I'm beaten by an Ace, But better than a Queen The throne is my place, I got my position by gene

Bold seafarer clad in iron, sails the northern winds, where gods whisper in the frost and tales of conquest echo through time.

Born in silence, fed on leaves, I am torn from living sleep. Worms die so kings may shine. I crossed empires soaked in blood, passed hand to hand through plague and greed. Roads were named for me, yet I never chose the journey.

A magazine with a high number of bullets. I am also used to store harmful chemicals. I can often be found in marching bands or be used to intimidate my enemies on the battlefield.

Cloaked in bridal white, I glide upon the mirror's face. My silence is a song, my neck a question's trace. I am often the subject of legends told, of transformation or of beauty brave and bold. What am I?