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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STONE TOWERS THAT REACHED FOR THE SKY loomed above Stelsa and her father as they rode down the mud path. Stelsa squinted against the bright, dying light to see the beginnings of where the stone had melted away beneath the dragon's fire years ago. Most of the sanctuary remained untouched as a reminder of what the Targaryens were truly capable of with their dragons. Stelsa wondered what Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons, would look like if she were to come from the clouds as Balerion had done. Would the sheer size of the green-scaled dragon be enough to destroy the remainder of this place, or would the heat that lingered in her eyes come crashing down around them?
Stelsa forced her head to lower as they neared the gates that opened, allowing the girl and her father inside before they shut behind them. It did not look much different from the last time she had been there, though she could not recall much of it since it was so long ago. Stelsa slid from her horse as a stable-man came over, kindly taking her horse from her as her father joined her side. "Harwin awaits." Her father mumbled, staring at the stone building that his friend had made home.
"It looks the same." Stelsa whispered, eyes still scanning the quiet town. She felt as though she could not speak above this octave, afraid she would disturb the occupants. Her father made a noise similar to a huff at her observance. "Does it not?"
Her father remained silent as he looked around, keeping his hand pressed between his daughter's shoulders to lead her inside the stone home. "Still gives me the same creeps." He finally uttered once inside the four stone walls, lit by the dying light that oddly copied dragon fire this evening. Perhaps it was part of the curse of Harrenhal.
Stelsa rewarded his response with a quiet snort, following her father down the hall. A few ladies filled the area, working on cleaning the hall in the dying hour. Stelsa focused on the large painting that lined the stone walls, one that depicted what Harrenhal had been before the Conquest. It was but a shadow now, full of ghosts that watched from every corner.
Stelsa was beginning to understand why her father was creeped out by this place.
"I was beginning to think you would miss dinner." A low voice boomed from the end of the hall — its baritone vibrating off the stone that surrounded them. Stelsa turned her head to see a tall man standing in the archway, draped in dark blue clothing that hugged his larger muscles. Harwin's brown curls had begun to gray through the years. His hair fading color told an unspoken story of the life that had begun to drain from the man.
"Uncle." Stelsa breathed as her feet moved to their own tandem, rushing towards the male who still stood inches taller than her. As she neared, Stelsa saw the lines that etched into his skin. Stelsa noted that none followed the length of his cheekbones — ones that formed when one smiled too much. Even she had begun to form those lines at her age.
"Stelsa." Harwin greeted her, extending his arms out towards her. She stepped into them and threw herself onto her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck as he came to wrap around her back. Stelsa felt the ground give way as her uncle squeezed her against his chest. "It is so good to see you again, little wolf. I have missed you terribly." His voice was muffled against her shoulder as he lowered her back to the ground, but his frame lowered to follow hers.
