A/N: THANK YOU to everyone who has followed, favorited, and/or left reviews to this story, it means the world to me.
Hope you guys enjoy :)
Chapter Two: Dead Man Walking
In some part of Arya's mind she comes to the conclusion that she's dreaming, she has to be. There's no possible way that she can't be dreaming. It's a most unusual dream though, everything is vivid and concrete, not fuzzy with a pinch of foggy edges that normally comes with her dreams. She can smell the packed bodies of to many people on the benches and the dirt that the horses kick up, she can feel the hard press of the bench underneath her, she hears with perfect pitch the excited and enthusiastic cheers that come from the people as a man knocks his opponent off the horse in the tourney that she's attending.
It's a familiar scene, she's been to a tourney before with Sansa and her father, sat in benches just like the one she sits in now, watched as men rode on their horses on opposite sides of a line and tried to knock one another down. The memory of it stings just like all her memories do. She thinks for a moment that she's dreaming of that memory, dreaming of being with her father again, of a happier time before the Lannister's tore her family apart.
But that goes away when she eagerly turns to look for her father who should be next to her, he's not. There is someone next to her, two people next to her actually but they're not Sansa or her father, at least she doesn't think so until the man on her right talks to the man on her left.
"You think Brandon has some hope of winning?" The man leans over and smiles wide at his friend, he's young and cheerful, Arya hasn't seen happiness like that in a while, it's refreshing. His words catch up to her, Brandon? Turning her head to look at the other man, Arya's entire body goes still. She knows this face, she's dreamed of this face, she's wished every second of everyday to see this face again, even if it's just for one split moment. It's her father, a much younger version of him but her father nonetheless. He's so little and carefree in his smiles, so young and unburdened, the lines and frown that she's come to associate with his face are not present in this younger version.
She realizes to late that she's crying, the man on her other side is gently rubbing her arm and throwing her father concerning looks. She's not letting out loud heart wrenching sobs, not like Sansa who cries so everyone in the North and South can hear her weeping, no Arya's tears are silent and heavy as they make their way down her heated cheeks. She hadn't ever prepared herself to feel anything but happiness at seeing her father again, she always assumed that if she ever had that opportunity that she would have nothing but big smiles that hurt her face and excited chatter for him, she hadn't realized she needed to prepare for more then that, for the turmoil of emotions that pummeled her heart.
"Are you alright Lyanna? What's wrong?" Lyanna? That's not her name. She acts on impulse when she throws her thin arms around her father and squeezes him to her, crying into his neck, he's hugging her back out of instinct rather than understanding, she knows he's confused, she can feel it with the unsure movements of his hand rubbing her back. He still smells the same, earthy and musky, he still feels the same, safe and like home.
"I've missed you; I've missed you so much." She almost calls him father but stops herself before she does. It's a cruel dream she found herself in but a wish come true even if it's not exactly what she expected all those times she's made the wish to see him again, to get a chance to say goodbye.
"How can you miss me little sister, I haven't gone anywhere." He laughs at her, Arya lets out a watery chuckle that's lost within another sob at the sound of his laugh. It's been so long since she's heard any member of her families laughter, she misses his and Jon's the most. He doesn't understand why she crying and murmuring incoherent words into his neck but that's okay, he's here and she's not alone in her fight for the time being.
"I'm so sorry, I tried to stop-I tried to go to you but Yoren didn't let me, I didn't want to leave you." She feels his hand falter in its motion before continuing on. This younger version of her father knows nothing of what she's apologizing for, it makes Arya upset that she can't properly express the regrets she feels for that day. She wanted to go to her father, wanted to rescue him, protect him from Joffrey's cruelty but she didn't make it one step to him before a Night's Watch Brother grabbed her. She didn't want to leave his body like that, disrespectfully in the company of his murderers but she had no choice but to leave, the Lannister's already had Sansa, they couldn't have her too, so she listened to reason and left.
It takes a moment but her tears finally calm down and she's able to pull herself together and away from her father's arms. She's mildly embarrassed of her outburst especially when she looks around and notices all the curious eyes on her. She sees her father wanted to question everything she just said but thankfully something on her face convinces him not to because he nods in mock understanding and throws the other man an ugly look which says not to question it either.
"Lyanna?" The other man says the wrong name again, Arya is going to correct him but just as she opens her mouth to do just that, the breastplate of the man who defeated the other player in the tourney catches her eye. From what she can see all the other players have silver armor, but this man has black armor and on it is a red three-headed dragon furiously snarling and spitting fire to the sky. She watches as the man takes off his helmet, under it is long silver blonde hair, almost white, pulled back into a low bun. It's another familiar face, one though that she's not as acquainted with but knows fairly well, the version of it that she knows is female and has Arya's brother trailing after her like a lovesick fool. He's almost an exact replica of his sister, a tall and muscled male version of a woman Arya doesn't care to much for. The sigil on his armor is familiar as well, she's seen it hundreds of times since Daenerys came to The North to help defeat the Night King and the White Walkers. Like Daenerys the man is very beautiful, a type of beauty that belongs in songs and poems.
Arya's never encountered a man that has this type of beauty, she's not like Sansa who thinks any pretty man is a man carved from songs. She's used to gruff handsomeness, a wild fierceness that speaks levels of attractiveness, hard edges and sharp lines, but nothing like this, he's even more beautiful then Jon.
He's not only a very pretty man, he's also a man that's been dead for many years. How does one dream up someone they've never met before? How does one contour the mind to produce a dream made up of a piece of history that should be long forgotten? She ponders how everything is so vivid, she's only ever heard stories of this tourney, the people, the horses, the benches, everything here shouldn't be as in clear detail as it is.
Arya knows she's staring, she knows she should look away but she doesn't. This man is Rhaegar Targaryen, she has no doubt about it, it's strange for her to be watching someone whose ultimately responsible for what happens to her family. It's unnatural to gaze at his perfect face knowing what follows his actions, what price her family pays for them.
He must feel her eyes on him because he's now watching her just as intensely as she watches him. He doesn't move from his position on the horse, he doesn't smile, he doesn't do anything, just stares at her like she's staring at him.
"Lyanna?" Her arm is jostled, with some effort she turns away from the Prince, the other person next to her is only vaguely recognizable now that she gets a better look at his features. She's only met her uncle Benjen a few times before, and in those times she's never paid enough attention to his form that she would be able to set him apart in a crowd, but some part of her knows this is her uncle Benjen, like her father he's in his prime, in a world that's young and content, at least for now.
"Lyanna?" She repeats the name back to him, he keeps calling her that, she doesn't like it. Arya has been subjected to the ghost of Lyanna Stark for as long as she can remember. Everyone who remembers what she looked like takes great pleasure in telling Arya she's the spitting image of Lyanna, her father most of all. When she was young and foolish she thought it was a gift from the gods to be blessed to look like her but as she got older she came to realize that it was no fun being compared to someone with such a tragic ending. The people that looked at Arya and saw her aunt half expected her to have a similar ending, the pity and unease in their eyes told her as much.
"I think the pretty Prince has made our sister a little slow in the head today." Her father jokingly says to her uncle Benjen, Arya had hoped the staring the Prince and her exchanged had went unnoticed, obviously it hadn't.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me, it must be the heat." Her excuse is flimsy at best but it's all she can think of to say in return, in any case she's not lying, the sun is blaring down on them with scorching heat that's making Arya's skin sticky. Her father and uncle Benjen look at her with eyebrows raised, clearly her excuse is as poor as she thought it to be but they don't question it, they both just nod and turn to watch the rest of the tourney.
Arya wants to wake up now, she doesn't like this dream, the only good thing about it is that she got to see her father but it's getting uncomfortably more real the longer time passes and she's ready to leave.
A glint of sparkling metal grabs her attention, the people in front of them have loose shiny armor sitting on the bench next to them, when she catches a glimpse of her reflection on the surface her breath hitches. Leaning forward to better right herself in the armor, Arya stares at her reflection. It's her but it's not at the same time, she has the same dark waves of hair, the same grey eyes, the same pale skin, the same long face, the same thin lips and tiny nose. The woman in the armor looks so much like Arya but there's key differences that she can see that set them apart, to anybody else it wouldn't make a difference but to Arya it's the distinction of her own face from her aunt Lyanna's. This face has more plumper lips then Arya does, still thin but not as much as her own and a beauty mark next to her left eye, as well as more round eyes that are almost too big for her face and thinner eyebrows compared to her own thick ones. It's very similar to her own face, it's disconcerting to see it with her own eyes, people have told her she looks like her aunt for years now but this is beyond just looking like someone, this is practically being that person.
The shouts from her father and uncle Benjen pull Arya away from staring at herself. She's getting a few odd looks from the people surrounding them but she ignores those looks. Her crying and now looking at herself must have these people thinking she's going mad; she's starting to question that about herself as well.
Her heart is beating wildly in her chest, breathing is getting harder to execute, something in Arya is telling her this isn't a dream, an instinct, a gut feeling.
"Better luck next time brother." Her father teases to a man with Stark coloring that walks up to them after having lost the joust to the Prince. He's another person that she's only heard stories of, another person she has no hope of knowing what they look like but somehow here he is, her uncle Brandon. He looks like her father, like a true Stark, wild and untamed. The brothers laugh together, a small part of Arya is happy that she got to see this moment before things took a turn for the worse, glad she's a part of this bubble of happiness that's bright and without pain. She wants to know what the real Lyanna's actions and thoughts to this moment were. Did she appreciate this bubble as much as Arya? Did she realize how lucky she was to have this? How fast it could be taken away from her?
"Prince Rhaegar will now crown his Queen of Love and Beauty." Well Arya was distracted thinking about her aunt the Prince won the tourney. He's standing on the ground in front of his horse holding a beautiful crown made of the finest winter roses. He's holding it tightly, glancing around the crowd, a woman who Arya guesses is his wife, Princess Elia, leans forward from her seat up in a stand that sets apart the royal family from everyone else.
It's tradition for the winner of the tourney to name a Queen of Love and Beauty, a woman that the man publicly dedicates his victory to. It's disrespectful and scandalous if the man chooses to gift the roses to someone not his betrothal or wife, if he has one.
People are expecting him to give Princess Elia the crown, she's his wife after all, the mother of his children, only a fool would name some other woman the Queen of Love and Beauty. But Arya knows this story all too well, so unlike everyone else who is shocked to see the Prince turn away from his wife and walk towards her, Arya isn't surprised.
Her father and uncles shift in their places next to her, the closer the Prince gets the more anxious they get, throwing her looks of disbelief and concern. Arya doesn't take her focus off Prince Rhaegar though, this one insignificant moment changes history and it's astonishing to be a part of that, the focus of that change.
He stops in front of her, she looks up from her place still on the bench, he's towering over her, his frame is much larger now that he's closer and hovering. The crowd is silent, wide eyes and open mouths are staring at her, some she unhappily notes with accusation in them, as if she's at fault for the Prince having no sense. Her father and uncles are huffing next to her, anger splits their faces but they keep silent, knowing they can't very well oppose him so openly.
His face is much more gorgeous up close then it was far away, she's ashamed of the immediate pulse her lower region gives in response to his beauty. She can also now tell the differences between him and his sister, Daenerys. It's not an astounding difference between them but enough that Arya is not feeling like she's looking at the Dragon Queen. She refuses to look away from his violet eyes, she wants to watch this moment, feel it in her bones, this moment is legend and she's here experiencing it firsthand, she can't look away and miss a second of it.
The corners of his lips tilt up, Arya doesn't like that his eyes are teasing, like he knows the reaction her body is having towards him. She chooses to frown back at him, her body may be betraying her right now but her mind isn't. Those pretty blue roses he has clutched in his hands that he plans on putting on her head are a death sentence. She tries to convey her disapproval through a scowl, like her father and uncles she can't out right say anything but she will make sure her message is received loud and clear without uttering a single word.
He ignores her look with a tilt of his head, his eyes shine with interest and lust. He slowly reaches his hands up, and places the crown on her head, adjusting it to fit her temples to hold in place. Her eyes track his now free hands, he cups her cheeks in his overly warm palms.
"Beautiful." He says with a smile, lightly squeezing her cheeks. He steps back from her, throwing an unreadable look to her father and uncles before he turns around and leaves the tourney all together.
Arya is left sitting there in silence, not entirely sure how to respond, she feels everyone's eyes on her, the pricks in her skin that alert her to this are annoying, she feels Princess Elia's gaze the most, a searing prickle that irritates the skin and signals the hairs on her arms to stand up. Her father gets up with her uncles and together they all three lead her away from the tourney, away from prying eyes and whispers.
She reaches up when she's out of sight and snatches the crown from her head, she stares at it with disdain, such a stupid object not worth the repercussions that follow it.
A/N: Arya is a little dense to the clues that signal she's not dreaming and she's not herself lol
Hope you guys enjoyed, feel free to drop a review :)
***ANSWERS TO REVIEWS***
To Guest: Thank you so much for leaving a review, I really do appreciate you taking the time to do that :) I do plan to do my best to mesh and develop Lyanna's and Arya's characters together well also adding in the complications that would come from doing that lol. I did warn in the Chapter One A/N that Arya is sort of OOC, so her personality and characterization is not exactly going to match that of the show and/or books 100% but have no fear I have no intention of making Arya into a girly girl, I don't believe she would be categorized as girly in my story, that is not something that I associate with her and I don't think what I've written so far (both what I have posted and not posted) has painted her in that light (at least not in my opinion lol). But keep in mind not to confuse girly with emotional and confused, which is only natural considering the circumstances she's found herself in, thank you again for the review :)
To NightlyRowenTree: Thank you for your review :)
To Dany: I'm glad you love the Arya/Lyanna combo, I really don't understand how there's not more stories involving these two interacting in some form, what with all their comparisons to each other. I'm not sure yet if she will be letting anyone in the past know who she really is, or if someone will figure out on their own that she's not Lyanna, I think the main point to that would be deciding the WHO in the equation, cause telling the wrong person could have unforeseen consequences. I'm so glad you love the plot so far, thank you for your kind review :)