Arya.
He woke up in the middle of the night, tears blurring his vision. She had left, he knew. She may even be in Kings Landing by now, she may be dead by now. It rips him apart so much to know that sheʼs gone, to know that he may never get her back, but he has gotten used to that pain. Many years that feel like a lifetime ago, he had cried himself to sleep countless nights, pain and guilt refusing to let go of his heart. He had spent months thinking she had died that night, together with her mother and brother. He remembered that pain. It was consuming, overwelming. He felt like he was falling into nothingness, it felt like a piece of him had been ripped off.
Oh yes, he would never forget that pain. And how could he? It was the reminder of his love for her.
And then, he saw her again. She was standing right there, in front of him. Strong, beautiful and alive. The night he made love to her for the first time has been imprinted in his heart and he will remember it until his last breath. He loves her, he knows that now. His heart weeps for her and no one can understand how badly he needs her. Heʼs been parmanently marked by her and he would have it no other way.
He closed his eyes and pictured her beautiful face. He forced himself to believe she was going to be okay. Because she is Arya Stark of Winterfell, because she had found her way home once and she would do it again. Because she is his Lady, his family. Because he hadnʼt lied to her and his life would be meaningless without her by his side.
And because Arya Stark was supposed to be the one.