The port at King's Landing was a smelly, noisy mess that was easily comparable to a pig sty. Arya struggled to resist the urge to hold her nose, gag, or both as she stepped off the Moondancer and onto the filthy docks. Had it smelled this bad when she had been here as a child? Or had the clean, honest smell of Braavos spoiled her? She decided it was probably a mixture of both as she carefully stepped around something that looked suspiciously like human waste.
There was no retinue waiting for her, but she wasn't surprised. Until the Sealord announced that Arya was going to be the successor of the First Sword of Braavos a year ago, everyone in Westeros thought she was dead. Ahead of her, at the end of the wharf, two guard were flirting with a passing fishmonger. Or perhaps she was a whore. In this part of the city, it was hard to tell. Arya approached the guards and cleared her throat.
"Would one of you find me a horse? I'm expected in the Red Keep."
The younger of the guards looked her up and down, blatantly leering. The older scowled at her.
"Who do you think you are, ordering us around, then? Some lordling's get, are you? You don't look like no high born, you must be one a them bastards that the Queen has been up jumping. Well, you can fuck off. No bastard is going to tell me what to do." The older guard spat a gob of sourleaf phlegm at her feet.
Arya's hand twitched as she fought not to rip her sword, Needle, from its sheath at her hip. Instead, she spoke with daggers in her voice.
"I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, deceased Hand of King Robert. I am the First Sword of Braavos under the Sealord and I will not be spoken to like some dockside fishwife crying the day's catch. You will take me to the Red Keep and deliver me to Queen Daenerys herself, or you can explain why you kept her waiting." Arya hoped they didn't enquire too deep about the First Sword part. She was only in consideration by the Sealord, he hadn't actually told her she had been appointed.
The guards, too stunned to speak, merely stared at her.
"Or should I just kill you myself and save her the trouble?" Arya snapped, grabbing Needle's hilt.
That seemed to get their attention. The younger ran off to find a horse, while the older rounded up more guards to escort her up Aegon's High Hill to the Red Keep. The horse the younger guard brought back was a roan mare with a gentle gait and sweet disposition and the older managed to round up a dozen other guards to form a presentable escort for her. Sometimes a wolf must show her teeth, Arya thought as they scaled the hill.
The Red Keep was much as she remembered it from her days living in the Tower of the Hand when she was just a girl, but inside the throne room the dragons had returned. Along both walls hung the black dragon skulls that Robert Baratheon and his sons had hidden in a cellar for nearly twenty years. Closest to the doors were the skulls of the dragons that belonged to Aegon and his sisters; Meraxes, Vhagar, and Balerion the Black Dread. Balerion's skull was so large that a horse could have been ridden down his gullet and the other two were nearly as huge. Others line the walls, but each one was smaller than the one before and the very last one is no bigger than that of a mastiff.
Apart from the dragon skulls, the throne room was crowded with lords and ladies as well as small folk waiting to making themselves heard. Her guards helped her carve a path to the front of the crowd. One guard broke off from the group, tracked down a herald, and had Arya's name announced for the whole court.
"Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, First Sword of Braavos." The high, clear voice called, making Arya wince. She should have known better than to say anything about being the First Sword. Now all she could do was to hope that no one would ask any awkward questions.
Her guards escorted her through the remaining press of bodies to the foot of the Iron Throne. Arya knelt down in front of the throne, head bowed, while she awaited the command to rise.
"Lady Stark, we had not hoped to see you here for some time. Your arrival is most welcome and I extend to you the hospitality of Westeros." The voice like liquid gold makes Arya raise her head and gray eyes meet purple.
Daenerys is more resplendent on the Iron Throne than all the merchants in all of Westeros could have been able to describe. She is garbed in a dress light silk dyed pale purple to match her eyes, a belt made of golden medallions cinched at her waist and her silver-gold hair has been elegantly braided. Across her brow, a simple gold circlet set with square-cut amethysts is all that resembles a crown. Arya gapes at her for half a second before regaining her composure.
"Your Grace," She said as she rose from the floor. "I am here to discuss the matters of state you mention in your raven and to see my sister, if it pleases you."
The queen smiled down at Arya she turned to the man in pure white armor who stood at her feet.
"Ser Barristan, I think that will be all for today. Dismiss the court."
Ser Barristan hurried to obey the queen's command and soon the throne room was empty save for Arya, Ser Barristan, Daenerys, and a slender, shorter man sitting at a writing desk below the throne that Arya hadn't noticed before. That must be Petyr Baelish, Arya thought as Daenerys descended the throne. Arya bowed low once again as the queen approached her.
"No need for formalities, Arya, now that the courtly lords and ladies have left us." Daenerys said with a laugh as Arya straightened up.
"Your Grace, my sister-" Arya began.
"Your sister is safe and resting in her chambers. She has a surprise for you when you see her. I won't bore you with state matters until later, if you want to go to her now. Visit with your sister for as long as you want and send word to me when you're ready to join the small council."
"Oh, thank you, Your Grace!" Arya said, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.
She took off at a jog toward the door behind the throne that led to the chambers within the Red Keep, but stopped before she had go more than a few feet when she realized she had no idea where she was going.
"Could someone…?" She began, turning around slowly.
Daenerys laughed again and strode across the floor to take Arya's hand.
"I'll lead you there myself."