Narella
The yard was quiet and empty in the cool night. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. Otherwise the castle seemed deserted. It reminded her of Ravenwood without her siblings. The stars the only witness to tell the tale of the dim fires between the mountains.
Narella found herself seated in the yard looking to the stars. A pass time between her father and her. It's the Dornish blood in you. The sea will call you next, her father said in his study. His great map draped over the large table in inspection of the Firestone's newly acquired land. The gifted mountains at the end of the Long Lake, overlooked constantly of their new home.
Whoooooohhhhhh! Winter called; demanded to be known. Narella answered with annoyance, rapping her cloak to her. Her anger flared tonight to bother the cold of such complaints. The chill may be my friend tonight. The subject of such anger had been in the king's solar reading the incoming ravens.
Princess Sansa Stark worried her a great deal. Whispers of the mockingbird were gladly heard by her sister-in-law in the quiet shadows of the walls of Winterfell. The granite stained of his deceit. The queen tried to pry her away from his slick clutches though Sansa openly greeted him. She hadn't understood someone who'd hurt before, keep company with shades of lies.
Raised words of her disapproval fell at the feet of Sansa. The blue eyes of Tully deep and beautiful, never gave away her true thoughts. She stands strong. A true Stark. Jon…
"If you may Lord Baelish. I'd like to speak with my dear sister alone." Her first attempt of separation. Gray-green eyes laughed at her in such trivial trial.
"Lord Baelish will stay. I would gladly hear you in his presence."
In the solar, Sansa sat behind the desk. Reading ravens of the reports of war. No doubt she had read of a six-and-one year old who called himself Aegon Targaryen, draped himself with the dragon sigil upon his banners. A folly. It's unlikely the Company that contracted itself in blood to it's succession of a Blackfyre reign, would support 'Aegon Targaryen.' That is why he needs Daenerys Targaryen.
"Then I have said all I have came for." I will not speak this with open ears about. My Jon deserves his brother's last wishes.
Before her sister's rebuttal, the chamber door opened to a familiar face. "Queen Narella, Princess Stark you're presence is called upon in the Great Hall." Lucan said, eyes directed to hers. His mouth jutted open and then shut. Two moons he'd been gone of her sight.
His hair to his shoulders curled at the tips. A scruffy beard adorn his cheeks with the same green eyes she known. Hello, she wanted to say, but refrained from her urge of companionship. His dismissal from her guard had been swift and easy. Lucan talked little, speaking words of a much needed solitude. I may need to forget you after all, she remembered him saying before leaving the library.
"Who summons us?" Sansa asked, rising from her seat. She chose a simple dress of dark grey wool today, plainly cut but richly embroidered around the collar and sleeves; wearing her House colors proudly.
Nervously, he eyed Narella. "Lord Almont Firestone. He's summoned your banners on King Jon's orders." Handing her the rolled note with the sigil of Stark, Sansa reopened the seal.
"Very well. Escort the queen to the Great Hall." Smiling pleasantly, she fled away as much as her body can take. Relief to see her father once more. Until realization hit her. Why am I being escorted?
Though before she were to depart further down the dark hall she seen Littlefinger ushering her over. Although, she kept to herself down the line of men. "I have no interest in playing along with your schemes Littlefinger."
"A pity," Littlefinger rasps. "But your presence is required, along with Sansa's other warriors. I daresay, things may become a bit violent in there."
Eyes wide, "pardon?"
"I rather not spoil it, my queen," Baelish teases. "Though if you were keen as I, you'd have seen what's been transpiring within these walls."
My Jon. Many of the northern lords argued in the Hall after her kings departure. Disgusted of his decision to allign himself with the Targaryen queen. "Dragons prove nothing about Jon's predicament."
"Perhaps there's no cause for alarm, as you say, Your Grace. But if the North is about to lose its king, we must be sure they'll follow Sansa."
Narella grew cold with apprehension. "There will be no lost king Littlefinger. Mind your tongue, turncloak." How dare he!
"Call my effort what you will," Baelish intones. "But I have declared myself for the North. I only seek to serve its interest, and its security."
The Great Hall lit from the hearths with the illuminating lit torches about. Many of knights, lords, squires, merchants, and many more powerful men and women entered the Hall. Awaiting the words of the White Wolf. Her father amongst the many forms of entering bodies, sighted her ahead of the crowded. Smiling brightly, he walked to her in two strides. Enveloping her in his furs.
"My girl. I've missed you dearly."
Smiling, "I missed you as well. How was the sea? Did you see the dragons!? Tell me of the dragon queen! Is my husband well?" She wanted to know so much. The ravens brought stories of lost children. Stories of a mad queen destroying the Sept of Baelor, resulting of her succession to the throne. And stories of dragons along the Blackwater Bay, spewing the fires of their bellies.
"A strong regret I hadn't stayed on that deck. The sea called to me like she always had, though I ignored her callings to duty." He greeted her belly this time. "I seen the dragons over the sea. Our first sight of them to the entrance of the Blackwater Bay, they were massively flying around the heavens. A green one, a black one, and a white dragon. All hail to a mother of silver hair. She is very comely although her looks could not amount to her intellig-"
His dark brown eyes directed to the entrance of the Hall, she seen the direction of such disdain. Littlefinger. Alongside him, the princess walked along the parting lords. "Do you know of him? He speaks to the ear of the princess privately. Filling her of lies and treachery. I know it. She looks to me with distrust every passing day."
"I do not. Just the obvious. Sending Sansa Stark to the Bolton's was a mistake. Do you not see what he does daughter. Likens himself to the northerners to correctly align himself with right people. With whom he was aligned to before this? Remember girl."
The couple passed father and daughter whilst she eyed the subject of their conversation. Lord Petyr stood ahead of her guards, "my spies saw three dragons flying south," Littlefinger reports. "The lords should know things are going poorly for the Night King."
They called him Bastard King and now she learned they called him Night King. She wondered what they called her as some of the men murmured in agreement. Whilst the other's quietly listened to the meeting. Many of whom she had known nothing of. Only able to recount the lords of their house, their heraldry, their words, and history.
The Queen of Winterfell's feet swelled from the growing weight of her belly, causing her to seek comfort for a seat. However, she was prevented to leave her father's side by the guards Sansa commanded. Lord Firestone had been displeased of such circumstances. "King Jon request men to mine the caves of Dragonstone, my lords. To and from we shall export the dragonglass in our preparation against the Other's. Now I ask, what is the meaning of this? My house has served House Stark faithfully for years." Her father pointedly looked to the princess of Winterfell.
"And which house would that be?" Sansa asks. Almont hesitates, and the princess took notice. I see what she does. Who would know their small house amongst the other small houses. "this is to defend the North from those who would betray us. Who are you?" Sansa eyes locked to her father's firmly. "You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges..."
"Sansa my father and I have done nothing treasonous to House Stark. What is the meaning of this?" She could hold her tongue no longer of the anger she harbored. Her child's demanding kicks to her belly shown she was not the only one.
"Lord Baelish."
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