The Butterfly Effect

by evil.otter

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.

42. The Last of the Starks

AN: Insert excuses here... Oh, and I changed my username (pun intended).

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In which the lone she-wolf finds her pack again.

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

"Here we are," Beric announced.

The Brotherhood, Tyrion, Kafat, Theon, Daenerys and Arya are standing along the hills overlooking the occupied castle. From here, Arya can see tents and fire pits are erected and built layer upon layer outside Winterfall walls with wooden fences guarding their surroundings to ward off unwanted visitors. The buzz of activities from down there seems lively.

It reminds her of Kings Landing. Only, this version has shoddier structures and frostier weather. She doesn't know how all those people—southerners, she reckons—could stand to live outside Winterfell thick walls with nothing but thin flaps and cold ground.

How did the three-eyed raven convince all these lords and ladies to come with their armies? And what was he thinking, gathering almost all of Westeros forces in one place? It would be easy for Euron to sweep in right now and burn these settlements into the ground and be done with it.

The last thing Arya needs is another genocide under her conscience.

"Lead the way, Stark." Daenerys voice shakes her into the present. She finds the older woman at her side with a soft expression, waiting.

Right.

She's going to meet her family after six years of separation in this life.

Her grip on Needle's hilt tightens. She can do this. She's done this multiple times already.

"Go on, my lady." Beric urges. "The Brotherhood will follow after you."

Arya finds Daenerys again. Her heart stutters as always at the sight and at the fact that there's no going back once she starts walking down this hill. She's going to take the love of her life to her home, to meet her family. To meet the three-eyed raven. There's no telling what might happen and if Arya can protect the dragon queen this time around.

Truthfully, after their last kiss, she had expected that Daenerys would start ignoring her. But, it was not such case. Instead, the older woman still conversed animatedly, still slept at her side every night, still gave those fond looks that only Arya was ever the recipient of.

The young Stark made a promise to herself to keep it that way when Daenerys seems more than happy to still be her friend. Though, the line of keeping the façade for whose benefit keeps getting blurrier as time goes.

Mentally, Arya shakes the confusing thoughts away and focus on those enchanting violet eyes. "Together." She said softly.

Daenerys smiles and joins her side as they tread down the path. The others did the same a few good paces behind them.

Little by little, the chatters and noises are beginning to build up. Each second that it grows, her breath gets heavier and cold sweat forms at the back of her neck.

A hand slips under her own, forcing her attention to the side where Daenerys gives nothing but a firm squeeze.

She mirrors the action, her chest warm and her muscles loosening.

Before Arya knows it the wooden fence is already in sight. Now that she's close enough she can see how thick and secure it is, guarding everything as far as eyes can see. But, she has no time to admire the technicalities of such design when archers pop out one by one behind them, ready to release their load.

Breaking her hold on Daenerys, swiftly she moves to stand protectively in front. Needle ready.

"State your purpose coming here, traveller." Someone shouts from the top of the fence.

She looks up to the soldier. "I'm Arya Stark."

For a moment, silence fills in as he looks down with growing annoyance. Arya wonders just how her name could trigger such a reaction. She glances over her shoulder to find Beric but he is too busy chatting with Thoros to pay the current situation any mind. In fact, none of the Brotherhood seems concerned at the apparent arrows lining upon them. Even Sandor and her entourage seem to be in their world.

"You have to try harder than that, girl." The soldier said.

Arya is about to throw some well choice insult when a chorus of howl escapes from the edge of the forest. And sure enough, wolves emerge from the depth of trees and bushes soon after. Their howls are air-splitting and harrowing.

And that is certainly one way to announce her return home, she thought.

The soldiers up the fence murmur among themselves as tension fills the air when the calls continue. Right at that moment, gasps erupt from them when something enormous finally makes itself known. The young Stark grins as Nymeria trots leisurely towards her. With a soft nudge of its wet nose to Daenerys, earning a pet, the direwolf greets Arya the same way.

Now that the pack of wolves is silent, her palm stays on Nymeria's thick fur before she addresses the soldier again. "I'm Arya Stark."

The man disappears in a blink of an eye. Shouts and orders are barked from inside. When the archers finally left their station, a hidden small gate opens next, welcoming them.

With Daenerys on her right and Nymeria on her left, Arya enters the settlement.

The man apologizes and offers to escort her to the main castle but she waves him off and walks away, needing to do this alone.

Nymeria leaves her side to wander around, though still within sight. Around them, people start to notice the new presence. Men and women coming out from their camps and their workings stop as their focus waver.

She can feel them stare, hard.

Especially at the silver-haired queen. As if Daenerys is more peculiar than a giant direwolf.

Arya slides her palm under Daenerys just like the dragon queen did earlier making her tense shoulders slacken off as she melts into the contact.

Ignoring the gazes and continuing their journey, the young Stark doesn't know if this is the right way to the courtyard. There are many campsites and small huts all around them. It feels like she just enters a whole new city. The roads and streets are like a maze. The only indication she's going the right way is by how close Winterfell walls seem to get each time. So, she keeps at it.

Right at the corner, Nymeria barks once and then rushes off to chase something. Arya curses under her breath and runs after her, afraid of the beast attacking poor innocent bystanders. Daenerys is hot on her heels. But Nymeria is too fast and Arya only notices a blur of black disappearing around one of the tents before her direwolf does as well.

"Shaggy!" Someone calls out.

Her breath hitches when the first familiar face she finds is unexpectedly the owner of that voice.

A young red-haired boy is standing by a cart. And with him another familiar figure of a wildling woman who is busy picking up carrots from that said cart into a sack, only stopping when she finds Arya's eyes on her.

Rickon's second call is unanswered and soon his eyes drift towards her, and he glares. "Your direwolf scared mine off."

Despite the hostility, her heart fills with warmth. Rickon's hair is a long curly mess that fills up until his eyebrows. She wants to cut it short. She also wants to hug him.

"They're just playing," she contemplates even though she had a feeling the alpha is planning to do more than that to Shaggydog. The thought is quickly replaced by the boy in front again. His clear blue eyes are darting over the entourage closing in behind her and then at the dragon queen before stopping at her once again, guarded.

"Do you know who I am?" Arya asked.

"My sister."

"That's right… And this is Daenerys." She catches violet gaze with a small smile which the older woman returns.

"Lord Rickon, a pleasure." Daenerys greets.

The said boy preens a little at the title. Back straight and chin juts out as he stares. Osha moves to his side, whispering not so subtly "Say; welcome to Winterfell, my lady," which Rickon repeats rather awkwardly, gangly limbs undecided where to settle. Arya guesses he wanted to curtsy but thought better at the last minute.

Osha closes her eyes, looks away in defeat while Daenerys only grins brighter.

"A wildling teaching the ways of common courtesy to a highborn…what a day to live," Arya said without a second thought, reminiscing the time Osha did more or less to her once.

The said wildling snaps her gaze towards her ready to retaliate but at the sight of soft grey eyes staring back, she masked her face into indifference instead. "I may be a wildling, but even I know how to greet guests, especially stuck up highborn guests." She tacks on looking directly at the young Stark.

Arya smiles unashamedly at the jab. "Rickon is worse than a wildling then."

"Hmm, much worse," Osha concluded.

The said boy huffs from the side. "I know common courtesy. I'll escort you inside."

Without waiting, he turns to walk in the other direction. His steps shy of stomping and creating clouds of dust around him. With a last smile, Osha follows after him.

"He's adorable." Daenerys comments.

Arya chuckles. "Don't let him hear that."

They trail after them from a distance with her entourage still respectfully steps behind. In front, Rickon has now slowed down as he listens to what Osha is saying. Their backs and profiles are all Arya can see. Easy smiles adorning both their faces as they exchange whatever is among them. Once upon a time, Arya would have been there between the two.

"Is something wrong?" Daenerys voice cuts in.

"No." She answered instinctively. Wiping the bitterness expertly away, and forcing a smile. "Nothing's wrong."

As they pass the settlements and markets, soon enough the main gate of the castle grows bigger and taller before finally, they enter through an archway and bridge. A horn signalling their arrival echoes the bustling courtyard. Servants and soldiers striding about, lords and ladies hanging around, whispering among themselves and ahead, where Rickon and Osha have joined to stand at the side, stood the last of the Starks. Some other no doubt important men are in line behind them.

Arya wants to laugh at how stagy everything seems to be placed, especially since she has done the same thing in the past. But her throat closes up and her chest starts to heave instead. Unknowingly, her steps slow as everything blurs. Reality settling in.

Someone calls her from Daenerys side, but Arya can't formulate an answer. Still lost in the sudden storm waging inside.

"Arya." This one sounded more wistful and heavy. Before she can decipher anything else, red strands of hair engulf her vision and then her body fills with warmth. For a long while, there is nothing but that. She relishes in the sensation as her heart slows and her vision clears. When the warmness is finally gone, watery blue eyes replace it and one by one, her older sister's other features come to life.

"Sansa." She finally calls.

The redhead stares at her some more as if searching for something. Both hands still gripping Arya's arms tightly. "Welcome home." Sansa finally settles with. She moves aside to reveal someone else behind her.

The young Stark sees the dark grey eyes first and exhales shakily. Her brother walks forward to stand where Sansa was last. "Hey, little sister," Jon greeted with a shaky voice. With an equal wobbly smile, his hand reaches out to muss her hair.

Arya is too weak to bat it away so she lets it happen, muttering a small "Jon," against his chest as he wraps his arms around her next. Her arms stay limply at her sides unable to return the second hug she receives that day.

For the first time ever, she can feel how bone-weary tired she is. Memories of three lifetimes are weighing her down and crushing her skin, breath and voice. She wants to lie down and curl around herself. Not planning a war against a crazed dragon hunter out to end the seven kingdoms.

Much too soon his hold around her ends. He cradles her face before planting a gentle kiss on her temple just like Father used to. Arya holds herself back willing not to cry, closing her eyes instead.

And then the cold greets her again. She blinks her eyes open to find that Jon has moved away and now she gets a clear view of the person responsible for most of the burden she carries around.

Bran is ways away, waiting, just like in her dreams. There is a line of people behind him, not the Heart Tree. The sky is dull and grey, not the glorious blue that used to accompany his presence. Even the once calm cool wind is replaced with harsh biting ones, making everything as real as can be.

And to seal the deal, instead of standing the three-eyed raven sits on a wooden wheelchair. Steely grey orbs trail the familiar chair first, having sat on it herself once. How peculiar that its design seems to be the same one as hers. As if it's taunting her of the remembrance, claiming that it belongs to her too—that there is no way that she can escape the past life even if she doesn't live in them anymore.

A lump form at the back of her throat and she swallows with much difficulty as her gaze stay rooted on the wheel-chair. Slowly her feet regain the ability to move again—because she's not a cripple, not anymore—and along with it, her gaze moves to fur robe that envelops useless legs, gloved hands clasped one another, and then lastly Bran's face.

His eyes are the familiar colour of blue, inherited from their Mother's Tully side. Not bright like Sansa's or Rickon's or even Robb's but dimmed as if cloud over. Like frost. Cold and unfeeling. As if he didn't decide that millions of lives are not worth saving. As if he didn't fling her through lifetimes for his twisted reasons. As if he didn't manipulate everything and everyone in this gods-forsaken world.

This person is not Bran, she decides.

Her steps quicken and so is her breath.

Bran opens his mouth, "Hello, Ar—"

He doesn't get to finish. The back of his head thumps violently against the headrest as Arya's fist connects with his face. Somewhere behind her, gasps and shouts are thrown but she is too busy basking in the look that the three-eyed raven gives at the split moment where pain coursed through. His eyes flash something akin to shock and fear. She grabs his shirt collar, bringing his face close to hers before he can fall over his chair.

The pain that blazes up her arm is ignored just like Bran ignored the blood trailing down his nose.

"Release him!" Someone hisses at her ear. There is something cold and sharp pressing on her neck.

"Get that knife off my sister, Lady Reed." Sansa's voice cut through. Unforgiving and commanding.

"I will if she lets Bran go."

"Arya?" That's Jon.

"Lady Reed, I will not repeat myself." Sansa again.

But Arya disregards everything around. All she sees—want to see is that vulnerable moment on Bran's face again. Because that she knows and remembers. It was the same fear he wears when she was falling off the Broken Tower instead of him. The same fear when he was asked to witness an execution as Father requested.

That was Bran.

Her throbbing fists tighten considerably when nothing changes. Maybe she should punch him again.

"I'm fine, Meera." Bran suddenly said. All cold and unbothered yet again.

Somewhere along the line, the offending blade is gone but Arya is too overwhelmed with frustration at what she had lost to take notice. When Bran—no, the three-eyed raven now—only stares back waiting patiently, she grits her teeth.

"Don't ever get inside my head again." She threatened lowly. He sags further down his seat as she finally shoves him away.

Paying no attention to the incredulous and scandalous look from every faces in the courtyard, her siblings, the Brotherhood and especially Daenerys, silently Arya reaches for the dragon queen's hand and drags her inside the castle.

*

"When you said that Northern folks didn't care about propriety, that wasn't what I had in mind," Daenerys comments drily. No doubt trying for humour that Arya knows best but she didn't have the energy to rally with it. Her mind still reeling from the last interaction and her fists want to sink into something breakable beside the three-eyed raven's bones.

Daenerys on the other hand seems to have enough of the silence and at being dragged aimlessly as she tugs, making Arya falters in her step and eventually stops. With her other free hand, Daenerys turns Arya around so they can face each other in the empty hallway.

Distracted grey eyes look somewhere down but at those violet ones, knowing the questions that they will hold. Daenerys fingertips smooth along her neck where the knife once was, eliciting goosebumps on Arya's skin. The soft-touch then moves to tilt her chin up gently.

Daenerys gaze is soft and full. She smiles warmly. "Where are we going?"

Instead of answering, Arya intertwines their fingers together more securely before walking again, this time side by side. She manoeuvres her way by memories alone and Daenerys doesn't ask anything else, trusting fully in the young Stark, as she takes the chance to study the inner castle for the first time.

A few corners and steps later, a wooden door greets them. Arya enters the room and at once is greeted by the familiarity of it. Her childhood chamber looks much the same. With the same bed that's big enough for three, chest of clothes by the bed, fireplace across it, a window across the door and candles already lighting up the study.

"You can stay here. The room's warm enough." Arya said, moving to the fireplace to start one. "And I know you like the cold, so I'll let the window open for you if you want that."

Daenerys reaches the abandoned steel helm by the side table. "This is all very lovely, Arya, but I can rest later in the day…after I meet your sister and brothers properly."

The idea of Daenerys interacting with Bran and Jon makes her stomach turns to knots. She turns around, the fireplace forgotten. "The only brother that is important is Rickon and you've met him."

Daenerys raises her brow. "I understand you wouldn't want me meeting Bran, considering what you told me and what happened earlier… But I want to hear it from him. I need to hear it. And besides, aren't you forgetting your King of a brother?"

Moving forward, she stops right in front of the older woman and snatches the helm away. The steel doesn't give way to how tightly she grips it under her fingers but the pictures of Jon and Daenerys kissing at the altar of the Great Sept of Baelor are gone. She exhales softly and catches Daenerys waiting gaze. "Fine, I'll bring you to them later."

Daenerys doesn't push. "So, this is the warmest room in Winterfell?" She asked, walking around the space. "Hold on… Is this room perhaps yours?" At her nodding in confirmation, Daenerys face contorts into surprise as she fully takes in every inch of the space, eyes busy."And are we staying together then?"

"I won't let you stay alone and unprotected in Guest Tower where I can't reach you quickly."

"And you're fine with it? What about…"

"What…?"

The dragon queen seems to suddenly sober up, forcing a polite laugh that sounds too fake. "Nothing. I was merely wondering about our sleeping arrangement." She moves to the bed, taking a seat. "I assume we're sleeping together, then. Why, the bed is enough for five."

Ignoring the strange tilt of Daenerys voice, Arya smiles softly. "Yes, Daenerys. We're sleeping together like we always did the past months."

She joins the older woman, sinking into the comfort from both Daenerys warmth and the soft featherbed. After months of lying on cold hard ground, the bed under her feels like heaven on Earth. So it's no wonder that the sighs escaping as she made contact is an exaggerated befitting of the blissful sensation. Daenerys laughs freely at the theatrics, nudging her shoulder playfully to get her off the bed.

Arya is having none of it of course. Skilfully, she escapes the pushing all the while still unmoving from her faithful spot. Growing endearingly frustrated at the failed attempts, Daenerys throws herself onto her. Growing bold as to tickle her armpit as she traps her beneath.

"Mercy!" Arya shouts through uncontrollable giggles. Squirming around like a snake dying after just being chopped off. Frustrated when Daenerys still doesn't relent, with a low growl Arya flips them over.

The laughter stops suddenly when she finds their faces merely inches apart, warm breaths caressing one another and chests heaving from the exertion just now. Silence surrounds them as violet eyes trail down her face and stay on her lips where grey ones mirror it perfectly. A mere tilt is all it takes to capture them between her own.

Perhaps, Arya hadn't thought this through. How can she resist Daenerys in the coming days if they're sleeping in the same room and the same bed? Even if that said bed is fit for five. How can she keep her promise?

A series of knocks suddenly breaks the spell.

"Are you going to get that?" Daenerys whispers. Her breath ghosting sinfully against Arya's.

It takes every will of her body to push herself out of the other woman's proximity and finally off the bed. With more force than necessary, she yanks the door open.

"I see you found your room just fine." Sansa greets in the entryway. Clear blue eyes staring down at her, revealing nothing. Without waiting, Sansa invited herself in and continues, "Just like you find the need to cause upheaval right after your return home. Would it be too much to ask that you think of the consequences before acting? I know Bran is a creep now, trust me I know, but did you have to sock him in front of every bloody people in the seven kin— Your Grace…"

Arya finally turns after closing the door to find Sansa halfway through the room, regarding the dragon queen still sitting by the bed.

Daenerys stands up, offering a smile. "Lady Sansa, Arya has told me so much about you. It's nice to finally be able to put a face to the name." She said as if Sansa hasn't been ranting at all.

A second is all Sansa needs to regain herself. "Welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace." She returns with a practised smile. "You must be exhausted. There's a room ready for you in Guest Tower. Lord Tyrion, Theon and Kafat have already been shown to theirs. Meals and baths ready as well."

"Daenerys is staying with me." Arya cuts in.

Sansa snaps her gaze towards her but Arya doesn't back off. Almost too soon, the redhead breaks their staring first. "Does this arrangement suits you, Your Grace? You are our guest and the castle is more than sufficient to cater for your basic needs such as privacy."

Arya rolls her eyes. Daenerys meanwhile only chuckles. "It's fine, Lady Sansa. I'm quite used to having little time by myself and Arya is certainly a lovely company to be around. I'm sure you'll use the extra bed for others that needed it more."

Sansa seems to want to rebuke but thought better of it at the last moment. "Very well." She concedes and then turns to Arya, gaze taking in her frame until they stop at her bruising knuckles. "Do you need a Maester for that? We have a Maester Wolkan now."

"No." She dismisses the offer, disappointment and grief creep their way hurting her inside at the confirmation that Maester Luwin didn't survive in this life.

"Arya," Sansa calls, breaking her silent despair. "Did Bran…do something to you?"

Her jaw clenches painfully as she busies herself with starting a fire again. She can feel both Daenerys and Sansa's eyes boring at the back of her head, waiting for an answer. She can only think of one.

"That's not Bran."

*

It's another new day in the North as Arya wanders her home alone. She has a full day to herself today and she wants to start by taking Winterfell in. Wanting to know what changes and what doesn't.

Yesterday was slow going with nothing of excitement happened—except for her unprecedented violence at the courtyard that is. After Sansa left, meals were brought to her room and Arya had nice warm food with Daenerys. It was comfortable and Arya only left when Daenerys offered that they bathe together after. Cheeks red, she bolted out the room in search of clean clothes for them to wear as an excuse. Which she later regretted and chastised herself down the hallway.

Courtesy of Sansa again, Arya managed to secure herself a very warm and fancy looking set of clothes completed with a fur robe fitted for her. Daenerys wore a much step up from the plain dress that she took from Tascer's Inn. A blue-grey dress with a black fur robe that screams Northern culture. Daenerys looks exceptional in that colour.

Once bathed and dressed separately, they settle into a routine and spend the remaining day inside her chamber enjoying each other's presence. And before they know it, more candles were lighted and shadows grew longer. With the journey finally getting to them, they were drifting off to sleep no sooner after dinner.

The plan of bringing the dragon queen to meet Jon is supposed to happen today. But as it is, the Northern King is unavailable. Daenerys for her part takes the rejection with grace and decided instead to tour Winterfell. Arya had gladly offered to accompany her when Daenerys dismiss it nonchalantly, saying that Arya should spend some time with her family instead.

"Kafat will accompany me." Daenerys had said and left it at that.

So, only when Arya is sure that the dragon queen is safe from unwanted danger, did she turns and blends into the shadow once more, leaving Daenerys and Kafat alone.

Now, the young Stark is left with nothing to do once she's done memorizing the castle's new and old paths. Deciding to branch outside next, she strides to the stable, eager to find her lost companion.

Her journey there is not without interruption as some lords that she doesn't recognize and some that she does stops her every once in a while to greet the returned princess. Arya plasters on some well-practised smile and greeting, her training from another life kicks in like second nature as she exchanged pleasantries and gather pieces of information they unintentionally offered.

She even got to know about Sansa being the Lady of the Vale now and how glorious Jon was in winning Winterfell back from the Bolton's bastard who claimed to have wed Arya Stark. A fake one obviously. And Arya wonders if Jon has similar scars littering his chest as before too. She will have to confirm that later.

Finally reaching the stable, a genuine smile forms when she finds a horse with a familiar chestnut coat. Its mane and tail are a shade lighter of reddish-gold colour.

"Hi, Carrot." He looks healthy and well.

The horse nickers softly as Arya makes the first contact. Carrot always was a gentle mare and it shows when he does nothing but takes the stroke and pet willingly and favourably. With growing warmth in her chest, she readies him and soon the pair is seen galloping outside Winterfell and the settlements into Wintertown, just like they always did once upon a time.

Her heart soars with the wind rushing through her hair and Carrot's mane. She has never felt any freer. Never felt any different.

For a while, she can almost imagine that everything is well. Her parents are in Winterfell. Robb is doing his weekly sparring with Jon and Theon. The Seven Kingdoms are in peace as does everyone else. Daenerys is ruling and happy with the country that she has finally called home.

Her imagination is crushed however when she comes upon a barren and solemn-looking Wintertown. The first shop she usually goes to in another life for local wine is empty. The front door and porch are filled with growing weeds that are covered with undisturbed snow. Similarly, other shops that she once frequent are in much worse condition.

Reality barrels in like the unforgiving hard ground breaking her spine.

With one last look, she turns Carrot around.

*

"M'lady," someone interrupts before she can taste the sure-goodness of the baked food. A boy servant not more than Rickon's age stands across the small table. "Your brother requests your presence in the Great Hall." He finishes, head lowered.

Arya is in the kitchen, deciding to eat some carrot pie to brighten her mood when she realised later that there is no fucking carrot pie since Rickon never got a chance to create one in this life. Not wanting to be defeated, she opts for the usual kidney pie and some carrots to go along with it instead just so she can create a once familiar taste. And now she can't even have that in peace.

The spoon in her grip clanks against the plate as she levels a gaze at the boy. "Which brother?"

"King Jon, m'lady."

With a sigh, she gets up and snatches another slice of pie into the plate for the journey. The last thing she wants to do today is meeting Jon after yesterday's spectacle. Then there is also the matter of the Targaryen Queen official meet with the King of The North.

She doesn't think that her mood can sour even further but the sight of the three-eyed raven in the Great Hall proves her wrong.

"What is he doing here?" She scowls.

Bran doesn't say anything but stares with those detached orbs, an angry bruise forming on the bridge of his now-not-so-crooked nose. Jon is standing by the fireplace and Sansa by the windowsill while Rickon is seated in the middle of the lone dining table, looking bored out of his mind.

"We're having a family meeting, Arya. Come, sit." Jon chooses one near Rickon.

"Is it necessary? I have better things to do if you don't mind."

"Winter is coming, Arya," Sansa said, walking closer and take her seat too. "And with it the Crow's Eye, as I'm sure you're aware."

Four pairs of eyes stare back silently, waiting for her—suffocating her more like. Knowing that she is outnumbered, Arya drags the one remaining chair the furthest from the three-eyed raven. The loud scraping across the floor is deafening before she settles her full plate and herself down.

Unbothered by everything else, she dives into her kidney pie no longer rudely interrupted by anyone. Aside from her movement, no one else does anything but looking pointedly at her and Bran. Not loudly voicing out the event transpired yesterday yet not dismissing it either.

Jon has a hopeful look on his face as if he's waiting for either one to apologize to one another while Sansa the exact opposite—which Arya is more inclined to repeat if the damn three-eyed raven won't stop staring. Rickon on the other hand only looks eager. It's proven when he blurts out brazenly.

"So, why'd you punch him?"

The question hangs in the thick tension surrounding the Great Hall. Arya doesn't know if she's ready to open up what the three-eyed raven had done to bring her home knowing the emotional baggage that comes with it. So, she doesn't.

"If we're discussing war, then I don't think Rickon should be here." She deflects instead. The boy frowns, displeased at the topic change especially when it's about dismissing him. But all she sees is his crying face as chaos erupted around. His teary blue eyes were forever scarred by the deaths and destruction of their home that she failed to protect. She swallowed down bile and the memory clears. "You're eleven. You don't need to know these things."

Rickon straightens, chess puffs out. "I'm twelve and I'm already a good marksman. I hunt down all our food on my own without Osha's help. I was fine living in Skagos without any of you and I don't need to be babied."

His voice was an octave higher, sounding all the more young for his age. The air ripples with silent tautness but all Arya sees is the unspoken hurt in his eyes and she wants to cut the person responsible for it.

"Why were you alone? How did you get to the island." She asked.

His gaze flickers to the side. To the three-eyed raven.

"I left him with Osha," Bran confirms. "Hodor, Jojen, Meera and I continue our journey beyond the wall. Jojen and Hodor didn't make it."

His tone was a matter of fact like he didn't care. She supposes he really doesn't when he left behind Rickon with no one but Osha, a wildling with no experience of the Northern geographies and politics.

Arya grits her teeth. "You mean you left him behind."

"He has no place beyond the wall."

"He was six, and you left him to go on your sodding adventure."

Jon leans against the table. "Stop you two, we're not here to argue."

Arya ignores him, gaze still on Bran. "And why in the seven hells do you need to go beyond the wall? There is nothing but freezing mountains, glaciers and freefolks that loath at even the mention of us." Blue eyes flicker for only a moment but she saw it and sets her teeth in. "Let me guess, is it because it needs to happen? Did you get your foresight even from then? Or did you go there to become the three-eyed raven? If you were, then you're worse than the three-eyed raven, because you, Bran, are the one who abandoned your family."

Icy blue eyes brighten silently in cold fury and Arya relishes in the victory.

"I'm not a helpless child anymore." Rickon retorts breaking whatever is happening between the two. "I'm a Stark and this time I will not run away. So, I'm staying."

"Of course you are, Rickon." Sansa placates before fixing a stern gaze at Arya and Bran. "We're in a war and this is troubling times. Whatever will come in the future, we Starks need to stay united. At all fronts." Sansa stressed looking directly at Arya now. "That means no act of violence in front of any kind of audience."

"Privately then."

"Unbelievable."

"When the snows fall and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Bran chimes in calmly, rendering everyone frozen as the forgotten memories rush back to each one of them, except for Rickon, since he's probably too young to recall the words and significance that comes with it.

"Father always said that," Sansa said after a while.

"And Father's mostly right… There is no time for squabbles." Jon straightens. "We need to discuss our stand before the official meeting with all the Houses and Daenerys Targaryen tomorrow."

Any more hostility left in Arya melts away at the mention of the dragon queen. With a final glare at the three-eyed raven, she picks up her spoon again, shoving a mouthful of kidney pie.

At the apparent action that she will at least listen now that her mouth is full Jon starts listing every lord and lady that are residing in the castle and who will be attending the meeting tomorrow. She reckons he's only doing this for her benefit and Rickon which she appreciates.

The kidney pie tasted too savoury for her liking. She takes one of the carrots to balance it out. It doesn't work.

Meanwhile, the King of the North is recounting the combined military forces of all the Houses now. Sansa chimes in about the food's reserves and how the glass garden is almost barren of fruits and vegetables and will not sustain much longer, especially once the Unsullied and Dothraki arrive. Not to mention they will need to feed the remaining dragons as well.

Grey eyes flicker to the still and silent form of the three-eyed raven where he is looking emptily at the far wall now. At the corner of her eye, Rickon gets up and drags his chair loudly to settle close beside Arya.

Jon gives the two a fleeting look as he answers with a slightly higher tone whatever it is that Sansa had inquired.

Rickon tries to steal one of the carrots on her plate but he's too slow. Arya smirks and chews loudly in taunt earning a pout from the boy.

"Arya, do you mind?" Jon suddenly asks.

Biting another stick of carrot, she responds. "Not at all."

She misses Jon's subtle eye roll having to try to defend her carrots again. Sansa swiftly brings up the Targaryen Queen just as Arya finally finishes one of her kidney pies.

At the side, Rickon continues pouting. His clear blue eyes are trailing hers and then the carrots sadly. It's unfair how in every lifetime, he seems to have perfected his endearing slimy manoeuvre of getting whatever he wants. With a soft sigh, Arya pushes her plate to the boy in defeat which he gifted a bright grin in return. It's so pure and so Rickon that her heart soars at the gesture.

This is why she doesn't notice that the three-eyed raven has entered the discussion.

"…r dragons will help us." She caught the end tail of Bran's words.

Sansa sighs. "I know that. But, there's only so much your words can provide security. The last Targaryen on the throne burns our grandfather and uncle. His son kidnapped and raped aunt Lyanna which leads to war… And now the Mad King's daughter is here and she has three dragons."

"Two. She only has two dragons now." Jon corrects.

"How comforting." Sansa deadpans.

Jon looks away, thoughts juggling inside his head. "We'll just have to convince the lords and ladies as such. Our focus should be on the immediate threat and that is Euron Greyjoy, not Daenerys Targaryen. There is no time to entertain such doubts when we may not even live for tomorrow."

"I understand Jon. But the Vale and above it may not. They refuse to fight what they do not believe in."

"They will," Bran said, stone-faced. "I got them here, did I not?"

"And I don't think they'd appreciate you threatening them again." Sansa retorts and Arya's attention zeroes in further on the two, wondering how that comes about.

"I only speak the truth," Bran said.

"In hopes that they do as you say."

"Yes. Just like you, years ago."

"What?"

There is a pregnant pause in the air as Bran's blue orbs held against Sansa's. And then he speaks. "When you told Cersei Father was leaving Kings Landing in hopes that your betrothal to Joffrey still held. That's why Father was caught and later executed."

Sansa goes still. Her eyes widen as she seems to get lost in memory.

"That…Sansa, is that true?" Jon asked after a while, looking pained.

"Wha—What? No. I didn't…I—" Sansa seeming unable to continue, looks at everyone around the room with a building panic. Her eyes are glassy.

Arya's fists tighten in anger as she levels her gaze down the table to control her breathing. "I cannot believe you." She spat, finally looking up. Sansa flinches at the side but all Arya's attention is on those cold unforgiving orbs.

"I see everything now. Even if you don't believe me, that's what happens." Bran said casually like he didn't just cause despair to his remaining family. "San—"

"Fucking stop talking about Sansa!" Arya slams the table with her hands, rising in her seat and ready to throw herself at the three-eyed raven the second time around. "You're a fucking charlatan is what you are. If you want to talk about the truth then why don't you start with yourself? Tell me, oh mighty mystical raven, why is it that you decide to do what you do? Why did you let Father go to Kings Landing if you know what'll happen to him? Why did you let me go back in time if you never going to let me save our family? Why didn't you just speak the truth about the threat that Euron fucking Greyjoy have like you did now instead of messing with my head? Why don't you fucking start with that!"

The three-eyed raven doesn't even blink. His hands are still clasped on his lap as he calmly returns Arya's scorching gaze.

"Arya," Jon interrupts, standing up now. "Go back in time? What…You…" He looks conflicted to finish his sentence and she doesn't blame him.

"You want to know why I hit him, Rickon?" She asked instead. Rickon jerks in his seat, looking up with wide eyes like he's being caught stealing. She chuckles bitterly, staring down at the now empty plate in front of him. "I did it because he manipulates and controls everything and everyone around me. He sends me back in time so I can live through hell, watched our family's death over and over again. I became a slave in Slaver's Bay; I was branded, tortured and forced to kill. I witness Robb violating our family's values, massacring innocent lives under this very hall. I became crippled instead of him and watched helplessly as the Crow's Eye destroys Winterfell and serves me Jon's head right in this very hall. I lived through all those lives wanting to save our family and what did the three-eyed raven do? Nothing. He let me go through all that for nothing. Because it needs to happen, isn't that right?" She mocks, directing her fury back at the crippled.

"That's right."

With a snarl, swiftly she sidesteps the table and striding forward with purpose, hand already reaching to Needle's hilt, only for Jon to hold her back.

"Get off me." She warns looking over her shoulder. His arms secured around her waist from behind, successfully entrapping her movements.

"Please calm down, little sister." He tried, whispering pleas that only her ears can hear as he turns around so she can't see the focus of her ire anymore. Arya forces herself to listen to his voice. Only when her chest slowly rises and falls in an orderly manner does he finally let go.

"But, you're wrong." Bran's voice continues from behind as if he didn't just get interrupted. "It wasn't all for nothing."

"That's enough, Bran." Jon turns, giving him a cold look.

"No. Let him." Arya cuts in, her back still turned. "I want to hear what nonsense he justify himself with this time."

Behind her, Jon sighs and Bran continues. "You're here now with those memories, experiences and knowledge and that is how you will save us from Euron. I've seen it. You and him, in this life. You, ending him for good this time around. No one else can but you. You are the Chosen One."

Arya inhales a mouthful of air into her lungs. Her hand reaches up to where her fingers tangle in the knots of her hair. There is pain as her fingernails scrape against her scalp but she takes no notice of that, only the building waves inside her entire being. It starts with a scoff before it multiplies into incessant giggles and then finally a full laugh. She bends down, arms around her middle to ease the heaving and continues laughing to a point that it hurts and her eyes water. Nothing but the sound of her agitated guffaw bounces through the stone walls of the Great Hall.

Still chock-full with glee, she turns to face the three-eyed raven.

"So, you're—" Arya failed as she breaks into another fit of laughs. She clasps both palms onto her mouth to stifle a giggle from breaking free. At the side, Jon, Sansa and Rickon are all sporting the same expression of trouble.

"You're telling me," She finally succeeds in saying. "That the tortures, the misery, Father and Mother…Robb, millions in Kings Landing, Derwin, Yara…Missandei…all those deaths and the—the everything between my time travel is to prepare me to be a hero?" She chuckles at the last word, cheeks wet from tears.

Jon tries to reach out to her.

But, Arya flinches from it, backing away. "No. No." She shakes her head, all the while snickering until it clogs up her throat. "No. I'm not Chosen for anything!"

Her ribs lurch trying to replace air inside her lungs that she lets out too harshly. Her lips mumbling the same thing over and over again as her mind conjures incoherent thoughts and memories of her past lives. She doesn't even realize that she's not in the Great Hall anymore.

All she knows is the pain, the suffering of everyone around her. That she has to go through just so that she can be some kind of fucking saviour for humanity.

What a joke.

Perhaps that is why she hasn't stopped laughing. Giggling like a madman.

How fitting is that the only one that can save Westeros from a madman is another madman like her.

Perhaps the three-eyed raven had some wisdom in it after all. Perhaps, that is why he decides to mess with her head until she becomes what he wants.

She's just another creation of the three-eyed raven, Arya realized.

Clangs of steel chains break her haze. Her eyes blearily take in where she is only to be greeted by shadows and statues. She's in the crypt and her father's right in front of her. Another clang echo down the empty hallways and Arya waits for someone to emerge at the end of it.

Surprisingly, a tall redheaded, womanly figure enters her line of vision. For a moment, their gazes meet. Sansa's eyes are bloodshot, nose flushed red and Arya wonders if her own face looks the same. She wipes her tear-stained cheeks but they are already dry.

Without a word, Sansa finally joins her side as they both focus on the statue in front of them. Her father's stone face looking down in eerie silence. He looks lonely.

"We should build one for Mother." Arya breaks the stillness.

"Only the previous Kings in the North and the Lords of Winterfell can have their statues down here."

"Uncle Brandon and aunt Lyanna got one."

"Yes, Father broke that tradition, didn't he." Sansa paused seeming to gather her thoughts. "I suppose we can build one for Mother too."

Satisfied, Arya says nothing else, basking in the hush and the company as her thoughts wander into nothingness.

"Are you mad at me?" Sansa asked after a short while. Or perhaps they had been standing here for more. "For betraying Father." She finished.

The young Stark focuses on the question, thinking. About the past. About the stupid mistakes that she did in this life and the previous ones. Is she even qualified to feel angry at this point?

"I don't know." She settles, quiet and subdues.

"You don't know?"

"I don't know what I feel, Sansa. I'm just…tired. I'm tired and I don't know if I can go on any longer."

There is a rustling of clothes and then Arya is forced to turn sideways, facing her older sister. Sansa grips tight on both shoulders, blue eyes harden.

"Yes, you can. You're the strongest person I know, Arya. I could've never survived the things you faced."

The back of her eyes burn anew but she forces the sensation down. "I believe that's the nicest thing you ever said to me."

Sansa tries for a playful smile but it falls flat. Though her gaze now has softened, almost saddens. "Don't get used to it. You're still very strange and annoying."

Not wanting to hold back any longer, Arya wraps her arms around the older woman, burying her face in the lapel of fur robe. When Sansa returns the hug, Arya tightens her hold, further sinking in her sister's warmth. Despite the tightness of it, she feels anything but free. And right now, she accepts it as true.

"Do I have to call you the Lady of the Vale now?"

They finally break apart as Sansa stares back self-consciously. "You heard."

Arya hums, "Lord Royce won't shut up about you."

Sansa rolls her eyes. "I'm only ruling until Robyn comes of age."

"How does one become Lady Regent?"

"Do you remember Petyr Baelish?"

She blinks, not expecting to hear that name ever again. "Littlefinger?"

"Yes." Sansa acquiesced. She moves to the walls and sits down on the ground. Arya joins a moment later, settling Needle comfortably against her side and tilts her head expectantly.

Shadows from torches mounting on walls dance on Sansa's features as she begins. "It all started when Lord Baelish underestimated a young naïve girl…"

*

It is late midday when Arya is shocked by yet another occurrence. After Sansa was called to an important meeting cutting the sisterly time short, Arya decides to wander out in the compound. She was just braving herself to climb a tree, trying to overcome her fear of height before finally finding a perfect spot to rest alone when it happens.

Up the horizon, a sea of black and brown makes itself known. For a moment she panics, thinking of Euron's mute. But there is no sign of alarm or distress around the area. As if the sudden presence of the army is to be expected. And when the sea of soldiers is close enough for recognition, she can spot the familiar gear and weapons of the Unsullied and Dothraki.

Gingerly, Arya climbs down and strides across to meet the dragon queen's army. One particular person is constantly in her mind.

Treading through the wary crowd, she finally finds the Commander of the Unsullied at the front of the formation. Behind him, the men are all organized and structured perfectly. Even the Dothraki.

"Grey Worm." She calls in his language.

"Arya Stark." Grey Worm nods in greeting as does Jorah who stands beside him. "I have received your message from Jorah Mormont. Here I brought the Queen's army and her prisoners."

He looks every bit proud and satisfied to have accomplished what he was sent out to do. But, all Arya sees is the heartache that is coming.

"Grey Worm, I'm sorry. Missandei is—"

Her words caught at the fact—at her failure.

"What of Missandei? Is she hurt?" When Arya flinches at the question, he takes a step closer. "Where is she?"

She swallows a lump painfully down her throat. "She didn't survive."

He blinks and then looks past her as if searching for the said woman amongst the crowd. Behind him, Jorah looks mournful. Grey Worm suddenly straightens when his eyes catch something in the crowd.

Arya's heart clenches painfully at the possibilities of a miracle but instead of Missandei, Daenerys is the one that Grey Worm has run off to.

"Your Grace, Missandei…is she here?" He asks without preamble, almost panic. Daenerys falters in her step. Violet eyes find Arya's ways away behind the commander but Arya looks away, drowns in guilt.

Ignoring the growing crowd and the murmurs around them, Daenerys closes in and holds Grey Worm in a tight embrace. "Forgive me, my friend." She whispers brokenly.

His breath hitches and at once his stance slump like something has sucked the life force out of him. Daenerys only tightens her hug, whispering forgiveness over and over again. Her violet eyes turn glassy and Arya can't look away now, wanting to soothe them back into a bright glimmer instead.

When Grey Worm finally removes himself out of the dragon queen's hold, he stands a few feet away trying to collect himself. Wanting to give a moment to him, Daenerys moves to greet Jorah the same way, welcoming him and telling him she's glad that he comes back safely.

Grey Worm joins them a moment later. His shoulders straight and eyes all dry now, looking every bit the Commander of Unsullied again. "I have captured your prisoners, Your Grace. I have Jaime Lannister."

*

And now here they are in the Great Hall with the said criminal, standing alone in the middle of the room. Daenerys and Jon are seated in the middle of the long table by the fireplace. Rickon and Bran are at Jon's side while Sansa and Jorah at Daenerys'. Grey Worm and Tyrion take a stand near their queen while other lords and ladies scatter around the hall and the benches as they look on with interest at what is about to happen.

Arya decides to stand the furthest across her family against a wall with a clear view of the monarchies in front. She tries not to be bitter at how picture-perfect Jon and Daenerys look side by side and instead focus on the person in trial.

"I want to fight with you." Jaime Lannister begins. "I've fought in wars and won battles. I can help in the war counsel against Euron Greyjoy. I want to help… Let me pledge myself alongside humanity."

"Your Grace, I know my brother." Tyrion joins from the side. "He's a man of his words. Give him a chance as you give me."

"We do need every man we can get." Jon decides. "His expertise especially will be valuable."

Violet eyes lock into dark greys for the very first time. If they were in another life, Arya would've been green with jealousy at the intense look they share but she can see the line of agitation on Daenerys features. "How can I let him roam free when nothing is stopping him from slitting my throat as he did my Father?"

"Yet you gave no such mercy to a woman bearing a child." Jaime cuts in. Daenerys frowns not understanding where that came from but not Arya. Unseeing emerald orbs and opened throat swimming in front of her. She grips Needle tightly, unprepared to hear what the Kingslayer is about to reveal. It can't be, can it? "You slit Cersei's throat. Did you know she was pregnant?"

The young Stark can feel Tyrion, Daenerys and Sansa's gaze from upfront. She ignores them, brewing silently as murmurs break out around the Great Hall. Before Arya can tell the truth about the claim, Sansa cuts in.

"Cersei is a murderer." The statement renders everyone silent again. "She blew up the Sept of Baelor. She killed innocents committing a horrendous crime just because she doesn't want to face a trial. And seeing as you defended her, I don't think we should ever trust you. Not only that, you attacked my Father in the streets. You tried to destroy my family the same as you did the Targaryens."

Jaime steps forward, agitated. "You want me to apologize? I won't. We were at war. Everything I did, I did it to defend the innocents, for my House and my family and I'd do it all again."

"The things we do for love," Bran adds, letting his words hang thickly in the air while Jaime stares back uncomfortably as if waiting for him to continue.

Bran doesn't and for a while, no one seems to do anything but bask in the silence as the conversation comes to a stagnant.

Brienne of Tarth suddenly rises from her seat. Her armours squeak and clang noisily as she walks towards Jaime and stops right in front of him.

"You don't know me well, Your Grace. But, I know Ser Jaime." She declares to Daenerys. "He is a man of honour. I was his captor once. When we were both taken prisoners and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me…and lost his hand because of it." Brienne then turns to Sansa. "Without him, my lady, you wouldn't be alive. He armed me, armoured me, and sent me to find you and protect you because he's sworn an oath to your mother. If he wants to help in this war then I strongly suggest we let him help."

Clear blue eyes trail between Arya and Brienne, looking conflicted. "You vouch for him?"

"I do, my lady."

Predicting where this will lead, Arya finally strides forward with gritted teeth. "You're going to let this happen?" Her voice carries through, sharp and cold. Fiery gaze directed at the three-eyed raven. "Jaime Lannister deserves to live but not the millions in Kings Landing?"

Bran says nothing but stares again. With barely control anger, she ignores the apprehensive look from her siblings and Daenerys and faces the Kingslayer.

"You push my brother out a window and made him crippled for the rest of his life. And you did that in a time of peace. You did that to a child for selfish reasons. And that is a crime you will never get away from."

At the statement, another murmurs break out, more heated and vigour this time. Most of the Northmen cry of the injustice and the growing rowdy scene only makes Jaime fidgets nervously.

"You weren't there." Jaime defends against the raising voices. "How could you've known."

The hall quiets down to hear the answer. Arya grins, all predatory. "Oh, my brother told me of course. Isn't that right, Bran?" She looks over her shoulder where the three-eyed raven is as silent as a statue. Arya shrugs. "See what the ordeal you cause did to my brother? But he did tell me, in his own way."

Jaime visibly swallows, eyes busy trailing after Brienne and then Tyrion who look as pale as him. Probably knowing that they can't get him out of this one. The other lords have started another commotion spitting out words like 'execution' and 'guilty'.

Jaime is tense when the same words keep repeating and thrown over his head. Straightening, he finds Arya and shouts. "I demand a trial by combat. I have that right."

More chaos erupts all around them. But all Arya hears is what the Kingslayer said last. "And you have that right." She repeated getting the others' attention. "The trial will happen today in two hours, will you be your own champion?" she asked Jaime.

He ignores Tyrion pleading look. "I will."

"Wonderful. I'll be my brother's."

Scraps of wooden chairs against the floor sounded behind her.

"Now hold on just a second," Jon demands at the same time as Daenerys incredulously says, "You will not fight the Kingslayer."

Calmly, Arya turns to face the two monarchies. "You can't deny his request, Your Grace. It's inviolable. And I will be Bran's champion since he can't do that himself."

Jon tries to seek Bran's reaction while Arya silently glares, daring him to interfere. It seems to work when he doesn't even bother to look Jon's way. It doesn't help that all around them, the lords and ladies seem content to side with the decision. Satisfied at Jon's lack of verbatim, she doesn't trouble herself lingering on Daenerys or Sansa or even Rickon, merely turning around to Jaime again.

"Prepare the Kingslayer. Provide him with any weapon or armour he wishes and bring him to the courtyard after two hours."

Two Northern soldiers gladly step up to do just that. When Jaime Lannister finally left with his escort, Arya politely excuses herself to get ready and leave the Great Hall alone.

*

"You are one crazy bitch." Sandor greets her along the hallways.

Arya doesn't even bother to look his way or stop walking when the Hound matches his step beside her. "So you keep saying."

Sandor huffs. His long legs are clumsy as he tries to fit at her side in the cramp path. "You're really going to kill him, the Kingslayer?"

"I've killed men much worse. You know that."

Sandor grumbles without much to say. She turns a corner. "You're a smart girl. But, this…isn't very smart."

Arya tilts her head to him, raising an eyebrow. "You can say stupid."

"The Kingslayer may be a spoiled Lannister but he earned his titles."

"He's also a man with one hand who'd brought nothing but pain to my family."

She turns another corner to climb a set of stairs, leaving him trailing after.

"All this for revenge?" He asks but Arya doesn't grant him an answer. Before she can climb the last step, Sandor yanks her arm harshly, turning her around to face him. He stands a few stairs below which makes them of similar height for once. His gaze is dark and piercing. "You think you'd wanted revenge in a long time, girl? I've wasted all my life on it. It's all I cared about. You want to be like me? You fight him, you'd die."

When Arya tries to remove his hold, he reaches the back of her neck, keeping her in place. "Look at me!" He snarls, his calloused palm hot against her skin. Arya tenses at the proximity, already thinking about using Needle to escape. But something in his eyes makes her stop, heart clenching.

"You want to die?" Sandor repeats, softer. "Because that's what'll happen if you go out there and fight him."

Never before in her life— even in past ones — does the man in front have showed blatant concern so openly like this. All vulnerable and exposed. If Arya isn't sure of her feelings before, she's sure of it now.

"Thank you for everything, Sandor." She said, pulling off his now slacken hand. "You're a truer knight than anyone I've ever met."

She leaves him there, speechless on the stairs.

*

Once in her room, she drains in the silence. Thinking about the life that she took with her own hands. The life of the deserving ones and the innocents.

At what point does she distinguish the others?

Cersei is a monster residing in human skin. But her unborn baby—

Walder Frey had killed Robb's pregnant wife and boast about it. She had fed him his sons and slits his throat for it.

And now, she had killed a babe—unknowingly, yes—but she still did it. Never before has Arya stooped this low.

What would Daenerys think of her? Is she disgusted? Is Sansa?

Arya has shared loosely what happen with Cersei earlier in the crypt, wanting to appease Sansa with the news. She knows how much the wicked Lannister had tormented her all these years.

She wonders if her sister would recite it to Jon and Rickon. Wonders if that is why no one has come after her to check in or to even yell at how stupid she's being.

A knock on her door breaks her musings. She expects to find one of her siblings behind it with their many reasons why she shouldn't be Bran's champion, not Osha.

"Aren't you inviting me in, little lady?"

Arya scrambles to open the door wider and get out of the way. "Why are you here?" she asks as soon the door is closed, still trying to grasp where the older woman's presence fit in all this.

Leisurely, Osha gives a once-over of the room before sitting by the fireplace. Her feet perch on top of the small table in front. With a smirk, she looks up to Arya. "To keep you company."

There are heaps of feelings inside the young Stark fighting their way out. She wants to gather the older woman around her arms, wants to shake her out of her oblivion, wants Osha to call her little lady again.

She takes a seat across the wildling instead.

"Your brothers and sister are meeting with all the noblemen, trying to sway them into waiving the trial." Osha provides.

"Bran?"

"Not him. He left after saying he has nothing else to add."

Good. That's good. Arya doesn't want him meddling into this any more than necessary. She doubts the King of the North himself could go against tradition and anger the people that still believe in the Gods and their ways.

Arya wants this regardless. This is her choice and for once she's the one in control. She's the one using them for her means. Not any Gods or any magical raven.

"And Daenerys?"

Osha blinks, trying to catch the name. "The dragon queen? She left too. I don't know where."

Worry crawls its way into her chest. She hopes Daenerys isn't alone. There are too many men in the castle that are unaccountable for. Too many places to hide and commit crimes undetected. Perhaps she should go out looking for the dragon queen.

"She's fine." Osha trails. At Arya's frown, she continues. "You're thinking about that Targaryen girl aren't ya? She had a following when she left. A Dothraki you come along with and the two men who brought the Lion."

Probably Grey Worm and Jorah then. Arya sinks further into her seat, basking in the warmth from the fireplace. She joins Osha's leg up the small table, occupying the remaining space. Their boots touch at the end.

"We've met before, haven't we…in your past life." Before she can agree or otherwise, Osha beats her to it. "Rickon told me."

The young Stark guesses she should've thought better about blurting the truth to her siblings. Surely they wouldn't expose everything to everyone now, would they? The last thing she needs is more attention. She'll have to talk to them about keeping secrecy some time later. As of now though, Osha seems to wait for an answer. Arya doesn't know whether to be concerned or delighted that the wildling seems to believe about her time quest.

"Yes, we have."

Osha's face lights up. "Was I any different then?"

"No, you're still a wildling."

"At least I'm not some entitled highborn lady."

The corner of her mouth lifts. "We met in the kitchen of Winterfell. You were washing some dishes but with a horrendous effort so I called you out on it. And your first word to me was, 'I suppose you can do better than me?'"

Osha mirrors her smile, looking pleased. "So, you're a stuck-up little lady even then. Figures."

"I was politely telling you, you miss a spot. How is that a 'stuck-up' manner?"

The older woman snorts. "See that right there is proof enough. You Southerners act all superior and calling it manners. You even got all sorts of titles to show how great you are among everyone else."

The young Stark rolls her eyes. It seems nothing much has changed for the wildling. Her quip and jab are still annoying yet also doting. And Arya misses that. Greatly.

For now, as Osha trails on to tell a story about the one time she chases a snow bear beyond the walls, Arya listens with a calming heart. There is no trial by combat that she needs to take part in lingering in her mind. No crimes to be brought to justice. No three-eyed raven. No coming war.

For now, Arya can just be.

*

Soon the tranquillity is replaced by reality. The reality which she had decided herself. That she wanted.

Instead of the courtyard, the trial has moved elsewhere outside the castle walls to accommodate a bigger audience and ground.

Jon had come by to fetch her, asking about her choice of weaponry and armour which she only chose Needle. He looks fraught at her choice and she half expected him to drag her away and lock her in some tower but he only nods tautly.

He left with a parting word of "Do what you have to do but I won't let you die."

She doesn't have time to break apart the underlying meaning when across, her opponent, Jaime Lannister stands tall. He doesn't wear any armour either but his sword is valerian steel. Arya recognizes its distinctive ripple patterns.

She keeps her gaze fixed on him instead of her family amongst the crowd. Especially away from a certain dragon queen whose presence is as solid even if Arya only sees her at the periphery of her vision.

With a building tension, the crowd is awfully silent mirroring the two fighters. There is no opening speech or the like, only them studying each other.

"You should change your sword," Jaime speaks up finally, motioning to Needle. There is no hidden leer or snark in his statement. As if he actually is concerned about her choice of weaponry. Arya doesn't need any of that.

"I use a smaller blade to slit Cersei's throat just fine." At his stillness, she grins darkly. "What, Tyrion didn't tell you? I'm the one who kills Cersei, not the Dragon Queen."

His grip tightens, eyes no longer apprehensive and within seconds, Jaime is already on her face. She turns sideways, evading the valerian blade from cutting her neck.

His movements are gawky and disorganized as he keeps hacking at her. One of the best swordmasters in Westeros reduces to a blubbering mess. His deteriorate skills seem to reflect with the absence of his dominant hand. Not that Arya would know of course. This is after all her first time facing him.

Nonetheless, she needs a challenge.

With another successful evasion, she spins on her knee and nicks his thigh, drawing blood. He hisses, stumbling before going again. More precise this time.

It isn't enough.

"Did you know…" she trails, Needle landing another cut on his useless arm before she flips out of his proximity with more flourish than necessary. Icy grey eyes lock with flashing green ones, pulling a satisfied smirk. "Cersei begged me to spare her unborn babe's life." She lied. "Pathetic. I cut her throat anyway.

His chest rises and falls more rapidly at that. Sword pointing, he lunges with a growl. Arya turns, running Needle by his waist before stopping behind him, ways away.

He doesn't even blink at the bleeding wound, already running towards her once more. Her smirk fades as his sword finds purchase against her own. She backs away, deflecting the incessant blade raining down her face. Clangs of metal against metal and breathless grunts envelop the air.

Needle shudders dangerously as does her arm. The Valerian's superior steel making its name known.

The Kingslayer's swings are still chaotic but somehow more. She finds herself backed into a figurative corner when she doesn't get any opening to counter or step away. Forced into a defensive instead. She is barely able to catch her breath when Needle is caught at an angle, is suddenly sliced in half, its hilt slips out of her fingers at the force. And then a blow on her chest soon after. The back of her head knocks hard against the muddy ground.

For a while, nothing makes sense. Arya lay there, slumping on dirt, winded and disoriented.

"Get up, Stark." Someone snarls.

The young Stark lifts her head to find Jaime is standing across her prone form, jaw clenching back and forth as he waits. When she does nothing other than catching her breath, he throws his sword to the side and advances.

"Get up!" Jaime spits, harshly hauling her to her feet before landing a fist at her side.

Arya is prepared by the second jab but what she didn't prepare however is the iron fist cracking her ribs and then her jaw. She staggers away as pain courses through. Her lungs hurt as she will air to filter inside drowning incoming nausea.

Despite the eerie silence from the crowd, she sees herself returning in the fighting pit with Qazlaz's brand marred on her skin. The opponent that she had no choice but to kill, in front and the phantom shouts from the audience urging her on.

Shaking all over her body, she swallows bile and the ache away and meets her rival heads on with a scream. Flinging punch after punch and kick after kick to his head, body and any surface she can find. She doesn't care that she misses more than she lands any. Doesn't care that the blow she gets in return for her abandoning reasons and logic keeps littering her body.

All she cares about is bringing pain to him as much as she's carrying.

All she sees is red.

She doesn't even realize how she had been the only one left standing in the arena, panting hard. Jaime Lannister is sprawling across, cradling his right stud hand in an awkward position.

Eyes still wild, Arya looks around. The crowd is watching her, wide-eyed and jaw-slacked. On her right, Needle—what's left of it—rest on the ground. A lonesome gold hand is near it and the valerian sword on the far left.

She takes the gold hand and brings it down to its owner's face.

Again and again and again.

Until the face below it paints with bruises. Until the gold hand taints crimson. Until green eyes start to roll to the back of his head.

"ENOUGH!"

Arya freezes. Stained gold hand shaking mid-air at the familiar velvety voice—although this one sounded far shakier. She blinks and her vision is met with Jaime's bloodied face.

Not a moment after, thunder shrieks from up the heavens and there in the grey clouds Drogon and Rhaegal appear in their winged beast glory.

If Arya doesn't stop then, she sure will, now.

Below, Jaime jerks his body, forcing her to uncurl her fingers around his collar and finally get off of him. She ends up kneeling on the ground as he drags his body away, eyes still wary of the new presence. All around, commotion erupted as the two dragons decide to land close by their mother. The Earth shakes for a split second as they finally settle on the ground.

Though, Arya doesn't pay her surrounding any mind when Daenerys is all her attention could focus on—with two powerful fire-breathing creatures on each side of her, the older woman look ethereal. Silver strands wisp around her face before it clears and reveals the fiery look on her face.

Drogon extends his head past Daenerys and eventually to Arya's seating form. He huffs making a strong gust of wind slapping violently against her body, warm and enveloping. Barely recovering from the onslaught, Rhaegal nudges his muzzle to the side of her face with a surprising gentleness to join the greeting.

When the dragons retreat and she finds violet eyes again, Daenerys is already watching her. A stony expression on her features. But her gaze—even in the presence of actual fire-breathing beasts, Arya is more worried about the flame in Daenerys eyes.

"Enough is enough." The Targaryen Queen continues in fervour now as if she hasn't been interrupted. She starts moving forward away from her children and ultimately passes the still kneeling young Stark to address the remaining ones that are brave enough to stay. "I will not stand by watching either two of the bravest and strongest people in Westeros waste away, trial or no."

The dragon queen turns, catching every lord and lady there—which apparently, many are still present. Mix reaction of curiosity, fear and awe flitting across their faces. Satisfied she got all their attention, she strides towards Jaime, extending a hand to the man on the ground.

Jaime takes it cautiously, swaying on his feet before Tyrion runs to his side, helping his brother remain standing.

"I may not be your Queen, but I was born in my ancestral home, Dragonstone within the Crownsland and in it, this land. The Seven Kingdoms. This is my home as much as yours. It's all the home that I've ever known… And I won't let anyone take it away or harm its people."

Drogon and Rhaegal let out another screech behind their mother. All-powerful and mighty.

"Euron Greyjoy has taken control over one of my dragons. He lay waste and rubble to Kings Landing. Millions died. Burnt, drowning in smoke, crushed by their home walls. The same thing will happen here—will happen all over Westeros, if we don't stand together and bring the Crow's Eye and his army down."

Somehow Daenerys looks taller as her voice carries again.

"The same thing will happen if we fight one another, killing one another when there's a bigger situation that we need to concentrate on!"

"Your words are never spoken truer, Your Grace." Jon suddenly steps up, walking to stand by her side. They exchange a silent look before he addresses the rest. "This trial is nullified."

"But, Your Grace…any trial by combat is outside any law and—"

"With all due respect, Lord Mallister, I am a King." Jon interrupts firmly. "And as the King in the North, where this hearing is taking place…I retract this trial. Jaime Lannister will serve his sentence by fighting in this war, giving guidance to his utmost effort until it is won. Until the seven kingdoms have no threat left from the Crow's Eye."

He finds the Kingslayer. "Have you any say in this?"

"I accept, Your Grace," Jaime said through bloodied lips.

Arya watches the whole thing, seething from inside as all of her efforts have been squandered just like that. And she can't believe the person responsible for it is the two most important ones in her life.

Pushing herself up from the ground, she ignores the pain coursing all over her body and walks past the dragons to leave.

*

Her simmering anger is only mounting by the second especially when she can hear someone following her all the way back inside the castle. She has a feeling who it might be and that bitterness only worsen.

Arya slams the door behind her as soon as she enters her chamber. A few seconds later, the door opens and slammed again.

"Have you such little care for yourself?" Daenerys snarls behind her.

Arya turns, matching the fury. "Were you not the one who wants the Kingslayer punished?" She chuckles darkly. "Hell, you even send your whole army just to catch him. You should be thanking me, not stopping me!"

"How dare you," Daenerys said lowly, closing in. "Don't stand there all righteous and say that you're doing this for me or anyone else. No. You did it for yourself."

When Arya has nothing to say, Daenerys continues.

"No one asks you to go out there. Not even Bran. Yet somehow you did and here I thought that you hated your brother."

"I don't hate him."

"The first thing you do after six years reuniting is breaking his nose."

"It doesn't mean that I hate him," Arya stressed out. "Not everyone can just watch and do nothing when others violate their brother."

The hidden meaning of that statement is loud and clear to both of them and the young Stark instantly regrets it.

Daenerys gaze falters but she doesn't back down. "Not everyone gets a brother who doesn't violate them."

The firestorm inside her chest has considerably diminished when those violet orbs grow solemn each seconds pass. "Daenerys…I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did…" Daenerys cuts.

All around, the air thickens. Arya doesn't know what else to say to ebb the offence so she looks away guiltily. It doesn't help that her head is beginning to pound a vicious beat like someone is smacking the back of her skull repeatedly. She tries to massage the pain away but to no avail.

The next thing she knows, there is a wet trail coming out of her nose and her fingers come up red under it.

And then Daenerys is suddenly right in front of her, huffing. "Gods, you have such impeccable timing." She mutters under her breath all the while shoving Arya onto a seat, tilting her head up and use her sleeve to stop the nosebleed.

All Arya can do is frown at the apparent handling and especially at Daenerys choice of cloth to stop the bleeding. The dragon queen takes notice. "I happen to like this dress." She reasons, daring her to retaliate.

The young Stark chooses to be smart. Her body sags further down the seat and quietly her eyes study Daenerys standing over her. She closes her eyes, trying very hard not to imagine the things they did the last time the dragon queen was in between her legs. She has a promise to keep after all.

"You have a loving family, Arya." Daenerys suddenly said after a moment passes. All soft and vulnerable. "They protect and genuinely care for you. Anyone with eyes can see that… Viserys was once like that. He doted on me. He cared and I believe he loved me. But all that doesn't last. His love grows into something else. Something rotten and foul. It was all twisted and wrong. The brother that I know is long gone before he wears his molten crown."

Arya remembers the time when Robb betrays her in another life. How much it destroys her from the inside and out. To have the brother that she looks up to, her own blood, breaking the trust she has ever known since she was born. She knows the pain.

She pulls Daenerys hold on her sleeve, sensing the bleeding now has stopped. "I'm sorry." Her gaze stays rooted until those violet eyes return some of its fervour.

When it does, gently with her thumb, Daenerys wipes the dried blood off Arya's cheek. "You have every opportunity to end Jaime Lannister yet you don't. Even when you have him fully defenceless you won't finish it."

She starts slowly, moving on to wet her thumb a little before wiping Arya's bloodied cheek again. Internally, the young Stark shivers.

"I know you, Arya… If you want him dead, he'd be dead already." Satisfied, Daenerys moves to the corner of Arya's lips next. "You're not one to taunt or enjoy giving pain to others."

"You forgot about the poor sellsword that I torture on the road."

"You did that merely for information and once you have it you end it quickly." Daenerys retorts. "So, no. Whatever happened out there today, you do it for no one else but yourself. Tell me I'm wrong."

Arya can't.

"It's Cersei isn't it," Daenerys said like it's a statement. A fact. Like she has known it all along. "You didn't know she was pregnant."

The look on Daenerys face is one of understanding and compassion. Arya hates it. "I want to be alone." She jerks herself out of Daenerys proximity, standing up and walking to the opened window, trying to get away as far as she can.

Behind her, Daenerys doesn't say anything else. But Arya doesn't need to turn around to still feel the concern radiating. The last thing she hears is the thud of the door closing before finally she is left all alone.

*

A Maester comes in to check her injuries sometime later that day. Maester Wolkan seems kind enough as he asked her questions about what's hurting her. He gave some kind of ointment for her bruising ribs and face, noting that thankfully nothing is broken.

Other than the old man, Rickon came barrelling in without knocking. Arya immediately sat up on the bed, thinking it to be Daenerys. He gave her a once-over and said "Shaggy hasn't come home. It's getting dark." Which she had quickly dismissed his worry knowing that Nymeria and her wolf pack will never let anything happen to Shaggydog. Satisfied, Rickon left with a "Fine." But not before snatching something from her study.

Arya let him leave with a sigh, too tired to go after him. Just like she's too spent to leave the comfort of her bed to go find Daenerys.

She knows the older woman is safe what with the appearance of her two dragons and her armies. Certainly, no one is rash enough to try and aggravate or hurt the dragon queen now that they saw what she's capable of. So, with that reassuring thought, Arya drifts off to sleep. The day's event is finally creeping up on her.

The next morning she wakes up, Daenerys side of the bed is cold to the touch and Arya begins to worry. Quickly she readies herself for the day, securing her belt last with Needle only to realize that her sword is no more.

Skilfully, she buries the ache in her chest at the loss. She decides to get some knives from the armoury on the way out, not liking how incomplete and vulnerable she feels.

Arya is just about to step outside the room when she stops dead on her track.

"Daenerys?" She calls, confused as to why the older woman is standing outside the empty hallway all alone. Daenerys doesn't answer. In fact, she hasn't lifted her head, eyes still downcast as if she's in deep thought.

Frowning, she reaches out to get the dragon queen's attention only to be alarmed at how frozen Daenerys feels under her touch. "How long have you been here? Did you stand here all night?"

The dragon queen finally looks up, surprised and later her violet eyes suddenly brim with tears, distraught. Arya's heart clenches painfully wanting to know the bastard that caused such reaction. "Daene—"

Daenerys throws herself onto her in a fierce embrace. She hears sniffles as the arms around her tightens considerably to the point it hurts her bruised ribs. But, she brushes the discomfort away and returns the gesture two times as strong. Rubbing soothing circles on Daenerys back and all over, trying to get the older woman warm again.

"Tell me what's wrong?"

Daenerys doesn't do anything but sinks further into her hold. The collar of her shirt is now wet with tears as the said woman settles herself against her collarbone.

For a long while neither makes a move and Arya is starting to worry at the lack of response. Even the occasional sniffles have died down now leaving her with nothing but a tight embrace and hot breaths warming her neck.

"Arya," Daenerys finally breaks the silence and Arya exhales a breath in relief before humming in response. "I know." she finishes softly, brokenly.

"What about?"

Gingerly, Daenerys moves away. Face flushed and eyes red-rimmed but her expression is stern. Resolute. "I know about your past lives. Those visions you have is not a vision. You actually live through them."

She blinks, wanting to smile before registering the words. "What?"

"Bran told me. He told me—showed me everything." The violet orbs in front start to turn glassy once again. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that, Arya. All those deaths and pain. Yet, you come out of it and stand before everyone stronger, kinder… You are beyond anything I've ever encounter. You're astonishing."

Daenerys wipes away the tears that manage to break free before chuckling, suddenly joyful.

"And everything makes perfect sense now. Everything that you did, everything that you say since the first time we met on the hill of Dragonstone… I've been wondering how is it possible that the girl I know less than a week would feel like she already belongs with me. Why her presence would feel like a familiarity that I just can't shake, a call that echoes my intuition. It's what I always feel then—it's what I always feel now. I belong to you, whether I agree or not and I know you feel the same way. I'm— Arya, I'm your first and last, am I not."

Daenerys suddenly looks all shy and reserved after the last statement as she waits.

But, how can Arya respond to all of that?

This isn't supposed to happen.

Daenerys isn't supposed to know. Daenerys is supposed to make her own choice on her own terms. But Bran had told, no, showed her? How? What does that even mean?

Her body has frozen and she feels the iciness crawls to every part of her veins. When Daenerys tries to reach out again, Arya involuntarily recoils. She ignores the hurt emanating from the action.

"You're not supposed to be happy with that." When Daenerys does nothing but still looking at her with those loving scrutiny, she snaps. "Don't you understand? We met because the three-eyed raven made it so. It's all planned."

Daenerys frowns, trying to comprehend. "What? No…I chose you, Arya, not anyone else."

"It's not real. None of this is real!"

Daenerys opens her mouth no doubt to argue but Arya already backs away, turning and fleeing like her life depends on it.

*

Arya finds the cursed three-eyed raven in his room where he's sitting by the fireplace. His gaze is already on hers as she enters the room none too quietly. As if he's waiting for her.

She is in his face within seconds. "Tell me why I shouldn't push this knife through your chest and be done with it," she growls, only noticing that there is a dagger on the small table where she had snatched it without thought.

When Bran only stares back, she pushes the blade further. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now!"

"I won't." He said, showing no pain whatsoever even if she's pretty sure the knife has sliced through his shirt. "You can do whatever you want, Arya."

At that moment, someone chooses to enter the room.

"What is—"

"Stay there," Arya hisses, looking over her shoulder to find the girl, Meera Reed, dumbfounded stare. "Or I swear to every damned Gods in this world that I will fucking hurt him."

Satisfied that she will not be interrupted, Arya turns to Bran again. "Is everyone's life just a game for you, Bran? Is mine?"

"I'm not Bran, not anymore. You know this." He looks less than bothered. "I don't really care about anyone's life. I don't feel… But Bran did. He cared. Telling Daenerys about your past lives is not my choice. It's his last wish."

Her chest heaves as time goes by, willing for the words spoken to bleed into her conscious. She doesn't know whether to be angry at the involvement or devastated to finally realise that she has lost yet another brother.

She had hoped since the first time she saw him that her little brother she played mud with is still in there somewhere. Trapped.

But now, she knows it to be false. His body may be here but his soul, his essence, his characters that made him Brandon Stark is missing. The realisation finally gnaws at her leaving the pit of her stomach hollow. The person she's staring down at now is someone else entirely.

Bran is gone.

*

Daenerys has had a long day.

And it's only been the second—counting on a third—since she arrives in Winterfell yet those days already feel like an eternity. What with the arrival of Grey Worm and breaking the news about Missandei. Her chest still tightens at the thought of her lost friend. Forever pained.

And then there was Jaime Lannister's trial. Gods, the trial.

She doesn't want to think about it at all. Can live with images of Arya's beaten down and almost killed, non-existent in her head.

What Daenerys need is sleep. She hadn't slept since yesterday, spending the time with the three-eyed raven in the Godswood where he had personally waited for her outside the courtyard right after Arya dismissed her. As if he knew that she will walk down that path. On second thought, he probably did.

But the thought of going back to Arya's room to rest, to that place where she had been rejected—

She can't bring herself to face the Stark and those shameful moments again.

When Bran showed Arya's memories, she had been so sure of herself that every unanswered question she ever had since she met the girl, she had now the perfect answers to. The most important one being the confirmation that she was the one true love of Arya Stark, not some unnamed girl that she had yet to find after much asking around earlier.

She was the one that Arya loves with all her heart. Her first love and last.

Admittedly, Daenerys had always been envious the first time she heard about Arya speaking so fondly of the person who had her heart in the dungeon of Kings Landing.

It was also the first time they talked without any disguise in place. All exposed to one another. And it left her wanting more because she had never felt any stronger being with this enigma of a person than at that private moment.

What the three-eyed raven had shown her was horrendous and enlightening, awful and clarifying. Those pains and suffering that Arya lived through; Daenerys had never met anyone more heroic.

But what was more illuminating was when she saw with her own eyes how even in another life, they were always full of love. The way the Daenerys in those other lives act around Arya and how the girl eventually came around.

It finally made sense.

That was why she gobbled her walls down and poured her heart out. Because she knew how the girl truly felt and she was more than confident that Arya will cup her face and kiss her again.

But that never came. Instead, Arya ran away.

Just like that, Daenerys assurance shrinks and her self-doubt comes back with a vengeance. Perhaps she has it all wrong after all. Perhaps she isn't Arya's first nor last.

"Pardon for the intrusion, Your Grace." Daenerys looks over her shoulder to find a servant girl respectfully bowing. "King Jon requests your attendance in Lady Arya's room at your earliest convenience."

Quickly, she stands up from her seat at the mention of a certain Stark. "Has something happen to the Lady?"

The servant girl matches Daenerys quick steps along the hallway, already leaving the Great Hall. "Yes. And the King is trying his best to contain her but I fear he may not last very long."

She gives the girl an incredulous look before sprinting down the path, bubbling in worry. In record time, she arrives at Arya's childhood bedroom and is met with a spectacle.

Jon Snow is bending down the opened window, half of his torso outside as he grunts in effort. A smaller pair of legs sticking out from his side.

"Gods Arya! Let go of the ledge, I'm trying to pull you up here!"

Somewhere outside a voice defiantly calls out a "No." All muffle and distant. "I need to find Daenerys. I have some things to tell her."

"What is going on?" Daenerys finally asks, closing towards the pair, alarmed and confused. "Why is she halfway out the window?"

Jon loudly thanks the Gods and addresses his little sister again. "Arya, she's here! Daenerys is here! Now, let go."

Almost too quickly the two of them stumble backwards in a heap. The King of the North and the cunning assassin tangling in a mess of limbs on the floor as they try to stand up again.

The dragon queen strains to school her face into indifference.

"Daenerys, oh Daenerys," Arya sing-song when she finally finds her footing again. "I have some things to tell you. Important things." She said with a pout, cradling Daenerys face ever so gently. Her breath reeks of alcohol.

"Are you drunk?" The young Stark grins happily, looking pleased with herself. "Is she drunk?" Daenerys asks Jon.

He grimaces. "Yes. I found her outside the settlements. Apparently, she nearly finished two barrels of wine all by herself. She hasn't let anyone else enter the stowage or getting their fill. The men are not happy with that." He sighs, massaging the muscle on his neck. "I had to drag her here. Gods, she's strong for her size."

By now, the said girl has moved on into hugging and snuggling against the crook of Daenerys neck.

"I'll leave you to it then." Jon continues, taking the servant girl along and dashes out of the room at incredible speed leaving Daenerys with no chance to counter.

With a sigh, she pulls Arya off her neck but the girl is stubborn.

"Where did you go? I looked everywhere for you." Arya mumbles.

She can't believe the audacity. "You ran away, remember."

The embrace finally loosens. Arya ends up cupping her face again which she needs to stop doing so that Daenerys can give a piece of her mind.

"Not from you," Arya replies, resting their forehead together. "Never."

Daenerys shivers at the proximity.

"I love you so much Daenerys…so so much that it hurts. I love you."

She has waited too long for Arya to finally say that. She dreams of those words uttered under the stars or the falling snows. Under the sheets as they trade passionate kisses. Or perhaps even a little naïve dream where Arya bravely declares her love under everyone's gazes and scrutiny without a care in the world.

Not like this. Plastered and worse for wear.

"You're drunk." She pushes Arya away, swallowing the bitterness. "Let's get you to bed."

The young Stark lurches skilfully out of her grasp. Daenerys is almost impressed by how competent she is despite being inebriated but soon her frustration takes over. "Arya."

"No." Arya dodges another attempt, moving to place herself and the study as a barrier. "No, I have some things to tell you."

She sighs. "Fine, let's hear it."

Arya straightens trying to lessen her sways. "Number one: I love you." She slurs. Daenerys huffs, crossing her arms in disbelief. "Number two: I murdered a baby."

"Arya—"

"Yes, I didn't know…but I still did it. I'm just like Walder Frey, killer of babies. You must think me a monster. You lost your baby to a witch once. You hate baby killers. And I am a killer of babies." She laughs forcefully.

"You're not."

"I am."

"You're not. You didn't know and that makes all the difference." She draws some breath and continues. "Someone once told me that you have to own your mistakes and stop blaming yourself for the things that are out of your control. You killed Cersei but you didn't know she was with a child. And I will never hate you for that. Never, Arya."

Daenerys tries to convey all of her feelings without any barrier in place. Wanting the young Stark to believe her.

"Don't look at me like that," Arya said softly, all upset. "Like I'm a great person. Like you're attracted to me. Because you can't. You can't. The three-eyed raven planted those feelings inside you. It's not real." When Daenerys gives no response, the girl suddenly grows determined. "I'll show you."

And then she starts undoing some pieces of her clothes. Starting with her leather jerkins. All clumsy and awkward.

Daenerys blinks. "What are you doing?"

Grumpily, Arya finally shrugs her jacket off leaving her in her white shirt. "Once you have me, you'll realise it's not real."

"Wha—"

Her words catch in her throat. All the air leaves her chest when Arya pulls the shirt over her head leaving nothing to the imagination. Daenerys swallows as her eyes hungrily trace the bare skin presented in front. She would have appreciated Arya's half-naked body more if not for the fact that angry bruises are mapping all over.

"What, do the scars bother you?" Arya asks, blinking innocently.

Daenerys licks her dried lips in lieu of answer. Arya is still beautiful despite everything. She watches calloused fingers trace the scars on toned stomach and then between small perky breasts.

Surely she will die now by the heat coiling inside so intensely.

"I know my skin is not as smooth as yours but at least it's not wrinkly." Arya continues unaware of the mental torture Daenerys is battling. "Walder Freys' body was. It was disgusting. Oh, I didn't tell you, did I? I wore his face a few times before and naturally all his attributes. It wasn't pretty." She forcefully straightens. "But, I'm not Walder Frey now. I'm Arya Stark."

Yes, she can see that clearly, thank you very much.

"I'll show you." She said again and then bends down to take off her shoes.

"Arya, stop," Daenerys said half-heartedly. "You're going to regret this in the morning."

But her trousers is already halfway down and soon Daenerys is blessed by a beautiful stark naked woman.

Fuck the heavens and above. She needs a drink.

Arya saunters towards her like a predator. She's a dragon. But right now, she doesn't feel like one. The first contact of their skin sends a quiet tremor all over. Arya cups her face again. Her chest presses close and Daenerys can feel her nipples grazing.

"Arya," she pleads breathlessly. Begging for what, she doesn't know.

Nevertheless, her prayer is soon answered when their lips touch and Arya starts kissing her slowly and softly. Daenerys returns it all willingly already drown in a blissful cloud.

She can never forget the taste of Arya's lips since that day in the woods. Has been missing it since the last time they kiss under the snow. Arya's lips is so full and warm. A little chapped but she loves how it feels against her tongue. Loves biting into it.

Now though, Arya's lips taste bittersweet like the wine she drank herself into a stupor. Instantly, Daenerys haze clears and with great effort she pushes the young Stark away. Her skin hot under hers.

"You need to sleep," Daenerys whispers. Their warm breaths still intermingle closely.

"And then you'll bed me?"

She closes her eyes and hums out a noncommittal answer. "Let me get your clothes first. You can go lay there."

It's a miracle that Arya obediently does as she is told. And Daenerys plan stops right there. She starts picking up the discarded clothes ever so slowly wanting to drag the time all the while purposely avoiding looking at the bed where Arya is currently waiting.

As soon as she finishes picking up the clothes, she starts to fold them next and places them neatly on top of one another. And when that's done, she closes the window, recalling absentmindedly that Arya doesn't like the cold. With that thought, she put some more firewoods into the fireplace and only once she has no chores left to do does her gaze settle towards the bed.

A breath of relief mix with disappointment leaves out her mouth when she sees that Arya is under the sheets, sleeping soundly. Moving to grab the fur blanket by the feet of the bed, she tucks it under Arya's chin earning a soft sigh as she snuggles into it further.

Gods, this woman will be the death of her, Daenerys thought and she can't really fault her for that.

*

The next morning Arya wakes up with a terrible headache. Her muscle aches and she is so parched, her mouth would soon crumble into dust. Absentmindedly, she tosses the blanket away and pours a glass of water by the bedside table. Only by the third serving does she realize she is without clothes. The chamber is warm enough but it still sends goosebumps on her skin.

In a daze, she looks around the room finding herself alone and her clothes neatly folded on the study.

After leaving Bran—no, the three-eyed raven's room, she needed something to numb her emotions, needed something to drown her traitorous thoughts away. And Arya recalled wandering outside the settlements in search of some wine.

The last thing she remembers is kicking out the last group of men by the stowage and then locking herself in there with all the wine she could've ever need. Everything else after that is a blur.

She must have been so drunk to not remember much else. Though, judging by how she's safely in bed, she guesses nothing else is in the wrong. Even if she did sleep naked, at least Daenerys isn't here to see. If she's lucid enough to have folded her clothes, she must have not been doing some embarrassing deeds at all.

Yes, Arya would have remembered otherwise.

Once she is ready to face the world again, it is already late midday. She drags her feet towards the kitchen quarters for sustenance and is greeted by a mix of glares from the men and amusement from the women she passes by.

Shrugging off that weird interaction, she is greeted by the first waft of cooked food once she enters the kitchen, leaving her mouth water. Before she can choose what to eat, a girl stops her.

"M'lady, your food is over there." She points to a small table at the corner of the room. "Her Grace specifically asks to ready it for you."

"Daenerys?"

The girl nods and shows her to her seat. There are eggs, chicken soup and crackers. She sniffs her goblet of yellow water with a frown.

"It's ginger tea with honey, good for curing upset stomach." The girl explains with a meaningful smile as if she's holding something else back. "Once you're done, the Queen will be waiting for you in the Great Hall."

Arya wants to ask more but she thanks the girl and starts eating instead, eager to meet Daenerys. Once she's finally finished stuffing her face, she yells another gratitude for the hearty meal before running off towards the Great Hall. By the time she arrives, she's panting hard but the sight of Daenerys with all of her family left her breathless.

Instead of cruel words passing around or blood littering the floor just like in another life, they exchanged polite smiles and small laughs.

"What is this?" Arya asks, warily. Doesn't know what to make of the domestic scene as she finally joins them. "Why are you all here?"

"Why can't we be here? Are you claiming this hall as yours too?" Sansa deadpans.

Rickon stands up from his seat, enthusiastically closes in. "Can we start training now? I picked a sword already."

"Sword? Wooden one, I hope." Jon says pointedly from across the table.

"Arya said I can use real ones."

All eyes are suddenly on hers, judging. "No, I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did! Last night. You said you'll teach me real swordplay, not like those armoured buffoons."

Arya only blinks, searching the time when she said that.

"You don't remember, do you." Daenerys finally joins at the side. Her eyes are all soft, a ghost of a smile on her features.

The silence is an answer enough, but the three-eyed raven decides to grace them with one anyway. "Her memories are lost by the thirteenth cup."

Arya glares at the back of his head.

"How convenient," Sansa comments with an eye-roll.

"Arya, do you realized how much trouble I had to get you out from. You're banned from the wine stowage, you hear me? In perpetuity."

She chuckles. "That's a bit dramatic even for you, Jon."

"So, can we go sword training now?" Rickon is short of bouncing with the ball of his feet.

Before Arya can answer her little brother, someone else does.

"I'm sorry, Lord Rickon…" Daenerys trails guiltily. "But, I have something to say to everyone now that Arya's here. If you'll let me."

"Oh, alright then." With a pout, Rickon takes his seat again.

Sansa and Jon have also straightened in theirs. The three-eyed raven still hasn't moved from his spot by the fireplace, his back against them. And Daenerys is now standing, getting a full view of everyone presents especially Arya across her.

"Daenerys?" she calls when the older woman suddenly looks uncomfortable.

The violet orbs stay rooted onto hers and little by little the nervousness in them subsides before she finally begins.

"The first time I met Arya, she was petting my dragons. And I thought to myself 'Why hasn't she been burnt and eaten?' but I guess that my children saw something special in her that I only later realized with time." Daenerys smiles fondly.

She returns the sentiment though matching the confusing faces of her siblings.

Daenerys looks at Rickon, Sansa, and then Jon. "Arya has been my greatest support these past months. She gave me brilliant counsel without expecting anything in return. She protected me with her life even though other people deserve it more. She has been there by my side through the worst of it all and I plan to do the same." Violet gaze finds waiting grey ones again.

"Arya Stark, you've shown how much you can love and now it's my turn. Here in this hall of your home, in front of your family, my feelings for you will always remain. Will always be real. I promise this with all my heart... Until you accept it—until you do me the honour, I will wait for you until my last breath."

She can feel every scrutiny of her siblings flickering to the dragon queen and then back to her repeatedly. But all Arya cares about is the quiet blooming inside her soul, peaceful like a beam of light.

"Is this what a betrothal is like?" Rickon whispers none too quietly to no one in particular, eyes wide and childlike.

She wants to say something back, to respond to the assurance but everything drowns at the sight before her. Daenerys, standing across, so beautiful and laying her heart fully open and vulnerable.

And Arya is rendered speechless.