Author's Note: First Things First – Anything you like or recognize probably belongs to someone else.

Second Things Second – Very AU – If you are looking for a canon complaint story, this one is not for you. In fact, I'm not sure if anyone is going to like this at all, but it was stuck in my head, so I wrote it, and once it was written I figured I might as well post it. I couldn't get past the idea that Arya would fit in perfectly with the Dothraki. It made me wonder what kind of trouble she could get into at the head of a khalasar. I also wanted to test out a version of Daenerys that was slightly less powerful than in my previous stories. Likewise, I needed a few new characters to play with, so I for the purposes of this story Robert, Ned and the Starks didn't die.

I'm aware some people might find Arya (and others) out of character, especially given the way she interacts with her family. The changes to her character weren't done unintentionally, but were instead written to show how being exiled changed her. She was sent away as a child and spent her formative years with the Dothraki. It's not all going to be smiles and hugs when she gets back to Winterfell.

If you haven't closed this window already, I hope you enjoy.

Thanks

Russell Craig

R-C

A hand on her upturned shoulder pulled her from a dreamless sleep. With a grunt, she instinctively tried to roll away, keeping her eyes closed against the early morning sunlight. "Late night last night?" a soft voice asked from near her head. The warm hand wandered from her shoulder down her scarred arm, stopping just before her wrist.

"I got into some mead with some of the men," she explained, her eyes still closed tightly. "You were asleep when I came in."

"It's been that way every night for nearly two weeks, Arya. I fall asleep and you aren't here, and I wake up in the morning to find you hungover on the floor."

Finally, she cracked an eye and gazed up at her Queen. She'd had more than seven years to get used to the Khaleesi's beauty, but it still managed to take her breath away at least once a day. Daenerys was wearing brown leather riding pants, and a small strip of white fabric to cover her breasts. This left her shoulders and her stomach exposed, giving a sinful preview of the soft-looking skin. Her long hair was pulled back in a tight braid and her free hand rested on her hip, in a stance that left no doubt to how she was feeling. "I didn't think you were paying attention," she grumbled before she sat up and swiped at the sleep in the corner of her eye.

"Of course I'm paying attention, why would you think that?"

Thankfully, before she had to answer Missandei stuck her head in the tent. She looked away when she noticed Arya was naked, and spoke quickly, keeping her eyes down. "Khaleesi, they want to know if they should begin moving out."

"Arya's not quite ready," Daenerys said with an indulgent smile. "Tell the men we'll be leaving shortly."

"Of course," Missandei agreed, before she disappeared.

When they were alone again, Arya spoke. "You don't need to wait for me. I can catch up." She got up from where she'd slept on the floor and made her way to a small table that held a bucket of clean water. With her back to the Khaleesi she began washing herself. "Where are we going today?"

"It's not my choice," Daenerys reminded pointedly. "You're the Khal."

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "You know I'm not."

"You are," Daenerys amended. She walked up and put a hand on Arya's shoulder, this time much closer to her neck. The warmth of the touch, the so-called Dragon's blood heated her like an unforgiving sun and still she felt her body trembling as if she were caught unprepared by a Northern wind. "They follow you Arya, they respect you."

"That's fine," Arya said as she shrugged out from under Daenerys's hand, moving to the bag where she kept her clothes. "I'll do my part, but I have no interest in ruling, so that's up to you." As she pulled pants up over her hips she looked over her shoulder. "So which direction are we marching Khaleesi?" With a weary grunt she leaned backward, stretching her sore muscles. She felt some relief but not nearly enough, sleeping on the floor had its disadvantages.

"You could use the bed you know."

Arya sighed. They'd had this particular conversation dozens of times over the past two years, and it always ended the same way, with Arya annoyed and Daenerys angry. "You know I won't."

"What if one of the men had come in last night and seen you on the floor. They'd know the truth. What would you do then?"

The answer was out of her mouth before she could stop it. "I'd kill him to keep the secret and then go back to sleep on the floor."

With a groan of frustration, she threw up her hands. "Arya be reasonable, you can't sleep on the floor forever."

"Which direction will we be going today?" she asked, desperate to change the subject.

It was quiet for a few moments and Arya quickly laced up her boots, while Daenerys thought of an answer. "The horses we got on your last raid are helpful, but we need weapons and for that we need to go toward the Free Cities."

Still topless Arya turned around. "Alright then, I'll tell the men to start moving out." The shirt clutched in her fist was forgotten, as she made her way toward the entrance of the tent.

"You should probably put your shirt on first," Daenerys suggested.

She scoffed and glanced behind her. "They wouldn't care and you know it."

"They might not," Daenerys said as she brushed past Arya on her way to the exit, "but I definitely would."

R-C

"Rough morning?" Missandei asked, speaking in the common tongue, an attempt to keep their conversation relatively private. Aside from Ser Jorah and Arya, her army knew little more than the occasional word or phrase. She looked around for Arya, and saw her several rows back in conversation with the Blood Riders. "She's just so difficult sometimes," Daenerys confessed to her friend.

"Has she always been like this?" Missandei asked curiously.

"For as long as I've known her. It's like there is this anger that is waiting just below the surface for any excuse to come out."

"How long ago was that Khaleesi, since you met Arya I mean?"

She thought back, counting in her mind. "Six… no seven years now. She was just a girl then, but she impressed the Khal, right from the start."

"How so?"

Daenerys chuckled darkly. "By stabbing one of his best men in the ear with his own knife. After that he called her 'Little Warrior,' and began letting her train with the Blood Riders."

Missandei laughed. "Truly? Did you know her?"

"Not at all, she was just another slave captured by the men during a raid. They brought her back to camp and before I could stop them one of the men was trying to rape her. Malnourished and weak as she was, she waited until he got close and while he was busy with his pants, she pulled his knife off his belt and buried it in his head."

A hand reached up to cover her mouth as she gasped. Daenerys chuckled at the memory. "The Khal laughed and declared she was brave and strong. He promised no one would hurt her and no one did, not while he was alive."

"He sounds like an impressive man," Missandei said carefully. "I'm sorry I never got to meet him, and I'm sorry for your loss."

Daenerys smiled at her friend. "Thank you, but it's been two years. I still think about them every day, my husband and my son, but life moves on and I need to move with it. Life is for the living, I don't intend to waste it."

Lowering her voice to barely more than a whisper, she shifted her words to High Valyrian, a language no one outside the two women understood. "Is she still sleeping on the floor?"

Daenerys groaned, inadvertently pulling on the reins and forcing her horse to slow. "Every night," she confessed. "She refuses to even consider using the bed."

"She's stubborn," Missandei pointed out at her normal volume.

"Yes, but so am I."

They laughed together until Arya came to a stop alongside Daenerys. She looked at the Khaleesi and smiled. "Talking about me again ladies?"

Daenerys scoffed. "That's remarkably presumptuous."

"The only time you two whisper in High Valyrian is when you want to talk about something private…"

"We can talk about many private things that don't include you," Daenerys said, doing her best to hide her smile behind a fake scowl.

"I should hope so," Arya said, squeezing her thighs and forcing the horse to move on ahead of the khalasar. "If you talked about only me, I would insist we find you a hobby, urgently."

She couldn't help it, she laughed along with Missandei as Arya's horse got further and further away. "Where are you going?" Daenerys yelled in the common tongue.

"To hunt your dinner Khaleesi," she shouted, never bothering to look back.

The last Targaryen shook her head. "See what I mean, stubborn."

R-C

She laid perfectly still in the grass and waited impatiently for something to approach. A handmade bow waited in the in front of her, and a quiver of arrows was strapped to her back. While she waited she looked down at her bare arm. Long gone was the pale skin of a Northern girl, replaced instead by a tan so deep she doubted it would ever fade. Scars marked her entire body, evidence of her violent path. Rarely a week went by where she wasn't wounded by something, whether it be on a raid or when she was training with the men. She didn't mind, in truth she often forgot they were there until she saw someone staring.

It was hard to believe. It had been eight years since a pathetic, crying girl had been exiled across the sea. Then, she'd been a child, entirely helpless and unable to protect herself. Things were different now, now she rode at the head of a mighty khalasar. Now when she swung a blade it wasn't with mindless rage but expert precision. After a year in King's Landing with Syrio, learning the Water Dance, she crossed the sea and learned a whole other dance from the Khal.

A grazing group of three female deer wandered toward her and she reached for the bow. Keeping as quiet as she could she retrieved an arrow and readied it. When it happened, it was fast. With practiced, fluid movements she popped up onto one knee and took aim. The deer turned its head in her direction and she released the arrow. It hit its mark, piercing the doe's neck. The others sensed the danger and prepared to disappear, but Arya wasn't done. She'd come out to hunt for Daenerys, but she wasn't opposed to feeding more of the khalasar. Her arrow caught the second deer in the right rear. It collapsed, its legs unsteady. Arya rushed toward the spot where it fell, drawing a dagger as she went. Kneeling beside the animal she pressed down to keep it from struggling and plunged her dagger down into the side of her neck.

The ride to the spot where Daenerys set camp took longer than she would have liked. Weighted down by the deer made it nearly impossible for her horse to go faster than a gallop. When she arrived, she dismounted and instructed the men to begin preparing dinner. They went to work at once, eager to fulfill her orders. She made her way to the highest point in the camp, where she knew Daenerys would set up their tent.

Inside, she went straight for the table where the bucket of water waited. Before her bloody hands hit the clear liquid, she heard a familiar voice. "Enjoy your leisurely ride?"

"I did, but I doubt the deer feel the same," she said, lowering her hands and turning her head to see Daenerys was sitting, reading by candlelight.

"You know, if you keep this up I'll start to think you're far less concerned with my dinner than you are with getting blood on your hands… anyone's blood."

There was probably more truth to that than she cared to admit. "There are worse ways to pass the time Daenerys," she teased, as she scrubbed the deer blood from between her fingers. After a moment she asked, "What are you reading?"

Daenerys closed the book slightly so she could read the cover. "Histories of the Seven Kingdoms," she answered opening the book completely again and continuing where she left off.

"You shouldn't read that crap," Arya said as she finished cleaning her hands. "It's likely all wrong anyway."

"It can't all be lies."

She took a step closer. "There are seven kingdoms Daenerys, seven kingdoms and seven hells, it's not a coincidence. They had to make sure there was room for everybody."

Daenerys laughed and closed her book. She rose from the chair. "That's not fair, you told me your life in Winterfell wasn't all bad."

"No, Winterfell wasn't all bad," she conceded, "but King's Landing is a different story. That place was nothing but a nest of vipers in disguise."

"You don't talk about it much, your life before."

"There isn't much to say," Arya assured her. "It was a long time ago and much of it, I've forgotten."

"I doubt that," Daenerys challenged. "You still remember what Lys gave us as tribute four years back. I suspect you remember far more of your childhood than you'd like to admit."

"It isn't important Daenerys. I'm here now and I'm never going back. I can't go back."

Daenerys stepped forward, reaching out and wrapping her arms around the younger woman. "You can talk to me, you know. You've never told me what happened. I know you were in King's Landing, but you always skip over the part about why you were exiled."

Uncomfortable with the topic she pulled herself out of Daenerys's warm arms, and took a step back to put space between them. "You've never told me why you were exiled either," Arya reminded her, although there wasn't a child anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms who didn't already know the story by heart.

"I was born, apparently that was enough."

"Well King Robert had his reasons. I wasn't always the well-behaved woman you've come to know," Arya said, hoping to lighten the mood and steer the conversation elsewhere.

Daenerys laughed. "Unbelievable."

She smiled. "Our dinner is probably ready, let me go check."

"Arya…" Daenerys called after her. Keeping her strides even, she kept on going.

R-C

They were waiting when the khalasar got close, blocking the route to the Free Cities further West. The horde was almost twice the size of Daenerys and Arya's significant army.

The casual conversation between Missandei and Daenerys stopped when they saw the line of cavalry blocking the way. Arya and Jorah who had been riding further back, hurried to the front of the formation. "What would you have us do Khaleesi?" Jorah asked.

Rather than respond Daenerys looked to Arya. "We can't run, can we?" she asked, her tone making it obvious she already knew the answer.

"No, we can't."

"And we can't fight," she continued.

"We could fight," Arya disagreed, "but many would die, too many."

With a resigned look on her face the Queen shook her head. "Is there no other way?"

"No good ones."

"It doesn't always have to be you," Daenerys said forcefully.

She smiled kindly. "You say they respect me, that they follow me, if that's true, you know it has to be me."

With three sets of eyes watching her intently she checked her weapons, clearing them of dust and dirt from their travels. Before she left, she lingered in front of the old knight's horse. "If I fall, get them out of here," she said, as her right hand gestured to Daenerys and Missandei. "Even if it costs of us every man. Make sure they get away."

She and Jorah didn't like one another, they never had. They rarely saw things the same way, but there was one topic where she could rely on him, one matter where she and he could finally agree – Daenerys's safety. Although she had an army of Dothraki warriors behind her, all willing to die for her, Arya knew Jorah was the right man to entrust with the job. His love for the Khaleesi made him willing to sacrifice everything for Daenerys, just as Arya would.

"Arya…"

"I'll see you soon," she said, hoping it was true. She caught Missandei's sombre expression as she turned her horse and she knew that the others understood what she did, her luck couldn't go on forever. In the two years since the Khal died, she'd fought to protect Daenerys and their khalasar sixteen times. Sixteen bloody fights to the death, against bigger, stronger men. She won them all, but her body was a map of scars and other damage, evidence of the cost.

When they noticed her coming alone, the Khal of the other khalasar and his three Blood Riders rode out to greet her. "They send a foreign whore," the Khal said to the man on his left, "she'll make a fine slave."

"You'll have to kill me first," she said, speaking to them in their own language, and surprising them with her understanding.

Four sets of dark eyes narrowed. "What is this? Why send you? Tell the white whore if she surrenders we will let her live."

"You should be far more worried about me. I am the Khal of this khalasar, my name is Arya. Who are you?"

"Khal Ryn," he answered. "You are not Dothraki. You can not be Khal."

"Then I should be easy to kill," she said as she jumped down from her horse. "Take your men and go."

All four of them laughed. "The girl thinks she's scary."

"Yep, I'm just a weak little girl, a foreigner, not Dothraki, so I should be no match for you." Her grey eyes stared defiantly at the other Khal. "I challenge you."

There was more laughter, but this time from only three. The Blood Riders saw the humor in the situation, but Khal Ryn did not. Furious at her words he dismounted his horse and followed as Arya backed up. She led them into an opening, where they could fight without interference.

"When you're dead, I'm going to fuck her, then kill her," he promised wickedly as he drew his arakh.

Across from him Arya did the same. "When you're dead, I'm going to remove your head and stick it on a spike!" He reminded her of Drogo, if not in temperament, then in build and size. She knew from the lessons Drogo gifted her with that her only hope of surviving an opponent so strong was to move quick and end the fight before it could linger. The longer it went on, the more likely she was to be overcome by his long arms, or his powerful swings.

She stayed perfectly still as he approached like a racing bull. She waited until his arakh was in the air and then she rolled under it. Arya only meant the dodge as a way to calculate the speed of his strikes, but the result was one she hadn't anticipated. From sheer force alone Ryn had pushed his arakh several inches into the ground. Instead of retrieving it, he abandoned the curved weapon with an enraged cry and drew the sword off his back.

In her mind, she heard Syrio Forel, her first dancing instructor, "An angry opponent is easy to defeat, you need only stand back and wait."

Choosing to trust her former mentor, she kept still again, until Ryn was swinging his sword, then she slipped to the side. This time she swung her arakh and the steel clashed. With another roar Ryn took hold of her weapon by the blade, cutting into his own palm deeply as he gripped it and used it to throw Arya off to the left.

She hit the ground with a thud, her back landing against an unforgiving, jagged rock. Groaning in pain she rolled away and curled up in an admittedly feeble attempt to protect her vital body parts. In the toss, her arakh skidded along the ground and out of reach. Coughing wildly as she struggled to refill her lungs she was aware of approaching danger. Even unable to breathe, with tears in her eyes and pain racing through her, she knew she was in peril.

The whooshing sound gave it away. She rolled from where she sensed the strike was coming, and although she missed the brunt of it, a new gash split her under her left shoulder, extending to the back of her arm. While Ryn readied his sword for another attempt, Arya managed to get back to her feet.

Their blades met and each time Arya felt weaker and weaker. Just as Drogo promised, she couldn't hope to fight off Ryn for much longer. She needed to be smart. After a particularly undisciplined swing of her sword, she walked right into a kick.

She fell back, but luckily her sword landed next to her this time. She hurried back to her feet before Ryn could capitalize, barely ducking under a swipe of his blade. Her next swing was on route to cut into the side of his neck. Just as he'd done with her arakh, Ryn used his bare hand to still her weapon. This time Arya was prepared. The moment he had hold of it, she let it go. That one decision froze Ryn in place and Arya pounced like the wolf she had once been. Ducking under his arm, she came to a stop behind his back. Before he could turn she lashed out, hitting her target in the back of his knee. The big man was already sinking before she slammed her knee into his spine, and her fist against his temple. When he was nearly flat, face down in the dirt she mounted him like a stallion and wrapped her legs around his waist. Squeezing with her thighs, she snaked her arm under his chin and using her forearm cut off his air.

When his body was limp, she gripped his long hair and twisted violently. The sound of his neck breaking echoed all around them. Untangling herself with the man who meant to kill her, she stood and tested her abilities against the new damage. Her back and arm burned, but a quick glance made it clear her wounds weren't deep. She'd long ago gotten good at assessing her injuries and this time, she didn't expect there to be any long-term effects.

Approaching horses brought Daenerys, Missandei, Jorah and Harbin, one of her Blood Riders, to where she was searching the grass for her arakh. "Arya are you alright?" Daenerys asked, her concern evident.

When she found it, she walked past the foursome of her friends and returned back to where Ryn had died. With a fluid stroke, she severed his head from his shoulders. Once that was done, she faced the enemy khalasar and as Ryn's blood coated her entire lower arm, she held it high in the air. While they watched, she cut his braid, shaming him.

Looking over her shoulder she met Jorah's eye. "Go and find Kelo, tell him I want a spike, as tall as a tree."

The Westerosi scoffed. "Enjoying being King?" he mocked. "You might have the others fooled, but I know the truth and I don't answer to you."

"Please Ser," Daenerys said, hoping to avoid conflict. He gave her a long look, and then with a huff led his horse off in the direction of where Kelo was positioned.

"Are you alright?" Daenerys tried to ask again. Her eyes kept glancing at the growing pool of blood forming around her feet.

"I'm fine Daenerys," she said seriously. When the Khaleesi didn't seem convinced she tried another strategy. "Trust me, I've done worse training."

Daenerys rolled her eyes. "I don't doubt that. I seem to recall having to bring you back from the brink of death several times because of your so-called training."

"One time," she said, working to keep her face even.

The ladies laughed before Daenerys countered. "Once my arse. It happened three times the first year she was with us alone."

The next time Arya glanced at Missandei the former slave gave her a look that demanded confirmation. She only shrugged, causing a flash of pain in her arm. "What do you want to do with them?" Arya asked, using her bloody arakh to point to the enemy khalasar.

"Same as last time, join us or go," Daenerys answered, leaving plenty of room for Arya to object if she disagreed.

The Northern girl nodded. "I'll take care of it."

"You aren't going alone," Daenerys decided suddenly. "I don't trust them." Arya was waving her hand over her head, calling for not only the two remaining Blood Riders but also her horse.

"I won't be alone, but it's not safe Daenerys. You and Missandei stay back, I'll deal with them."

"I'm going!"

"It might not be safe."

"You'll keep me safe," Daenerys said as the others arrived.

With their conversation effectively over, Arya climbed atop her midnight colored stallion and led the group toward the spot where Ryn's Blood Riders waited. When she reached them, she raised her voice as loud as she could and yelled, "Your Khal is dead! Any brave warriors who want a place in my khalasar are welcome. If you do not wish to fight for me, take your horse and go, but ensure this is the last time I ever see you."

"You are not Dothraki," the eldest of the Blood Riders helpfully noticed.

"No? I killed your Khal, perhaps I am more Dothraki than you."

At the insult, he reared his horse back and shouted as he leapt in her direction. He struck Arya hard, knocking her right out of the saddle. As soon as she realized what had happened she was franticly trying to reach her feet. Her back wound bled more intently, although she tried not to notice. All around her, her men were holding bows, aimed at the Blood Rider who'd attacked. "Protect the Khaleesi," she shouted as she drew her arakh for the second time that day.

"Arya no!" Daenerys cried as she was surrounded by horses and fighters.

She stood arakh in hand, ready to kill again. "Are you a better fighter than your Khal was?" she asked him bluntly. "I killed him, do you really think you can defeat me where he failed?" She almost missed it, the tiny flicker of hesitation in his dark eyes. It was damn near euphoric. The Blood Rider's hand hovered near his arakh but made no attempt to pull it free. In fact, as the seconds passed, his hand moved further away, not closer to the handle. "Challenge me, or I'll challenge you."

"No," he said in the common tongue. "No."

"Challenge me!" she commanded.

"No."

"I challenge you," she said, stepping back to the area where Ryn died.

Unlike the last fight, she was certain this one would be quick. There was nothing less threatening than a man who didn't want to be in the battle he found himself involved in. She'd shaken the Blood Riders confidence and that would make him an easy foe to dispose of.

He took three half-meaning swats before he left himself exposed. She cleaved his torso in two in response and more blood colored the scenery. Just as she'd done with Ryn, she removed first the head and then the hair. After another gruesome display from a rival Khal, many of Ryn's khalasar had seen enough. They began crossing the field, going to join their new family.

On horseback again, Arya galloped to the spot where Kelo had positioned the stake. Ryn's head sat in front of her in the saddle, and the Blood Rider's in her right hand, she smiled to her friend. "Boring day?" he joked as he took the Blood Rider's head from her.

"Very boring," she assured him as she climbed down from her horse and immediately began working her way up the spike. At the top, she positioned Ryn's head, letting it sink down until it was grimly situated several inches below the sharp end.

Back on flat ground she found Daenerys waiting for her. "Can I tend to your wounds, or are you still not finished?"

"Finished?"

"With your macabre artwork." Violet eyes turned to the spike that now housed a head and although she didn't look away, she was openly repulsed. "Was that truly necessary?"

"Yes," she answered in an instant.

"Why?" Daenerys wondered.

"Because I told him I would and I'm a woman of my word."

Daenerys looked at her feet for a moment and slowly shook her head. "You told him you were going to put his head on a stick? What did he say to you?"

"Nothing of consequence Khaleesi, I assure you."

R-C

She sat in a tub of murky, red water and tried to think of a reason not to have to get out. She'd originally gotten in to clean her wounds, but that was done and now all she had to look forward to was stitching them closed.

Before she could convince herself to move Daenerys entered their tent. In her hand she held thread, a needle and a new candle. Moving the bucket of water off the table and setting it on the floor she dragged the table to a spot at the foot of the bed. "When you're done I'll sew everything back into its original place."

"Very kind, but I'll nothing, I promise."

"You are capable of a great many things Arya Stark, but stitching a wound on your own back is not one of them. You'll need help…"

"I'm sure Missandei would help, or one of the Blood Riders, such work is beneath a Khaleesi."

"As I'm sure hunting my dinner is beneath a Khal," she tested.

"I'm no Khal, and you of all people should know that since you're the one who has to really rule these people."

She shook her head first, and the words followed. "It wasn't me and my skills as a ruler that saved our lives and the lives of our people today. It was you."

"I just did the same as I've always done, protected you. That's my only part in this. I only act like a Khal to keep you safe."

"Well you do your job well," Daenerys said with a fond-looking smile. "Now get out of the tub before you bleed to death, who would protect me then?"

R-C

When the wound was closed and the candle half its original size, Daenerys set her tools aside and gently pulled Arya down onto her uninjured arm. She immediately felt the younger woman tensing, attempting to sit up, but Daenerys kept hold of her. "Arya, relax. Just lay with me for a few minutes."

"I should…"

She didn't know what Arya intended to say, but no matter what it was, she didn't want to hear it. "It can wait."

In an effort to calm her uneasy friend she reached up and untied the thin bands holding her braided hair together. It took several minutes but she dismantled the braids slowly, methodically, combing at the dark hair with her fingers. "You could always cut it, you know. They'd still follow you, and I wouldn't mind."

The delay before she replied was so long Daenerys thought she'd fallen asleep. "I keep it to honor him," she eventually said.

She didn't need to ask who the 'he' was, she already knew. "Do you remember the night he told you to grow it out?"

The answer came almost immediately this time. "Of course."

Daenerys smiled and cuddled up just a little bit closer to the younger woman. "He'd just given you your first arakh. He had it made special for you. He…"

She continued the story. "He said I was 'blood of his blood.' He told me I was Dothraki."

"You'd been with us two years or so and after hours and hours spent training, he finally thought you were ready to raid."

"Really? Because I seem to remember that if it had been up to Drogo I would have been going on my first raid weeks, if not months earlier."

"Perhaps," Daenerys allowed, as her cheeks reddened. "I just wanted to make sure you were ready. I didn't want anything to happen to you," she recalled, her hand finding Arya's and interlocking their fingers.

She felt relief and comfort when Arya not only held her hand, but squeezed it. "Nothing did happen."

"No," she admitted with a laugh. "You proved the Khal right when you showed up the next night with the head of the man who tried to betray you. From that moment, you couldn't have been more Dothraki in his eyes if you'd been born on a horse."

"I won't cut my hair until I dishonor him."

"You could never dishonor him, he loved you."

"He liked me, he loved you," Arya said, choosing that moment to pull away and sit up. She exited on the opposite side of the bed, out of Daenerys's reach. "And I would dishonor him, if I let something happen to you."

R-C

Ned Stark sat behind his desk in the Hand's Tower, reading through the various pages in front of him. He wasn't meant for this. There were too many numbers, and too much reading. It turned his stomach the way a few rich and powerful people deciding the fates of thousands. He didn't belong in King's Landing anymore than the Southerners belonged in the North.

Ruling in the North wasn't anything like being a part of Southern politics. In the North he set reasonable policies, honored existing laws and by and large his people thanked him for it. In King's Landing opinions and loyalties changed with the winds and people only supported you until they got their use out of you, then you were quickly forgotten.

He yearned for his days as a soldier, when his enemy looked him in the eye and attacked directly. Now it was all whispered accusations and hiding in the shadows. He wasn't suited to it. If he were smart he'd drop what he was doing and head North tonight, but he wouldn't and he couldn't. He was sworn to the Realm and to Robert and he wouldn't break those oaths. Even if he disagreed with Robert's methods, he was the King. Ned's job was to advise him, not change him.

He thought about his family, about Cat who was barely tolerating his Southern posting. She remained in Winterfell, but visited when possible. With each passing year she grew more insistent that she be allowed to move to King's Landing with her husband, but Ned wanted her far away from the schemes and backstabbing he'd grown accustomed to. Then there were his children, Robb who was currently Lord Stark, Warden in the North. By all accounts Robb was doing well, tending to the needs of his people in a logical, intelligent manner. Jon was on the Wall, and while they exchanged the occasional letter, replies were becoming less and less frequent. Bran was still adjusting to his injuries, but upon Cat's last letter, he was riding his horse and even practicing archery. While he hated not being there to aid his son, he knew that between his wife and Robb, Bran would be well cared for. Rickon was growing, apparently more than half the height of his mother. Thinking of his youngest child hurt the most because when he was honest with himself Ned was forced to admit how little about the boy he knew. He didn't know his favorite game, or his favorite color or even what he liked to do on a nice day. He'd left home when Rickon was little more than a babe and now nearly ten years had passed.

There was also the matter of his daughters to come to peace with. Sansa was with him in King's Landing, but he was so busy they rarely had the chance for a meaningful conversation. When they did see one another, she was quick to avert her eyes. At first, he thought it was because her marriage to Joffery was so close at hand, but he was beginning to suspect there might be more to it than that. Recently when he saw her, her eyes seemed almost haunted, the way he'd seen some men tormented by war.

Last there was Arya, his youngest girl, his she-wolf. She was his greatest failure, the daughter he'd allowed to be exiled. He knew she was telling the truth about what happened but he couldn't very well explain that to Robert. How could he hope to convince his friend that his daughter was telling the truth and it was Robert's own son was lying? He would have looked like a father attempting to save his daughter from punishment. He wondered now if that wouldn't have been better.

As it was he had no idea where Arya was, or if she even lived. He'd sent dozens of ravens to people he knew all over Essos, but none of them ever spoke of knowing his girl. The longer it went without word the heavier the weight felt on his shoulders. He still prayed to the Old Gods every night, asking that they watch over her. He didn't know if it worked, but he liked to hope it did, especially on the nights he had to lie awake next to his wife and listen to her cry for their lost child.

R-C

They rode to the closed gates of Norvos. The city had been tight as a drum since scouts reported the approaching Dothraki. She rode with Missandei, Daenerys and Jorah, coming to a stop where she was confident the men inside could hear. Looking up she saw a line of ready archers just waiting for their orders.

"Open the gates and allow me and my companions to come inside to negotiate, or I'll order the attack and we won't stop until this city is burned to ash."

Nothing happened for almost an hour. Enough time for frightened men to go scurrying in search of those in power to learn their will, and then to hurry out into danger to pass that message along. It was pathetic. She could never respect a leader who didn't swing his own sword, whether he be called, 'Khal', 'Lord' or 'King.'

When the gates opened, a large fraction of their forces were waiting. Behind crossbows and long bows they demanded that all four of them hand over their weapons. Arya and Jorah did so quickly and once that was done, men approached Missandei and Daenerys.

"What 'bout you two?" one of the guards asked with a laugh. "You got any weapons pretty lady?"

Jorah spoke first. "Hey! Don't."

Arya tried to step forward, to move between the approaching hand and Daenerys, but a pair of crossbows held her in place. While she hated it, it was moments like this when her mother's voice echoed between her ears, 'Use your words.' She highly doubted this was what Catelyn Stark meant but she felt no remorse for that. "Touch her with that greasy paw of yours and I'll separate your head from your neck."

The fool's hand hovered just inches from Daenerys's silky skin. He looked first to Arya and then to his friends. "You can't kill'm, you don't even have no weapon."

Despite the arrows aimed at her, Arya defiantly took a step forward. "I won't need my weapons," she announced, loud enough for most in the courtyard to hear. "I'll take yours."

Daenerys tried to avoid conflict by dismounting her horse and standing before the man Arya was contemplating killing. "My friend and I aren't armed, but you may check us if you wish. We only want to come inside and negotiate, so that we can avoid violence."

Almost completely ignoring Daenerys, the man looked over her shoulder to Arya for confirmation. She shook her head. "I told you what happens if you touch her."

"Arya!" Daenerys chastised.

"Bin, let them pass. People are waiting." The orders were obeyed at once and a path was made for the four of them to move through. At the mouth of that path a grey-haired commander was waiting. He wore heavy plate armor, and held a matching helmet under one arm. "My name is Doran and I'll escort you to the negotiations." They walked in silence for a few moments before he said, "I'm sorry about my men, your horde has left them plenty frightened and frightened men will do almost anything to convince themselves they aren't scared."

"I understand," Jorah said.

"It's forgotten," Daenerys added.

When it was her turn, Arya was far less forgiving. "If you want your men to live to be scared again, I suggest you tell those you serve about the benefits to avoiding war."

"I'll tell them," he assured her as they moved out of the sun and under a large canopy. Held in place by carved marble pillars, it looked overly opulent and extravagant, just like the remainder of the mansion. The Northern girl was disgusted. These people had too much. It would be her privilege to take some of that from them.

R-C

When the door opened he didn't bother looking up before he snapped irrationally at whoever had come calling. "Go before I take out my frustrations on you."

No retreating footsteps confirmed he wasn't yet alone, so he glanced up, surprised to find the Spider in the Hand's tower. "Varys, I really haven't the time…"

"Lord Stark, I mean no disrespect, but I'm afraid you'll need to make time for this." With his hands still hidden under the wide sleeves of his robe, he made his way to the door, closed and locked it.

Behind the desk Ned tensed. He didn't know what this was about, but he had suspicions that he wasn't going to like it. "What is this?"

He didn't reply until he was once again facing the former Warden to the North. "My birds have been whispering my Lord."

"Your spies, you mean?" Ned corrected. "Of course they're whispering, isn't that exactly what you pay them to do?"

"True indeed my Lord. I only meant to say, I think you'll find interest in the song I've heard from across the sea."

He wasn't in the mood any of this. "Get to the point!"

"Are you familiar with the Targaryen girl?" he asked, expertly leading Ned to a point he couldn't predict.

"She's wed to a Horse-Lord, what of it?" Ned responded, his minimal patience evaporating.

Varys continued to study him, with a sad smile. "Woefully out of date information I'm afraid. Daenerys Targaryen was wed to the Khal Drogo but he was killed several years back, poisoned I'm told."

He hadn't been expecting that, and he was sure it showed on his face. "And?"

"In the time since another is said to have taken control of the horde, leading it as ruthlessly as any Dothraki."

Again, he was surprised by the words the Spider shared. "They are being led by an outsider? Who is it?" Despite his earlier bad mood, he couldn't help but laugh briefly. "I wouldn't worry Varys, whoever this fool is, it's likely the savages will kill him and carve up his body before your birds can report in again."

"That fool, is your daughter!"

He was over the desk in a flash, clearing the top with his body. He gripped the Spider by his wide throat and squeezed. Backing him up, he pinned the round man between Ned's unforgiving arm and the equally hard wall. "What did you say? Be very careful," he warned, "no more riddles, no more games, just tell me what you know."

Releasing his hold, he allowed Varys to sink to the floor. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, while the other man coughed and sputtered. He began to speak almost at once. "A while back, word reached me about a Westerosi who was leading a horde of savages. At first it was strange enough but when I heard it said the new Khal was a woman, I thought the rumors were madness. I began to wonder if such a thing could really be true. I'd heard that the Dothraki love the Targaryen, but I didn't think this extended to all foreigners. More than a little curious I began to investigate who the mystery woman might be." He stood and smoothed out a wrinkle in the front of his robe. From up his sleeve he pulled out a small rolled scroll. "This message says the girl calls herself Arya, and that she's exiled from the North."

Whatever he imagined Varys might say when he came in and locked the door after him, it hadn't been that. He wasn't sure how he felt. His heart pounded and his mouth felt suddenly dry. He took the offered scroll and read the details for himself, everything was as the Spider described. "Thank you Varys," he said honestly, "I feared she was dead."

"Very much alive, according to what I've heard."

"I'm sorry, for…" his words trailed off. He'd never been good at apologizing. Lords rarely needed to.

"It's forgotten. You were a concerned father. I shudder to think of what I'd do in similar circumstances."

"Thank you."

"It's because you're Arya's father that I felt compelled to bring this to your attention first, before I passed the scroll along to King Robert."

"He doesn't know?"

"Like you, I am loyal to the Crown, but like you I also am painfully aware of how our King likes to handle unruly exiles." Taking back the scroll in question, it disappeared back up his sleeve. "I have plans to meet with Robert tomorrow around this time. At that meeting, I will be obligated to share with him what I've learned, but in the meantime, I'm certain you could send word to Winterfell, to make this news, and your wishes known."

It took him a few seconds to read between the lines of Varys's vague message. When he understood, he knew he would do it, even if it would be seen as a betrayal, even if it made him a traitor to the Realm he'd served for so long. "Thank you Varys, from both Catelyn and myself. I owe you a debt."

He knew all too well how dangerous it was to owe a favor to someone like Varys, but he couldn't deny the man placed himself at risk to give him warning and that alone earned Ned's gratitude.

Alone again, he went to the door and locked it, needing privacy to gather his thoughts. First, he fell to his knees, right there at the top of the Hand's Tower and thanked the Old Gods for keeping his daughter safe. At the completion of his prayers he moved back behind his desk and went to work drafting a letter to his eldest son. If Arya was alive, he was damn sure going to do everything in his power to keep her that way.