Hers Is The Fury

Brother

[Winterfell - Courtyard]

In the depths of Winterfell's courtyard, amidst the chilling wind and crunch of freshly fallen snow, Queen Morgana Baratheon, daughter of the late King Robert and his doomed queen, Cersei Lannister, wife to the King of the North, Robb Stark, stood tall amidst the chaos. Her eyes scanned over the bustling activity as everyone worked tirelessly to fortify the castle against the impending threat of the Night King and his army. Despite the urgency of the situation, Morgana found herself momentarily distracted by the thought of her own bloodline; she was, she mused to herself, the last true Baratheon left in the world.

For all intents and purposes, House Baratheon was dead. There were no trueborn males to carry on the name.

Yes, there was Morgana's sons, Eddard and Robert, but they are Starks. Sons of the North, destined to carry on the legacy of the blood that runs through their veins; the blood of the First Men and the former Kings of Winter.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the approach of two of her closest friends and advisors, Hela and Sirena.

"Your Majesty, we've gone over everything we can think of for defense and offense," Hela began, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. "The castle gates are fortified, the men-at-arms are armed and ready, and the archers are at their posts. The dragonglass weapons you had commissioned from the smithy are ready for distribution among the soldiers."

Morgana nodded in agreement, her dark curls bouncing against her shoulders. "And the projectiles?" she asked, referring to a new method of offense they had concocted together.

Tiny vials filled with a explosive liquid, tie with twine and launched. But, not wanting to risk accidental detonation, they would only be set off when struck by arrows, releasing a powder like substance.

Which is why they had entrusted the most skilled archers with this task.

"The vials are ready," Sirena assured her, "and the archers are trained in their use. They will be our secret weapon against the undead, Your Majesty."

At that moment, a figure approached them from across the courtyard. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with unruly brown hair and a face that bore a striking resemblance to someone Morgana knew well. As he drew nearer, she realized it was Gendry Waters, a bastard from King's Landing, whom had become a skilled blacksmith under the tutelage of Tobho Mott.

"Your Grace," he said, bowing his head respectfully. "I wanted to speak with you, if you could spare a moment."

Morgana glanced at Hela and Sirena, who nodded in understanding. "Of course," she said, motioning for Gendry to follow her to a quiet corner of the courtyard. As they stepped away from the bustle of activity, Morgana studied his face more closely. There was no denying the resemblance; he could easily have been her younger brother.

"You wanted to speak with me, Gendry?" she asked, her voice steady.

"Aye, Your Grace," he said, glancing around to make sure they were alone. "I... I have something to tell you. Something that I've only recently found out." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I am your half-brother, Morgana. My mother was one of your father's whores, and I am the bastard son of Robert Baratheon."

Morgana's eyes widened in shock, her heart racing. This revelation was more than she could have ever expected. For a moment, she was unable to speak, her mind reeling with the implications. She had always known that her father had been unfaithful to her mother, but she never could have imagined that she had a half-sibling out there.

Especially not after Joffrey had ordered the murder of all of her half siblings.

"I... I had no idea," Morgana finally managed to say, her voice trembling. Tears streamed down her face as she reached out to take Gendry's hand, gripping it tightly. "I thought I was the only one left... the only one with any of our father's blood. I never imagined..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.