Dany was conflicted. Arya had made mistakes, but she wasn't alone. During their disagreement Daenerys tried to use her position as Queen to make Arya obey her. She did it in the heat of the moment, without thinking and came to regret it as soon as she calmed. Arya wasn't the only one who needed to apologize when she returned from her day of hunting bandits.
After postponing it for as long as she could, Daenerys went to find Sansa. She owed her an apology too. Daenerys had inadvertently brought chaos from King's Landing and complicated an already difficult situation. Sansa's focus should have been on her missing men, but instead she had to contend with Dany's relationship with her sister.
She found the elder Stark in the Great Hall, sitting at the center seat of a long table. She recalled Jon Snow occupying that spot years earlier. "Am I interrupting?" she asked softly.
Even if Sansa was annoyed with her, she was still a Lady. Her manners won the day. She stood and smiled stiffly. "Your Grace, no come in, can I get you anything?"
Her words were polite but firm. It reminded Dany of how it was when Jon first brought her to Winterfell to help in his war against the Dead. "No, I'm fine," she said, "please sit. I'd like to start by apologizing."
"You don't…"
She really did. "I apologize that my being here has caused so much additional hardship. You had enough trouble before I arrived. When I chose to come, I had no idea Arya would be here. I didn't know of her connection to you." She walked deeper into the room as she spoke. By the end she could feel herself smiling, in spite of everything. "She was just Arya to me, I had no idea she was your sister."
She was ready and willing to answer any of Sansa's questions. Daenerys owed her the truth at the very least after everything that happened. What she heard was almost the last thing she expected. "It's funny the lies we tell ourselves, don't you think?"
Her cold delivery set Daenerys on edge. She tried to remain calm. "I'm not lying. I meant you no harm. I came to help, and now…"
She laughed humorlessly, a short, harsh sound that didn't suit Sansa at all. "I meant me. Why must I lie to myself?"
Standing across from Sansa, separated by only the table she tried to understand. "What do you mean? None of this was your fault. Your sister returns, then I arrive and destroy your reunion."
"She was dead," Sansa explained. "I thought about her, wondered, prayed, but in my heart, I really believed she was dead."
Although she didn't make the connection, Daenerys did her best to provide comfort. "That was reasonable. As I understand it everyone thought that."
"I wasn't a very good sister," she confessed. "Not to Arya, not to Jon or anyone else really. I was too busy worrying about which prince I was going to marry, how I would wear my hair and the dress I'd choose to impress my friends."
Daenerys didn't know what to say, so she remained silent and let Sansa keep talking. She recognized the current of self-doubt running through the words. It was something she often heard in her own voice when dealing with affairs of the Realm. It was strange, she never would have guessed Sansa was plagued by uncertainty. She just didn't seem the type. Judging by her words, it was clear that being Queen in the North was no easier than Daenerys's life in King's Landing. From their initial meeting Sansa was always composed, regal and willing to fight for what she felt was right. Now, Daenerys could tell Sansa's pain ran deep, and went back years.
"I hated it here growing up. I used to dream of the glorious life I'd have in the South one day. Then I make it to King's Landing, find a prince and spend every night for months dreaming of Winterfell."
"You were young," Daenerys said to console her. "It's natural to want what we don't have."
"I miss Jon. I treated him poorly," she paused and amended her statement, "worse than that, I practically forced him away and he went. He had a place on the Wall. He was happier there than anywhere else, even after everything that happened. He belonged there," she summarized sadly, "and he left it for me, to give me back a home I never appreciated. And that, your Grace is the lie," she explained, her voice turning to steel in an instant. "When I tell this story, I say I went North to find Jon to get help to reclaim my home. That is an honorable goal, one worthy of a Stark, but it's shit. I wanted revenge and I knew Jon, a man I rarely said a kind word to in the whole of his life could help me get it."
Daenerys treaded carefully around the subject of the Bolton occupation of Winterfell. By the time she reached Westeros it was over. Ramsay Bolton was dead, Winterfell was in Jon Snow's hands and he ruled as a King. That didn't stop Daenerys from hearing tales of the Bolton bastard's brutality. She was confident she knew only a fraction of what Sansa suffered, but that little slice was more than horrific enough for Daenerys. "I would have done the same thing in your place."
"Jon would know what to do," Sansa said without taking note of Daenerys's reassurance. "Jon would know how to keep his people safe, to keep the North safe. He'd know what to do."
"We are going to keep the North safe," Daenerys promised. "We will find who is killing your men, we'll punish them, and things will return to normal."
"Normal?" Sansa spat with a sour expression. "So, you and your men will return to the Red Keep and I'll be here alone?"
"You're not alone. Arya is back now." It was a bit unexpected that they were just now beginning to talk about Arya, but Daenerys imagined there were few people Sansa could be honest with. It's one of the many reasons Daenerys savored her time with Arya. Arya had no ulterior motives. No one else in Daenerys's life could say that. With Arya she didn't need to put on a brave face and lie. If she could be that for Sansa, she would gladly.
"Arya has been back for years," the redhead said. "She told me before you arrived. She's been in Westeros for years and she never sent so much as a raven."
This was more information than Daenerys had, but that was hardly surprising. Since arriving in the North she'd been forced to accept that there was a lot about Arya she didn't know. "Your sister doesn't do anything she doesn't want to. She came here for you."
"You likely know her better than I do, your Grace," Sansa proclaimed sounding almost bitter. "I knew the girl who hated dresses and sewing. You know the woman she's become.
She'd come to try and apologize for the unrest she brought with her to Winterfell. She came to discuss Arya, but that wasn't the conversation Sansa needed to have. Even if she and Arya never shared a meal or a bed again, Daenerys was in a unique position to try and repair the bond between the siblings. "I'll tell you what I know," Daenerys said with conviction, "I was in the Red Keep with Arya when your raven arrived. She overheard Tyrion informing me of your troubles. She didn't say anything, she didn't acknowledge that she heard, she just left. She didn't tell me who she was, or where she was going, she was simply gone. Whoever your sister is, she dropped everything in her life to help you as soon as she learned you needed her."
She wasn't making Sansa feel better, in fact she appeared to be making things worse. "That's part of the problem," Sansa said quietly, so lowly Daenerys almost didn't hear. "For years when people asked, I told them Arya was dead, that I loved and missed her and that we were close." She looked up from the table and Daenerys saw a glassy film over Sansa's bright eyes. "More lies," she confessed to the Targaryen. "I did love and miss Arya once she was gone, but I didn't show it while she was around to see it. I would get so upset over nonsense, I mocked her interests, encouraged my friends to tease and ridicule her. I was horrible. I can't blame her for staying away."
"Whatever Arya's motives, I don't think she was intentionally avoiding you."
"How long have you known her? In all that time did she ever mention me?" Sansa didn't wait for the reply. "I had a wonderful family and when I didn't treat them as I should have, they were taken from me."
She'd asked Tyrion questions earlier about the history of the Starks. Here she was getting an emotional retelling of things directly from a Wolf. It wasn't much, but she could give Sansa a small measure of peace. "She did mention you, she told me you had a taste for fine silk dresses." She thought it best to leave out the details about what exactly she said, and what they'd been doing at the time. "She told me your mother used to have to chase after her to get her to practice her sewing, that she hated it because no matter how hard she tried she couldn't do it as well as you."
"She hated the Septa's lessons," Sansa confirmed. "I think Arya would have preferred torture."
Neither Queen knew what to say next. "Sansa what happened to your family isn't your fault."
She wasn't ready to believe that, it showed on her face. "Father used to tell us that the Old Gods would punish those who didn't cherish their family. I should have listened." She shook the thought away and sent her styled red hair swinging in the process. "Tell me, is Arya happy?"
Given everything, she wasn't certain she was the right person for Sansa to be asking, but they were alone, so she tried. "I think so," she hedged. "When we're together she seems to relax a little. She smiles and laughs sometimes. I get the sense it's not always easy for her. She told me she was tormented by the past, but I had no idea what she meant until now."
"I'm glad she has you then," Sansa decreed, sounding more like her usual self. "If you can give Arya any happiness at all, I'm glad."
She reached out and put her small hand over Sansa's bigger one on the table. "Everything is going to work out, you'll see."
Sansa didn't want to be comforted. Now that she'd unburdened her guilt, she was ready to talk in earnest. "What sort of things do you do together, you and Arya?"
"She joined me at a tournament outside King's Landing," Daenerys remembered fondly. She smiled as she recalled hiding from her guards and experiencing the matches from Arya's arms.
"I bet she loved that," Sansa guessed accurately. "She always loved swords and knights. I think the day Jon gave her Needle was one of the happiest in her life."
"Needle?"
"Her sword," Sansa explained. "Jon had it made for her right before he left for the Wall, as we were planning to go South."
"She named her sword Needle?" Daenerys asked in disbelief.
Sansa chuckled. "If you saw it, you wouldn't think of naming it anything else, your Grace."
"It's Daenerys, please." There was no reason for Sansa to be so formal. She was Arya's sister and Daenerys's friend. "And yes, Arya did enjoy our day at the tourney. Much more than the time she helped me prepare for a feast."
"She did what?!" Sansa said a little too loudly. "The only thing Arya liked about feasts as a girl was the food. She hated all the speeches, the sitting still and she despised our mother's need to dress her like a Lady."
Daenerys smiled as she tried to imagine a young Arya and all the trouble she surely got into. "I'll make you a bargain," she proposed, "if you tell me stories of Arya from when she was young, I'll tell you about the last few months we spent together."
"You'd do that?"
"By the time she gets back, I'm sure we'll both have lots to tease her about."
Sansa chuckled into her free hand and nodded in agreement. Daenerys doubted she and Arya would be teasing one another anytime soon, but a few stories wouldn't hurt, and they'd help to pass the time.
R-C
"No battleplan survives the first swing of a sword." That was something she'd heard Ser Rodrick say once when she was watching her brothers train. That moment was frozen in her mind, she could see it all as if it were yesterday, the stance he was teaching Jon to use, the way he corrected Robb's overly aggressive strikes. Those details stuck in her mind in a way the sewing pattern she was supposed to be mastering never could. The old knight's advice proved true. Her grand plan for discovering who was betraying Sansa and why had fallen apart almost thoroughly.
For most of the first day she pretended to be unconscious, even when she wasn't. The big brute who had knocked her out had given up carrying her and was dragging her behind him by a length of rope. Whether it was intentional or not, scrapes, bruises and cuts formed all over her body as she was roughly pulled along.
When they made camp, she couldn't feign sleep anymore. The men ate, drank, laughed and paid her no attention. She was tied to a tree with a thick rope. She could have tried to sleep but it wasn't worth the risk. She knew the moment she closed her eyes one of the sell-swords would attempt to rape her. She spent the night sitting up with her back against the bark, while the rope burned her skin. Being awake didn't guarantee safety, but Arya would be waiting if anyone came close. She intended to make an example of the first horny sell-sword who touched her.
R-C
They stayed like that for the remainder of the day. Guards, advisors and servants came and went but never stayed long. With every story told, Sansa's solemn mood improved, and Daenerys's problems felt further away.
Sansa's voice was tinged with amusement as she began the next story. "One year for my nameday my parents agreed to let a handful of my closest friends come and stay at Winterfell for a week."
"That was kind of them," Daenerys said honestly. Growing up in Winterfell under Ned Stark sounded nice, far better than anything she experienced in Essos with Viserys.
"Arya didn't think so," Sansa recalled. "She told my mother that if our home was going to be overrun with my friends, she'd rather live in the Wolfswood until they left."
"What did your mother do?" she asked after a short laugh. It wasn't a challenge to picture Arya doing exactly that.
"She tried to talk her out of it, of course, but Arya has always been stubborn."
"Yes, she is," Daenerys agreed. She noticed as the day progressed that although her anger at Arya remained Daenerys was incapable of thinking of her without smiling.
"When my mother couldn't convince her, she left it to our father. He and Arya were always close. He understood her in a way the rest of us didn't."
"So, what happened?"
"Arya gave up her bed in our room for one of my friends to take and moved down the hall," Sansa said with an indulgent shake of her head. Father let her join our brothers when they went riding and hunting. She typically wasn't allowed, except for that week."
Having raced Arya on horseback and eaten food she hunted, Daenerys could attest that Arya obviously made the most of the opportunity. "Perhaps that's when she learned to hunt and cook."
"Arya can cook?" Sansa wondered with no small amount of skepticism.
"Not in a kitchen," Daenerys clarified. "Occasionally when your sister and I are together, she'll hunt and cook for me."
"In King's Landing?"
"Outside the gates," she explained. She could tell Sansa didn't understand why a woman with a keep and servants would choose to dine on whatever Arya could catch. "Sometimes when we go riding, we're too far away to return to the city for a meal." She didn't think her lover's sister needed to know just how often Daenerys fled the capitol for the peace of Arya's camp. She adjusted the truth accordingly.
She heard them before she saw them. Missandei's familiar voice coming from outside the door. "Wait!" she was saying.
The Queens looked at one another and then stood. Sansa had had tea brought in, but the cups were long empty. They were side by side, when the door opened, and Grey Worm marched in with two of his men. His face was grim, but he looked unharmed. She felt relief for Missandei, aware of how worried she'd been. That relief vanished when Missandei arrived behind the soldiers. "Are you hurt?" she was asking Grey Worm.
Daenerys had trouble believing her eyes. Grey Worm was not only an excellent commander, he was also a good man. She'd never once heard him speak to Missandei without respect and care. Now he was ignoring her outright. Something was very wrong. "What happened?"
Grey Worm took a knee in front of the royals. "I bring word from your sister." A knot formed in the pit of Daenerys's stomach and she had to resist the urge to gag.
"Where is Arya?" Sansa demanded.
"She sent us back without her," Grey Worm said, keeping his eyes down. "She wished you to know you were right, the men are alive." Standing tall again, he took a look around the room and lowered his quiet voice further. "Doyle is the one who betrayed you."
"Where is my sister!?" Sansa tried again.
Daenerys knew Grey Worm well enough to know the news he brought wasn't good. Daenerys put a comforting arm around Sansa's shoulders in anticipation of the words that could destroy them both. "She asked me to tell you that she'd be well and not to blame yourself."
It didn't escape Daenerys's notice that Grey Worm wasn't answering the question. That wasn't like him. "Answer her!" she demanded of her friend.
Grey Worm's eyes moved to Dany. "She had us burn the wagons and kill the horses so they couldn't take us, then she ordered us to leave and surrendered."
Surrendered?! Nothing she knew about Arya led her to believe she understood the meaning of the word. While she was coming to grips with what that meant, Sansa was growing angry. "You left her!?" she shouted. "Why would she do that? Arya's not afraid of anything. I've seen her fight. She wouldn't just give up!"
"You told me to follow her," Grey Worm reminded Daenerys. She had given him that command before she retired to her room the night before. She never imagined that instruction could lead to this.
"What of the patrol?" Tyrion asked. He must have heard the yelling and come to investigate.
"Safe," Grey Worm reported without any pride or triumph.
"Why didn't you fight?" Daenerys needed to know.
"I wanted to, we would have won but the losses would have been many."
"What happened exactly?" Tyrion tried to clarify.
Sansa clung to Daenerys's side as they listened to how Arya's original plan was altered upon discovering the bandits were kidnapping the soldiers and not killing them. Grey Worm repeated his desire to fight multiple times.
As he neared the end, he waved one of his men forward. In his hands he held a faded leather belt with a sword attached. It meant nothing to Daenerys, but Sansa had an immediate response. "Arya, no!" she cried as she covered her mouth with her hand.
The small, narrow sword was unlike any she'd ever seen. To her untrained eye it didn't look capable of hurting anyone. When it occurred to her the sword was likely crafted for a child, she understood. Needle. Just as Sansa promised, she finally could make sense of the name.
While she'd been studying the sword, Grey Worm had been finishing his telling of the events. "Why would Arya just announce her identity and give herself up?"
"If I may," Tyrion said after clearing his throat. "If Arya is right and the missing troops are alive, they have to be somewhere close."
"So?" Daenerys whined. Now was not the time for one of Tyrion's long-winded explanations. Sansa was on the verge of a breakdown and Daenerys wasn't much better.
"Arya could have fought the men, but then what becomes of the captives?"
When Sansa's mouth opened to speak a sob was all that escaped. Daenerys took over. "You think Arya allowed herself to be kidnapped so she would be taken to wherever the others are?"
"That's a good strategy," Grey Worm added, providing the opinion of a soldier. "She had us kill the horses and burn the wagons to slow them down."
"Send out the men!" Daenerys demanded rashly. If Arya was with professional kidnappers, they needed to find her quickly.
"The North is vast, Khaleesi," Jorah told her, as if she didn't know. "Without a place to begin looking, we'd likely lose more men."
"I don't care!" she fired back. She wasn't going to do nothing while Arya suffered.
Another sob from Sansa reminded Daenerys that the anger and pain she felt weren't hers alone. She couldn't make the decisions on her own. Sansa was as involved in this as she was, and she deserved a say. "Sansa, I could have Grey Worm find this Doyle and escort him to the dungeon, if you like?"
She was startled briefly but rebounded. "Y…yes. If Arya is right and he's selling the routes of our patrols he will answer for his crimes."
Grey Worm sent his men to find the traitor. "I want five men on the door of the dungeon at all times. No one sees the prisoner without approval from Sansa or I."
Seeing Sansa struggling was a mirrored reflection of her own feelings. She'd been so angry with Arya the day before, embarrassed, furious even and now that seemed almost meaningless. Their problems could wait until Arya was back safe.
"Leave us!" Daenerys ordered, sensing Sansa would benefit from some privacy. Tyrion and Missandei each gave her looks that asked if they too should go. She nodded. Jorah lingered near the door and was one of the last to depart. The room emptied until only Grey Worm remained. "Is there something else?" she asked a little harshly.
"Arya had a message for you as well, your Grace."
Suddenly Daenerys couldn't breathe. She pulled air into her body until it hurt to take anymore, and it wasn't enough. The delay must have been longer than she realized. "I can give you a moment," Sansa offered.
Daenerys wasn't about to send her away in her own home. She was Arya's sister and knew about their relationship. There was no reason to keep more secrets. Her arm had fallen off Sansa's shoulders at some point, but she gripped her arm to keep her from leaving. "Go…on…" she said in a slow, disjointed way.
He spoke in Valyrian, an attempt to keep Sansa from understanding. Was he avoiding the common tongue because Arya's message was too personal for Sansa to hear? If that was the case, it probably wasn't hateful. It was also possible that Grey Worm was trying to limit her embarrassment.
He spoke faster in his native tongue than he did in any language, but Daenerys had no trouble getting it all. "She wanted you to remember who is Queen," he said. Dany's entire body shook. He wasn't done. His eyes settled on the necklace she wore, and Daenerys instinctively picked it up from off her skin and began turning it over between two fingers. "She wants you to remember why you wear that, also." It was taking all of her energy not to cry in front of Grey Worm and Sansa. Her grip on the necklace tightened. "She said 'sorry', and that she'd do things different if she could."
Her commander left when the message was complete. Hearing Arya was sorry was what she'd been aching for since their fight. She wanted to know if Arya regretted keeping her identity hidden and now, she did. It was also sweet for Arya to reinforce the lessons she'd been trying to teach Dany since the night they met – that she alone was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and that she could be both a ruler and a woman.
If she'd been there in that moment, Daenerys would have forgiven all her mistakes and wrapped Arya in her arms. She would have peppered her with kisses while she apologized for her own errors and begged openly for the chance to fix things. That's what she wanted, but she couldn't have it because Arya was gone.
R-C
Arya chose to make the kidnappers walk to deter them from trying to take anyone else. It had been an efficient idea that didn't take into consideration how exhausting it would be, not only on her, but on the sell-swords too. The longer they walked, the worse their moods became. The supplies the men had were long gone and Arya still had no idea how far they were from their destination.
Her stomach was empty, she was sore, tired, and filthy. She'd been surviving on scraps of food thrown at her, the occasional sip of water and naps of no more than a few minutes at a time. She was strong but didn't know how much more she could take.
She'd been beaten several times, often by the same man who knocked her unconscious that first day. Arya added his name to the new List she was creating. Once she had her answers, and freed Sansa's men, she'd kill him as she had so many others before.
When the men led her toward a worn-down barn Arya thought they were just choosing a place to stop for the night. That was until a pair of mercenary types approached to greet the new arrivals.
"What the fuck took you so long? We were expecting you back days ago." A tall man with a dark beard asked.
Ben turned to find Arya in the line of men and pointed her out. "She happened."
"Who the fuck is that? Where's the patrol?"
Next to him the second man had questions too. "Where are the wagons and why the fuck are you'se walking?"
"Is he here?" Ben asked, looking around the tall man to get a look behind him. "He needs to see this."
Arya had been trying not to hear most of the conversations happening around her. There was only so many times she could hear men brag about the women they fucked, or the men they killed. Now though, she was interested. She'd allowed herself to be taken so she could see who was acting against Sansa. Whoever it was, was likely the one Ben was looking for.
Ben, a handful of his men and the two who greeted them went off to the West while Arya was escorted into the barn. It was poorly lit, so it was hard to be certain but on first glance she'd found Sansa's missing men. The barn was empty of animals, but there were plenty of cages. Getting an accurate count was a challenge. Some cages held one man, others more, some were stacked one on top of the other, while a few were barely visible from where she was standing. Dozens had been taken, her gut told her she'd found them all.
She waited for the mystery partner to reveal himself, but it didn't happen. The man holding her leash dragged her along to a small empty cage and used his foot to nudge the door open. "Take off your clothes and get in," he ordered.
"Fuck you!" she spat. Antagonizing these men wouldn't benefit anyone but she couldn't resist. Why should she make it easy for them? It wasn't as if they were going to be kind and generous if she was an accommodating hostage. They were putting her in a fucking cage.
He hit her and she fell back into the cage that would be her home. The iron rattled and two punches later she was once again dreaming of Dany.
R-C
Daenerys's advisors were mixed in with Sansa's and they were all debating the best course of action. Doyle was in the dungeon, claiming he was innocent of the charges against him. He was denying knowing anything about any of the kidnappings, including where Arya might be.
She wanted to mobilize the whole of her army to find Arya. She'd even send for the Dothraki if necessary but everyone except Sansa was cautioning her against it.
"Grey Worm and his men saw a band of at least twenty-five men," Jorah said. "Small search parties are more likely to be taken than successful."
"We'll send searchers in groups of fifty, or seventy-five I don't care! Send everyone!"
Tyrion was more reserved, and soft spoken but no less opposed. "Large groups would move too slowly to be of any practical use."
She glared at her Hand. "Are you suggesting I do nothing then?"
Tyrion wisely knew better than to say 'yes'. "I'm not saying that," he assured her. "We all want Arya and the others returned safely, I just don't think sending every able-bodied man in Winterfell wandering is the best way to accomplish that." As he finished, he flashed an apologetic look to his former wife, who gave him a tight, forced smile in reply.
"What do you suggest?" Sansa asked before Daenerys could yell again.
"The traitor, he's still alive, yes?"
"For now," Daenerys declared darkly. This man had helped facilitate the kidnapping of dozens of her allies, including Arya. He was going to beg for death before it came.
"Be grateful he is," Tyrion said, giving Daenerys a look that warned she was losing hold of her temper. "We need him to talk. He can't do that if he's dead."
"Why do we need him to talk?" Missandei asked. "He told you he doesn't know anything. He doesn't know where Arya and the others are."
"There is more going on here than that, I can feel it."
"We're making decisions based on your feelings now?" Daenerys quipped rudely. Why were her advisors, her friends not running out to find the woman she loved?
"It's already dark," Jorah pointed out. "We can't do anything tonight. Perhaps we should rest."
He wanted her to rest? Did any of them really think she was going to get a wink of sleep tonight?
Brienne of Tarth was a formidable and likable woman. Daenerys admired her for choosing her own path in a man's world. "I'll have the remaining men broken into search parties and ready to depart at daylight," she proposed. "I'll lead half and Podrick can take the rest, if it pleases you m'lady."
"Thank you, Brienne," Sansa said kindly.
Frustrated that they wouldn't be mounting a rescue before tomorrow Daenerys needed space. She wasn't sure where she was going, she just went where her feet carried her.
R-C
She woke without clothes, with a sore neck and a throbbing head. Her vision blurred slightly as she tried to focus, making the pain and dizziness worse. She was alone in the confines of her cage, though it didn't feel like an act of kindness, the cage was just too small to hold a second person.
It was the first time since she'd sent the Unsullied away that she hadn't been bound to anything. She took a moment to take stock of her injuries. The pain was insistent but there was nothing so severe it wouldn't heal on its own.
Her cage like all the others was meant for an animal. The iron bars were rusted but strong. It was long enough for her to lie with only a slight bend in her legs. The roof however was so low sitting would be awkward and kneeling or standing impossible. She looked at what was within reach, there wasn't much. A small cracked clay container to use as a chamber pot, a battered bowl she assumed would be for food and a small mound of hay to be a bed, or a blanket. In the hay she found a small drinking glass, the kind a child might use.
Slowly the spots in her vision disappeared and she found it easier to think. She remembered where she was and why. Doing what she could to sit she craned her neck and tried to get a look at the interior of the barn.
There were even more cages than she expected. Most were full but not all. She noticed the ones on her immediate right were all empty. She counted quickly, pressing her cheek against the bars to make sure she was accurate. Nine. Nine empty cages and she was in the tenth. It wasn't hard to comprehend. Had the patrol arrived without her interference, all ten of the cages would be filled instead of only hers.
"Who are you?" a male voice asked from left.
She opened her mouth to speak but found it too dry. Loudly and crassly she cleared her throat and spit through the bars onto the dirt floor. "Arya Stark," she said when she was able, matching his volume.
"Who?" the same man asked. To Arya he sounded young and scared.
"Arya Stark of Winterfell," she said again, louder. When there wasn't recognition, she tried a different route. "Sansa's sister."
"My arse," the man protested. "The Queen don't have a sister, only brothers."
She rolled her eyes. She risked her neck to save this asshole? "Mind your tongue," a different, older voice said. "Don't mind the lad, m'lady, he's young, too young to have known your father."
"And you did?" she said, leaning into the bars again to try and see the man she was speaking to.
"I finished my training before King Robert came. It was your father I gave my vow to."
She was gifted at sensing when she was being lied to. She believed this man. "Who are you?"
"Captain Ozwick, m'lady," he said. She didn't recognize the name, but as a child her father did his best to keep the soldiers separate from his daughters. "I led the third patrol to be taken. Fifteen men your sister sent in search of the others who had gone missing."
"Are you all here?"
"Raven patrol!" he called, no longer taking care to remain quiet. "Let the Lady Stark hear you! Number one…"
Another voice followed after Ozwick's. "Number two…"
"Number three…"
She listened intently to each man in turn. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the last man say, "Number fifteen."
"Is everyone alright?!" Arya yelled, not caring who answered.
"Some injuries m'lady but all the patrols are accounted for," Ozwick assured her. "A healer was brought in to tend to the wounded."
There was a lot about this that didn't make sense. Why kidnap Stark troops only? Why keep them in a decrepit barn instead of selling them to slavers or ransoming them back to their families? Why cage them only to spend gold and effort to ensure they stayed healthy?
Before she could ask Ozwick any of her questions, the thug who knocked her out, came storming in. "For fuck sakes!" he complained. "Can't you fucking pricks shut your mouths?"
The sudden silence in the presence of this man was damn near audible. Arya could tell she wasn't the only one to experience the brunt of his anger. "Hey!" Arya yelled. "I told you I want to talk to the man in charge!"
He turned red, as if her request offended him somehow. "You'll talk when we tell you to talk and not before. The next person who can't follow orders is going to be missin' teeth."
Every part of her wanted to challenge him, defeat him and free the captives but she couldn't. Not yet. She'd come to learn who caused all this, and that person had yet to reveal himself.
"That's better. Keep quiet or you'll all go hungry tonight," he threatened. "You," he said glaring at Arya, "I'll be back for you later."
She smirked at him from her side of the bars. She remained silent until he was gone but then said, "I'm looking forward to it."
R-C
She squinted to try and get a better view. The wind blew against her face and she couldn't see much, but Daenerys refused to admit defeat. Arya was down there somewhere, and she was going to find her.
Drogon had arrived within hours of Dany learning Arya was missing, somehow sensing she needed him. She was in the sky, while the other searchers were still preparing. She might have enjoyed the bright colors and the warmth of the sunrise under different circumstances. She barely noticed as her eyes swept the untamed lands below for any sign of Arya or the sell-swords holding her.
Several people had tried to dissuade Dany from searching. They wanted her to remain in Winterfell with Sansa, where it was safe. She was sure they had their reasons although Daenerys never let them get that far. She didn't care what anyone thought, she needed to do everything in her power to bring Arya back. That included participating in the hunt. No one else was as motivated as she was to secure Arya's safe return.
The ground was littered with Unsullied and Stark soldiers working together, looking for any sign of the captives or their abductors. She could have joined them easily enough, but Daenerys preferred the privacy and the view from atop Drogon.
She stayed in the air even after she knew the searchers beneath her had retired. The sun had set and with every minute that passed the cold seeped into her bones. She was dressed in her warmest clothes, but they felt inadequate in the darkening sky. Her stomach growled to remind her of its needs and her balance was beginning to falter. More than once she nearly fell when Drogon made a sudden, unexpected turn. She knew she needed to set her feet back on solid ground soon. How could she do that? How could she spend another long, lonely night in Winterfell while Arya was out there in the hands of men who could be doing any number of vile things to her? With no acceptable answer she blinked hard tightened her hold on Drogon's scales and took him around for another pass.
R-C
Arya had been trying to get some sleep. She'd need her strength and energy for when the unknown partner presented himself, so she stole a few minutes of rest whenever she could.
Overnight she heard the stories of how the patrols were captured. Each was different. The patrol she saved would have been pounced on by would-be merchants. Another was offered a warm drink on a cold Northern night and woke up in chains. A third saw one man nearly kill another. They gave chase and ended up surrounded by the whole of Ben's force. It was perplexing. With nearly fifty men why not send ransom letters and earn gold? She believed Ben when he told her he was in this for the money, so what was he waiting for? If the coin wasn't from ransom or slavery, then how? Who cared enough to pay for dozens of Stark soldiers?
Nights spent inside the House of Black and White taught her the value of sleeping lightly. It wasn't uncommon for the Waif to appear when Arya was dreaming to strike. Arya would lock the door, she'd break in, Arya'd sleep in a different bed, she'd find her. The more she made the cunt work for it, the more vicious the beating she received. As a result, she could sleep sitting up with a rock for a pillow if she had to, and she'd wake every time she heard an approaching footstep, an unfamiliar voice, or the creaking of a door. It made it a challenge to get a good night's sleep in the Kingswood, where there were always animals about, but it was useful now.
Food and water were offered only once a day. One of the sell-swords would come with a bucket and a ladle. He'd start at one end of the room and work his way around. If a prisoner didn't set out his bowl to be filled, he'd starve. The process would repeat when a different sell-sword would bring water to fill their cups. As days passed Arya began to wonder if starvation wasn't the least painful option. The food, if she could call it that, was always the same, a grey sludge somewhere between a soup and a stew. It tasted horrible, reminding her of eating bowls of brown in Flea Bottom. It was not uncommon for Arya to spend the hours after eating listening to her fellow captives vomiting or gagging.
Each time someone passed her cage she voiced her request to see the man in charge and each time she was either ignored or taunted.
She did what she could to keep time. She hadn't thought it would take this long to meet the mysterious kidnapper and escape. Her plan had made so much sense, now she was beginning to doubt her decisions. Regardless, it was too late to change anything. She'd saved a patrol. Ten men, fathers, husbands, brothers and sons returned to their homes and their families because Arya was willing to sacrifice herself. She tried to focus on that.
R-C
She knew when she left King's Landing on her quest to help Sansa she'd be without Arya for weeks if not months. She was prepared for that then, when she thought Arya was safe somewhere. This was something else entirely. She hadn't been getting much sleep and when she did, she was haunted by nightmares about whatever horrible things were happening to Arya.
She hated to admit it, but she hadn't had any luck searching. She spent hours each day in the air with Drogon and she'd yet to spot anything significant. It was as if the bandits and their prize vanished without a trace. The longer it stretched on, the harder it was for Daenerys to pretend she was alright.
The land searches had been no more fruitful. At her command and against the wishes of nearly everyone she knew, she ordered the Unsullied to search day after day. Every man she sent out reported the same thing – no sign of Arya. She'd been in the North before, but never truly appreciated just how big it was. To make matters worse, when the Dead marched through, they erased villages and towns, scattering survivors. This made Winterfell's maps and records woefully out of date.
Daenerys tried to remain positive. Arya was strong, both physically and emotionally. She wasn't taken against her will, she'd surrender, which meant she had a plan, right? Daenerys needed to believe in her. There was a lot she had to say to Arya, and she couldn't do that until she came back.
How had she let it come to this? She hadn't wanted Arya to go out looking for bandits, even when she was angry with her. Perhaps if she'd made her argument as a concerned lover and not the demanding Queen, Daenerys wouldn't have to wonder if she'd ever see Arya again.
She didn't know where Arya was. She didn't know who had her. All she knew was that no more patrols had been taken since she gave herself up. Was that because Arya struck a deal with her enemy or because their information dried up when Arya exposed the traitor? The traitor. She didn't know where Arya was, but maybe he did. Daenerys knew none of the interrogators had gotten Doyle to talk yet, but Dany hadn't tried. She could be very persuasive.
Jorah met her on her way to the dungeon and tried to come along. Tyrion too was lingering a few steps back. She turned on her heel with fire in her eyes. "Go away!" she commanded.
"I…" Jorah began to stammer, unprepared for her outburst.
She didn't care about his feelings. She needed the truth. She needed Arya. She was willing to do whatever it took to get her back. She didn't think Jorah or Tyrion held the same conviction and therefore they were a liability where she was going.
She took a step and then another, waiting to be interrupted. It would have been a mistake to interfere. She'd send them both back to King's Landing if necessary.
Doyle was an unimpressive man. He was a few years older than Daenerys, with darker hair than Arya's and a neatly maintained beard. He was shorter than Jorah and carried a few less pounds. Wearing only blood-stained pants and the iron chains that bound him to the wall, he was pitiful. His face had several cuts, one along his brow, another on his upper lip. His right eye was swollen and bruised, not enough to be useless but she doubted his vision was perfect. His ribs were the most extensively damaged. There was more purple, green and faded brown than white. She couldn't muster up any sympathy for him. He'd gotten off easy as far as Daenerys was concerned.
He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, a thick chain connected to his neck. "Do you know who I am?" she asked, thinking it best to start at the beginning.
He rolled his eyes and scoffed. Of course, he knew her. She moved on. Her instinct to beat the truth from him was tempered by Tyrion's words from days before. He said Doyle would be a valuable resource for them and it was taking all her restraint to remember that. This man was part of the group that was holding Arya. In Daenerys's mind this made him responsible for everything Arya was enduring. "You made an error and now people I care about, someone I love is in danger," she said, speaking slowly to try and keep from losing her composure.
He didn't say anything. "You made a mistake but it's not too late. Tell me what you know, and I'll give you a royal pardon and personally hand you the key to that lock," she said gesturing to the band around his neck.
It was a lie, but she felt no guilt for telling it. This man wouldn't escape punishment for what he'd done. Arya was too important to her to give him mercy. She thought her lie was believable. She didn't lay it on too thick, she didn't hide her anger or contempt, she just tried to strike a deal.
Finally, he spoke, sounding like he needed water. His voice was hoarse. "D...do you think I'm stupid?"
She didn't answer. The truth would be counterproductive, and he already saw through her attempt to hide the truth. "Help me and I'll help you."
Once again, he was silent. She moved forward. "Don't help me," Daenerys began, "and things will get worse for you."
"I'm dead," he declared. There was no fear or false bravado, just resignation in his admission. This man had already come to terms with his death and that would make him difficult to negotiate with. "Whatever promises you make, you'll break once I talk. I know that. So why don't you go fuck yourself?"
Normally such comments would incite her fury but this time it didn't reach its mark. This wasn't about her, her feelings or her pride, this was about Arya. Nothing was more important. Since Doyle wasn't in the mood to bargain, and because time was running short, she jumped ahead to the threats. "My dragons are here," she told him. He flinched slightly at the mention of her children, the first sign of real emotion since they started speaking. She might not have noticed had it not been for the way the chain he was attached to rattled slightly when he tensed. She smirked in a devious way Arya could be proud of. "Have you ever seen what's left after they eat?" She let him ponder the question briefly before she answered for him. "I'll give you a hint, not much."
He swallowed hard and Doyle's throat bobbed. The time for lies was over. "You're right," Dany said, "you're never going to survive this, but if you help me, I will see it's done quickly and painlessly. I'll arrange a meeting between you and your family before the end. I can even ensure your wife gets some gold to help support the people you care about after you're gone." She didn't know if he had a wife, or a family but it was worth a try.
She expected her offer to make more of an impact. The man was going to die, did he not want to see his loved ones one more time before that? He remained unmoved. "I'm not the sort of person you want as your enemy," she informed him.
"Too late for that," he muttered to himself. Daenerys didn't correct him. He was right. She thought that was all she'd get from him, but Doyle had more fight in him than she realized. "I hear dragonfire burns so hot you can't feel it. Not the worst way to meet the Gods, if you ask me."
He was calling her bluff and she couldn't do anything about it. He knew he still had value, that she wouldn't kill him yet, so he was defiant. Daenerys was stuck. What could she do? What would Arya want her to do? She hadn't reached a conclusion when a third person joined them. "You're right," Sansa said, walking up to stand at Daenerys's side. "Dragonfire does burn so hot and so fast you'd never feel a thing, but dragons aren't the only thing you need to worry about."
Daenerys didn't know what she was talking about, but let it continue. Sansa look a slow, lazy look around the dungeon. "I killed Ramsay Snow in this room," she remarked almost casually. "I became a killer right here," she admitted, reaching out and tracing a bar with her dainty finger. "I had him tied to a chair and then released his starving war hounds. I stood here and watched as they devoured him. I'd never heard anything like it, the snarling, the mashing teeth, Ramsay's pathetic screams."
Daenerys was speechless. If Sansa was lying, she was doing a very good job of it. Unlike Daenerys Doyle wasn't surprised by the confession. She guessed he heard it before, leading Daenerys to believe it wasn't a lie or even an exaggeration to scare her prisoner. Sansa was telling the truth.
"I still think about that day often," she went on. "It never fails to make me smile." She showed Doyle her beautiful white teeth. It was a strange contradiction, the proper Lady Stark so murderous. Daenerys was unable to look away. "I killed him for things that couldn't be undone, for people who couldn't be saved. Do you understand?" she asked. Doyle looked at the woman he betrayed and stayed silent. "I became a murderer when it wouldn't accomplish anything. Rickon was still dead, and I still felt Ramsay's hands on my skin every time I closed my eyes. I knew when I released the dogs it wouldn't solve anything, but I did it anyway." She got to the point then and Daenerys felt her appreciation for Sansa growing with every word. "My sister is still alive, so ask yourself, if I was willing to feed Ramsay to his hounds for a brother I couldn't save, what would I do to you to rescue the sister I can?"
It didn't take long for the captive to reach a decision. "It wasn't personal," he admitted in a low voice. He was looking at Sansa only. "It was just about the gold. They offered me more gold than I'd ever seen."
"Who did?"
"I don't know," he said, hanging his head. His tone made clear that he knew how those words would be received and wasn't pleased to have to say them. "I truly don't. A courier found me one day, offered me a pouch of gold and a proposition. Someone wanted information about Stark patrols. Another courier came the next week, and every week since, always with more gold, even when I didn't have anything to trade."
"Who is this courier?" Sansa asked for both women.
"It was a different man each time, different but the same."
"How do you mean?"
"All sell-swords," Doyle explained. "Never the same man, but always a sell-sword." Daenerys couldn't help wondering if he thought repeating the information twice would make it more appealing to his inquisitors?
"Were the sell-swords the ones paying you?" Daenerys asked.
He shook his head and his body followed, causing the chain to rattle. "No, they were hired for the job like me," Doyle said. "I got the routes, they took the men, but it wasn't our idea."
"Whose was it?"
"I don't know," he told his Queen. "I never met him, and the sell-swords I met didn't know either, I asked. They just got a letter and gold, like I did."
"Do you know where Arya and the men are now?"
"No," she admitted weakly. "They never told me where they take'em."
Sansa looked at Daenerys and they communicated without words. She was asking if Daenerys believed him. She nodded that she did. "Heard enough?" Sansa asked. Again, she nodded.
With that Sansa turned away from Doyle and made the climb up the staircase. Daenerys remained behind to gather herself. Daenerys marvelled at what she was a witness to. She'd been there, trying to find a way to secure Doyle's help and Sansa walked up and did it as naturally as she breathed. It was remarkable. She wasn't ashamed to admit that if Sansa hadn't arrived, she wouldn't have gotten the information.
R-C
Author's Note: Sorry this one isn't overly exciting. I did have fun writing Sansa though. I think she's a lot more devious than most people give her credit for, I also think she's plagued with guilt for how she behaved early on. I hope I did an okay job of showing that.
Thanks for reading.
Until next time,
RC
