Wear No Crowns [Game Of Thrones]

Zero

As time passes, memories fade.

She remembers them well.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost feel the same hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, as she did that day. The sharp wind ruffles her raven hair and harsh chill nips at her cheeks. She almost feels like that little girl again, standing on the weathered planks of the dock and waiting for a ship that will take her far away from everything she's ever known. Her family watches as she is being taken away in solemn silence, too heartbroken to react, to beg them to let her stay. And then she's gone.

But she never wanted to leave.

If was snowing that day. She only came to the godswood to pray, her knees sunken into the cold white. Everything was white. White. And then if was red. There was so much blood. She never meant to hurt those men. She was just an innocent young girl, and they followed her to the place most sacred.

First she heard them, the rhythmical clanging of their red and gold armor. Then, gloved hands on her shoulders, she spun around to face them. Impure thought danced in their eyes. She was just an innocent girl. Their grabby hands reached out to get her, teeth bared, ready to devour. She vas just one and there were three of them, monsters in polished suits of armor.

SHE NEVER MEANT TO HURT THEM.

They were going to hurt her. Hurt her in a way three grown men can hurt an innocent young girl. Most likely kill her when they've had their fill. Run! Her body was telling her to run, but her limbs were like solid pieces of jagged ice. WHY AREN'T YOU RUNNING?

Their leader brandished a dagger. He was going to use it to tear her dress. One step. Two steps. He was getting closer. The cold tip of the deadly weapon made contact, finding a home in the soft flesh right under her chin. At first tender, like the touch of an unsure lover. And then biting, drawing a single drop of crimson blood.

Like a fallen petal from a dying rose, it was for a beat suspended in air before meeting the pristine white snow, forever staining the undisturbed whiteness, and the soul of a young girl.

SOMETHING IN HER SNAPPED.

She never fully understood what actually happened that day in the godswood, under the watchful eye of the Gods. All she knows that at one moment she was praying for a painless death, and the next, everything was red, red, red. Their broken bodies lay at her feet, once untouched snow now tinted vermilion, surrounding her person like a macabre halo.

Sticky warm blood ran down her face, over her arms and towards the tip of a dagger clutched in her right hand. It leaves the blade, drip, drip, dripping down, seeping further into the snow.

SHE NEVER MEANT TO KILL THEM.

They found her like this. Frozen, scared and covered in blood. An angel of death, a demon, a monster, a murderer.

She had lured those men into the Godswood to butcher them. They said. A conspiracy to kill the king. They decided.

Punishment?

She couldn't be executed, out of respect for her father.

Exile it is.

Never return.

Well not untill the rightfull ruler of Westeros allows it.

As time passes, memories fade.

She will never forget.