snow and stars| jon snow

xviii: the wolves

It had been a year and a half since Jon returned to Westeros. Andromeda wasn't a shell, not like she thought she would be. She was doing fine, and her kingdom was doing fine as well, if you didn't mind the subtle, survivable tension. The men and women were training, practicing for war that was probably soon to come. The children were playing and singing and reading, things Andromeda thought were equally important. But most importantly, she cut herself off from Westeros entirely. She had no need to be connected anymore, not after Jon stopped writing her.

Ilta had been receiving threatening notes from the Prince of Dorne, to which she responded to in Iltan, a language Dorne would never know just to piss them off. Camorra wanted her success. He was the borderline usurper of Dorne, he was the Crown Prince, but that wasn't enough for him, and she knew that before even he did. But he was not taking Ilta. Not physically, and he certainly wasn't taking credit for it either. She knew that Camorra was all bark and no bite, and that in no time soon would he have courage to confront her directly, even if he himself was nowhere near the war front.

   The whole island was on standby for ships. Their harbor was small, but with all of their sides being on the water beside the harsh mountain side, it was easy to see a ship coming. Andromeda was sitting in her tower, writing a bill about education when her door was nearly busted down.

   "Your Grace!" A woman soldier was out of breath. "A ship has come. A large ship, with the Stark banner." Andromeda's eyes lit up, immediately thinking of Jon.

   "Is it King Jon?" She asked, hoping her voice didn't show the pure desperation for the one she was literally bonded at the soul to.

   "It is a Stark sigil, Your Grace. That is all we know." She bowed instead of curtsying, which interested Andromeda. Andromeda stood up in a quite unladylike manner, her elaborate crown almost tilting off of her head. "Would you like me to escort you?"

    "I will sit atop my throne to welcome them. Call my Hand, and call Odda." Andromeda ordered, and she watched the soldier scramble out of the room to fetch them in time.

    Pandora and Odda were in the throne room before she was, already sitting on their respective sides of right and left. When Andromeda arrived, they stood, and sat when she did. "How are you feeling, Queen Andy?" Odda asked, curious. She knew how her Queen felt about seeing a Stark ship coming. She knew how she loved Jon.

    Odda had come from Pentos, seeking refuge from a brothel where she had been sold into slavery. She managed to get a boat to Ilta, and ever since she met the Queen and her trusted advisor, she had fit into their duo like the last puzzle piece they never knew was missing. Within days, the three became so close that they were rarely seen without each other, a trio that was nearly unbreakable. It was Odda, Andromeda, and Pandora against the world, and it would always be that way. They were the three women who did it all.

    Odda was a dark skinned woman with beautiful skin and dark, kinky hair. There seemed to never be a blemish or a dry spot on her skin, even if she was so young. Her fingers were thick, and they tapped on the chair that was on the left of the Queen's throne, her seat. "When do you reckon they'll come?"

   "I don't know," Andromeda muttered, her heart racing. "But usually, I can tell if it's going to be him. I'm not feeling anything." She would have told them that she was scared, but they already knew.

    "I'm sorry, Andromeda." Pandora said, frowning a bit. "You would have felt him already if it was him." That was one of the many things Odda and Andromeda liked about Pandora. She was an old soul, yes, but she was a soul that lived in reality. She always thought it was better to hear about it from the ones who loved you instead of those who intend to hurt you. She was right.