celia*

Hair of Gold: Chapter One

I should start from the day I arrived. It’s going to be weird talking about myself in third person, but for the sake of literature, I will.

The thing that really started this whole mess was the crown. Stupid crown. You know, if the kingdom had been less protective of this crown, this would’ve all been avoided.

If the kingdom had been less protective, you would’ve never met Aaron.

Ignoring that wounding remark. Basically, Call was trying to steal the royal crown, which for some reason the kingdom is really protective of. Why? I don’t know.

It was literally a gift to Aaron at birth.

Yeah, and I eventually gave back what was rightfully his.

… When did you become so smart?

I’ve always been smart.

Yeah, right.

Shouldn’t I get back on track?

Yes.

It was all really Jasper’s fault, honestly. Stupid crow. I tell him to get a crown and he makes such a fuss!

Shouldn’t you just… show the scene?

It was a bracingly bright day. Quickly, Call reached his arm up, the tree’s dark and smooth branch covered in leaves of lime delicately lifting him up onto the roofs of the town.

And how did it do that, Call?

Because I have super powers. Obviously.

Liar.

ANYWAY. Jasper followed, flying up, his ink feathers a shadow against the daylight, cackling at Call’s use of tree transportation. “Lazy,” he cawed, ruffling his feathers and spreading his wings.

“Says the bird who flies everywhere,” grumbled Call, his fingers running through his own black hair self-consciously. “All you have to do is get the crown and fly out back here. And don’t start talking to guards, not everyone’s part forest elf.”

Now you acknowledge it?

“I’m a crow of the deWinter line, Callum, why should I be getting a crown for you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not the one who was disowned.”

“Don’t try to understand the majestic crow’s politics!”

“Just do it, you duffer.”

With a closest thing to an eye roll a bird could accomplish, Jasper flew off into the distance. Call sat by himself for a moment, tapping on his leg. What seemed like only seconds later, there was a shout of command.

“Guards, capture the crow!” a ringing voice called out.

Cursing, Call looked down. It was his dear old friend, General Rajavi, the second, that is, Tamara.

She was on top of a horse with a dark brown coat, wearing tan and red, holding a sword out. Beside her was her second-in-command, Celia-what’s-her-last-name. Call could never remember it for some reason. The two rode, Tamara’s dark hair flying behind her. Celia held a bow, aiming for a shot.

Call looked up, and yes, there he was, his lovely little pet, the onyx feathers bold. With an annoyed groan, he threw out his arm to a branch and the tree whipped out to him, grabbing him. Carefully, he rode from branch to branch, every so often sending vines in the faces of the guards, delighted at the frustrated look on Tamara’s perfect face.

Swinging faster and faster, soon the guards were out of sight. Call carefully set himself down on soft padded ground behind a tall weeping willow tree, their agreed rendezvous. Jasper was already there, the golden crown sealed in his beak, along with a paper. Call snatched the crown, not caring about the paper.

It was a simple band of gold, shining bright and lifting into peaks, adorned with emerald. “Perfect,” muttered Call, pulling out a jet leather satchel, the same color of his clothes, and tucking it in, the weight reassuring.

“Now that that’s over with,” said Jasper, and spat out the paper. Call unfolded it delicately, the paper crinkling. He stared at it with a new sense of horror. A wanted poster. With his face. They had even put Jasper sitting on his shoulder.

“Oh no…” Call tugged at a strand of hair.

“I know! Look at this!” Jasper cried, and pointed at himself on the poster with a single long talon. “They just can’t get my nose right!”

“Jasper, you don’t have a nose.”

“You clearly haven’t got a proper eye!”

“There!” someone shouted. Call’s gray eyes met Jasper’s in horror and they scrambled up.

He quickly stretched his hand out in instinct and the branch snapped to him, but his concentration was scattered. The branch swing him up like a catapult and suddenly he was flying through the air. Call screamed but no branch came to him, he was too high up. Jasper was behind him, and then he was falling, falling, falling.

Finally, he caught some piece of sanity and a tree finally bent out to him, cushioning his fall ever so slightly.

“Interesting tactic, Callum,” panted Jasper (can birds pant?), arriving behind him.

“Thanks,” he sighed. He was about to get up again when he heard a sound. Was it… singing?

A low voice seemed to weave itself to Call’s ears, smooth and deep. He moved the leaves from his face to see a large stone tower.

And that’s when he was in even bigger trouble than before. 


um… enjoy, I guess. hope you like it. sorry it sucks. 

I may or may not being writing something else besides this shh don’t tell anyone…

4

She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone.