Chapter 1: a lady, a killer, a slayer

When the Night King exploded into shards of ice, Arya Stark finally breathed.

As the storm slowly dissipated, the calm resolve that enveloped her and brought her in front of the weirwood shattered at once. One step at a time, she slowly walked towards Bran, a mix of wildness and relief in her wide eyes, and the dagger still within her grasp. She fell to her knees, and put her head on his lap, clutching at his cloak with a force that turned her palms nearly as red as the blood coating the snow around them.

Blood of my enemies, blood of my friends, she mused, thinking about Theon's lifeless form.

"Remember that one time I bested you when I shot an arrow straight into the bull's eye?" she started. "Mother was so angry that she confined me to my chambers for nearly a fortnight."

"You've always been a better fighter than I, Arya," she heard her brother, or someone akin to him speak. She wasn't sure about who Bran was anymore. "It was your destiny all along."

She felt his hand on top of her head, slowly patting her hair. She was unsure whether he was doing it to comfort her because he found it within himself to care, or because he somewhat knew that she needed the soothing touch of a loved one. But knowing what she knows about Bran, she wasn't sure if his moment of unexpected affection had the desired effect on her.

She looked up at him, and he halted the movement of his hand to look back at her, his eyes blank and his mouth set into a tight line.

"You knew?"

He stared for a moment, and his lips parted slightly to let out a visible breath. "I can neither see nor predict the future. I can only weigh the odds, and the dagger seemed at best odds within your hands."

She closed her eyes, her grasp tightening around the weapon, refusing to relax her hold of fear that the dead would rise again and break the illusion of peacefulness. Perhaps the Night's King had succeeded, and his icy hand had crushed her windpipe after all. Maybe she had been dead this whole time, and this was but a dream to give her a semblance of relief for just a moment, relief she had desperately needed for the longest time, relief she hadn't felt since her father's untimely death all those years ago. But this fleeting thought immediately dissolved when she released Bran's cloak and tentatively touched her throat, wincing at the soreness and the coldness that met her skin. At that moment, Arya knew that it was real.

She had defeated the Night's King, and per the sky's dim sunrise, she had brought an end to the endless night.

"You can breathe now," said Bran, a near smile on his lips. A ray of sunlight peering through the tree lit up his face beautifully, and she could not help but stare at him in wonder.

"Will you ever be the same again?"

"I don't believe so," he replied, a tint of regret in his tone that would've escaped her if she weren't so observant. "I know far too much of the world to be the child I was before. Besides, what purpose is there for a crippled boy in this world?"

"You have us, your family."

Bran sat there, in deep contemplation, his eyes forever void of any emotion. Arya regretfully stood up, just in time as she heard running steps approaching the Godswood, and she saw Jon coming towards, breathing heavily. He was covered in blood and his eyes were wild with fear, but apart from that, he was alive.

"Bran! Arya!"

"Jon," she beamed, trying to project her voice, but all could come out was a raspy whistle. She wanted to run to him, but she could not move away. Her feet stood still in the midst of the remains of the Night's King.

There was no need, for Jon had already reached her. He grabbed her, kissing her head repeatedly, his other arm holding Bran.

"You're alive, I can't believe it's over, what happened?"

The questions poured out of his mouth like a river, his eyes wildly trailing between his two siblings, as if he was afraid they would disappear if he trailed his eyes anywhere else. Other survivors poured into the Godswood, shouting for each other and hugging their fellow companions, and Arya realized how long she had been kneeling in front of Bran after the defeat of their enemy.

"We have won," simply stated Bran. "The long night is over."

"He defeated the Night King?" asked Jon, looking at his old friend's body lying in the snow.

People were standing around them, holding each other up, exhaustion and relief written all over their faces. They were all looking at the three siblings with gratefulness, muttering between themselves about The King In The North.

"Theon tried to kill him, and it cost him his life. He has fought valiantly, and his sacrifice will not be in vain. Without his death, Arya would not have had time to deliver the final blow and save us all."

The murmurs got louder, and people were looking at her with wonder and disbelief, and she could not help but feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

I am no hero. I do not want to be a hero.

Jon shifted his gaze to her, and held her at arm's length to look into her face.

"It-it was you? But how?" he asked.

"Just like you taught me. Stick em with the pointy end," she smiled.

Jon laughed, a laugh she had not heard from him in years, and she felt transported back to a different time, a time when he wasn't so morose, and she was neither an assassin nor a kingslayer. A time when her father was still alive, and when her mother would till chastise her for being too boyish and rowdy. Look where that brought me now, mother.

Jon hugged her once again, as the people cheered around them. The ruckus must have alerted others, as the Hound came in with Ser Davos, followed by Sansa and Tyrion, as well as the other survivors from the crypts who looked like they've had a hard time as well.

Before she knew it, she was in her sister's arms, and she almost felt like crying because they were safe. Her family was safe but not all her family and where was that bull-headed idiot…

"You're the strongest person I know," she cried softly. "Thank you."

A deeper voice sneered, coated with pride. "Takes a cold bitch to kill an ice king."

The Hound towered over her, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, but his eyes vibrant with life. She gave him a nod, removed herself from her sister's embrace, and forced herself to move. Her legs felt heavy, and her head was spinning, a thundering headache pounding away. But she pulled through, making her way through the crowds of people who made way for her, their hero, the bringer of the end of the long night.

Yet, Arya only had one single thought in her mind.

I need to find him.

"Where are you going?" asked Jon with concern.

Arya didn't stop or look back, fearing that her legs may give out from under her. "I have to find someone."

"Who are you looking for? You have to rest, you just killed the Night's King!" he exclaimed with worry at the sight of her wobbling figure.

"The smith. I have to find Gendry," she said, eyes wild.

Her brother stared at her retreating form, confused and worried. What would she need the blacksmith for? They had won, there was no need for any weapon now.

"Come on Jon," said Sansa, putting a comforting hand on his arm. "She just killed the Night's King. I don't think you need to worry about her. She can take care of herself. We should start rallying the survivors."

Jon nodded half-heartedly, nonetheless agreeing with Sansa. She's the smartest person Arya knows.

"The Queen, we have to find Daenerys."

When Arya found him, she felt relief washing over her like a tidal wave.

He was walking amongst the bodies, both from the army of the dead and from their fallen brothers and sisters. She knew that they had to burn all of them, but the thought still disgusted her. They deserve better.

He was frantically looking around him, flipping the bodies of those faced down, seemingly looking for someone. She knew that he was searching for her when she noticed half of the weapon he made for her clutched in one hand, and a battle-axe in the other. She was so silent that he didn't turn around until she was mere feet away from him, and only when she made the effort to be loud and noticeable. He turned abruptly, ready to swing. The trauma would never let them be now.

"Gods," he breathed in disbelief, dropping the weapons. They clanked loudly on the floor, and he stood there, mouth wide open and his arms hanging by his sides. She took the moment to look at him and noticed a few scratches and a gash on his arm. But otherwise, he seemed unharmed, albeit tired.

"I was happy. I had my family around me, and they were safe and sound, unharmed and alive."

He blinked.

"…But you were missing," she finished, chewing on her lower lip.

"Arya," he whispered, taking a tentative step towards her. She relished the fact that this may be the third time he had called her by her name. It sounded so sweet, so delightful coming from him, and she recalled how he had whispered it at the beginning of the long night, full of awe and hardly concealed desire.

She swallowed, and suddenly felt the need to wrap her arms around herself in a moment of vulnerability. She had been completely bare in front of him merely hours before and had not felt the need to hide. But this was different, because she realised that she was still holding the dagger she had plunged into the Night's King's heart. A killer could not be vulnerable. A killer was not allowed. And yet…

"Do you remember when I told you that I could be your family? You said that I wouldn't be your family. That I'd be your lady. But how can a killer be a lady?" she laughed humourlessly. "I've killed the living, I've killed the dead, I've killed more than I can count."

"You-"

You're a killer, a monster, you're not my family, you're no one…

"You're safe," he said, reaching for her.

His hands cupped her face, wiping the blood that had dripped down her cheek from the cut on her forehead. His eyes were unbelievably blue, a blue that brought her comfort instead of fear for the first time that night, eyes that inspired vulnerability instead of bloodthirst.

She may have taken the lead when she had sought release from him, but she was putting the aftermath in his hands.

"Gendry, you're so stupid," she muttered, a grin threatening to take over her face.

"And you're so brave," he replied. "I don't care about any of that. You may be a killer, you may be whatever you claim to be, but you're Arya for me, and I'm just a bloody bastard."

"You're also very stupid," she repeated, dumbfounded.

He laughed, he laughed loudly until he chest heaved with every sound, until she couldn't help but join him. They must have been a peculiar sight, his hands on her cheeks, both drenched in their own blood and the blood of the dead.

When he stopped laughing, his hands trailed would to her neck, gently probing at the mark around her throat. "I hope whoever did this to you died a painful death," he said, venom seeping through every word.

"It was the Night's King. I killed him."

He stopped for a moment, his eyes searching hers, before dropping down to look at the weapon in her hands. "I'm glad it was you."

"Nobody puts their hands on me without consequences."

"What are my consequences?" he replied, quirking an eyebrow.

He's getting bold, he must've taken a blow to the head, she thought, feeling her face heat up at his remark. "Easy there."

He reddened, thinking he had overstepped his boundaries. "I'm sorry m'lady."

She grimaced in annoyance, finally finding the courage within herself to drop the dagger and grabbed the front of his tunic.

"Oh come on, you daft man," she said, getting on her tiptoes and reaching for his lips, before kissing him right there and then, surrounded by death and filth and the smell of decay.

At that moment, none of that mattered to either of them. All they cared about was the feeling of their bodies pressed together, the feeling of warmth emanating from each other after a long cold and lonely night full of uncertainties. Unsure whether they would ever see each other again, whether the hours they had spent exploring each other's bodies meant anything for the other.

But they couldn't care less, because his hands were on her neck, feeling her quickening pulse through his fingertips, and she could feel his heart hammer away at his chest through his tunic. He must have lost his armour during the battle and she thanked whoever was listening to her for keeping him safe because he was her family, her family…

been refreshing the tag nonstop since the new season dropped cause im obsessed with this ship and after so many years of waiting im THRIVING babyyyyyyy

haven't written in years, but it's that time of the year where I become obsessed with Game of Thrones again, and it has brought me back my friends! yeehaw

i don't know if I'm going to stop this after two chapters or if I'll continue it after. We will see!
Chapter 2 to drop before next week's episode lmao

sorry if it's full of mistakes, wrote this in the dead of night and immediately put it out before i lost my inspiration and resolve hihihihi