The Queen of the Ashes ◼️ Game Of Thrones

i | In The Sight of Gods and Men

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Strands of ink paint the blue canvas sky as the wind whips across the plain. This grey bleak stretch will soon end and with my arrival comes the storm. The hooves of my snowy destrier clap like thunder as they tear the ground below in his magnificent gallop.

Lady of Bear Island, Mistress of Bears and Lady of the Frozen Sea are not titles I ever hoped to don nor do stick well in my throat. It was not something I wanted, in fact my journey was to be set on the sole purpose of abdicating, but now I am torn between what I should do, and who I am supposed to be.

Ungroomed to be put into this position but my Lady mother Maege is dead and my 4 sisters are far too young or reckless to lead. Bear Island is one of the few places in Westeros, apart from Dorne where an heir can be either male or female depending on those oldest of age. It is with great sadness that I must be both Lord and Lady of my house as it seems that my cousin Jorah is exiled from Westeros and Jeor my uncle and rightful head of house has taken the black.

Winterfell, the grandest castle in the North and the seat of the once Winter kings ,the Starks, comes into my line of sight. With any luck I should reach there long before sunhigh if the sun even blesses this far North.

I elected to go ahead with my horse, feeling far too constricted to ride in a carriage, plus I am in no ways ladylike enough to have the patience for that long of a time. Once I arrive I need to know what to say as Lord Eddard is a very precise albeit honorable man and delaying is not in my nature, the sooner I finish my business the sooner I can go home.

Home, Bearclaw Hall, its high walls and wooden carved corridors are more than hundred miles to my west and my heart in the bottom of the Frozen Sea. That's how I feel at this point, icy and restless, I whip the reins of my horse ever so slightly but Amethyst already knows by my shifting weight to ride faster.

Ahead of me, I see a procession, of over a hundred guard bearing colors of red and gold. Shit- the royal procession, of course, Robert Baratheon would think of Ned Stark his closest friend and Warden of the North as the perfect candidate for Hand of the King. I really have impeccable timing. The gates of Winterfell are already open when I arrive as I quickly slip past the royal guard without them noticing, so much for royal protection. With my sword at my side I could probably cut through most of the pathetic excuse of a Kingsguard that Robert trusts.

I come into the square entrance, where the King of the Seven Kingdoms himself is standing embracing Ned Stark, like brothers. The tales I've heard of this heroic man, who wielded his war hammer of justice to take the Seven Kingdoms, a man who defeated Rhaegar Targaryen at the Ruby Ford seemed to miss the part where he aged years too soon, became fat and looks like he can barely wield a butter knife than a war hammer. Ned Stark on the other hand while sporting the wear of age still lives up to being the man who bested Ser Arthur Dayne - the Sword of the Morning.

But who am I judge after all I'm a girl of 10 and 6 with no clue what to do with my newfound privileges. If having power means that one day I am going to end up with no satisfaction in life, I want none of it. A day as a warrior is far greater than the lifetime of a sovereign lady.

Coming out of my train of thought I see all faces turned to me, their gazes locked on my face. I try to keep a straight expression and dismount my horse. My foot catches but thank the Old Gods by some saving grace I leave the stirrup with a twirl. Hey anything is better than my skinny ass in the mud. The King after walks away from the littlest of the Stark children, a precious boy with dark sandy hair and turns to me.