A/N: I am so sorry for the long wait. Turns out that college is a huge time suck. Who knew? Anyway, this is my take on the request given to me by Aranwyn Nina Song. I hope that it lives up to your expectations, my dear reader and reviewer. That being said, thank you to Aranwyn Nina Song for reviewing Sweat and Steel, I hope you all like this newest installment, and Merry Christmas!
The original prompt for this is as follows: "...Dany and Aegon rule Westeros after killing the white walkers but because of fear of a northern rebellion for their freedom they decide to look for Arya and for Aegon to marry her, but she is already married to Jaqen after both left the faceless men and came back to the north, where they live in a cabin in the wolfwoods with Nymeria and her pack."
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.
Rating: Soft M for mild language and sexual content.
Weary. That seemed the best way to describe Westeros after the conclusion of her latest and most bloody war. The War of Five Kings had taken its toll on both her lands and her people, and a cautious suspicion still remained in the minds of the latter even in the newfound era of peace.
The Targaryens were ruling once again, with Daenerys as queen and her nephews at her side. Jon Snow, who had opted to keep his bastard surname even after the revelation of his parentage, commanded the recently reformed city watch of King's Landing. Aegon served as his aunt's foreign liaison, keeping relations strong between the mainland and the Free Cities.
The only trial that yet remained was the loyalty of the North. Despite Jon's newfound heritage, the siblings he had been raised with were wary of their new ruler. In all honesty, the new queen understood Lady Sansa's hesitation; she, much like Dany, had been forced to grow up far too quickly in the midst of war.
Daenerys was seated in the small council chambers, tapping her quill impatiently against the letter she had been attempting to scribe for nearly two weeks' time, when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She raised her gaze as her eldest nephew entered the room, bowing low before moving to her side.
"You summoned me, Your Grace?"
"Yes." She set aside the parchment and steepled her fingers. "As you know, you have long been of marrying age. I believe it is time to put this fact to use."
She saw his expression sour slightly before he once again schooled his features, smiling graciously. "Of course, Your Grace. Is there a young lady you have in mind?"
Daenerys frowned and looked back down at the letter before her. "Yes...Arya Stark."
"Would you please escort me to my chambers, my lord?" Arya asked politely, her head held high and her expression haughty.
"Of course, Lady Stark," the man at her side answered with a smirk, before swiftly sweeping her off her feet and into his arms. "Or should a man say...Lady H'ghar?"
Arya let out an uncharacteristic giggle and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck. "Mmm...I happen to like the sound of that."
Jaqen cocked a brow. "Aye? How much?"
Her lips curved into a suggestive grin and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I'll show you how much if you escort me to our chambers...husband..."
The wedding had been a private affair—very much so considering the fact that her siblings still had no true idea of her whereabouts. It had been just the two of them, standing before a weirwood and reciting their vows with Nymeria and her pack as witness to their union.
After fleeing from Westeros, Arya had remained a student of the House of Black and White for nearly three years, learning their ways and eventually ascending to the rank of Faceless Man. In the years that followed, she killed when she was told, moving from one identity to the next as countless victims died by her hands. She had become no one, and it wasn't until she had been reunited with her old ally that she remembered who she had once been.
Jaqen H'ghar brought Arya Stark back to life and perhaps foolishly, she allowed it. Leaving the Faceless Men behind, they had returned to her home in the North, not Winterfell, but deep in the forest to the west, in the very heart of the Wolfswood. There, Arya and Nymeria were reunited, and in the years since, the pack had kept them safe from the outside world.
At first, they were content to simply exist together in peace, loving frequently and living happily. It wasn't until Jaqen had returned from a small village to the south with news of her sister's marriage that Arya realized something was missing.
Ever unladylike, she had proposed, and he had accepted. Now, they were man and wife, and that knowledge was far more fulfilling than she had ever imagined it could be.
Arya let out a yelp of surprise as Jaqen tossed her onto their pile of furs, but it turned to a breathless laugh as he landed on top of her, lips eager to capture her own.
Her legs fell open to accommodate his slender waist and drew him closer, eliminating the remaining space between them. Even after years spent as his lover, it still made her heart skip a beat when she felt the evidence of his desire against her aching core.
"Take me," she murmured, her eyes meeting his dark and lust-filled gaze. "Make me yours, husband..."
"What's wrong, little bird?"
Sansa sighed and handed the letter to her husband, frowning out the window as he read it.
"So the dragon wants to marry her nephew to the little wolf-bitch eh?" Sansa gave him a withering stare which he chose to ignore. "At least she's offering Aegon and not Jon."
Her nose wrinkled slightly at that and she looked back out the window. "I haven't seen Arya since before father was killed."
Softening, Sandor moved to his wife's side and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know, little bird. You'll have to write back to our new queen and tell her as much."
Sansa sighed again and cast him a worried glance. "I fear she might see our refusal as an act of hostility. I want nothing of the sort between us. I'm sick of everything but peace."
Sandor shrugged. "There isn't much choice we have in the matter. Unless your sister happens to show up at the gates of Winterfell, we don't have her to give to Aegon. Not to mention that even if she were here, I doubt she would go so easily. Just write back, little bird. The queen will have to understand."
Silent for a moment, Sansa thought about what he had said before slowly shaking her head and looking out the window to where Bran sat wistfully by the edge of the training yard. "There may be another way..."
The earth was hard beneath the claws, the taste of blood tangy and satisfying against her tongue. She had missed the hunt in their years apart, when she had fallen asleep hungry and tired beneath the stars. Now, she awoke each morn with the taste of fresh meat in her mouth and the soft down of a featherbed beneath her frame.
Lifting her head toward the sky, she howled, and her pack responded in kind, running alongside her as she tore through the forest to the weirwood at its center. It had calling to her as of late, beckoning in some strange way that she didn't understand. Tonight, its pull was fierce, an insistent tug in the very core of her being.
As its pale branches appeared in the moonlight, the invisible tether snapped, and a familiar voice spoke in her mind.
"Arya! Nymeria! We thought we would never find you! Come back, Arya. Come home."
"Shh...shh...a girl has no reason to fear. It was a dream. You're safe now."
Arya woke to Jaqen's arms around her and his lips beside her ear, soothing and caressing as her labored breathing continued. Nymeria sat beside the bed, whining as she rested her head on her mistress' lap.
"Come home."
"I...I heard Bran. I heard his voice, in my dream. He told me to come back."
"To Winterfell?"
"I..." She took a deep breath and turned to meet his eyes. "Yes. To Winterfell. It's been so long...I...I don't know if I can go back, Jaqen. I can hardly remember what it looked like."
He was silent for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "And does a girl think she should go back?"
She pondered the question with a frown, her fingers idly stroking through Nymeria's silky coat. Finally, she raised her gaze, her expression both determined and afraid. "I think I have to."
"My lord! We have a rider at the gates!"
Sandor frowned deeply and put a hand to his sword belt before ascending the battlements. Seeing as the young dragon had arrived a fortnight ago and Brandon had yet to report any progress on the search for Arya, they weren't expecting any visitors.
Just as reported, though, a solitary horse was swiftly approaching. Its rider appeared to be without armor or any sign of a weapon.
"What in the name of..." Sandor squinted down at the figure as it rode closer and as it approached, his frown deepened. "By the gods...open the gate, boy."
Moving back down to the yard, he ran to the keep and shouldered his way into the great hall, loudly announcing his entrance. "Sansa, come quick!"
Startled, his wife obeyed, rising from her seat with a murmured apology before hurrying out after him as fast as her heavily pregnant belly would allow, concern evident on her features.
"Sandor, what is it?"
As she approached the open gates, the rider now in the yard swung down from her horse, and she let out a strangled gasp. "Oh, gods..." Her eyes filled with tears and she stumbled forward, meeting the figure halfway and sobbing into their tight embrace. "Oh, Arya! I thought you were dead!"
"I was for a time, sister," she responded cryptically, before pulling back and smiling ruefully. "Already having his pups are you? If anyone had ever told me that my sister would be married to the Hound, I never would've believed it."
Sandor approached and wrapped an arm around Sansa's shoulders, catching her as she leaned into his touch. "It's good to see you alive, wolf-bitch."
Arya laughed good-naturedly and grinned up at him. "Can't say the same for you seeing as how we parted, dog." Her grin faded as swiftly as it had appeared and she regarded her sister with a piercing gaze. "There will be time for pleasantries later. Bran said you needed me. Is there trouble?"
Sansa looked sheepishly up at her husband before slowly returning her gaze to meet her sister's. "Arya, there's someone you need to meet."
A fire had already been lit and had risen to roaring flame by the time the solar doors opened again, and Arya stood as Sansa entered with a stranger in tow. He was tall and fair-haired, and dressed in the kind of finery that Arya hadn't seen since her days in King's Landing. He practically reeked of royalty.
"Arya, this is the Prince, Aegon Targaryen. Your highness, this is my sister, Arya Stark."
Aegon bowed low and placed a dry kiss on the back of her hand, smiling thinly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark."
"I'm sure," she replied brusquely, shooting her older sister a look of suspicion. "For what reason, exactly, do I have the pleasure of making your highness' acquaintance?"
Aegon looked surprised by her response and he cast a glance at the hovering Cleganes before raising an eyebrow. "Hadn't you heard? By decree of my aunt, Queen Daenerys of Westeros, First of Her Name, we are to be wed."
"You brought me here to get married?!"
"The Queen sent me a letter directly," Sansa argued weakly. "And I wanted to see you again."
"You're unbelievable, Sansa," Arya hissed. "How can you possibly stand there beside the husband that you love and ask me to marry a man that I've barely met?"
Sandor's jaw clenched, but he made no move to react to his good sister's increasing wrath.
"All your life, Sansa, you were nothing more than a pawn in the bloody game of thrones. How could you ask me to be the same? How could you bear to see me live out the rest of my life in a loveless marriage, just as much a farce as yours to the Imp?"
Sansa flinched at the mention of her first husband and turned away, her eyes wet with tears. Try as she might to deny it, she knew that what Arya said was true, and that only made it harder for her to listen.
"All those years I spent alone, Sansa," Arya continued, softer than before. "All I wanted was my life back. I wanted to hear you call me Arya Horseface and have Septa Mordane criticize my embroidery. When I came here...I thought we could be a family again. That I would be home again. But I don't belong here anymore."
Shaking her head, she moved to the door, and only hesitated for a moment once it opened. "I'm not even Arya Stark anymore," she said quietly, meeting Sansa's teary gaze. "His name is Jaqen H'ghar. I had hoped you'd meet him one day."
He was waiting when she entered, with a question on his lips that died the moment he saw the tears in her eyes.
She kissed him, pouring every bit of longing and loneliness into their embrace, tearing and pulling until she felt his skin against her own and knew that she was a part of something. It was as they moved together in a familiar rhythm, eyes locked, breath mingling, lips ghosting across skin long since explored and carefully marked that she realized what it was to feel at home. It wasn't Winterfell, or Braavos, or the tiny ship cabin they had shared on their journey back to Westeros. Home was here. Home was him.