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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STELSA DIPPED THE END of her quill into the jar of ink, gray eyes glancing over the page full of excitement for the celebrations to come. It had been months of planning, ensuring every detail was perfect for the occasion. To her disappointment, both her uncles declined their invitations and merely expressed good fortune for the youngest prince. Stelsa continued writing:
I must admit, I was disappointed to hear that you nor Harwin could make Maelor's celebrations. I cannot fault you. The journey is not easily made and the work of Lords is never done. Perhaps another time you may grace the south with your presence.
Perhaps another time she may get to see her uncles with her own eyes again, and not just words written on a page. Words that may have been born within their minds, but not from their tongue. Perhaps it made them more honest. She looked over the rest of the page, thinking about what else she may say to her uncle when the door creaked open. Her father peeked his head in, catching sight of her sitting at the table. "You are late, little wolf. Guests are flooding the halls of the keep already." He chided as he stepped into the room, looking at the freshly written letter. "Are you finished?"
Stelsa signed the bottom of the page before setting the quill in its proper place. "I am now. Tell me, father, who seems to be the most insufferable already?" Stelsa jokes, leaving her letter to dry as she heads over to join her father's side. He extended his arm, allowing her to slip it in his as he resecured his helm with his other.
"That is a bit difficult to say. I will say there are some familiar faces amongst them though." Her father told her as they exited from the room, heading towards the sound of music that poured through the halls. "I will have to introduce you to them if their age has not mangled their minds." Stelsa snorted quietly at her father's words, making the smallest smirk appear beneath his helm. One only she could see.
"I believe you just called yourself old as well." Stelsa teased, her heart warming at the sound of the low chuckle her father gave her. It was odd hearing such a sound leaving the heart Stelsa and long thought had gone cold. Warmth still lingered in his chest, a warmth he ensured reached his daughter with each day since the hunting trip.
Violins echoed from behind the stone wall, greeting them as the father and daughter emerged into the sunlight. The gardens had been transformed, full of tables and chairs for guests of each household to sit at. Each decorated with flowers from outside the walls, bringing a piece of King's Landing into the celebrations. Similar to the ones that had decorated Heleana's room for hours. Her father squeezed her arm and Stelsa followed his gaze, finding Rhyk positioned near the royal table that was empty. Guests all lingered in the middle of the square of tables, chatting and laughing with one another.
Many houses of which Stelsa had never seen before within the walls of this keep. Stelsa felt her spine straighten the more she looked around at the sigils Lords adorned. She secretly despised her dear uncles for not coming, at least with them present Stelsa would have a familiar sigil amongst the crowd. Stelsa slipped her arm from her father's armored one, locking her gray eyes with his dark ones. Her dagger burned from where it laid beneath the cloth of her skits. She nodded, silently sending her father to his post without another word as she began to walk around the edge of the party.
