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Fantasy Heir’s Augury [Closed]

Lyram was aware a woman’s mind often begged for artful forms of entertainment, yet he would not have thought such implied his presence or involvement. Instead of arguing, he let out a sigh in defeat and looked down at his barely touched plate. There was much more to come following the wedding, and he could not let himself be consumed by the mere responsibility of picking a colour scheme for the decorations.

He shook his head at Hector’s regrets, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. “There’s nothing you can do. You are in the King’s service now.” His father could have likely pressed the matter a bit more, but Lyram lacked the courage to bring up the subject of his brother’s leave again. “I will assure you, though, that when you come to visit I will be the same,” ‘only slightly less sane,’ he added in his mind. However peculiar the woman was, he would likely not have much to debate with her in the first few weeks of their marriage.

“I can keep an eye on him,” Mathys smiled to Hector, breaking a piece of bread for himself. “I’d say I know my way around women. My sister, to be exact, but that’s enough for me,” he chuckled and took another big bite. Lyram couldn’t hold back a smirk, and he leaned forward just slightly, towards the boy.

“Then I trust I’ll have a well seasoned confidante to rely on.”

*

It was hard to see the tight alleyways leading up to the castle in the darkness. Aiyda walked, but only guided by Ethon after having dismounted her horse. She could no longer feel her limbs, but only the cold that froze the bones, and knew that her clothes were still covering her. Some movement, rubbing against her shoulder, let her know that Ethon was holding her up, keeping her from falling to her knees if another coughing fit started.

The wind had ceased to blow. Now, the silence and peace seemed even colder. She heard Hector’s voice, heard the guards open the doors for them to go inside, and lead the way on either side of them. Conrad distanced himself, taking the higher route towards his quarters, while Ethon lead her towards the narrow servants’ chambers just across the hall.

“Come, come with me, I have a bath at the ready, ran it for myself just before you came,” Lehna said softly, pulling Aiyda’s arm. Ethon had gone, and she felt helpless again. Another cough scratched her throat, and she let it out in her sleeve. A cold, wet sleeve that tickled her nose. There was snow in her hair, snow on her clothes and piled up inside her hood, which she had failed to put back on after countlessly dropping from her head as they rode against the wind’s blow.

“Where is Mathys?” Aiyda asked, and Lehna shook her head. “Where is my brother?”

“Sleeping, I’d say,” she said. “Come, you’ll see him after-“

“Aiyda?”

Mathys’s voice rung from across the hallway, and Aiyda turned to see him quickly, snapping from Lehna’s hold. The boy ran towards her and leaped into her arms, pulling her into a tight bear hug that almost dug her into the ground. “Thank the Gods... The vision... I had a vision, of you. I thought I might not get you back. I was hoping...”

He stopped to stare at her, in a slight disheartened disbelief. Aiyda sighed, smothering another cough. “I know... It’s a long story.” She offered him a smile, canted her head. “You have mother’s look in your eyes. The worry.”

“And you have father’s voice after one too many beers one night,” Mathys returned. He glanced over to Lehna, who seemed too preoccupied with doing her job as ordered by Conrad. “You should go with her. There will be enough time to talk about it in the morning.”

*

Lyram’s eyes were glazed over as he stormed through the corridors and past the agitated guards and servants. It was not often that Hector ever called for help, and even less so that Conrad did not protest it. He had not gone to see his mother, for he knew she would have likely gotten to Conrad’s room before him at the steward’s call.

He had not gotten the chance to get himself dressed for bed, which he was thankful for as he passed by the many faces staring him down. It would have drawn attention to his figure, far too pale and frail then, almost trembling in anticipation of what he was about to hear. Mathys had not given him enough details, not enough to make a picture of what had happened, but at least Conrad was alive, and so was the girl. Not drowned. Alive.

He knocked on the door and waited. His throat was clenched, aching, and he did not wait for a response before opening the door. “Brother,” he called through the opened crack, and took a step inside, scouring the room, patient.
 
The moment Lehna had pulled Aiyda from him, Ethon brushed past towards His own room. He passed Mathys, who had emerged from his chamber likely hearing the commotion of them all being back. Ethon quickly undressed himself changing into comfortable clothing, then he moved straight for Aiyda’s room.

He closed the door the moment he was inside, first pushing logs onto the fire and then igniting flames beneath, blowing some and adjusting the logs carefully. As the fire began he pulled a cloth from the bedding chest under her bed and stuffed it where the small window was, hoping to conceal any cracks.

He was unsure what she would be wishing to wear, he pulled a few night gowns from another chest, hoping they would be sufficient. He sat himself on the chair, awaiting her. Every so often, in his worry, he would stand, take steps towards the fire and fiddle with the end logs some. The room was getting warmer.

“The soup.” He muttered to himself standing quickly, shutting the door quite tight behind him as he pushed himself towards the kitchens.

*

Hector opened the door quickly when a knock had come. Hector had been standing by the door, their maester and Caterina by Conrad’s side as another coughing fit overtook him. He was without a shirt and his skin red. Ale sat on his bedside table, but it appeared untouched.

“He said something about a river, a bear and Aiyda.” Hector explained to Lyram. “Father will be upset.” Muttered Hector. Conrad’s first solo expedition, although not technically a fail, bringing himself and the girl home like this was certainly not a success.

Caterina held her sons hand, sponging him over with a warm cloth as the maester check his body.

Without much warning, Victor pushed open the door. He looked to his two eldest sons and then began towards Conrad. Hector stepped in front of his father, which earned quite a look from Victor. “Move.” He spoke in a low tone.

“He needs rest. He can recount his journey when he is back in good health.” Hector started, but before he could say anymore Victor stepped past Hector and continued towards the bed.

Victors hand moved to Caterina’s shoulder and he looked down at Conrad. Conrad began to open his mouth, but Victor shook his head. “Rest son, heal.”

Victor knew he had to find Ethon soon, he had to speak to him before the Queen did. He would wait until Conrad would sleep, then he would find Ethon. He knew Caterina would stay with him through the night.
 
The bathing room smelled like peppermint, chamomile and lavender. Aiyda watched as Lehna poured strange oils from dark glass vials into the tub, mixing with the other hand as she went. She could see the steam blow off to the ceiling, a soft dance as it spread across the length of the tub like morning fog over a lake.

“Should be right, now,” the woman murmured, shaking any water left on her hand. “It will warm you up,” she promised, but Aiyda did not believe her. The cold had slipped into her bones, and even the simple act of removing her clothes hurt. Now, she held her arms around herself, taking in the heat inside the room, with only her undergarments still hanging on, damp from the sweat and cold as stone.

Lehna offered to take it all off with a motherly care. Her hands moved softly, but beneath them, the slightest touch scourged her like a razor. Aiyda coughed out from the depth of her lungs, hiding her face in her hair so as to avoid Lehna, who watched her with pity in her gaze. “Come,” she offered, and lead her, step by step, into the bathing tub.



She had fallen asleep while Lehna was foaming up her hair. When she woke up, she was guiding her out, with a large towel at the ready for her to slip into. Despite the steamy warmth that had built up inside the room, Aiyda still shivered when she got out, as though her limbs still pined for the bathing water. She kept the towel wrapped around herself, around her shoulders and down to her ankles. The way from Lehna’s bathing room and to her own was not long, but she did not miss the cold corridors of White Hall.

“The healer will see you, before you go to sleep,” she reassured her. “You will have to eat somethin’, though. Be it plain stew, without the bits inside. You made it through two nights out there, you’ll make it through this one.” She seemed sure of it. Perhaps she was. Aiyda wanted to believe her, but she only seemed to be getting worse by the hour.

“I want to see Conrad,” she muttered, and Lehna gulped as though she had heard her curse.

“Lord Conrad is resting, Aiyda,” she replied, a frown gracing her pale forehead. “You will see him tomorrow if you wish. I can... Come. You have to rest first.”

Her chamber was empty when they entered, but Aiyda could see that Ethon had been there first: the hearth was alive, burning fervently, and gowns had been set on the bed for her to don after the bath. He had tucked cloths at the windows, to block any wind blowing from the outside, and the sheets smelled like fresh cotton and lemongrass. She was quick about slipping out of the towel and into her sleeping gown, which Lehna helped tie properly around her, and completed with a woolen robe which she wrapped around her like one would a babe.

“There we go,” she gave her a smile, which quickly turned into a slight grimace. “Not sure it will help the fever, though...”

Aiyda ignored her and sat down. She could not stand on her feet anymore, and ever breathing seemed like too much work after coughing so much. The thought of riding seemed so far and strange to her now, like a skill she had forgotten how to practise. “I need to sleep,” she whispered, trembling on the edge of the bed. “I beg of you, Lehna... Will you bring the doctor in sooner?”

*

Lyram’s eyes did not move from his brother as he listened to what Hector had to say. A bear? There was not a scratch on him, nor the girl, although he did not doubt the truth of his statement. He had fallen into the river, and by the grace of the Gods, he had managed to pull himself out and Aiyda alike. He was strong, far stronger than he looked then, which made him wonder how the Saeberian girl felt, if he had found Conrad in such state.

His gaze flickered to his worried mother, then to lord Victor, who popped in without a notice, past Hector and by Conrad’s side. The scene petrified him, much worse than the painful scratches or the tough colds they had had to endure in their childhoods. The river was cold in the summer, let alone in the winter, and Lyram did not wish to imagine what it would feel like swimming in its freezing current.

“I want to see you for breakfast in the morning, brother,” the eldest said, taking a step closer towards the bed. “You have to heal... In time for the wedding,” he smiled slightly and canted her head at his mother. “He’s stronger than any of us, even if he’s the youngest. He got through two nights, and he’s home now. He will be alright in no time.”
 
Hector watched the scene, his face straight, but his insides crawling. The maester pushed past them all, likely to go and see to Aiyda. Hectors eyes were on Conrad, and then the rest of his family. It dawned upon him that if he were ever injured or sick in the south, he would have no such support. The next time he saw any of his family it would be a brief visit, and that was to be his life until a Roddrick wished to return him. A fire blazed within his gut, before he had been excited at the thought of helping the further along lead. Now he was upset with the fact that he would be leaving behind all he had ever known.

At Lyram’s words, Conrad almost appeared to wink as he nodded. His mothers hand moving through his hair slowly. “I’ll be like new I’m the morning, never sick brother.” Conrad croaked, a faint smirk still on his lips, boasting even his stare on his fate of little sickness in his lifetime. Before the maester left the door, Conrad shifted. “Bodrin, I’d like word on her, after you’ve checked.” He said mustering up enough strength to make his words appear like an order.

Bodrin let out an elderly smile, and nodded slightly, “Of course my Lord.” He spoke then left.

Victor moved to the edge of the room, taking an ornate chair and pulling it beside Conrad’s bed so Caterina could sit. He himself stood behind the chair, his hand rubbing his wife’s shoulder as she looked sadly at her son.

*

Bodrin found the girls room after direction passing Ethon who was still attempting soup. “Anything warm with taste, my boy.” Bodrin assured him.

The man making his way slowly down the hall to the girl, nodding to Lehna as he entered the room. “Good evening miss.” He spoke calmly taking a seat beside her on the bed. “Lucky you’ve had a bath.” He spoke touching her wrist, counting beneath his breath slightly.

He now looked to Lehna, “Still cold, I expect there are some extra woolen blanket laying around?” He asked her. “The bath must’ve helped, I would’ve expected you colder than Lord Conrad.” He let out a smile at the look on her face on the mention of Conrad. “I do not know the story of how you fell to the water, but judging by the rumors heard, you both appeared to have escaped just in time, or perhaps were smart about regaining warmth. He is like you, but you both shall feel better within the next few days.” The man now stood up, “Hot liquids for the throat for now. I will have a strong brew for you and Lord Conrad tomorrow. Should help immensely. For tonight, rest and stay as warm as you can.”

As the maester was finishing up Ethon moved into the room with two bowls of soup. “How is she?” He asked instantly at the sight of the maester. Bodrin nodded and then he smiled at the girl, all he did on his way out was clasp Ethons shoulder and squeeze lightly before leaving. Ethon cursed some as the maester shut the door behind him.

He set the soup down for Aiyda, “I hope it’ll help. It’s not my best work, but well....” Ethon shrugged.

He took a seat on the bed beside her, touching one of her hands, she was still cold, “I can stay tonight... if you’d like?” He asked, he didn’t want to leave her alone.
 
Lyram did not find the situation amusing, yet he could not help from sketching a smirk at Conrad’s weak reassurance. He would likely go through worse once the war started, but the mere fact that the illness had taken him to the ground with such ease made him painfully restless. He knew he would not sleep that night, not even if their lady mother would stand by his side. The thought he might get worse – the beast of him – was unbearable.

He frowned when he brought mention of Aiyda, and he made a note to ask details in the morning. Conrad would need time to rest for a good while. He would make it so that they served breakfast late enough for him to accommodate. He ran his palm over his face and let out a soft sigh in the silence.

For the time being, he’d stay. Until Conrad fell asleep and their mother regained her heart’s strength... They both needed him.

*

Thankfully, she did not need to ask twice. The door opened right as Lehna was turning towards it, and the maester stepped into the room in a hurried manner. His hands were on her quickly, almost pressing her to lie down, and she did, the comfort and softness of the bed reaching over her entirety like a dark veil. Even as the maester spoke, exhaustion became imminent, where she was forcing her lids open to almost theatrically follow his movement and words.

Lehna seemed to notice Aiyda’s spiritual absence, and hurried to the side of the bed, leaning towards maester Bodrin with a nod. “I will make sure she stays warm, maester, “ she assured him. Her voice was trembling slightly, with a concern she did not understand. “I will bring warm water and… and thicker furs. I will speak to a servant to tend to the fire.”

At the mention of Conrad’s state, Aiyda did stir. Her brown gaze flickered to the man, and she was tempted to ask more, but her throat refused to let any more words out. She gulped and let out a sigh of defeat, nodding at his recommendations which were now beginning to fade into a low rumble, farther and farther away from her ears.

The door opened again, and this time it was Ethon, who brushed past the maester with a concerned look on his face which scared her. The bowl in his hand was steaming, and the scent of freshly cooked stew reached her nostrils and breathed some life back into her. With the help of Lehna, who pulled her pillows slightly higher for her to lean against the frame, she took the bowl between her palms, in an attempt to warm herself up.

“I will see to the blankets,” Lehna said quickly, and left the room in a hurry. Aiyda pressed her lips as she followed her shape prancing out of the chamber, then back to Ethon, whose face she had oddly missed.

“Stay,” she answered softly. “For a bit, at least… Calm Mathys’s worries.” She took a sip of the soup and struggled to get it down. Leaning slightly back, she placed the bowl in her lap and held his hand. “The river was so cold, that I can still feel it now. It’s my fault, Ethon… Conrad’s… my fault. All I have done… was to bring more trouble.” She curled so that she could be closer to him, and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “I will make it up to you… For coming to save me… You have a noble heart, brave… You would have made a great, great hunter.”
 
Ethon watched her take a sip from the soup, it was clear it hurt and he winced almost watching it. His arm wrapped around her back slightly as she leaned into him. As she spoke of the river he leaned in, pressing his lips just below her hairline.

“It’s not your fault.” He murmured l, his lips still pressed to her head, as if somehow that would transfer some of his warmth to her. “I didn’t do any saving though.” He replied simply. He let out another smile as she spoke he would have made a good hunter. He would like to think he’d of made a good anything. “Brave enough to spook a bear?” He asked intertwining his fingers with hers.

He settled back into the bed a bit, after the bowl almost toppled he set it aside for her. “If you want more, you wake me. I’ll go warm it.” He spoke in more of a stern tone. “Let’s get some sleep.” He decided, although he knew she was likely dying to close her eyes.

Shuffling himself into a more comfortable position his arms wrapped around her, one of his hands moved to her cheeks, a small bit of color was finally regaining in her face, but she still wasn’t warm to the touch. “As soon as you’re better I’ll have to prove Lyram wrong and beat you at shooting,” he teased. “I need a strong fair opponent.”

*

“Word was sent by raven.” Caterina spoke to Lyram. Conrad was now asleep, but she still stroked her youngest sons hair. She hasn’t watched her sons sleep in years, even now, in sleep Conrad appeared more youthful. She did miss it. “They’ll be here tomorrow, likely later afternoon. The wedding will be only a day after that.” She spoke. Her oldest son would only have about two days to get to know his fiancé, if that.

“I hope Conrad will be better.” She muttered, her tone less nervous than earlier. “He loves weddings.” She looked back to her youngest, “I wonder if he will have his own.” She muttered.

“I assume they’ll pawn Hector off themselves down south.” The Lady of the North did not voice it, but she thought it unlikely Hector would bear her grandchildren. “I think about it, if your father will marry Conrad to a Northern house, spread him, or keep him and his wife here. Maybe bring him a foreign beauty, more trade. If we weren’t in turmoil, he might’ve been able to marry for love.” A quiet chuckle followed, assuming that notion would not be welcomed by Victor.

“I know I’ve said it before, but you’ll be a good husband. A good Lord as well. Even this one will be a good husband, some day.” She finally pulled her hand from Conrad. Caterina now turned directly to Lyram, “I fear the convoys the King will send us.” She told her son more seriously. “A foreign guard, and we’ll be forced to house them, here, in surrounding villages, at other Northern castles...” the woman trailed off. She knew what would happen while they weren’t defending, and she was sure the King would send his worst troops.
 
Aiyda thought she fit in Ethon’s arms well. The kiss pressed to her forehead sent a pleasantly warm shiver down her spine, that seemed to take from the bitter cold in her bones. She could tell, then, that despite not having been raised by his birthmother, Ethon had grown up in a household that truly and unquestionably loved him. Lord Sterling, above all, loved him, for she had seen it in the way his eyes held care for the boy.

She leaned in closer, letting a sigh of relief as he took away the weight of the bowl from her lap. She had not had much, but just enough to chip at the pang of hunger in her stomach. “Bears are easy to spook,” she whispered then. “What matters... is that you don’t get spooked yourself... Suppose it takes a good bow.” And she had one, that she trusted entirely, for otherwise she would not have attempted to take the whole beast down by herself.

It did not take long for her to fall into the arms of slumber, and she dozed off before she could hear his last words. Lyram’s name floated in her ears, but she was too exhausted to bother asking. There was enough time in the morning, when the both of them were feeling better. And so, she leaned against his touch, the warm palm on her cheek guiding her in just the right spot to rest her head on his chest.

A light knock followed, and Lehna tiptoed inside, holding a blanket of ermine which she gently laid over Aiyda’s feet and lower back. “This should do,” she said to Ethon, and gave him a friendly smile. He was fatigued, she could see that, but thankfully not quite as drained as the other next to him. “Lord Victor and Lord Lyram are with your bother. He will be well,” she thought to add before she left. “I told little Mathys that so is his sister.”

*

Lyram knew he would not have a day’s break from the mention of his wife to be, but somehow, he had grown used to his mother bringing it up as a form of self-comfort. He let out a sigh, watching her pale, slender fingers tread through Conrad’s hair. “A rather short notice for something that’s supposed to last a lifetime,” he said quietly. “I have been praying, you know… For this marriage to be as yours and father’s. Honest, built. Stone by stone.”

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on his thigh. Over the course of the past few days, he had been fiddling perpetually, a tick that took away from his diplomacy. He was not in the least presentable, despite his embellished garments and well tamed hair. “I hope he gets to stay.” It was often women who came into the hearths of their betrothed, to become their wives. “I need him here. With Hector gone, I won’t be able to hold the reins of the North alone.”

At the mention of the King’s patrols, Lyram sketched a sour grimace. He knew that King Corban would not take Victor’s demands seriously. “I suppose this humours him, as well. He will have his eyes and ears up here as well. He wouldn’t let us have the advantage of one of us meddling with their business. The Southerners are here to listen, mother, not to fight. We will have to send word to the Northern houses for brute force.”

He pondered for a moment at the thought of it. It had been weeks since the Wild Hunt had taken over a town. It was strange that it was waiting, as though for the lords’ turn to make a move. It kept him on his toes. What if they had taken, and none had come to tell them? If none had escaped, none had gone farther North to check on the silence, then any small village or settlement could have been taken by storm. Northcross was not as far from White Hall, despite being one of the last settlements in the region.

“Tomorrow, after we escort the Kilgours out of the city, I will make sure to write a letter to every noble House that bows to my father. I will tell them of the events in Northcross, of the hunters that came to us, of what Hector found, and of King’s Corban’s decision. They will be free to make their choice… And we can only pray that they choose right.”
 
Ethon watched her breathing grow slower and slower. She was quick to fall asleep, which he now desperately wished the slumber would take him as well. Before his own eyes could close, Lehna poked into the room. He offered a smile to the girl whom he grew up with tending to the castle. He nodded, stopping her before she reached the door, “Thank you, Lehna.” He told her.

Once she had left Ethon wasted little time letting his own eyes close, determined not to move in fear of waking Aiyda. Slumber took him quickly as well, his arms wrapped around her, falling into a deep sleep.

*

It’ll the clock was ticking, and Victor couldn’t waste anymore time. Conrad was safe in the company of his mother and older brother. Victor had to reach Ethon before he learned of the news from Amara, who would likely call to him at the break of dawn.

It had been ages since Victor had been to the servants quarters portion of White Hall. Turning into the kitchen and then down the long hallway. His candle in hand lit, and in the twilight the hall was empty, except one door down the way had a cloth stuffed under it crack. Victor assumed this was the Saeberian girls room.

He turned to the room he knew as Ethons and gently pushed open the door, assuming the boy was asleep he pushed closer to the bed, leading with the light of his candle. A dark look fell upon his face as the bed was empty. Without a second thought, Victor strode across the hall, his hand no longer gentle with the doors as he burst into the room of the Saeberian girl, not at all shocked to see Ethon’s groggy face staring at him with a bush of red hair behind him.

Ethon was certainly shocked to see Lord Victor standing before him in that moment. He sat up in bed quickly, praying Aiyda was too tired to stir at his movement, but it was so sudden he knew his hope unlikely. “Sir, uh,” Ethon cleared his throat and he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Outside.” Victor’s voice had never been so stern with Ethon before and such a tone automatically moved Ethon from his bed, following him to the hall. Once outside Victor took the sleeve of his shirt aggressively and pushed him into his room. “You need to be more careful,” Victor spoke without thinking.

Ethon just stared at Victor, the pause longer than Ethon had anticipated, “Is Conrad alright?” He asked now.

“Conrad will be fine.” Victor appeared to be checking the door, as if he were afraid it weren’t shut. “I have...” the man took a very deep breath. “It is time Ethon. I’m going to tell you why I took you in all those years ago, and who your mother was... or is.” As Ethon now appeared more awake at this news Victor shook his head, “this is not how I wished to tell you. But I have no choice.”

Victor began the story, first speaking of a woman, whom he clarified as Queen Amara, trading her child with a common woman, who was told to run with the true heir to throne. How there was a plot of assasination, but it never was achieved, and that the Queen, who had sent her child away, knew little of the servant woman she had given her true son to. “The woman had this new baby, and it was all she had. She loved it, and raised it as her own. Money was tight, and she became a whore at a brothel to support this child.” Victor continued.

Ethons face felt hot, his mind was reeling and he was waiting for Victors face to change, to tell him that there was another whore who had a different son.

“I traveled south one year, a few years after all my sons were old enough to not wreck havoc in my absence, and I set forth. To strengthen my alliance with Corban, but also to do a bit of looking. People talk Ethon, as I’m sure you know, I had to see this Heir for myself...” victor trailed off.

“There wasn’t much talk in the city. But there were a few informants. One of whom I paid off well to tell me his bidding. He was in search of the Queens lost treasure. Creepy bastard, a low voice with a missing ear. He told me he knew exactly the child, based off the description of the fled servant, and what the child would presumably look like, he had an inkling, a strong one. The son of a whore. He never told the Queen because the Queen paid him to look, whether the child was found or not.” Victor explained.

Ethons jaw clenched, he knew the man. He had a pretty good idea what the creep spent some of his earnings on.

“With this news... I took a chance. But I knew the moment I saw you Ethon. Your eyes, her eyes. And even that young, I saw Corban in you, and now even more obvious. Ethon, you are the true heir to Armath.”

Ethon shook his head, “No,” he spoke almost too quickly. “My mother said my father was...” he trailed off. He never got much of anything from Marietta on his father. But the bits he did get, he would have never guessed. “She’s my mother.” He spoke more surely.

Victor looked behind him quickly, hearing footsteps down the hall. It was probably just a servant using the bathroom, but Victor grew paranoid. “She is your mother Ethon, you’re right. But she did not give birth to you. By blood you are the product of Amara and Corban, I know you see it too.” Victors tone grew desperate. He took a step closer to Ethon, “Ethon, she will speak to you soon. And I must caution you who you share this information with. Soon it may help you, but for now it will only bring harm. Be very careful who you tell.” Victor set his hand on Ethons shoulder then he pushed away. “I must go check on conrad and my wife now. We may speak at a later time if you wish, but for now,” Victor nodded. He turned quickly leaving Ethons bedroom.

Ethon was left alone in the dark for a moment. His head ached, he was simply absorbing the information. The longer he stood the more heated he became. He wished to knock his own door down in anger. In the moment he settled for his bedside table, tossing it across the room in a swift motion as confusion plagued his mind.

He took two deep breaths and wondered if he were dreaming, his chest pounding and finally running his hands through his hair he opened his door as well and pushed back into Aiyda’s room, bending down to resting the door, this time from the inside.
 
The morning sun comfortably tickled Aiyda’s skin peeking from behind the thick duvets. It was still early, she could tell by the chill of the room and the way the snow outside seemed to still carry the gleam of moonlight.

She had slept soundly through the night. The cold had left her bones, now replaced by a pleasant heat that radiated against the covers. She had sweat it out, and by the crack of dawn, the welcoming warmth of White Hall had taken away some of the illness that had plagued her the night before.

She blinked a few times, to clear her vision as she scoured the room. The castle was silent, apart from soft steps creaking through a distant corridor. The servants’ quarters were never truly quiet, but she had grown to appreciate it; it was a promise of perpetual presence, which given other circumstances, might had bothered her then. Next to her, Ethon was still lying in bed, at a close yet comfortable distance. One of her hands reached for his shoulder beneath the covers, whilst the other pushed them away to take in the chill.

“I slept well,” Aiyda murmured, to test her voice. It was still husky and rough, but not nearly as bad as the day before. “I am... looking forward to maester Brion’s concoction, though,” she added with the hint of a smile playing on her lips. She could only hope that Conrad had had the same experience, and that he would wake up stronger than when they arrived.

She had come to recognize Lehna’s footsteps on the other side of the door. The girl slipped inside quietly, without knocking, and went to set a tray of fresh breakfast on the table by the fireplace. “I thought you would sleep for longer,” she said softly. “Lord Lyram is calling the breakfast slightly later today. The King and Queen will join, before they leave alongside Lord Hector.”

Aiyda shook her head slightly. She knew she would not be joining, which brought her some peace knowing she would not be forced to make conversation. “Mathys?” she asked, and Lehna offered her a nod.

“I could tell him to join you. He’s an early riser, that boy.”

But Aiyda knew why. He was worried. He wanted to see her, and she would not oppose it, for the sake of his heart.

“And... another thing,” Lehna continued, turning back again towards the door. “The... Queen called for your presence, Ethon. She asked me to place a note in your room.” She blushed slightly. “I couldn’t tell her you were busy caring for a friend... You should go now. Before the break o’ fast. Don't know what business you could have with Her Highness, but you ain't sick, therefore you'll be joining Monty and Brask at the stables afterwards. The horses need brushin'.”
 
He didn’t shut his eyes once that night. Her breathing just enough to soothe him so he didn’t have to pace about the room reeling. He kept rationing with himself, could Victor be playing a sick joke on him? But that was not Lord Victor. The man was dead serious. But he...? The rightful heir? The way victor spoke of it, that means the Queen knew, and the people who she sent after him knew. But others didn’t, not even the King, and judging by the way Roddrick carried himself he did not know either.

The worst of it all was it made sense, looking before the king and Queen, even without feeling any sentiment towards them, their looks made sense. And this is all that pushed over and over again in his mind, back and forth until Aiyda pushed his shoulder. He couldn’t tell it was morning, the way he patched the room, but she was up, and that was good enough.

She tested her voice and Ethon forced a smile. She didn’t deserve his mood to tamper with hers. “It’ll be good. Surprisingly his medicine has acceptable taste as well as healing.” He told her.

Before he could tell her anymore Lehna moved into the room. He listened to the days plans, but his entire body stiffened when she spoke the Queen wished to see him immediately. All he did was nod, barely batting an eye at talk of the horses on a cold morning. He’d sleep in the stables all winter if it meant avoiding the Queen.

He paused, his mind now flooding with questions. Why? And who was his mother? Surely she would know. Maybe he’d get more answers than Victor could provide now. But what could she possibly want to tell him? And what had her intentions been if she had found him? When did she stop looking for him? Did she ever stop looking?

As Lehna left the room Ethon stood up rather quickly. “I’ll be back to check in after the stable chores.” He told her. He moved toward the door, stopping before the desk, catching his reflection on the mirror above it. The Queens eyes staring back at him, his jaw clenching, for a moment wishing he had Marietta’s warm chocolate eyes, and not these golden beasts. “Bye.” He spoke quickly to Aiyda pushing out the door towards his own room.

When dressing himself he made a point to wear what he thought were his most northern looking clothes. It did no difference, all his clothes were
Made by northern seamstresses. He couldn’t hide his southern face within the collar. The walk to the Queens chambers felt longer than he’d ever known the journey of the halls. Now quite focused on the way the light caught the various wood and stone within the hall. The note had told him to head to her chambers, which he thought odd until he realized the King was likely spending his final evening somewhere else. It was custom visiting men went to the brothels towards the end of their trips, and with no farewell feast, where else would the King be?

They had been given the most grand guest room. Double doors, made of the best wood. He knocked on the door, his jaw clenched. “Your majesty,”

*

When Conrad woke his throat burned. A cup of water, ale and a strange green liquid all perched on his bedside table. And although he was thirsty, the thought of any repulsed him. His mother was asleep in the chair beside his bed.

A steward stood in the corner of the room, he had laid out clothes, “Breakfast is delayed a bit. Perhaps a bath my lord? The steam will be good.” The steward spoke. Conrad just nodded. The steward paused, knowing how Conrad usually liked his baths, “Shall I send for a handmaiden?” He asked.

This time Conrad shook his head. “No.” He mouthed to the steward. The steward left to prepare the bath and Conrad shifted in bed, his entire body sore, but better than the previous night. As he shifted so did his mother, but she didn’t wake just yet. When he finally stood from bed she did stir.

“Oh, uh,” she mumbled sitting up quick. “Oh Conrad, how are you?” She asked quickly standing moving to his side.

“Fine.” He told her, his voice was weak, he cleared it, “Fine,” did appointed the clearing of his throat did little to improve his voice.

“Drink this.” She said now reaching for the green beverage.

“Mother,” He began, “I’m going to bathe, I’ll see you at breakfast.” He told her.

She looked worried but she nodded, squeezing his arm before moving out of the room.
 
Aiyda’s gaze followed him with a bewildered fire. She had sensed the tension in his smile, and the way he shifted away from her so quickly, more eager to leave the room than to stay in and enjoy breakfast together. Not that she would be able to eat much, but the thought of putting something in her stomach after two days of travel did not seem like such a bad idea.

It would not be his first encounter with the Queen, Aiyda knew. It made her wonder what business he could have with the woman, one that he had not dared share with her. For a moment, as the room was left empty, she was tempted to call back for Lehna, to ask for details on the Queen’s request, but the selfish thought easily faded as another figure entered the room, his own gaze flickering back and forth between her and the hallway.

“I thought you’d rest longer,” Mathys sighed, striding over to the side of her bed. He was wearing garments you would see on the smaller lords in the castle, and she knew then that Lyram had likely paid him a visit. “I was told you were fine, but I wanted to see for myself. You still look...”

“Terrifying,” Aiyda completed his sentence with a faint smile. “Maybe that’s why Ethon left so quickly.”

Mathys nodded. He had seen, and it had clearly befuddled him slightly. “I know he cares for you like family. Something happened, otherwise he would have stayed to look after you. I heard rumors that Lord Victor came looking for him last night. I can only imagine how that went.”

“He did?” Aiyda froze for a moment, thinking. She remembered being stirred in her sleep, but she had shaken it off as the voice of maester Brion. It only struck her then that there was no concoction on her bedside yet, and a shiver crept down her spine. Lord Sterling had seen them together – likely painted himself a discreditable scene. “Then I suppose I should not be surprised that Ethon was so tense. I would be, too, if the Queen asked for me.”

Her brother did not seem surprised by the statement. He leaned slightly back, tapping his knee. The gesture reminded her of Lyram – Mathys looked up to him, but would likely despise to admit it. The lords of White Hall had welcomed them like family, offered them their own chambers to sleep, comfortable clothes to live in and proper food at every meal. She was ever grateful, and she knew, so was her brother.

*

Amara had had an awfully difficult time picking between comfort and refinement. Standing before the tall mirror in her quarters, she could not help but fiddle with the seams of her golden dress, patting down the voluminous padding and pulling down on the fur coat fastened around her middle. She looked as regal as when she had arrived, donning similar colors, and a nearly identical look of despair that, somehow, still did not chip away at her beauty.

She wanted to believe that Ethon had been intelligent enough to understand, witty enough to make his choice quickly. The lump in her throat persisted and only got harder to bear at the thought of him shaking off her words of love. No, she did not love him. She had loved him, eighteen years before, and now her heart belonged to Roddrick. Yet if he came with her...

The knock on the door that followed did not resemble that of a servant or a guard. Amara closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in the brisk air, and called back to him, “You may come in.” She turned, and as the door opened and the young boy stepped inside, she felt her heart flutter like a bird in a steel cage. Despite the look on her face, her eyes were warm, almost caressing him with their gaze. She offered him the hint of a smile, which faded quickly, replaced by worry.

“You already know, don’t you?” Amara spoke, taking a small step towards him. “You’ve known all this time, deep inside. This should not have surprised a sharp mind like yours.”

He was dressed in proper Northern attire, his hair only slightly disheveled, like the wind had played through his honey gold locks, and his sunkissed cheeks, despite the harsh winter. “You were taught to live like a lord amongst the lords. You were taught to read, to write, to love...” Her voice trailed off, and she let out a soft breath through her nose. “I was taught pain, and patience. I never stopped searching for that piece of gold I once held in my arms and lost.”
 
At her call, Ethon opened the door slowly, immediately shutting it behind him after entrance. Formalities would not be a custom this time as he spoke to the Queen, to the woman whom he was still hesitant to call mother. She caught on quickly, likely due to his body language, or perhaps the frustration and anger within himself was present on his face too.

She spoke that he knew, and then that he knew deep inside. And maybe he did. When he looked at her and Corban, well the resemblance was intense, and the way she tended to him as well. But he was like Corban, like everyone else who saw them together, who would even be able to fathom the thought? She had her son, and it was Roddrick. He was a southern boy who tended to the stables, who would have believed that? Even thought of it? To the northerners, his resemblance to the Queen was just because of where he came from, no one knew more. “Maybe I did not want to believe it.” He muttered out to her.

He still had questions for Victor. Like why did he want him to read and write and know the formalities. Why did he take him away? What was the harm if the Queen did find him? “You didn’t search very hard,” Ethon spoke through gritted teeth. “Apparently someone knew about me, how else would Victor have found me?” He told her while his mind traveled back to the one eared man. His jaw clenched at the thought of him with his mother.

He paused slightly now, “I learned love from her.” His voice now only a whisper. “Victor and the Sterlings have shown me great compassion, and they have loved me as one of their own, but it was her.” Ethon told Amara. His mind now shifted to Roddrick, wondering if he would have turned out to be arrogant and rotten had he not been switched. “Do you know her?” He asked about his own mother, “If she is still alive, if she’s even in the city anymore? Surely you would have found her by now?”
 
Amara knew she should not have expected much more than gritted teeth coming from her long lost son. Yet still, seeing him then, grown up tall and ripe, she could not help her heart from drumming wildly in her chest. He had pieces of Corban in him, but the warmth of her eyes in his own. Southern blood was pouring through his veins of a royal blue, and had he been raised in the same conditions as Roddrick...

Ethon was different. She knew, from the look in his gaze that seemed to be imbued with the Northern mentality Victor had taught him. He was much more humble, much braver than what she would have hoped Roddrick to be. Yet they were both her sons, that, she knew. Regardless of who had raised them... Who had stolen from her.

“Victor did not tell you the whole story, I see,” the Queen spoke, inching towards him with another step. Her gaze was dark, but merciful. She wished for him to know. “There was someone who did not wish for me to sit by Corban’s side on the throne. Someone who knew that if I had you, it would only draw us closer. I only knew of the rumour, but not of the evil soul behind it.”

She looked down, a pang of pain scourging through her chest. She remembered all of it – all of the tears, the screams, the angry calls for the guards to search for him, day and night after her handmaid had left with her only son. “I suppose your mother had friends in the North,” she continued. “She stole you from me, because she thought I had stolen Roddrick from her. She ran away, and I was never able to reach you again. Not before Lord Sterling could take you even farther away from my reach.”

The mention of his mother rung bitter in her ears, but she did not wish to deny him of the truth. “Her name was Marietta,” she sighed as she took a seat on the nearest chair behind her. “She was my handmaid... Whom I thought to be loyal, until she betrayed me. And I understood – a mother’s love is unbreakable. A mother’s pain... That is much, much more destructive.” She paused for a moment, lost in thought. “She... passed from a broken heart. Not long after she lost you, as well.”
 
More questions burned as he listened to Amara. It seemed she was the one in the dark in his ears. Friends in the North, he scoffed a bit at that one. But at the mention of Marietta he drew in closer, taking a step towards the Queen. That was until she spoke that she ‘passed’ from a damned broken heart. “A broken heart?” He asked, his fists clenching. “How?” He questioned further, as if he didn’t believe her. What did a broken heart mean? Was she killed? On accident? Or was it suicide?

“She had no friends in the North.” He was growing more upset each moment. “Lord Victor only took pity on her because of me. She-” he cut himself off a moment trying to collect himself. “There was a guard that knew about me.” He began, “I didn’t know at the time, but Victor told me, the man without one ear.” He knuckles were white. “You paid him, and he knew, and he spent every bit of the wages you gave him fucking my mother who was had to take up work as a whore.” He swallowed hard. “You didn’t even know. Stole me. I was right under your goddamned nose, and you didn’t know. And he-” He took another breath, “That fucking guard hurt her, and you continued to pay him, and for what? Searching? Lying to you?”

“How did she die?” He asked again, more firmly this time. He needed to know, his knees were shaking but he was determined not to break any part of his form until the Queen told him this information.

*

Conrad had finished his bath and was left alone, his clothes laid out to dress himself. His body still felt oddly cold, like a part of him was without. Once dressed, knowing he was early for the occasion he slowly made his way towards the servants quarters. His throat ached and he cleared it a time or two before continuing down the hall once he got past the kitchens.

When the door was a jar, he slowly pushed it open further, glancing to see if she was even in her room. He first caught the blond of Mathys’ hair and nodded a bit, “Sorry, to interrupt, is Aiyda-” He began, but his eyes caught her soon enough.

“Good morning, to you both.” He spoke nodding to each of them. Aiyda looked a bit how he felt, although her room was much smaller than his, and it seemed already much warmer than his room and the rest of the castle’s halls, so hopefully she was doing better than him. “I will have to leave for breakfast soon, but I wanted to check on you.” He said, then he glanced to Mathys, “Your sister saved two people you know.” He offered the slightest hint of a smile. “Unfortunately, it was at the expense of herself.” his eyes now glancing back to her, although his tone and gaze were not angry at all, not even serious, almost a hint of comedy in his tone.

However, he coughed a rather wretched cough and then turned his head cracking his neck. “That’ll probably be there for a day or two more,” He muttered his tone now scratchy referencing the cough. He cleared his throat again. “Once the King and the Queen leave, it will be full preparations for Lyram’s wedding.” He added. “I can have the seamstress visit you both, tailor some clothes for the event.”
 
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Ethon’s fire was growing stronger by the second. Amara stared at him in a pitiful disbelief, as she felt her own insides burning at the questions about Marietta. She swallowed, her throat seeming to clench at the mere movement, before leaning slightly back and letting out a soft breath. “She was not your mother, Ethon,” the Queen clarified. “She took you from me, in her moment of weakness, of... anger. When we found her, she had already gone mad. Strong emotions can do horrible things to one’s heart.”

She pressed her lips together, clearly wishing to end the subject of his past and faux protector. Eventually, she got up from her seat and came closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder with a well-calculated care. “I meant to find you, and I failed,” she continued. “For that, I apologize. If I could bring you home to see Marietta, I would. But what I can offer you now... Is only your real family. Your real purpose. All of this... All of this treachery from my men, from Lord Sterling whom I trusted, it will be forgotten. You will never have to swipe the stable floor, no longer need to dine away from the young lords. This is your purpose, Ethon.”

Her mother’s words rung in her ears like a chant. He of noble blood, in time of war will rise, and bring with blade of ice, the Hunt's final demise. It felt odd now, when she could no longer picture Roddrick as the embodiment of the Augury. If what Victor insisted upon was true, then it was Ethon and him only who was of noble blood. And he was hers, her prince, her boy.

“I know where your mind has been lately,” she continued, more quietly now, as she let her hand gently graze his arm. “The stories you’ve heard, what you’ve seen. The horrors that happened in Northcross... If those aren’t just tales, then you might serve a greater purpose than a stable boy. Leave the past behind, Ethon. Honour what the Gods meant for you to be.”

*

Aiyda was glad to see the wet bush of hair peek from behind the door, although surprised at the fact that Conrad had found his way through that part of the castle. She offered him a smile, putting down the slice of toast to rise to greet him. Her legs still felt weak, like the ground were eating them, but Mathys offered a sneaky hand from behind, pulling her up just enough to conceal the lack of balance.

“I am glad you are feeling better,” she said softly. Mathys smirked and looked away, pretending to be interested in the woodwork of the trunk by the bed. “He knows, I told him all about it, and I did not get a single compliment from him.”

“Well, I wasn’t there to see it for myself!” he jumped, and Aiyda gave him a friendly nudge.

The room went quiet at the mention of the wedding. For a moment, she had forgotten, and frankly, she had not thought of what she would be wearing at the feast. All of her dresses were borrowed and old, some modified at lord Lyram’s orders, but otherwise more fit for a day in the castle than a wedding ceremony.

“Do I get to pick the colour?” Aiyda smiled happily. She supposed it would be far more exciting than the last, and this time around she would spend the entirety of the night with Mathys by her side. “I know we’d likely get the scraps, but I don’t mind. All of your coats are too glorious for the likes of me,” she said, looking him up and down with a theatrical envy. “Mathys, perhaps we should match! I was thinking-“

“Grey’s just fine,” the boy gulped, tugging at his shirt. “I think I’ll have grey.”

Aiyda scoffed, but turned to Conrad yet again. “It would be very nice of you. We are both grateful. I owe you a dance or two, and Mathys owes you a cup of ale to clink.”
 
“She is my mother!” He snapped quickly, pausing after a long moment to recollect himself, his chest still burning, “Was,” he muttered out now. He wanted to yell at her, tell her she was likely the mad one when they found Marietta, the Queen was mad. She couldn’t even seem to comprehend that Marietta had lost a child too, and that the Queen was ready to raise her child for slaughter. And now looking at the way she cared for Roddrick made him sick, at first a pig for slaughter and now a prized son, a future King for the entire land of Armath.

He felt her hand on his shoulder and was at true war with himself. He could sense her care and longing for him to return, and a part of him wanted to. To know the mother and father he never had. A true family unit, or as true as one could be. But he wouldn’t be the king. Roddrick would be there, and i front of the world’s eyes he would be her son. And the Sterling’s… it was as though Victor knew this was coming. But part of him now thought of the Sterling’s as his own family, since Marietta was now dead.

Her hand moved over his arm and she spoke of where his mind had been. His mind flashed to the girl whom he had just left only a time earlier. But as Amara’s words continued they were not talking of Aiyda at all. The Hunt should have occupied his mind more than it was. He knew that was all Lyram thought about, and Hector seemed to be planning for an invasion of the entire damned country. Even Conrad was shaken to his core, and Ethon had pushed the thoughts from his mind. Occasionally at night he thought of the rune, but he was distracted. He hadn’t even thought of the Augury, the dumb words poeple spoke around the taverns more and more now that the Prince was in their presence. And now with this knowledge, the words might be speaking of him. Unless they weren’t, but any they spoke of would be of his lineage. His stomach began to churn at the thought of a great war, where it carried on for years and years, to the point where some great prophecy would be about his child, or grandchild.

“You’re right.” He breathed out, “I do have a greater purpose.” He stepped away from Amara. “You are my mother… in that sense, but I need to be here, on the front lines. If what you speak is true, if it is my blood that must be the one to destroy them.” There was no confidence whatsoever in his tone. He wondered if the Queen heard how nervous and scared he must’ve sounded. But he had to let her go without him. To retreat to the capital and let the North suffer without him… “My duty is here.” He now reached for her hand.

*

Conrad smiled a bit at the pair’s ease with one another. Sometimes he wished he and his brothers could be more relaxed in such a sense. But Lyram was too high strung, and Hector too secretive. When they were younger it was different, and Ethon added into the mix made things more fun, but any hope of fun now was gone. Lyram did not even seem to be excited he would finally get to lay with a woman.

“Grey?” Conrad laughed at Mathys response. In the mix having to clear his throat once again, “Grey can be arranged quite easily.” He smiled.

His eyes now turned to Aiyda, “I’ll come by after breakfast,” he told her, “The seamstress will be excited to make another dress for once, my mother has far too many.” His eyes glanced over her a moment, feeling to odd to look any longer with Mathys watching, although it did not stop him. “I know a few styles that might compliment you well.” A hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “And I will be holding you to those dances,” His eyes now looked to the boy, “I’ll make sure you have access to the best ale all night,” He promised him, his eyes already back on Aiyda.

A voice interrupted from the hall now, “Better get to breakfast, me’ Lord!” It was Arah. “Even in sickness, I doubt you should be late for the King and Queen’s departure.” She called still walking down the hall. Arah clearly on her way to the small event to serve.

*

Victor sat early for breakfast beside his wife. She was rubbing his arm as he rubbed his forehead breathing more heavily than usual. “Relax, Victor,” Caterina spoke softly. “The boys will be here before the King and Queen, and then they will come with their son. We will see them off, with Hector, and await the troops. Thankfully the troops will come after the wedding.” She muttered the last part.

Victor nodded, “I see the King and Queen off only to welcome an entire wedding party from the East in the same day.” he huffed.

“Celebration is… good, in a time like this.” She decided.

“It’s distracting in a time like this.” Victor corrected, his hand now moving to hold hers.

“Distraction is something they need. Conrad is already thinking of preparations. Hector will keep us informed. You will lead us, with Lyram by your side. And please, let Lyram have his moments of distraction in the next few weeks, or least least days.” Her thumb moved over Victor’s hand. “He’s going to hurt himself if he continues like he does.”
 
‘She was my mother.’

Amara did not have the heart to deny him of that fantasy. She looked at him, her hand resting on his sleeve, trying to gather the right words to mend the wounds that she, herself, had inflicted upon him. If only she had been prudent enough in protecting her child from the very beginning. If only she had been more careful when searching for him... The doubts of the matter ached, ached terribly.

Yet he broke away, and her words seemed to mean nothing other than to calm his nerves. The Queen sighed, pursing her lips tight, but hesitated to give him any nod of reassurance. “You are young,” she said, “there is still time to gather your wits about you. When the waters calm down, think twice about it. And make the right decision.”

Perhaps those stories were true, but she knew that the relationship between the North and South had already been compromised by Victor’s secret. She was pained, and it would not be long until Corban realised, as well, who his boy truly was. He was an intelligent man, at times, and would know for certain before she had the heart to tell him.

Something else floated in her mind, and she broke for a moment before speaking. His hand came to touch hers, and although she did not pull away, her eyes flickered with cold. “Lord Sterling betrayed me, Ethon,” she murmured. “That, I will never forget. It depends on you whether I will forgive,” she spoke, hurt, and bent to give him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing through the tall doors of her guest quarters.

*

Aiyda’s smile only seemed to grow bigger as she listened to the young lord speak. He sounded - and looked - much better than the night before, which could only mean that fate had been on their side in regards to the feast approaching. A contrasting image to the man who had lead the expedition to Northcross only a day prior, no longer the cunning leader, but now, closer resembling a bickering brother.

The hint of a smirk at the mention of a certain dress earned a barely contained grimace from Aiyda. She canted her head, almost tempted to shoot something back at his lack of cheek, but thought twice about taking his impetus from him. “I am looking forward to it then,” she said instead, her mind now switching to thoughts of the dance. Perhaps she would have the chance to enjoy herself for once. She would have him, and Mathys, and Ethon... And a pretty dress to twirl in through the night.

Arah’s call broke the tight bubble of joy that had formed in their room, and Aiyda was quick to take a step back as a short-term goodbye to Conrad. Mathys nodded to the lord, his hand still on his sister’s back for support. “I wish you luck with... the guests,” she thought to add, and Mathys chimed in with a narrowed gaze.

“And the royal leave,” he added, visibly tense at the mere mention of it. His eyes shifted from his sister to Conrad, deepened in thought. In that moment, Aiyda could swear that their minds had merged, for she knew the worry and wonder that the boy seemed to carry for Ethon and his strange appointment with the Queen.

“I- Thank you, Conrad,” Aiyda murmured eventually, lowering her chin slightly. It still felt rather unusual to call him by his name, around others. “You are very generous... And your family for that matter. For everything.”

*

Blue brought up his eyes, Lehna had said once, yet Lyram stood in front of his mirror and wondered if that deplorable gaze was worth looking at. He had not slept at all that night, partly thinking about his brother, partly worried about his betrothed’s arrival. He had not spoken her name yet, and doubted he would until they were forced to say their vows.

Did she talk about him with her servants? Did she dream about her life with him when she went to sleep?

He found the dining room quickly through the bustling crowd of maids running about the castle. The weather outside was cold, unforgiving, yet before this, he had barely felt the wrath of winter. Now, the polar breeze blew everywhere, chilling his bones even beneath the thick duvet. The doors were cracked open, and he slipped inside with a calculated look, searching for his parents at the long table.

“Father, mother,” he greeted with a faint smile on his lips. It almost hurt to bring it out. He should have looked like a lord that day, not a scaredy rabbit. He could already tell that his mother was doubting his sanity. “I took longer, today, forgive me. I was going through letters... The ones I wanted to send, to th-“.

He stopped, realised it was nothing of importance to the pair then. Their guests were arriving, and his sole occupation had been warning Northern lords of the impending attack of mythical phantoms. “I... shall... see to the meals offered at the feast tomorrow,” he tried to mend it then. “Will you join me, mother? You’ve always been more pretentious with food,” meaning she was not content with only mead and ale for supper, unlike his youngest brother.
 
Ethon couldn’t help but find the Queen’s words condescending. He trusted Victor, even if she did not. To Ethon’s knowledge now, had someone else found him, he could be dead, or used against the crown in some way. Part of him wished to go back to his home so deeply, but he quickly realized returning with Amara would not be ‘home’. He’d be kept away in the castle, never given any true privilege. He’d be unable to visit his true home, and Marietta would always be absent.

His jaw clenched at the thought of her again, she had no other family. She was a whore at a brothel, and there would have been no burriel. His eyes closed when the Queen moved to kiss his cheek. She left the quarters and he frowned again, leaning his head against the wall he took in a deep breath. Every hard moment he had in this northern castle, he propelled himself forward with the thought of one day returning to Marietta. To give her the home she deserved, the one she wanted outside the capital by some water. Or even bring her up North after visiting, and have a life she could be a part of.

He sat a bit longer, contemplating himself, maybe avoiding the stable work that had to be done. Either way, the weather was growing colder, and still he dreaded the walk from the back entrance to the stables in the winter. Rubbing his face he stood up heading back to his chambers to dress for the chores.

*

Conrad shrugged, “The royal leave will be easy. Been dying to get rid of Hector for years.” He spoke, attempting a tease, but a hint of sadness did creep into his tone. He pushed forth a smile, “No need for thanks, you two are the ones who have warned us about the Hunt. Given the North a saving chance.” He informed them. He glanced back at the door again, knowing he should get on his way to the breakfast. “I will see you later.” He spoke to Aiyda before turning.

*

When Lyram entered the room, Caterina hushed her conversation with Victor and smiled to her son. Nodding her head in greeting as well. She knew her son as he switched topics was trying to please the pair of them, and she offered a smile. “You and Bodrin will meet after for the letters?” She suggested. “Then we shall look at the meals before your betrothed arrives. Keep you busy and your mind from thinking too hard.” She spoke easily which earned a chuckle from Victor.

When Hector entered the room, Caterina motioned to the seat beside her, “Please Hector.” She spoke to him. Hector’s features troubled that morning, but nodded sitting beside his mother, who leaned in to kiss his cheek as he sat. “You’ve all grown up too fast.” She muttered as her hand rested over his on the table. “You’ll write won’t you? And if they’ll allow, for festivals and holidays?” She asked him. Hector nodded, unable to make eye contact with any of his family members.

At Conrad’s entrance, their mother seemed to be wiping a tear from just beneath her eye, and she beamed at her youngest son. “You look much better,” She spoke to him.

Conrad nodded, his chest was still tight, and his throat still ached, but compared to yesterday he felt much better. “Yes, and I thank my entire family for visiting and praying for my recovery.” He said.

“Should have known it would be quick, missing a night of ale and beautiful women, that would have risen you from the dead.” Hector commented. Hector now glanced between his brothers, “You’ll have to make sure his worry doesn’t eat him alive now,” Hector said to Conrad while glancing to Lyram.
 
Lyram was thankful for his mother’s understanding. She was kind – perhaps too kind, too aware of his state of mind. He gave her a smile, this time more genuine than the last, and gathered himself for a moment before beginning to analyse the food that was laid out on the table for them. Fried and poached eggs drizzled with pepper and hard cheese, toast with a few variations of spreads – jam, honey and salter butter – and a decent array of sausages.

When his brothers arrived eventually, one by one, Lyram felt a sense of safety. It was one of the few moments in the past days that they had been together, without the bothersome atmosphere that the royal visit breathed into the room. He knew it would not be the same soon, for Hector would no longer be there to scrutinize them with his gaze through every conversation.

He would miss him. Caterina did, she was tearing up, and her pale, slender fingers were shaking.

Conrad, on the other hand, looked much better than the day before. His eyes were still sunken in from dehydration, but there was a healthier glow to him. For a moment, he felt guilty for not checking on the girl and Ethon as well, but the thought vanished quickly as the door opened once again.

“Your Graces,” Lyram was the first to speak, both thankful for the distraction and longing for a few more moments alone with his family. The Queen, standing behind her husband, was dressed perhaps too extravagantly for travel, but she was the one who stood out the most, through the polar cold poise than could be mistaken for noble arrogance. By her side walked in a long stride her son, Roddrick, who for the first time did not seem to resemble either one of his parents. He carried a look of impatience, visibly eager to leave, and his eyes sought through the room, flickering from one corner of the table to another.

Far behind, leaning against one of their personal guards from the Capital, the Queen’s mother walked slowly, carefully, as though afraid of slipping on ice. Lyram could not see her eyes from beneath the bushy brows, but he could not be far by thinking she was uneasy.

“My Lords, my Lady,” the Queen offered a theatrical smile and nodded towards them. She was ever so slightly distracted by the food laid out on the table. “This is, sadly, our last meal together before we have to leave. We are honoured to see you have made such… effort of pampering us.”

“We would want you to leave White Hall with a lasting impression, your Grace,” Lyram said. “My family made sure you’d have only the best-“

“There’s no sauce for the sausages?” Roddrick interrupted. “How are we expected to swallow a dry sausage?” He puffed derisively, and Lyram was forced to chuckle along.

“You have numerous other options,” Amara intervened, her voice harsher this time around. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gently guided him towards the table, picking a chair a few seats away from Victor. “Besides, I am sure you wish to save your best for the wedding feast. When was it, Hector? Tomorrow? It is a shame you will not get to taste the sauces.”
 
When the royals arrived in the room, the air changed drastically. What was for a moment lighthearted as it had been when the boys were younger, now grew tense and cold. Caterina still held Hector’s hand as even he seemed uneasy with the current guests.

Hector’s eyes only lifted when the Prince spoke, his interruption did not seem to be taken well with Victor, who looked at the boy in disgust, only then to look to Amara. But what had truly spooked Hector was the tone Amara took with Roddrick, she never seemed to speak to anyone in such a way, and certainly not her adored son.

The Queen’s address towards him cut like a knife in the gut, and he opened his mouth, still twiched in a frown to speak, but his mother cut him off. “I’m sure the sauces in the capital are far superior to those here.” She commented. Caterina was glance between Amara and Victor as well, like the others, wondering what had caused such sudden tension.

Corban sat beside his wife, filling his plate at his own pace, not paying much attention to the others. He was no idiot, although he acted well to appear oblivious to the tension in the room. “I shall see your southern stable hand before I leave.” He spoke aloud.

Heads turned towards Corban now, Victor wondering if the man would spill the information not even confirmed to him before everyone there at the table.

“Your horses are exceedingly well trained and fed, I would like to gather some tips, for our stable head.” Corban spoke easily.

“Do you even come into contact with your stable head Illguard?” Hector asked blatantly.

Corban’s eyes darted to the middle Sterling son, the one that would be accompanying them on their journey and within the capital, who would likely be made hand to his son. “I travel with horses, I ride them sport, as do my guard. Of course I speak with the man who heads my stables.” Corban informed him.

“Now,” Corban cleared his throat as he adjusted himself at the table, he leaned in some taking another bite of his food, “Tell me about your bride Lyram,” he said looking to the oldest boy, a hint of a grin on the corner of his lips. “Eastern kingdoms have beautiful women. I heard about her beauty when we were proposed for Roddrick. Although his betrothed is lovely, exotic really, grew up in the sands of the West,” he poked his fork prongs into another bite of his eggs.

“Don’t know why you haven’t pressed your wedding sooner, son.” Corban spoke, he had always assumed it was because it simply wasn’t his time yet. Still too much to learn, and that his Western bride had little interest in the expectations of a Queen, never even making a trip to win the hearts of the souls within the Kingdom. Amara had been decent at winning the hearts of their people, that was until Roddrick came along.

“I could not wait for our wedding.” Corban turned to Amara now.

“As I recall you two had a bit of time to court.” Victor chimed in.

Corban nodded, “Yes,” he spoke, his eyes looking over his wife a moment before returning downcast to his food. “Yes, by the time the wedding finally did come I felt more than ready.”
 
Lyram did not wish to talk about his betrothed. He did not want to speak to the King, in fact, which surprised him in itself. In past circumstances, he would have been boiling to exchange even a few words with Corban Kilgour, yet now, as the eyes of the South were on him, ever scalding, he wanted nothing to do with the royals.

“I heard she is both smart and beautiful,” he said plainly, like reciting a poem. “Her name is Elyana,” a name he had not heard before, but found himself oddly drawn to saying it, like a forbidden enchantment. “I know that my family would not have chosen any less for our future. And with this danger looming above us… We need this alliance.”

Spoken like a true lord. Lyram swallowed and felt his tongue curl at the base. As soon as he married, his place on the high seat of White Hall would, essentially, belong to him and his wife. With Hector no longer by their side, it would be himself and – hopefully – Conrad making sure that the North had all it needed to survive an attack.

With Hector no longer by their side…

The thought hurt more and more by the second. His heart felt cold, empty, and his eyes likely mirrored such, for Roddrick looked at him like he was a beggar, aching and bending over his plate of food, waiting for some sort of approval. “Why does it matter if she is intelligent?” the boy asked. “Of course, besides nightly conversations. She is not to lead this place, is she? Or do you sieve your decisions through your wives’ minds, as well?”

Lyram’s jaw tensed, and he glanced to his father for a moment before returning to him. “You have already taken my brother from me, I indeed could use a third head for decision-making.” He felt a servant pass behind him, and he gestured for his plate to be filled. “Besides, some matters deserve more of a… woman’s sensibility. Here in the North, we prioritize the good of our common people.”

“Yes, yes… We serve them, not the other way around.” Roddrick seemed to know, and he looked towards his mother for approval. Amara offered him a dry smile and turned to her plate, now filled as well with a bit of everything on the table.

“You will make a good lord, Lyram,” Amara said. “You will be happy with your wife one day, I am sure, and you will have children you will love more than you could imagine, now. Believe my words, I know it is hard. You are still young.” She dug into the food then, picking like a bird, and avoiding the burning gazes on her cheek. She only wished to let the silence overflow, let Victor feel her poise, not only see it.

She was calm. She would be calm for a while, for she knew that she could only hope to erase the wrong that the man had planted into her son’s head.

“Oh, how he will be!” the Queen’s mother spoke from her seat. Heads turned slightly, but the woman was eyeing Lyram and his brother. “I am sure of it. If you listen, of course, have you heard of the Heir’s Augury, my dears? If you listen, you will reign for long enough to outlive this evil!”

“Mother,” Amara began, but the Lady stopped her.

“They should know, Amara. Now even the South speaks of it. You’d be a fool to not believe it. You’ve seen it with your own eyes, my children. But may your lordship be blessed, if I’m wrong…”
 
Caterina smiled at her eldest sons words, even at suh words, for Lyram her heart swelled. She could only pray for her son and his betrothed would take a liking to one another. Lyram deserved such, and for a girl of the east to come to such a harsh land to spend the rest of her days, she deserved such as well. It was when the young Prince spoke that Caterina’s hand gripped her second son’s hand beneath the table where she was still holding it. Her son’s head canted to her slightly, but returned back to the Prince easily.

She squeezed Hector’s hand once more, his eyes fluttering back to his mother. The look in which she gave daunted him, and her head shook just slightly as she seemed to glance to the Prince. Hector simply squeezed his mother’s hand back, hoping that would be enough of an answer for her.

Victor however, did not sway at the Prince’s word. The Prince young and ignorant, a woman’s word could be as valuable as a man’s in a given scenario. And although Victor’s patience had been waining lately, to remarks like these he barely batted an eye. His son would learn to do the same when working with the Kings to come.

He instead kept his gaze upon Amara, even as she spoke he could sense the bitterness. He wondered if the others could as well? But he didn’t dare turn his neck to check. It wasn’t until the Queen’s mother spoke up, letting out a wail that certainly confused the others seated.

“Finish your food,” Corban interrupted. “We mustn’t delay our journey any longer, besides, I think the cold is finally getting to some of our heads.” Standing Corban pulled his napkin from his lap, setting it beside his plate on the table. “You will ride with Roddrick and I. We have much to discuss.” The King spoke with a final look at Hector.

“Now,” he began turning to the others. “I want to thank you for your hospitality, you have been gracious hosts given the circumstances.” He moved over, shaking Victor’s hand, then placing a kiss upon Caterina’s. Finally he moved to Lyram, “Such a shame we will be missing the wedding. Of course, you have your next few days of fun, if you are correct about the new Northern occupants, you only have some time before you are flooded with my men, and have to maintain an army.” He told him, now taking Lyram’s hand. “I apologize I could not give a more formal farewell, I must head to the stables.”

His last turn now was to Amara, he rounded back on the table, “I will see you soon, my love.” He muttered, his hand clasping hers, “Dress warm for now.”

*

Ethon shoveled the droppings from the second to last stable into the bucket. He’d been late this morning, instead of hay or grooming, he was stuck shoveling out the horses rooms. His mind wandering to the bath he would be able to take after, wondering what he would wear for the festivities this evening. Busy days, he’d spend tomorrow morning early in preparations. An arrival feast tonight, and the wedding tomorrow.

“Such a smell for a Prince to endure.” A voice came from behind the stable door.

Ethon jolted up, the shovel in hand as he gripped the lower end tighter. The King’s face now appeared to him, it neither held pity, nor pride. “I’m no Prince.” Ethon stated.

The King let out a small chuckle, “You are. Victor had told you and so has my wife.”

“And now are you here to tell me?” Ethon lips turned downward.

“No, it seems you have already made a decision,” Corban gestured to Ethon and his shovel, and then slightly around the room. “It’s strange,” the King continued, taking a step closer to Ethon, seeing his own features in the boys face, and his mother’s eyes, even the shape. “You returning to Illguard will not fix my marriage, it will not change how I feel about Roddrick, it will change nothing except another room will be occupied and Amara will disappear to you instead of gods know where.” He commented.

Ethon stood up straighter, “Did you know?” He asked.

“That Roddrick wasn’t mine?” He asked, “Not always. I never felt for him, but who’s to say I would have felt for you. Sometime after our son was born, Amara would spend nights crying, spend her days with private guards and looking at reports. I thought she was trying to find the man who tried to assassinate you, whom I thought was Roddrick all along.” He told Ethon, his hand touching the stable wall.

“Some years after, Victor Sterling came to visit. He too was asking a lot of questions of my guards. It was then I began to inquire my men. It was then when I found out Roddrick was no more than the child of a common whore.”

Ethon could sense the disgust in Corban’s voice as he spoke, his own fists clenching at commentary. It was not the woman’s fault, could they not get that through their thick skulls. “Then why are you here?” Ethon asked.

Corban’s eyes lifted from the ground to the boy, “You are welcome home. And when you do come home, you won’t be hidden away, for Amara to play with whenever she is lonely.” Corban told Ethon.

“I like my chances here best.” Ethon spoke louder.

“For now,” Corban seemed to be correcting him. “I wish you well, my son.”

*

Conrad frowned a bit, “I told you to get the dresses to Shana earlier. So she could have some to look at, get an idea,” He huffed at Arah, who looked absolutely spent with him.

“Lord Conrad,” She spoke emphasizing the ‘Lord’, “I apologize, but I truly to not remember you asking me to do this task.” Arah’s attitude was quite apparent in her tone, which had earned her a look from the cook cleaning pots still from breakfast.

“Can you.. Just, Arah, please get the dresses.” He said to her. She huffed now and stalked off.

Conrad ran his hands through his hair before moving down the hall now. He knocked gently on Aiyda’s door. “Uh, Aiyda, if you’re ready, I can take you to our seamstress to get set and fitted for a dress.” He said. He wondered if Shana would be smacking him today if he brought a girl who needed a dress in less than 24 hours. Surely she’d have something cooking up that could work?
 
As the plates slowly emptied and the air in the room became heavier, Lyram knew that it was time to channel his sorrow into strength. He saw the look in his mother’s eyes, saw the cold in his father’s poise, and Hector’s barely subdued fear. For a moment, he took in the scene - a calculated scheme, nonetheless, and he would see it to a favourable end. The Kilgours’ early leave was a threat. He was unsure of their reasons, but knew it, deep in his gut.

He took King Corban’s words of farewell with a theatrically polite nod and shook his hand firmly. “The North shall receive your men as it its proper,” he said, already wondering how many they would have to house within the tight boundaries of White Hall. He was tempted to mention that they were welcome to visit again, but thought twice, knowing that the invitation only truly extended to Hector. “I wish you a good journey,” he added eventually, and took a step back from the rushed man.

The Queen remained still for a moment after her husband’s leave. She appeared tense, but oddly composed compared to the other faces in the room. “I will pray for your wellbeing, and for a happy marriage,” she said emptily, and Lyram knew not to believe her promise then. “My mother is exhausted. So am I frankly, it has been difficult enduring the cold. The South... is much more welcoming.”

Lyram knew. He hoped so, for Hector’s sake. The young Sterling swallowed and nodded, before turning to his brother for a last farewell. “I will see you soon,” he spoke quietly. He felt his head too heavy for his nape, and the weight of the moment crushed him. “Write as soon as you get the chance. I will, as well. I will keep you informed about... the matters of the North.” Of the Hunt, primarily, but of his wife as well, for it would be long until he got the chance to see Elyana for himself.

Leaning forward, Lyram pulled his brother into a tight embrace and patted his shoulder with his free hand. “Soon,” he promised, before almost embarrassedly pulling away. “We’ll drink to your stories from the Capital.”

*

“How does it taste?”

“How does it look like it tastes?”

Aiyda’s lips were pursed as she looked down at the thick dark liquid the maester had brought to her that morning. It smelled potently of herbs and cloves, but the taste did not resemble any cough tea she had had before. Mathys, on the other side of the bed, watched her attentively, as though waiting to see if, by any chance, the healer had messed up his recipe.

“I don’t even think I need this anymore,” Aiyda sighed as she set it aside. “I can speak... My throat doesn’t hurt that bad anymore. Besides, I will be drinking wine and ale tonight.”

Mathys shook his head and let out a chuckle. “You’ve always been like this, sister,” he said. “You swam in a frozen river and fought a bear. I think you should take that defeat and finish your medicine.”

Aiyda blinked slowly and, with a long whiff, took the last few gulps of the strange concoction. Mathys seemed pleased with it, for he leaned back against the wall by the bed, and she mirrored his movement once the cup was empty. “Awful,” she murmured through a cough, wiping her mouth. “I would have rather endured a sore throat, really... Or fixed it with a bit wine.”

Only a moment passed before the silence was disturbed by Conrad’s voice from the other side of the door. Aiyda recognized the raspiness, and jolted from her seat to open it with a few long hops. The movement was too sudden, and leaning against the wall, she let out a sigh of exhaustion before cracking it to look at him. Mathys only peeked from behind, not bothering to get up from the bed until the mention of the seamstress came along, and he dragged himself up on his feet.

”I do not envy the lady,” she said jokingly, and stretched her arm out to take his. “She will have to make my dress the second prettiest to the bride... And Mathys’s, as well.”
 
Hector let his arms wrap around his brother as he hugged him. When he pulled back, one of his hands touched his brothers shoulder “Lyram,” he spoke quietly now. His eyes lifted to his brothers, and then he nodded, “Thank you.”

Caterina hugged her son for far too long, so long the rest of the royal party had already left breakfast. “Mother,” Hector began, “I must go.”

Caterina wiped her cheeks quickly, and then her eyes turned onto her eldest son. “Come now, we must decide last minute details, then you need a wash, and a haircut.” She spoke now touching at Lyram’s hair.

She pulled her son from the room and walked with him down the hall now, she was rattling off the different things they still needed to prepare for the wedding, although the tightness of her tone was obvious. “I wish he could have stayed.” She muttered sadly now, “All I wanted was to see the three of you rule the North together.”

*

Conrad lips turned upward as Aiyda joked, he led her down the hall, with Mathys in pursuit. The walk to the where the seamstress was kep was a long one. The other end of the castle, up a pair of stairs, then down, and then down again to a dusted cellar area. The decorations about the castle were all set up for the occasion, much more flowers than usual due to the new Lady’s homeland.

When Conrad knocked in a small older woman opened the door. She was withered, more on the stout side, but her fingers were small and nimble. “Arah told me of your request,” The older woman spoke, then she hit him quite hard upon the arm, “You are a fool. I cannot make a dress and a boy’s clothes in one day!” She informed him and hit him again. “And those dresses you showed me-” She began, but her eyes moved to the girl and she rolled her eyes.

Now the woman moved away, she made her way across the long room that was filled side to side with fabrics and half made dresses and clothes. In the back was a long wall like structure that held numerous gowns and coats. “Girl, come here.” She spoke. “Pick out a dress you like, I can alter for tonight, that is it.” She said showing Aiyda a selection. “The Queen and other noble ladies have been through many of my dress, I try to fix up the older ones every now and then.” She explained.

Now her eyes were on Mathys, “You boy, come here.” She spoke. Then she pulled out a ball of yarn, she began wrapping various parts of Mathys and cutting the string accordingly to his waist, arm, legs and inseam. “So skinny, I’ll have to use one of Ethon’s old suits.” She muttered.

“Perhaps one of these?” Conrad’s voice now filled the room, as if showing some dresses to Aiyda, he held one up, the neckline was plunged lower than the average dress and Shana scoffed at him.

“Please, she is more modest than that!” Shana pointed her finger, waving it. “Just because she is the first girl you’ve brought here, I know she is not the first girl.” Then she let go of Mathys, “Now, both of you out. I’ll fit her. In private Lord Conrad, without your eyes.” She made a point to comment.

Conrad’s gaze shifted to Aiyda for a moment, expressing an apologetic smile before nodding towards the door with Mathys. Once outside the door and it was hust, he could hear Shana say “Come stand here girl, bring a dress.”

Conrad was unsure what to say to Mathys, but he nodded a bit, “So, you excited for another feast?” He asked.

*

Elyana leaned her head further onto the window, still staring down the vast lands of trees and white. From across from her her brother was reading a book and his eyes glanced up every so often to his sister. “We should be passing the King’s party soon enough, that’ll mean we are almost there.” Trentan told her.

“What do you think of it?” She asked her brother, ignoring his comment.

“Of what?”

“The snow. The trees,” She gestured at the window of their carriage, she was deeply bundled in a thick dress now, and with a coat, something she was not accustomed to wearing.

“The snow is white and the trees are dead.” Trentan spoke simply.

Elyana kept her eyes outside, swearing the shadow in the distance she saw had to be White Hall. “People write about the North like it is an old woman, with stories, and tales of beauty and strife.”

“Maybe because it was once the most powerful Kingdom in all of Armath, and now it is well… dead, and cold and grey.” He smirked some though, knowing his sister was trying to find some hope and beauty in this land. “It’s winter. I hear it is blossoming in the summer.” He told her.

“Not the way our home does. I’m sure it is elegant here.” She added.

Trentan smiled, “You will find the beauty in this wretched placed sister, you always do.”
 
By the time they reached the seamstress’s room, Aiyda’s and Mathys’s cheeks were glowing fiery red from the effort of running up and down numerous flights of stairs. Despite feeling better than only a night before, weakness still resided in her bones, and had it not been for Mathys’s careful hand keeping her propped up every now and then when she seemed to lean, she doubted she would have gotten there in one piece.

Conrad opened the door for the two of them to step inside, and this once, it was Mathys who was more daring and took the invitation without any hint of reluctance. The room was larger than her own, packed with fabric and partly finished gowns set on whatever chair or table fit their volume. In the middle stood a woman, small and frail, as though the worry of the wedding preparations had eaten away at her youth some.

She was quick to follow her instructions, hasty as to avoid the hands flying everywhere, particularly towards Conrad’s direction. Aiyda looked his way over her shoulder, sketched a glimmering smirk at the scene, then turned to look at the half-made dresses that the seamstress seemed willing to give away to her, whilst Mathys was being chained by measuring yarn from top to bottom.

Most cuts were high, so as to fit the Northern cozier fashion, but intricately embellished near every overlapped rim. The colours were grim, dark and gloomy, with a few exceptions that showed a touch of festivity. She had her hand on one of the gowns, as Conrad’s voice resonated from the other side, holding up a dress with a frankly far too deep cut to keep anyone warm during the harsh White Hall winters.

“I doubt I could jump around in that too much,” Aiyda chuckled, all whilst Mathys stared at the piece, almost afraid to laugh at the young Lord’s choice for his sister. He was polite - perhaps too polite at times - which made Aiyda wonder if her genuineness with the Lord was out of place. “But thank you, Lord Conrad,” she thought to slip the title in there, in the hopes that the seamstress would not think any less of her then.

As the boys were kicked out of the room, Aiyda turned to the woman with a dress in her hand, one of a pale green, slightly rougher at the edges, with a deeper V which met at the middle with a tight string of fabric. “Would you be able to work with this?” the girl asked with a kind smile. “Make it pretty and... more alive?” She did not know whom the dress had been for initially, but she could not imagine herself in something as simple as her old dresses in the past.


Mathys gulped heavily as he left the room and stepped outside with Conrad. Everything had been so rushed, that it took him aback slightly, leaving him red-cheeked and with his mouth slightly agape. “Y-Yes... Yes,” he answered Conrad’s question quickly. “Is she always like that? I thought she would slap us at any given moment. One second there and I would’ve...”

He shook his head and tried to puff his chest a little. He looked nothing like the Sterling boys, not even like Ethon, and he was nearing their age with striding steps. “She’s right,” he thought with a deep disappointment written on his face. “I probably look like a fourteen year old beggar. I do eat like a hunter, though, my father taught me. He taught Aiyda too, you should see her when she’s truly feasting.”

Mathys smiled, thinking of the times she truly knew how to enjoy herself in such a context. He was seldom allowed to drink, and he stood with his father’s men, watching her dance and hop from boy to boy who wanted to test the agility of her steps. “Perhaps I’ll see that again soon. Mother would love to see her in a true Lady’s gown.”
 
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