Melisandre was the type of woman who could say that she knew the ways of men.

She knew of their weaknesses, their desires, and their strength. She knew that a sultry smile with a hint of promise or a coy look behind thickly painted lashes and could either bring a man to his knees or make them believe they were invincible.

Men could be such simple creatures at times. Their heads so easily turned by a pretty face or a flash of skin. They allowed their lusts to rule them, to dictate their actions. And it was not to say that it was just their lust of the flesh that dictated them. At times it was their lust for power, their lust for wealth and their lust for more.

But more times than not it was their lust for the flesh that was their downfall.

And Melisandre found that at a very early age she could persuade a man into giving her what she wanted, when she wanted, with just a whispered promise or a brush of her hand.

She was able to manipulate many a man with just her looks and she found even some women.

That type of power was heady. Exhilarating. And it was that type of power that Melisandre could say she wielded like a knight would a sword. With skill. With precision. With deadly intent.

Over the years many a man had fallen under the spell she had weaved. Many wanting – needing to taste and totouchwhat she offered.

Melisandre had used her looks as her weapon, creating a false sense of seduction for her prey, causing them to fall for an illusion before she got what she wanted and then discarded them.

But there had been no man in all her years on this earth who had spurned her advances. No man who did not trip over themselves to do what she wanted, when she wanted, how she wanted. No man that is until Jon Snow.

Jon Snow, with his stupid honor and his insipid loyalty to his vows, was the first man ever who turned down what she offered so willingly.

And she had been willing. So very, very willing.

He really was so beautiful to look upon. Tall, lean with such masculine grace that had turned Melisandre's head at first glance. He had that brooding quality that made young maids sigh and older women long for.

They said he had the Stark look, with his dark hair, strong features and grey eyes. But what Melisandre saw was the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his smile and the darkness in his eyes.

It called to her. Enticed her. Beguiled her.

And she wanted him. In her bed, commanding her. Consuming her. Overwhelming her. She wanted it with every fiber of her being. He had been the first man in a very long time who she wanted first.

So she had offered what other men begged for only to have him turn her down. Oh she knew that he had been tempted, she had seen it in his eyes, but that damn honor of his stopped him.

She had seen the flare of desire and seen how the temptation touch him. But. He. Turned. Her. Down.

And Melisandre could never, would never forgive him for such humiliation.

Two days had passed since the resurrection of the Lord Commander, and the only ones who had been granted permission to his rooms were Ser Davos Seaworth, the fat Maester Samwell Tarly and the woman – the girl that had appeared from nowhere just days before.

The girl with cold, emotionless grey eyes that seem to sear right through to Melisandre's soul and found her lacking. The girl with the familiar face. The girl that Melisandre had no recollection of meeting yet looked at her as if she knew every single one of Melisandre's secrets and wasn't afraid of her despite it.

The Lord Commander's much favored sister. Arya Stark.

She looked much like Jon Snow from the darkness of her hair to the color of their eyes. But where Jon Snow was pale featured, this slip of a girl had a golden tone to her skin that spoke of many an hour in the sun.

She was wiry, and moved with the unconscious grace of the animal that never left her side. But there was no doubt to the girl's beauty. Whereas her brother was a maid's dream with his dark brooding looks, and warrior's body, the girl would and could break many a man's heart.

If she didn't gut it first.

Melisandre wasn't too proud to say that the girl made her uneasy. She had the fierceness of a wolf-cub and tended to eye people like they were prey. She also tended to look at Melisandre like she wanted her dead.

The men of the Night's watch gave her and her beast a wide berth, most bowing their head in respect as she past while other's murmured about her beauty.

In a castle full of rapers, thieves and murderers they gave a slip of a girl a lot more respect that they had ever given her. Melisandre knew they feared her. But they didn't respect her.

And she was intelligent enough to know that there was a difference.

Melisandre remembered seeing those eyes for the first time, watching the swirling silver as they raked over her. Those eyes saw far too much. Young eyes that were supposed to be full of life and innocence were now filled with shadows and death.

Where in the name of the Lord of Lights had she seen this girl before? Her face touched her memory but skirted just out of reach, confusing her.

Irritated, Melisandre gathered her skirts together and stormed her way up the stairs to the Lord Commander's rooms only to be stopped by the warrior guard that had arrived with the girl. Slender and solemn, the man had absolutely no facial expressions as he stared at her. There were whispers around the Castle that he was an Unsullied, an elite warrior from Slaver's Bay. Men who were sold at birth to train as elite warriors who obeyed without question. Died without care.

And Arya Stark owned one.

"Move yourself." She commanded him, haughty. "I wish to enter."

"Lady Arya said that no one was to enter." He told her in his stilted common-tongue, his accent thick.

"I do not care what your lady said." Melisandre hissed taking a step towards him. "I wish to enter!" her voice went up an octave, voicing her irritation.

The guard continued to stare at her, face unwavering.

"Grey Worm." The smooth cultured voice interrupted the staring match between the two and Melisandre watched as the guard bowed in respect before taking a step back.

"I wish to see the Lord Commander." She told the girl imperiously, pulling herself up to her full height. "You will let me." She insisted.

"No." the girl replied calmly, that unsettling gaze once again staring into Melisandre's soul. Ripping out her secrets and tearing them apart.

"The Lord of Light has something he wishes for me to share with the Lord Commander." Melisandre lied, her gaze never wavering from the girls.

"You're lying." The girl smirked after a deafening pause. "Your eyes tell so many secrets, witch. Secrets that I would bet you do not realize they are admitting." That smirk widened but remained cold, calculating. Melisandre resisted the urge to shiver. "I would garner a guess that your Lord of Light has not spoken to you for many moons." Those eyes, those god-forsaken eyes, bore into hers and for the life of her Melisandre could not look away. "Your days of prophecy speaking are over." The girl told her, prowling towards her, causing Melisandre to take a hasty step back, nearly tripping down the stairs. "Your Lord has left you."

Melisandre jerked, her eyes narrowing as she glared at her. How dare this girl question her power with her god.

Her Melisandre of Asshai, a Red Priestess for the Lord of Light. A priestess that has lived for centuries, seen and done more things than this girl could ever dream of. And she dare question her!

"Do you know who I am, little girl?" Melisandre purred, moving towards her. From the corner of her eye she watched as the warrior slave moved to intervene only to be stopped by the girl as she held up one hand. "Do you know what I can do to you?" she whispered seductively, palming the side of her face.

She had not only seduced many a man but many a woman as well. And this girl would fall like so many before her. Even if Melisandre had to force her to.

Arya Stark stared at her a slow mocking smile crossing her face as she reached up to grip Melisandre's chin with callused fingers.

That was a surprise the roughness of her fingers. Especially for a highborn girl as this.

"Look into my eyes, witch and see." Arya whispered to her, her voice equally as seductive as Melisandre's.

Melisandre twitched, trying to escape the girl's grip but found herself frozen.

Staring into those grey pools Melisandre saw death, she saw destruction, and she saw darkness staring back at her. Brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes. Wolf eyes, dragon eyes. Death's eyes.

"The boy." Melisandre breathed blinking and staring at the girl in wonder. "From the time with the Brotherhood. When –"

"They sold the Baratheon bastard to you." The girl confirmed. "Gendry Waters."

Melisandre remembered the big strapping lad with Baratheon hair and Baratheon eyes. Another of the rare ones that Melisandre had desired, but unlike Jon Snow, had not rebuffed her affections.

"You were correct, priestess. We did meet again." Arya whispered, smiling and Melisandre gasped as she felt a pain pierce her belly. Looking down she was surprised to see a sharp jeweled blade sticking out from her stomach.

She knew that dagger, knew the owner of that dagger. Kinvara, also a servant of the Lord of Light, was a High Priestess in their order and someone who Melisandre had gone head to head with on many occasion.

What in the hells was Arya Stark doing with Kinvara's dagger.

Clutching at the knife she gasped at the pain, her eyes meeting the silver grey ones of the girl in front of her.

"Your death was not on my list." Arya Stark whispered. "But it was on someone else's." She twisted the blade, causing Melisandre to cough in pain, blood bubble to her lips. "Valar Morghulis."

:::

Grey Worm watched as a member of his Khalessi's royal guard took a step away from the dying red-headed woman, unconcerned when she slumped to the ground.

She was a strange thing, this Arya Stark. So tiny, so little yet so very, very deadly.

And for some odd reason, Grey Worm felt – affection for her. Not the same type of affection he felt for Missandei. That was altogether different and confusing, but affection just the same.

When he spoke to Missandei about it she said that it was a brotherly affection. Like what one would feel for a sibling.

Whatever it was, when Khalessi asked him to accompany Arya Stark across the narrow sea to her brother, he had said yes. But even though he knew she could look after herself, having another set of eyes was always a good thing.

She had been with them almost 19 moons when he, Khalessi and a group of scouting blood riders looking for the Khalessi's eldest dragon, had found her – Arya Stark - fighting off dragon slayers who wanted to mount Rhaegal's head to the wall.

Rhaegal had been wounded and Grey Worm had watched stunned as this tiny little woman fought off three men simultaneously, protecting the Khalessi's dragon. Five more men littered the ground, all already dead.

He and his men had quickly dispatched the remaining three, and he had watched as she eyed them suspiciously, her eyes drawn to Daenerys Targaryen.

"What is your name, woman?" Khalessi had asked her, eyeing the small woman suspiciously.

"Tell me yours before I tell you mine." The woman had countered, sword raised in front of her in defense.

"I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. Queen of dragons, Khalessi of the Dothraki, wife of the great Khal Drogo –"

He remembered the girl holding out a hand stopping Khalessi in midsentence.

"I just asked you for your name, Daenerys Stormborn." She coughed, lowering her sword and slumping in front of them. "I take it, he's yours then?" She inclined her head towards a quiet Rhaegal, who whined pathetically nudging the girl with his snout.

It was a movement that stunned everyone watching. The Khalessi's dragons barely tolerated anyone who wasn't the Khalessi. They in fact were known to kill anyone who got too close to them on a whim. Yet Rhaegal not only allowed this small woman close to him but seem to seek for her affection.

"He is." Khalessi replied softly, watching as the girl lifted a tired hand to pat Rhaegal on the nose. They all watched as the massive green and bronze dragon closed his eyes and accepted the woman's touch, almost nuzzling the hand that patted him. "

"I'll leave you to it then." She told them, taking a step away from Rhaegal. "He's been hit, near what could most probably be his heart with, although considering I know next to nothing about dragons, who knows. I think the doused their arrows with milk from the Valerian plant. It's the reason why he's so, lethargic. "The girl shrugged, stumbling slightly. "Shit." She cursed.

His queen dismounted quickly, making her way towards the girl.

"Khalessi please – "Jorah Mormont, the Khalessi's right hand man had protested, dismounting as well, reaching out to stop her.

"You're hurt." Khalessi commented, ignoring her right hand and catching the girl before she slumped.

"Just a scratch." The girl had croaked, blinking, she stared into the Khalessi's eyes. "Huh, your eyes are purple."

"You have more than just a scratch." Khalessi had told her, lifting her dirty tunic to reveal a slash across her stomach.

Rhaegal whined again, shuffling forward and nudging both women.

"I've had worse." She mumbled, resting her head on Khalessi's shoulder, her breathing short.

"I'm sure you have. Ser Jorah, please help – wait you haven't told us your name." Khalessi stated, staring down into the grey eyes of the girl.

"Arya Stark from House of Stark." She paused, a grim smile crossing her features. "Your grace." She mumbled before she slumped in Khalessi's arms.

And for some odd reason, Arya Stark from the House of Stark had endeared herself to the Khalessi. Actually it was not an odd reason. Rhaegal had made the decision for them. His instant affection for the small Stark girl was the reason why Arya had become a close friend to the Khalessi.

And if Grey Worm didn't know any better he would almost swear that the Khalessi's dragon was infatuated by the Stark girl.

Grey Worm did not pretend to know or understand the politics of the two houses and their history, but all he could gather from the Imp and from Missandei was that it was Arya's aunt and Khalessi's brother that had started the war that raged through the seven kingdoms.

It had caused for Khalessi and her brother to be stolen away from the seven kingdoms and bought across the narrow sea.

But now the houses were united. House Stark and House Targaryen. Arya Stark pledging her fealty to Khalessi and to her cause.

"Grey Worm, we need to burn her body. Could you please arrange it?" Arya asked him, looking as if she didn't just kill a woman just moments before.

"Yes, my lady."

Arya made a face at his response, muttering under her breath.

"When you get through with that, my brother wishes to meet with you."

"Yes, my lady."

He watched as a muscle in her jaw jumped as she gritted her teeth.

"One more time, Grey Worm, one more time." She threatened, holding up the dagger that just pierced the witches' stomach.

"Yes, my lady."

Cursing the young girl snarled very much like how her wolf did, spun on her heel and stormed back into the room of her brother's muttering about stupid promises and stupid unsullied.

Grey Worm allowed a rare smile to tilt his lips as he watched her go.

Yes, he sure did like, Arya Stark.