A million shattered pieces.
A million shattered pieces and a dagger.
A million shattered pieces, a dagger, and a girl fell to the ground of the Godswood.
The girl had killed death.
Arya fell to the ground of the Godswood surrounded by millions of shattered glass and the valyrian steel dagger that had saved her life; a dagger that had saved all their lives. Bran looked at her, looked through her, saw her for the person she had become, no one.
She couldn't face it, he had seen her, the real Arya Stark. A girl who is no one. She had to get out of there. She didn't want to see their faces or hear their questions. How had a young girl killed the night king? How had anyone?
The masses of whites that growled and chased after her. It was like chasing cats, only this time the cats had been chasing her, trying to kill her. They had overwhelmed her and at that moment death had her in his grasps. She ran and couldn't stop. Can anyone outrun death? No one did.
Arya swiftly left the Godswood muttering to Bran that no one killed the night king; tell them it was Theon. She was not a hero. She did not deserve recognition. A killer does not take pride in death, they simply enforce it.
As quick as she had entered the woods, she had left. Her family; were they alive? Jon? Sansa? Gendry? The hound? A new list had entered her mind, the ones she wanted to live. Brienne? Podrick? Davos? Where they dead? Death surely was kinder she realized as she looked around the masses. Thousands upon thousands of dead stacked on top of each other. Men and Women crying over the wons they had lost. Death would have been easier.
People began to gather in the hall, to grieve, to see who had made it out alive. She watched from the shadows the many faces the would appear to be alive. Her sister, the imp, Jon. Her brother was alive.
And then she saw him. His dark hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead and blood oozed from his cheek. His face was dirty with soot, mud and even more blood. Gendry. His name sound like music when she whispered it. He was alive. They all were.
"Arya" they shouted. A girl could not move. They would know what she had done, what she was capable of. Maybe Bran had lied, was he able to lie? She did not know. The shouting for her became hysteric. Jon, The hound, Sansa, Gendry, Davos and even the imp yelled for her.
She did not make a sound. Surely Bran had told them she was at least alive. Silently she made her way to the stables. The Dothraki horses, the ones that had lived through the attack had been put there. Taking a grey mare by the reins, she mounted up ready to flee. Wordlessly she approached the north gates, watching as many searched for loved ones whom they did not want to believe dead.
Again she heard her name. "Arya" they cried. "Arya Stark". She wanted to lose her identity again. She wondered what to do? Who do you become if you don't want to be no one? or Arya Stark? No matter how many times she changed her face, she couldn't escape all the death she'd caused.
If only she had run faster or realized her fate in time. Theon might have lived, so many others might have lived. Why did it have to be her? The princess that was promised. Why her? Why was she so special?
She wanted to leave; to leave herself behind. She stood frozen in the middle of the courtyard. It smelled like death and blood. Bodies lay draped over the roof and balcony. Her childhood home was ruined.
"Arya". Her name was so soft on his lips anyone else would have missed it. He touched her leg as he looked up to her. She couldn't bring her eyes to meet him. "You're alive" he had murmured. "Unfortunately" she had whispered, so quietly she might have thought he hadn't heard her. But he did.
"I need a moment" she finally spoke, "I'll meet you in the hall in a bit". She finally looked him in eyes as he spoke the words she dreaded. "What happened to the night king?" and she gave him the only answer her mouth could find, "I don't know".
She had given the most truthful answer she thought of. She didn't know. She had killed him. How? Why? She had been prophesied to do it. It was written before she was even born. That unsettled her the most.
She galloped out the gate as he stood watching. She rode past the lines the army had once stood; ready to face the dead. She rode to the site the Dothraki had been made extinct. Dead horses, Deadmen, bloodied weapons. She starred into the woods. Eyes stared back at her.
Nymeria. She jumped off her horse and ran. Faster. She was terrified she wouldn't reach her. "Nymeria, My wolf" she cried. Wrapping her arms around the dire wolf, her fears disappeared along with the wind and snow. At that moment, she knew she'd be alright. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.
Nymeria had come back for her. That was hope in itself. We'll be okay. "What do we say to the god of Death?" she questioned out loud. "Not today" she shouted, falling the floor laughing. Death would come for her again soon. But not today.
The doors creaked open as she entered the great hall, the dire wolf by her side. People had gathered together to rest and heal from the war of death. All eyes fell on her; the room falling silent until whispers crowded the large room. "Arya" Jon stood saying her name.
She had never felt more vulnerable in her life. Her name among the whispers led her to believe they all knew. They all knew she had killed the night king. Holding herself straight and drawing the emotion away from her face, she walked to the high table at the top of the room.
Jon headed towards her and wrapped her in his arms. Despite the win, he looked defeated. Like Gendry, his face was covered with blood and mud and more blood. "Thank you," he said into her ear, "But how" he followed it with. "I'm an assassin, I kill, it's what I do". His face was priceless, he wanted to ask her more but she had left him before he had the chance instead greeting Sansa with a smile and a hug.
Later she approached Gendry, relief came across his features as he hugged her and kissed her and loved her. "I'm glad you're alive" he spoke and for the first time she admitted, "Me too".
The hound had come to her as well. "Thank you," she had said genuinely "for saving my life". With a gruff and small smile, he had simply replied: "Leave me for dead again, you won't live a second time". They had both laughed at that.
Eventually, they rode to kings landing. She vowed to kill Cersei and that she did. Taking the face of a Lannister guard had been simple enough. The soldiers fighting for Daenerys were easily winning against the golden company.
She watched as Cersai entered the lower parts of the castle. Creeping, she followed her, silent like a shadow just like Syrio had taught her. She inwardly gasped as they entered a room full of wildfire. She would blow them up instead of surrender. Grabbing Cersai to face her, Arya sliced a line through her neck. She hadn't seen the dagger Cersai held.
Arya met death again. She had fulfilled her purpose and saved her people twice. Death was silent and approachable. She found Arya Stark again, the young girl who had looked at life with wonder and curiosity. "What do we say to the God of Death?" Today. Death is an endless inevitability.