PYROPHILIA ▸ Aegon the Conqueror

chapter ii.

IT WAS INCREDIBLY hard to imagine the North weakened and bent. A few years ago, Lyarra was certain the men would laugh and drink all night ridiculing that claim. But Winterfell, just like the rest of the North had been proven far from the invincible fort their people considered it to be and the shadow casted upon it had only grown more apparent in the months of war that followed. Her mother had locked herself in her chambers, with the only exception of the many hours she would spend in the Godswood to pray. Her older brothers had turned into the shadows of the strong and proud boys that they were, with their eyes tired and their bodies half as strong as they were. Benjen had lost the flush of his cheeks, which were now hollowed and sulken. Elric had let his beard grow, a smart choice, considering the fullness and healthiness of his face had been shrunk to the bones.

It had been a long time since they last heard from Arsa. The last time she had written to them, it was to announce that she was with child, the only good news that had reached the gates of Winterfell in those past months. Lyarra had found herself worry for her sister. Her husband, lord Umber had joined her father as one of his bannermen and so Arsa was left almost completely alone at the Last Hearth. She was of course accompanied by her husband's mother and younger sister, but according to the few letters she scarcely sent her, their relationship was strictly typical and none of them had actually put in any effort to get to know her. It was the absence of her huasband that made her letters so painful to read. Despite the dozen complaints she would make, it was one that had stuck with Lyarra the longest, in a letter that was neither about her husband not the indifference of his family. The letter was a four paged one, all about the child she would – despite our knowledge – bring into the world only a few days later.

I have felt no sympathy for myself or my child. The Gods we were so devotingly taught to worship and tend to in times of horror and uncertainty have all abandoned us. Their cruelty was one I could never imagine, Lyarra, for they have given me a child only to be born in times of war. There are nights I cry myself to sleep thinking about how awful of a mother I must be to do that to her. The Maesters believe it is a boy, from the shape of my belly. But I always had a strong feeling it will be a girl. It would be better like that. Men are too shaped by war and I would hate to craft him a soldier.

Arsa had come to be correct. The child had been indeed a girl, named Erin, like Lord Umber's mother.

She had hardly seen her father in those months. When a raven arrived to announce that the Westerlands and the Reach had subdued to Aegon Targaryen, it was clear that the North was soon to follow. They called it the Field of Fire and it had been said that thousands had died; House Gardener with them. The Targaryen King had named the Lannister King as Warden of the West and a man named Harlen Tyrell, apparently a stewart to the Gardeners as Warden of the South.

It would be no lie to say that the news had not turned all blood cold. Aegon Targaryen and his sisters had made quite a name for themselves. The burning of Harrenhall had been a loud and clear message. The Targaryens would not step back and day by day, more Houses would surrender to a power they believed could not be outmatched.