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.

43. The Union

AN: Well, it's been a hot minute since I post a new chapter, isn't it. Sorry for that. We almost at the end of this and I'm not leaving you guys hanging...well, not forever at least. Enjoy this slowly you beautiful human! Oh, before you do, there is one last character that is finally here.

TW: some heterosexual action because of that said character. Nothing heavy, I promise.

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In which Arya is stubborn as a mule and Daenerys is not impressed.

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

"I am neither demanding an answer now nor at all," Daenerys says after a moment.

And Arya is brought back in the Great Hall, looking across the room where the dragon queen is still standing tall. Expression soft and calm despite what she just said. As if she didn't just proclaim her love for Arya to everyone present—that being the remaining Stark family.

A Targaryen and a Stark. The last time these two houses tried to get together, the country lost hundreds of thousands of lives. Arya doesn't know what the future might hold for them if there is any at least for herself after this war, but it can't be as easy as saying one promise to another, can it?

"Then why bother?" Sansa finally asks. There is something that Arya can't quite interpret underlying in her sister's tone. "Why did you gather us, said those things which clearly meant as a proposal to my sister only for her to do nothing with it?"

"Because I wanted to let you all know—to let Arya know where my heart truly is." Daenerys straightens and fixes a determined look at the redhead. "I love your sister, Lady Sansa and will keep doing so until the end of times."

"Love?" Sansa barely holds a scoff instead she smiles derogatorily which Arya thinks isn't any kinder at all. "Love is for naïve young girls waiting for her knight in shining armour to sweep her off her feet. Love can't win us this war and sustain people through this winter. We need soldiers and leaders for that. Not sweet promises and proposals."

"There's no need to be so harsh, Sansa," Jon cuts before Daenerys can say anything else. "I believe Her Grace meant nothing malicious about it. In fact, I think she's quite brave to do so in front of us." He gives a small smile to the dragon queen which she returns albeit half-heartedly and then finds Arya at the side, prompting her reaction about all of this.

But, Arya's mind is a thousand leagues away, trying to make sense of what has happened and how they reach this particular situation.

What would make Daenerys came to such a dramatic conclusion as to give her heart, her allegiance and loyalty without a doubt? Did she discuss any of it to her circle of counsel or to her Lord Hand at least? Did they approve or wholeheartedly disagree with their queen's decision? Did Daenerys even care enough to seek them out or what they think of the consequences to her army and allies by claiming such conviction to the Starks? To Arya?

Her silent questions are left unanswered but her eyes flicker to the lone figure sitting quietly by the fireplace and she latches on. "You did this." Arya finally speaks the first rational thought she could think of. Because Daenerys would never do this if not for a meddling mystical three-eyed raven.

"Nothing I say would change your mind," Bran replied nonchalant, doesn't even turn to address her properly. She wants to break his nose again, just because.

"Arya," Daenerys cuts off her violent thought, moving to close the distance as they are standing only at arm's length now. When grey eyes finally meet those ethereal violet depths, she continues, "Bran had nothing to do with any of my decision. It is mine and mine alone."

Her jaw works back and forth in irritation. "Is it? Would you still say those things if he didn't show you my past life?"

Daenerys doesn't even miss a beat. "I would."

"No, you won't."

"Suddenly you can predict the future now?"

"You let me go," Arya snaps back. "Back at the Twins, under that very first snow, you let me go. Your love surely wasn't enough back then to hold onto me yet you do this..." she gestures widely with her arms, "Right after he told you everything about my past life."

"Because I thought you were in love with someone else..." Daenerys closes in, eyes glimmering desperately. "Someone else who can't even remember you. And I thought if you could love—still love someone like that unconditionally then who am I to come in between that? You have done so much for me, Arya and I would've searched for that person that's lucky enough to be loved by you and I would've helped her...I would've hunted high and low for a cure that would make her remember you again."

Daenerys sighs softly, suddenly defeated. "But that person is me and I can't ever remember...and like you said, it's not really my fault because I didn't live through it as you did, Arya but at least now...now I know. And whatever you may think of that—for me, it was a gift. A confirmation of what I already had inside me. And even if Bran hadn't shown me your past life, my proposal would still stand. My love for you is still here," she places a palm to her own chest, close to her heart. "And it will always be here, always. I expect nothing from you. All I ever want is for you to know that I feel the same way and this is how I can show it."

Arya is left speechless for the second time after that, her heart hammering against her ribcage at those looks of pure adoration inside violet eyes. She doesn't know what to do with it.

"Bran showed you Arya's past lives? He can do that?" Jon moves forward, tilting his head curiously to the man in the wheelchair and then to the dragon queen.

The question made Arya's heated gaze with Daenerys snap back into the present, registering how close and intense they have gotten. Arya retreats a step away from the older woman's space, getting a hold of herself again and turns to Jon and her other siblings who are very much still here, watching on with interest.

"Give us the room. I need to talk with Daenerys alone." She demands instead.

Jon frowns as if wanting to repeat his questions but Sansa beats him to it with a "No, we're not going anywhere."

Incredulous, Arya moves to stand directly across Sansa's seat. "I beg your pardon."

"We're not giving you the room." Sansa leans forward, hands clasp on the table. Blue eyes sharp as she regards her. "We have the right to know your history with each other. Daenerys seems to think so seeing as she invited us in the first place."

"I don't want you here."

"And why is that?" Sansa trudges on, not letting Arya respond. "Whether or not you accept her proposal, lives are at stake here. We're talking about uniting Houses and alliances after the war ends. This is far more than just a simple betrothal or an act of selfless affection. The North would need—"

"Well, perhaps I won't be alive by then!"

All around, the air seems to pause at her sudden declaration, but not her. Something ugly is creeping in the pit of her stomach and at the same time, the fog that occupies inside her mind clears.

"Perhaps you won't survive. Perhaps everyone will be dead and Euron will win." She laughs darkly, turns around to throw a manic gaze on each one in the room. "Perhaps there will be no more Winterfell, no more kingdoms, no more Westeros. Perhaps I'll fail so spectacularly and die and remain dead this time, not even the mighty three-eyed raven will be able to resurrect me. You'll have no alliances to think about then. So, you should save the trouble discerning what The North and everyone else needs or any form of the future because we may not even have one. I may not have one. Is that a good enough reason for you, dear sister?"

Arya doesn't wait for an answer as she already turns and flees the room, wanting to get rid of the stunned looks directed her way from her mind. Her chest heavily heaves, gasping for breath from her outburst. She doesn't know where all of that came from. All that gloom and spite. It's like there's always something foul bubbling inside her, filling and filling her inside until she couldn't hold on anymore and they just...burst.

And then there's Daenerys and her beautiful declaration. There's no denying that Arya doesn't deserve any of it and she doesn't know what to do to make the older woman see reason. What she does know is that she doesn't want Daenerys to waste her time on her. Wants Daenerys to find someone else she could love and be happy after all of this is over.

And deep in her gut, Arya knows that Euron will not make it easy. She was the Chosen One as the three-eyed raven proudly claimed. What for, if not chosen for ending Euron Greyjoy's terror. And what that could possibly mean—only the three-eyed raven would probably know and it doesn't look like he's going to share the specifics and she's damn well past the point of caring to actually seek him out and ask him. Not after the last time they were alone.

She had also long learnt from her mistake in past lives to always hope for the worse, else you will only set yourself up for heartbreak. So, that's what she does and will continue to do.

"Leave me be," she throws over her shoulder to whoever is trailing after her since she left the Great Hall.

But the person says nothing back merely follow steadfastly a safe distance away. The steps behind her are soft and graceful but dragging once in a while as if the bottom hem of a dress is caught by the floor and now the snow when Arya finally ventures outside the warm stone walls.

She knows damn well who those steps belong to, wishes instead she didn't know everything about Daenerys Targaryen down to her fucking footsteps. Arya stops and turns swiftly to face the said woman. The burning in her chest only magnifies when Daenerys stops as well to look back with a soft gaze.

Arya doesn't need any of that. "I don't feel anything about you. I don't care about you. I don't love you. I only saved you because I needed your dragons to fight this war. To save everyone else in this damned world. You're not the version of the woman that I truly care about. You're not."

Daenerys merely looks on, seemingly unaffected. Eyes don't even blink. Instead, she closes in, one hand reaching to cradle Arya's face so tenderly that Arya's insides burn and shiver. Her chest aches for an entirely different reason altogether, heart in her throat. Daenerys pulls her down and Arya willingly follows to rest her head on Daenerys shoulder, beaten.

"I don't want you here," Arya said through prickling eyes. "I don't—"

The young Stark stutters as a sob wreaks through in its place. Horrified, she attempts to bury the sound by hiding her face further in the crook of Daenerys neck, eyes shut tightly. But, it was futile when Daenerys embrace her fully with so much care and warmth that Arya just let herself go, knowing that someone is there to catch her fall.

Every faces she has ever known, every death, every pain and every love from her family and friends from every lifetime come out in abundance from her tears and sobs, as sudden as everything in her life seems to be. She mourns their death and celebrates their existence all between gasping breaths.

She recites every name she ever known into the warm skin she took residence of and by the end of it all, Daenerys is still there with a tight embrace, ensuring Arya couldn't get lost even if she wants to.

"I didn't mean—I don't..." She trails unable to voice all the lies again.

"I know, Arya," Daenerys says softly anyway. "I know."

When she finally leaves the comforting embrace, she can't look up, eyes downcast instead, knowing what would be there. She doesn't deserve any more comforting, especially from the dragon queen. Arya wants to run away again, but, Daenerys has a tight grip on her hand as she stays close in her space.

"Come with me? Drogon misses you."

It was so out of context that Arya has to look up, chuckling wetly. "I doubt that."

Daenerys raises her eyebrow elegantly. "Do you claim to know my dragons better than me who has a direct spiritual connection to?"

Arya can't really argue with that logic as she obediently follows the Targaryen queen, their hands warm and entwining.

*

They find Drogon and Rhaegal at a clearing behind the castle, eating a scorched meal. There are broken trees at the edge of the forest indicating that the two may have taken liberties trimming the area themselves to be more accommodating to their size.

The black dragon snaps its head up first finally noticing their arrival, followed by Rhaegal and then proceed to crawl with giant claws-like wings towards Arya and Daenerys as they meet in the middle. Instead of greeting their mother, Drogon and Rhaegal extend part of themselves to the young Stark. Their snouts and jaws gently come in contact with each of Arya's sides so that she is being engulfed by the dragons in a weird hug as her arms widen to rest on top of their head.

She can't stop her lips from curling into a smile. The feeling comes second in rivalling Daenerys' warm embrace.

"They're grateful that you got me out of Kings Landing," Daenerys strokes fondly the side of Rhaegal's neck.

Arya mirrors the action with both hands, occupied by both dragons that are still nudging her sides with abandon. She murmurs sweet nothings at them just like she always did with Nymeria. It's laughable that she treats these powerful fire-breathing creatures like a common canine but she guesses she can be the one exception. She earned it after all, didn't she?

"I'm sorry I couldn't get Viserion out safely too," Arya says after a lull at the moment.

Drogon and Rhaegal slowly retreat seemingly satisfied by all the attention.

"We'll get Viserion back," Daenerys pats Drogon one last time as the dragon move away joining his brother to continue their unfinished meal.

"Do you still feel him?"

The chill air comes back in full force now that the dragons are away.

"Sometimes I do," Daenerys says vaguely. There is a definite sadness in those violet eyes as Arya looks on from the side. "Sometimes I feel his pain and hunger so close as my own and sometimes it's faint or nothing at all like he doesn't exist."

Arya tightens her fists, jaw set. "You're right. We'll get Viserion back one way or another. I'll make sure of it." she vows.

Daenerys finally faces her, still with that sorrow in her gaze. "I know Arya. That's what I'm afraid of."

"Don't." The young Stark sucks a deep breath through her teeth, knowing where this will go. "Just don't, Daenerys." She doesn't have the mental capability to discuss this so soon.

But the dragon queen doesn't listen. "You're going into this war with the wrong frame of mind."

"The wrong frame—" Arya's scoff couldn't hold on.

"You're not alone. We have an army. More now. Our numbers are promising. It's not just you fighting, Arya... Your brothers, Sansa, me and every man and woman here; we all fight for a chance of a better future and know damn well that can't happen under the Crow's Eye tyranny. And that doesn't fall into your shoulders but our own. It won't help anyone especially yourself when the time comes and you're out there, fighting to die instead of fighting to live."

Daenerys pauses for air but her gaze keeps smouldering underneath and Arya's chest aches.

"You are worthy of life, even more so... You worth everything to me," Daenerys' knuckles brush lightly to wipe the young Stark's lone tear. "And I have long accepted what I feel for you is real, Arya. My love for you has never been more certain and it will never lessen. It hasn't, ever since we first met at Dragonstone, only grown."

The yearning in her heart grows by the second too. "I can't accept it, Daenerys... I can't accept your proposal."

Daenerys let out a breath, closing her eyes before she opens them again to regard Arya. Determined more than ever. "I understand... I won't resent you for it and I will always be here whenever you need me, my love."

*

The young Stark decides to distance herself from the dragon queen from that moment onwards. She needs to be away for Daenerys to realize her mistake and can only hope the older woman will forget all about her infatuation soon enough.

So, she left Daenerys with her children a moment after that, having nothing else to say, to meet with Rickon for a sparring session that she had promised in her drunken state.

They used wooden swords much to the boy's chagrined though he only protested once not for a lack of word. Arya had a feeling that he was repressing his usual annoying self for her benefit. Perhaps he pitied her or decided to ask his always blunt and direct questions about what happened in the Great Hall at a later time. Whatever the reason, Arya wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Their sparring session had gone rather peaceful and focused. The only verbal communication traded was when she had to correct his stance and aim, and his grunts when she knocked him on his ass.

They only stopped for breaks and meals, which were being brought to them by Osha. They ate quietly on the ground of the little clearing they made at the edge of the wooden wall's settlements, away from prying eyes and traffic.

Even when Arya's arm was beginning to tire and she had to switch to her right, Rickon kept going. Not once did he whined or said he was done. She was the one who had to stop their session when fires were built and torches lit around them to contemplate the gradually vanishing sun.

Rickon had thanked her after and without another word finally left her alone in the clearing.

After yesterday's drunken stupor and today's growing ache all over her body both internal and external, Arya was ready to turn in early for the night. Ready to shut down. Even if the fur blanket on the edge of the bed was missing and Daenerys meagre belongings weren't there anymore, leaving her bedroom feeling empty despite the lavish furniture residing there, Arya forced herself to sleep well and soundly.

The next day, Rickon met her at breakfast, two wooden swords at the ready and together they walked outside the castle walls. Another session started the same way as yesterday and Arya could really get used to this new arrangement. She felt like she had found a purpose. She could be useful in this way, teaching her little brother to at least defend himself in this troubling time.

Their routine was quick and practised, already became a familiarity despite only been doing this for a day.

It broke though when some stray boy not older than Rickon decided to investigate what the shouting and yelping were about only to come back with another.

They were already equipped with staff on them as they interrupted the session, stumbled over their words asking to join seeing as the Master at Arms only provided training for adult soldiers at the moment.

Arya was so close to saying 'not in a hundred years,' when they attacked her with hopeful and eager eyes. Rickon must have taught them his annoying ways of getting whatever he wanted from her when she was left with nothing to do but nod her agreement. Her reason of his involvement only strengthened when Rickon welcomed them with wide arms and regarded them by their names in such familiarity as he declared that he will finally get to knock someone on their ass too.

She couldn't control the increase of the participants anymore after that.

Two more boys came an hour later, and then another and another. By the end of the day, she had about a dozen young boys and three girls occupying the clearing with a mix of staff and wooden swords. She would need a bigger space and more variety of weapons—might as well get some training shields too by the looks of it.

Bright and early the next day, she had all of that. Late noon was when her little session is again interrupted by another presence.

Sandor looms at the side of the makeshift arena and announces his presence with a grumbling "What is this shite?"

The children pause, looking at the half-giant closing in towards them with growing fear. Their stance broke as they huddled together further away and trading hush words among themselves.

Arya resists the urge to roll her eyes as she faces the Hound. He looks the same as the last time she saw him on the stairs. At that moment she had left him with a sort of closure and fondness before facing the trial but now not so much when he unashamedly interrupts her training. "The only turd here is you. Now, get out of my clearing."

Of course, that didn't work. Sandor only looks down at her, unimpressed. "What is this then?"

"Are you blind? What does it look like? We're practising."

There is a twitch on his lips. Loath as she is to admit it, Arya's ready to chastise herself for using that particular wording.

"How about a round then?"

Arya blinks. "What, with you?"

Sandor just smirks. "Afraid girl?"

It only takes a second for her to mirror it. "Fine, don't say I didn't warn you, old man. Let's use real weapons," She's sick of using wooden ones. Sandor only grunts his agreement and Arya turns to fetch a spear that she borrowed from the armoury.

"Is this wise, little lady?" Osha joins her side by the gates where they stored all of their training items. The Wildling had occasionally joined the sessions to help Arya, though, her presence alone seems to be assisting enough for the young Stark.

"Loosen up, Osha. This is just another form of lesson," Arya grins as she twirls the spear in her hands, forearms and then around the sides to weigh the balance. It's perfect. She leaves the older woman shaking her head to address her student. "Children, spread around, yes, go on now, spread around me," she walks towards them to stop them from getting further inside the line. Satisfied when they're standing at a safe distance outside the clearing, she stalks towards her waiting opponent in the middle. "Make sure you pay attention from now on. This particular lesson is about how to beat the shit out of this old man."

"Oh, I will enjoy seeing you eat dirt in front of your underlings," Sandor pulls his longsword out and tosses the scabbard away.

"Such a talker," Arya taunts as she starts to twist and turn the spear in her hands creating a whirling speeding blade around her proximity.

Sandor doesn't get intimidated by it in the slightest. His sword stops Arya's with a resounding clang, the spear losing its momentum and its projectile goes the other way and Arya goes along with it, spinning her body and putting the force of it back into attacking him.

He deflects it before hacking his way forward. But, Arya doesn't let him get close. Always moving around and keep him away with a swift of twist and turns that he has to back away from else he will get sliced.

He tries a few more times and each one she deflects in much the same way. Forward, backward, sidestep a twirl and forward again.

Arya can't help the curling of her mouth. "Look at you dancing!"

Sandor grouses a "Shut it," as he attacks again. But, he can't seem to break free of the motion. Can't infiltrate her defensive strides despite how predictable it is without getting himself vulnerable.

If you ask Arya what her plan to defeat Sandor is, she doesn't have one. What she does know is how entertaining it is to watch him grumbling and be annoyed at her little display. She thinks she sees glimpses of the same twinkle in his eyes too when he swings his blade or maybe she's just projecting. Who knows.

There is a beginning of sweat at the back of her neck and she decides to end this fight before her stamina runs out, else she would, in fact, be eating dirt.

Deciding on a new plan, she occasionally let her guards down, letting the spear retreat so she can close in on her opponent with a quick jab at another angle. By the time Sandor parries it away and tries to make a grab for her wrist, she's already gone.

Slipping out at the last second and spins away in an unnecessary flourish to taunt his sloth reaction. The long spear rotates along with the motion as she comes to a halt at a safe distance. A wide grin spreads on her face, chest heaving as the spear rests securely between her shoulder blades in her grip.

Sandor comes to her then, his gaze glows with the same exhilaration she feels inside her pounding chest.

They dance for another song. Powerful and swift. The half-giant uses muscle power and brute strength in his steps while Arya uses speed and know-how. Her patience is brought to fruition when she uses the same manoeuvre and closes in, laying a trap in her final strike.

As expected, Sandor parries it. His force combine with his sharp sword ends up breaking and slicing the spear in half, allowing Arya to get her broken staff through his defences. The sharp end sits low on his throat.

It takes a second before he finally notices the vulnerable position he's in. His sword points down the ground, arms on the sides, and Arya in his space.

"You're paying for a new one." She says between breaths, still trying to even her breathing.

He only glares and tries to move but Arya doesn't let him, pushing the makeshift knife further into his skin in warning. Sighing, his sword clatters to the ground not after.

Someone suddenly starts to chant her name behind her before fluttering of footsteps close in. Rickon is at her side in an instant, still chanting her name which now had spread onto her student who had surrounded her. He has a shit-eating grin on his face as he takes her free forearm and throws it in the air as if she's a champion in the Great Tourney.

Numerous claps that accompany after that make her snaps her head around to find a big mass had gathered around the clearing. Men and women who must have been in the area stopping by to watch what the fuss was about are there with easy smiles and grudging awe. Her surprise die down when Rickon—along with the others—drags her to be paraded among the people, earning much more vigorous clapping and a louder chorus of chanting of 'Arya! Arya!' as they walk by just shy outside the line.

Her heart burns anew and her soul in high spirits at such juvenile attention. When they finish a round, passing Osha's exasperated smile, she pulls Sandor along and goes for another round while Rickon and the other children faithfully keeping the mood alive. The half-giant is probably too dumbstruck that he lost to protest as he lets her drag him with her students to celebrate.

She basks in the claps and chants of her name, feeling rejuvenate despite her heavy activities just now. For a while, she forgets about how she got to be where she is now, about the looming threat, her unknown future, the three-eyed raven, and Daenerys' proposal.

It doesn't last long though when her eyes flicker to the audience and find one of the subjects being there.

Daenerys is standing a bit far out, her eyes not leaving Arya's as she smiles softly and joins the applaud. Arya would have returned the sentiment if not for Jon standing beside the dragon queen with a matching expression, successfully sucking her giddiness dry.

Despite knowing that the smiles are directed at her, Arya can't help remembering of another life where their smiles are at each other.

*

"Anything else I should know about other than what's being said in the meeting?"

At Arya's question, Jon tilts his head in surprise at a new presence joining him along the hallways. It has been a long day and it looks like he's ready to retire the night. "Hello to you too, little sister."

His greeting earns nothing from Arya aside from another urgent silent prompting. He chuckles softly before marching on making her fall to his side again. "Care to elaborate what it is exactly that you should know about?" His tone is far too flippant when he asks.

Arya holds back a sigh. She really doesn't want to spell it out to him. Not wanting to bare herself open and ask directly about a certain woman invading every last bit of her being. Because then, she'd have to admit that she still cares about the Targaryen queen—and she doesn't want Jon or anyone else to start questioning her more about what happened between them, or worse, asking to consider Daenerys' proposition.

The remaining Stark's siblings clearly knew that the proposal wouldn't go anywhere. The silence of the matter must have alerted them enough to come to that conclusion. Now that Arya thinks about it, it's surprising that none of them chases after her to demand an answer. Did Daenerys tell them not to or perhaps her siblings were more than happy to not having to deal with Arya's mess on top of everything else. She knows at least Sansa must be delighted by the prospect or the lack of it.

Still waiting for her earlier question to be answered, Arya thought back to the war council gathering she had with her siblings and the dragon queen in the council chamber earlier that night.

An invitation was sent after her teaching had finished. She had quickly retreated to her room for a nice warm bath, washed her hair, scrubbed her dirty sweaty skin clean, all in a day work and donned the best set of clothes and leathers especially for the assembly.

Not that she was trying to impress anyone or anything of the like. Arya merely knew what a good set of attire would offer since it'd be her first official meeting with the other lords and ladies and she wanted to be prepared, not ridiculed. She definitely wasn't at all thinking about a particular silver-haired queen who will definitely be in attendance and how maybe she would appreciate Arya's smart look.

Definitely not.

Soon after Arya had arrived in the council chamber, Daenerys entered with Jorah, Grey Worm and a Dothraki that Arya never met before. His rugged and sharp appearance spoke of a seasoned warrior, even more than Kafat and she guessed he must be at the top of the hierarchy to be allowed entrance.

Daenerys had greeted her first with a "My lady," smiling soft and beautiful, and Arya felt her face heated for no apparent reason. But, she managed a dignified nod in return before Daenerys finally gave the others in the room her attention.

Arya had chosen to stay away from the large table that occupied the centre of the room where the other lords and ladies stood around. Instead, she opted for a corner, leaning against the walls as more people step inside, occupying the space around the desk.

Tyrion and Jaime came in together looking less haggard than she last saw them. Arya wondered what Daenerys would make of the Lannisters' clear grouping at the opposite side. Though, as the table was filled more and more, the line blurred into one united front clearly capturing the essence that there were no different sides besides Euron's and them. Death and life.

Theon had joined to stand against the wall. Rickon and Osha came in to do the same—standing close to her at each side. Meera came in with Bran as they opted for the same position across the room. The Lady Reed took her stand by the wheelchair faithfully.

Sansa had caught Arya's gaze in a silent stand-off that Arya wasn't willing to back off from. She just knew that the taller woman wanted to say something but their distance and the growing murmured of people in the chamber had stopped her. Arya swore she could hear the defeated sigh escape Sansa's lips as Jon finally started the meeting.

They talked about settlements, arsenals and sustenance when Sansa inquired about the dragons'. Daenerys convinced the eldest Stark's sister and everyone else that her children will never harm innocent people and are smart enough to find their own food in the vast sea, closing any further questions.

Which lead to the arrangement of food. Apparently, there's not enough cook in Winterfell's existing roster to provide meals for everyone now that there are thousands more mouths to feed. That's when a woman, young with long dark hair and every bit ladylike, offered her help. Sansa's calling "Lady Frey," made Arya frozen.

The woman—Lady Frey only smiled and once again offered the means to help in the form of remaining Frey's women to aid the kitchen.

"Are we certain the Freys wouldn't poison our food?" Wyman Manderly inquired.

The man beside Lady Frey bristled. "You're talking about my wife's House. Have some respect."

"They're turncoats once. They could very well do it again."

"The women of my House had nothing to do with the Red Wedding and the one that did are all dead." Arya chose to remain silent. This wasn't the time to out herself. " In fact, we hadn't had a say in anything at all when my father was acting as Head, but now that we're finally free of him, no one is about to jeopardize their freedom in meaningless revenge for the dead."

Sansa dismissed any more questioning, accepting Lady Frey's offer while simultaneously assuring the others that no sustenance in whatever form will be passed without her approval. With that done, they move on to discuss the upcoming battle plan.

Someone questioned Viserion's whereabouts. Daenerys did well in hiding her grievance when she revealed she can't feel his location, but Arya knew it well, determined more than ever to save the possessed dragon.

Then they talked about the dragonhorn. How can they destroy it? Or, can they get a hold of it instead? To at least render Euron from taking any more dragons he could command.

"I can," Arya had said, cutting right in. "I can get the dragonhorn beforehand if we knew where Euron is. You should know that, shouldn't you?" She stared right at the all-seeing three-eyed raven.

Every face turns to the young man in the wheelchair, waiting.

Bran looked less than bothered by the attention. But, what else is new. "I can't. Euron Greyjoy is someone that I have no control over."

Arya didn't know whether to be angry at Bran's blatant revelation of controlling people or at him admitting not having power over Euron. She chose the latter. "Why? What's special about him?"

She remembered the crow that Bran send back at Kings Landing. At how awfully close Euron had gotten before she was warned. How unprepared she was because of it. Had thought about the sellswords ambushing them on the road to Winterfell, where she nearly lost Daenerys by one of the man's blades.

Arya had thought then that Bran did all of that on purpose to further torture her for some reason. But perhaps she was wrong.

"You can't see him even if you want to," she called out. "He's your blind spot."

"I told you I needed your help to defeat him. I would've done it myself if I could."

Before Arya could reply to that however, someone else did.

"Then why are we here, listening and doing what you're telling us to do? You're as hopeless as those legs of yours." A man with large ears said rather loudly. "This meeting is pointless. We're just a sitting duck here waiting for the Crow's Eye to burn us all."

"You're here, Lord Florent," Bran answered in the same emotionless tone he always did. "...instead of already reduced to ashes is because I warned you about Euron and the threat he poses to us all. If I hadn't, you wouldn't have been able to whinge about it now as you do your ancient rights to Highgarden. No, you don't have the rights. Not your daughters and certainly not your bastards."

The older man stepped out of the group, hand gripping his sword's hilt. "Mind your tongue boy, or I'll cut it out of you."

Arya didn't even think as she crossed the room, a knife taken out from behind her belt and settled below his chin seconds later. "Perhaps you should mind your tongue if you want your life still intact."

She pressed the blade a little deeper just to prove her point, everyone else be damned. Lord Florent's hand had twitched at the side, unable to do anything else at the moment but glaring daggers through his eyes instead. Arya would have cut his eyeballs out if not for Jon finally addressing the situation.

"If you're quite done getting death threats from my sister, my lord, can we get this meeting going?" When the older man finally backed down and took his place again, Jon fixed him one last cold foreboding look, "And if you ever threaten my brother again or hurt anyone else in this castle with ill intention, Lord Florent, I will have your head in a spike."

The meeting had continued then as if nothing had happened. Despite what Lord Florent said, important decisions about warfare was discussed and accomplished. Jon led them all one case after another.

He was every bit of a King back then.

But, now as they walk side by side surrounded by their home walls, he's no more than just her favourite brother who had first trained her swords fighting without needing any reason.

So, Arya decides to open herself up.

"How is she? I haven't talked to her since that day in the Great Hall."

She can feel Jon's knowing gaze boring a hole at the side of her head as she looks ahead, not needing to explain who she was talking about. "I wouldn't really know, Arya..." he trails seeming to gather his thoughts and then, "You rejected her proposal, didn't you?"

When she turns, there's disbelief and also an underlying sadness on his face. She doesn't have to answer his question. He seems to understand it all the same.

"You know I'm not the kind of person to be tied with someone." She says, nonchalance.

"But, this is different, is it not?"

"How?"

"You love her."

Arya can't believe that they're at this again. There was once a time where she's the one that questioned him about Daenerys' marriage.

"Love is not a solution." She leaves him behind, eager to get away now. But, Jon persists.

"And yet you're asking me about her. That shows you care."

Arya gives him a look. "I never said otherwise."

Jon sighs, exasperated. Silence fills in their unspoken words. When they rounded a corner, he finally gives in.

"We met a few times after you left that day to discuss her Unsullied and Dothraki. We came to a conclusion to extend another area out north of the settlements for them to live in. She also asked my help to introduce her to all our liege lords and other Houses..."

I could've done that. Arya thought. Even knew some of them for more than one lifetime.

"...and we're just finishing up the tour when we saw you and Clegane sparring, which I have to say, great technique, little sister." he smiles proudly.

"Thanks."

"We should do that sometimes."

Arya smirks. "What, and make a fool out of Your Highness? Oh, the scandal."

Jon huffs indignantly. "Wow, what an arrogant jerk you've become. What happened to my sweet, kind little sister?" he asks mockingly, hand reaching to ruffle her hair.

She growls in annoyance. "Don't touch my hair." She just braided them and now it's a mess. Her brother has the audacity to laugh as he tries a second time which Arya quickly backtracks from. "I'll cut you. I swear it by the—stop that."

"Cut me? With your little knife?"

She pauses then, suddenly sober at what she had lost. Jon stops too with a curious gaze. "I'm sorry about Needle. I had it since forever and it protected me every time I needed it...It was the best gift I ever received and I broke it."

Jon pats her cheek affectionately. "No need to be sorry for that. I'm glad Needle was there and protecting you when I couldn't." He straightens, gripping her shoulder now. His dark grey eyes glinting with mischief. "Though, I must admit you certainly look better with Needle by your side. And I think if you head to the forge first thing in the morning, you'll find a new shiny and skinny sword with your name on it ready for the taking."

*

Bright and early the next morn, Arya is practically skipping all the way to the forge of Winterfell. She can't believe that Jon had ordered Needle to be mended. Her sleep last night had been fitful in the best way, eager for the sun to come out. Her hands are clenching and unclenching with excitement, ready to test her new and improved—as Jon claimed it—Needle.

The forge is already bustling with activities as people get ready to start their operation for the day. Jon had said that she will find what she's looking for once she got here, not really explaining who or where Needle was being made.

So, she walks around the place in search of her precious sword.

What she finds instead is a tall looming figure of Brienne of Tarth speaking with one of the forgers. Curious, she closes in and overheard the taller woman giving compliments to the man who had made her second longsword.

Arya supposes it's a great sword if she pays any attention to it at all but she's not, so she can't really tell. What caught her attention instead is the person Brienne is talking to—or rather the forger who had smiled awkwardly as if he's not used to receiving such praise.

Arya's heart does a little leap at the familiar face. Her feet unknowingly bring her closer to the man. To Gendry.

"He always had his way around fire and steel," Arya's voice cuts off Brienne's, stopping right between them. "I guess you still like to polish helmets and beat on swords with hammers."

Gendry is a lot taller now too. His shoulders, wide and muscled, revealing strong arms that definitely benefited from his occupation. His thick black hair is no more instead it's short to his scalp. His eyes—as he stares at her silently—are still the vibrant blue though in a much darker hue, looking wiser and older.

"Lady Arya," Brienne says, surprised. "You know him?"

The young Stark cut her stare-off with Gendry to address the taller woman. "We travelled together before Sandor."

Brienne acquiesces quietly, looking between the two. When neither Arya nor Gendry offers anything else, she excuses herself with her newly forged longsword, a last thanks to the man responsible and an "I'm glad you found your way home, my lady," to Arya.

"Me too."

With Brienne gone, the air around them becomes warm and thick with something that Arya couldn't quite place. Gendry starts to fidget around with a dirty cloth in his hand, wiping his already clean hands until they redden.

"Um...hi, Arya. How are you?" He asks nervously.

She wants to gather him around her arms, grateful that he's alive and found his way to her home too. "I'm fine... You look well." She says with a small smile.

His shoulders relax. "Had your brother to thank for that."

Suddenly, she remembers why she's here. "Jon?"

Gendry nods. "He took me in. When I escaped the red woman, I head north in search of you and found him instead." His eyes glaze, suddenly grow unfocused. "When we last talk, you said that Winterfell could've needed my expertise, said that I could smith here instead of the Brotherhood...you said that..." he trails off seemingly unable to continue but Arya remembers.

"I said that I could be your family."

His blue eyes focus again, smiling softly. "You were right, Arya. I should've listened to you back then."

"I'm always right. At least now you know."

He chuckles as they share a moment. Something inside her heart expands and settles at Gendry's peaceful face.

"How'd you find it here? Is everybody treating you well?" Arya asks.

Gendry shrugs. "Winterfell's alright if it wasn't so cold."

"Stay close to that forge, then."

"Oh, is that a command, Lady Stark?"

"Don't call me that."

"As you wish, m'lady." He says with a grin.

Arya easily matches it. Their easy banter was a reminisce of good times when they only had each other to depend on. Gendry will always have a special place in her heart. His calling her m'lady used to ignite something fiery inside but that spark had died down to a cinder and had been replaced with a brighter and hotter flame by another person that had called her similarly. Her velvety voice had much more confidence and clearer phonation in it. Mentally, she shakes the thought of a particular Targaryen queen away.

"My wish is to retrieve Needle. Jon said it'll be ready today. I reckon you're the one who's fixing it?"

"Yes, it's done. Though I don't think Needle would be a fitting name now."

Gendry walks away to the back as Arya follows after him. A long table which she assumes is his station is littered with all kinds of weapons but he doesn't reach among those instead he takes a slender sword, scabbard and all, of a wall.

As soon as she takes it from him, the weight feels heavier in her grip. It's longer too and when she unsheathes it, the once skinny blade is now not so skinny anymore. Instead of the rounded edge it used to have; now it's a triangle-edge shape, sharp and pointed all around. What caught her eyes though are the swirls of star-like inside the steel itself. It's unlike anything she's ever seen. At the lower end, its hilt is wider and longer enough—befitting of its upper end—that she can easily hold with both her hands. Leather, with small stitches of an A.S. embedded at the end, all around the grip completed the look.

"It's gorgeous." Arya breathes, moving her sword this way and that. Whatever angle she looks at, it never fails to amaze her. She finds Gendry's waiting eyes, looking quite pleased and proud of himself.

"Got any new name for it, then?"

She doesn't have to think long to decide. "No. It'll always be Needle."

*

When Arya heads down to the training ground, she expected Osha to lead the sparring session for today. Having met with the Wildling and Rickon earlier that morning before she went to the forge, she had asked her to teach the first round since she'll be late picking up Needle. Rickon had been dissatisfied saying that he can take over instead, but Osha digress, pulling him away as they part ways.

So, of course, Arya expects a timely and orderly lesson from the older woman that the children will have no problem following. But to her horror, the exact opposite is happening.

At the clearing, the children are forming a half-circle around Osha and Rickon who had taken a man hostage as they brutally hit his stomach repeatedly with a staff.

Arya rushes towards them, Needle already unsheathes. Right when Osha poses another strike and is ready to hit the poor man again, Needle has already cut it in half. "What in seven hells are you teaching these children?" She hisses on the wildling's face.

Osha has the gall to look surprised by her sudden appearance and then unbelieving at her now broken weapon as if Arya has just interrupted her fun.

"She-wolf," the victim calls and Arya blinks at the familiar voice but most of all at the familiar language. It was Dothraki's.

She finally turns to find "Kafat?" which the Dothraki only grins wider.

"You just wanted to show off your new sword, didn't ya," Osha says with a huff, picking up half of the staff from the ground.

"I stopped you beating an unarmed man to death."

Rickon steps up. "We're practising to toughen up our body by receiving blows. Kafat volunteered." He supplies happily. "And nice sword, Arya. Can I have a go? I think I'm ready for real swords now."

She closes her eyes in exasperation, can't believe this is happening. Pointedly, she ignores Rickon and addresses the adult responsible. "He doesn't understand our language and neither you with his. How did you know what he wants?"

"Oh settle down, little lady. There's more than one way to communicate. He's a strong capable man, I didn't even hit him that hard," Osha smirks, ogling Kafat's form unashamedly. "I say, he's fine...more than."

Arya doesn't even want to unpack whatever that is. As if understanding the question they're trading, Kafat conveniently provides, "The woman has hit me good, she-wolf. Fear not as she may be strong, I am stronger."

The young Stark sighs. "Why are you here?"

"For our lessons of course."

Arya straightens, remembering vaguely what Kafat promised during their travel. "I don't need a lesson in Dothraki as you can see my fluency in them now. And I also do not have time to spare because I am to teach them sword-fighting." She nudges the bunch of boys and girls that are still watching with interest and amusement. Kafat looks disappointed. "I'm sure Khaleesi has something for you to do." She tries.

He only looks gloomier if that's possible. "We're building another camp outside these wooden walls and I am on rest for a few hours. Other than that, Khaleesi doesn't need me by her side."

Well, Arya be damned but she can't turn him away now, can she.

*

As a matter of fact, she actually can. Should have.

When Osha decides to continue her lesson of toughening up the body—Kafat's body—which Arya cannot comprehend why he'd need any more toughening up for, it becomes clear that Osha has no intention of doing anything educational.

The grunts they both make become marginally vulgar and it's enough for Arya to kick them out of her teaching ground and away from the innocent and curious children. Neither Osha nor Kafat seem to be bothered by it in the slightest as they left, shoulders brushing.

Osha's last "D'ya want to get a drink?" and Kafat's "I can teach you more than that, wildling," are the last thing Arya hears as they vanish around the corner.

Good riddance.

*

One week.

Seven days.

Seven cycles of sleeping on a bed too large for Arya alone. And seven times the sun and moon have switched places upon the canvas of the sky.

It has been a long and traitorous seven days since the young Stark last seen Daenerys in the council chamber. Ten days altogether since the older woman had proposed to her in front of her siblings. And true to her words, Arya had not received any response or whatsoever from Daenerys at the rejection. Arya knows that Daenerys respected her wish and shall wait however long it takes for her to accept but the lack of effort and the complete silence has become both maddening and disappointing.

She wonders why Daenerys is not peppering her with gifts as other normal suitors would do. Why she's not asking for reconsideration. And why Daenerys is not doing anything besides respecting her wish and giving her space like Arya clearly wants.

Damn the woman for doing nothing and everything all at once.

Because now they're at an impasse, neither willing to make a move in fear someone would fall over the other side. And Daenerys is waiting for Arya to give and fall onto her end.

What the dragon queen fails to understand is that Arya has already crossed a bridge and moved on to the opposite end—at least that is what she convinced herself she's doing.

But, Daenerys is still waiting. Patiently and faithfully for no one to come.

And Arya can't have that. She cannot let the dragon queen waste away waiting for the impossible, so it's only fitting that she turns around and walks back down the metaphorical bridge to guide Daenerys away from her so they can move along their own path, separately.

Whatever it takes, she will make the dragon queen see reason.

In order to do that, Arya decides to seek Daenerys out. It so happens that that means knocking one of the many doors in the Guest Tower in the darkest of the night.

"I want my fur blanket back," she says as soon as Daenerys reveals herself.

Daenerys is wearing a thin nightdress that Arya tries very hard not to stray her gaze inappropriately. Her silver hair is in a loose wave, soft and silky down her shoulders. She remains unperturbed as if finding Arya outside her chamber at this ungodly hour and disrupting her sleep is a normal occurrence. With a quick tilt of her head, the Unsullied guards who are guarding the door walk away to give them some privacy.

"I don't have your fur blanket, Arya."

"It was gone the moment you left, so you must have it."

Daenerys quirks her brow, a small tug at the corner of her lips. "That was almost a fortnight ago."

Arya tries not to let the gesture get to her. She has an important job to accomplish; one involving the dragon queen to retract her proposal and move on. "That's not the problem."

"Then, what is?"

"I can't sleep without it." Not what she intended to say but she swears the dragon queen looks almost guilty for a second but then nothing.

"You're welcome to sleep here." Daenerys' smile slowly turns sultry. "As I recall, you sleep fine when you lay next to me."

Arya leaves right after that, saying farewell and wishing Daenerys a good night sleep alone.

*

It has become a familiar occurrence for Arya after that night. Whenever she's free, she would always find the dragon queen. Be it at the tower's hall or the kitchen in the morning, or the evening on a walkway to the main castle, or outside the gates to the settlements, Arya would always find her.

What started with the search for her missing fur blanket now turns into something else equally as important. Like the reduced number of her candle stand or the disappearance of an old journal she kept on her study which turns into casual conversations about the weather and how they sleep or have they eaten yet.

Casual, like:

"Is that a new Needle?"

"Yes, do you want to touch it?"

So, it's not really strange that Arya finds herself at the Guest Tower's hall for an early breakfast with Daenerys before they both had to go about their day.

Today's menu consists of baked eggs with mushrooms—the same as they always had for three days in a row now.

"My father once told me that I'd be a lady of a castle one day," Arya says, looking up from her plate to find violet eyes already on hers. "That I'd marry a lord in a nice frilly dress."

Daenerys' lips pull into a smile as if in triumph before it fades, turning serious instead. "Technically, you wouldn't be a lady. You'd be the Queen's consort, the Princess Stark. And I would never force you into a dress however nice and frilly it is."

"I'm not marrying you."

"Who says anything about marrying?"

Arya rolls her eyes fondly. And Daenerys continues. "Besides, if either of us is to be the lady in a household, it'd be me."

"You?"

"Yes," Daenerys says like it's obvious. "I need you to be working and provide for me."

Arya raises a brow. "But, you're a Queen."

"Precisely."

"That arrangement seems rather one-sided, no?"

Daenerys pushes her empty plate to the side, leaning forward to close their distance across each other over the small table. "It might seem that way to the onlookers, but..." violet eyes glint mischievous and dangerous, making Arya equally charmed and anxious. "I'd make sure to pay a handsome price each day with everything that I have."

When Daenerys fingertips trail down Arya's forearm, they leave hot burns and goosebumps in their wake. Arya can only swallow drily, grabbing her goblet of water to wolf down every last drip hoping it can quench her sudden thirst.

*

Outside, the dragon queen is walking down a path to reach the newly built settlements for her armies when the young Stark matches her stride.

"You know that I'm a virgin," Arya points out, brazenly. Daenerys only gives an incline of her head as an indication that she heard what's being said, so Arya continues, ignoring the other presence trailing behind them. "I've never pleased a man, let alone a woman. What if I hate it? What if you hate it? And I can never give you children. There's nothing much I can offer you really. Why would you ever want to be with me?"

Daenerys stops right in front. The sun shines in her eyes. "Because you already gave me everything."

*

"I'm a cynical person and I can be patronising without even realizing it," Arya says. "Moreover, I am stubborn and pig-headed, impatient, possessive and resentful."

Daenerys only smiles. "Not to mention, you're always grumpy."

Arya huffs and walks away from the courtyard.

*

"What do you think of my brother, Jon?"

"He's a kind and capable King. I admire his abilities. Hard to find one that doesn't tip the scale." Daenerys says, not even looking up from her writing to acknowledge Arya's sudden presence in her room.

"I meant what you think of him as a man." Daenerys finally stops writing but remain silent as her gaze turns contemplative. Arya trudges on. "You should consider him as a suitor. Imagine the united front you both would paint all across Westeros."

The chair the dragon queen sits on scrapes loudly against the stone floor as she moves to stand. "I thought I made myself clear whom my heart belongs to."

"You don't know what you're missing."

Daenerys walks around her study to stand directly in front of her. "And what is that?"

"You'll be much happier with him." The words feel like ash on her tongue and judging by Daenerys' offended look, she probably tastes it too.

"How can you say that? What makes you think after everything we've been through, I'd choose your brother over you?"

"Because you would. You did once. If you saw my past lives, then you must've seen the time when you did choose him over me and how much happier you were with him." But, Daenerys only looks dumbfounded, as if only hearing about it for the first time.

Suddenly, everything makes perfect sense and Arya can't help the chuckle escaping, joyless. "The three-eyed raven didn't show you... Of course—why—why would he? He only showed what he deemed worthy to manipulate you with. So he can control you, me and everyone and everything to his bidding. Do you see now, how wrong that is?" She closes in desperately. "How wrong us, is?"

Daenerys meets her with equal fire. "No. You are not wrong. You will never be wrong. Bran may be the one to choose what to show me but I'm the one who consciously made the decision to do what I must and how I feel." She sighs softly, eyes hopeful and full of familiar adoration. "Did you know, all I ever wanted since the day I arrived in Westeros is to go back? To go back to the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside my window, to the childhood I had never known. But, then you came along and I never wanted to go back again. That's what I saw in every one of your past lives, Arya—every version of me finding the home she always dreamed of. Finding you."

Arya flees the room, heart in her throat.

*

The swish and then thwack sound of arrows embedding the centre of the pillar fill the shed where the young Stark has taken refuge. Outside, the sky has gotten dark and inside, torches mounted on walls have been lit.

Arya had missed her sparring session for today and instead had spent her time here, equipped with a bow and quivers of arrows. The routine used to calm her whenever she faced quandaries with councilmen in another life, but she can't say it's working now seeing as a certain silver-haired queen is still very much occupying her every being.

Each and every bit of their interaction in another life comes at the forefront of her mind with every arrow hitting its mark, bleeding until they form a single person. Despite having the luxury of meeting three versions of Daenerys in her time quest, Arya can't for the life of her choose one. She couldn't. She loves every version of Daenerys fiercely and even if they do have some differences, their essence and soul is who Arya had fallen in love with each time.

Her spirit, fierce. Her love, sweet.

And Arya knows how unwavering Daenerys can be when she believes in something. And to know that her love is being reciprocated in this life and this strong—well, she certainly has a mixed feeling of both pride and frustration.

"Whoa there," a voice brings her back to reality with Gendry standing beside the pillar—her target— with his palm up.

The young Stark slowly lowers her loaded bow, gesturing for him to come to stand at her side. She hit the mark two more times before resting her bow aside and finally giving full attention to Gendry who is awfully quiet beside her. He has a quarterstaff with him that Arya only realizes now.

"I made this," he answers in lieu of her silent question, fidgeting. Pausing to take a deep breath, he continues. "I saw you and the Hound the other day and I thought, you look good—I mean you look good with that spear and so I made this weapon for you. Reckon you could handle this. It's no common staff, see here, you can twist it and then," with a click and pull, the staff breaks apart in half revealing the real treasure, a hidden blade inside on both ends.

Arya finally takes the weapon from him to study it better, in awe at such crafts. "How did you put them in there?"

"A smith never tells his secrets."

She smiles and pushes the blades inside to become a normal-looking quarterstaff again. "First Needle and now this? You spoil me."

Gendry chuckles. "Well, nothing new for the princess then."

"Shut up."

They share a seat on the forgotten hay, basking in the easy moment. The weight of her new weapon settles on her laps.

"Thank you, Gendry."

"You're welcome." He smiles tenderly. "Say, it's wild isn't it...how you and I got to be here now, in the same castle after so long and twist of a journey."

"You have no idea." She turns her head to look at him better. He has a nice face. Defined jawline and blue eyes like the sea. Handsome. She remembers how taken she once was with him. How safe she felt around him. She was too young back then for him to take notice but now as his dark eyes stare back, she can see there's something else there, charged and warming.

She's not stupid. She can feel his attraction towards her from the first time they reunited at the forge. Any smith can mend Needle back into its original state but Gendry has paid extra attention to details as if he wanted to show off his skills. And now this quarterstaff—he had no reason to gift such a weapon and if that's not telling, then, his flickering eyes down to her lips for a quick second prove as much.

Perhaps, she can love Gendry as much as she loves Daenerys. She did love him once after all. And perhaps if Daenerys sees that she has picked another, she will finally stop wasting time and retract her proposal.

"Arya?"

There's only one way to find out. So, Arya leans in, cradling Gendry's jaw and kisses him. It gets reciprocated almost instantly as if he's been waiting for her to do so since they first reunited. Her quarterstaff rolls from her lap to the ground as they invade each other's space.

His lips are a bit cold not warm like Daenerys. They're thin and purposeful not plump and soft. And when she inhales, there's a familiar smoke hitting her nostrils but also something foreign. Steel and burnt coal instead of her favourite sweet lavender and earthy smoke.

It's all wrong. He's wrong.

Wrong.

She pushes him away and gets to her feet, walking away to distance herself.

"Arya?"

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry...shouldn't have done that."

"That bad, huh?"

She turns to find Gendry looking like a kicked puppy and can't help wincing with guilt. "It's not bad...it's just—" A certain silver-haired woman comes into her mind as easy as breathing. "I'm in love with someone else."

His eyes widen in surprise and his mouth forms an 'oh'. Arya picks up her quarterstaff off the ground, walks back towards him and takes a seat, making sure there's a healthy space between them now. He doesn't say anything else but his gaze is curious and she decides to hell with everything and tells him what had happened to her.

She starts from her killing Cersei and the Mountain in Kings Landing and then getting thrown back into the past for the very first time.

Then, she tells him how she saves her family only for it to fall apart again. About the first time she met Daenerys inside a slave's cell in Qazlas Pit. Tells him everything that happens from there onwards until now. The whole lot.

"...And she won't budge. I've done everything I can to make her see how horrible a decision marrying me would be but..." Arya trails, staring ahead, unfocused and unaware of the slack-jawed man drilling a hole with his gaze at the side of her face.

"So, let me understand this," Gendry says after picking up his jaw off the floor. "You travel through time twice, thrice? To save your family but ends up not as successful and then you got sent back in time again having to relive everything all over and you did nothing this time around because you were told to do so but you didn't last that long and then became Queen of the North before the world ended when Euron Greyjoy attack and now you're here to stop him do the same to us? Did I miss anything?"

"Yes. You missed the most important part where Daenerys proposed to me."

"Ah, silly me... And of course, there's Daenerys Targaryen wanting you to be her consort."

"So, what do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

Arya groans in her hands. "Gods, you're so stupid."

"So are you," Gendry says with a smile in his voice. She looks up to find him indeed with an annoying grin on his face. "You loved her for three lifetimes and now when she feels the same, you push her away?"

"The three-eyed raven—"

"Did he force you to kill Cersei the first time around?" Gendry cuts off.

Arya just frowns, thrown back by the question. "No, it's all me."

"And the second time?"

"Is there a point—" At Gendry's pointed look, Arya switches her answer to, "No, it's all me," again.

"And how about when you're in Meereen, did he force you to save the dragon queen from being assassinated and make you stay after? Or when you were the Northern Queen, did he force you to become one?"

Arya doesn't answer, instead, glaring dagger with her eyes that certainly would have paralysed any man to submission but apparently not Gendry who seems only to be mildly affected by it as he trudges on after perfecting his steely gaze.

"Seems to me, your actions are yours, Arya. Not his."

She sighs. "You don't understand. The three-eyed raven may not have directly been involved but he's the reason why I go through that hell more than once. He manipulated me and everyone that I care about for his grander scheme that only he knows what. He made Daenerys feel that way when it's not supposed to."

He just looks at her with sadness in his eyes that Arya barely manages from flinching away from. She's starting to regret telling him everything.

"You're right in that I can never fully understand what you've gone through. But I do know this..." He trails, waiting patiently for her to fully focus on him again. "We're the sole reason for the actions we do, no one else—Free will. Choices. It's what separates us from the animals. The three-eyed raven may have set up the stage but he didn't write the script nor direct it. People make choices every day in every little thing. And to put the blame on someone else when you fucked up or when you didn't expect the desired outcome is cowardly."

She flinches at that.

"I'm not saying that you are..." Gendry backtracked. Guilt on his face.

But Arya couldn't fault him for it. Perhaps she is a coward after all. How many times has she convinced herself that Daenerys is better off without her? That Daenerys is going to be happier with Jon. In truth, she's scared that her love would never amount to something as great as her brother's like in that life—that her love can never make Daenerys as happy. As satisfied.

"I don't think that you are, at all." His smile is contemplative, an olive branch. "I wasn't thinking about you when I said that. I was thinking about my father, Robert Baratheon." He shrugs at a quirk of her brow. "I'm his bastard. I only knew when the red woman wanted my royal blood for a ritual... Anyway, the point is the three-eyed raven sure as hell didn't control Robert whoring around creating bastards all over, did he? Robert did all of that by his own choice. He left his bastards behind without care what that'd create after his death."

Arya reaches for his hand at the side. "I'm sorry."

Gendry turns his palm up to squeeze back gently. "Me too." And then, "You're not a coward, far from it."

She thinks back to violet eyes that could drown her in perfect sunny weather. "No, you're right earlier. I am a coward, at least in this."

She thinks about Daenerys who patiently waited and humoured her inquiries without backing down. Thinks about the great battle that will come any day now, about all the time wasted that could— should be filled by making Daenerys truly happy instead.

Thinks about how Arya can have all of that if she had just accepted Daenerys' hand.

Thinks about how stupid and a true coward she is all this time.

"But, I think I want to be brave now."

*

Easier said than done.

Is what Arya chides herself over and over as she paces every inch of space available in her room. There's a pile of scrunched parchments on her study, proof of her failed attempts at grovelling for apologies to the dragon queen. Inks splotched and dried on her fingers and palms, the wooden surface of her table and in the emptied inkpot. Feather pens broke at the tip as a result of her vigorous writing to conjure up words befitting of her redemption.

In the end, none of it matters because they all either end up crossed, crumpled or thrown on the floor.

She's a coward is what she is.

The thought of meeting Daenerys head-on and admitting that she's a fool for taking so long to realize it and worse, to accept Daenerys proposal scares Arya shitless.

Not that Arya's afraid of the marriage itself, it's what after that leaves her chest tight and breathless. She and Daenerys, married and tied in more ways than one.

What is she to do with that?

How is she supposed to act now...after? She's not a lady, Daenerys knows that so perhaps she can tuck that particular worry away. Should have done that way earlier to save her unnecessary thinking.

Because what's left now is only... EVERYTHING ELSE!

Great. She's spiralling.

The young Stark plops unceremoniously down the edge of her bed, taking a big lungful of air to calm down and organize her thoughts.

Perhaps she can confide in Sansa and ask for advice. No. Sansa would lock me up in the crypt before I get to say the word 'marry' out.

Then, Jon? ...No.

Rickon— Hah. What am I thinking?

Osha? Yes, she would know what to do. And see her smug face?

Sandor, then? Seven hells, I must be crazy enough to think that.

Tyrion? Fuck me.

Well, that left her with no one else really. No one but her.

So, she's back to square one. Great. This is great.

Truly, it's great because all she needs is herself after all.

She's Arya Stark of Winterfell. Former Faceless Man, pit warrior, once Queen of the North and the Chosen One. She journeyed through three lifetimes and survived. She can go and meet Daenerys to accept a proposal.

She can. She will.

*

"Arya?"

"I kissed Gendry."

There's a sudden coldness in the air after her equally hasty declaration. She's at the dragon queen's door, her Dothraki guards far away, leaving them be as per instruction as always. Though, said woman's gaze now is much less familiar than usual. All cold and a guarded mask. Arya rushes the words to explain.

"He's my friend that got taken away by the red priestess I mentioned to you about. He's a smith now working in the forge. He's the one who mended Needle for me and gave me a quarterstaff. Him, me and Hot Pie escaped Harrenhal—Hot Pie is another one of my friends which I think I met him back in the Inn at the Crossroad in this life," she frowns, remembering. "That's right, the innkeeper hired him so he stayed to bake bread there. So, Gendry and I travelled for Winterfell until the Brotherhood gave him away."

Daenerys blinks, posture still stiff. "Yes, I remember you telling me that...I'm glad you found both Gendry and Hot Pie again. Is Gendry who you want to be with?"

"No, he's my friend."

"But, you kissed him."

"Yes, and I didn't like it at all. It was all wrong. He felt wrong. I wanted to tell you this because I don't want to keep any secrets from you. He means nothing more than a friend to me." There's a flickering of hope inside violet eyes that makes Arya stands taller. "I thought I can care for him like I do you but I can't. No one can replace you, it's quite exasperating, you should know."

Daenerys makes an impassive face but her eyes are everything but emotionless, reverting back to its usual fondness. "Well, I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's fine. I don't mind."

The once cold environment turns warm making Arya's skin tingle and buzz with excitement that she couldn't hold on to any longer. Daenerys calm expression only urges her to speak up, so confidently she blurts out an, "I'll marry you."

Daenerys unconsciously steps forward in a stumble before she reigns herself composed again. "Excuse me?"

"Let's stop this—stop all of this pining or courting, whatever you called it...and let's get married."

Violet eyes seem to freeze down on her lips, processing what has just been said before they flicker up again to meet equally bright grey ones. "What are you saying, Arya?"

"I'm saying that I'll marry you. I'm saying that I accept your proposal."

There's a clear fight happening in those intelligently beautiful orbs and then a beginning of a frown on Daenerys face. "Why now?" She asks unsteadily, as if in disbelief that she has indeed just asked that. Honestly, Arya shares the same sentiment, not at all expecting the hesitancy.

Silently, she studies the older woman's face. Daenerys looks afraid and tense as if bracing herself to take a hit. And Arya hates that they're there because of her, because of her earlier rejection and her blatant dismissal. She thinks hard about the question, wanting to answer them in a way that can eliminate Daenerys fear.

There's multiple of reasons why Arya finally decides to accept Daenerys' proposal. Multiple words that she tried and failed in writing them down moments ago in her study. But, there's also a simple reason why. "Because I love you," Arya says with conviction. "I love you so much, always have been as far as I can remember and I want to marry you, Daenerys if you'll have me."

It seems that's the right thing to say when a slow smile spreads across Daenerys face, lovely and marvellous that Arya can't help but to mirror it. "You can't take that back."

"I'm not planning to."

"Good."

"Great." The smile on Arya's face feels so wide that it's starting to hurt.

"Let's do it now." Daenerys declares and continues in a hurry. "I won't give you a chance to sleep it off and say another thing the next day."

Arya chuckles softly. "I won't."

"Yes, you won't because we're getting married now." Daenerys suddenly grab hold of Arya's shoulders and steers her backwards making her openly laughs now.

"What are you doing?"

"You're going to your room to get ready so that I can get ready too." The dragon queen finally turns her around so that Arya can actually see where she's going. "I'll come by your room and then we'll get married. Go."

She stumbles slightly when Daenerys pushes her at the end. Righting herself, she turns around to face the older woman while still backing away, eager to get back to her room. "You're insane and I love you."

Daenerys beams. "I'll see you in an hour, Stark."

*

They're actually doing this.

They're really getting married.

Arya rubs her ink-splotched palms with a wet cloth until the skin reddens, the water below her becomes murky grey. As Daenerys suggested, Arya's getting ready for the ceremony and that includes washing up from head to toe from a now cold bath being left hours earlier, which she had dismissed in favour of writing love poems to the woman she's about to get married to in the next hour.

Shaking the bubbling giddiness away, she concentrates on a more important job of finding better clothes—no, the best clothes for the ceremony.

There's a clean and nice-looking cream-coloured tunic at the bottom of her drawer, new trousers as well, black. But then there's also a dark blue fabric peering at the edge unnaturally. She tugs it, revealing long clothing.

It is but a simple piece of dress.

And when she puts it on, it hugs her comfortably.

Perhaps she can make an exception on her wedding day. Her parents would've wanted more frills, no doubt, but this can be a compromise. Besides, she wants to look nice for Daenerys.

Surely Daenerys will like this dress?

A belt and Needle secure low around her waist, and Arya feels infinitely better and assured that she doesn't look odd. Now, that leaves her hair. Short and still damp from the washing just now. Missandei had once taught her of a simple braid that one can do without help so Arya starts working. Her fingers and hair tangled in a deliberate motion. By the end of it all, it leaves her arms and neck sore. All of her hair gathered at the back of her head nicely, save for a strand of hair somehow managed to escape at the edge of her hairline and Arya huffs, tired and annoyed.

She slips the offending piece of hair behind her ear and out of mind. Satisfied, she takes a seat at the edge of her bed, her heart thumps steadily and in the silence of her room, she waits for Daenerys to come.

*

It's been more than an hour and Arya is growing restless.

Unkind thoughts are starting to bleed through her mind.

Did Daenerys not want to marry her anymore? Or was she lost somewhere in the castle? Is she safe? Her guards wouldn't leave their queen's side, would they?

Outside the opened window, the dark is heavy and thick and Arya only now realizes that it's still deep in the night. Perhaps, they should do this when there's sunlight. Though recalling Daenerys earlier statement, she was pretty adamant about them getting married as fast as they can. And truthfully, Arya wants the same thing.

So, she waits... and waits some more.

Maybe she should braid her hair again?

A soft knock startles her thoughts and she jumps to her feet, striding towards the door, short of stopping herself from colliding onto the surface. She smoothes her dress, corrects her belt and Needle, and with a deep breath, opens the door.

"Hi," Daenerys greets her, breathless and all alone. "I had to go and find the Maester so he can officiate us." Maester Wolkan stands respectfully a few ways away along the hallways, waiting for them. His appearance dishevelled like he's been rudely interrupted from his sleep and had just put on his robe without much thought. Arya would have felt guilty but the sight of Daenerys at her door takes precedence.

A slow smile builds as she takes Daenerys in, from her silver hair that falls down elegantly over her shoulders to her half dress, black with an accent of grey which covers until below her knees with high boots and fitted pants. There's a chain going across her chest that secures a grey sash over her shoulder. A three-headed dragon pin completed the look.

It's a familiar appearance that Arya never would've thought of looking at ever again.

Her heart blossoms. She can't help it.

"You're wearing a dress," Daenerys looks uncharacteristically shocked.

Arya shifts from foot to foot, gripping Needle tightly. "Yes," and leaves it at that.

"You're beautiful."

Grey eyes find Daenerys' bright and warm and feel herself relax considerably. "Thank you. So are you."

They walk side by side to the waiting Maester who straightens immediately, eyes wide as he blinks back and forth between them.

"Your Grace, you want to me officiate you and Princess Stark?"

"Yes, I'm marrying Arya. Is there a problem?"

Maester Wolkan looks to Arya as if waiting for her confirmation too. When he finds it in her calm and collected demeanour, he concedes. "I guess not. To the godswood then? It's the best place for such a holy ceremony."

Arya tenses. Of course, they would have to go there. It's a place of worship and meditation dedicated to the Old Gods of the Forest. A wooded sanctuary that had held many weddings of House Stark and others.

Only, it's no sanctuary for the young Stark. It hasn't become one in a long time since she knows just who exactly the Heart Tree connects to. The last time she went into the Godswood was when she tricked Euron Greyjoy into taking her there so she could save everyone the third time around.

She doesn't need the three-eyed raven to be there ruining the best day of her life now. What if she gets thrown back in time in sick twisted revenge of his?

Her insides lurch at the possibility.

"No," Daenerys rejects the idea almost instantly which leaves Arya both surprised and relieved. "We will go to another place."

"Where else can we get married if not there?"

Daenerys holds Arya's hand, lacing them together. "Trust me?"

As if that's even a question. So, the dragon queen leads the way, Maester Wolkan trailing quietly behind them.

They go out into the night and the cold instantly seeps through her dress. But Arya barely notices, more intrigued by the woman beside her and where she's taking them. Daenerys gives nothing away but occasional side glances with an infuriating smirk as if she knows something that Arya doesn't.

She lets Daenerys have the moment.

So caught up in the older woman's happy face, the warmth of their hands held together, and everything that is Daenerys Targaryen, Arya doesn't realize they had arrived in a familiar place.

She should have recognized their paths way earlier if she wasn't so busy distracting herself with the dragon queen.

There, in front, stands the glass garden of Winterfell in its glory.

Daenerys tugs her forward eagerly as they step inside tall glass door. The warmth instantly envelops Arya in more ways than one. It's earthy smell familiar. The inside is dark save for the moonlight shining through the glass above. It brings life into the plants and flowers growing inside, their surfaces shimmering in an ethereal glow.

She feels cocoon and free at the same time. Safe and open.

They stop at a pathway as Daenerys bends down to pluck a winter rose from the bushes, throws away the thorns, and then turns to Arya and slides it inside her braided hair where it sits prettily.

"Eternal love," Daenerys fingers ghosting the side of Arya's face that sends delicious chills down her spine. "I understand now what that means. You gifted your father this rose when you were a child that left him smiling for days. And you gifted me, once on the first snowfall and another on a summer where you gave me this glass garden."

Arya remembers. Despite what came after that, she smiles, amused more than anything. "I guess you did find out about its meaning one way or another."

Daenerys mirrors it, looking somehow nervous. "Is this place to your likings, my lady?"

Arya reaches out, both their hands now in each other's grasp. "More than. It's perfect as are you."

Maester Wolkan chooses that moment to join them. "Here?" He looks down to their already joined hands, at where they all currently stand in the middle of the pathways surrounded by roses, carrots and vegetation. Most of all, he finds the answer in both women's faces in front of him, filling with so much love.

Without wasting any more time, he straightens and begins.

"We stand here in the sight of..." He trails, eyes busy taking the varieties of plants in the glass garden, "roses and undergrowth and...direwolves..."

To Arya and Daenerys' incredulous "What?"

Indeed as Wolkan said, Nymeria comes out strutting from deep in the garden as if she owns the place. Behind her, Shaggydog trots leisurely, stopping occasionally on some flowers to sniff at before continuing on his way. At the far side, a white direwolf that Arya hasn't seen in a long time shows itself too. Ghost already settles comfortably at a spot, looking at her with intelligent eyes before Shaggydog rudely interrupts and gives him a thorough sniff too.

Nymeria quietly settles on her hind legs on the pathway directly connecting to the humans and Shaggy finds his spot beside her.

Maester Wolkan for his part only breathes in deep and begins once more. "We stand here in the sight of roses and undergrowth and direwolves," much steadier, to which Arya and Daenerys exchange secret smile. "To witness the union of two women: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,"

As Arya and Daenerys stand side by side, Wolkan brings out a ribbon and ties their joined hands to symbolize their union. "Let it be known that Arya of House Stark and Daenerys of House Targaryen are of one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of all the Gods there is, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

When they finally face each other again, Daenerys tightens her grip, looking ashamed. "I don't know the words, Arya. I never married before—I mean I never marry a Westerosi before and I haven't had the time to memorize them."

Arya just smiles softly, waits until the frowns on Daenerys face disappears. "Lucky you have me, then. Repeat after me."

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger...

I am yours and you are mine.

From this day, until the end of my days.

From this day until my last day."

"And with this kiss, I pledge my love," Arya says lastly and leans in to capture Daenerys' lips in a soft kiss.

The quiet and calm instantly break by the direwolves' howl. All three, throwing their head back dramatically and fill the glass garden with an almost ear-splitting sound. There is a continuing howling from outside the castle and then a distant shriek from up the sky too.

Both their familiars are celebrating it seems and looking at Daenerys, all easy-going and cheerful than she's ever been, Arya's heart grows along.

*

"You've been staring at me for a while now," Daenerys says, even though she's pretty much doing the same to Arya.

"Why would I stare at anything else but my beautiful wife?"

Daenerys blushes prettily while Arya cannot stop her dopey smile since Maester Wolkan had left them hours ago after congratulating the pair and wandered off to resume his precious sleep.

The newlyweds are still in the glass garden as they decided to stroll around and spend more time together right after. But, for a time they're not alone. Nymeria, Ghost and Shaggydog faithfully accompanied them in silence, occasionally nipping at Arya's and Daenerys' hands as they trod around them and their pathways. Daenerys, full of bright smiles and mock groans all the while, chasing after the direwolves and dragging Arya along. Even Drogon and Rhaegal were there flying above the dark sky. Their gentle shriek closer and eager flyby apparent by the glass roof.

Arya had never felt happier.

Even after the direwolves ran out of the glass garden to give chase to the dragons outside and Daenerys confirmed that they will be fine— even after.

Now, they're lying side by side on a patch of grass surrounded by more winter roses they had found farther inside.

"I still can't believe it," Her entire body encompass with warmth when she blinks lazily and Daenerys is still there. "I'm not sure if this is a dream."

"It's not."

"Are you sure? I had too many dreams like this."

A flicker of emotion crosses Daenerys' face, something akin to grief but then determination replaces it. "Did your dreams ever do this?" She leans in for a kiss, all gentle and grounding that left Arya's entire body melting on the spot which she eagerly returns the favour.

Daenerys seems to notice the urgency behind it. "It's not a dream, Arya." She murmurs, each breath ghosting between capturing of lips.

Arya pushes Daenerys away only to climb atop, thighs straddling the dragon queen's hips and both hands pinned loosely at the side of silver strands. "And you're here with me?"

"Forever and a day, my love."

Soft grey eyes look down on violet ones with unrestrained emotion, finding nothing but the truth in them. She plucks out the winter rose that's still behind her ears into silver strands. "I love you. You're my first and will always be my last."

Daenerys surges forward suddenly, slotting their lips together in a heated kiss, deep and breathless. Their breaths ghosting on the other. "You let me believe that there's another woman. I was jealous."

Arya laughs, kisses Daenerys nose. "And adorable." Kisses the corner of her lips, "You should know no one comes close."

Daenerys closes the gap right after that, silencing Arya's further praises that only comes out as a quiet moan now. Their kiss, deep and dirty.

Arya feels both lightheaded and pleasantly warm all over. Perhaps due to the fact that hot palms are now roaming beneath her dress and touching the bare skin there. She swallows a tiny gasp of surprise that leave Daenerys mouth the moment that it did.

"I really like you in this dress," The dragon queen breaths out, her hands sliding higher and higher Arya's naked thighs.

Her lips pull into a smirk. "Won't you want me off it, then?"

"Nonsense." Daenerys' hands leave the comfort beneath only to start unbuckling her belt and toss Needle to the side. "I very much like you without one far more."

"In that case," Arya sits up, gathering below her dress and pulling it over her head swiftly.

Goosebumps prickle her exposed skin. Slowly, Daenerys pulls herself up to kneel before her as well. There's stillness in the air around them. A silent promise and confirmation as Daenerys look on.

Arya tries not to fidget under a darkening gaze, instead watches without breaking eye contact, fascinated, when Daenerys' fingers deftly move to undress her clothes one by one in a slow torturous moment that leaves Arya trembles with anticipation.

When there's no barrier left but smooth skin and warm air, her breath does leave her then. Fear and uncertainty start to creep beneath as well. But then, Daenerys reaches out, palm out and Arya lets herself fall for Daenerys to catch.

The first contact they made, fingers entwine and their kiss, feel different somehow. Slow. All heavy and constricting, but, at the same time, Arya can never get enough of it. And when their chests brush, bare skin grazing, and Daenerys moans that delicious sound, Arya can't help herself. Primal desire burns low in her stomach. She pulls Daenerys close, urging the older woman to rock against her.

All around, time moves faster somehow. Pressing.

When it still isn't enough, she gathers Daenerys in her lap, peppering open mouth kisses beneath Daenerys jawline down her throat and sucking hard. Daenerys whines, her back arching leaving more space for Arya to work on as she trails her tongue down the valley of Daenerys breast.

Somewhere above her, the older woman curses as Arya moves to cup both breasts, kneading them, enthral, and suck just above where it should be instead.

There's a tug behind Arya's head and scraping of her scalp that elicit a soft whimper, urging her to go lower, so she complies. Her tongue is hot against the erection she finds there. It's all a new sensation to Arya's taste bud and she can't get enough of them.

Daenerys cries incoherently— Arya has a hard time hearing what it is when there's still so much she wants to do. It's exhilarating in more ways than one. Her body grinds against nothingness and there's something burning and slick pooling low down her abdomen.

She needs more.

So, she pushes Daenerys down the ground, where grey sash only covering the dirt beneath, and settle between Daenerys thigh. A sharp breath sucks in as Arya finally finds some kind of release.

As if urged by the display, Daenerys moves her occupied leg higher, angling it much better making Arya's head spin in a luscious way. She stops paying attention to the woman below and instead by her own body which moves without thinking, rocking like the sea in a tidal wave as something inside builds and builds.

Daenerys urge her from below with hot breath on Arya's ear, nipping and sucking, hands behind supporting Arya's wave of pleasure that seems to soar into the sky by now.

What eventually sets her free is Daenerys whisper of assuredness, shooting Arya beyond the sky and straight into the heavens. She sees stars beneath her closed eyelids. Her body goes slack after so much writhing of pleasure that she's never experienced before.

It leaves her with something she can't name.

Daenerys shifts so they're laying down side by side. But, Arya still finds comfort in the crook of Daenerys neck, hiding. Breathless still.

The older woman pulls Arya out of hiding and to her embarrassment, her vision burns and tears leak out from the corner of her eyes.

Daenerys says nothing of the outburst, only peppering more soft kisses to Arya's now closed eyelids again. Even when there are more tears escaping, Daenerys only wipes those away before leaving warm kisses beneath Arya's cheeks and the corner of her eyes.

Arya lets it all play out. She doesn't apologize. Merely waits for Daenerys innocent caresses to close every open scar shut.

Waits for Daenerys to open the tightness against her chest wide again.

Arya waits until her mouth can properly function once more before taking Daenerys' lips in a silent promise.

Before she uses them properly to feel and taste Daenerys' writhe of pleasure in turn.

*

*

*

AN: Woot! Finally, amirite. I hope you liked that. I must say, this chapter is really hard to write, and even when I'm done, I don't know how long I have been staring at it through my laptop, reluctant to post. I hope the revelation of Arya's accepting Dany's love and their wedding scene and after was not underwhelming. Sorry if I dissapoint you wanting it to be more saucy.

Despite all of that though, this chapter is probably one of my favourite. Arya is home and finally accepting to love and be loved fully. Only one last thing left and one more chapter to go and then the epilogue. I'll post both at the same time so you don't have to wait months in between.

Until then, I might post some other one-shots from other fandoms. I actually wrote one with Supercorp.Head on to my page if you're interested.

Bye for now!