The Dragon Queen came to Winterfell on a pleasant day. Arya had risen early, before the dawn, and stolen fresh bread from the kitchens while the castle was still waking. A warm wind from the south had been blowing for some days now, but still, Arya's fingers ached with cold and she climbed the drafty stairs of the Red Keep.
You have to tell them soon.
Arya grimaced. Ever since Patchface had attacked her and Shireen in the tomb, Bran's voice stalked her waking thoughts. She knew she should be grateful to hear from him again, but another part of her felt annoyed by his constant meddling. Sure, she was glad to know he was not dead, but did he have to talk this much?
She sighed and formed a reply in her thoughts.I know, I will tell them soon. Hush.
She had been forced to sneak out of her room again. All the guards had been twice as attentive after the attack on Shireen, and Arya had scarcely had a single moment of privacy ever since. She needed to talk to Sansa, to get her to understand the nature of their true enemy, but Sansa had been so busy with Queen Selyse and her men that Arya had never gotten a chance.
It's been a week! Bran scolded her, You've had chances, you're just scared.
Am not. Shut up.
Arya fell in line with a group of servants and entered Sansa's chambers behind them. She had dressed plainly enough that no one saw fit to question her presence, and the servants were too busy with their work in any case. Sansa herself sat further within. One lady plaited Sansa's long red hair, another fixed bits of jewelry about her ears, another hovered near mixing perfume, and as for the dozen other ladies in the room, Arya could only have guessed at what they were supposed to be doing. Well, in truth they were all here to represent their families, to be seen in close association with a princess of Winterfell. Their fathers and mothers had paid dearly for the privilege of being so closely associated with the Stark family, and their very presence signaled that the Stark line was secure to any of the various visiting nobles. The queen had her group of hens, as did princess Shireen, all for a similar purpose.
Arya had her ladies as well, though thinking of them made Arya feel a moment of guilt. Most of those would be wondering where she was by now. Well, they would have to be disappointed. Arya needed complete privacy for this conversation with her sister.
Arya lingered near the back, pretending to dust a chest of drawers, all the while sneaking glances over her shoulder at Sansa. She caught her eye eventually and then hid amidst the chambers. Sansa would know well enough what she wanted, but who knew how long it would take her to get free of her ladies? Arya settled in behind a drapery and pulled a warm loaf she had nicked out of her sleeve.
In the end, it took Sansa an hour to get free. Arya could hear the ladies getting sent away one by one until Sansa alone remained. Arya dusted the breadcrumbs off herself and stood up, wincing as she realized her leg had fallen asleep.
Sansa entered the room a moment later. "Arya," she said, "You-"
"I know well enough what you mean to say," Arya said, cutting her sister off. "That I shouldn't have left all my ladies behind. You're right about that, or you would be normally, but I've got something I needed to tell you in private, and-"
"Arya. I already know."
"What?"
"I have dreams of Robb too now, remember? He told me."
Arya frowned. "Oh."
Sansa covered her hand with her mouth and giggled. "Come on Arya, you can't be upset about that, can you? Come, I'm glad you came to me like this. It's so hard to find time when we're truly alone, and we do need to talk about what Robb said. I knew some of it. Knew what you told me right after the fact, at any rate, but I didn't know about Bran and… all the rest."
"Right," Arya said, dropping down onto a seat. "The dark thing with the eyes." Even mentioning it made Arya feel suddenly, irrationally afraid, like naming it would bring back Patchface's hands around her throat. "I don't suppose you've seen it, in your dreams with Robb."
"I have not, thank the gods. But he said he had borne word to Jon as well. I can't imagine what it all means."
"Bran thinks it's some kind of skinchanger," Arya said. "But one that's old and powerful, more powerful than he is, even. He's been trying to watch it, to learn about it, and he saw it reach out to Patchface and make him attack me. That's what let him find me in the first place."
Sansa shuddered. "Could it just reach out and seize anyone like that?"
"Bran doesn't think so. It has people it's close to, people it has a grip on, same as I have a grip on Nymeria, or Jon has on Ghost. It'd gotten some kind of connection to Shireen somehow, and a much stronger one on Patchface, who was pretty much empty in the head anyway. Bran said that would've made it… easier. To take him over, I mean." Uneasily she remembered that simple Hodor had gone North with Bran.
A sigh escaped Sansa, and she closed her eyes as if in weariness, "I always thought I would like to see the Age of Heroes, but now that it has come I want nothing more than to see it gone again. I am so full of pride in Bran, in Jon, in you… in myself even, but if I could choose for none of us to be heroes, I would make it so without a second thought. I would rather not see all the old legends come back to life."
Arya snickered. "You don't want to see those dragons Massey said were seen over Dragonstone a month ago?"
Sansa laughed again, this time with a hint of real worry. "Father and his friends drove the last dragons in Westeros away from here before we were born. If real dragons have come back now… it can't be a good omen for House Stark."
"Unless we can get them to kill the Others for us. Jon said that wights burn like flax. If those dragons are real there's not likely any better weapon in Westeros to counter the Others."
"It's not the real dragons that bother me. It's the people who ride them."
Daenerys Targaryen. The name had been a distant mention once in one of her histories, an irrelevant branch to an exiled house. But now all the world hinged upon her choice. "It's the same as with the Lannisters," Sansa said, "By the time they realize the Others are real and a threat to everyone, we'll all either be dead or too weak to stop them from swooping in and declaring us their vassals."
Arya felt tired. When would this constant fear of death end? She sighed and shrugged. "If it keeps us all alive…"
Sansa frowned and crossed her arms. "I suppose you aren't wrong. Father would have wanted us to do the right thing, to keep the people alive no matter what. But it's an awful thing to contemplate, sister. You do realize what surrender would mean?"
Arya pursed her lips. What would happen? She thought back to the history lessons Septa Mordane had drilled into her head. The Dance, the Blackfyre rebellions, how had those ended? "Well, if we got favorable terms… Rickon might keep Winterfell. They'd take us both as hostages, probably make us marry some men of theirs. Stannis won't be so lucky, I can't think they let him live, except maybe as a prisoner. But I don't think he'd surrender anyway." She paused. They had sworn to be Stannis' allies, and they would be oathbreakers if they betrayed him. Even saying such words carried some risk; if Selyse heard of what she and Arya had said… but no, that would not happen. They were alone now.
"It is not worth considering," she said eventually. "There's so much else that would have to happen before we would be in a position to consider such an offer. The dragons, if they are real, will be busy enough in the south with Robb. Well, whatever that thing wearing Robb's face is, anyway." She shivered a bit despite the warmth of the room. "There's also Winter to consider. I can't imagine her armies will want to campaign in the North in Winter, which will means she's going to be restrained in terms of her choices."
"He's marching north," Sansa said.
"Robb? Or. Not-Robb. He's coming here? That report was true?" A raven had come in a week ago, claiming to be from someone inside Robb's army who had seen him for the monster he was, but all their advisers had agreed the report was not to be trusted. False-sent ravens such as those were common tools of war.
"I got the news just an hour ago. A rider came in before dawn after riding through the night. He's come North and taken Moat Cailin with several thousand men, traveling lightly."
"But why? How?" Arya grit her teeth. "He can't have taken Moat Cailin so quickly, he can't think he'll take Winterfell with…"
"The Manderlys have sided with him," Sansa said, matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything. Arya supposed it did, or near enough. Stannis and Jon would be away with all their strength now. Had Robb been able to sense that? Arya thought of that pale red face, those too-blue eyes, and that lifeless smile, and shuddered.
"We will have to respond, of course. Lady Selyse has been notified. We are not completely without support. We have our garrisons at full strength, and there are possibly other forces we could conjure up if we are truly desperate." Sansa paused. "I would like it if you came as well."
Arya nodded, then winced as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair had scarcely passed her ears again. The hairdressers had tried to do the best with what was there, but it remained patchy and uneven. Her clothes were commoner's clothes, borrowed from a friend of hers who worked in the kitchens, and she had bread crumbs scattered all over herself.
"I'll get ready," she said and darted out of the room.
What does this mean, she thought to Bran. What about this other Robb, what do you know of him?
Bran's voice in her head was absent for a moment, but when it returned the voice was small and scared, I don't know. I don't know what he is. Perhaps… but no. Not that. I will have to watch him.
Arya did not know whether having Bran constantly looking over her shoulder made her more at ease or less. She knew so much more immediately about everything as it happened. Bran's eyes numbered a thousand and one these days, and Arya did not have to worry about Jon, not knowing where he was or who he was fighting. She knew, and that made her worrying all the more acute and personal. But even worse was the knowledge that there were things even Bran did not know. There were horrors and magics too deep for even a greenseer to expect.
She raced down the tower steps, taking them two, three at a time. The steps felt strange now, compared to her youth. So much closer together, so much smaller, while she was so much heavier. But still, she knew the way back to her quarters easily enough. The fires had burned Winterfell, but it had always been Winterfell's bones, the stone, and the dirt, that Arya had known and loved best. She stopped a moment at a large open window to admire the view. Snow covered most of the landscape, but little plumes of smoke went up here and there, traces of gray against the white, and Arya could not help but feel a fierce, burning pride that life had not left this place. For eight thousand years her family had persevered here, and if she could change the fates, they would last here eight thousand years more.
A dark shadow against a corner of the sky.
No, it was two dark shadows. Hanging like dark inkblots, like they had been attached to the sky with hooks and left there. Arya blinked, wondering if she had gotten some soot in her eye.
Bran, she thought aloud,What is that?
Bran did not reply immediately, and for a moment Arya wondered if he had gone asleep, or gone somewhere else entirely. That happened often enough, but for it to be happening now… She stared up at the dark blots. They were growing closer, she thought, or larger, at least, but what could they be? A bird would have been moving faster against the blue of the sky. Whatever this was must be much larger than any bird, larger than anything that…
A chill went up her spine. Dragons, Bran confirmed. Those are dragons.
Arya spun on her heel and ran, ran up the stairs nearly colliding with Sansa and her ladies as they descended. More than half of them squeaked in fear as though they thought Arya was some catspaw come to murder their queen, and even Sansa's few guards brandished their spears.
"Sister," Arya hissed, pointing to the east. "There are dragons over Winterfell."
Sansa's face went pale. Everyone could see the dragons now. If they had been dots of ink before, they were stains now, growing with every second as they approached. Approaching fast and yet still so far away… how great must they be up close. All over the courtyard, everyone had stopped to point and stare.
Nobody was getting anything done."You!" Arya said, seizing one of the nearby guards. "Go to the Castellan, tell him he's to ready the garrison for war. Now!" She whirled on another of the guards, "And what are you standing around for? Go to the yard, and get every man who can hold a bow up on those walls!"
"I had thought we would have more time." Sansa's voice sounded small and far away. "I had thought that surely she would go to the Vale first, or Riverrun. I had thought she'd be repeating the conquest, but -"
"Sansa!" Arya loved her sister with every fiber of her being but at that moment she wanted to slap her. "There is no time. We have to get you to safety, you're the most important person here. The… the crypts will have to do. We can get you under, and then…"
Sansa's eyes snapped back to attention. "Don't be ridiculous, Arya. No king or queen intends to rule over an ashen field, and she has no army to hold any lands to take."
"She brought a dragon! She may not want to burn the whole castle but she may burn you quickly enough." Arya thought again of Daemon and Daeron and half a dozen others. Targaryens and the madness of fire. They had killed her uncle and grandfather too, her uncle and grandfather she had never known. "Let me talk to her, or make Sel- make the Queen do it."
"If it comes to who can we afford to lose, then I'm of no more importance than you," Sansa said, brushing past Arya. "And besides, I don't trust either of you to manage it."
Arya supposed that must be true. She felt a weight settle in her heart knowing that she and her sister were off to face death again. Somehow the fear of death cut deeper than it had before. She had more to lose now, perhaps that was it, or perhaps a few weeks of peace and rest in her old homemade the thought of returning to the old life of terror all the more unbearable.
Daenerys has been merifcul up until now. Bran's thoughts interrupted Arya's own. She's here to play politics, I think.
Why couldn't you have warned us of this, if you're so all knowing?
I didn't, I can't… Agh, never mind, you wouldn't understand.
The dragons landed well outside the walls in the market square of Wintertown, well beyond any range of bowshot, but close enough that Arya and Sansa and Queen Selyse could watch them from atop the gatehouse. Arya supposed that showed a measure of respect from them. One was black as sin, the other white as snow. They were monstrous huge, covered from head to toe in spines and edges and blades that made Arya think of the Iron Throne. That had seemed a perilous seat to Arya, once, but it had not been alive and steaming with fiery heat, nor had it glared up at her with huge, baleful eyes.
A white rider sat atop the black, and a black atop the white. Daenerys would be the woman in white, and the pale man in black armor would be her… nephew. The Prince Aegon that everyone had said died long before Arya had been born. It was as if a corpse had come back to life, to think that he could be here before her.
Ha. As if the dead coming back to life should even be a surprise.
Arya turned to look up at her sister. She had grown taller since their father had died. She had grown older, wiser, more beautiful, as Arya had always known she would, but she was still so small, so frail, and Arya felt even smaller and frailer. The wind blew through Arya's hair and she pulled her cloak about herself even closer.
Daenerys reached into her dragon's saddle and produced a small flag of truce, which she waved a small flag of her own, little more than a kerchief, as her nephew came to help her down from her dragon.
"Should we receive them?" Sansa said, looking to both Arya and the Queen in turn. "I should not want the dragon to come inside the walls."
Selyse scowled. "Don't be a fool, child. Did your tutors never teach you what protocol is? We will go down to them, and meet them outside the walls with an honor guard. I suppose those dragons will serve the same role for them." She turned to the commander of the garrison. "Raise the banner of truce and get our horses ready. And get us something to screen out this blasted wind!"
Sansa's only reaction was to purse her lips slightly, but Arya could almost feel her sister's fury. For the queen to scold them on protocol and then command their garrison? The men looked to Sansa before acting, and she nodded. Arya felt anger on her sister's behalf and felt the urge to trip the Queen as she walked past and watch her tumble down the stairs, but she held herself back. They would put up with worse than this, for the sake of their family.
A minute later all were ahorse and the gates rumbled open to allow them to exit. Arya had always enjoyed the feeling of power of riding a horse, of feeling the size and the strength of the animal underneath her, but as they drew nearer and nearer to the two figures, Arya felt that confidence dwindle. What was a horse, in the end? Little more than prey to a dragon. Daenerys and Aegon stood to receive them, seemingly untroubled by the cold, as if standing near their dragons gave them all the heat they needed. Arya wondered if this was all a trap, all a plan to lure them out from their walls… No, that was stupid. Dragons could fly over walls, and Jon and Stannis and Rickon and Shireen were all more important anyway.
She thought of the skulls beneath the Red Keep, and how much greater those had been, and she shuddered.
As she drew nearer, one thing that surprised her was the youth of the queen. She could not have been much older than Jon, and her nephew was only a little older. To command so much power, and yet be so young… Arya could not help but feel a moment of envy.
Sansa spoke before they had even fully stopped. "I am Princess Sansa Stark of Winterfell, ruler of this castle and all the lands about it by the grace of Prince Rickon Stark, first of his name, and by the grace of King Stannis Baratheon. With me here are my sister Princess Arya Stark, and Queen Selyse Florent."
"And I am Daenerys Targaryen, Stormborn, the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons," Daenerys said, "Rightful queen of the Iron Throne both by birth and by conquest. Here with me now is Aegon, my heir, as well as my children Drogon and Viserion." She meant the dragons, Arya realized. "We have come to tell you to set aside your usurper and swear allegiance to your rightful queen. The Reach and the Westerlands and the Stormlands, all these have bent the knee already. Why would you put yourself against all these?"
Arya felt sick with dread. After all they had endured, all they were enduring, must this too be added? Arya wished she had a good rock that she could throw at Daenerys' head, stupid as that idea was. She saw Sansa's lip twitch, as though the same idea had just occurred to her.
"We put ourselves against no one. We have war enough without seeking more," Sansa said.
"Your king claims the throne I hold. He is the last," Daenerys paused, as if uncertain. "I am prepared to offer mercy. By all accounts, he is a righteous man, and it was his brother who was the usurper. But relinquish his claim he must."
"Bold words from a witch who has usurped her nephew," Selyse spat. "Do not speak to us of rights. Your father Aerys was accursed and killing him was the only righteous thing the Kingslayer ever did. You are of his tainted blood, an abomination born of incest little better than those Lannister brats."
Daenerys barely reacted to the Queen's words, but the black dragon behind her growled so loudly and deeply that it shook the earth beneath them. Selyse's mouth hung open, struck dumb by fear. Arya felt that fear in her heart too, but she rebelled against it. "Your Drogon is big," she said, curtly, "But not so large as Meraxes was when the Dornish shot her down over Dorne. If you've taken the Red Keep, you've surely seen the skull."
You're going to get everyone killed! Bran thought at her
Am not, shut up!
But to her surprise, the Dragon Queen deflated a measure. "The North lies in chaos," Daenerys said. "Your own brother marches against you with half the North at his back, and half the rest is still held by the Ironborn, all while Winter bears down upon you. I do not need to threaten you with Fire and Blood. Merely refusing my aid will have the same effect. All my advisors agree upon this, and I have only come here because I mean to offer you an opportunity to survive."
She does not even know about the Others, Arya thought, doom clouding her thoughts. With White Harbor in rebellion, the plan to import grain from Braavos had been cut short, and soon hundreds would be starving. Robb would arrive soon and besiege them, strip the land bare and wreak bloody havoc… all just in time for Jon and Stannis to arrive off a long, bloodied retreat from the Others. The Dragon Queen did not know half their troubles.
But what could they do? They could not betray Stannis. Even Daenerys' two dragons would never be worth betraying their only ally and losing a third of their army.
"The Starks do not break their word," Sansa said, "And we will not betray King Stannis when we have sworn fealty. Were he here, I would counsel him to accept your terms, but alas, even if he lives he is away in the North, fighting against an enemy you are not even aware of yet. Whatever his answer to you will be, it must wait. For the nonce, a devil wearing my brother's face marches North, and I know already that he will never broker peace with you. I expect you know it too, else you would not be here. Help us defend against him, help us save the North, and there may yet be peace between us."
Aegon leaned in near to Daenerys and whispered in her ear. Daenerys listened, nodded, and then looked to Sansa. "These terms are acceptable to us."
