SONG: Winter in My Heart by Vast
Cillian
Cillian Bua never thought that of all the endless possibilities for death to finally get its claws onto him, it would be an illness in the end that would catch him.
He was a strong man, a warrior through and through. Tall and bulky, as most Northern Lords were. He deeply resented the fact he wouldn't die on the battlefield, but instead in his bed - trembling with pain. From an illness that served to be the only aggressor he could never take down or plan a clever battle strategy against.
His days were numbered, and Fianna had begged for him to stay with her to live out his last days together. But this visit was absolutely necessary. He felt a profound twinge of regret visualising his only daughter's expression when he told her she wouldn't be joining him on his visit. Even resorting to using a line he told her countless times in restless periods of her childhood.
"Baelfort would fall apart without it's strongest warrior."
It dawned on Cillian that he should have brought her. Tiernan could have looked after their lands, he was a trusted nephew after all; the son of his sister. He didn't bear the Bua name, but he lived at Baelfort none the less.
Cillian's sister had been foolish enough to marry a lowborn man out of feelings of the heart, instead of a familial agreement. He had no ancestral lands to speak of, therefore the entire family resided at Baelfort. He was thankful for it in the end however, he wasn't sure how he would have been able to raise Fianna without their assistance.
Cillian had resorted to travelling in his carriage on the last few legs of the journey to Winterfell, something he was deeply embarrassed about. But the cool Northern air had been far too harsh on his ill chest, his muscles too painful to hold onto a horse for hours on end.
He braced himself as the door to his carriage opened. Finally, they were at their destination, after what was surely the most miserable journey of his life. The red-haired man bundled his furs tighter against him, sniffing quickly and hoped the signs of his illness weren't as obvious as they felt.
He was greeted by the sight of the Stark family, all aligned by order of age and awaiting his approach with patiently smiles. Cillian forced the corners of his lips up out of politeness as he made eye contact with his liege lord.
Lord Eddard Stark had been his comrade and friend since Robert's Rebellion. The two were mere boys at the time, completely naked to the harsh realities of war and holding no love for each other. But as they fought side by side, a real friendship developed that stayed true to this day.
"My Lord," Cillian greeted with a bow of his head, to which Eddard responded to with a shake of his own head, a laugh and a clap on the back.
"Cillian Bua being formal to his liege lord? I never thought I'd see the day," Ned teased, his eyebrows furrowed when Cillian could only smile grimly in response. The Baelfort native was clenching his teeth to clamp down the waves of pain wracking his body.
"Cat, you look well, my lady," He said to Ned's wife as she stood tall by his side, taking her hand gently and hoping she didn't notice the slight tremble in his own.
After introductions, Ned eventually led Cillian to his solar, where he eyed his friend carefully. It was obvious the man had lost much of his muscle mass, his face was drawn in and his eyes bulged out. He looked a shadow of the man he used to be.
"As much as I enjoy the company, I have to ask, why have you come to Winterfell?" Ned began, getting straight to it. "It's not often I see your face, I haven't even seen that daughter of yours since she was about ten. Although I've heard enough stories I feel like I know her well."
"To get right to it, my lord," Cillian paused, almost comically, "I'm dying." Cillian spoke casually, lifting his palms in the air as if it were the most announcement in the world.
Ned's expression fell immediately, heart sinking in his chest. He was at a complete loss for words. He once saw Cillian as another brother - not as close as Robert, but there was a definite bond there.
"For certain?" He managed to ask after a moment of silence, leaning forward in his desk, "you're not near elderly, yet."
"I've seen several maesters, my friend. They assured me that whatever it is I have, it's going to be the death of me. I grow weaker by the day," Cillian nodded solemnly, his gaze falling from Ned's face to the wood of the desk. He leaned back in his chair, a grave expression on his face as his relaxed stance began to dissipate.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"There is, my lord," he began, leaning forward again and clasping his hands together, interlocking his fingers. "As you well know, my dear wife died birthing Fianna. She's my only heir, I fathered no bastards. By law, Baelfort and my lands will go to my nephew Tiernan. However I must plead with you to ensure my lands go to Fianna. I will not strip her of what she was born to have because she is a woman."
Ned nodded his head once, "Consider it done, old friend."
"There's another thing. When I'm gone, which will be soon I suspect, I'm entrusting you to find a suitable marriage for Fianna. See to it that she finds a husband who will look after her and honour her. Fianna is a proud girl, almost a woman grown now. She is far too strong willed and outspoken to be tied to a less than honourable man. No matter how highborn he may be."
"I swear to you, my Lord. I will see to it she finds a suitable match," Ned paused for a second, mulling his thoughts over before he decided to voice them. "My eldest boy, Robb, he's not been betrothed as of yet. He's around your daughter's age, perhaps a year older. I've raised him well, he would honour her."
"You are too kind, my lord. I consent to the union, if you will it. All I ask is that she may be given some time before she is to be married, perhaps it best to keep it secret for now. She is already wracked with grief over my condition."
In truth, Cillian was hoping Eddard would offer his son. The two were close in age, and while House Bua was not as high in political ranking as the Umbers or the Boltons, they were highborn enough for the match to somewhat be sensical. It was a great honour that Lord Stark could bestow to Cillian, to wed his child with hers and make his daughter Lady of Winterfell, wife to the Warden of the North.
"I must ask," Cillian prompted, coughing into his balled fist first, "what of Baelfort? I mean no disrespect, but I'd like to keep the Bua name alive."
"I understand," Ned nodded, eyes glazing over as he thought of a solution. "How about this - Robb and Fianna will rule both Winterfell and Baelfort. Their firstborn will lay Heir to Winterfell, and their second will bear the Bua name, and receive Baelfort."
Fianna herself was often described as beautiful, as men often told stories of her throughout the North. With her wild unruly brown curls and wide smile, she looked every bit a true Northerner. With her quick wit and looks, she had already received multiple matches being extended in offer from other Northern families.
"Very well, my lord," Cillian nodded as Ned fetched a quill and paper, before he began to write the deed that would bind their two houses forever.
The two fathers signed it willingly, and later that day they prayed in the Godswood. Ned prayed for Robb's well being and for him to treat his wife kindly and justly, while Cillian prayed his daughter wouldn't end his life before the illness did for doing the only thing that would make her hate him, even if just for a moment.
No matter how she'd react, he knew this was the right decision. The Starks were one of the most powerful families in Westeros, Fianna would be well protected after he was gone and her children would rule Winterfell and Baelfort both.
Above all, he knew she'd be safe.
❄️
Cillian Bua accompanied Ned to the scheduled beheading the next day. He was due to leave as soon as he returned to Winterfell, but wanted to spend as much time as he could with his liege lord and old friend while he still could. He had woken up this morning feeling eerily alright, for the first time in a long time.
A deserter of the Night's Watch was the subject of today's trial. Cillian sat on his horse behind his liege Lord, facing the three Stark children that accompanied them. He eyed Robb in particular very carefully, and cursed himself for suggesting that neither son nor daughter be told of the betrothal yet. His intentions were give Fianna time to grieve after his death. But now, he wished desperately for the chance to threaten the life out of the Stark boy.
He may have been dying, but Cillian Bua could put the fear of the gods into any man.
His attention snatched back to the deserter as he mumbled incoherently, Cillian's eyebrows furrowed as he heard the term "white walkers" used. The man seemed to grab a hold of himself as Lord Eddard faced him.
"I know I broke my oath, and I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw- I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry." Ned nodded in response to the deserter's last words. It was obvious gibberish from a mad man, Cillian thought. White walkers were a fable told by whet nurses to scare babes. Yet even so, the words sent a chill down his spine.
The deserter was positioned over the chopping block, the glint of the Valerian steel Ice was formed from catches Cillian's eye, as Ned removes the long sword from his scabbard.
Eddard recites King Robert's titles, finally sentencing the man to die, and swiftly lifts his sword in the air. Cillian's eyes travel back to the eldest Stark boy. As Ned's sword cuts the deserter's head clean off, the boy doesn't even flinch.
Good, he thought. A craven just wouldn't do for his Fianna.
On the journey back to Winterfell, Cillian had been trotting on his horse alongside Ned, discussing war stories before a sharp shooting pain rose in his side. His hand reached up to clutch it, unable to stop the low groan that fell from his lips that prompted Ned to look over worryingly.
"Are you in pain, Cillian?" He asks to which Cillian shakes his head stubbornly.
"Nothing the love of a good woman wouldn't be able to soothe," he laughs off, Ned's expression creases with concern but before he could say more, the two men were distracted by the party ahead stopping in the middle of the road.
A lone deer lay on the ground, completely ravaged to death.
"What is it?"
"A mountain lion?"
"There are no mountain lions in these woods," Ned stops his bastard and his ward's questions, angling his head in inspection. The sound of yapping grabs everyone's attention as their heads swivel to the source of the noise.
Cillian holds in a breath as he climbs down off his horse, pushing aside the pain as he approached the small animal with a curious gaze.
A pup, surely no older than two months, barked at the party almost as if trying to get their attention.
"Gods be damned.." Cillian began, reaching down and lifting the pup by the scruff of its neck to inspect closer, "it's a wolfhound."
"How could that be? Wolfhounds never stray from the woods beside the Long Lake. That's why they're your family sigil, isn't it my Lord?" The reasoning voice of Ser Rodrick Cassel cuts in. Cillian nodded his head, setting the pup down in confusion before it shot off, barking incessantly again.
The party follow after the pup until he stopped at a great mound of fur, splayed out on the forest floor and very obviously dead.
"That's what's got it so freaked. It's found a freak," Theon calls to the party behind him, being the first to arrive at the carcass.
"No, it's a direwolf," Ned stated gravely, catching Cillian's eye as the two share a look, "Tough old beast."
Ned removes the antlers embedded in its neck, a crease between his brows formed by total confusion.
"There are no direwolves south of the wall, and there shouldn't be any wolfhounds this far from Long Lake," the eldest Stark boy cuts in. "How strange."
"Now there are five direwolves," Ned's bastard son Jon called, before starting to heave direwolf pups into the air from under the belly of their mother.
As Theon Greyjoy unsheathes a knife to kill the pup Bran was holding, a commotion eruption, the little wolfhound begins to growl lowly in response. He steps forward menacingly, almost as if it were protecting the pups and spurred on by the sudden tense atmosphere. Despite only being a pup itself, it still made Theon falter.
The wolfhound didn't back off of Theon until Ned agreed to let each of the Stark children foster a direwolf, yet Cillian wasn't listening. He was absolutely fascinated by the wolfhound at his feet, it was surely far from home. For a split second, he likened the pup to his daughter.
A wolfhound, that would be all alone in the world when he perishes.
He decided at that moment to keep the pup and to take him home to his daughter, hopefully it would act as a sort of comfort for her after Cillian's passing. Or at the very least, protect her.
Wolfhounds were the tallest dog breed known to man. They were known for their hunting skills and even more so for their guarding. The wolfhound was chosen as the Bua family sigil as the Buas considered themselves to be loyal and fierce warriors. As well as the fact that Baelfort was located next to Long Lake - a woodland filled with wolfhounds.
He had never considered taking one as a pet until now. It was almost as if it were a sign from the Gods.
❄️
The journey home was agony for Cillian. He had been only a day's ride from Baelfort when the illness had engulfed him entirely. His momentary respite had proven to be the proverbial 'eye of the storm'.
He lay down flat in his carriage, sweating profusely from a fever and eyesight blurring the features of the carriage he was able to make out. The pain that engulfed his entire body almost made him look forward to the end. It was a terrifying thought - that if he closed his eyes now, he most likely wouldn't wake up again.
But he simply had to push onward. He had to last one more day, to say goodbye to Fianna. To tell her he loved her and that he tried to look out for her.
Cillian narrowed his eyes as a figure suddenly appeared to hunch over him, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to get his pupils to focus.
"Don't worry, my sweet. I am here."
Cillian's heart started racing in terror, as he hadn't heard the voice in almost 17 years. There was no way within the realms of possibility that she was here now, in his carriage in the dead of night. Not unless he was already dead.
"Miriam?" He choked out, his eyes filling with tears - of pain and of heartache.
"Yes, my love. I'm here, don't stress yourself." His vision finally focused out of nowhere, and he could see her clearly then. She hadn't aged a day since he seen her last, on the birthing bed giving him his sole heir.
Miriam looked so much like Fianna he was almost sure it was his daughter until she spoke. There was little of Cillian in Fianna's appearance at all - save for her nose and wide smile. The rest was all Miriam.
"How-... how are you here?"
"It's time, my love. Come back to me." She reached out and placed her hand against his sweat-dampened cheek, it felt like an icy miracle on his boiling skin.
"I-I can't. Fianna needs me."
"Fianna's story is only beginning now. On this night. You can let go," her voice began to drift just as he did, eyes starting to roll back into his head despite his best efforts to fight desperately against it.
The last thing Cillian Bua ever felt was the soft, icy lips of his deceased wife against his forehead.
And then it was over.
❄️
So here we go!
This book is undergoing some minor editing, mainly for grammar and plot holes. However no major changes will be made, so feel free to read ahead as the later chapters of this book are better written!
For a bit of background, I feel certain aspects of the Game of Thrones books were inspired by, if not eerily similar to Ancient Ireland. I myself am Irish. I came up with the idea of having a Northern family inspired by Ireland before it was colonised, in particular the Irish language.
The wolfhound used as the Bua family sigil is an Irish wolfhound. Bua, Fianna and Chroí(spoiler: the wolfhound will be called this) are Irish words.
Bua: pronounced "boo-ah", means victory.
Fianna: pronounced "feign-ah", the name given to a warrior band in Irish mythology.
Chroí: pronounced "cree" means heart.
Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the story! It was my first ever book written, and it's very dear to my heart! Have a wonderful day. ❤️
I OWN NOTHING OF GAME OF THRONES. I ONLY OWN MY ORIGINAL CHARACTERS - FIANNA, TIERNAN AND CILLIAN, AND OTHER MINOR CHARACTERS THAT CROP UP ALONG THE WAY.
*edited*