So yeah, Season 8 was a clusterfuck. I think most of us agree on that. It did have some good moments, especially in those first two episodes, but overall it fell flat in my opinion. But one thing that intrigued me was Arya going west. I asked myself "what will she find out there?" This story is my written version of what my answer in my head was. I hope you enjoy and please leave reviews they help a lot!

The first thing she noticed as she stepped onto the wooden deck was the rain. It pounded the ships already soaking wet deck in constant, large drops that felt like shards of ice against her face. The ship rocked viciously from side to side.

She looked around as her crew frantically ran around the deck, pulling ropes and tying things down as they attempted to keep the ship above the ocean floor.

"Lady Arya," the voice of her guard, Cregan Snow, yelling to communicate over the heavy rains and shouting crewmen. "It's safer down in your quarters, mi'lady."

She looked up at the mountain of a man, barely smaller than The Hound, and shook her head. "I'm no lady, and I can take care of myself." She walked up the stairs towards the captain, clutching onto the stair railings as the ship shook violently.

"I don't doubt it, little princess," her fellow Captain and the man sailing the ship, a man from the far away Summer Isles named Zhollar Qhaa, stated as he turned the wheel and in between barking orders to his crew. His voice had a fiercely foreign accent, one she assumed was from the Summer Isles as she hadn't met enough of their people to confirm or deny. "I hear ya can kill anything. Feel like killin' the raging clouds or big fuckin waves?"

Arya glared at him as she stood next to him.

"Oh, no? No cocky quip?" the man laughed, before turning to a crewman. "You, get yer head out yer arse and do your job! You're good at fightin, at killin. That's all well and good. But those skills aren't particularly useful to our current situation. You're of no use here, Stark, so I advise ya get below deck and let the best Captain on the water do what he's good at!"

Arya scowled, standing in her place. She hated to admit it, but he had a point. "This is my ship."

"No, it's OUR ship," he chided, that self satisfied grin staying on his arrogant face. "That was our deal."

Arya just looked on to the chaos on her ship and the storm they were inside. Lightning shot through the sky, brilliant beams of bright yellow light flashing , seemingly getting closer with each bolt. The clouds that dominated the sky were so grey they bordered on black, as they pelted the crew of the Nymeria with rainfall.

She named the ship in honor of her direwolf. It was to remember her by, another memory of a time long since over. An Arya that's long dead.

What was she even doing here? She sighed as she watched her crew perform admirably to combat the one enemy no amount of skill could truly defeat: nature. She tried to allow hope inside her soul, to hope that she didn't sign the death warrants of these men and women when she undertook this voyage.

Unsurprisingly, it failed. The hopeful little girl who dreamed was gone, and she couldn't give herself the luxury of hope.

She hoped her father wouldn't be killed. She hoped she'd see Robb again. She hoped that Gendry would come to Winterfell with her instead of staying with the Brotherhood.

Gendry. Lord of Storms End now. She hoped he was happy, that he found a lady of Storm's End. There was a time when she would have said yes to his proposal. That time had passed. She wasn't Arry anymore, the girl who traveled with him and Hot Pie and who knew deep down she cared for the stubborn bull. She was a killer, a monster whose responsibility was to kill other monsters. She couldn't be what he deserved, not anymore.

There was nothing left for her in Westeros that didn't hurt. Winterfell wasn't Winterfell without Robb's pranks, or Rickons loud playfulness, or Bran and her running around playing as knights. Without her mother's scolding and her father's wise words and strong hugs that made her feel like nothing in the world could harm her.

She shook her head, focusing on the situation at hand. As she looked, she noticed, far in the distance, the seas were finally calming. The crew cheered as they noticed it too.

They survived, she allowed herself a smile. THey live to sail another day.

As the ship made it past the dying storm last attempts to end their voyage early, Cregan made his presence known once again. "It appears we have survived the worst of this, thank the gods."

This wasn't the gods work, she thought to herself. The gods do nothing but take. No, this was THEIR victory, the crew of her ship.

It was, however, a small victory. After an hour or so more of sailing, she looked into the horizon and saw something she hadn't seen in months. "Are those…?"

"Ships? It appears so…" Zhollar said. "You, man, get up on the crows nest and tell me what ya see." He tossed a crewman a spyglass.

The man took to the ropes of the mast, climbing up to the top of the ship, and looked out the spyglass. "It looks to be...ships...dozens of em...in some sorta fight! Lots'a fire!"

Zhollar looked at Cregan. "What's that you said? Thank the gods? Well, I think the gods just told us to go fuck ourselves."

"Please, oh illustrious co-captain," Arya said with a sarcastic and mocking tone of respect. "Enlighten me as to why we are sailing TOWARDS the fighting ships?"

"Because, little lady," he shook his head with another smug laugh. "Battles mean people, people means land, and land means a fucking break!"

She had to admit, that was sound reasoning. They had to be civilized people if they had ships of that size, and that meant a place to at least rest.

The ships neared their view, and it finally dawned on them just how massive this battle was. There had to be a hundred ships in the water, engaged in fierce combat. Arrows rained from the sky almost as intensely as the rain from the storm on the ships as many were engaged in brutal combat aboard their decks.

There was one detail that struck Arya, shaking her to her very core. "Is that...a Stark Sigil on some of their sails?"

Sure enough, on many of the large vessels engaged in the melee, the grey Direwolf of House Stark stood proudly on display on the white sails. What in the seven hells was going on here?

And here you have it! Chapter one of my story A World Away! Some of you may be able to guess what is going on if you're game of thrones lore nerds like myself, if not all will be revealed within time! I hope you enjoyed! Please leave reviews!