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Her hands shook as she held onto the torn reins of the horse, the destroyed city burning on all sides of her. I wanted this once...After her father’s execution, Arya had wanted nothing more than for Kings Landing to be washed away, to become nothing but a distant nightmare. But she hadn’t wanted this, not anything like this. The sky had been lost to a field of floating ash, bitter snowflakes becoming the only thing she could taste. Distant screams and high-pitched ringing the only things she could hear.
Arya shivered with relief as the broken gate appeared, her head was heavy and as clouded as the air around her. How could she do this? Daenerys had lost as much as anyone, had just as much reason to want Cersei dead as Arya did herself, but at what cost? Tears brimmed her eyes as she galloped out of the city, thousands of screaming and crying innocents stumbling outside their home welcoming her. How could she do this?
Outside the walls was a horde of people, northern soldiers, unsullied, men, women, and children, what little was left of the Golden Company. A group of people drowning in blood and tears, surrounded by fire and blood. Fire and Blood. Daenerys was never the savior her followers believed in. The Dragon Queen had snapped and had broken the Kingdom with her.
Once past most of the piles of bodies, Arya slid off her horse, stumbling, wiping at her tears. Direwolves don’t cry. Her hand came back bloody and ashen. Arya blinked away whatever it was in her eyes, blood, ash, dirt, tears; whatever it was. The broken city trembling before her, clouds of black smoke raining what could be mistaken for snow, but the acid reek of wildfire and melted stone couldn’t be confused. The screams, crying, blood, ash, the piles of corpses couldn’t be deluded into anything except what they were. Hell, on earth. How could she do this?
“ARAY!” she jolted, turning around in her dazed state to see Jon Snow pushing his way through the swarm of people. “Arya.” His face was covered in ash, wet blood on the top of his head. His arms reached for her, hands landing on her shoulders, then one to the side of her head. “What are you doing here?” his eyes were lit with panic.
Ser Davos appeared beside him, gaze scattering over the carnage. “Lady Arya.” He managed in his state of shock. His old blue eyes were wide with horror as he stared around them, at the people holding their loved ones, while some just held bodies. Others just sat on their knees, crying, alone.
“Arya.” Jon tried again, his eyes desperately searching hers.
“How could she do this?”
Jon’s mouth opened but no answer came. His eyes stared at nothing. “I…I don’t know.” Her heart shattered for her brother’s pain. He’d loved Daenerys, somehow, he’d loved her. And she’d done this.
“We need to…” Davos started, but his shoulders hung heavy with defeat. His eyes glazed with sorrow, no ideas coming to his mind. “We…”
Arya placed a hand on Jon’s arm, the only act she could give for comfort. She closed her eyes, the screams of thousands filling her mind, the sight on that little girl and mother turned into nothing but a pile of black ashes. Neither her nor Sansa had trusted Daenerys, but she never could have imagined it would come to this. Arya opened her eyes. “I’m going to kill her.”
Jon’s eyes darted back up to hers. “You can’t.”
“I’m going to kill her.” She repeated. Her hands were still shaking, but not of fear or shock, but anger. A rage that caused her to murder an entire house in one night. A hatred that had her longing for revenge and muttering name after name every night for years. A fury that had her travel across kingdoms just for the chance to see Cersei Lannister die. Sandor had told it true; dying to murder Cersei would have been for nothing but risking herself to kill the Mad Queen wouldn’t be.
“Arya, listen to me.” Jon’s grip tightened on her shoulders. “You’re in shock, we’ll do something…but you can’t just kill her.”
“Do something?” Arya tore herself from his grasp. “What something do you want to do?” her voice cracked, maybe from outrage or the ash stuck in the back of her throat. “She just murdered thousands of people! Mothers and children! Burned them to nothing but blackened smoking piles of dust!” She pointed at the smoking city behind them to make her point.
“Take a breath.” He reached for her again, his hand touching the top of her head. “You’re covered in blood.” His gaze was dipped in fear as he scanned her up and down, searching for injury.
“Ashes and blood.” She corrected. “Is this what you wanted to save the world for?” She forced her gaze to bore into his. “Prevent the army of the dead from destroying us all, just so she can?” Her brother was lost, she could see it, but he wasn’t completely insane, not like his aunt. “You know how this has to end.”
He took a shaking breath, avoiding her eyes a moment only to see to the destruction all around them. He met her stare again; another piece of his soul was broken now. “I-I know.”
The screech of the last living dragon washed over them, survivors whimpering in response. Arya turned her head upward, spotting the black shape of Drogon circling the devastation left in his wake. She pushed her fury down, tempering it and vowing to save it for when the moment was right.
Arya Stark had come to Kings Landing to kill the Queen, and that’s exactly what she was going to do.