"What are you reading, Ostara?" Her mother asks on the last morning of their trip to Lannisport.
Ostara glances up from her book to meet her mother's gaze. None of the other ladies in the wheel house, Cassana's personal maids, are paying much attention. They're too busy embroidering or sleeping or gossiping about this Lord or that Lady, so they haven't been much of a problem for Ostara.
"Legends of Asshai." Ostara lies.
It's something she's been doing a lot of lately. Lying. Mostly to her mother, who has no idea that her sweet daughter is more than human. It is what her father wanted, unspoken though that want may be, Ostara knows it is true. Why wouldn't he have told the wife he holds in such high regard if he had wanted her to know about Ostara's magic?
Steffon Baratheon has never mentioned it to any of their family and Ostara has no intention of going against his unspoken rule.
Oh, she doesn't think her father would mind to terribly if she were to tell Stennis but... Well, he's loyal to a fault and Ostara isn't sure if he'll end up telling their mother or not. Ostara doubts Stannis would betray her trust in such a way, however, what he doesn't know can't be used against him.
Can't be used to hurt him.
It's how she justifies the lying.
"Do you find them interesting, dear girl?" Her mother's voice is coated with gentle laughter.
"Interesting enough." Ostara retorts as she closes her book and slips it into the basket holding her embroidery.
Rubeus sees the lack of book as an opportunity and promptly drops his overly large head into Ostara's lap where he huffs expectantly and begins rubbing his head against her middle. Ostara placates him by carding her fingers through his fur.
"We'll reach Lannisport soon. Are you not excited?" One of the hand maidens asks.
"I am excited to see Robert and to meet my betrothed."
It's entirely too political for Ostara's liking. What she'd really like to tell the woman is that she doesn't give a flying fuck about seeing Robert, which, ok, that's a lie but not a big one? Ostara hasn't seen Robert in years and their letters are always overly polite at best. She's not sure how this little reunion is going to go but if Robert's anything like she remembers then Ostara's likely to end up playing mediator for her brothers.
What she's honestly worried about is Aerys Targaryen.
Rhaegar doesn't scare her.
Hermione Granger was no blushing virgin when she'd married Ronald Weasley and so the concept of marriage and sex doesn't scare her, therefore, she has no reason to fear Rhaegar Targaryen, in fact, she one day hopes that their marriage can grow to something other than a respect born of duty. Ostara thinks that, perhaps in time, respect and love her husband-to-be... But Aerys?
Half of the Targaryens ever born went mad, a result of incest and poor parenting decisions, and while Rhaegar might not show the signs of succumbing to the infamous Targaryen madness Aerys is not so lucky. Even now there are whispers of the man showing the beginning signs of insanity. Which does not bode well for Ostara, for if the king finds out about her magic and does end up turning into a nutcase, she's fucked.
And no one, not even her princely husband, will be able to protect her.
Because she won't slaughter innocent people, she won't torture people who don't deserve to be tortured.
She is not Voldemort.
She is not Bellatrix.
"You're going to make a wonderful princess, My Lady." Another hand maiden breathes.
"I hear the Prince is very kind, very honorable." The first one remarks.
Ostara curls her fingers around the scruff of Rubeus' neck.
All around her the women are twittering about how handsome Prince Rhaegar is, how talented he is, how loved he is. Why are they doing this? Do they not realize that Ostara hates them for it? If she is to marry the man she would see and judge him herself, not build her opinions on the words of women attempting to soothe a seemingly frightened child.
Ostara resists the urge to run her fingers over the unblemished skin of her left inner arm. There are no scars there, nothing to remind her of the horrors she faced in her last life. But it is a habit she can't seem to stop.
From her lap Rubeus presses his snout to her hip, hot breath seeping through her dress and into her skin.
One of the ladies, a dark eyed woman with honey-blonde hair and a sever face, casts the shadowcat a tentative glance before returning to her embroidery. As she pushes the needle through the pale fabric Ostara notices the shaking of her pale fingers. Ostara tries not to scoff. If the woman was truly so afraid of Rubeus she wouldn't have chosen to sit so close to him.
There's no point in calling her on it, though. Doing anything like that would cause nothing but trouble and the last thing Ostara needs at the moment is anything even remotely close to trouble. Especially now, when she's traveling into unknown territory. Not that anything is going to happen at the tourney. There's going to be too many guards, too many eyes, too many people who'd jump on the chance to fall into the good graces of the King.
But Ostara's not fool enough to think she or her family are entirely safe. Which is why the firm press of her wand against her calf if a reassuring thing. No one can hurt her if she has Rubeus, no one can hurt her family if she has her wand.
A glance at her mother, who is speaking animatedly with one of her hand maidens, is enough to put an end to whatever reservations she might have had about taking another person's life.
~X~
The tournament doesn't begin until the day after everyone arrives, which gives the newly arrived Lords enough time to prepare their armor and their horses and have their squires run their errands.
Ostara has never truly been to a tourney such as this before and she finds herself wandering through the maze of tents and stands with a curious smile. Rubeus trails behind her, never farther than a hands width from her side. More then once Ostara has caught him curling his lip at a passing squire and she has never truly reprimanded him for it. Rubeus is the only reason her mother hadn't sent armed guards with her.
So whenever he turns his lip up or narrows his eyes at someone Ostara ignores it as best she can. But even she is not so cruel as to allow her familiar to torment every person they pass. And whenever the shadowcat happens to cause someone legitimate distress Ostara presses her hand to her familiar's side and offers a sharp look of reprimand.
But one man seems particularly unperturbed by the curled lip and fangs.
"A fine pet, my Lady, I've never seen the likes of him." The man remarks when Ostara passes him.
Ostara allows her eyes to drag from his finely made boots to the top of his carefully groomed head. He is, unsurprisingly, handsome. Tall with broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair, and eyes colored similar to that of a sprig of lavender. Ostara is only aware of one family in all of Westeros aside form the Targaryens that possess such eyes.
"I would assume not, Lord Dayne." Ostara's reply is laced with a slight hesitation.
The man's face is full of mirth a he steps away from the tent he'd been standing beside. He takes her hand, eyes lingering on the Shadowcat for but a moment before he meets Ostara's gaze, and presses a chaste kiss to the back of her hand.
"Arthur Dayne, My Lady, I'm afraid we've never been introduced."
"Ostara Baratheon, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Ostara pulls her hand from his grasp and offers another polite smile. "If you'll excuse me."
She moves to walk away but the King's Guard Knight follows, hand on the pommel of his sword, and Ostara wants to spell his feet to the ground but knows it would reflect poorly on her and cause more trouble then it's worth, and so she allows the man to follow her through the tents and stalls.
"Might I escort you, Lady Baratheon? While I have no doubt your pet is more than capable of protecting you I would prefer to see you back to your tent." Sir Dayne says after a moment.
"If it please you, Sir."
"Thank you, My Lady."
The young witch glances at the man, nods briskly, then continues on her way. Originally, she'd intended to find the quietest places in Lannisport and make use of them later, but seeing as her plans have been derailed Ostara might as well return to her family's tent. Thankfully her newfound companion is quiet enough and Rubeus has stopped snarling at him every time he moves too close to Ostara.
Through the tents and fluttering banners Ostara can just make out the ebony and gold of House Baratheon. Thank the Gods, she's more than ready to leave Arthur Dayne to his own devices.
"Do you enjoy Lannisport, My Lady?" Arthur asks after a while.
"I've only just arrived but my last visit was a relatively pleasant one."
If you count the assassin Rubeus slaughtered.
Ostara offers a tight grin and Arthur Dayne must realize that she's growing uncomfortable with his polite smiles and his staring because he opens his mouth, to apologize or say something else to soothe her Ostara isn't sure. Whatever he goes to say is interrupted by the sound of an all too familiar voice.
"Ostara," both she and Arthur turn to look at Stannis. "mother is looking for you."
Sweet, sweet Stannis. He doesn't even realize how much of a hero he is to her. Not, of course, that she felt truly uncomfortable with Arthur Dayne, it's just that she doesn't know him all that well and isn't it odd that he'd gone out of his way to accompany an obviously protected girl back to her tent despite the fact that no one will attack Ostara with Rubeus at her side.
After all, no one wants to risk loosing a limb to an annoyed Shadowcat much less their life.
"Thank you, Sir Dayne, it was a pleasure to meet you." Ostara makes sure to curtsy before moving to her brother's side.
Stannis is only two years her elder but Ostara feel ridiculously safe in his presence. He doesn't smile at her, doesn't offer her a twitch of the mouth that Ostara has learned means he is amused, instead he offers a ferocious glare to Arthur and guides Ostara away.
Once they're far enough to not be overheard Ostara smiles at her brother.
"Thank you, Stannis... Truly."
"Did he hurt you?" Stannis demands.
"No, of course not."
What could you have done if he had?
"Mother is looking for you though." Stannis says after a moment. "Said something about preparing for the melee tomorrow."
"Thank you, Stannis." Ostara says, moving to press a chaste kiss to her brother's cheek.
Stannis nods curtly before pivoting on his heel and making his way over to where Daevyn Sand is waiting for him, the Dornish bastard offers Ostara a happy smile and a tilt of the chin before he disappears with Stannis. They'll be training for a while, never let it be said that Daevyn Sand isn't just as attentive to Stannis' needs as he is to Ostara's.
The girl shakes her head, pats Rubeus on the flank, and pushes open the flap of the tent so her familiar can enter before her.
Cassana Baratheon is sitting in one of the chairs set around a small table the servants had set up for them, she's embroidering something into a strip of black cloth and Ostara only spares it a second of consideration before she lowers herself into the chair across from her mother. Her mother offers a kind smile and puts aside her embroidery.
"Stannis said you were looking for me." Ostara tells her mother, perhaps unnecessarily.
"Yes, I was wondering if you would like to come with me when I go to visit Lady Lannister." Cassana explains.
"Oh... Yes, I would not mind."
There is nothing wrong with Johanna Lannister. She'd been a kind woman when Ostara saw her last and she had seemed genuinely interested in Ostara. Honestly, she hadn't thought they'd be seeing Lady Lannister during their trip to Lannisport. Not when news of her current pregnancy being a difficult one. The letter Johanna Lannister had sent to Storm's End had told Cassana that the Maester of Casterly Rock had instructed Johanna to remain in bed as often as possible and to limit her daily activities to the more menial tasks.
If she had access to the ingredients Ostara could easily brew something to help with the strain the babe is putting Johanna's body through. Unfortunately, some of the ingredients would have to come directly from the Free Cities or Asshai and to ask for them specifically would rouse suspicion. Ostara thinks she could try substituting some of the less common ingredients but that would invite risks Ostara isn't willing to take.
"Excellent, she'll be so excite to see you... And so will the twins." Cassana says.
Something in her tone causes Ostara to lift an eyebrow in question. It's not an uncommon occurrence for her mother to attempt to get Ostara to befriend girls of higher birth then Cerys. Which is understandable in the sense that Ostara will not be able to take Cerys with her to King's Landing unless she goes as a personal maid. But even if Cerys were to go to King's Landing as a personal servant to the future queen Ostara would still need ladies in waiting. Women of noble birth to attend her in the gardens or to visit with her over tea.
Cerys would not be able to do so.
But while it is undertandable it's still rather annoying.
"How old are her children now? Four?"
"Yes, Cersei is supposedly very sweet."
"And Jamie?"
"Johanna says he is likely to take after his father."
"I see."
Her mother nods slowly before saying, "Go clean up, we'll leave in a bit."
"Yes, mother."
Cassana reaches out to brush back a wayward curl before leaning over to press a chaste kiss to Ostara's forehead.
Once her mother pulls away Ostara moves to exit her parents' tend and over to the one beside it. It is the one she has been given, it's small but not uncomfortably so, and Ostara enjoys the fact that Stannis' tent is on the opposite side of her own. Which means she won't have to sneak past her parents if she wants to cause a bit of mischief and drag Stannis along for the ride.
Ostara snorts quietly to herself as she moves to the basin of water waiting near her cot.
She dips the cloth in the water, drags it over her face, and puts it back before moving to redo her braids. When that's done she smooths out her dress, adjusts her necklace, and makes sure her wand is secured in her stocking before she heads back to her parents' tent.
Ostara pretends she doesn't notice the hooded figure staring at her from the shadows.
~X~
"Cassana, how lovely to see you again." Johanna Lannister says, eyes alight with joy.
Ostara offers the expected pleasantries before allowing herself to look about the solar they have been led to.
There are chairs scattered about, a table, and a little girl with golden curls and eyes the color of summer grass. She's very pretty for a child her age, unbelievably so. If Ostara didn't know any better she would almost think Cersei Lannister to be some sort of creature. Veela or Vampire or Faerie. Something with beauty meant to ensnare the mind.
But she does know better.
So she offers the little girl a smile and if almost shocked when Cersei offers one back.
"How are you, Johanna?"
Johanna pats her swelling stomach and shakes her head fondly, "He keeps me up all night and all day and my feet ache... But I am well enough to sew and eat and play with my children so it is not so bad."
"How much longer until it is born?"
"Three months yet. Mother said I could hold the babe when it's born." A soft voice says.
And Johanna laughs as she motions Cersei over. The little girl makes her way over to her mother's side and offers them a curtsy before moving to press against Johanna's legs.
Ostara watches Cersie watch her and smiles when the little girl blushes before pressing her face into Johanna's skirts. The older woman laughs and runs her fingers through Cersiei's hair causing the child to look up at her mother.
"Yes pet, I did, but perhaps for now you can settle with showing Ostara the gardens? There is much I must discuss with Lady Baratheon." Johanna says, her voice is a command however and the little girl must know this because she nods once before moving to take Ostara's hand.
She allows the child to guide her from the room, waiting until the door shuts to say anything to the girl.
"Will you be attending the tourney?" Ostara asks.
"Perhaps with father, I am not sure."
"Oh, well perhaps if you come we can watch it together? If you like."
Polite, she tells herself, she is a child.
Cersei does not reply, just guides her through Casterly rock, toward the gardens that flourish beneath a summer sun. Ostara doesn't force her to speak, just fills the silence with little observations about the garden as Cersei leads her to a bench hidden between two rose bushes.
Once they've settles Ostara reaches out to stroke the petals of a rose.
"I like roses." Cersei remarks after several long moments.
"They are very beautiful." Ostara replies.
And she offers the little girl her nicest smile. It seems to ease the girl a bit because she shrugs and begins kicking her feet through the air. There is something solemn in her eyes, something incredibly sad, that makes Ostara frown.
"Are you unwell, Cersei? I can call for a maester." She offers.
"No... I'm well."
"Would you like to talk about it?" Ostara asks. "I'm a very good listener and I'll not tell another soul."
Cersei stares at her for a long moment, then another, and another, until Ostara begins to worry she said something wrong. Before she can backtrack, however, and offer an apology for any offense Cersei says, "The Maester said mother's chance of surviving the birthing bed is low."
"Did he tell you this, Cersei?" Ostara demands, because she'll kill him.
She'll fucking kill him.
What kind of sick bastard says such things to a child? Especially one who doesn't quite understand what's going on but understands what' being said? It's not fair to Cersei or Johanna, both of whom will have to deal with the emotional fallout.
Luckily for the maester Cersei shakes her little head, finger fisting in her skirt.
"Jamie and I overheard father and the maester talking." She admits.
"Oh, I see."
"Do you think... Do you think that if I pray very, very hard the Mother with spare mine?" Cersei asks, eyes hopeful.
"I think that it wouldn't hurt to try. The Gods are not kind neither are they cruel. You can pray and they will do what must be done... Might I offer you advice?" Ostara questions, already reaching to pluck a healthy rose from the bush.
She removes the thorns with a detached sort of efficiency before moving the petals toward her nose. As she pretends to breath in the scent offered by the rose Ostara whispers every charm and spell she knows that will help Johanna Lannister through this pregnancy.
"I suppose."
Ostara smiles and offers the rose, which hums with her magic, and says to Cersei, "Give this to your mother. I find that gifts given by a child always lift a mother's spirits and I think that right now your mother would benefit from high spirits."
A moment passes before Cerei takes the rose, she fingers the petals a few times before offering Ostara the sweetest, most genuine smile the older girl has seen in the short time they've known each other.
"Thank you, Ostara." Cersei breathes.
Then she's gone, running through the gardens toward the keep. Ostara watches her go, fingers drumming against the seat of the bench the only sign of her worry as she's not sure it it'll help Johanna Lannister but she thinks there's enough magic waiting in that rose to do something. Even if it does nothing more then give the woman more energy at least it will do something.
Ostara sighs as she moves to return to the keep.
You are kind, gentle hearted soldier.
The fingers that weaves through her hair do not belong to a human but Ostara is not concerned. She merely takes the offered words for what they are and tuck them away with a soft smile before leaving the hooded figure standing in the garden between the rose bushes.
~X~
Dinner is a quiet affair. Very little is discussed aside from the happenings of the day and what is expected of them tomorrow. Ostara has heard it all before and waits until her father has stopped talking about his little visit with the King earlier that day to broach the question that has been nagging at her all afternoon since she'd heard the rumor from a passing squire.
"Father?"
"Yes, Ostara."
"Who is Maggy the Frog?"
Steffon Baratheon goes very, very still. His eyes are dull as he turns his attention to Ostara fully.
"Where did you hear of Maggy the Frog?" He demands.
"I overheard two squires discussing her when mother and I were returning from Casterly Rock." Ostara replies. "Is she dangerous, father?"
Steffon scoffs, "Not to you, Ostara. But many have wasted good coin and their own health on words that do nothing but cause trouble."
"So she is a... Witch?"
A look is shared between the two.
Is she like me? Ostara cocks her head to the side.
Yes, in a way. Her father's eye reply.
"Listen to me, Ostara, Maggy the Frog is a fortune teller. The knowledge she possesses is dangerous and I'll not have you fretting over it." Her father states, tone sharp.
And Hermione Granger would have been annoyed to find the woman to be a prophet... But Ostara knows better. Because her father is worried and Steffon Baratheon worries for nothing that does not need to be worried over. Which means that Maggy the Frog has some sort of magic that enables her to, at the very least, know certain things about individual people.
This is, perhaps, a very good thing.
"Of course not, father. I was only curious." Ostara lies.
And her father's answering nod is more a nod of permission than a nod of understanding.
Ostara hides her smile behind her cup as she sips at the water she'd been given to have with her dinner.
~X~
When Maggy was young when the first vision flashed before her eyes. A man with large blue eyes and peppered hair strangling a boy to death in an alley near her home. He'd gasped, raked his nails down his attacker's face, and then his body had gone still, still, still. When the images had faded Maggy screamed, the taste of the boy's blood hot on her tongue and lips from where he'd slapped her with an injured hand.
No one had believed her.
Not until the boy's body had been found days later.
Now she sits in a creaking wooden chair staring up at a girl with wild purple eyes and hair hidden beneath the hood of a cloak that is much too large and much too plain for someone of her stature. It is a cloak that could almost match that of the shadow creature hovering behind her shoulder. A cloak made of shadow and mist, meant to blend into the darkness of a forest at night and keep others from noticing her.
"Are you Maggy the Frog?" The girl asks, already moving to pull back the hood of her cloak.
"I am." Maggy smirks at the child, "Do you require something? A love potion perhaps? A cure for the pimples that will likely cover your pretty little chin?"
She is mocking the girl, Maggy knows this, she mocks all of the girls that come looking to have their fortunes told.
Silly little fools, Maggy thinks, wishing to know that which should not be known.
But the girl merely shakes her head and steps closer to the table as she says, "Nothing like that... I... I was wondering if, perhaps, you could help me."
"And what would a pretty little dove such as yourself need?" Maggy demands.
"I was hoping you could help me check in on someone."
At this, Maggy leans back in her chair. Shock and disbelief warring in her chest.
Because who is this child to be so disinterested with her future? Who is she to reject the gift Maggy would have eventually used to her advantage. Before the girl can react Maggy is lunging across the table to snatch the girl's wrist and pull her close so she can drag her tongue up the girl's neck where sweat has begun to bead. What she finds surprises her.
"You," Maggy cackles as he tosses the girl's hand back at her, "are lost, little witch."
"Yes."
"There is no way home for you, even I know this."
"As do I... But I had hoped that perhaps you could help me check on those who were lost to me? Please? I just... i want to know how they are."
Maggy frowns.
"It will not be pleasant for you, to know how your lost friends are doing without you in their lives." It's an honest statement, painful but not a lie.
The girl nods.
"Yes, i know."
"And yet you would have me look."
"I would."
"Why?"
The girl swallows and her eyes burn, burn, burn in the low light offered by the fire between them.
"They were, and will always be, my dearest friends."
Maggy leans back in her seat, fingers dancing on the hilt of her dagger. She has never attempted to look into the lives of others when their blood has not been offered, but then, she has never tasted the blood of another witch before either. So what would it hurt to try? If this little witch is so willing to hurt for the knowledge who is Maggy to deny her.
Without much though Maggy extends her hand.
The girl hesitates for but a moment before her hand settles in Maggy's.
And the red that drips from the cut caused by Maggy's blade is almost too red, almost too warm.
Almost too sweet on her tongue.
Maggy sucks hard on the injured finger, tongue digging into the wound to coax more blood to flow, and spits the finger out with a gasp as the girl's past and future and magic settles in Maggy's veins.
There is a child's laughter and a man's voice and the screams of drying men but there is also... Something else. Something soft and foreign and sad. Maggy clings to that, pulls it to the forefront of her mind and peels away the veil that prevents Maggy from seeing.
"Three questions," Maggy breathes. "You have three questions."
"How are they?" The girl asks.
"The Boy Who Lived is married now, with a babe on the way." Maggy says, watching as the dark haired man holds the fiery lass close. "And Ronald... He is well enough. He mourns you."
Something in the girl's face crumples.
"Oh... Are they happy?"
Maggy pauses, watching the girl and the lives of those she left behind. It's a difficult answer to give, really.
"They will be... In time. It is not so easy to be happy when something dear has been ripped from your life."
"I've... Hermione, I mean, has been dead for ten years."
"Months."
"What?"
"Ten months for them. Ten years for you." Maggy clarifies, careful to keep her tone... Gentle.
"Oh. I see. Well... I... May I sit?"
Before Maggy can answer the girl is lowering herself onto the small stool opposite of Maggy. She sucks in a few ragged breaths, face lowered to her knees, before she smooths back her hair. And Maggy watches, fascinated, for many have fallen into panic before her but none in the fashion this girl has.
Oh, many have come seeking to know who murdered their loved ones, if their wives would survive the birthing bed, if their marriage would be happy. This need to know about the fate of loved ones is not so new. But for the knowledge to effect the girl in this way... Maggy sighs.
Gods help her.
"You have one more question." Maggy reminds the girl.
"Yes, of course." Another shaky breath. "What happened to the men that attacked us? That day when..."
Maggy's eyes close for a moment, seeking out the answer she knows will likely not be pretty.
It isn't. Not entirely.
"Many died, your murderer included."
Many, not all.
The implication is not missed. Maggy watches as those wild, burning, sad Targaryen eyes go wide before they shutter and dull into something resembling a mask. The shadowy creature behind the girl bends at the waist, curving over her prone body like a snake, and reaches out to touch her cheek with gnarled fingers before it turns away and leaves the room.
Like a parent going to defend its child... Or a Lord moving to protect what is his.
Maggy isn't sure she wants to understand their relationship. After all, she is under no illusions as to what the being is. She might be able to see him, feel his presence, but it is not a man. It is not the Stranger. It is something much more infinite and theirs is not a relationship that is any of Maggy's business.
The thunk of a coin purse hitting the table top near frightens her.
"Your coin... I promised payment." The girl explains, smile obviously forced. "May the Gods be good to you Maggy the Frog."
"And to you."
A tentative smile, more genuine then the last, and then the girl is moving to leave.
Maggy watches the slump of her shoulders, the steadiness of her breath, and realizes that while there is a great sadness in the girl there is also joy. A relief almost that those she left behind will not suffer from her disappearance forever and that those who hurt her will be brought to justice.
And before the girl slips through the tent's opening Maggy finds herself speaking.
"Hermione Granger died, there is no way to change that, but life pays for life girl and yours was given to you for a reason," Maggy eyes the girl's future, sees the joy and the laughter and the tears and the battle cry that echos through frozen trees like thunder. "A girl alone cannot change the fate of this realm... But can a queen?"
When the girl twists to look at Maggy her eyes are hard but there is no cruelty there. No malice. And he offers a tight nod of understanding before disappearing from the tent. It is when she's gone that Maggy realizes, quite suddenly and without the help of her visions, that she's almost fond of the little to-be-queen.