The Dragon and the Hawke 58
When Arya Stark returned to Winterfell, she'd always expected to have to murder the current dwellers to reclaim her family home. Instead, she was greeted by the tightest hug she'd ever received from her sister. Sansa had never hugged her so strongly before, in fact all of their previous physical encounters had been rather violent, or violent for children before they realized the damage that a piece of solid steel can do.
Sansa was muttering something into her hair, over and over again, which sounded like a stream of apologies for things that the younger girl had never blamed her for. There was their father's death, Robb's death, Joffrey's cruelty, and a dozen other things that were all just part of the background torture that they'd both had to experience over the years.
It takes a few minutes, but Arya is finally able to pull herself from Sansa, at least enough to look around. She sees two boys she'd long thought dead, and a wide grin spreads on her face when Bran smiles at her. Beside her crippled brother, Rickon is eyeing her with some wariness, but more excitement than anything else. He'd not seen her in years, nearly forgotten her face just as she'd nearly forgotten his, but now he was remembering her.
"This is beautiful," She hears the dark skinned Missandei note from the other side of the enchanted wall.
"Isn't it?" Marian, the mage who'd caught her and helped take the Dreadfort, agreed, "Speaking of… There's something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Does it have anything to do with how you continuously look to the child in Lady Bolton's arms?"
"Oh, you know me so well."
"Ahem," Arya hears a loud throat clearing, a recognizable one. She turns her head and sees the woman who had kicked the Hound's ass glaring at the mage and her wife, "Lady Sansa and her brothers are attempting to reunite with their lost sister."
"Don't mind me," Arya calls, "I think it's funny."
Brienne of Tarth turns and raises an eyebrow at her, "I'm sure you do, but your family is more important than a fool and her wife."
"Hey! I take offense to that," Marian cries, "My wife is not a fool!"
"I know," Brienne agrees.
There is a snort from a few feet away from them, and at a lower height than would be expected. Arya turns to see, of all people, Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf notices her attention and bows his head, "My lady."
"How're you here?" Arya asks, "Last I heard you were about to get your head taken off?"
"Ah, well, fortune favors the lucky, it seems," Tyrion tells her, "My brother and Varys spirited me away the day before my time, so now I serve Daenerys Targaryen, and Marian was kind enough to save your dear sister from the Boltons."
"She said as much," Arya nods, her chin bumping against the sister in question's shoulder. Arya pats Sansa's back, "Okay, okay, let off."
Sansa pulls back, a laugh bursting from her lips, then she calms herself and stands straight. She takes a breath, and tells her sister, "Arya, welcome home."
Arya's own face splits into a grin and she nods, but says nothing.
Marian and Missandei watch as the last of the lost Starks talks with her family. They hug and turn back towards the rest of the White Room. Marian leans against her wife and asks, "So what've I missed?"
"Not a terribly great deal," Missandei tells her, "Over the last month, Myr, Lys, and Qarth have all surrendered to the Empress."
"Well that's good," Marian nods, "Any weird stuff happen?"
"I would not call it 'weird,' but there have been incidents of fighting amongst the priests of other religions," Missandei tells her.
"Ah, right, I take it people still think I'm a god?" Marina frowns, breathing out of her nose in a heavy sigh.
"There is no harm in it," Missandei tells her, rubbing her back, "They are not causing trouble."
"Yeah, okay, but what about when we get the inevitable religious war?" Marian asks, "I'd hate to have to fight against my own people! Cause with my luck that's who I'll have to be up against!"
"You're luck?" a new voice intrudes on their conversation, and they both turn to see Yara Greyjoy striding towards them.
The woman had changed quite a bit in the month since Marian had last lain eyes on her. Rather than the Greyjoy armor that she wore at nearly every opportunity, she was garbed in a flowing coat of blue, which looked similar in color to the type that Dany would wear in her outdoor dresses. There was a regal air to her as well, as though she'd gotten used to the idea of being queen of more than just her islands.
The seawoman extended her hand and as Marian takes it she notes, "I don't know if anyone's told you, but your luck is fucking fantastic."
"Oh, you're just being nice," Marian waves her off with her free hand, "I've had plenty of shit experiences."
"Oh really, name one you've had recently." Yara challanges.
Marian raises a finger challengingly, opens her mouth, then stops. She looks down, starts counting out on her hand, then blinks, "Huh… wow."
"There, see, stop complaining, most've had a lot of a worse go of it," Yara tells her.
Marian again, looks like she wants to object, but the steady grip and a tight squeeze on the arm in Missandei's possession has her conceding to Yara's point, "Alright, fine, I'm doing pretty good."
"Only that?" Missandei asks, which causes Marian's eyes to widen.
Yara laughs, leaving the pair to their marital bliss.
Back on the other side of the world, things are not going nearly as smoothly. Sitting in her throne in King's landing, Cersei of House Lannister growled as yet another report came in about her most hated brother living peacefully in the North. Beside her, Jamie, her brother and Hand, was smiling slightly at the news that Tyrion was alive and alright. The news was dampened by the fact that in order to achieve this he'd murdered their father, but he was honestly it had taken that long for one of them to do it. The Kingslayer had always suspected that Tyrion would be the one to kill the most Lannisters, but it seemed that that title now belonged to Cersei.
Aside from him and his siblings, there were only a few distant cousins left in the Westerlands. Hell, he'd be there now if it weren't for the fact that she'd sent her undead henchman to get him. Jamie'd never thought she'd do something like that, but seeing the massive man just waiting for him as he exited the castle had been enough to let him know which way the wind was blowing.
His return was met with a glad smile, one that he knew was as thin as paper. He knew that anyone who was willing to use wildfire in a city was as mad as the mad king, perhaps even worse, because at least he'd managed to stop Aerys from actually doing anything.
"It seems our brother still lives," Cersei notes, bitterly, "Happy and hole with a growing family."
"And on the other side of the Continent," Jamie notes, "Perhaps we should worry about him after we deal with the Army marching towards us."
She nods, "A good suggestion, my Hand."
Oh gods, she was flirting with him, here, in the throne room. He nods, trying his best to push his misgivings aside and asks, "How are we to deal with the Baratheon army?"
She gives him a look, both a glare and a beg at the same time, "How am I to know? You are my Hand, deal with our enemies!"
He sighs, nods, and makes his way out of the room, wondering who would finally destroy this city, Stannis or his sister.