Born of spite, fostered in pity, shrouded in fear.
Malaeya Lannister was a mystery to every soul in the Seven Kingdoms and far beyond. Many a song written in her name, yet few eyes had laid upon her. Locked away in the Red Keep, a need budded within...
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~͓̽~͓̽~
46 | ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇɴ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ
𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀
𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀'𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐌 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄. It was the last day of the last month of the year 300 AC. Which meant that it was Robb's nameday. He was nineteen now. And she had no idea how he celebrated it. She'd only celebrated one birthday with him, and he'd been too injured to recover. This time, it was she who was injured.
Though she was basically recovered, but Robb insisted she play it safe. Which meant only riding her dragons and not fighting in the battlefield. Either way, they hadn't been able to truly celebrate with each other yet, and she had no idea where to begin.
That's why she'd consulted the people who'd known him much longer than she had. "Perhaps I can cook for him?" Although that wouldn't really be a good gift because she wasn't very good at cooking.
"Robb loves swords, and he's always wanted Ice. Since that one's gone, perhaps you can get him another Valyrian Steel one?"
Malaeya arched a brow at Arya. "We're in the Storm Lands. Where am I going to get Valyrian Steel?"
She hadn't had her own sword since Harrenhal, and her dagger had probably been sold by that farmer from the Riverlands already.
The young girl shrugged. "I don't know. You're a Targaryen, shouldn't you know? Or at least how to make it?"
The queen rolled her eyes and turned to her other sister-by-law. "What about you?"
Sansa's hands were busy working away on a cloak. She was stitching what looked like a crowned grey wolf on it. "I'm making him a royal sigil." She showed the design. "I call it, the Royal Cloak of Arms."
Malaeya smiled. "I like it. I wish I'd thought of it."
"I don't understand why you haven't been preparing for this already."
An exhale left her lips and she glared at Arya. "I was a little busy being held hostage for the past few months."
Arya shrugged, still playing with Shaggydog. "Well, I happen to know that he's already gotten your gift. He plans on giving it to you when the war is over. Perhaps you can wait until then also?"
Arya's words did nothing to help her. In fact, they made her feel worse.
Her birthday was on the tenth day of the ninth month. She'd spent it in chains and pain, so she didn't think Robb knew. She was eighteen, a true woman. But she didn't mention it as to not make him feel bad. "What is it?"
