"I don't want to be queen. The people choose me to be their queen because if a false king sits on the Iron Throne, the kingdom will bleed."
Clarissa Baratheon has played the Game of Thrones since she was a child. But will she win or will she die?
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AS a young handmaiden tried and failed to untangle a dark mess that was the princess' hair, the princess' blue eyes stared out of the wheelhouse's window and taking in the scenery that was the North. It wasn't as vibrant as the South and wasn't nearly as vastly populated, but the princess found it more beautiful than her home in the South as a light blanket of snow covered the ground.
"I wish I could ride a horse instead of being cooped up in here," the young princess complained as she watched her blonde-haired younger brother ride into her view.
The young prince smirked smugly at the dark-haired princess almost as if he could hear her although she was sure he could not. "What is the point of learning how to ride if I am never actually allowed to get on a horse? It is not as though I'm going to slip off the horse or be carried away because I do not know how to control him. I was taught well enough. If anything, Joffrey should be the one in here. Not me. He fell off his horse many more times than me. Or is it that I seem delicate? Ella, do I look delicate?" the princess ranted to her handmaiden with her dark brows raised in frustration.
"Your hair has become more unruly than ever," Ella commented as she attempted to pull a comb through the princess' hair, puffing as she did so.
"Perhaps I should cut it," the princess suggested with a cheeky smirk on her face before wincing when she felt Ella tug hard on her hair.
"Clarissa, you will do no such thing. Long hair is considered to be a depiction of beauty, the most important attribute for a princess," the blonde-haired queen and Clarissa's mother interjected with a sharp coldness in her voice.
Clarissa had to suppress a scoff at her mother's words as she was too well trained to express distaste in front of the queen even if the woman was her mother. "If you cannot keep my daughter's hair, then perhaps I should find another young woman who is able to both entertain the princess and manage her hair," the queen narrowed her eyes at the handmaiden whose eyes remained on the floor of the wheelhouse.
"Mother, this is not..." Clarissa stopped herself when she saw her mother's warning look that commanded her silence.
The queen set her blazing eyes on Ella again before asked her; "And, pray tell, why does a lowly handmaiden like yourself see it fit to speak to your mistress so informally?"
Ella didn't reply as she sense that the queen did not want her to as the queen continued to ask her; "Do you not realise that she is a princess, not some common-born girl you met at the market?"
"Of course, Your Grace. All of the issues that you have informed me of will no longer happen. I promise, Your Grace," the handmaiden replied; bowing her head respectfully as tears started to form in the corner of her eyes.
Clarissa's eyes narrowed at her mother as the queen scoffed and glared down at Ella carefully as she was a snake. "Good," was all she said; ignoring that her eldest child was glaring at her.
The air in the wheelhouse turned sour before it was lightened by the voice of the youngest princess called out; "Look, Clary!"
Clarissa looked over to her blonde-haired sister to see her pointing towards the window on her side. The dark-haired princess moved towards her sister and pulled her onto her lap as they both stared out the window to see the large castle of Winterfell.
Clarissa only had one word to describe such a castle...magnificent. Although it was not as large and decorated as the Red Keep, the Winterfell's castle had a sort of old charm about it. "Isn't it beautiful," the little princess asked her older sister; grinning like a mad person.
"It's wonderful, Cella," she replied with a matching grin.
"Did you know that it was built over eight thousand years ago by Bran the Builder? With the help of giants?" Clarissa informed her little sister who gasped in awe.
Clarissa noticed her blonde-haired baby brother who was sat beside their Mother, was staring at her now. "It's true. And it also rumoured that he helped build Storm's End with King Durran when he was a body," she continued to inform her siblings who stared at her with wide eyes.
"So, giants exist?" the young boy asked his sister with his jaw slacked ever so slightly.
As Clarissa opened her mouth to answer her, he turned to their mother and asked her instead; "Do they, Mother?"
His question caused the queen to scoff and roll her eyes. "Of course not, sweetling. These are tales told by those batty northerners who simply want to sound more fierce than they are," she answered and placed a motherly hand on her son's shoulder with a rare, genuine smile.
"None of it is true. Maesters have disputed Bran the Builder's existence for the last few centuries, so how could he have built all of these magnificent structures if he did not exist?" she asked which made Clarissa answer; "There is no proof to say that he definitely did not exist, Mother."
"These structures did not build themselves, surely the North is not that magical? All of the sources detailing the building of Winterfell and the Wall mention Bran the Builder. No one else," the queen replied with her eyes narrowed challengingly.
Clarissa didn't speak to her mother as she narrowed her eyes back. "There is no written evidence to prove that he did exist. Nor any inscriptions in stone. The only proof that Bran the Builder existed is in the word of mouth which can be exaggerated and twisted over the course of eight thousand years. Never believe what you hear by word of mouth, Clarissa. Unless it is from the source," the queen informed her which caused Clarissa to almost huff, but she stopped herself.
The queen would always turn a harmless children's tale into a life lesson. When Clarissa was younger, every tale her mother told her involved animals- lions, wolves, stags and the rest- fighting for the title of 'King in the Forest'. She knew now that those tales were more than just stories and that the animals represented the houses of Westeros and the queen wanted to make sure her children knew that the lions- the sigil of her maiden house- was the strongest out of them all.
The guardsmen drew the gates of Winterfell open upon our arrival. The courtyard was black with people; both highborn- like the Stark family- and lowborn. It seemed that Winterfell's entire household had gathered to greet the royal party. Such a fuss, Clarissa thought to herself as she felt a twinge of guilt. Surely, they didn't ask for a visit from the king, though they would insist it was an honour? She asked herself as she knew the cost of a royal visit was exuberant and an expensive one could do without.
In the very front of the crowd of northerners, stood the Stark family.
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