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Fantasy Heir’s Augury [Closed]

Lyram was thankful for the noise and clamor, that came so naturally to the Northerners once the ceremony came to an end. After recieving the customary congratulations, his attention was turned to Elyana once more, who appeared to be beaming with her new title as Lady of the North, a smile on her lips and a pink warmth on her cheeks.

So close to her at their table, he allowed himself to lean in towards her, one hand touching hers as a theatrical show of affection. "I know where your mind is, Elyana," the man said, quietly enough so that only she could hear - although he doubted that anyone's ear was sharp enough to bear over the music. "When my parents were wed, my father order that the... bedding ceremony not take place that evening. For my mother's sake. If it is uncomfortable to you, I can do the same."

A part of him was on her side in the given situation. The bedding ceremony was not particularly elegant, at least not until the pair were allowed into their chamber. Then, it was up to their own judgement which way the night went. Yet, a part of him knew that their guests would condemn them from passing such an event, as they had years prior, when his father had decided the same.

He turned to the crowd briefly, analysing each face from the very end of the hall, to the closest Lords and Ladies enjoying their mead and endless choice of food laid out by their servants. "I cannot assume we are friends yet," he said to her, his gaze somewhere distant. "Barely acquaintances, who have to act like they are tied by an undeniable love." He turned back to her then, "But since this night is meant to be a show of noble theatre, I would like you to pretend that you trust me. And that you trust I would put your dignity first."

Before he could receive an answer, Conrad popped from the crowd with a large grin on his face, one he recognized to be his sober mask, yet in that moment he could not be so sure. Regardless, it did earn a smile from his brother, and Lyram stood up to embrace him warm-heartedly. "Is that not the point, brother? To celebrate until morning? It has been long since White Hall last brimmed with this much joy."

It had been too long. He needed it himself, although as tense as he felt then, he doubted he would manage without a good sip or two of ale.

*

With every woman that twirled between the tables and every man who passed by with pints of beer in his hands, Aiyda caught a peek of Ethon's golden hair, as he stood on the other side of the hall, downing his own drink mercilessly along with his friends.

Her side, however, lacked the harshness and alcohol of the older generations. Mathys was reluctant about pouring himself beer - Aiyda saw it as he only filled half of his cup, peeking at her with caution as though waiting for a scolding or a pat of warning over his nape. They were talking - her brother and his friends - of many things that would have once interested her: bows, blades and hunting weapons, the grand celebrations at the Northcross inn, their travels down South to be taught how to read and write when they were little.

Her heart beat with the music. No, faster. And each time she remembered the scene from a few hours before, she could not help but feel the tightness in her throat return with earnestness.

She had taken the time to get herself presentable before arriving - she had Lehna's dried flowers in her hair, pinned down carefully between the braids, and she had tied a golden string around her middle, to keep the waistline tight around her middle. Whenever she moved, she would catch a whiff of perfume - winter rose and pine, that unfortunately resembled Ethon's scent.

Conrad was both the first and last person she wanted to see then.

Without being asked twice, Mathys took the cup from Conrad's hand and clinked it with him with a big smile on his face. Then, he turned to Aiyda, as if waiting for approval. She offered him a nod, and Conrad, a smile, as she received her own cup and stared down into the dark abyss of alcohol and spices, looking for the answer to her troubles.

When she didn't find it, she down it halfway to the bottom. Mathys followed eagerly, although his sips were far more rare, cautious, succeeded by a grimace on his part. "I do think you should dance tonight," Aiyda said to her brother. "And not with me, this time around. There are plenty of pretty girls here."

She wondered if Conrad could read her expression then, wondered if her eyes and cheeks were still red, or if he was too drunk and high on joy to care. She moved her gaze to him and took in a breath to soothe the ache in her throat. "I think the two of us might use another. Not my brother, though, he's had plenty. But I do need another." And how she despised it, yet she knew it was the only way to clear her mind.
 
Lyram’s words had meant a lot to Elyana, but she had no time to respond to any of his comments, to assure him of anything or to request anything. His younger brother approached and Elyana smiled some, unsure if he was always this happy. Conrad had been beaming the other evening at dinner. But now he was teasing and celebrating. She had to assume it was the feast, a man of his stature couldn’t be this drunk this soon.

Once Conrad had left, many others moved to the table, many introducing themselves even if they knew Lyram, and many congratulating them as well. As the feast continued, Elyana barely sipped her ale, only a touch to her lips each time someone offered her a cheer. As the food was brought forth, Elyana glanced to Lyram. Her now husband, and her Lord before his people.

“All I would prefer,” She spoke quietly to him, she cut the meat before her carefully, still not quite taking a bite yet. “That no one be present for the ceremony,” She whispered. “I do not wish to be carried away, into the bed chambers and for others to wait.” She was nervous. It was clear to Lyram, she knew that, but putting it off would only cause her more anxiety she feared. “It’s barbaric.” She then lifted her eyes to meet his, “Such an act should be between a man and his wife only, should it not?” She asked him carefully.

“Thank you.” She added to him. She was not expecting such courtesy as she had arrived North. Lyram seemed to be catering to her. A quality she had never truthfully ever found in a man anywhere in the East.

She now wanted to discuss something else. Tonight would be for them, for him really, but she heard after a while women enjoyed themselves, sometimes at least. Perhaps the sooner she got this out of the way, the sooner she could find a way to enjoy herself, or to at least not dread the act. “Who is that girl?” She asked nodding over to where Conrad was sitting with Aiyda and Mathys. “I would assume your brother is just flirting, he seems the type, but your Southern guest appears interested as well.” She commented, her gaze now nodding to Ethon who kept stealing glances towards the pair.

*

Conrad beamed when Aiyda agreed that Mathys should dance tonight. He did bite his lip slightly when she spoke that the pair of them should drink more, but not Mathys. “I think your brother,” Conrad replied, now filling Mathys cup yet again, “Can handle himself this evening.” Conrad nodded.

“If a few of us head into the village Mathys, well you should join us.” Conrad began, “And don’t ask,” He said stopping the boy from looking to Aiyda, “If you wish to come, you shall. The girls there are more fun.” He smirked. Then he stood up a moment. “Now, come, let’s get you chatting through the meal, will make the dancing easier.”

Conrad led Mathys across the room to where a girl dressed in an elegant maroon dress sat. She was with some other young Lords and Lady’s and Conrad sat him down right beside her, “Mathys Saeberian, survivor of the attack on Northcross, son of the greatest leader of hunters we may ever know. May Jasper rest in peace. And please, show my friend a good time.” Conrad said patting Mathys shoulder.

When Conrad left the table he could hear just barely over his shoulder the girl ask Mathys, “Is it true you survived the attack on Northcross?”

Plopping himself right back beside Aiyda he filled her cup and his own again. “So, will we be discussing the issue tonight, or trying to forget?” He asked, his own hand coming to itch beside his eye as he asked. He’d been around enough girls to know when one had been crying. He didn’t know if he should ask or not, and he prayed she would make the choice of a distraction. But for a girl as intelligent as Aiyda, he would have to ask.

“I can crack off whoever it is bothering you.” Conrad then suggested, knowing well it was likely Ethon. “Unless it is Mathys, I think every member of this house likes him. Even Hector liked him, which is always rare.” Conrad pushed another smile forward.
 
Elyana carried herself well before the Northerners, yet her elegance was evidently striking. Lyram watched her carefully, only then asking himself why he had been so slow warming up to her. They were the same, poised and calculated, soft-spoken in comparison to his youngest brothers, and perhaps even Ethon. He wanted to believe that at least that element of her behavior would tie her to him, one way or another. That she would respect him, at the very least for the sole reason that he respected her.

"It was never meant to be more than a private moment," he explained softly, leaning back in his chair. He was not hungry, but he supposed he would have to take a bite or two for the sake of his family and guests. "But I do admire you for wishing to respect our tradition," he thought to add then, looking towards her, despite not being entirely content with it himself.

He did want her. That part of him that was still a boy, longed to see what hid beneath the stunning ivory gown, to hear her heart beat and listen to her whisper. She was a mystery he was willing to explore, and if she agreed to it, that night would be more than a proper occasion for such.

When her attention shifted to the guests' tables, Lyram let out a breath and bent in her direction slightly, his own gaze on Aiyda and his brother. He would have liked to introduce her to the Northern issues after the wedding, but she seemed curious, and he was in need of a distraction. "One month ago," he began, "there was an attack during the ceremonial Hunt... Each and every hunter dead, from head to dog. No bodies found, just blood and strange symbols in the snow. She -" he lifted his chin towards Aiyda, "is the daughter of their leader. Late. She's the only one who made it out alive... And her little brother after her."

He then relaxed slightly, let his fingers tap on the edge of his wine glass and continued. "The Village of Northcross was reduced to nothing, as well. No bodies, no dead horses, no footprints in the snow. They say it was the Wild Hunt, and I believe it, as strange as it sounds," he smiled sadly as he looked at her. "I know what you are thinking. You were not supposed to hear much of this until after our wedding. We still haven't sent any warning letters yet. But that is not something that should concern you now, Elyana. You should be happy today," he smiled, and lifted his glass to her before giving it a taste.

*
Mathys and Conrad looked like brothers in that moment, and Aiyda could not help but smile at the scene, watching them chat like old friends. She wanted Mathys happy - even if it meant allowing him to drink more than their father would have liked - and she wanted him to feel like home there. It was their home now. With nowhere else to go, she was beginning to believe it, as well.

When Conrad returned after sending him off to a gaggle of girls, Aiyda leaned back and took a solid gulp out of her ale. She did not look at him, very well aware that she was likely not looking her best, but she managed to force a slight smirk on the edge of her lips at his statement.

"No, it isn't Mathys," she sighed, "but I'm glad you like him so much. He likes you too, all of you. He was particularly fond of Hector, but I suppose he's always wanted a brother who would encourage his mischievous side." She watched the ladies and lords stride about the room, some already warming up with a dance as the medley became louder and louder.

"I want to forget tonight," she eventually answered his question, then bent in on her elbow and lifted her cup to him. "Who knows when we will get the chance to enjoy another feast? Unless your father marries you off as well, and then I doubt you'd be willing to spend it with me, hm?" She offered him a genuine smile, and her eyes lit up slightly, as she encouraged a clink. "Let's drink to this. To Mathys finding a pretty girl and you ever the white knight in shining armour coming to my rescue."

With that said, she let the ale flow down, wiping her lips afterwards and struggling not to make too much of a grimace. She felt her muscles begin to burn, her cheeks redden even more and the lump in her throat disappear. Alcohol was not truly a medical ointment, but it worked then, and she wanted to know nothing more. "Shall we dance, as well?" she offered, lifting her chin slightly towards the groups jumping and prancing about the hall. "You did promise me."
 
Elyana was glad for the shift she had made in conversation. Despite its more serious nature than she intended, it took her mind away from the evening to come. She was rather at war with herself over the evening. The thought of it being an occasion to just get it over with seemed jaded to her. But part of her wanted to know what it was like too. And she couldn’t deny how handsome Lord Lyram was.

She listened carefully, and nodded finally, “The Wild Hunt.” She repeated slowly. She’d certainly heard stories of the Wild Hunt, although she would not be disclosing to Lyram which context these stories were told. At night in the winter when frost tempted to bite her precious flowers in the east. Nothing more than a bedside tale. She was a bit surprised to see Lyram so sure of this fact, but she shook her head slightly, “How can you possibly know what I am thinking?” She offered a smile with her quip.

She lifted her own glass, “I am happy.” She disclosed to him as the night had been ticking away. Their moment to head to the bedroom before the night even really begun would come soon enough. “It is unfortunate, the state of the North. The boy and girls family, and the Village of Northcross. Very sad in fact, but tonight, thinking of only this evening, perhaps last night as well… I am happy.” She smiled softly.

*

He smiled a bit, lifting his cup again as she spoke she wanted to forget. But his smile quickly fell as she mentioned the idea of him being married off. “I will drink to Mathys and a pretty girl. To you, defeating a bear,” He smiled, “And to the idea that no marriage will ever stop me from spending my time where I wish to spend it.” He concluded as he sipped his own drink.

“I have no intention of marrying unless my father insists. Even then, such a thought is mad.” He sipped his drink more. He would lead any sort of army against this Wild Hunt, and if a war was looming, he would not be spending any treaty marriage fussing over formalities.

When she asked to dance though, his smile lifted a bit more. “Of course,” he replied simply, rising to his feat and holding his hand for her. Conrad pulled her to the center where people were dancing, and he held her close as he waited for the proper count into the dance. Although once the dance began, he didn’t get to hold as closely anymore, too much movement on the floor. But a stray touch of her hand and waist was enough to keep him coming back for more. He even chanced adding a small lift the next time he got her close.

Conrad did catch from the corner of his eye Mathys now dancing with the dark haired girl he had sat im beside. As pretty as she was, she was young and beautiful and a Lord’s daughter. The best he would share with her tonight was a dance, and perhaps a stolen kiss if he got her alone. “You should join us in the village,” Conrad spoke to Aiyda as his hand brisked her waist, moving back up to her hand, to assist her in a spin. “Let your brother have his fun, perhaps you and I can have some fun of our own,” He smirked.
 
She was happy.

Lyram pressed his lips into a warm smile, and he felt his own chest loosen a bit, the tension in his bones releasing at the thought that, perhaps, he was not quite as bad at keeping a woman happy. At keeping her happy, for that was what truly mattered then. He lifted his cup to her, nodded, and took a sip before releasing it back on the table by his plate of finished venison.

“Then we shall enjoy this night. To whatever extent we can,” he thought to add, for he knew how terrified she likely was of what was coming. The night would be long, and they would grow much closer to one another, in circumstances he would have once thought unbearable, but which then no longer seemed quite as tough to endure. “Matters of the North... We can leave to tomorrow, or another day. I do wish to see you smiling tonight, and truly.”

His gaze moved briefly to Conrad and Aiyda dancing together, then flickered to Ethon watching them with a dreadful sorrow. He felt too selfish in that moment, too imbued with pride to know what he likely felt then. “It would be a pity not to share a dance,” he said then, still distracted by the view of the ever bustling room. “Would you care to join me?” he turned to her, and lifted his hand palm up for her to take. “We can pretend we are not as tired as we really are, hm?”

*

Conrad’s touch was electrifying as they danced. Aiyda struggled to keep her steps at a steady pace, having forgotten the moves after so much time not having danced, like back home. Had it been a month, she thought? Perchance much more. And she felt the rush of it like it was the first time, twirling and jumping around to the rhythm of the melody with a young Lord whose hands followed the contour of her fingers, her waist, her back.

He was good.

His question came right as she found the need to catch a breath, and she let out a sigh, coming closer to him as the melody conveniently became slightly slower. “I don’t think Mathys would like having me around to watch him,” she smiled at him, teasing with a smirk as she spun and reclaimed her place close to his chest. “I would love to dance,” she sighed again, “to spend all this night like one of those back home. With you,” yet she felt strange leaving the safe walls of the castle, with him.

As the song changed, she was forced into sharper, faster moves, and she spun around him like a bee, her dress and hair flowing behind her, spreading a soft scent of wildflowers and pine. “Besides,” she continued breathlessly, “I think our definitions of fun are quite different.” She knew what he wanted, all too well, and he knew she was much harder to earn than that. At the very least, Aiyda appreciated the attempt.

Mathys, on the other side of the room seemed taken with his new friend, a girl as pretty and young as he was, likely the daughter of some Lord or dame around the castle. Then, at Ethon, sending glances their way, then turning for another drink. “Much more simple, isn’t it?” she said, coming closer to him. “Mathys is a boy... He doesn’t have to worry about anything but his own enjoyment. He could steal a kiss or two, and he could leave. But then, she’d remember him for a good while after,” a hint, perhaps at him or Ethon, she could not tell. But she hoped he understood.
 
So far the evening had been full of surprises. She had prepared herself to sit quietly and listen to her husband drone on. For him to be drunk, and to be barely looked at except with lustful eyes in the evening. She never expected to chat with him, certainly not for him to listen to what she had to say, and now to dance?

Elyana smiled softly, her hand moving into his palm, so much larger than her own, “Yes,” she spoke simply. “You will have to forgive me, I do not know the traditional dances yet.” She told him.

She followed as he led her towards where his brother was dancing with the red headed girl. A girl who seemed sprite and clearly skilled at the dances of the North. Conrad did as well and the more she had watched the more she realized there was no true dance, it was more to the music, a thought which scared her more. The only times she had danced to music with no step instruction was when she was little in the late evenings. When parties would be going on below her room, or out in the courtyard and she could just hear the music. Dreaming of one day dancing with a young Lord.

She came to touch Lyram’s shoulder with one hand, the other holding his hand, praying he would lead her well. She had no experience in such ways, even the music was still a bit foreign to her.

*

As she came in closer, Conrad let his hands pull her in just slightly closer than was traditionally acceptable, “We can dance as long as you wish,” He replied to her. But when the song changed slightly, the tempo picked up, she was incredible, dancing more fruitivaly, and Conrad did the same, making sure to assist her spins, and attempting a turn himself, grinning far too wide.

“Fun is fun,” He informed her. “I am having fun, and so are you.” He decided to point out. He let his hands pull her in close again when she began to speak the difference between a girl and a boy. “Is that how you recall all of your kisses?” He asked her. “Who is to say that Mathys, or even myself doesn’t remember the women a good while after?” Conrad questioned.

“It isn’t the act. Although pleasurable, the act is simply the act, is it not? If we think afterwards, it is because of the feeling?” His words were a bit softer now, and this time he didn’t let her spin away from him. “I know plenty of women who kiss without feeling. No matter the skill. Never a second thought. Just as I know men who are the same.” He smiled, “Mathys would think on it because it is his first.” Conrad shrugged.

There was a pause in the song, and Conrads thumb lifted to touch her chin. When the music picked up again, he spun her lightly, and then pulled her in close again. “If I were to kiss you tonight Aiyda, are you saying you would remember me for a good while after?” A smile peeking through his lips. “Would you remember simply because you are a woman? Because I think that is bull shit. I think you would remember for another reason.” He informed her as the song slowed to an end, leaning down, his hand taking hers he brought her hand to his lips.

*

Ethon watched the two of them dancing. She was eccentric, and he was good too. Ethon had never mastered the Northern style of dancing the way Conrad had. Conrad always said one of the easiest ways to find a room with a girl was to dance her there.

But such joy in bot of their faces. How could she dance with him after their night together? After all he had told her, and trusted her with? They shared a kiss late in the evening, and there was no wine involved. Ethon knew she owed nothing to him. She could dance with whomever she pleased, and if she so desired, do more with whomever she pleased.

Ethon cursed at himself internally for caring so much. In one swift movement this girl had come in. Suddenly he was heir to a throne he never wanted, and his feelings towards her was straining how he felt about Conrad.

He took another sip of his ale, he was a fool to believe Conrad would simply let off. Conrad saw her as a challenge now. She was not so easy. He tried constantly to push thoughts into his head to make her out to be awful. Her flirting endlessly with Conrad, perhaps Conrad’s odd liking toward the brother. The fact that she asked them both for dresses. Nothing was enough. He still trusted her and respected her honor. And each time he looked at her he longed to know more, even if she was in Conrad’s arms for the moment.

He stood now, downing the rest of his ale and stumbling a bit. He shouldn’t half to look at them dancing anymore, he had a plan to devise, an entire country to save. His eyes glanced to where Lyram was, dancing with his new Lady, and so Ethon moved towards the doors of the great hall without bidding anyone a goodnight.
 
It was a battle trying to take Conrad seriously. Aiyda listened to him inbetween her turning and swinging, and tried to figure out whether his words were true or simply meant to impress her. He wanted more. He thought he knew what she wanted, as well, and yet even she could not pinpoint her own desires. Was it his technique of winning her over? Making her believe that she was meant to comply to his perfected reality?

The song quickly came to an end, and with his lips pressed to her knuckles, Aiyda took a step back and gave him a smirk from the corner of her lips. “You do think highly of yourself,” she said, “although I could not blame you for that. You are a good dancer. Perhaps that could be enough to impress any other woman.” She bent slightly forward, only half a curtsy, with her brown gaze on him until she was back up and straight.

It wasn’t true. He had impressed her with his bravery and willingness to sacrifice himself for her. For something that did not truly belong to him, and for one reason or another, he did not seem to be expecting something in return. It made her think of Ethon, and doubt his true intentions then. Did he think that, in return for his protection and kindness, he deserved her entirety? Her loyalty and pure devotion?

When she looked over to his seat again, he was gone, and the doors of the hall left cracked. He had left, and so had her desire to spend another moment in the dining hall, when both Mathys and Conrad would leave as well, and the happily married doves would flap their wings into their marital chamber for the night.

Alone, once again, and the thought plucked at her disposition with a pointy tip. The music was only growing louder, and the feast more fervent by the moment; she knew it would stretch long into the night, and she might even hear it from her room, while she lay and swallowed whatever was left of her sorrow... and cup of ale.

*

Elyana was so gentle, so fragile that Lyram almost did not wish to dance with her out of the fear that he would step on her small toes, or spin her until her feat could no longer hold her up. He was a good dancer, he thought - not quite as quick and sprite as his younger brother, but enough to impress a woman during a feast. Whether it was enough to impress a woman like her, he did not know just yet.

As one hand pressed against her waist, the other grabbed hers and braided their fingers, a soft simper forming on his lips as he swayed them slowly. He knew that the room was watching, eyes and ears on them, hoping to catch a glimpse or a word they could whisper about while they were gone.

“Is this what they are all waiting for?” Lyram wondered out loud to her. “For us to act like husband and wife. To leave this place and fulfill our duty? Is the true focus of the feast not our own enjoyment, but their own?” His voice was soft, just enough that she could hear and nobody else. “I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been the one celebrated, truly. I would have liked to have a moment with you without the others watching.”

He paused, frowned slightly at his own sentence, then rephrased it with a shake of his head. “I am a man of stories and long conversation, not much else. So far, at least. Although I suppose that would not bother you, as I have seen you know how to carry one, and well. Maybe our nuptial ceremony can resort to only that, if that’s what you would prefer. You look like someone who had much to say.”

Looking around, he caught the glimpse of his brother leaving the middle of the room, Aiyda left behind with her shoulders rolled down and her gaze once again distant. Ethon was gone, and his absence burnt his chest slightly; he wanted to understand, but could not. Not then, when he needed his family most, and both him and Conrad were gone or about to be gone.

“So much is going on that it would be for the best if anything, really, took my mind away from it. Mostly from my brothers.” Lyram turned his eyes back to her then, came in closer and regained his smile. “Oh you will grow so tired of Conrad one day... Soon. Very soon. But you will likely still love him at least half as much as I do.”
 
As the song ended, Conrad watched her curtsy slightly, and he tilted himself a bit, as a slight bow. “I envy the next man to dance with you.” He spoke simply. He caught her glance to where Ethon was supposed to be sat, and he turned away from her then. Even in their moment, she was still looking for the southern boy. That much was clear to Conrad.

As the night trudged on Conrad spent most of his evening flirting with ladies, and clinking his cup of ale to other men. Soon he and some of his friends would be leaving for the village with Mathys coming along.

*

His hand held her waist firmly, their hands intertwined, and he kept time with the music as they moved. She followed his lead, the movements easy enough. A simple traditional dance she was being led through, which was grateful for.

She looked up at him, “I look forward to our long conversations, and your stories.” She told him. She did let her eyes glance around the room slightly, “I think it is sweet.” She decided, “They care, and wonder about their Lord, and I suppose his Lady.” She whispered. “Get used to celebration, you’re now the Lord of White Hall, and the North, anything the North accomplishes will be under your name from this day,” She pointed out to him, her lips turned upward slightly.

She watched his gaze move to Conrad and the girl, and when he looked back his words made her laugh. “Well I hope to witness at least some of the antics you seem so accustomed to dealing with.” her hand squeezed his lightly.

*

The night sailed on, and the couple danced for longer than intended. Long enough to where Victor came to Lyram touching his sons shoulder. The act caught the attention of everyone in the room. “Tonight has marked my dismount of the North.” He spoke raising his cup. “I pass forth this land to my son, Lyram, and his new wife, Elyana.” Everyone in the room then lifted their cups as well. “To Lyram and Elyana, I would wish greatness and prosperity on you, but I know you will deliver son.” He spoke in a booming tone.

The rest of the room spoke, “To Lyram and Elyana, Lord and Lady of the North!” And people cheered and drank. Music then flared up quicker and louder.

Victor then looked to his son, and then to Elyana, back to Lyram, “Your duties are finished here for the evening. Good luck.” He nodded towards the door now.

*

“Come on Mathys,” Conrad spoke shoving another cup of ale into his hand after the group had cheered to Lyram and Elyana. “One more cup. Then we head for pints in the pub, and then dancing, and well after dancing my friend…” he smirked and slapped Mathys on the shoulder as a few men around him laughed and drank as well.
 
His father’s interruption was welcome as the tempo of the music picked up, and Lyram realised Elyana likely lacked the mood and attire necessary to dance to it. As he spoke, he struggled to read more behind his eyes - fear, worry, compassion - but instead, he could only see pride, and he knew then that there was no regret at the foundation of their betrothal, at the very least on his family’s part.

“Thank you, father,” he said to him through the loud chanting. “I will not dissapoint you, nor the North which I now serve. Which we serve,” he corrected himself, and as the voices lowered and the feasting resumed, he turned to Elyana and offered her a gentle smile and a touch on the waist, guiding her towards the door.

“Plenty for the night,” he whispered. “But it’s time. You know as much... Although one word of yours and you could do whatever else you please,” he noted as they were lead to the doors and outside of the dining hall by a flock of overly-shielding guards behind them. “I do hope you enjoyed it as much as you do. And that you’re truly looking forward to our chats together, and it was not merely a lie. My brothers often tell me I tend to be truly and utterly boring,” he laughed quietly.

*

Mathys’s blue gaze was dark, lost as he scoured over the hundreds of heads in the dining hall for his sister’s bush of red hair. How had she gone? Had she not been dancing with Conrad, only moments before? As he looked back down to his finished cup of ale, and followed the blurry movement of another’s hand coming to fill it back up, he could taste the sting of alcohol coming up his throat.

“Yes, one more,” Mathys swallowed, trying not to slur his words. He was in a good mood, he thought, but the rosy haze of the room and the strange heat in his muscles made him wonder if he had had too much to drink.

He downed another gulp, this time more slowly, and looked to Conrad as though checking to see if he was feeling the same. “I’ve never had so much to drink before,” the boy grinned widely, “but it’s good. It feels good. I feel like I want to dance still, and I never dance. Aiyda always asks me to but I never... Oh.”

There was a moment’s pause before he regained his poise, as the ale growled inside his gut. “I’ve seen her dance with you, she’s good isn’t she?” he asked, in an attempt to take his mind off the sickness. “Do you love her? You saved her... after all... you saved her life. But you couldn’t marry her, eh? You’re a lord. She’s... well she’s my sister... She tells me I’ll get married one day, and I wish it could be a lady but that isn’t how life is... here. I’ve seen you look at other ladies too. It seems to be nice to have so many women want you.”

His speech came out quickly, and not entirely well delivered, but Mathys seemed content with only making it comprehensible. He looked though the crowd again for a moment, before deciding she had likely gone to bed. He could no longer see Lord Lyram and his lady, either, which could only mean it was already well into the night.

*

The halls were colder than the dining room, and only once she passed through the tall doors did Aiyda truly feel the effects of ale boiling through her blood. She had not drank quite as much, yet her knees were weak, and her feet ached from jumping and striding in her dance with Conrad.

She only wished it had lasted longer. The music still reverberated in her ears - or perhaps it echoed so far from the feasting hall - and her cheeks were still pink and damp, heated. Despite her momentary fatigue, she found the way to her room rather quickly, near the servants’ quarters, and as she stepped inside, her eyes fell on a small figure standing by the bed, with her hands busy with folded fabric.

“No need,” Aiyda said softly. Lehna looked up at her like she had been caught, and let go of the blankets on the bed with a soft sigh.

“I thought you would be returning much later,” she said then. “Did you not have fun?”

Her last word reminded her of Conrad, and Aiyda’s eyes lowered as she shook her head. “It was alright,” she said. “I came for Lord Lyram, that is all. And for the sake of this dress,” she added, as she tugged at her sleeve.

Then, she paused for a second, and quickly turned to her table, where she remembered she had set one of the books Lehna had brought to her from the library. She took a seat on the corner of the tabouret and leaned down to grab a small piece of coal from the corner of the hearth, before opening the book and ripping the corner of a page away. “Will you take this to Conrad’s room?” she asked as she wrote slowly. “Make sure you put it somewhere he can see it.”

“You can write?” Lehna tilted her head with a smile. “I thought you could only read.”

“I had a lucky childhood,” Aiyda explained through a sigh, and then stretched the note to her. “Here. Leave it there when you go change his sheets tonight,” before he likely came back with a woman or two from the village.

“What does it say?” Lehna asked. Aiyda pressed her lips and shrugged.

“It says thank you,” she replied. Then, she lifted her hand and picked a dried flower from her updo. “... So he knows it’s from me. For the dress... And the dance. “
 
Elyana nodded to Lord Victor. Her gaze then turned slightly to see her father watching, she could just note the quiver of his lip and the look in his eyes. She pursed a small smile back to him. Her brother came to stand behind his father and whisper something, then Trenten nodded to her as well. She knew it was not truly a goodbye, she would a few more times before they left. Even then, they’d visit. And she prayed she could visit home a few more times. They’d write too. But she knew her father’s war with himself.

Finally she moved out of the room with Lyram, his hand on her waist, moving with her towards what she knew would be his bedroom. “I do not think you boring,” she spoke, “Yet,” she added, letting a smile come to her lips. “And you were right, a Northern feast is different. A good different, but still different.” She concluded.

When they came into his bedroom it was a smaller chamber than she had expected. Probably better to keep a smaller room warm in the winter months. The bed was vast, and she noted the furrs about the room. Such a strange place. She’d never been in a man’s bedroom other than her parents and her brothers.

She turned to him now, looking up through her lashes. She wanted to prove she wasn’t afraid, even if she was nervous. “Tonight I am yours Lyram,” she began, “And you are mine.” She squeezed one of his hands and the other moved boldly to his chest.

*

After their last toast Conrad had made sure Mathys had no more, insisting not only would he want to remember this night, but to be able to perform as well. He set him up at a rooms above the pubs, a bit more luxurious than the brothel rooms. That was that really, Conrad spent most of his night drinking and singing with others.

Conrad walked back with one of Lords from the next territories over. “I suppose we won’t be able to drink like this on the night you are married.” The man hiccuped as he spoke to Conrad.

“You will, my friend, I probably not.” Conrad laughed a bit, his own words slurred a bit.

The pair parted and Conrad moved to his room for once wanting a drunken evening to end with just him in his bed. No doubt Lyram would want to get some sort of work done tomorrow. Bloke wouldn’t even take a day enjoying his wife, the poor girl.

He pushed open his door and trudged toward his bed, already untying his shirt and trousers when he saw the note laid upon his pillow. A familiar flower placed delicately beside it. He lifted the note, “Thank you.” He muttered to himself.

Why would she leave a note saying ‘thank you’? Why wouldn’t she just tell him the next day? Unless… he thought. Conrad clutched the note in his hand and ran out of his room and down the halls not really caring if he was waking anyone. He sprinted down the servants quarters and knocked on her door harshly. He didn’t wait for an answer, he slammed the door open, his chest heaving from running and he looked at her in the room. “Oh.” He spoke in shock.

Conrad scratched the back of his head now, wondering how crazy he must’ve looked, a red face from alcohol and running, the note clutched between his hands, loose clothing. “I thought you ran away.” He explained.
 
Lyram had spent the entirety of his childhood in the same room, and yet as he stepped inside, Elyana at his side, it felt like everything had changed and taken a different hue.

It was warm. Or, perhaps, she was warm, and he felt her heat radiate onto him. Her touch was gentle, careful, and it made him wonder if she had ever rehearsed that moment before practising her enchantments on him. She was too good, how could one woman he had just met a night before send his heart drumming and his chest heaving with one touch of her fingertips, with such ease?

She was his, and he was hers - a promise that oddly delighted him more than the first time they had spoken it before the priest. And he wished to believe it then, and perhaps pretend that he had known her for longer, that only then were they allowed to act on what they truly felt for one another. For what else did he feel then? Lust? Intrigue? Curiosity? He wanted to know her, and the only way, it seemed, was exploring something above the twists and turns of the mind.

And so he let her guide him to his bed, but only there did he take the lead himself, acting on instinct, on the thoughts that ran through his mind and fogged his thoughts in that moment. He had promised he would be gentle, and he made an effort to be so. For her sake, she deserved it, and he hoped it would not be the last time that he was allowed such sweet indulgence.

*

Despite the warmth in the room, Aiyda was cold. She lay on her bed, deepened in the softness of her mattress and covered by a generous layer of fur, watching the shadows cast by the fireplace dance on her wall.

Lehna had taken care of everything for her that evening, from picking her evening gown to helping her unbraid and brush her locks after her rather reckless and careless dancing. She had set warm milk and a piece of cake on her table before leaving, and although she was not particularly hungry, she had indulged in a few bites in the hopes of washing the taste of alcohol away from her tongue.

She was on the very edge of falling into slumber when the loud sound of knuckles tapping against the door set her shivering and up on the edge of the bed. As the wide figure stepped into the room, for a moment, she feared she would be faced with a drunken and upset Ethon, but instead, the red cheeked face and darkened eyes belonged to Conrad.

The note. Aiyda thought for a moment, and understood then how it could have been interpreted. She let out a soft sigh through her lips - he was drunk, but there was no need for her to remind him of it - and stood up to walk over to him. “Why would I run away?” she asked quietly, and let her arms wrap around his back to pull him into an embrace, hand caressing the back of his head. “This is my home now. I’m safe here... It will take more than someone’s angry words to make me want to give this up.”

She let her head rest on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He was considerably taller than her, but he looked nothing like the menacing lord from hours before. His hair carried the scent of ale and pine, he had likely been with Mathys in the village, spending the night at the very least dancing with pretty girls and drinking with her brother. “Rest,” she said to him, as she eventually straightened herself and looked up to him. “I only wanted to thank you for the dance, and the dress. I’m not leaving White Hall anytime soon.”
 
Elyana’s head lay on the shoulder of his chest, both of their breaths still heavy and heart beats elevated. One hand traced small circles with her fingers over the opposite end of his chest. Laying in a bed like this with a man she would have expected to feel shame, but with Lyram she did not.

The act itself wasn’t entirely comforting. He was gentle, and often checked on her, although she could tell he was enjoying himself more than her. But she’d heard rumors, and talked with other girls, that soon the woman enjoyed it as well, and sometimes even more. She would have to be patient in that regard.

Her hand lifted slightly, now she looked up at him a bit, her fingers lifted to trace his jawline, “Since I cannot ask you about the politics of the North yet,” she smiled quietly, “tell me your favorite place here,” she asked him. If they were to spend the coming evenings doing this, performing their duty as Lord and Lady of the North, she would indulge herself in the conversations he hinted at. The ones that she would not be so quick to tell him she wanted deeply.

*

She approached him with a question. Conrad thought carefully, he could muster up a million reasons why he thought she should run, and then her arms wrapped around him. Her hand moving to the nape of his neck and Conrad stiffened. Still she did not pull away. She felt safe?

Her head came to rest on his shoulder and his chin leaned over he head slightly and finally his arms came around her. It had been a while since he really hugged anyone, a true hug, and like this?

She looked up at him then, and he did not let go of her. “I do not want to rest.” He told her, his cheeks were still red, and his entire body hot from the alcohol. “I do not want your thanks either.” He said. “We are all going to be forced to fight soon.” his voice grew lower.

His hands lifted to touch her cheek now, his thumb traced her cheek bone and his deep eyes followed his thumb. “You’d fight me if I said you couldn’t fight.” He muttered, his thoughts now just sort of falling from his lips. His thumb now tracing her lower lip carefully, “I dunno if I could fight you.”
 
For the first time in a while, Lyram felt content with the thought of having a wife. That life, to him, seemed simple then, but he was wise enough to understand that more turmoil would come after the first hours spent together. After the first nights... The first weeks. Yet for then, he allowed himself to take the moment for granted. She was gorgeous, warm and frail in his arms, and he did not want to let go of that dream anymore.

Her voice, softer then, more quiet, lulled him closer to slumber, but he managed to keep his eyes awake for the moments to come. “Hmm,” he murmured, catching his breath. “I suppose it is not enough to say home altogether, is it?” It was true - he felt best where his family was, but she wished for a more concise answer. Something palpable. Somewhere she could be when time allowed for them to venture about.

“The woods are quite magical,” he said gently then, his gaze tracing the embellishments etched in the ceiling. “Dark and cold... Peaceful. I can have all the quiet I long for. I’ve written there before, trained there, cleared my mind. If I ever need a moment for myself... That’s where I’d choose to go.”

He paused and frowned slightly, his fingers playing with the thin curls stuck to her damp temple. “Though after what happened I doubt I’d see this forest with the same eyes again. I know you don’t want to hear of it, Elyana, and I don’t want to speak of it to you. But the North is my home. And yours too, now,” he added, and looked down at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“And all of this came so easily, that I am too afraid of losing it.” What if, come morning, she would no longer be as sweet with him? What if all of this was an act, and she was merely there to fulfill her womanly duties to her husband and family? Lyram worried, and his chest ached. He kissed her temple again, and burrowed his nose in her hair. “It feels like a dream, and life itself is but a nightmare. Such a poetic tragedy.”

*

It was difficult convincing herself to let go, and Conrad’s tight embrace did not make things any easier. As his thumb traced her lips, and his own let out words that took the warmth and magic away from the evening, Aiyda felt her heart sink more and more, and her throat clench, the tears she had been holding in through the day urging to come out.

She did not want to tell him otherwise. He knew all too well that she would fight, and she knew herself that she would not back down in the face of fear. She did not care for death, so long as her life had a meaning, and so long as she got the chance to at the very least avenge her family and the people of Northcross.

Aiyda placed her own hand on his cheek and shook her head. “There’s plenty of time to worry about these things on a clear mind,” she said. “If there’s one person that cares more about this...” She looked down and let out a soft sigh. She was ready to sacrifice herself if it meant winning that war, if it meant saving either one of them, who could fight in her stead. “I can defend myself well. I fought a bear, after all, didn’t I?”

It was difficult joking in that moment, or even sketching the shadow of a smile. Aiyda leaned in and closed her eyes, taking in his scent. It could have just as easily been Ethon standing there, red cheek and silently begging for a kiss. She felt encumbered. She felt wrong, but at the same time, like she had a place carved in Conrad’s arms.

“When you saved me,” she whispered, “I was afraid I would die. For the first time, I was afraid of that. And you just... you took that fear away. I knew that if the cold still took me, you’d still hold me... until I fell asleep... It could happen again. Death is inevitable. But I will fight for my family, just as you would for yours. I just know that this... for now... it’s the safest place I can be, Conrad.”

Her gaze flickered to the door behind him, closed, and she took in a deep breath, letting her hand rest on his chest. “My mother told me once, that those we help once remain in our heart forever. Is it why you’re here then, and not with Arah or some other woman tonight? Is it cause you saved me once, and now I’m haunting...” she poked his chest playfully, “whatever is in there?”
 
Elyana listened to Lyram’s words. She very much enjoyed listening to his deep voice, the same way she enjoyed the feeling of his fingers in her hair. She’d only heard rumors about the Wild thus far. Nothing real, and nothing from Lyram’s lips directly. Not even her father’s or Lord Victors. But whatever this issue was, it was scary and dangerous. So much so that even a man as big and strong as Lyram and his brothers feared them.

“Afraid of losing me?” She asked him, surprised at his fears. She was unsure what he meant. Afraid to lose her to death? To whatever this force was? Or to simply lose her? The way she feared losing him after she was no longer shiny and new?

She shook her head after his second kiss, and then looked up at him, her fingers coming to his chin, so he would look at her, “Our story will not be a nightmare.” she told him. She realized then she may have been too firm, but she did not care anymore. “Lyram, you joke of your worry and your fears… how your brothers and friends tease you for it…” she whispered. “A good leader worries, how can he not?” she told him. “But please, do not let it crush you.”

She then leaned in, pressing her lips to his, “I am still coming to know you. Your tendencies, what you like and dislike. I know you cannot stop this worry. But perhaps, maybe selfishly, I ask for a moment of you each day?” She asked him. “You are busy, I know, and whatever is going on is urgent. Even if it a moment before bed. I like it too much when you smile.” She informed him, her finger tracing the furrow in his brow now, her lips holding a hopeful smile at the corner.

*

Conrad watched her carefully, her hand lifted to his cheek and explained she could fight. That was not at all Conrad’s issue. It did not matter that she could fight, all he cared about was the fact the everyone around her would be fighting too. He’d never be able to deter her, but he still did not like it.

Perhaps that was part of the allure. She was as honorable as he was raised to be. More honorable than he chose to be. She seemed to be unsure about everything except fighting for her family and for her people. Conrad could not help but respect her stance in the matter.

His eyes met hers, listening to her reveal to him that she felt safe in his arms, even in the face of death. She was safe her, with him, in White Hall. But when she teased him on his heart, a small smile came to his drunken lips.

“Maybe,” He revealed, “Your mother is wiser than I. Who am I to know what ‘whatever is in there’ truly wants.” He smirked, his own hand moved lower, pressing against the hips of her waist. “Your brother thinks you have caught my heart you know.” He spoke.

“I’ve learned much about you in one night. Your dancing reveals more than you have ever let on. One who dances like you clearly has had much practice.” He told her. “And a drunken Mathys seems to think I have fallen for you. Me? Fallen?” He laughed, “I think more than one person in this room has stolen many hearts.”

He took a generous step forward, his body moving hers back closer to the wall with his step, “Is that all it takes? All I need is to ask for help of the girl who tamed a bear?”” he asked.
 
It seemed like, to hear, he was nothing more than an open book, which she read with pleasure and intrigue, with a kind pity he couldn’t appreciate for it’s pure reasons. He did not wish to be pitied, and yet, there he was, so terrified of what was to come - of what could come - that he could not enjoy a moment’s haven with his wife.

His wife. The sound of it in his mind was odd, but soothing. He felt at peace with her, and for the sake of her happiness, he closed his eyes and rested his face, the deep cut between his furrowed brows disappearing beneath her touch. He listened to his words, and leaned deeper into his pillow, a smile slowly creeping on his lips at her delight.

“If that’s what it takes to keep you happy, my Lady of the North,” he said softly, his hand tracing circles in her hair, “then I will give all the time that I have to you, I promise you that.” He would have imagined she would wish to be left in her lonesome, but the surprise was easily welcomed. “Smiling needs a good reason, hm?” he continued. “In that case, I will have to look at you more often. So far... it’s all that it takes.”

With that, Lyram leaned in and pressed his lips to her in a more fervent kiss, cupping her cheek to keep her close to him, and as he took his next breath, he pressed his forehead against her in a gentle caress. “I will love you, one day,” he whispered. “It seems it will come much easier now... You have a charm about you that even the most stressed man in the North could not resist,” he added with a smirk.

*

Conrad’s arrogance was both endearing and striking. Aiyda pursed her lips at the mention of her brother’s foolish statement in his eyes, and lowered her head, wondering how the discussion had gone. “So is it a facade?” she asked softly, looking up to him through her lashes. “All of this, all of... you. It makes me wonder what it takes for a woman to catch your heart, then.”

It felt bitter on her lips, but she thought she understood him in that moment. All had been too easy, and she was but a novelty his curiosity could not just as quickly pierce. She had only let him in fractions at a time, with a dance, a glance, a few honest words. She had merely given him pecks of her taste, and he longed for more, but without the commitment of finishing his bite.

Despite all of that, she could still feel her heart beat against the bones of her chest, and her cheeks redden the closer he came to her. She knew he saw it too - relished in it - and with every moment that passed she became more vulnerable to his tactics.

Yet she was tired. They both were, and her knees were weak, mellow. She leaned against the wall behind her and canted her head at his words, a soft simper now glimmering on her face. “Is it what you want?” she asked. “To win my heart, a trophy? But then, would anyone truly have a chance of winning yours?” She had wanted to believe there was a place for her in his own heart. Still, she believed it, yet he wanted her to believe he was impervious, even to her.

“I’ve come to understand your tactics,” she whispered, her voice low, and her eyes on his lips. “You chase your prey... You promise safety, until, to you, it becomes almost vulnerable.” She rested her palm on his chest and narrowed her eyes. “Is this when you would prepare to strike?” she wondered, “You’d leave a mark, and then vanish. That, if the poor prey did not manage to steal your heart in time. And it never does, does it?”
 
She chuckled a bit, “Lady of the North,” she shook her head, “Suppose that will be true after I experience this first winter.” She said moving in closer against him as if she were cold. But due to both their activities and the fire the room was not at all chilled.

Her hand cupped beneath his jaw when he spoke that he would love her one day, he sounded so sure of himself. “I am lucky.” She whispered, “To be wed under such circumstances, only to have the best outcome it seems.” She leaned her head gently into the crook of his shoulder.

“Goodnight Lyram,” she whispered as she settled into him.

*

Conrad’s brow cocked when she asked if it was a facade. For a bright girl, her skull was thicker than he thought. She was confusing, she made no sense, did she want him or not? Did she feel for him at all?

And that simper, with her words asking him questions. Was it all a tease? Did she want to know? He had a feeling she hadn’t any idea either. He wanted to open his mouth, explain it wasn’t about winning her. She wasn’t a trophy to him. But she spoke again, now of his tactics, describing him so primal.

Did she truly think he was just in it for the game? Is that how he truly came across to her? He knew he had not always been the most honest with his intent with women in the past, but with Aiyda he felt he had been at least cautious. He still was unaware if she felt what he did after that night in Northcross, where she lay with him dying. Her mother may have been more right than she let on.

Her eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened, he wanted to prove a point to her now. “You think I’m like some animal you watch in the woods?” He asked her carefully. One of his hands moved to press against the wall beside her waist, while the other still pressed at her hip. “That I piss on whatever I please and call it mine? Even if I leave it in the dust?” His eyes flickered down to her neck, his hand gliding up her waist slowly as his body pressed into hers.

His face leaned in closer and he could feel her breath warm on his chin. Was he supposed to know what his heart wanted then? Was he supposed to separate it from every other instinct within his body to determine the exact feeling? Right then he didn’t really care. His body pressed into hers, one hand gripped her waist, the other moved from the cold stone of the wall to the heat of her cheek and his lips pressed into hers.
 
Aiyda could sense the irritation in Conrad's tone at her suggestion of his hollowness. She saw the way his jaw clenched, and his cheeks reddened even more, apparent disagreement in his eyes. Perhaps he did wish to show her he felt for her. Perhaps she had not been as wrong as she thought, and yet his actions often led her to believe that he wanted nothing more than to strike her name on his list of experiences.

The way he pressed himself against her, and kept her pinned against the wall, she knew then that he had no intention of letting her go. He was touched starved, and oddly enough, so was she. She wished she could embrace him again, feel that sense of safety again, but the mood had long changed, and he wanted more.

She saw it in his eyes, clear as day. They were ablaze, and by the way he looked at her, her own were burning too.

His kiss came without a warning, and she received it easily, letting herself melt into the mold he made for her. Her lips pressed back to his, gentle, but eager at times, both afraid he would pull away yet that she would be unable to do so herself.

It felt... wrong. She remembered the way Ethon had kissed her the night before, and her promise to her - that he would keep her safe, no matter where their fate lead them. Then, she remembered the way Conrad had clung to her after rescuing her from the freezing river, desperate to hear her heartbeat, to keep her warm and awake, and the kiss felt right again.

As she pulled away, her cheeks were red and her eyes darkened, weighed down. She touched his cheek and pressed her forehead to his chin, breathing softly, trying to regain her balance on her feet. "You should go to your room," she murmured, her voice much weaker than before. "You should rest, you've drank too much tonight."

A part of her knew that was not the reason behind his actions, but she could not bear to look anyone in the eyes in the morning if he lead her too far. If he lured her too far, rather, for she was too close to falling into his trap. She looked up in his eyes and offered him a sweet simper. "I don't want you to leave either," she said, "It gets too quiet here at night. But a Lord shouldn't be seen in the servants' quarters in the morning, hm?"
 
He shouldn’t have let her pull away. As soon as she suggested he leave, he should have kissed her again, to stop her words. But he couldn’t force himself with her. He felt her skin, heated as well now on his chin. And when she looked up at him, another smile, he wanted to spit out anything he could think of, A Lord can be seen wherever he pleases that he didn’t care what others thought. But she was right.

He leaned in again, his lips pressing to hers intensely, but quickly, “Goodnight Aiyda,” he whispered and pulled himself back. Conrad turned and headed straight out the door, and back to his own chambers.

*

The next morning was relaxed no one rushed anyone from their chambers after a feast. Ethon woke himself early, tending to the horses and helping in the kitchen where he could. As he helped to lift sacks of flour from the outside into one of the storage pantries he thought about telling Lyram today.

Lyram would be understanding, hell he might even try to include Ethon on more defense plans if he knew. But what he did not know was how anyone would truly react. To know who he was was one thing. But for there to be action upon it, which eventually there would be, well if people did not believe him, that would be against the law.

*

Conrad made his way down the hall with a cup of water in his hand. Not even tea leaves could cure the headache in his mind. And still, with the headache, he could remember every word and touch exchanged between him and Aiyda the previous night. She had spoken such complicated words, what she said and those smirks meant one thing. But her kiss and body language told him something else.

He could not however continue to venture to her room to figure out her cryptic messages. And she could not be invited to his without a raised brow. He would need to find another outlet to speak to her. Somewhere he might be able to understand her. He had an idea. But before he would seek out Aiyda, he would find her brother.

Conrad found the man he was looking for in the study. He grinned a bit as he spotted Mathys reading one of Hectors journals. “I see you made it back alright?” He asked. “I do not need all the details, but you must give me something.”

*

Corban arrived to his bedroom to find his wife in bed alone where he had left her before he departed for the evening. They had arrived late the previous night, most in the travel party headed straight for bed. Corban was barely able to show their new Northern guest around, explain how they would integrate him into the small council. He supposed he could leave that for Roddrick to do later.

Corban visited some other rooms within his castle. First with his Lord Commander, whom he decided they would send their newest and most untrained convoys to the North with a few trustworthy commanders to keep them in line. They would be sent to travel in the morning, with food to last their journey. If the North needed these men, Corban was certain they would be feeding them as well. Next he moved to a more private chamber, where he requested one of his viziers to bring him something to take his mind off the events of his travels.

He removed his shoes and then his shirt and laid into bed with a large huff, “I should be able to sleep for a thousand years after that journey. And yet my mind cannot seem to relax itself for even a wink of rest.”
 
There was not a hint of winter within Lyram's room - which now did not only belong to him - , not one brisk breeze peeking from beneath the doors or a lost crack in the window. The fire burnt through the night, magically almost, although the lord was quite sure a servant had come in once or twice to poke it.

His blue gaze was on the woman beside him from the moment he parted his lids. He felt fatigued, despite having slept the sweetest slumber. His limbs ached, but it was a pleasant pain. In that moment of silence and peace, he wondered how she felt after their first night together. He could not ask yet. He wanted to watch her sleep, and he wanted to be the first thing she saw when she woke up.

And he did wait, until her lashes fluttered open, and Lyram set a gentle palm on her cheek, offering her the smile she had so much craved the night before. "Has your new bed been comfortable?" he asked playfully, letting his fingers run through her hair. "You slept soundly. Or perhaps I was too tired to even notice a movement. You look quite peaceful when you're resting."

He wished to wake up like that forever. That the servants would not disturb them with the announcement of breakfast being served, or freshly ironed clothes being brought into the room. At some point, they would have to rise and present themselves to the others, fresh and clean after their nuptial, but until then...

A knock on the door ruined the dream, and Lyram let out a sigh, prepared to tell the guard or servant or whoever it was that he had no intention of being disturbed until late afternoon. Yet, the voice behind the door was grave and precipitate, "My Lord," he called, "a letter came. From one of our scouts. It is urgent, my Lord."

Immediately after, his eyes darkened and his heart sank into his stomach. He glanced at Elyana one more time, before pulling himself out of bed and slipping into a shirt and a pair of pants at the ready. When he opened the door, the he was met with the hurried guard, chest heaving and greyed hair stuck to his temple. "He found a man, my Lord, he made him write what he saw," he explained, but Lyram only lifted a palm in demand of silence.

The letter had been written with a shaky hand. It was stained with blood, and wet in parts were it had lain in the messenger's pocket through that night's heavy snow. Lyram read quietly, patiently, and once he was finished, he looked up to the man before him, jaw tense. "Call for my father and my brother," he said. "Tell them what happened in Cailgait... And tell the Saeberian children, too. We will meet in an hour."

*

Mathys was not surprised to see Conrad that morning. He had a pounding headache that would not go away with Lehna's weird tasting concoctions, and the only thing that got his mind off of it was attempting to decipher Hector's overly embellished writing.

The boy gave him a large grin as he inquired about his previous night's affairs. For the first time in a while, he had felt... good. It was difficult not to think of it more, but he knew better than to let himself be absorbed by one night of pleasures rather than be patient and anticipate another when it came. "I think she liked me," he shrugged, in an attempt to look remiss. "She told me I was quite good for my age. I should have mentioned you, then, but I thought..."

He chuckled quietly and shook his head, flipping the journal closed. "Thanks... mate," he attempted at a more cordial denomination. "I know you kept an eye out for me until late. One of your boys brought me home, not sure who exactly... But I did get home before sunrise. They told me you left early, though."

*

Amara had not been able to rest either after their journey. The cold had lingered in her bones long after leaving the polar winds of the North behind, and even now, as Corban lay by her side and she knew Roddrick to be doing the same in a room near theirs, all she could think of was the one soul that was missing from beneath their roof.

"You have not reprimanded me for my lie yet," the Queen said, her golden eyes stuck to the ceiling. "You saw him for yourself. He is part of us. And I prayed that my mother was wrong, that he was long lost, but there he is. We have him now, and yet he is so far from our reach, and we, so weak-hearted that we cannot rip him from Victor's claws."

She turned her head to him, her eyes filled with tears and her cheeks stained crimson. "I want my son, Corban. My true son. Whatever it takes, I want him by my side, and Roddrick on the throne before the North makes any bold move towards it. Yet you remain idle, whilst I was the only one who tried to take him back. You spoke to him... and for nothing."
 
Elyana’s eyes opened slowly, and she felt his palm on her cheek, her eyes still tired and she released a small smile at his own. “Quite comfortable.” She spoke quietly as she stretched her body slightly, her body arching into his side as she did so. She now understood the talk of the ladies, her body sore after last night's events, it was an odd discomfort.

She wished she could have witnessed him sleeping, he too probably looked peaceful without the furrow of his brow. But before she could make any such comment a knock on the door sounded. The voice that came along with it sounded urgent, and distressed.

Elyana stayed in bed, watching Lyram dress. The situation seeming to dire for her to even enjoy watching him dress. Her eyes followed him to the door and she tried to listen to the words exchanged between the two men. His order to the man was serious. And when the servant left, and Lyram turned Elyana could see that look etched over his features all over again. “What happened?” she asked sitting up now, holding the sheet over her front. She had heard the name of a Northern house, one much further up than White Hall was, although she was still uncertain on her Northern studies.

Whatever had occurred it was clearly bad. And Elyana stood now, clutching the sheet to her body as she cursed in her head as there were no clothes for her in the room yet. “Lyram, I think it is time you tell me about the trouble in the North… and then perhaps send for a handmaid to bring me a more acceptable dress.” She added, glancing to her wedding dress on the ground, she ventured to his closet and took one of his riding shirts, pulling that over her body before sitting back on the bed.

*

Conrad smirked at Mathys reaction, clearly a man who had enjoyed his evening. “Do not mention me,” Conrad told him, “You are a man of your own in the bedroom Mathys, never forget that.” He nodded again when Mathys mentioned he left early, “Yes, I was uh.. A bit tired.” He decided to say, his mind flashed to the events of him and Aiyda in her room.

Before Conrad could ask anything else, a grey haired man came forth. “Lord Conrad. Mathys.” The man bowed his head a bit. There has been an attack. On Cailgait.” He spoke.

Conrad’s entire body tensed, his hand turned to a fist quickly, “An attack? Like the one at Northcross?” He asked in a low tone.

“Yes, my Lord…. Lord Lyram has requested you all meet. At the end of the hour. You as well Mathys.” the man nodded. “I have been requested to tell Aiyda Saeberian as well-” the man began.

“I will tell her. And Ethon as well.” Conrad spoke coldly. The older man walked away, likely on his way to inform Victor. Lyram then turned to Mathys, “Gather what you can of any findings of the Hunt Hector had compiled if you can?” he asked the boy.

*

Conrad made his way down towards the servants quarters, first passing through the kitchen. He spotted Ethon quickly, his cheeks rosy from carrying in sacks of flour. “Ethon.” Conrad said. Ethon’s head lifted with question. Conrad motioned for him to follow.

Ethon stopped what he was doing and began to follow Conrad down the hall of the servants quarters. “What is it?” He asked his friend.

“The Hunt.” Conrad replied. “Another attack on Cailgait. Lyram has requested us at the end of the hour.”

Ethon’s face turned turned a sickly green as Ethon followed Conrad to Aiyda’s door. Ethon’s stomach turned as he tried to quicken his pace in step with Conrad’s. Conrad knocked hard three times. Finally when the door opened Ethon saw her as he stood slightly behind Conrad’s shoulder. Ethon’s ears were ringing as he heard the same words Conrad just spoke to him being recited to Aiyda.

“I will see you both then.” Conrad tone hard before he turned leaving the servants quarters to ready himself for the meeting.

Ethon’s eyes stayed on the red haired girl before him, as if asking her what she needed, although he knew nothing he could offer her would help.

*

Corban’s blood boiled. His jaw was tight and he let his eyes close as his wife spoke of their true son. “Our true son.” Corban snapped back the correction. “The true heir to this entire Kingdom.” He growled now turning to look at her, her tears meant nothing to him. “How could you lie?” He asked her.

The King sat up, his fists clenched, “Roddrick is the child of a common whore, and you want him on the throne?” He asked her. “What was I to do? The boy was raised a servant of the North, and Roddrick to be King. You know Roddrick’s lust for power is damned, and you know a stables servant of the North could never run a Kingdom.”

Corban slammed his fist on the bet, “Why didn’t you tell me Amara!” He shouted now. “I would have destroyed every last Kingdom in Armath to find him!” Corban’s gaze fell to the sheets now. He had felt such a connection when his son was first born, and then Amara harbored him for a while, barely letting Corban near him, then as he grew, no connection was felt. He had always assumed it was just not meant to be. Now he realized the true reasons, Roddrick was not his son. An illegitimate son of a whore made as King? A disgrace.
 
Lyram wished he could have enjoyed the sight of her for longer. Even then, freshly stirred from their warm sheets perfumed with her scent, her hair, tousled as it was, looked ravishingly perfect, and her skin still clung to a Southern glow. He, on the other hand, was cold, cheeks pale and eyes darkened by the dire news the guard dared to shatter his perfect morning with.

He let out a soft sigh as he watched her walk over to his closet to pick a shirt to cover up. His gaze lowered to the letter once again, visibly written with a shaky hand and soiled in places, to the point where deciphering the scout’s writing was almost impossible. He carefully folded it and set it in his pocket, before peeking through the cracked door to instruct the guard to bring something for Elyana’s decency. Then, he turned back and kicked the door closed, hand still shaking nervously over the folded piece of parchment.

“This is not how it should have been, Elyana, and I’m sorry,” he began. “What I spoke to you of last night... It happened again. A second time, a second town of the North. And I can only assume it isn’t ending here.” It could not be. It was happening for a reason - the Wild Hunt had a purpose, for otherwise it would not have allowed Aiyda to live long enough to tell the story. To warn them, or rather, let them know they were both helpless and hopeless.

“I ask of you to attending this council,” he said as he drew a few steps closer to her. “I apologise for the short notice, but so long as this concerns me - my home, your home - then it concerns you too.” And perhaps the Gods had blessed her with a brighter mind, for then his own was too clouded, and he knew his father’s was too harsh in times like these.

A light knock on the door announced that his order had been executed, and a woman of a small frame stepped inside, thick dress and a pair of woven boots weighing down her arms.

“Thank you,” Lyram offered her a short, brisk smile, and claimed the dress from her hands, before silently dismissing her with a nod of his head. Then, he turned back to Elyana and set the dress on the bed by her side. “You might have to be quick about it. If you can dress alone. Northern dresses are made for that purpose,” he said and he turned towards his own closet to pick out something more appropriate to wear to the council, rather than disheveled night garments.

*

Mathys was quick to open his mouth, eager to tell him more of his activities from the previous night, as the door opened and a man he only recognised by his grizzled beard stepped inside, expression grave and words even darker.

It took a moment for him to comprehend his words. His own head ached, and his temples throbbed. No, the news did not speak of a wildling attack, neither of a thief setting another campsite ablaze. Nor of an army of soldiers matching up on the old keep of White Hall. But of a much greater nightmare, which sent a spike of lightning down his spine and sunk his stomach and heart into the depths if his gut.

‘Aiyda...’

He knew the town of Cailgait, like any other Northerner, yet the memory of it was much more fresh now, with his sister having returned from such company. Only a few days late, and she would have been there to witness it, all over again. The memory felt like a thousand daggers cutting through his chest, and he felt his insides twist violently. Another village fallen. Another hundred of innocents turned to dust and driven into the ground.

He clutched Hector’s journal to his chest and tensed his neck at Conrad’s order. He did not manage a nod, nevertheless a word of agreement, but his light eyes fixated him intensely, and his brow twitched. “Don’t let my sister-“ he started, but his sentence broke off as Conrad hastily made himself scarce into the dark corridor.

*

She saw black. Her heart, her limbs, everything was numb, and she could not find it within herself to move or speak. In the distance, somewhere far away, she heard horses neighing and growling, men shouting for aid and skin being slashed open by phantom blades.

Suddenly, the light within the room was no longer a pleasant fire, but a moonlit gloom, and beneath her feet she could feel freshly fallen snow, like the night she had escaped from the meadow of horrors.

Aiyda couldn’t look at Ethon, or if she did, she could not see him. She turned around to face the window, heart beating so fast and loud it could be heard in the grave silence. She closed her eyes, and she could only see the faces of Ox, and Yldra, and Jonah Beinn. How had they died, she wondered? Had they tried to run away? Had they tried to fight, and failed, sent hurtling towards the ground holding on to their gaping gashes?

Had they survived?

The red-haired girl let out a few quick sobs, trembling as she held on to her middle. She had managed to get herself dressed before Ethon and Conrad had come in, but the fabric was not nearly as warm as she would have needed it to be then. She felt cold drops fall down her chin and on her chest, wetting the collar of her dress, as she imagined the awful terror in their eyes as they died, just like her mother and father had, and her friend, beautiful Teya.

*

Amara knew she had done much more than to merely upset her husband. She listened to him in a cautious calm and silence, and tensed her neck as she tried to hold back the emotions only then taking over her.

She sat up on the other side of the bed, looking out the window but not truly caring for the view. There was much that Corban didn’t know, and much that he would never understand, be it explained then, after the tragedy, or now, in a moment of weakness and despair. “You would never have agreed to my plan,” she said through her teeth, “and it should have been different. I trusted Marietta. She was no common whore, she was my only duly handmaid. It should have worked, and I should have had the culprit’s head on a spike.”

The Queen pursed her lips and turned to him, eyes bruning with a golden fire. “Roddrick is still our son, Corban, I hope you have not already forgotten that,” she snarled. “He was raised to rule, by maesters and diplomats, by us, the King and Queen of Armath, not a remote Lord from an old Northern town. Whether or not he is the one the Augury speaks of, he is the worthy heir of this throne, you cannot tell me otherwise.”

She shifted her head away, gaze once again resting in the distance. “But, I do long for my son by my side. For the boy I should have named Roddrick... Our boy. Whom we now have to take back, with blood if need be. And given Victor’s refusal... I believe there is need for it,” she hinted, fixating him again.
 
Elyana kept her features calm at the news of this turmoil. She was truthfully shocked, this was no rumor, nor it just a story. And judging by Lyram’s demeanor, she had to keep a cool head in this situation. She nodded when he asked her to join the meeting. When he brought forth clothing, setting it down for her, she looked at the fabric, lifting it to the left and right suspiciously. Much thicker than her normal garments.

She dressed herself quickly, resorting to a mirror afterwards to braid her hair neatly. Finally she pulled on the pair of woven boots, there was a slight lift in the hell which she was thankful for, although the thickened material were already making her feet sweat. She supposed she would be thankful for such in the cold corridors of white hall.

She waited for Lyram to finish, and then she slowly approached him, “Before we go,” she whispered and pulled his face down to hers, pressing her lips to his very gently, “Thank you for last night, and I know you will lead well today Lyram.” she told him.

*

Ethon still waited outside of her doorway. “I’ll walk to the council chambers with you.” He spoke quietly as he stepped into her room. He thought about putting on something more presentable, but he decided against it. No one in the council room would care enough to what he was wearing.

Ethon glanced around her room, still little memorabilia inside other than her bow. He reached out, taking her hand and facing her towards him, “I have.. I’ll make a plan. I want to make a plan.” He corrected himself over. “I’ll end this Aiyda. I don’t want anyone else to die.” He told her. “It will be me, and you as my blade of ice?” He sounded less sure of himself. He didn’t want the Sterling brothers to throw themselves away on a duty that was destined to be his.

*

Conrad was first to the council chambers, he paced in the back corner, debating writing a letter to Hector that very moment. He should be informed on what was going on in his absence. Besides, he knew more about the Hunt than any of them, he’d have ideas maybe. He probably shouldn’t write to him until he had more information though, but what did that matter? The Hunt was attacking, and any information needed to be relayed quickly.

Victor entered the room, Caterina behind him. The pair looked a bit shaken, his mother more than his father. “Everyone is on their way,” Conrad informed him, and Victor nodded, for the first time not taking his seat at the head of the council table. For today, Lyram would be seated there.

“Any word on the whereabouts of the Kingsguard?” Conrad asked.

“Any notation delivered would have been sent to you, Conrad. Anything regarding something else to Lyram. I have not received a single notice since two days ago. I trust King Corban’s word, they will be here soon, my son.” Victor mumbled.

*

“Roddrick is my son the way a man raises a dog.” He snapped back to her. “Raised to rule can only mean so much Amara, he is not blood bound to the throne.” Corban told her. But he laughed at the mention of the Augury, “Whatever that is, it is rubbish. Besides, if it speaks of an heir, technically Roddrick is not, it cannot possibly be about him?” Corban contemplated.

“I-” he huffed a bit more, “I want the boy back too. But I don’t… I do not know what any of this means Amara. Bring him here and he is kept a secret from the world. Leave him there and he is found out? We are frauds! And Roddrick? Someone would try his life the moment they had the chance.” Corban pointed out.

He rubbed his face over again in frustration. “You should have told me.” he muttered, “I would have found him. I would have found my son. Our son.” His voice lowering. Corban’s next movements were slow, his hand reached out to rest on top of hers, “Does it not make you rethink everything?” He asked her. He was so uncertain now. This reveal rocked his entire being, how could she not be feeling what he was? How could she not have the same shake within her gut? Even if she knew all along.
 
Lyram was aware the clothing he had picked out for her was not entirely to her liking, at the very least judging by her expression when she lifted it and gave the fabric a judgemental glare. There was little he could do about it, yet she was smart enough to understand it was not a priority then. They had to be quick, for he could not let the others wait.

Unfortunately, not even on the day after his own wedding.

He got dressed himself and made an effort to look clean and adjusted before turning up to the council. There was much more he should have done, but he doubted anything would erase the dark circles under his eyes from the rather restless night. He had slept well, indeed, but inside, he still longed for more.

As she came to him and cupped his face, he let out a soft sigh and received her kiss with a slight reluctance. Too much was on his mind then, to even think of enjoying the sweet peck he would have otherwise relished in. He pressed his palm to her cheek for a moment and pursed his lips, then turned towards the door and waited for her to follow along.

*

"You don't understand!" Aiyda snapped at Ethon, but her gaze quickly softened as it fell on him. She did not want to yell, but the words came out of her mouth like a waterfall, and she felt her throat tighten even more. "What use is a blade of ice if it melts the moment it touches our enemy? What good am I if ten other men thrice my size could not land a scratch on them?"

They had nothing: no clue, no lead to how they could defeat the Wild Hunt. The stories of old were of no use, for they no longer had the mages by their side. Another time, even the thought of it would have been utterly ridiculous, and yet then, it felt like an ever emerging nightmare, looming above them, darkening their minds and eating away at their sanity.

She breathed out and closed her eyes. "I don't know how to beat them... Not yet. How many others have to die before we figure it out, Ethon? How many until I lose you, too?"

When she opened them again, the room regained some of its colour. She needed to clear her mind of it all, for the sake of the council Lyram had summoned. She straightened her back and took a step forward, placing herself hesitantly behind Ethon. "Let's not waste any more time," she said, eventually swallowing her sobs. "Please... Take me there."

*

For the first time, the seat at the head of the council table belonged to him.

Lyram walked past his family with a silent nod of his head and claimed the chair farthest from the door, gesturing for Elyana to take a seat by his side. He did not wish to look either of them in the eye then, yet he could almost smell the tension and anger radiating from his brother, and feel the heated concern in his mother's gaze on his face.

It took little before the others arrived as well. Ethon first, Aiyda behind him, and Lyram remained silent and stern until Mathys made his way through the door, the maester behind him holding the rest of Hector's journals and other books which the boy himself did not carry. Once the guards shut the door, gloom fell upon the room, and Lyram stood up, leaning over the table with a grave look on his face.

"I am sorry for the circumstances of this meeting," he spoke and cleared his throat, "but there is no room for resting after last night's events. I am sure you've been told why you are all here, and I am sure we will all be treating this matter without a shadow of doubt this time around," he added to reassure the Saeberian children. "The Wild Hunt is here. And we need to act, now."

*

"Which is why," Amara started as she got off her side and circled around the bed to her husband, "we should keep this concealed, as it has been for eighteen years," she pressed, and her deep gaze fixated him again. "This is why I kept this from you, because I knew you would not love Roddrick as your own. I myself thought I never would, but how could I? How could I hold him in my arms for so many months and not love him?"

Amara straightened her back and shook her head. "I never stopped searching for Ethon," she promised. "My mother was certain I would find him in the North. I trusted her blindly, and begged for you to take me along for this very reason. If she was right about it, if her gift is true, then we should care about this godforsaken Augury. It warns of war, Corban. If our family is so broken, how can we hope to defeat a great enemy? If the North turns against us, how many more Houses would join Victor?"

She thought for a moment, and canted her head. There was much to plan, much to think about before acting, but too little time. "We have to earn an advantage. And I am not afraid of dirtying my hands if it means getting my boy back. The reason Ethon doesn't want to leave, I know, is his family up there. If we find a way to... To take that away, and to punish Victor Sterling for his betrayal. Keep this in mind for when you send the letters for our Western troops to travel North."
 
You don’t understand. His jaw tightened. “I don’t know.” He replied to her. “I don’t know how many more we’ll lose, nor do I want to lose anyone else.” He refused to reply to the portion when she mentioned him. What was he to her besides a friend at this point? She refused to let herself in for him. “But we can’t do nothing.” He replied.

The pair of them moved silently towards the meeting council hall. When they entered the room, Lyram, Elyana, Conrad and their parents stood there. Ethon’s eyes met briefly with Victor’s his gaze glaring a moment before looking away. Ethon couldn’t tell Lyram, not now. It was not the place or the time.

*

Conrad looked straight down at the table as his brother spoke. His hands held together in his lap before him, and his knuckles white. “We need to fight now.” He said looking to his brother, standing now as well. “Set up scouts, nightly stations, sanction as many as we can. Request the men to fight, and any women who wish to join as well,” He glanced at Aiyda.

Now his attention changed back to Lyram, “Brother, this is it. We cannot sit and wait for more information. We can read all we want in books,” he gestured to the maester, “People are dying, and I say we fight.”

*

Elyana listened to the younger Sterling brother speak. She understood his impulse, and his passion to protect his home was clear. But she didn’t think it was the best option. She then, slowly stood too. She tried to ignore the look of question from the others in the room. “I do not know the specifics on this matter, so forgive me if I am uninformed, but perhaps brute force is too… too much.” She decided on.

“I do not know how big this Wild Hunt is, or what it is. But what I know is that it has taken the Hunters, some of the strongest and most noble in the North, and two very prominent villages, one known for Hunters, and one known for its sailors and soldiers I believe. Strong villages.” she said.

“They must’ve fought. But they were ambushed. Perhaps strength and force is good,” she nodded to Conrad, but her eyes flickered to Lyram, “But I believe a cohesive strategy, and formulated plan is necessary as well.”

*

Conrad tried to let himself boil down, but the more the eastern woman spoke, the more he did not care to listen to what came from her mouth. She’d been here a few days, she had no idea the true workings of the North. She had no idea the tradegery or the loss that had occurred in the past few months. “We have been trying to formulate a plan and strategy, it is not working.” He snipped, his gaze looking to his brother for agreement.

*

Corban did not look at her. He did not feel for Roddrick at first, thinking himself crazy. But as he watched the boy grow, learn to fight, and read and strategize, there was a fondness that was with Corban. But in word of her mother, in word of the Augury his face darkened. “Who does it speak of then?” He whispered. It could mean either, and both had a man of the north by their sides.

Victor. Would Victor recruit others? Surely Victor would not turn against the crown. Victor was noble, and loyal. So much so, if he thought it just, he would face against the crown. Victor had the east now, a land known for their riches. Corban secured the West long ago with his son’s betrothal, but the smaller houses within would be able to choose sides as they pleased.

His head lifted at Amara’s suggestion. His brow furrowed in thought. If discovered, it would be the end of them. But if they pulled it off, Ethon might flee out of fear. According to Amara no one knew but him, her, her mother and Victor. And now the boy. He supposed they would have to act before the boy told another soul. “I will keep it in mind.” Corban whispered.

His hand now reached out to take Amara’s hand and pulled her towards him. “We should have tried again.” He told her. “After Roddrick, or Ethon or whomever. We should have had more. We should have tried.” His gaze unable to look into hers this time. Maybe they did try, he could not recall. It had taken so long for their first, it was often hard to tell.
 
Aiyda took her seat at the council table without guidance, and this time around she no longer felt like an outcast. The room was brimming with Northerners, one face more grave than the other, and she made an effort to compose herself before the discourse began, for Mathys's sake at the very least, who was suffering just as much as she was.

Her gaze flickered from Conrad, boiling as he was, to Lyram, pale as ever, standing at the head of the table in the place of his father, the ex Lord of White Hall, and next to his newly acquired wife, whose confusion and tight composure did little to earn her the ears of those surrounding her. A plan. A cohesive strategy. To Aiyda, those words felt empty, like a poem recited by heart.

"We have been making efforts to understand the Wild Hunt," Lyram explained to Lady Elyana, his eyes then shifting to his brother. "With Hector gone we have done little to advance in that matter, but we do have Mathys and our maester to aid with that. Though it is true that we did not feel the urgency of the matter until this very moment."

Aiyda watched as Mathys set Hector's journal down and gulped heavily, readying himself to speak. He rose on his feet and lifted his eyes to the room, "I did find a few pages that might be of interest," he started. "While I was researching the nature of my dreams... The maester and I found an old book written by an ex hunter of Northcross." He looked over to his sister for a moment, then to the maester, who hastily handed him over the thickest piece of his stash.

Silence fell upon the room for a moment. Lyram watched, listened, and the moments whilst Mathys searched for his bookmark felt endless. Until, eventually, he set the book down to a half-burnt chapter, with few bits and sketches legible anymore.

"Before I explain this, we need to remember what the Wild Hunt is in the first place, or who it is, for that matter," the boy began, and leaned slightly back, straightening himself. "Hundreds of years ago Armath was a much greater Kingdom, as you know. The North stretched much farther and into the sea, and mages had not yet been banished from the mainland. When they turned against the people - or most of them did, at least - it was only magic that could deter them. It is no surprise that magic is our only hope now."

"Except, we don't have an army of mages," Aiyda interrupted. Mathys scowled and shook his head.

"Neither did they." He let out a sigh and set his finger on one of the more intact drawings. "They enchanted weapons, and gave them to human soldiers to fight with. There were few mages that chose to stand by our side. It can't have possibly been the other way. These drawings... They match the symbols you saw when you went back to the meadow."

Aiyda breathed in and her neck tensed. She had seen it before, all of it, and yet she felt as though the meadow had not been the only place. Hector had managed to translate a few, yet the sketches that surrounded them, the odd shapes intertwining with the language of old seemed like something much more complex than mage alphabet.

*

Amara was left cold at Corban's attempt at affection. "It does not matter anymore," she said, "what should or could have been. Even if we had another, it would still be Roddrick on the throne. And as much as you dislike it, husband... He is our boy. Born from your seed or not, we have raised him together and will continue to guide him until the Gods take us from this world."

The Queen ripped her hand from his grip and moved towards the window, in a thoughtful silence. Revenge was on her mind, and she wished it were on his, as well. He would consider it, but that was not enough. She wished to know that he would forsake his friendship for the sake of their true child.

If a war was to start, then they needed to have the heir on their side. Be it legend or warning.
 
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