Hear me Roar - English version

CHAPTER 68 - Because it must happen

               Rickon hasn't left my side by a step since the announcement of my departure for Dragonstone. Deserted since Daenerys's departure, the castle is the safest place from which we can oversee the siege of King's Landing. I also hope to find Drogon and Rhaegal there, who would represent a major asset in this war.

               If Rickon follows me everywhere, it isn't because he's going to miss me, but because he wants to ensure he properly understands the inner workings of the North before my departure.

"You are not the Lord of Winterfell," I repeat to him after the umpteenth sentence starting with 'when I am'.

"But I will become it one day," he replies, very proud. "Sansa will yield her place to me when I have reached the age to govern."

               He is ambitious; that is good. But if I named Sansa Protector of the North, it is because I have full confidence in her abilities. And because she hasn't ceased fighting for our people since we escaped Ramsay.

"Sansa is the one who..."

"I am Ned Stark's eldest son," he cuts me off. "And Sansa is a woman!"

"Rickon!"

               Both our gazes turn slowly toward my raised hand, ready to crash onto his cheek. Shamefaced, I hide it behind my back. Our education was not the gentlest, the septas tended to strike our fingers with rulers, and the North has always been harsh. But never, never would our parents have raised a hand against us.

"Robb was the eldest son," I say, my heart pounding. "And Bran is still alive, I'll have you note."

"Robb is dead. And Bran isn't really himself anymore."

"All the more reason for the Governor of the North to be Ned Stark's legitimate heiress."

"It's unfair!" he complains.

"Having a penis between your legs doesn't make you a better candidate."

               He finds nothing to say in response. He knows he will never win against me. I don't intend to leave room to question Sansa's legitimacy, or mine, to claim a position of power.

"You're coming with me," I decide, categorical.

"What?" he cries out. "Where?"

"To King's Landing. Pack your bags."

"But... Diana!"

               Without turning around, I leave the library. I understand, up until now, Rickon's life has not been a long, quiet river. He wandered for years and watched everyone he loves die. But it is now time for me to cease mothering him, and for me to start considering him the fourteen-year-old teenager he truly is.

♐︎

"Are you sure of yourself?" I ask Jon.

"My place is in the North with the men of the Night's Watch."

               Since that night, when Varys proclaimed me queen, I no longer dare look Jon in the eyes. No matter if he gave me his blessing, I still feel as though I am spoiling him of an ancestral right. My Stark blood will never equal his Targaryen blood.

"Stop looking at me like that," he throws at me.

"I am sorry, but... it's your throne."

"I don't want it. I don't doubt that it would suit you. But don't use me as an excuse to take flight."

"You've been King in the North," I begin, sitting down beside him. "However, King's Landing has nothing to do with Winterfell. War is constant there. Every step you take takes place in a grand game of appearances. Every word can be repeated and amplified. I am not sure I have the courage to live like that my whole life."