Argella Durrandon

Storm's End was barred on my orders as more and more peasants introduced themselves as refugees. I sat on the Storm Throne with the spymaster Coler Tarth and two men of my bodyguard next to me. Half the garrison abandoned in the night, after the raven arrived telling of Father's death.

Father was killed not far from Bronzegate, at least three days ago, according to the raven. He was killed at the hands of Orys. Bloody Orys! I sobbed the night I learned of it, I barely could sleep. My only family member, after mother Analys and aunt Argalia died, was slain at the hands of a bastard. Oh, I remember the times in which I would sit beside Father, while commanding at the war table, how he would chase me down the halls pretending to be a monster as I ran for my mother. I will kill him, I promised myself, I'll kill him, no matter what happens when I face him. I wore black, as black as the night and I cut my hair, which was as long as to my legs, down to blade of my shoulder.

"Coler," I called to the elder man of fifty years, I could have called him Ser, but he holds a sword and shield like a girl with palsy.

The blonde man looked at me, "Yes, Her Highness Argella?" He spoke in an annoyed, almost sarcastic voice. The young child beside him, a boy seemingly no older than ten, crawled away. The child had the same pale blonde hair and green eyes of Coler, mayhaps he is a bastard.

"Does any information from the Bronzegate tell of the bastard's movements?"

He cleared his throat and scratched his snobby mustache, "Lord Orys is not far north from the Bronzegate, however reports from my spies tell me he intends to capture Storm's End." My heart sank to my belly, did the death of my father—one of the mightiest Durrandons of this time—bother him enough? It does not matter.

I signaled two of my guardsmen, both sons of my father's bannermen, Cregan Kellington and Alekyne Errol, to follow me. The men in capes and gold-tinted yellow armor proceeded as we descended lower and lower into the bowels of Storm's End.

A long hallway, lit by a single torch, had a iron barred door in the end. I had Cregan and Alekyne open the door. I was met immediately by a man once blubbery, now as thin as a stick, swinging his arms at my skirt.

"Mercy!" Emmon bawled, "Free me!" This man had the silvery white hair and lilac eyes typical of a Valyrian. He shook his stubs that was once his hands. "Please!" This man was the one sent by Aegon Targaryen to inform Father of the possible betrothal between his bastard brother and I. Father reacted violently to this, he chopped off the hands of pitiful Emmon before I myself was informed of this proposal.

"What well do you know of Baratheon?" I asked him, turning away and looking over at the tiny hole that was the only source of light in the cell.

"My Queen," He spat, "I do not know of Orys! I've been trapped here for—"

"Answer her bloody Gods damn it!" Cregan cut him off. He grabbed Emmon by the tattered deep green garb he wore, and prepared his fists to knock him.

"Shut it!" I told both of them, Cregan dropped Emmon on the floor, with the crack of the haggard man's bones on the stone floor. I stared Cregan and met his nondescript brown eyes. I turned my attention to the sobbing man, "How valuable is this bastard to Aegon?"

"Uh—" He stuttered, "Orys, he—and Aegon?" The man kept sputtering crap out of his mouth. I saw how much he suffered— yet he did not suffer enough. I straightened my posture as held my hands together in a true queen-like manner.

"Speak."

"Orys... Aegon and Orys were inseparable when they were just tiny babes. Aegon knows all of Orys' secret and Orys knows all of Aegon's. They are the closest of brothers, Aegon prefers to spend time with Orys over Visenya, but not over Rhaenys."

"Good." I thought to myself out loud. "Bring him to the dungeons in the lighter levels and feed him more food." I commanded Alekyne. The dark blonde man nodded and ushered Emmon out of the cell. They proceeded further into the more forgiving cells until I could no longer hear their footfall. I had Cregan followed me as I led him up spiraling staircases and into the main hallway that is the bedrooms for royalty. I walked towards the end, an elaborate door, carved with the stag of the Durrandons, and the words, Ours is the Fury. This room was once Father's.

I opened the door and Cregan followed in, but slamming it shut.

"We—" I said as I turned around, to find Cregan press his lips into mine.

"I missed you..." I heard the lean man mutter. I felt a burst of ecstacy burst through my veins and I kissed him harder in return. It felt wonderful, the way he stroked his hands up and down my body, until I opened my eyes to see his horrid square face.

I pushed him away from my lips.

"Do not touch me..." I whispered, "I am a Queen." He still held me in his grip, but his face seemed unrelenting.

"And I don't care..." He whispered back, and kissed me again, his gentle kisses trailed down my neck. His hands followed, and I felt the straps of my dress loosen.

"Do not touch me!" I pushed him away, my bones stiffened. My jaw clenched, "I may have loved you when I was sixteen, but now—" I paused when I saw his stare, traumatizing at most, the urge made me slap him right up. He was the man I thought I loved seven years ago, when I was a lost teenage heir to Storm's End and he the lonely heir to Kellingtown. In truth, it was just looks and lust. Father kept him in Storm's End as a hostage in case the dubious loyalty of the Kellington's be officially undone.

"What for? Because you wish to be maiden forever?" He raised a brow.

"My father offered me to Aegon because I am one." I whispered mindlessly as I proceeded to the clear glass pane that overlooked the Narrow Sea, "I do not want to loose this innocence to a knight."

"I am not some knight." The averagely built man retaliated.

"And yet you are." I muttered again underneath my breath. I breathe, then I turn again to him, "I need you here because you are my most handy battle commander." He is better than the maester Arek, and Ser Leopold Estermont, and all the other men who deserted in the night.

"Then if I were you I would surrender, did you see what happened to Harrenhal?" He smugly said, and adjusted his cape, which was the bright blue color of his sigil.

"Are you soft in the mind? For centuries, the Durrandons have been kings of our realm, and I would not let some bastard sit on our throne! The blood of the gods runs in my veins! Get out!"

He chuckled, "You are your father's daughter." He picked up his helm, as he rose from the chair. "I'm warning you though, some men would love to see another day." He walked for the door, "think wisely." Cregan opened the door and quietly and swiftly left the room.

What did he mean?

I felt shivers run down my back. Yet some men are as loyal as Ser Merlian is to my late father— the damned man died on the field with him! I should not let such a petty remark disturb me.

I opened the door to see Ser Harys, a household knight. The freckled red headed man was holding what appears to be a sack.

"Ser Harys," I called him, he turned with a horrified look. Ignoring what his look, I asked, "What are you doing with that sack?"

"Your Highness," He muttered, "I'm just preparin—" The young knight stopped talking, his expression turned just blank and serious. My father was once squired by this knight, very excellent swordsman and just as honorable as his father, which makes me wonder what he is preparing for.

"Preparing for what?" I asked, and raised my brow in suspicion. Maybe he's preparing to flee? There's no other place safer here than Storm's End, unless he intends to flee to the Free Cities.

"Uh," he began to stutter, "well—"

I have no time for this.

"Just escort me to the throne room, for Seven's sake." I cut him off, he silently nodded and escorted me to the throne room.

When I arrived, the first thing I laid my eyes on was the peasants, old and young cowering as the storm echoed in the halls— so many useless mouths to feed. They were merely just people serving my bannermen. Just unresourceful souls. Stableboys and laundry maids like, they all seemed competitive for food. Even the one with palsy was devouring his food like a slave. I looked up at the throne.

My heart stopped.

Cregan, of all bloody people, was sitting there, his elbows on the arm rest and his knuckles on his hardened cheek. Coler even stood there, with a proud posture and an upturned nose. The same boy he was talking to was beside him, with Coler's arm over the young boy's shoulder. A voice lingered in my head, All hail the Queen of the Storm. This voice became louder and louder, and I felt my heart shriveled with fear. What's happening?

I turned around.

The men and women were cheering, sarcastically. They were bawling as if they were in a tavern. I knew they were sarcastic, the way they spoke, the way they executed. Ser Harys carrying his sack, sack of belongings. Cregan and his willingness to surrender. I was overwhelmed. "All Hail the Queen of the Storm."

"All Hail the Queen of the Storm."

In the confusion, I turned around the see Kellington and Tarth. Tarth had tears falling down his eyes, as he held the boy closer. That is his son.

"I am sorry." Tarth muttered.

"Deliver her to Orys." Kellington calmly ordered.

"Like bloody hells you will! Seize Kellington!" I ordered, what is the man thinking? Harys, Errol, and other "knights" unsheathed their swords. I thought they were going for Kellington. Yet those weaklings encircled me. My heart was thumping and my stance wore off.

Traitors!

Alekyne grabbed me by the back, "I am sorry." He whispered in my ear, "Storm's End is no funeral pyre." A Selmy knight held me by the neck, this bloody man is strangling me.

"Let me go...!" I ordered, but I was drowned out by the chanting of the people.

"Deliver her naked and chained." Kellington ordered. The knights holding me softened their grip in surprise, even Tarth raised his brows in surprise.

Alekyne prostested, "Wait—"

"I am castellan of Storm's End until Lord Orys arrives." Kellington cut him off. Cregan just called Orys a Lord! These men think that Orys will take over! Do they see me as an incompetent brat? The guards relented and they dragged me, they bloody dragged me! The peasants bystanders reached in closer as my screams echoed off the walls. The Selmy knight snatched my crown, my mother's crown, and I watched him as he delivered to Kellington the crown.

"No! You cannot do this! I am the Queen, the Queen of the—" Thunder and heavy rain drowned my speech. The peasants grabbed garments from my gown off, tearing it into shreds as I was dragged farther and farther away from the Storm Throne. I was just... crying. It is no trait for a half-god Durrandon to cry, but crying is a human emotion, and I am half-human. From what I could see left of the throne, Tarth was shaking Kellington, he was dissuading Kellington from delivering me to Orys naked.

I stared at Alekyne one more time, he stared back at me with tears flowing down his cheek. "I'm just doing a duty." He told me.

The last thing I remember is a welcoming fist to the nape.