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 LIFTED HER HEAD AS the sun began to peek out from the ground it had crawled into — her unruly hair fell over her hunched shoulders as her exhaustion began to peek out from the back of her groggy mind. For hours she tossed and turned in her bed before she had given up, succumbing to the thoughts that made a home inside her mind. What else was she to do at such a late hour but write?
That was something she never thought she would think.
Her hand ached as she dipped the quill into the ink, letting it sit there as she eyed the freshly drying parchment. Slowly, her fingers fell from the feather and onto the desk. Residing next to her hand were countless letters.
For Aba. For Dyana. For Caspian. For Heleana. For Rhyk. For the children.
The one sat in front of her was the last one she was writing — for the person her heart longed for the most. Somehow, despite the distance, he was still a beacon amongst the winter storm she found herself in. She swore in the cold, clouded distance she could see his dragon fire. She could see his purple eye glinting against the white snows as Vhagar released another blaze. Despite the distance, Stelsa still felt his warmth. She still felt his fire. She still felt him.
This letter was for her Aemond.
At first, hesitation had consumed her aching bones. Was this the right choice? Stelsa glanced over at her fire that continued to roar through the night. She could throw it to the flames now. Watch as it became nothing but ash as their future had.
No.
Stelsa turned away from the fire and folded the parchment, slipping it into the pile of letters. She rose from the chair, letting the wood screech against the hardwood as she moved. Her hair swayed with every step as she grabbed the black cape and tucked it around her shoulders. Grabbing the candle set on the chest near the door, Stelsa opened her door and stepped into the chilled hallway.
Part of her knew she should just go lay in bed until Sara came, but Stelsa found herself unable to. Something was pulling her from that room she had paced for hours, the room she had made her home to let her thoughts free. Stelsa let her feet carry her down the halls, noting how still they were compared to the Keep at this hour. It was something she wasn't used to.
Would the children enjoy Winterfell? Would Heleana?
Stelsa found her tired lips twitching at the thought of her sunshine following after her in the early mornings. The two of them could make a home here for their children - far from the watchful eyes of the people and claws of politics. It wasn't anything like Kings Landing.
It felt safer.
The cold kissed her cheeks as she stepped out the door. In the wind that greeted her, Stelsa swore she could hear the gentle laughter of Jaehaerys. Now she truly knew she was hallucinating. Stelsa listened to the snow crunch beneath her feet as she moved towards the garden that houses the weirwood. She was not one for religion like the Queen had devoted herself to, but Stelsa sought its comfort.
