Just some brief notes about the story:

1. This story takes place six years after Dany reclaims her throne. Therefore...

2. Arya is 19 now. She is a grown-ass woman and can do whatever (or be with whomever) she wants

3. Jaime has been without his right hand for a very long time now. At this point, he is just as capable with his left as he used to be with his right.

4. Please enjoy and don't forget to R&R!

Tears

You swam beneath the deepest sea,

To pick up what I had "lost".

But my dear, that's where I mean to be,

To join the tears I'd tossed.

Chapter 1

Jaime strode into the throne room, awaiting his queen, when he was caught off-guard. A girl stood before the iron throne, staring at the empty chair. Besides the girl and the dragon skulls, filled and glowing with candlelight, the hall was empty. The dragon queen was yet to arrive.

"Looking for someone?" he called out.

The girl whipped around, waist-length brown curls flying back over her armored shoulder, left hand drawing out a thin blade. Jaime had only once before seen such a creature, many years ago when he was just a boy. The girl narrowed her blue, nearly grey eyes.

"…Lyanna?" Jaime whispered.

He stood there, staring in speechless bewilderment. Her wild beauty was just as great as the country that birthed her; she was a child of winter, a child of the North. Jaime was but sixteen during Robert's Rebellion when he had laid eyes on the girl Rhaegar had spirited away. No, this cannot be her. Lyanna is dead…perhaps this is her ghost…Jaime chuckled at the thought.

"Do you mock me, Ser?" The girl's eyes flashed as she raised up her sword.

"Of course not, my lady. It is just…you remind me so of another maiden just as fair as yourself." Pretty maidens love to hear a knight's curtesy.

Before he even understood what was happening, an object went flying past, grazing the tip of his ear with sharp burst of pain.

"What the—" Jaime snapped around, bringing his fingers to his ear. A dagger stood quivering, imbedded in the great oak doors he stood guarding. Blood covered his fingertips, the drops falling down to stain his white cloak.

"Not a lady," she warned, dipping low into a mocking curtsey. She walked past him, ignoring his stare as she wrenched the dagger from the wood. "And next time I won't miss," she added.

Jaime stared in awe at the girl. She didn't look particularly dangerous—other than the sword she clutched, and now the dagger she spun effortlessly in the other hand. Her small stature matched his queen, although she lacked the soft curves that the dragon woman possessed. "And does this not-a-lady have a name?"

She didn't look up, merely watching the dagger go up and down as she flipped it. "And what do they call you?" she replied.

"Ah, you want my name first? I fear there are far too many to repeat all of them. Kingslayer, you may have heard."

The girl nodded, as if she already knew. "A kingslayer serving the new queen…is the dragon girl naïve, or simply stupid?"

"My queen has her reasons for keeping me around, none of which concern you."

She bared her teeth in a wolf-like grin; perhaps not a pretty smile…but an alluring one nonetheless. Jaime approached her, eyeing her blades. "What business do you have here? I hate to warn you…but the queen has had quite a temper these past few months. I wouldn't want that pretty face to get all burned up." He reached is good hand forward, running a finger down her cheek. Before he could stop her, the girl had her dagger pressed to his throat and his left arm twisted painfully behind his back.

"I warned you, Lannister. I'm not some pretty maid to play with," she hissed.

Boom! The sound echoed throughout the hall, prompting the girl to swiftly sheath her blade and step back, as if nothing had been amiss. Jaime turned. His queen had arrived.

Daenerys, accompanied by her usual council, floated past in her lovely white gown. Jaime noted the ornate silver dragon clinging to her slender neck. Even after all these years, my queen still reminds us what, not who, she really is. Ser Jorah held out a hand, helping the small queen to climb the stairs before settling in her throne. The party seemed oblivious to the weapons, the hidden danger that the girl posed.

"My queen." Jaime bowed low, his cloak brushing the ground.

"Ser Jaime," she said, nodding in his direction. "And who might this be?" The queen gestured at the, presumably, northern girl, standing defiantly a few yards to his right. Before Jaime could respond, the girl stepped forward before the queen, sinking to her knees. Daenerys's violet eyes took in her strange appearance; northerners were a rare sight in the capitol, and a pretty girl in armor was almost unheard of. Except I knew a maid like that once…long ago…

The girl raised her head to meet the queen's gaze. "Your grace. We are not so different, you and I. Both young girls once, mere victims of the wars of men. I know that your family was taken from you. Mine was as well. And now look at us both: warriors. You, a queen and I… With this knowledge I merely come asking for solace here, for refuge." She finished, keeping her head lowered.

The dragon queen raised an eyebrow, turning to Ser Jorah in question. The old knight shrugged. "Am I expected to allow just anyone a place in my kingdom? I do not even know your name. Rise and speak." She raised her hand, palm facing up, towards the celling. The girl slowly climbed to her feet, smoothing down her breeches before settling her hands by her sides.

"I am Arya Stark, your grace. Of Winterfell."