Things get interesting a few days later.
The Tourney ends, the King gives a speech about prosperity and wealth, and then the noble houses are packing up their things and preparing for the journey back to their various homes. Ostara finds herself wandering while the servants load her family's belongings into carts. There's nothing better to do. So Ostara wanders, playing with Rubeus and trying to ignore the fact that there is a woman following her through what is left of the encampment.
Pretending to take interest in one of Rubeus' less amusing antics Ostara casts a glance at the woman from the corner of her eye.
Tall, slender, too much red.
Ostara purses her lips, presses her hand against the knife hidden in her skirt, and slowly begins making her way to a more secluded area where she can better confront the woman. If she follows, that is. Ostara could be wrong about the fact that the woman is stalking her. And if she's not wrong about that then there's a possibility that the woman isn't actually trying to hurt her.
Either way, Ostara isn't taking any chances.
Once she's out of the woman's sight Ostara slips her hand into the hidden pocket of her skirts, grabs the knife, and pulls it out. She's careful not to accidentally stab herself or Rubeus with it.
It doesn't take long for the woman to amble past, a few minutes maybe, and the moment Ostara gets the chance she lunges out of her hiding spot, grabs the woman by the writ, twists her arm up behind her back, and presses her against a tree with the blade of her knife pressed very carefully to the space between two of her ribs.
"Who are you?" Ostara demands, breath ghosting over the woman's pale neck.
She does not ignore the fact that the woman practically shivers beneath her. Not tremble. Shiver. Like she isn't afraid of the knife against her skin or the shadowcat growling lowly off to the side. Ostara grits her teeth and presses the woman against the tree a bit harder.
"My name is Melisandre, I am a servant of R'hllor."
R'hllor, the name strikes something ancient and primal in her, R'hllor.
Ostara pulls away from the woman, just enough to let her turn around.
"Why are you following me?" Ostara demands.
With trembling fingers the woman reaches up and smooths back a piece of Ostara's hair, seemingly unperturbed by the heated glare Ostara is shooting her.
"I was sent by my Lord of Light, to guide you through the coming darkness."
"The what?"
Burning russet eyes narrow slightly as the woman pulls her fingers away from Ostara's face. She looks vaguely annoyed, like Ostara is somehow lacking information she should already possess. But then she remembers Maggy the Frog and her warning.
The seer had only confirmed what Ostara already suspected, something dangerous was lurking in the shadows and somehow she would be the one that ended up dealing with it. Which didn't really bother Ostara. She's been fighting evil for as long as she's lived if any of her dreams are to be believed... And one dream in particular had always struck her as significantly important.
Ostara takes several steps back and allows Rubeus to put himself between her and the other woman.
Just because she doesn't think the woman doesn't want to hurt her doesn't mean Ostara trusts her. Because she doesn't. Not in the slightest.
"You do not know." The woman, Melisandre, mutters.
"Oh, I know a lot of things. You'll just have to be a little more specific." Ostara snaps.
This gets her a bemused little grin and a confident, "You are Azor Ahai come again and it is your destiny to defeat the Others."
Sounds about right, Ostara thinks bitterly as she shoves her knife back into it's hiding spot.
"Is that seriously the reason you were stalking me?" Ostara demands as she crosses her arms over her chest.
"No." Melisandre replies, leaning back against the tree provocatively.
She's actually very pretty... In a visually striking sort of way.
"Then why?"
"How else was I supposed to meet you?" She inquires, smiling wickedly all the while.
"You could have introduced yourself." Ostara says in response.
The woman shrugs and brushes burning auburn hair over her shoulder. "Perhaps."
Ostara rolls her eyes.
"Well, it was lovely meeting you but I'm afraid I must be going." Ostara gathers her skirt and the moment she's finished talking she pivots on her heel and begins walking away.
The delighted, "We'll be seeing each other soon enough." is very pointedly ignored.
~X~
"Denys Darklyn is refusing to pay his taxes," Steffon says one morning over breakfast, the letter next to his plate all but forgotten. "He has even sent Tywin a petition for a charter."
Ostara swallows the food in her mouth. She has a recollection of Lord Darklyn but it is vague at best and not something she wishes to rely upon. If Stannis were here he would know, she could ask him about it later and he would tell her where she had met the Lord and when, unfortunately her brother has been off to squire for house Morrigen for some time now, which is unfortunate because she has so much to tell him about the auburn haired woman who has somehow integrated herself into Storm's End.
And Renly is far to young to be of any help so there's no point in asking him for his help.
"And why is that?" Cassana inquires, one eyebrow rising toward her hairline.
"Due to the growth of King's Landing trade in Duskendale has dwindled. I suspect he wishes to stop the decline of wealth." Steffon replies.
"He or his Myrish wife, no doubt."
Steffon casts his wife a look but does not go to reprimand her for the implications. There is no one in the room aside from the four of them and Ostara doubts any of the servants would stoop so low as to betray any of the Baratheons by spying on their private conversations. Not that there would be anyone to betray them too. No one that Ostara knows of is fond of Lady Darklyn.
"Tywin has denied Denys the charter."
It's quite for a moment as Cassana wipes drool from Renly's face. He's grown quite a bit, her brother, and has already begun speaking in garbled, broken sentences. Everyone is quite proud of the boy.
"I'm sure Lord Darklyn took that well."
"Hardly, he's already asked Aerys to travel to Duskendale to broker an agreement."
"Will he go?" Cassana's eyes are wide with something Ostara might call angry concern if she didn't know her mother so well.
"Perhaps... Things have been tense of late between Aerys and Tywin."
"Why is that?" Ostara inquires.
Both of her parents look at her, as if only just now remembering she'd been present during the entirety of their conversation. Eventually it is her father who turns and offers an explanation.
"Aerys has made... Less then polite remarks about the Lady Lannister and her babe to Tywin. The situation as a whole has become a form of entertainment among the court."
"Oh."
Yes, oh.
Oh because she remembers hearing rumors about Aerys insulting Joanna's figure at the tourney in Lannisport all those months ago. That alone had been enough to make Tywin Lannister attempt to resign as Hand. What will happen now that his wife is so vulnerable and his babe is small and his ego is bruised?
"It has driven a wedge between Tywin and Aerys. I suspect my cousin will travel to Duskendale for no other reason then to spite Tywin."
"Tywin is taking this well I suspect." Cassana remarks dryly.
"As well as can be suspected." Is her father's deft reply.
Slowly, the family falls back to more familiar topics of conversation. Aerys and Duskendale pushed to the side but hardly forgotten in favor of discussing Stannis and Robert, who has written to them just recently saying that he is very excited to marry Cersei Lannister for she is a lovely young woman, more radiant then the sun.
Highly unoriginal but no one ever claimed him to be a poet.
And yet, Ostara would rather not receive another raven from her brother filled with nothing but declarations of love for a woman with skin like buttermilk and eyes like emeralds and hair like spun gold.
A woman he's met and loves dearly despite the fact that he has already sired a bastard on some poor girl from the Eyrie.
Ostara thinks, and perhaps she is wrong, that her brother is more in love with the idea of Cersei Lannister then with the girl herself.
For Robert has always been rather romantic... Even if he doesn't actively acknowledge the fact.
The twelve year old sighs, takes a final bite of her porridge, and asks to be excused. Her parents dismiss her with fond smiles, which are easily returned, before turning their attention back to there conversation. Something about crop yield and storms. As she exits the dining room Ostara finds herself wondering if Robert will be knowledgeable enough about the Stormlands to make a good High Lord.
She thinks so.
She hopes so.
She realizes that this is the least of her concerns.
~X~
Melisandre is waiting in her chambers when Ostara enters them, perched upon the chair at her writing desk with a kind of dignity taught to little princesses and princes. Ostara isn't even surprised to see here.
At this point she can readily acknowledge the fact that Melisandre isn't here to preach the word of her Lord of Light.
Well, maybe she is. A little. But mostly her focus has been on Ostara.
"How were your lessons?" Melisandre inquires as she rises from the chair.
"I learned quite a bit." Ostara kicks off her slippers and makes her way over to the vanity where she begins pulling off jewelry. "What are you doing here?"
"Our Lord of Light has shown me another vision."
"And I assume it has something to do with me?"
Melisandre's hand is cool against her cheek as the older woman guides her face toward her.
"The Others are stirring in the far North, waking." Melisandre says before she pulls away and begins making her way to the door.
Ostara watches her go, a pit forming in her stomach as she watches the older woman disappear into the corridor.
The Others, she's been dreaming about them. Ever since Lannisport where she met Melisandre and had her suspicions confirmed. At least now she has an idea of what she's dealing with. She can figure out the best way to handle the problem, research.
If Melisandre's right, and Ostara suspects she is, then there will be so much to do and so little time to see it done.
~X~
A raven arrives at Storm's End three weeks latter from none other then Tywin Lannister. It's delivered by a boy who looks after the ravens, he's visibly pale and his hands have half healed scabs. Ostara thinks they're from the ravens pecking at his exposed flesh or from their talons biting into his skin. Either way, it doesn't seem to hinder him any.
He hands off the letter with a certain steadiness that Ostara finds interesting.
Steffon takes it with a nod, checks the seal, opens the letter, and begins reading. He rereads the letter once, then twice, then his skin goes unnaturally pale.
Suddenly, the storm raging beyond the walls of the keep seems much more ominous then it had moments ago. The patter of rain hitting the windows causes Ostara to stiffen and the crack of thunder that follows a bright flash of white light causes her to flinch.
She's never been scared of storms, living in a place like Storm's End doesn't exactly give you the luxury of all that and her control has gotten much better as well, but she finds herself very afraid now.
"Father," Her voice is not as strong as she would have liked, "is something wrong?"
By now Cassana has turned her attention away from a squalling Renly and to her husband. When she notices the paleness of his skin, the distant horror in his eyes, she passes off the boy and reaches out to snatch the letter form his hand.
"Ostara," her father's voice is strained and her mother is wide eyed with horror, "return to your chambers."
"Father, I don't underst-"
"Now, Ostara, do not make me tell you again."
It is the first time her father has used such a tone with her. Angry and tense with no room for disobedience. Without much of a struggle Ostara rises, eyes flicking between her parents, and nods once before exiting the room. She waits until the door has shut and a servant passes before pulling our her wand and casting a disillusionment. Once that's done she creeks back to the door and presses her wand into the door, muttering spells under her breath until Ostara manages to slip through the heavy wood. It's a nifty little trick but it leaves her feeling heavy. Like she'd jumped into a pool of water wearing heavy wool and fur.
"And what has Tywin told him?" Her mother demands, causing Ostara to startle.
Thankfully neither of her parents notice the ripple in the air, a result of her jerking back to press against the wall.
"What do you think Tywin told him? Denys Darklyn is a thrice damned fool." Her father growls, knuckles white from the grip he has on his chair.
Her mother pressed the knuckle of her index finger to her lip, eyes distant, and she turns her face toward the fire for a moment before turning back to the man sitting in the chair across from her.
"He is a dead man either way, no? If he releases Aerys then he will be executed for treason, if he does not then Tywin will find a way to kill him. Why would he do something as foolish as this?"
"Desperate men had done worse for less... You know this better then anyone."
"Yes but the last time anything like this happened I did not have children to worry about." Cassana snarls.
"They'll be alright, Cassana," Steffon tries to soothe, "no one will touch them."
"How can you be so sure? Robert is in the Eyrie, Stannis is in Crow's Nest, and gods forbid Ostara ever stays in Storm's End."
"What are talking about, Cassana? Ostara has never left the grounds."
Her mother's laugh is bitter.
"She runs off with that Dornish Bastard you've hired to teach her. She does not always remain within the walls of Storm's End!"
"But she never leaves the area surrounding it either," Her father retorts, a low growl. "Do you think anyone would dare to come to our home and take her? Do you think I would allow that?"
Cassana's entire body practically vibrates before she goes entirely too still, shoulders slumping, and says, "I honestly don't know."
The tension that rises between her parents is thick, terribly so, and Ostara remains completely still against the wall. Even when her mother removes herself from the dining room, even when her father rises to follow after his wife.
Ostara remains still and silent against the wall, only removing the disillusionment when she's sure neither of them are planning on returning before she can slip out of the dining room and make her way back to her chambers where she can slip through the wardrobe and reflect on what she heard without having to worry about Melisandre or anyone else coming to disturb her.
~X~
Mother, she hears the moment she steps through the door of the laboratory, mother it is time.
It's not Vanya that speaks to her.
Ostara doesn't know which of her dragons is speaking to her but she knows that it is a male's voice.
Before she can ask what, exactly, it's time for there's a sharp crack that sends Ostara's heart to her toes. The book in her hand tumbles to the ground as she darts over to the fire pit where she drops to her knees and leans over the flame to ensure none of her dragons are harmed.
To her horror three of the eggs are sporting cracks of various sizes.
She runs her fingers over the cracks and lets her magic seep into the egg in an attempt to create some sort of seam that will protect the little dragon. It doesn't work. If anything the cracks get bigger and soon the world is spinning and tilting.
With a startled gasp Ostara's legs go out from under her, knees cracking against stone, shoulder bruising, forehead splitting open as her head connects with one of the stones.
Then nothing at all.
~X~
When she wakes there's a steady weight on her chest, a heat seeping through her tunic.
Groaning, Ostara reaches up to touch the tender spot of her head and is shocked when she feels nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. Prying her eyes open to look at the hand she somehow manages to hold in her line of sight Ostara comes face to face with shimmery milk white scales and pupil-less eyes.
Mother, my mother, mine.
The little dragon moves to curl beneath her chin and tangle itself into blood matted hair.
"What happened?"
It was time, is the simple reply.
"So you and your buddies decided to siphon my magic from me?" Ostara demands but the pitch of her own voice makes the world tilt dangerously to the right.
Not siphon. Never siphon. Never hurt you, mother.
"Then what was that?"
Magic.
Ostara groans softly and manages to roll herself out of the congealing pool of blood on the ground. She doesn't think she wants to know how she didn't bleed out all over everything, nor does she want to know who healed her. It was probably the dragon currently taking painstaking efforts to groom her.
"What's your name?" Ostara asks after she's managed to sit up without the threat of passing out again.
Milren, the little dragon says as his tongue drags across Ostara's cheek just below her eye, my name is Milren.