A Song of Ash and Smoke | a continuation of A Song of Ice and Fire

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

A hand prodded Summer, like a farmer to his cattle. Once, twice. Summer groaned and swatted her older brother's hand away as if he were a fly buzzing around her liver stew. The hand prodded her side again and this time, Summer smacked, pressing her lips together triumphantly as her tiny hand stung his. "Oshen," she complained. "You're so stupid."

"Don't let Septa Lula catch you saying that word," Oshen warned her, his dark eyes alight with humor. "It's not ladylike."

"I'm not a lady," Summer replied, blowing a stray piece of hair from her eyes. "I'm too little to be a lady. I don't want to be one."

"I wonder why we're all gathered here, anyway," a third voice chimed in. Their older sister Sarena was walking near, brushing imaginary dust off her pristine ivory skirts. Another set of footsteps joined hers, and the oldest of the sisters, Lya appeared.

Lya looked irritated. "Where's Dickon? Grandmaester was very specific that we were all to be here."

Lya and Sarena were the perfect ladies. Septa Lula often chided Summer. The old hen often told her, let your sisters inspire you. They certainly inspired a vision of beauty, side by side in their gleaming silk gowns. Both had the Queen's light brown hair, the color of a newborn fawn, and her chocolate eyes. Summer had the King's near-black eyes, so dark they appeared infinite. Her unruly auburn curls were tucked into the same braid as her sisters', as the Septa did it every morning. The three sisters all took after their royal mother in the face – round, pink cheeks with deep dimples set in a sweet, heart-shaped jawline. That was where the similarities ended. Summer did not want to be like her older sisters.

The only person who did not care about Summer's propriety was her father. Queen Talla tried her hardest to corral the young princess. The King said nary a word. Summer often liked to sit with him in his study as he worked. She was not loud. She entertained herself quite well; Summer just preferred to have quiet company. It was something she had in common with her father.

Multiple footsteps echoed down the hallway, and there they were – Grandmaester Sam with Lady Gilly on his arm, and Septa Lula with her bony fingers wrapped tightly around the arm of Summer's fifth sibling – her brother Dickon. Dickon was impatiently attempting to shake her off, but Summer had been in that grip before. Septa Lula didn't let go until she was well and ready to. The Grandmaester and Lady Gilly were whispering about themselves with flushed, pleased faces. Septa Lula's face gave away nothing, which was typical for her.

"Children," Sam called excitedly, his pace quickening. "Your father has sent a raven from the North. We've got lots to discuss."

Finally, they reached the children. Sam was panting, his face pink. The children all gathered; Dickon was relieved to finally shake off the Septa's hand.

Sam straightened up, and leaned over to murmur something to Lady Gilly, who smiled widely.

"Lya," the Grandmaester began. "You'll be off for Dorne in not too long. Your oldest brother, Jojen, is to be married within the fortnight following his return from the North."

Lya and Sarena shared a look, before Sarena giggled and said, "Looks like Jojen is having his way, as usual."

Septa Lula scolded her. "The Lady Jaehaera will make for a fine Queen."

The children had grown up with Jaehaera and everyone knew of Jojen's dalliance with her. She was so lovely a creature, it was hard to fault him.

Lya stepped forward with a warm smile. "This we know, Septa, as we have loved her as our own sister our whole lives. But what do you mean, Queen?"

It was no secret that King Bran had not named a successor. It was not a matter the children yet understood. Grandmaester Sam pardoned himself and interjected, "He made the final decision while away on his travels, your highness."