Stelsa, the girl crafted from the broken leftovers from the Gods, is far from the expectations of a normal lady. Her father, Aaeron Meryls, and her uncles sought to train her in the way of the blade. Many whisper about her origin - is she bastard li...
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AAERON FOUND A LOVE for the ocean, more so in recent months. Perhaps it was because he was accustomed to it now. It intrigued him that no man could explore what the ocean had to offer. The depth of it is forever unanswered. What creatures lie beneath? Could they be tamed like a Targaryen dragon to give the Meryls a name? Would people whisper that they were closer to Gods rather than madness too?
A hand brushes against his bicep as a raven swoops into the air, breaking his train of thought. The raven turns north, heading back towards the direction it had come from. Aaeron turned to his left and watched as his pregnant wife joined his side. Her long, dark hair that was out of her half-braid swayed in the wind from the ocean. Tucked neatly in the conjoined strands of hair resided a small, gold and black dagger. Aaeron always meant to ask why such an odd decorative piece, but he never did. The normally pale cheeks were flush with color as she leaned against his bicep, trying to steady herself, "My brother says hello," Ilya's rosy lips perked up in a small smile, "He is eager to know when the baby is born." Eager he was, he has been writing multiple times the closer the months got. Ilya laughs, a sound that warms Aaeron in the chilling night, "He is adamant about spoiling them." She expresses through her giggles.
Aaeron grins, wrapping his arm around his wife and pulling her against his chest, "All the way from the North? That is some dedication of Cregan." He muses while Ilya leans her head against his chest - her blue eyes peering over the ledge of the boat to watch the waves. How she managed to have eyes that looked like they were plucked from the ocean, Aaeron would never know. People often commented on her brother's gray eyes, comparing them to a winter storm, but overlooked the beauty of his sister's eyes.
The couple sits in silence for a few minutes, Ilya listening to the beat of her husband's heart while Aaeron listens to the waves crashing. Her slender fingers move down his chest to rest against her belly, rubbing the sides of the stretched flesh as if to soothe it, "The princess is quite excited for our arrival." Ilya whispers, breaking the quiet atmosphere.
Aaeron hums, rubbing circles against her bicep as if he was pondering her words, "She will have support from one the finest ladies of the North. Let alone the future lord's favorite sister." Ilya lifts her head to look at him as he speaks, "After the baby is born. I do not want you meddling in affairs when you should be resting."
Ilya raised a dark eyebrow at this, "I know my limits, my dearest husband. If you get to run about as a guard then I shall occupy my time meddling in any affairs I wish." Ilya gently kisses his lips after stating that. The moon reflecting in her blue eyes made them light up with her playfulness. Though, her words held some validity. Ilya had always loved politics and being the properly educated lady of the North that she is, her uncle was more than happy to send her to King's Landing as an advocate on their behalf.
However, Ilya never reaches King's Landing. That night she sent her last letter to her brother. That night she kissed her husband one last time. That night she had gone into weeks early labor that proved itself her greatest battle yet. Ilya Stark, the daughter of Rickon Stark and Lady Gilliane Glover, cried out for hours from the pain. The one other lady on the boat tried to soothe her, rubbing her back and whispering words of encouragement. Ilya gripped the sheets below her, throwing her head back as she screamed out in pain. It felt as though her lower half was being forcibly ripped apart and she could do nothing to stop it. None of the tales or books could have prepared her for how excruciating this was.
