The Queen of Flames (Sequel to 'The Demon of Winterfell') (On Hold)

Chapter One: The King in the North

Tommen Baratheon was dead. He'd leapt from his bedroom window after Cersei had blown up the Sept of Baelor. There were no heirs remaining of King Robert- or claimant heirs- which meant that Cersei was in line to be queen.

But this was the last thing on the minds of the Northerners.

Jon had called a meeting in the great hall. With Sansa and Emmelyne on either side of him, an impressive collection of men before him, and an impressive fur cloak, someone looking in would've assumed he were a lord. Not a bastard who'd won a battle.

"You can't expect Knights of the Vale to side with wildling invaders," a man was saying.

"We didn't invade," Tormund stated. "We were invited."

"Not by me."

Jon stood, addressing the men before him. "The free folk, the northerners, the crannogmen, and the Knight's of the Vale fought bravely, fought together, and we won. My father used to say we find our true friends on the battlefield."

"The Boltons are defeated," a man stated, rising to his feet. "The war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it'll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the coming storms."

"The war is not over," Jon interjected. "And I promise you, friend, the true enemy won't wait out the storm. He brings the storm."

The brought forth a cacophony of sound, men leaning over and muttering to each other. From his seat at one of the tables, Markus Waynwood offered Emmelyne a tense smile. She would've returned it, had it not been for her being distracted by Littlefinger. Petyr Baelish stood against the wall, surveying the scene the way a hawk watches a rabbit. He was waiting for Jon to slip up. To make a mistake so he could come swooping in. His dark eyes fell on Emmelyne, and she immediately looked to Lyanna Mormont, who had risen from her seat.

The eleven-year-old had a stern look on her face. She locked eyes with a lord across from her. "Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly, but you refused the call," she said. "You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And you, Lord Cerwyn, your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still you refused the call."

The young girl was met with silence, so she continued her speech. "But House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. We know no king but the King in the North who's name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day until his last day."

The muttering began again. Emmelyne smiled at Lyanna, who looked quite proud of herself. She smiled at Emmelyne in turn before sitting back down.

Jon's eyes darted around the room. He couldn't quite process what had just happened.

Lord Manderly was the first to rise. "Lady Mormont speaks harshly and truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime. I didn't commit my men to your cause 'cause I didn't want more Manderlys dying for nothing. But I was wrong. Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding. He is the White Wolf."

Lord Manderly drew his sword, his voice rising to a shout. "The King in the North," he said, lowering to his knees.

This wasn't what Petyr had anticipated. It was clear on his face. Emmelyne smirked at him, letting out a low chuckle. It was cruel of her to laugh at him, but, then again, being nice had never been a skill of hers.

Lord Glover stood next. "I did not fight beside you on the field and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit when he was wrong and ask forgiveness."

Jon shook his head slowly. "There's nothing to forgive, my lord," he said.

"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years. And I will stand behind Jon Snow..." Glover drew his sword. "The King in the North!"

More men rose, drawing their swords. They echoed Glover. "The King in the North!"

It became a chant now. Sansa smiled up at Jon, who just stared at everyone. "You're a king, now," Emmelyne offered him softly.

"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"

Petyr and Sansa locked eyes, Sansa glaring at him.

When the meeting was adjourned, Emmelyne began to return to her room. As she walked, footsteps sounded behind her. She turned, smiling when her gaze fell upon Markus. "Have you gotten lost in the castle?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My room is nearby, I know that," Markus replied, though he was smiling as he said it.

Emmelyne nodded slightly. "I see. Do you the exact location of your room?"

Markus bit his lip, continuing to smile roguishly. "No, I do not, Lady Stark. Would you perhaps be kind of enough to escort me to it?"

The Demon of Winterfell stepped forward, taking Markus's arm and beginning to lead him down the hall. "I'd be delighted to."

"Typically," Markus noted, "the man is supposed to lead the woman."

"Typically woman do not fight in battles, Ser Waynwood, but look at how we first met."

"You're not a very typical woman, then."

"You're an extremely typical man, then."

His blue eyes widened. "I'm typical?"

Her gray eyes flashed mischievously. "Yes, you are. Rescuing the lady from imminent danger."

"I only gave you my horse."

"Yes, but you still saved my life."

"You still almost died because you refused the maester's help at first."

She snorted. "I was bleeding out and I'd just fought in a battle. I was delirious. You're the one who finally convinced me to accept help."

"Fine," Markus conceded. "You're not very typical, and I am very typical."

Emmelyne grinned. "You like being right, don't you, my lady?"

"Of course I do."

They reached his room, and Emmelyne waved her hand toward the door. "Here were are," she said.

Markus bit his lip once more. "Thank you for escorting me, Lady Stark."

"You're very welcome."

He pushed open the door, glancing at Emmelyne one more time. That was when she stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. His lips found hers, and in mere seconds they'd stepped into his room. Markus was sure to close the door behind them.