Compass

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/8323450.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark
Characters: Jon Snow, Arya Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, Gendry Waters, Sansa Stark,
Tyrion Lannister, Davos Seaworth, Bran Stark, Edric Dayne, Willas
Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut,
Cousin Incest, Minor Violence, Badass Arya, Jealous Jon, King Jon, R
Plus L Equals J, Arya looks like Lyanna
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2016-10-19 Updated: 2024-06-21 Words: 62,755 Chapters:
32/33
 Compass
by missunderfoot

Summary

What do you know of my heart, priestess?

What do you know of my sister?

Jon and Arya return to Winterfell to find that home, as they know it, is gone.

Everything has changed.

Jon and Arya post-reunion ❤️

Notes

Song inspiration: Compass by Zella Day

Killing time while waiting for The Winds of Winter :)

I really love Jon and Arya's relationship, especially in the books. I'm hoping that George
keeps to his original outline and that Jon and Arya are still endgame.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so my apologies for any grammatical errors.
 Jon

I came to her that night.

We were on our way south to treat with Daenerys Targaryen and her allies when we were
attacked by Lannister forces near Harrenhal.

I had been hesitant to bring Arya along, I wanted her to stay behind at Winterfell, safe behind
its slate walls. We argued about it for days but in the end, I relented to her wishes as I had
always done in the past.

Her safety was not the only reason why I wanted to leave her behind. I needed time away
from her - from her all-too-perceptive grey eyes and beguiling smiles. From the moment I
saw her at the gates of Winterfell with her grey direwolf by her side, I had felt off-balance. It
was if my entire world has shifted off of its axis.

In the last five years, I've kept her memory close at heart. Whenever I think of Arya, I think
of that scrawny little girl I bid farewell to that snowy morning in Winterfell. But gone was
Arya Underfoot. In her place was this young woman with windswept dark hair and shining
grey eyes.

My days became filled with visions of her. And I find myself thinking of her even at the most
inopportune times. It was madness. And a man in my position could not indulge this kind of
madness.

Love is the death of duty. It is a lesson I knew all too well. I had once turned my back on my
duty for Arya and died in turn. I couldn't allow it to happen again. I could not let my
emotions cloud my thinking. Not when thousands of lives depend on it.

At the start of our journey, I had given instruction to Brienne of Tarth to get Arya away at the
first sign of danger. In hindsight, I should have known better. Arya would never turn tail and
run from a battle.

While in the middle of a skirmish, I turned and saw her just as she savagely thrust her sword
in a man's throat. She was wielding two short swords with Nymeria and a dozen or so lean
wolves by her side.

My men were able to subdue the Lannister forces with minimal loss on our side. The
Lannisters have endured battle after battle since the day the bastard king Joffrey ordered Ned
Stark's death and their forces were sorely depleted.

Once the dead bodies have been burned and the captives secured in the prison pen, I went in
search of Arya, wanting to make sure that she's not hurt.

I found her inside her tent, naked in a copper tub, the water tinged pink with the blood of her
slain enemies.
There were a hundred different questions swirling in my head. What happened to you, little
sister? Where have you been? How did you learn to fight like that?

As if she could read my mind, Arya looked up at me with a wry smile. "I know what you
must be thinking. You must think me a savage little beast. I know what people call me behind
my back... the she-wolf. They think I'm more beast than man and they're probably right."

I looked at her with wary eyes. "What happened to you, little sister?"

"Three years ago, I boarded a ship to Braavos with nothing but an iron coin and a little sword.
There was nothing left for me here, you see. My pack was gone."

She hugged her knees to her chest, curling into a slender ball of silky dark hair and porcelain
skin. "In Braavos, I served the Many-Faced God and gave His gift to many, many people."

"I've worn a hundred different faces and lived a hundred different lives. And in the process,
I've lost the best part of me. All the good parts. It's all gone."

The Faceless Men.

In the past year, I had learned bits and pieces about what happened to Arya after father's
death. There was Harwin, one of father's men-at-arms, who told me about Arya's time with
the Brotherhood without Banners. And there was a plump baker named Hot Pie who traveled
with her from King's Landing and around the Riverlands.

I had since wondered what happened to her in the years after she was separated from the
Brotherhood. And now that Arya finally told me her story, I realize that it was a story that I
wasn't quite ready to hear. Not now, maybe not ever. Because it was quite beyond my worst
imaginings.

I remembered the days leading up to my death, how worried I was about her, my little sister,
alone and helpless. How the thought of her in another man's bed nearly drove me mad with
rage. And at that time she was in Braavos, training under the most feared guild of assassins in
the known world.

I would have laughed if it wasn't so horrific.

She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears and her solemn face displaying all
the hurt and pain she had tried so hard to keep from the world.

"Please don't hate me, Jon. I couldn't bear it if you hate me."

I took a couple of steps towards her until I'm standing by the tub. I reached out a hand to her
wet strands and stroked her hair gently.

"I could never hate you," I said quietly.

I didn't know how long I stood there, stroking her head while she soaked in her bath, the
water doing little to hide her nude form.
I traced the outline of her face with my fingers, lightly touching her eyebrows, the bridge of
her nose, and her cheekbones. Until finally, I touched her lips, stroking it back and forth with
my thumb.

She stared up at me, her grey eyes, so similar to my own, unblinking, as she opened her
mouth and sucked on my thumb. The sensation drifted from my fingers to my groin as if she
was sucking another part of me.

"Arya..." I whispered, my voice hoarse.

She continued sucking my thumb, nipping it gently, while my other hand grasped the back of
her head, asking her without words not to stop what she was doing.

Would you bed your sister? Ygritte's words came back to haunt me. And it was as though I'd
been slapped.

I wrenched my thumb from her mouth. I needed to get away from her. It was a matter of self-
preservation.

"I need to go."

She stared back at me, with a confused look in her eyes. I took deep furious breaths, trying to
control my arousal when she suddenly stood up from the tub.

She was entirely nude.

And in that moment, I felt every vestige of my control slip away.

You know nothing, Jon Snow.

 Arya
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

My first kiss was when I was two and ten. I remember the wet tongue sticking into my
mouth, almost making me gag. I remember the large hands roughly fondling my small
breasts. But the thing I remember the most is the tangy smell of Raff the Sweetling's blood as
I slit his throat in that dingy room in Braavos before dragging his lifeless body to the canals.

Not exactly the stuff of a girl's romantic dreams.

Sansa would have been appalled, I thought with a snort.

Soon after, the kindly man sent me to the Merling Queen to train as a courtesan. He said that
if I'm going to lure my targets by means of seduction, I might as well do it right.

And in the months that I served as a mermaid, I learned a great many things. From how to
rouge one's cheeks to how to walk and dance and speak in an enticing manner.

But most importantly, I learned about men. And all the different ways I can bend a man to my
will.

"Even the most honorable man will bend the knee to a naked woman." The Merling Queen
once told me. "Unless of course he's a eunuch or prefers the company of other men."

Well no one can accuse Jon Snow of being a eunuch or preferring the company of other men.

"I need to go." His voice was hoarse.

I stood from the tub, sloshing water to the ground. Goosebumps prickled my skin as my nude
body was exposed to the chilly night air.

"I missed you, Jon." I said, pressing my cheek to his. "I missed you so much."

"Arya, I don't think this is..." Jon started to say but I stopped him with a kiss.

It wasn't a sisterly kiss either, but a mermaid's kiss. The way I'd practiced with Ami, one of
the other mermaids.

Jon did not stop me. Probably, he was too surprised to react. Or maybe his desire has finally
won out. Either way, I didn't really care.

I leaned closer, raking a fingernail lightly across his ear. He made a low sound before
suddenly breaking contact, his eyes wide with panic.

"This is wrong," he managed to say. "We can't do this, Arya."

"Just hold me..." I murmured against his ear, pressing my hand lightly against his mouth.

I took his hand and led him to sit on the soft pallet that served as my bed during our journey.
He buried his head in my hair as I sat on his lap, locking my legs tight around his waist.

I nipped his ear playfully. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

"Gods, yes... you're so beautiful, Arya."

Jon reached down and slid a finger inside me and started moving it, slowly in and out.

"Please, please..." I whispered, arching into each stroke with a moan.

"What are we doing, little sister?" His eyes were dark as he stared at me, his fingers moving
faster, harder.

"I'm yours," I said fiercely, holding his face between my small hands, "as you are mine."

My words seem to have set him on fire. He leaned towards me and covered my lips with his
own. I welcomed his tongue, stroking it gently, as our hands wandered over each other's
bodies. I held him tightly, my hands moving under his linen shirt to trace the ridges of his
back.

It has always been the two of us. Both dark-haired runts growing up amidst beautiful Tully
looking children with their auburn hair and easy smiles. Jon had always been my favorite
brother, my champion. He understood me in a way that no one else did, not even our father.

I was on assignment in the Chequy Port when I heard the news of the young Lord
Commander of the Night's Watch being murdered. After losing my father and my mother and
Robb, I thought nothing could hurt me anymore. I was wrong.

"Killed by his brothers, they say. Well, what do you expect from thieves and rapists and
murderers?" I overheard a sailor say.

In that instant I became Arya Stark again. And all of her memories came flooding back.
Suddenly, I was back in Winterfell, a young man holding out a sword to me, wrapped in grey
leather. Needle! we both said at the same time.

I boarded the first ship bound for Westeros, leaving Cat of the Canals, Blind Beth, and Mercy
behind. I had already crafted a plan; get a young boy's face and join the Night's Watch. From
there it would be easy enough for me to learn the names of those who betrayed Jon and it
would be just as easy to kill them, to slit their throats as they sleep.

But as The Maiden docked in White Harbor, the port town was abuzz with news of the new
King in the North. The bastard son of Ned Stark and former Lord Commander of the Night's
Watch has risen from the dead to reclaim Winterfell and the north from his family's enemies.

Could you bring back a man without a head? I once asked a red priest. Just the once, not six
times.
 Maybe the Lord of Light has answered my long-ago prayer after all. My father and my
mother and Robb were gone, slain by the Lannisters and the Boltons and the Freys. But Jon
was still alive and I didn't feel so empty anymore.

From White Harbor, I made a stop at the Riverlands to offer Walder Frey's life to the Many-
Faced God in exchange for Jon's. And burned the Twins together with the rest of his kin as a
sacrifice to the Lord of Light.

I arrived at Winterfell just two days before I turned five-and-ten. Six years after I left for
King's Landing with Father and Sansa. And there stood Jon, looking so much like father with
his dark hair and solemn eyes that it nearly broke my heart.

I couldn't pinpoint exactly when sisterly adoration turned into something deeper, much
darker.

Maybe it was seeing a toddler's head smashed into pieces by a grown man wielding a spiked
mace or hearing a helpless young girl being raped by a group of soldiers.

Or maybe it was murdering a merchant in the name of the Many-Faced God, slitting his
throat as he takes his bath and watching as the scented bath water turned red with his blood.

After everything I have seen and done, loving someone of my own blood doesn't seem such a
sin.

Through the thick fog of desire, I became vaguely aware of footfalls. My years with the
Faceless Men have taught me to remain alert at all times.

I pulled away from Jon and whispered urgently. "Someone's coming..."

Jon stared back at me, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

"Listen, someone's coming." I said, giving his cheek a light pinch. "You have to go now."

But before I could even move out of his lap, the flap of my tent opened and there stood Ser
Davos Seaworth, whom Jon named as his Hand. And beside him stood a familiar face, a short
man with a grotesquely large head, it was the Imp.

Chapter End Notes

I cannot wait for Jon and Arya to reunite (both in the books and the show). I'm pretty
sure Jon will be in for a shock once he sees his "little sister" again. And I just thought it
would be fun to see Arya using her seductive charms on Jon. Hope you guys like it :)
 Tyrion
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The travel from Rook's Rest to the northern shore of the God's Eye took us two more days
due to the heavy snow. For several days, the wheelhouse bounced on rough patches of road,
making it nearly impossible for me to doze off.

Thank god for Arbor wine, I thought, rubbing my hands together to ward off the chill.

I've yet to become used to the biting cold after a few years spent in the warm climate of
Meereen. But despite the bleak weather, it felt good to be home.

"We're almost there," the older man seated across from me said.

Ser Davos Seaworth, born and bred in Flea Bottom and has since served as the Hand of two
kings, the late King Stannis Baratheon and now, the newly crowned King in the North.

I turned to look out the window to the snowy landscape and thought back to the last time I
saw the bastard Jon Snow. We spent a couple of weeks together, travelling from Winterfell to
the Wall.

I remember a quiet young man with Ned Stark's dark hair and grey eyes. He barely said a
word during our journey and the only time I saw him smile was when he spoke of his little
sister, Arya, asking me to look out for her and keep her out of trouble once I returned to
King's Landing.

And now that young man holds half of Westeros in his hands. The north has proclaimed him
as their king as well as the Riverlands and the Vale. Even the free folk, known for their
disdain towards kneelers, have also pledged their fealty to the new King in the North.

From a distance, I could make out banners flying high, depicting a grey direwolf on a white
field. When I fled Westeros nearly four years ago, House Stark was by all accounts dead. The
Young Wolf and his mother killed at the Red Wedding, Lady Sansa married to a Lannister,
and the younger children lost and assumed to be dead. No one spared a thought to Ned Stark's
bastard son.

And now that bastard has risen to become the most powerful man in Westeros.

My lips turned up in a wry smile, I could just imagine Cersei's reaction once the news of Ned
Stark's bastard being crowned King in the North reached King's Landing. I pity the man who
had to deliver those words to my beloved sister.

Even Daenerys was none too happy when we heard the news soon after we landed on
Dragonstone. It was her decision to send me to the God's Eye to meet the King in the North
before escorting his court to Dragonstone.
It was already dusk by the time we reached the edge of the northern camp. As I stepped out
of the wheelhouse, a familiar face greeted me, a shy smile on his boyish face.

"Pod?"

The young man's eyes lit up. "It's good to see you again, my lord."

"Ser Podrick," Davos said, lightly tapping the young man's shoulder. "Do you know where
we can find the king? His Grace has been expecting us two days ago but the weather has
slowed down our journey."

Ser Podrick? I quirked an amused brow at my old squire. Will wonders never cease?

Podrick noticed my reaction and flushed, his ears turning bright red. "There was a minor
skirmish, my lord. A small band of Lannister forces set upon us just near Harrenhal. His
Grace has gone to his sister's tent to see to her."

"Has the lady been hurt?" Davos asked, his voice rough with concern.

"No, my lord," Pod answered swiftly, his voice filled with admiration. "Lady Arya is unhurt.
She managed to kill a dozen Lannister men and not even a scratch on her."

Could the rumors be true then? I had to wonder. It seems Arya Stark is indeed alive and well.

Two months ago, the Twins was burned to the ground during the wedding of my cousin, Ser
Daven Lannister to one of Lord Frey's homely daughters. They said the fire started in the
kitchen and spread so quickly to the banquet hall that the guests weren't able to escape. No
one thought to mention that the main doors were locked from the outside.

The villagers claimed that they saw a young girl with a grey direwolf by her side on the night
of the wedding feast. And the rumors were quick to spread, Arya Stark has come back from
the dead to avenge the Red Wedding.

After Ramsay Bolton's marriage to a pretender was uncovered, my dear sister claimed that
the real Arya was killed during the massacre in the Red Keep. As such she was quick to rule
out the fire as an accident, not wanting the rest of the kingdom to know that Ned Stark’s
daughter not only managed to elude her grasp for years, but has single-handedly extinguished
the entire House Frey in a single night.

But then two days after feast, Lord Walder Frey's naked body washed up on the shores of the
Green Fork, his throat slit from ear to ear and his torso chewed off, by a direwolf if the stories
were to be believed.

It was just like my sister to dismiss the bastard son and the younger sister, she has always
been about status and appearances. And now those loose ends that Cersei overlooked have
come back to haunt her.

I followed Davos towards the center of the encampment, looking forward to seeing Jon Snow
after all these years. So much has happened since that time we travelled to the Wall and
despite the bad blood between our houses, I would like to believe that he will still look upon
me as an old friend.

Davos briskly shoved the canvas flap aside and stopped dead in his tracks.

In the center of the tent, the King in the North sat in a straw pallet, he was fully dressed while
a naked woman sat on his lap.

The woman turned and I had a good look at her face. She was a pretty little thing, slim and
dark-haired, her pale, near-translucent skin glowing in stark contrast to Jon Snow's dark
clothing.

What was it that Podrick said? His Grace has gone to his sister's tent.

I looked at Davos, who had gone pale and seems to be on the verge of an apoplexy. And then
turned back to the couple and it finally struck me just how much they looked alike.

They shared the same dark brown hair and grey eyes, the same slender build and pale skin.
Jon Snow sported a neat, close-cropped beard and a faint scar marred his left eye but other
than that, they were like a reflection of each other. The male and female version of one
person.

Just like Jaime and Cersei, I thought.

For a minute, none of us spoke a word, or even dared to breathe. We were like a couple of
amateur mummers in the middle of a very badly-written play.

"Well, this is quite a welcome," I finally managed to quip.

And just like that the spell was broken. Jon grabbed his cloak from the floor and quickly
wrapped it around his, uh, sister's naked body. At the same time that Davos turned his back
on them and ushered me outside the tent.

We walked for a minute or so before I cleared my throat, "So I gather you didn't know. About
them, I mean."

"They've been inseparable since her return," Davos said, shaking his head. "But from what
His Grace has told me, they've always been close growing up. But not like that, or so I
thought."

"My brother and sister were close too as children," I said with a sardonic laugh. "And by now
the entire kingdom knows how that turned out."

"It's unnatural." His voice was muffled by the biting wind. "I don't know about the highborns
but where I come from brother and sister do not bed each other."

"For centuries, Targaryens have married brother and sister," I reminded him. "And as it turns
out the Lannisters and the Starks have something in common after all."
 "His Grace is not a Targaryen," Davos said, glancing down at me. "So I would ask you, my
lord, that what you saw in that tent..."

"You need not worry, Ser Davos." I interjected. "You will find me to be the very soul of
discretion regarding this matter."

The other man gave a quick nod.

I continued. "If you must know, I also have a great deal to lose if word gets out about this
particular affair."

"My lord?"

"You see, Ser Davos, I'm not just here to visit an old friend or escort you to Dragonstone," I
said firmly. "I'm here to broker a marriage between the King in the North and Queen
Daenerys of House Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne."

Chapter End Notes

This chapter is to provide a bit of political background. But things will definitely heat up
once they reach Dragonstone next chapter. Still not sure if the next chapter will be from
Jon or Arya's perspective. Hope you enjoy reading :)
 Arya
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

We reached Dragonstone after a week’s journey on horseback and another day aboard a
longship. The ancient seat of House Targaryen with its black stone walls and curved towers
loomed over Blackwater Bay like a giant dragon.

The dragon queen was as beautiful as the tales have told with her silver hair and violet eyes
and porcelain skin. Standing against the dark fortress, dressed in ivory silk and a matching
silver cloak, she seems to glow like moonlight.

Jon greeted her with a courtly bow as both the northern and southern courts look on. A
hushed silence settled over the crowd. Everyone was transfixed by the sight of the darkly
handsome King in the North meeting the beautiful Dragon Queen.

I wish Sansa could have been here, she would have loved this. Oh! It’s just like a song. I
could practically hear her say. And even I had to admit that they make a magnificent sight,
Jon’s dark masculine looks was the perfect complement to the queen’s delicate beauty.

I’ve heard talks of a marriage to unite the north and south kingdoms. A union that will
become the foundation of a great dynasty, one that could rival the one started by Aegon the
Conqueror three hundred years ago.

If he weds the Targaryen queen, Jon would rule over the seven kingdoms. He'd be a fool to
turn her offer down.

A low, masculine voice interrupted my thoughts. “Lady Arya?”

I turned around to see a young man with blonde hair and smooth, aquiline features, he was
clad in silver armor, a dark purple cloak billowing behind him.

“Ned?” I exclaimed.

The young man smiled with genuine pleasure. “My lady, I never thought to see you again.”

“What, did you think I was dead?” I asked with a teasing smile.

Ned flushed. “We looked for you everywhere, my lady. Gendry blamed himself, and Harwin
too.”

“It was no one else’s fault but mine,” I shook my head. “I was being stupid and got caught by
Clegane because of it.”

“Well, it’s good to see you looking so well,” he said, his gaze sweeping over my form with
discreet admiration.
Good old Ned, I thought fondly. He’d probably run screaming into the night if I tell him what
I’ve done the past few years.

“The years have been uncommonly kind,” I said blithely before reaching out to touch the
greatsword on his side. “And I see you’ve become the Sword of the Morning.”

“My father was kind enough to bestow me the honor, my lady,” he said, pride evident in his
voice.

I looked up at him, smiling. “You wear it well.”

At that, Ned blushed and stuttered. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Little sister, won’t you introduce me to your friend?”

I looked up to see Jon standing behind me, his brows furrowed. He’s been avoiding me since
that night in my tent. If what I’ve told him about my past wasn’t enough to turn him away
from me, that little trick I pulled seemed to have done it.

Well, he’s set to marry the most beautiful woman in Westeros who will give him a kingdom
and three dragons as her dowry. Why would he settle for his plain sister? He probably just
felt sorry for me. His little sister raised by outlaws and assassins.

It was a pity kiss. I thought with disgust.

“Your Grace, this is Ned Dayne, the Lord of Starfall,” I said as Ned went down on one knee
in front of Jon. “I met him when I was travelling with the Brotherhood without Banners. He
was Lord Beric Dondarrion’s squire then.” I gestured at Ned’s greatsword. “He’s now the
Sword of the Morning.”

“Is that what you were doing just now?” Jon raised an eyebrow. “Admiring his sword?”

How dare he! I thought angrily as I heard poor Ned sucked in a sharp breath beside me.

After days of ignoring me, it seems His Grace finally deigned to acknowledge my existence.
He was probably worried I was going to seduce one of his queen’s lords and embarrass
myself in front of the southern court.

“You know me, dear brother,” I said in a sweet voice. “I’ve always been fond of… swords.”

Jon’s face hardened. “I will leave you to it then.” And with a curt nod towards Ned, he
stalked off to join his queen and their advisors at the far end of the room.

The rest of the evening had been interminable, not even Ned’s pleasant company managed to
lighten my mood after Jon’s hypocritical attitude.

As I leave the banquet hall, Jon suddenly appeared and fell into a step beside me. “We need
to talk,” he said in tight voice, his hand biting into my wrist.

“Let go of me,” I said, keeping my voice low so as not to draw unwanted attention.
And as if on cue, Tyrion Lannister came out of the library, a wine glass in hand, and quirked
an eyebrow at us. “Retiring so early, Your Grace? I understand the queen has invited a famed
singer all the way from Braavos to entertain us for the night. It would be a shame if you miss
it.”

“My little sister is weary after the long journey,” Jon said curtly. “I will escort her to her
room and return shortly for the entertainment.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” the small man said with a courteous bow.

As soon as Tyrion walked past us, Jon dragged me inside the library and slammed the door
shut.

“What is wrong with you?” I hissed at him, shoving angrily at his chest.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at, little sister,” Jon said tersely, his grey
eyes flashing like silver with anger. “But if you think I would just stand by while you seduce
young Dayne then you’re mistaken.”

“We were just talking!” I blurted out. “And here I thought I’m the one with a filthy mind.” I
turned away from him and walked towards the door, feeling incensed by his baseless
accusations.

I haven’t taken two steps before I was whirled around and found myself being kissed with
bruising force. I couldn’t breathe, Jon was kissing me hard. But he tasted so good, as sweet as
the candied pear we’ve had for dessert. But when I reached down to rub the bulge in his
breeches, he roughly pushed my hand aside.

He pulled away from me, his eyes accusing. “You’ve changed, Arya. I look at you and I don’t
see my little sister anymore. And it hurts becaused I loved that little girl with all my heart. I
want her back. I want… I want everything to be the same as before.”

“You’ve changed too, Jon.” I said softly. “No matter how much we want to, we couldn’t turn
back the hands of time. Everything's changed.”

“But you’re still my sister. And I’m your brother. Nothing can change that.” Jon said, his
voice loud with frustration.

A soft knock on the door interrupted them. The door opened slowly and Tyrion’s large head
poked through the gap.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” he said. “But I could hear your lovers’ tiff from the hall.”

We both turned to the other man and said at the same time, “We’re not having a lovers’ tiff.”

“Alright, not a lovers’ tiff then,” the Imp said holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“But may I suggest that you continue your discussion at a more opportune time. The guests
have been looking for you, Your Grace.”

“Very well,” Jon acquiesced. “I will follow you shortly.”

 Tyrion nodded and softly shut the door.

“This discussion is far from over,” Jon said, sounding exasperated. “In the meantime, can you
at least try to keep yourself out of trouble?”

His patronizing tone drew my ire once again. “I’ve been taking care of myself for the past
five years, Jon. I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what to do.”

“Very well, do as you damned well please,” he said angrily, “just like you always do!”

Jon turned away, it was as if he couldn’t even bear to look at me, and left the room, slamming
the door with great force.

Stupid girl! I told myself. It took you six years to get to Jon and all it took was one night for
you to screw things up.

Chapter End Notes

I always feel like Jon is kinda possessive of Arya in the books. Anyway, I love jealous
Jon even though he's still being stubborn about his feelings :)
 Davos
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Jon Snow had died that cold, cold night at the Wall. I held him as the light slowly dimmed in
his eyes. As the blood gushed out of his wounds and his body turned cold. But in the midst of
the ruins of Castle Black, Jon Snow was reborn.

The free folk worshipped him like a god, he was the man who broke thousands of years of
tradition to save them from certain death. While the north and its allies crowned him king
because of the Stark blood that runs through his veins, bastard blood it may be.

They believe him to be the Prince That Was Promised, the chosen one who will lead mankind
through the Long Night. Tales of his heroic deeds spread far and wide and everywhere he
goes, people look at him with a mixture of fear and awe. But even heroes have their weakness
and for Jon Snow that weakness is his sister Arya.

While most men would kill to marry the Targaryen queen, Jon Snow seemed unaffected by
her delicate beauty. To the surprise of his and the queen’s council, he balked at the idea of a
marriage between them, insisting that the north seeks an alliance, not a union, with the
southern kingdom.

But when it comes to his sister Arya, the king was anything but unaffected. He practically
vibrates with tension whenever his sister was near. And it did not take long for young Lord
Dayne to be sent across the Narrow Sea to escort Lord Manderly on his mission to negotiate
with the Iron Bank.

A feeling of dread settled at the pit of my stomach as I entered the Chamber of the Painted
Table where the war council is in the middle of discussing battle plans. In my hands I carry
the news that would most likely turn the tides of war in our favor, but for some reason I feel
like I was walking to the gallows.

“The castle is well fortified,” Lord Royce is saying, his entire body hunched over the long
table where a map of the entire Westeros was carved and painted on. “Even if we lay siege
outside the gates, it might take months. And with Cersei Lannister’s proclivity to wildfire, it
would be dangerous to be in King’s Landing for a long period of time.”

There was silence as the members of the war council mulled over their options.

“There is another way,” Arya murmured. “We can attack the Red Keep from the inside.”

“And how do we do that, my lady?” Lord Royce looked at her quizzically.

“There is a passage right here,” Arya said, leaning over to point at the map. “It leads to the
dungeons where we can enter the Red Keep with the Lannisters none the wiser.”
“They said only the blood of the dragons know the secrets of these tunnels,” Lord Celtigar
pointed out, his face doubtful. “Are you certain you know your way around it?”

“How do you think I escaped King’s Landing years ago, my lord?” she asked dryly. “If not
for these tunnels, I would have been killed by the Gold Cloaks or worse, taken prisoner and
married to a Lannister.” She quirked a brow towards Tyrion Lannister who was seated across
from her. “No offense, my lord.”

Tyrion leaned back in his chair and smiled wryly. “None taken, my lady.”

I took my seat beside the king who was probably unaware that he was gazing at his sister
with something akin to longing in his eyes.

I cleared my throat. “There is some news, Your Grace.”

The king finally managed to tear his eyes from Lady Arya to look at me expectantly.

I placed a missive bearing a gold seal in front of him. “We have received a raven from
Highgarden.”

"From the Tyrells?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice. “What does it say?”

“It seems they have severed ties with the Lannisters,” I replied, studiously averting my gaze
from the king. “And now they are seeking an alliance with House Stark. They want to marry
off their heir, Lord Willas, to your sister in return for their support.”

“I will send for Sansa then,” the king said immediately. “The Tyrells have a powerful army at
their command. It would be a good match. I’m certain she won’t object.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Your Grace,” Tyrion spoke with great care. “By virtue of
law, she is still my wife.”

In the silence that followed, I clarified. “Your Grace, the Tyrells are asking for Lady Arya’s
hand in marriage.”

The king paled as he finally realized the import of the news, the knuckles of his clenched fists
digging into the missive.

I continued. “With their support, the war will be easily won.”

The king’s eyes immediately went to his sister where she sat in the middle of the long table,
her petite frame dwarfed by the Greatjon and Tormund Giantsbane who were seated on either
side of her.

She avoided his gaze and instead turned to look at me, her gaze calculating.

“How many men, Ser Davos?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon, my lady?” I said, confused.

 “How many men does the Tyrells have? How many soldiers? How many ships?” she asked
again.

“Fifty thousand men, maybe more,” the Blackfish provided. “And a hundred or so warships.”

“Without the Tyrells, the Lannisters would stand no chance against us,” Lord Royce added.

“Very well then,” she said dispassionately, with no hesitation. “I shall marry him.”

The king protested, his jaw clenched. “You do not have to do this, Arya. Even without the
Tyrells, our forces outnumber the Lannisters. You do not need to bind yourself to someone
you barely know."

“Listen to me, dear brother,” Arya gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I would marry the Stranger
himself if that's what it takes to bring the Lannisters down.”

In the uneasy silence that followed her harsh words, the Blackfish tried to defuse the tension.
“I’ve known Willas Tyrell since he was a young lad. He is a good man. And he will make
Arya a fine husband.”

But the king and his sister paid no heed to his well-meaning words, their gazes locked in an
invisible battle.

Finally, Arya broke the dreadful silence, her voice quiet and laced with steely determination.
"They say a Lannister always pays his debts and by the gods, the Starks have come to
collect.”

Without taking his eyes off of his sister, the king said firmly. "This council is dismissed."

The members of the war council hurriedly left the room, eager to escape the suffocating
tension. And with one last stubborn look thrown her brother’s way, Arya followed them.

I remain seated by the king’s side. “You said it yourself, Your Grace, it is a good match,” I
said, gesturing at the letter bearing the Tyrell sigil, still clenched in his fists. “If the match is
good enough for one sister, then it should be good enough for the other.”

“Careful, Ser Davos,” the king said as he stood up and walked towards one of the tall
windows, his gaze looking out at Blackwater Bay. “I value your counsel but you have no
business in matters which concern my sister.”

"We are at war, Your Grace,” I reminded him. "And as the king, I trust you will do what is
right for the realm.”

Twenty years ago, a war started over a prince's love for a Lady Stark and gods help us all, if
history ever repeats itself.

Chapter End Notes

Poor Ned Dayne banished to Essos :P Oh, and Davos is one of my favorite characters.
They'll probably be at King's Landing next chapter, or maybe not. Let's see... Anyway,
hope you enjoyed reading :)
 Tyrion
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

For a man assured of easy victory, the king didn’t look happy. He has been in the blackest of
moods since the Tyrells arrived at Dragonstone with their army and a shipload of supplies,
their warships joining the Greyjoy fleet at Blackwater Bay.

Everyone knows that without the Tyrells, the Lannisters are doomed. Everyone except my
beloved sister, that is. Our late father would be turning over in his grave if he could see how
Cersei has quickly laid to waste all his years of plotting and seeking alliances for the benefit
of House Lannister.

The king was seated at a long table on the dais with Queen Daenerys on his one side and the
newly betrothed couple on the other. The king and his sister sat side by side, their elbows
nearly touching, studiously avoiding one another’s gaze.

If they were any other couple, I would have been amused, even touched, by their obvious
longing for each other. But as the Hand of the Queen, the king’s unnatural devotion to his
younger sister is problematic at best, disastrous at worst.

Despite the north’s pledge of support to her cause, Daenerys wanted a united Westeros to rule
over. And she felt that the most expedient way to achieve that is to marry the King in the
North. But how can I convince Jon Snow to marry the queen when he’s so clearly besotted
with his sister?

Garlan and Loras Tyrell approached their brother and his betrothed, welcoming her to their
family. Arya said something that made the three Tyrell men burst out laughing. The king,
however, sat stony-faced and silent beside her.

“She looks so much like her aunt,” Ser Barristan Selmy observed, looking at Arya, as she
stood up to dance with Ser Loras. “She has that same wild beauty about her.”

Ah, the legend that is Lyanna Stark, I thought. I’ve never met Lyanna Stark but I’ve heard the
songs about her, about how Prince Rhaegar and Robert Baratheon waged a war for her hand.
Not exactly a comforting thought.

The once scrawny little girl I remember from that long ago feast in Winterfell had blossomed
into a beauty. Like the Targaryen queen, she had an ethereal quality about her. Looking at her
petite frame one would not believe the stories about her prowess in the battlefield, but even
the north's most fearsome warriors hold her in high regard.

In a grey silk dress that hugged her slender curves with her dark hair loose and unbound, she
looked young and wild and so very, very beautiful. Her only adornment was a lone dagger
slung on her right hip, its hilt etched with the figure of a direwolf.
Men stared at her in fascination, with a mixture of fear and desire, the latter of which they
were quick to hide from the king lest they find themselves shipped off across the Narrow Sea
on a sudden mission.

“It would appear congratulations are in order, my lady,” I walked over to stand next to her.
“Willas Tyrell is a kind, intelligent man. And handsome too. He’s considered to be the best
catch in Westeros, next to your brother of course.”

“I’m not going to marry him for his looks or wits my lord. I’m going to marry him for his
men and his fleet of ships.” She looked down at me, her voice quiet. “I’m going to marry him
to ensure the fall of House Lannister.”

“My lady, I know I couldn’t even begin to apologize for…” I began.

“There’s no need to apologize, Lord Tyrion,” she cut me off, a knowing smile curved her lips.
“In fact, I’m grateful to you.”

At my questioning look, she continued. “For killing your father.”

Well, she couldn’t be more straightforward than that, I thought, suddenly regretting the
impulse that led me to approach Lady Arya. It seems that her ability to draw blood is not
limited only to the battle field.

And just when I thought she couldn’t surprise me more, she added. “You remind me of him,
you know. Lord Tywin, I mean.”

“You’ve met my father?” I asked, stupefied.

She shrugged. “I served him at Harrenhal, as his cupbearer. Of course, he didn’t know who I
was. He thought I was just an orphan girl.”

I was dumbstruck. I remember when my father arrived at King’s Landing from Harrenhal,
how he ranted and raved upon learning that the younger Stark girl managed to escape. And
that time she was just there, right under his nose.

She seemed not to notice my silence. “He told me that I reminded him of his daughter." She
wrinkled her nose at that, disgust at being compared to Cersei evident in her face. “He talked
about his son, said he was the finest knight in the realm. But he never mentioned you.”

That stung. Even after having killed him with my own hands, it seems that a part of me will
always seek my father’s approval. “My father wasn’t fond of me. They say all dwarfs are
bastards in their father’s eyes.”

“He’s stupid then,” Arya said bluntly. “From what my sister has told me, you have more
brains than the rest of your family combined. House Lannister would have been better off if
your father named you as his heir.” Then she smiled faintly, her eyes drifting towards her
brother. “Besides I’ve always been fond of bastards.”

I followed her gaze to see the king staring daggers at me. “I should escort you back to your
seat, my lady. It seems that your brother doesn’t take kindly to other men taking too much of
 your attention.”

“You do not need to play coy, Lord Tyrion,” she leaned towards me, her voice lowered. “You
saw us in my tent that night you arrived in our camp, didn't you?”

I cleared my throat. “I assure you, my lady, you have my full discretion on that matter."

"I would marry Lord Tyrell," she said simply. "But I would never belong to him just as Jon
would never belong to your queen even if you somehow manage to convince him to marry
her. We belong with each other, we always have."

By the gods, she sounds exactly like Cersei, I thought grimly.

She looked at me, a wry smile on her lips. "You looked surprised, my lord? I thought you, of
all people, would understand."

I shook my head. “Most will not understand, my lady. In the eyes of gods and men alike, you
both share the same blood. It will only undermine your brother’s rule if it becomes common
knowledge.”

“More’s the pity,” she said with an impish grin. “Gods, how I envy the Targaryens!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that as we walked back to the dais. “It was a pleasure talking to
you, my lady.” I took her hand and kissed it, ignoring the way the king stiffened in his seat,
casting a dark glare at me.

She gave me a wink. “I hope you found it... enlightening, my lord.”

I grinned at her, thoroughly charmed. “Very much so, my lady.”

I looked back at Arya as she sat beside her brother, their fingers within a hair’s breadth of
each other.

If what Ser Barristan said is true, then I could finally understand those songs. I could finally
understand how Prince Rhaegar tore the entire realm apart for the love of Lady Lyanna.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter is a nod to George's original outline about the Jon-Arya-Tyrion love
triangle. I don't see Tyrion/Arya happening in the future books but I just thought it
would be fun to have them interact. And I really love the Tyrells, too bad Willas and
Garlan were cut from the show, oh well. Hope you guys like this!

Next chapter is probably gonna be Jon/Dany, let me know your thoughts about this :)
 Davos
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

In all my travels, I’ve never met anyone quite like Arya Stark. She was an enigma. A young
girl that looks like a beautiful courtesan, talks like a bawdy sailor, and kills like a hardened
criminal.

Small and slim, she looked like a mere child, even younger than her age. She exudes a certain
youthful vigor, quick and agile. But she has the eyes of an old, wizened woman. There was a
darkness in those stormy eyes, a deep pain lurking just beneath the surface.

We were standing at the port of Dragonstone, a small fishing vessel waiting to take us to
King’s Landing where we will enter the Red Keep through a hidden passage built in the city’s
sewers. From there we are to open the castle gates from the inside once the combined forces
of the North and the Targaryen allies march on to the city.

Arya insisted that she will only take the Brotherhood without Banners. She needed men that
won’t be recognized by the lords and knights in the castle, men that could pass off as ordinary
foot soldiers.

The king agreed upon the condition that I would go with them. He bid me to keep an eye on
his sister and ensure that she won’t take any unnecessary risks. The unspoken command
being to keep her safe no matter what.

She was leaning against the fishing boat, sharpening the edge of her dagger with a whetstone.
There was a restless energy about her. A sense of excitement. An excitement that is clearly
not shared by the king.

“Ser Davos, once the castle has been breached…” the king started to say, gesturing towards
his sister.

“… you shall take Lady Arya into the dungeons and stay there until the fighting ends,” Arya
continued, doing a rather good impression of her brother’s gruff voice. “You’ve said it
already so many times I can hear it in my sleep. I bet Ser Davos does too.”

The king sighed. “I keep repeating it because I can tell you’re not taking it seriously.”

“No, Jon, it’s you who’s not taking me seriously,” she said quietly. “I know what I’m doing,
I’ll be fine.”

He ignored her and turned to me. “If she tries anything rash, knock her out, you have my
permission.”

“I’m right here, Jon,” Arya said, rolling her eyes. “I can hear you.”
“Good,” he said gruffly, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a little shake. “Then
maybe you would finally listen. I’m not going to lose you Arya, not again.”

Her face softened and she reached out a hand to touch her brother’s cheek. “Don’t worry
about me. It’s nothing that I haven’t done before.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he asked, his face grim. "Because it just made me
feel a lot worse."

In a rare show of emotion, Arya reached out and gave him a hug. She was so much smaller
than her brother that she had to stand on tiptoe in order to press her cheek against his neck.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much, Jon? You’ll likely get old before your
time.”

“Did anyone ever tell you how stubborn you are?” he asked. His voice low and terse.

Arya nodded, her voice sheepish. “All the time.”

The king closed his eyes, squeezing her tightly against his body. “You are going to be the
death of me.”

“Let go, you stupid,” she said, giggling. “I can’t breathe.”

The king only laughed and shook his head, squeezing her even tighter.

And for a moment, the war seems to have been forgotten. I had a brief glimpse of them
growing up as children in the safety of Winterfell before everything went to hell. When their
relationship was not yet tainted by war and suffering and death. When they were just brother
and sister to each other.

I cleared my throat, feeling uneasy about witnessing such a private moment. “Your Grace, we
need to depart if we are to reach King’s Landing before sunrise.”

He pressed a gentle kiss on top of her head and reluctantly let her go. “Be safe, little sister.”
Then he turned to look at me. “I will see you in King’s Landing in a fortnight, Ser Davos.
And I expect to see my sister in one piece, in the relative safety of the dungeons.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” There was nothing else I can say to that.

I stood at the stern beside Arya, looking out at Dragonstone as the fishing boat slowly
departed. The king stood in the middle of the dock, surrounded by his guards, looking grim.
Even from afar I could see the worry etched on his forehead.

I turned towards his sister to see her smiling at me. And then slowly, very slowly, she passed
a hand down her face and before my very eyes turned into someone else. A young boy with
brown hair and a smattering of freckles on his cheeks now stood in front of me instead of the
king's sister.

What in the seven hells?!

But then the young boy spoke and he sounded exactly like her, the same mellifluous voice
and matter-of-fact tone.

“Ser Davos, I have a plan…”

__________

The king is going to kill me, I thought. He's going to have me drawn and quartered and
flayed.

It took us a day to find our way from the tunnel hidden in the city’s sewers to a secret
doorway which leads to Maegor’s Holdfast, right at the heart of the Red Keep.

For two days, the king’s sister entered the Red Keep disguised as a young stable boy,
scouting the area and bringing food and supplies back to the dungeons. But now she’s back to
looking like the real Arya Stark, wearing a roughspun and nearly threadbare dress which she
managed to pilfer from a scullery maid.

She sat on the stone floor, her eyes closed as she stroked a one-eared black tomcat, a feral
beast which she found in the sewers. “If we are going to access the castle gates, we need to
get our hands on some Lannister armor.”

Harwin, a stocky man with a northern accent, frowned, “It’s easy to carry around bread and
cheese from the kitchens to here, but armor? How are we to do that, m’lady.”

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing, but I could practically hear her mind working.
Scheming.

Slowly, she reached up and took off the pins on her hair, running her hands through the silky
strands. And then she loosened the laces on her wool dress, revealing the swell of her firm
breasts. She looked like a kitchen wench. A wanton kitchen wench.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, m’lady, I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe one of us can go
instead.”

“I don’t think Lem or Harwin would look good in a dress,” she said with a smirk. “Just wait
right here. Don’t move. I’ll be back in an hour, maybe two.”

She set the black tomcat on the floor and watched as it padded up the stone staircase and
disappeared behind the hidden door. And then she followed.

Seconds passed by then minutes turned into an hour, I stood there, huddled in the dark,
thinking of all the ways the king would kill me when he arrives at King’s Landing and finds
out that I let his beloved sister wander around the Red Keep, alone, looking like a Gin Alley
prostitute.

“What’s taking her so long?” one of the men muttered.

Harwin looked at the door where Arya disappeared an hour ago, his voice quiet. “She’ll be
back.”
 “How do you know that?” Lem, a tall, broad-shouldered man, asked.

“I’ve known her since she was a child,” Harwin said thoughtfully. “Trust me, when Arya
Underfoot wants something, she’s going to get it and woe betide anyone who stands in her
way.”

So I waited and waited and waited. And just when I was considering going out to look for
her, I heard the sound of a giggle and Arya appeared around the corner, leading a soldier in
crimson and gold Lannister armor in hand.

“We have to be quiet, m’lord,” she said softly, steering him towards the hidden doorway.
“Cook will be looking for me.”

Beneath his gold helm, the young soldier smirked. “Well, I can’t promise that you…”

But the soldier did not get to finish his words. As soon as he stepped into the shadows, just a
few feet from where we were standing, Arya reached out to grab both sides of his head and
twisted, hard. She shoved the body through the narrow passage and continued walking. Lem
caught the body, right before it hits the stone floor.

No noise, no blood, no nothing. I felt a shiver run down my spine.

She continued walking down the empty corridor, her steps not faltering. There was nothing to
indicate that she just killed a grown man in cold blood. Then just before she turned a corner,
she slowly held up an index finger behind her back.

One.

I looked at the soldier’s lifeless body slumped in the shadows, his neck lay sideways at an
odd angle, his eyes wide open in surprise, his mouth gaping in a silent scream.

The king's sister is fucking mad! I thought frantically.

By nightfall, we were all clad in crimson and gold.

Chapter End Notes

I know I promised a Jon/Dany interaction this chapter, but I started writing and just

❤️❤️❤️
thought that it fits better to tell it from Davos' POV. I'm still working on that Jon/Dany
POV as promised. Anyway, Arya being such a badass is

I can't wait for S7 when Arya comes back to Westeros and kicks some serious ass. Valar
Morghulis and all that.

Your comments are much appreciated. Let me know your thoughts!

 Jon
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

I was back in Castle Black. The air was permeated with the smell of smoke. From afar I
could see Mole’s Town burning. Part of the castle had been destroyed, and the common hall
was burned to the ground.

I walked past bodies of men, wildings and black brothers alike. Looking for someone,
looking for her.

I found Ygritte beneath the Lord Commander’s Tower, lying in a pool of her own blood, an
arrow sticking out of her chest. As I knelt down beside her, her eyes opened. They were grey
instead of blue.

It was Arya.

No, I thought, shaking my head. I’m in King’s Landing, not Castle Black.

As the council had anticipated, the battle was quickly won. Our men outnumbered the
Lannisters at nearly two to one. Even the wildfire explosion at the foot of Aegon’s High Hill
did little to deter our attack.

The Blackfish and the Greatjon led synchronised attacks through the Iron Gate and River
Gate, both of which were opened by the Brotherhood without Banners from the inside. While
I led another faction inside the Red Keep through the secret passages that Arya was privy to.

Garlan Tyrell together with Asha Greyjoy and the newly legitimised Lord of Storm’s End
soundly defeated the royal fleet at Blackwater Bay. From the Red Keep I could still see the
smoke rising from the charred remains of the lion-crested enemy ships.

In the sky, a flock of crows rose from the black water, circling above the Red Keep.

“Welcome to your kingdom, Your Grace,” Tyrion Lannister said as we entered the holdfast.

I gazed at the pale red stone walls of the castle. “My kingdom is in the north.”

He grinned. “Well, it could be your kingdom if you would only marry the queen.”

I couldn't help but laugh at the Imp's persistence.

I would be lying if I said that I had not been tempted by the queen’s offer. Robb was crowned
King in the North similar to our father’s forebears. Still, the bastard son of House Stark
becoming the King of the Seven Kingdoms?

But marrying Daenerys Targaryen would undo everything that the north has fought for since
they crowned Robb as their king. Like the land they lived in, the northerners are fierce and
savage people. They hungered for their independence. Thousands have died for it. It is my
duty to make certain that those men did not die in vain.

Besides there’s that thing with Arya. It had taken one kiss for everything to change. I could
not stop replaying that night in her tent on my mind, over and over again. At night, I dreamed
of her. I dreamed of pale skin and dark hair, seductive words and soft moans. In my dreams,
she is not my little sister. But a siren. A beautiful witch sent to torment me and lure me to
commit the gravest of sins.

The thing between us has to end. I kept telling myself that I had to stay away from Arya but
every day it felt like I was fighting a losing battle. I know that we could never marry and I
would not dishonor Arya by taking her as a mistress.

There is also the matter of her betrothal with Willas Tyrell. The heir to Highgarden was an
amiable man, soft-spoken and mild-mannered. He will treat Arya kindly, that much is clear.
But fury and jealousy raced through my veins at the image of Arya in his arms.

When Lord Tyrell approached me just before I left Dragonstone to say that the wedding will
take place in King’s Landing as soon as the battle is won, I could barely keep myself from
wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing tight. The man seems to be in a haste to
wed Arya.

Or bed her, most likely. I thought, a bitter taste forming in my mouth. The man's a cripple,
not a eunuch.

I pictured her as she was the night of her betrothal feast, wearing a silk dress that hugged her
slender curves and a silver dagger strapped at her waist. Oh yes, I could understand why
Willas Tyrell could not even wait until they get back to Highgarden to bed her.

Ser Davos stood just outside the throne room together with the Brotherhood without Banners.
Before I could ask her where my sister is, he looked at me gravely and said. “Cersei Lannister
is dead, Your Grace.”

“One of our men?” I asked immediately.

He shook his head. “It was her brother.” He then noticed Tyrion Lannister and cleared his
throat. “Her other brother. Her twin.”

Harwin opened the heavy oak doors and ushered me inside the throne room.

Sitting on the Iron Throne is Cersei Lannister, her body limp and her golden blonde hair
matted in blood. She had grown a bit plump since the last time I saw her but even in death,
she was beautiful. Her face still unlined, her features delicate. In her lap was a golden crown
encrusted with emeralds that sparkled in the dim light.

At the foot of the throne stood her twin holding a bloody sword in his hand. I remember
thinking that he looked like what a king should be when Jaime Lannister rode into Winterfell
in his golden armor, his golden hair flowing to his shoulders and his chin raised in arrogance.
 He seemed to have aged two decades in the past five years. He was much thinner and there
were harsh lines etched across his face.

Jaime turned towards his younger brother and said in a quiet tone. “The things I do for love.”

A broken man, I thought, looking at him in pity. What would it do to a man to put a sword
through the heart of the person he loved most?

His sister. His lover.

Suddenly, I wanted to see Arya. I needed to hold her in my arms where she belongs. It was all
mixed up inside me, the need to protect her from harm like any brother would do to his sister
and the desire to have her in my bed like any man would do to a woman.

It seems that I am no better than Jaime Lannister.

“Where is Arya?” I asked Ser Davos.

I was surprised to see the usually unflappable Ser Davos flush slightly. “Your Grace, I… I
don’t know how to say this… but I lost her. I don’t know where she is, I don’t even know
what she looks like anymore.”

At my silence, Ser Davos continued, his brows furrowed. “I hope you do not take this
wrongly, Your Grace, but I would rather travel to Asshai to look for dragon eggs than guard
your lady sister.” He wiped a hand across his forehead. “I tried, I really did. But by the third
day I’ve given up. There is no stopping the lady once she is of a mind to do something.”

I could just imagine what Arya has made the poor man went through in the past weeks. He
actually looks a little traumatised. “You do not have to explain, Ser Davos. I know my sister.”

That stubborn girl! I thought angrily. How was I supposed to protect her when she seems
hell-bent on putting herself in danger at every opportunity.

Because she doesn't need you anymore, a voice inside me seemed to whisper. It's too late,
you're too late.

Harwin approached me and said, "I passed Lady Arya an hour or so earlier, Your Grace. She
was heading towards the Tower of the Hand."

I gave him a grateful nod. "Take Jaime Lannister to the dungeons with the other prisoners.
The Night's Watch would need more men."

I then turned and walked briskly from the throne room to find Arya. The words of Jaime
Lannister ringing in my head.

The things I do for love.

Chapter End Notes

Poor Jon! He's really torn about his feelings towards Arya. I think because he's more of
a rule follower than Arya. Also, the new Lord of Storm's End might make an appearance
soon. What do you guys think about that?
 Arya
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Ser Gregor… Dunsen… Polliver… Raff the Sweetling… The Tickler… Ser Ilyn… Ser
Meryn… King Joffrey… Queen Cersei…

Valar Morghulis.

They were all dead now. There were no more names to pray for.

For five years my prayer was the only thing that made me get up each day when all I wanted
to do was curl up and die. Those names held me together when I was I was falling apart. It
was the only thing that remained of me after the Lannisters took everything away.

Now even that is gone. Even that has been taken away from me.

The realization made something inside me dropped away, leaving me empty. And for the first
time since I could remember I began to cry. It was as if a dam broke and all the pain and
anger and loneliness of the past few years came to the surface.

They were ugly tears, messy ones. I trembled all over and my body shook with the intensity
of my sobs. I pressed my hands to my eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears, but still it didn’t
work. The tears just continued to flow, running down my cheeks, and soaking the front of my
blood-stained linen dress.

I don’t know how long I sat there, huddled in the steep and narrow stairway leading to the
Tower of the Hand where I used to live with father and Sansa and Septa Mordane and the rest
of my father’s men-at-arms back when father was the Hand of King Robert Baratheon.
They’re all gone now, leaving me alone.

It was the lone wolf who survived, after all.

Suddenly, Jon was there. He took me in his arms, holding me, his face creased with worry.
And I clung to him as tightly as I could. For Jon was the only person that was keeping me
tethered into this world and without him to hold on to, I fear that I would simply drift away
into oblivion.

I wanted to tell him about the time I heard of his death back in Braavos. How I sunk on my
knees in the middle of the cobblestoned streets, my eyes blurring with unshed tears.

I wanted to tell him about the night I arrived at the Twins and saw Robb’s decapitated body
being paraded around with Grey Wind’s head sewn on his neck. How close I was to being
with Robb and mother again, so fucking close.

I wanted to tell him how I stood atop the statue of Baelor as Joffrey ordered Ser Ilyn to cut
off father’s head. How I could still hear the crowd cheering every time I close my eyes at
night.

But there were no words, only tears.

Then Jon suddenly spoke, his voice a near whisper. “I died for you.”

I looked up at him in surprise. He never talked about it, about the night he died, murdered by
his own brothers. And I never asked. He has his own secrets, just like I have mine.

“You see, there was a letter, it said that you were married to Ramsay Bolton,” he murmured,
pulling me even closer to his chest. “And the thought of you in that bastard’s bed… it nearly
drove me mad.”

“I was going to ride south to Winterfell to get you,” he confessed, his voice solemn. “I broke
my vows, that’s why they stabbed me.”

He paused for a moment. “I know you think I prize honor above all else but you’re mistaken,
I’ve forsaken my honor for you.” He looked at me, smiling faintly. “I just thought you should
know.”

We remained silent for a long time, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

I died for you. The import of his words slowly sinking in, filling the aching void inside of me.

Gently, Jon Snow pressed his lips to mine. And suddenly we were kissing, his tongue in my
mouth, both his arms wrapped around my body, holding me close. He murmured my name
again and again as his lips slowly drifted along my neck.

“Do you love me?” he whispered in my ears.

I nodded, tracing a finger along his familiar face, so similar to my own.

"Say it."

“I love you, Jon Snow. Always have, always will.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling his hardness pressed against my abdomen. His
eyelids fluttered when I rubbed myself against his breeches while he reached down to slide a
finger inside my linen dress, his large hands finding me already wet.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop…” I murmured as I kissed him deeply, his fingers moving
faster and harder inside of me. “It’s so good, you feel so good.”

Jon suddenly got up and pulled me against his chest. I couldn’t tell what he had in mind as he
just stood there, holding me in his arms as if I was a mere child. For a moment, I was afraid
he would change his mind and leave. But then he headed towards the empty hall and kicked
open the door to the nearest bedchamber.

We stumbled against a wooden table and he roughly pushed me on top of it. He quickly
unbuttoned my dress, his large hands wrapping almost entirely around my slender waist. I
sucked in my breath when he leaned down and drew a pink nipple in his mouth. He kept
rubbing his beard roughly across my breasts, leaving small, red welts.

“Jon, hurry,” I moaned, just as he switched to suckle my other nipple. “Please, I need you
now.”

I gasped as he pushed his cock inside me while still sucking on my nipple. I looked at Jon
and saw him watching me intently. His mouth open, he was breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, reaching out to stroke my hair.

“Oh god, you feel so good,” I groaned, feeling an incredible fullness inside of me.

I leaned back, my arms braced against the table trying to keep my balance as he fucked me,
hard. He grabbed my legs and moved them higher around his waist and started pumping so
hard that the table repeatedly slammed against the wall.

He reached out for both breasts and squeezed them roughly as he continued to push in and
out of me. And I pulled his face towards me, his breath hot as I kissed him, sucking his
tongue.

Who would have thought that quiet, solemn-faced Jon Snow would be this wicked in bed? I
thought as he lifted my legs even higher and slipped a finger inside my arse making me gasp
and arch my back.

He lowered his head to kiss me at the exact moment I burst around his cock, he continued to
pump inside of me as I moaned through every wave of pleasure, cradling his head against my
breasts as he spilled himself inside me.

In the moments after, as my senses slowly returned after the numbing pleasure, I thought I
might try to tell him again how much I love him but I could. not find the right words, so I just
closed my eyes and kept quiet.

“Well, say something,” Jon gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this quiet
before.”

“Just hold me,” I finally breathed, my eyes still closed.

And he did. He held me tightly, his fingers moving across my back as if somehow he could
erase the past with his touch. Just like he used to back in Winterfell when I would wake up
from a nightmare and come running to his room for comfort. Jon was the only one who could
make the monsters go away.

Everything was so simple back then. There was father, who used to look the other way
whenever I sneaked out of my lessons. There was mother, who used to brush my tangled hair
and rub salve on my scraped knees. Robb, who would sneak me another piece of blackberry
tart just before I went to bed. Bran and Rickon, my little brothers, who used to cling to my
hands when Old Nan would tell stories about the creatures that lived beyond the Wall.
 But life isn’t so simple anymore. If there is one thing that I learned from my years with the
Faceless Men, it is that life is neither black nor white, but painted in varying shades of grey.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, my body entwined with Jon’s. From the small window, I could
hear a cacophony of noises. I looked around and noticed that the room seems familiar
somehow. The tiny window overlooking the courtyard and the narrow bed which was carved
with vines and leaves and flowers.

Suddenly I let out a loud guffaw.

Jon turned and quirked an eyebrow at me. “What’s so funny?”

“This room…” I managed to gasp out, my shoulders shaking with mirth. “It’s Septa
Mordane’s room!”

The look of utter horror in Jon’s face made me laugh even more. “Can you imagine if she
could see us now?” I said before bursting into laughter again, even harder than before.

“That’s not funny, Arya.” Jon tried to look stern but he didn’t quite manage it and his lips
quirked in amusement.

And for a moment, it was just me and Jon. In that little room, in our own little world. Just the
two of us, as it has always been. As it should always be.

Chapter End Notes

I think a lot of people tend to gloss over the fact that Jon broke his vows for Arya. He
literally died for her, people!

Also, I think Arya's due a little breakdown. Poor girl's been tough for far too long
already. And I'm just glad Jon is there to hold her.

Hope you enjoyed reading! Not yet sure what the next chapter is gonna be about so your
thoughts will be much appreciated ;)
 Willas
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The king sat at the head of the long table together with the small council, discussing the
supplies needed on the long journey north. Now that the Lannisters and their remaining allies
have been defeated, it is time to face the danger from beyond the Wall.

The southern allies were initially doubtful about the threat of the Others, dismissing it as
folklore but the cage full of wights which were transported from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to
King’s Landing was enough to turn their opinions.

It was clear that the real danger is in the north and if the north falls, the south won’t stand a
chance against the Others. No one is safe.

Jon Snow turned to Ser Davos Seaworth and a purpling bruise became visible on the left side
of his neck, just beneath his jaw.

The mark of the she-wolf, I thought wryly.

The bond between the king and his sister goes beyond familial love. That much is clear.

It was in the way his eyes would linger on her whenever they are on the same room, his dark
eyes glimmering with desire. It was in the way her guarded expression would soften when
she looks at him, her lips curving into a gentle smile.

It was in the way he would flush a deep scarlet whenever she would call him “brother” in a
teasing tone, her eyes bright with mischief. And how he had started calling her Arya instead
of “little sister” as if he couldn’t bear to be reminded of their blood ties.

They were two people locked in an intricate dance to which only they know the steps, only
they hear the music.

There were whispers, of course, about the king’s affinity to his sister. Their unnatural
devotion to each other. How it seems that the king always have his sister within his reach, as
if an invisible string binds them together.

But most seemed to turn a blind eye to the king's affair. Jon Snow was the Prince That Was
Promised. And people were loathe to taint the image of the infallible King in the North,
particularly with the same taint that led to the ruin of House Lannister.

And that is why I planned to marry Arya Stark soon and send her to the relative safety of
Highgarden, away from her brother before the whispers become loud enough to reach the
ears of the crown's enemies.

I'm not so foolish as to think that our marriage is anything but a political alliance. But maybe
in Highgarden, she would find some semblance of peace. And we could build a marriage out
of friendship and mutual respect.

The hour was late and the small council filed out of the Great Hall escorted by the
Kingsguard. We walked along the corridor leading to Maegor’s Holdfast, still discussing the
logistics of the coming journey.

As we neared the winding staircase which leads to the royal chambers, a black cat streaked
past us and quickly disappeared down the dimly lit passage.

“Come back here, you black bastard!”

Arya came dashing down the stairs, her giant direwolf close behind. She paused to catch a
breath as she reached the end of the staircase, still unaware of the council’s presence.

She was barefoot and wearing a linen nightgown, the torch lights silhouetting her slender
body and pert and upturned breasts. She bent to pet her direwolf and the movement pulled the
thin well-worn fabric tight across her chest, outlining the pale pink tips of her breasts.

I felt my cock stir in arousal. And as I looked around at the other members of the small
council and the Kingsguard, I saw the same degree of arousal reflected in their eyes. In that
moment she was not the king’s beloved sister but a beautiful siren come to tempt us in the
dark.

I was a young boy during the tourney at Harrenhal but I clearly remember the moment Prince
Rhaegar crowned Lady Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty. Not only does Arya have
the same fine, subtle beauty as her aunt, but she also had that same elusive quality about her,
that artless sensuality that drew men like moths to a flame.

The king was the first to break out of the haze, he quickly stood in front of his sister, blocking
her from our view. “What are you doing here so late?” he said, his voice stern but his cheeks
were stained with a telltale flush.

“I was already in bed, waiting for …” Arya began.

Ser Davos quickly interrupted her. “It’s quite late, Your Grace. We will bid you and the Lady
Arya a good night then.”

As the Hand of the King ushered the rest of us out of the royal chambers, I looked back to see
the king and his sister walk up the staircase, together. He was carrying her like a little child,
her arms clinging tightly on his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. Arya laid her
head against her brother’s shoulder as he bent down to press a light kiss on her forehead.

From afar, it seemed innocent enough, just a brother caring for his sister. But if you looked
just a bit closer, there was nothing brotherly about the way he was holding her, his hand just
beneath her right breast and his mouth lingering on her ear.

Garlan stepped beside me, he was also staring at the king and his sister. “I think you had
better start planning that wedding quickly, brother.”

__________
The following morning, I entered the solar where our family usually partake the morning
meal and was surprised to see Arya seated beside my grandmother. Across from them was
Garlan and his lady wife, Leonette, and my sister Margaery.

Amongst the vibrant greens and golds, Arya stood out with her pale skin and dark hair, like a
wolf amongst a string of well-bred horses.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Willas,” my grandmother said, gesturing at an empty chair on the
other side of Arya. “Your betrothed has been kind enough to grace us with her presence this
morning.”

She knows. I thought, looking at Garlan accusingly.

He looked back at me and shrugged.

“We were talking about your wedding,” Leonette said, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Lady Arya is just telling us that she adores flowers. I think we should have roses from
Highgarden sent here in time for the wedding.”

“I'm certain the flowers here at King’s Landing will do just fine, my lady,” Arya said, taking
a sip of her tea. “I’ve already talked to Lord Manderly and have told him to keep the cost at a
minimum.”

“But you’d only be married once in your life,” Leonette protested. “And the roses at
Highgarden are simply…”

“It’s alright, Leonette,” my grandmother interrupted, reaching out to give her a gentle pat on
her hand. “Lady Arya will see the roses at Highgarden soon enough once she travels home
with us after the wedding.”

Arya quirked an eyebrow at my grandmother. “I won’t be going to Highgarden, my lady.

After the wedding, I will travel north to prepare for the fight against the Others.”

“There are enough men to fight against those infernal creatures,” my grandmother insisted.
“You will be coming with us to your new home.”

“You’d love it in Highgarden,” Margaery said quickly. “There’s a field of golden roses just
outside the castle, as far as the eyes can see.”

“My home is in the north,” Arya said firmly. “I will wed Lord Willas as agreed upon but I
belong in Winterfell…”

“With your brother you mean?” my grandmother queried, her shrewd eyes narrowed.

“Grandmother…” I said, giving her a warning look.

“Oh hush, Willas,” she said, flicking a gaunt hand in the air. She then turned towards Arya
and asked, “May I speak frankly with you, my dear?” And without waiting for a response,
she continued. “There are rumours going around about you and your brother, His Grace.
Rumours of the foulest kind. The kind that led to the fall of House Lannister.”
 “Targaryen kings married their sisters and both King Joffrey and King Tommen were the sons
of Queen Cersei and her brother,” Arya leveled my grandmother with a direct stare. “I guess
you could say we’re just continuing the royal tradition.”

That silenced the room. I looked at Margaery and Leonette who had both gone pale while
Garlan was looking at my betrothed with a frown.

My grandmother quickly regained her wits and said, “That’s not funny, child.”

“I wasn’t being funny, my lady.”

Even though I already had an inkling of her relationship with her brother, to hear her speak so
frankly about it was startling. And by the looks on my grandmother and siblings’ faces, they
felt exactly the same.

“What is it with this kind of madness?” my grandmother snapped. “Fools the both of you!”

“Grandmother, that’s enough.” I said sharply.

“May I speak frankly with you, my lady?” Arya returned. “You aligned yourself to the
Baratheons when they were in power. Then to the Lannisters. And now here you are, pledged
to the Starks and the Targaryens.”

At my grandmother’s gasp of outrage, Arya continued. “I don’t mean to offend, my lady. I

actually admire you, for having the wits to play the game, to ensure your family’s survival.”
She looked at us with a wistful smile. “If our family played the game half as good as you did
maybe my brothers would still be alive. Maybe Sansa wouldn’t be married to a Lannister.
Maybe I wouldn’t have done ... the things that I’ve done.”

The things that I’ve done. There was a wealth of meaning in those words. And as I looked at
the young woman beside me, the woman that would share my life and someday bear my
children, I felt my skin prickle with unease.

“You know how to play this game but if you think you can play against my brother and win,
you're mistaken,” Arya continued, rising to her feet. “I respect you, my lady, but tread
carefully. If you dare to raise a finger against Jon, I would break your house apart from root
to stem.”

With a polite nod, she walked out of the solar with her direwolf in tow.

And for the first time, it seems that the formidable Queen of Thorns is at a loss for words.

Chapter End Notes

Just a little insight into Jon and Arya's relationship from a third-party pov. And I really
love the parallel between Arya and Lyanna; I love how GRRM kept comparing them
throughout the books.

She's Lyanna's mini-me but hopefully she will have a much happier ending with her own
Targaryen prince.

And I also love the interaction between her and Lady Olenna. I thought it was fun to see
the Queen of Thorns meet her match in Arya.

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Comments are much appreciated :)
 Jon
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

There are three things I know about the young Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

He’s a bastard.

He knows how to forge Valyrian steel.

And he’ll soon be a dead man if he doesn’t take his hands off of Arya.

I’ve heard tales about the late king’s bastard. He was raised in a tavern and worked as an
apprentice to a master smith. And was later taken under the protection of Lord Stannis
Baratheon who named him his heir after his daughter’s untimely death. Soon after, Stannis
was killed during the Battle for Winterfell and the bastard son of Robert Baratheon was
declared the ruler of the Stormlands.

Ser Barristan Selmy said that he looked every inch like the young Robert Baratheon. He had
the same jet-black hair and blue eyes but while I remember the late monarch as being portly
and red-cheeked, the young man standing in front of me was tall and well-built, his muscular
arms proof of his time spent in the forge.

Another bastard who has risen up in the world, I heard some of the elderly lords say when
they thought I was out of hearing.

But no one has seen fit to inform me that Gendry Baratheon was acquainted with Arya. As it
turns out they travelled together for some time after she escaped King’s Landing with the
Night’s Watch recruits then later with the Brotherhood without Banners. And from the way
they were talking and laughing with each other right now, it seems that they have quite a
history together.

I felt a sense of irritation creeping up on me at seeing Arya talking to another man. I tried to
suppress it, telling myself that they were just old friends who haven’t seen each other for
some time, but it still settled heavily in the pit of my stomach.

Arya poked the young Baratheon right at the center of his chest. “So now we know why the
Gold Cloaks were after you.”

“And here I thought they were looking for m’lady high,” he said, smiling at her in a way that
was much too familiar for my comfort.

“Don’t call me that,” Arya said, giving him a hard shove.

He didn’t even move an inch and just laughed. “Should I call you princess then?”
“Oh, shut up!” Arya said, her cheeks flushed with irritation, which only made the young man
laugh even harder.

He reached out and gave her head an affectionate pat. “Why is it that you seem to have grown
even shorter since the last time I saw you?”

“That’s just because you’ve grown taller, stupid!” Arya said, rolling her eyes.

He did not take offense at her words, just stood there and grinned at her like an idiot.

Arya smiled wryly. “Well, at least Hot Pie still looked like Hot Pie.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“We stopped by Sharna’s inn on our way to Dragonstone,” Arya said. “And there he was at
the kitchen, baking pies and making gravy.”

"So we survived," he remarked, looking at Arya with obvious affection.

Arya reached out to give his hand a squeeze. "Aye, that we did."

A fresh spurt of jealousy raced through me at their familiarity. I reached between them and
slowly withdrew Arya’s hand from his, ignoring the curious looks from the young lord and
the rest of the council.

Arya looked up at me, smiling. “I never knew he was the king’s son.” She turned back to
Gendry with a quizzical smile. “We travelled together for some time but it didn’t even cross
my mind.”

“Your sister saved my life, Your Grace,” Gendry said, not even bothering to take his eyes off
of her. “If it wasn’t for her, I would have died at the Kingsroad."

And for a moment, I resented the hell out of Gendry Baratheon for sharing a part of Arya's
life that I could never truly understand. Not in the way that he obviously does.

I clenched my jaw. “My half-sister.”

“Beg your pardon, Your Grace?” the young lord said, turning to look at me.

“My half-sister,” I repeated, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. “She’s my half-sister,
not my sister.”

I met Tyrion Lannister’s gaze from across the room, his brows were raised and he looked
amused. Beside him stood Ser Davos who was frowning, not at all pleased with my
unwarranted remark.

I’m aware, of course, about the rumours surrounding my relationship with Arya. The
mocking comparisons between us and the Lannister twins. And japes about me following in
the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror who married his younger sister out of desire.
Ser Davos had, more than once, asked me to be more discreet about my affair to quell the
rumours but I find that I really didn’t care, one way or another. I’d spent my entire life trying
to be honorable, to remove the taint of bastardy in my blood. But this time, I want to do the
wrong thing, the bad thing.

For once in my life, I just don’t give a damn.

__________

“So what am I to you then?”

I looked at Arya, she was already lying in bed, her silky hair spreading across the pillow, like
a dark halo.

“What do you mean?” I asked, even though I know exactly what she’s talking about. But I
find that I’m not in the mood to have an argument with her.

“You told everyone I’m not your sister,” she continued. “So what would that make of me?”

“That you’re my half-sister, which is the truth,” I pointed out, stripping off my clothes.

“Do you really think it would make a difference to those men?” she scowled at me.

I lowered myself beside her, joining her beneath the blankets and pulling her against me.

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” I murmured as I slowly lowered her gown, pulling the
linen fabric away from her body to expose her firm young breasts and narrow waist. “This is
the only thing that matters.”

I cupped both of her breasts, kneading the soft flesh as I kissed her head, nuzzling into the
silky locks of her hair. “You’ve never cared what other people think before, so why now?”

“Because you’re the king,” she whispered, her fingertips tracing the lines of my jaw. “And
some might use this — us — against you.”

I carefully nipped at her fingers. “I’m king now so I could just behead anyone who daresay
anything against us.”

Arya gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t think it works that way.”

I slid a hand down between her legs to find her already moist. “It doesn’t? So how do you
suppose it works?”

“As a king you’re expected to marry well,” she panted, her eyes closed as I slowly dipped my
finger inside her, sliding into the heat of her body. “Mayhaps a beautiful queen with silver
hair and violet eyes.”

“The thing is, I’m not really fond of silver hair,” I whispered, pushing my finger deeper
inside her, rubbing it back and forth against her nub. “It seems my taste runs to a certain dark
haired girl with a fiery temper.”
Arya lets out a soft exclamation of pleasure, her eyes closed and her head lying on the crook
of my neck.

I shifted slightly and pulled her on top of me, her eyes were closed and her chest was heaving
slightly. In the dim light, she looked so small, her skin very pale, her body spare. She smelled
wonderful, like freshly bloomed roses.

I drew her forward a bit more, then gripped her waist, pulling her down. She whimpered as
my cock slid inside her, placing her hands on my shoulders as she slid slowly up before
sliding all the way down, taking me to the hilt.

She moaned loudly as I buried my face in her breasts, closing my lips over a nipple and
gently sucking.

“Oh gods, Jon…” she gasped. “Ooohhh. Ooohhh!”

Arya jerked up once again, then down, and then she was riding me with relentless vigour, her
sharp moans and high pitched cries of pleasure filling the room.

I tried to hold back, but once she started riding my cock I was powerless. I came inside her as
she continued to bounce up and down on my lap.

Arya continued to moan in pleasure until it finally reached its crescendo in a long, drawn-out
cry as she reached her climax.

__________

Slowly, I pulled Arya against me, stroking her hair. “Was it Gendry?”

She looked at me quizzically. “Gendry?”

“Your first lover,” I murmured. “Was it him?”

She shook her head, “No, we were just children back then.”

“Who was he?”

She was quiet for a moment and I quickly regretted asking her. I don’t think I could bear it if
she tells me that she was forced her first time.

“He was no one, really,” she finally said. “He went by different names, wore different faces.
But once he was Jaqen H’ghar. I saved his life and in a way, he saved mine.”

“What happened then?”

She tensed slightly. “I killed him.”

“He was the one who led me to them and when I decided to leave, they sent him after me,”
she continued, her voice even.
 "Did you love him?" I asked.

"We were both lonely, I guess," she said quietly. "We were no one, we had nothing. But for a
time, we had each other."

Silence came and settled into the room like a fine mist.

“I had a lover once too,” I confessed. “Her name was Ygritte.”

I thought of Ygritte, her red hair and wide-set blue eyes, that stubborn look she’d have on her
face whenever we’d argue about something or other.

“She reminded me of you.”

Chapter End Notes

A bit of Gendrya fluff and a bit of Jonrya smut ❤️

And yeah, I thought it was a bit strange considering that Ygritte was a redhead but he
never, even once, compared her to Sansa.

Instead he kept comparing her to Arya. Hmm...

Anyway, next chapter will probably deal with the whole Arya-Willas betrothal so let me
know your thoughts on how you think it should be handled ;)

Comments are much appreciated xx

 Willas
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Arya Stark is a vision in white.

In a pearl-embroidered gown made of the finest ivory silk with a lace veil cascading down
her back from a gold circlet fashioned into a wreath of roses, she looked like the perfect
bride.

“Willas! What are you doing here?” Margaery shrieked. “It’s bad luck to see your bride in her
gown before the wedding.”

Arya was standing in front of an ornately carved mirror, surrounded by a half dozen
seamstresses and what seems like yards and yards of silk. Her dark hair which she usually
left loose and unbound was pulled up in an intricate braid while several ropes of pearls were
draped around her slender neck.

She looked every inch a princess but the regal effect was ruined when she rolled her eyes at
me as both Margaery and Leonette went into near hysterics, trying to block her from my
view. The seamstresses bowed in my direction before quickly leaving the room.

I grinned at the sight of my betrothed, entirely amused by her obvious discomfort at being
subjected to a dress fitting with my sisters.

“I was on my way to the council meeting,” I said, leaning back against the doorway to the
main salon. “And I just thought to stop by and see how the preparations are going.”

“I’ve been married three times, darling brother,” Margaery quipped. “Trust me, I know a
thing or two about planning a wedding.”

Leonette smiled, reaching out to brush a stray tendril of hair from Arya’s face. “I’ve always
wanted a little sister as pretty as you, someone I can dress up like a little doll.”

“I fear that I would have been a disappointment, my lady,” Arya said, her face sheepish. “My
sister and her friend used to call me Arya Horseface and would neigh whenever I would pass
by them.”

“Horseface? That’s absurd,” Leonette laughed softly. “You’re so beautiful!”

Arya smiled wistfully. “My sister was the beautiful one. I was a scruffy little girl, always
covered in scratches and bruises. My mother and sister despaired about ever making a lady
out of me.”

Ah, the beautiful Sansa. I've never met the elder Stark girl but my grandmother once planned
to wed us a few years past. At that time, the young Robb Stark was crowned King in the
North and was on his way south to avenge his father’s death. My grandmother decided it was
in our family’s best interest to marry the Stark girl in case the Young Wolf’s campaign is met
with success. But for some reason, Sansa was wed to Tyrion Lannister before I even got the
chance to meet her.

“Lady Sansa is indeed a beauty, it’s a pity she was married to the Imp,” Margaery said with
such obvious disdain. “Maybe she could visit Highgarden after the wedding?”

“Oh, that would be most delightful!” Leonette gushed, her slender frame almost vibrating in
her excitement.

“We could travel to Oldtown where the best seamstresses could be found,” Margaery added,
gesturing at the bolts of fabric in the room. “They make the most divine gowns.”

“I think you’d look lovely in silver,” Leonette remarked, leaning over to smoothen Arya’s
skirt which looked as if it weighed at least two stones.

From the horrified look on Arya’s face, one would think Leonette and Margaery just told her
that torture and imprisonment awaits her in Highgarden.

“Are you sure you want to marry into this family, my lady?” I teased. “It’s not too late to
change your mind.”

“The last time a Stark broke a betrothal, he ended up dead,” she said, her voice was mild,
almost light-hearted but a flicker of pain crossed her face. “I will not make the same
mistake.”

“I assure you, my lady, we are nothing like the Freys,” I said solemnly.

Arya looked at me warily, it was obvious that she was not entirely comfortable with
discussing the Freys.

“Oh, hush Willas!” Margaery said, a warning glint in her eyes. “You’ll scare Lady Arya off if
you keep talking about such unpleasant topics.”

Well, given that she most likely burned the entire Frey clan alive, I highly doubt anything
will scare Arya Stark off. But before I could remark upon my sister’s ridiculous notion, both
she and Leonette stood up and curtsied in unison.

I looked around to find the King in the North standing behind me, his face was pale and he
was staring at his sister with dark eyes that seems to burn like brimstone.

“Your Grace,” Leonette said, her bright eyes wide with barely concealed excitement.
“Doesn’t your sister look lovely?”

The king continued to look at his sister in silence, he opened his mouth as if to speak and
closed it again.

Without another word, he turned away and walked out of the room.

__________
From the look on the king’s face when he saw his sister clad in her wedding finery, I knew it
was only a matter of time before I receive a royal summon.

The king’s private study was large and airy with mullioned glass windows which overlook
the crystal towers of the Great Sept of Baelor. In the middle of the room was a massive oak
desk piled high with papers where the young King in the North sat, his direwolf lying at his
feet.

Arya was stretched out in front of the glowing fire burning in the massive stone hearth with
her own direwolf beside her. She was wearing one of those white linen nightgowns again, the
kind which barely concealed her nubile frame. For a moment I was struck by how young she
looked as she lay on her belly atop a bear skin rug, her legs swinging gently in the air.

There was nothing untoward about the whole scene but upon closer look, I noticed that their
clothing was a bit rumpled and the king’s dark hair was mussed. Even in the dim light, I
could see a faint bruise forming on Arya’s chest, just above the low neckline of her
nightgown.

They were good at straddling the boundaries of propriety. At appearing like a pair of devoted
siblings but always there was that sexual undertone simmering beneath the surface, just
enough to spark those unsavory rumours but not to confirm it.

They both looked up as I entered the room, watching me with wary eyes as if they were
trying to gauge my reaction.

“Good evening, Your Grace, my lady,” I said with a courteous bow, ignoring the prickle of
unease at the back of my neck.

“Good evening, Lord Tyrell,” the king said, gesturing at the carved wooden chair in front of
his desk.

Arya stood up and walked towards her brother. “I would retire early and leave you both to
discuss things in private.”

“Be good and don’t get into any trouble,” the king murmured, pressing a chaste kiss on her
forehead.

She gave him a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, I’m always good.”

The king flushed slightly while I tried to ignore the sexual innuendo behind her words.

Clad in a thin nightgown and bathed in the glow of the flickering light, Arya looked like a
wood nymph — strange and half-tamed — that for a moment I envied the king. It is hard to
believe that any man could ever tame this wild beauty.

I imagine her in my bed, would she be as wild between the sheets as she is out of it?

She quirked a brow at me, an amused smile on her face, almost like she was able to read my
lustful thoughts. “I bid you good night, my lord.”
“Good night, my lady.” My gaze slid downward over the slender column of her throat to the
firm slopes of her young breasts and to her long, slender legs and I felt a familiar ache in my
gut.

The king cleared his throat and gave me a hard look, obviously displeased with the way I was
looking at his sister.

She’s my betrothed for god’s sake. I thought, almost defensively.

We both stared at Arya as she quietly left the room, her direwolf keeping pace beside her.

The king glanced at the door. “I thought Lady Olenna will be joining us?”

“Contrary to most people’s belief, I’m a grown man and can make my own decisions, Your
Grace,” I said with a grin. “Not that it ever stopped my grandmother from voicing out her
opinions, mind you.”

“Of course,” he said, giving me a nod. “Forgive me, my lord, for summoning you at such a
late hour, but the matter I need to discuss with you requires immediate attention.”

“I gather, this is about your sister, Your Grace.”

“Yes, this is about Arya,” he looked at me directly. “She told me that she has talked to you
and your family about how things stand between us.”

“She says that she intends to stay in the north after the wedding,” I said evenly. “I understand
her attachment to Winterfell but Highgarden also needs its mistress. I’m sure we could reach
a compromise, maybe she could spend a few moons in Highgarden every year?”

“Are you proposing some kind of ménage à trois, Lord Tyrell?” the king raised a dark brow
at me, sounding almost amused.

It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind but put that way, the arrangement did sound a bit sordid
and I could feel a flush sweep over my face at the king’s indelicate words.

But before I had the chance to respond, he looked at me with narrowed eyes. “I want to make
it clear that I don’t intend to share Arya with you or anyone else.”

“Then it seems we have reached an impasse, Your Grace,” I managed to say. “I would remind
you that in three days time, your sister will be my wife and it is her duty to provide me with
an heir.”

“And that is the reason why I called upon your presence, my lord.” He paused. “I’m sure we
could reach a new agreement instead.”

For some reason, I was not surprised. I think there was a part of me that expected this to
happen from the moment I saw them together back in Dragonstone. From the way he stared
daggers at me the entire night of our betrothal feast, I knew that the king would not allow his
sister to wed another man.
“What do you have in mind, Your Grace?”

“In three days time, we would gather at the Sept of Baelor and sign a new betrothal contract
in place of the old one between you and Arya,” he said quietly. “A betrothal contract between
our son and one of your daughters.”

“Think about it, my lord,” the king continued. “If Arya marries you, she’ll be Lady Tyrell.
But if your daughter marries our son, she’ll become a princess. Mayhaps, even a queen.”

“Our son?” I blurted out, “Forgive me, Your Grace, but do you mean…”

“I plan to wed Arya as soon as we get back to Winterfell.”

“Your Grace, need I remind you that she’s your sister,” I said tersely. “No septon will allow
you to wed, it’s against the laws of men.”

“Need I remind you, Lord Tyrell, that you are talking to the king,” he said dryly. “Three
hundred years ago, Aegon Targaryen married his sisters and everyone accepted it simply
because of the crown on his head.”

I could tell by the look on the king’s eyes that he has made up his mind and that there is no
use to argue with him. But he also made it clear that he was willing to go to great lengths to
keep his sister by his side, which I plan to use to my advantage.

“I’m sure our family would be honored to sign the betrothal agreement,” I said, watching the
other man intently. “But we would need a more immediate recompense for our support
against the Lannisters.”

“Of course,” he said with a firm nod. “I’ve discussed with the queen and we have decided
that in return for House Tyrell’s loyalty, we will release your brother Loras from the
Kingsguard and grant him Horn Hill and all its lands and incomes.”

It's a good offer, I'll grant him that and with Garlan being the lord of Brightwater Keep, our
family’s power in the Reach will be unparalleled. But a vision of the lovely Arya Stark came
to my mind and I suddenly had the urge to tell the king that he could keep Horn Hill to
himself.

“It’s a generous offer, Your Grace,” I finally admitted. “But it would only benefit my brother
Loras and our family, of course.” I continued, choosing my words carefully. “I would be
lying if I say that I do not find your sister attractive, I was actually looking forward to having
her in my… home.”

The king’s face hardened and his hands clenched into fists. “What is it that you want, Lord
Tyrell?”

“The Westerlands.”

“What you are asking is impossible,” he said between clenched teeth. “The Westerlands have
been promised to House Tully for their steadfast loyalty to House Stark.”
I ignored the hint of derision on his tone. I would be the first to admit that House Tyrell’s
loyalty is to its own interests, first and foremost.

“As you have promised me the hand of your sister in return for our support,” I returned, not
missing the way the king’s eyes darkened in anger at the word sister.

“I could tear your house apart, Lord Tyrell,” the king said, his voice was quiet but his words
seemed to echo in the vast room. “I have the Vale and the Riverlands behind me and as I’m
sure you are aware the Greyjoys have long hankered to get their hands on Shield Islands.”

So the king is willing to play dirty, I thought with some degree of surprise.

I looked at the young man in front of me who has gained an almost god-like status amongst
the people of Westeros. Tales of his heroics in the battle field have been told and re-told from
the icy tips of the Frozen Shore to the sandy dunes of the Summer Sea.

But Lord Tyrion Lannister once told me that the young king is as good a negotiator as he is a
warrior. He has managed to forge an alliance with the wildings and even turned the Dragon
Queen into an ally despite rejecting her marriage proposal.

He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would let his emotions get the better of him, but it
seems that he has a bit of wolf’s blood in him after all.

“Are you declaring war on House Tyrell, Your Grace?” I asked sharply.

The silence that followed my words was grim and absolute and in an instant the room seems
to crackle with volatile energy. For a long moment we just sat there, staring at each other.

“I was born a bastard as I’m sure you are aware of, my lord,” the king finally said. “I was
raised with my father’s true-born children but everyone made sure that I remember my place,
everyone except for Arya. To her I was not her bastard brother, I was just Jon Snow and she
loved me with all her heart.”

His grim, austere face softened at the mention of his sister. “She's always held a special place
in my heart despite the fact that I thought she died a long time ago." He turned to me, his eyes
hardening. “I do not say this to make you understand because I’ve long given up caring what
other people think about my relationship with Arya.” He then paused. “I’m tired of war, Lord
Tyrell, but if that’s what it takes to keep Arya by my side then yes, I will declare war on
House Tyrell.”

“I never fought in the war, Your Grace, but I’ve seen men, good men, men that I respect and
admire, die because of the whims of a king,” I said coldly. “So forgive me if I hesitate to
pledge allegiance to a king that seems to put his own personal interests before that of the
realm.”

The king did not even bother to deny it, he simply looked at me, his features impassive.

I stood up slowly, rubbing a hand over my bad leg. “It’s quite late, Your Grace. Why don’t we
sleep on it and discuss again in the morrow?"
 As I turned to walk towards the door, the king’s gruff voice stopped me. “It is said that you
are a reasonable man, my lord. I trust you won’t prove it wrong in this regard.”

Chapter End Notes

You didn't think it would be that easy, did you? :)

I really enjoyed writing Jon and Arya's relationship from Willas' pov; so I hope you
enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it.

So how do you think Willas will respond next chapter? And how about Jon?

Let me know your thoughts!

 Arya
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“What have you done?”

I entered the library to find Jon leaning over an oak desk, reading a large tome. He looked up
as I closed the door firmly shut behind me, his expression inscrutable.

“I assume you are talking about your betrothal with Lord Tyrell.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard it’s my former betrothal to Lord Tyrell,” I pointed out. “As it
seems you have taken it upon yourself to break it off without even telling me.”

“You gave me little choice as you seem quite willing to tie yourself to that man,” he said
tersely.

I tilted my head a little, studying him closely. “Do you think I want to marry him?”

A flicker of hurt crossed his face as he closed the book he was reading. “I don’t know Arya.
Why is it that you seem so into your wedding preparations if you don’t want to marry him?”

I found my temper rising with every word he spoke. How dare he ask me that question when
even standing still, I could feel a soreness between my legs, a reminder of how many times
he took me last night. A vision of him above me, his hips plunging into me again and again
and again filled my mind. And before I could stop myself, I grabbed a book out of the nearest
shelf and threw it at him.

It hit him right at the center of his chest.

“What the — Arya!”

“I’m doing it for you!” I said, walking swiftly towards him and poking his chest, hard. “Do
you think I want to wear that stupid dress? Do you think I want to be pricked and poked and
prodded by needles all day long? Because trust me, I don’t. But I’m doing it for you.” I balled
my hand into a fist and punched him lightly in the chest. “I’m doing it because you’re king
and you should be securing alliances, not breaking them. Because the Tyrells are the
wealthiest family in the realm and they could feed the entire north after the war.” I paused,
my breathing labored. “I’m doing it because I signed a fucking betrothal contract and I’m not
going to break it like Robb did. I won’t let you make the same mistake. I won't lose you… I
can't...”

And then Jon was kissing me, his lips hot and fierce against mine. I closed my eyes and my
lips parted beneath the insistent pressure of his tongue. And for a moment, I let the familiar
rush of desire wash over me. For a moment, I let myself forget about the broken betrothal and
all the ways the Tyrells could exact retribution against us.
“Listen to me, Arya,” he murmured, his face buried in the hollow of my neck. “I’m not Robb.
I won’t make the same mistakes he did.”

I thought of Robb, with his tousled auburn hair and easy smile. He was all that was good and
kind and honorable. Just like Jon, just like our father. And he died at sixteen, betrayed by his
own bannermen and mutilated by his enemies.

I was tempted to tell Jon about the Red Wedding, about Robb’s headless corpse being
paraded around the Twins with Grey Wind’s head on top of it. Maybe then he would finally
realize the folly of his actions against the Tyrells. But in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do
it. They were as close as true brothers growing up and I know that Jon still harbours some
guilt for not being at Robb’s side during the war. It would destroy him if he ever learned how
atrocious Robb’s death truly was.

“Willas is a reasonable man," Jon said firmly. "I expect he would soon see that going to war
against the north will not benefit House Tyrell.”

Even the most beautiful rose has its thorns. I wanted to tell Jon but I knew from the look on
his face that there was no changing his mind about this matter.

“Do you know what they say about me?” I whispered. “They say that I’ve bewitched you.”

“You have bewitched me,” Jon agreed, his lips tracing the line of my jaw. “From the moment
you set foot in Winterfell all those moons ago, I’ve wanted to possess you. Every inch of
you.”

“They say I’m just like aunt Lyanna,” I continued, taking a ragged breath as his lips moved
down my throat and then to my chest, lightly nipping the tender skin at the edge of my dress.
“That I will be your undoing just as she was Prince Rhaegar’s.”

Jon slowly lifted his head, looking at me intently. “You are not Lyanna,” he said in a low
voice, taking my chin in his hand and tilting my head up to meet his dark eyes. “You are Arya
and you’re mine. And I’ll kill any man who tries to take you from me.”

__________

There was no moonlight that night and dark clouds seem to hung heavy in the city. The
darkness forced me to go slowly as I prowled the peaked, stone-tiled roof of the Red Keep
until I finally reached my destination.

Through the slitted yellow eyes of the black tomcat, I could see two figures inside the room
— the slight, stooped form of Lady Olenna and the tall and strapping Ser Garlan.

“The smallfolk are rooting for the King in the North,” Ser Garlan was saying to his
grandmother. “They think he’s some kind of god.”

“Bah! What does it matter what the smallfolk thinks?” Lady Olenna gave her cane a thump.
“What matters is what the northern lords think.”

“They are loyal to the Starks.”

“That is true,” Lady Olenna said with a nod. “But the king and his wild sister are not the only
Starks alive.”

Ser Garlan’s brows creased as the words sinked in. “What you are proposing is treason,
grandmother.”

“Hush, my boy,” she said. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Baelish, he will take care of
the rest.”

“I don’t trust him,” he muttered, taking the seat across his grandmother.

“No one trusts Lord Baelish,” Lady Olenna remarked. “But you have to admit, he gets things
done.”

“Willas won’t like this,” Ser Garlan sighed. “He won’t like this at all.”

“Your brother has gone soft in the head for the Stark girl,” Lady Olenna snorted. “She’s
beautiful, I'll grant her that. Looks just like her aunt. And likely, just as wild.”

I've heard enough. I slipped out of the black tomcat and found myself back in my
bedchamber with Jon asleep beside me.

Quietly, I climbed out of the bed, careful not to wake him. I paused to look down at Jon
sleeping in my bed, his dark hair mussed and his pale skin glowing in the dim room. Even in
sleep, his brows were furrowed and his forehead creased with worry. I felt a sudden wave of
tenderness and I reached down to stroke his dark hair before leaving the room.

It’s time to have a little talk with the Queen of Thorns.

__________

“Ssshhh, ssshhh,” I said quietly, holding a dagger against Lady Olenna's jaw, just below her
ear. “There is no need to be frightened, my lady. I won’t hurt you.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide. “Who… are you?”

Slowly, I peeled the blonde boy’s face from my own. The old lady stared at me, her face
nearly frozen in shock. “L—lady Stark?”

“See? You know me, there is no need for fear.” I pressed two fingers at the side of her neck,
feeling her pulse quicken. “Do you promise not to shout or do anything rash, my lady?"

She frantically nodded. I lowered my arm and sheathed my dagger, taking a seat at the
wooden chair across from the bed.

“You’re one of them,” Lady Olenna said, her voice a near whisper. “Those men who can
change their faces at will to murder people."

“Murder is such an ugly word, don’t you think?” I asked, giving the old lady some time to
calm her nerves. “We prefer to call it giving the gift of mercy.”
"Mercy? Ha!" she snorted. “Do you think to frighten me to bend to your brother’s will?”

I smiled at her, admiring her obstinacy. Not many people can remain calm in the presence of
a Faceless Man. “I have come to negotiate a truce.”

“What kind of truce?”

“Do you remember what I’ve told you before?” I asked. “I said that if you ever lift a finger
against Jon, I will tear your house apart.”

Lady Olenna’s face wrinkled into a frown. “I do not know what you mean, child.”

“I’m tired of lies, my lady,” I told her calmly. “I know about your plans, about the letter you
sent Lord Baelish. Now, you’re going to tell me the truth or I might just change my mind
about not hurting you.”

“It’s your brother that is at fault here, my lady,” she returned defiantly. “He declared war
against House Tyrell when he chose to set aside the betrothal agreement.”

I looked at the frail old lady in front of me, wearing a dainty silk nightgown, her powdery
white hair hidden by a bejewelled turban. “Tell me, my lady, have you ever been hungry in
your life?”

Her wizened old face creased in confusion. And I could tell the very idea of hunger was alien
to her.

“The hunger, the fear, the cold. It’s the smallfolk whose lives are torn apart while you and
Lord Baelish play your little games behind the safety of your castles.” I said, unable to hide
the anger from my voice. “The bards sing about Garlan the Gallant and the Knight of Flowers
but the Lommys and Weasels are all but forgotten.” I paused for a moment, trying to regain
control of my emotions. “There will be no more wars so long as the Starks rule the north.
And if I have to kill your entire family then so be it.”

“Just like you killed the Freys?” the old woman queried softly, her face pale.

“Do you know what I did to Walder Frey, my lady? I made him watch as I killed his entire
family, as his castle burned to the ground. He died knowing his legacy was gone.” I gave her
a chilling smile. “It gave me great pleasure to see him naked and helpless, begging for mercy.
Mercy? Ha! I showed him the exact same mercy that he showed my mother and brother.”

I watched Lady Olenna intently, taking in the fear in her eyes.

Good. Fear has its uses.

“Believe me, my lady, it won’t bring me any pleasure to kill your family. I’ve grown rather
fond of them. But if it comes down to it, I will kill them a thousand times over for Jon.”

“So I’m here to offer you a truce,” I continued dispassionately. “In return for your loyalty, I
will persuade Jon to give the Tyrells half of the Westerlands.” I leaned towards her. “If you
proceed with your plans, I assure you that I will know about it, my lady. And this time, I will
show your family the same mercy I showed the Freys.”

I stood up and slowly approached the bed as Lady Olenna scooted backwards, trying to get as
far away from me as possible.

“Now, do we have an agreement, my lady?”

__________

“So this is good bye, my lady."

I looked up to see Willas Tyrell smiling wistfully at me.

We were standing in front of the Sept of Baelor with the rest of the lords and ladies who have
come to bear witness as House Stark and House Tyrell sign a new betrothal agreement,
promising a match between the future generation. Loras Tyrell was also divested of his white
cloak and declared the Lord of Horn Hill while the southern region of the Westerlands —
from Crakehall to Hornvale —pledged their allegiance to their new liege lord.

“I was actually looking forward to marrying you, you know," Willas admitted in a quiet
voice.

I smiled at that. “Trust me, I would’ve made your life hell.”

Willas shrugged lightly. “I would've liked a daughter with dark hair and grey eyes like
yours.” He gestured at the silver dagger strapped at my waist. “A little rose who has more
thorns than petals.”

“We would name her Priscilla,” I replied, smiling at him fondly. “And everyone will call her
Priscilla the Prickly.”

We both laughed aloud at the silly notion.

Then Willas suddenly turned away from me, his comely face solemn. “Do you love him that
much?”

I followed the direction of his gaze to see Jon standing across the sept, talking to Ser Garlan
and Lord Tytos Blackwood.

“I was standing right there,” I said to him, pointing towards the statue of Baelor, “when my
father was beheaded.”

“For a long time, I learned to live with a hole right where my heart is supposed to be,” I
continued, looking back at Jon in his silver armor, a shining crown upon his head. “But Jon
fills that hole inside of me. That place where my father, my mother, and brothers once
belong. Now there’s only Jon Snow.”

Willas did not say a word and we just stood there in companionable silence as the bells at the
seven towers of the Sept of Baelor started ringing to signal the beginning of a new alliance,
 filling the city with the sound of peace and maybe, even hope.

Chapter End Notes

And so that's it... their betrothal has come to an end.

They will be going north in the next chapter and there will be new POVs, definitely.

What do you guys think? Whose POVs do you want to see in the future?

Comments are much appreciated ❤️

 Gendry
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Clang... clang... clang...

The familiar sounds of steel against steel greeted me as I entered the castle smithy. It was
almost midnight but the place was still alive with blacksmiths bent to the task of forging the
cache of dragon glass mined from the depths of Dragonstone. After the endless talks of
supplies and battle plans, the forge was a welcome sight.

Some of the men took notice of me and bowed courteously before going back to their labor,
heating and hammering the shiny black stones into spears and arrow heads and longswords to
be used in the coming war.

I walked over to an alcove at the back of the smithy where the master smiths were forging
that rarest of all metals — Valyrian steel. The lost art of forging Valyrian steel had been
unearthed by the maester of the Night’s Watch, a heavyset fellow who claimed that he found
it in an alchemist’s book that was hidden away in a dusty corner of the Citadel.

Swiftly, I took off the black surcoat and linen shirt I was wearing, folding them on top of a
wooden table and tied a leather apron around my waist. And with an ease born from years of
practice, I picked up a piece of steel using a pair of metal tongs and heated it in the furnace
which was ablaze with dragon fire from one of the queen’s children.

Again and again, I heated the shiny piece of metal into a glowing red and pounded it against
the anvil until it turned from silver to almost milk-white. I let myself get lost in that all-too-
familiar routine where nothing exists except for the heavy hammer in my hand and that sweet
piece of steel.

Master Tobho Mott once told me that I was born to wield a hammer and there was a time
when I could’ve spent the rest of my life in the forge and be content. But that was before the
war, before Master Mott sent me to join the Night’s Watch where I met a young girl fleeing
King’s Landing disguised as a boy.

Even after all these years, I could still remember in vivid details a skinny lad beating up a
boy who was older than him and probably weighed twice as much. The younger boy was
hitting his opponent with a wooden sword when suddenly he looked straight at me with those
silvery eyes and I realized that he was actually a she. And from that moment on, my life had
never been the same.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

I looked up to find that same girl standing in the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back.
She was dressed plainly in a black wool dress and matching cloak, her simplicity further
accentuating her striking features.
No one could ever mistaken the young woman standing in front of me for a boy. Not even
Hot Pie.

Highborn and smallfolk alike call her the She-Wolf on account of the army of wolves she
leads into battle, savagely killing any man who dare raise his sword against House Stark.
While enemy soldiers simply refer to her as “the wolf bitch.”

But no matter what names others call her, she would always be Arry to me. A lord’s daughter
who risked her life time and time again to save a bunch of ragged orphans.

In the years since that rainy night when she was taken by the Hound, the Brotherhood has
scoured the war-torn Riverlands in search of her. Weeks and months and years have gone by
without any news about her, and Lem and Thoros and even Harwin have given her up for
dead. She was last seen at the Saltpans around the time that Rorge and the rest of the Bloody
Mummers massacred the entire town. Lem said it was more than likely that she perished
along with the rest of the townfolk.

But I hadn’t forgotten her at all. Some nights I even dreamed of her wearing that silly dress
with all the acorns on it, telling me that I could make swords for her brother at Riverrun. And
then there were the nightmares where I would see her lying facedown in a pool of blood, her
throat torn into pieces while Biter stood beside her with his pointed teeth dripping with blood.

But the young woman who returned to Westeros looked nothing like the scrawny little girl
who traveled the Riverlands bare-footed and wearing dirty rags. The first time I saw her
again after the fall of King’s Landing, I could scarcely believe that it was her. If not for her
eyes. I would know those silvery eyes anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” I asked brusquely.

She didn’t answer and instead tossed a shiny round object at me.

It was a silver helm, rounded and curved, with a slit visor and two curving metal horns on
each side. It was my helm, the one I forged back in King’s Landing. The last time I saw it,
one of the Lannister men was wearing it.

“How did you…?”

Arya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. Dunsen’s dead. They’re all dead. Even Raff.”

Over the years, I’ve encountered hundreds of Lannister soldiers and could barely tell them
apart, all of them nothing more than scums that I’d sooner forget. But I could see it in her
eyes that, unlike me, she remembers. She remembers them all.

“Let it rest, Arya.” I said quietly. “Lommy’s gone. Yoren and all the rest too. Nothing you do
can bring them back.”

“Just so,” she said with a nod. “But all the same it gave me great satisfaction to kill them. To
make them pay for what they did.”
She looked back at me with steady eyes and I remember a young girl at the Peach, wearing a
frilly lace dress and asserting matter-of-factly that a brothel is like an inn, with girls. But
there was no innocence left in those silver eyes. Life has forged Arya Stark into steel — hard
and unyielding. She’d seen and most likely, done things that would probably give a grown
man nightmares.

“So tell me, Lord Baratheon, why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” I gestured at the half-forged steel lying against the furnace.
“As you can see, I’ve been quite busy.”

“But I thought we’re friends,” she continued. “And friends make time for each other yes?”

“I doubt your brother would be pleased with you being friends with another man.” I said
succinctly.

I turned back to the anvil and started pounding the burning steel against it, hoping that the
loud clanging sounds would drown out the bitterness in my voice.

“So you’ve heard of the rumors then,” Arya said softly. “Do you believe it?”

In the beginning I turned a deaf ear to the rumors about the king and his sister, chalking up
the king’s behavior to that of an overprotective brother not a jealous lover as some of the
more malicious tongues were wont to say. But the more I see them together, the more I
couldn't deny the appalling truth.

“I don’t listen to rumors,” I hammered the steel so hard that the edge nearly broke apart. “But
I’m not stupid, my lady.”

"And do you disapprove of my being with Jon? Do you think it's a sin?" she asked and there
was a hint of frustration in her voice.

“It is a sin,” I insisted.

“Says who?”

I straightened and turned to her, exasperated. “Says everyone.”

“To hell with everyone,” she said, her eyes glinting in defiance. “I’ve suffered enough. And
now I just want to be happy. Tell me, is that such a sin?”

“I don’t make the rules, my lady.” I said with a shrug.

"I've never been fond of rules," she said. “I was raised knowing that the only thing expected
of me is to marry and marry well. So I told myself that I would never marry, I would never
settle down. I wanted to go off on a great adventure.” Her lips quirked wistfully. “And then
the war happened and all I wanted was for things to go back the way it used to be. I wanted to
be home and home is wherever Jon Snow is.”
 Her impassioned plea caught me off-guard. I've always thought that Arya Stark doesn't have
a romantic bone in her body. She's always been the sensible one, no-nonsense and utterly
pragmatic. She did not giggle or cry over songs like the other young maidens in court. And
she was the last person who I'd think would throw caution in the wind for love.

And suddenly I realized just how wrong I was. All these time, she was just hiding behind a
mask. That beneath the brash and headstrong Arya Stark, there was a vulnerability which she
tries so hard to keep hidden from the world. It was a disconcerting thought, really.

I could be your home. I wanted to say but I knew that saying those words would be a great
folly.

I briefly wondered what my life would be like if I haven’t met Arya Stark. Mayhaps, I would
have been content with an ordinary life as a blacksmith, married to a village girl and siring a
half-dozen brats. I’ve never wanted to be a knight nor a lord, not until this young girl came
hurtling into my life like a hurricane, sending my well-ordered life into chaos.

And it was a bitter pill to swallow that even now that I’m standing in front of her, a great lord
with a castle and a large army at my command, she still remains out of my reach.

She looked at me for a moment with those eyes of hers that seem to see right through me but
when I didn’t say a word she just sighed and turned to walk away.

“I should’ve gone to Riverrun with you…” I said quietly.

But by that time she was already out of the door and didn’t hear me.

Chapter End Notes

Happy New Year ❤️

Sorry for the wait, things got pretty hectic during the holidays.

As promised, here's a new POV for you guys.

I've always thought that Gendry and Arya's story is left open-ended given that she was
kidnapped by the Hound. So it's nice to see them reunite (and hopefully, we'll get to see
Hot Pie too!) and for things to come full circle.

And here's to hoping that The Winds of Winter will finally be published this year. I can't
wait for Arya to make puberty her b*tch ;)
 Daenerys
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The royal wheelhouse was sumptuous as befits a queen, it was made of shiny black lacquer
painted with the Targaryen sigil and pulled by a team of black destriers. The inside was lined
with black silk and the seats were made of plush red velvet trimmed with gold. A small
ebony table carved in the shape of a flame-breathing dragon sat in the middle holding a plate
of honeyed plums and a pitcher of Arbor gold.

It was a far cry from the time I spent roaming the Dothraki Sea, starved and covered in
blisters, with nothing in sight and nowhere to go. But even now surrounded by all these
riches and the largest army in the known world, I’ve never felt more alone.

We have spent the better part of the past week traveling in the Riverlands on our way north.
In every village and town we passed by, the smallfolk gathered at the side of the roads,
hoping to get a glimpse of their beloved king.

But it was the king’s sister whom they seem to truly adore. She is regarded as a folk hero in
the Riverlands for destroying House Frey and restoring the benevolent Tullys back to power.
Several moons ago, she also brought Lannister soldiers to a trial and asked the smallfolk to
stand as witness to their crimes before hanging them in public, in full view of the people who
bore their cruelties.

After years and years of suffering, Arya Stark gave the smallfolk the vengeance that they
have long craved and for that she has won their undying devotion.

In a way, we have much in common. Both of us having lived in exile — powerless and
penniless — but by sheer force of will we both made something of ourselves and returned to
restore our family’s name and exact revenge against our family’s enemies. But while the
smallfolk worship the ground she walks on, they look at me with mistrust and fear. To them,
I’m a stranger from a faraway land who brought three ferocious beasts and a horde of foreign
warriors to their land.

“We are almost at Riverrun, my queen,” Lord Tyrion Lannister remarked as he opened the
carriage window. “It will be a welcome respite after weeks of traveling in this blasted snow!”

I leaned over to look out at the snow-covered scenery and saw the king and his sister, riding
together in matching black garrons, their heads bent towards each other. Arya smiled up at
her brother and even from afar, I could see the play of emotions on her face. Desire. Trust.
Love.

Against the snowy-white landscape, with their near-identical dark features and their black
fur-lined cloaks, they make quite a pretty picture.

“Ah, young love!” Tyrion drawled. “It’s a beautiful thing to behold, isn’t it?”
“And also a very dangerous thing,” I said, turning to look at him. “My brother loved Lady
Lyanna and to this day, the kingdom still bleeds for it.”

“Men could be such fools when it comes to love,” he agreed.

“I’ve offered him my kingdom and my dragons and the Targaryen legacy,” I said, not even
trying to hide the frustration in my voice. “Yet he still chose her.”

“Men always want the things they can’t have,” Tyrion shrugged. “It’s the lure of the
forbidden. And what could be more forbidden than loving that of your own blood?”

“Unless you’re a Targaryen,” I quipped, taking a bite of plum.

“Touché,” he said, raising a glass of wine towards me in a mock toast.

“How far do you think he’s willing to risk for her?” I asked, looking out the window to see
the king reach out to gently flick away the snow flakes on his sister’s hair.

“What do you mean?”

“His kingdom is built on the north’s allegiance to his late father,” I murmured. “What do you
think the northern lords would do when they find out that Ned Stark’s bastard son is bedding
his little girl?”

“Careful, my queen,” Tyrion warned. “The Starks do not see the things the way we do. It’s
either you are with them or you are against them. There is nothing in between.”

“Do you know what it took for me to get here, my lord?” I asked, closing the carriage
window firmly shut. “For years I wandered across the Narrow Sea with nothing but the
Targaryen name and now here I am.” I leaned back against the satin pillows. “Do you really
believe that after all is said and done, I would settle for half a kingdom?”

______

I walked into the great hall at Riverrun to find the lords of the Westerlands standing in the
center of the room together with the king and the rest of the war council.

The lords pledged to House Lannister looked at me with ill-concealed dislike in their eyes but
they bowed nonetheless.

“House Banefort has been pledged to House Lannister since the Age of Heroes,” Lord
Quenten Banefort’s voice was quiet but his green eyes flashed with rage. “And now you
expect us to bend our knees to a fish?”

“Choose your words carefully, my lord,” Lord Edmure Tully bristled at the insult. “I will
remind you that you are standing in my demesne."

“My lords, there is no need to trade insults,” Ser Davos Seaworth said in his usual calm
manner. “The king and the Queen Daenerys are here to listen to your concerns and if deemed
valid, the crown will address it in a manner that will benefit all parties.”
“We have only one concern, Your Grace,” Lord Banefort said coldly. “We would not bend
our knees to House Tully.”

“The war is over,” the king said implacably. “House Lannister is gone and their lands have
been forfeited to the crown.”

“They are not gone, Your Grace,” Lord Damon Marbrand interjected. “Lord Jaime Lannister
has been released from the Kingsguard and we ask that he be given the royal pardon so that
he could rule the Westerlands as Lord Tywin Lannister’s rightful heir.”

I glanced at Tyrion to gauge his reaction but his face remained impassive. It is said that the
Lannisters lost the war the night that Tywin Lannister died. And for that the lords of the
Westerlands lay the blame entirely at Tyrion’s feet. They would not accept him as their liege
lord that much is made clear.

“Lord Jaime Lannister is on his way to the Wall as we speak,” Ser Davos replied. “He is to
join the Night’s Watch as befits his war crimes.”

“War crimes?” Lord Banefort’s voice hardened. “The Lannister might have lost the war but
we fought with honor and anyone who daresay otherwise is a liar.”

“Lord Banefort? Your sigil was a black hooded man on a grey field.” Arya’s voice suddenly
echoed in the large hall. “I saw your soldiers at Harrenhal. There was this one girl, prettier
than the others, and your soldiers took turns raping her every night. And then one night she
just snapped and tried to kill one of them. Gregor Clegane made us watch while he took off
her head with a single blow. Your soldiers laughed about it for days.” She looked at Lord
Banefort directly and gave a mocking laugh. “And you dare talk about honor, my lord?”

“And who are you, little girl?” Lord Banefort said angrily, abruptly jabbing an index finger
into Arya’s nose. “Why don’t you go and play with your dolls, girl. And leave us men…
eeeeeoooohhh!”

Suddenly, Lord Banefort let out a loud scream.

Arya was bending his index finger in such a way that it was nearly touching his wrist. Lord
Banefort’s face turned almost purple, his eyes tearing up in pain.

“Let go, you bitch…”

“Tell me, my lord, where were you when your soldiers were raping and torturing and
murdering innocent people in the name of House Lannister?” Arya jabbed Lord Banefort’s
broad nose with his own finger. “How dare you come here and make demands? When you
should have hung on the gallows together with the rest of your men.” She jabbed him again
on the nose. “You should be grateful to the king for allowing you to live and keep your
lands.”

She pressed harder and Lord Banefort screamed even louder, falling to his knees in agony.
“So if the king tells you to bend your knees, you will bend your knees, do you understand?”
I looked around the room but everyone seemed to be frozen in place. Clearly, none of the
lords knew how to deal with a fight that has been started by a young girl nearly half their
size.

“Arya,” the king said quietly but firmly. “That’s enough.”

And just like that, Arya released Lord Banefort’s finger and all hell broke loose.

“You bitch!”

“Your heathen ways are not welcome here.”

“Heathen? Are you insulting the people of the north?”

“You are talking to a lady, my lord.”

“My lords, I bid you all to calm down.”

Tyrion looked up at me, his mismatched eyes dancing with amusement. “Well, that escalated
rather quickly.”

______

I found him sitting on a wooden bench, carefully running a whetstone against the edge of his
sword. He looked up and gave a polite nod as I sat beside him.

For a moment, I just studied the young King in the North in the dim moonlight. He was tall
and lean, his slender frame belying his strength and prowess in the battle field. He had dark
hair, a straight aquiline nose, and a firm mouth. And the faint scar above his left eye only
served to enhance his good looks, giving his solemn countenance a slightly dangerous edge.

He was too pretty for my tastes. I’ve always preferred men who are a bit rough on the edges.
But there was something incredibly appealing about Jon Snow. An inherent sadness that
makes a woman want to wrap her arms around him and soothe all his hurts away.

“You cannot just let your sister do anything she wants,” I said, glancing at him.

Jon shrugged. “Lord Banefort was fortunate that I didn’t reach him first or he would’ve
broken his nose rather than a finger.”

“You indulge her too much,” I said mildly.

“It’s a force of habit,” he said, not even bothering to deny it. “I’ve always delighted in
spoiling her even while growing up. It’s what brothers do.”

“And do you love her as a brother?” I asked.

Slight amusement showed in his handsome face. “I love Arya in all kinds of way.”
Love is not something I think much about. Not since the day that Drogo died in that little
village in Lhazar. I’ve learned a lesson the day that witch took Drogo and our son from me.
That love is a dangerous thing. And to let one person be the center of your world would only
lead to pain and heartbreak.

We sat in silence for a moment or so before I spoke again. “We’re not so different, you and I.
You were born a bastard while I was raised in exile. We have lived our entire lives on the
outside always looking in. And now here we are.”

Jon gave a sharp nod. “And now here we are.”

“We could make Westeros great again,” I reached out to touch his hand gently. “A divided
kingdom is more likely to breed rebellion than a united one.”

“And isn’t that the reason behind our alliance?” Jon asked, his voice wary.

“We could further strengthen that alliance by marriage,” I said bluntly.

He was silent. And in the moonlight, his features seemed even more aloof than usual. “I’m in
love with Arya.”

“You misunderstand me,” I said. “I’m not asking for your love nor do I expect it. Ours will be
a political marriage, nothing more. You could keep Arya by your side and I will take my own
lovers as well.”

His voice was filled with grim humor. “If you think Arya will agree to that kind of
arrangement then you’ve gravely misjudged her.”

“The first duty of the king is to the realm,” I reminded him, finding that it required great
effort to keep my voice even. “You will do well to remember that, Your Grace.”

“I’ve given up everything in the name of duty, my queen,” he said and when his eyes met
mine, they burned with emotions. “When the Lannisters took my father prisoner, I stayed at
the Wall. When my brother marched south, still I stayed. When the free folk attacked the
Wall, I left my lover behind and did my duty.” He continued in a quiet tone. “But when I was
made to choose between duty and Arya, I chose her. And may the gods forbid, but if I have to
do it all over again, I would not hesitate to make the same choice.”

I averted my gaze from him, trying to ignore the frustration burning inside of me. “I had a
brother too, his name was Viserys. He sold me to a warlord in exchange for forty thousand
Dothraki horsemen.”

Jon looked at me with pity. And I hated him for that.

I am the queen, the Mother of Dragons. Men beg for my hand in marriage not the other way
around.

But when I looked at him, I just smiled and said softly. “I hope Arya knows how fortunate
she is to have you." Then leaning over, I pressed a feathery-light kiss on his lips.
Chapter End Notes

Finally, a Dany pov!

And I also included a bit about the Westerlands (although we'll still hear about it in
future chapters) ;)

What do you guys think of it?

Thanks for reading xx

 Jon
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

We arrived at Wolf’s Den at dusk, just as the sun was already sinking towards the western
horizon. The castle guards, dressed in blue-green cloaks and bearing the sigil of House
Manderly opened the iron gates as I rode in together with Ser Davos and several members of
the Kingsguard.

The townsfolk gathered outside the castle walls while the guards ordered them to stand back.
“Off with you,” one of the guards said impatiently. “Off with you, people.” But still they
stayed. The King in the North had come to White Harbor and the whole town turned up to get
a glimpse of their legendary sire.

“Look, ma, it’s the White Wolf!” a young child said in an awed voice. “I heard he killed an
entire army by himself.”

Another child piped in. “My pa said he drinks the blood of his enemies!”

“They say he can’t be killed!” a woman said, her voice fearful. “That every time he falls, he
will just rise again, more powerful than before.”

What did the people expect to see, I wonder? A giant half-man, half-wolf with red eyes and
pointed teeth? Or a corpse with pale-white skin and hollow eyes? Instead they saw a tall and
lean young man, barely in his twenties, sitting atop a black warhorse and surrounded by
several knights clad in silver armor etched with the figure of a direwolf.

The chief gaoler, a one-legged man with a scarred face, bowed courteously.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Follow me, Your Grace.”

I gestured at Ser Davos to stay in the courtyard as I followed the gaoler inside the dark,
crumbling castle with Ghost padding silently beside me. “Careful, Your Grace,” he cautioned
as we slowly made our way down the narrow stone steps where the dungeons lay in rank
darkness.

He took a key from under his tunic and opened a small wooden door beneath the stairs,
carefully placing a lantern on an iron peg on the wall.

“Leave us,” I said. “And see that we are not disturbed.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

There was silence inside the small cell except for the sound of the gaoler closing the door and
his footsteps going up the stairs. A lone figure sat on a filthy pallet, wearing a soiled leather
tunic. But underneath the grime and dirt, his hair was still golden and his green eyes flashed
with resentment.

Jaime Lannister looked up at me and his face twisted in a mocking grin. “The last time I saw
you, you were heading to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch and yet here you are, with your
brother’s crown upon your head.” He laughed bitterly, “We both broke our oaths, but while I
was reviled for it, you were proclaimed king. Why do you think that is, Your Grace?”

I leaned on the wooden door and shrugged. “I wasn’t the one who stabbed someone behind
his back.”

“The brave, honorable Jon Snow,” he sneered. “They say you’ve slain the entire Bolton army
single-handedly. They even call you The Prince That Was Promised whatever the hell that
means. It must feel good to be worshipped after all those years being looked down upon as
Ned Stark’s bastard.”

I leveled him with a cool look. “I’m not here to trade insults with you, Ser Jaime.”

“Then why are you here?” the older man asked. “To see for yourself just how far the
Lannisters have fallen?”

“I do not make light of the misfortunes of others,” I said curtly. “I’m not a Lannister.”

“Not from what I hear,” Jaime snorted.

I pointedly ignored his malicious remark. “I’m here to discuss terms with you regarding your
release.”

Any man would have jumped at the chance to free himself from this damp and stench-filled
cell. Any sane man. But Jaime Lannister only shrugged. “Who says I want to be released?
Maybe I’ve always wanted to be the shield that guards the realms of men. Maybe I wanted to
pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch. For this night and all the nights to come. You
must be familiar with those vows. Did I get it right, Your Grace?”

“I will grant you a pardon and restore you as the Lord of Casterly Rock,” I continued as if he
hasn’t spoken. “And in return, you will bend the knee to the crown and your new liege lord.”

“Why don’t you give it to my traitorous brother instead?” Jaime spat. “I heard he’s thrown in
his lot with the dragons.”

“Funny thing is that Lord Tyrion said the same,” I said quietly. “He said that you’re the
rightful heir to Casterly Rock.”

“Is your beloved sister aware of these terms?” Jaime asked. “From what I heard she’s bent on
destroying the Lannisters.”

An image of Arya came into my mind and for a moment I felt a sense of uncertainty.

“She won’t be happy,” I said grimly. “But she would understand.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Jaime remarked. “I saw your sister at King’s Landing. She’s
very beautiful and very, very ruthless. In a way, she reminds me of my own beloved sister.”

“Do not compare her to Cersei Lannister,” I said coldly. “They are nothing alike.”

“Tell me, does she call you dear brother when you fuck her?” Jaime said bluntly.

"Cersei used to call me that every time we were in bed together," he continued. "And it made
me desire her even more."

I knew he was only goading me but try as I might to keep my face blank, I could feel the heat
rising in my face because I could not deny the truth behind his perverse question.

He laughed softly. “What is it about pretty sisters that drive a man to madness?”

Silence. I could not answer him even if I wanted to for I could not explain myself the kind of
hold that Arya has on me. I’m the king, but she rules me — body and soul.

“For as long as I can remember, all that mattered to me was Cersei,” he continued, his tone
carefully measured. “She was so beautiful and I loved her with all that I am. Her happiness
was my happiness. When she suffered, I suffered more. I did everything for her. And there
was nothing that I could deny her.”

“And yet you killed her.”

“When she learned that your forces have breached the gates, she ordered her men to set the
entire city to flames." He drew a long, anguished breath. “As she stood there condemning
hundreds of thousands of innocent people to their deaths, I finally realized that all this time I
loved a monster.”

I swallowed hard, not quite able to believe it. But it was clear from the pain etched on his
face that Jaime Lannister was telling the truth.

“There are those women who could easily wrap a man around their pretty little fingers and
tear him apart, piece by piece,” he continued. “Cersei was one of them. And your sister too.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Because I see a little of myself in you,” Jaime answered, sounding amused and a little
puzzled by his own statement. “I once dreamt of glory too. I wanted to become a hero like
Ser Arthur Dayne but in the end I had become the Smiling Knight instead.”

“It’s not too late,” I told him, “You can still make amends if you accept the crown’s terms.”

But the older man only shook his head before retreating further into the dark cell. “I didn’t
want Casterly Rock then. And I certainly don’t want it now.”

Jaime Lannister, it seems, has long ceased to care. He no longer cared whether he live or die.
Casterly Rock could burn to the ground and still he wouldn’t care. He had resigned himself to
spending the rest of his days at the Wall as penance for his sins.
For without his beloved sister by his side, nothing matters anymore.

______

I entered the guest chamber to find Arya seated behind a table, surrounded by ledgers. Even
back in Winterfell, Arya has always displayed an aptitude towards figures so it didn’t surprise
me that she has taken quite an interest in managing the crown’s finances. It was one of the
tasks that I didn’t enjoy as Lord Commander and I’m more than happy to leave it at her
capable hands.

She looked up and regarded me steadily. “I’ve heard from some of the men that you went to
Wolf’s Den to meet with Jaime Lannister.”

I nodded, knowing that it would be futile to lie to her as she would sooner find out anyway. “I
asked him to pledge loyalty to the crown in return for a pardon.”

“He’s a Lannister!” Arya hissed. “You should have had his head on a spike instead you offer
him a pardon?”

“We cannot continue to live in the past, Arya,” I said quietly. “It won’t change what
happened to our family. All we can do is move forward and try to make the future better.”

“The past?” She looked pale and her voice was trembling. “If it’s in the past then why do I
feel like I’m living it over and over again? Every goddamned day! How can you ask me to
forget about what happened to our family? When every night when I close my eyes I see their
faces, begging for mercy which the Lannisters cruelly withhold from them? How? Tell me
how, Jon!”

My own temper flared. “What would you have me do then Arya? Tell me? The Westerlands
are on the brink of a rebellion. And we could not afford a war amongst ourselves, not with
the dead at our doors!”

“I told you already,” she fairly shouted. “I can take care of it!”

“We’ve been through this before, Arya,” I sighed, raking a hand through my hair. “I can’t just
kill anyone who dare rebel against the crown.”

“Why not?”

“Then that wouldn’t make me any different from Joffrey and Ramsay,” I said, feeling
agitated. “I’m not like them, I’m not a monster…”

“Then let me be the monster,” she said softly, her expression intent. “I don’t care Jon, really.
I’ve killed so many, what’s one more or two?”

She stood up and knelt in front of me, laying her dark head upon my lap. “I’m not going to
kill them all, you know. Just Lord Banefort and Lord Crakehall and mayhaps, Lord
Marbrand. The rest of the lords aren’t stupid. They know what would happen and they will
kneel.”
I finally realized that all this time I loved a monster.

I cupped her face in my burned hand, her cheeks soft and warm beneath my palm. “I would
not let you become a monster,” I said as I studied her face in the glow of the firelight.

She returned my gaze with cool intensity that told me how serious she is about her plans to
assassinate the leaders of the rebellion. Who was this woman, and what had she done with
Arya? Times like this when she felt almost like a stranger. A beautiful witch that has the
power to twist me into every which way she wants to.

There are women who could easily wrap a man around their pretty little fingers and tear him
apart, piece by piece.

“I just want to help you, Jon, please just this once,” she murmured as she slowly lifted my
burned hand from her face and sucked my middle finger, hard. “Please, please, please…”

Her deft hands quickly undid my trousers and my hips flexed involuntarily when her fingers
brushed the length of my cock as she took me deep into her mouth, gently sucking me.

I groaned in pleasure. “Just Lord Banefort and Lord Crakehall and Lord Marbrand. No one
else. Promise me, Arya…”

She looked up at me with heavy-lidded eyes, her mouth curved in a wicked smile. “I promise,
dear brother…”

What is it about pretty sisters that drive a man to madness?

______

We arrived in Winterfell a fortnight later.

The restoration of the castle was nearly complete and Winterfell once again stood — mighty
and proud — against the snowy landscape.

At the sight of the castle, I was filled with a sense of contentment. Gone were the days when
I lived under the disapproving gaze of Lady Catelyn. Gone were the days when I chafed
behind its stone walls, counting the days when I could finally leave and go my own way.

Now, Winterfell belongs to me. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I finally belonged
here.

As we entered the flagstoned courtyard, I saw Sansa running towards us, her auburn hair
flying behind her. Her face was alight with excitement and in her hands, she clutched a
missive.

“What is it, Sansa?” Arya asked as she alight from her horse, her dark brows furrowed in
concern.

In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Sansa hugged Arya tightly. “Bran is alive! And he’s
finally coming home.”
Chapter End Notes

I always felt like there's a parallel between Jon/Arya and Jaime/Cersei and I wanted to
explore the darker side of their relationship.

And what do you guys think would happen now that Bran is back?

Reviews are highly appreciated ❤

 Sansa
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

It was a cold, cold morning, even more so than the usual, as I hurried past the armory towards
the godswood. Winter is upon us and a thick layer of snow covered the grounds, cradling the
entire castle in its snug embrace.

I walked to the center of the godswood to where the ancient weirwood tree stood with its
bone-white trunk and blood-red leaves. Closing my eyes, I breathed in the faint scent of
moist earth and pine wood. It was the smell of home.

Since the northern and southern armies arrived in Winterfell, I’ve not had a moment’s peace.
With the castle overrun with lords and knights and squires and armorers, it was my duty as
the de facto Lady of Winterfell to see to their needs. And it seems that not an hour passes by
without something that requires my attention — a young squire falling ill with hay fever, a
fresh supply of mutton that needs to be salted, a vat of porridge that was burnt by a scullery
maid and the list goes on.

For a moment I just stood there in the cold, grey light and relished the quiet. I’m home,
Father, I prayed in silence, as the wizened eyes of the weirwood tree stared back at me, and
so is Jon and Arya and soon, Bran.

After everything that I had lost, my father’s infinite wisdom, my mother’s warmth, Robb’s
smile… all of which I’ve taken for granted until it was no more, the thought of seeing my
little brother again filled me with tender joy.

I carefully opened the parchment sealed with plain black ink and read the words which was
written in my brother’s familiar scrawl.

Dearest sister,

By the time you read this letter, I will already be on my way home. I’ve taken refuge at Castle
Black after a long sojourn beyond the Wall and Lord Commander Tollett has generously
provided us with an escort to Winterfell.

In less than a fortnight, I will be home. There is much that I have to tell you.

Bran

Suddenly, a masculine laugh pierced the quiet, followed by a woman’s voice that I quickly
recognized as Arya’s.

“Hurry, we don’t have much time,” Arya said, sounding slightly out of breath as if she had
been running. “The guests will be waking up soon…”

I let out a small gasp, feeling my heart beating frantically against my chest.
Could it be that Arya is having an affair? I wondered if this was the reason behind her broken
betrothal to Lord Willas Tyrell.

An image of the darkly handsome Lord Baratheon appeared on my mind and how his eyes
seem to follow Arya whenever they were in the same room.

Arya then appeared, her slim figure silhouetted against the early morning light. A second
later, a tall and dark-haired man followed, his handsome face wreathed in smiles.

I exhaled in sharp relief. Of course, it’s only Jon.

It was not a lovers tryst after all. Likely, Arya thought of a mad scheme and dragged Jon
along with her, just like she used to do when we were children.

I looked at their hands clasped tightly between them and smiled fondly. They’ve always been
close.

They both stumbled into a halt upon seeing me.

“Sansa…” Arya said, looking at me steadily. “What are you doing here so early?”

I shrugged. “I just wanted a bit of quiet before the day starts.”

At their prolonged silence, I quirked a curious brow at them.

Jon cleared his throat and murmured. “We were going to say our morning prayer.”

At the same time that Arya said, “We were going to the hot spring.”

They have a secret. It was there in the way they glanced at each other with silent
understanding.

“Well, I will leave you to it then,” I said, smiling uncertainly.

Arya nodded briskly. “We’ll see you at the morning meal.”

I glanced at Jon but he was looking away from me, his cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Alright, don’t stay out long,” I said, slipping past them on the way out of the grove.

I shivered against the chilly air and tried not to let it bother me, tried not to feel bad about
being left out of their secret.

They’ve always been close.

______

That evening a feast was held at the great hall to welcome our allies. The lords and ladies
moved around the center of the room while a group of musicians played their instruments
with much vigor, if not skills.
Large wooden tables have been set up around the hall and were laden with roasted mutton
and skewers of pigeon and quail and pheasant. There were several kinds of meat pies and
vegetables seasoned with Dornish spices. Freshly baked lemon cakes were served along with
poached pears and figs while hot mulled wine and spiced cider flowed copiously.

“The alliance seems to be working well,” I said as I walked up behind Jon who was standing
at the edge of the room.

He nodded. “The cage of wights that the Night’s Watch sent to King’s Landing was enough to
convince them.”

I followed his eyes to see Arya dancing with the young Lord Dayne who was looking at her
with eyes that sparkled with admiration.

Arya Horseface we used to call her. She wasn’t ugly, really. She was just… awkward. With
her scruffy hair and long face and gangly arms.

But she has blossomed into a rare beauty. Her shining dark hair now framed a delicately
sculpted face which was dominated by a pair of large smoky eyes and soft pink lips. Her
figure is still slender but her angles has softened into graceful curves.

I wish mother could see her now. I thought wistfully, remembering how she used to despair
about Arya’s unladylike manners.

“Lord Dayne seems to be quite smitten,” I said softly. “I expect he would be offering for
Arya soon.”

“Too young,” Jon said, his tone surly.

“He’s of an age,” I merely smiled. “And they say women have more freedom in Dorne which
I’m sure Arya will appreciate.”

“Too far."

I looked around the great hall and quickly spotted Lord Baratheon who seems to tower above
the rest of the guests. His dark brows were furrowed together as he looked at the young pair
dancing in the center of the room.

“Lord Baratheon seems interested as well,” I continued, unable to contain my amusement at

the Lord of Storm's End's obvious jealousy. “If you ask me, he’s the better match.”

“Too tall.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s too tall,” Jon repeated in the same surly tone.

“Too tall?” I gave a soft laugh. “He’s a great lord. And they seem to get along well enough.”
Jon did not reply. He simply continued to look at Lord Dayne who was twirling Arya around,
making her laugh with delight.

“You do know she’s to marry soon, right?” I said calmly. “I’ve received offers from Gawen
Glover and even Harrion Karstark.” I reached out to lay a gentle hand on his arm. “I still
think a marriage to a southern lord will be more favorable but I would understand if you’d
rather she marry someone who is a bit closer to home…”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jon cut in, his attention focused elsewhere. “There’s something
important I need to discuss with Arya.”

But before I could respond, Jon was already walking towards the center of the room. He
weaved his way past other dancing couples until he finally reached Arya who was still
dancing with Lord Dayne.

A moment later, the young lord of Starfall returned to his seat, looking nonplussed.

"Good evening, my Lady Stark,” a familiar voice murmured behind me.

I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickling as I turned to face Lord Baelish. “My lord,
how are you enjoying the feast?”

“Well done as always, sweetling,” said Lord Baelish, his small, beady eyes roaming the hall.
“The alliance seems to be holding up. Your brother has a mind for politics, I’ll give him that.”

“Too bad he’s letting his emotions get the better of him when it comes to Lady Arya,” he
continued. “The alliance with the Tyrells would have secured his position.”

“My brother’s position is secured, my lord,” I said, trying to sound firm. “The northern lords
have pledged their allegiance to him.”

“Maybe so,” Lord Baelish nodded. “But will they still support him when they find out about
his little secret?”

“Everyone has their own secrets, my lord,” I managed to say. "Even you.”

He laughed at that. “I’m afraid not this kind of secret, my dear.”

I felt a sense of dread wash over me as Lord Baelish leaned towards me, his eyes looking
directly at Jon who was holding Arya against his chest as a minstrel sang “Two Hearts That
Beat as One.”

“Look at them,” he murmured. “Do you really think he’ll let her wed another man? Let
another man touch her… bed her?”

“They’ve always been close,” I said quietly. “Even as children, they were closer than the rest
of us.”

I felt his hands settle on my shoulders. “Look at Lord Harrion and his sister Lady Alys and
then look at your brother and sister.” He chuckled softly, “Do you see the difference?”
I looked at Lord Harrion who was looking at his younger sister with warmth and affection.
Lady Alys grinned at him and said something that made him laugh, his gruff voice booming
across the room.

Slowly, I turned to gaze at Jon who was holding Arya close to him, his grey eyes burning
directly into hers. Arya tiptoed forward and whispered against his ear and whatever it is that
Arya said made his cheeks turn a bit pink.

“They’ve always been close,” I repeated, feeling a bit nauseated. “Please, my lord, you
misunderstand them.”

“Very well then,” Lord Baelish said calmly. Too calmly. “If you say so.”

I held my breath as he gave my shoulders a squeeze before turning around and greeting Lord
Royce and Lady Waynwood.

My stomach felt queasy, unable to comprehend the malicious — nay, revolting — insinuation
that Lord Baelish has made against Jon and Arya.

No, no, no no no… I thought, feeling a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. He's got it all
wrong.

______

I’m jolted awake by a sudden noise. My room is dark as the burning candle on my bedside
has long since gone out.

It must be nearly dawn, I thought as I looked out the windows at the grey clouds.

From outside I could hear a door closing shut and footsteps walking along the hall. I gingerly
got out of bed and pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear the voices outside.

“Quiet,” I heard Arya’s voice, her words slightly muffled. “Sansa might hear us.”

Then came Jon’s reply. “I swear, you will be the death of me.”

Arya giggled as their footsteps slowly receded from my hearing.

My heart squeezed tightly and I urged myself to go back to sleep. Instead I pushed the
wooden door open and quickly followed them, keeping my steps light.

They move quickly, down the stairs to the kitchen where they opened the door that leads to
the back of the castle. Their pace quickens and I find myself walking faster, faster… until
finally I reached the godswood.

It was still dark but the moonlight seemed to reflect upon the dark pools, bathing the
weirwood tree in a faint glow. I stood beside a tall oak tree, keeping myself hidden in its deep
shadows, my heart pounding loudly against my chest.
 Jon pulled Arya towards the weirwood tree, pinning her between him and the trunk. Then he
leaned forward and started nibbling the side of her neck, his hands feeling up her chest.

“You were rude to Ned tonight,” Arya murmured, her hands reaching down to unbutton Jon’s
trousers. “How many times do I have to tell you that he is a friend?”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay away from you,” Jon said gruffly. “The same
goes for the smith.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Arya said softly.

Jon only grunted in response as he pushed Arya’s linen nightgown from her shoulders,
exposing her pale breasts. I watched as he played with them, pinching her nipples and
rubbing them with his palms.

“Oh gods…” Arya breathed.

I wanted to get away from there, from them, but I could not seem to move. For an endless
moment, I just stood there as if my feet were rooted to the ground.

Slowly, Jon hiked up Arya’s skirt and kneeled in front of her and started licking her… there.

Arya cried aloud, her whole body arching against the tree until only her toes were touching
the ground. Her knees were shaking wildly, her whole body caught up in the sensation of
having Jon’s mouth on her.

“Ssshhh, you’re too loud…” Jon said, his voice amused.

“I don’t care…" Arya moaned. "Let them hear... let them all fucking hear."

No. No. No, no no no, this couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

Suddenly, nothing made sense anymore. Everything felt wrong. It was as if my heart was
breaking into a hundred pieces. I wanted my old life back. I wanted my family back. I wanted
everything to be the same as it was before.

I began to quiver and I felt tears stinging my eyes as I stumbled backward, turning away from
the wretched scene.

By the time I reached my room I was already drenched in cold sweat and my entire body was
shaking uncontrollably. And there as I lay in the darkness, I buried my face in my hands and
began to cry.

Chapter End Notes

Poor Sansa! I always felt that she'll be the one most affected by Jon and Arya's
relationship because she seems to thrive within social boundaries (book-Sansa, actually).
And I think she just wants to have things back as they were before.

She'll definitely have a hard time accepting the change in Jon and Arya's relationship.
How do you think she will react in the next chapter?

Bran will be coming soon and definitely, he will shake things up a bit. Not yet sure how
to do the big reveal though...

Hope you continue reading ❤

 Arya
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

I’m bored.

Bored of the endless chatter about war and politics.

Bored of the lords and ladies who simper banal praises in my face and whisper nasty tittle-
tattle behind my back.

I looked around the great hall, at the massive tapestries which hung from the high stone
walls, all of them depicting a snarling grey direwolf. How many meals have I eaten here? A
hundred? Maybe more. It was all too familiar, and yet it was not the same. Like a collection
of stone and clay and mortar that didn’t quite fit together.

That fateful day when I boarded the Titan’s Daughter, I’ve given up all hopes of ever
returning home. Braavos gave me a chance to begin a new life away from the horrors that has
befallen my family. By becoming a different person, I thought I could free myself of the pain,
the anger, and the overwhelming sense of loss. But no matter how many faces I’ve worn,
there’s a part of me that would always be Arya Stark. There’s a part of me that would always
belong to Winterfell.

I could almost see my father sitting at the long wooden table near the hearth, surrounded by
his bannermen. He often said that the blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the
Starks. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his
final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.

But the Faceless Men ascribe to an entirely different sort of moral code or lack thereof. To
them a dead man’s a dead man. It matters not how he dies — by sword, by poison, or by
accident — so long as he does. For a time I played the part of a faithful servant to the Many-
Faced God and learned all the grim ways to kill a man. If there’s one thing that I could do
well, it is to kill a man before he could even utter a single word.

And now Jon was sitting in the same place, looking every bit like our father. Even with his
quiet demeanor and in plain dark clothes, he still managed to exude power, a sense of
invincibility. It was no secret that even the southern lords were more likely to heed his
command than that of the dragon queen. Not only because he was a man. Not only because of
his known prowess in the battle field. But also because he was Ned Stark’s son.

It was the thing that my mother hated the most about Jon, that he looked so much like our
father with his dark hair and solemn face compared to Robb and Bran and Rickon with their
auburn hair and Tully blue eyes. But more than looks, Jon also shares our father’s strict moral
code. And I know that he expected the same of me.
But I’m no longer Ned’s little girl. I’m no longer the little girl that used to run around this
castle. I haven’t been that girl for a long time now. Because every mask that I’ve put on has
left a mark on me. An indelible mark that has stayed long after I’ve placed the mask back in
that dark chamber beneath the temple. Like a prism, the faces of Cat and Beth and Mercy and
many others each became a reflection of myself.

So I’m sitting here, a stranger in my own home. Almost by its own volition, my hand reached
up to touch the back of my neck, trying to find that flap of skin, certain that I was only
wearing a mask. But there was none.

“Are you well, my lady?”

I looked up to see Lord Petyr Baelish, who was seated beside my sister Sansa, looking at me
intently.

Everything about Lord Baelish was… unremarkable. He was of average height and build, his
hair was the color of mud, and his eyes were a dull green. He was the kind of man that could
easily be overlooked, something that he likely uses to his own advantage.

But I’ve known men like Lord Baelish. Men who care nothing about others. He was as
corrupt and amoral as the Lannisters and their allies. The only difference is that he’s better at
hiding it.

“I’m fine, my lord,” I said. “Just a bit of a chill, that’s all.”

“Of course,” he said gravely. “After having been gone for a long time, I’m sure the cold must
be quite a shock to you.”

“I’m a Stark, Lord Baelish,” I said dryly. “As people were wont to say, we have ice running
through our veins.”

Lord Baelish laughed, even as his green eyes glinted with malice. “Of course, but it seems
not everyone can survive the harsh climate of the north.” He looked at me over the rim of his
goblet. “It’s a shame what happened to Lord Banefort.”

I could feel the gazes of the other lords and ladies upon me. No doubt, they’re thinking of
that argument I had with Lord Banefort at Riverrun not long ago. And wondering if I had
anything to do with his sudden bout of illness and subsequent death.

They are not mistaken.

It was easy enough to rub the seeds of castor plant into Lord Banefort's clothes resulting in an
allergic reaction similar to that of a common cold. And even easier to slip the same seeds into
his morning meal causing his health to decline even further. By the time we reached
Winterfell there was nothing that the maester could do to save him.

“It’s not uncommon for a man to catch a cold in this kind of weather,” I looked at Lord
Baelish with steady eyes, taking a bite of poached pears and letting its honeyed warmth slide
down my throat. “I do hope you have a stronger constitution, my lord. I would hate for you to
catch a cold as well.”

Lord Baelish quirked a brow at me, clearly wondering if that had been a veiled threat. “Your
concern is quite touching, my lady.”

I bestowed upon him a gracious smile that would have made Izembaro proud.

“Really, my lord,” Sansa said softly, “Must we discuss such an unpleasant topic over dinner?”

“Pardon me, Lady Sansa,” Lord Baelish said, promptly turning his attention back to her. “I
did not mean to ruin such a lovely night with ill talk.”

I looked at them and wondered idly if they were lovers. From what I’ve learned, Sansa has
spent the last five years in the Eyrie under Lord Baelish’s protection. And I couldn’t help but
notice that there’s a sort of intimacy between them. Could I have mistaken the situation?
Could it be that Sansa is not an unwilling pawn to his games but an ally?

______

I sat before a vanity mirror, waiting for Jon to finish his discussion with the war council. I
drew a silver comb slowly through my hair, feeling a distinct sense of unease as I look at my
reflection.

For a moment I closed my eyes and I’m back at that chamber beneath the temple with all
those faces gazing down on me. I could almost feel the sharp pain of the knife against my
scalp and smell the tangy scent of my own blood as it trickles down my face.

Since that night when I first took on a new face, I’ve been anxious around mirrors. Afraid of
the dead mask that I know will be staring back at me. A mask worn in such a way that it was
much like my true face.

I reached out, almost tentatively, to touch the image of a child-woman staring back at me,
with her porcelain skin and sleek dark hair that frames a face of surpassing loveliness.

It never mattered to me if I was beautiful or not. But I wanted to be beautiful for Jon. It
doesn’t matter how anyone else saw me. Only Jon.

Sometimes I wondered what he’d made of me lately. The intimacy we shared was so intense
that there are times when I feel like I no longer belonged to myself. At night, he would
whisper words in my ears, words that no brother should ever say to his sister. He demanded
things from me, things that I’m not sure I’m able to give. Try as I might, I could not imagine
myself as a wife and mother. And even more so, a queen.

There was a slight knock at the door and I turned around to see Sansa in the doorway,
wearing the same midnight blue gown she wore at dinner.

“May I come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Sansa closed the door and stood behind me, taking the silver
comb from my hand and carefully running it through my hair.

Growing up, it was Sansa who was the beautiful one. She was gentle and pious and kind. She
was always well-coiffed and dressed in the finest gowns. I was simply Arya Horseface. The
reckless one, the one who would rather play swords with my brothers than practice my
stitching.

We may be as different as night and day, but in this moment, we share the same kind of
feeling — that bittersweet joy of finally being home but knowing that things would never be
the same again.

Looking at the mirror, I could see the same image reflected in our eyes. The image of our
father, on his knees, as Joffrey sentenced him to die. Sansa was standing right there beside
that little shit and his evil mother when Ser Ilyn cut off father’s head. And I could still hear
her weeping and begging for mercy as Yoren dragged me away from that dreadful place.

She has grown even more beautiful since the time I last saw her. At seventeen, she is a
woman full grown. Her hair has turned a deeper shade of auburn and her complexion remains
pure and unblemished. But there was an emptiness about her that reminds me of a porcelain
doll.

“I saw you dancing with Lord Gawen earlier,” Sansa said as she pulled back my hair and tied
it with a velvet ribbon. “Deepwood Motte is not too far from here, just a day’s ride away, in
fact.”

"Not again, Sansa," I said, rolling my eyes. "We’ve been through this before.”

“You’re no longer a child, Arya,” she said earnestly. “It’s high time for you to marry and have
a family of your own.”

“I told you already so many times that I’m not going to marry any of these lords,” I said,
annoyed. “It is only you who keeps on entertaining their offers!”

“What is the problem, Arya?” she asked. “You have the pick of the most eligible lords in the
land and yet you are complaining.”

“Then you marry one of them!”

Sansa flinched as if she’s been slapped and I quickly regretted my impulsive words.

“As you well know, I’m already married,” she said tersely. “And if you need any more proof
that not everyone has the luxury of choosing her own husband, you need only to look at me.”

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” I said, feeling contrite. “But you just have to accept that I’m not going to
marry any of these men.”

But Sansa only continued as if I haven’t spoken. “Lord Baratheon seems quite fond of you,
he looks so much like Lord Renly that …”
I sighed. “Sansa, listen to me. I can’t marry any of them because Jon and …”

“… he hasn’t offered yet but I’m quite sure it’s just a matter of time,” Sansa added hurriedly.
“Then there’s Lord Dayne, who is considered one of the best…”

“Jon and I … we’re together.”

Sansa gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t be silly! Jon is our brother.”

“Listen to me, Sansa,” I repeated. “I love him and we’re to…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it!” she burst out, her voice shaking. “Whatever it is that you’re
going to tell me, I don’t want to hear it.”

She rose from her chair and started pacing around the room. “The thing between you and Jon,
it has to stop, do you understand me? If this gets out, if the northern lords get wind of this…
Dear god, just imagine the scandal!”

“After everything we've lost, you stand here worrying about what other people would think?”

She regarded me coldly. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

“Oh, I understand now…” I said, unable to keep my voice from getting louder. “This isn’t
about Jon or me or this family. This is about you. This is about you being queen, just admit
it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t think I don’t know about you and Lord Baelish’s plans,” I snapped. “I’ve read his
letter to the Tyrells about his plans to depose Jon and proclaim you Queen in the North.”

Meeting Sansa’s surprised gaze, I continued savagely. “How about now that Bran is alive? It
must have put quite a crimp on your plans. Or would you just slowly poison him like you do
our dear cousin? Sickly boys, no one will be surprised if they die.”

“I can smell it, you know. Sweetsleep, isn’t it?" I stood up and walked slowly towards her.
"Do you want me to tell the Lords of the Vale about it? I’m sure they won’t take it kindly, you
killing their young lord.”

“As I’ve said I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sansa said, her lovely face a
composed mask. “Lord Arryn trusts me implicitly and the maester has…”

“Do not hide behind the lady of Winterfell act,” I said, glaring at her. “If you want to be
queen then at least have the guts to own up to it.”

Suddenly, a quiet voice interrupted the tense silence. “What is going on here?”

Jon looked at me and I saw that he understood the situation. Sansa knows.

"Sansa..."
“Do you forget that she’s your sister?” Sansa asked quietly. “That you share the blood of our
father?”

“I love Arya,” Jon said, looking steadily at Sansa. “And I will marry her.”

“Marry her? Are you mad?” she said, her face bewildered. “Please, it’s not too late to stop
this madness…”

“It’s too late, Sansa,” Jon said in a sober tone. “I’ve bedded her, Arya could be with child.”

Sansa grew very still that for a moment I thought she was going to faint. But then she looked
Jon straight in the eyes and said in a near whisper. “If Robb was alive, he’d kill you for this.”

And straightening her shoulders, Sansa fastened an invisible cloak of composure around
herself before swiftly walking out the door.

______

I found Sansa at the godswood, huddled beneath the heart tree. As I sat beside her on a mossy
rock, it felt as if we were surrounded by the ghosts of our lost childhood.

“I won't apologize for loving Jon,” I said, reaching out to take her hand. "But I know how
much it upsets you and for that I’m sorry.”

“I guess, I’m not really surprised,” Sansa smiled faintly. “You’ve always adored him. And
he… well, it was clear even then that he loved you the most.” She heaved a sigh. “Still, it
would be quite a scandal but our family will persevere. We always have.”

"And the other things I said, I don't really mean it," I continued, squeezing her hand tighter. "I
know you won't betray our family."

“Believe it or not, Arya, I don’t want to be queen. Not anymore. All I want is to be left in
peace.”

I was surprised to see that she was trembling, not with anger, but with fear.

“Why are you so afraid of him, Sansa?”

“Don’t you understand?” she murmured. “We’re just pawns in his game. We are just pieces
for him to move about the board. And in the end, he would win. He always does.”

“That’s not true,” I said, frowning a little. “You’re Lady Sansa of House Stark, you have
nothing to fear from him.”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “I’m Lady Lannister.”

“You don’t have to be Lady Lannister,” I told her. “Jon has talked to Lord Tyrion and as the
marriage was not consummated, you can have it declared null.”

“I can’t…”
 “What do you mean you can’t?” I asked.

“I can no longer prove that the marriage was not consummated.”

Silence falls between us for what seems like an eternity.

“Was it Lord Baelish?”

Sansa shook her head. “It was Harrold Hardyng. He was Robert’s heir. Lord Baelish planned
to marry me off to him so that I would become the Lady of the Vale. He tutored me on how to
flirt with him, how to tease him, how to make him want me…” Her blue eyes suddenly filled
with tears. “But I was disguised as a bastard and so Harrold, he said I was good enough to
bed, but not to wed. And by the time one of Lord Baelish’s guards killed him, it was already
too late…”

I looked at my beautiful sister. My beautiful sister who dreamed of marrying a handsome

lord, of living in a beautiful castle by the sea, of raising a brood of well-mannered children.
The sadness in her blue eyes was unbearable.

“Say his name, Sansa,” I whispered. “Say his name and I swear to you that his life is forfeit.”

A light snow began to fall and tiny white flakes slowly covered the red leaves of the
thousands old weirwood. And both of us sat in the midst of it all, our hands clasped tightly
together.

Then Sansa’s quiet voice pierced the eerie silence.

"Petyr Baelish."

Chapter End Notes

Whew, finally I got to update! Work has been a bit crazy lately...

Aside from Jon and Arya (obviously), I'm really looking forward to seeing Arya reunite
with her sister. After everything that they have gone through, I'm sure they would have a
better understanding of each other.

As for Sansa, I really have a bad feeling regarding her so-called "controversial" chapter
in Winds. I feel like the whole Ramsay thing on the show would still happen in the
books, but with Harrold Hardyng instead. I do hope I'm wrong cos I really like her
(book-Sansa, in particular).

I hope you like this chapter. Your thoughts are much appreciated ❤️
 Jon I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

I have no memories of my mother. But sometimes I would dream of her. And in my dreams
she was beautiful and highborn. And her eyes were kind.

Foolish dreams. I knew that it was far more likely that she was a village girl that my father
met during the war. For despite the nasty rumours, I could not imagine my father bedding a
whore.

It was at age five when I first learned I was a bastard. I was playing swords with Robb when
he hit me at the side of my face. I remember running to Lady Catelyn and calling her mother,
expecting her to wrap her arms around me and soothe my hurts like she does to Robb.

But she only looked at me coldly and said, "Do not ever call me mother again. I'm not your
mother."

Over the years, Lady Catelyn treated me with either cold indifference or silent animosity. She
never showed outright hostility but she made it clear that she resented my presence in
Winterfell. Still, my father didn't send me away. In fact, he made sure that I was afforded the
same education as my true-born siblings.

Robb treated me no different than Bran and Rickon. But there were times when I would see
him looking at me with a flicker of guilt in his eyes. For despite our shared blood, it is only
him that has our father's name. And that made all the difference in the world.

Sansa, on the other hand, was the very image of Lady Catelyn. She has always been a proper
lady and not one to dip her dainy toes outside the bounds. It was clear that she felt
embarrassed at having a bastard brother. But unlike her lady mother, Sansa was never unkind.

Bran and Rickon were both too young to really care. To them I was simply their big brother
who would sneak them sweets before bedtime and build them forts made out of twigs and
carry them on my shoulders as they shriek with childish glee.

But Arya... she was different.

I remember the first time I was allowed to visit her in the nursery. It was already a few weeks
before father let me see the newborn babe. I was expecting a pretty baby with reddish hair
and blue eyes like Sansa but then there she was... a tiny little thing with dark fuzzy hair and
grey eyes. Just like mine.

I remember reaching out to touch her tiny hands and feeling her fingers immediately curling
against mine. And when Lady Catelyn tried to pull our hands apart, Arya started howling like
a banshee. It was only when she fell asleep a couple of hours later that she finally let go, a
contented smile on her cherubic face.
That moment was a portent of things to come. Growing up, we gravitate towards each other.
We were always together, always laughing at our own private jokes, always finding comfort
in each other's presence, always understanding each other completely.

Although we shared the same Stark features, we were in truth different. While people would
often mock me for being a sullen bastard, Arya was quick to laugh. She possessed a certain je
ne sais quoi that drew people to her like moths to a flame. And while I preferred to keep to
myself, Arya made friends with everyone from village children to young squires and even
our father's grizzled men-at-arms.

And yet like her, I was a misfit. For despite my father's efforts, I spent my entire life dealing
with the stigma of my bastardy. I tried my best to overcome it by keeping my head down and
leading a blameless life. But still people continue to scorn me, just waiting for the moment
when I would finally show the taint of my bastard blood.

Except I'm not a bastard. But a Targaryen by virtue of blood and name.

After living my entire life as Ned Stark's bastard son, it turns out that I'm in fact the rightful
heir to the Iron Throne. How is that possible?

You may not have my name, but you have my blood. My father used to tell me.

And how true those words turned out to be.

It was nearly dawn, just as the early morning light takes on a diaphanous glow, when Bran
arrived in Winterfell accompanied by a slender, curly-haired young woman and four men
wearing the black cloaks of the Night's Watch.

The last time I saw Bran, he was lying motionless on his bed, frail and hollow-eyed. Maester
Luwin has said that even if he somehow manages to wake from his coma, still he will never
be able to walk again. And that snowy morning when I left Winterfell, I had resigned myself
to the thought that it would be the last time I would see my little brother.

Who would've thought that he would be the one to survive while both Robb and Rickon are
gone?

He is thirteen by now, barely on the cusp of manhood but his red-rimmed eyes reminds me of
the wizened eyes carved into the thousand-years old weirwood tree in the godswood. He was
reed-thin, deathly pale and greasy-haired, but his eyes seems to burn from within, giving me
the uncomfortable sensation that he could see right through me.

I had no idea what happened to Bran in the years since Winterfell was burned to the ground
and why he chose to live in the wilderness instead of seeking refuge at the Wall. But with
haunting certainty, I know that this boy with the burning eyes is no longer the little brother
that I used to carry around my shoulders, his voice ringing out with laughter. In truth, this boy
seems almost... inhuman.

But Arya and Sansa didn't seem to notice as they hugged their little brother fiercely, their
eyes brimming with tears. And for a moment we were all children again, safe behind the
walls of Winterfell.

"Where the hell have you been?" Arya cried. "We thought you were dead!"

Bran only closed his eyes and laid back against the fur blanket. "It's a long story, sister."

"It doesn't matter," Sansa murmured, putting her slender arms around Bran and pulling him
close. "You're home now."

"What is it like out there beyond the Wall?" Arya said excitedly. "And who is that girl with
you? Is she your lover?"

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed, clearly scandalized.

"What do you think?" Arya said as she sat beside me, laying her head against my shoulder.
"They were alone in the woods for god knows how long."

Absently, I stroked Arya's hair, running the silky strands against my fingers. It was good to
see her like this, her face shining with happiness.

I looked up to see Bran staring at us, his shrunken lips pursed in a knowing fashion.

Did Sansa already told him? No matter how, it was clear that he knows about my relationship
with Arya. But from the amusement in his eyes, he didn't seem to mind. I hope.

"Hush now, Arya," I said, "Bran must be tired. Why don't we let him rest and we can talk on
the morrow."

Bran then turned to me with a piercing glance. "I'm tired. But first there is something I need
to show you, Jon."

"I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait," Sansa said gently. "You need to rest and ..."

"Jon has already waited his entire life," Bran said, shaking his head. "I won't make him wait
any longer." He then looked at me and said in a firm tone. "Gather your council, Jon. And
meet me in the crypts."

Our eyes met and held. And there was something in the depths of his pale eyes that sent
shivers down my spine. His obscure words seem to press into my gut with a heavy weight.
What could it be?

So together with the queen and the rest of the war council, I found myself going down the
winding steps that lead to the crypts. And as we passed into the dark tunnel, I could feel the
eyes of the stone statues on me. I then remember the dreams I used to have of stumbling
down here and hearing granite voices speaking to me from the abyss.

You are no Stark.

There is no place for you here.

 Go away.

I held a blazing torch aloft as I led the way to the end of the tunnel where my father's bones
were laid to rest beside his lord father and his siblings - Brandon and Lyanna.

Bran was already there, sitting on top of a granite tomb. Beside him stood Sansa and Arya
but in the dim light, I could barely make out their faces. It made them seem like strangers,
wholly unfamiliar.

Go away, go away, go away...

Bran's pale eyes were fixed on the stone figure that bears the likeness of Lyanna Stark. And
as I followed his gaze towards the granite plinth beneath the statue, I noticed a tiny, almost
inconspicuous crack at the base.

A sense of foreboding seems to fill the chamber as I knelt down and dug my hands on both
sides of the crack and pulled. Nothing.

I did it again, this time with more force. And with a loud creak, the plaster finally gave way,
revealing a small crevice built underneath.

I reached in and pulled out a rolled parchment, crinkly and yellowed with age. It was sealed
with black wax embossed with a red three-headed dragon.

Bran looked at me with an enigmatic smile. "Go on, Jon. Read it."

And there, written in bold dark ink, were the words that changed my entire life.

Prince Aemon of House Targaryen born on 283 AC to Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen
and Lady Lyanna Stark.

Chapter End Notes

Finally, the reveal!

How do you think Arya will react? And how about Dany?

The next chapter will definitely deal with the aftermath of the reveal plus the Long
Night is almost here.

Hope you enjoy reading ♥️

 Jon II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

I sat in front of the hearth, holding a longsword in front of the blazing fire. The sword was
made of Valyrian steel crowned with a huge blood-red ruby at the hilt. And I watched as the
flickering light touched upon the great stone making it glow with incandescent flame.

Blackfyre.

For years I’ve strived to rid myself of the taint of my bastard blood, forsaking my family and
my own dreams, in the hopes of finding honor in the Night’s Watch. And yet all this time, I
was the true-born heir to the greatest dynasty the realm has ever known.

I wonder what my life would have been like if Robert Baratheon was the one killed at the
Trident? I would have been raised in King’s Landing and Winterfell would have been a
distant place — just my mother’s childhood home. I might have visited from time to time but
it would never have been home.

At my feet, Ghost stirred as if he sensed my disquiet. The direwolf lifted his massive head
and looked at me with his red eyes.

“If I’m not Ned Stark’s bastard,” I murmured, resting my hand against the direwolf’s head,
“Then who the hell am I?”

A low voice suddenly pierced the stillness that has settled into the room. “That makes you the
rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

I looked up to see Arya standing in the doorway. Slowly, she walked towards me, her slender
form wrapped in a velvet gown. And as she sat on my lap, I slid my arms around her, cradling
her head against mine.

For a long moment, we just sat there in the darkness, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Shall I call you dear cousin now?” Arya said, her voice amused.

“Cousin, sister, lover, wife…” I leaned down to brush a gentle kiss on her hair. “It doesn’t
matter so long as you’re mine.”

“Wife eh?” came her pert reply, “I didn’t realize we’re betrothed.”

I bit her neck in response, not hard, but just enough to leave a mark. “You will marry me,
Arya. Do you need me to get down on my knees and ask you?”

“Queen Arya… sounds silly, doesn’t it?” Arya gave a wry laugh. “Truthfully, I don’t see
myself getting married at all.”
For a moment a wave of uncertainty washed over me at her words, but I shook it off. I
learned long ago that with Arya, sometimes you have to take a stand. This is one of those
times. And I have a feeling that it won’t be the last.

“I love you, Arya,” I said in a firm tone. “I want you to be my wife, my queen. I want to raise
a family with you. I want to live the rest of my life by your side.” I continued, lightly resting
my hand against hers. “We’ll have sons named Robb and Bran and Rickon…”

“And a daughter named Sansa?” she said teasingly.

I grimaced. “Somehow, I don’t think Sansa would appreciate that.”

“I don’t think anyone will appreciate us marrying,” she said dryly. “Least of all the queen.”

“She came to me, you know,” I admitted, my voice muffled against her hair. “She told me
that a marriage between us will be best for the realm.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth,” I said. “I told her that I can’t marry her because I’m in love with you.”

Arya looked up at me, her eyes were soft. “How did she take it?”

I shrugged. “She didn’t seem to mind…”

“Really?” she said, her brows arched. “She’s so beautiful that she must not be used to men
saying no to her.”

“Is she? I didn’t notice,” I whispered as I caressed her silky hair, my lips pressed against her
ear. “You’re so beautiful that I find myself unable to look at another woman when you’re
around.”

“I’m not beautiful…”

I paused. “You're not?”

“I’m not as beautiful as the queen. Or even Sansa.”

I looked at Arya, in surprise, but she avoided my gaze. Instead she was staring blankly at the
flames, her cheeks flushed. And I realized that she was not teasing. And for a moment I
cursed Catelyn Stark. For putting all those silly thoughts in Arya’s head. For always making
Arya feel like she’s not pretty enough. Like she’s not good enough.

“It doesn’t matter really,” she continued as she closed her eyes and snuggled closer to me, her
slender arms curving around my neck. “It never mattered to me.”

Arya let out a yelp as I suddenly stood up and carried her to the other side of the room. I then
set her on her feet in front of a gilt-framed mirror.
“Listen to me, love,” I said, pressing a kiss on the side of her neck as I slowly pushed her
gown from her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful, so fucking beautiful…”

Arya didn’t say a word. She only looked at me in the mirror as I slowly undressed her, her
dark eyes heavy lidded and her soft pink lips parted.

I quickly lifted her off her feet and set her down gently on top of a heavily-carved table. And
with a hard tug, I took off my breeches, feeling the cold against my legs.

“Love, I want you to get your knees…” I murmured, my voice hoarse. “Yes, just like that…”
And leaning forward I began to lap my tongue up and down her moist opening, letting my
tongue brushed against her tiny nub.

“Oh!” Arya gasped as I suddenly replaced my tongue with my cock, shoving it deeper and
deeper inside her. I placed a hand against her stomach, pulling her against me with every
thrust, so that I came in deeper inside her, harder.

Watching our reflections in the mirror I was further aroused by the sight of Arya on her knees
as she gripped the edge of the table to keep from being pushed over the side, her knuckles
bone-white. As I continued to thrust inside her, filling the dark room with the sound of our
bodies slamming against each other.

“Look at yourself,” I said softly, reaching out to gently turn her head to face the mirror.
“Look how beautiful you are…”

Suddenly, Arya cried aloud, her body gushing around my cock. But I barely noticed her
release as I continued to drove my hips forward, riding her pleasure until I could no longer
hold off my own.

We stayed like that for a moment before I lifted her in my arms and gently set her down the
bed, pulling the fur blanket around us.

“Did it feel any different?”

“Do you mean because we are no longer brother and sister?” Arya said with a small laugh. “I
don’t know… I don’t think so. Why, did you feel any different?”

“No, not at all,” I said ruefully. “Maybe because it never really felt wrong. That first night we
were together, I should have felt guilty, but all I felt was a sense of contentment.”

Arya laid her head on my chest, turning her head so that her cheek was against me. “Do you
know when I found out that Bran is coming home, I thought we could… I don’t know… run
away, just leave everything behind. It’s beautiful in Braavos, you know… there’s the
Sealord’s Palace with its crystal domes and marble columns … then there’s the canals where
vendors sell everything from exotic spices to pearls. I used to sell clams around Ragman’s
Harbor and I met all kinds of people, the most beautiful courtesans and wealthy merchants
and playwrights and even sailors just returned from faraway lands even as far as Asshai. In
Braavos, there are no lords and ladies, no peasants, no bastards, no slaves. There, they do not
measure a man by his blood but by his own worth.”
“Arya, you know, I can’t leave,” I said in a quiet tone, hoping that she would understand.
“When I became king, I lost the right to think only of myself. I have a duty to my people, I
cannot leave them.”

“I know, Jon,” Arya said with an even sigh. “You’ve always been honourable. It is one of the
things I loved most about you.”

“But we’ll go there someday, for a visit,” I said, pressing her even closer against me. “I
would love to see where Cat and Blind Beth and Mercy used to live.”

“Do you know they call Braavos the secret city?” Arya said as she placed both her hands on
my chest, her face hovering closely over mine. “For over a hundred years, Braavos hid itself
from the eyes of the world. And when it finally revealed itself, it became the wealthiest and
most powerful of all the free cities.” Lying her head on my shoulder, she continued, “In a way
it reminds me of you. After being hidden your entire life, you’re now the most powerful man
in the entire realm.”

“I don’t know Arya…” I swallowed hard. “It just feels like my entire life was a lie.”

“Father did what he thought was right,” Arya said, her voice gentle. “He was only trying to
protect you.”

“I know.”

“And not all of it is a lie,” she continued. “Father loved you like his own. We all did.”

“Well, not all,” I said dryly, remembering Lady Catelyn’s hostile eyes and sharp tongue.

“Maybe not all,” Arya conceded. “But Father loved you. And so did Robb. Then there’s me,
of course.”

“So you really don’t mind then?” I finally said. “About me being a Targaryen…”

“Well, it could’ve been worse, you know,” Arya said, looking at me with mischievous eyes.
“You could have turned out to be a Lannister…” She visibly shuddered at the thought before
her eyes widened in horror. “Or gods forbid, a Frey!”

I burst out laughing, unable to contain my hilarity at the horrific scenario that she just
painted.

“Can you just imagine if you’re actually a Frey?” she said indignantly, “You would have been
named Walder.”

I buried my face in the fragrant tangle of her hair, my shoulders shaking with laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Arya said, but her lips were smiling. “I don’t think I could bear to be
married to a man named Walder.”

The sound of our laughter filled the darkened room.

 Suddenly I imagined a future where I could hear Arya’s laughter every day. And nothing
could have pleased me more.

I reached out toward the bed stand until I felt the warmth of Valyrian steel in my hands.

"That's a fine blade you've got there," Arya said coyly. "Where did you get it?"

"The Three-Eyed Raven gave it to Bran," I said, gently laying the sword in her hand. "It is
said that Visenya Targaryen wielded it during the Conquest."

Arya went still, her eyes glowing like molten silver in the dim light.

"Dark Sister."

I looked at Arya, admiring the way her dark hair glinted in contrast to her pale skin.

"Bran said that Rhaegar Targaryen gave this sword to my mother when he married her at
Harrenhal," I said solemnly. "And now it's yours."

Chapter End Notes

So I decided to write a Jon POV, sort of a continuation of the previous chapter.

I just wanted Jon and Arya to have a little moment before everything changes...

Thanks so much for reading ♥️

 Tyrion
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

It has been a fortnight since the young Brandon Stark arrived in Winterfell bearing the news
of his half-brother’s true parentage. But the entire castle is still abuzz with the revelation that
Ned Stark’s bastard is in fact, Rhaegar Targaryen’s only living son.

“Who would’ve thought that Ned Stark had it in him?” said Lord Royce, his broad weathered
face crinkled in bemusement. “Hiding a Targaryen underneath the nose of his old friend, the
King.”

“Oh who could blame him?” Lord Celtigar interjected. “Everyone knows how much old King
Robert hated the Targaryens.”

Lord Royce agreed. “He would have had the boy killed, no doubt about it.”

“Lucky Ned, for the boy had taken after his mother,” Lord Umber added gleefully. “Just think
how hard it would have been for him if the boy was born with silver hair!”

The rest of the lords all laughed uproariously.

I grimaced and glanced over at Daenerys. She was holding herself very still, her eyes focused
on the great stone hearth as if she could somehow find comfort from the blazing fire. Who
could blame her? Daenerys Targaryen has spent her entire life in pursuit of the Iron Throne.
And now it seemed she’s not the rightful heir after all.

The letter bearing the Targaryen seal, hidden safely beneath Lyanna Stark’s tomb, was
validated by a letter from Lord Howland Reed. The Lord of Greywater Watch was with Ned
Stark when he rode south to rescue his beloved sister during Robert’s Rebellion. But by the
time they found her hidden on top of a tower in the red waste of Dorne, she was already
dying from the ills of childbirth. And with her dying breath, she had asked her brother to
protect her babe from the wrath of Robert Baratheon who had torn the entire realm apart to
get her back; a promise that Ned Stark had fulfilled until his own death.

It was the issue of his legitimacy that is proving to be a tricky affair. The young Bran avows
that Rhaegar Targaryen married Lyanna Stark in front of the Old Gods with his own
Kingsguards standing as witnesses. But they’re all dead now and Jon Snow’s claim to the
Iron Throne rests upon the words of a young boy claiming to see the past.

A greenseer they call him. Someone who could perceive the past and future. A gift that had
been passed down from their ancestors — the First Men.

A few years ago I would have laughed at the notion of it all. Prophecies are the delight of an
idle mind or so I thought. But that was before I heard the stories of how Jon Snow bled to
death at Castle Black only to rise again from the ashes of his funeral pyre. Before I saw Arya
Stark charging into battle with a pack of wolves behind her, following her commands like
foot soldiers. Hell, I’ve even pledged my life to a woman who calls three flame-breathing
dragons her children.

It’s a time for beasts, my brother Jaime once told me. A time for lions and wolves and dogs,
ravens and crows.

Not that the lords need much convincing. In fact, they seem to welcome the news with
audible relief. Since ascending the Iron Throne, Daenerys has pursued a very aggressive
reform policy, which has made her unpopular with the lords of Westeros. It’s true the lords
want peace, but not at the cost of their way of life.

It has been said that Rhaegar Targaryen is the greatest king that the realm never had. And it is
in his son that the lords see the promise of the better future that was cruelly snatched from
them when the Crown Prince fell at the Trident.

The set of carved weirwood doors opened to usher in the King, followed closely by his
trusted advisors Ser Davos Seaworth and Grand Maester Samwell. The King was young,
barely one-and-twenty, but his face had been hardened by war. He had a long, lean face and
dark solemn eyes. His curly dark hair carelessly tied back. He eschewed the crown and the
usual velvet robes of a monarch, preferring plain dark garments beneath his silver armor.
Unlike his predecessors, Jon Snow seems utterly indifferent to the trappings of power,
needing no golden crowns or gaudy capes to proclaim his kingship.

Beside him stood his sister, or rather his cousin, Lady Arya. Instead of her usual somber
colours, she was wearing a court dress made of rich burgundy velvet. Her dark hair covered
with a veil of the finest gold lace that made it look almost like a shimmering halo. And on her
slender waist was a longsword embedded with a large tear-shaped ruby that seemed to glow
in the candlelight.

Visenya Targaryen's Valyrian steel sword. Dark Sister.

I could feel Daenerys stiffen beside me at the sight of the newly arrived couple, her breathing
becoming uneven, almost harsh.

And a similar sense of trepidation filled me as Ser Davos preceded the King and stepped onto
the raised dais to address the entire room.

“My lords and ladies, I bid you to extend your warmest wishes to His Grace and his
betrothed, the Lady Arya of House Stark.”

The announcement caused an immediate reaction amongst the lords and ladies gathered in the
Great Hall. Suddenly, the large room was split by the thunder of applause as both the
northern and southern lords and ladies started cheering, their voices rising as one until the
stone walls seem to reverberate with it.

“All hail the King! All hail the King! All hail the King!”

__________
“So it seems congratulations are in order,” I said, taking the empty seat beside Jon. “Although
I’ve never known anyone as bloody pleased as you about being shackled to one woman for a
lifetime.”

He looked at me with a boyish grin. And I was reminded of the Jon Snow that I befriended on
our way to the Wall. The boy that was filled with youthful idealism and a strong desire to
prove himself to the world who had looked down upon him his entire life. Although I’m
certain he had never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined himself as the rightful heir to the
Seven Kingdoms.

Life is funny that way, it seems.

“Do you know the first thing I felt when Bran told me that I’m not Ned Stark’s son?”

I quirked a brow at him. “I imagined it was quite a shock.”

“It was relief,” Jon said quietly. “Relief because it means I can finally marry Arya. That there
are no more boundaries between us. And we can love each other freely.” A low laugh
vibrated in his throat. “A thought not worthy of a king, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be the last person to judge,” I shrugged. “I’m sure you’re not the first man to be led
around the nose by a woman. And surely, you will not be the last.”

“If Arya does lead me around,” Jon snorted. “I assure you, my friend, it’s by an entirely
different body part.”

I chuckled at that. “She’s peculiar… your sister.”

“My cousin,” he corrected swiftly. “And yes, she’s peculiar. She’s outspoken and headstrong
and she gets into trouble all the time. She’s happier at the wilderness with her wolves rather
than being warm inside the castle. You would likely find her hobnobbing with peasants rather
than other highborn ladies. I reckon, she probably had killed even more men than I have.”

He glanced around and his stern features softened at the sight of his betrothed, who was
standing just a few feet away, talking to Lord Garlan Tyrell about the cost of grain being
imposed by the Reach.

Jon continued. “And she knows me inside and out. With her I’m not a Snow, not a Stark, not
a Targaryen. I’m just… Jon.”

“You’re a lucky bastard, Jon Snow,” I said, lifting my wine glass in a silent toast.

“I know.” Jon paused for a moment, his expression wry. “It was all meant for Robb. He was
the heir. And everyone worshipped the ground he walked on. He would have been a good
king.”

“Did you envy him?”

“I did,” Jon drew a deep, ragged breath. “His name, Winterfell, everything. I wanted it all.
And now I have them and did not have him.”
“You were meant for greater things,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Do you think I’m making a mistake then,” he asked, “by marrying for love?”

I didn’t answer him at once, considering the question. “I suppose as the queen’s Hand, I
should tell you that marrying Daenerys Targaryen would be the wiser move. She will
legitimise your claim to the Targaryen name. And, of course, let’s not forget her dragons.”

“I’m asking you as a friend,” Jon said, gesturing at a servant to refill both our wine goblets.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

“No,” I said truthfully. “There is no better lineage in the entire realm than Arya Stark’s. The
entire north would go to war for her. And she is connected by blood to the Riverlands and the
Vale,” I continued with a sudden grin. “Furthermore, much as you loathe to admit it, Lord
Tyrell and Lord Baratheon would certainly lay their swords upon her feet if she asks them
to.”

We both watched in silence as Arya curtsied prettily at Lord Mallister as he led her to the
dance floor, her golden veil casting a burnished glow about her. And for a moment, the face
beneath the veil was not that of Arya Stark, but my own wife. Not Lady Sansa. But my sweet,
innocent Tysha.

“Listen to me, my friend,” I said quietly, taking a sip of wine and letting it wash away the
bitter taste in my mouth. “Life is a fickle, fickle thing. So the moment it smiles upon you and
gives you something precious. You grab it, you hold on to it, and you never let go.”

__________

“He gave her Dark Sister!”

“Well, you don't really wield swords, my queen,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “And
if you think about it, it's called Dark Sister. It suits her. Not that she's his sister, I mean, not
anymore.”

Daenerys looked at me accusingly. “None of this would have happened if you’ve managed to
convince him to marry me.”

“Somehow, I don’t think I could have changed the past, my queen,” I said with an
exasperated grimace. “I was naught but a young boy when your brother decided to take a
second wife.”

“This is not the time for humor, my lord,” she countered. “He has usurped my throne and
worse, he has crowned another woman as queen.”

“Let’s not be too hasty,” I said as calmly as I could. “The lords and ladies have yet to
proclaim him as the King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Come now, Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys snapped. “We both know that between us, they will
choose him.”
 “And whose fault is that, my queen?” I said, my own temper flaring. “I have strongly advised
you not to implement those policies so soon after ascending the throne.”

“I’m the queen,” she said sharply. “This is my kingdom.”

“When you go around changing people’s way of lives without their leave,” I said grimly, “it
won’t be long before they start calling you a tyrant instead.”

“What would you have me do now?”

“Do you know how the Starks survived all these years?”

“By blood magic?”

“Because they adapted,” I said firmly. “Their entire world have come crashing around their
ears when their father died. But they adapted to the changing world. Sansa married a
Lannister. Bran hid in the wilderness. And god knows what Arya did to survive all those
years. They bent their knees so as not to be broken.”

She turned to me slowly, her purple eyes gleaming in the yellow torch light. “Are you saying
that I should bend the knee to Jon Snow?”

“I would not presume to tell you what to do, my queen,” I said, feeling a quick stab of
anxiety at the impotent rage in her eyes. “I know it must be hard. But sometimes we have no
choice but to accept the truth.”

Daenerys took a deep, calming breath and sat down sedately in a high-backed chair. “I
thought my duty is to restore House Targaryen. But that was before I’ve seen the rot, the
moral corruption that taints this entire kingdom. It is my duty to cleanse it. It is my duty to
the people, my people.”

“Heed me well, my lord,” Daenerys continued, her beautiful face twisted in contempt. “I am
the blood of the dragon and I would bow to no one.”

Chapter End Notes

They're betrothed at last ♥️

But it looks like someone is none too pleased about it ;)

Happy Easter everyone!

 Jeyne
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“My name is Jeyne.”

The brothel madam pursed her rouged lips and studied the young girl in front of her. A pretty
little thing. With a small oval face and large doe eyes. Her dark brown hair was loose and
hangs nearly to her waist. There was a tiny scar at the tip of her upturned nose but it did little
to detract from her lovely features.

“How old are you?” The madam asked, looking at the girl carefully.

“I just turned seventeen, ma’am.”

“Have you ever lain with a man before?”

The girl stammered and lowered her eyes. “I was married once, ma’am… but my husband…
he was cruel and he made me do things… unspeakable things… and so I ran away…”

“Pity that,” the madam shook her head, “I’m sure one of the lords would have paid a pretty
penny for your maidenhead.” She then continued, her voice almost gentle. “Are you sure
about this, child? It’s not an easy life and there is no going back…”

“I haven’t got any place to go,” the girl said meekly. “My father’s dead and I have no family
left.”

“Very well,” the madam nodded. “Get your things and be here by tomorrow night. One of the
girls, Sally, recently eloped with an apprentice boy, you can have her room.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the girl said, her head bowed. “I will be back tomorrow night.”

__________

The small brothel located at the edge of Wintertown was crowded with lords and knights and
sellswords seeking warmth from the cold night air.

The common room was filled with raucous male laughter while shabbily dressed women
walked to and fro, pouring wine and fetching bowls of warm soup.

“What are you doing standing there, girl?” Mya, one of the girls, sidled up to me as I peered
inside the common room from the scullery. “You have to go out there and tickle some man’s
fancy.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I mumbled.

“Just go out there and chat with one or two of them lords. And you’ll see…”
“See what?”

She sighed. “You’ve got a lot to learn, girl. Do you even know a thing about pleasing a
man?”

I shook my head, feeling wholly inadequate.

“Alright, then. I’d best tell you some things,” she said, looking at me with pity. “Ma’am will
not like it when you displeased the client. He who pays the coin comes first, or so she says.”

“Listen, some men would fuck your mouth before they get to your pussy,” Mya then lowered
her voice into a near whisper. “There are even men who would take you up your arse. It
would hurt like hell at first, but don’t worry, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

She gave me a slight push towards the common room. “Go on then, there’s no use skulking
about here. Go pick on the young’uns first, they tend to finish quicker…” she puckered her
lips towards a group of soldiers with dark hair and swarthy complexion. “And avoid the
Dothrakis if you can, I heard they can be quite forceful in bed.”

I clutched a pitcher of Dornish wine in both hands and looked around the large room. Then I
walked slowly towards the farthest corner where two men sat, talking quietly to each other
across a small round table.

“Things are not going well for you, I’d say,” the younger man was saying in a clipped tone.
“I’m not sure if it’s still in my best interest to help you.”

The older man leaned closer. “Oh, it’s true, the recent news certainly came as a surprise. Even
to me.” Then he shook his head, his green eyes wary. “But it’s simply a setback, there’s no
reason to set aside our plans.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” the younger man murmured, pushing a lock of brown hair from
his brow. “He’s not the kind of man to be trifled with.”

“He won’t be around for much longer,” came the terse reply. “Soon he would leave and we
can set our plans into motion.”

“And what about the younger girl?”

“Just leave her to me,” the older man said quietly. “I’ll get her out of the way soon enough.”

“Alright. But if anything else goes wrong I’m out…”

I moved closer to them and curtsied. “Good evening, m'lords.”

The younger man looked up at me, his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing there, girl?”

I looked at him surreptitiously. He was a handsome man with his lean, angular face and
straight nose. But there was a cruel edge to his mouth. And his dark eyes glinted with barely-
concealed malice.
“Here, m’lords,” I said, smiling shyly. “I just brought some Dornish wine to warm your
bellies.”

The older man barely glanced at me as he leaned across the table. “As I was saying, you
needn’t worry…”

I reached for a half-empty goblet but only managed to knock it over, spilling wine on the
older man’s dark woolen breeches.

Swiftly, I dropped to my knees and moved my hands across his lap, frantically trying to fix
the mess I’ve made.

“I beg your pardon, m’lord,” I said, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’m not usually so
clumsy.”

His lips tightened with annoyance. “You’re just making it worse, my dear.”

“Please.” I beseeched him with my eyes. “Oh, please, m’lord. I’ll do anything. Just please
don’t tell ma’am, please. I swear, I’ll do anything, m’lord.”

“Why don’t you let the wench show you just how sorry she is, my lord?” the other man said,
chuckling. “We can continue our talk on the morrow.”

“Would you really do anything to beg my forgiveness, sweetling?”

I bit my lip, hard. “W-what should I do, m’lord? If you would just tell me what to do, I would
try. I would try really hard. Just tell me what to do. I just don’t know anything, not really.”

He laid his hand over mine and guided it towards his groin. Moving my hands up and down.
And then back again. Like a puppet being held on strings by his master.

His eyes darkened and his mouth curled in a wicked grin. “Hush, my dear. There’s no need
for you to worry. I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

I swallowed hard. “I have a small room upstairs, my lord, if you please.”

“Lead the way then, sweetling.”

He allowed me to take him by the hand and lead him up the rickety stairs and into my small
room at the end of the dimly lit hallway.

As soon as the door closed, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

I just stood rigidly in his arms, my eyes wide open.

He gave a short laugh. “Just relax, sweetling. Close your eyes and kiss me back.”

This time when he leaned forward, I closed my eyes and tried to mirror his lips as it moved
against mine. I parted my lips and felt his tongue caressing the inside of my mouth.
For a moment, I felt bile rose in my throat and I fought the urge to push him away.

Instead I moved my hand at his nape and continued to kiss him back as his hands moved to
untie the laces of my faded linen dress.

Suddenly, he flinched, his head jerking back.

“What is it, m’lord?” I said nervously. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was nothing, probably an insect bite…”

I reached out and caught him just before his head hit the floor.

__________

I’ve been doing it for a long time now and yet it still surprises me how easily I could lure
men into my trap by playing the young innocent maiden.

I'd dressed and coiffed myself tonight for Lord Baelish - the virginal white dress, the childish
curls in my dark hair, and my pert breasts pressed becomingly using a whalebone corset. I'd
meant to appear girlish and pure, like a little bird. Like Sansa. Disgusting but turned out to be
quite, quite effective.

For all his clever words and schemes, Lord Baelish was no different from other men after all.

I splashed a glass of ice-cold water into his face. Smiling a little as his head jerked upright,
his beady eyes looking dazedly around the room.

He tried to stand up but he was jerked short by the silk cloth that tied his arms on either side
of the narrow bed.

“W-what? What’s happening?”

Slowly, I pulled the mask from my face, feeling the fear and uncertainty seep out of my skin
until finally I’m no longer Jeyne.

“L-lady Arya?” Lord Baelish sputtered.

“Lady Olenna didn’t tell you then?” I said mockingly. “And here I thought the two of you are
such good friends.”

His eyes widened in realization. “The Tyrells… it was the reason why they suddenly
acquiesced to your brother’s decision.”

“Smart.” I said softly. “But it seems you have other people working with you aside from the
Tyrells, like Ser Lyn. It doesn’t matter. I’ll learn their names soon enough and I’ll come after
them just the same.”

“W-what do you want from me?”

 “Nothing,” I said, tipping his pointy chin upwards. “I already know everything, Lord Baelish.
Your scheme to pass off Jeyne Poole as me… your efforts to marry Sansa to Harrold
Hardyng… your plot to overthrow Jon in favor of Sansa… your plans to kill the Imp and
marry Sansa yourself…” I paused for a moment. “Your betrayal of my father back in King’s
Landing…”

Lord Baelish fixed his eyes on mine. “I have no idea what you are talking about Lady Arya.
If you would release me then we could talk and I…”

I chuckled at that. “You’re a good liar, my lord. I’ll give you that. But unfortunately for you,
I’ve spent the last five years dealing with scums like you.”

“You’re nothing but a scheming liar," I said, taking a sip of wine. "And it would not only be
foolish to trust you, but also quite dangerous.”

Lord Baelish looked at me for a moment and I could see the fear slowly overcome him, his
naked body suddenly trembling uncontrollably.

He opened his mouth to scream but before he could even make a sound, I quickly stuffed a
rag into his mouth to muffle his voice.

“I’ll ask you once again, Lord Baelish,” I whispered. “Did you betray my father?”

He drew in a ragged breath before he shook his head frantically. No.

I sighed. “You lie. But it doesn’t matter. Your name has been offered to the Many-Faced God.
And one way or another, the Many-Faced God must have his due.”

“You’ve spent your entire life in the shadows. Just waiting for your turn,” I said thoughtfully.
“And yet you’ll die tonight. In this dark, dingy room. You will leave no mark in this world.
You will forever remain in the shadows.”

Lord Baelish struggled futilely against the ropes that bind him, his feet kicking the threadbare
blanket off of the bed.

I crouched down beside the bed, my face so close against his that I could smell the mint on
his breath.

“Do you want to die, Lord Baelish?” I asked, my voice soft. “No? Well, few men do. But in
the end, all men must die.”

Slowly, with great calm, I bent and held a feather pillow against his face.

“Valar Morghulis.”

Chapter End Notes

A pretty dark chapter (inspired by the Mercy chapter) XD

But then much as I love Arya, she is a pretty dark character.

After everything that Littlefinger has done to harm her family, can you blame her?

And I thought Arya using Jeyne Poole's face to exact revenge against Littlefinger is only
fitting after the horrific things he did to poor Jeyne. It gave his death a sense of poetic
justice.

Let me know your thoughts ;)

* I'm so excited about the latest S7 still photos... Arya Stark is definitely back!
 Arya
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“Earth to earth… ashes to ashes… dust to dust.”

I watched silently as the pine coffin was lowered into the ground. The snow was falling
heavily that morning and it didn’t take long before the freshly dug pit was filled with a thick
layer of dirt and ice.

Around the grave stood the Lords of the Vale, their heads bowed in prayer for their recently
deceased Lord Protector. While the Knights of the Vale stood in formation a short distance
away, their silver helms gleaming against the grey mist.

“I want my uncle Petyr!” the young Lord Arryn wailed, his pale face wet with tears.
“Where’s my uncle Petyr?”

“Hush now, Sweetrobin,” Sansa wrapped her arms around the slender boy, her voice as sweet
as a lullaby. “All will be well, I promise.”

As the septon continued to recite his prayers to the Seven, I stood at the edge of the grave,
my eyes downcast. I didn’t feel sad or happy. I didn’t feel any pride or regret. I simply felt the
bitter cold.

For years, I had dreams of my father. His head sewn backwards on top of his scarred body.
His bones protruding from his rotting flesh. His eyes were dark, empty hollows and his
mouth was open in a grotesque scream.

Did the Lannisters even gave him a proper burial? I could not help but wonder. Probably not.
His head was probably thrown into the sewers as befits a traitor to the crown.

An honourable man’s skull lies on a filthy ditch. While a traitor’s body rests on hallowed
grounds. Where is the fairness in that?

If I had my way, I would have fed Lord Baelish to my wolves. They would have made sure
that nothing remains of him to be buried. But with the Vale being Jon’s wealthiest sworn
house, I could not afford to take the chance of them revolting against him.

I looked up to see Jon staring at me, his dark eyes inscrutable. Snowflakes were melting onto
his hair and I had the sudden urge to reach out and brush them away. But I didn’t. Instead I
just looked him in the eye from across Lord Baelish’s grave.

He knows. Of course, he knows.

__________
The godswood had always smelled of mildew, it’s earthy scent as familiar as the heart tree
that stood at its center. But now the trees were enveloped by a sweet heady aroma. The winter
roses were in bloom, their petals tinted blue against their silver stems.

I knelt beneath the heart tree and tugged Lord Baelish’s knife from where it was bound
against my thigh. The dagger was made of fine Valyrian steel with a dragonbone hilt to
match. And it fitted right into my hand.

As I held up the knife, admiring the way the light glinted off it’s pointed edge, I heard
footsteps approaching behind me. I looked around to see Jon walking towards me, his face an
impenetrable mask.

“That’s a fine blade, you’ve got there,” Jon remarked, his voice deceptively calm. “Where did
you get it?”

I shrugged. “In Braavos.”

Jon’s face hardened. “A gift from the venerable Faceless Men, I assume?”

“They do have a fine collection of blades, I must say.”

Silence seemed to stretch between us, filling the air with heavy tension.

“Where were you the other night?” he said suddenly.

“I was here at the godswood, praying…” I said baldly. “Do you not remember? It was
father’s name day and I just thought…”

With slow, deliberate movements, Jon placed his hands against my shoulders and pulled me
against him. “Do not lie to me, Arya.”

I held his stare for a long moment before I finally said in a quiet tone. “I killed him.”

Jon was so close that I could smell the snow in his hair and on his skin. I noted the weary
lines around his eyes and the deep creases between his brows. He looked far older than his
years, his face bearing the weight of the crown he carried on his head.

“Why?”

“He deserved to die,” I answered, my voice pitiless.

Jon snapped at me. “You murdered a man in cold blood!”

“He betrayed father,” I said in response. “Why should he get to live when father is dead?”

“Because it’s not up to you to decide who gets to live and who gets to die!”

“Who gets to decide then? You?” I sneered right back. “You would probably offer him a
lordship like you did Jaime Lannister!”
Jon looked at me, his face stricken. “Do you think I forget about them? They were my family
too.”

“But they’re gone, and we’re not,” His voice was gentle. “What good will it do to let the past
consume us?”

He continued. “I’ve been in enough battles to know what is worth fighting for and what is
not. A future with you. Beside you. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”

I felt my anger dissipating into the mist. For I remember the Jon Snow who would quietly
leave the room whenever my mother was around; who would concede defeat against Robb so
as not to embarrass him in front of his future bannermen; who would sit at the farthest corner
of the Great Hall whenever there were guests so as not to bring shame to our father.

“Lucky you,” I smiled at him, “to have fallen in love with someone as screwed up as me.”

“Yeah?” Jon bit down on a grin. “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit screwed up too. So
that makes the two of us.”

“No, you’re not,” I reached out to stroke his cheek, “you always were the best of us. If father
could see you now, he would be so proud of you, Jon.”

“You survived, Arya,” he said, “with just your own wits. You survived the war when most
men twice your age have perished. I daresay, father would have been more proud of you.”

“I’ve killed so many, Jon,” I curled my hands into tight fists. “Septa Mordane used to say that
I have the hands of a blacksmith. But she was wrong. I have the hands of a killer.”

“After I escaped King’s Landing I was afraid that mother would not want me after I’ve killed
that stableboy at the Red Keep. And then that guard at Harrenhal. But I told myself that you
will accept me despite everything that I’ve done.” I paused and looked him directly in the
eye. “Am I mistaken then, Jon? Do you hate me now?”

He shook his head. “I love you, Arya. Even if you’ve killed a thousand men, my love would
not change.”

“Then why do I feel like you’re trying to tame me?”

Jon laughed. “Tame is the last word I’d use to describe you, love.”

He reached out behind me and touched the winter roses blooming against the stone wall. He
chose one blossom, snapped the stem and carefully tucked it in my ear.

The romantic gesture caught me by surprise and I found myself blushing like a silly girl.

“Believe me when I say that I would have you no different,” Jon continued, taking me by the
hand. “All I’m asking is that you live your life for yourself. Not for father, not for your
mother, not for anyone else.”

“They’re long gone, Arya. It’s time to let them rest.”

 For the past five years, every decision I’ve made was influenced by my father and my mother
and Robb’s deaths. For so long, my prayer has defined me. I’ve never had any reason to
survive. And I only lived each day in the hopes that someday I would be able to avenge my
family.

Although I couldn’t bring myself to regret all that I’ve done, there are times when I would
remember the little girl who dreamed of building castles and becoming a king’s councillor.
There was another life that I might have had. If only my father was not murdered by the
Lannisters, if only my mother and Robb weren’t betrayed by the Boltons and the Freys.

If only.

Jon picked up my left hand, my sword hand, and kissed every single fingertip. His dark eyes
intent on mine as he touched his lips to each fingertip, one after the other.

Then he leaned down and kissed me slowly, almost teasingly. His mouth warm and sweet and
snug. His taste was familiar, a potent blend of sweet Arbor wine and spiced cinnamon. And I
felt the warmth of arousal curling in my belly.

“Promise me, Arya,” Jon murmured in between kisses. “Promise me…”

I’ve waited a long time for my revenge. Now the person I loved most in the world is asking
me to give it all up.

And in the end, the decision was easy.

Chapter End Notes

Finally, I get to update! Been quite busy the past couple of weeks so XD

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for Arya completing her list. But I think there will come a
point when she would realize the futility of seeking vengeance. And I'm hoping that Jon
would be instrumental in that regards (I mean, who else would she listen to, really).

This is just a quick update, the next chapter would be quite longer and more action-
packed (I hope!) What do you think the next chapter will be about?

And yay, the official trailer had finally been released! Though I'm still holding out for

❤️
George to release The Winds of Winter soon, I'm still hyped for the coming season...
Arya looks so badass
 The Long Night
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Daenerys

“Do you really think you can best me in a fight, girl?”

I stood at the arched bridge that connected the Great Keep to the armory and looked down at
the courtyard below where a large group of knights stood in a circle as the combatants slowly
sized each other up.

“I don’t just think it, Clegane,” Arya said boldly, pulling her sword from its sheath and
pointing it at her opponent. “I know it.”

“Valyrian steel eh?” her opponent said mockingly, his hand firmly gripping a broadsword.
“I’ve always wanted my own Valyrian steel.”

“You talk too much,” Arya retorted. “Like a fishwife.”

To my surprise, the large man with the hideously scarred face threw back his head and roared
with laughter. “A fishwife? Why don’t I show you how a fishwife fights then…”

In a sudden move, he lunged towards his opponent who stood a foot shorter than him and
probably weighed ten stones lighter. But Arya quickly leaped back, putting herself out of
reach before thrusting her own sword at Clegane.

Clegane was stronger and more powerful but Arya’s quickness was astonishing to behold.
She slashed and whirled around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. And it was
clear that she was beginning to tire out her much heavier opponent.

“Tired, Clegane?” Arya taunted as she suddenly twisted her wrist and struck Clegane. She cut
downward, slicing her opponent in the arm, not too deep, but deep enough that the pointy end
of her sword glinted red.

“You bitch!”

Clegane attacked her, hacking his broadsword against her slimmer blade. But Arya deftly
parried every thrust and the sound of steel against steel filled the courtyard punctuated with
good-natured heckling from the other knights.

My gaze was transfixed by the sword in Arya’s hand. It was a slender sword with a hilt made
of finely wrought gold in the shape of a dragon. And in its crossguard nestled a large oval-
shaped ruby that seems to glow against its shining Valyrian steel blade.

Dark Sister.
A Targaryen heirloom given by her besotted brother. And soon she would sit on the Iron
Throne beside him, wearing Visenya Targaryen’s crown on her head.

Not on my life, I vowed. I will not let a bastard take what is rightfully mine.

There was a loud howl and I looked down in time to see Arya leaped from a railing and
delivered a kick right in the middle of her opponent’s torso. In an instant, Clegane was on the
ground, gasping for breath and clutching at his stomach.

Amidst the cheers and hollering, Arya walked up to Clegane and kicked his broadsword from
his hand. Then she planted a foot in his chest and pointed her sword against his chin.

“Twice, I let you live, Clegane,” Arya said, her voice loud and mocking. “I might not be
generous the third time around.”

__________

“Quite a show eh?”

I turned at once to find Lord Tyrion and Ser Jorah Mormont standing behind me.

“I could not believe she bested the Hound,” Tyrion said, obviously awed. “I wonder where
she learned to fight like that.”

“The Faceless Men.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“The Faceless Men, khaleesi,” Jorah repeated. “They are the servants of the Many-Faced God
and considered to be …”

“… the most feared assassins in the known world,” Tyrion finished.

“And why do you think that, Ser Jorah?”

“I’ve met a Faceless Man before in one of my travels,” Jorah said matter-of-factly. “They
have a similar style of fighting, the same stance, the same way of wielding a sword. She did
spend time in Braavos, didn't she?"

“Seven hells,” Tyrion said, his mouth agape. “So that explains it.”

“You’re talking in riddles, my lord,” I said, a bit irritably. “What exactly does it explain?”

“Lord Crakehall, Lord Marbrand, and Lord Baelish,” Tyrion said in a hushed voice. “They all
died in different ways but they have one thing in common…”

“They were last seen with a young woman,” Jorah nodded. “Based on descriptions, the
women looked different as well, different facial marks, different hair color. But the height and
body type were approximately the same.”
“So she’s been killing off anyone who crossed words with her dear brother?”

“It seems that way,” Tyrion agreed. “But you have to admit, it is quite efficient.”

“What do we do now, khaleesi?”

“Nothing, we do nothing,” I said quietly. “Let Lady Arya keep her secret a while longer and
who knows we might be able to make use of it in the future."

___________

“What’s it like to wear another person’s face?”

I looked at the young woman beside me, searching for a flicker of surprise or any emotion.
But her face remained impassive, as cold and emotionless as a marble statue.

And when she spoke, she sounded calm and in perfect control.

“Aren’t we all just wearing masks?”

She looked around the crowded room until her gaze landed on a long wooden table where
several lords were seated, drinking wine and talking loudly.

“Take Lord Mooton, for example. On the surface, he is the most devoted of husbands. But I
know for a fact that he’s been having an affair with Lord Piper’s wife. And Ser Heddle’s wife
too.”

“Then there’s the very wealthy Lord Dunn. You wouldn’t know by all the fine silks and gems
that he wears but I have it on good authority that his recent investments have all failed to turn
a profit. He is, in fact, a hair’s breadth from landing in a debtors’ prison.”

“Ser Lyn Corbray, on the other hand, there’s a fine knight. Handsome and well-connected and
a brilliant swordsman. Do you know that he prefers young boys?”

I raised my goblet in a silent toast. "Touché."

I turned and stared at this young woman who has Jon Snow so firmly wrapped around her
fingers. Indeed, she is quite a beauty. Dark hair and pale skin and slender build. Her silver
eyes were heavy-lidded and her mouth was lush and pouting. Despite her delicate build, she
exuded a raw sensuality. And it was easy enough to see why men are enthralled by her and
none more so than her beloved brother.

I took a sip of golden wine. “So what mask are you wearing tonight?”

“The Noble Lady,” she said after a moment. “Soft-spoken and feminine. Charming the lords
with pretty words and exchanging petty gossip with the ladies. So then I can get close enough
to know those who are loyal to Jon and those who are not.”

“And those who proved to be not loyal? What happens to them?”

Arya shrugged. “I make sure they do not cause trouble for Jon.”

“And how about you, Your Grace,” she asked suddenly. “What mask are you wearing
tonight?”

“I’m the Queen,” I touched the dragon brooch pinned on my chest. “It is not a mask that I
wear. It is who I am."

“Do you like being a queen?”

“It matters not whether I like it or not. It is my destiny.” I looked directly into her eyes. “I
was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Arya, and make no mistake about it, I will.”

Arya met my gaze, her own eyes unwavering. “I’ve never wanted to be a queen. Truth is, I
could not think of a fate worse than being tied down to an ugly chair."

"Then why marry him?"

"Because I love him," was her reply, "and if being a queen is what it takes to be by his side
then so be it."

Arya

Curled underneath the furs, I looked at Jon as he sat behind a large wooden table, his dark
brows furrowed in concentration as he read a letter from the Wall.

“Bad news?”

“It’s from Cotter Pyke,” he said, folding the letter carefully and tucking it beneath the ever
growing pile of letters on his table. “A group of wildlings have taken shelter at Eastwatch
after their village has been attacked by wights.”

A look passed between us. It seems that letters from the Wall have been arriving with
increasing frequency, laden with news of wight attacks. Several days ago, there was a letter
from Castle Black about a wight attack near Storrold’s Point. A week before, it was the Bay
of Seals.

“We leave at dawn,” Jon said, “Edd has gathered the rest of the men and we will meet them at
Eastwatch.”

“And who is this Edd? How do we know that we can trust him?”

“He’s a good man,” Jon said with a slight grin. “A bit gloomy, perhaps. But I’d trust him with
my own life.”

I bit my lip, unable to dispel my worry. “I don’t know, Jon. This hunt… I don’t like the sound
of it at all.”

Jon looked at me and murmured, “C’mere…”

I eased out of bed and walked towards him. I sat on his lap and laid my head against his
chest, feeling his pulse against mine.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, his tone hushed. “I’m afraid.”

“The White Wolf afraid?” I said teasingly.

Jon smiled at that. “You better not tell the lords what I just said. It’s not good for the morale.”

“Well, do you remember what father used to say?” I said, running a hand through his unruly
hair. “A man can only truly be brave when he is afraid.”

“It’s your fault, really,” Jon continued, “Before I had nothing to fear for I had nothing to live
for…”

“And now?”

“And now, I have you,” Jon said simply.

I leaned over to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “You will always have me.”

“No, not always.”

His words took me off guard. “Why do you say that?”

“I’ve died once,” Jon sighed and rested his chin on top of my head. “I’ve been to the other
side… the afterlife as some calls it.”

I looked at him, surprised. Jon rarely talks about it. His death and subsequent resurrection. I
think in some way, he felt like an abomination. Like he was less human somehow. And I
remember Beric Dondarrion saying how pieces of him were chipped away every time he
comes back from the dead.

“What did you see on the other side?” I asked hesitantly, a bit afraid to hear his answer.

“Nothing. There was nothing at all.”

A heavy pall hung over the room. And I could feel my gut clench at his words. Jon has
always been melancholic by nature. But this pessimism is uncharacteristic, even for him.

“Do you think we can defeat him?”

“I don’t know, Arya,” Jon answered. “We have 200,000 men, a shipload of Valyrian weapons,
an army of wolves, and three dragons.” His arms tightened around me. “But I’ve seen them.
I’ve seen how they slaughtered 5,000 people in a matter of minutes. And I’ve seen how they
raised those 5,000 people back from the dead. How do you kill the dead?”

Suddenly, Jon stood up and walked towards the large armoire across the room. He returned
with an intricately carved wooden chest which he then set in front of me.
I opened it and saw gold. Piles and piles of gold coins tucked inside the velvet lining. I
looked up at Jon, confused.

“If the Wall falls, I want you to leave,” His voice was tight. “Go back to Braavos. Or better
yet, go to Meereen. The farther east, the better.”

“And you? How about you?”

He met my eyes squarely. “If the Wall falls, there’s a chance that I might not …”

“The Wall will stand,” I said quickly, hating how my voice quavered. “The Wall will stand as
it has for a thousand years.”

“But if it falls…”

“Then what? You want me to run?” I snapped. “You want me to save my own hide and leave
you behind?”

Jon sounded weary. “Listen to me, Arya. I’ve survived them at the Fist of the First Men. I’ve
survived them at Hardhome. I’ve survived a hundred battles. But this is war. And in war,
anything can happen.”

“Do you know how I got away from the Faceless Men?” I asked him. “I knew too much and
so they sent a Faceless Man to kill me. They sent my own mentor. I learned everything from
him so of course they thought I would be an easy prey for him.”

I traced a finger along his jaw. “I was aboard a ship and we were in the middle of a raging
storm. It was dark inside my cabin and he would have killed me if not for a sudden flash of
lightning. I thought I was alone, I didn’t even feel him, then suddenly, there he was. Just right
beside me.”

“He was stronger than me. He was faster. He was more experienced.” I laid my cheek against
his neck, savoring the feel of him, warm and vital. “But he had nothing to live for. While I
had you. It was the thought of you that gave me the strength to kill him.”

I cradled his face between my hands as I crawled back into his lap, straddling him. Leaning
forward, I pressed my lips to his. And for a long moment we just kissed, his hands running
through my hair, my hands slowly unlacing his trousers. Greedily, I sucked on his tongue.
Before pulling back and lowering myself on his cock.

I could feel Jon’s feverish breath against me. The press of his body, hard and fierce, against
mine. It would have been easy to reverse our position, to have him on top of my body. But I
didn’t want that. I needed the sensation of overpowering him in every sense. It wasn’t a slow
rhythmic motion, but a wild one. I was like a woman possessed. I looked down at Jon. His
head was thrown back, mouth open and breathing heavily.

The war was forgotten. There was only this. There was only Jon inside me, driving his hard
cock deeper and deeper into me. My entire body pulsed at the same time that Jon flooded my
inside with his seed. I came so hard that it almost hurt.
 And afterwards, I held him close, so close that I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest. A
cold breeze wafted from the open window and I shivered, feeling tiny goosebumps rising
against my bare skin.

“Jon, do you remember a few days ago when you made me promise to lay down my sword in
the name of vengeance?”

“Now it’s my turn,” I whispered against his ear. “Promise me, Jon. Promise me, you’ll come
back to me. No matter what happens. No matter what it takes. Come back to me…”

Chapter End Notes

So Sapph89 gave me an idea about a scene between Dany and Arya. And that's when I
realized that they haven't even spoken in any of the chapters. And so here's the first
Long Night chapter, I'm planning to write three or four multi-POV chapters set during
the Great War.

What can I say, winter is coming ;)

Let me know your thoughts! Who do you think would survive the war against the
Others?

PS - (spoilers ahead) I can't wait for the season premiere! I'm not really looking forward
to the whole Jon/Dany encounter but whatever. I wouldn't be surprised if they leave Jon
and Arya's reunion until the very last episode of the very last season. Ha!
 The Long Night - Beyond the Wall
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Daenerys

Fire is power.

It is something that I have proven time and time again.

I have been exiled. I have been thrown out of the only home I’ve ever known. I have been
made to roam the streets like a beggar. I have been bartered and sold to a warlord. I have been
raped and beaten and enslaved. I have lived my entire life under the mercy of other people.
But all that changed the moment I’ve risen from Drogo’s funeral pyre with three dragons
cradled in my arms.

Since then I’ve conquered Astapor and destroyed the slave masters. I’ve conquered Yunkai
and freed thousands of slaves. I’ve conquered Meereen and was crowned as its queen. But
still it was not enough.

I could still hear Viserys’s voice in my head. “We will have it all back, sweet sister.
Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all that they
have taken from us, we will have it back.”

Growing up, Viserys would tell me stories about Westeros. About its beauty and riches.
About the knights clad in steel and wielding swords. About the ladies in beautiful dresses and
fluttering veils. It was where I belong. In the beautiful castle overlooking the Narrow Sea,
surrounded by the finest silks and the most elaborate tapestries.

But Westeros was nothing like my brother’s stories. Years of war have torn the kingdom
apart. Cities and villages were burned to the ground. Families were forced out of their homes.
There were beggars everywhere. Men, women, children in ragged clothes. Westeros was a
kingdom of blood and dirt and disease and hunger and misery.

But it is my kingdom. My heart’s greatest desire. Sometimes I would close my eyes and I
would imagine Viserys standing beside me. He would smile and call me his sweet sister. And
maybe he’d even tell me how proud he was of me.

“You shouldn’t be out here.”

I looked up to see Jon Snow standing beside me. His face was pale against his dark hair and
fur cloak. Heavy lines were etched across his forehead and at the corners of his mouth.

“There’s a storm coming,” he said, quickly taking off his cloak and wrapping it around my
shoulders.
Our eyes met and my stomach fluttered. He quickly looked away, his dark eyes scanning the
horizon, almost as if he was already envisioning the war to come.

“I have received a raven from Bran,” he continued. “They are at the Haunted Forest.”

“How many of them?”

“Three hundred thousand,” Jon said, his voice grim. “Maybe even more.”

“Six men against three hundred thousand?” I said, unable to hide my grimace. “It doesn’t
sound like a good plan.”

“This is no ordinary war,” Jon said bluntly. “If we take more men then we risk adding even
more wights to their army. If we fail, there would be 500,000 wights marching south. We
cannot take that risk.”

Jon pressed a hand against his temple. “Besides we’re not going to fight them. We just need
to know the Night King’s exact location. It is him that we need to destroy.”

“If he falls, they fall,” he continued. “It’s our only chance against them.”

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Bran said it’s the only way,” Jon said. “And I trust him.”

“Of course.”

Jon did not miss the sarcasm that edged my voice.

He cleared his throat. “We haven’t had the chance to talk about what Bran said.”

“It doesn’t matter what he said,” I turned toward him. “As a true-born Targaryen, I have a
greater claim to the Iron Throne than you.”

“Before we left Winterfell, there was a letter from the Citadel,” Jon spoke in a measured tone.
“They have found proof that Rhaegar Targaryen married my mother in 282 AC, a year before
I was born.”

“No, that is impossible!” My heart pounded with dread. “My brother was already married to
Elia of Dorne. How could he have married your mother?”

Jon kept his gaze deliberately away from me. “Along with a marriage certificate was a
petition for annulment. His marriage to Princess Elia has been declared null and void.”

“So now what? You would lay claim to my kingdom?”

“My kingdom is right here, in the North,” Jon said mildly. “But I’ll be damned if I let the
children that I would have with Arya carry the same taint of bastardy that I had to endure as a
child.”
I was silent. A cold breeze swept past and a flurry of snow flakes drifted down. And I
listened to the gentle rustle of the trees that surround us.

He wants legitimacy. A name to be passed on to his children. How many Blackfyre rebellions
did the Targaryen kings have to put down just because Aegon IV made the ill judgment of
legitimising his bastard son?

No, I will not spend the rest of my life looking behind my back or hearing people questioning
my claim, I vowed.

“Ego sum dracones.”

He turned toward me, his dark brows lifted in silent query.

“I have dragons,” I finally said to him. “Lest you forget, I conquered this kingdom with fire
and blood.”

“It doesn’t matter if you are my brother’s legitimate heir. Unless you want your beloved
North reduced to ashes, you will not contest my claim to the Iron Throne.”

“Unless you want to rule over a kingdom of skeletons,” he countered, “you would do well not
to alienate your most important ally.”

I looked at him, surprised by his sharp tone. “What is it that you really want, Jon?”

His dark eyes carried a hint of wry amusement.

“When I figure it out, I'll let you know.”

Jon

I led six men beyond the Wall. We rode out through the dark and into the raging blizzard.

The Wall loomed behind us. It stood against the darkness like a shining beacon. And I said a
silent prayer that Arya was right and that the Wall will stand.

The sky was pitch-dark and the frozen landscape seemed to stretch on with nothing in sight.
The snow was falling heavily and we could barely see past a few feet in front of us. There
was no sound except for the howling wind.

It was strange. We were on the brink of war and yet there was only silence.

We rode for hours until we finally reached a clearing at the edge of the Haunted Forest. There
we made camp and shared bread and cheese by a small fire.

Sandor Clegane tore a hunk of black bread and chewed rapidly before gulping down from a
flagon of spiced wine.

“Fuck, this cold. This fucking cold.”

Tormund remarked. “You sure have a way with words, Clegane.”

“Shut up.”

In a deep baritone, Thoros started humming.

My voice as sweet as Arbor wine…

My eyes cried tears of Lys…
And in that cold, cold night,
winter came for my enemies.

“It’s called The She-Wolf, Your Grace,” Thoros said upon finishing the song. “It’s being sung
all over Westeros.”

“The She-Wolf?” Clegane growled. “It should have been called The Wolf Bitch.”

“Shut up, Clegane,” Gendry Baratheon said, his voice sharp. “Don’t call her that.”

Thoros then winked at Gendry as he sang.

And I want to kiss you, make you feel alright,

I'm just so tired to share you, my love.
I want to cry, I want to love,
but all my tears have been used up.

Gendry turned beet-red. “Shut up, Thoros.”

Beside me, Beric Dondarrion chuckled. “Clegane is just cross with the girl because he can't
beat her in a sword fight.”

I looked around the fire at the Brotherhood without Banners. These are the men who took
Arya as their hostage during the War of the Five Kings. But oddly enough, she seems rather
fond of them.

It speak volumes of the horrors she went through that she considers her time with a band of
outlaws as a fond memory.

“How long did she travel with the lot of you?”

“Not long, Your Grace,” Lord Beric said. “We were going to ransom her to her mother and
brother at Riverrun but then the Red Wedding happened.”

“Well, she did make the Freys pay for it,” Thoros said, shoving a piece of cheese in his
mouth, “that she did.”

Clegane let out a sardonic laugh. “And here I thought her list was a fucking joke."

“List?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“The list of all the men she said she would kill someday,” Clegane said, his raspy voice
sounding amused. “Every fucking night she would recite it before going to sleep… all their
names, one after the other. Would you believe she calls it her prayer?”

I thought of Arya. Arya naked on a copper tub as she tells me about her time in Braavos;
Arya atop a horse as she charges toward a group of Lannister soldiers; Arya with her head
bowed as Lord Baelish’s coffin was lowered onto the ground; Arya weeping as she knelt by
her father’s tomb.

“Yes,” I said quietly, “she would do that.”

And that night I dreamed of her. She was holding a winter rose and her eyes were weeping.

“Promise me, Jon. Promise me, you’ll come back to me…”

In the morning we rode on. The wind has picked up and heavy snow fell down on us in a
relentless pattern. I could feel my face beginning to sting against the bitter cold. And no
sound reached my ear except for my own heartbeat.

Suddenly, Ghost let out a loud growl.

“Halt!” I immediately said.

And there they were. The rotting bodies of the undead. Men, women, children. And giants.
Thousands and thousands of them. They spread far and wide turning the snow-capped
landscape into a dark abyss.

There’s too many of them. By the gods, there’s too many of them.

Clegane’s eyes widened in horror. “Fuck.”

We spurred our horses back to the other side of the gorge. But it was too late. We were much
nearer to them than I anticipated. The screams of the undead clawed at my ears as we urged
our mounts across the ice-cold river.

“Stay on your horses, men,” I yelled at them, “No matter what happens, stay mounted.”

I looked beside me and saw Gendry Baratheon atop his black garron.

“Gendry!” I called. “Take the west trail and go back to Eastwatch. Tell the queen to follow
the Antler. We will lead them to the Antler Pass.”

“I will make haste, Your Grace,” Gendry said promptly. “And we will meet you at the pass.”

“No!” I shouted above the thundering noise. “I want you to ride further south. To Winterfell.
Gather every men, women, and children. And take them across the Narrow Sea. Do you
understand me?”

His face was ashen. “Yes, of course, Your Grace.”

 “And Gendry… “

He turned to look at me.

“Take care of her, will you?”

Gendry gave a sharp nod before he turned his mount and galloped westward.

For a moment I felt the overwhelming urge to trade places with him. I would give anything to
be with Arya once again, to wrap my arms around her and lay my head on her bosom. I tried
to picture Arya in my mind but all I could see were the faces of the men riding beside me.

What is love when put up with the lives of thousands of men?

I felt my brain go empty of everything except for the horse beneath me and the wind
whipping against my face. On and on I rode through the snow storm trying to outrun the
undead at my heels.

Lightning split the dark sky and the wind howled in rhythm with the sound of the damned. I
gripped my reins tighter as the ground shook beneath our horses and the swarm of wights
following closely behind.

I felt a painful stab and looked behind at a half-rotten corpse clawing at my back. I swung
Blackfyre and pierced it into the creature’s bloody face. It shrieked loudly before dissolving
into dark ashes.

It was followed by another godawful scream. This time the sound was human. It was Thoros.
His horse slipped in an icy patch and sent him hurtling to the ground. He raised his Valyrian
steel sword and dealt a savage blow against a wight. But he was outnumbered. He screamed
and screamed and screamed until finally, nothing.

As we neared the edge of the forest, wights suddenly appeared in front of us, barring our path
across the forest and into the Antler River. I felt my body going numb with cold and despair.
As if a thousand knives were stabbing me all at once. And the entire world seemed to shrink
into a single defined moment.

Darkness engulfed us and in the eerie silence that followed I murmured a woman’s name.

Arya...

Chapter End Notes

So, winter is finally here. What do you guys think would happen next chapter?

Also, let's talk about Episode 1 and 2, shall we?

Even though I felt that the episodes seem a bit rushed, I think it goes a long way in
disproving some of the more pessimistic theories about Arya's fate.

(1) Sansa will adopt Nymeria. (Seriously, I've read this theory a dozen times! Why?)
Even though the Arya/Nymeria reunion was short-lived, I think we'll see Nymeria and
her pack again in the Great War to come.

(2) Arya will be so consumed by vengeance and it will lead her to self-destruction.
Her choosing to go North instead of King's Landing is symbolic of her choosing
love/family over vengeance.

(3) Arya is ugly! And Lyanna is more like Sansa. (Again, why?)
Hot Pie calling her pretty is proof that she's would blossom into a beauty like her
aunt/doppelgänger Lyanna.

Only two episodes in and it's already clear that Arya would be a gamechanger once she
returns to Westeros. Ugh, come on George, give us The Winds of Winter already!

Song: Another Love by Tom Odell

 The Long Night - Winterfell
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Sansa

The world has gone quiet.

As Jon marched to the Wall together with Daenerys Targaryen and an army of 100,000 men,
the rest of the North was left to wait.

Day and night ceased to exist as the entire world seemed to be blanketed in darkness.

I paused at the edge of the godswood and looked at Bran and Arya who were huddled
beneath the heart tree, speaking quietly to each other.

In the shadowy grey mist, I could almost believe they were the same children I grew up with.
Then I looked at the pack of wolves surrounding them and the flock of ravens soaring above
their heads and in my heart, I knew that those children were long gone.

Gone was my little brother who used to climb up these very walls as quick as a monkey. He
was mother’s special boy. Her sweet summer child. He used to make our mother laugh. He
used to make all of us laugh.

Gone was Arya with her scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes. She was the apple
of our father’s eye. His precious little girl. She used to run around this castle playing swords
with peasant children. Arya Underfoot they called her.

Growing up, Old Nan used to tell us stories filled with mythical creatures. And now Bran and
Arya have become the mythical creatures in those stories. People talk about them in hushed,
almost reverent tones. And as days melt into weeks and darkness remains, people cling to
them as their only hope against the evil lurking in the shadows.

Often I would feel people’s eyes on me as if wondering why I’m so ordinary? Why can’t I be
more like my sister? Funny thing is that mother and Septa Mordane used to tell the same
thing to Arya.

I approached and both of them turned to look at me, their eyes dark against their pale skin.

“What is the matter?”

They were silent for a moment but something flickered in Bran’s sunken eyes.

And when Arya finally spoke, her voice was urgent. “We must leave Sansa. Everyone must
leave immediately. There are ships waiting at Deepwood Motte bound for the Reach.”
“The Reach?” I exclaimed, “We cannot leave these walls, there’s a storm out there. People
will die before we even make it past the Knife.”

Bran looked at me, his face blank. “Then burn their bodies and continue with the journey.”

“Bran!” I said, aghast.

But Bran was no longer listening. His eyes were closed and there was a preternatural calm
that surrounds him. I know him well enough by now to understand that he was having a
vision.

I turned toward Arya. “You can’t be serious? We won’t survive out there.”

“Listen to me, Sansa,” Arya leaned against the heart tree, her face pale and tense. “Bran had a
vision. And he saw it falling.”

I felt bone-deep fear settle inside me. “What? What did he see falling?”

“The Wall.”

__________

Gendry

It was cold. Mother’s Mercy it was cold.

I rode south from Eastwatch at a breakneck pace, trying to reach Winterfell. I rode through
knee-deep snow with only the howling wind for company. The world felt very empty. Most
nights, I sat by the fire, listening for any movement in the dark. I could hardly sleep, fearing
that the undead would suddenly appear in front of me as they have done in the Haunted
Forest.

It was almost midnight when I finally arrived at Winterfell, expecting the castle inhabitants to
be asleep. Instead the castle was overrun with people — noble-born and common folk were
huddled together in the courtyard.

“What is going on?” I asked one of the sentries.

He bowed. “The maester said to gather everyone here, milord.”

“Where’s Lady Arya?”

The sentry nodded toward the arched bridge that overlooked the courtyard and as I followed
his gaze I saw Arya with her brother and sister beside her.

As I slowly made my way through the crowd, Lady Sansa began to speak.

“Last night my brother had a vision in which he saw the Wall falling.”
“The north is no longer safe,” Sansa said in a deep, calm voice. “We have sent ravens to
every town and village and told them to go to Deepwood Motte or White Harbor where ships
are waiting to take everyone south. Lord Tyrell has offered to provide every northerner food
and shelter at the Reach.”

At first the crowd was silent, but as the import of the words began to sink in, their voices
slowly rose to a deafening crescendo.

“There’s a blizzard!”

“What will happen to us out there?”

“This is madness! Madness, I tell you!”

Arya stood rigidly, her dark eyes sweeping the crowd. Even from afar I could tell that she lost
weight and there were dark circles under her eyes. She seemed so small and delicate. Barely a
woman full-grown. And yet she was the strongest person I’ve ever known.

“You want to know what awaits us out there?” Arya addressed the panicked crowd. “Will it
be cold? Yes. Will there be hunger? Yes. Are we going to die? Possibly. But if we stay here,
only certain death awaits us.”

Silence descended at her harsh words.

Then a woman wailed loudly. “May the old gods and the new gods have mercy on us!”

“There is only one god and his name is Death,” Arya said, her voice eerily quiet, “and he’s
out there waiting for all of us.”

“There is only one thing we say to him. Not today.”

__________

“You could have been more gentle, you know,” I chastised her as we walked along the
castle’s outer bailey. “These people are frightened.”

“Fear is often borne out of ignorance,” Arya said sharply. “No one coddled us during the war.
And that’s why we’re still here. That’s why we survived.”

I looked at her. She was wearing polished mail beneath a black fur cloak. Her sword Dark
Sister was cinched at her waist and a silver chain was wrapped around her neck and from it
hung a Valyrian steel dagger. She wore no helmet and her long inky hair was unbound,
flowing loose around her shoulders.

Here is the real Arya. The She-Wolf. As beautiful as her Valyrian steel dagger, and just as
deadly.

“I’ve seen them Arya,” I said, unable to mask my horror. “There’s too many of them, just too
many…”

“And is that why Jon sent you back? To warn us?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “And he asked me to look out for you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“He wants you to be on the first ship leaving for the Reach.”

Arya snorted. “Not on your life, Baratheon.”

“Listen to me, Arya,” I said, my voice serious. “He’s fought them at Hardhome. He knows
what they’re capable of. If he thinks…”

“You don’t like Jon,” Arya said abruptly.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Your voice gets huffy when you talk about him. Why?”

Jon Snow is beloved by the realm. But none more so than his own men. They saw him
enduring every bit of the same cold and hunger they did. And they knew that when they
finally faced the enemy, their king would take his place in the front, at the most precarious
spot in the battle field.

He is a good man, Jon Snow is. But then I would see him looking at Arya, touching her in an
intimate manner, and it was all I could do not to bring him down with a single blow. What
kind of man beds his sister?

Before I could respond, Lord Brandon Tallhart approached us.

“My lady, my lord,” the young lord said courteously. “I have received a raven from
Deepwood Motte, the White Knife is deemed impassable.”

“We must cut through the forest then.”

“It’s too dark out there, my lady,” Lord Tallhart said, frowning. “How can we ride if we do
not see where we’re going?”

“Then we must stop trying to see with our eyes, my lord.” Arya said softly. “We must learn to
see with our ears and our nose and our skin.”

She closed her eyes and reached out to gently touch Lord Tallhart’s ears. “Listen, my lord.
The wagons are already moving toward the gate as we speak.” She brushed a hand across the
tip of his nose. “Breathe. And smell the pine needles from the trees growing at the edge of the
wolfswood.” And slowly, she moved her hands and caressed his cheeks. “Feel. The wind is
blowing from the northeast, from White Harbor.”

Lord Tallhart was predictably awestruck.

Then Arya opened her eyes, her gaze direct and implacable. “If we ride west then we should
be able to avoid the worst of the storm.”
“Of course, my lady,” Lord Tallhart immediately agreed. “I would ride at the front of the
column and lead the way through the forest.”

“I expected nothing less of you, my lord,” Arya said, smiling sweetly.

I snorted in amusement as Lord Tallhart quickly moved to the wagons and gave the command
to ride toward the wolfswood.

“Spent a lot of time in the dark, eh?”

Arya smiled faintly. “I was blind once.”

I looked at her, surprised. “You were blind once?”

She laughed softly. “It’s just one of the many lives, I’ve lived. Blind Beth, they called me.
And I would roam the street of Ragman’s Harbor and…”

“And?” I prodded, unable to hide my curiosity about the life she led back in Braavos.

She held up a hand, her eyes suddenly alert. “Listen…”

I listened and heard nothing but the sounds of people and horses moving about.

Then a bloodcurdling shriek shatters the quiet.

Arya ran, her footsteps echoing through the flagstoned courtyard.

“Shut the gate,” she shouted. “Shut the bloody gate!”

__________

Arya

Outside the castle gate, I could hear people screaming. But then the noise gradually fades
away and the silence that followed was so palpable that I could almost feel myself choking
on it.

I drew in a ragged breath, ignoring the taste of fear in my mouth.

Fear cuts deeper than swords, I thought, quickly drawing my sword from its scabbard. The
man who fears losing has already lost.

Beside me, Sansa is sobbing quietly, her hands clutching my arm.

“Sansa, take Bran with you and go to the crypts,” I said firmly. “Take all the women and
children with you and seal the door.”

“How about you?” Sansa asks, tightening her hold on me.

“Don’t worry, Jon will come soon,” I said, squeezing her hand. “In the meantime, we will
hold them off.”
“But if the Wall has fallen,” Sansa’s eyes filled with tears, “then it could be that Jon’s already
gone.”

I felt the sting of tears at her words, but I knew that I couldn’t give in now. If I give in to the
gnawing emptiness in my chest, then all would be lost.

I reached out and pulled my sister in a tight hug. “Go, Sansa. We do not have much time.”

Sansa nodded and quickly ushered the frightened women and weeping children into the inner
bailey that led to the crypts.

I looked at the men standing around me in the courtyard, young squires and peasant boys
wearing chained mail and holding spears made of dragonglass. Most of them were barely old
enough to grow a whisker. They were not ready for a battle.

I could smell their fear and see the panic in their eyes. They had been left here by their king
to guard the castle against drifters while the king together with all the able-bodied knights
rode north to protect the Wall.

We were lulled into complacency in the belief that the Wall will protect us but it was a sham.
The Wall has fallen. Winter was finally upon us and with it comes death.

I could hear the undead trying to scale the castle walls. It was only a matter of time.

With Nymeria beside me, I strode in front of the men, gripping Dark Sister tightly in my
hand.

“Winter is here, boys,” I said to them. “But you would do well to remember the name of this
castle. This is where Winter ends. This is where they fall.”

I heard a loud shriek and looked up in time to see a wight jumping down from the rampart.
The wight had his nose bitten off and a long gash scarred his once-handsome face. His dark
blonde hair was matted with blood and his blue eyes were cold and very dead.

It was Lord Brandon Tallhart.

I nearly screamed at the sight of him. And I felt bile rising in my throat as I drove my sword
into his chest, his entire body slumping into the ground.

Another wight followed. They came one after the other, scaling the wall and jumping into the
courtyard.

Old Nan had been full of stories about the creatures beyond the Wall. But nothing could have
prepared me for them. For the rotting faces and the organs slipping out of festering bodies.
And there was so much blood. Blood oozed from open wounds turning the pristine snow-
covered ground darker and darker.

“Hold ‘em, boys!” I shouted.

Instinct took over. A wight charged at me and I took its head off with a single blow. Then
another one appeared and I cut fast with my blade, driving it across its scarred chest. Another
wight fell under Dark Sister, turning its silver blade to black.

Suddenly there were two behind me, their hands clawing at my shoulders. I heard a low
growl as a lean black wolf jumped at them, savagely biting their heads off.

Near the flanking tower, I saw Gendry smashed his hammer against an almost skeletal figure.
He turned to look at me and his eyes were like black pits against his pale face. His black
chainmail was marked with blood from a deep gash at the side of his neck.

I turned around and found myself staring into a pair of blue eyes; deeper and bluer than any
human eyes. The creature that stood before me was tall and gaunt, with flesh as pale as newly
fallen snow. It raised its sword and thrust at me, but I managed to deflect it with my own
sword.

The air was filled with high-pitched screeching as our blades met again and again. Then I felt
a sharp pain as the pale sword bit through my chainmail just above my elbow. Agony knifed
up my arm and my grip loosened. Its next stroke sent Dark Sister flying out of my hand.

I felt icy hands closed around my throat, squeezing the breath out of me. My lungs burned
with every breath I drew and I could feel myself losing consciousness.

The stench of death filled my nose but beneath the putrid smell, lurked the sweet smell of the
winter roses blooming in the godswood. The smell reminded me of the day of Lord Baelish’s
burial when Jon tucked a winter rose in my ear as he kissed me. I want that day back. I would
give anything to be with him again.

There was a loud growl and as my eyes fluttered open I saw Nymeria attack the Other, her
white teeth bared. And suddenly the pressure on my throat was gone. I dropped onto my
knees, my hands braced against the ground while I frantically sucked air into my lungs.

I felt a sharp pain and I looked up just as the Other drove his sword deep into Nymeria's
belly. The blade went through her guts and into her spine, and blood, thick and black, ran
down Nymeria’s grey fur.

I opened my mouth to scream but the voice that came out was no more than a whisper.

“Nymeria…”

The Other turned back at me, his eyes razor sharp. Its sword gleamed with a faint blue glow
as he raised it and swung it towards me. It hit the ground with a loud thud as I swiftly rolled
away, my body exploding with pain at the sudden movement. Gathering the last of my
strength, I slid my dagger from its sheath and leaped at the creature, slashing at its neck.

There was a loud crack, like the sound of splintering glass as the Other dissolved into a
million little pieces.
 I crawled slowly towards Nymeria’s prone body. She whimpered as I stroked her head until
she was no more. I felt myself going numb. I was no longer cold and in pain, I no longer feel
anything. For a moment I just wanted to lie there beside Nymeria, surrounded by all the other
broken bodies. Death seems a welcome respite from the horror around me.

Jon

It was the thought of him that gave me the strength to get up and reach for Dark Sister lying a
few feet from me. I made him promise that he’ll come back for me and no matter what
happens, I will be here waiting for him when he does.

Suddenly there was a loud deafening roar and the ground begins to shake. I stumbled
forward, trying to find cover as huge chunks of black stone pour from the sky. All around me
I could hear people screaming and the undead screeching.

The red-orange fire was the last thing I see before the world faded into black.

Chapter End Notes

Rest in peace, Nymeria xx

I have this tinfoil theory, given the hot springs that run underneath the castle, that
Winterfell is actually built on top/near a volcano. And this would be a key factor during
the Long Night, much like the Doom of Valyria centuries ago.

Note: I also edited Chapter 20 because I wanted to show how Jon gave Dark Sister to
Arya.

Your thoughts are much appreciated!

 The Long Night - Eastwatch-by-the-Sea
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Jon

There was no escape. The undead surrounded us from all sides.

Death is the enemy. And it is finally here.

God help us all.

Then suddenly my horse reared and I found myself flat on my back, my ears ringing with a
deafening roar. And in the ensuing darkness, my vision was filled with bright red-orange
flames.

There was another mighty roar and I saw a winged beast swooping down and breathing fire,
turning the group of wights that surrounds us into ashes.

Daenerys, I thought with sudden relief.

Groaning, I pushed onto my feet, holding Blackfyre tightly in my hands. In the darkness I
could barely see the men beside me but I knew that Daenerys could not hold off the undead
for long.

“Retreat!” I yelled at the same time another burst of flames painted the dark sky a brilliant
red. “Retreat, men!”

I could hear the thundering of hooves as the men galloped towards Daenerys. And my heavy
boots sank in ankle-deep snow as I ran, faster and faster, while fire and brimstone pour from
the sky.

There was an earsplitting screech and I looked up to see Viserion falling, an ice spear sticking
out from the side of his scaled torso. The dragon plummeted towards the Antler and I could
only stare in muted horror as the great white beast was slowly swallowed up by the rushing
waters.

The agonized howls of Drogon and Rhaegal filled the night sky.

I looked at Daenerys Targaryen, perched on her black dragon. She was motionless, her face
pale, her purple eyes burning with unshead tears. Behind her, I could see the rest of the men
shouting at me but I was too far away to hear them. Too far away.

I’m not going to make it.

An ice spear landed just a few feet from Drogon and I looked around to see the Night's King
standing on the other side of the cliff, holding another ice spear in his hand.
“Go!” I shouted at Daenerys. “Go now!”

Daenerys hesitated for a second, her eyes boring into mine. Then Drogon lurched forward,
spewing ice and rocks as it arched upwards back into the sky.

Leaving me behind.

And so this is how it ends. On this cold night, standing beneath a black sky and surrounded
by a sea of the undead.

I remember that long ago night at Castle Black when Bowen Marsh stuck a dagger into my
heart. The red priestess had brought me back to life in the name of the Lord of Light. But I
knew about death and the dark abyss that lies beyond.

It wasn’t dying that I fear. It was what came after.

A vision of Arya filled my mind. She wore a crown of pale blue roses and she was standing
on a field of wildflowers. She was laughing gaily, her face turned towards the sun, clearly
basking in its warmth.

It was a beautiful picture. And I held on to it as I turned to face my own mortality.

Pain rushed through my entire body, unlike anything that I’ve ever felt before as the undead
advanced towards me. Slowly, much too slowly. Like a predator savoring the fear of its prey.

Seconds pass. Maybe even minutes. And I just stood there, waiting for death to finally reach
me.

Let them come to me. Let them all fucking come.

Then suddenly a bright column of flames pierced the night. And the ground shook violently
as Rhaegal landed beside me, its talons piercing the icy ground and its sharp teeth bared as it
let out a loud roar.

I stood there, at a loss with what to do, until the dragon lowered its body to the ground. And
as the beast opened its eyes, I found my own image reflected from its golden orbs.

I hesitated before reaching out to run a hand over its green scales, feeling a warm tingle
starting from my chest and spreading through my entire body like wildfire. It felt like I was
burning from within. The pain began to fade as power surged through my veins.

You are a Stark and a Targaryen, Bran once told me, and you have the blood of the First Men
and of Old Valyria running through your veins.

I quickly climbed on top of the giant beast, an odd sensation filtering through my body as I
held tightly on the spines running from the top of its neck all the way to its torso.

I hold on tightly just as Rhaegal spreads its great wings and vaulted into the sky.

Daenerys
He’s gone. Jon Snow is dead.

Isn’t this what I wanted? Without Jon Snow, no one would contest my claim. I would rule the
Seven Kingdoms as I was meant to do.

Then why could I not forget how Jon stood alone, surrounded by the undead, as he sacrificed
his own life for the safety of his men? I drew in a ragged breath, trying to ignore the numbing
pain in my chest.

Ser Davos rushed towards us, his green cloak billowing behind him. “What happened?
Where is the king?”

“He did not make it,” the wildling chief said, his gruff voice laced with grief. “He lost his
horse and there were just too many of them…”

I could see the northern men turning to look at me, their eyes narrowed in accusation.

I didn't want him to die! I wanted to rail at them but I kept my silence. Let them think what
they want. Why bother to explain when they won’t believe me anyway?

A high-pitched noise suddenly emitted from beyond the Wall and I looked up to see a winged
beast flew over it, its shiny green scales glinting in the darkness. Hot wind blew through the
small clearing as Rhaegal swooped down and landed on an empty patch of snow near the
shores of the Shivering Sea.

And the rider who sat on Rhaegal’s enormous head was none other than Jon Snow.

He may be a Targaryen in blood and in name, Tyrion Lannister had assured me, but only you
have the dragons.

I looked around, there was close to a hundred people — noble-born, hedge knights, squires,
and peasants — standing in quiet awe as Jon Snow climbed down the dragon with ease and
landed lightly on his feet.

The bond between the dragon and its rider was palpable even from a distance.

He was like Aegon the Conqueror reborn.

And in that moment, I could feel my kingdom slowly slipping away from my grasp.

__________

“Here’s a letter, Your Grace,” Ser Davos announced. “It’s from Lord Brandon Stark.”

Jon opened the letter, his dark eyes quickly scanning its contents.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before addressing the rest of the war council. “It
seems that Bran had a vision… of blue fire burning down the Wall.”

“Could it be Viserion?” I asked, horrified.

Jon’s dark eyes found me in the crowded room and I could see the truth reflected in them. “It
could be Viserion. We all saw what is out there, there were giants and bears and mammoths.
So yes, it is entirely possible that the Night’s King would use Viserion to break the Wall.”

“If the Wall falls, we’re fucked,” Sandor Clegane said bluntly. “We don’t stand a chance
against them.”

“How many castles are built along the Wall?” Lord Yohn Royce asked. “Not including Castle
Black and Eastwatch.”

“There are about nineteen garrisons, my lord,” Lord Commander Edd Tollett swiftly
responded. “But most have been abandoned for years.”

“We can split all our men to stand guard in each garrison,” Lord Royce continued. “It’s the
only way we can ensure that they do not make it past the Wall.”

“There’s a hundred leagues between here and the Shadow Tower,” Lord Brynden Tully stated.
“We simply do not have enough men.”

“We do not know precisely where they would attack,” Jon said, spreading a large map on the
table. “If we split our men and they decided to attack Eastwatch, we won’t be able to hold
them off. It would be the same thing if they attack the Shadow Tower or Castle Black or any
of the garrisons built along the Wall.”

Lord Tully turned toward Jon, his brows furrowed. “What do we do then?”

“We let the North fall.”

Everyone in the room heard the torment beneath his calm voice.

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” Tormund said in an incredulous voice. “But are you fucking
insane?”

Jon looked at the rest of the war council, his voice resolute. “If we would defeat the army of
the undead then we must fight together, not apart.”

“There are two major barriers in the North, the Wall and the Neck,” Jon continued, unrolling
the map further. “They could attack from all sides but they will need to pass through the Neck
to get to the rest of the kingdom.”

He set his hand at Moat Cailin. “This is where we stop them.”

__________

Moat Cailin was a ruin. Through the grey mist, I could see the stronghold or what remained
of it… three towers made of black basalt and covered in moss. The towers were surrounded
by old birch trees that stood like pale ghosts against the dark swamps.

We were greeted by the elderly lord of Greywater’s Watch and was ushered to the Gatehouse
Tower where the southern lords were already gathered.
 Jon immediately approached Lord Willas Tyrell who was seated at the end of the table.

“Your Grace,” Lord Tyrell murmured. “All the ships from White Harbor and Deepwood
Motte have been safely anchored at the Reach.”

“My lord,” Jon said, reaching out to shake the older man’s hand. “I’m greatly indebted to
House Tyrell.”

Lord Tyrell nodded, his face pale. “I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in my
place.”

“Any word from Arya?” Jon said with a sheepish grin. “I was hoping she would be here.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Tyrell shook his head. “No one from Winterfell made it to any of the
ships.”

Silence met his words.

Then Jon finally spoke, his voice a mere whisper. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lord Glover sent men to Winterfell when none made it to Deepwood Motte,” Lord Tyrell
turned his head away from the pain heavily etched on the king’s face. “But they found
nothing, Your Grace. Everything was burned to the ground.”

“I sent Gendry to warn them,” Jon said hoarsely. “It could be that they decided to take
shelter at one of the abandoned castles.”

“Your Grace, the Wall has already fallen,” Lord Howland Reed said quietly. “There is no
longer any place to take shelter in the north. The north is gone.”

I reached out to place a gentle hand on Jon’s arm but he quickly shook it off.

“Get out!” Jon shouted, his agony echoing across the vast room. “All of you, get out!”

“Your Grace…”

“GET OUT!”

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the delay! Things were quite hectic these past weeks...

So what do you guys think happened to Arya? Any thoughts on what will happen next
chapter?

The next one would probably be the last chapter set during the Long Night. Here's to
hoping I get to update soon XD
 The Long Night - Moat Cailin
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Davos

Jon Snow is a broken man.

He looked as if he’d aged a decade in a span of a few days. His dark hair was unkempt and
deep lines have formed in the corners of his eyes, etched in the days since he received the
news about the fall of Winterfell.

He sat, alone, in a room with nary a single candle to keep him warm. He was still as a statue
and his grey eyes were disturbingly blank as he stared at the empty goblet in his hand.

“Our men will ride north tonight, Your Grace,” I informed him, my words echoing across the
stone walls. “By tomorrow morning, they will be positioned at the Neck.”

I looked at Jon but he remained motionless, his eyes staring straight ahead into nothing.

Rubbing my tired eyes, I sighed and pulled up a wooden chair next to him.

“Jon, listen to me,” I said urgently. “Arya is dead. She’s gone. You must accept that.”

He seemed to age even more before my very eyes and I instantly felt regret for my sharp
words. But I couldn’t back down now, not with the army of the dead marching closer and
closer to us.

“Your people needs you, Jon Snow,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. “They need you.
We need you. We cannot defeat these monsters alone.”

For what seemed like eternity, neither one of us spoke.

Finally, Jon’s voice pierced the silence. “I think of all the men I have sent to the Wall.
Thousands of them. Fathers and husbands and sons. I’ve sent them to their deaths. To protect
the North. To protect Arya. And it’s all for nothing. She’s dead. And I have the blood of those
men on my hands.”

I stood up and busied myself in the empty stone hearth until a tiny orange flame finally
curled within it. I stared at the flames as the memories that I’d long tried to forget came
rushing back.

“Did I tell you how I lost four sons at Blackwater?” I asked Jon, without turning to look at
him. “Four of my seven sons. I held them in my arms when they were babes. I saw them
grow up into fine young lads. And then they were gone.”
I turned away from the fire and looked at Jon Snow’s inscrutable face. “I can no longer bring
them back, but I can make sure that they didn’t die for nothing.”

“Maybe then I can finally look my wife in her eyes,” I continued, my voice hoarse. “Maybe
then I can finally go home.”

“I'm sorry,” Jon said. "I know I'm not the only person who lost a loved one in this infernal
war."

"But Arya, she's my home. And now she's gone."

I could hear the desolation in Jon’s voice and in the dimly lit room, it felt like I was talking to
a ghost.

“We do not know what really happened at Winterfell and maybe we would never know, but
one thing that I’m sure of is that Lady Arya did not go down without a fight, she would’ve
fought those monsters tooth and nail until the very end,” I said, tossing another log into the
hearth to further stoke the flames. “And now you must continue the fight for the both of you.
Or her death would have been all for naught.”

“She’s dead and gone now, Jon Snow, and I know that you would grieve for her all the rest of
your life. Just as I would my sons. But we have only one purpose now, to survive. We cannot
allow these monsters to wipe us out from existence. Do you understand?”

Jon looked up at me with huge, stricken eyes. “Tell me then, Ser Davos, what is it that I need
to do?”

“Marry Daenerys.”

His response was quick and vehement. “No.”

“Listen to me, Jon,” I pressed. “You heard what Lord Glover said, the north is gone. Your
kingdom is in ashes.”

Jon inhaled sharply. “Then we simply must rebuild after this wretched war ends.”

“Rebuilding the north will take a lifetime or more. And in order to do that, you would need
her support. You need grains from the Reach. You need gold from the Westerlands. You need
steeds from Dorne.”

“Assuming this wretched war ends,” I continued, “whatever remains of Westeros will all be
under the Targaryen queen.”

“But there is no Targaryen queen, Ser Davos,” Jon said softly. “You saw the letter from the
Citadel, Rhaegar Targaryen married Lyanna Stark which makes me the rightful heir to the
Iron Throne.”

“If you think Daenerys Targaryen would relinquish the Iron Throne to you, then I will tell
you right now, it would never happen.”
I swallowed a glass of bitter Dornish wine before continuing, “The only way you will sit on
that Iron Throne is by declaring war against Daenerys.”

“And before you answer, I’m going to ask you this, do you really think Westeros will survive
another war?”

Daenerys

I remembered the days that followed Drogo’s death, the agony of seeing my powerful
husband reduced to a snivelling corpse, the long nights alone inside my tent as the khalasar
travelled across the vast Dothraki Sea, and the early mornings when I would wake up with
my arm stretched across the cold, empty place beside me.

I tried to picture Drogo in my mind, his dark hair and his even darker eyes but all I could see
was Jon Snow’s lean, handsome face. How defeated he had looked, how broken, when he
heard the news of his beloved Arya’s death.

I stood in front of his bedchamber, knocked once and went inside.

“What are you doing here?”

Even standing a few feet away, I could feel his pain. Despite his quiet demeanor, it seemed to
radiate from the very depths of him. It was like a living creature that seemed to fill the entire
room and I instantly felt suffocated by it. I wanted to flee the room, unwilling to be drawn
into his pain. But another part of me wanted to run to him, to wrap my arms around him and
soothe his wounded soul.

I did none of those things, instead I walked towards the window, carefully maintaining a
measured distance between us.

“I am so, so sorry. About your loss. About Arya.”

He did not bother to respond. At my words, he retreated even further inside himself until he
seemed to disappear beneath his dark cloak.

“I know this is not a good time for us to talk,” I tried again, studiously avoiding to look him
in the eye. “But with our armies marching tonight, there is little time…”

He quickly cut me off. “There is nothing to discuss, Your Grace. I have decided to relinquish
all my claims to you and in return, all I ask is that you rebuild the North after this war is
over.”

I should have rejoiced at his words. Finally, I have been handed my heart’s greatest desire —
the Seven Kingdoms. But instead of relief, all I felt was the dull ache of disappointment.

“And what do you plan to do after the war?” I managed to ask.

“You mean, assuming I survive the war?”

I frowned at his words, sensing the grim sentiment behind them.

The corner of his mouth quirked into a humorless smile. “You need not concern yourself,
Your Grace. It was only a rhetorical question.”

“I assure you I have no plans to fling myself out the window. Nor will I put myself in the
direct path of an ice spear.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Jon opened a flagon of wine, and poured the rich, dark brew into two silver goblets. The wine
slowly filling the room with its intoxicating scent.

“Shall we have a toast then?” he said quietly, raising his goblet into the air. “To Queen
Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass
Sea, the Queen of Meereen, the Mother of Dragons, Queen of the Andals and the First Men,
and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, long may she reign.”

Was I being mocked? I had to wonder. But there was no hint of malice in Jon Snow’s eyes
and I knew that he meant every word he said. He would give up his crown to save his people,
his kingdom.

“But you have not answered my question,” I said, “What do you plan to do after the war?”

He merely shrugged, his face impassive. “Sail across the Narrow Sea, maybe. To Braavos. I
was told in Braavos, there are no lords and ladies, no bastards, no slaves. A man is measured
by his own worth, not by his blood. A very forward thinking lot, the Braavosis.”

“So you plan to leave your people?”

“They are no longer my people,” he said curtly. “They’re yours now.”

I looked at Jon Snow, in his silver armor, dark-haired and impossibly handsome. A hero
straight out of the pages of the fairy tales I used to read as a child. There was something in
him that draws the eye. I’ve met handsome men before. But Jon Snow’s attraction was more
than the mere physical. There was a nobility to his bearing that had little to do with the his
bloodline but more to do with the sense of honor and integrity within him.

“And if I do not accept your offer?” I queried.

Jon carefully set his goblet down on the table before turning his eyes upon me, a slight
furrow between his heavy brows.

“You’ve said it yourself, we do not have much time,” he said at last. “So I would appreciate if
you get right to the point and tell me what is it that you really want?”

“Marry me.”

He looked me in the eyes and this time his mockery was plain to see.

“This is what?” he asked bluntly. “Your second proposal? Your third? Beg your pardon, but I
believe I’ve lost count of how many times you or one of your advisors has proposed marriage
to me.”

I could feel my cheeks flaming with anger and embarrassment at his uncharacteristic
crassness. “I believe this is my fourth proposal.”

“I am deeply honored, but for the fourth time, the answer is still no.”

“May I ask why?” I said, wishing that my voice came out a little steadier.

He grinned wryly. “Do you forget that I am, by all accounts, your nephew?”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “As I recall, you had no moral issues about marrying your
sister.”

“Touché,” Jon said, his mouth thinned into a hard, angry line at the mere mention of Arya.
“Then let me put it this way, I do not desire you, Your Grace.”

A lengthy silence immediately followed his blunt words, during which I managed to keep my
composure, unwilling to show him just how much his words cut deeply.

Most men would have given their very soul to become king. But the title and the enormous
fortune and power that comes with it means little to him. The deference, the awe bestowed
upon him by the nobility and smallfolk made him uncomfortable. And for some reason, these
only made him infinitely more attractive.

“I am sorry,” Jon said quietly. “That was uncalled for.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said coolly. “We are placed at an impossible situation that neither of us
expected. If we marry, we will be doing it for the good of the realm. It has nothing to do with
desire.”

“You’re a good woman, Daenerys Targaryen, and you would make a good queen,” he
continued in the same quiet tone. “You deserve someone who could rule beside you as your
king and who could lay beside you at night as your husband. I have given you the North to
rule, I have nothing else to offer you.”

“You and I and the rest of the kingdom knows that you are the rightful heir to the Iron
Throne,” I replied, facing him with all the courage I didn’t at all feel, “And even if you
willingly give up your crown, I will always be viewed as an usurper. And even worse, a
foreign usurper. The only way for me to rule this kingdom with legitimacy is to marry you.”

“And if I refused?”

“Then after the war is over, prepare to march North with your people,” I said firmly. “The
South does not have enough resources to feed and clothe and shelter the lot of you.”

“You fucking bitch.”

I recoiled from his anger, but reminded myself that an angry Jon ruling beside me is infinitely
better than losing him entirely.
 “Call me all the names you want, but it won’t change the fact that you need me.”

“And if I agree to your terms,” Jon said, his voice filled with disdain. “Would you also
command me to service you in bed?”

Inwardly, I flinched at his harsh tone. “We need only to sleep once to make the marriage
legal. Then you’re free to find yourself a Northern girl with dark hair and grey eyes just like
Arya that you could use for your own pleasure.”

“Get out.”

“I will not leave this room, until I have your answer.”

“You will have your answer tonight,” he said, his dark eyes flashing with barely contained
fury. “But in the meantime, get the fuck out of this room.”

I nodded and turned towards the door, wisely knowing that it will be futile to anger him
further.

“And one more thing before you leave,” Jon said viciously. “Do not ever speak of Arya in
that manner, ever again. Not even just one more time. Do you understand me?”

I turned back and gave him a curt nod.

“Good. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

And that night, beneath the dark winter sky, I married Jon Targaryen, the First of His Name,
and became the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Chapter End Notes

I'm so so sorry, I know it's been too long since my last update. But last year had been a
busy year as I moved to a new country to start a new job. I've been meaning to complete
this story before Season 8 but obviously that didn't work out XD But finally, here's a
quick update just in time for the premiere.
 Daenerys
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

For years, I’ve strived to make a difference in the world, and I’ve forsaken all else to make
that happen, yet here I am, standing alone as my entire kingdom slowly turned to ice.

I looked at the icy wasteland that seemed to stretch as far as my eyes could see and could not
help but remember the stories that Viserys used to tell me when we were children about
Westeros. A kingdom of dreams, he told me then.

This was once the kingdom of my childhood stories, I kept reminding myself. This was once
a kingdom of rolling green hills and bountiful rivers. This was once a kingdom filled with the
merry laughter of children and the jaunty tune of pipes.

Now it was simply a land of endless ice. A frozen kingdom.

I turned to see Jon with Ghost beside him, his hand resting idly atop the direwolf’s broad
head.

“Any word from Bran?”

He shook his head, his dark eyes gazing unwaveringly at the desolate landscape.

I could not make sense of the unwilling fascination that I feel for this young man with the
hooded eyes and solemn gaze. I haven’t known him for long. I don’t know what makes him
laugh. I don’t know what food he prefers or what his favorite song is. But I know that he
flexes his burned hand every time he feels agitated. I know that he rarely smiles but when he
does, his grey eyes would turn silver in merriment.

The dawning realization of how important Jon had become to me was both disturbing and
exhilarating. It was Jon Snow that I wanted beside me as I build the tattered remains of
Westeros into the kingdom of my dreams.

Growing up under the watchful eyes of Viserys, I learned at an early age that love was not a
consideration for myself. I needed to marry a man powerful enough to help us restore our
ancient dynasty. But that night, as I bound myself in matrimony with Jon Snow, I felt myself
succumbing to another childhood dream.That of marrying a handsome prince that will
valiantly fight all evils to keep me from harm.

Suddenly, Jon’s heavy brows furrowed as he looked at the Unsullied standing in position in
front of Moat Cailin, “Do you think it wise to have the Unsullied standing so close to the
main gate?”

“I don’t know,” I said distractedly, my thoughts humming with memories of our hands bound
together in front of an old weirwood tree.
“Arya would know,” came his terse reply.

I stopped cold at his words, the mere mention of her name was like an icy knife plunged into
my chest.

The silence that followed was as cold and bitter as the winter night.

Not once did Jon Snow looked at me during the ceremony. Even as he wrapped the silk
ribbon around our wrists, he kept silent, his face ashen. And from the faces of the people that
were gathered around the weirwood tree, it was clear what they thought of me. I was still the
usurper.

Daenerys Targaryen, with her beasts and foreign army, had torn apart their beloved king’s
passionate love affair for her own vulgar ambitions.

“She’s gone, Jon,” I managed to say. “Let her rest. And maybe, just maybe this marriage will
stand a chance.”

“I dreamt of her last night,” Jon said, his tone calm, matter-of-fact. “She was standing by the
godswood, back in Winterfell. She was wearing her favorite dress, the grey one with a
direwolf stitched at the collar. In her head was a crown of winter roses. She was a beautiful
bride.”

Then he let out a bitter laugh. “And then I opened my eyes and it was you beside me instead
of her. And I wished, oh Gods how I wished, that I’ve never woken up.”

“It’s not my fault that she died,” I said quietly. “Why are you punishing me for it?”

Jon sighed, sounding defeated. “I’m not punishing you, or anyone.”

“But you deserved better than a marriage based on a lie. We both do.”

____________

As the sound of horns filled the night, signalling the start of our march north to the Neck, I
walked inside my dimly lit bedchamber and went straight to the heavily carved wooden
armoire that stood beside the stone hearth.

Inside, beneath a pile of fur-lined cloaks, were a stack of carefully folded parchments.

Letters.

The sight of them filled me with a sense of foreboding, my heartbeat quickening as I slowly
opened them, my eyes moving across the already familiar words.

Jon,

Winterfell has fallen. The dead are everywhere. But we managed to escape through the crypts
and we’re now making our way to the White Knife. It’s dark and cold, so fucking cold. Bran
said you’re planning to put up the last stand at the Neck. I don’t know if we will even manage
to get to White Harbor, let alone, Moat Cailin. But no matter what happens, I love you. I’ll
always love you.

Arya

Jon,

We’ve made it past the Knife. Well, not all of us. Not even most of us. I don’t know how many
of us made it and I couldn’t bring myself to care. We just walk and walk and walk with
nothing in sight. Gendry and I are taking turns carrying Bran. And each step seems to get
harder and harder. My entire body aches. It hurts just to even breathe. There are times when I
feel like death would be a mercy. But then I think of you, my love. And I remember the
promise you made to me that day you left for the Wall. You promised, you’ll come back to me.
And now I promise you, Jon. No matter what it takes, I’ll come back to you.

Arya

Jon,

Our food has already ran out. I feel so weak and hungry. The people around me are either
dead or dying. Even the birds are dropping from the sky like frozen rocks. And just when I
thought things could not get any worse, it does. Sansa has fallen ill. She coughs constantly
and sometimes I see blood in her mouth when she does. I have to carry her now. She has
begged me to leave her behind. She’s not going to make it, she says. And I fear she may be
right.

Arya

Jon,

Why do I feel like every step I take brings me further and further away from you? We nearly
made it to Moat Cailin when we came across a group of wights and had no choice but to
retreat. None of us are in any condition to fight. We are all beyond exhausted. Yesterday, an
old woman, two men, and two children died. The ground is too frozen to dig a grave so we
just leave the bodies behind. I know we should have burned them but we simply do not have
the strength or resources to do so. There are times when I simply want to lay down in the cold
and never get up. It’s only the thought of seeing you that sustains me. I love you, Jon. I love
you.

Arya

“He would kill you, you know.”

I put my hand over my chest in surprise, trapping the letters against my cold hands.

Tyrion Lannister looked at me, his expression grave. “If Jon Snow ever finds out about these
letters, he’d kill you.”

“How — how did you know?”

Reluctantly, Tyrion tossed a folded parchment towards me before striding towards the
window.

I opened the letter and read it quickly.

Jon,

Last night, I dreamt of you. You were standing by the godswood, waiting for me. You were
holding a ribbon in your hand. It was a beautiful dream. I’m going to hold on to that dream
until the time I can finally be with you. Until the time I can finally stand beside you in that
godswood. Until the time you can finally twine that ribbon into my hands, binding us for all
eternity. Bran said we will reach Moat Cailin in two days. I’m coming home, Jon. I love you.
And I’m coming home to you.

Arya

I looked directly into Tyrion Lannister’s eyes and asked him the same question I asked
myself the day the first letter arrived, the day after we arrived at Moat Cailin.

“What do you think would Jon Snow have done if he'd read these letters?”

He raised his brow. “Since you never gave him the chance to read them then I guess we’ll
never know.”

“He would have abandoned us all,” I informed him. “He would have gone North to save his
beloved Arya.”

“Were you afraid that he will abandon us? Or that he will abandon you?”

“What do you mean?”

Tyrion tipped his goblet to his lips and drained it. “I see the way you look at him.”

“You didn’t marry him for the good of the realm,” he continued, his tone accusing. “You
married him because you’re in love with him.”

I should have felt shame at his words but instead I felt strangely at peace with myself, with
the things I've done.

In the end, all that matters is that I have Jon.

“Yes, I married him because I wanted to,” I said defiantly. “I tricked him and coerced him
and threatened him to bend to my will.”

We stared at each other in silence and when Tyrion finally spoke there was a sorrowful note
in his voice, which I recognised as pity.

”The entire kingdom knows that Jon Snow died for Arya Stark. He loved her enough to
forsake his vows, even his own life. Do you understand just what it is that you’ve done?”
 He stared at me for a long, long time as if he was beholding a stranger.

“For the sake of the realm, I will keep this between us,” Tyrion said grimly. “I just pray that
you won’t live to regret this.”

“Do you know he came to my bed last night, drunk as a Flea Bottom thief. He laid with me,
held me. And called me another woman's name. All night, it was him calling me Arya.”

I laughed, the sound filled with equal amounts pain and mockery.

“And still I regret nothing. It was worth it all to have him beside me for as long as we both
shall live.”

Chapter End Notes

So, Arya's back next chapter and it's gonna be heartbreaking xx

 Arya
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

We arrived at Moat Cailin just as the horns blared, barely outpacing the dead. It was pure
chaos as knights and men-at-arms ran towards their positions.

I spun around, trying to look for a familiar face. Sansa and Bran were huddled at a corner,
their frail bodies shivering in the cold. I needed to get them somewhere warm and safe before
the battle begins, all the rest of the men and women and children that came with us too. They
were not in any condition to fight in the battle.

A moment later, I saw Ser Davos racing towards us, his face ashen.

“M’lady?” He looked at me as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Ser Davos,” I said, relieved. “Where is Jon?”

He continued to stare at me, his eyes seemingly witless. “We thought you were dead. No one
from Winterfell made it to the Reach…”

“There isn’t any time, Ser Davos,” Gendry interrupted, waving a hand towards Sansa and
Bran and the rest of them. “We need food and shelter, we’ve been cold and starving since
Winterfell was attacked.”

“Of course,” Ser Davos managed to say, leading us towards a crumbling tower. “Right this
way.”

I managed to stay apace with him, “Where is Jon?”

His face paled. “He has left some hours ago, with Rhaegal.”

“And Daenerys?”

“She has just left, with Drogon,” Ser Davos said, his eyes met mine and then he quickly
looked away. “They would patrol the Neck, they think that the Night King would ride
Viserion.”

“He must be worried,” I continued, lifting a piece of bread to my mouth. “I sent ravens to tell
him what happened, but I wasn’t certain if they made it.”

“We received no letters, m’lady,” his voice barely a whisper. “Lord Glover said that
Winterfell was burned to the ground.”

“We managed to escape through the crypts,” I explained, devouring another piece of bread.
“It matters not, Ser Davos. What matters is that we survived. I’m here now.”
I looked up at Ser Davos with an apologetic look and noticed how his tanned, weathered face
turned ashen, then flushed bright red. He still wouldn’t meet my gaze.

“You really do look like you’ve seen a ghost, Ser Davos. I can’t even imagine what Jon’s
reaction would be when he sees me. Did he really think me dead?”

At his continued silence, I felt my gut slowly twist into a knot. “Is something amiss?”

“N-no, m’lady,” Ser Davos said, hurriedly standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, there are some
things that I need to attend to…”

__________

The long night seemed to go on and on for what seems like an eternity as hordes and hordes
of the undead appeared from the darkness to walk amongst the living. I felt suffocated with
the smell of blood and decaying flesh as I stood just past the door of the Gatehouse Tower,
where Bran and Sansa and the rest of the womenfolk and children sat, shivering in fear.

From afar I could see flashes of dragonfire bursting across the night sky, bright orange flames
against the icy blue streaks breathed by Viserion. I took comfort in seeing the flames, it
meant that Jon was still alive, burning scores and scores of the undead.

But it’s the Night King that truly matters. How could they possibly kill him when he also
commands his own undead dragon.

“They’re using the dragon as bait,” Bran murmured, his eyes half-closed. “We won’t be able
to keep them out for much longer.”

I looked at my brother, he had hardly spoken since we arrived at Moat Cailin. Sansa sat
beside him, looking sickly and terrified.

“What do we do, Bran?” I asked, my voice roughened with fear and desperation.

Bran went perfectly still and for a moment I feared he has no answer. “Take me to the
godswood, now.”

I nodded towards Gendry and he moved swiftly, carrying Bran as we hurried towards the
decaying godswood just beyond the tower.

All around us were men cutting their way through groups of wights. We passed a pack of lean
wolves ripping apart a bloody corpse. Nymeria’s pack, I thought with a pang of sadness.
Horrible shrieks filled the air and for a moment it felt like I was back in Winterfell, with
Nymeria dead at my feet.

Just as we reached the godswood, a wight hurtled towards Gendry. I unsheathed my dagger
and brought it down on its yellowed skull.

I saw Gendry place Bran against the weirwood tree at the center of the godswood before
smashing his war hammer against another wight and then another and then another.
Gendry was screaming again and again, “Why won’t you all just fucking die?” While he
continued smashing his hammer against the decaying corpses that were closing in on us.

I glanced at Bran and found him sitting beneath the weirwood tree, his eyes closed, his face
deathly white.

Come on, Bran. Come on…

Then Bran began to shiver uncontrollably, almost violently. A ball of lightning, blue and
nearly blinding, hurtled towards the godswood, sending the wights scattering about. And the
howling noise suddenly thinned into a near whisper.

I felt a burning cold wrap itself around me, seeping through my heavy furs. I steeled myself,
gripping Dark Sister with both hands. And then I saw him, standing just a few feet away from
the weirwood tree. The Night King with several Others at his side.

“Gendry…” I said, keeping my eyes unwavering against the Night King’s gaze. “Get Bran
and take him away from here. I will try to hold them as long as I can.”

I felt Gendry move behind me, could hear his grunt as he lifted Bran from beneath the
weirwood tree.

A sharp crack pierced the air and suddenly two of the Others splintered into a million pieces.
Behind the Others, hidden by the shadows of the tower, stood Ser Jaime Lannister and
Brienne of Tarth. Their faces smeared with soot and dried blood, both of them holding twin
Valyrian steel swords.

“Go!” Ser Jaime shouted at Gendry, “we will hold them off.”

As both knights hacked their way towards the Others, I knew what I needed to do. I
unsheathed my Valyrian steel dagger and leaped towards the Night King, I welcomed his cold
hand closing around my throat and felt the familiar pressure on my throat…

I thought of the night Winterfell burned to the ground until I could almost smell the sweet
scent of winter roses, until I could almost hear Nymeria’s howl as the Other’s sword pierced
her gut.

His other hand dug through my wrist, keeping the dagger at bay. And in a split moment, I
released the dagger, catching it with my sword hand and thrusting it against the Night King’s
gut, in between the seams of his armor.

The sound of splintering ice fractured the black sky, followed by unbearable screeching as the
remaining Others fell onto the ground followed by the wights, like marionettes whose strings
had been cut.

A deafening silence fell around us, filled with fear and awe and hope.

Then suddenly Ser Jaime rushed towards me, crushing me unexpectedly into a tight hug.

“It’s over, it’s finally over…”

__________

I found him at the Great Hall, standing beside Ser Davos and Samwell Tarly. They were
speaking in hushed tones, oblivious to the people around them.

From where I stood, I could tell his face was pale beneath the grime and blood that streaked
it. His sword hand was bloody beneath the white gauze wrapped around it.

It was Sam who noticed me first as I reached them, murmuring an excuse before walking
away, Ser Davos following closely behind him.

“Is it true?” I whispered. “Is it true what they say? About you and Daenerys?”

Jon looked at me, his voice quiet. “We were wed the night before the battle.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said accusingly, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Did she coerce
you into it? It’s not too late, you could still declare the marriage null.”

“The marriage…” Jon swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice was so faint, it was almost
inaudible, “has been consummated.”

For a split second, I couldn’t move, my feet felt rooted on the ground. And then I whirled
around, shock and rage propelling me forward, until I was running. Running away from Jon.
The irony was not lost on me. After enduring the endless cold and numbing pain just to get to
Jon, now I could not even bear to be in his presence for a second longer.

He caught my arm just as I was about to leave the hall. I could feel dozens of eyes staring at
me, at us. But I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to get away from here, I wanted to get away
from Jon.

“Let go of me!” I shouted at him, twisting sideways, trying to wrench my arm free from his
hold.

“Listen to me, Arya,” his voice hoarse. “I thought you were dead.”

His words felt like a mockery to me. It felt like he was making a jape of all the pain and all
the fear I’ve suffered. Of those years when I was alone and hungry in the Riverlands, those
years when I was blinded and beaten in Braavos, these past weeks of nearly crawling across a
frozen wasteland. It doesn’t matter, I would tell myself. Jon will want me, even if no one else
does.

I thought you were dead. His words sent me from the depths of harsh despair to a burning
rage that seemed to envelop my entire being.

“I said, let go of me.”

Jon released me and I swung at him, my fist made an awful cracking sound as it crashed into
his cheek so hard that his head jerked sideways, his feet staggering backwards.
Loud gasps echoed through the hall while I stood my ground, my chest heaving with
undisguised fury. I could hear Ser Davos ushering people out of the room and it seemed like
an eternity before the doors finally closed with a resounding thud.

“You thought I was dead?” I repeated his words. “And so you wedded Daenerys Targaryen
and bedded her? Is that it, Jon? While I was dragging myself across a fucking wasteland,
trying to get to you, you were fucking her?”

“No! Gods, Arya, no…” Jon shook his head, his face white with strain. “The North has
fallen. It was the only way she would pledge support to rebuild the north…” His voice
deepened, turning almost ragged. “I gave up my claim to the North and to the Iron Throne,
but she would not relent. She needed me to legitimise her claim and I needed her, the North
couldn’t fight the battle alone…”

Jon stumbled to his knees, his arms wrapping around my hips, his face pressed against my
belly, staining my linen tunic wet with his tears.

“And I thought you were dead…” Jon whispered. “You were gone and what does it matter if I
wed her or not? It was just the once, to legitimise the marriage. She knows I would not be a
true husband to her… and truth is, I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything.”

He looked up at me, his face pleading. “But I could make this right, Arya. I promise you, I
would make things right.” Jon looked at my impassive face and grabbed both my hands
frantically. “We could leave tonight. Board the next ship to Braavos. You could show me the
Sealord’s Palace, introduce me to Izembaro and Brusco and his daughters. We could build a
life there.”

I closed my eyes against the bittersweet ache his words brought forth. “And what about the
North? Do you think that Daenerys would honor her pledge of support once you’ve
abandoned her, humiliated her?”

“Fuck the North,” Jon snapped. “We’ve done enough for them. Sansa could treat with
Daenerys, or mayhaps Bran. We’ve done enough.”

I stood there, looking at Jon, the person I loved most, the only person that really mattered to
me when all is said and done. I traced a finger lightly across his familiar face, which has
brought me so much comfort even during the most harrowing of times. I’ve seen his face
laughing and sad and angry, but I’ve never seen it wrought with so much pain as it is now.

“Don’t be stupid,” I finally said. “You are King now. You have a chance to build a legacy, it’s
what you’ve wanted all your life and now you have it. How can you walk away from it?”

Jon stood up, his arms tightening around me, as if he was trying to absorb my body into his.
“The name, the title, Winterfell, I wanted it all because it was the only way I could have you
without dishonoring Father. I belong to you, just as you belong to me. We’ve always known.”

My beautiful, beloved Jon. How could you betray me so?

I looked at his implacable features, that familiar scowl on his face and felt an ache pierce
through the armor of pain that surrounded my heart. It would have been so easy to reach out
to him, to embrace him. To press my lips against his and let him ease away the unbearable
pain. To pretend, even for just a moment, that nothing has changed.

__________

“I was expecting you to be gone by now, but I’m glad that you’re still here.”

I turned around, my hand immediately going to my dagger. Bran was sitting at the far corner
of the empty tent, a fur cloak on his lap.

Bran continued, a wistful smile touched his usually inscrutable features. “You plan to leave
for Braavos at dawn, yes?”

“The Night King’s dead, Bran,” I said with an irritated sigh. “What does it matter anymore?
Daenerys Targaryen can sit on the Iron Throne for all I care.”

“She needs Jon, you know that,” my brother replied succinctly. “Without Jon, she would be
always be seen as an usurper. The noble houses, they already mistrust her. How long will it
take before they breed another rebellion? And you know very well how little it takes for a
rebellion to turn into war.”

“She coerced Jon into marrying her, used his grief to get what she wants,” I said defensively.
“But Jon, he belongs to me…”

“… and you belong to him.” Bran countered. “I know, Arya. We’ve always known. Even
when we were still children, mayhaps even Father knows and Mother, too.”

“But love is the death of duty, sister. The entire realm knows that Jon died for you, bled to his
death for a chance to save you. There is no doubt that if given a choice between you and the
realm, he would choose you. He would always choose you.”

I stared at Bran, my mind numb. “And that’s why you’re here. That’s why you came to me
instead.”

“I had a vision,” Bran said in response, his eyes sharp and watchful. “Of fire and blood. I
heard the incessant ringing of bells. And then I saw it, a kingdom turned into ashes.”

“What do you want from me, Bran?”

Bran’s countenance didn’t change, not a flicker of emotion on his face. “Do you remember
what people used to say about aunt Lyanna?”

“That she was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen, taken against her will…” I tried to
remember the stories, told in hushed tones by my father’s bannermen. “And that by the time
Father reached her, it was too late.”

“Robert’s Rebellion was built on a lie,” my brother said, shaking his head. “Rhaegar
Targaryen didn’t kidnap aunt Lyanna, they were in love. And thousands died for it.”
Bran didn’t have to say another word. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what it is that he was asking of
me. My first impulse was to turn away, to find Jon and leave this wretched place. To hell with
Bran and his visions. To hell with the dragonspawn, if she’s mad enough to burn her own
kingdom then so be it.

Then I remembered Weasel. Her mouth filthy with mud. Lommy and his stinky, puss-infected
leg. Pretty Pia with her broken nose and broken teeth. I heard Chiswyck’s laughter as he
recounts what happened to the innkeeper’s poor daughter like it was just a harmless jape.

I turned towards Bran. “Thousands don’t have to die, brother. Only one.”

Bran stared back at me, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “And what would happen to her
dragons? To the Dothrakis, to the Unsullied? Do we just close our eyes and hope they will go
away, without exacting vengeance for their Queen? They were our allies against the Night
King, sister.”

And in return, I have to give up Jon, who had always been a part of me, and always would be.
Who was always by my side, even when we were continents apart.

The words hung in the air between us, unspoken. But bitter and true.

“You have no idea what it is you are asking of me, Bran,” I said, swallowing the bitter taste
of tears.

“We all have our parts to play,” Bran looked at me, his stare cold and unflinching. “You’ve
done your part, sister. And the realm is grateful to you for it. Your name will be remembered
for a thousand years, your deed will be writ in history.” I looked into my brother’s eyes and
saw not an ounce of emotion, only a blank and terrifying coldness. “But now you have to let
Jon do his part. It’s his time now.”

The intensity of Bran’s stare unnerved me. I wanted to deny the truth behind his words, I
wanted to curse him for putting me in this position. For giving me a choice, which wasn’t a
choice at all.

__________

In the end, it was almost frighteningly easy. The night was cold and black when I saddled my
horse and rode away from camp. The cold wind sliced across my cheeks as I galloped along
with jolting speed. It would be nearly dawn before Jon would realise I was gone, and by that
time, I would already be halfway to White Harbor.

The Long Night is over but the cold remains. And I felt myself growing colder and colder as
I ride further away from Moat Cailin, from Jon. By the time I reached White Harbor, all the
pain that seemed to burn like flames inside me seems to have burnt out, leaving nothing
behind but a dark emptiness.

Did Jon already find out I was gone? Would he be angry? Or mayhaps, he’d be relieved. That
he no longer needs to choose, that he didn’t need to sacrifice the realm for a mere slip of a
girl. An unworthy thought, that.
 Curse Bran. But he was right. Jon would choose me, he would always choose me. But Jon
would also carry the guilt for whatever hardships the North suffers under the dragonspawn’s
reign and for the burned bodies of innocent men and women and children that would litter the
kingdom in the future wars.

I’m certain that Jon won’t resent me for it, nor will he blame me. But he will blame himself,
he will shoulder the burden for the rest of his life. Could we really build a life across the
Narrow Sea while Daenerys Targaryen wreaks havoc across the Seven Kingdoms? I tried to
imagine Jon as a sellsword or mayhaps, a sailor. But try as I might, I couldn’t quite picture it.
It was a stupid thought, now that I think of it.

Jon has the blood of Old Valyria and the First Men running through his veins, he was not
meant to be a common sellsword. The same way unruly and scruffy Arya Horseface was not
meant to be Queen.

This was the right decision, I told myself. Jon was born to rule, to be the kind of King that
would be revered for a thousand years and beyond. And it was that thought that gave me the
courage to utter the words I had not spoken for a long time as I walked along the wooden
dock, towards a man standing beside a galley with purple sails.

“Valar morghulis.”

Chapter End Notes

I know it’s been ages, I’m really sorry about that. But I found this draft in my old laptop,
and seems only right to complete the story…

Edit: I’m planning on an epilogue chapter, so don’t feel too bad about the ending ;)
 The Uncloaking
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Six months after the Long Night

Daenerys

“Any news on her?” I asked Varys just as he finished his latest report on the recent tourney
hosted by Lord Yohn Royce at Runestone.

“She’s in Braavos, Your Grace,” the eunuch supplied.

I raised a brow in surprise. “And she has no plans of coming back?”

“Doesn’t seem so,” he said. “She has taken up with old friends, fishmongers and mummers
and the likes.”

“And her appearance?”

“From the reports I’ve received, she’s been using her own face as of late,” Varys said. “She
travels across Essos for most part, but it would be easy enough to find her, if one is
determined enough.”

“Pay his men, I don’t care how much it costs,” I pressed my mouth into a thin line. “He
musn’t find her.”

I heard the door open and looked up to see Jon walking in, he was holding a sheaf of
parchment, wrapped in a black silk ribbon.

He held it up, his hand trembling in anger. “Leave us.”

Varys stood up, his head bowed and hurried towards the door.

I looked at Jon, my voice sounded stiff even to my own ears.“Where did you get those?”

Did Tyrion betray me? He promised to keep it from Jon. But Jon is surrounded by his own
men, knights and noblemen from the North and the Riverlands, save for Ser Davos. Any one
of them could have been tasked to spy upon me.

I should have burned it, I thought angrily. It was stupid to keep it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon said, his face almost contorted with barely suppressed rage. “I barely
remember anything about the night we wed, I do believe I was drunk, you see it was the only
way I could stomach wedding you, bedding you…” His mouth curled into a sneer. “But I do
remember you telling me you were sorry for my loss. That you were sorry about what
happened to Arya.”
He threw the letters at me, barely missing my face. “And that time, you knew,” his voice was
quiet, eerily so, “you knew she was alive.”

I felt my mind and body go numb, but I still had my pride and a lifetime’s practice of hiding
my true feelings. “I did what was best for the realm.”

“What would you have done if you’ve known? If you’ve known that your precious Arya was
out there, starving and cold?” I forced myself to hold his stare, his eyes nearly black in anger.
“Death was right at our door but I knew you would have left, you would have left us. You
would have put yourself and Rhaegal at risk to save her.”

Jon’s voice was filled with icy disdain. “Mayhaps. But one thing is for certain, nothing, no
bribe or blackmail, would have compelled me to marry you if I had known.”

I could feel my chest tightening with the impulse to beg his forgiveness, to ask him for a
truce. I fooled myself into thinking that I could live with it, with his indifference, with his
coldness and disdain.

I love you, Jon Snow. But my pride would not allow me to say the words. He will reject you,
mock you, compare you to HER.

Precious Arya Stark. The nobles and commonfolk would simper in my face then turn around
and call her The Queen That Should Have Been in hushed tones.

From North to Dorne, songs are sung of her beauty, her bravery. The young princess who
managed to escape her family’s enemies only to return and seek vengeance. The hero of the
Long Night, who killed the Night King when all seems lost and saved mankind.

Her sudden disappearance only added to her already formidable legend.

I’ve lost a dragon and sacrificed half of my army during the Long Night, yet I’ve heard none
of the bards sing about Viserion or the thousands of the Unsullied and Dothrakis who died so
the rest of Westeros could live.

Across the Narrow Sea, Arya Stark must be gloating, I thought bitterly. She’s gone, but her
ghost remains to haunt us all.

“I need you, Jon,” I said softly, willing him to understand. “I cannot hold this kingdom
together by myself.”

“No, you don’t. I was just something you wanted, and you’ve never been told no, have you?”
His eyes narrowed into slits. “Like a little child, you couldn’t bear being told no. So you used
lies and schemes and tricks to get what you wanted.”

He wrapped his burned hand around my throat and I felt weak with fear. The coldness of his
rage was terrifying

”You know what I’ve just realised, Dany? I could kill you. I could actually kill you for this.”

“Are you leaving me?” My voice was a plaintive whisper.

I could already hear the cruel japes, see the mockery in the eyes of royal courtiers. The most
beautiful Queen in the known world, they say, and yet her own husband could not stand the
mere sight of her. Mayhaps, the bards would finally find it a worthy tale to be sung.

“Make no mistake about it, Dany.” He was breathing hard, still struggling to control his
anger. “The only reason I’m still here is because this is what Arya would have wanted me to
do. You’re right, you cannot keep the realm together. But I am looking for her and I won’t
stop looking for her and once I find her, you and the rest of the realm can burn for all I care.”

You’ll never find her, Jon Snow, I vowed silently. I’ll make sure of it.

________

Three years after the Long Night

Cat of the Canals

The roar of the Titan was a welcome sound after a long and eventful journey from Volantis. A
violent storm forced The Sealark to anchor off the coast of Lys for nearly a forthnight to
repair the damage to its main mast. Then just off the coast of Tyrosh, a pirate ship chased us
into seeking refuge in the nearest harbor, adding another week into the journey.

I’ve spent the past three years since crossing the Narrow Sea traveling across the Free Cities.
Through the dark and ancient forest of Qohor to the rolling limestone hills of Norvos and
more recently, the ruins of Sar Mell just outside of Volantis.

I carried enough gold to afford me a life of relative comfort, but I was not cut out to be a lady
of leisure. The Faceless Men was no longer an option. I might have paid for my freedom with
Jaqen’s life, but I doubt they were pleased with the bloody trail I left in Westeros. And killing
has lost its appeal once I’ve had my fill of vengeance.

I toyed with the idea of being a courtesan, remembering the Kindly Man’s words from years
ago. And there have been offers, both honorable and not, from wealthy merchants and even a
Norvoshi nobleman. But I couldn’t really see myself being subject to a man’s whims.

Then nearly half a year after my return to Braavos, I’ve met a keyholder who was impressed
with my fluency in several languages. And I found myself working for the Iron Bank, paying
discreet visits to potential borrowers to ascertain their character and ability to pay their dues.

Mayhaps, the keyholder recognises me and it’s a way for them to keep a close eye. Or
mayhaps not. Mother would be horrified to see me working like a commonfolk. But it was a
good life with friends and a job that allows me to travel and meet new people, experience
different cultures.

I am content and on nights when I lay on my empty bed and miss Jon so much that the pain
felt almost physical, I tell myself that this is the life I had chosen. The one I had painstakingly
built despite the pain of Jon’s betrayal and the coldness of Bran’s farewell.
I disembarked from The Sealark, raising my hand in a slight wave towards its captain, then
walked briskly across the Purple Harbor, steering clear from the loud-mouthed sailors and
pinch-faced merchants loitering in the docks.

“Cat! When did you get back?”

I smiled at Brea just as I entered the tavern, taking a seat at a table near the window. “My
ship just docked, I walked here from the harbor.”

“Good, you just got back in time for the Uncloaking,” Brea said, placing a mug of ale in front
of me. “Tregar and I are planning to go to the Sealord’s Palace tonight.”

Normally, I would share Brea’s enthusiasm. The Uncloaking of Uthero is celebrated every
year in Braavos, marked by ten days of festivities and revelry. The festivities culminating at
midnight on the tenth day, as the revelers remove their masks while the Titan of Braavos’s
roars fill the night air.

But the long journey has been tiring, more so than usual, and the only thing I’m looking
forward to is a restful sleep. Yet, the Sealord’s Palace would certainly be splendid tonight.
And I’ve been away for several moons, it would be good to see Talea and our friends.

“They said the Sealord has an honored guest, I heard talks of it at Pynto’s,” Brea chatted,
oblivious to my reluctance. “Apparently, the Sealord took him to the Blue Lantern and all the
mummers say he’s handsome and dark as sin. They say he’s…” She stopped abruptly, her
attention suddenly caught by a group of sailors entering the tavern.

I yawned, only half-listening as I placed a coin beside the empty mug. “Let me go catch some
sleep then, I’ll meet you both at the Moon Pool.”

“Don’t forget your mask!” Brea called out as I stepped outside the tavern.

I shivered at the chill in the air, suddenly longing for the heat and humid air of Volantis.
Keeping my head down against a strong gust of wind, I walked past the bustling harbor, not
noticing the unusual sight of a dromond with black sails, which stood out in stark contrast
against the purple sails that filled the harbor.

Its black sails proudly emblazoned with a silver direwolf set within a red three-headed
dragon.

__________

“I wish I could go with you,” Talea sighed, “But Pynto will be wroth if I don’t show up at the
tavern tonight.”

I sat in front of the mirror as Talea repeatedly draws a silver-backed brush through my hair,
fastening it with silver pins. “Your hair has grown quite long since you’ve been away,” she
remarked.

I tipped my head, looking at my reflection, and smiled with quiet satisfaction. It felt good to
see the familiar grey eyes and dark hair, the Stark look. I could have used a different face, for
certain. But when you use a face for a long period of time, you risk losing yourself to it.

And I didn’t want to forget who I am. I’m no longer the little girl who sailed across the
Narrow Sea, helpless and alone. I’m no longer the same girl consumed by hatred and
thoughts of vengeance.

No, Jon would never leave me. He would always be an empty space beside me, a palpable
void in my life. But I managed to fill the hollow he has left behind the best way I could.

This might not be the life Mother would have wanted for me, but it has allowed me freedom
from restraints that in another life would have bounded me as a highborn girl.

I brought my arm closer to the light, looking at the inking on my left wrist. A permanent
keepsake that I got in the bustling streets of Old Volantis. It was a tattoo of Nymeria, the dark
ink deeply embedded into my pale skin. So that I would never forget.

“I hate to think of you working while Brea and I are enjoying the festivities,” I touched rose-
scented water to my throat and wrists. “Couldn’t you persuade Pynto to let you off early?”

“Not tonight, he won’t,” she said, chuckling. “The tavern would definitely be filled with
revelers and Pynto would hate to miss out on their coins.”

Talea turned away and went into her room. A moment later, she returned, holding a silver
mask, decorated with silver filigree and strung with black velvet ribbons.

“Here, try it on,” Talea said eagerly, tying the ribbons securely at the back of my head.

The mask followed the line of my sculpted cheeks, leaving my nose and mouth uncovered.
Behind the mask, my grey eyes seemed even more striking against the silver. I smoothed the
skirt of my dove-gray dress, feeling a stirring of anticipation. Mayhaps I could enjoy a little
flirtation with a sailor or a foreign traveler.

“Oh, look at you!” Talea breathed, giving me a quick hug. “You’re so pretty! For certain, you
will turn a few heads, you always do.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. It was really too bad she couldn’t go with us.

“Who knows, mayhaps you’ll even meet a handsome stranger tonight.”

__________

By the time I arrived, the grounds surrounding the Sealord’s Palace was already teeming with
people, masked revelers dancing and laughing gaily while a blonde singer, wearing a
glittering mask, stood beside the marble fountain, singing and playing the lute.

“Cat!”

I looked around and saw Brea, wearing a green mask decorated with black feathers, waving
at me from across the crowd. Beside her stood her long-time beau, Tregar, and another man,
whose face is hidden behind a gold mask.
Brea introduced me to Iago, Tregar’s elder brother. They came from a distinguished Braavosi
family, their grandfather having made a significant fortune in shipping. And like Tregar, he
also captains his own ship, a galley that he named, The Oblivion.

“I’ve heard you are quite a traveler,” Iago closed the distance between us and smiled, his dark
eyes warm and friendly. “And that you speak different languages.”

We strolled through the cobbled path leading to the main palace, while Brea and Tregar
walked a few paces ahead.

“You captain your own ship, you must be even more well traveled than I am,” I said. “The
farthest I’ve been to is Volantis, and you?”

“I’ve recently returned from Qarth.”

“You would have seen the walls then,” I marveled. “Is it true that it’s entirely built from
marble?”

“The inner walls are,” he grinned down at me, his eyes knowing, “and it is filled with
carvings of men and women that would make even the Black Pearl blush.”

I laughed at his innuendo. “I wish to go further east in my next travels, even as far as Yi Ti.”

“I’ve never been to Yi Ti,” Iago replied. “Mayhaps we could go together.”

I kept my tone light, non-committal. “Mayhaps.”

The gardens outside the Sealord’s Palace rang with noise. People in feathered masks and
satin clothing stood out vividly against the soft lantern lights. Vendors pushed carts loaded
with their wares, selling anything from sweet wine and honeyed breads and ripe plums.

We stopped in front of a vendor selling pear brandy and purchased a mug each, sipping the
warm drink in companionable silence.

I looked around, finding myself entranced by the twinkling lights that adorned the façade of
the Sealord’s Palace. Its white marble columns and arches, gleaming against the moonlight.

A man stood near the massive iron gates to the palace courtyard, tall and lean. He was facing
away, talking to a rotund man wearing the charcoal robe of a Braavosi nobleman, and they
were surrounded by several of the Sealord’s guardsmen. He wore a plain black mask, but
there was something familiar in the way he held himself, his posture straight and guarded.

Just at that moment, he moved his head fully in our direction, his body growing very still, and
I could see that his eyes are grey, glowing like quicksilver from afar. And then he hurried off
towards us, with long, familiar strides.

I could hear my heartbeat suddenly pounding against my ears. Could it be?

I pulled at Iago’s arms and led him towards the hedge maze that led to the menagerie. The
path between the shrubbery was narrow, the trees tall enough to almost block out even the
 moonlight. The only light came from the occasional lanterns hung on a tree.

The noise and music grew fainter and fainter as we went deeper and deeper into the maze.
And somehow, I found myself alone with Iago in a hidden alcove, the faint light of a single
lantern throwing ominous shadows across the darkness.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to still the fluttering in my chest.

What would he be doing here in Braavos?

Except for a few letters exchanged with Sansa, I rarely kept up with news from Westeros, but
it is not uncommon to hear talks about the new Targaryen rulers even in Essos. In Ragman’s
Harbor, I heard merchants tell that the King and Queen of Westeros live entirely separate
lives.

The King is said to spend most of his time in the North, rebuilding his ancestral home and
helping the Northern houses get back on their feet after the Long Night. While the Queen is
set on building an armada, with the intent of laying siege to the remaining slaver cities. In
Volantis, I’ve heard talks of the masters of Yunkai and Astapor forming an alliance to re-
capture Meereen from its Targaryen queen.

For a moment I forgot that I was not alone until I felt Iago’s hands coming to rest on either
side of my hips.

“Cat, can I kiss you?” he whispered, his breath warm against my cheek.

I had barely time to respond when Iago was suddenly jerked back and I felt a pair of strong
hands pulling me away from him. I felt immobile, unable to breathe.

I looked up and in the dim light, I saw him. He looked older and there were grim lines around
his mouth and on his forehead. But I knew those eyes, those solemn grey eyes. And the
slender lines of his face, so similar to mine.

Jon.

Chapter End Notes

I really enjoyed writing about Arya’s life in Braavos; it’s nice to have her living life to
the fullest after years of sufferings… Hope you all like this chapter :)
 Davos
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The familiar smell of rotting sewage greeted me as I enter the Old Gate into King’s Landing.
It has been a good two years since I last stepped foot into the city and I could feel the curious
gazes upon us as the royal cavalcade made its way through the crooked streets of Cobbler’s
Square. No doubt the people are surprised to see their king in the capitol. A rare sight, as it is.

I looked at Jon Snow, riding in front of me in his black stallion, his silver armor gleaming in
the warm, morning light. He was flanked by his trusted swords and every so often he would
raise his hand in greeting, acknowledging the commons who lined the streets, their heads
bowed deferentially in greeting.

The emnity between the royal couple is well known throughout the realm. Their marriage oft
compared to the barren wasteland of the king’s beloved North. Over the years I’ve received
several ravens from Tyrion Lannister and the rest of the council, writ with their most pressing
concern — the heir to the Iron Throne or the lack thereof.

And each time, they received the same succinct response from the king: “We agreed to a
marriage in name only, remind the Queen of that.”

Tyrion Lannister stood at the entrance to the castle, Varys and Lord Mace Tyrell at his side.
His eyes appear shrunken and there were deep groove lines around his mouth.

He bowed deeply as Jon walked up the flagstone steps, “Welcome, Your Grace. It is a delight
to see you again.”

Jon stiffened slightly at the caustic remark, his face darkening.

“It is good to see you too, Lord Tyrion,” I quickly said, stepping into the breach. “And may I
ask, how is the Queen?”

“She is well,” Varys answered. “She awaits your arrival at the council’s chambers.”

The Unsullied swung the heavy oak doors of the chambers where the Queen sat at the head of
the table, a gold crown wrought in the shape of a three-headed dragon perched on her fine
silver hair. Her face was a serene, almost emotionless, mask.

The king took the chair on the opposite end of the table, with nary a glance to the Queen. His
face just as emotionless, his gaze as impenetrable as an iron shield.

Like a pair of marble sculptures, I thought ruefully. The King and Queen of the Seven
Kingdoms, and what a sad pair they make.

“It must have been a long journey, Your Grace,” Lord Tyrell said, his tone jovial. “Mayhaps
we can give you some time alone with the Queen, to reacquaint yourselves, we can have this
discussion…”

“I’m sure the King has no time to spare, my lord,” Daenerys interjected. “How long do you
plan to stay, by the by?”

“No more than a sennight.”

“We are, of course, grateful for your time,” she said with a regal nod. “I hope the North fares
well even without their beloved king’s presence.”

An awkward silence fell in the room. I cleared my throat. “The North is faring well, Your
Grace. Better than expected, to be certain. It will take several more years to completely
restore Winterfell, but the main castle has been rebuilt and is now habitable.”

Tyrion nodded. “And the rest of the Northern houses?”

“Similar progress, I would say,” I answered. “As we all know, it would take a lifetime to
completely rebuild. But most of the keeps are now habitable and we’re building new
settlements at the Gift for the freefolk.”

“We need to take out another loan from the Iron Bank,” Jon said, gesturing to the papers I’ve
laid out on the table. “We need to build more greenhouses, we cannot be dependent on food
imports indefinitely.”

“The Crown is already in debt up to our ears,” Daenerys said, lifting her goblet towards
Missandei. “I doubt the Iron Bank will agree to another loan.”

Jon looked at her, his voice cold. “Mayhaps if we have spent more gold rebuilding the North,
instead of building an armada, then we wouldn’t need another loan.”

“It was built for the realm’s protection.”

“Who in their right mind would invade Westeros?” Jon ran his burned hand across his
forehead. “When we could barely feed and clothe our own people.”

“We’ve received news from Essos,” Varys murmured. “Yunkai and Astapor has formed an
alliance and are intent on attacking Meereen.”

“And what does it have to do with Westeros?”

“Do you forget that I am the Queen of Meereen, dear husband?”

“Again, what does it have to do with Westeros?”

Daenery’s eyes flashed in anger but her voice remained calm. “I’m the Queen of Meeren and
the Seven Kingdoms. Any war waged against me is a war against all that is mine.”

Jon let out a loud, bitter laugh. “Did you even listen to what Ser Davos said? It will take a
lifetime to rebuild this country. Westeros has suffered enough wars to last several lifetimes
and I will be damned before I let you drag it into a war on the other side of Essos.”
“I fought their war for them and sacrificed my own child to end the Long Night,” Daenerys
shouted, her slender body vibrating with barely contained anger. “They owe me!”

“They owe you nothing!” Jon slammed his fist against the table, once. “It was you who
wanted the Iron Throne, you who wanted to rule over the entire Westeros.”

The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity.

But Jon simply leaned back on his chair, his grey eyes were chips of ice as he looked at his
wife. “And you seem to forget one thing, dear wife. It was Arya Stark who ended the Long
Night, not you.”

The queen’s face spasmed and for a moment, I feared she would dissolve into tears.

Jon’s voice was quiet. “My apologies, that was uncalled for.”

Daenerys acknowledged his apologies with a slight nod, her delicate face still straining for
composure. While Missandei placed a hand on her shoulder, her eyes staring daggers across
the room at the king.

“What is done is done,” Tyrion finally said. “The armada has been built and between
Westeros and Meereen, I’m certain we will be able to recoup the funds used.”

“As Master of Coin, I’ve already taken it upon myself to host the Iron Bank’s envoy at
Highgarden to discuss our request, Your Grace,” Lord Tyrell said gamely. “But in his letter,
he has raised the same concern that the council have been discussing for years, since after the
war.”

He continued. “They are concerned with the lack of heirs. They fear that a succession crisis
will be inevitable and that it would weaken the Crown’s ability to pay its debts.”

“I understand this issue is already being taken care of,” Jon raised an eyebrow at Tyrion. “Or
am I mistaken?”

Tyrion looked unsettled, obviously reluctant to discuss such indelicate matters. “We’ve tried,
Your Grace. We’ve sent for several maesters from Oldtown, there was a healer from Lys, a
priestess from Braavos…”

“What my Lord Hand is trying to say is that I’m barren,” Daenerys sighed. “I’ve taken
several paramours already, men who have sired sons and daughters of their own blood. But
none of their seeds have taken root inside me.”

“If that is the case, then there is naught the king can do,” I countered. “We must find another
way, mayhaps once the king’s cousins have birthed children, we can name one as heir.”

“Bran is unable to sire children,” Jon’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “And Sansa, well…”

I looked at Tyrion, who looked a bit flustered. “Any chance, my lord? Of you and your lovely
wife siring children anytime soon?”
He snorted, “Forget it.”

“Might I suggest another way?” Lord Tyrell said, his voice brimming with unconcealed
eagerness. “May I remind the council that Aegon the Conqueror had two wives and the
Prince Rhaegar married both Princess Elia and His Grace’s mother, Lady Lyanna.

“What are you trying to say, my lord?” the Queen asked, her expression a mix of impatience
and apprehension.

“I think what Lord Tyrell is trying to say,” said Varys, his stubby fingers drumming against
the table, “is that there is a precedent for the King to take a second wife.”

“And the High Septon denounced Maegor Targaryen and forced him into exile upon his
second marriage,” Jon countered.

Varys waved a hand dismissively. “The Faith is at its weakest, thanks to the late Queen
Cersei. And the High Septon has been requesting the Crown for the funds necessary to
rebuild the Sept of Baelor. Leave the Faith to me, Your Grace. I’m certain that with the right
incentives, the High Septon could be persuaded to bless a second marriage.”

I cast a quick glance towards the Queen, trying to ascertain her feelings about her husband
taking on a second wife. Her face remains as still as a marble effigy, but her eyes were bright
with unshed tears.

I noticed Tyrion was also looking at her, his eyes filled with sympathy.

Lord Tyrell, on the other hand, was practically beaming. “My lovely daughter, Margaery, was
quite beloved by the people during her reign and I’m certain that the people will welcome her
with open arms. And rest assured, Your Grace, that she remains a maiden as poor King
Tommen died before he reached his majority.”

Jon remained obstinate, “I’m already wed, my lord. And I refuse to bring shame to a
woman’s honor by taking her as a second wife.”

“Oh, dear Margaery wouldn’t mind,” Lord Tyrell said doggedly. “She will be honored to
serve you, Your Grace.”

“And the realm, of course,” Varys said, his tone dry.

Beside me, Tyrion tried to hide another snort behind a loud cough.

“You need to sire an heir, Jon,” Daenerys said, her voice soft, almost entreating. “You said it
yourself, the realm has suffered enough wars, we need an heir to stabilize our reign.”

Only a few are privy to the great love the Queen bears for the King and understood just what
it took for her to says the words she has just spoken. She fought tooth and nail to have him,
only to be left with nothing but a hollow victory.

I thought of Arya Stark, the King’s beloved cousin and former betrothed. In another life, Jon
would have been happily wed to her by now, likely with a babe or two between them.
 Mayhaps, the Gods have given them another chance, a chance to right the wrongs of the past.

We still need to seek her, of course. Jon have sent several men across the Narrow Sea since
the night Arya Stark vanished without a trace. But as the years passed by without any word
on her whereabouts, Jon Snow seemed to retreat further and further into his shell. But
mayhaps, with the Queen’s blessing, Varys would be able to succeed where our own men
failed.

“If it pleases you, Your Grace,” I said, pointedly avoiding the sadness in the depths of the
Queen’s indigo eyes. “I have another candidate in mind.”

Tyrion looked at me, his amusement gone. “And who, pray tell, do you have in mind, Lord
Davos?”

“Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

Chapter End Notes

Just a quick update to set up the last chapter ❤️

And I think the more important question is will Arya agree to be a second wife, with
Dany in the picture…
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