From Winter To Summer and Winter Again 3

Part 8

The Riverland's green hills and lush waters were unmatched, their marvelous beauty unmatched. The uniqueness and tranquility they emanated soothed easily, Rhaenyra was grateful to be able to see such grace with her own eyes. But the green hills and clear waters were no match to her beloved North, her country. With each passing day, the more she missed her home. The snow, the castle, the Godswood, everything. She was stuck in the south, all for liberation and for her good-sisters who were hopefully safe.

Her bitterness for the south grew when the beautiful Riverlands would be drenched with rain. Rhaenyra wondered if this rain rivaled that of the Stormlands, seeing every tent would nearly concave because of the water. She was a Northerner, being reminded of this with each storm. She welcomed the snow and cursed the rains.

Rhaenyra was reminded of her hate for rain as she sat in her tent, listening to the fading drops fall against the top. She sat with her father and children, watching his failed attempts at connecting with the boys.

"What do you know of House Bolton, Domeric? " Her father spoke calmly to his grandson. Domeric would fearfully look to the man he hardly knew, nervously glancing at his mother before answering each time. The small heir sat between them with his toys scattered around.

"It is mama's house," he whispered. He sat straighter in his spot on the floor, turning to his mother and smiling. Rhaenyra nodded in encouragement.

"Yes, making it your house as well," said Roose leaned back into his chair. Rhaenyra watched as her father reached into his cloak, quickly searching into his pockets. "I have a gift for the young princes," his eyes shifted to Henry who comfortable nestled into his mother's side. "Here," Domeric slowly reached for the parcel. Rhaenyra held her tongue as she watched him opened the red parcel, revealing two sigils of her past house.

They were two silver broaches, meant to hold one's cloaks. Simple pieces that any member of House Bolton would be proud to wear. But her children were Starks. Rhaenyra mindlessly told her son to tell his grandfather thank you. Roose's face beamed at the thanks. Her stomach knotted at his clear satisfaction, his sick hope of having a Bolton influence on the future Northern King.

"Wonderful gifts aren't they, Domeric. Now go with Bella to get ready for bed, I won't be too long." Rhaenyra shifted in her chair to see the woman who hid against the walls of her tent, she motioned to her child who obediently followed her commands. Reluctantly, she adjusted Henry in her arms and met the gaze of her father. "How do you fare?"

"Well." His cold blue eyes scanned over her, stopping as they reached Henry. Rhaenyra's grip tightened on her child. "And you, your grace? How are you?"

She sighed, joining him in gazing down at her child. Henry sat on her lap, facing her as he slowly traced the detailing on her dress. His fingers would edge over the swirls on her collar and edge to the dire wolf necklace on her neck. In fascination, he would gently pull her necklace before beginning again.

"I'm fine." Rhaenyra looked up, noticing her father's eyes never left her son.

"No, you are not. Don't lie to me."

She pursed her lips before answering, "I'm scared."

"Why?"

Rhaenyra rose from her seat, hand moving to support Henry's back as she did. His hands remained on her necklace. "Because," she paused. "Because I was never prepared for this. I was groomed to be a wife of a high lord. A lady. Here I am being the bloody queen of the fucking North." She turned back seeing if Domeric noticed shouted whispers. "I was never ready for this. I was never ready to go to war."

"You were born to be queen," her father cooly said. "I raised you to be ready." He sat back in his seat, watching her unfold.

"You did noth-" Rhaenyra stopped at the rustle of the tent opening. She rolled her eyes as her father stood from his seat.