Hers Is The Fury

Vision For The Future

[Winterfell - Robb & Morgana's Chambers]

The morning light crept through the thick draperies of their bedchamber, casting long, golden fingers across the ornate carpets and polished wooden floors. Queen Morgana Baratheon stirred beneath the furs, her chest rising and falling rhythmically as she breathed in the crisp, wintry air. Beside her, King Robb Stark lay sprawled across the pillows, his dark hair mussed and one muscular arm flung over his head. They lay there, entwined in each other's embrace, oblivious to the world outside their sanctuary in Winterfell, the seat of power in the North.

As they lay there, Morgana idly traced a finger along Robb's chest, her eyes drifting over the familiar contours of his muscles, the strong lines of his jaw, and the way his dark lashes rested against his cheeks. He opened his eyes lazily, meeting her gaze, and smiled, his lips curving into a slow, sensual curve. "My queen," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

She returned his smile, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers, the strength of his body beneath her fingers. "My king," she breathed, leaning forward to kiss him, their lips lingering for a moment before she pulled away, reluctantly.

Outside their chambers, servants scurried to and fro, preparing for the day's events. But in this sanctuary, protected by the ancient walls of Winterfell, they could pretend that nothing else mattered but each other. They could dream of the future they would create together, of the lands they would rule and the children they would raise.

But, for Morgana, there was another important issue to address; the stark contrast in which men and women are viewed and treated by society.

"Robb, I wish for us to work towards a more equal society," she said, sitting up in bed and resting her back against the headboard. "The women of Westeros deserve the same rights and opportunities as the men."

He nodded thoughtfully, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. "Aye, Morgana. You know that is something I have always believed in. The time of the Seven Kingdoms' patriarchal rule must come to an end. We will make sure of that when we finally defeat the Night King and his army of the dead."

"A Lady is not merely recognized as an individual but rather reduced to the status of an object Society deems us as beings of lesser value when compared to men." As her words hung momentarily in the air, Morgana paused, allowing her message to resonate.

A furrow formed on her brow as she continued, her gaze cast downward, "When a son is born into this world, there is cause for celebration. For he is immediately hailed as a deserving member of society, regardless of his station in life. Whether he emerges from the humble origins of a lowborn farmer or embraces the honorable path of a blacksmith or an armorer, his existence is seen as contributing to the greater good of Westeros. He is lauded as a servant of justice."

Morgana's tone shifted slightly, her voice imbued with a mix of frustration and melancholy. "Yet, when a daughter is brought into this realm, tears stain the eyes of her parents, for they realize that she will forever be regarded as inadequate, incapable of fully serving the world in the way a son would." Her words reverberated within the chambers, carrying with them a weight that spoke of generations of systemic prejudice.

But Morgana's observations did not solely revolve around society's perception of women. Delving deeper, she explored the unique physical challenges faced by her gender. "Women are burdened with pain from the very moment of our existence," she lamented. "It is our physical destiny to endure the pains of moonbloods, tender breasts, and the rigors of childbirth. We carry these experiences within us throughout our lives, while men never truly comprehend such trials. In their quest to understand and relate, they fabricate gods and demons, inventing reasons to feel guilt for matters that we, as women, have long mastered on our own."