The King of Winters

Chapter-20

Andrew

The last night fell black and moonless, but for once the sky was clear. The grey fogs had given way to endless pits of dark which filled the world.

So many stars, he thought as he watched up the sky from the window of the forsaken wooden cabin. His mother had taught him his stars as a boy in Winterfell; he had learned the names of the twelve houses of heaven and the rulers of each; he could find the seven wanderers sacred to the Faith; he was old friends with the Ice Dragon, the Shadowcat, the Moonmaid, and the Sword of the Morning. All those he shared with the Braavosi, but not some of the others. We look up at the same stars, and see such different things. The King's Crown was the Cradle, to hear the Moonsingers tell it; the Stallion was the Horned Lord; the red wanderer that septons preached was sacred to their Smith up here was called the Red Lord. And when the Red Lord was in the Cradle, that was a propitious time to overcome all the evil, dark and terror that wanders this world, the red priests of R'hllor insisted. Is that true? he wondered. The world had never really been truly kind to him. For all he knew evil and terror always ruled this world whether the Red Lord was bright in the Cradle or not. Even if it had been true it was for them, not for me. He never truly belonged with them, never belonged here. 

Though there were too many stars in the black night sky there was no mistaking his family, his father and mother. He found them just as easily as he could find the moon on a starry night and the sun on a cloudy day. There to the north, low and deep in the western horizon lived his family, the three stars twinkling in a straight line, lightly slanting to one side in the sky. His father was in the bottom end, big and steady looking as strong as always. His mother was at the top, bright and lively as always. Never has he seen someone or something brighter or lovelier than her. And there between them was little Andrew, a small blue star between the big star and the bright star, his father and his mother. He remembered a night sitting with his mother and father in the godswood of Winterfell looking at the stars. His mother was telling him about the stars. Andrew had been so afraid of being lonely that day after venturing into the cold crypts of Winterfell all alone. "Mama, you won't leave me alone will you?" He asked his mother. His mother held him close to her and pressed kisses to his cheeks. "Never," she had said pressing kisses all over his face. "If you ever felt lonely, Andrew, look up at them." She pointed at the three stars. "There is Mama," she pointed at mother. "And there is Papa," she pointed at father. "And there between us you are. My little Star-Lord." she pointed at little Andrew. "We will always be with you, Andrew. We will always be looking after you." His mother kissed his nose then making him laugh. He could almost feel how warm her kisses had been, how warm she had been. A mother's warmth. Andrew would gladly spend a cold night in the arms of his mother rather than warming up in the hot springs of Winterfell's godswood. There was no warmth for him now. My little Star-Lord, Lady Ashara Dayne had liked to call him. I am not even her little boy anymore. He had been three when his mother told him about his family. Thirteen years have passed and little Andrew has stayed little while he grew. 

"Are you looking at me now mother?" Andrew asked his mother. He turned to his father. "You father? Are you looking at me now?" He got no answers. "Look at me now," he told them, "Look at me kill him." 

Andrew moved back from the windows and his parents. He had fastened the shutters back so as to keep a clear eye in everything happening outside. He had waited eleven years to make this happen and didn't want to miss it now that the opportunity has fallen into his hands. But there was nothing happening outside the window of Andrew's little room, only a wall of shifting grey fog. The air had grown chilly... and a good thing, else he might have fallen asleep. It would be just like Andrew to sleep through his own chance for justice. Killing Viserys had been an easy job to do. Instead of Andrew doing most of the works the Mad Dragon himself gave all the chances he had wanted and paid for it with his life. He knew that hunting down Rhaegar won't be as easy as Viserys. If the man was anything better than Viserys he would keep his guards close, and finish his work without any delay and return back to the safety of his castle.