Nitherys Felisae tapped her gem-set nails on the ebony chair that she lounged in. The great hall was large, but freezing, and the walls, made of pure crystal reflected her face, enlarging it to grotesque proportions, curving her cheeks and stretching her eyes. Next to her, Cyren, her brother brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, which were pale blue, icy and held no mercy. Nitherys' father sat beside him, hair a silvery white from years of age, scars marring his lips and cheekbones. At the very old age of 7-and-0, Moren Felisae had weathered many winters and more to come.
A stark contrast from her two children and husband, Daris Felisae fingered the hem of her sleeve, dress a pale spring-green and yellow. She had come from Tyrell birth, and wanted to keep the color of Highgarden alive somehow in the eternal winter forests of Greywing. In her other hand rested a book, brown leather and bound with fine red silk.
Basking before them lay four shadowcats-seldom seen felines that House Felisae was renowned for taming and training, earning their founder, Ser Trytas Felisae, before he bore three children with his brother's wife, eventually killing him, but carrying on Felisae blood and allowing them to form their own seperate house.
Nitherys looked at the banners adorning the hall. Marked upon them was, on a split field of black and white, a shadowcat, claws extended, position very similar to the Lannister sigil. They held no connection to that house, however. The did have allies tracing back hundreds of years to Tyrell and Targeryan, and her father's father's father was a Targaryen, marrying a Felisae sister.
Not that most people would know that. The Felisae were little known, keeping to Greywing Motte and the forests that surround it, relying only on the precious gem mines and a rare delicacy, a type of goose that was only found in their area.
They had their customs of course. When a Felisae woman first flowered, a part of her body was taken out and replaced with a crystal, in honor of the Many-Faced God that was generally worshipped. Nitherys, at the tender age of 12, was given the milk of the poppy, drugging her, and had all her fingernails removed and replaced. Men were given their crystals, marking their manhood when they turned 14. If someone was married into the house, they were simply given a piece of jewelry, blessed by the holy men in the temple of the many-faced god, and were told that with them, lied a piece of Him, until they were given His gift, the gift of death.
"Moren, when do you think we can leave this hall? It is so cold, I can't possibly get out sooner." Nitherys looked for the speaker. It was her mother, always anxious to get back into her chambers, never able to abide the cold. Nitherys' lip curled.
She's weak. She won't be alive for much longer. It's a surprise she lived long enough to have Cyren and 15 namedays later. If I was king, I would have shipped her back to Highgarden after fucked her the second time.
Nitherys laughed out loud, voice reverberating through the long hall, stewards and maesters looking up, disapproval etched onto their faces like scars.
"Nitherys..." Her father warned, his eyes narrowing.
"My mistake father. I just remembered a jest Jinglebells had made yesterday. He is quite funny, is he not?" Nitherys' hand flew to her mouth, as if she really regretted her incident.
"Yes... he is quite funny." Moren turned back to her brother and began speaking again. Buzz filled the great hall once more and Nitherys relaxed. Jinglebells is a fool. That does not mean he is funny. I'd like to rip his little jingling head off...
"Pieces...Lannisters....yes.... no... you're right but...." Nitherys, hearing the sound of her brother and father's discussion, leaned forward to listen.
"They're causing trouble in the..." Cyren lowered his voice and she couldn't hear the last words. Damn it.
Nitherys leaned back in the ebony seat, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. Are the Lannisters causing trouble again? I thought it was over almost thirty years ago when Danaerys Targaryen took the throne, and Stannis surrendered. They kept resisting, but eventually they bent the knee as well... Over the past few years, the Lannisters kept attempting to rise, only to be forced down by the queen's Unsullied.
"But where?" She whispered out loud to the glass roof.
"Nitherys, Cyren, I'm going, and you're coming with me. All this cold isn't good for you." Shooting a glare at Moren, the queen turned heel, and Nitherys rose.
"Goodbye, father." She said with an edge to her voice.
"Goodbye, Nitherys."
