The Gentle Wolf (Rhaegar Targaryen)

Chapter 3

3: Melantha

She was never a religious person. She respected those who worshiped the Old Gods, but didn't find it in her heart to believe in them enough to care. Despite that, just before she was to leave Winterfell, she paid the Wire wood tree one last visit.

She knelt before the white tree, uncaring of the snow on the ground, and looked up at its bleeding face.

She stayed there, unmoving, barely breathing, taking in the sight.

She wasn't there to pray, nor to ask for the Gods blessings or protection on the journey ahead. She was there just to say goodbye to a place that had seen her accomplish so much through the years.

It was the place where she took her first steps, where she learnt how to swim and where she learnt how to wield a sword. It was also one of her favorite places to read and ponder, and she would greatly miss its tranquility.

She stared at the tree for what felt like the briefest of moments and eternity at the same time, and the longer she stared the more compelled she felt to lean against it and close her eyes.

No one was yet there to collect her, so she sat down and leaned her left side against the tree. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to the bark.

She saw snow being poured into a wine cup.

A hammer being swung in the air.

Streets of a foreign place flooded with blood.

A fair headed woman charging into battle.

Ice blue eyes.

The sea below her, getting closer and closer and the wind hitting against her violently, and ice blue eyes waiting just beneath the surface.

Melantha sat up straight, looking everywhere with great speed. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was labored, fear threatening to take over her.

"My Lady, what is it?"

She looked up to watch Maester Luwin watching her, dark eyes filled with worry.

Forcing herself into believing she was safe, she took in her surroundings with strained calmness.

"It's nothing. I think I had a nightmare, that's all."

"You think?"

"I did."

The man nodded quietly, and Melantha could tell he was trying to decide weather to believe her or not.

"What's that?" She was quick to ask, wanting to distract him.

Maester Luwin was holding a velvet bag, and by its shape, she guessed it contained a book.

"Your most recent discovery, My Lady." He answered, offering her a hand to help her up. "I noticed you've been trying to translate a book."

"Yes. It's in High Valyrian, and I'm afraid I've been rather unsuccessful."

"I also happened to hear a rumor that the Targaryens still speak the language, even though they've not been in Valyria for...some time now." He offered her the bag, and when she took it she peeked inside, seeing some scrolls as well. Probably what she had managed to translate. "My knowledge of marriage is quite limited, I'm afraid, but I imagine that traveling across the kingdom to wed a stranger can be challenging, so I thought perhaps, you and the Prince can find some common ground." He pointed at the book. "I hear he's a bit of a scholar, just like you."

Melantha pressed the bag against her chest, staring at the Maester. She hadn't known him for long, but she had grown attached. He was kind, and willing to listen to others' opinions despite his vast knowledge, and unlike the previous Maester, he had no issue in passing down his wisdom to her.