(Winterfell: 4/22/298 AC) Ursa II
Two days had passed after King Robert's, arrival when her mother had approached her early in the morning. Ursa had been quietly breaking her fast in the nearly deserted Great Hall. The Firelord of Dragonstone had been clad in her usual royal Firenation uniform, with her Valyrian steel sword, 'Scarred Brother,' strapped to her side. It was one of two swords forged, by an armorer living in King's Landing, using the Valyrian steel of the Tarly Greatsword, 'Heartsbane.' The work had begun once word had reached Dragonstone, of Samwell Tarly's death, several months before the Greyjoy Rebellion. Her mother and father had been rumored to have watched the forging, of their two swords, all the way through the process taking place within the smithy of Dragonstone. Special preparations had to have been made to allow the armorer, Tobho Mott, to properly work the mysterious metal away from his workshop in King's Landing.
"One sword for the Firelord and one for the Lord of Dragonstone," her mother had said. They had all been present, father, mother, six-year-old Steffon, and herself, barely four, for the unveiling of the two swords. Both were equal in length, not long enough to be labeled 'longswords,' nor short enough to be confused for a short sword. They were just, two swords. 'Scarred Brother,' had been a name reminiscent of Visenya Targaryen's 'Dark Sister.' A woman which her mother had been fascinated with, along with the Targaryen's and Valyria, in general, when she had first arrived. The ornamented cross guard, held the likeness of a golden dragon from her mother's country, with thin slivers of enameled red steel running along the left side of its face. Straps of glossy black leather wrapped around the hilt, culminating in a pommel shaped to display the three-pronged flame of the Firenation. It wasn't until Ursa, and Steffon, had spoken with the Lady Mai that she had learned the origin of the name and that she had an uncle named Zuko. Her mother had never spoken of him, and for the first time, both she and her brother shared a mutual interest in learning of their mysterious uncle. Her mother had not been pleased when they had broached the subject with her. She had simply stated that he had been, "An honorable fool. Prone to weakness."
Ursa had been content with that, for if he was weak, then what could she learn from him? Steffon, on the other hand, had been intrigued and sought out her mother's friends, Mai and Ty Lee, for more information concerning his uncle. He had later learned of one, General Iroh, who had been her mother's uncle. This lit a spark in him and he kept seeking more and more knowledge of his extended family, while Ursa remained content to sit and have her mother bestow upon her what knowledge she felt worthy enough for her heir.
Nevertheless, 'Scarred brother, would one day be hers,' Ursa thought to herself.
Her little shadow, Arya, had been with her in the Grand Hall. Arya's pet direwolf, Nymeria, was laying on the seat of the table. As her mother approached, the direwolf growled slightly, before whimpering, and snuggling its head on Arya's lap. The little she-wolf, and her pet, no longer felt groggy as they once had, having grown accustomed to waking early to eat breakfast with her. The Lady Catelyn and her eldest daughter, Sansa, had been somewhat agitated at the how much time little Arya Stark had been spending with her. However, with Arya never joining her for her practices, as far as the Lady Catelyn knew, it remained a mere annoyance that Lord Stark never bothered to address. A part of him, Ursa could tell, seemed to be somewhat delighted, as it kept his youngest daughter out of trouble. Further, still, she suspected, he may have been aware of the 'secret' training sessions she would have with his daughter. Interestingly, he had yet to ever speak against it.
As Ursa's stay wore on, the time the fiery doe and the little she-wolf spent together had made the youngest Stark daughter become noticeably more disciplined and respectful. She had even gone so far as to attend her classes, with Septa Mordane, without argument. A feat which had, apparently, surprised the entire Stark household.
"How did you do it?" she remembered Robb, Jon, and Sansa asking her on three separate occasions.
She had no adequate response to give them, as she just did not like wasting time in her day. The discipline instilled in her, by both her mother and the Grand Academy, was the result of a strict physical and mental regimen that allowed no weakness, no idleness, to persist. As far as she was aware, Arya seemed to just naturally fall into the unforgiving routine. Yes, she had stumbled at first, but she caught on much more quickly than Ursa had anticipated. In fact, Ursa had not expected her to last and had been hoping Arya would have given up, so as not to trouble her further. However, that had been at the onset of their 'partnership.' Now Ursa grew to appreciate her company almost as much as she did Brienne's.
'If only she didn't ask so many damned questions,' she thought, to herself, of Arya.
Her tall, blonde, Flameguard from Tarth, had been assigned to accompany her here to Winterfell after Brienne had completed her combat training at the Grand Academy. An effort, by her mother, to siphon off allies from Ursa's uncle, Renly. Neither she, nor Brienne, knew what offer her mother had made to Lord Selwyn, but it seemed to have been sufficient enough for the Lord of Evenfall Hall to send his heir to Dragonstone.
"Ursa?" her mother spoke, before Ursa and her shadow shot up from their seats. Startled, by her voice, the little direwolf hid under the table.
"Mother?" Ursa had responded, her and her shadow holding their hands at their sides, backs arched forward in respect.
Little Arya, brave though she was, was absolutely terrified. She had been casting desperate glances towards Ursa as to how to respond.
"Arya Stark, is it?" her mother asked before Arya nervously nodded her head up and down in acknowledgment.
"It is…Lady Azula," she said with as firm a voice as she could muster.
"Will you allow me to spend time with my daughter, alone?" her mother asked sweetly, and Ursa suddenly found herself wishing Arya would stay.
"Ye..yes your Grac…erhmm, my Lady!" she stammered, before shooting out of the hall, direwolf in tow, only returning briefly to grab a half-eaten biscuit.
Her mother held a soft, and mirthless, smile as the little Stark girl ran out of the hall. After which, her mother's smile left and a frown set in its place.
"Walk with me. Show me the Wolfswood," she ordered, and Ursa obeyed.
As they stepped out into the cool morning air, five Flameguard awaited them outside, the sun had only just begun to peek out on the horizon. The tall form of Brienne was obvious amongst the four, shorter, Flameguard mother had brought with her. Jun, Ursa's second Flameguard protector, assigned to her when she came to Winterfell, was bedridden.
'Or, more accurately, privy-ridden,' Ursa thought grimly.
Jun had apparently ingested something that had made her lose control of her bowels, and while not serious, it had been a bit embarrassing for all of them as Jun kept needing to stop all movement to allow her stomach to resettle itself. Maester Luwin had assured Jun and Ursa that Jun would eventually grow better. While her, her mother, and their Flameguard entourage marched towards the North Gate, several of the Lannister guard, who had been awake, reached for their swords, waiting for them to pass, before releasing their grips. Jon Snow had been awake, as well, nodding his head as they passed through the courtyard.
The walk towards the North Gate had been silent, and uneventful. Once they had arrived and the gate had opened, they stepped through and proceeded forward several paces before turning left into the Wolfswood. Her mother had commanded the Flameguard to remain behind, as she wished to have a quiet conversation, alone. They hesitated, especially Brienne, but they knew how dangerous the Lady of Dragonstone was and so they nodded their heads in response. While the Flameguard stood watch at the edge of the Wolfswood, Ursa, and her mother entered the dimly lit forest. The woods were just beginning to accept light from the morning sun, and in the distance, they heard a wolf's howl.
As she walked behind her mother, going further and further, into the Wolfswood, a slight breeze swept cool air through the trees and caused Ursa to shiver. Her mother exhaled, the hot breath emerging from her lungs as a steamy mist against the cold wind. She inhaled, and asked Ursa the question she had been expecting. The question she had been dreading.
"What progress have you made with the heir of Winterfell?"
Ursa hesitated, "He appears to fancy me," she said and the world seemed to grow silent for a moment.
"Appears to?" she paused, standing still as a statue, her hands clasped at her back.
"He…he smiles when I speak? He…" she began pathetically.
"Again," her mother cut in, "What progress have you made with the heir of Winterfell?" the wind continued to slightly rustle the leaves of the trees in the Wolfswood.
She shrank before her mother's form, quietly uttering, "….None."
"None?" her mother began, her stance changing ever so slightly. She spoke her next words, not as her mother, but as her Firelord. "Why?"
She remained silent. Unable to conjure up even a remotely plausible reason, she spoke plainly, "I don't want to marry him…" She knew that had upset her mother, and she regretted letting that sentence spill forth from her mouth.
"Want? You do not want, to marry him?" she said in a harsh tone, before turning her body around and staring Ursa dead in the eyes. She stepped forward, and Ursa could not find the strength to move.
"Do you think I wanted to be here? On this primitive world populated by unwashed barbarians? Do you think I wanted to marry your father? Do you think I want to kiss that drunken oaf's ass? No! There are many things I do not want, Ursa Baratheon! Yet I remain silent and accept the needs of the legacy bestowed upon me. I was poised to inherit the world, my world, and now I am reduced to clawing my way up through the dredges to even come within spitting distance of the authority I once held! Do not presume to speak to me of your 'wants' for they pale in comparison to my own!" her mother stood close enough that Ursa could feel her hot breath against her face. Ursa had nearly been of equal height to her mother, and yet she felt smaller than a mouse before her gaze.
"I married your father because of the needs of my crew! We had been taken from our world and thrown here into this putrid excuse for one. They looked to me for direction! Me! A fifteen-year-old girl! The fate of an entire nation was placed on my shoulders! The Firenation, thousands of years of history, balancing over the edge of oblivion! I needed to be decisive, confident, and fearless! I could not allow my 'wants' to interfere! They were afraid and on the verge of collapse, but I would be damned if I allowed my country and what remained of its people to disintegrate and fade into the nothingness. I was not going have the Firenation become a footnote in this world's history! So I did what was necessary! I swallowed my pride and married a man I did not know! I allied with people I did not know. I bore children that I had not been ready for! Because they needed it! They needed a home. They needed stability! I was their Firelord now, and until the time when the Firelord is answerable to no one, the needs of our people will always outweigh the wants of the Firelord! So tell me Ursa. Do you want to be Firelord, or do you need to be Firelord? Freedom or duty? Think carefully, for the former will see you replaced by Ty Lee, and the later will see you unhappy for as long as you choose to bear the crown."
Her mother walked past Ursa and began to trek back towards Winterfell. Ursa stood there, rooted to the spot. The verbal lashing her mother had given her, had added bitter clarity towards a phrase her brother would often say, in jest, when their mother grew angry.
"Seven kingdoms united in fear of Azula Baratheon…"