The Butterfly Effect

by Jung Leo

She thought she was going to feel peace after finishing off her list, but she was far from it. Her family was still gone and she was alone. So, the Gods let Arya Stark travels back in time to save her family and make her rewrite the past. While doing so, she creates the butterfly effect and she soon realised that maybe things were written like it was for a reason.

41. Winter Day

AN: Well, it's been a minute. Anyone still here? Raise your hand if you are! I sincerely apologized for the temporary hiatus. I hope this one makes it up for it. Enjoy, you beautiful humans!

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In which it starts with a kiss and ends with a kiss.

*Year 304 AC (After Conquest) – Present Day*

How many times has Arya Stark dreamt of this?

Of touching the skin that heats up her entire being more than any Sun or fire could. Of inhaling the smoky-sweet lavender that makes her muscles tense and ease in bliss. Of tasting the sinful and heavenly lips that make her core rumbles in an entirely different kind of hunger.

The answer would be; too many times.

Arya dreamt— prayed —of these things to happen so damn much. Even as her chest is heaving and her mouth is still in a heated match with Daenerys own at this very moment, she still has the tiny littlest doubt that this isn't happening. That this is just another nightmare her twisted mind is conjuring and she'll wake up from it soon. Her arms snake behind Daenerys, bringing the older woman closer in a desperate attempt to ground herself. To prove that everything is indeed real.

As if knowing her inside turmoil, Daenerys bit her lower lip, eliciting a hiss and a slight pain from the young Stark, jolting her backward. She doesn't know whether to be afraid or excited that this woman, pressing close, seems to know what Arya's made of exactly like another lifetime ago—as if the dragon queen never died, never left.

Daenerys used the moment of distraction to straddle Arya's hips and reverse their position. As the dragon queen now on top, her thighs press at each sides restricting the young Stark of any movement.

Arya can no longer see the violet looking down as they're now mostly black. But one thing she's sure of is that this is definitely not a dream. She pulls Daenerys down and claims those lips for the thousand times that day. As soon as they are connected again, her qualm cleared completely. The only thing occupying her thought is she needs more, wants more.

An enchanting moan breaks free from Daenerys as their tongues explore each other. Arya tasted something sweet, salty and another entirely of Daenerys essence. They are the most glorious thing she had tasted in all of her lives.

Her hands have their mind as they roamed, seeking purchase. When they finally find skin at the expense of Daenerys' lifted skirt, the young Stark growl in approval and slides further until her palms reach around back. Daenerys gasps as Arya squeezes, filling her hands with smooth and hot skin.

The forest swallows another blissful groan that escape as Arya moves her attention to the hollow of Daenerys throat. Her hands sneak further and further to discover more but with Daenerys' still fully clothes, her reach is restricted. The older woman's arching body definitely doesn't help in the slightest.

With a growl, Arya lifts Daenerys so that her back rest against the protruding root that they had taken refuge a while ago. Arya ends up kneeling on the dirt as Daenerys' thighs still secure her waist. The dragon queen doesn't let Arya lingers long as she leans forward in urgency, almost knocking the other girl back down again.

A sound at the back of Arya's throat that is equally exasperated and desire escape in return as she moves on to continue her ministration along the skin of Daenerys jaw instead and then further down, now that she got full access. Slow kisses turn to hungry ones and the older woman can do nothing but bare her neck open for the young wolf to devour them.

With the expanse of skin presented in front of her, Arya covers them with lips, teeth and tongue. Sucking and marking what she wants to be hers. Hands moving to explore more under Daenerys skirt at the same time. Her fingers linger dangerously on the inside of Daenerys thighs.

If Arya wants, she can claim Daenerys right here and now. No one to stop her. Not Daenerys who is completely at her mercy. Not even their little group that no doubt is busy looting from the sellswords that they had killed mere moments ago.

As if being splash by cold water, her mouth stops its working on Daenerys' collar bone. Suddenly, the thought of doing Daenerys right here at this second doesn't seem that enticing anymore. Without meaning to, her pleasurable thoughts are replace with all the wrong things in this world and how she stumbles into this position in the first place.

The ruins of Kings Landing. The deception of the three-eyed raven.

It all come back to her. The still prominent and more recent incident of nearly losing Daenerys back then rushes in as well, filling and staying there at the front of her mind.

"Ar…Arya?" Daenerys' soft voice bring her back to reality.

Arya leans away to look at the other woman better. Mouth slightly parted as her chest rise and fall, out of breath. Silver strands in disarray framing her flushed face. Daenerys has never look more ethereal in Arya's eyes.

Before she knows it, the dragon queen cradles her jaw and captures her lips again. This time, it was slower and gentler. An assurance.

Arya closes her eyes and urge herself to reciprocate the promise, but find herself unable to. The burning of her chest feels constricted instead of blissful.

Bran had given his words of a safe path. Yet, the three-eyed raven lied. Arya shouldn't be shock by this. But, again, shamefully, she was.

She thought Bran is done manipulating her, at least. Hasn't she done enough in all of those lifetimes and even now? The thoughts linger at the back of her head instead of Daenerys who is press close and fit into her perfectly. And who's to say that one of the three-eyed raven's pet isn't getting the best view of what's happening right now.

The kiss finally stops. "Arya?"

The young Stark opens her eyes to find violet orbs raking every inch of her face in concern before they settle onto distracted grey ones.

A slight frown graces Daenerys feature. "What… Is something wrong?"

How can Arya explain? Should she even try?

There are no answers over Daenerys beautiful face, so Arya looks away. Reluctantly, she untangles herself from the older woman's grip next, unsure if an explanation would conjure if she's still trapped in that pleasurable position.

She tells herself that she doesn't see the confused and hurtful look Daenerys sported at the rejection but that would be a blatant lie. Arya retreats further to give a healthy amount of space between them anyway.

Daenerys uses the time apart to correct her dress and cover herself again. Her fingers run through her hair to fix her dishevelled appearance, ridding the evidence of their activity. The air thickens with unspoken tension as Arya searches for words as to not hurt the silver-haired woman more than she already had, while the said woman seems to glare daggers at the rock beside her.

"Are you regretting it?"

Violet orbs flicker to grey ones again. Daenerys' gaze doesn't look that sharp anymore, but they are clear and waiting.

Unintentionally, Arya licks her lips, still tasting the exquisite flavour of her lost love. "No… I'm not," She answered.

The dragon queen seems pleased with that. "We should do it again then."

The proposal hangs in the air. Leaves whistle as wind pass by giving the two a moment to study one another. Arya did so without shame. The woman in front permeates poise that is beyond attractive. She's flattered that the Targaryen queen wants more out of it and her hope than the woman might even feel something more soar. But then she remembers Bran and her fist tightens. "We can't."

Daenerys' brow furrowed at the unexpected response. "Was it…unsatisfactory?"

Gods, no.

The young Stark's skin still tingles and her heart full just by remembering the sensation. Never would it occur to her that kind of liberation would be felt ever again in this life. All she ever want is to be close with Daenerys for the rest of her days. But everything seems to be already tainted and the feeling quickly turns sour.

"That wasn't supposed to happen." Arya gritted out. But, the older woman only look more confuse, so she tries again. "Tell me, if we haven't encounter those men, if I didn't save you from them, would you still…kiss me?"

The frown still hasn't left as Daenerys ponders over the questions. Cogs turning inside and reflect in her eyes. "I…perhaps not right away. If those men weren't here, I'd finish tending to your wound and we'd continue our way but, I'd been wanting to do that…for a while now. I was waiting for the right moment."

Her heart burns as Daenerys seems to blush at the confession. "Why?"

Daenerys blinks. "What do you mean why?"

"Why do you want to kiss me?"

Perhaps Arya should be more delicate in treading the question but the thought of Bran manipulating things— manipulating Daenerys, into doing things the older woman would have never done in a normal circumstance is making her see red.

The dragon queen on the other hand seems to take the change of tone as offence instead and huffs out. "Are you expecting me to profess my love or some sort, Stark? It was just a kiss."

The dismissal penetrates straight into her heart, but Arya, intending to push down the wall that Daenerys seems to have raised, continues calmly. "It wasn't just a kiss… You said you wanted to do that for a while. So, I asked you, why? How long has it been? Was it since we escape Kings Landing? Do you somehow feel you owe me for saving your life? You don't have to feel any kind of obligation towards me. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"It was just a kiss," Daenerys replied quickly, still guarded. "We're grown women and we have wants and needs. That's all there is to it." She finished, daring the young Stark to say otherwise.

Neither seems to realize that they're being defensive for the wrong reason and the cold wind did nothing to cool down the heat surrounding them.

Arya should be grateful for the finality. Daenerys seems to be sure that whatever happened was nothing more than just lust and desire, the spur of the moment and not something worse like adoration or love. At least, the three-eyed raven hasn't muddle that one yet for Daenerys in this life.

"We should do it again." The dragon queen proposed once more. Her chin lifts slightly, shoulders and spine straight as if she's sitting on a throne of steel forged by dragon fire instead of rock and dirt. "If my memory serves me right, you seemed just as eager. We're allowed to indulge ourselves if we want to."

The young Stark swallows a lump painfully. The burning inside her chest is still there, eating her away. "I can't."

Daenerys' face is a blank slate. "Because of your first love?" She asked. When Arya offers nothing but silence, the older woman continues. "I don't think she'll mind. She doesn't even remember y—"

"I do," Arya interjects, trembling slightly as memories of past lives battle themselves in the space of her head right then. "I remember her every time I wake up. Every time I close my eyes, I see her." she grits out.

No matter how similar the woman in front is with the love of her life, this Daenerys still lacks the memories and affection her other self once showed. It isn't anyone's fault, but Arya can't help but feel downhearted anyway.

"I remember her when the wind touch my face, when the sun shines bright and the snow falls and disappear on my skin... I remember her every goddamn time of my lives and you—" she choked, barely stopping the next words from coming out as she nearly blurts out who Daenerys truly means. For the first time, the misery seeps through, tangled amongst the lovely memories that often saved her at times. The older woman is so close, only a few steps away in fact, yet at the same time so far away.

"…And I'm not her." Daenerys continued in the silence, jaw clenches and eyes heavy.

The pain inside Arya's chest crawls its way up her head and it feels like it's about to burst any time soon. The dragon queen's dejected look did nothing to ease the pounding and perhaps it's well deserved. It seems she's both a terrible friend and lover in all of her lives. Her vision swims suddenly.

"Your nose…" In an instant, Daenerys is right in front of her, invading her space and cradling her face ever so gently. The tension from before vanishes into thin air. "Did you hit your head earlier?" Her tone grows urgent as she places a sleeved-covered palm against Arya's nostrils.

The young Stark blinks in confusion and pulls Daenerys' hand away as she can't breathe properly. Fresh blood adorns the extended sleeve. "Wha—What?"

"Your nose is bleeding," Daenerys said firmly and glares. "Don't move."

But, Arya does the opposite. Still confuse and trying in futile to see the damage for herself which only makes it worse.

"Gods," Daenerys barked. "Can you stop being so stubborn and do as I say?" She asked, frustrated.

Shocked by the distressed voice, Arya stays still and follows through. With her nose blocked, she breathes through her mouth instead. Her vision still swirls as if she's underwater. She shuts her eyes tight to make clear of it but is still greeted by Daenerys' distorted face when opening them again.

"You need to lie down. It won't stop." Daenerys voice echoes soothingly now, having calm down—though it still has an edge of urgency to it.

With her eyes remain close again, Arya only nod before she feels her body being lowered and the back of her head rests on something soft and warm.

The throbbing inside her skull still hasn't recede even as moments pass and the disorientation somehow feels dreadfully familiar. It reminds her of those times when space and time muddle around; when she wakes up and finds herself in an entirely altered life. Sweat trickles down her forehead as she forced her eyes to open and is greeted by clear violet orbs instead, grounding her back to this moment—to the present.

Daenerys's face still screws in worry as she cradles Arya's head on her lap. Brows furrow and eyes darting to find anymore discomfort. Fingers gently brush over brown strands making Arya sighs in content at the touch. It multiplies when Daenerys slides them inside her hair and massage the hammering pain away.

Arya felt like floating in the clouds then. Her entire being light and easy.

She realises late that Daenerys has stop covering her bleeding nose as both the older woman's hands are now occupied to continue the attention on her temple instead. This may have been her most cherish moment with the dragon queen yet.

Time always envy her peace because it's over too fast for Arya's liking as Daenerys voice cut through suddenly.

"The bleeding's stopped. How do you feel?"

Reluctantly Arya opens her eyes to find soft eyes looking back down, waiting. From the new angle, the silver-haired queen look enchanting and Arya's unable to move, transfix. Silver strands glow from the sunlight and lavish green leaves in the background framing Daenerys beautiful face. Her soft lips, inviting and the entirety of her, scream a comfort that Arya so yearn and crave.

For a long while, neither seems to move. One, content with the comfortable weight on her lap and another, satisfied at the scenery above her.

Arya contemplates telling everything from the time travel to the three-eyed raven's involvement in Kings Landing's ruin right then. Would the dragon queen hate her for unintentionally having a hand in it? Would Daenerys even believe her?

And what if Daenerys do believe her? What then?

Is this what Bran wants from her out of this journey?

How is she suppose to act from here onwards without unintentionally doing exactly what the three-eyed raven wants?

The familiar burn in her gut gradually makes itself known and Arya finally looks away from those peaceful depths, suddenly drained. Above her, Daenerys tense, noticing the change as dismissal and just like that, their moment had passed.

Slowly, Arya gets up, finally standing on her own. She wants to apologize for everything but thought better of it. Daenerys deserves much more than that and Arya can't give it to her right now. So she offers a hand to the Targaryen queen who is still on the ground instead.

Daenerys doesn't reach for it. Her violet eyes a stony glaze and her face a perfect mask as she gets up herself. Dusting the dirt off her clothes, she walks away without another word, leaving Arya's offered hand growing cold.

The young Stark can only watch silently at the dragon queen's retreating form as her hand falls to her side. She tried convincing herself that this is better. That whatever this is with Daenerys shouldn't even happen in the first place as it is all an interference from the three-eyed raven.

Daenerys will find someone else who's better and more deserving of her attention.

This is the right thing to do. Arya is sure of that.

Then why does it feel wrong?

*

The five of them carry on their journey north, leaving behind the sellswords even lesser when they first appeared. After having gathered herself in the lonely forest, the young Stark returned to the group not long after the dragon queen left. As Arya expected, the men are busy emptying the corpses of their belongings. But, at the sight of her returning from her supposed perimeter check, they freeze. The once easy and calm surrounding now permeates an unspoken stiffness.

None of them dare look her in the eyes except for Kafat who gave a single nod in acknowledgement. She thought she see a glimmer in his eyes too but she ignores it as much as she disregard Theon's and Tyrion's rigid stance as she nears the small clearing. At the corner of her vision, Daenerys busies herself with something of importance while her back was all that's given.

The awkward silence is interrupted by a cawing and with it comes the prickling heat beneath her skin. The raven having coming back from searching nearby creeks fly around low enough to see the littered bodies as if studying them—as if this is a surprise even for the magical being. It takes all of her willpower not to slain the crow right then.

Of course, the dark bird chooses that moment to change its attention to her as if knowing the silent threat. It lands on top of Greg's impaled head as milky white orbs find steely greys.

Questions are at the tip of her tongue as Arya continues to throw daggers through her eyes instead of actual ones. The thought of Bran seeing through the bird at this moment only makes it hard not to demand answers and more. But, she knows even the mighty three-eyed raven couldn't make animals talk. So, she bit her tongue and sent the message through her steely gaze instead.

Behind her, movements and hush whispers escape the others but she pay them no heed. Her sole attention is the crow perched on top of the man she killed as the air around them thickens with animosity.

After a moment—or perhaps more, a low squeak is all Arya got in return before the bird fly off, seeming to be done with their silent huddle. With gritted teeth, she follows after it. The others quietly do the same a few paces behind.

Less than an hour of walking later, their sight changes from tall trees and thick bushes into another clearing with running waters. A few sighs of relief echo as Tyrion rushes forward to dunk his head in the river. Kafat and Theon join the Lannister not a moment after.

Arya plops herself down the ground, choosing to watch from a safe distance the gradually rowdy men at the prospect of meeting fresh resource. Not far from them, Daenerys is quenching her thirst before filling her waterskin again. Their guide-raven settles on a tree across the small river getting the view of everyone.

The scorching inside her belly assembles again at the sight. She doesn't know how much more she can stand being in the crow's presence and willing herself to be its puppet. Perhaps she should kill the bird and bring these people back to Winterfell herself. She knows the road home, even if those are the more obvious ones. At least then the danger would be more revealing on an open road.

Her murdering thoughts are rudely disturb by a sloshing noise and then a waterskin right in front of her face. She freezes when Daenerys is waiting at the end of it. Hesitantly, Arya reaches for the offered drink and mumbles a quiet thank you.

Truth be told, she doesn't expect Daenerys to acknowledge her presence anymore after the mess and confusion that happen hours ago, much less to still care about her wellbeing—especially as small as her thirst. Not wanting to think about the kind gesture any longer than necessary, Arya gulps down the cool water, relishing the bliss it provides.

Daenerys in the meantime gracefully sits down close in front, so close that their knees touch. The sudden contact is startling that Arya can't help it when the water ends up going down the wrong hole. She bents over with painful coughs.

"Easy, Stark," Daenerys pat her hunched form, offering comfort. "There's plenty of drink left, you know."

After regaining what's left of her dignity, Arya straightens, wiping her eyes and mouth dry. Her throat still burns.

With them being so near, Daenerys watches the whole act with scrutinizing gaze. They flicker and linger down Arya's lips before locking with greys again. "I didn't realize you're that thirsty." She comments.

Anymore dignity remain of the young Stark is gone now. The burning inside her throat creeps onto her face and settles there. She decides to not grace Daenerys a response and look everywhere but the said woman. Lucky she did that, or else she would have seen the mirth behind those violet depths and only reddens further. Though, it seems to be a useless effort when Daenerys gently reaches for her bandaged hand.

The placid touch snaps her head right back to the older woman in front.

"Since we got interrupted earlier," Daenerys offers at the inquiring gaze, already unwrapping the white cloth around the fingers.

"You don't have to… It's all healed, I think. I can handle it myself." Arya finally said after getting a hold of herself.

Daenerys stops only to fix her a steady gaze. "Let me do this, please."

The young Stark has already lost the moment those bewitching eyes lock on hers so she can do nothing at the soft plea that comes after. Seeming to notice that too, Daenerys continues untying the bandages with ease now that Arya finally caves in.

Unlike before when they were alone, the silence is easy and lesser of tension. Daenerys has no reluctance whatsoever paint across her face as she diligently tends to the healing injury making Arya feels undeserving of it all.

"How much longer do you think until we reach your home?" Daenerys asked in an attempt at conversation. Her whole attention still on Arya's fingers.

"The air's colder," Arya replies absentmindedly, getting lost in the warmth and care. "So, we're getting closer. Perhaps another fortnight at least… Granted, if we encounter no more interruption along the way, that is."

The bitterness at the last remark is too loud to go unnotice but Daenerys doesn't mention it, instead, asks Arya to try and move her now fully unwrap hand. Other than some soreness as she works through the kinks, her fingers open and close without trouble. She takes that as a win and rejects the idea of having them wrapped again.

"Is your head still hurting?" Daenerys promptly asked next.

"No, it's fine."

"And your ribs? Had anything broken? You took quite a beating."

Arya lifts her shirt in response, exposing her stomach as she glances down in search of answers. Other than the half-removed stitches at her side when they were abruptly cut off earlier, her ribs feel fine. "Not broken." She concluded.

When she look up again, Daenerys gaze had change as she eyes the exposed skin. Arya isn't at all timid in nature and she knows she got nothing to be ashamed of her taut and smooth abs. But, in front of the Targaryen queen, suddenly there's a heat that creeps onto her face again making her blush at the not so subtle ogling.

"It's probably best to remove the stitches fully," Daenerys suggested as violet orbs finally tear off and look up through lashes.

At the dark gaze, Arya swallows, throat suddenly dry. Coherent thoughts or speeches seem to leave her agency, so she only nod in acceptance. Daenerys wastes no time reaching out and starting where she left off.

The sound of the river flowing through rocks and the men's easy chatters seem so far away. The familiar routine suddenly becomes foreign and everything felt overwhelming. The only thing the young Stark notice is Daenerys soft touch that makes her skin tingle with goosebumps. She couldn't figure out whether to be mad or grateful that the older woman only made contact when it's necessary. At least, those dazzling eyes are not on hers anymore as they focus down her stitches, Daenerys head tilts to look better and Arya unashamely takes advantage of their proximity to gawk down at the spectacle.

A little frown of concentration is on Daenerys face and Arya barely suppresses herself not to reach out and smooth it away. Her eyelashes are just the right amount and angle that makes those amethyst pools even more eye-catching. The young Stark could count them from here seeing how close they are but she moves on to a sculptured nose that she wants to trace against her own before settling down at those divine lips, relieving the moment she got lost in them.

Those lips suddenly move. "Do you find me attractive?" A voice barely audible cut through with it.

But the sound travels like a smack on Arya's face as she blinks her trance away. Her gaze finally flickers to find Daenerys cocking an eyebrow, a slight lift at the corner of her mouth.

She tries to ignore it with great failure. "What… Why are you—"

"I'm just trying to understand you better." Daenerys cuts off, impatient. She straightened then. "So, do you find me attractive?"

Arya is starting to regret ever promising Daenerys she can ask anything of her. Whatever this is, it feels like a trap. "Yes." She replied anyway (why is that even a question?).

The dragon queen only hum as if it reveals something more. She removes the last stitches leaving the air around them hanging. Arya waits with bated breath.

"Do you not want to kiss me again?"

A sigh breaks free. "Daenerys…"

"Let me rephrase that," the Targaryen queen said with no intention to back down. They're face to face now that her work is done. "If whatever or whoever is troubling you is removed from the equation of your decision to kiss me, would you want to do it again?"

The violet orbs show nothing but strong will as they wait for an answer. Arya wants to kiss the woman all over again. "Yes." She huffs out, upset and bothered. "But, we—"

"Can't ." Daenerys finished for her, clearly unfazed.

To be honest, Arya doesn't know what to make of this. She imagines Daenerys next query will be 'why can't they?' but she doesn't think she could— should be telling the truth, all things considered. In the end, she doesn't need to worry about it because Daenerys surprises her all over again when she asks,

"Will she be there at Winterfell?"

There is no need to explain who the dragon queen is referring to. Only one person comes into mind and Arya sees her way out and latches onto it. "She will," She swallows the guilt away as it isn't exactly a lie since Daenerys is, after all, going to be there.

Something shifts across Daenerys face at that and the young Stark feel the sudden urge to run and hide from the sudden intimidating air.

"You must love her a great deal," Daenerys said through a flaming gaze.

Arya doesn't say anything, afraid to offend the older woman more than necessary. But her silent response is enough of an answer in itself. Daenerys breaks their staring and look away. At the side, Tyrion, Kafat and Theon had sprawled comfortably near the riverbank, quiet, save for the rise and fall of their chest.

"If you could tell one thing to your past self, what would it be?"

The young Stark has long since stop trying to make sense of the dragon queen's questions and instead thought about it seriously. She remembers being a girl of twelve summers with an experienced mind of more and then Bran's visit and his prophecy. "Nothing." Arya finally decided.

Daenerys quirked her eyebrow, surprised. "Nothing?"

"My younger self would be so annoyingly righteous she wouldn't take any advice given to her, even if it comes from herself."

A ghost of a smile flickers across the older woman's face. "I believe nothing's changed."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "I'm not young."

"Oh yes, being eighteen is ancient."

A chuckle leaves her freely. If only Daenerys knows how much that resonates. They share an easy smile as grey held onto violet a while longer.

"It wasn't a failure, merely unfinished victory." The dragon queen suddenly breaks the tranquil.

Arya blinks. "What?"

Daenerys smile is borderline complacent now which make the young Stark wants to wipe it off preferably with her lips against them. "That's what I'll say to my past self."

With that, Daenerys retrieves her waterskin and stands tall, leaving Arya alone once more. But, not before giving one last glance over the shoulder with an enigmatic smile still gracing her lips.

Somehow, Arya feels uneasy.

*

Nights have become increasingly colder as their days grow. Everyone has sported another article of clothing—courtesy of the uninvited sellswords—to battle the decreasing climate. They even have the privileges of not sleeping on the cold ground and hunting food since the men came with thicker cloak and sustenance to last for a week or two if spread sporadically. Arya finds herself owning a not-so-new dark red leather jacket of a nameless man Tyrion has snatched from.

The Lannister procures the hidden jacket from his bag when he catches her rubbing hands in an attempt to stay warm, while a fire is still due to life as they settle for the day. It's the first interaction they have since her little torture spectacle. And he isn't the only one. Theon still hasn't look her in the eye, acting as if she is a ghost hovering.

"Red isn't exactly my colour, Lannister." Arya said at the offered jacket.

"Could've fool me, Lady Stark."

The underlying meaning doesn't escape her and when she takes too long to respond, the Lannister fight the urge to squirm. Instead, he waits and meet grey eyes squarely.

Her mouth tilts slightly at Tyrion's well-hidden discomfort. "You'd be surprised." She finally accepted the jacket and dons it. The warmth immediately wrap around making her considerably better. "Thank you." She said, genuine.

His shoulders relax at that as he sat down beside her. "I'm sure I will. You are after all full of surprises."

Across them, the fire that Kafat makes gradually rises by the seconds. At the side, Theon laid what's left of their food, no doubt rationing them. She had offered her assistance once to the Ironborn but was only met with stuttering and nervous blabber that she was sure the nicest 'I don't need your help' she ever got. So, she never ask again more for his sake rather than hers. Not far from them, Daenerys has taken off to do her routinely meditation. The young Stark decides on staying as close as she can for the dragon queen's safety.

"Have you ever travel this road before?" Tyrion's voice suddenly cuts through.

Gaze still on Daenerys silent form, Arya says back. "This isn't exactly a road, is it."

"Well in principle, any space one has to go through is a road. Notwithstanding this one is more difficult and less clear."

She tilts her head at him then, their eyes meeting. "If you're worried about getting lost, don't be."

"I'm more concern about dying actually." Tyrion pulls his own borrowed jacket around his chest more tightly before leaning against the tree bark. "I've encountered too many that wants me dead and I fear my luck is running out."

Arya mirrors him and relaxes. "Come now, give yourself more praise than that. I'm sure luck got little to do with it."

"Not everyone is a born sword-master as you are, my lady."

She raises a brow. "You ever saw a babe mastering a sword before?"

Tyrion's mouth twitches. "No. But, somehow I doubt you were a normal, dull and uninteresting newborn as us mere mortals... Besides, I'm certain you didn't survive this long because of sheer luck."

Is a celestial three-eyed raven's intervention considered luck? She thought darkly.

"Whoever thought you how to fight?" Tyrion continued. "Your moves were swift and efficient, nothing at all like Westerosi's fighters. I've never quite seen anything like it."

As far as Arya remembered, the Lannister hasn't had the chance to see her fight besides against the unwelcome visitors they encountered a while ago. Even then, she's pretty sure he was too busy handling one on his own to watch her in full action.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She retorts.

"You'd be surprised." He throws back which only gets him nothing in response. He sighs. "But of course, you're not affected by that, so I might as well ask away then… I'm curious about the skillset you're equipped with."

"You mean the skills to gain information with the tip of my blade?"

When there is nothing but silence, slowly, Arya meets his gaze again.

"Yes, among others." To his credit, he doesn't fidget around and instead wait patiently for an answer.

She grins, all sharp and dangerous. "I'd rather not say. A girl needs to have her secrets, after all."

Tyrion swallows drily as Daenerys choose that moment to take a seat close to the young Stark's other side, apparently having done her routinely session. What tension left from their conversation swiftly dissipates at the dragon queen's close contact—too close Tyrion noted curiously. But, he has a hard time caring at the moment as Arya's murderous gaze clears, her attention shifts to the new presence seeming to forget his blatant inquiry altogether.

At least, he doesn't need to sleep with one eye open in the considerable future.

*

It is much later as the little group had just finish their meal and moving about to settle in for the night that Arya finds Theon lazily resting at the corner of the clearing to stay guard.

"I'll keep watch." Arya greets, tossing her belongings on the ground. Theon tense as he looks up at her.

"I—It's my turn."

"No, it's not. We don't actually have turns anymore since you hog all of them."

The Ironborn says nothing but fidgets under her gaze. Arya sighs and plops down across, their gaze levels before Theon looks away, finding dirt beneath his boots more interesting.

"I'm not him." His body freezes but she continues. "I'm not Ramsay."

"You—You're not."

"Yet you're avoiding me like I was."

Movements and noises from the others become a distant background as Arya waits patiently for a response. It seems like forever has pass when Theon finally looks up again, dark eyes scrutinizing. It's the first time since she met him that he appears sure and determined.

"I burnt down your home. I killed and burnt two orphan boys to impersonate your little brothers… I chopped off Rodrik's head in front of your brothers even—even though Bran begs me not to and Rickon cries his eyes out. I kill the old man anyway."

Jaw clench and nails digging through the skin, Arya meets his gaze with her fiery ones. "Were we in another life, I would've put Needle right through your eye for that." He flinches. "But, we're not. And you've suffered worse than death to get here. I'm not going to punish you anymore if that what's troubling you but I haven't forgiven you either... Perhaps someday I will."

The conflicts in both their gazes ebb away as they meet in a silent understanding instead.

"I—I don't deserve your forgiveness. I wouldn't spite you if you kill me." Theon said, shoulders sagging.

"Hard to spite me if you're dead." She deadpanned making his mouth twitch. "Besides, even if you're the one that volunteers to be murdered, I'd rather not face your sister's wrath." She said without thinking.

At the mention of Yara, the surroundings suddenly feel colder, reminding them of the reality and why they're here. None of them talk about the people that they lost in Kings Landing. Not really prepared to unwrap the certain heartache that might hold. Though it's always there at the back of their mind, she's sure.

"Aye, me either." Theon forces a smile, ending up grimacing instead. He doesn't say anything else as they share a small peace in the continuing silence before Arya reminds him of the purpose she bothered him in the first place. With a subdue sigh, he gets up to turn in for the night, leaving her alone to guard duty.

She doesn't get to be alone to her impending thoughts for that long when another presence decides to join in. Daenerys doesn't offer any acknowledgement or ask permission as she spreads her bedding at the same spot Theon had occupy a while ago and lay down, body turning sideways and amethyst eyes boring silently.

Ever since their last talk by the creek a while back, the dragon queen seems to have decided whatever internal decision she had come up with. Her behaviour has changed considerably and is constantly within proximity. Walking side by side during their trek, holding on to Arya's arm whenever she needs attention, subtly touching her in some other way, and even starting to sleep by her side every night. And Arya had long since stop questioning anything for the sake of her sanity

At the back of her mind, she has an inclination of what the dragon queen is up to and knows she should stop Daenerys before it gets any worse but that thought is shoved at the furthest of her mind and is forgotten soon enough.

The hollow in her heart is full by the attention and dare she says she is happy by it.

"I have to keep watch," Arya said, focusing again on Daenerys.

"Then tell me a story so I can sleep." The dragon queen demands, though rather fondly.

She holds the urge to do exactly that, else she might as well worship the ground the royalty walks. "As if you needed one."

Daenerys props herself up by her elbow and quirks her brow. "What are you implying, Stark?"

"Just that you sleep far too well…and loud."

Indignant, Daenerys grumps out, "I do not snore."

Arya agrees. The older woman rarely makes any sound when she sleeps. There is only soft breathing that lull Arya to a dreamless sleep of her own. Not that Daenerys needs to know how perfect she is even in her sleep.

"My ears beg to differ, Your Grace." She bit the inside of her cheek to contain a smile.

Daenerys plops back down with a huff, face up. "You can shut up now."

An easy smile finally breaks free as Arya settles comfortably. Legs crossed, back against a tree, the others around the campsite at her side and Daenerys right in front. The said woman turns sideways again, their eyes lock.

For a long while, Arya lets Daenerys silently trails her gaze on her person until dying fire snaps and light snores envelops them.

"You're staring again," Arya whispers, not wanting to break the peace.

Daenerys only hums.

"Why?" The Targaryen queen has been doing that a lot lately. Especially during this time around. Not that Arya complains.

"So that I'm the last person you'll see before you sleep," Daenerys said.

"Not the other way around?"

Grey orbs meet violets in a silent challenge though it lacks any hostility behind it. Instead, both seem too lost in each other's gravity, blanketing them in serene ether.

"I'm Daenerys Stormborn. I have the dragon's blood in my vein that many wish to conquer. Countless suitors seek my hand in marriage and numerous tales of my beauty are told wherever I go." She said not unkindly.

You're much more than that, Arya thought.

"And when I have a goal in mind, I can be quite persistent. The sooner you realize that Arya, the better." Here, Daenerys looks as if there is something else she's implying underneath it all.

It only solidifies Arya's assumption and she should really stop Daenerys advance right now and end it permanently. But, she's only human. "I already did."

Daenerys lips quirk in a pleased smile. She mutters "As you should," before closing her eyes into a blissful sleep.

*

It's much later in the evening that Arya finds herself cleaning her stainless blade. With nothing else to do other than staring into the dark void or mapping Daenerys sleeping form right in front of her, she chooses neither and unsheathes Needle instead.

The familiar act gives a sense of safety as she recals the many times the slender sword has saved her life. If Jon hadn't gifted her Needle, she doesn't think she'll survive all alone without a reminder of whom she is and where she belongs.

A small tug inside her chest resonates at the thought of Jon. It will be a matter of days now before they arrive in Winterfell and see him in the flesh. Sansa and Rickon too. She wonders if Osha is with the boy, guarding his safety all these years just like in another life. Arya hopes so. She misses the Wildling terribly. Not only her but all of the other people in Winterfell that Arya once knew as well. Even Carrot.

She wonders how their fates fare in this time.

And then there's a colossal presence of Bran—which she decides not to linger on much, else her mood turns sour.

As it is, a sudden gust of wind blew pass and extinguishes the small fire pit, basking everything in complete darkness. Arya freezes and waits for the inevitable attack.

But, nothing happens.

Little by little, the forests glow with the help of moonlight from above, illuminating the surroundings, patchy sky and stars glimpse through the tree breaks. She stands up slowly. Needle held tight as her gaze busy searching for an unwelcome presence.

Nothing but silence greets her. In fact, even the sound of the nightbirds and insects that had accompany her before are missing. She stands there in her spot not daring to even breathe when suddenly a soft flapping echoes through.

She grits her teeth in frustration when the sound stop and there on the ground across, stood a raven.

The bird caws softly in greeting. Its milky white orbs glint despite the darkness.

Her brows furrow as she finds no letter attaches to its bony feet. The raven squawks again and flies up to perch along a branch, silently looking down at her.

"What do you want?" She glares daggers. It's still deep in the night and they have at least a few more hours before continuing their journey.

Her only answer is another call as it flies to another perch. For a second Arya panic, thinking that another threat is nearby. But, the raven doesn't seem distraught. If anything, it looks eerily calm as it tilts its head, gazing into her very soul.

It flies to another branch with another call as if motioning for her to follow. She looks down to the slumbering form of Daenerys and then at the others. If she left, they would be vulnerable here. But if perhaps there is another threat out there and this raven is leading her to them, then she prefers clearing their path without endangering Daenerys and traumatizing Theon.

Another caw breaks her thought and she decides.

With a last glance at Daenerys undisturb face, Arya follows after the raven deeper into the forests.

*

The young Stark is starting to regret her choice as the raven ends up bringing her right in front of a cave's entrance. It is dark and ominous and she has a feeling something is residing inside. The smell of rich earth is ever-present right at this moment but there is also an overpowering of wild animal's musk permeating the air and Arya curses herself for being stupid to fall into the raven's ploy.

Obviously, the three-eyed raven had enough of her and is trying to rid her once and for all. Getting mauled by feral animal is definitely not the way she wants to go.

Before she can decide to at least take the damn bird down with her, it caws one final time and flies away, disappearing into thick leaves and tall barks. And right a moment after that leaves crunch and twigs snap. The sound grows nearer and nearer all around.

Running away seems a bad idea since she can feel multiple presences out there in the woods, waiting for her to make a move. So instead, she raises Needle pointedly in front, ready to defend herself from whatever night predators would emerge from the trees.

Blurs of movement from her right make themselves known first and then seconds later her left, and then her front and little by little everywhere she turns, they were there.

Wolves.

Dozens, maybe more. Growling and snarling with vicious intensity. Spittle and blood flying out of their snouts and sharp teeth which could tear skin easily. Despite it all, Arya finds herself lowering Needle. A sense of familiarity and belonging washes over.

She turns to the cave's entrance again and sees two glowing eyes she doesn't see the first time around. Instantly, she knows who they belong to.

The young Stark swallows pass the lump that blocks her throat up painfully as a giant wolf slowly emerges from the depth of its solitude. There is no other explanation to the abnormally enormous form of the beast before her.

It's a direwolf, one with a grey coat and dark golden orbs.

"Ny—Nymeria," She calls, too soft to be heard.

The direwolf pays no mind to the others as she moves eerily calm to where Arya stands, stopping only when perfectly pointed teeth can be clearly seen accompanies by a low growl that matches the intensity around them.

Her insides clench at the transparent threat. Slowly, as to not aggravate the direwolf any more than necessary, Arya goes down on both knees. Needle lays abandon at her side and she closes her eyes and waits.

As her knees dig into wet and cold dirt, surrounded by a pack of vicious wolves, she doesn't fear much for her life. Nymeria is always a loyal companion in every single one of Arya's lives. The direwolf had even lost its life to save her once.

No, what she fears most is Nymeria's rejection.

As if knowing the turmoil inside her mind, the loud snarling around cease. She blinks her eyes open to find clear golden eyes staring down in silence instead. But still, the air feels thick and dangerous making her recall of a reunion turns bloody two lifetimes ago. Not wanting to almost rip her arm for a second time, Arya tilts sideways, baring her neck in submission.

Almost immediately she feels hot breath along open skin. A soft whine comes out from the direwolf towering above her. And then just as quick, a movement too fast for her to react approaches from the side. Nymeria already moving in the direction as she barrels down the stray wolf, snapping down at its face with such ferocity Arya wonders just how the smaller one is still alive.

With a pathetic whimper, the wolf that has just wanted to rip apart her throat stands shakily from the ground and makes itself scarce. Nymeria turns toward her again closing the remaining distance and her shoulders tense in anticipation. Before her thoughts could go anywhere, the direwolf licks her face. All wet and rough.

Every last strain of muscles uncoil and Arya laughs freely. Her arms immediately wrap around Nymeria's thick furs as she sinks into the warmth and stays there for a long, long time.

*

"Arya," someone hisses.

She groans in annoyance, choosing to sink further into the warmth instead. But the voice is persistent and something sharp is starting to poke her next.

"Leave me be, Nym," Arya mumbles sleepily and attempt to swat the offending thing away from her body.

At the movement, her fur blanket moves and a soft whine comes next. She wants to protest but is greeted by a rough and wet smack on her cheek, hair and then neck. That certainly wakes her up.

"Fine. Stop licking me." Her body shoots up as she wipes her face clean. Groaning, she blinks her eyes open slowly, though her heavy lids make it ever difficult. Nymeria decides to lick her face again as if to help. Arya grumbles under her breath but a slow smile spreads as well. Last night feels like a dream. Being able to reunite with the direwolf again and more importantly to not be rejected is a balm to her heart.

Her smile widens when Nymeria finally comes into view. She strokes her thick furs affectionately and lingers at her favourite spot behind the ears. "Do you need to go?"

A bump of wet nose to Arya's hand is all the response. Nymeria stands tall on all four. At the same time, around the clearing, wolves that gather there do the same before walking off. She watches Nymeria leave last and finally realizes four pairs of eyes are staring widely at her.

"Oh," she nearly forgot about her human company. "Sleep well?" she tries after they keep staring, mouth agape.

Tyrion's the first to regain his senses. "Quite… Up until I wake up in a lair of wolves, that is."

"And you slept with one." Daenerys joins. A long thin branch points accusingly at Arya's face.

Now she knows just what keeps poking her earlier. "That's Nymeria, my direwolf." She reaches for the branch, lowering it down.

Daenerys eyes soften. "The one you chase away six years ago?"

Arya already shared most of her life—in this time, anyway—with the dragon queen whenever they find the time alone. But, it still gives her a satisfying feeling when being reminded that Daenerys not only listen but remembers them well.

"Yes." She smiles and adds wistfully, "It's a miracle that she recognizes me at all really."

Daenerys mirrores the smile. "Well, you have a peculiar face that's hard to forget."

"Thanks." Though, suspiciously it doesn't sound like a compliment.

"I certainly wouldn't…not unlike someone you know." The dragon queen murmured as an afterthought, but Arya hears it clearly.

She bit back a chuckle and chooses to ignore it.

With all the confusion cleared out, they continue the journey further north. The road they travel gradually thin out of thick bushes and tall trees. It's as if their guide-raven is leading them to the main road like what Arya intends to do a while back. She doesn't know what to think of it.

She doubts the three-eyed raven knows what conspire inside her mind. Though she doesn't really know anything about the seemingly godlike being, does she? Other than his power of manipulating people, animals and time that is. But, he brought back Nymeria into her life like a wrapped gift, as if to compensate and adding another layer of protection. And it works in a way.

The direwolf and her pack has been a constant presence each night as they surround their campsite to guard them against unwanted company. And when the sun shows up, they would scatter and later find the group of human again by nightfall to do the same thing.

The others seem wary at first with the predators' unnatural behaviour, seeing as they hadn't become a meal yet. But, at the sight of her cuddling into Nymeria each night and at the prospect of undisturb sleep, the idea becomes more and more acceptable.

Even Daenerys has lost the fear of sleeping next to her and joined in the cuddling too. Nymeria, the lucky beast, had inched further and further away from her side when she finds out just how much warmer Daenerys is. The traitor.

Nonetheless, the older woman's safety always comes first so she swallows her petty thought and chooses to share, relishing in the warm coat of her direwolf and the fact that Daenerys is safe one Nymeria away.

Though it still unnerves her of the possibilities that if somehow the three-eyed raven did actually have no inkling as to how the sellswords found them. What does that mean, then? Could it be possible that even the three-eyed raven has a weakness? One that involves the Crow's Eye?

Their guide-raven stops flying and perches itself onto a branch not far. It has taken them to another creek to fill their water supply and for a quick break. Arya is lazing on a big boulder, quenching her thirst when someone plops beside her.

"She-wolf." Kafat nods in greeting.

It seems even in her last life, she couldn't escape that nickname that bore so many layers of meaning behind it. Arya had try again and again correcting the Dothraki of her true name but to no avail. The Dothraki insists that she has the wolf spirit and as such he would call her by it.

"We eat bacon tonight?" He asked expectantly.

Sometimes Arya wonders if he forgets she doesn't speak his words. Because any other day, he would often seeks her out and comments on random things, to which she barely responds. Though, he doesn't seem to mind at all. Remembering his question, she merely quirks her eyebrow in response.

"Your wolves hunt boars for us, no?" Kafat continued and they share another silent look before recognition flickers in his eyes. "Ah, curse…" he looks around expectantly, settling at the form of Daenerys leisurely sitting by the riverbank with Theon and Tyrion not far, possibly deciding he needs his one and only translator.

But then, he shakes his head slightly and straightened his shoulders before looking at the young Stark again. "Yoouur woolvess," his finger points accusingly at her and then his arms spread into an unbecoming gesture which Arya guesses he meant what Nymeria looks like to him.

Yes. This is why Arya kept her secret of knowing the Dothraki language. A girl needs to has some kind of entertainment in this godforsaken forest somehow.

"Boooaaaarrss," Kafat continues, producing a remarkable sound similar to the animal as he contorts his face into one.

Arya bites back a laugh and decides to end his suffering. "You want bacon."

He sighs. "Yes." And then pause as he realizes what she just said. "You speak Dothraki."

"Just a little." She lies as to not arouse any suspicion. But, only delight greets her in kind. Kafat beams making his face appears younger than usual. He could not be any older than Theon at least.

"That is fine. I teach you." He said eagerly. The glint in his eyes is a bit overwhelming for her liking.

"No. I teach myself."

Kafat is undeterred. "No, no, no she-wolf. I am the perfect teacher among the Unsullied. Ask any of them, they will agree. It is known… I teach you." Without waiting for a response, he elaborates on the random things that he wishes to teach her. Going even further as to schedule the time they will spend together. She tries denying him but as always he prefers hearing his own voice rather than hers.

Perhaps this is Arya's comeuppance.

Exasperated, she stands up and left the still blabbering dothraki to himself. Before the young Stark can reach another boulder at the other side to laze around undisturb, movements at the peripheral caught her attention.

She halts mid-step, eyes sharp and busy scanning the space between the trees and leaves. Unfortunately, her vision earlier does not lie.

"Someone's coming," Arya hisses over her shoulder.

Like a warning bell, the serenity evaporates. In seconds, Theon stands in front of her, bow raise and ready, Kafat beside him with his knives in both grips. Daenerys joins her side, arms brushing and Tyrion beside his queen, tense.

They wait with bated breath as little by little the blurs of movement begin to form into solid figures. Arya counted six, no, seven men trudging the path towards them. Fleeing is not an option since they seem to spread sporadically towards them, covering more ground—as if they're searching around the area.

"Theon, you have eyes on them?" She asked. Her grip on Needle tightens ever so slightly. They are already outnumbered and desperately need all the chance they can get to come out of this alive.

"I see them," Theon answered. Understanding the silent urgency, he pulls his bow and aim. Just as he is about to release, however, a loud caw interrupts, and then their guide raven seemingly materializes out of thin air and peck violently at his fingers. The arrow releases anyway but finds its target inside a tree instead of the intruder's torso as it's supposed to.

For a moment, the air around the small group was in suspension. Everybody watch in silent shock at the sudden crazed raven and then at the growing noise of the larger group who no doubt is in the move towards them now that their location has been discovered.

Theon is the one who recovers first as he nocks another arrow and aim again. But, like before, his arrow misses the approaching target by a landslide when the raven pecks skin at his face next. Forgetting the men, the Ironborn started swinging his bow towards the winged offender to get it off him, cursing all the way.

Arya would have gladly lend a hand decapitating the damn bird, uncaring of the consequences, if not for the group of men finally emerging from the bushes. Distinctly, Needle is already unsheathes as her frame moved to block Daenerys from the many unfamiliar eyes across.

"My my…what have we stumbled upon here?" The man at the front sneers. His own longsword at the ready and so does his companions, all armed. They even wore light armour, breastplate and all.

Grey orbs flicker busily to calculate how in the hell could she protects Daenerys from all of them. Fists clench painfully, she raises her chin and pins the man in front with a murderous gaze. "Take another step," she drawls dangerously, "and that will be your last."

Her little group tense considerably as if waiting for her to strike first before they can do the same. Theon, Kafat and even Tyrion slowly placed themselves at her sides, leaving Daenerys alone with a human wall to stare at.

The stranger merely looked on with disinterest at the display before he finds Arya again and swallows at the eerily calm gaze looking back. He sputters a retort before someone else saves him the trouble.

"Let us all be calm here."

Grey orbs finally left him to find another closing the distance. Unlike his companion, this man didn't bother drawing his sword. Instead, he lays a hand on the man's forearm, lowering the offending blade to the ground. "The land has enough share of innocent blood spilt onto it, we wouldn't want any more just because of a misunderstanding."

"They attack us first!"

"Come now, Flint…I think they've mistaken us as the enemy."

There is something familiar about his voice that has Arya rake her brain to find the connection to. The man is tall, adorning mismatched attires with a dark red robe tying it all together. His words sound slightly slurred as if he's had one too many.

"Are you not?" Tyrion asked then, "Our enemy, that is."

"No, m'lord. In fact, we're here to escort you." The man said almost flippantly. His face is fully in display now as he regards them. A piece of the missing puzzle finally presents itself as Arya finds a name for the man in question. The familiar features and voice are unmistakably one of Thoros of Myr.

"Where to?" Theon demanded.

Another man of her past emerged from behind Thoros. "Winterfell." Beric Dondarrion joins in all his glory— Eye patch and severe marks littering his neck that should have ends his life if not for the red priest beside him. His gaze finds hers and stays as they regard each other in silent recognition. "Your siblings miss you, Lady Arya. Lord Rickon, Bran and Lady Sansa…and King Jon."

The tension in the air seems to slowly dissipate and is replaced with confusion instead. Arya feels anything but. Somehow, everything seems too much all at once. Every eye is on her as they wait for her response but all she can do is thinking of an escape still.

Something warm and familiar wraps itself around her forearm replacing frantic thoughts with all-knowing violet eyes instead.

"You know them?" Daenerys asked softly.

The dragon queen's hold is still there. Strong yet gentle. Arya finds herself grounded by it. "The Brotherhood without banners." She finally answered which makes Daenerys tense slightly, connecting the dots.

The dragon queen releases her hold to fix the group of men a cool gaze. "I've heard a lot about you, my lords." She settles on Beric Dondarrion. "An outlaw group working against the Lannister in the Riverlands during the War of the Five Kings. A group that was indirectly created by Eddard Stark. Yet, you kept his youngest daughter as hostage until it suits you."

Beric for his part doesn't question how Daenerys knows, he only smiles sadly. "Yes, we did and I'm sorry we parted the way we did, my lady." He said to Arya. "We did what we had to back then to survive… But now, the brotherhood has pledged on humanities' side."

"Which side is that?" Arya asked without missing a beat.

"The Starks, the Targaryens…" he trails looking at Daenerys too long for Arya's liking. "And every other house that Euron Greyjoy wishes to eradicate from this land. We're all on the same side here, Your Grace."

The little group exchange a wary glance among each other, unsure of what to make of the Brotherhood's declaration.

Her grip on Needle has loosened considerably without her knowledge. Though, she doesn't dare put it away yet. "That's convenient. The last I remembered, your words meant nothing. Who's to say that you won't sell us to the next red priestess that came by like you did my friend?"

As if waiting for that exact question, Beric produces a scroll from inside his robe. "Your brother had thought you need convincing, so he wrote you a letter."

Arya resists the urge to bark a laugh. Of course, Bran wouldn't escape the opportunity to further manipulate everything around her. With a scowl, she snatches the offending parchment from his hand. It's sealed with a direwolf stamp and looking far too official for the usual three-eyed raven's business.

Her heart is in her throat when she realizes that the letter is signed by the King of The North, Jon Snow. He doesn't spare any pleasantries or the sort, only concise and short words asking her to follow the Brotherhood for her own and her little entourage's protection.

"The King has personally requests our assistance and we give him our word that we will escort the lady and everyone safely to Winterfell," Beric said in the growing silence.

Grey orbs finally look up to the man and then his pledged brothers. Arya doesn't like the growing numbers in their group even if it meana surviving in an attack is much higher. After all, she doesn't know most of these men. Perhaps, she can lose them during the night or when she feels Daenerys isn't safe with them anymore. For now, the young Stark decides to trust Jon above all.

Seeing the resigned look, Daenerys and the others visibly relaxed even if it isn't by much. Not after everyone has put away all their sharp weapons does the air settle with an awkward silence.

At Beric's order, the Brotherhood disperses in small groups then. Some moving away to scour the area before they can continue their journey safely, others refill their drinks by the river and more settle themselves on the ground for a quick rest. All the while the area busies with movements except for the young Stark and her companion, as they stay rooted at the same spot.

"Well, you know what they say; the more the merrier," The Lannister tried once they are left to their own device.

"Aye, it'd be nice to converse to someone other than you." Theon quips earning an incoming retort.

Daenerys turns to Arya, searching her face instead. "Just say the word and we'll escape them."

A small smile forms. "It's fine, I think… I trust Jon and I know the way home. With our merrier group, using the main road is more appropriate. We'll convince them as such. That way, I'll know if they guide us wrong."

Everyone calm further at that, except for Kafat who still hasn't done glaring daggers at anyone within close proximity. Daenerys moves to placate the Dothraki as she explaines the situation and the more appropriate behaviour in the near future.

Arya would have assists Daenerys but a sudden sensation of being watched register alarmingly. She eyes the area, searching for anything amiss. What she finds not much later is someone that she thought would never see again. He is leaning against a tree away from the Brotherhood, all the while his gaze burning on her. When their eyes finally meet, he left his resting spot and strides forward with a menacing sway despite a limp in his movement and stopping only until he's right in front, towering over her.

If she doubts herself earlier, she isn't at all, now. Being this close, it is unmistakably Sandor Clegane. Tyrion's soft muttering of his name only confirm what Arya is seeing. She doesn't know how she could've missed the half-giant before this.

"You left me to die." Sandor greets, almost growling.

Arya can't really argue with that. His battered body, bones protruding out his leg, blood pooling under it, comes rushing at the front of her mind. She should have killed him, a knife to his heart like he taught her to. Easy and quick. Instead, she convinced herself at that time he deserves a slow painful death. Only much later did she realizes that's not exactly why she left him.

Sandor scowls down at her, waiting. His scarred face is gaunt, she notices, but he is here, alive and well. Remembering his remark, it doesn't sit quite right in this lifetime. "First I rob you," she corrects.

Their surrounding suddenly feels heavy in the empty silence. Around them, the Brotherhood stand close by having their attention solely on the sudden confrontation, ready to defend either the Hound or her, she doesn't know.

Ignoring everyone but Arya, Sandor squints his eyes down at her, expression taut. "You're one cold little bitch, aren't ya."

"And you're still alive… I guess there was a Maester behind those rocks after all."

A short bark of laughter escapes him. "There was, unfortunately for you."

"Pity." She deadpanned.

Sandor holds his gaze for a while longer before huffing and finally walking pass her. Without acknowledging anyone, he proceeds to quench his thirst by the creek. Arya does the same ignoring pointed stares from her group demanding explanation. Instead, she focuses on the small warmth flickering and simmering inside her chest that has nothing to do with the day's heat.

*

"So, when did you meet Clegane? You never mention him before." Daenerys asked as soon as they are alone as they can be with the Brotherhood escorting them. Theon, Kafat and Tyrion trudging the path not far in front while Arya and Daenerys at the rear.

Beric is at the forefront of the line, following the now sane guide-raven, his men separate equally around all corners along the road. It's a perfect formation protecting the Targaryen Queen and her entourage even though Arya feels a little trapped. She chances a glance behind where Sandor Clegane is leading the remaining Brotherhood. His gaze finds hers immediately as if he knows Daenerys is talking about him.

A gentle nudge on her arm brings Arya back to the person beside her. Daenerys merely raises an eyebrow expectantly.

"I travel with him for a while." Arya finally answered. Low enough only Daenerys can hear. "We went to The Twins and then The Eyrie in search of my family but none left and we—well I decided to part ways and sail across the narrow sea."

Daenerys moves closer if that's even possible while they're walking along the uneven dirt path, but she makes it happen. Their shoulders and arms brushing which Arya relishes in the warmth it provides. The tautness in her chest gradually lessens whenever the older woman is close. "He was awful, petty and crass. I wished every night that I could kill him."

"Why?"

"He killed my friend, Mycah."

"Did he…" Daenerys trails, wavering. "While you're with him…did he do anything?" Her expression changes to one of fear and uneasiness all at once, no doubt thinking of the worst possibilities.

Arya wishes she could hold Daenerys firmly right there then, damn anyone who's watching. "No…" she said softly instead. "He wasn't like that. In his own brash and shit kind of way, he protected me. I could've faced worse back then, I realize now."

They catch each other's eyes, violets one searching and when Daenerys finds that Arya is telling the truth, she nods, relieved. "That's nice…that you could rely on him even if it's for a short while."

"I guess." Arya shrugs. Daenerys only throws a knowing smile, all genuine and soft and beautiful making her face heats up in return. Arya scrambles to restore her dignity again. "I mean I don't want to murder him in his sleep anymore so, I guess he's alright."

By the low chuckle coming from Daenerys, her effort seems to have failed. "Alright enough that he's found you again and escorting us to your home? Somehow, I doubt he joins the Brotherhood for a queen he never meet before." She points, not unkindly.

The fact that Sandor still hasn't taken his revenge only solidifies what the dragon queen is saying. Though Arya isn't at all surprised if perhaps he's merely waiting for the perfect opportunity to take her life without an audience. After all, she did leave him to die. She is about to speak her mind when the men upfront abruptly halt.

A little circle forms at the same time voices are being raise. Daenerys is already quickening her pace to reach them faster, sensing trouble. Naturally, the young Stark follows suit.

"Why do you have it?" Kafat hisses from upfront. One of the Brotherhood is in his line of sight. The man is tall and lean with a matching sneer on his face as he stands his ground.

"The fuck you saying?" He spits back and then looks at Tyrion and Theon hovering near. "You should put a leash on the savage else he's going to go rabid on us all."

Kafat doesn't give the chance for either two to answer as he threateningly closes in. "Give it back or I will skin your skull."

Tyrion immediately steps up, successfully blocking his advance and putting himself between the two hostile men. "Hey, cow down Kafat." The Lannister attempted which only makes Kafat bristles further.

"I am not a cow, imp." He retorts and easily sidesteps him. But he doesn't get far when Theon swiftly moves to block his path again with a warning look.

Before the Dothraki could do any more damage like attacking the Brotherhood or worse attacking Theon, Daenerys' presence put a stop to it. "Kafat," She calls smoothly gaining everyone's attention at once. The call manage to inflict both a warning and caution at the same time. By now, everyone have move around the little group and looking on in apprehension. Beric places himself beside the man that Kafat threatens.

"Explain yourself why you are ignoring the first rule I told you not to do," Daenerys demands. Kafat clenches his jaw looking slightly affronted but he holds his gaze determinedly.

"Khaleesi, that man possesses our warrior's blade. He is not worthy." He points at the same man in disgust.

Arya glances at the brotherhood in question and sure enough, an arakh is secured on his belt. She has to blink twice before confirming it is indeed a Dothraki's weapon. As far as Arya knows, Kafat only has his two knives with him and even before that, he isn't equipped with any arakh when they met at Tascer's Inn.

"How did you procure that blade?" Daenerys asked before Arya can.

The man looks down to his arakh then. "What, this? I found it at a small village."

"Village?" Daenerys frowns slightly.

Beric shifts at the side and answers. "Aye, Your Grace. A small village we came across outside Wendish Town, three moons ago." He pauses suddenly, eyes boring into the dragon queen with a silent coldness. "The village was raided, the villagers dead and their homes in disarray. What little we could find there, we took it. Jeran here found the blade there."

"Where was this town?" Daenerys asked. Her voice has lost all candour from before.

"Just south of the Riverlands."

Heavy silence envelops their surroundings. Arya is painfully aware of what Beric is implying. And by the way Tyrion and Theon stealing a look every now and then at Daenerys, the two must have guess as well.

Daenerys doesn't say anything more to that. In fact, the Targaryen queen seems to have frozen at her spot, eyes unseeing. Nothing can be said the same for Kafat as he steps forward to Jeran with fiery gaze still, misinterpreting his Khaleesi's silence as compliance.

"You are not worthy to wield that blade. You are no horselords!" The dothraki scowls.

Jeran takes offence at that and matches Kafat's stride as they both stand at arm's length now. "I don't speak your words, you stupid savage."

At the side, Daenerys remained unmoving. Her body frigid and might've just shatter if someone touches her. It doesn't seem that the growing voices would snap her out of whatever trance she is having. And with Tyrion's limited vocabulary, Kafat seems hell-bent on retrieving that arakh, with or without permission.

Squaring her shoulders, Arya breaks her worried gaze from Daenerys and focuses her attention on the fight. She closes in on them with purpose. "Kafat, please stop."

The two men halt their verbal sparring. Jeran and the others look at her like she just sprouts another head while Kafat only give her unimpressed look.

"This fool has—"

"An arakh. Yes, he has." Arya cuts off impatiently, ignoring the other's bewildered expression. "He found it abandoned, so he took it. What of it?"

Indignant, Kafat turns to face her better. "An arakh does not belong with men in iron suits as much as our horses do not belong in the salt water, it is known. I must retrieve it."

Arya resists the urge to roll her eyes at the dramatics, instead, she finds Jeran. "He wants the arakh."

"The what now?"

Arya does roll her eyes at that. "The blade. He wants it."

Instinctively, Jeran's grip tightens at the hilt. "Like hell, I'll give this away. Least of all to the savage."

The young Stark moves to stand in front of him and fix a steely gaze. "His name is Kafat. It's a Dothraki custom that only horselords can wield arakhs. And if you don't give him that blade, I can't guarantee your future travel will be pleasant."

"You're taking his side, a foreigner who raids and plunders, over your own countrymen?"

Arya only smiles, all sharp and predatory. "Let's not go and compare our sins now. Give the blade and we can go our merry way."

Jeran blinks once, twice as he hesitates. All around them, not a sound can be heard as they wait with bated breath. For a moment, Arya thought Jeran would cave in, his jaw works back and forth, but then his chest puffs out. "If you think I'm scare—"

"Oh for fucks sake," someone growls impatiently. Arya tilts her head where Sandor is striding towards them. His towering height fills the space between the two as he stares down at Jeran. "Give the bloody sword to her before I take it my fucking self."

Jeran opens and closes his mouth, no doubt thinking of retaliation. But with another glare from the Hound, he shuts up completely. As a last resort, he seeks Beric at his side, but the leader of the brotherhood only nods his agreement to relent. Begrudgingly, Jeran removes the arakh and hands it over to Sandor, all the while glaring murderously at Arya and Kafat.

With the matter finally resolves without bloodshed, Beric walks away and little by little the others follow suit getting back to their formation. Sandor moves to Kafat and all but shoves the hilt at his chest none too gently, eliciting a groan from the Dothraki as he scrambles to take the arakh.

"Tell him to stop whinging," Sandor grumbles to Arya before finally walking away.

With a last glance, Tyrion and Theon follow suit as the group gradually moves in formation again. Kafat joined late after he secured his newly-possession on his person leaving Arya and Daenerys behind. Violet orbs are already on hers when Arya turns to look. Before she can close their distance, however, Daenerys abruptly turns and walks away, leaving Arya behind with only distressed amethyst depths to ponder alone.

*

Everything changes—more so for those eyes.

Daenerys doesn't ask anymore questions about Arya's past. Doesn't walk close and let their shoulders brush. Doesn't throw soft smiles and reach out with gentle touches. Doesn't even look her way when she falls asleep like she always does. Considering the older woman still lay beside her every night, it's quite the feat to pull off.

It isn't only that. All around them, Arya can distinguish the wary glances among the Brotherhood more clearly now that she knows where to look. Their gazes and talks are cautious and borderline cold, particularly towards Kafat and Daenerys. And each time it happens, those violet orbs grow heavier and emptier.

Even though Arya loathes the changes, she can't really blame the men for the cold shoulders since they have every reason for being as such. She remembers her own encounter of scorched homes and littered bodies of old and young, two lifetimes ago. She knows the fear and ire. And now, to realize that villages are being raided by the ones that suppose to be their allies, innocent lives wasted and robbed—well, it can be upsetting, to say the least.

Even if the Brotherhood are escorting them without much fuss, she can't help but wonder if other Houses' reaction, once they arrive at Winterfell, will be any different. She's well aware of how petty the lords and ladies can be and she fears for Daenerys. It doesn't help that the said woman grew distant each day. It's as if Daenerys is regressing.

Arya doesn't know how to cure that except giving the Targaryen queen some time. So, she keeps her distance, protecting Daenerys from afar until Daenerys seeks her out again. A small part of her relishes the fact that the dragon queen is finally cutting off her attention towards her. This means that whatever advances Daenerys were planning are useless and will soon be forgotten.

Arya will be forgotten and Daenerys will be free.

Even if her heart constricts agonizingly inside her chest, the young Stark forces herself to count it as a victory on her part, doesn't let herself be bothered by the guilt-ridden thoughts that no doubt filling Daenerys at every waking moment. She knows the Targaryen queen will rise again and become stronger and do what's right. Daenerys always does. And this time will be no different.

It's less than a week later that they arrive at the Twins.

The castle is exactly how Arya left it and she braces herself to face the people that she leave behind after massacring their men, wondering if they will recognize her and demand her head on a spike should they do. But what greet the Brotherhood and their entourage are quiet and voids spaces.

The castle's gate is unlocked and their courtyard bare which is more or less the same further inside. For a short moment, Arya concludes the worst—that Euron Greyjoy had gotten them. But, the intact castle and unburnt bodies quickly dismiss it. The castle seems like it's abandoned more than attacked or even raided.

The only explanation left is Jon's letter and Bran's warning have somehow work and the castle's occupants are now safe in Winterfell. She tells the others as much which they take without question--guess everyone desires for some good news and clung to the hope however impossible it seems. It only heightens when they find barrels and barrels of wine in the cellar.

They aren't poisoned. Yes, she checks every barrel there is before letting the men fill their belly with it. Daenerys isn't impressed when Arya offers to check. The familiar fire in those violet eyes brought warmth inside her for many reasons, one of which; it still hasn't diminishes even after what happened.

"You know I'll be fine." Arya said to Daenerys with all the confidence in the world and perhaps a little arrogant. It is after all her poison. She keeps exasperated albeit, dare she say, fond look of Daenerys close in her mind when she finally tilts her head back and swallows a generous amount of wine much to the protests of the others.

The Freys women must have rid of the remaining infected concoction Arya left and exchange them with real, safe to consume alcohol when her body doesn't convulse moments after. She wonders where the ladies buried their men, or perhaps they were incinerated. Did they throw a feast of their own after ridding the bodies? It might explain the unlimited wine storage.

One thing for certain is that right now somewhere in the castle, the Brotherhood along with Tyrion, Theon and Kafat, no doubt are having the time of their life emptying those barrels. Daenerys has turn in for the night in one of the many rooms leaving the rowdy men to themselves. And Arya watches her go, knowing that the castle is safe to roam and occupy.

So, here Arya is, sitting alone nursing her own fill of wine. Her back against the stone walls, legs stretch to the cold, dark shadows of torches mount on walls and the full moon up the night sky. The buzz from her drink tampers the heavy thoughts in her head as she just lets herself be.

"I'm surprised you haven't run off yet." Sandor emerges from the shadow and stops by her feet.

Arya takes another slow sip of her drink and looks up. "Should I? Are you here to kill me?"

"No. Are you?" Sandor throws back.

She remembers her list of names that have long been completed and says, "No."

With a grunt, Sandor plops down beside her. His own waterskin of wine sloshes around before he settles and takes a swig. For a moment, neither make any sound save for the flow of their drinks. Arya likes the silence, bathes in its calm. Though it seems her companion is far from it as he breaks the peace.

"You never used to shut up, now you're sitting there like a mute." Sandor groused.

Well, if he wants small talk, then, "I killed your brother."

He blinks and pins her with a sharp gaze. "What?"

"I decapitated him…almost decapitated him. Didn't get a clean shot when I aim for his head." She shrugs.

His eyes roam over her person as if he's searching for something amiss. When he finds nothing, he huffs. A small smile threatening to form at the corner of his lips as he lets the truth sinks in. "How'd you manage that?"

Arya doesn't bother to hide her smirk. "With a big fucking sword."

That draws a small chuckle out of him. His dark orbs matching hers as they share a moment. He breaks it soon after, a grumpy mask back in place and takes another swig. "Wish I was there when it happens. I'd like to see his face when he saw a little thing like you fucks him over."

"Well, maybe stop calling me 'little' before I grant your wish of seeing your brother."

"Ha! All these years, I thought you'd grow a bit more than the last. You need to eat more, girl."

Arya throws him a look, unimpressed, before taking a sip of her wine. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Mother."

"Fuck off."

"Eloquent."

A soft whine interrupts them suddenly, which both snap their head at the sound. Across them, a lone brown wolf is watching, waiting. And Arya's mind immediately latches onto Nymeria. She stands and wipes the dirt off her trousers before making her way to the docile predator.

"Where are you going?" Sandor calls.

"I'd rather spend the rest of my night with my direwolf than with miserable old shit." She throws over her shoulder.

At her approach, the lone wolf turns and strides to where it comes from. Arya hears mumbling of "Fucking Starks and their pets," behind her before silence and coldness replace it.

They pass through the courtyard and then the main gate. Arya reckons the wolf pack would settle themselves outside the castle walls, more comfortable in their domain in the wilderness, so imagine her surprise when she saw not only Nymeria but Daenerys as well.

The dragon queen is sitting by a large rock overlooking a lake in front of her, the castle looming ways away behind them now. The wolf that lures Arya here has long vanished into the trees though she doubts it's truly gone. The pack rarely leaves behind their leader all alone. That thought is what makes her worry ebbs away seeing as Daenerys isn't exactly unaccompanied outside the castle's protection right now.

Arya stops not far without alerting her arrival and just watches.

Nymeria was sitting on hind legs by Daenerys feet, head perching on Daenerys lap as said woman rub at her favourite spot. If anyone tells Arya that her direwolf and the dragon queen will be this at ease with each other, she would never believe it. Even in her previous life, the two are never this domestic, especially without the Starks being there.

Her heart swells at the sight.

"Here is the proof I need," Arya said loudly, finally announcing her existence. Two heads tilt her way, eyes blinking, taking the new addition before relaxing again. Daenerys quirks her eyebrow in that familiar gesture and Arya let the warmth carries her forward. "The highest order of betrayal from my loyal confidant, or so I thought. This is treason, Nym." She finishes, mock-glaring at the direwolf.

Nymeria only whines softly, still unmoving from her spot. Daenerys continues her ministration on the said beast, violet orbs found greys with mirth. "If you want to sit on my lap, Stark, you need only ask."

Arya chokes on her spit, making Daenerys laughed that beautiful laugh of hers. Nymeria finally decided that her struggling for air was worth the attention as she greets her mistress with a lick to her throat.

"I didn't take you for a prude… Arya, you shove your tongue down my throat and went under my dress to grab my arse."

If Arya's face wasn't red before, it surely is now. "Seven hells, woman." She mutters for a lack of better words because how the hell do you respond to that? And also, she did do those things, didn't she…

The twinkle in those violet depths still lingers, a smug smile graces her face as Arya takes a sit. Even if there is a lot of space on the boulder, she settles close to Daenerys until their shoulders and thighs brush together. Almost immediately, the older woman leans into the touch and Arya lets out an easy smile in victory.

Ever since Kafat's incident, she has been hungry for Daenerys touch, and perhaps tonight she could satiate the deprivation.

Nymeria perches her head on Arya's lap then. Wet snout nudges her chin and Arya gives in and rubs grey furs affectionately. The direwolf purrs in content, her frame vibrates against her mistress' legs.

For a long while, her focus is solely on Nymeria, mumbling questions that are left unanswered. Though, it doesn't bother her. If anything, Nymeria's soft rumbles are more than answers enough.

Remembering that there is in fact another person beside her, Arya breaks her focus on Nymeria to Daenerys, only to immediately fall into gentle violet eyes looking right into her very soul.

"What?" Arya asked, still smiling softly.

Daenerys holds on for a while more, as if savouring the moment before she said almost defeated, "I have something to tell you."

The young Stark straightens, lips fall flat. "What is it?"

Nymeria chooses to leave her spot as if understanding the sudden change. She lays on the ground not far, head resting on front paws and closes her eyes.

"I've been lying to you, Arya," Daenerys confesses, looking straight ahead at the lakeside. "I know where my children are. I've connected with both Drogon and Rhaegal for a while now. I can feel their bond, Drogon especially."

Arya blinks, trying to determine if she hears it right.

"I can call for them right now, and they would be here within moments." Daenerys pauses before chuckles, pained. "Even Viserion… I feel him, but the bond isn't there anymore. Only a weak link."

Heavy silence envelops their surroundings. Arya can only study Daenerys profile since the dragon queen still wouldn't look at her. But, from the tense of Daenerys shoulders and the white-knuckle clasp of her hands, Arya guesses she is putting a brave front.

"A weak link doesn't mean it's severed permanently. We may still save Viserion yet."

Daenerys finally turns to face her then. "Is that all you got from what I just said?"

"We won't need Drogon and Rhaegal until we arrive in Winterfell, so you don't—"

"I'm not sure I want to call them at all." Daenerys cuts off. Determined violet orbs meet ashen greys in a silent confrontation. "At first, I withheld calling them immediately in fear of what happened to Viserion will happen again to Drogon and Rhaegal. What if Euron come flying right after I call them? I'm not ready…I can't protect them out here in the middle of nowhere. I can't risk anyone else. I can't risk you."

Arya visibly deflates. "Daenerys…"

"My children are all I have left, Arya. They appear in my life when I was at my lowest and they stay through my worst. If I lose them…" the Targaryen queen trails, a small crease between her brows the only proof of her distress. "And now, I don't think you need me at all. All I've ever contribute since I touch the sand on the beach of Dragonstone is misery upon misery on everyone. Millions died because of my carelessness. And the numbers are only growing as we speak."

Daenerys eyes are glassy, mouth straight as she seeks Arya's approval, furiously demanding her to agree with everything.

Arya should have told Daenerys the truth long ago, she realizes. She shouldn't have let the guilt-ridden beliefs fester and completely take over. Shouldn't have let it eat away at Daenerys heart until it's jagged. So, the young Stark tilts her chin up, finally deciding—screw the three-eyed raven and whatever beyond it.

"Since you're sharing a secret, I have something to tell as well." Arya takes a breath before continues. "When I say my brother Bran shares his visions with me, he also fails to mention that he knows Euron would incinerate Kings Landing. He knows the city's defence will weaken, knows you'll disperse your soldiers, knows what it will cost, and let all of it happens anyway. His reason is; it needs to happen and it's for the greater good. He's quite unrelenting in his judgement."

She doesn't let Daenerys interrupts.

"So stop blaming yourself for any of this because not all of it is your fault. Yes, you're the one that dispersed the Dothraki outside Kings Landing. You're also the reason the deserters are plundering villages across Westerosi land. But, it is also your responsibility to find these traitors and fix your own mess. Who cares if no one appreciates what you did. Who cares if they see you as a foreign queen. Then, be a foreign queen whose home is right here in Westeros. Educate us lowly peasants how beneficial we are at having a monarch who still have the association from Meereen to Dragon's Bay to Vaas Dothrak under her palm. Just imagine the possibilities. We can even start importing Bravoosi's world-class oysters." Daenerys chuckles, a short and choked sound. "You belong here, Daenerys. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise."

A lone tear escapes amethyst eyes, trailing down flush cheek and Arya quickly wipes it off with a soft brush of her knuckles. "If you won't fight for your home, what else are you going to fight for?"

When more tears come, Daenerys looks away, ridding them on her own. Arya lets her be, wanting to give the older woman a moment to consider and believe what just been said.

For a long while neither said anything, only sharing the quiet moment as they take in the natural view of the night. Soft waves ripple down the shore and somewhere behind them insects and night birds sang their tune accompany by the occasional staggering breaths from Daenerys as she composes herself.

The air is a lot colder too. A thin layer of smoke comes out through their noses and lips whenever they breathe, making the warmth of their bodies press together all the more glorious.

"I missed Missandei." Daenerys croaks, wrapping arms around herself.

Arya swallows a lump down her throat. "Me too."

Something unexpected happens then. The dark cold air is suddenly replaced with white, glittering droplets. Ice floats and sways as far as they can see, a choreographed dance conducted by the gentle wind all around them.

"Is this snow?" Daenerys gasps, palms out trying to catch the spectacles on her skin. When violet eyes found greys, Arya smiles and nods.

As Daenerys watches the snows falling, her eyes grew a tiny bit wider in awe and reverence. Arya is entranced by the sight, remembering of another life where Daenerys reacts more of the same. From the upturn of her lips to ethereal violet eyes, it's all the flame Arya ever need to remain warm for life.

"Missandei would've liked this." Daenerys suddenly said, all trace of wonderment gone from her face. "It's one of the things we both look forward to experience once we're here."

The guilt that the Naathi will never get to do anything else crawls its way inside Arya, trying to subdue the fire that exists there. Missandei could've been here with them if Arya is more capable. More selfless.

As it is, she isn't all that and she knows she would pay a lifetime for it.

For now, Arya has the worth of her unfair trade sitting beside her, looking forlorn. That wouldn't do. This is supposed to be Daenerys first memory of snowfall and it should be a joyful one.

"We have a tradition in the North." Arya blurts out, mind working into overdrive. There's no backing down now.

Daenerys blinks. "A tradition?"

"Yes, a tradition. It is customary to dance when the snow falls."

"Really? Why?" Daenerys looks genuinely interested but Arya can't think of anything else without incinerating herself and The Northern culture.

"No one knows. We just do." She stands up then, offering her hand. "It's a terrible offence, especially in a presence of a Northerner like me, to decline the offer."

For a moment, the dragon queen remains unmoving as she looks back and forth at outstretch hand and determined grey orbs, disbelief adorning her face. Arya almost thought Daenerys would call out on her bluff but then Daenerys takes it in her grasp and stands up.

Arya reaches for Daenerys other hand and starts swaying slowly. With both their hands clasp together and their bodies still at arm's length, the movement becomes awkward and jerky, to say the least. But, it brings a smile to Daenerys lips, so Arya takes that as a win.

"Is this how you dance, Stark?"

"Rude. A little respect for one's tradition is all I ask." Arya gives herself a twirl under Daenerys arm eliciting a soft laugh from the dragon queen. And in one swift motion, Arya closes the distance with flourish. The vibration of Daenerys laugh resonates in her chest as Arya's arms encircle her waist. Daenerys hands in turn rest on Arya's shoulders.

They sway slowly to nothing and everything. Easy smiles adorn both faces as they lost in each other among the sea of falling snows.

"You have a lovely tradition." Daenerys finally comments, still beaming. Arya hums appreciatively.

"Thank you, Your Grace. And how about my dance?"

"That one remains to be seen."

"Well, we can't have everything." Arya slides further until she can join her hands at the small of Daenerys back before resting her head on Daenerys shoulder.

For a second the older woman grows tense and Arya is ready to move away, afraid that she has cross a line. But then Daenerys eases and gently places her own as well. Arya sighs in content, wishing she can remain wrap around the love of her life forever and a day.

"Thank you," Daenerys whispers, sounding all vulnerable. "I was scared…I still am really and the thought of meeting your family and everyone else in Winterfell—"

"Hey, I won't let anyone, even my family, harm you. I swear it." Arya tightens her grip, willing her memories of past life to remain in the past. "I can't speak for everyone else but Northern folks are harsh and cold, same as our time of year and they don't care about propriety or your fancy ornaments unless it can keep them warm."

"But, under all those tough and unforgiving demeanours, they're just soft-hearted and loyal people?" Daenerys slowly lifts her head to find ashen grey orbs. "Like someone I know."

Arya blushes. "Well, soft-hearted is a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

Daenerys smiles warmly. "Perhaps. I still haven't figured you out yet. I thought I have but then you do or say something that completely makes me restructures the things that makes you, you. You never fail to surprise me at every moment."

"What do you mean?"

"Like the other day when you defended Kafat…I never would've thought you're fluent in Dothraki. It never even cross my mind to ask you that and I've asked every question I could think of." Daenerys tucks a loose strand behind Arya's ear before continues. "You've answered all of my questions in stride but even then, I still think I've missed a very important and huge part of your life. And I know for whatever reason, you won't or can't tell me in your own volition. I respect that fully, Arya. Truly, I do."

Somehow Arya feels Daenerys is slipping even though her arms are still encircling Daenerys waist securely.

"And I know I wasn't being subtle with my advances and perhaps that makes you uncomfortable at some point but I'm too self-absorb to notice if it is. You see, I've never done this before."

"What, wooing someone?" Arya raises a brow, trying to make light of the conversation.

Daenerys chuckles listlessly. "Yes… So, I'm trying to do the right thing here for a change." She takes a breath, eyes all expose and unguarded. "You can't reciprocate my feelings so I won't force you or trying to beguile you anymore. I know it's the right thing to do but I still hate doing this. I hate losing especially someone compassionate, strong, fair and honourable as you to another. You've ruined me for everyone else, Arya… But, as hard as it is, I'm letting you go."

The young Stark blinks once, twice, trying to process all of it. Their grip onto one another has loosen considerably all the while, though Arya still has Daenerys by the circle of her arms.

This is good, she decides.

It's what Arya wants—no, needs. For Daenerys to let her go and finds someone else more worthy of her attention, even if Daenerys seems to declare that Arya is more than enough.

What a fallacious thought. Arya isn't any of that. No, the only reason Daenerys thinks so and decides to pursue her feeling is because of the three-eyed raven intervention and now Daenerys is free of it.

This is good. It is.

"Before I do…" Daenerys trails, biting her lip unconsciously. Arya's eyes follow the movement diligently, entrance.

"Before you do…?"

"Will you give me one last kiss?"

Yes, Arya could certainly do that. She leans forward without preamble and captures those lips with her own. The moment it does, it satiates Arya's deprivation instantly. She is so full she feels like she can live a thousand years more.

Daenerys kisses back so tenderly. Her hands, gently swimming in brown locks now and Arya's still at the small of Daenerys back, slowly moving up between shoulder blades in a lovely caress.

If this is going to be the last they will ever be together, then Arya wants to savour every moment, every taste, every sound and everything.

So, Arya kisses Daenerys again. And again. And again.

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AN: Kindly leave a review to feed my muse (read: alter ego) if you're so inclined. Much obliged. Until next time, lovelies!