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The King and Queen’s Landing
Arya hadn’t been able to sleep in three days. Cousin Jon’s last letter said they would be flying north from Riverrun five days ago. Cousin had said their progress was slow even with dragons, due to the fact that Dany had to stop to nurse the little princess on the way. Arya couldn’t wait to coo over the little one, pull silly faces to make her laugh. But what kept her from sleep was the promise of seeing Cousin Jon again—and meeting his lady wife, Dany.
Years ago, Cousin Jon had dazzled her. He was so handsome and strong. So kind. He’d mussed her hair and teased her in easy kinship. Then he was gone—riding south to meet his father. Then, like in the songs, he’d met his beloved wife and it was love at first sight. Something in Arya’s heart had broken a little, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that Jon was happy. Jon and Dany wed and rode across the sea to have wonderful adventures together. Most recently, they shared battles astride their mighty dragons, burning slavers to ash. The sporadic letters were like a song come to life. Her family would read them until they were in tatters and had to be copied to read again.
Now, as dawn lit the sky afire in gold, a loud roar broke the misty stillness. A gasp flew from her lips. Hot energy coursed through her veins. This was it. They were here! Dragons! Living dragons! Already dressed, she shoved her feet into her boots and fastened her cloak. Drumming her fists on the doors she passed, Arya skipped down the hall.
“They’re here! They’re here! Jon and Daenerys are here!” she shouted. Bran was soon at her heels, along with Rickon who staggered behind and rubbed sleep from his eyes, pulling on his tunic.
“Did you hear it?” Bran demanded.
“Of course!” Arya said, “where’s the best place to see them?”
“The top of the keep, let’s go!” Bran said, pelting toward the stair.
“How close do you think they are?” Rickon asked around a yawn. Arya leapt up the narrow stairs three at a time, her heart in her throat. In her mind’s eye, she recalled how Jon and Dany described their dragons. Drogon, the black. Like Balerion the Black Dread. The biggest and fiercest. He had melted the great harpy of Meereen to slag. Jon’s Vyrmax. White and gold, sleek and swift as the wind. Tessarion, forest green and the finest hunter, destined to be the princess’s mount. Which would they see first?
“Hurry up, Arya!” Bran shouted from behind her. Arya’s trembling fingers fumbled with the overhead latch. Bran and Rickon shoved at her back until they burst through the opening in an untidy heap.
“Do you think they’ll give us rides on the dragons?” Rickon asked, the first to recover. Arya cursed and shoved Bran off her, rolling to her knees on the frost-furred stones. The sun was a golden half circle on the horizon, wreathed in grey mist. The wind whispered through the pines, and the clean smell of juniper and cookfires filled her nose. Arya stared at the thick clouds brewing overhead with dismay. Would they even be able to see them approach? Were the clouds as soft as they looked? She hurried to the northern wall, bracing her hands on the crenels.
“It’s a fucking dragon, not a pony at the fair, Rickon,” Bran said scathingly. Rickon raked his fingers through his dark auburn hair, a couple strands standing on end near the crown like porcupine quills. Rickon, who Father said had Uncle Brandon’s sturdy build, had shot up taller than Bran, who resembled their slender Tully kin. Arya often wondered what Uncle Brandon would have been like if he hadn’t died in a duel before she was born.
“Still, they’re Jon and Dany’s mounts, aye? They ken what to do,” Rickon said. Arya rolled her eyes. Rickon’s accent sounded so lowborn. Mama would scold him. Another roar cut through their squabbling. Louder. Closer. The three of them shared a look and laughed together in a giddy sort of joy. Dragons! Arya leaned out, peering at the clouds to the south. She spied them first.
“There!” she said with a triumphant shout. Their talk was silenced in a sudden, rigid awe. Its body sliced through the clouds like a hot knife through butter, tendrils of mist purling in eddies around those massive beating wings. A broad head crowned with horns, a long, spiked neck, a broad barreled chest and powerful legs and an even longer tail. The sun glinted off his scales. White with gold glittering on his horned head. Vyrmax. So fascinated by the broad powerful flaps of his wings, the majesty of his size, Arya started. Jon! Could she see Jon and Dany? Bran beat her to it.
“There they are!” Bran said, his adolescent voice cracking over the words. The saddle and the ones riding in it seemed so small compared to the dragon’s bulk. Drogon and Tessarion emerged from the clouds as well and Arya’s jaw dropped. Gods, Drogon looked as if he could swallow a cow in one gulp! The three of them exclaimed and pointed out details. All three roared again and gooseflesh stippled her skin at the sight. It was no wonder her ancestors had thought the Valyrians not quite human. Who else would dare to ride such a beast?
“Look how Tessarion’s scales shine! Like an emerald dropped in the godswood pool!” Rickon said.
“As he flaps, look a Drogon’s wings! You can see the scarlet streaks!” Bran said. Arya bit her lip to contain a sudden rush of tears. They were so beautiful. She didn’t want to tear her eyes away. None of them moved a muscle until the three dragons flared their wings wide and sank their great claws into the snowy earth.
“Come on!” Arya said, already running for the stair.
Father caught her by the hood of her cloak just as she was barreling out of the keep. Grey eyes moved over her, then her two younger brothers behind her. Arya braced herself for a lecture when a smile broke on his stern face.
“Did you get a good look?” he asked. Arya beamed at him and nodded. The smile faltered taking in her simple undyed homespun wool tunic and trousers.
“No time to change. You three look like hoydens. Your mother will have words,” Father said, with an ushering gesture, “now get in line!”
She felt the narrow blue look her mother shot in her direction as she took her place between Sansa and Bran, but there was little heat in it. Sansa’s scowl was more ferocious.
“Gods, Arya! You’re going to meet royalty in that?” she said. Arya stuck out her tongue at her. Sansa was immaculate as always. The gown was one she’d spent weeks embroidering, ever since they got Jon’s letter saying he and Dany would be coming for their long-awaited visit. Expensive Pentoshi wool, dyed sky blue to flatter her coloring. Painstakingly embroidered with black and yellow thread with wolves and dragons along the sleeves. Her hair was a glorious fall of neatly brushed auburn, save for a couple twists near her face bound in silver spirals. Arya shoved away the pang she always felt when she compared herself to her sister. Jon will be happy to see me.
A baby’s discontented snuffling was their first greeting, echoing off of Winterfell’s open gates, followed swiftly by the murmur of a woman’s voice. A smile spread on Arya’s face. Excitement made her bounce on the balls of her feet, straining to look. At a gesture from Father, they all knelt. Jon emerged first. Arya’s breath rushed from her lungs. He seemed taller. Broad and fit. His hair was longer, hanging below his chin, the curls tamed by a couple braids. A new scar, barely healed in a red wheal knifed through his right eyebrow and curled around his right eye. His clothes were unornamented, but fine. A tunic of black velvet, simple leather trousers, a fur-lined cloak. A sword at his hip. Nightfall, he had named it. Their letters spoke of slave smiths gathering the slavers’ Valyrian steel blades to make Jon and Daenerys each a blade of their own as a gift.
“Enough of that shite. Get up, you lot!” Jon said with a broad smile. They all rose.
Arya would have eagerly waited for her greeting, but Dany hurried behind Jon, flushed and holding the infant princess. Her eyes goggled. Rickon cursed and Bran elbowed him. Sansa and Arya shared a titter. Robb sent a quelling blue glare down the line and they quieted. Dany really was the most beautiful woman in the world. And so small! She was barely taller than Arya. Short and plump, though she had just had a babe not four months ago. The silver hair and violet eyes of a Targaryen. Garbed like Jon in a black velvet tunic and leather trousers. That silver hair was bound in complicated braids, one with a white silk ribbon twined through it. A sunny smile dazzled Arya, even white teeth and eyes crinkled with mirth as Dany extended her hand first to Father.
“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace,” Father said formally.
“We gladly accept your hospitality, Lord Stark,” Dany said, then stood on tiptoe to buss Father’s cheeks with kisses. Then a startled-looking Mother accepted Dany’s kisses and embraces. The formal line dissolved into a tangled mob, voices raised and embraces given and accepted. Robb’s new bride Margaery cooed over the princess Lyla in her tufted wool cap. For her part, Lyla was baffled by the sudden commotion, but since she watched safely from her mother’s arms, she decided to allow it. Dany kissed Sansa and marveled at her gown, to which her sister blushed prettily. Jon faced her at last.
“Arya? Gods, look how you’ve grown!” Jon mussed her hair and scooped her off her feet in the tightest hug. Arya’s spine felt dented by the force, but she clung just as tight. Tears flooded her eyes.
“I’ve missed you!” she squeaked, her voice muffled by the fur collar of his cloak. He smelled of leather and smoke.
“I’ve missed you too, cuz,” Jon said, his voice rough with emotion. Then he set her down and Arya felt bereft at the loss of the tight pressure. Dany was at Jon’s heels.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you. I love your carvings. Lyla’s favorite is the little wolf. She plays with it,” Dany said, offering a kiss on each cheek. Arya felt the gentleness in the brief caress. She blinked, shuffling from foot to foot. Arya had skill with a knife, and carving was fun. The wolf had been carved from black ironwood and polished smooth as silk. And it was a princess’s favorite toy.
“Thank you, Your—”
“Dany, please,” she corrected.
“Thank you, Dany,” Arya said.
Her heart felt so full it might burst.