(Winterfell: 4/12/298 AC) Ursa I

'Again!' She thought to herself, breathing heavily, after today's tenth attempt to master the movements her mother had commanded her to learn. 'Everything needed to be perfect when she came. It should be a little over a week from now when Mother arrives, along with the king and his entourage, and she will not tolerate failure or imperfection,' she continued. Deep within the Wolfswood, with the cold wind biting her exposed arms and face, Ursa Baratheon, first of her name, deeply inhaled the morning's icy air, warming it in her chest. She focused a small amount of time to regain the breath control needed to properly harness her power.

Once the brief breathing exercise was concluded, she returned to the starting position required for bending lightning. 'This was a skill mother had mastered when she was fifteen! And that was not even including the mastery she had already had over her blue flames,' she thought angrily to herself, before realizing in a panic, 'I only have two years left!' Finding her passion for succeeding and surpassing her mother encouraging her, she stood with her feet apart, and began again, remembering the moment when it was decided she would be shipped out to this frigid wasteland.

Dragonstone (1/7/295 AC)

"You will be a ward of the Starks," she said with finality. A frown was crossing her lips, and the shadows cast by the flaring of her blues flames accented her displeasure. "You will have the Stark heir take you for his wife, you will secure the North, and through them, the familial loyalties of the Riverlands, and the Vale."

"But mother," she pleaded, bowing her head, and never raising it to look upon her mother's face "you still have much to teach me of bending!"

"I will provide you with several scrolls, I have created, that illustrate the correct stances required for proper bending. So you will not be entirely bereft of my guidance."

Grasping for any way to escape being banished to that barren place, she questioned, her head still bowed, "And what of father?"

"What of your father?" her mother responded, the temperature slightly rising.

"Has he also accepted turning me over to the Starks as their ward?" she asked timidly, knowing full well that evoking her father at this point was out of sheer desperation. It was an open sign of weakness, which her mother despised.

The temperature rose higher.

"So long as your father has his beloved heir, he cares not what I do with you. As my reasoning is sound, and I do not intend to kill or harm you, he will not question my motives or deny my request," her mother explained, knowing full well that what Ursa feared was not just the physical pain she could cause, when she wanted, but the emotional pain her words always did.

"But…" she began.

"Ursa!" the flames flared to life, "Who am I?"

"Azula? Azula Baratheon?" Ursa answered awkwardly, head still bowed in reverence, confused by the question.

"Ursa! Who am I!?" she questioned, as the flames rose higher, and grew hotter, signifying her anger.

"…Fire…Firelord?" she finally answered, after what seemed like an eternity, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

"And who are you?!" she demanded.

"A…a humble servant, to the will, of the Firelord," she choked out.

"Good. And where will you go?" she questioned sweetly, as the fires slowly ebbed, and the heat began dissipating.

"To Winterfell…"

(Winterfell: 4/12/298 AC) Ursa I

'It was difficult being the last, no, the only hope for our bloodline,' she thought proudly, with a small sense of anger and irritation. 'Steffon was a failure who couldn't bend an ember, and Ty Lee was a coddled weakling. It all depended on her!' Herfoot slid slightly, to the side, while she had been deep in thought, destroying the whole form. 'Damn!' She swore to herself, small spouts of red flames shooting out of her nostrils, in frustration. Quickly collecting herself, she scanned the nearby area, to confirm that she was still alone. Her shadow had not joined her today, so Ursa had time to think without the constant barrage of questions her shadow brought with her.

Thinking back to her arrival, she had quickly discovered that finding a way out of Winterfell, to perfect her firebending in privacy, had been a test of her patience.

Winterfell (6/8/295 AC)

'Mother demands the utmost secrecy,' she thought, contemplating how much time she would realistically have available to practice. On her second day, after mentally making note of everything she could, she tried to simply leave through the North Gate, with her two Flameguard, Brienne and Jun. It proved useless as Lord Stark remained adamant that a group of Stark guardsmen accompany her at all times to keep her safe. For he would "have no harm come to her within his home, or on his lands." Her 'walks,' as Lord Stark had come to call them, were a thinly disguised excuse to map out the perimeter, both interior and exterior, of Winterfell. During several of these expeditions, Lord Stark's eldest son, Robb, would occasionally accompany her and her guards with his bastard brother in tow. These 'walks' were most informative, as they were done in an attempt to uncover a way she could discreetly escape the monotony of Winterfell to practice the only thing that gave her joy. Having the Stark heir present to ask 'innocent' questions of Winterfell, also proved its usefulness. While practicing with bladed weapons was somewhat satisfying, more so when she defeated boys her age and older, Ursa found that it paled in comparison to actual firebending. Additionally, her swordplay also would also cause no small amount of distress to Lady Stark, who did not want her youngest daughter getting 'ideas.'

Fortunately, her Lord Father, no doubt with some 'persuasion' from her mother, had written to Lord Stark that she was to be allowed to practice her swordsmanship. Thus preventing the Lady Stark from denying her that small avenue of escape, stating that "a lady should always be allowed to learn to defend herself with steel."

'Those were mother's words,' she concluded.

During her usual outings, when Robb accompanied her, he would often attempt and make small talk about this or that, trying to get to know his new guest. Ursa, to her embarrassment, would usually freeze or awkwardly respond, not used to such casual conversational topics. 'Her parents were not the most avid practitioners of idle talk,' she thought, 'and it proved to be a most agonizingly painful mark of imperfection.' Annoyingly, Robb himself seemed to find humor in her embarrassment, much to Ursa's chagrin.

'That grinning fool,' she once thought, 'how dare he mock me?'

It was on her fourth week that the Lady Arya Stark, barely six, had been drawn to her after discovering Ursa practicing in the courtyard. The little wolf approached her, asking about how she learned the art of the sword. To which Ursa responded, echoing the words of her mother, "a lady should always be allowed to learn to defend herself with steel." It did not take long for Lady Stark to learn that her little Arya had engaged in conversation with the outsider. Shortly thereafter, she was barred from practicing in the open and was 'encouraged' to practice outside the walls of Winterfell, with an armed Stark guard to keep her safe in the Wolfswood.

A month later, she remembered thinking, 'At least, I got out of Winterfell. Now that it is known that I may sometimes be outside of Winterfell, I only need to find a way to escape quietly. I would be able to disappear for a few hours before questions began to arise,' she continued, 'but how to do so?' Wishing for a few minutes alone, she told her guards, both Flame and Stark, that she needed to make water, and stalked away.

Once a comfortable distance away she sparked a small flame in her hands, coveting the warmth and the power of the fire. She heard a branch snap close by, and saw a small form hiding behind a tree, eyes wide, and partially obscured by the low hanging branches. 'Arya Stark?! How did she?' She remembered uttering in her mind, and just then an idea sprang into her mind.

"Lady Ursa?!" she heard her guard shout, "are you well?"

Looking towards the little wolf, she placed her finger to her lips and gave her a wink. The littlest Lady Stark responded by smiling broadly, and sneaking off back towards Winterfell.

(Winterfell: 4/12/298 AC) Ursa I

Unfocused and thinking about her past few years, she did not realize until too late that her footing was off, and she slipped on a patch of snow. Laying there, sprawled on the icy ground, she muttered to herself, "Mother is going to be livid." As if summoned by her thoughts, a messenger hawk landed on a nearby branch with a message tied to its leg. Quickly rising to her feet, she walked towards it as the hawk's eyes bore into her. Her heart began beating rapidly and her legs weighed her down like iron shackles. She reached the hawk and took the small note. Unwrapping it, she stood in silence, staring at the two simple words.

"Six days…"