Edited: NOT YET

The man was following her. She knew that well. Amalthea Potter had noticed this several corridors ago. In fact, her destination had already passed a few doors away—Dacey's bedroom, where the others awaited her—but the witch wanted to see how far the man would continue.

She didn't quicken her step. Instead, she pretended her hair was messed up, reached into her black waves pretending to tighten her thin braids, and turned her body slightly to the right, looking back surreptitiously. Yes, there he was. Several yards behind her, hidden by shadows at the end of the corridor but Amalthea's green eyes managed to capture his shadowy figure.

Interesting, she thought amused. He doesn't even seem to have noticed that we've already passed through this corridor three times in a row.

She continued walking, humming, straining with her shoes but wanting him to hear the sound of her footsteps. She turned left at the fork, making sure he stayed behind, grabbed her wand, threw an alohomora! in the iron lock of a dark door, and slipped inside. It was a bedroom. Small, comfortable but nothing too fancy or luxurious. From a servant probably. Her gaze caught an open letter resting on a nearby chair. Even without meaning to, she ended up reading a few words.

My beloved Erin, I miss you so much that my heart cries with sadness... 'Oh, Erin!? Couldn't... Could it be? No! There isn't a single day that doesn't love you like the first time, my beauty, my nymph of the waters of the river... Ah, but it was! Someone liked that old harpy, Lady Stark's old maid. I see you every day, so elegant, so beautiful that you make me want to pull you into a room, wherever! An empty room or even the stables, lean you against a wall and...

Ew, enough Amalthea, she thought. That's what comes from being too curious. The witch was sure her face was green with disgust. Good for her, though. It may be that a good roll in the sheets will take away the bitterness.

She was so sick that she almost forgot what she was doing there and why she was there. But the sound of footsteps - she could see they tried to be light but couldn't - quickly reminded her.

He walked through the door, then stopped. She heard the footsteps return, heavier and hurried, and stop again. The next steps were hesitant as if debating what to do next, looking and not finding what he was looking for. Son of a mangy bitch, it's me you want, isn't it?

He must have been looking, must have been wondering if he had seen well or if he was wrong and turned in the wrong direction... The footsteps, after a very long time, sounded again. The man seemed to have made up his mind. He continued, down the hall.

Carefully, making sure the door did not creak, Amalthea opened it peeked out, and closed it behind her. She was quick to cast a spell to lock it again. She didn't want the harpy to hate her more than ever to find out she'd been in her quarters. Or that she read those words... A shiver of disgust ran down her spine just remembering.

The man walked hesitantly ahead of her, dressed in black, not knowing that he was now being followed. A mischievous smile curled Amalthea's lips as she hid her wand. Her dagger was at the ready, however, strapped to her thigh above the leather pants hidden under the skirt of her green dress. The skirt had an opening, easily accessible, through which she could quickly grab the dagger and use it if need be. It won't be, she told herself. But it's always good to be prepared.

Finally, tired of waiting and seeing the pathetic figure in front of her, Amalthea exclaimed into the silence of the hallway, "You're following me, my lord. I wonder why. At least, I think I deserve an explanation."

The man crashed. The woman saw his body bend, his ears meeting his shoulders. She waited calmly, her posture straight, her face expressionless. If Lady Catelyn saw her now, she would have no bad thoughts for her. Amalthea was the epitome of a lady at that moment, cool and regal.

"A man following a noblewoman, trying not to be noticed... You have the notion that this sounds very suspicious, and that it doesn't suit you very well, don't you? I'm sure anyone else I tell will agree with me. Especially if I mention that you've been watching me for days."

He turned slowly on his heels. The man's pale face—a young man—was white as wax, his pale eyes wide with shock, his shoulders hunched in embarrassment. His cheeks soon turned red as blood.

"I didn't notice it at first, I confess." Amalthea began to say, her hands folded in front of her elegantly. More elegantly than she felt, but image was everything in this land. "I think you came with the entourage of Lorde... Bolton, if I'm not mistaken?" Lord Bolton had been one of the northerners she hadn't yet exchanged a word with. She hadn't even seen him arrive, to tell the truth. But Lord Bolton was a hard man to miss with his strange pale eyes, bright as crystal and darker than milk. Two white moons in a serious, pasty-skinned face. Other than that and his cool but shrewd gaze, the Lord of Dreadfort was a normal man, neither fat nor thin, and with a plain, ordinary face. But the eyes... Now that I think about it... "Well, anyway, I saw you between them on the second or third day of your stay. Our eyes met but I didn't think about it too much. At the table during meals, during my walks, during my hours of training, whether I was accompanied or not. You never came close, it's true. But you decided to do it today, that I'm alone and in such a dark way. So, my lord, I demand an explanation, or else I think I shall have to take the matter to the honorable Lord Stark and Lord Bolton, and they will demand it."

"Lord Bolton is my father, my lady." His voice was calm, low, and there was something there that indicated he might sound like a purr most of the time, but now it sounded a little brittle-maybe with nervousness.

"I thought so, there's no way to ignore the similarities." Same dark hair, same nose, and chin, same middle figure. Although the son is much prettier. He was older than Amalthea, probably in his twenties. Twenty-five maybe? She couldn't tell. "Especially the eyes, but I'm sure you've heard that a lot." Hadn't she heard her whole life 'you look so much like your father, except your eyes... you have your mother's eyes'?

He approached slowly. Amalthea did not back down. Maybe she should have done it, but she chose not to. She noticed that he was taller than she was, but that wasn't too difficult either. Maybe two inches taller than Robb or Theon. Fred and George were much taller, however. "My name is Domeric. Well, I suppose the correct one is Heir Lord Domeric Bolton-"

"Pleased to meet you, my Lord. I am Lady Amalthea Peverell, but I think you already know that as you have watched me for so long. Will I have to repeat my question? I don't want to sound crude or rude, but I want to be sure what's going on here."

The boy, the young man, Domeric, blushed so much that his face was all red. Amalthea decided to remain still and silent - for the first time - and she waited. It was not long before he spoke: "Forgive me, my Lady, as I did not intend to bother or offend you in any way. I had no intention of following you, as I told you, and I apologize if that is what it seemed. I was curious about you. There's no way anyone can't be, is there? I don't think there's a single person, be it a lord, a knight, or even a butcher, who doesn't have a flea behind his ear, biting him and bothering him until they find out more about you. I was with my father when he received a letter about you. He's not a man to show any kind of reaction, but it was the first time I saw him shocked. He explained what it was about: a woman, a lady of noble birth who claimed to be the heiress and owner of Moat Cailin. He didn't want to believe it at first, of course. How many others before you tried to claim the same? How many others were sent away after they turned out to be false? Moat Cailin was closed, trapped in time. Many others even tried to buy it, one or two Boltons before my time tried to do the same but there was always one Stark who refused. A Stark or whoever sat on the Iron Throne. But here you are, living under the Starks' roof and not once have you been turned away. And more! There were mentions of the sword that appeared to be that of Lord Harlan himself."

Domeric paused, taking a deep breath, and smacking his lips. He seemed to be searching for words for what to say next. Still, Thea didn't speak. She let him continue.

"I saw my father concentrated in the chair in his solar, not eating or speaking, with the letter in his hand for hours. When he spoke it was only to call the Maester and give him a letter of his own addressed to Winterfell and which should be sent immediately. Days passed and he didn't mention the matter again, but when he received a new raven again, this time in Lord Stark's own words and your own, he called me immediately and ordered me to pack some belongings because we would be taking a trip to see the real Lady Peverell. I found it interesting. I was curious. And even more so when I arrived and noticed how you are." Amalthea raised her right eyebrow in the form of a question and a challenge. Domeric smiled and said: "Yes, this challenge, this escape from normality that you have... I wanted to see how you acted with others. I saw you act like a formal lady, like a sister when playing with children, a gentle soul when talking to servants - I always thought that a person is more truthful in acting with those who are considered inferior. It surprised me. Even more so when you joined Lady Dacey and Lady Alysane in their training..."

They didn't speak for a long time, a time only for Amalthea to assess him.

"I am sorry if I frightened you, Lady Peverell, it was not my intention at all. And I did not or have any kind of malicious intentions towards you. I swear, here and now, in front of you with all my heart. On my honor as a Bolton, on my honor as a follower of the mighty old gods who will not let me lie, I swear. But I understand that I may have caused you discomfort, and if it is your decision to deal with this matter in the presence of Lord Stark and the Lord My Father, I will go without complaining and I will bear any kind of consequence or punishment." The man's face was serious.

Well...I've seen he's dramatic, thought Thea. Even more than me or Alys herself, and that's saying something. But he seems sincere.

"It seems to me, my lord," she began saying slowly as she stared at him. "That this was all a misunderstanding. I do not think it necessary to bring the matter to Lord Stark and your Lord Father. I believe in your oath, you have sworn by the Old Gods, and does not seem to me to be a person to swear in their name in vain. I would believe it even if you hadn't, you have the truth written on your face, Lord Domeric. I'll have an empty seat next to me tonight during dinner." She opened a small amused smile, seeing his confusion, "That's, of course, if you wish to join me."

The man's eyes were wide again. She smiled, held the fabric of her dress gently with her long fingers, and lowered herself in an elegant bow. It was the epitome of femininity, yet inside she rolled her eyes at such actions.

"I-"

"Forgive me, I have business to attend to, people await me and unfortunately I am already late. I will see you at dinner if the gods are good. I'll be seeing you later, Lord Domeric." She turned on her heel after a good-bye wave, and backed down the hallway she'd come from.

"Goodbye, Lady Peverell." The man replied quietly, his voice a mere whisper. The sheer confusion he conveyed only made Amalthea Potter's smile widen.

[...]

To say that she was late was an understatement, and to say that the others were curious was an understatement as well.

"Finally!" Alysane had exclaimed when she saw her. "Did you get lost along the way? You've lived in the castle for too long to be fooled like that. Do you want a map, maybe?"

"And you talked about me," Alys commented with feigned offense.

"We were debating whether our step should be to send a search party looking for you or not," Wylla exclaimed laughing.

Dacey's room - where they were waiting for her - was similar to her own. All Winterfell's guest rooms were, in fact, similar: a fluffy bed filled with even fluffier furs, a beautifully detailed table and chairs in one corner of the rooms, a fur rug by the fireplace (not every room had one fireplace, Dacey's as well as Thea's happened to have; and her rug was cowskin, the black and white perfectly matching the shades of gray of the bed where Alysane, Wylla, and Alys sat, gossiping). Amalthea's room was more decorated, it was true, but that was because she had been at Winterfell for several months now, not days like the others.

The young witch rolled her eyes and went to sit in the empty armchair in front of the fireplace. The one that wasn't occupied by the older Mormont. "I am late, and I apologize for that."

"What happened?" Dacey asked, seeing the small and enigmatic smile plastered on the Potter's face.

"Nothing."

A thoughtful buzz for her response. Amalthea didn't tell her, but she felt a sudden urge to do so: she felt that urge to be able to tell someone she considered a friend. It was crazy, wasn't it? They'd known each other for half a dozen days but those girls were already important to you. But that was how she made her best friends, wasn't it? It hadn't been the same with Ron - a train ride on the way to school and they were siblings forever? Perhaps later she would ask Dacey questions about Domeric, and let them know what had happened. For now, she wanted to be the one to draw her own conclusions.

When night came and everyone headed to the Great Hall to enjoy dinner, Arya kept tiring her by telling her about how Jeyne Poole joined the Septa Mordane in massacring Arya's embroidery - it was supposed to have been a delicate kitten, but somehow Arya had been able to turn it into an apelike animal.

"What about your sister?" Thea had asked.

The girl's little face glowed with embarrassment: "She didn't join." Good, thought Thea, it means changes are happening, however slight they might be. That's exactly why she called Sansa to join her and the others at a table below the platform where the long table at which they normally ate was. Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn sat there that night with the other Lords. An invitation had been made to her as well and she knew she probably should have accepted so as not to offend anyone, but she preferred to sit with her friends.

Thea knew she'd made a strange impression when she'd entered the Great Hall, looking for her friends. For a moment, entering, she felt too well dressed if the startled looks she'd received were indicators of something. She wore a deep blue dress that clung to every curve of her like a second skin, and the bodice was tight and made the smooth lines of her cleavage look very obvious, with a square cut. The dress was all blue as night, except for the center of the front of it, which was then silvery like unicorn blood, filled with tiny details that looked like thousands of diamonds in the light. The sleeves were bell-bottomed and ended with the same diamonds.

For jewelry, she chose something more discreet, a medallion with a silver chain and a large dark sapphire in a heart-cut surrounded by small diamonds that hung in the valley of her breasts, and the earrings were in the shape of a drop of water. In her hair, she wore white pearls in the midst of her many braids, which glistened in the candlelight. The bitter look Lady Catelyn had amidst the whispers Amalthea received left her as pleased as if she had already dined, knowing her grey dress looked pale compared to Thea's.

When Sansa approached the table, looking at her dress in amazement, Arya showed displeasure when Jeyne also came to sit at her table, but a sharp look kept her quiet. Instead of complaining, the girl started talking to Rickon who joined them too (Bran preferred to stay with Robb).

The empty seat across from her at the table, between Alys and Wylla - clearly open for someone to sit down - raised a few eyebrows.

"Are we waiting for someone?" Dacey questioned.

An amused smile graced Amalthea's lips as she helped herself to the huge chunks of pork soaked in herb sauce, accompanied by carrots, boiled potatoes, and a glass of wine. There was also a chicken on the table—her mouth watered as she saw how its skin was shiny and crispy—with honey, black bread, and roasted chestnuts. And vanilla pudding, she made sure not to forget about the delicious dessert. "That's what we'll see in a moment."

"Well, Lord Stark's sons seem very interested in this table," Alys commented softly so that Sansa and Arya wouldn't hear. She sipped ale from Alysane's glass receiving a complaint of 'why are you drinking mine when your glass is full in front of you?!' and watched the neighboring table under the heads of the other girls where in fact Robb, Bran, and Theon were seated with other gentlemen and every now and then they peeked at the table together. Bran smiled widely and waved, even when he was mockingly reprimanded by the others. "They are quite handsome, aren't they? I danced with Robb when he was six days old. He looked like a prince then. He was, in fact, the prince my father wanted for me, but..." She shrugged. "Jon has always been grumpy, but he's a pretty grumpy one, I suppose. Little Bran would be your little sister Lyanna's dream." She smiled in amusement.

"I don't think Lyanna would agree, she's a wild one, that. Thankfully, she's too young for these things."

"The Greyjoy boy isn't bad either, in my opinion," Alysane commented. This caused looks of disbelief from the others, and Amalthea stuffed a mouthful of bread dipped into the gravy so she wouldn't burst into laughter. "What? I never had a Kraken before."

They all shook their heads negatively, as if in sync. Dacey dryly pointed out: "And you won't ever have one if you know what's good for you. Bear Island doesn't fight these ironman bastards so you could dishonor them by sleeping with the son of the damned Balon Greyjoy. I will put you on my knee, if I have to, and make you so black and blue that the colors will never fade from your skin."

"Oh Dacey, you're not mother. Honestly, sister, you are a terrible bore who doesn't know how to take a simple joke." Alysane rolled her eyes.

"It better be a joke. I'll forget about these comments or else I'll end up disinheriting you."

An awkward silence was caused in the group, none of the girls knowing how to react. Luckily the younger girls - and boy - took no notice, being too busy arguing between themselves and Rickon smearing honey on chicken. "Can someone pass me the pudding?" Wylla asked, breaking the ice. Dacey passed her the food and ended up getting a loaf of bread thrown at her forehead by her younger sister.

"Forgive me for being late..." A voice came from behind Alys, sounding hesitant amid the laughter from the table. The surprise on the faces of the others at seeing the young Bolton man was amusing to watch, especially since none of them had seen him arrive.

"Ah, Lord Domeric! Sit down, sit down. The place is free as promised."

"You have my thanks, my Lady," Domeric said as he respectfully took a seat in the empty seat between a shocked Alys and Wylla. Sansa and Jeyne were in the same condition, blushing the full range of shades of red, her cheeks as red as her beautiful, silky, extremely tightly braided hair. Arya, like the Mormont sisters, watched intently. "Once again my sincere apologies." They both knew that it wasn't just his lateness that the older man was apologizing. "I mentioned your invitation to my father and my brother was... a little interested in how we met."

Oh, that was interesting...but before she could ask any questions, Dacey asked one first: "I think we'd all like to know the same if it's not too intrusive of us to ask?"

"Lord Domeric and I met earlier today. I helped him find the right path to the guest wing. These corridors can be tricky, as you well know." Amalthea simply commented, not delving further into the subject.

"Indeed." Dacey's voice sounded suspicious.

"Did my Lord mention a brother?" Amalthea asked. She didn't remember any mention of more than one child when she read about the Bolton House.

"Yes, my Lady, my little brother. He's sitting five tables away."

The young witch followed his gaze to the farthest part of the hall (where Jon Snow sat uncomfortably with some guards and servants who accompanied Lord Stark's vassals). Oh, I see... It was easy to spot who must be Domeric's brother, and it was easy to see why he must have been sitting at that table: he was a bastard. He looked nothing like his brother except for his eyes, which were those strangely pale eyes. Besides, he could be just any boy. He was ugly, unlike Domeric, and even his clothes that made him stand out from the guards and servants did nothing to make him more handsome. His hair was long, dark but so dry it looked like straw, his nose was broad as a pig's and his skin was pink and mottled. He had an expression of distaste on his thin lips that, to Thea, from a distance, looked like an earthworm. It was clear who the beauty of the Bolton family was, between a father who looked pasty-skinned and a brother with lips like worms.

Amalthea paid him no further attention, focusing instead on the servant who served Domeric, almost shivering.

"More potatoes, my Lord?"

"I'm satisfied, thank you." Both the maid and Sansa and Jeyne blushed at the sound of his voice. Cute girls, Thea thought with amusement, remembering the time she'd been enchanted by the late Cedric Diggory's beauty. Of course, before Fred... Fred... I hadn't seen him for a while. She hadn't seen the others for days. Her visits had been few, but she was so busy that she fell asleep immediately when she got to her room! She would have to change that. "How is your sister, Lady Wylla?"

"Well, my lord," Wylla replied with a raised blond eyebrow. "She preferred to stay in White Harbor instead of taking a trip of so many days."

"I'm glad to hear she's fine." Was Domeric's polite response.

Beside Thea (on the right side, while her sister was on her left) Alysane whispered softly close to her ear, "I'm sure Wynafryd will be frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog when she hears he came too." Seeing her inquisitive expression, she explained, "She does have... quite a passion for him, but she thinks no one noticed."

"Ah!" Thea nodded, expressing understanding.

The excitement on the tables around her increased as quickly as the contents in the wine and beer pitchers diminished. The food was being properly appreciated too if the mixture of loud belching was any indication. That, and the few gnawed chicken bones that occasionally flew through the air. Amalthea did not even need to turn her neck and look back to imagine the shocked face Lady Catelyn must be making, seeing her beautiful hall in this state.

The awkward mood at their table subsided, and they quickly managed to speak normally. Well, as normally as possible in a middle-aged place. Domeric was already known to the others, not very close but you could say they were well acquainted.

She could tell he was a calm and gentlemanly young man. His mother was Lady Bethany Ryswell, he said, and unfortunately, she had passed away some time ago. He liked books, especially history books, and considered himself reasonable with a harp - Jeyne's dreamy sigh was heard softly at that moment - and was very fond of riding. He served for four years as a page in Barrowton with his maternal aunt Barbrey Dustin (Lady Dustin had not shown up, but seemed to have asked her nephew to be her eyes and ears) and three more as a squire for Lord Horton Redfort in the south in the Vale of Arryn.

"Oh, how is the Vale, Lord Domeric?" Sansa asked shyly, blushing like a tomato when all eyes were on her. She was nervous. "My aunt Lysa, beloved sister of my Lady Mother, is the present Lady Arryn, married to Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of King Robert. I've heard stories, read books, but I've never visited the Vale of Arryn nor can I imagine it. Is it really how the books tell? And the south? What other places besides the Vale have you seen? Can you tell us?" The nightingale's voice didn't break, and no one else seemed to notice that her hand was shaking as she discreetly wiped a drop of sweat that trickled down her pale little neck.

Oh, Sansa... thought Thea, hating to see the tears of embarrassment spring to her eyes at the minute of silence - surprised silence - that followed. Arya seemed to be opening her mouth to say something, certainly something to embarrass her sister - but another look, harder this time, caught her immediately. Good. Amalthea knew that Arya was often wronged for being so different from the norm, but she also knew that she was the one who was wrong and was the one who started the conflicts a lot of times. Sometimes it was too much.

"Yes, Lord Bolton, tell us more. My dear Lady Sansa here loves to hear stories, no one has more knowledge of tales than she. She is so clever." Thea praised, trying to put the redheaded girl at ease. The shy smile she got in return was worth the effort. "Please indulge us at will."

"Well, Lady Sansa, I can't talk much about other parts of the south because not many I've seen outside of the Vale. But oh the Vale! Thousands and thousands of meters of fertile land, long rivers, and blue lakes, with mountains and more mountains so high that it seems impossible for a man to look at it and find the top. I hear the winters are too harsh there, the snow reaches meters high that make trekking through the mountains impossible and the cold is so hard the fingers, nose, and ears are capable of falling off and a person does not even feel it at the moment. But in summer, my lady, it is the most beautiful thing to behold. Miles of greenery, soft grass-like feathers that tickle between the toes, flowers of different types and colors: lilies white as pearls, roses red as blood, lavender of the most beautiful lilac that leave their scent in the air. There are hundreds of bees in search of pollen to make delicious honey, and there are so many butterflies and birds and of so many colors that it is an authentic rainbow. Rivers sparkle like diamonds in the sun, lakes are lit up with silver when the full moon reflects off their waters. It's beautiful." The girls, Sansa and Jeyne, drank his words like water and they were dying of thirst. Bright-eyed and parted lips, they were the little physical faces of shock and admiration. Even Rickon, who until now had been lightly asleep with his head resting on Thea's arm (he had switched places with Alysane when his little eyes began to close) struggled to stay awake to continue to hear the soft calm purr that was the man's voice. "And the castles-"

But whatever Domeric was going to tell about the castles in the Valley had to wait for later, for at that moment the voices began to dwindle to mere mutters as people began to notice that, upon the high platform, Lord Stark was standing up. Lord Eddard did not need to make a single sound, nor tap the metal bowl with his fork or spoon, nor shout, nor even raise his hand for silence, the respectful silence fell on its own at once.

"My Lords and Ladies..." He said calmly when he felt Lady Mormont's gaze upon him. "Welcome very much to Winterfell, to my beloved home, to the home of my father and grandfather before him. What loyal and mighty people are the ones that dwell in the northern lands, nor the approaching season of summer storms and snows prevents you from making your way as you wish!" The excited screams were many after that. Northerners, North! North! Lord Umber drank a mug of ale nearly as big as his head in a few gulps, slapped it down on the table when he was done, wiped the foam from his beard, and ordered another one. "I called you and you answered my request, and nothing makes me more proud than seeing your faces and those of your sons and daughters here today, in front of me. But surely it is not my words that you want to hear, but rather to know the reason you came - even though many of you already do."

He glanced in Thea's direction, and the dozens of other gazes followed. Amalthea put down her wineglass at once, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment (and also from the drink), and rose when Lord Eddard made a small gesture with his hand for her to come closer.

"Good luck." Little Arya whispered.

As discreetly as she could, she smoothed out the wrinkles in the skirt of her oil blue dress, and complied with his request, striding elegantly and steadier than she felt under everyone's appraising gaze. She climbed the stone platform, walked around the table smiling sweetly at each person in front of her, and came to stand on Lord Stark's right side, behind Lady Catelyn's chair, who was seated, facing all the tables and in the center for everyone in the hall to have a chance to see.

"My Lady..." Lord Eddard greeted, then headed back into the room. "This lady, here by my side, is the honorable and noble Lady Amalthea Peverell, heiress to the good Lord Harlan Peverell, gods have him, and the heiress to the fortress of Moat Cailin. You've certainly heard a lot about her, but I confirm here and now, as I have confirmed in the letters that have been sent from this castle to your mighty halls, that her intentions are true and her claim to her legacy is legitimate. I swear by the gods of my father and my grandfather." No one interrupted him, though Amalthea could see in many faces that some wanted. "I thank Lord Reed for finally arriving today from Greywater Watch," A small man - Lord Reed - dark-haired, wearing a doublet with details that looked like bronze scales, with a black alligator crest on a field of green raised his wine glass in the air, with a small smile on his lips. "and now that we're all here, we can have the much-needed meeting tomorrow afternoon, after supper, if the gods are kind."

There were a few whispers and nods. Amalthea prayed that no one could see the way her hands trembled in front of her, hidden in her blue skirt.

"Now..." continued Lord Stark, as if he had never taken that little break. "Drink and eat, my good people. My food is yours to satiate your hunger, my drink is yours to quench your thirst, and Winterfell, besides being my home, is home to all of you! Musicians, please play something lively for these lords and ladies who must be fed up with hearing me speak and praying to the gods that I will finally shut up."

His words caused loud laughter to erupt in the Great Hall, filling the room with so many different voices and screams that Thea, for a moment, felt herself being bombarded.

"There you are right, there you are right!" Lord Umber thundered, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the wooden bench. But, by some miracle, he didn't spill a single drop of beer.

"You may now return to your place, my Lady." Lord Stark said quietly, knowing she did not want to talk. "For today they are satisfied, but there will be no way to escape tomorrow."

"Thank you for your help, my lord." Amalthea was just thinking how good it felt not to have to speak, for she felt her voice would come out as low and brittle as a mouse with the nervousness she felt.

She was descending the platform with her eyes lowered to keep from falling when a voice sounded and a pale hand entered her field of vision. "My Lady, do me the honor of this dance, or will you embarrass me in front of the whole room?" It was Robb Stark, his cheeks flushed from beer and a huge, amused grin on his face.

"I do, my lord." She said, laughing, her nerves forgotten.

"Oh, how my lady honors me. I will be the envy of the night." He teased, kissing her knuckles and leading her to the empty area near the iron-clad oak doors where other people were already dancing.

Musicians played upbeat music, and different Lords and Ladies danced in twirls. Sansa was laughing delicately in Theon's arms, who smiled at her drunkenly but familiarly. Jeyne, sitting at her table among the others chatting and laughing (Rickon was asleep with his head in Alysane's lap and Arya was talking excitedly to Dacey) was sulking at not being asked to dance.

"Jeyne won't have to wait long," Robb commented, pointing to where a very flushed Bran shyly approached. "He's going to ask her to dance, it was our agreement."

"Oh!" Thea exclaimed laughing, seeing Jeyne accept with a resigned smile. "How adorable that boy is."

"He learned everything from his older brother, I have to confess." His smile was mischievous when he whispered to her as if it were a secret.

"Yes," Amalthea joked. "I'm sure Jon taught him well, but he's not the kind of person to brag about it."

Robb opened his mouth in mock shock and pretended to have been hit by an arrow in the back. "My dear Lady Amalthea, you hurt me, I never thought you capable of such treachery and such cruelty."

"Oh, stop it and teach me this dance before I'm the one doing shameful figures tonight." Robb laughed, and did so, slowly explaining the step by step with an excited smile. The witch quickly got the hang of it and wasted no time in laughing and twirling as the others were doing. The next three songs were similar, and the choreography as well, except for a few different steps. When a slower song came on, she saw Jon carefully pick up a sleeping Rickon and leave the room, careful not to wake the boy. "Lord Jon is gone." She commented.

"Yes, and it won't be long before I will be sent to take Arya, Bran, and Sansa too, however much it costs me."

She smiled: "Big brother's job."

"Big brother's job." He repeated, confirming.

They remained silent throughout this song, but it was a comfortable silence where there was no reason to break it. The air smelled of wine, beer, food, and sweat, and the heat was almost unbearable to bear, so hot that their skins glowed in the candlelight. The music was loud, the voices even louder, but the atmosphere was one of happiness and revelry. It reminded her of the feasts in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, and her heart filled with something warm at the memory.

"I haven't seen you in the library lately, my Lady," Robb commented.

This caused a black eyebrow to rise. "We were never in the library together, my Lord."

"You're right, but it's impossible not to notice that my Lady spent hours and hours of your days there. And now..."

"Yes, I think I've been spending a lot of time with the ladies, but they're better company than the solitude of books."

"I'm glad you did, and I'm glad you found friends in them. I imagine my little sisters' conversations can be tiring, even for a person as patient as the Wall itself as you. From what I hear, they're honorable Ladies. Lady Alys is even our cousin and we met when I was younger. I don't know much about the others, but they seem to be very nice and fun and of good Houses that would help you if you needed them. It's good to see you're not alone."

"I was never alone at Winterfell, I always have you and your dear family," Thea commented with a smile.

"It's good to know that's how you feel." The tips of the redhead's ears turned the color of his hair. "Well, I found a book that I think you'll like."

"Lord Robb, as far as I know, you, I don't see you as a great book lover."

"Not the boring ones, I confess, but it looks like they're just the ones Maester Luwin wants to force me to read." He laughed. "But don't tell him I said this, or I'll have a pile of books as high as mountains on my desk tomorrow morning, and you won't see me again until next summer."

Amalthea laughed, throwing her head back, her braided black hair flying like a dark cloak as Robb spun her around. Her cheeks ached from smiling, but it felt good. "I won't say, you have my word." She felt the weight of an icy gaze under them both, coming from the high platform. She didn't need to look to know who it was. "What then is this book that you think I would like?"

Robb looked excited, starting to explain... "Oh, it's about-" But he cut himself immediately upon feeling a tap on his shoulder.

"Will you give me permission to interrupt?" It was Domeric, calmly asking.

The big, pearly-white grin that Robb had had until that moment faded, but it didn't disappear completely. He watched the older man for a moment - which for some reason seemed much longer - when both he and Amalthea stopped dancing. Finally, after deciding, he said, "If it pleases Lady Amalthea, I will have no problem." He said politely.

They both looked at her then, two clear eyes waiting for her answer: some eyes as clear as ice, others as blue as the sky. "Yes."

"Very well then." Robb nodded, pulling away from her and kissing her knuckles again gently. "Thank you for the dance, my Lady. I wish you the rest of a pleasant evening." He nodded to the other man, and said simply, "Lord Bolton."

And he walked away calmly, avoiding the dancing men and women until he sat at his table, and the people hid his figure.

"I didn't mean to interrupt." Lord Domeric explained as he took the place in front of her formerly occupied by the Stark heir. But still, you did, Thea thought. "I don't even want to take up too much of your time, my Lady, but I wanted to warn you while I have a chance..."

"Warn me of what?" Amalthea questioned after a brief silence.

"That tomorrow there will be many attempts at alliances."

"I immediately thought that was the case." He must think I'm a dumb girl. "It is my intention to make alliances with the other houses of the north, depending on what they can provide and what I can also offer. Moat Cailin still needs to be rebuilt as you well know, so for now I won't have much to provide."

Lord Bolton nodded, his gaze traveling around the room. "What if these attempted alliances are through marriage?" It seemed to her that his gaze had strayed for a moment to the scar on her forehead, but she was used to it.

"Then these proposals will, unfortunately, have to be turned down."

"This may cause offense to you and quarrels between your houses." The man straightened his posture, turning once and clapping his hands. The young witch quickly followed, following the dance steps.

"And my heart will cry with sadness for it and I'll ask the gods to forgive me, but my destiny is mine and I'll be the one who chooses my future husband, and for now and in this present moment, I'm not looking for one." Amalthea's smile was cold.

"You are interesting, my Lady, have I told you that?"

"Yes, Lord Bolton, I think that was clear from the moment you decided... ah, what would be the best word to describe the act you did?" She pretended to think. "Oh, I know. Following me is the right way to describe it."

Domeric blushed, and Amalthea cheered inwardly for having caused discomfort to the man who for some reason felt entitled to broach such a strange subject. "I apologize once more."

"Past waters, my Lord."

"I won't tell you to expect a marriage proposal between us."

This caused Amalthea to burst out laughing in disbelief. Had the wine gone to the man's head until then so calm? "My lord is too pretentious about himself, isn't he? Don't worry, I'm joking. It makes me feel relieved to know that, as I said, I would have to refuse."

The smile he gave her could mean anything, but at that moment it felt like amusement and relief. "Not that my father didn't think of it, but well, you're already the lady of Moat Cailin and he wouldn't ask you to give up your landlord and it would never cross his mind to do something that would force me to give up mine. It would be the ruin of his existence. As much as he would like an alliance, he would never offend you by proposing my brother Ramsay." He looked away again towards the platform. "Speaking of my Lord Father, he seems very interested in our conversation, I'm sure I'll be questioned later."

The two let out calm laughs. Out of the corner of her eye, Amalthea tried to meet Lord Roose's strange gaze, but so many people were dancing around her that she wasn't able to.

"Well, alliances aren't just made with weddings. Surely between us, we would be able to find something to offer each house in the future. But alliances shouldn't be discussed at parties..." Seeing the look of the redhead girl who was now dancing with Bran himself, but who continued to turn her head shyly in their direction, she said, "And I confess I am tired. But if you wish to continue dancing, why not ask the eldest daughter of the Lord and Lady Stark for a dance? She is a gentle, pure-hearted lady who would certainly love to dance with you."

Domeric seemed to think for a moment, looking between Sansa and the platform where the other lords stood a few times before agreeing, "Very well my lady, thank you for this dance and the refreshing conversation."

"I'm the one who needs to thank you. My Lord is a very talented partner."

Amalthea watched as Domeric approached Sansa and Bran, tapped the boy on the left shoulder, exchanged a few words with him, and quickly kissed the knuckles of a very flushed and bright-eyed Sansa.

When she looked for Robb, she only saw him from behind, taking a tired Arya and Bran with him out of the Great Hall, and disappearing through the door. Amalthea Potter had nothing else to do but let out a sigh, and sit at the table where the other women were talking, while the night was still young.

Hi everyone, Midnight here again! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know things are moving at a slow pace and I am so sorry for that. I know it might frustrate some readers, but that's how I like to write and this story is mine so... you know... I move at the pace I think is best for it.

This chapter was NOT edited by my BETA. She's been terribly busy and hasn't even had time to read it, and I don't wish to burden her with any more stuff. Later, when she has time, I will post the edited version of the chapter and leave a note to let you know in case you want to reread. My goal is to post one chapter a month. I know it might be too little but I'm not a fast writer (unfortunately because I'd really love to be!)... and I hope you don't mind.

I feel that my writing is a little different in this chapter, did you also notice? I can't explain exactly why or where, but I feel something different about it. Maybe it's just stuff in my head, haha!

Anyway, what did you think? A new male character has appeared, what will that mean? ;) Are you surprised to find out who was that man who was watching Thea in the previous chapter? Speaking of Thea... she's a little different here, I think? I'm trying to change her slightly, and finally show her temperament Potter / Black, I think I could show a little in the beginning of the chapter, or not? 

Spoiler: Her explosive temper will be shown a bit in the next few chapters. And just a few more chapters for canon start happening! The meeting will be in the next chapter, I promise. OH, I almost forgot to mention that I know that a lot of you wanted a big scene where everyone was amazed by her dress and jewelry but I was afraid of it becoming a cheesy and Mary-Sue-ish scene... I did my best to make it, but I know it can disappoint some of you! I'm sorry...

Oh, and Robb? What did you think about the little scene between them in the end? I know they don't have a lot of interactions, but I confess that I don't know how to write romance very well. I'm trying to make them know each other and become good friends first... Oh, what should their ship name be? Robbea? Rothea? Amalobb?

As always, if you would like to join my discord feel free to let me know and I will give you the link. See you in the next chapter!

- MidnightsTouch, x

BETA story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849615/chapters/47005126

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13346000/1/The-Wolf-Queen-BOOK-ONE-Summer-child