Argella
The rain still fell, soft and steady. The sound of moisture dripping off the walls was all around her, and every ten feet away or so the music of another little waterfall would call to her flowing from the crenellations.
Argella notched the arrow to her bow, drew it back to her ear and waited and waited and waited for the wind to pass. When the thunder rumbled in the distance and the bright blue flash of the lightning lit the sky behind her, Argella Baratheon loosed her arrow. The arrow took flight, spearing through the storm and riding along with the wind as a falcon might soar up high in the sky. She was happy about the way it went racing until a particularly large gust of wind took the arrow away in its silvery fingers.
"Stupid wind," she shouted when she saw her arrow scattering across the yard in the wind as an autumn leaf would be scattered in a gust.
It was vexing her beyond any limits. For years Argella has been trying to brave the storm with her bow and arrow just as tonight and every time it had ended up the same. When she heard the distant roar of the thunder indicating the arrival of another storm, Ella had sneaked away from the dinner, got to her chambers swift as a deer, picked up her bows and arrows and stepped out onto the Drum tower of Storm's End to brave the storms as her ancestor had once done. But unlike Durran she has not had much luck in doing so. But only for now, she thought as she raised up her now. Durran stole the daughters of two gods and then went on to defy both their might. Why shouldn't she do the same?
The songs said that Storm's End had been raised in ancient days by Durran, the first Storm King, who had won the love of the fair Elenei, daughter of the sea god and the goddess of the wind. On the night of their wedding, Elenei had yielded her maidenhood to a mortal's love and thus doomed herself to a mortal's death, and her grieving parents had unleashed their wrath and sent the winds and waters to batter down Durran's hold. His friends and brothers and wedding guests were crushed beneath collapsing walls or blown out to sea, but Elenei sheltered Durran within her arms so he took no harm, and when the dawn came at last he declared war upon the gods and vowed to rebuild.
Five more castles he built, each larger and stronger than the last, only to see them smashed asunder when the gale winds came howling up Shipbreaker Bay, driving great walls of water before them. His lords pleaded with him to build inland; his priests told him he must placate the gods by giving Elenei back to the sea; even his smallfolk begged him to relent. Durran would have none of it. A seventh castle he raised, most massive of all. Some said the children of the forest helped him build it, shaping the stones with magic; others claimed that a small boy told him what he must do, a boy who would grow to be Bran the Builder. No matter how the tale was told, the end was the same. Though the angry gods threw storm after storm against it, the seventh castle stood defiant, and Durran Godsgrief and fair Elenei dwelt there together until the end of their days.
Gods do not forget, and still the gales came raging up the narrow sea. Yet Storm's End endured, through centuries and tens of centuries, a castle like no other. Its great curtain wall was a hundred feet high, unbroken by arrow slit or postern, everywhere rounded, curving, smooth, its stones fit so cunningly together that nowhere was crevice nor angle nor gap by which the wind might enter. That wall was said to be forty feet thick at its narrowest, and near eighty on the seaward face, a double course of stones with an inner core of sand and rubble. Within that mighty bulwark, the kitchens and stables and yards sheltered safe from wind and wave. Of towers, there was but one, a colossal drum tower, windowless where it faced the sea, so large that it was granary and barracks and feast hall and lord's dwelling all in one, crowned by massive battlements that made it look from afar like a spiked fist atop an upthrust arm.
The storm was getting better of her. The seaward side of Storm's End was perched upon a pale white cliff, the chalky stone sloping up steeply to half again the height of the massive curtain wall. It brought all the storms from the sea to break upon the walls of Storm's End. No matter how hard the storms were Storm's End endured, as it had thousands of years before both from the storms of the gods and the storms of men. But no matter how hard she tried her arrows did not fare well against the wind.
She could best all of her father's and grandfather's archers alike in the yard whenever she could fool her mother to step into the yard with the men but even as a little girl who has held a bow for the first time in her hands, Ella's dream was to best the storms in her lands she so much loved. She had been so close to it until the squall blew away her dreams as it did her arrow.
"Skipping dinner again now, are we?" The voice sounded over the raging storms outside the walls. Argella turned back to see her brother standing behind her, drenching in the rain. His face was hidden by the hood he was wearing but she could make out his face even in the dark. Looking at him suffering in the rain, it was then she wondered how drenched she was in the first place. She must have been out here in the open for some time now though she couldn't tell how much. Time and food meant nothing when she had her now in her hand.
"You lied to me," Ella shouted back to her brother. Unlike her brother who inherited the commanding voice of their father, Ella had gotten the sweet voice of their mother.
"When did I ever do that?" Gendry asked her, confused.
Ella showed him the arrow. "You told me that these were strong enough to tear past any wind," she notched the arrow to her bowstring. "Look how it does that." She let go and the arrow got caught in the rough grasp of the gale.
"No arrow can push past a storm, Ella," Gendry told her. He took an arrow from her quiver and showed her the grey fletching done in duck feather. "These take the arrow through the wind. No matter how sharp I tip the steel your arrows would get lost in the storm because they are light."
"No," Ella said holding her chin up. "I can do it, you'll see." She too possessed every bit of the Baratheon stubbornness that her brother had If Gendry could smash three grown men in the yard with his war hammer at once she could very well get an arrow to rip through the air to the other side.
"Oh, I have no doubt of that." He chuckled.
A bolt of lightning flashed overhead lighting the stormy dark sky. The rumble of the thunder followed it after a few seconds. Gendry pulled his hood down over his head tightly and looked up at the stormy sky. Even Ella flinched a bit at the boom of the thunder.
"Anyway you shouldn't be out here, little sister," her brother said. "What would you do if a storm takes you away?"
"I'm not afraid of it," she replied. "They did nothing to Elenei, why should they bother me?"
"Right," Gendry laughed. "Perhaps we ought to find you a Durran who loves to brave the winds and tides with you."
Argella scowled. "Who needs a Durran when you can be a Durran yourself?"
"As you say," her brother said. "But can you just get back inside. Father wants to meet you and mother would just rip me apart if you hurt yourself."
She would have toyed with him a bit if it were any other time but if her father chose to call her in such a late hour it might be important and she did not want to keep him waiting. There were many words she could describe her father with but patience was not one of them. Robert Baratheon had never been a patient man even as a boy growing up in the Eyrie. Lord Jon Arryn has told her more than once.
They both stepped inside the drum tower safe from the rain and howling gales. The water ran down her gown and dripped onto the floor from her skirts into a puddle. "Do you know why he wants to meet me?" Argella asked pulling her hair free from her braid. Her long black locks hung wet and heavy past her waist and Ella wrung some of the water out of it.
"I don't know, Ella, but it sounded urgent," Gendry said as he shook his cloak to dry it. "There is a raven from the north."
"From the Eyrie?" Ella asked.
"No," Gendry said. "From the real north."
The north. No word ever came from the north, not after her father's friend was gone. As she climbed down the steps leading to her father's solar, Ella desperately wished that whatever it was it doesn't lead to her parents fight once again. She opened the door to his solar and saw exactly what she didn't want to see. Inside her father and mother were fighting once again.
Cersei Lannister was looking outside the window facing the other side of the sea while Lord Robert sat in his chair clutching a roll of parchment in his hand. Her mother turned away from the window, her skirts swirling around her slender hips. "How dare you try to ship our daughter off to some lowborn bastard!"
"How many times should I tell you Cersei," her father was saying. "The northerners would never have crowned him if he was not Ned's son."
"You are blinded by your grief or love if you wish to call it."
Her father was not amused. "Say what you will, we'll go north just to see if he is Ned's," he said. "Jon has sent word too. He has called the banners already, as it happens."
"You can go anywhere you want but leave my daughter out of it."
Both of them didn't even care that she was there and they went back and forth with words. "She is my daughter too."
Her mother scoffed. "Good of you to claim her like that, but I would not allow you to sell her like a bag of oats"
"Damn you, woman," her father said. "She was betrothed to him even as a girl."
"Betrothed to a prince. Did you truly imagine that I'll let you ship her off to some baseborn from the north?"
"Now, that's enough," her father slammed his clenched fist on the table. "We'll go north, that's it. You can come with us if you wish or you can bloody well stay here and be quiet."
Cersei Lannister paced away from him, restless as a lioness, skirts swirling. Before her mother could say something to enrage father further Argella let herself be known. "You wished to see me, father.
When Lord Robert saw her he sent his wine cup on the table. "Come here, Argella," he said, not unkindly. "Sit beside me." He set the flag on aside.
Her mother came to her at once and put her arms around her. "I want you to see reason, Robert," she said once again.
Her father ignored that. "You too, boy," he told Gendry. "Stay. I would like to talk to you as well."
When her brother took his seat, their father continued. "I did not call you here to see your mother and me bicker as ever. You do know that you were betrothed to Andrew Stark, don't you?"
For a second Argella found herself too stunned for words. She knew that she was expected to marry but she did not envision it so soon. And her betrothed. The last thing she remembered of Andrew is the little boy who had played with her brother during his time at Storm's End before he went south with his father and mother. And the raven came back from the south did not bring any good news. There have been no talks of her betrothal Andrew in Storm's End after that but now that it was coming she could see that something was going on. And father's words about Ned's son and a crowned king . . . was the boy she remembered from her childhood really back from the dead?
"Is that true that he is alive father?" Gendry asked.
Argella raised her eyebrows at that. He seemed more interested in the man whom she was promised to than she ever was. True they were good friends while they were together but she did not expect her brother to be excited that much. She might have teased him about it if the room was not so tensed as it was right now.
"The letter came in Ned's own seal," her father said at last. "I don't think we should take this lightly."
Robert Baratheon turned to his daughter. "I would never force you to do anything, Argella," he told her, "but I must tell you that you would never find a man better than Ned's son."
Argella thought about it for a moment. She could not even believe that her father had given the choice to her and she loved him for it. She felt a little insecure about marrying a man she only knew from her memories. Even those memories were not much to begin with. She had always known that no matter how much she wanted to be a free person, there will a day come when she would be expected to fulfil her duty to her family and House and the day has arrived. The call has come for her and now it is time for her to answer it whether she likes it or not. Ella sat straight with her head up. If she was to marry it will be on her terms. She would not weep and complain about it.
"I'll honour your word, father," she said at last. "I'll do my duty and marry if that's what you ask of me."
Father's mouth twitched with a tired smile. "I have no doubt that he will treat you well. It's Ned's son. He would never hurt you in any way."
Let's hope that it is true, father, Ella thought. But she kept silent.
"Do you really want to do this?" her mother flared. "Robert, I swear. . ."
"It's alright, mother," Argella cut her off. "I remember my duty to our house and I'll do it without fail."
Her mother looked as if she wanted to say more but then stopped.
"Very well, then," her father said. "I'll call the banners and we'll match north as soon as we can." He touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "You can go now, sweet," he said smiling.
By the time Argella returned to her chambers it was well deep into the night. But sleep has lost its savor with the knowledge of her wedding. She climbed up the stairs atop the Drum tower. The pouring rain and raging storm had quieted a bit.
As Argella looked at the quiet waters of the Shipbreaker bay which had seethed in fury a while before she wondered if this is what her own life is becoming. She had been wild and free and untamed like the sea and the storms of her lands and somehow it felt as if she couldn't be them anymore.
She thought about her husband to be. Andrew was already a hero king, a legend fit enough to be praised in songs and tales alike. Andrew the Dragonslayer, even that had a nice ring to it. And she will be there ruling beside him. But there will be no songs for her. No, she will have her husband's bed and his children. Songs and tales will be reserved for Andrew, him and her father and brother.
Argella thought about her own namesake, Queen Argella, the first and last Queen of Storms, of how she was brought to her marriage bed bound and gagged. While she will not go to her marriage bed crying and whimpering, the world will see that she is Argella Durrandon reborn. She is always said to be more of a Durrandon than a Baratheon though and her storm will never wither out.