Arya Stark Targaryen (107 A.C., Eleventh Moon)
Skies above Winterfell
Arya breathed in the fresh northern air. Ever since the royal dragon saddler had arrived and made a saddle for Grey Ghost, she had taken to the skies almost daily. It was the one thing, besides taking up the bow and arms, in which she could truly express herself. The rest of the time, she needed to act like a princess of the realm.
Ever since her conversation with Aemon, her mother Lyanna, and the dream she had in Harrenhal, Arya knew she had made mistakes. In her previous life, she had been angry, jealous, and found Sansa annoying as a child. Yet her sister had been a true lady who did her duty, even if she too made mistakes. Now, Arya tried to balance her life between that of a princess and the warrior she wished to be, something both her uncle and her mother allowed her to do.
She knew that one day she would need to marry and have children. Not that she wanted it now, but she would do it for the good of her family. Thinking back, Gendry had likely been too quick in asking her. They had only just reunited, and if they had taken more time, perhaps she could have married him. Yet with everything that was happening then, marrying him, being betrothed to him, was not something she would have wished for in that moment.
She sighed, and just like then, toward King's Landing, if not alone this time, and played the Game of Thrones to make sure another succession crisis would not appear. Yet sadly, Viserys would not truly listen to them. Even after Aemon and her mother had sent letters suggesting to give Aemma time, he had done so once, but after a dream convinced him his son would sit the throne, the letters lost their impact. Since Viserys became king, Aemma had given birth to a stillborn boy and suffered another pregnancy that did not reach its full term. Now, Aemma was with child again.
If the damn histories were to be believed, this would cause the death of Aemma and her newborn. Yet now, she couldn't know for sure. With the new order Aemon had created, perhaps they could bring about a different outcome. As the maester were not to be trusted, at least the majority of them, people like Maester Jaffered, Luwin, Vaegon, or Dussard were different.
She sighed as she looked at the landscape ahead of her. The greens had begun to return after the short winter. Farmers were plowing their fields and herding their flocks across the fresh grass and heath. Beyond those lay the Wolfswood, where she had ridden out more than with kin, either her mother or the rest of her kin, together with the wolves.
Then a black speck appeared on the western horizon of the Wolveswood, growing larger and larger. Soon enough, she saw Balerion, the Black Dread, just as massive as she remembered.
"Aemon," she whispered, and Grey Ghost gave out a roar. A thunderous bellow from Balerion echoed in reply.
They came closer and closer until Balerion's shadow passed over her and Grey Ghost. The sun glimmered on the dragon's black scales. Old wounds had made some scales look shagged, where the scabrous areas were underneath, but they weren't open anymore as they had been in the past. She remembered reading that Balerion's wounds never truly healed, and that the dragon had died of old age. But knowing what had happened to Aerea and what the maesters wrote, Arya doubted it. The dragon hadn't died of age, but of wounds that refused to heal. The damage and the confinement in the Dragonpit had weakened him, and the long years without a rider hadn't helped either.
She had seen the difference herself. Grey Ghost had been slender before they bonded, but with better feeding and companionship, he had grown stronger. The greatest example of a dragon growing more powerful because of its rider was Balerion himself. Since Aemon's birth, he had become the strongest dragon in the realm once more.
Soon, Arya followed as the massive dragon landed. She dismounted and gave Grey Ghost's snout a loving hug. Nymeria came bounding up a moment later, licking her and staring intently at the towering beast. She hadn't seen Balerion since she was a pup.
Grey Ghost lowered his head before the behemoth, recognizing his place in the pecking order.
Soon enough, the elaborated ladder Aemon had crafted was rolled down, and her brother dismounted, followed by the rest of his party. Ghost came running down together with his mate, both quickly finding Nymeria. The wolves played in greeting.
"Sister! Look at you, you've grown so much," Aemon said with a grin. Arya heard the hardened tone in his voice, deeper and rougher than she remembered. It sounded similar to when they had reunited in the past, when both came back to Winterfell.
Aemon wore his northern black-and-red brigandine, with his badge-sigil upon it. Underneath, he wore a pourpoint split into three colors, white, black, and red, with a white snowbear coat over it, embroidered in the same shades. The colors of Aemon's personal sigil. That sigil was also emblazoned upon his chest. His hair had grown long again, the silver-gold hue unmistakably his, though she would always remember the black curls he once had.
"Brother," she said with a laugh, embracing him. "I missed you," she whispered, nestling her head against his chest.
"As did I, little sister," Aemon said, kissing her brow. "Now, let's retreat inside. I wish to see the rest of our kin and little Lyarra."
He turned to Ser Jeffery and Ser Edward. "Jeffery, Edward, please make sure the luggage is taken care of and brought to my chambers."
Both men nodded, and Aemon glanced once more toward Balerion before walking with Arya.
It was strange to think they were now close to the same age they had been when they last parted, one to King's Landing, the other to the Wall. Now they would travel south again, but this time as royalty returning home, her brother betrothed to his bride instead of Sansa.
Soon they passed through the Hunter's Gate of Winterfell, and then through the second gate. Her mother stood there already, along with her uncle, grandmother, aunt, and cousins, waiting for them. Also, some higher-ups from Winterfell.
As Aemon stepped into the courtyard, all those gathered knelt, save for their mother. Arya sighed. They were kin, and kin shouldn't kneel to one another, but it was part of courtly life.
"Rise," Aemon said.
They rose, and Aemon embraced their mother, then greeted their uncle and aunt, who held little Lyarra. Afterward, he turned to their cousin.
"Rickon, you've grown! No longer the small boy we last saw. Almost a man now."
Rickon laughed as they embraced. "Almost, cousin."
After some brief words, Aemon turned toward Bennard, the youth Arya was closest to besides her brother. They were near in age, Bennard being two years younger. The more Arya spent time among the children of Winterfell, the more she realized how much of her childhood war and treachery had been stolen from her. Now she was allowed to relive it.
"Bennard," Aemon said cheerfully, "it seems the winter has seen you grow. Last time I saw you, you were but a small child. Now you're old enough to train with a sword."
Bennard smiled and stood straighter. "I'm ready to be your page! Papa said I'll be flying with you on the big dragon."
Aemon gave her uncle a look and then smiled. "That you will. This moon we'll fly, and after New Year's Day, we travel south."
Bennard shouted with delight and threw his arms around Aemon. The crowd laughed, and as they began to disperse, Arya caught her uncle's words:
"Aemon, we shall prepare a feast for you. Your party shall be quartered. I'm grateful for the advance warning."
She smiled. Aemon had a habit of arriving unannounced, but with the size of Balerion, he could bring quite a large company. And as a prince, it was expected that any hosting lord would honor his visit properly.
"I thought as much," Aemon said with a grin. "Especially since my party is larger than usual. Because of the journey south."
"Yes," her uncle replied, "preparations have started here as well, it will be a good teaching moment for my boy to rule on his own." He looked toward Rickon.
"The first time I ruled alone was when Father traveled south for your wedding." Rickon ended with a smile.
Her mother smiled. "And it wasn't his first; he fought in quite a few melees in the South when he was still the Wandering Wolf. One was in King's Landing, if I recall."
"Let's all retire to the family room, Uncle," Aemon said, giving their mother and Arya a knowing look. "I have something to give you all, and to discuss matters that concern our lands."
"As you wish," her uncle replied.
At that moment, Ser Jeffery entered carrying a chest and two wrapped bundles.
"Ah, Jeffery, have you the gifts?" Aemon asked.
"I do, my prince."
"Follow us then."
They all walked to the family room within the keep. Soon, the room filled, and the door closed behind them.
"As you all know by now," Aemon began, "I have rediscovered parts of the ways of Old Valyria, and with that knowledge, I have created Seadragon Point in ways lost since the doom. Yet that wasn't all." Arya already knew, but seeing the newly forged Valyrian steel was something she could not help but marvel at.
He lifted the wrappings and revealed a sword. Its pommel was a grey stone dragon's head set with blue gems, and a grey guard shaped like a wolf's head. The scabbard was richly decorated, fine leather embroidered with a grey direwolf and a red dragon. The piece was beautiful, and Arya speculated Aemon had likely forged it himself. He has come a long way since he first forged his first axe in Winterfell.
When he drew the blade, the smoky grey ripples of Valyrian steel shimmered like mist. The group gaped in awe. Though Arya had seen Valyrian steel before and even wielded it, this blade's pattern was mesmerizing, and it was similar to Darksister's.
"Indeed, Valyrian steel," Aemon said after a moment. "Over two years ago, I forged my first piece. Now I know how to make it. The process, like the building of Seadragon Point, requires sacrifice and discipline." Arya knew what he meant; she had seen the glyphs on his body.
So far, only three others know how to forge it, and they are sworn to my Oathguard. A few select others know as well."
He handed the sword to their uncle, who brushed a finger along the edge before pulling back quickly. "The sharpness and pattern, it truly is Valyrian steel."
Aemon smiled, then turned to their mother.
"Mother, you are both a lady and a warrior. As you already have a blade," Aemon said, giving the room a knowing look that made those not in the know gape at their mother, and her. "When I thought of making a blade for Visenya, I knew it must embody both Stark and Targaryen, as she is both. But please test it out if it has the right balance for the rider of Vhagar."
Lyanna took the blade gently and tested a few swings. "It feels perfect, the balance, the style. It reminds me of Darksister."
"Indeed," Aemon said with a bright smile. "That was part of my inspiration. Darksister was likely forged for a woman's hands, if not for the fact that since Visenya, only men have wielded it."
"Thank you, my son. It's a wonderful gift. I'm sure your sister will be happy with it." She noted as she gave the sword back to Aemon.
Benjen coughed, "Hmm, sister, I expect to see this blade of yours, soon."
"No problem, I shall show you Snowfyre's son brother. I'm sorry I didn't tell you; it wasn't the right time yet. It's a great power my son has rediscovered." Lyanna replied with a smirk. Her uncle just rolled his eyes and sighed. "Very well, and the name fitting." He said as he gave her a hug.
Afterwards, Aemon revealed another sword, a greatsword nearly as long as Ice, its pommel carved from weirwood and its guard shaped like icicles.
"The Lords and Kings of Winter once carried Ice into battle. Whether it was Valyrian steel, we do not know. As of this day, I hope that every heir to Winterfell shall also bear a named sword."
He presented the greatsword to Rickon, whose eyes widened. "I… I don't know what to say."
"Say thank you, and carry it as the heir of Winterfell, and a son of the North," Aemon replied, embracing him.
Their uncle stepped forward. "Thank you, nephew. You do us a great honor."
"The honor is mine," Aemon said with a short nod. "Come, draw it."
Rickon grinned and slid the sword free. The steel gleamed grey mixed with blue. Arya found it even more striking than Icefyre, the blend of colors and patterns mesmerizing.
"It feels like Ice," Rickon said, testing the weight. "Only lighter."
"As I thought," Aemon said proudly. "Forged in Ice's image. Yet, like Ice, it must have a name."
Rickon looked between Aemon and the blade. "Something always comes before Ice and snow. So let it be called Frost."
"That sounds wonderfully poetic. I didn't know you had it in you, cousin," Aemon said with a grin, earning laughter from the room.
Then Aemon opened a small chest and drew out two necklaces.
One was a snowflake of Valyrian steel with a white gemstone at its center, hanging on a silver chain. He presented it to their grandmother.
"For my grandmother, whom I love with all my heart," Aemon said, kissing Barbery's cheek.
"Thank you, my boy. A wonderful gift."
Then he went to Lysa, who held little Lyra. The child stared at the second necklace, a direwolf's head of Valyrian steel on an ivory chain carved with runes.
"Though I made the head myself, the chain was crafted by the smiths of Seadragon Point," Aemon said as he handed it to her.
"Thank you, Aemon, it's beautiful," Lysa said, showing it to Lyra.
"Wolf, like Spot!" Lyra exclaimed happily.
"Indeed," Aemon said, smiling warmly.
Then Aemon reached to his belt and turned toward Bennard. "And for my future page, I grant this seax, a deadly weapon for the shieldwall. It lacks reach but excels in close quarters."
"I know," Bennard said proudly. "Master Robard taught me the same."
"Good. Then carry it with honor, and remember, tell no one."
"I shall not speak of it," Bennard promised. "And I'll carry it with pride." Aemon smiled and embraced the boy.
Then he turned to Arya. "Ah, almost forgot you, but who could ever forget Arya Underfoot? Although she has already seen the blade," he teased with a grin. Once more, the group gaped, except for Rickon, who gave out an affronted sigh. "You already had a blade and didn't tell me."
"I did, sorry," Arya said as she blushed some more. She hated to admit it, but she enjoyed the nickname, one her father's guardsman, Harwin, had once given her. It had stuck. Yet of all those who said it, when Aemon did, it felt most affectionate.
He drew another blade from under the wrappings. "I already showed the sword before. I hope you've kept up your training."
"Here you go, and don't forget your first lesson," Aemon said with a grin.
"Stick them with the pointy end," Arya replied, tears in her eyes.
Aemon embraced her. "I love you, little sister. Now keep the blade safe, and don't lose it."
"I love you too, and I shall not," Arya said, hugging him tighter.
"Does your sword have a name, too?" Bennard asked, looking at the blade with wonder.
"I might not enjoy needlework," Arya said with a grin, "but this needlework I will enjoy. So let me enjoy my Needle."
At the group laughed, and she embraced Aemon once more, but this time with Bennard joining in.
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