A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first foray in Game of Thrones and its surrounding lore. I've never read the books and tried to get as many information and back story on key characters as I could. I apologize if some of it seems too weak to hardcore readers, in which case feel free to question me by reviewing. So long as you remain polite, of course. ;)

I've had this story running around in my head since the beginning of the seventh series, and it took me a while to polish it. hope you like it!


Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any of its characters. I merely own my main OC Ashara, as well as some minor OCs. The plot is mine, although inspired by the TV series.


1. The bastard who wasn't


305 A.C. Whiteharbour


The ship had just accosted in Whiteharbour and already a crowd was descending from it, hurried by the urgency in the letter that a raven had brought Queen Daenerys not an hour prior.

Ser Davos, Hand to King Jon Snow – but was he still a king? – was standing next to his monarch, his brow furrowed, his hands, as always, linked behind him. The Bastard Wolf, as he was sometimes called, was re-reading the message, not quite believing what it said, apparently.

"Is this it then?" a feminine voice asked from behind Ser Davos.

The old smuggler didn't turn around, knew already who had shadowed him, and when a mane of unruly brown hair appeared in his vision, whipped around by the biting wind, he nodded. "Aye, I fear this is it."

The young woman huffed, a hand on the hilt of the long dagger she wore at her hip. She could have easily passed for a Wildling if she hadn't been wearing armour awfully similar to that of the man standing close to Queen Daenerys. "And what of our allies there?"

Jon Snow turned to look at her, his dark eyes filled with worry and grief – but he couldn't know, could he? "Bran doesn't say. Says he hasn't seen."

There were no more deliberations about whether or not the youngest Stark boy could be trusted with something as strange as visions. Instead, all leaders of some sort gathered to talk about their next move, and the young woman remained back while the 'grown-ups' talked.


Ashara was twenty-six years old. She had seen winters come and go, springs go and come, but she knew the matter at hand was something else entirely. She had seen the undead brought forth by Sandor Clegane. She had witnessed it and started believing it at the precise that moment it leapt out of its crate, despite her father's depictions when he returned from North of the Wall.

"My Lady?" After being called 'Snow' for so long, Ashara did not realise she was addressed to until she caught sight of Missandei, Daenerys' most trusted advisor and friend.

She smirked. "I am no lady, Missandei, you should know."

"I was taught to show respect to my betters," the other woman joked. They were no stranger to banter, and the two liked the other quite a lot, to the extent where Ashara did not hesitate before voicing her worries.

"I wonder if Lord Beric is still alive."

Missandei cocked her beautiful head to the side, clearly unsure as to whom she was talking about. Ashara smiled at her, realising her mistake, and waved the matter away.

That is until Ser Davos seemed to wonder exactly the same thing as her. "What abou' Tormund and Lord Beric? If there's even one tiny chance tha' they're alive, we shoul' take it!"

"And do what?" Lord Tyrion said quite vehemently. He was nearly invisible in the layers of fur he was wearing. "The Queen has already lost one dragon, to commandeer one and risk facing the Night King once again would be a folly!"

Ashara felt her heart constrict in her chest. She looked on the horizon, north, to try and see the object of her worries – the Wall. But it was too far away still, and she could do little but wonder if anyone who mattered to her had survived its fall.


"Ashara? What is it?"

She shifted her gaze and met the blue-green eyes of her father. She had the same, and when in times like these, their colour was closer to green on both persons. She had never looked more like him than in this moment. "I hope they made it."

She hated to be seen as weak. She had not had a moment of weakness in a long time, but ever since Jon Snow had talked about the company he made north, she longed to see that face which she had so loved, a long time ago…

Her father seemed to understand, for he had seen the shift in her when the King in the North had told of their adventures. He had seen her react to the name, and he had been willing to ask, but never had the opportunity.

"Will you tell me, how you two met?"

She met his kind gaze. "I will, one day. I promise."