Bhaella had been forgotten most of her life, the second daughter of Viserys and Aemma. Rhaenyra hardly spoke to her, and Viserys forgot her name sometimes. Aemma, however, cherished her daughter so, spoiling her and loving her fully though Bhaella p...
Her handmaidens dressed her into a warm crimson gown and draped her shoulders in black faux fur.
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With a tight choker-necklace at her neck, Bhaella stepped down from the carriage and offered a warm smile to those that had gathered to see her arrival. "Lord Cregan, how wonderful to see you!" Bhaella offered, initiating his charm instantly. With hair that flowed to his shoulders of a dark brown, and eyes a piercing brown-grey, Cregan had won her heart. He was of similar age, perhaps a few namedays older, and still her heart was won. "How wonderful to see you, Princess Bhaella." He grinned, kneeling slightly to kiss her hand. Bhaella smiled and ushered her handmaidens away. He looked to his father, who nodded his way. "My father has a council to hold. I shall show you to your chambers, if it please you." Cregan offered.
"How kind." Bhaella replied, taking his arm and looking at him gently.
The room was spacious, and toasty in comparison to the other areas of Winterfell. A brilliant hearth lit the room in an amber hue, and blanket upon blanket draped very bed and seat. A chest at the end of the bed held her belongings, along with other drawers. Her handmaidens shared a chamber across, ten beds for ten frail women. "A raven arrived, princess. From the capitol." Bhaella snatched it, biting her nails anxiously, resting in a chair by the hearth with a blanket across a black gown. "My mother has... No!" Bhaella tossed the letter into a fire and held back her tears, "No, no, no! Fetch me..." The handmaiden understood, hurrying off and returning with fresh paper and a quill.
"Send it, send it quick! I... Oh..."
"And a feast is held tonight, with a few vassal Lords in service. Lord Cregan has begged to have it in your mothers honour, in her memory."
"He knows?" Bhaella asked, trembling as she held back tears. The handmaiden nodded mournfully and took the finished letter. Bhaella ushered her away and pressed a pillow against her chest, tears streaming. "I would have my dress, Alya!"
The dress was black and gold, with a hooded cloak lined with fur. It had been gifted to her by Cregan, in the idea of mourning, though he hardly wore black with the Night's Watch persistent association with the colour.
Bhaella walked down the halls, hugging the fur of her cloak, ignoring all that saw. Cregan took her arm, giving her a soft squeeze, opening the doors for her subconsciously. "Cregan, I am sorry to be such a bore. It is only that I loved my mother so." Bhaella apologised, sitting down beside Cregan. His father and uncle dined on the other side of the table, as well as his cousins. Bhaella made quickly for Winterfell's intoxicated goblets, praying it would take her sorrows away. Bhaella did not bother to listen as Lord Rickon made a speech in Aemma's honour. "Princess, would you say a word? Or two?" Lord Rickon asked. Bhaella stood, reluctantly, and drank the rest of her goblet in one fell swoop. Some of the men around whooped, and the woman cheered.
"Queen Aemma was a mother I will never forget. I spent little time with her, truly, I was always sent away by my father, forgotten and distanced. But my mother was always loving, always empathetic, knowing of my constant fears and troubles, of which she prevented with a sword of love as her weapon. I never possessed a dragon, so she would let me go to the dragon pit everyday, every second until I felt like I did! She was a mother I will never, ever let go. She could never be replaced." Bhaella sat down, eyes flickering with the urge to spill, welled with an invisible emotion. Suddenly, all that changed, and she was looking ahead with a grave smile to those who watched. She could not show weakness. "Cregan, I'm headed to bed. I do not feel a hunger tonight. Meet me, if you dare."
