Tevos skimmed over the latest reports that had been trickling into the Council.
Trade between the human nations and the Council races was booming. The United Kingdom was exporting many delicacies such as 'condiments' for food; like maple syrup as one example.
To think that something from the heart of a tree could be so delicious. Tevos mused as she thought of her breakfast this morning. I must try this 'Dornish Red' I've heard so much about once it is time for dinner.
"This Queen… is one of the most terrifying boons that I have ever had handed to me." Sparatus' chattering mandibles broke Tevos out of her thoughts, and the Asari gave her Turian counterpart an incredulous stare.
"What do you mean by that Sparatus?" She asked.
"For one, she's pretty much ripped apart the Treaty of Farixen." Tevos had to stop herself from breaking her dataslate at the reminder of that political failure. "Now the Hierarchy can actually build the ships it needs to stop Batarian raids into Council space." Sparatus said simply. "For another, she's finally giving the Batarians the slap in the face that I've always wanted to give."
Idris hummed loudly to Tevos' left, "Yes. The Batarians are very unhappy with Skyllian Verge settlements. Also unhappy with Queen's demands that slavery be outlawed."
Tevos frowned heavily as she considered the news, setting down her dataslate and steepling her fingers in thought; contemplating how best to solve the problem. "Do you think the Consul will try to have her assassinated?" She finally asked, knowing full well just how prickly and petty the Batarian leader could be.
"Very Likely." Idris replied, "STG estimates 82% likelihood of assassination attempt." The salarian paused for a moment, then added with a grim smile. "9.325% chance of success." He added.
"Indeed." Tevos sighed, still thinking back to the Queen's duel against General Arterius.
Nearly a year later, and it was still the talk of the Citadel and the wider galaxy. Up until that trial by combat, she had known that many thought the humans weaker than most other species; with many Turians and Batarians deriding the newly discovered race as nothing more than a paper varren.
After the trial by combat, any negative talk about human combat prowess was done in whispers.
She had no doubts that any assassins trying to kill the human queen would meet a very grizzly and violent end; either at the hands of the queen herself, or from her guards. In spite of their odd dress and appearance, those guards were apparently Special Forces troopers assigned to guard their queen.
"So… the question now becomes, what are we to do? Whether or not these potential assassination attempts succeed or fail; what matters is how the United Kingdom responds, and how are we to respond to it ourselves?" She finally asked.
Silence filled the chambers for a few minutes as the three Councilors became lost in their own thoughts, until finally Sparatus cleared his throat.
Tevos gave him a nod, so he said, "I… believe that the best course of action would be to do nothing. We only get involved if either of the two races really cross a line. Nuking a garden world as one example."
"Agreed." Idris concluded. "Death of Stark Queen will not upset balance of power too much; strong line of succession, and parliament guarantee stability."
"Then we are in agreement. In the case of conflict between the Batarian Hegemony and the United Kingdom of the North, Riverlands, and the Vale; the Citadel Council will remain neutral."
Myrinda Snow knew that she wasn't normal.
Not a thought that a five year old should be having, nor was it a burden that should be placed on someone that young. But Myrinda was much smarter than most would believe; not that she really cared at the moment.
"Freak!" Myrinda ducked her head as one of the bullies kicked her in the back as she lay on the ground; her eyes squeezed shut as the older kids all punched and kicked her.
"You know what you are?!" One of them shouted, "A creepy, whispering, bastard!"
"Go home and stay away from us, you creepy little bastard!" Another sneered.
Myrinda opened her eyes and stared up at them; and all five of the bullies, all of whom were several name days older than her, shuddered as she swept her emotionless gaze on them.
She wanted to feel anger, feel some form of hatred for them attacking her and bullying her. But instead, all she could muster was confusion, and a cluster of sadness that was working its way out of her heart.
"Why?" She whispered, her normally apathetic and monotonic voice leaking confusion.
"You're weird! That's why!" One bully shouted, regaining his nerve somewhat.
Myrinda blinked, her confusion only intensifying. "Why is that a problem?" She asked, tilting her head.
"Because you creep us out, and you're a bastard anyway!" Another snarled at her, before throwing a rock and hitting Myrinda square in the forehead.
The girl yelped in surprise and pain, and felt tears begin to form in the corners in her eyes; both from the sadness welling up within her, and from the pain to her head.
"Well, look at that." The lead bully grinned, "She does show emotion."
"Yeah, turns out that under that creepy, whispering facade; she's just a giant crybaby." Another jeered.
"Well, let's see how you like it then!" another voice shouted, and Myrinda blinked in surprise as the lead bully turned and was immediately punched in the face by a new kid. The bully fell to the ground holding his face and immediately started bawling before he and the pack of kids that followed him scattered to the winds.
Myrinda opened and closed her mouth for a long moment, then slowly pushed herself to her feet; not able to keep the surprise she was feeling off her face.
"Ah…" The kid was around her age, though he was pretty tall for a 5 nameday old. He was flexing his fingers and frowning, likely feeling some pain from the punch that he'd delivered to the bully.
But he seemed to shake it off, as a very easygoing smile appeared on his face; and he held out a hand to shake. "Hey! My name's Jon. Sorry I couldn't come to help earlier, but I got held up trying to get off the monkey bars."
Myrinda didn't take it, and simply continued to stare at him for a long moment, before she finally whispered. "Why…?"
Jon just shrugged, "I don't like bullies." He replied simply, still smiling. "Plus, I admit I was curious to meet the 'Creepy Bastard Girl' that everyone talks about."
Myrinda slowly blinked and tilted her head. "...My name is Myrinda Snow." She finally said, her monotonic voice actually having an undercurrent of hesitation and worry.
Hesitation, as she had never introduced herself before; at least, not on her own. And worry, because she feared that this might simply be another trick to further torment her. She only had her mother, no one else.
Adults found her creepy, kids thought she was a weird know it all; and she herself rarely experienced emotions in a normal way, so she had trouble grasping and understanding people.
Jon just blinked, then shrugged, "Eh, Myrinda's a bit too long in my opinion." He said, still keeping that easy going smile. "How about Miri?"
Myrinda blinked slowly, "Miri?" She asked, testing the nickname for a moment. "It… will do." She decided.
Jon shrugged, "Eh, good enough for me." Then he stared at her face for a long moment, looking uncharacteristically serious. "You know… you look an awful lot like my Aunty Arry. Sound like her too if I'm honest."
Miri tilted her head. "Truly?"
Jon bobbed his head, "Yup! You even speak in that same whisper-mono-thingy."
"Monotone." Miri corrected instinctively, then felt a flash of panic and worry that she had overstepped herself.
"That's it!" Jon said with a grin. "C'mon! I have some fun games we can play. We could play 'Wolves and Lions'."
"Only if I get to be the wolf." Miri replied quickly, and she felt… a pang of something.
She didn't know what it was, but it made her feel… good inside; and that was all that mattered to her. Maybe this is what happiness feels like. She mused as she chased Jon around the playground. All she knew for sure, was that she would be sticking by her new friend's side no matter what.
Arya had always made it a point to pick up her nephew from whatever school or daycare he was staying at whenever she was in Winter City.
Her baby sister's son was her ward, so it was her job to look after him; and she owed it to her sister to make sure her nephew was always fine at the end of the day, no matter what. Of course, she couldn't go walking around the city with guards, armor, or a fancy dress on; that would defeat the purpose of letting her nephew live a semi-normal life.
So she wore a simple pair of jeans, a blouse, and a plain gray cloak; a Snowstorm Pistol resting in a quickdraw holster on her leg, and a dagger attached to the small of her back. She had four Queensguard in plain clothing blending into the crowd, but from an outsider's perspective; she was just a young woman walking to the school to pick up her child.
Upon entering the main lobby, the receptionist looked up and nodded at her before turning to look back at her documents, and answering calls from various parents and relatives.
A few members of the school staff were also part of the Queensguard undercover division; the receptionist, a few janitors, and a food server were part of the detail that protected her nephew, and all of them knew to pretend that she was just a commoner or minor noble.
It made things simpler, easier, and safer.
Walking down the hall, she soon came to the playground where a few teachers were keeping watch while drinking coffee or tea; and she cleared her throat.
They turned to look at her, and she whispered, "I'm here to pick up my nephew."
"Ah, yes." The P.E. Teacher, one of the few non-Queensguard members who was aware of Arya and her ward's true nature, replied; before he pointed out towards the woods. "I saw him a little while ago; he was playing with one of the new kids. Glad for it too, the kids aren't nice to her."
Arya felt the tiniest of smiles start to rise up, before she tamped it down.
Thank the gods for that. She thought.
Jon was a lot like his mother, very friendly and kind; and above all else, normal in the mind. At least… mostly. Even 'normal' Stark children still had some variation of her condition; but it tended to vary from person to person.
Eddard was much like Jon; while her other son Robb was more like Arya, just not as extreme with his inability to feel and process emotions at times.
Ned. Arya blinked heavily as the now familiar grief welled up inside, before she forced it away. Now is not the time. Jon will sense if I'm sad or upset. She thought furiously, even as she entered the woods.
"Jon?" She called out, her whispering voice still carrying over the screams of the children on the playground sets with relative ease. "Jon Shepard?"
"Over here aunty!" Jon exclaimed, and Arya turned and walked over to see Jon standing next to-
Arya stopped dead in her tracks, and her eyes widened. The girl that was sitting next to Jon looked exactly like Arya did when she was Jon's age. Wavy midnight-black hair, pale gray eyes that looked almost lifeless, a heart shaped face…
Arya quickly rallied and blinked before cataloging everything into a part of her brain; then, putting on the best fake smile she could manage, she whispered, "You look like you've been enjoying yourself, nephew. Have you been playing in the dirt?"
"Course not!" Jon replied, pouting slightly, while the girl beside him just stared at Arya with unblinking eyes.
Arya raised an eyebrow, before turning her attention to the girl. "And who might you be?"
"Myrinda Snow… Call me Miri." The girl whispered, and Arya actually blinked in surprise.
She even has the same whispering-monotonic inflection that I have. Arya thought, She's obviously a Stark Bastard, from one of my brothers or sons most likely since I would have noticed if one of my daughters or sisters were pregnant.
Now determined to figure out who the girl was, Arya re-plastered her fake smile on and replied, "I am glad you've enjoyed my nephew's company." Then added, "Would you like to play with him more often?"
"Yes." The girl… Miri said instantly; and Arya saw a flash of hunger in the girl's eyes.
Arya knew that look, it was one that she saw in the mirror whenever the remote possibility of making a friend had been available to her as a child. Her smile growing more genuine, Arya said, "I would like to meet your mother then, so we can arrange it."
"She should be here in a few minutes to pick me up." Miri said.
"Perfect." Arya replied. And with her, will come answers.
"Arya Stark."
"Alysanne Lawson." The woman replied, swallowing heavily as she shook Arya's hand.
While Miri hadn't recognized her, this woman clearly had; which Arya was fine with. Most people didn't recognize her when she went out as a commoner, mainly because the idea was so ridiculous to them; that any resemblances they would see between her commoner-self and the Queen would be brushed off.
Arya eyed the woman up, comparing her to Miri.
She was of the middle class, likely a business woman of some kind; and she seemed to be in ill health. Arya could see that it was likely a kind of wasting sickness, as the sickly gray pallor and the thinning hair were pretty major indicators.
She had very little in common with her daughter.
This woman was thin, had bright brown eyes, and straight red hair with pale freckled skin; while her daughter very much had the Stark looks. But Arya could see the small things that she shared with her daughter; the shape of her eyes, the slight upturn to her lips, the straightness of her hair…
Arya contemplated on how to approach this.
Her logical, unemotional side (her Bolton side) was telling her to ask the woman point blank who the father was; while her more emotional and sympathetic side (her Stark side), was telling her to gently broach the subject.
"I assume you want to know about the father?"
Orrrr, she could just bring it up herself; that works too. Arya thought dryly, before whispering back, "That would be preferable, yes."
The woman coughed heavily and winced, "Forgive me your Grace, would you mind if I take a seat first?" She asked. "My health is… not the best."
"Of course not." Arya gestured to a bench, and the woman sat down with a loud groan. "Your health… is it-?"
"Terminal." Alysanne replied sadly, "I only have a few years left at the most."
"Hm…" Arya just nodded, her expression unchanging. "Who would be your daughter's next caretaker?"
"My brother, Henry." Alysanne answered, coughing again. "I suppose you've figured out that she's probably the result of a tryst between myself and one of your sons."
"It wasn't hard, no." Arya said, raising a brow. "Who? Robb?"
"Eddard."
Arya flinched back slightly, while Alysanne gave a sad smile, her eyes watering slightly. "We met at the University. He was studying Law for his officership in the Space Navy; and I was a criminal justice major. We shared a lot of classes, we clicked."
She gave another loud cough. "We went to a party one night, got blackout drunk, and we awoke the next morning naked and entangled."
Arya blinked slowly, feeling a mixture of rage, disappointment, and surprise well up within her; breaking through the dull nothingness that normally occupied that part of her mind. "You are sure it was Eddard?" She finally asked, her voice sounding weak, even to her.
Alysanne just smiled, "Aye… he… we both knew that marriage was not an option; and we both refused moon tea." She sighed and closed her eyes. "He promised to look after her from afar. We would keep it a secret…" She sniffled. "And then he died…"
"I…" Arya looked away. "I will continue to financially support the two of you; and when you pass, her uncle."
The woman sent her a look filled with alarm. "No! Thank you… your Grace, but… do not send any money to my Brother." She begged.
Arya blinked with confusion. "Why?" She asked, tilting her head.
"Because he's not someone I would trust with my daughter." Alysanne practically spat, "He'd use her like a test subject. He knows about her… condition, the one she shares with you. He wants to 'fix' it, make her 'perfect', in his own words."
Arya fixed the woman with a scrutinizing gaze, "Then I… I cannot take her as a ward. She looks exactly like me, with some minor exceptions people would miss unless they were looking for them." Arya warned.
Alysanne coughed loudly and shook her head. "Please, your Grace. You must do something for her once I am gone." She pleaded. "I have no other family… and with her… condition, no one else will want her; much less understand how to help her."
Arya looked away, then looked over at Myrinda watching Jon with rapt attention as he drew something in the dirt with a stick; looking fascinated with what he was doing.
"I… will make my decision in a few weeks. For now… let's plan some more play dates for them, shall we?"
The Godswood was one of the few places Arya could allow herself to unwind somewhat.
It was one of the only places she felt safe, secure, normal; where she could feel at least some form of a peace of mind, and feel some emotions. She wasn't sure why, but the Godswood did seem to enhance her ability to feel somewhat.
Magic still existed in Westeros and Planetos, but it was greatly diminished even compared to what humanity had been capable of during the Second Long Night.
With that said, what magic humanity still retained was highly… refined. Greenseers were able to make much more sense of their visions; Wargs could go into the minds of multiple animals as opposed to only one familiar, and skinchanging was much easier to manage.
And in Arya's case, she had figured out how to Warg into humans without reducing them to gibbering vegetables.
She had only ever experimented on the absolute worst of the worst criminals; those doomed to be executed, like rapists, serial killers, or peadophiles. It had taken a long time to get the technique right; about a dozen attempts by her estimates, but she was able to enter people's minds without much trouble, and she was even able to plant ideas into their heads at times.
Arya sighed and sat on the small stone bench in front of the Weirwood Tree, and put her face in her hands.
It was getting to be a bit much for her.
The First Contact War, the Asari, the Turians, the Salarians… The Quarian's plight, the Batarian slave empire, the Krogan's slow genocide. It was taking a hammer to her mind and slowing it down just trying to process it all.
Then the revelation that Eddard… her noble, honorable, and brave Ned had fathered a bastard; it had hit her like a warhammer to the chest.
Logically, it made sense to support the girl financially and let her make her own way through life. Logically, it made sense for her and Jon to remain distant beyond being playmates.
They may be related… but it would be seen as unseemly for a Bastard to associate with a member of the royal family; even if little Jon Shepard was practically last in the line of succession.
But her emotional side was telling her to do the right thing, to take her granddaughter in and raise her; to honor her son and to make sure his only child turned out alright, especially considering the girl's mother would not live to see little Myrinda grow up to adulthood.
"What do I do?" Arya whispered, closing her eyes and feeling them tear up somewhat. "Why me? Why am I the Queen of Winter?" She growled and stood, placing a hand on the Weirwood tree; resisting the urge to punch it.
"If you are so powerful and all knowing, answer me that! Why?! Why am I the Queen of Winter instead of my brothers or my sisters? I'm more Bolton than Stark! I can barely feel, much less understand emotions, so what makes me a good Queen?!" Her whispering voice has gained in intensity, but not in volume; and yet it still carried throughout the area.
So Arya immediately felt a tinge of panic when she heard footsteps indicating that someone else was in the Godswood; and that they would hear her breaking down. So she quickly wiped the tears from her face, and turned with a hand on Blizzard to face the intruder.
"Who's there?" She hissed, tossing the front half of her cloak over her shoulder; still wearing the commoners clothing underneath.
"I think a better question is… Who are you?" A man's voice replied, serious sounding, but with an undertone of kindness to it.
Arya frowned slightly as a man stepped out from behind the Weirwood tree; confused both at his oddly familiar face, and at his odd form of dress. He looked like a lord or soldier from the War of the Five Kings or the Second Long Night.
She sized him up, and she could see in his gray eyes that he was studying her in kind.
"Hm…" The man started, "You look like my daughter Sansa, and you seem to be around Robb's age.… yet you have Roose's eyes and hair, and his voice too I might add." He looked at her clothes and raised a brow. "Your clothing is… odd, yet they seem to be commoners' clothing; mens breaches at that."
Then he gave a wry smile, "Then again, with the amount of time that has passed between when I died and… whenever this is; you could be wearing Lords or Ladies clothing."
Arya swallowed heavily, "And… assuming that you are telling the truth, and that you are indeed dead… I assume you are a Stark King from the past." She said, then she registered the names he'd listed; and her normally apathetic face displayed naked shock. "You… you said Roose… as in Roose the Traitor?"
The man raised a brow, "Roose the Traitor?" He asked, sounding almost… saddened. "So… my old friend decided that with my death, it was his chance to retake the North then."
Arya just gave a stiff nod, "Aye…" She whispered. "You are Eddard Stark, the last Lord of Winterfell."
He frowned. "'Last Lord'?" He echoed. "Yet I see a Stark standing before me; are you not the Lady of Winterfell?"
Arya actually drew herself up slightly, and affixed her normal apathetic expression to her face; "I am Arya the Second of the House of Stark, Queen of Winter, the Trident, and the Mountain." She declared in her monotonic whisper, an undercurrent of pride managing to leak through in spite of her best efforts.
Ned simply raised her eyebrows, "Truly? That is a surprise to me."
Arya frowned, "Wouldn't you know that thanks to your son and daughter, and all the other friends and descendants that arrive in the afterlife?" she asked.
Ned chuckled, "Ah… I would, but whenever I am sent here, the process… muddles the mind. I remember that my children and friends have long since passed on, but not how they died or what they did in their lives after I died. I'll remember once I'm back of course, but that's not important."
He walked over to Arya and sat on the stone bench in front of the Weirwood, and fixed her with a kind gaze. "I am only ever sent here when one of my descendants desperately needs advice, and I knew Roose well enough that I could decipher his thoughts even with that apathetic gaze he kept on his face." He smiled at her. "And however much you may emulate him in mannerisms and appearance; you still show far more emotion than he ever did."
Arya found that… reassuring somewhat, and she slowly took a seat next to the man; staring off into the distance.
"So… what troubles you so." Ned asked her.
"I…" Arya looked away, "Many things."
"Try me."
Arya sighed, "My… my son and heir, he was recently killed in a war with a new… people that we have discovered; and I found out today that he had fathered a bastard." Arya huffed. "She looks exactly like me, acts exactly like me, and even has my condition."
"Condition?" Ned asked, tilting his head while his eyes flashed.
"I… have trouble experiencing and processing emotions. Most of the time, I feel no emotions at all; but then there are times it hits me and overwhelms me." Arya explained. "It's… a trait that all Starks have had ever since Queen Sansa gave birth to her twin children; their birth was the result of Ramsey Bolton raping Queen Sansa."
Ned narrowed his eyes and looked away for a moment, then looked back at Arya. "Hm… So your Stark blood is constantly at war with your Bolton side then?"
Arya nodded. "Aye… I'm not exactly well liked amongst these foreigners; they fear that I'm a monster, hungry for blood and death."
Ned huffed, "It would make sense I suppose. Attempts at Boltons and Starks marrying never ended well. The most prominent example I can think of is Theon the Hungry Wolf."
Arya gave him a startled look, and he simply shrugged, "His mother was a Bolton, his father was a Stark. He lived at constant war with himself, his Stark side seeking to protect and care for the North; his Bolton side demanding blood and death."
Arya looked away. "I suppose that it makes sense… But I'm a particularly bad example." She bowed her head. "In my heart, I know what is the right choice. I know that I must care for my son's bastard, I must make peace with these foreigners, that I must care for my people."
She felt a tear slide down her face. "But my mind… my mind is the problem. It tells me that the girl can make her own way in life, that these foriegn bastards killed my people and must pay; that my people can be used as pawns to expand the North's power."
She put her face in her hands, "I was four and ten when my father died. And you know what I felt? Nothing. I didn't cry, I didn't grieve… And yet when I learned my son died, I stayed in my room and cried for hours." She sniffed. "I'm a monster, a bitch, a Bolton…"
She didn't know what to feel, but she did feel shame at breaking down like this in front of her vaunted ancestor.
Then she felt an arm over her shoulder, and Arya stiffened before she found herself pulled into a hug. She froze for a moment, then returned it; practically squeezing the life out of the last Lord of Winterfell.
"Shh… It's alright." He said as she continued to cry.
"I'm a monster… I'm Roose the Traitor reborn. I'm not a Stark, I'm a Bolton." She hissed, still crying.
"You are a Stark." Ned replied, breaking the hug and holding her shoulders, staring into her dull, normally lifeless eyes with his gray and lively ones. "You may have Bolton tendencies and looks, I will admit that; but you have the Stark heart, and you act like a Stark where it matters."
Arya blinked rapidly, "But-"
"When you made peace with these foreigners, what did you do?" He asked.
"I…" She swallowed. "I challenged their head general to trial by combat for killing my son."
He raised a brow. "And did you kill him?" He asked.
"I… cut off his hands during the duel, and tried to take his head but… I couldn't do it." She admitted. "He deserved punishment, but not death."
"And your son's bastard, what do you plan to do with her?" He asked.
"I… I don't know… I want to take her in and raise her like my own; because her mother is dying from a wasting sickness. But… it would be unseemly for a Queen to take a bastard as a ward." She whispered.
"And what did I do with my bastard?" Ned asked, giving her a pointed look.
She swallowed, "You brought him with you, and raised him; in spite of the scandal it caused."
He smiled, "Then you know what to do."
Arya nodded, which prompted Ned's grin to grow wider. "You are a Stark. You may have the Bolton ruthlessness, mannerisms, looks, and pragmatism-" he set a hand on her chest, overtop of her heart. "But you have the Stark heart; the honor, the mercy, and the love… even if you don't understand it."
He set his hands on her shoulders, "You know what the right thing is, and you know what must be done. So do it. Don't doubt yourself, Arya, just follow your heart. It will not lead you astray… mostly."
Arya gave a choked laugh, "That's what my brain is for, to get me out of the trouble my heart leads me into." She whispered.
"Exactly." Ned laughed in kind, wiping the tears from her face, before he stood and started walking back to the woods. "I wish you well, Queen Arya. Follow your heart, it will lead you right."
"I will…" She vowed.
"And use your brain for when your heart gets you in trouble." He echoed, laughing again.
"I will." She repeated, this time with a small smile on her face; her voice having regained its confidence.
Ned gave her a smile, and walked back into the Godswood, vanishing from sight.
Arya stared at her desk, not really seeing words or numbers; just letters floating in front of her eyes, along with a minor headache that was causing her no small amount of annoyance.
She sighed loudly and stood, patting Frost on the head. "I think I shall have a bath, old friend. What about you?" She asked, her whispering voice filling the room.
She missed her husband, but he was with the home fleet; and could not be here with her. It was just as well she supposed; it would not do to bother him with her problems at the moment. It wasn't like she was desiring anything from him at the moment, and she was emotionally dead today; so it wasn't like he would have been able to prompt any joy or happiness from her.
Frost huffed loudly, and simply stood and walked towards the door; looking back at her expectantly.
Arya just nodded and walked towards him and opened the door for her Direwolf, making sure to leave it unlocked so that he could get back inside once he was done with his evening business. The six marines on guard all snapped to attention, and two peeled off to escort the Direwolf; not that Frost needed it, since his collar had a K-Barrier generator installed on it.
She sighed again and shut the door, then walked over to the laundry hamper and began removing her dress; mentally reciting the problems she had been facing, and trying to ignore the emotional burnout from having met her ancestor in the godswood, and meeting her bastard granddaughter.
Fact: The Batarians grow more and more angry with each passing day.
Fact: Their slave system causes economic stagnation among their empire and limits its growth.
Fact: The Royal Navy can probably defeat them in open war.
She closed her eyes and sighed as the dress fell to the ground, and she gripped the edge of the cabinet; then she opened her pale, milky, soulless eyes again to stare at the mirror. More specifically, at the family photo from her 5th nameday.
Fact: Myrinda looks exactly like me at that age. I… Don't know what to do about her.
Arya bowed her head again in thought, before shaking her head and removed her small clothes; the bra first, then her panties. She shivered slightly as the cold air from outside leaked in through the windows, managing to beat back the heated air for a moment; before the heaters took control again.
Arya stared at herself in the mirror, mentally cataloging what she saw.
Heart shaped face… I get that from Queen Sansa; milky gray-blue eyes, also Queen Sansa. Raven Black Hair, which has been a dominant trait inherited from the Boltons; same with the pale skin.
She knew on a clinical level that she was beautiful, and she knew that she had also developed pretty early in her life; which meant that if young Myrinda Snow was the same as her, then Arya would need to keep a close eye on her.
Young Jon seemed to like her… He could use something resembling a sister. The more motherly part of Arya's mind told her, and the logical part of her mind agreed; deciding that she would set up more 'play-dates' between her nephew and her granddaughter.
With that decided, she turned and walked to the bathroom, and promptly turned on the water for the tub. Steam quickly filled the room, and Arya checked to make sure that her… insurance policies were still in their hidden spots.
They were.
She breathed a loud sigh, then she saw something out of the corner of her eye.
Arya had always known she was not normal, and it was widely known to the wider galaxy that the Queen of Winter was an odd sort; which was something that she always used to her advantage.
So her suddenly turning and walking out of the room might have raised some eyebrows, and her walking and grabbing Blizzard from the side of her desk also would have raised eyebrows.
She sat down at the edge of the tub, still waiting for it to fill; and she began to polish the Valyrian Steel Broadsword, the ripple pattern on the blade seeming to glint hungrily in the light of the washroom.
Arya began to hum softly.
Her whispering, musical, yet monotonic voice may have inspired great fear and unease in many; but she had a truly beautiful singing voice, which few ever got to hear as she disliked singing in general. But she did like to hum, which was often a good substitute for the lucky few who did get to hear it.
The steam filling the washroom was beginning to get slightly overwhelming, so Arya finally shut off the water; and then set Blizzard aside, before lowering herself into the water. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling a tiny measure of pleasure as the heat slowly released the tension she had been feeling in her muscles.
Modern medicine and technology were wonderful things.
Arya was in her mid-fifties, and yet she did not look or feel a day older than one and twenty namedays. Her five children had not changed her buxom figure one bit, nor had nursing and raising them.
But there were times like this night where she truly felt old, like she was limited in how much time she had left in life.
Click.
It was so faint, and it had been done as Arya had moved through the water; drowning out the noise somewhat. Had she not been listening for it, she would have missed it. As it stood, Arya closed her eyes, and while making no ripples in the water, she reached under the seat in the tub; and withdrew her insurance policies.
The Valyrian Steel knife of the Boltons for one hand, and a Mass Effected Stormfield Pistol for the other. Arya opened her eyes again, and fixed them on the tiny shimmer in the steam that she had seen.
"What is it that you desire, that you would take a suicide mission such as this?" She whispered, tilting her head at the shimmer.
There was a pause, and then five Batarians decloaked in front of her; each of them holding a pistol, pointed at her head. They wore no armor, strangely enough, but Arya could hear the distinctive hum of K-Barriers activating and forming their protective halos around their users.
The lead Batarian pressed a button on the side of his helmet, and it dematerialized; and he sneered at the Queen of Winter as he stared at her, even if he couldn't see her body that well under the water.
Arya could tell though, that even as he examined what little of her body that he could see, he was unnerved by the emotionless, soulless gaze that she was sending him.
"Among other things, we want you dead." The Batarian growled.
"Maybe a chance to see how our swords fit in your sheath." Another remarked, prompting a round of chuckles from the other three; but not the leader, who kept his gaze on her face.
Arya's face didn't change, and neither did her eyes. She felt no fear, felt no anger, felt no disgust.
She felt nothing, but her mind was telling her to take any advantage she could find; so she stood up just enough to give them a full view of her body from the waist up. She made sure to keep her hands submerged and hidden behind her back though.
"I doubt your swords would fit." She whispered, tilting her head and examining each of them; and taking note that all except the leader were busy ogling her exposed breasts. "I think they would fall out."
Leader is experienced. Not distracted by sexual overtures. Minions are not experienced. Probably slavers or pirates. Allows plausible deniability if captured or killed in the case of mission failure.
One of them tensed and growled at her comment. "You bitch-whore!" He snapped, taking a step forward.
The leader held out a hand, and the other man stopped his advance, though he did not stop glaring at her. "Hmph. I would never deign to stick it into an ugly barbarian like you." He growled, then he smirked. "See, your guards are dead; and we could just sneak you out of here. My men would be more than happy to take turns and break you. Then, I'll put a slug into that head of yours; and we'll call it mission accomplished."
Arya just tilted her head and stared into the leader's lower set of eyes, not breaking eye contact with him.
She could sense a familiar presence nearby, slowly making his way into position. She just needed to distract them for a few more seconds, and then she could act.
Letting go of her dagger, knowing the fact that her hands being still underwater would disguise and deaden the action; Arya ran a hand over her breasts and then bounced one of them. "Really?" She whispered. "Can you resist this? More importantly… could you handle this?"
The Batarian snorted, though for a very brief second his upper set of eyes drifted downwards. "If it would break you, then yes."
Arya sensed that he was ready, and she smiled; and all of the lust died from the group of Batarians.
They weren't looking at a beautiful, buxom, naked woman anymore. They were staring at Death itself now, the Destroyer of the Pillars was alive and incarnate in this human woman in front of them.
"No…" She hissed in that musical, whispering voice. "No, you willbreak."
Frost leapt out of the shadows, and clamped down on the closest Batarian's neck; then shook violently, snapping the assassin's neck with a loud crunch! The four remaining Batarians turned to face the enraged Direwolf, turning their backs on their main enemy; the main threat to them.
Arya moved with a speed that was nearly untrackable to the naked eye.
In one smooth motion, her pistol hand was out of the water and firing eight shots in rapid succession. The pistol overheated, but it had done its job. With two hits to each Batarian, their weak K-barriers failed; and Arya capitalized on their confusion.
She threw the overheated pistol at the leader, as he was not wearing his helmet still; and the glowing orange barrel nailed the Batarian in the eye.
"AHHHH! MY EYE!" The Assassin screamed, dropping his gun and holding his hands to the injured area.
Arya leapt out of the tub while scooping up her dagger, before jamming it into the nearest assassin's throat; the Valyrian steel blade plunging right through his stealth suit's ballistic weave, and severing his jugular and esophagus.
In one motion, she spun around and held the now dead man in front of her while the fourth assassin fired his pistol wildly into his friend; trying desperately to kill the Queen before his gun overheated.
Arya dropped the dead batarian and then threw the blade into the assassin's chest.
It plunged through muscle and bone like paper, and stuck up to its hilt; and the man stumbled backwards into Frost's waiting jaws, where the direwolf promptly crushed the batarian's skull in his powerful jaws.
Arya didn't waste time to admire her work.
She grabbed Blizzard from where she had propped it up, and gave a loud hiss as she slashed outwards; the fifth batarian assassin screaming as she took his arm off. She cut off said screaming by removing his head with the next strike.
Arya then turned to the last batarian, the leader, the one that she had blinded in one eye.
She slowly walked forward, resembling her direwolf more than a person; and the batarian scrambled backwards, frantically trying to put as much distance between himself and this demon made flesh.
His remaining three eyes drank in every detail as the beast in the form of a woman stalked towards him.
Her long and shapely legs, her wide hips and bottom, her toned and muscled stomach, her large and bouncing breasts; her naked body dripping with dark red batarian blood and water. Her heart shaped and pale face stared down at him as if he were nothing more than an insect to be crushed.
Her raven black hair hung down at her chin, and those pale… soulless, emotionless eyes stared back at his remaining three; unblinking, judging, and hungry for blood.
His will to live suddenly overrode his primal terror, and the batarian leader roared and jumped off the ground; kicking her in the crotch, then punching her in the breasts while trying to grab a hold of her throat to try and choke her.
The demon didn't even seem phased by the blows, and grabbed the wrist of the hand that went to choke her; and twisted and broke it.
The batarian Special Infiltration Unit veteran screamed in frustration, fear, and pain; then he gasped as the demon drove her sword through his stomach, just below his ribs.
The demon smiled at him then. "It seems that my sword was mightier than yours." She whispered.
"You. Cunt." He wheezed back, slowly sinking to the ground.
He scrabbled desperately, trying to get some form of leverage; grabbing onto her hair, arms, shoulders and simply slipping off thanks to the blood and water that covered her. Then he grabbed her breasts, and she growled like the furred varren she kept as a pet.
"That is not for you." She whispered, grabbing his forearms and twisting his hands away from her body; before she straddled him, resting on his waist and staring into his eyes with those empty, lifeless things that she used to see.
She leaned forwards, so close that he could smell her breath and her hair; and Ka'hairal Balak gulped and felt a slight twitch downstairs in spite of the terror that gripped his heart.
"Who sent you?" She whispered in that musical, enchanting voice.
Balak was so entranced and scared, that he never noticed that her pale, soulless eyes had glazed over and turned white.
She was beautiful.
"I do not know…" He managed to gasp out, as he suddenly was fighting back the idea of slamming into her sheath as hard as he could.
She smiled at him, and the milky witness that her eyes had become seemed to flash. "Come now… we know that is not true." She practically sang, and Balak felt his self control ebbing. "Just tell me." She ran a hand along his jaw, then reached down and undid his belt.
"Tell me… and I shall give you what you desire." She whispered again, and her voice echoed in his mind as well.
"The Consul sent me. Had me hire the pirates for plausible deniability." He gasped out as she traced a hand over his 'sword'. "Wanted you taken alive. Wanted to parade you around as his bed warmer."
The angel smiled at him. "Thank you for telling me." She whispered, and the milky white glaze that had covered her eyes vanished. "Now I know…"
Balak's dreamy smile died a violent death as she gripped his member and squeezed so hard that it felt like it was going to break. He gave a choked scream but she didn't let up, as she took her other hand and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
She dragged him up and pulled him over to her mirror, and she hissed, "You-"
Balak's face smashed into the mirror, and it shattered, shards digging into two of his remaining three good eyes. Balak screamed as blood began to spurt from various cuts to his face; when she yanked him backwards.
"Have-"
SMASH!
"No-"
SMASH!
"HONOR!" She bellowed the last word, and Balak felt as if his face was on fire as she slammed it into the shattered mirror one last time; before she finally dropped him to the floor.
Balak gasped for air as he lay at her feet, before she planted a foot onto his chest and pulled her sword out. He gave a choked scream, before he managed to stop himself. The beaten and bloody man panted heavily as he lay on the floor, even as the demon calmly wiped the blood off her blade.
Pillars… She's not even winded… He thought, seeing how she did so clinically; still having that apathetic expression on her face.
Then he thought to the moment prior to this, and he rasped out. "What… What did you do to me?"
The goddess of death just blinked at him.
"I… wanted nothing more than to take you, and have you… And yet before that, the thought would never have crossed my mind." He took a shuddering breath. "And now… the thought horrifies me that I would stick it into one of you two eyed barbarians… What… was that?"
The Whispering Wolf just tilted her head, the blood splatter on her face and breasts only enhancing the image of a wrathful goddess to the batarian SIU operator.
"I simply did a little warging into your mind, and implanted the idea into your brain; then fanned the idea by teasing your body with sexual promises." She whispered to him, her voice monotonic and clinical; as if she were giving an autopsy.
Balak growled and slowly tried to crawl away from her, when her pet walked up and set a paw on his chest; growling down at him in kind.
Balak froze, while the death goddess simply set her sword aside and then straddled him again; staring down with those lifeless eyes. "And how about now?"
He squirmed, "No!"
"Good." She purred, before getting off of him and walking over and retrieving a bathrobe, ignoring the blood staining it as she walked over to the entrance to her bathroom.
She opened the door, and Balak turned to see the other six members of his infiltration team; a mixture of pirates and SIU members, all piled into the center of her bedroom, all of them bleeding from various slug wounds and cuts.
Two of her Royal Guards in those ridiculous looking gray and blue uniforms stood next to the pile; both of them absently checking their rifles and the swords that were attached to the ends of the barrels.
"Your Grace!" They snapped to attention, and both turned to glare at Balak, and he glared right back.
Better to glare at them, than at that… demon, the goddess of wrath and death herself.
"How many?" She asked, her whispering tones still carrying over to him.
"Four my Queen." The one on the left said, bowing his head. "We allowed them to get close to you. We have failed you."
"You have not failed, you saved me." She replied, and the tiniest of smiles crossed her face; which only drove up the fear in Balak's heart, while it seemed to unnerve her guards. "You led Frost back to me. He let me get the drop on these fools."
"I see, Your Grace." One said, bowing his head. "What shall we do with the lone survivor?"
Balak's heart skipped a beat, even as the death goddess turned to face him, staring down at him with uncaring, soulless orbs.
"Treat his wounds, then to the dungeons." She ordered softly, then tilted her head. "Perhaps castration shall be a fair enough punishment."
"My Queen." The guards blanched, "Did he-"
"He did not rape me, no." She replied, "But his men threatened to." Then she smiled a death rictus at him. "He shall take their punishment for them."
She waved a hand, and the two guards stomped forward and grabbed Balak and hauled him up. "Find out what he knows, then send him back to the Hegemony. He shall be a good message as to what awaits those that attack the Queen of Winter." She ordered, turning away from Balak as they hauled him away.
He could see her remove her bathrobe, and begin to wash the blood off her body before the door to her chambers slammed shut.
The servants and guards were scrambling about like vorcha with their arms cut off; but Balak couldn't bring himself to care about them, or care about trying to memorize the layout of the castle as they dragged him to the dungeons.
All he cared, was that he was going to be away from that demon…
The goddess of death in mortal form…
A/N: I'll stop mentioning how creepy her eyes are! I swear!
-Alrighty, a lot to break down here; and I'm going to explain certain things in this chapter that some of you may have missed. Right off the bat, Myrinda Snow is (for those of you that haven't guessed it or figured it out yet) Miranda Lawson in this continuity.
The more I thought about it, the more sense it would make that Miranda would be related to the Starks in this way; as canon Miranda would honestly fit right in with the post-War of the Five Kings Stark line.
-Now I know some people think that I'm playing up the Bolton angle a bit much, and that any Bolton traits would have gone away after 2,000 years.
And to that I say… you might be right, but then that line of thinking could easily be applied to all of the ruling families in Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire. The Starks and The Boltons have always competed for the Throne of Winter for the past 10,000 years until the Boltons went extinct; and for all intents and purposes, both families remained unchanged in those 10,000 years.
Roose and Ramsay Bolton flayed men alive and were psychotic, creepy, ruthless, and pragmatic (or at least, Roose was); and their Red King ancestors were the same way, even though such traits should have gone away by the time Roose was born.
Same with Ned, Jon, and Robb Stark; they are noble, honorable, and merciful (comparatively at least to everyone else; by modern standards they're still pretty ruthless) to a fault. And by all accounts, all of the Stark ancestors were the same way even though the original male Stark line died off sometime between the time of Bran the Builder and the time of the Second Long Night.
Realistically, those traits would have dispersed or at least been somewhat diluted with other traits by the time of the War of the Five Kings… but they haven't.
I'm pretty sure that if I met my ancestor from when he came over to the United States from Bavaria before the American Civil War; we would not recognize each other at all, nor would we be alike in terms of personality.
I personally think that it's magic of some form that has kept the Stark, Bolton, and other noble family lines "Pure" so to speak; pure in the sense that they preserve the traits that their families are known for.
So for the Stark and Bolton blood to mix… It's an unstable mix to say the least; the honorable, merciful, and noble Stark blood clashing endlessly with the ruthless, pragmatic, and psychotic Bolton blood.
But… the Stark blood is more powerful I would think.
-Next, the assassination attempt… Edge says that this is apparently a sort of calling card of mine; to pull a "Full Frontal Assault" trope for a fight scene.
Edge: To be fair, as his part time editor, I have seen quite a few scenes like this before. Arch has his preferences after all.
Um… right…
-Now I know some people are going to be bothered by Arya warging into Balak and essentially doing some mind control shit and not leaving him a gibbering loon. And to that I say; Technology has progressed in the past 2,000 years since magic came back, why can't the understanding of how to use magic progress as well?
-The Ned Stark-Arya II conversation was just something I felt needed to happen; I needed to show that through all her Bolton traits, Arya II is still a Stark. And who better to tell her that, than the one Stark that every single King and Queen of Winter after the War of the Five Kings look up to?
Also, I was treating Ned like Gandalf when he came back to life.
He remembers certain things, and his personality stays the same; but whenever he leaves the afterlife, he forgets some things and remembers others. Like he obviously knows his children and friends are in the afterlife, but he doesn't remember when or how they died because in the afterlife it doesn't really matter.
If that makes sense…
-One last note before I go. I originally started this fic out as a one shot, and obviously this is no longer the case. Now one thing I want to get out of the way here and now, this story will not be covering the main Mass Effect games.
Why? Because I honestly don't see much changing in the grand scheme of things, like the major plot points and the like.
Now personalities and how characters interact, that will change; and I can cover them in Omake chapters and the like, maybe in flash forwards or something. Like Ashley Williams becomes Ashley Irons or something like that; and the chip on her shoulder is that she's an Ironborn bastard with a minor Lord as a father. Or Kaiden Alenko becoming Kaiden Blackwater, I.E one of Bronn's descendants; and he's every much the ruthless, but friendly faced pragmatist that Bronn Blackwater was.
Right then, leave a review and tell me what y'all think.
A TV Tropes page and recommendation would be greatly loved and appreciated.
And I will see ya when I see ya.