The Queen of Flames (Sequel to 'The Demon of Winterfell') (On Hold)

Chapter Twenty: Lucan

Emmelyne lie in her bed, curled up with her legs under her chin. She had moved away from Sandor, who was muttering quietly in his sleep. She didn't care enough to listen and figure out what he was saying.

She was cold. Bare naked and wrapped tightly in a fur blanket. Almost a foot between her and Sandor, who, if she were to move closer to him, would surely warm her.

Emmelyne rolled onto her back, letting out a long breath. She could see the mist that it left swirling in the air. Her stomach rose and fell, and she felt a slight pain. "It's all right, little one," she murmured, smoothing her hand over the slight curve that was beginning to form.

Across from her, Sandor stirred in his sleep. She looked over at him, a small smile playing at her lips. He looked content. At peace, for what was possibly the first time in his life. "I love you," she whispered to his sleeping form.

Of course, she got no response.

She hadn't had a vision in a long time. It was beginning to worry her. What if she had lost her power? It wouldn't have surprised her. She had started to feel... wrong. Like less of herself.

She closed her gray eyes, feeling her breath quicken.

There was a man. He looked to be about twenty. He had a kind face, a handsome face. Black hair that hung to his shoulders in waves. Deep, Stark gray eyes. For a moment, Emmelyne might've thought that he were her uncle, Brandon. But then she saw a woman.

With the red hair, the stern face, and the bright blue eyes, Emmelyne knew that it was Catelyn that she was seeing. But who was this man? Who was the man that looked like a Stark?

He was lowered over Emmelyne, a smile on his handsome, kind face. "She's beautiful, Cat," he said.

Catelyn was shaking her head. "You can't be here, Lucan."

"Why not?"

"Someone will see! Someone will ask questions."

The man- Lucan- laughed a deep, hearty laughed that made Emmelyne want to smile. "She looks like a Stark, Cat. No one will ask any questions."

He didn't look at her as he spoke, he only continued to smile at Emmelyne. "My son has the Tully look," Catelyn stated. "Someone will notice that this child has black hair and gray eyes."

He finally turned to face her, shaking his head. "Cat," he said, his tone kind and gentle. "It will be alright."

Emmelyne didn't know what was happening. Who was this man? Why would people ask questions? Why was Catelyn so afraid?

She wanted to wake up. But she couldn't. She just lie there, in what appeared to be a cradle. "Lucan," Catelyn said. "I can't do this."

Lucan only shook his head. "She needs a name, Cat. I want to name her."

"No."

"Please."

"I know what you'll name her."

He was smiling that too damn perfect smile again. "You were friends with her, Cat. No one will wonder, they'll understand."

"Emmelyne's dead!"

He suddenly went rigid, a wounded look in his eyes. "Cat," he whispered.

She lowered her head, letting out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry. She still may be alive."

Lucan turned, lifting Emmelyne from the cradle. He rocked her gently in his arms, as Catelyn only stared at him. "Never thought I'd have a daughter," he murmured. "Especially with the most beautiful woman alive."

When he held Emmelyne close, she could smell his fur cloak. It smelled of smoke, of pine, and strangely... of blood.

"When will you be going back?" Catelyn asked.

"I have one more day at Winterfell. Then it's back to the Wall."

There was a sad look on both of the pairs faces. He lowered Emmelyne gently back into the cradle, turning to face Catelyn. "Please name her after Emmelyne. It's what my sister would have wanted."

She smiled weakly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "What will I get if I do?"

He leaned close, letting his forehead rest against hers. "You get nothing. I get my beautiful daughter to be named after my wonderful sister."

"Persuade me."

He licked his lips, laughing softly. "I can be very persuasive, Cat."

"Prove it."

Lucan leaned close, pressing his lips to Catelyn's.

"Fierce one?"

Emmelyne watched the pair, confusion seeping through her. This was her father. She wasn't Ned's daughter.

"Em?"

She was a bastard. Did anyone else know this? Where was her father?

"Emmelyne!"

She woke with a start, a gasp escaping her at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. "Shh, shh," a rough voice said.

She was shaking madly.

She looked to Sandor, tears welling in her eyes. "Emmelyne?" he asked, his tone shifting to concern.

Emmelyne didn't answer. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face to his bare chest as the tears started to fall down her face. "What's wrong, fierce one?" Sandor asked her.

"I... I..." she choked back her sobs, unable to continue speaking.

"Shh, shh. I'm sorry for asking. Shh. It's all right."

He pulled her tightly against him, letting her sob into his chest. He could feel her tears rolling down his skin. It hurt him to see his fierce one so upset. "It's all right. It's all right."

He held her like this well into the night, repeating the same three words over and over, until, finally, Emmelyne fell asleep in his arms.