The Legacy

Part 34

She felt the chilling breeze against her bare skin. This cold was harsh and unforgiving. She felt it down deep to her bones. A piercing cold coated her skin that it burned...

This cold was home.

Viserra stood in the empty courtyard of Winterfell and her heart ached. It was the same as the day she left for the capital. Her feet stung as it made contact with the fresh laid snow. A softness and sting she had felt during those few dares from her brothers from what seemed like ages ago. Viserra looked around at her home empty, frozen in time. Her shuddered breath formed into a cloud before her face. In the silence to no one she breathed.

"Home."

The word echoed within her mind. Each repetition another sting. Another claw tearing at the old wound that never healed. She could feel the open frozen air breeze against her heart. Each gust of northern wind felt like she was being pried open over and over again... 

Since the day Bran fell from the tower her heart has continued to fracture. With each death, Viserra had lost pieces of herself. Each betrayal marred her soul. She had to rebuild herself and in doing so turn her heart to stone. She was not the young girl who left Winterfell. She was a woman with fire in her veins and ice in her heart. She would never truly be home again and it pained her to be standing in this courtyard.

The realization of this caused her eyes to ache. No matter how long it took or how hard she tried she would never return to the home it once was.

There would be no aunt Cat to scold her for being outside just to braid her hair near a warm lit fireplace. Tell her how a lady should act and how eventually Viserra would have daughters of her own and only then will she realize her aunt was right.

She would never ride with Robb, Jon or Theon to their wolf patch or hunt with their direwolves. No teasing Theon or Jon on his lack of woman while training with sir Rodrick or Jory.

There was no little Bran or Rickon to chase or mother behind. Tucking the youngest boys in to bed as she hummed a lullaby or told a story.

No headstrong Arya or innocent Sansa to mediate between. No little sisters to fight over blankets and leg space whenever they convinced her to share her bed.

She would never see her uncle walk through the grounds of Winterfell caring for its people. Viserra would never walk into the Godswood and see her uncle finding the smallest amount of uninterrupted peace underneath the Weirwood.

Her cruel mind replayed the last moments she had with her uncle. In the black cells cold and starving. Only to witness his unjust end. The sound of the sword reverberating off of the stone ground slithered into her ear. She shook her head trying to physically clear the memory. That is not how she will remember him. Viserra began to walk toward the Godswood. If she stood there she would remember him how she wanted. How she needed to think of him.

A blanket of white covered every inch of the ground. The only color visible was the bright ruby red leaves of the Weirwood. She walk to the heart tree breathing in the fresh icy air deeply. Once close enough her fingers traced the face carved into the white bark.

"It is time Viserra." The last conversation she had in Winterfell with her uncle took place under this tree. 

"What is?" She leaned against the trunk and feigned ignorance.

"If you wish to stay this is how. Now is time. You are well old enough to step into the role." Ned repeated his request in tradition as his niece's nameday approached. This time it was to keep her going south to King's Landing at the request of the king.

"Why is this way?" Viserra's emotions started to surface. She had argued with him every night so far. "Why can't you just tell him no?"

"He is the king." Ned exasperated. "His word is law. But this..." Ned paused hoping this would be the time she said yes. "This is your birthright Viserra. As my brother's only child you were born to this responsibility. It is your duty."