, or she dies here."

I laugh. I can't help it, because Roose Bolton is an idiot. The hall falls silent as I look up at the man, resting my head lazily against his side as I meet his pale eyes behind me, throat bared under his knife. "I told you, you fool. I See everything. But, that doesn't mean I have proof. It is your own fear and stupidity, your impulsive actions, that validate the truth of my words. You have incriminated yourself in front of every Northern Lord here, and in doing so, commited the crime of attacking a Lord's daughter and attempting kidnapping. Now, regardless of if we can prove that the Bolton's never stopped their barbaric practices, we have enough cause to execute you anyway. Foolish, foolish man."

I watch as the rage and horror fill his face as he realizes how he fell directly into my trap. Then, with a vicious look, he drags his blade across my neck with a roar of triumph as the hall errupts into shrieks of panic. I laugh again, honestly unable to keep it in, as the blade glides harmlessly over the metal plating hidden in my high neck, and let my body drop into a crouch. In a single smooth motion, I yank out my hair pin and drive it between his legs, into his cock.

The man shrieks, doubling over and dropping his blade, which I dive for before rolling away. As his hands reach for me, burning hate in his eyes, a whistle fills the air as an arrow embeds itself in Roose Bolton's shoulder, throwing him back a step.

"The next one goes in your fucking head!" Bran roars, booted foot planted on the head table as Ned hands him another arrow. Bran had smuggled the bow under his cloak and Ned had done the same with a handful of arrows. I hadn't really told them why, just that when they saw the signal, they should get ready to shoot, and both had performed beautifully on the stage I'd set to destroy House Bolton.

As several Lords tackle and pin Bolton to the ground, another set of arms snatches me up, this time belonging to Lady Cena Mormont who deposits me by the Mormont children, her own dagger in hand as she goes to shield all of us, a she-bear ready to defend her cubs.

"Brandon, no," My father barks from across the room.

"But-" Bran starts ferociously and even though I cannot see his face, I can imagine the snarl on it.

"No. He has broken guesting laws and tried to harm my child. We all bore witness to his crime, but he shall still stand trial, and we will investigate the Dreadfort for evidence of the things Lunarya Saw, though it's clear they are true. And then, and only then, he will be sentenced, and-"

"- the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Bran and Ned finish for him, my oldest brother noticeably disgruntled by our father's decision, but understanding all the same. Not that I could blame him. If the situation had been reversed, I would definitely want to put an arrow in Roose's head myself.

As Roose is dragged bodily to the dungeons, screaming all the way, my parents appear, gathering me tightly. "Seven hells girl! What madness-"

Mother practically rips me from my father frantically, and I have to stick my hand straight into the air to avoid stabbing her with Roose's knife."How!? I saw him slit your throat! How are you alive?"

"Mother! Please calm yourself! There is not a scratch on me! I told you I was well prepared. Look!" I rap my knuckles on my chest, making a soft thumping noise. "I had metal plates to gaurd my neck, chest and hands. See?" I carefully hand the razor sharp knife to an ashen faced Ser Cregan and flip my glove inside out, revealing the armor.

"So, you planned to be taken hostage?" The Lord of the North growls, and I wince.

"Roose Bolton was an issue. It was either we take him out now or later. Later would have meant war and hundreds or thousands dying. No one was even hurt!" I complain a bit petulantly, miffed at my brilliance being left unacknowledged.

Father groans, pinching his nose. "Any other traitors you need to flush out? We might as well do it now."

The hall shifts and murmurs uneasily, but I just laugh. "No, that was it. There are no others who would deliberately harm the North, I don't think. What will happen to Roose's heir?"

"He has none. He was set to marry Lady Bethany Dustin in a few moons," Father explains. I blink, startled, as I realize that Domeric Bolton has not been born and that the timeline of my greendreams is slightly off, meaning the boy's soul would be born in a different form.

"Huh. Thats convenient. House Bolton can finally end, as it should have the last 500 times they tried to stab us in the back. The fact they've managed to continue their barbaric acts for several thousands of years is ridiculous in itself. I highly recommend you put an end to the line of Red Kings once and for all," I whisper darkly to my father, not wanting to order him, especially in front of his bannermen.

"You sound particularly venomous, daughter. It's unlike you," Mother points out, hands still shaking as they caressed my armored neck.

I grimace. "I saw what he has done and what he would do if given the opportunity. In less than 30 years, Winterfell could have fallen into Bolton hands and Ned's daughter to Roose's bastard's cruelest whims. Let the traitor's line end."

Father's eyes turned steely. "Aye, let the Red Traitor's line end."

XXXXXXXXXX

My bard would end up making a song to a Latin beat called the Red Traitor and the Witching Wolf that would become very popular in the years after this particular feast, much to my amusement. Bran and Ned also gained recognition for themselves, both having proved their mettle in front of all the Lords, an intentional move on my part to secure their loyalty to the heirs of Winterfell. Bran even gained the moniker of Wild Wolf for his fierceness, the only one besides myself, although I still had him beat with the sheer amount of names people kept coming up with, Witching Wolf, Cunning Wolf, and Wicked Wolf from the less charitable, merely the newest among them.

After the feast, my father began to show the lords around Winterfell, showing them every change magic brought from the rebuilt parts of the castle to my growing fields to the Blizzard Trading Company where we received many orders of all kinds. He even showed them the happy heart tree faces no longer weeping bloody tears of sap.

With the Lords around, we were also able to negotiate new trade deals. As my business grows, I plan to outsource some production to the most loyal houses, spreading the wealth and burden of labor. Additionally, when the mages were properly trained, we were going to send them to create fertile fields in other Northern lands, each lord growing certain foods to minimize conflict between them. That way, we could stop importing sooner rather than later. The Riverlands and Vale had not been completely unreasonable in trade, but the Reach was another story entirely. Those money hungry fuckers have spent centuries bleeding our coffers dry with over priced food we couldn't argue against lest our people starve. Regardless, it would mean a huge percent of our kingdom's gold would no longer need to be spent, and would instead go to internal improvements, like my bloody paved trade route. It was also decided that magically inclined children of the lords would foster with us in turns and receive magic tutelage. Additionally, when a certain level of proficiency was achieved, and when not working as spies or in my trade company, mages would be sent out to keeps across the North to complete certain tasks for the people and lords, like creating magical growing fields, or Blessed Fields as the smallfolk have taken to calling them. The mages would be on rotation so that they would always be coming back to Winterfell to learn more before heading out again. It was the beginning of an excellent system that would keep the smallfolk in awe of magic and all mages loyal to the Starks.

"Milady, we need more soaps and oils. We are nearly sold out," Hugo states, carefully squinting at the paper in front of him.

"How much?" I ask, arms crossed. He hesitates, before giving me an estimate. "Good. I'll visit the Blessed Fields tomorrow. It's a good thing Father gave me more land to grow in. You've also gotten much better with your numbers. Well done."

The boy turns bashful, rushing off. Bran and I were making our final preparations before we set out on our tour, Ned having already left for the Vale when the bannermen went home so that he could ride with them along the way. I worried for him, but knew he would be fine. I even made sure to send two of my best mages as part of his gourd, a pair of brothers, one a greenseer and the other a skin changer. Both had expressed interest in sword wielding and this was a good way to foster both that and their magic while securing their loyalty and my brother's safety. I was quite pleased with my machinations, especially because they had orders to check for Siphons in the Vale.

I glance down to find Frostbite at my feet, Sahaar and Saiya pressed to his furred sides. "Shall we go play in the woods, my dears?"

Getting a yip and shrieks in response, I ushered the creatures out to the godswood. The dragons and pup were actually all roughly the same size, that of a small sheep, but soon the dragons will be to big to come inside, their wings tending to run into things.

I watch in amusement as my bonds wrestle and play with one another, not an ounce of real aggression in them. Saiya and Frostbite with their dark coloring, slipped in and out of shadows, hard to detect with sight alone for even those with good eyesight, but Sahaar, with is his scales like dawn, all red and orange and gold with hints of blue, was like a small sun among the snowy landscape. With a soft whistle, I send them off to hunt together just as Lyanna and Benjen appear, Lyza cradled by her nurse maid. With a smile, I take the babe as both of my younger siblings crowd around me sullenly. I frown. "What is wrong?"

"Ned left. Now you and Bran are leaving," Lya grumbles, tears forming in both their eyes. "You're my twin! You're not supposed to leave!"

"I don't want to be alone, Luna," Bejen murmurs.

"Oh, sweetling, you won't be alone!" I croon, gathering him close with my free hand and kissing Lya's cheek. "Just because we are apart does not mean we are alone. We are a pack, no matter what, and Winterfell is home. We will be back. There are just things we must take care of. I promise, you two will also get a chance to explore the North."

"Promise?" Even this young I could see the wanderlust both would have, and it made me smile.

"Of course. I love you both so, so much. Everything we do is for our house. Don't forget. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."

"Alright, sister. We love you , too." Lyanna murmurs, head laying against my shoulder. Lyza was a warm, comforting weight against my chest, copper curls like mother's peeking from her blankets, and Benjen tucked under my arm. And together, we watched the sky open up and the autumn snowfall.

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AN; Well, how was it! Luna is a treacherous little gremlin, and I love it. Also, Marwyn is stealing every scene that he's a part of and the stark parents get no rest lol. How did y'all like that traitor take down? It might seem kinda left field, but really, y'all didn't actually expect her to let it slide for a bit, did you? ? Nah, the opportunity was too perfect. Please let me know how it was as we officially begin the curb stomping of cannon!