"My Lord, might I have a word?"
Steffon looks away from the papers spread across his writing desk, away from the reports and letters written to him by other Lords of the Stormlands, and levels Maester Cressen with a hard look.
There is a letter in the man's hand, the crimson seal of the Targaryen House bright against the creamy parchment. The seal is broken. It's unlike Cressen to read letters or missives sent specifically for anyone in the Baratheon family, but he's had so many letters from the Citadel and other Maester's laterly that it's possible that his opening of the letter had been a slip of the hand and nothing more.
Either way, the aging man appear incredibly nervous.
"Close the door behind you." Steffon demands, already leaning back to rest against his chair.
The Maester steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and quickly makes his way over to the desk where he hands the letter to Steffon who takes it with a small dip of the chin. The letter is from Aerys, unsurprisingly, and Steffon finds himself anxious to hear from his cousin. It's been too long since they've spoken and normally Steffon would find some sort of amusement in Aerys' letters, even if they were scolding him for some perceived misdoing, this time however all Steffon can feel is dread.
Because Aerys wants to marry Rhaegar to Ostara and that should be a good thing, it would allow Steffon to strengthen his house and tie his family to the Iron Throne, but he has already spoken to Tywin about possibly joining their houses through marriage and on top of that... On top of that there is no way out of this should the two not be a good match.
"You've read it?" Steffon asks Cressen.
"I have."
"And what do you think I should do? Aerys will not turn his eye from Ostara and I find myself conflicted."
Across from him Maester Cressen sucks in a steady breath and says, "You could ask the King to allow Ostara and the Prince to become better acquainted... Under the guise of ensuring they are a compatible match to better cement the stability of the kingdom should they marry."
"And this is a guise?" Steffon asks, lip curling at one end.
He will not have his daughter wed to a man who would raise a hand to his wife, or lock her away for supposed infidelity. It is one of the reasons he had been hesitant to betroth Ostara to Tywin's boy, while he doubts Tywin would ever raise a son who would willingly strike a woman he did not want to make such a decision so soon when they are but children.
Steffon sighs as he pushes papers off to the side to make room on the desk for his response to Aerys.
"I find myself unable to decide whether or not this is a terrible idea." Steffon mutters more to himself then Cressen, but the Maester bows his head anyways and lowers himself into the spare chair across from Steffon.
"It is the will of the Gods, my Lord."
"Is that right?"
"Aye."
"Well," Steffon remarks, setting the letter aside to dry, "you can be the one to tell Ostara then."
"Why tell her anything yet? Wait for the King's response. If he agrees to allow the children time to know one another perhaps a certain fondness will grow between them and when the time comes to tell them of the betrothal it will not seem so terrible to them."
Steffon pinches the bridge of his nose.
For some reason he has a feeling that no matter what he does Ostara's going to be furious when she finds out about this betrothal. Hopefully, the two come to love one another... Or become fairly good friends. They'll both have to marry one day and if the only say Steffon has in his daughter's marriage is this then so be it. Even this is better then tying Ostara to the royal family when she's barely tall enough to fit into her stirrups.
With a sigh Steffon checks the dryness of the ink and, after finding it dry, folds it and seals it with the black wax his own father had sealed his letters with. He hands the letter off to Cressen to be sent to King's Landing.
~X~
"Did you know father has betrothed Robert to Cersei Lannister?" Stannis asks one evening as he helps Ostara practice her sets in the Godswood.
"He's nine."
"It's nothing binding, I overheard mother and father talking about it, it'll be formalized later after Robert's become a man."
After he hits puberty. After he's capable of having babies of his own.
Fuck.
Ostara spins away from Stannis and brings her little wooden practice sword down on his.
Arranged marriages are, quite frankly, horrifying. They were practiced in the Wizarding World but they're much more prevalent here. Ostara's only seen a few marriages result in happy, loving relationships (her parent's relationship and that of Tywin and Joanna Lannister's too) but she's also seen some fall apart completely and end with one or both people in the relationship hating the other.
She doesn't want that for herself, or Stannis, or Robert.
Luckily, Robert and Stannis will have some say. If they find their future wives to be unbearably terrible they can talk to their father about breaking the arrangement, Ostara might be able to do the same if their father attempts such a thing with her, unfortunately women in this world don't have much say in their marriage arrangements.
"Do you want to marry, Stannis?" Ostara asks.
Stannis merely raises a dark eyebrow at her and says, "Should father and mother arrange something I will do my duty."
"That's not what I was asking."
"Do you want to marry, Ostara?" Her brother asks.
Yes, is the immediate response that sits heavy on her tongue, but on my terms.
"It's not about whether or not I want to marry, Stannis... I just don't like that our parents are making these decisions for us."
Stannis scoffs and Ostara's sword goes flying through the dirt and leaves.
"Get used to it, Ostara," Stannis comments as he moves to pick up the fallen sword. "One day father and mother will be presenting you with suitors."
It's not a lie, that's why Ostara's so upset about it. And instead of answering Ostara merely wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and tries not to think about the inevitable fact that her father will one day try to marry her off to some rich lord to strengthen his ties to other kingdoms. She tries not to think about how she'll react to that.
Tries not to think about any of it as Stannis escorts her back to her chambers that evening after they've finished going through sets. But it's hard. When Stannis stops outside her door Ostara presses a chaste kiss to his cheek and moves to slip into the privacy of her own space. She's stopped by Stannis' voice.
"I wouldn't mind it." Stannis says.
"What?"
"Marrying someone... I wouldn't mind it."
"Even if it were arranged?"
"I trust mother and father to have my best interest in mind, Ostara, even if you don't."
It hurts because it's true.
"I never said I didn't trust our parents, Stannis."
"But you don't." Stannis glances off to the side and sighs, "I'm not saying you have to marry whoever they suggest or pick for you, that wouldn't be fair, but at least consider it before you do anything rash."
Ostara rolls her eyes, "It's lovely seeing you so concerned over my supposed rash behavior."
Across from her Stannis shrugs and runs a hand over his head. He'd gotten it cut the other day and the curls are closer to his scalp then Ostara thinks he should wear it but that's neither here nor thee.
"Our parents want you to be happy, Ostara... Sometimes happiness requires sacrifice."
"Goodnight, Stannis." Ostara whispers.
Her brother says nothing as she slips into the darkness of her chambers and Ostara's thankful for it. The last thing she needs is to be having a personal discussion about why she's so horrified by the idea of an arranged marriage. Not all of it has to do with the fact that it's arranged and that's what makes Ostara sick to her stomach.
Ripping her leathers over her head and tossing them onto the floor Ostara stalks over to her bed where she curls up among the blankets and pillows and the openly confused shadowcat that mewls at her as Ostara buries her face in his fur and tries to sleep.
~X~
The next morning finds Ostara going about her daily routines like she would any other day. She sits through her music and sewing lessons, dances with her brother and the Steward's son, has lunch, and goes off to find Master Daevyn for their lessons.
He's stepped away from teaching her the sword or strategy and has started sitting her down to discuss poisons.
Ostara suspects it has something to do with the man that died the other day. The man who'd dared to strike Cerys. Neither of them have talked about the man or what happened that night, though their relationship seems to have strengthened a great deal, but Ostara thinks her father or Maester Cressen might have had something to do with the man's death.
Either way it doesn't matter, Ostara's glad he's dead.
And she relishes in the fact that she's learning something a bit more dangerous then a blade.
"Do you know what this is?" Daevyn asks, holding aloft a long golden chain from which a stick of black crystal dangles.
"I don't know." Ostara replies, eyes lingering on the shiny black crystal.
Daevyn Sand presses it into her hand and Ostara runs a thumb over the smooth surface of the jewel.
"A quarter dissolved in a man's drink will kill him in a day, half will kill him sooner, but it is bitter and best used when a man is well into his cups."
"it's poison."
"From Asshai."
Ostara stares at the shard of crystallized poison and purses her lips together. Poison is said to be a woman's weapon but Ostara's never been fond of it, Hermione hadn't been either. Renaehra had dabbled in poisons, had taken them into her own body and built a tolerance for a great many of them. Nothing that would have rendered the poison ineffective but enough that it would have slowed the affects until she could find the antidote.
She wonders if any of her other lives favored poisons.
With a frown Ostara hands the necklace back and says, "Is it a quick death?"
"Aye, like goign to sleep."
"Master Daevyn, why are you teaching me about poisons?"
"Because enemies do not attack with blades alone." Daevyn says in reply and Ostara can't find any words to dispute his claim.
~X~
Ostara, the voice is a faint whisper int he darkness of her room. Ostara, it is time to begin.
The girl in question pulls away from the warm, furry body of her familiar and twists to look at the shadowy being hovering ominously over her bed.
"Time to begin what?"
Come.
Knowing better then to argue Ostara rolls out of bed, makes her way over to the trunk at the foot of her bed, and stops when she finds her path blocked by him. Ostara frowns up at him but doesn't say anything as he offers her wand to her. With steady fingers Ostara takes her wand and rolls it in her grip, carefully running the pad of her thumb over the delicately carved handle.
"Where are we going?" Ostara demands, because normally Phil would have at least allowed her to change out of her nightgown and dressing robe.
This time he merely grabs hold of her wrist and pulls her to him before plunging them both into darkness. A darkness that is soon split by the cool glow of moonlight pouring into a room decorated with maroon and gold. There's a wardrobe pressed against one wall along with a series of trunks, a dressing table, a writing desk, and two doors. One open and leading to another room and one closed.
A sharp inhale of breath has Ostara whipping around, wand held up and at the ready, only to find herself staring at the peaceful face of a lovely woman with golden hair and feline cheekbones. The swell of her belly is barely concealed by her bedclothes and her blankets.
She can't be more then what? Six or seven months along?
Do you know what you must do?
Ostara shakes her head, too afraid to speak lest she accidentally wake the woman.
Suddenly Ostara is being pushed closer and closer to the bed until the fine velvet bed skirt brushes over the tops of her feet and across her ankles. The woman in the bed murmurs in her sleep and Ostara wants to pull away but Phil is taking her hand and pressing it to the woman's stomach and something firm presses into her palm but something in her stomach twists and says, something's not right.
Never being one to ignore her instincts Ostara reaches out with a tendril of power that tastes like copper in her mouth, that burns through her veins, and she frowns when she turns to look at Phil.
You can save her, he says.
Ostara swallows thickly.
"What happens if she dies?"
Does it matter?
No.
No it doesn't matter.
Because he's brought her here, to this woman, and Ostara cannot find it in herself to turn her back on an innocent woman who's done nothing wrong, nor turn her back on the babe in her womb. So it is with shaking hands that Ostara reaches out and presses her other hand to the woman's belly.
"I'm no healer." She whispers.
Phil says nothing.
Closing her eyes Ostara reaches deep within herself, to that growing mass of power living in the very core of her being. It all comes to her. The familiar crackle of Hermione's magic, the slightly-less familiar burn of Renaehra's birthright, and the all together unfamiliar presence of something that tastes like burnt ozone on her tongue. Ostara frowns as she reaches for that unfamiliar presence, wondering if it'll help in her task, and finds herself sucking in a sharp breath as it crashes over her.
Ostara shakes and shivers, teeth gritting together, blood seeping from her left nostril and into her mouth as the power presses against every part of her. Filling her, drowning her, swallowing her whole.
With a choked gasp Ostara rips away from the woman, stumbling back until her feet slide out from under her and Ostara is left sprawled across cold stone. Panting and gagging Ostara reaches up to wipe the blood away from her nose.
What are you waiting for, Ostara?
Shooting a nasty glare at the being hovering in the corner Ostara crawls over to the bed and pulls herself up to resume her previous position over the woman's prone form. How she hasn't woken is a mystery to Ostara. It's probably got something to do with Phil.
She doesn't reach for that unfamiliar magic again, she can deal with it later but for now it's not something she wants to attempt working with. So instead she presses one hand to the woman belly and the other to her forehead, closes her eyes, and calls forth the magic she knows and understands and controls just as easily as breathing.
The woman begins shifting in her sleep, murmuring in such a way that suggests she's beginning to wake. Without a thought Ostara wills her magic to make her stronger, healthier, more likely to survive the birth. It's not much, she hasn't had the time to do the proper research required for a treatment like this, but it's enough. It has to be enough.
Phil's hand on her shoulder is the only warning Ostara gets before he is pulling her away from the woman and back into the endless oblivion between here and there.
~X~
"Do you feel sick, Ostara?" Cerys asks the next afternoon as Ostara helps her with her numbers.
"Hm?"
Cerys' hand is cool against her skin when the other girl moves to check her temperature with her palm.
"You're burning up."
"I'm find Cerys, truly... I didn't sleep well is all."
Blue eyes narrow as the girl says, "If you're sure..."
Instead of saying anything more about it Ostara redirects their conversation to the mathematical problems spread across Cerys' parchment. It's all incredibly easy, basic addition and subtraction, but for someone with no formal education to speak of it might seem rather difficult. Ostara honestly doesn't care, Cerys needs to know these things, and Ostara's the most qualified person to teach her.
The perks of Hermione's education, muggle and magical both.
Besides, Cerys isn't stupid, she understands a great deal of what Ostara's teaching her. Soon Ostara suspects they'll be able to move onto harder tasks such as multiplying and dividing large numbers.
It's all very exciting, really.
Ostara smooths her hands over her skirt and shifts closer to look at Cerys' work, smiling when she comes across fewer mistakes then her last attempt.
Neither of them talk much outside of Cerys asking questions and Ostara answering them, it's nice. Ostara doesn't want to think about the night before, the blonde woman and her baby and the strange power that had made her head spin. Ostara doesn't want to think about any of it and so she focuses on Cerys until her mother come to collect her for another fitting, then Ostara says goodbye to the blonde sitting beside her and tells her they can pick up their lesson tomorrow before moving to follow her mother out into the corridor.