Narella

The cold chill of winter brushed her neck with goose prickles. Red leaves littered the blanket of snow in the lake she passed. Ready to be taken hold of the cold's freezing bite. And the watcher stood broad and seeking.

She'd always been curious of the faith. The dead tree of Ravenwood still had such presence lingering. Always feeling the watchful eyes of the Old Gods. Her parent's thought her explorative of the religion. Though she had taken quite a liken to them. I am never lonely. Or, so, I thought.

The flutter in her belly directed the queen to her wonder. "Do you hear them too? Their words in the wind."

Her moment interrupted by the sound of her name. Lucan relieved the guard who'd stood outside the Godswood. His smile wicked.

"Who's the woman who's smile you carry? No? Who's pockets you picked?"

Seating himself on the ground near her. Greeting her with a playful shove to her shoulder. Laughing, "she resides beyond reach, my queen of winter. Open to the world she dreams of her adventure. Besides I have been given hope."

Her gaze returned to the weirwood. Thoughts failing to think of anything or anyone other than Jon. Ever since he'd gone she felt the need to be near him. She remembered the directed gazes she avoided in the courtyard. The meeting of hers to his heated her to the core. Remembering their blissful night. His eyes told all to her now.

He does this for his sister. For me. For our babe. The people.

"What a relief to hear the Lucan Harlow change his whorish ways. What gives you hope dear friend?" She knew her joke would make him laugh harder. He'd always did when she used such foul language.

His grin that stood changed to a loving gaze she never seen before. The distance hadn't been noticed of the heated look. Quickly, she moved away nervously.

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. The deep blue sea calling her to see. "I thought you love me. Do you lie?"

"I was a maiden. Foolish to say such things that I could not control. Jon Snow is my husband. And I will never touch another."

The night before her wedding was a night she thought she'd missed. Sold off to a man she had heard so little of since their brief meet. The kiss she willingly gave to her friend was thought to be the last of her love for a fondness she thought great.

"You admit you loved me! I want you. Call the marriage a sham. Run aw-"

"-Lucan are you mad? I will do no such thing. And I do not love you in the way you want."

Red of face he stood quickly in his rejection. She hadn't noticed the letter he held in his fume. "What do you hold?"

"Is it true? Do you carry his child? We can always settle that if it were the matter."

"I could never! How dare you say such vile words!? I would never do such to our child." Narella hadn't blamed him to feel such disappointment. Though this goes too far. "Leave or I'd do something you'd regret to ever talk of such horrid utterance."

The sigh and heavy footfalls told all to her of his anger. Narella did not care for his love of her. Friend or no he will regret what his ignorance spews.

His presence now gone from her sight, she resumed to pray. Guide my lord husband as you guide him now. With sword and tongue. He must be sharp and fluent, now that Winter is here. Show my father patience, for he, so, easily forgets. Let him know sense before he gives himself away. And protect us from the coming storms.

Night falls quickly as day came. Her reluctance to go back into the castle had been a demanding refusal to herself. All the signs of a gone beloved had dampened the place she learned to call home.

The day of his leave opened her to a powerful feeling of longing. Longing for a husband she grew fond of. It was of little notice to her. It overcame her in realization that day.

The day she wanted to scream to bring her with. Anything to have her go with. And yet the butterflies she felt of their babe cautioned her of such a dangerous journey.

The moon they spent together had been quiet; a dismal affair of careful glances and actions. The feeling of his eyes burning her skin whenever they'd catch themselves awake in each other's presence. Those moments were spent of late night talks. So many of them lasted in such bliss she'd thought she'd never have.

Such sweet cold she'd embraced for every second she had with him. A deep breath Narella had taken in fustration of her lateness. Had I ignored it? She'd seen it on his face of, so, many a time. Did I willingly choose to not accept his love?

The trembling hand she smoothed over her stomach, feeling how the swell was taking shape despite not being all that so, she'd feared for the very life they created in their tryst. Every touch eased her worry of every damning tragedy she could ever imagine.

Now, her loneliness had been silent and unnerving due to the sudden unease she felt. Gripping the small dagger her father gifted her on the belt, she faced the opening of the Godswood. Though the presence she felt wasn't treacherous.

Red eyes glowed in the dark to her in silence. The white of his fur blended with snow. Neck craning to her belly with a sniff. "Yes, Ghost. Jon's babe." Her hand petted his head. "Sorry beautiful. I mustn't stay long. I grow colder by the moment."

Reluctantly, she walked off with an observant direwolf in her wake. A smile to the silent wolf she walked to the gate. Least I had father. I had Jon.