Argella
She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was unwed, still staying in her chambers back in Storm's End. But it was her maid in Winterfell who had come to change the carpets and light up the chambers, and this was not Storm's End, but Winterfell. And I am Argella Baratheon, the Lady of Winterfell, the Queen in the North. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of her husband as if that might help her feel Winterfell was home, but this dream had not been like that. It was a dream of Storm's End. It was a dream of her real home.
Winterfell was no home. But it was close to one. And in time it might. It was not as big as Storm's End, and outside its sheer granite walls was only the Wolfswood and the long stretch of snow capped mountains far away from her. The castle was huge and she had little to do. The older servants said these halls rang with laughter when her husband had been a child living with his parents, but those days were many years gone. Jaehaerys Targaryen had reduced Winterfell to a small household, relieving most of the household from service especially those he considered too loyal to the Starks. He seldom permitted any guests to get past the walls of Wintertown. Aside from her maids and Ser Trent, Argella's only companion was the old lord Rodrik. The Wandering wolf as men called him was nearing ninety but proved to be a wonderful companion with all the stories he had to say.
And then there was Maester Walys who was there to counsel her at every turn. She wondered how he managed to stay in Winterfell for so long after the fall of the Starks and during the reign of Targaryen. His loyalty to her husband's family was palpable. And he seemed to have a fondness for Andrew that bordered on something akin to a grandfather's love. It had not come as a surprise to her. The maester had served the Starks for so long now, first Andrew's grandfather Lord Rickard, then his father King Eddard and now he served Andrew. Now that fondness the maester had for her husband is extended to her. Maester Walys was always there, to give her counsel, help her look at the accounts and even assist her with the ruling. When King Eddard had to leave Winterfell to defend his realm, the old maester often helped Queen Ashara with the administration, something he was very proud of doing. Argella however was welcome for his help. She found herself leaning on Maester Walys and Rodrik Stark so much that they ruled the realm and the castle more so than she did.
She was a queen in name alone, despite the crown that adorned her long black mane. She had little patience for ruling and a wild spirit for being a queen. Instead she preferred to watch Morgan Liddle train the new recruits in the yard or decimate the men of the North in the archery yard or riding spurs much to the amusement of her new subjects. Her husband seemed to have left several thousand men back in the North before he marched off to war. The mountain clans of the North, the maester had told her. They spent more time at the top of the mountain than at the foot of it even during harsh winters. But they had encamped in the foot now and around the Wolfswood as Andrew had left them there. He was gone now to the south, had been gone for months, fighting his glorious battles with the Targaryens. But these men stayed where he had left them with much patience than she originally had when Andrew told her he was sending her back to Winterfell. From bits and pieces of conversations with them Argella knew that they shall stay there until they are asked by the King to do otherwise. They had no resentments towards being left behind, instead taking complete pleasure in what was asked of them something which impressed Argella.
To honour her arrival in Winterfell Maester Walys had arranged for a feast in Winterfell. Most of those who had stayed home had already arrived and the others were arriving. There were a couple of Karstarks, the cousins of Lord Rickard, Lady Hornwood and her castellan, the Tallhart heir who was ruling his father's lands in his absence, Lockes, Woods, Ironsmith and the Mountain clansmen who made up the largest rank. Even Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbour had sent word of his coming.
She got dizzy thinking about how she ought to receive them all and sit in some feast for hours long in a pretty gown. Still sleep wouldn't come. I am not going back to sleep, Argella realised. She pushed her pillow away reluctantly, threw back the blankets, went to her window, and opened the shutters.
Snow was falling on Winterfell again.
Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. It is so beautiful. Already the snowfall lay thick upon the ground below, blanketing the grass, dusting the walls and gargoyles with white and weighing down the branches of the trees in the godswood. The sighttwas so beautiful it made her smile despite the cold. Her chambers was called the Queen's chambers, the tallest in Winterfell's great keep and the finest. It had belonged to Queen Ashara they said and overlooked the godswood and the Wolfswood beyond.
She had last seen snow the day she'd arrived in Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. The snow flakes were melting in her hair and a shake of her hair had left snowflakes swirling around her. It had surprised her how the rugged land turned so magical just like that.
Argella left the shutters open as she dressed. It would be cold, she knew, though the twin walls of Winterfell encircled the keep and protected it from the worst of the winds. She donned silken smallclothes and a linen shift, and over that a warm dress of blue lambswool. Two pairs of hose for her legs, boots that laced up to her knees, heavy leather gloves, and finally a hooded cloak of soft white fox fur.
Her maids had filled the bucket with hot water and Argella washed her face and her mouth with it as the snow began to drift in the window. The snow and cold wind chilled her skin when she was done. Argella eased open the door, and made her way down the large stair. When she opened the gates to the godswood, it was so lovely and peaceful. The world held it's breath and the snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. All color had fled the world outside. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black shadows and black trees, the dark grey sky above. A pure world, Argella thought.
She stepped into the godswood silently. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Argella drifted past frosted branches and large dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the godswood, stood the heart tree with the weeping red eyes. The snow had dusted over his red leaves as well, looking like bloodstains on snow. The weirwood was not as large as the one in Storm's End but it was the face that caught her eye. A sad melancholic face that reminded her very much of Andrew. She couldn't keep gazing at it for more than a minute, not with the red sap marring it like blood.
Argella turned her face up to the sky and looked at the beautiful grey clouds. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. Much like the rain and storms were the taste of Storm's End.
She moved over to the edge of the three pools at the far end of the godswood beneath the wall that enclosed the godswood, where hot springs beneath always kept the pools warm. Argella had taken a great liking to them as soon as she had found them on the first day of her exploration. Ripples were running across the surface of the water and bubbles were emerging from the water. She was suddenly at content there and found the need to shed her clothes despite the cold.
Argella stripped off the woolen tunic and breeches and the leathers she wore, and padded out to where the largest pool sat beneath the moss covered wall, flanked by the other two on either side. The air was harshly cold that it made her skin flush pink at once. However the water was deliciously hot. It felt so good to close her eyes and float, knowing she could rest as long as she liked.
After a while when she had enough of the resting she swam to the rocks and rose dripping. Her naked skin became bumpy with gooseprickles when she emerged in the cold. Before the snows could take hold of her she plunged into the hot water giggling like a girl.
She stayed there for far longer than she had intended, swimming and laughing. The peace of the godswood and the warmth of the pools had her chained even as the sun was well over in the sky. Finally her maids had come searching for her, all out of breath and half in despair. "Your grace..." Alarra said, panting. "You should not leave so like that without telling anyone."
Looking at the girls like that Argella felt bad a little. She had been enjoying the hot springs too much that she had failed to take note of time. "Pardons, my ladies," she said flicking some water over at them, laughing. "But you could hardly blame me for getting entranced by the beauty of the godswood."
She was dripping when she stepped out of the water and felt the cold at once. Her handmaids wrapped her in a thick woolen robe and toweled her dry. When she was warm and dry they helped don her clothes, hastily binding her hair in a braid to make her presentable. "You ought to be receiving the guests, your grace," Alarra said. "They are waiting for you."
"Surely it is not necessary," Argella told them.
"It's a feast arranged in your honour," the handmaid said. "Every noble blood that is on this land will come to do you homage and shower you with gifts. They would be disappointed if their Queen is absent from the feast."
Grudgingly Argella went along with them to do her queenly duties. If Andrew should force her to play a gracious lady he could have at least left Ghost with her, Argella thought as the left the godswood and came up to the yard. She found herself missing the white wolf of late.
Rodrik Stark was waiting in the keep with Ser Trent for her. He had a smile on his face as if he knew where she was. "You have a tendency to send everyone around into despair by simply fading off into the world like morning mist," he told her when she was brought forth by the maids. "You are very much alike your husband in that."
My great old wolf, Argella thought. As good and trustworthy a friend as Ghost was. I am his queen, but I will always be his pup as well, and he will always guard me. It made her feel safe, and content.
"Andrew?" Argella laughed. "Andrew is sweet, not like me."
The wandering wolf gave her a sly smile. "You never knew him as a child."
That got her curious. "Tell me more of my husband then, if you would. I want to know how he was?" She demanded.
"If her grace is wishes so."
"She does," Argella said at once. "I like the tales you have to say."
Rodrik Stark bowed his white head and chucked. "Your grace is kind to say so."
"When he was young, His Grace once went on his own brilliant adventure," Rodrik said. "Almost gave a heart ache to the queen. He couldn't have been more than three at the time and already a prince and the future of the kingdom. Half the kingdom was up and searching for him. The other half was furious that they thought Rhaegar's hands were all over it and were itching to march south. The blow was hardest to Queen Ashara. She was at such a despair that she had sent an urgent messenger after her brother who was on his way to the Wall, calling him back."
"The Sword of the Morning?"
"Aye, Your Grace. He had come to visit his sister and nephew on his way to the Wall."
Argella did not think someone so sweet and quiet like Andrew to do something like that. She had done many of such adventures sending her own mother into hysteria. But Argella could not imagine Andrew doing that. "What happened then?"
"The men found him in the crypts." The old man laughed. "All on his own. The little wolf had scurried down without anyone knowing."
"Why?" Argella demanded.
"He was just seeking an adventure of his own," the Wandering Wolf shrugged. "Little boys worship heroes and their adventures. And a boy like Andrew was no exception. He was the nephew of Arthur Dayne, the finest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms and the son of Eddard Stark, the first and only King to have won the independence from the Targaryen yoke. So he had more than enough reasons to do his own adventure."
"I never thought Andrew was capable of something like that?"
"Oh, that and more," Rodrik Stark gave a sad smile. "He had even found a sword on his travel beneath the earth, a rusted old thing the boy had wrested away from some tomb. Ned was speechless when we had found what he did. The queen never let Andrew far from her gaze after that. She even had two guards posted at the crypts and godswood after that. So now, your grace, do you need someone's watchful eyes following you everywhere?"
Argella smiled. "There would be no need for that.
"I believed so."
She heard laughter and boisterous shouting all over the great hall. More guests have come, and half-drunk by the noise of them. The large oaken doors to the Great hall was left open and Argella entered with Rodrik Stark and Ser Trent. She saw men all over the benches, both the Mountain clansman and the new guests sharing meat and mead and stories. The new banners showed a giant in shattered chains that told her that these were Umber men, the relatives of the Greatjon.
Maester Walys was waiting for her near the high table and Argella mumbled a quick apology for being late.
Later as the meal was served the two of them came together to audience before her at the high table; the Greatjon's uncles, maester Walys had said, blustery men in the winter of their days with beards as white as the bearskin cloaks they wore.
No sooner had they been seated than Mors threw a barb at her. "I was told that we were having a queen as impressive as Queen Ashara but no one told me it was a wildling shieldmaiden in furs." He laughed. Maester Walys had said a crow had pecked out his eye once taking him for dead so he wore a chunk of dragonglass in its stead.
His brother laughed along with him.
It was Hother who apologised for his brother. Argella looked at him. "There is no need for any apology," she said. "I know that Lord Mors has a poor eyesight, at least after the crow pecked his eye out. What I didn't know was that he was blind in both eyes. Perhaps the crow even picked out more than just the eyes."
Mors Umber snorted. "I bit the crow in half while it was still clawing my eyes out, girl," he grumbled. "You do not know about it."
"You are a poor sort of man for murdering a crow for doing you a favour," Argella said. "Someone should have sent you to the Wall for that."
That made everyone laugh, Mors Umber the first and foremost among them.
"Perhaps Mors should take out his dragonglass so her grace can see it for herself that he retains his brain?" Hother Umber said.
"Perhaps I should have you bound and gagged and send you back to the Citadel," Argella said.
"You are a mean girl," Hother Umber laughed.
Argella shrugged. "I suppose now you have to deal with a mean queen."
They were laughing when a guardsmen arrived dressed in sea green tunic with the silver merman with Trident on his doublet. He quickly reached Maester Walys and slipped a note to him.
Maester Walys opened the letter and read it for more than minute and then tugged at his chain collar.
"What is it?" Argella asked.
"We have a message from Lord Wyman, your grace. His lordship was only a days ride away from White Harbour when the maester sent word for him. There is trouble along the eastern shore. These are no mere raiders in longships, plundering fishing villages. No. Wyman sends word of dozens of war ships. He had sent the northern fleet south to combat the Royal fleet and assist his grace against King's Landing. He says he doesn't have the strength to stop them in the sea and doesn't have the men to man the entire eastern shore. Lord Wyman believes that they will be making a landing somewhere."
"Aye, and strike somewhere before running away at the sight of steel," the Wandering wolf was sure. "The Others take all such cowards. They would never dare to face Andrew and our main strength thousand leagues south."
"Should we send word to his grace?" Maester Walys asked.
"No," Argella said at once. "This should merely be an attempt to divert Andrew away from King's Landing. He's left an army to defend the north. That should be enough to deal with this threat."
Maester Walys frowned. "Well, should it happen then we need to ride against these threats as soon as possible. They might be striking soon. We could muster three thousand men quickly with the strength available at Winterfell. We could give the command to Mors or Lord Wull, seasoned men both of them..."
"No," Argella said. "I shall lead them."