women who fight with swords
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01 Jan 2019
Joan’s siblings held the surname of their forbearers. The First Men, the Kings of Winter, who ruled and owned the lands of the north for thousands of years. But while they held the name of those who ruled the north, her name was the very embodiment of the north.
The endless flat fields hardened by ice. The mountains that laid on the horizon and the northern lights that flowed in the sky like gently rushing rivers. The Wolfswood in which the lords of the north hunted for prey, the Godswood in which they prayed. The nameless gods whom sought no favor and gave none in return. The Wall that protected the realms of men from wildling invaders and before that the monsters from legend. That’s what Old Nan always told her, on the days when she felt particularly low and melancholy. Well, more low and melancholy than she usually feels.
Joan Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, they whispered. But it held none of the glory Old Nan endowed to it. Instead, it was whispered with either pity or veiled contempt. Snow, it was a name she was supposed to carry shamefully not proudly, and rightfully so. Who would want to be a bastard? Who wanted to love and marry and care for a bastard?
- Part 4 of A Song of Space and Time