- a twist on mushroom's account on sara snow and jacaerys velaryon's short lived love affair.
jacaerys, future heir to the iron throne, son of the realm's delight, rhaenyra targaryen, has travelled to winterfell to gain support for his mother fr...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
—————————————————— "Bastard". That's what they called her every time she left her chambers and went out into the world.
Whispers of her legitimacy being scattered throughout the castle and the small folk was something she had to get used to from a young age. The whispers that once haunted her, were now insignificant little voices that she ignored.
Young Sara would never understand why people hated her simply because her father made a choice to bed someone other than his wife. She would never knew why they didn't hate him for being unfaithful, and treacherous to her. Instead, the folk would take their anger out on poor small Sara, who had no understanding of what was going on around her.
As she grew, the word had little to no meaning to her, the only way to keep her mind occupied from gossip, was to fight. Undercover, obviously... Far away from the castle and others. If they discovered that a woman was fighting, she'd be the town's jester, it would be even worse if they discovered she was Rickon Stark's bastard daughter...
And so she fought. In the beginning she decided she wanted to master swordsmanship, since her older half-brother, Cregan, was a legend at what he did with his sword. She wanted to be like him, and receive the public attention and validation others gave him. The girl later realised, her hands weren't fit for a sword, her small, weak hands couldn't lift a sword even if her life depended on it. And so she searched for weapons she could train with. At first, Sara wanted to try daggers, but learned she despised close combat with enemies. Then crossbows, which were alright... But not quite what she wanted.
It took Sara a few years to finally find the weapon she was destined to have, her beloved bow and arrow. Maybe it was because of its preciseness the reason why she loved it so much. Archers didn't need to be close to kill, it only took a relaxation of the muscle and aim to get the job done.
No one would discover it was her, hiding in the woods, leaving blood trails of anyone who dared to try and enter the castle in the middle of the night with a dagger in their hands. People would whisper about the slayer, but only the dead would know who killed them, as she made sure the last thing they saw before they perished, was her face.
