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

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

"Good gods, you've got the posture of an old man."

Her auburn braid swung in defiance with her as she spoke. The Queen in the North. Summer blinked stiffly, afraid to move a muscle or make a face in the Queen's presence. Queen Sansa leaned down anyway and whacked the small of Summer's back with a thin whip of maple bark. "Your posture, princess. I'm to teach you to be a lady, not to be a haggardly beast."

Summer sat up, straightening her spine as she did. Septa Lula had braided her curls up as she always did before she brought Summer to the Queen. The Septa had also dressed Summer in a scratchy green velvet frock trimmed with grey wolf's fur to match the fur tippet wrapped around Summer's neck. "Your name says it all," the old woman had said. "It'll be too cold for you here, I fear. What, with your sensitivities and all of that."

Summer had just pressed her lips together when the Septa said that. As if she needed any more reasons to long for home. The Red Keep seemed even more beautiful in her mind, now that she no longer was there. No, instead here she was standing in the great hall of Winterfell, before the Ice Queen and her maester and the septa. The maester observed Queen Sansa's doings silently, his face blank of any emotion. Summer could not find one single drop among the many creases in his skin, and she continued to examine him most studiously until he finally met her gaze and loudly cleared his throat. Summer looked back up at the Queen, but it was too late, as she was now looking coldly at the maester. "Is there something you needed to say, Maester Fell?" 

The maester gave Summer a pointed look before smiling kindly at the Queen. "Not at all, your grace, I was short of breath."

"Should I send for tea?" 

"No need to worry yourself with the ailments of an old man, your grace." The maester bowed his head at her, as if to be appreciative, and turned his eyes back to Summer, a subtle reminder to the Queen to remember why they were there. Summer swallowed as she made eye contact with Sansa. Her nerves were all out of sorts, but she remained still as the Queen continued to inspect her. Sansa walked slowly, three circles, around Summer before stopping abruptly.

"The posture will need practice," said the Queen, turning to Septa Lula. "What can she do?"

"The princess is most talented, your grace," the Septa replied, smiling fondly at Summer. "She has a bit of a rebelliousness to her, but the King has taken great care to tend to that. She can paint quite well, and she's learning the lyre, and she's growing better every day at her needlepoint. She sings quite sweetly, though she is still quite clumsy at dance. It's to be expected for her age, though." 

"Paint, song, needlepoint," the Queen retorted. "She needs to learn how to survive in the North. She will learn how to defend herself. It's well and good that she can be a lady, but she will need to learn to become a Queen. Does she ride? Can she do anything else?"

"Well, it's unorthodox really, your grace, but her father had her begin to learn swords. She was relentless." 

"That's a start," the Ice Queen muttered. She straightened up and looked at the Septa, speaking levelly now. "We do things differently in the North. Every child has a sword put in their hand, boy or girl. Everyone fights in the North."

Summer's interest in the conversation piqued. She glanced fervently at the queen, her eyes aglow. 

Sansa looked down at her. "It's a good thing my brother has put those childish ideas to rest. You could have great potential."

Septa Lula's face was wrought with uncertainty, but even still she nodded curtly and said simply, "Indeed, your grace."

Sansa shot her a cryptic look. Then, as if she were holding her tongue, her face reverted to her initial cool demeanor, and she walked briskly out of the hall. Summer followed the queen with her eyes, an expression of confusion and mild disdain wrinkling her delicate features. Septa Lula reached forward and snatched Summer's hand, before pulling her impatiently through the rows of weathered wooden benches to the door. Upon reaching it, the septa knelt down and grabbed Summer by her shoulders. Summer squirmed as the old woman's unkept fingernails dug into her skin but remained quiet and observant.